Cap'n Dan's Daughter Part 61

Serena bore the fatigue of the journey well and the sight of her old home, with the table set for supper, plants in the dining-room windows, and all the little familiar touches which Azuba's thoughtfulness had supplied, served to bring her the contentment and happiness she had been longing for. Each day she gained in health and strength, and the rest and freedom from care, together with the early hours--they retired at nine-thirty each night--were doing wonders for her. Her husband was delighted at the improvement. He was delighted with everything, the familiar scenes, the smell of the salt marshes, and of the sea, the clear, cold air, the meeting with friends and acquaintances, the freedom from society--he had not even unpacked his dress suit, vowing to Gertrude that it might stay buried till Judgment, he wouldn't resurrect it--all these things delighted his soul. And now, on the Sat.u.r.day morning at the end of his first week at home, as he sat in his arm chair behind the counter of the Metropolitan Store, looking at the view through the windows and at the store itself, he was a happy man. There was one flaw in his happiness, but that he had forgotten for the moment.

He glanced about him, took a long pull at his pipe, and said aloud: "Well, if I didn't know 'twas the same place, I wouldn't have known it.

I never saw such a change in my life."

Nathaniel Bangs, standing by the front window, turned.

"I don't see much difference," he said. "The old town looks about the same to me."

The captain smilingly shook his head.

"'Tain't the town," he observed. "It's this store. Nate, you're a wonder, that's what you are, a wonder."

For, if the view had not changed, if it was the same upon which Daniel Dott had looked for many winters, through the windows of that very store, the store itself had changed materially. Mr. Bangs had wrought the change and it was distinctly a change for the better. The stock, and there was a surprising deal of it, was new and attractively displayed.

The contents of the showcases were varied and up-to-date. Neatly lettered placards calling attention to special bargains hung in places where they were most likely to be seen. There was a spruce, swept, and garnished look to the establishment; as Azuba said when she first saw it after her return, it looked as if it had had a shave and a hair cut. In other words, the Metropolitan Store appeared wide awake and prosperous, as if it was making money--which it was.

It was not making a great deal, of course, as yet. This was the dullest season of the year. But the Christmas trade had been good and, thanks to Nathaniel's enterprise and effort, the scallop fishermen, the quahaug rakers, and the members of the life-saving crews were once more buying their outfits at the Metropolitan Store instead of patronizing Mr.

J. Cohen and The Emporium. Mr. Bangs was already selecting his summer stock; and his plans for the disposal of that stock were definite and business-like.

"If you don't say no, Cap'n Dott," he had explained, "I'm going to try putting on a horse and wagon this summer. There's no reason why we shouldn't get the cottage trade down at the Neck, and all along sh.o.r.e.

Jim Bartlett, Sam's older brother, would like the job driving that wagon. He's smart as a whip, Jim is, and he's willing to work on commission. Let him start out twice a week with a load of hats and oilskins and belts and children's shovels and pails--all the sort of stuff the boarders and cottage folks buy and that they'd buy more of if it was brought right to their doors--and he'll catch a heap of trade that goes to Bayport or Wellmouth or The Emporium now. What he don't carry he can take orders for and deliver next trip. If you don't say no, Cap'n Dott, I'm going to try it. And I'll bet a month's wages it's a go."

Captain Dan had not said no. On the contrary he expressed enthusiastic approval of his manager's plans and enterprise. Also, he had been thinking of some adequate reward, some means of proving his grat.i.tude real.

"You're a wonder, Nate," repeated Daniel. "I don't know how to get even with you, but I've got an idea. I've talked it over with Serena already and she's for it. I want to ask Gertie's opinion and if she says yes, and she will, I'm almost sartin, I'll tell you what it is."

"All right, Cap'n. Don't you worry yourself trying to 'get even,' as you call it, with me. I've enjoyed being in charge here. I always said there was money in a store in Trumet, if it was run as it should be. One year more and I can show you a few things, I'll bet."

"You've shown 'em already. Land of love! I should say you had."

"Give me time and I'll show you more. We have only begun.... Why, what's the matter? What made you look that way?"

"Oh, nothin', nothin'. Only your sayin' we'd only begun reminded me of--of other things. I don't suppose I'll ever hear 'only begun' without shiverin'. Humph! there's some kind of beginnin's I hope I'll never hear of again. Gertie been in this mornin', has she? She isn't in the house."

"No, I saw her go down street a little while ago. Gone for her morning walk, perhaps. How is Mrs. Dott to-day?"

