The Portygee Part 52

"Hard on Al. Did it seem to you as if I was a little too much of the bucko mate to the boy? Did I drive him too hard? Was I unreasonable?"

The answer was prompt. "No, Cap'n Lote," replied Keeler.

"You mean that? ... Um-hm... . Well, sometimes seems as if I might have been. You see, Labe, when he first come I--Well, I cal'late I was consider'ble prejudiced against him. Account of his father, you understand."

"Sartin. Sure. I understand."

"It took me a good while to get reconciled to the Portygee streak in him. It chafed me consider'ble to think there was a foreign streak in our family. The Snows have been straight Yankee for a good long while.

... Fact is, I--I never got really reconciled to it. I kept bein'

fearful all the time that that streak, his father's streak, would break out in him. It never did, except of course in his poetry and that sort of foolishness, but I was always scared 'twould, you see. And now--now that this has happened I--I kind of fret for fear that I may have let my notions get ahead of my fair play. You think I did give the boy a square deal, Labe?"

"Sure thing, Cap'n."

"I'm glad of that... . And--and you cal'late he wasn't--wasn't too prejudiced against me? I don't mean along at first, I mean this last year or two."

Laban hesitated. He wished his answer to be not an overstatement, but the exact truth.

"I think," he said, with emphasis, "that Al was comin' to understand you better every day he lived, Cap'n. Yes, and to think more and more of you, too. He was gettin' older, for one thing--older, more of a man--yes, yes."

Captain Zelotes smiled sadly. "He was more boy than man by a good deal yet," he observed. "Well, Labe, he's gone and I'm just beginnin' to realize how much of life for me has gone along with him. He'd been doin'

better here in the office for the last two or three years, seemed to be catchin' on to business better. Didn't you think so, Labe?"

"Sartin. Yes indeed. Fust-rate, fust-rate."

"No, not first-rate. He was a long ways from a business man yet, but I did think he was doin' a lot better. I could begin to see him pilotin'

this craft after I was called ash.o.r.e. Now he's gone and ... well, I don't see much use in my fightin' to keep it afloat. I'm gettin' along in years--and what's the use?"

It was the first time Laban had ever heard Captain Zelotes refer to himself as an old man. It shocked him into sharp expostulation.

"Nonsense!" he exclaimed. "You ain't old enough for the sc.r.a.p heap by a big stretch. And besides, he made his fight, didn't he? He didn't quit, Al didn't, and he wouldn't want us to. No sir-ee, he wouldn't! No, sir, no! ... I--I hope you'll excuse me, Cap'n Lote. I--declare it must seem to you as if I was talkin' pretty fresh. I swan I'm sorry. I am so ... sorry; yes, yes, I be."

The captain was not offended. He waved the apologies aside.

"So you think it's worth while my fightin' it out, do you, Labe?" he asked, reflectively.

"I--I think it's what you ought to do anyhow, whether it's worth while or not. The whole world's fightin'. Uncle Sam's fightin'. Al was fightin'. You're fightin'. I'm fightin'. It's a darn sight easier to quit, a darn sight, but--but Al didn't quit. And--and we mustn't--not if we can help it," he added, drawing a hand across his forehead.

His agitation seemed to surprise Captain Zelotes. "So all hands are fightin', are they, Labe," he observed. "Well, I presume likely there's some truth in that. What's your particular fight, for instance?"

The little bookkeeper looked at him for an instant before replying.

The captain's question was kindly asked, but there was, or so Laban imagined, the faintest trace of sarcasm in its tone. That trace decided him. He leaned across the desk.

"My particular fight?" he repeated. "You--you want to know what 'tis, Cap'n Lote? All right, all right, I'll tell you."

And without waiting for further questioning and with, for him, surprisingly few repet.i.tions, he told of his "enlistment" to fight John Barleycorn for the duration of the war. Captain Zelotes listened to the very end in silence. Laban mopped his forehead with a hand which shook much as it had done during the interview with Albert in the room above the shoe store.

"There--there," he declared, in conclusion, "that's my fight, Cap'n Lote. Al and I, we--we kind of went into it together, as you might say, though his enlistin' was consider'ble more heroic than mine--yes indeed, I should say so ... yes, yes, yes. But I'm fightin' too ... er ...

I'm fightin' too."

Captain Zelotes pulled his beard.

"How's the fight goin', Labe?" he asked, quietly.

