LITMIR.BIZ

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heard.”

      “Well, it's too bad,” continued Crocker. “But, after all, it's Olive's own fault. She'd ought to have married Sol Berry when she had the chance. What she ever gave him the go-by for, after the years they was keepin' comp'ny, is more'n I can understand.”

      Cornelius Rowe shook his head, with an air of wisdom. Captain Sol, himself, remarked once: “I wonder sometimes the Almighty ain't jealous of Cornelius, he knows so much and is so responsible for the runnin' of all creation.”

      “Humph!” grunted Mr. Rowe. “There's more to that business than you folks think. Olive didn't notice Bill Edwards till Sol went off to sea and stayed two years and over. How do you know she shook Sol? You might just as well say he shook her. He always was stubborn as an off ox and cranky as a windlass. I wonder how he feels now, when she's lost her last red and is goin' to be drove out of house and home. And all on account of that fool 'mountain and Mahomet' business.”

      “WHICH?” asked Mr. Crocker.

      “Never mind that, Cornelius,” put in Phinney, sharply. “Why don't you let other folks' affairs alone? That was a secret that Olive told your sister and you've got no right to go blabbin'.”

      “Aw, hush up, Sim! I ain't tellin' no secrets to anybody but Ed here, and he ain't lived in East Harniss long or he'd know it already. The mountain and Mahomet? Why, them was the last words Sol and Olive had. 'Twas Sol's stubbornness that was most to blame. That was his one bad fault. He would have his own way and he wouldn't change. Olive had set her heart on goin' to Washin'ton for their weddin' tower. Sol wanted to go to Niagara. They argued a long time, and finally Olive says, 'No, Solomon, I'm not goin' to give in this time. I have all the others, but it's not fair and it's not right, and no married life can be happy where one does all the sacrificin'. If you care for me you'll do as I want now.'

      “And he laughs and says, 'All right, I'll sacrifice after this, but you and me must see Niagara.' And she was sot and he was sotter, and at last they quarreled. He marches out of the door and says: 'Very good. When you're ready to be sensible and change your mind, you can come to me. And says Olive, pretty white but firm: 'No, Solomon, I'm right and you're not. I'm afraid this time the mountain must come to Mahomet.' That ended it. He went away and never come back, and after a long spell she give in to her dad and married Bill Edwards. Foolish? 'Well, now, WA'N'T it!”

      “Humph!” grunted Crocker. “She must have been a born gump to let a smart man like him get away just for that.”

      “There's a good many born gumps not so far from here as her house,” interjected Phinney. “You remember that next time you look in the glass, Ed Crocker. And—and—well, there's no better friend of Sol Berry's on earth than I am, but, so fur as their quarrel was concerned, if you ask me I'd have to say Olive was pretty nigh right.”

      “Maybe—maybe,” declared the allwise Cornelius, “but just the same if I was Sol Berry, and knew my old girl was likely to go to the poorhouse, I'll bet my conscience—”

      “S-ssh!” hissed Crocker, frantically. Cornelius stopped in the middle of his sentence, whirled in his chair, and looked up. Behind him in the doorway of the station stood Captain Sol himself. The blue cap he always wore was set back on his head, a cigar tipped upward from the corner of his mouth, and there was a grim look in his eye and about the smooth shaven lips above the short, grayish-brown beard.

      “Issy” sprang from his settee and jammed the paper novel into his pocket. Ed Crocker's sunburned face turned redder yet. Sim Phinney grinned at Mr. Rowe, who was very much embarrassed.

      “Er—er—evenin', Cap'n Sol,” he stammered. “Nice, seasonable weather, ain't it? Been a nice day.”

      “Um,” grunted the depot master, knocking the ashes from his cigar.

      “Just right for workin' outdoor,” continued Cornelius.

      “I guess it must be. I saw your wife rakin' the yard this mornin'.”

      Phinney doubled up with a chuckle. Mr. Rowe swallowed hard. “I—I TOLD her I'd rake it myself soon's I got time,” he sputtered.

      “Um. Well, I s'pose she realized your time was precious. Evenin', Sim, glad to see you.”

      He held out his hand and Phinney grasped it.

      “Issy,” said Captain Sol, “you'd better get busy with the broom, hadn't you. It's standin' over in that corner and I wouldn't wonder if it needed exercise. Sim, the train ain't due for twenty minutes yet. That gives us at least three quarters of an hour afore it gets here. Come outside a spell. I want to talk to you.”

      He led the way to the platform, around the corner of the station, and seated himself on the baggage truck. That side of the building, being furthest from the street, was out of view from the post office and “general store.”

      “What was it you wanted to talk about, Sol?” asked Simeon, sitting down beside his friend on the truck.

      The Captain smoked in silence for a moment. Then he asked a question in return.

      “Sim,” he said, “have you heard anything about Williams buying the Smalley house? Is it true?”

      Phinney nodded. “Yup,” he answered, “it's true. Williams was just talkin' to me and I know all about his buyin' it and where it's goin'.”

      He repeated the conversation with the great man. Captain Sol did not interrupt. He smoked on, and a frown gathered and deepened as he listened.

      “Humph!” he said, when his friend had concluded. “Humph! Sim, do you have any idea what—what Olive Seabury will do when she has to go?”

      Phinney glanced at him. It was the first time in twenty years that he had heard Solomon Berry mention the name of his former sweetheart. And even now he did not call her by her married name, the name of her late husband.

      “No,” replied Simeon. “No, Sol, I ain't got the least idea. Poor thing!”

      Another interval. Then: “Well, Sim, find out if you can, and let me know. And,” turning his head and speaking quietly but firmly, “don't let anybody ELSE know I asked.”

      “Course I won't, Sol, you know that. But don't it seem awful mean turnin' her out so? I wouldn't think Mr. Williams would do such a thing.”

      His companion smiled grimly; “I would,” he said. “'Business is business,' that's his motto. That and 'Look out for number one.'”

      “Yes, he said somethin' to me about lookin' out for number one.”

      “Did he? Humph!” The Captain's smile lost a little of its bitterness and broadened. He seemed to be thinking and to find amusement in the process.

      “What you grinnin' at?” demanded Phinney.

      “Oh, I was just rememberin' how he looked out for number one the first—no, the second time I met him. I don't believe he's forgot it. Maybe that's why he ain't quite so high and mighty to me as he is to the rest of you fellers. Ha! ha! He tried to patronize me when I first came back here and took this depot and I just smiled and asked him what the market price of johnny-cake was these days. He got red clear up to the brim of his tall hat. Humph! 'TWAS funny.”

      “The market price of JOHNNY-CAKE! He must have thought you was loony.”

      “No. I'm the last man he'd think was loony. You see I met him a fore he came here to live at all.”

      “You did? Where?”

      “Oh, over to Wellmouth. 'Twas the year afore I come back to East Harniss, myself, after my long stretch away from it. I never intended to see the Cape again, but I couldn't stay away somehow. I've told you that much—how I went over to Wellmouth and boarded a spell, got sick of that, and, just to be doin' somethin' and not for the money, bought a catboat and took out sailin' parties from Wixon and Wingate's summer hotel.”

      “And you met Mr. Williams?

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