The Woman-Haters Part 29

Brown took the bowl from her hands and went to the pantry to get the b.u.t.ter. When he turned again she was standing by the door, one hand hidden beneath her ap.r.o.n. She took the bowl with the other.

"Much obliged," she said. "I'll fetch this back soon's the grocery cart comes. Miss Graham made arrangements to have him drive across every Sat.u.r.day. Or, rather, I arranged for it myself. Her head's too full of paintin' and scenery to think of much else. I tell her you can't eat an ile paintin'--unless you're born a goat. Good-by."

She went away. Brown chuckled and went on with his account of stock.

Seth "turned out" rather early that day. At half past one he appeared in the kitchen, partially dressed.

"Where in time is my s.h.i.+rt?" he demanded impatiently.

"Your what?"

"My s.h.i.+rt. I thought I took it off out here. Could have sworn I did.

Guess likely I didn't, though. Must be gettin' absent-minded."

He was on his way back to the bedroom when his helper called.

"You did take it off out here," he cried. "It was on that chair there. I remember seeing it. Probably it has fallen on the floor somewhere."

Atkins returned, grumbling that the kitchen floor was a "healthy place to heave a s.h.i.+rt."

"Where is it?" he asked after a hurried search. "I can't find it nowheres. Didn't put it in the fire, did ye?"

"Of course I didn't. I saw it. . . . Why, I remember that woman's picking it up when she sat down."

"Woman? What woman?"

"That Baskin--Buskin--whatever her name is. The housekeeper at the bungalow."

"Was she--HERE?" Seth's question was almost a shout. His helper stared at him.

"Yes," he answered; "she was. She came to borrow some b.u.t.ter."

"To--to borrow--b.u.t.ter?"

"Why, yes. You didn't think I invited her in for a morning call, did you? Don't act as if you had been struck by lightning. It's not so very serious. We've got to expect some trouble of that kind. I got rid of her as soon as I could."

"You--you did?"

"Yes, I did. You should thank me. I am on duty during the day, and I suppose most of that sort of thing will fall on me. You're lucky. Our neighbors aren't likely to make many calls after dark. . . . What's the matter now? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Seth walked to the door and leaned against the post. Brown repeated his question. "What IS the matter?" he asked. "You act just as you did when I first happened into this forsak--this place. If you've got any more hideous secrets up your sleeve I'm going to quit."

"Secrets!" Atkins laughed, or tried to. "I ain't got any secrets," he declared, "any more than you have."

The latter half of this speech shut off further questioning. Brown turned hastily away, and the lightkeeper went into his bedroom and finished dressing.

"Find your s.h.i.+rt?" asked the young man an hour or so later.

"Hey? Yes, yes; I found it."

"In your room? That's odd. I could have sworn I saw it out here. Is that it you're wearing?"

"Hey? No. That was--was sort of s'iled, so I put on my other one. I--I cal'late I'll go over and work on the Daisy M. a spell, unless you need me."

"I don't need you. Go ahead."

The time dragged for John Brown after his superior's departure. There was work enough to be done, but he did not feel like doing it. He wandered around the house and lights, gloomy, restless and despondent.

Occasionally he glanced at the clock.

It was a beautiful afternoon, just the afternoon for a swim, and he was debarred from swimming, not only that day, but for all the summer days to come. No matter what Seth's new secret might be, it was surely not connected with the female s.e.x, and Brown would be true to the solemn compact between them. He could not bathe in the cove because Miss Graham would be there.

At four o'clock he stood in the shadow of the light tower looking across the cove. As he looked he saw Miss Graham, in bathing attire, emerge from the bungalow and descend the bluff. She did not see him and, to make sure that she might not, he dodged back out of sight. Then he saw something else.

Out on the dunes back of the barn he caught a glimpse of a figure darting to cover behind a clump of bushes. The figure was a familiar one, but what was it doing there? He watched the bushes, but they did not move. Then he entered the house, went upstairs, and cautiously peered from the back attic window.

The bushes remained motionless for some minutes. Then they stirred ever so slightly, and above them appeared the head of Seth Atkins. Seth seemed to be watching the cove and the lights. For another minute he peered over the bushes, first at the bathing waters below and then at his own dwelling. Brown ground his teeth. The light-keeper was "spying"

again, was watching to see if he violated his contract.

But no, that could not be, for now Seth, apparently sure that the coast was clear, emerged from his hiding place and ran in a stooping posture until he reached another clump further off and nearer the end of the cove. He remained there an instant and then ran, still crouching, until he disappeared behind a high dune at the rear of the bungalow. And there he stayed; at least Brown did not see him come out.

What he did see, however, was just as astonis.h.i.+ng. The landward door of the bungalow opened, and Mrs. Bascom, the housekeeper, stepped out into the yard. She seemed to be listening and looking. Apparently she must have heard something, for she moved away for some little distance and stood still. Then, above the edge of the dune, showed Seth's head and arm. He beckoned to her. She walked briskly across the intervening s.p.a.ce, turned the ragged, gra.s.s-grown corner of the knoll and disappeared, also. Brown, scarcely believing his eyes, waited and watched, but he saw no more. Neither Seth nor the housekeeper came out from behind that dune.

But the subst.i.tute a.s.sistant had seen enough--quite enough. Seth Atkins, Seth, the woman-hater, the man who had threatened him with all sorts of penalties if he ever so much as looked at a female, was meeting one of the s.e.x himself, meeting her on the sly. What it meant Brown could not imagine. Probably it explained the clay smears on the boots and Seth's discomfiture of the morning; but that was immaterial. The fact, the one essential fact, was this: the compact was broken. Seth had broken it.

Brown was relieved of all responsibility. If he wished to swim in that cove, no matter who might be there, he was perfectly free to do it. And he would do it, by George! He had been betrayed, scandalously, meanly betrayed, and it would serve the betrayer right if he paid him in his own coin. He darted down the attic stairs, ran down the path to the boathouse, hurriedly changed his clothes for his bathing suit, ran along the sh.o.r.e of the creek and plunged in.

Miss Graham waved a hand to him as he shook the water from his eyes.

Over behind the sand dune a more or less interesting interview was taking place. Seth, having made sure that his whistles were heard and his signals seen, sank down in the shadow and awaited developments. They were not long in coming. A firm footstep crunched the sand, and Mrs.

Bascom appeared.

"Well," she inquired coldly, "what's the matter now?"

Mr. Atkins waved an agitated hand.

"Set down," he begged. "Scooch down out of sight, Emeline, for the land sakes. Don't stand up there where everybody can see you."

The lady refused to "scooch."

"If I ain't ashamed of bein' seen," she observed, "I don't know why you should be. What are you doin' over here anyhow; skippin' 'round in the sand like a hoptoad?"

The lightkeeper repeated his plea.

"Do set down, Emeline, please," he urged. "I thought you and me'd agreed that n.o.body'd ought to see us together."

Mrs. Bascom gathered her skirts about her and with great deliberation seated herself upon a hummock.

"We did have some such bargain," she replied. "That's why I can't understand your hidin' at my back door and whistlin' and wavin' like a young one. What did you come here for, anyway?"

Seth answered with righteous indignation.