Cap\'n Warren\'s Wards

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CAP'N WARREN'S WARDS


By Joseph C. Lincoln




CHAPTER I


"Ostable!" screamed the brakeman, opening the car door and yelling his
loudest, so as to be heard above the rattle of the train and the shriek
of the wind; "Ostable!"

The brakeman's cap was soaked through, his hair was plastered down on
his forehead, and, in the yellow light from the car lamps, his wet nose
glistened as if varnished. Over his shoulders the shiny ropes of rain
whipped and lashed across the space between the cars. The windows
streamed as each succeeding gust flung its miniature freshet against
them.

The passengers in the car--there were but four of them--did not seem
greatly interested in the brakeman's announcement. The red-faced person
in the seat nearest the rear slept soundly, as he had done for the
last hour and a half. He had boarded the train at Brockton, and, after
requesting the conductor not to "lemme me git by Bayport, Bill," at
first favored his fellow travelers with a song and then sank into
slumber.

The two elderly men sitting together on the right-hand side of the car
droned on in their apparently endless Jeremiad concerning the low price
of cranberries, the scarcity of scallops on the flats, the reasons why
the fish weirs were a failure nowadays, and similar cheerful topics. And
in his seat on the left, Mr. Atwood Graves, junior partner in the New
York firm of Sylvester, Kuhn and Graves, lawyers, stirred uneasily on
the lumpy plush cushion, looked at his watch, then at the time-table in
his hand, noted that the train was now seventy-two minutes late, and
for at least the fifteenth time mentally cursed the railway company, the
whole of Cape Cod from Sandwich to Provincetown, and the fates which had
brought him there.

The train slowed down, in a jerky, hiccoughy sort of way, and crept
on till the car in which Mr. Graves was seated was abreast the lighted
windows of a small station, where it stopped. Peering through the
water-streaked pane at the end of his seat, the lawyer saw dim
silhouettes of uncertain outline moving about. They moved with provoking
slowness. He felt that it would be joy unspeakable to rush out there and
thump them into animation. The fact that the stately Atwood Graves even
thought of such an undignified proceeding is sufficient indication of
his frame of mind.

Then, behind the door which the brakeman, after announcing the station,
had closed again, sounded a big laugh. The heartiness of it grated on
Mr. Graves's nerves. What idiot could laugh on such a night as this
aboard a train over an hour late?

The laugh was repeated. Then the door was flung briskly open, and a
man entered the car. He was a big man, broad-shouldered, inclined to
stoutness, wearing a cloth cap with a visor, and a heavy ulster, the
collar of which was turned up. Through the gap between the open ends of
the collar bristled a short, grayish beard. The face above the beard and
below the visor was sunburned, with little wrinkles about the eyes and
curving lines from the nostrils to the corners of the mouth. The upper
lip was shaved, and the eyebrows were heavy and grayish black. Cap,
face, and ulster were dripping with water.

The newcomer paused in the doorway for an instant, evidently to add the
finishing touch to a conversation previously begun.

"Well, I tell you, Ezra," he called, over his shoulder, "if it's too
deep to wade, maybe I can swim. Fat floats, they tell me, and Abbie says
I'm gettin' fleshier every day. So long."

He closed the door and, smiling broadly, swung down the aisle. The pair
of calamity prophets broke off their lament over the declining fisheries
and greeted him almost jovially.

"Hello, Cap'n!" cried one. "What's the south shore doin' over here in
this flood?"

"What's the matter, Cap'n?" demanded the other. "Broke loose from your
moorin's, have you? Did you ever see such a night in your life?"

The man in the ulster shook hands with each of his questioners, removing
a pair of wet, heavy leather gloves as he did so.

"Don't know's I ever did, Dan," he answered. "Couldn't see much of this
one but its color--and that's black. I come over this mornin' to
attend to some business at the court-house--deeds to some cranberry bog
property I just bought--and Judge Baxter made me go home with him to
dinner. Stayed at his house all the afternoon, and then his man, Ezra
Hallett, undertook to drive me up here to the depot. Talk about blind
pilotin'! Whew! The Judge's horse was a new one, not used to the roads,
Ezra's near-sighted, and I couldn't use my glasses 'count of the rain.
Let alone that, 'twas darker'n the fore-hold of Noah's ark. Ho, ho!
Sometimes we was in the ruts and sometimes we was in the bushes. I told
Ez we'd ought to have fetched along a dipsy lead, then maybe we could
get our bearin's by soundin's. 'Couldn't see 'em if we did get 'em,'
says he. 'No,' says I, 'but we could taste 'em. Man that's driven
through as much Ostable mud as you have ought to know the taste of every
road in town.'"

