Chapter IX

“Say, Lemmy, do you know I’ve been mullin’ this Dolphin business over in my mind since sunrise,” announced his friend after the two had exchanged greetings the next morning. “I woke up an’ couldn’t get to sleep again for thinkin’ of it. I’m beginnin’ to feel panicky. I don’t for the life of me see how we’re goin’ to swing the thing till Althea gets home. We squeaked through alive yesterday, to be sure, but that was chiefly ’cause the folks was reasonable; but s’pose today a load of those nose-in-the-air city boarders should loom up in the offin’? We couldn’t hope to fool ’em with the chowder game. To begin with it’s et up; an’ if ’twarn’t they mightn’t hanker for it. To advertise tea an’ hand out chowder instead is much like givin’ a man a pair of overalls when what he wants is a collar. It makes the Dolphin sail under false colors.”

“Humph! You made ten dollars yesterday, didn’t you?” grunted Lemuel comfortably. “If you can contrive to mint money at that rate what do you care what colors the Dolphin sails under? They could be Zulu well’s Irish fur’s I was concerned.”

“Irish?”

“It’s a green Dolphin, ain’t it?”

“That’s got nothin’ to do with its nationality,” objected the literal Asaph.

“It ain’t?” scoffed Lemuel. “Did you ever see anything green sailin’ under another flag?”

“Quit your nonsense, Lemmy,” broke in his comrade impatiently. “I ain’t in no mood for it. What I’m tryin’ to tell you is that I mean to set sail today on a different tack. I’m goin’ to be prepared to ration folks properly on bread an’ tea.”

“You ain’t layin’ for another crowd this afternoon!”

“I ain’t a-goin’ to be caught nappin’ like I was yesterday,” was the grim retort. “Already I’ve got tables out on the porch spread with the green china. No automobiles are comin’ tootin’ into the driveway this afternoon an’ have me rushin’ hither an’ yon till I don’t know which way my head’s aimin’.”

“’Tain’t likely anybody’ll come.”

“That’s their hunt. I shall have the kettle bilin’ an’ my part done.”

“You’ll have to tote out somethin’ for ’em besides tea, an’ where are you goin’ to lay hands on it? As I remember it there warn’t no twelve baskets full of fragments gathered up after last night’s spree.”

“Somethin’ was salvaged from the wreck. Miss Davidson told me, though, I made a mistake to give em’ the cake an’ let ’em hack what they pleased off the loaf. She said I should ’a’ sliced it, allowin’ half a slab to each person.”

“It certainly would ’a’ gone farther.”

“But it’s such a durn stingy way to do. Besides, s’pose they were minded to have more?”

“That’s what these folks were, I guess,” grinned Lemuel drily.

“Well, I’m thankful they liked what we gave ’em well enough to want a second helpin’. ’Twill please Althea. She’s mighty proud of her cake makin’.”

Captain Gill did not reply immediately. To judge from the frown puckering his brows the conversation was not taking the turn he had anticipated.

“I kinder hoped,” ventured he at last, “you’d got your fill of tea parties an’ would be ready to shut up shop today. You see I hauled two of the handsomest lobsters you ever clapped eyes on out of the traps this mornin’ an’ I was calculatin’ we’d turn the key on the Dolphin, go over to my house, bile, an’ eat ’em.”

A reckless light blazed up in Asaph’s eyes; then flickered and went out as he answered dully:

“But I can’t, Lemmy. The tea-shop--”

“Leave it to itself.”

“It wouldn’t do.”

“Shucks! What would be the harm? Drinkin’ tea ain’t a matter of life an’ death, is it? ’Twouldn’t hurt those city swells to go without tea one afternoon, I reckon. Like as not it keeps ’em awake, anyhow,” urged the tempter.

“But Althea--”

“Huh! Don’t you s’pose she’d a sight rather have her Dolphin quit swimmin’ altogether than waller amid the high seas it foundered through yesterday?”

“I--I dunno.”

“Well, I bet you dollars to doughnuts she would. What she’s after is to make a name for herself an’ build up trade. That bedlam of yesterday ain’t a-goin’ to add to her reputation. She promised folks tea an’ a quiet hour. What they got was clam chowder an’ a hullabaloo side of which a typhoon in the Indian Ocean would be peace itself.”

“It was kinder noisy an’ confused; but I warn’t rigged for visitors,” argued Asaph. “They come on me unawares, you know that. Besides, we weren’t the ones made all the clatter. They made some racket themselves.”

“That’s just the point!” cried Captain Gill, triumphantly. “They made the devil of a noise. They didn’t want a quiet hour. So why give it to ’em?”

“I promised Althea I’d--”

“Oh, Lord! Well, go ahead then. Have it your own way since you’re bound to. I can eat my lobsters myself,” and turning on his heel Lemuel sailed out of the yard.

