Chapter XV: The Diving Belle

The next morning he was more miserable still, having had time to think it over. But he resolved that no one should guess his feelings from his appearance. Therefore, he was, at the breakfast-table, outwardly calm, although a little more quiet than usual.

The “old maids” were loaded with questions about the ball, and began firing them at him and at Clara as soon as the grace was said. They wanted to know who was there, what they had for supper, and especially all about the ladies’ gowns.

“Did Elviry Bailey wear that new black net of hers?” asked Miss Prissy. “She’s talked about nothin’ else, so they tell me, for the last month. How’d she look in it, Bradley? Was it becomin’?”

Now Mrs. Bailey might have been robed in purple and gold for all that Bradley knew to the contrary, but he promptly replied that the black net looked very well, he thought.

“I s’pose Georgiana had on her blue silk and wax beads, didn’t she?” Miss Tempy queried.

“Yes, I believe so.”

Clara laughed. “Why, no, she didn’t, Bradley!” she exclaimed; “Georgiana wore her green cashmere.”

“There!” burst out Miss Tempy, “if that ain’t jest like a man! We used to ask father about what the women folks over in London, or Bombay, or Surinam wore and he couldn’t tell any more’n a cat, and he’d seen ’em time and time again. Well, we’ll have to find out about the dresses from you, Clara. Tell us who danced with who, Bradley.”

“Yes,” said the older sister. “But we won’t ask who _you_ danced with; I shouldn’t be surprised if we could guess _that_.”

Miss Prissy accompanied this sagacious remark with a sly chuckle. Miss Tempy joined in the chuckle and nodded wisely. Clara smiled, but she looked at Bradley with an odd expression. As for the young man, he, too, tried to smile, but it was a poor attempt.

“Was Cap’n Ezra there?” asked Miss Tempy, after a moment’s silence.

“Yes, he was there.”

“Sho! I want to know! I s’pose,” with elaborate unconcern, “he danced with the married folks, mostly?”

Bradley didn’t answer. He was stirring his coffee in an absent way, and his face was very solemn. So Miss Tempy turned to Clara.

“No use talkin’ to him this mornin’,” she observed; “he’s dreamin’, I guess. Who did _you_ dance with, Clara?”

“Oh, with Bennie and some of the others,” the young lady replied, promptly. “Bennie’s getting along splendidly at dancing-school; he waltzes very nicely now.”

Bradley had little appetite. He drank his coffee, and then, with an excuse that he was in a hurry, left the table and, putting on his cap, went out.

He was, to all appearances, in high spirits when he reached the wharf. He dreaded meeting Captain Titcomb and Hammond, but he made up his mind they shouldn’t know it. So he chatted with Barney and Peleg, laughed loudly at the flimsiest jokes, and whistled as he stood at the _Lizzie’s_ wheel and steered her out of the harbor. But if he was afraid of being questioned by the Captain or sneered at by Sam, he need not have been. Mr. Hammond, possessing wisdom of a sort, didn’t refer to the previous evening. The Captain, too, seemed to have forgotten it. He groaned once or twice over his work at the air-pump, and, when Bradley asked him if the pump needed oiling, replied briefly:

“’Taint the pump that needs ile, it’s my j’ints. No use talkin’! I’m gettin’ too much of an antique to trip what Sarah Emma Gage calls the ‘light and frantic toe’ nineteen times in one night. That last Portland Fancy with Matildy Wingate pretty nigh sent me to the scrap heap. Every time we swung partners she’d slat me clear of the deck and whirl me ’round till I swan to man if I didn’t think my feet would frazzle out like a masthead pennant in a gale of wind! She must have thought she was shakin’ carpets. I felt like tellin’ her we wan’t playin’ ‘snap the whip.’”

They worked at getting out the tar until three o’clock, when, at Captain Titcomb’s suggestion, they quit for the day and the _Lizzie_ came back to her moorings. Then the crew went ashore and the partners shut themselves in the cabin to once more discuss the project of buying the _Diving Belle_. The photographs and sketches were exhibited, the Captain argued and enthused, and Bradley did his best to forget Gus and to be interested. He succeeded partially.

The junior partner agreed that the Vineyard Haven schooner was a wonderful bargain, but he disliked the idea of going in debt for a part of her, as it seemed that they must do.

“You see, Cap’n Ez,” he said, “we’ve got altogether less than four thousand dollars between us if we put up every cent we’ve made. We shall have to borrow at least another thousand, and I hate to. In a year, if things go as well as they have, we ought to be able to build a new vessel and pay for every stick of her. And yet,” he added, “it seems a shame to let this chance go by.”

The Captain glanced at his companion and drummed with his fingers on the table. When he spoke there was a hesitancy in his manner.