"Well, you caught the train, anyhow," observed Dan.

"Yup. If we'd been crippled as WELL as blind we could have done that."
He seated himself just in front of the pair and glanced across the aisle
at Mr. Graves, to find the latter looking intently at him.

"Pretty tough night," he remarked, nodding.

"Yes," replied the lawyer briefly. He did not encourage conversation
with casual acquaintances. The latest arrival had caught his attention
because there was something familiar about him. It seemed to Graves that
he must have seen him before; and yet that was very improbable. This
was the attorney's first visit to Cape Cod, and he had already vowed
devoutly that it should be his last. He turned a chilling shoulder to
the trio opposite and again consulted the time-table. Denboro was the
next station; then--thank the Lord--South Denboro, his destination.

Conversation across the aisle was brisk, and its subjects were many and
varied. Mr. Graves became aware, more or less against his will, that
the person called "Cap'n" was, if not a leader in politics and local
affairs, still one whose opinions counted. Some of those opinions, as
given, were pointed and dryly descriptive; as, for instance, when a
certain town-meeting candidate was compared to a sculpin--"with a big
head that sort of impresses you, till you get close enough to realize it
HAS to be big to make room for so much mouth." Graves, who was fond
of salt water fishing, knew what a sculpin was, and appreciated the
comparison.

The conductor entered the car and stopped to collect a ticket from his
new passenger. It was evident that he, too, was acquainted with the
latter.

"Evening, Cap'n," he said, politely. "Train's a little late to-night."

"It is--for to-night's train," was the prompt response, "but if it keeps
on at the rate it's travelin' now, it'll be a little early for to-morrow
mornin's, won't it?"

The conductor laughed. "Guess you're right," he said. "This is about as
wet a storm as I've run through since I've been on the road. If we get
to Provincetown without a washout we'll be lucky... Well, we've made
another hitch. So far, so good."

The brakeman swung open the door to shout, "Denboro! Denboro!" the
conductor picked up his lantern and hurried away, the locomotive
whistled hoarsely, and the train hiccoughed alongside another little
station. Mr. Graves, peering through his window, imagined that here
the silhouettes on the platform moved more briskly. They seemed almost
excited. He inferred that Denboro was a bigger and more wide-awake
village than Ostable.

But he was mistaken. The reason for the excitement was made plain by the
conductor a moment afterwards. That official entered the car, removed
his uniform cap, and rubbed a wet forehead with a wetter hand.

"Well, gentlemen," he said, "I've been expecting it, and here it is.
Mark me down as a good prophet, will you? There's a washout a mile
further on, and a telegraph pole across the track. It's blowing great
guns and raining pitchforks. It'll be out of the question for us to go
forward before daylight, if then. Darn a railroad man's job anyhow!"

Five minutes later Mr. Graves descended the steps of the car, his
traveling bag in one hand and an umbrella in the other. As soon as
both feet were securely planted on the platform, he put down the bag
to wrestle with the umbrella and the hurricane, which was apparently
blowing from four directions at once. Feeling his hat leaving his head,
he became aware that the umbrella had turned inside out. He threw the
wreck violently under the train and stooped to pick up the bag. The bag
was no longer there.

"It's all right," said a calm voice behind him. "I've got your satchel,
neighbor. Better beat for harbor, hadn't we? Here! this way."

The bewildered New Yorker felt his arm seized in a firm grip, and he was
rushed across the platform, through a deluge of wind-driven water, and
into a small, hot, close-smelling waiting room. When he pushed his hat
clear of his eyes he saw that his rescuer was the big man who boarded
the train at Ostable. He was holding the missing bag and smiling.

"Dirty weather, hey?" he observed, pleasantly. "Sorry your umbrella had
to go by the board. I see you was carryin' too much canvas and tried to
run alongside in time to give you a tow; but you was dismasted just as I
got there. Here's your dunnage, all safe and sound."

He extended the traveling bag at arm's length. Mr. Graves accepted his
property and murmured thanks, not too cordially. His dignity and temper
had gone overboard with the umbrella, and he had not yet recovered them.

"Well," went on his companion, "here we are! And I, for one, wanted to
be somewheres else. Caleb," turning to the station master, who came in
at that moment, "any way of my gettin' home to-night?"

"'Fraid not, Cap'n," was the answer. "I don't know of any. Guess you'll
have to put up at the hotel and wait till mornin'."

"That's right," agreed the passenger called "Dan," who was standing
near. "That's what Jerry and I are goin' to do."

"Yes, but you and Jerry are bound for Orham. I'm booked for South
Denboro, and that's only seven miles off. I'd SWIM the whole seven
rather than put up at Sim Titcomb's hotel. I've been there afore, thank
you! Look here, Caleb, can't I hire a team and drive over?"

