I sat up on the couch.Mr.Colton knocked the ashes from his cigar, waited an instant, and then repeated his question.
"Did you get my letter?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
"Oh, you did.I was afraid that man of mine might have forgotten to mail it.""No, I got it.Won't you--er--won't you sit down?" He pulled the armchair toward him and sat down.I noticed that he had a habit of doing things quickly.His sentences were short and to the point and he spoke and acted like one accustomed to having his own way.
He crossed his knees and looked about the little building.
"It is a pleasant day," I observed, for the sake of saying something.He did not seem to hear me, or, if he did, he was not interested in the weather.For my part I found the situation embarrassing.I knew what his next question would be, and I did not know how to answer.Sure enough, he asked it.
"I wrote you to come over to my place this forenoon," he said.
"You didn't come."
"No.I--"
"Why not?"
Here was the issue joined.Here, if ever, was the opportunity to assert my independence a la Jed Dean and Alvin Baker.But to assert it now, after he had done the unexpected, after the mountain had come to Mahomet, seemed caddish and ridiculous.So Itemporized, weakly.
"I didn't read your letter until about noon," I said.
"I see.Well, I waited until two o'clock and then I decided to hunt you up.I called at your house.The woman there said you were down here.Your mother?""No." My answer was prompt and sharp enough this time.It was natural, perhaps, that he should presume Dorinda to be my mother, but I did not like it.
He paid absolutely no attention to the tone of my reply or its curtness.He did not refer to Dorinda again.She might have been my wife or my great-aunt for all he cared.
"This your workshop?" he asked, abruptly.Then, nodding toward the dismembered engine, "What are you? a boat builder?""No, not exactly."
"What's the price of a boat like that?" indicating the Comfort with a kick in her direction.
"About two hundred and fifty dollars, I believe," I answered.
"You believe! Don't you know?"
"No.I bought that boat second-hand."
He did not refer to the boat again; apparently forgot it altogether.
His next move was to rise and turn toward the door.I watched him, wondering what was going to happen next.He had a habit of jumping from one subject to another which was bewildering.
"What's that fellow doing off there?" he asked, suddenly.
I looked where he was pointing.
"That is Zeb Kendrick," I answered."He's raking for quahaugs.""Raking for what hogs?"
"Quahaugs.What you New Yorkers call clams.""Oh! Sell 'em, does he?"
"Yes."
"Tell him to call at my house next time you see him.And for heaven's sake tell him to come to the servants' door.Don't you people down here have any servants' doors to your houses? There have been no less than fifty peddlers on my porch since yesterday and my butler will die of apoplexy if it keeps on.He's a good one, for a wonder, and I don't want to lose him."I made no reply to this observation and he did not seem to expect any.He watched Zeb rake for a moment and then he turned back to me.
"Can you come over to my house now?" he asked.
I was not expecting this and again I did not have an answer ready.
"Can you?" he went on."I've got a business deal to make with you and I'd rather make it there.I've got a lot of carpenters and painters at work and they ask me ten questions a minute.They are unnecessary questions but if I don't answer them the fellows are sure to make some fool mistake or other.They need a governess.
If you'll come over with me I'll be in touch with them and you and I can talk just as well.Can come, can't you?"I did not know what to say.I wanted to say no, that if he had any business with me it could be discussed in that boathouse.I did not like his manner, yet I had a feeling that it was his usual one and that he had not meant to be rude.And I could think of no good reason for not going with him.
"You can come, can't you?" he repeated.
"I suppose I can.But--"
"Of course if you're too busy to leave--"I remembered the position he had found me in and I rather think Ihad turned red.He did not smile, but there was a sort of grim twinkle in his eyes.
"I'll come," I said.
"Much obliged.I won't keep you long.Come on."He led the way and I followed, rebellious, and angry, not so much with him as with myself.I wished now that I had gone over to the Colton place when I first received the summons to court, instead of ****** proclamations of defiance to mother and Lute Rogers.This seemed such a complete backdown.As we passed the house I saw Lute peering from the barn.I devoutly hoped he might not see me, but he did.His mouth opened and he stared.Then, catching my eye, he winked triumphantly.I wanted to punch his head.
The King of New York walked briskly on in silence until we were just at the edge of the grove by the Shore Lane.Then he stopped and turned to me.
"You own all this land, don't you?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Humph! Get a good view from here."
I admitted that the view was good.At that particular point it embraced nearly the whole of the bay in front, and a large portion of the village at the side.
He waved his hand toward the cluster of houses.
"There are eighteen hundred people in this town, they tell me," he said."Permanent residents, I mean.What do they all do?""Do?"
"Yes.How do they get a living? They must get it somehow.In the regular summer resorts they squeeze it out of the city people, Iknow that.But there aren't so many cottagers and boarders here.
What do you all do for a living?"
I told him that most of masculine Denboro fished or farmed or kept store.
"Which do you do?" he asked."You said you weren't a boat-builder.""I'm not doing anything at present," I replied, shortly.
"Out of a job?"
"You might call it that.Is this a part of the business you wished to see me about, Mr.Colton?"I was boiling inwardly and a little of the heat was expressed in my tone.I don't know whether he took the hint or merely lost interest in the subject.At any rate his reply was a brief "No,"and we continued our walk.