“There!” ejaculated he, gazing after his crony in dismay, “now he’s miffed an’ gone whifflin’ off in a rage. I wonder if I oughtn’t to run after him. When he’s mad there’s no knowin’ what he may do. Lemmy!” he bawled. “Lemmy! Hold on a minute.”

As if expecting an olive branch to be extended, the Captain slackened his pace.

“Say, Lemmy,” cautioned his anxious comrade, “don’t you go eatin’ both those lobsters just out of spite. They’ll make you sick.”

“Hope they do,” piped the little man with evident disappointment. “Hope they kill me.”

For a second Asaph stood watching the departing figure as it moved unrelentingly down the lane. Then with a sigh he came back into the kitchen.

“Well, I can’t help it,” he murmured. “If he’s determined to put an end to himself he’ll have to do it. Tore as I am ’twixt him an’ Althea an’ this blamed Dolphin, it’s a marvel I ain’t dead myself. Most likely, too, spite of tryin’ to do the right thing my trouble will go for nothin’ an’ I’ll not only miss the lobsters but find I’ve riled Lemmy all to no purpose.”

Asaph’s preparations, however, proved not to be futile, for at five o’clock a motor car containing an old gentleman and his two daughters stopped before the door and these guests were soon followed by a group of college girls.

“There, now! Ain’t I thankful I didn’t desert the ship,” soliloquized the chef. “An’ ain’t I glad I’m armed for ’em?”

The bread was at hand, the butter, too. The cake was sliced and on a plate; and on the stove steamed the water. Only the tea remained to be made. It was, to be sure, not the tea; but it was the best to be found. With tranquillity Asaph set about brewing it. Why, running a tea-shop was child’s play when one was primed and ready.

Proudly he bore the beverage in and put it down before the primmer of the two ladies, who placed her hand on the pot, drew it away with a little scream, and complimented him on the hotness of it. In sheer delight he lingered awkwardly while she turned it out and passed the cups around. It steamed up amber from the green china. Then the old gentleman, after putting in cream and a plentiful supply of sugar, gulped down a swallow, gasped, and made for the piazza rail, where he wrathfully dashed what remained in his cup over a syringa bush.

“Pa!” cried his daughters in chorus.

“What in goodness is the matter with him?” inquired Asaph. “Does he think to still spite the British that he’s heavin’ his tea overboard?”

“You--you--sir!” sputtered the visitor. “Do you call this tea? And do you consider it the part of a gentleman to play practical jokes on your patrons?”

“Jokes?” Helplessly the proprietor of the Dolphin wheeled on the lady who was nearest. “What’s got him?” he whispered.

“I said jokes,” thundered the stranger. “Do you mean to pretend you were ignorant of the contents of that teapot?”

The consternation suffusing Asaph’s honest countenance bore more emphatic testimony to his innocence than any argument could have done.

“What is it, Pa?” cried the lady with the cameo brooch of Caesar Augustus beneath her chin. “What was in the teapot?”

“I don’t know,” responded the old gentleman with dramatic solemnity. “I don’t know what it is I’ve drunk.”

“It couldn’t have been poison, could it?” demanded the elder daughter, of Asaph, in a quick undertone.

Her father caught up the word.

“Poison!” repeated he. “Maybe it was. I have no way of knowing. But if these are my last moments I mean to spend them--”

“Better spend ’em sendin’ for a doctor,” cut in Asaph. “There’s a good one over to the Inn who can be fetched in a jiffy. Meantime I’d advise you not to fly all to pieces about the stuff you swallered. You can rest easy ’twon’t hurt you. Althea always keeps everything labelled an’--”

“Was this labelled?”

“Wal,--no. The dampness had kinder peeled the writin’ off it. ’Twas just in a tin box I found on the pantry shelf. But I thought much as could be it was tea. I’d ’a’ staked my oath on it. It looked like it.”

“Well, it wasn’t,” came testily from the victim.

“What could it ’a’ been?”

During the dialogue the lady of the cameo had lifted the cover from the teapot and now sat sniffing the thin vapor that rose from it.

“I’ve smelled this smell before, Clara,” declared she. “What is it?”

The other lady took a whiff.

“M--m,” she reflected, as she drew in her nostrils. “Yes, Sophie, I have smelled it too; the odor is perfectly familiar.”

“That doesn’t help anything,” cut in her father. “The point is, have either of you ever drunk the mixture as I have just done?”

The lady of the pin, who apparently was the more daring of the two, bent over the untasted liquid in her cup; then with sudden resolution she raised it to her lips and sipped a little of it.

“Clara!” remonstrated her sister.

“It’s sage--sage tea,” announced she calmly. “I knew I couldn’t be mistaken. It’s only sage, Pa, and won’t hurt you at all; on the contrary it may do you good.”

But the old gentleman, instead of rejoicing at this eleventh-hour deliverance from a premature grave, only waxed more angry than ever. He apparently did not relish finding himself suddenly transformed from the hero of a tragedy to the dupe of a comedy.