"Well, I don't know. S'pose you might ring up Pete Shattuck and ask him.
He's pretty particular about his horses, though, and I cal'late he--"

"All right. I'll ring him up. Pete ought to get over some of his
particularness to oblige me. I've helped HIM once or twice."

He was on his way to the ticket office, where the telephone hung on the
wall. But Mr. Graves stepped forward and spoke to him.

"Excuse me, sir," said the lawyer. "Did I understand you to say you were
going to South Denboro?"

"Yes. I am, if the powers--and Pete Shattuck--'ll let me."

"You were going to drive over? May I go with you? I'm very anxious to
get to South Denboro tonight. I have some very important business there,
and I want to complete it and get away to-morrow. I must be back in New
York by the morning following."

The captain looked his questioner over. There was a doubtful look on his
face, and he smiled quizzically.

"Well, I don't know, Mr.--"

"Graves is my name."

"I don't know, Mr. Graves. This ain't goin' to be a pleasure cruise
exactly. You might get pretty wet."

"I don't care. I can get dry again when I get there. Of course I shall
share the expense of the livery. I shall be greatly obliged if I may go
with you. If not, I must try for a rig myself."

"Oh, if you feel that way about it, why, come ahead and welcome. I was
only warnin' you, that's all. However, with me aboard for ballast, I
guess we won't blow away. Wait a jiffy till I get after Pete."

He entered the ticket office and raised a big hand to the little crank
of the telephone bell.

"Let's see, Caleb," he called; "what's Shattuck's number?"

"Four long and two short," answered the station master.

Graves, wondering vaguely what sort of telephone system was in use on
Cape Cod, heard his prospective pilot ring the instrument for a full two
seconds, repeating the ring four times altogether. This he followed with
two sharp tinkles. Then came a series of shouted "Hellos!" and, at last,
fragments of one-half of a dialogue.

"That you, Shattuck? Know who this is, don't you? Yes, that's right...
Say, how many folks listen every time a bell rings on this line? I've
heard no less'n eight receivers come down so far... Two of 'em went up
then, did you hear 'em?... Sartin... I want to hire a team to go over
home with... To-night--Sartin... I don't care... Yes, you will, too...
YES, you WILL... Send my man back with it to-morrow... I don't care WHAT
it is, so it's got four legs and wheels..."

And so on for at least five minutes. Then the captain hung up the
receiver and came back to the waiting room.

"Bargain's made, Mr. Graves," he announced. "Pete'll have some sort of
a turn-out alongside soon's he can get it harnessed. If you've got any
extra storm duds in that satchel of yours, I'd advise you to put 'em on.
We're goin' to have a rough passage."

Just how rough it was likely to be, Graves realized when he emerged from
the station to board the Shattuck buggy. "Pete" himself had driven the
equipage over from the livery stable.

"I wouldn't do this for anybody but you, Cap'n," he vouchsafed, in what
might be called a reproachful shout. Shouting was necessary, owing to
the noise of the storm.

"Wouldn't do what?" replied the captain, looking first at the ancient
horse and then at the battered buggy.

"Let this horse out a night like this."

"Humph! I should think night would be the only time you would let him
out.... There! there! never mind. Get aboard, Mr. Graves. Put your
satchel on the floor between your feet. Here, let me h'ist that boot for
you."

The "boot" was a rubber curtain buttoned across the front of the buggy,
extending from the dashboard to just below the level of the driver's
eyes. The lawyer clambered in behind it, the captain followed, the end
of the reins was passed through a slit in the boot, Mr. Shuttuck, after
inquiring if they were "all taut," gave the command, "Gid-dap!" and
horse and buggy moved around the corner of the station, out into
darkness.

Of the next hour Graves's memories are keen but monotonous,--a strong
smell of stable, arising from the laprobe which had evidently been
recently used as a horse blanket; the sound of hoofs, in an interminable
"jog, jog--splash, splash," never hurrying; a series of exasperated
howls from the captain, who was doing his best to make them hurry; the
thunderous roar of rain on the buggy top and the shrieking gale which
rocked the vehicle on its springs and sent showers of fine spray driving
in at every crack and crevice between the curtains.

The view ahead, over the boot, was blackness, bordered by spidery trees
and branches whipping in the wind. Occasionally they passed houses
sitting well back from the road, a lighted window gleaming cozily. And
ever, as they moved, the storm seemed to gather force.

