Cap'n Dan's Daughter Part 41

She asked my advice and said you would a.s.sist, I think. I shall look forward to that a.s.sistance. Good-night, Doane. Glad to have met you, I'm sure."

He strolled out. Upon reaching his room he discovered that his cigar case was empty. Hapgood not being on hand and, feeling the need of a bedtime smoke, he tiptoed down the stairs and through the back hall into the library. The room was dark, but sufficient light shone between the closed curtains of the drawing-room to enable him to locate Captain Dan's box. Silently and very slowly he refilled the case.

John Doane and Gertrude, alone at last, looked at each other. The former was very solemn. Gertrude, quite aware of the solemnity, but not aware of its princ.i.p.al cause--her father's impolitic disclosure of his apprehensions concerning herself--was nervous and a bit impatient.

"Well, John," she asked, after a moment's wait, "aren't you going to say anything to me even now?"

John tried his best to smile. It was a poor attempt.

"Why, yes," he said slowly, "I came all the way from Boston to see you and talk to you, Gertie. There is no reason why I shouldn't say--whatever there is to say, I suppose."

Gertrude looked at him. The tone in which this speech was delivered, and the speech itself--the first part of it, especially--amazed and hurt her. Incidentally, her temper having been sorely tried already that evening by Mr. Hungerford, it made her angry.

"All the way from Boston," she repeated. "Well, I never knew you to complain in that way before. I'm sorry to have caused you so much trouble."

"It wasn't a trouble, Gertie. You know I would go around the world for you."

"Then why speak of coming all the way from Boston? Whose fault was it, pray? Did I ask you to come?"

And now, John, who had been fighting his own temper for some time, grew angry.

"You did not," he declared. "But I judge it was time I did."

"Indeed! Indeed! Why?"

"Well--well, for various reasons. Of course, had I known my coming would interfere with your--your precious Chapter affairs and--"

"John, I had to go to that meeting. If you had written you were coming I shouldn't have gone. I should have made other arrangements. But you didn't write."

"I wrote every day."

"Yes, but you did not write you were coming here."

"I didn't think it was necessary. You wrote every day, too, but you didn't write--you didn't write--"

"What?"

"A good many things that--that I have learned since I came here."

"Indeed! What things? How did you learn them?"

"I--" John hesitated. To bring Captain Dan's name into the conversation would be, he felt, disloyal. And it would surely mean trouble for the captain. "I--I learned them with my own eyes," he declared. "I could see. Gertie, I can't understand you."

"And I don't understand you. I told you, at the only moment we have had together, I told you then that I would explain about the Chapter. I said that I must go or everything would be spoiled. You very nearly spoiled it by coming as you did."

Mr. Doane's expression changed. It had softened when she reminded him of the whispered word in the drawing-room. The last sentence, however, brought his frown back again.

"Well!" he exclaimed. "Well--humph! that's easily remedied. I came in a hurry and I can go the same way."

"John! John, what do you mean? How can you speak so to me! Would you go away now that--that--"

"You wouldn't miss me so much, I should imagine. Cousin Percy will be here, and you and he seem to be very confidential and friendly, to say the least."

Gertrude gasped. She was beginning to understand, or imagined that she was. She laughed merrily.

"John! Why, John!" she cried. "You're not jealous! YOU!"

John looked rather foolish. "No-o," he admitted doubtfully, "I'm not jealous. Of course I'm not, but--"

"But what? Don't you trust me, John? Don't you?"

"Of course I do. You know I do, but--See here, Gertie, you said you were going to explain--to explain something or other. Do it, then. I think I am ent.i.tled to an explanation."

But Gertrude's merriment had vanished. Her eyes flashed.

"I shall not explain," she said. "You don't trust me. I can see you don't."

"I do. I do, Gertie, really; but--but--"

"But you don't. You think--you think--oh, I don't know WHAT you think!

No, I shall not explain, not now, at all events. Good-night!"

She hastened from the room. John ran after her.

"Gertie," he cried, "you're not going? You're not going to leave me in this way, without a word? I do trust you. I only said--"

"It wasn't what you said; it was the way you said it. I am going. I am shocked--yes, and hurt, John. I shall not speak to you again to-night.

To-morrow perhaps, if you beg my pardon and I am really sure you do trust me, I may tell you--what I was going to tell. But not now. I--I didn't think you would treat me so."

She put her handkerchief to her eyes and hurried up the stairs. John, standing irresolute on the lower step, hesitated, fighting down his own pride and sense of injury. That moment of hesitation was freighted with consequence. Then:

"Gertie," he cried, hastening after her, "Gertie, wait! I do beg your pardon. I'm sorry. I didn't mean--"

But it was too late. Gertie's chamber door closed. John went slowly up to his own room, the room to which the butler had carried his bag. A few minutes after he had gone the curtains between the library and drawing-room parted and Mr. Hungerford appeared. He was very cautious as he, too, ascended the stairs. But his expression was a pleasant one; there was no doubt that Cousin Percy was pleased about something.

CHAPTER XI

Captain Dan stirred uneasily. In his dream he had navigated the Bluebird, his old schooner, to a point somewhere between Hatteras and Race Point light. It was night all at once, although it had been day only a few minutes before, and Azuba, who, it seemed, was cook aboard the Bluebird, was washing breakfast dishes in the skipper's stateroom.

She was making a good deal of noise about it, jingling pans and thumping the foot of the berth with a stick of stove wood. The captain was about to remonstrate with her when Serena suddenly appeared--her presence on the schooner was a complete surprise--to ask him if he had not heard the bell, and why didn't he come into the house, because dinner was ready.

Then Azuba stopped pounding the foot of the berth and began to thump him instead.

"Don't you hear the bell?" repeated Serena. "Wake up! Daniel! Daniel!"

Daniel stirred and opened his eyes. The Bluebird had vanished, so had Azuba, but the thumps and jingles were real enough.

"Hey?" he mumbled, drowsily. "Stop poundin' me, won't you?"