This was no time for him to ask me such a question, especially to emphasize the "you.""Why shouldn't he write to me?" I asked, tartly.
"But--but HIM--writin' to YOU!"
"Humph! Even a god stoops once in a while.Read your mythology, Lute.""Hey? Say, look here, what are you swearin' about?""Swearing? Oh, that's all right.The god I referred to was a heathen one.""Well, it's a good thing Dorindy didn't hear you; she's down on swearin', heathen or any other kind.But what did Mr.Colton write to you for?""He says he wants to see me."
"See you? What for?"
"Don't know.Perhaps he wants to borrow money.""Borrow--! I believe you're crazy!"
"No, I'm tolerably sane.There! there! don't look at me like that.
Here's his letter.Read it, if you want to."Lute's fingers were so eager to grasp that letter that they were all thumbs.He dropped it on the grass, picked it up with as much care as if it was a diamond, and holding it a foot from his nose--he had broken his spectacles and was afraid to ask Dorinda for the money to have them repaired--he spelt it out to the last word.
"Well, by time!" he exclaimed, when he had finished."He wants to see you at his house this forenoon! And--and--why, the forenoon's all but gone now! What are you settin' here for?""Well, I thought I should enjoy watching you rake the yard.It is a pleasure deferred so far.""Watchin' me--! Roscoe Paine, you are out of your head! Ain't you goin' to see him?""No."
"You AIN'T!"
"No."
"Ros Paine, have you jined in with them darn fools uptown?""Who's swearing now? What fools do you mean?""Darn ain't swearin'.Dorindy herself says that once in a while.
I mean Alvin Baker, and Jed Dean and the rest of 'em.They was goin' on about Mr.Colton last night; said THEY wan't goin' to run at his beck and call.I told 'em, says I, 'You ain't had the chance.You'll run fast enough when you do.'""Did you say that to Captain Jed?"
"No-o.I said it to Alvin, but old Jed's just as bad.He's down on anybody that's got more'n he has.But Ros, you ain't foolish enough to side with Jed Dean.Just think! Here's Mr.Colton, richer'n King Solomon and all his glory.He's got servants and butlers and bonds and cowpons and horses and teams and automobiles and--"I rose from the wash bench.
"I know what he's got, Lute," I interrupted."And I know what he hasn't got.""What? Is there anything he ain't got?"
"He hasn't got me--not yet.If he wants to see me he may.I expect to be at home for the next day or two.""You don't mean you expect a millionaire like him to come cruisin'
after YOU! Well, by time! I think I see him!""When you do, let me know," I said."I should like to be prepared.""Well,--by--time!" said Lute, by way of summing up.I ate dinner with Dorinda.Her husband did not join us.Dorinda paid a visit to the back yard and, seeing how little raking had been done, announced that until the job was finished there would be "no dinner for some folks." So she and I ate and Lute raked, under protest, and vowing that he was so faint and holler he cal'lated to collapse 'most any time.
After the meal was finished I went down to the boathouse.The boathouse was a little building on the beach at the foot of the bluff below the house.It was a favorite resort of mine and Ispent many hours there.My eighteen foot motor launch, the Comfort, the one expensive luxury I allowed myself and which I had bought second-hand two years before, was jacked up in the middle of the floor.The engine, which I had taken apart to clean, was in pieces beside it.On the walls hung my two shot guns and my fishing rod.Outside, on the beach, was my flat-bottomed skiff, which I used for rowing about the bay, her oars under the thwarts.
In the boathouse was a comfortable armchair and a small shelf of books, novels for the most part.A cheap clock and a broken-down couch, the latter a discard from the original outfit of the cottage, made up the list of furniture.
My idea in coming to the boathouse was to continue my work with the engine.I tried it for a half hour or so and then gave it up.It did not interest me then.I shut the door at the side of the building, that by which I had entered--the big double doors in front I had not opened at all--and, taking a book from the shelf, stretched myself on the couch to read.
The book I had chosen was one belonging to the Denboro Ladies'
Library; Miss Almena Doane, the librarian, had recommended it highly, as a "real interesting story, with lots of uplifting thoughts in it." The thoughts might be uplifting to Almena, but they did not elevate my spirits.As for the story--well, the hero was a young gentleman who was poor but tremendously clever and handsome, and the heroine had eyes "as dark and deep as starlit pools." The poor but beautiful person met the pool-eyed one at a concert, where he sat, "his whole soul transfigured by the music,"and she had been "fascinated in spite of herself" by the look on his face.I read as far as that and dropped the book in disgust.
After that I must have fallen asleep.What awakened me was a knock on the door.It was Lute, of course.Probably mother wanted me for something or other, and Dorinda had sent her husband to hunt me up.
The knock was repeated.
"Come in," I said, sleepily.
The door opened and in came, not Lute, but a tall, portly man, with a yachting cap on the back of his gray head, and a cigar in his mouth.He looked at me as I lay on the couch and I lay on the couch and looked at him.
"Afternoon," he said, curtly."Is your name Paine?"I nodded.I was waking rapidly, but I was too astonished to speak.
"Roscoe Paine?"
"Yes."
"Well, mine's Colton.I sent you a letter this morning.Did you get it?"