Graves noticed this and, at length, when his nervousness had reached
the breaking point, screamed a question in his companion's ear. They
had attempted no conversation during the ride, the lawyer, whose
contemptuous opinion of the locality and all its inhabitants was now a
conviction, feeling that the result would not be worth the effort, and
the captain busy with his driving.

"It is blowing worse than ever, isn't it?" yelled the nervous Graves.

"Hey? No, just about the same. It's dead sou'-west and we're getting out
of the woods, that's all. Up on those bare hills we catch the full force
of it right off the Sound. Be there pretty soon now, if this Old Hundred
of a horse would quit walkin' in his sleep and really move. Them lights
ahead are South Denboro."

The lights were clustered at the foot of a long and rather steep hill.
Down the declivity bounced and rocked the buggy. The horse's hoofs
sounded hollow on the planks of a bridge. The road narrowed and became
a village street, bordered and arched by tall trees which groaned and
threshed in the hurricane. The rain, as it beat in over the boot, had,
so the lawyer fancied, a salty taste.

The captain bent down. "Say, Mister," he shouted, "where was it you
wanted to stop? Who is it you're lookin' for?"

"What?"

"I say--Heavens to Betsy! how that wind does screech!--I say where'bouts
shall I land you. This is South Denboro. Whose house do you want to go
to?"

"I'm looking for one of your leading citizens. Elisha Warren is his
name."

"What?"

"Elisha Warren. I--"

He was interrupted. There was a sharp crack overhead, followed by a
tremendous rattle and crash. Then down upon the buggy descended what,
to Graves, appeared to be an avalanche of scratching, tearing twigs
and branches. They ripped away the boot and laprobe and jammed him back
against the seat, their sharp points against his breast. The buggy was
jerked forward a few feet and stopped short.

He heard the clatter of hoofs and shouts of "Whoa!" and "Stand
still!" He tried to rise, but the tangle of twigs before him seemed
impenetrable, so he gave it up and remained where he was. Then, after an
interval, came a hail from the darkness.

"Hi, there! Mr. Graves, ahoy! Hurt, be you?"

"No," the lawyer's tone was doubtful. "No--o, I--I guess not. That you,
Captain?"

"Yes, it's me. Stand still, you foolhead! Quit your hoppin' up and
down!" These commands were evidently addressed to the horse. "Glad you
ain't hurt. Better get out, hadn't you?"

"I--I'm not sure that I can get out. What on earth has happened?"

"Tree limb carried away. Lucky for us we got the brush end, 'stead of
the butt. Scooch down and see if you can't wriggle out underneath. I
did."

Mr. Graves obediently "scooched." After a struggle he managed to slide
under the tangle of branches and, at length, stood on his feet in the
road beside the buggy. The great limb had fallen across the street, its
heavy end near the walk. As the captain had said, it was fortunate for
the travelers that the "brush" only had struck the carriage.

Graves found his companion standing at the horse's head, holding the
frightened animal by the bridle. The rain was descending in a flood.

"Well!" gasped the agitated New Yorker. "I'll be hanged if this isn't--"

"Ain't it? But say, Mr. Graves, WHO did you say you was comin' to see?"

"Oh, a person named Elisha Warren. He lives in this forsaken hole
somewhere, I believe. If I had known what an experience I must go
through to reach him, I'd have seen him at the devil."

From the bulky figure at the horse's head came a chuckle.

"Humph! Well, Mr. Graves, if the butt of that limb had fetched us,
instead of t'other end, I don't know but you MIGHT have seen him there.
I'm Elisha Warren, and that's my house over yonder where the lights
are."



CHAPTER II


"This is your room, Mr. Graves," said Miss Abigail Baker, placing
the lighted lamp on the bureau. "And here's a pair of socks and some
slippers. They belong to Elisha--Cap'n Warren, that is--but he's got
more. Cold water and towels and soap are on the washstand over yonder;
but I guess you've had enough COLD water for one night. There's plenty
hot in the bathroom at the end of the hall. After you change your wet
things, just leave 'em spread out on the floor. I'll come fetch 'em by
and by and hang 'em to dry in the kitchen. Come right downstairs when
you're ready. Anything else you want? No? All right then. You needn't
hurry. Supper's waited an hour 'n' a half as 'tis. 'Twon't hurt it to
wait a spell longer."

She went away, closing the door after her. The bewildered, wet and
shivering New Yorker stared about the room, which, to his surprise, was
warm and cozy. The warmth was furnished, so he presently discovered,
by a steam radiator in the corner. Radiators and a bathroom! These were
modern luxuries he would have taken for granted, had Elisha Warren been
the sort of man he expected to find, the country magnate, the leading
citizen, fitting brother to the late A. Rodgers Warren, of Fifth Avenue
and Wall Street.

