Flint Part 20

and then he disappeared. At the same moment Mr. Flint took his place by her side.

Instead of joining us all, and making a jolly party, what does he do but stand in the shadow of the three big pines talking to Winifred in that insultingly low voice which seems to imply that people are listening. I did, however, catch one or two things. I distinctly heard Winifred say: "Oh, do go away!" and I heard him say: "I hope you will cease to fear me when--" There I lost it again; but what could it mean? Winifred _fear_ him!--fear _him_! She, who never feared the face of clay! There is only one explanation, and yet that is too wildly improbable!

I never saw any one more unlikely to inspire an affection. Flint by name and Flint by nature,--cold and hard as rock itself; and for a girl like Winifred! It never could be!--and yet, I confess, I don't know what to think.

After they had talked together for some time, he swung himself down the bank, pushed off the dory, and we saw him pulling rapidly into the middle of the bay.

"Well, if that doesn't beat the Dutch!" said Dr. Cricket.

"Hi, there!" cried Ben; and Brady, standing up, waved his hat, and hallooed through his hand with a volume of voice that could be heard all the way to Nepaug. But though Flint hallooed in return, he never changed his course, nor slackened his speed.

When Winifred came back to us, a color like flame burned in her cheeks, and her eyes were bright with unshed tears. No one but me noticed it. Every one fell upon her with questions.

"What's the matter?"

"Why did he leave so suddenly?"

"Why did he come at all?"

"What did he have to say for himself?"

"Was this rude, or only indifferent?"

"Don't bury me under such an avalanche of inquiry," said Winifred, with a little artificial laugh. "There really is nothing very mysterious about Mr. Flint's departure. He is not a flying Dutchman. I don't think he wanted to come at all; but he was afraid we might think something had happened if he failed to appear. Ben, the fire needs another log. Mr. Brady, did you bring your banjo, as you promised?"

This was a master-stroke,--divert and conquer,--presto, Ben was off after wood, and Philip tuning up for alleged "melodies;" but I was not so easily put off the track.

"It took him some time to make his excuses," I said to her aside. She looked up quickly.

"You are too shrewd to be put off like the others, Miss Standish; but don't say anything more,--I'm so awfully tired."

The poor girl did look used up, and I knew she was longing to get home, so I coughed violently, and asked Dr. Cricket for my shawl.

"You are taking cold," said he.

"Oh, don't mention it," I answered.

"But I will mention it," persisted the dear old goose. "You mustn't stay out in this damp air."

"Don't let me break up the party."

"The party is all ready to break up, and it's time it did."

"Oh, yes," added Winifred in a tone of relief. "Do let us be going."

So that was the end of our Flying Point expedition. I might have forgotten the episode in the shadow of the three pines, or at any rate have come to the conclusion that I had failed to catch the true meaning of the words I heard; but for the sequel.

The next morning Mr. Flint appeared on the porch as usual, but instead of the cap and flannel shirt, the knickerbockers and canvas shoes which formed his familiar Nepaug costume, he was attired in ordinary citizen's dress. I must admit that the straw hat, linen collar, and close-fitting blue suit were decidedly becoming; and, bitter as I felt against him on Winifred's account (she came down to breakfast confessing that she had not slept a wink), I was forced to admit that Mr. Flint was a gentleman,--even a gentleman with a certain distinction.

"Yes," he answered to the chorus of questions which met him, "I am going back to town to-day. Yes, as you say, Mr. Anstice, quite unexpected; but business men can't expect the vacations that fall to the lot of college professors. Dr. Cricket, I believe you said you were going on to New York to-night. I shall be glad if you will drop in and have breakfast with me to-morrow morning at 'The Chancellor.'

That will give me the latest budget of news from Nepaug. Have you any commissions, Miss Standish? What, none? I a.s.sure you, my eye for matching silks is quite trustworthy. Now you, Jim, have more confidence in me,--what can I send you from town?"

"A fishing-rod."

Flint and Winifred Anstice turned and looked at each other. What it meant, I don't know; but I saw her color up to her hair. The others had turned away for a moment to watch a schooner which had just come in sight round the Point. Flint went up close to Winifred and said: "And you--what will you have?"

"Your pardon."

"That you cannot have, for you don't need it. Will you take my thanks instead?"

