"Oh, of course," said Mrs. Easterfield. "And really, since you know so
much, it is not necessary for me to tell you anything more."

"Ah," said the diplomat, with a little bow and an incredulous
expression, as if the lady could have no idea what he might yet know, "I
am so much obliged to you! I am so thankful!"




_CHAPTER XXVIII_

_Here we go! Lovers Three!_


The three discarded lovers of Broadstone--all discarded, although one of
them would not admit it--would have departed the next day had not that
day been Sunday, when there were no convenient trains. Mr. Du Brant was
due in Washington; Mr. Hemphill was needed very much at his desk,
especially since Mr. Easterfield had decided to spend a few days with
his wife; and Claude Locker wanted to go. When he had finished the thing
he happened to be doing it was his habit immediately to begin something
else. All was at an end between him and Miss Asher. He acknowledged
this, and he did not wish to stay at Broadstone. But, as it could not be
helped, they all stayed over Sunday.

Mr. Easterfield planned an early afternoon expedition to a mission
church in the mountains; it would be a novel experience, and a
delightful trip, and everybody must go.

In the course of the morning Mr. Du Brant strolled in the eastern parts
of the grounds, and Mr. Locker strolled over that portion of the lawn
which lay to the west. Mr. Du Brant did not meet with any one with whom
he cared to talk, but Mr. Locker was fortunate enough to meet Miss
Raleigh.

"I am glad to see you," said he; "you are the person above all other
persons I wish to talk to."

"It delights me to hear that," said the lady, her face showing that she
spoke the truth.

"Let us go over there and sit down," said he. "Now, then," he continued,
"you were present, Miss Raleigh, at a very peculiar moment in my life, a
momentous moment, I may say. You enjoyed a privilege--if you consider it
such--not vouchsafed to many mortals."

"I did consider it a privilege, you may be sure," exclaimed Miss
Raleigh, "and I value it. You do not know how highly I value it!"

"You heard me offer myself, body and soul, to the lady I loved. You were
taken into our confidence, you saw me laid upon the table--"

"Oh, dreadful!" cried the lady. "Don't put it that way."

"Well, then," said he, "you saw me postponed for future consideration.
You promised you would regard everything you heard as confidential; by
so doing you enabled me to speak when otherwise I might not have dared
to do so. I am deeply grateful to you; and, as you already know so much
about my hopes and my aspirations, I think it right you should know all
there is to know."

The conscience of Miss Raleigh stirred itself very vigorously within
her, and her voice was much subdued as she said:

"I am sure you are very good."

"Well, then," said Locker, "the proposal you heard me make has been
declined. I am discarded; and not directly in a face-to-face interview,
but through another by a message. It would have been inconvenient for
Miss Asher personally to communicate the intelligence, so as Mrs.
Easterfield was coming this way she kindly consented to convey the
intelligence."

"I declare," exclaimed Miss Raleigh, "I had not heard of that! Mrs.
Easterfield made me her confidant in the early stages of this affair, or
I should say, these affairs. But she has not told me that."

"She will doubtless give herself that pleasure later," said Locker.

"No," said she, "she will not think any more about it. I am of no
further use. And may I ask if you know anything about the two other
gentlemen?"

"Both turned down," said Locker.

"I might have supposed that," answered the lady; "for if Miss Asher
would not take you she certainly would not be content with either of
them."

"With all my heart I thank you," said Locker warmly. "Such words are
welcome to a wounded heart."

For a moment Miss Raleigh was silent, then she remarked, "It is very
hard to be discarded."

"You are right there!" exclaimed Locker. "But how do you happen to know
anything about it?"

"I have been discarded myself," she answered.

The larger eye of Mr. Locker grew still larger, the other endeavored to
emulate its companion's size; and his mouth became a rounded opening.
"Discarded?" he cried.

"Yes," said she.

The countenance of the young man was now bright with interest and
curiosity. "I don't suppose it would be right to ask you," said he,
"even although I have taken you so completely into my confidence--but,
never mind. Don't think of it. Of course, I would not propose such a
question."