"Fine. Tip top. I ain't seen her so satisfied with life for two months or more. She's gettin' better every minute."

"That's good. Contented to be back in Trumet, is she?"

"Seems to be. _I_ am; you can bet high on that."

"And--er--Gertie, is she contented, too?"

This question touched directly the one uncertainty, the one uncomfortable doubt in the captain's mind. He looked keenly at the questioner.

"What makes you ask that?" he demanded.

"Oh, nothing much. She seems changed, that's all. She used to be so full of spirits, and so bright and lively. Now she is quiet and doesn't talk much. Looks thinner, too, and as if something was troubling her. Perhaps it is my imagination. When's John Doane coming down? 'Most time for him to be spending a Sunday with you, ain't it? Engaged folks don't usually stay apart more than a week, especially when the one is as near the other as Boston is to Trumet."

Daniel knocked the ashes from his pipe into the wastebasket.

"Oh, oh, John'll be along pretty soon, I shouldn't wonder," he said hastily. "He--he's pretty busy these days, I suppose."

"Nice thing his bein' taken into the firm, after Mr. Griffin died, wasn't it. Well, he's a pretty smart fellow, John is, and he deserves to get ahead. Did he tell you the particulars about it?"

"No. No, not all of 'em. Is that a customer in the other room?"

Mr. Bangs hurried away to attend to the customer. The captain seized the opportunity to make a timely exit. He went into the house, remained a while with his wife, and then returned. Nathaniel had gone on an order-taking trip and Sam Bartlett, the boy, was in charge. Just as Daniel entered the store from the side door Gertrude came in at the front.

"h.e.l.lo, Daddy," she said. "All alone?"

"Not quite, but I'd just as soon be. Sam, go into the other room; I'll hail you if I need you. Gertie, come here. I want to have a talk with you."

Gertrude came. She took her old position, perching upon the arm of her father's chair, with her own arm about his neck.

"Gertie," began the captain, "what would you think of my makin' Nate Bangs a partner in this concern?"

Gertrude uttered an exclamation of delight.

"Splendid!" she cried. "Just what I wanted you to do. I thought of it, but I said nothing because I wanted you to say it first. It will be just the right thing."

"Ye-es, so it seemed to me. All that's good here in this store is due to Nathaniel. He's made a real, live business out of a remains that was about ready for the undertaker. I ought to give him the whole craft, but--but I hate to."

"You could. You could sell out to him and still have sufficient income to live upon in comfort here in Trumet. You might sell out, retire, and be a gentleman of leisure, one of the town's rich men. You could do that perfectly well."

Daniel grunted in disgust.

"Don't talk that way," he repeated. "I've had enough gentleman of leisure foolishness to last me through. What do you think I am; a second-hand copy of Cousin Percy, without the gilt edges? _I_ might be kissin' Zuba by mistake if I did that."

The story of that eventful evening and the "mistake" had been told him by his daughter since the return home. Gertrude smiled.

"I guess not," she declared. "You are not in the habit of 'dining out'--in Trumet, at any rate. Have you told Mother?"

"Yes, I told her. I don't think she was much surprised. She'd guessed as much before, so I gathered from what she said."

"No doubt; the explanation was obvious enough. Well, Daddy, I did not expect you would be contented to retire and do nothing. That is not your conception of happiness. But, if you do take Mr. Bangs into partnership, let him manage the entire business. You can be in the store as much as you wish, and be interested in it, so long as you don't interfere. And you and Mother can be together and take little trips together once in a while. You mustn't stay in Trumet ALL the time; if you do you will grow discontented again."

"No, no, I shan't. Serena may, perhaps, but I shan't."

"Yes, you will. You both have seen a little of outside life now, and it isn't all bad, though you may think so just at this time. You mustn't settle down and grow narrow like some of the people here in Trumet--Abigail Mayo, for instance."

"Humph! I'd have to swallow a self-windin' talkin' machine before I could get to be like Abigail Mayo. But you may be right, Gertie; perhaps you are. See here, though, how about you, yourself? You've seen a heap more of what you call outside life than your ma and I have. How are YOU goin' to keep contented here in Trumet?"

"Oh, I shall be contented. Don't worry about me."

"But I do worry, and your mother is beginnin' to worry, too. There's somethin' troublin' you; both of us see that plain enough. See here, Gertie, you ain't--you ain't feelin' bad about--about leavin' that Cousin Percy, are you?"

The young lady's cheeks reddened, but with indignation, not embarra.s.sment.