"Well--well, it's kind of--kind of spotty, as you might say. There's spots when I get along fairly smooth and others when--well, when it's pretty rough goin'. I've had four hard spots since Al went away, but there's two that was the hardest. One was along Christmas and New Year time; you know I 'most generally had one of my--er--spells along about then. And t'other is just now; I mean since we got word about--about Al. I don't suppose likely you surmised it, Cap'n, but--but I'd come to think a lot of that boy--yes, I had. Seems funny to you, I don't doubt, but it's so. And since the word come, you know--I--I--well, I've had some fight, some fight. I--I don't cal'late I've slept more'n four hours in the last four nights--not more'n that, no. Walkin' helps me most, seems so. Last night I walked to West Orham."

"To West Orham! You WALKED there? Last NIGHT?"

"Um-hm. Long's I can keep walkin' I--I seem to part way forget--to forget the stuff, you know. When I'm alone in my room I go 'most crazy--pretty nigh loony... . But there! I don't know why I got to talkin' like this to you, Cap'n Lote. You've got your troubles and--"

"Hold on, Labe. Does Rachel know about your fight?"

"No. No, no. Course she must notice how long I've been--been straight, but I haven't told her. I want to be sure I'm goin' to win before I tell her. She's been disappointed times enough before, poor woman... .

There, Cap'n Lote, don't let's talk about it any more. Please don't get the notion that I'm askin' for pity or anything like that. And don't think I'm comparin' what I call my fight to the real one like Al's.

There's nothin' much heroic about me, eh? No, no, I guess not. Tell that to look at me, eh?"

Captain Zelotes rose and laid his big hand on his bookkeeper's shoulder.

"Don't you believe it, Labe," he said. "I'm proud of you... . And, I declare, I'm ashamed of myself... . Humph! ... Well, to-night you come home with me and have supper at the house."

"Now, now, Cap'n Lote--"

"You do as I tell you. After supper, if there's any walkin' to be done--if you take a notion to frog it to Orham or San Francisco or somewheres--maybe I'll go with you. Walkin' may be good for my fight, too; you can't tell till you try... . There, don't argue, Labe. I'm skipper of this craft yet and you'll obey my orders; d'you hear?"

The day following the receipt of the fateful telegram the captain wrote a brief note to Fletcher Fosd.i.c.k. A day or two later he received a reply. Fosd.i.c.k's letter was kindly and deeply sympathetic. He had been greatly shocked and grieved by the news.

Young Speranza seemed to me, (he wrote) in my one short interview with him, to be a fine young fellow. Madeline, poor girl, is almost frantic.

She will recover by and by, recovery is easier at her age, but it will be very, very hard for you and Mrs. Snow. You and I little thought when we discussed the problem of our young people that it would be solved in this way. To you and your wife my sincerest sympathy. When you hear particulars concerning your grandson's death, please write me. Madeline is anxious to know and keeps asking for them. Mrs. Fosd.i.c.k is too much concerned with her daughter's health to write just now, but she joins me in sympathetic regards.

Captain Zelotes took Mrs. Fosd.i.c.k's sympathy with a grain of salt. When he showed this letter to his wife he, for the first time, told her of the engagement, explaining that his previous silence had been due to Albert's request that the affair be kept a secret for the present.

Olive, even in the depth of her sorrow, was greatly impressed by the grandeur of the alliance.

"Just think, Zelotes," she exclaimed, "the Fosd.i.c.k girl--and our Albert engaged to marry her! Why, the Fosd.i.c.ks are awful rich, everybody says so. Mrs. Fosd.i.c.k is head of I don't know how many societies and clubs and things in New York; her name is in the paper almost every day, so another New York woman told me at Red Cross meetin' last summer. And Mr.

Fosd.i.c.k has been in politics, way up in politics."

"Um-hm. Well, he's reformed lately, I understand, so we mustn't hold that against him."

"Why, Zelotes, what DO you mean? How can you talk so? Just think what it would have meant to have our Albert marry a girl like Madeline Fosd.i.c.k."

The captain put his arm about her and gently patted her shoulder.

"There, there, Mother," he said, gently, "don't let that part of it fret you."

"But, Zelotes," tearfully, "I don't understand. It would have been such a great thing for Albert."

"Would it? Well, maybe. Anyhow, there's no use worryin' about it now.

It's done with--ended and done with ... same as a good many other plans that's been made in the world."