“We can’t let it go by,” he said, “we’d never git another like it. Now, Brad--now, Brad----;” he stopped and drummed again. Then he went on without looking up. “I don’t know’s I mentioned this afore, but _all_ my money ain’t been put into this wreckin’ deal yit. You see, I own some shares in that big cranb’ry bog of the Ostable folks. Must be about fifteen hundred dollars’ wuth altogether. I cal’late, maybe, I ain’t spoke of this to you afore, have I?”

“Well, no! you haven’t,” answered the astonished Bradley, drily.

“No. I presume likely it--er--must have slipped my mind. Well, I’ll sell the bog shares and put up what’s needed to finish buyin’ the _Divin’ Belle_. You can pay off your part as we earn it. Is it a go?”

The junior partner paused before replying. This matter of the cranberry swamp money was a most surprising revelation. The Captain’s previous silence concerning it was exactly in keeping with his old character, the character of the skipper of the _Thomas Doane_, and a phase that had been growing less and less evident of late. However, Bradley did not feel justified in refusing to accept the offer. It didn’t seem fair to his partner.

“All right,” he said, finally; “I’ll agree, of course. If you’re willing to risk it, I ought to be.”

“Good! We’ll take a day off to-morrer and go up to the Haven and look her over.”

The rest of that afternoon Bradley spent in his room, thinking. The more he thought of his own share in the happenings at the dance, the more ashamed he was of them. He had acted like a boy; but then Gus had not behaved well, either. He mused till supper-time and only succeeded in making himself still more uncomfortable.

It was dark when he came out of the gate that evening. There was a fog that was almost a drizzling rain, and the big silver-leaf dripped and the fence rails were covered with beady drops. From the outer beach the sound of the surf came faintly, like a never-ending groan. A lonely, miserable night; one that fitted his feelings exactly.

He had intended going to the post-office after the expected check, but a little way past the gap in the Baker fence he stopped and looked back. The light in the dining-room attracted him in spite of himself. Gus, no doubt, was there; reading, perhaps; perhaps thinking of him. He wondered if she would be ready to forget and forgive if he came to her and asked pardon once more. He stood there, struggling with his pride.

And just then he heard some one walking toward him from the direction of the village. He had no wish to meet acquaintances and so drew back under the Saunders’ lilac bushes. A man, with his coat collar turned up, went by rapidly. It was too dark to see well, but Bradley was surprised to hear the footsteps go up the path to the door of that very dining-room the window of which he had been watching.

The visitor knocked. An interval; then the door opened and Gus stood there, a silhouette against the light.

“Why, good evening, Sam!” Bradley heard her say. “Is this you? Come in; I’m glad to see you.”

A minute later and Bradley was on his way to the post-office. He had been a fool long enough. This, he determined, should end it.

* * * * *

The partners started for Vineyard Haven in the early morning. The Captain talked most of the way, for which Bradley was thankful; he didn’t feel like talking. They found the _Diving Belle_ lying at the wharf, and Captain Titcomb watched his companion’s face as they stood on the stringpiece looking down at her.

“Well, son,” he observed after a short silence, “what do you think of her? The tintype don’t flatter her none, does it?”

Bradley’s answer was enthusiastic enough to satisfy even Captain Titcomb. “By jiminy!” exclaimed the junior partner; “she’s a daisy! If her inside is as good as her outside, she’s the best five thousand dollars’ worth I ever saw.”

And, when the examination was concluded, he said, “Let’s hunt up that lawyer without wasting another minute. I’m only afraid that he’ll forget your option and sell her before we get there.”

They found the lawyer and signed the papers. It remained only to bring over the check and take away the schooner. And this they did a week later. Meanwhile Captain Titcomb had performed another miracle. He had hunted up a man who had expressed a desire to purchase the _Lizzie_, and, after two days of bargaining, during which time the Captain had twice pretended to give it up and return to Orham, had sold him the old schooner for seven hundred and fifty dollars. Also he sold his shares in the cranberry bog.

There was a good-sized crowd of townspeople on the Orham wharf when the _Diving Belle_ slid smoothly past the harbor mouth and up to her moorings. There was a splendid breeze, but they wouldn’t have used the sails for any consideration. The sight of the moving pistons in that wonderful sixteen horse-power engine, the enchanting smell of the gasoline, the muffled drumming of the propeller under the stern--these were bran-new, unadulterated joys of proprietorship that no mere item like the saving of unnecessary expense could induce them to forfeit.

The “old maids” and Clara were among the crowd on the wharf. They were shown over the new vessel and their admiration was outspoken.

“It’s beautiful!” exclaimed Miss Prissy, referring to the engine. “I declare, Bradley, I shall come aboard every night and see that you keep that brass-work shined up the way it ought to be. I’ll let you take some of my silver polish, like I use for the best teapot, and a piece of chamois. I never saw a man yet that I’d trust to clean a kitchen knife, let alone a lovely thing like that. Now _don’t_ use sand-soap and a rag and get it all scratched up.”