“I’ll have you prosecuted, sir,” roared he. “I’ll warn all Cape Cod against you and your Green Dolphin. You’re a swindler, a miserable swindler. I told you, Sophie, I had no opinion of all this promiscuous tea drinking. It’s a foolish custom. When I want anything to eat I want a square meal and not a cup of milk and water.”

“You didn’t get milk and water this time, Pa,” put in Clara demurely.

“I’d have been better off if I had,” snapped her father.

“Say,” drawled a gentle voice from somewhere in the shrubbery, “you wouldn’t like to forget your troubles in a nice fresh lobster, would you?”

Beaming up from among the roses stood Lemuel Gill, jauntily dangling from either hand a great scarlet lobster.

His coming was so unexpected that even Asaph Holmes was startled. As for the fuming old gentleman, surprise cut short his anger. He gazed with astonishment down on Lemuel and the mammoth lobsters.

“Say the word,” continued Lemmy, holding one of the shellfish enticingly aloft in the air, “an’ I’ll open her up for you an’ have her on the table before you can say Jack Robinson.”

Something in her father’s eye must have warned Sophie of impending danger, for she ejaculated:

“Now, Pa, you know lobster always disagrees with you.”

“It will give you indigestion and keep you awake all night,” asserted Clara.

“I think I’ll have the lobster,” announced the old gentleman, determination crystallized into stubbornness by the opposition of his daughters.

“Pa!” came in horrified tones from Sophie and Clara.

“That’s the talk,” applauded Lemuel. “What’s the use of livin’ if we don’t get some pleasure out of it?”

As he hastened away to prepare the feast the four college girls called after him:

“We couldn’t have the other lobster, could we?”

“Sure you could, ladies!”

Nothing had been farther from Lemmy’s intentions when leaving home than to part with his trophies. The temper that had so quickly flamed up had been as quickly extinguished, and as the day wore on he decided to postpone his treat until evening and share it with Asaph, when both of them would be at leisure to enjoy it. But happening in and beholding his colleague in the toils of disaster banished every consideration but that of rescue from his mind.

“What do I care about lobsters,” sniffed he, with a contemptuous shrug, when the two men met in the kitchen. “I set no great store by ’em. Besides, I can fish more out of my traps any time.”

“’Tain’t so easy to waylay fellers like these.”

“They ain’t swimmin’ in all waters, I’ll admit,” confessed the altruist. “Still, ’tain’t probable I’ve cleared the sea of ’em. They must have sisters, cousins, or aunts. Anyhow, somethin’ had to be done with that cantankerous old codger; he was just in the mood to go out an’ run down the Dolphin if he warn’t muzzled, an’ we couldn’t let that happen. We had to square things with him, live or die.”

“I had to--you didn’t.”

“It’s all the same,” returned Lemmy.

“Lemuel, you’re the best friend I’ve got on this earth,” Asaph burst out, a wave of emotion sweeping him out of his habitual reserve.

“Pooh, Asaph. Don’t go gettin’ theatrical. Them lobsters are yours as much as mine. I was bringin’ ’em over to you, anyway.”

Thus ended, or appeared to end, the second day of the Dolphin’s career, but the effect of it was far reaching, for Asaph Holmes, intimidated by his initial failures, could no longer be prevailed upon to pursue conventional tea-shop methods and serve tea.

“I’ve had bad luck with drinks,” he explained, a remnant of old sea-faring superstition cropping up in him. “Twice now tea has proved my undoin’. The third time I’d likely poison somebody outright an’ later swing for it. No, siree, Lemmy! Nobody’s goin’ to coax me into dishin’ up more tea. We’ll leave that to Althea. I’ll stick to the things I’m used to.”

Thus it came about that the Green Dolphin was metamorphosed into a mongrel variety of eating house, where, with Lemuel Gill’s help, Asaph served chowders, fried clams, clam fritters, and the sea foods with which he was familiar, and as a result its fame travelled broadcast the length and breadth of the Cape. Lines of cars, like gigantic serpents, stretched down the narrow, grassy lane, and every seat at the tables was filled.

The owner of the place puffed and panted in frenzied attempts to care for the legion of guests.

“Land alive, Lemmy!” murmured he. “What have we set a-goin’? There’s more folks crowdin’ in here than we have chairs for. I can’t account for it no way. There ain’t any tea. I’ve explained that. An’ there ain’t no lace mats, flowers, or one of the fixin’s Althea maintained was necessary to draw trade; an’ still the people come.”

“Mebbe it’s the garden,” suggested simple-minded Lemmy Gill.

“Mebbe.”

“Or mebbe the sage tea done the trick.” The Captain darted from his small, beady eyes a quizzical glance at his friend.

“There, I’m glad you spoke of that tea,” rejoined Asaph. “I’ve been meanin’ to have a look at the syringa bush. ’Twill be interestin’ to see what effect a tonic like that has on flowers.”