But the Captain Warren who had driven him to South Denboro in the rain
was not that kind of man at all. His manner and his language were as far
removed from those of the late A. Rodgers as the latter's brown stone
residence was from this big rambling house, with its deep stairs and
narrow halls, its antiquated pictures and hideous, old-fashioned wall
paper; as far removed as Miss Baker, whom the captain had hurriedly
introduced as "my second cousin keepin' house for me," was from the
dignified butler at the mansion on Fifth Avenue. Patchwork comforters
and feather beds were not, in the lawyer's scheme of things, fit
associates for radiators and up-to-date bathrooms. And certainly this
particular Warren was not fitted to be elder brother to the New York
broker who had been Sylvester, Kuhn and Graves' client.

It could not be, it COULD not. There must be some mistake. In country
towns there were likely to be several of the same name. There must be
another Elisha Warren. Comforted by this thought, Mr. Graves opened his
valise, extracted therefrom other and drier articles of wearing apparel,
and proceeded to change his clothes.

Meanwhile, Miss Abigail had descended the stairs to the sitting room.
Before a driftwood fire in a big brick fireplace sat Captain Warren in
his shirt-sleeves, a pair of mammoth carpet slippers on his feet, and
the said feet stretched luxuriously out toward the blaze.

"Abbie," observed the captain, "this is solid comfort. Every time I go
away from home I get into trouble, don't I? Last trip I took to Boston,
I lost thirty dollars, and--"

"Lost it!" interrupted Miss Baker, tartly. "Gave it away, you mean."

"I didn't GIVE it away. I lent it. Abbie, you ought to know the
difference between a gift and a loan."

"I do--when there is any difference. But if lendin' Tim Foster ain't
givin' it away, then I miss my guess."

"Well," with another chuckle, "Tim don't feel that way. He swore right
up and down that he wouldn't take a cent--as a gift. I offered to make
him a present of ten dollars, but he looked so shocked that I apologized
afore he could say no."

"Yes, and then LENT him that thirty. Shocked! The only thing that would
shock that good-for-nothin' is bein' set to work. What possessed you to
be such a soft-head, _I_ don't know. When you get back a copper of that
money I'll believe the millennium's struck, that's all."

"Hum! Well, I'll help you believe it--that is, if I have time afore I
drop dead of heart disease. Abbie, you'd make a good lawyer; you can get
up an argument out of a perfect agreement. I said the thirty dollars
was lost, to begin with. But I knew Tim Foster's mother when she used
to think that boy of hers was the eighth wonder of the world. And I
promised her I'd do what I could for him long's I lived... But it seems
to me we've drifted some off the course, ain't we? What I started to say
was that every time I go away from home I get into trouble. Up to Boston
'twas Tim and his 'loan.' To-night it's about as healthy a sou'-wester
as I've ever been out in. Dan fetched in the team, has he?"

"Yes. It's in the stable. He says the buggy dash is pretty well
scratched up, and that it's a wonder you and that Graves man wa'n't
killed. Who is he, anyhow?"

"Land knows, I don't."

"You don't know! Then what's he doin' here?"

"Changin' his duds, I guess. That's what I'd do if I looked as much like
a drowned rat as he did."

"'Lisha Warren! if you ain't the most PROVOKIN' thing! Don't be so
unlikely. You know what I mean. What's he come here, to this house, for?

"Don't know, Abbie. I didn't know he WAS comin' here till just as we got
down yonder by Emery's corner. I asked him who he was lookin' for, he
said 'Elisha Warren,' and then the tree caved in on us."

"'Lisha, you--you don't s'pose 'twas a--SIGN, do you?"

"Sign?"

"Yes, a sign, a prophecy-like, a warnin' that somethin' is goin' to
happen."

The captain put back his head and laughed.

"Sign somethin' HAD happened, I should think," he answered. "What's
GOIN' to happen is that Pete Shuttuck'll get his buggy painted
free-for-nothin', at my expense. How's supper gettin' along? Is it
ready?"

"Ready? It's been ready for so long that it'll have to be got ready
all over again if... Oh! Come right in, Mr. Graves! I hope you're drier
now."

Captain Warren sprang from the chair to greet his visitor, who was
standing in the doorway.

"Yes, come right in, Mr. Graves," he urged, cordially. "Set down by the
fire and make yourself comf'table. Abbie'll have somethin' for us to eat
in a jiffy. Pull up a chair."

The lawyer came forward hesitatingly. The doubts which had troubled him
ever since he entered the house were still in his mind.

"Thank you, Captain," he said. "But before I accept more of your
hospitality I feel I should be sure there is no mistake. I have come on
important business, and--"