“And to think,” cried Miss Tempy, “that Cap’n Titcomb owns ha’f of her and our Bradley the other ha’f! Why, it’s jest like havin’ her in the fam’ly. I’m so proud I don’t know’s I shall speak to common folks after this.”

The others laughed at this outburst, but Bradley was silent. He was thinking that it was only a few weeks before that Gus had said that she was so proud of him.

The _Diving Belle_ was a spoiled child for the next fortnight. Her owners and her crew--all but Sam Hammond, and even he was condescending enough to call her a “nice little thing of her size”--handled her as if she was made of cut glass. Peleg brought Skeezicks aboard on purpose to display her beauties to that educated pup, who seemed to appreciate them, especially the galley stove. Bill Taylor was cooking at the time, and the stove was red-hot, so Skeezicks promptly crawled beneath it, but even there he shivered.

Captain Ezra put in the most of his spare time “improving” the new purchase. Bradley told him it seemed like the _Thomas Doane_ days to smell paint and trip over a bucket of water and a swab every little while.

“Yes,” was the Captain’s reply, “but then I was fixin’ up somebody else’s property; now I’m fussin’ with my own. It’s as diff’rent as boardin’ and keepin’ house. I remember seein’ Solon Snow fryin’ flapjacks one time when him and his brother ’Rastus was fishin’ at the P’int and ’twas Solon’s week to cook. Solon would toss the flapjacks up with the fryin’ pan to turn ’em over. Sometimes he caught ’em when they come down, sometimes he didn’t. Them that fell on the floor he put in ’Rastus’s plate. That’s the diff’rence between workin’ for yourself and for somebody else, Brad. What d’you think of puttin’ a gilt stripe ’round the top of the deck house?”

The gilt stripe was added to the house, as were also sundry other decorations to various parts of the schooner. But the lock on the cabin door was the particular addition upon which the Captain prided himself.

Orham was just then in the throes of a burglar scare. Two houses in the village had been broken into and the natives were talking of calling an indignation meeting for the purpose of expressing their opinion of the Selectmen. Then a steam yacht, belonging to a summer resident, which lay housed over for winter in the harbor, was boarded and ransacked.

It was on the day following this robbery that Captain Titcomb began tinkering with the cabin door. This door and the sliding hatch above it had been fastened with a padlock. The Captain’s first move was to block the hatch so that it would slide back but a little way. Then he sawed and hammered away at the door.

“There!” he cried, in triumph, after two hours of hard work. “Brad, come here! S’pose one of them mean sneak thieves tries to bust into that cabin. He can pry the staple off that padlock easy, can’t he? Yes, but the way that hatch is now ’twon’t open fur enough for him to climb down; he’s got to open that door. And that door’s got on it a three dollar patent lock that can’t be opened without the key, and no ten cent, whistle-down-the-barrel key neither. The key that’ll open that has lace edgin’ on it; you hear _me_! And I’ve took off the knob on the inside of the lock, so it can’t be worked that way. Now when we want to go home we haul to the hatch and lock it with the padlock. Then we jest slam the door. Click! There you are! A spring lock; how’s that for high? _Thunderation!_ I’ve left the key inside!”

Luckily the key was lying on the top step of the cabin stairs, and they were able to reach it with a fishhook on the end of a stick. But that was only the beginning of the trouble with that wonderful burglar-proof spring lock. The key was always getting lost, or being left at home in the Captain’s “other pants.” As he would trust it to no one else, the difficulties that arose were numberless. Once Alvin Bearse remained a prisoner in the cabin for half a day, having to wait until the _Diving Belle_ reached the wharf and the key could be sent for.

Getting up the tar, with the aid of the patent windlass and the engine, was simply fun. They took out all they could bring up through the hatchway, and then began blowing out the side of the hull with dynamite. The explosive was stored in the _Diving Belle’s_ hold, forward, behind a bulkhead with only one small manhole in it, and was carefully boxed in to prevent accident.

Bradley’s whole interest in life now centred in his work. Gus he had not spoken with since the night of the dance; had, in fact, only seen her at a distance. Sam, while on board the schooner, was pleasant and, to all appearances, as friendly as Bradley would let him be, but from Captain Jabez, and from other considerate and gossip-loving souls, the junior partner learned that Hammond was now a regular caller at the Baker cottage. Tactful Captain Titcomb never mentioned Gus, and the “old maids,” though they must have been aware that their boy no longer visited the house next door, knew better than to question him.

At times Bradley was tempted to give it all up and go away. He could not forget, try as hard as he might. But consideration for his partner, and his own pride, kept him at home. She should never know how much he cared, and Sam and the rest should not have the satisfaction of crowing over his running away.