The Woman-Haters Part 20

"Humph!" he soliloquized; "I must 'phone for the doctor at once. Either the doctor or the superintendent. If he has developed that habit, he isn't fit for this job."

He turned away. The slumberer stirred uneasily, rolled over, opened one eye, and sat up.

"Hi!" he called. "Come back here! Where you goin'?"

Brown returned, looking surprised and anxious.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, "are you awake?"

"Course I'm awake! What a fool question that is. Think I'm settin' up here and talkin' in my sleep?"

"Well, I didn't know."

"Why didn't you know? And, see here! what did you mean by sayin' you was goin' to 'phone the doctor or the superintendent, one or t'other? Yes, you said it. I heard you."

"Oh, no! you didn't."

"Tell you I did. Heard you with my own ears."

"But how could you? You weren't awake."

"Course I was awake! Couldn't have heard you unless I was, could I? What ails you? Them stings go clear through to your brains, did they?"

Again Brown shook his head.

"This is dreadful!" he murmured. "He walks in his sleep, and snores when he's awake. I MUST call the doctor."

"What--what--" The lightkeeper's wrath was interfering with his utterance. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sputtered incoherently.

"Be calm, Atkins," coaxed the a.s.sistant. "Don't complicate your diseases by adding heart trouble. Three times today I've caught you peeping at me through the crack of that door. Within fifteen seconds of the last peep I find you snoring. Therefore, I say--"

"Aw, belay! I was only--only just lookin' out to see what time it was."

"But you must have done it in your sleep, because--"

"I never. I was wide awake as you be."

"But why did you snore? You couldn't have fallen asleep between the door and the bed. And you hadn't quite reached the bed when I got here."

"I--I--I--Aw, shut up!"

Brown smiled blandly. "I will," he said, "provided you promise to keep this door shut and don't do any more spying."

"Spyin'? What do you mean by that?"

"Just what I said. You and I had a discussion concerning that same practice when I fell over the bank at the Slough a while ago. I was not spying then, but you thought I was, and you didn't like it. Now I think you are, and I don't like it."

"Wh--what--what would I be spyin' on you for? Wh--what reason would I have for doin' it?"

"No good reason; because I have no intention of visiting our new neighbors--none whatever. That being understood, perhaps you'll shut the door and keep it shut."

Seth looked sheepish and guilty.

"Well," he said, after a moment's reflection, "I beg your pardon. But I couldn't help feelin' kind of uneasy. I--I ought to know better, I s'pose; but, with a young, good-lookin' girl landed unexpected right next to us, I--I--"

"How did you know she was good-looking? I didn't mention her looks."

"No, you didn't, but--but . . . John Brown, I've been young myself, and I know that at your age most ANY girl's good-lookin'. There!"

He delivered this bit of wisdom with emphasis and a savage nod of the head. Brown had no answer ready, that is, no relevant answer.

"You go to bed and shut the door," he repeated, turning to go.

"All right, I will. But don't you forget our agreement."

"I have no intention of forgetting it."

"What ARE you goin' to do?"

"Do? What do you mean?"

"I mean what are you goin' to do now that things down here's changed, and you and me ain't alone, same as we was?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure that I sha'n't leave--clear out."

"What? Clear out? Run away and leave me alone to--to . . . By time! I didn't think you was a deserter."

The subst.i.tute a.s.sistant laughed bitterly. "You needn't worry," he said.

"I couldn't go far, even if I wanted to. I haven't any money."

"That's so." Seth was evidently relieved. "All right," he observed; "don't you worry. 'Twon't be but a couple of months anyway, and we'll fight it through together. But ain't it a shame! Ain't it an everlastin'

shame that this had to happen just as we'd come to understand each other and was so contented and friendly! Well, there's only one thing to do; that's to make the best of it for us and the worst for them. We'll keep to ourselves and pay no attention to em no more'n if they wa'n't there. We'll forget 'em altogether; hey? . . . I say we'll forget 'em altogether, won't we?"

Brown's answer was short and sharp.

"Yes," he said, and slammed the door behind him. Seth slowly shook his head before he laid it on the pillow. He was not entirely easy in his mind, even yet.

However, there was no more spying, and the lightkeeper did not mention the bungalow tenants when he appeared at supper time. After the meal he bolted to the lights, and was on watch in the tower when his helper retired.

Early the next afternoon Brown descended the path to the boathouse. He had omitted his swim the day before. Now, however, he intended to have it. Simply because those female nuisances had seen fit to intrude where they had no business was no reason why he should resign all pleasure. He gave a quick glance upward at the opposite bank as he reached the wharf.

There was no sign of life about the bungalow.

He entered the boathouse, undressed, and donned his bathing suit. In a few minutes he was ready, and, emerging upon the wharf, walked briskly back along the sh.o.r.e of the creek to where it widened into the cove.

There he plunged in, and was soon luxuriating in the cool, clear water.

He swam with long, confident strokes, those of a practiced swimmer. This was worth while. It was the one place where he could forget that he was no longer the only son of a wealthy father, heir to a respected name--which was NOT Brown--a young man with all sorts of brilliant prospects; could forget that he was now a disinherited vagabond, a loafer who had been unable to secure a respectable position, an outcast.

He swam and dove and splashed, rejoicing in his strength and youth and the freedom of all outdoors.