The Portygee Part 6

Seems he used to know this--Speranza rascal--when Speranza was younger and more decent--if he ever was really decent, which I doubt. But this lawyer man was his friend then and about the only one he really had when he was hurt. There was plenty of make-believe friends hangin' on, like pilot-fish to a shark, for what they could get by spongin' on him, but real friends were scarce."

"And the boy--"

"For the Lord sakes, Mother, don't keep sayin' 'The boy,' 'the boy,'

over and over again like a talkin' machine! Let me finish about the father first. This Weis--er--thingamajig--the lawyer, had quite a talk with Speranza afore he died, or while he was dyin'; he only lived a few hours after the accident and was out of his head part of that. But he said enough to let Weiss--er--er--Oh, why CAN'T I remember that Portygee's name?--to let him know that he'd like to have him settle up what was left of his affairs, and to send word to us about--about the boy. There! I hope you feel easier, Mother; I've got 'round to 'the boy'

at last."

"But why did he want word sent to us, Zelotes? He never wrote a line to us in his life."

"You bet he didn't!" bitterly; "he knew better. Why did he want word sent now? The answer to that's easy enough. 'Cause he wanted to get somethin' out of us, that's the reason. From what that lawyer could gather, and from what he's found out since, there ain't money enough for the boy to stay another six weeks at that school, or anywhere else, unless the young feller earns it himself. And, leavin' us out of the count, there isn't a relation this side of the salt pond. There's probably a million or so over there in Portygee-land," with a derisive sniff; "those foreigners breed like flies. But THEY don't count."

"But did he want word sent to us about the--"

"Sshh! I'm tellin' you, Olive, I'm tellin' you. He wanted word sent because he was in hopes that we--you and I, Mother--would take that son of his in at our house here and give him a home. The cheek of it! After what he'd done to you and me, blast him! The solid bra.s.s nerve of it!"

He stormed up and down the room. His wife did not seem nearly so much disturbed as he at the thought of the Speranza presumption. She looked anxious--yes, but she looked eager, too, and her gaze was fixed upon her husband's face.

"Oh!" she said, softly. "Oh! ... And--and what did you say, Zelotes?"

"What did I say? What do you suppose I said? I said no, and I said it good and loud, too."

Olive made no comment. She turned away her head, and the captain, who now in his turn was watching her, saw a suspicious gleam, as of moisture, on her cheek. He stopped his pacing and laid a hand on her shoulder.

"There, there, Mother," he said, gently. "Don't cry. He's comin'."

"Comin'?" She turned pale. "Comin'?" she repeated. "Who?"

"That boy! ... Sshh! shh!" impatiently. "Now don't go askin' me questions or tellin' me what I just said I said. I SAID the right thing, but--Well, hang it all, what else could I DO? I wrote the boy--Albert--a letter and I wrote the boss of the school another one. I sent a check along for expenses and--Well, he'll be here 'most any day now, I shouldn't wonder. And WHAT in the devil are we goin' to do with him?"

His wife did not reply to this outburst. She was trembling with excitement.

"Is--is his name Albert?" she faltered.

"Um-hm. Seems so."

"Why, that's your middle name! Do you--do you s'pose Janie could have named him for--for you?"

"I don't know."

"Of course," with some hesitation, "it may be she didn't. If she'd named him Zelotes--"

"Good heavens, woman! Isn't one name like that enough in the family?

Thank the Lord we're spared two of 'em! But there! he's comin'. And when he gets here--then what?"

Olive put her arm about her big husband.

"I hope--yes, I'm sure you did right, Zelotes, and that all's goin' to turn out to be for the best."

"Are you? Well, _I_ ain't sure, not by a thousand fathom."

"He's Janie's boy."

"Yes. And he's that play-actor's boy, too. One Speranza pretty nigh ruined your life and mine, Olive. What'll this one do? ... Well, G.o.d knows, I suppose likely, but He won't tell. All we can do is wait and see. I tell you honest I ain't very hopeful."

CHAPTER III

A brisk rap on the door; then a man's voice.

"h.e.l.lo, there! Wake up."

Albert rolled over, opened one eye, then the other and raised himself on his elbow.

"Eh? Wh-what?" he stammered.

"Seven o'clock! Time to turn out."

The voice was his grandfather's. "Oh--oh, all right!" he answered.

"Understand me, do you?"

"Yes--yes, sir. I'll be right down."

The stairs creaked as Captain Zelotes descended them. Albert yawned cavernously, stretched and slid one foot out of bed. He drew it back instantly, however, for the sensation was that of having thrust it into a bucket of cold water. The room had been cold the previous evening; plainly it was colder still now. The temptation was to turn back and go to sleep again, but he fought against it. Somehow he had a feeling that to disregard his grandfather's summons would be poor diplomacy.

He set his teeth and, tossing back the bed clothes, jumped to the floor.

Then he jumped again, for the floor was like ice. The window was wide open and he closed it, but there was no warm radiator to cuddle against while dressing. He missed his compulsory morning shower, a miss which did not distress him greatly. He shook himself into his clothes, soused his head and neck in a basin of ice water poured from a pitcher, and, before brushing his hair, looked out of the window.

It was a sharp winter morning. The wind had gone down, but before subsiding it had blown every trace of mist or haze from the air, and from his window-sill to the horizon every detail was clean cut and distinct. He was looking out, it seemed, from the back of the house. The roof of the kitchen extension was below him and, to the right, the high roof of the barn. Over the kitchen roof and to the left he saw little rolling hills, valleys, cranberry swamps, a pond. A road wound in and out and, scattered along it, were houses, mostly white with green blinds, but occasionally varied by the gray of unpainted, weathered shingles. A long, low-spreading building a half mile off looked as if it might be a summer hotel, now closed and shuttered. Beyond it was a cl.u.s.ter of gray shanties and a gleam of water, evidently a wharf and a miniature harbor. And, beyond that, the deep, brilliant blue of the sea.

Brown and blue were the prevailing colors, but, here and there, clumps and groves of pines gave splashes of green.

There was an exhilaration in the crisp air. He felt an unwonted liveliness and a desire to be active which would have surprised some of his teachers at the school he had just left. The depression of spirits of which he had been conscious the previous night had disappeared along with his premonitions of unpleasantness. He felt optimistic this morning. After giving his curls a rake with the comb, he opened the door and descended the steep stairs to the lower floor.

His grandmother was setting the breakfast table. He was a little surprised to see her doing it. What was the use of having servants if one did the work oneself? But perhaps the housekeeper was ill.

"Good morning," he said.

Mrs. Snow, who had not heard him enter, turned and saw him. When he crossed the room, she kissed him on the cheek.

"Good morning, Albert," she said. "I hope you slept well."

Albert replied that he had slept very well indeed. He was a trifle disappointed that she made no comment on his promptness in answering his grandfather's summons. He felt such promptness deserved commendation. At school they rang two bells at ten minute intervals, thus giving a fellow a second chance. It had been a point of senior etiquette to accept nothing but that second chance. Here, apparently, he was expected to jump at the first. There was a matter of course about his grandmother's att.i.tude which was disturbing.

She went on setting the table, talking as she did so.

"I'm real glad you did sleep," she said. "Some folks can hardly ever sleep the first night in a strange room. Zelotes--I mean your grandpa--'s gone out to see to the horse and feed the hens and the pig.

He'll be in pretty soon. Then we'll have breakfast. I suppose you're awful hungry."