"You are too generous."

"With thanks?--that is easy. They are 'the exchequer of the poor.'"

"I trust, Mr. Flint," said Professor Anstice, who, having withdrawn his attention from the schooner, could now bring it to bear nearer home,--"I trust we may not altogether lose sight of you after these pleasant days together, I shall be glad--"

"Papa!"

"Yes, my dear, I know you should be included. My daughter and I will be glad to see you at our house on Stuyvesant Square." With this he pulled out a card, but, discovering in time that it contained the address of his typewriter, he returned it to his pocket and subst.i.tuted his own.

"I thank you," said Flint, with more of human heartiness in his voice than I had ever heard before,--"I thank you, and I shall not fail to avail myself of the privilege. Here comes the carryall! Good-bye!"

A moment later he was gone. Dr. Cricket goes by the night boat this evening, and Philip Brady leaves on Monday. How dull we shall be!

CHAPTER XII

"PIPPA Pa.s.sES"

The train for New York came along duly, and Flint clambered into it as quickly as the impediment of his luggage permitted. He stowed away his belongings in the car-rack,--his bag, umbrella, and the overcoat which seemed a sarcasm upon the torrid heat of the car. A flat, square package which formed part of his luggage he treated with more respectful courtesy, giving it the window-seat, and watching with care lest it slip from the position in which he had propped it.

When the engine ceased to puff, and the bell to ring, when the wheels began to revolve and the landscape to move slowly out of sight, Flint leaned out of the window for one more glance at the dull little cl.u.s.ter of houses, beautiful only for what it connoted; then he drew in his head, and settled himself against the cushions of wool plush to which railroad companies treat their pa.s.sengers in August.

He was not in an enviable frame of mind. He felt like a fool who had been masquerading as a martyr. He had given up two weeks of vacation, of rest and comfort and health-giving breezes fresh from the uncontaminable ocean, to go back to the noisy pavements, the clanging car-bells, the noisome odors of the city,--and all for what? Simply because a jealous fisherman and a hysterically sympathetic young woman chose to foist it upon him as his duty.

Duty? Why was it his duty? What was duty after all? Did it not include doing to yourself as others would have you do unto them? Decidedly, he had been a fool. As for Tilly Marsden--here a vague and--shall I confess it?--not wholly uncomplacent pang smote him, as he remembered her red eyes, and the trembling of her hand as she set the doughnuts before him this morning. There was one who would for a day or two, at least, genuinely regret his departure. Let that be set off against the aggressive benevolence of Miss Standish's parting, indicating, as it did, unalloyed satisfaction.

From Miss Standish, his thoughts wandered to the other inmates of the White-House. Ben Bradford at this hour would be lounging over the golf field, driver in hand, making himself believe that he was taking exercise. Dr. Cricket, no doubt, was playing chess with Miss Standish (beating her, he hoped); and Winifred Anstice--what was she doing?

Leaning back, perhaps, in the hammock, as he had seen her so often lately, with one arm thrown over her head, pillowed against the ma.s.s of cardinal cushions. Was she feeling a little remorseful, and bestowing a regretful thought upon the man whom she was driving away from all the coolness and comfort which she was experiencing? If he could be sure of that, he could forgive her; but, as likely as not, she was driving cheerfully about the country behind Marsden's colt, smiling, perhaps, as she recalled the series of misadventures which had marked her acquaintance with the supercilious stranger whose civility she and her colt had put to rout.

Flint's morbid musings had taken more time than he realized, for at this point, to his surprise, the conductor thrust his head in at the door shouting, _New_ London, as if the pa.s.sengers were likely to mistake it for the older city on the other Thames. Here a boy came aboard the train with a basket laden with oranges, scalloped gingerbread, and papers of popcorn labelled, "Take some home."

The misguided youth tried to insinuate a package into Flint's lap, but was met with an abrupt demand to remove it with haste. His successor, bearing a load of New York afternoon papers, fared better. Flint selected an "Evening Post," and, leaning back in his corner, strove to find oblivion from the wriggling of the small child in front, and the wailing of the infant in the rear of the car.

Hotter and hotter, the blistering sun beat upon the station; and, as though the misery were not already great enough, an engine, panting apparently with the heat, must needs draw up close beside Flint's window.