"Bully for you, Grandfather!" he exclaimed."You couldn't do a better thing for Labe or for the firm.And he deserves it, too.""Ye-es, I think he does.Labe's a mighty faithful, capable feller, and now that he's sworn off on those vacations of his he can be trusted anywheres.Yes, I've as good as made up my mind to take him in.Of course," with the twinkle in evidence once more, "Issachar'll be a little mite jealous, but we'll have to bear up under that as best we can.""I wonder what Labe will say when you tell him?""He'll say yes.I'll tell Rachel first and she'll tell him to say it.And then I'll tell 'em both I won't do it unless they agree to get married.I've always said I didn't want to die till I'd been to that weddin'.I want to hear Rachel tell the minister she'll 'obey' Labe.Ho, ho!""Do you suppose they ever will be married?""Why, yes, I kind of think so.I shouldn't wonder if they would be right off now if it wasn't that Rachel wouldn't think of givin' up keepin' house for your grandmother.She wouldn't do that and Labe wouldn't want her to.I've got to fix that somehow.Perhaps they could live along with us.Land knows there's room enough.They're all right, those two.Kind of funny to look at, and they match up in size like a rubber boot and a slipper, but I declare I don't know which has got the most common-sense or the biggest heart.And 'twould be hard to tell which thinks the most of you, Al....
Eh? Why, it's after half-past twelve o'clock! Olive'll be for combin' our topknots with a belayin' pin if we keep her dinner waitin' like this."As they were putting on their coats the captain spoke again.
"I hadn't finished what I was sayin' to you when Labe came in," he observed."'Twasn't much account; just a sort of confession, and they say that's good for the soul.I was just goin' to say that when you first came here I was prejudiced against you, not only because your father and I didn't agree, but because he was what he was.Because he was--was--"Albert finished the sentence for him.
"A Portygee," he said.
"Why, yes, that's what I called him.That's what I used to call about everybody that wasn't born right down here in Yankeeland.Iused to be prejudiced against you because you was what I called a half-breed.I'm sorry, Al.I'm ashamed.See what you've turned out to be.I declare, I--""Shh! shh! Don't, Grandfather.When I came here I was a little snob, a conceited, insufferable little--""Here, here! Hold on! No, you wa'n't, neither.Or if you was, you was only a boy.I was a man, and I ought to--""No, I'm going to finish.Whatever I am now, or whatever I may be.
I owe to you, and to Grandmother, and Rachel and Laban--and Helen.
You made me over between you.I know that now."They walked home instead of riding in the new car.Captain Zelotes declared he had hung on to that steering wheel all the forenoon and he was afraid if he took it again his fingers would grow fast to the rim.As they emerged from the office into the open air, he said:
"Al, regardin' that makin'-over business, I shouldn't be surprised if it was a kind of--er--mutual thing between you and me.We both had some prejudices to get rid of, eh?""Perhaps so.I'm sure I did."
"And I'm sartin sure I did.And the war and all that came with it put the finishin' touches to the job.When I think of what the thousands and thousands of men did over there in those hell-holes of trenches, men with names that run all the way from Jones and Kelly to--er--""Speranza."
"Yes, and Whiskervitch and the land knows what more.When I think of that I'm ready to take off my hat to 'em and swear I'll never be so narrow again as to look down on a feller because he don't happen to be born in Ostable County.There's only one thing I ask of 'em, and that is that when they come here to live--to stay--under our laws and takin' advantage of the privileges we offer 'em--they'll stop bein' Portygees or Russians or Polacks or whatever they used to be or their folks were, and just be Americans--like you, Al.""That's what we must work for now, Grandfather.It's a big job, but it must be done."They walked on in silence for a time.Then the captain said:
"It's a pretty fine country, after all, ain't it, Albert?"Albert looked about him over the rolling hills, the roofs of the little town, the sea, the dunes, the pine groves, the scene which had grown so familiar to him and which had become in his eyes so precious.
"It is MY country," he declared, with emphasis.
His grandfather caught his meaning.
"I'm glad you feel that way, son," he said, "but 'twasn't just South Harniss I meant then.I meant all of it, the whole United States.It's got its faults, of course, lots of 'em.And if I was an Englishman or a Frenchman I'd probably say it wasn't as good as England or France, whichever it happened to be.That's all right;I ain't findin' any fault with 'em for that--that's the way they'd ought to feel.But you and I, Al, we're Americans.So the rest of the world must excuse us if we say that, take it by and large, it's a mighty good country.We've planned for it, and worked for it, and fought for it, and we know.Eh?""Yes.We know."
"Yes.And no howlin', wild-eyed bunch from somewhere else that haven't done any of these things are goin' to come here and run it their way if we can help it--we Americans; eh?"Alberto Miguel Carlos Speranza, American, drew a long breath.
"No!" he said, with emphasis.
"You bet! Well, unless I'm mistaken, I smell salt fish and potatoes, which, accordin' to Cape Cod notion, is a good American dinner.
I don't know how you feel, Al, but I'm hungry."
End
