The Woman-Haters Part 26

"Emeline, you set down. You've hove out a whole lot of hints about my not bein' a man because I run away from your house. Do you think I'd have been more of a man if I'd stayed in it? Stayed there and been a yaller dog to be kicked out of one corner and into another by you and--and that brother-in-law of yours. That's all I was--a dog."

"Humph! if a dog's the right breed--and big enough--it's his own fault if he's kicked twice."

"Not if he cares more for his master than he does for himself--'taint."

"Why, yes, it is. He can make his master respect him by provin' he ain't the kind of dog to kick. And maybe one of his masters--his real master, for he hadn't ought to have but one--might be needin' the right kind of watchdog around the house. Might be in trouble her--himself, I mean; and be hopin' and prayin' for the dog to protect her--him, I should say. And then the--"

"Emeline, what are you talkin' about?"

"Oh, nothin', nothin'. Seth, what's the use of us two settin' here at twelve o'clock at night and quarrelin' over what's past and settled? I sha'n't do it, for one. I don't want to quarrel with you."

Seth sighed. "And I don't want to quarrel with you, Emeline," he agreed.

"As you say, there's no sense in it. Dear! dear! this, when you come to think of it, is the queerest thing altogether that ever was in the world, I guess. Us two had all creation to roam 'round in, and we landed at Eastboro Twin-Lights. It seems almost as if Providence done it, for some purpose or other."

"Yes; or the other critter, for HIS purposes. How did you ever come to be keeper of a light, Seth?"

"Why--why--I don't know. I used to be in the service, 'fore I went to sea much. You remember I told you I did. And I sort of drifted down here. I didn't care much what became of me, and I wanted a lonesome hole to hide in, and this filled the bill. I've been here ever since I left--left--where I used to be. But, Emeline, how did YOU come here? You answered an advertis.e.m.e.nt, you told me; but why?"

"'Cause I wanted to do somethin' to earn my livin'. I was alone, and I rented my house and boarded. But boardin' ain't much comfort, 'specially when you board where everybody knows you, and knows your story. So I--"

"Wait a minute. You was alone, you say? Where was--was HE?"

"He?"

"Yes. You know who I mean."

He would not speak the hated name. His wife spoke it for him.

"Bennie?" she asked. "Oh, he ain't been with me for 'most two year now.

He--he went away. He's in New York now. And I was alone and I saw Miss Graham's advertis.e.m.e.nt for a housekeeper and answered it. I needed the money and--"

"Hold on! You needed the money? Why, you had money."

"Abner left me a little, but it didn't last forever. And--"

"You had more'n a little. I wrote to bank folks there and turned over my account to you. And I sent 'em a power of attorney turnin' over some stocks--you know what they was--to you, too. I done that soon's I got to Boston. Didn't they tell you?"

"Yes, they told me."

"Well, then, that ought to have helped along."

"You don't s'pose I took it, do you?"

"Why--why not?"

"Why not! Do you s'pose I'd use the money that belonged to the husband that run off and left me? I ain't that kind of a woman. The money and stocks are at the bank yet, I s'pose; anyhow they're there for all of me."

The lightkeeper's mouth opened and stayed open for seconds before he could use it as a talking machine. He could scarcely believe what he had heard.

"But--but I wanted you to have it," he gasped. "I left it for you."

"Well, I didn't take it; 'tain't likely!" with fiery indignation. "Did you think I could be bought off like a--a mean--oh, I don't know what?"

"But--but I left it at the bank--for you. What--what'll I do with it?"

"I don't know, I'm sure. You might give it to Sarah Ann Christy; I wouldn't wonder if she was less particular than I be."

Seth's guns were spiked, for the moment. He felt the blood rush to face, and his fists, as he brandished them in the air, trembled.

"I--I--you--you--" he stammered. "I--I--you think I--"

He knew that his companion would regard his agitation as an evidence of conscious guilt, and this knowledge did not help to calm him. He strode up and down the floor.

"Look out," said Mrs. Bascom, coldly, "you'll kick over the lantern."

Her husband stopped in his stride. "Darn the lantern!" he shouted.

"S-sh-sh! you'll wake up the Brown man."

This warning was more effective. But Seth was still furious.

"Emeline Bascom," he snarled, shaking his forefinger in her face, "you've said over and over that I wa'n't a man. You have, haven't you?"

She was looking at his shirt cuff, then but a few inches from her nose.

"Who sewed on that b.u.t.ton?" she asked.

This was so unexpected that his wrath was, for the instant, displaced by astonishment.

"What?" he asked. "What b.u.t.ton?"

"That one on your shirt sleeve. Who sewed it on?"

"Why, I did, of course. What a crazy question that is!"

She smiled. "I guessed you did," she said. "n.o.body but a man would sew a white b.u.t.ton on a white shirt--or one that was white once--with black thread."

He looked at the b.u.t.ton and then at her. His anger returned.

"You said I wa'n't a man, didn't you?" he demanded.

"Yes, I did. But I'll have to take part of it back. You're half a man anyhow; that sewin' proves it."

"Huh! I want to know. Well, maybe I ain't a man; maybe I'm only half a one. But I ain't a fool! I ain't a fool!"

She sighed wearily. "Well, all right," she admitted. "I sha'n't argue it."

"You needn't. I ain't--or anyhow I ain't an EVERLASTIN' fool. And n.o.body but the everlastin'est of all fools would chase Sarah Ann Christy. I didn't. That whole business was just one of your--your Bennie D.'s lies.

You know that, too."