"Of course not," said she, "you are too manly for that." And then she
was silent again. Naturally she hesitated to reveal the secrets of her
heart, and to a gentleman with whom her acquaintance was of such recent
date; but she earnestly wanted to repose confidence in another, as well
as to receive it, and it was so seldom, so very seldom, that such an
opportunity came to her.

"I do not know," she said, "that I ought to, but still--"

"Oh, don't, if you don't want to," said Locker.

"But I think I do want to," she replied. "You are so kind, so good, and
you have confided in me. Yes, I was once discarded, not exactly by word
of mouth, or even by message, but still discarded."

"A stranger to me, of course," said Locker, his whole form twisting
itself into an interrogation-point.

"No," said she, "and as I have begun I will go on. It was Mr. Hemphill."

"What!" he exclaimed. "That--"

"Yes, it was he," said she, speaking slowly, and in a low voice. "He was
Mr. Easterfield's secretary and I was Mrs. Easterfield's secretary, and,
of course, we were thrown much together. He has very good qualities; I
do not hesitate now to say that; and they impressed themselves upon me.
In every possible way I endeavored to make things pleasant for him. I do
not believe that when he was at work he ever wanted a glass of cold
water that he did not find it within reach. I early discovered that he
was very fond of cold water."

"A most commendable dissipation," interrupted Locker.

"He had no dissipations," said Miss Raleigh. "His character was
unimpeachable. In very many ways I was attracted to him, in very many
ways I endeavored to make life pleasant for him; and I am afraid that
sometimes I neglected Mrs. Easterfield's interests so that I might do
little things for him, such as dusting, keeping his ink-pots full,
providing fresh blotting-paper, and many other trifling services which
devotion readily suggested."

Locker heaved a sigh of commiseration which she mistook for one of
sympathy.

"I will not go into particulars," she continued, "but at last he
discovered that--well, I will be plain with you--he discovered that I
loved him. Then, sir--it is humiliating to me to say it, but I will not
flinch--he discarded me. He did not use words, but his manner was
sufficient. Never again did I go near his desk, never did I tender him
the slightest service. It was a terrible blow! It was humiliating"

"I should think so," said Locker, "from him"

"But I will say no more," she remarked with a sigh. "I have told you
what you have heard that you may understand how thoroughly I sympathize
with you, for all is over with me in that direction, as I suppose all
is over with you in your direction. And now I must go, for this long
conference may be remarked. But before I go, I will say that if ever
you--"

"Oh, no, no, no!" interrupted Locker, "it would not do at all! I really
have begun to believe that I was cut out for a bachelor."

"What!" said Miss Raleigh, with great severity. "Do you suppose, sir,
that I--"

"Not at all, not at all" cried Locker. "Not for one moment do I suppose
that you--"

"If for one moment," said she, "I had imagined you would suppose--"

"But I assure you, Miss Raleigh, I never did suppose that you would
imagine I would think--but if you do suppose I thought you imagined I
could possibly conceive--"

"But I really did think," said Miss Raleigh, speaking more gently. "But
if I was wrong--"

"Nay, think no more about it," Locker interrupted, "and let us be
friends again."

He offered her his hand, which she shook warmly, and then departed.

It had been arranged that Lancaster was not to leave Broadstone on the
next day. He had expected to do so, but Mr. Easterfield had planned for
a day's fishing for himself, Mr. Fox, and the professor, and he would
not let the latter off. The ladies had accepted an invitation to
luncheon that day; the next day some new visitors were expected; and in
order not to interfere with Mr. Easterfield's plans, evidently intended
to restore to Broadstone some of the social harmony which had recently
been so disturbed, Dick consented to stay, although he really wanted to
go. He could not forget that his vacation was passing.

"Very well, then," Mrs. Easterfield remarked to him that Sunday evening,
"if you must go on Tuesday, I suppose you must, although I think it
would be better for you if I were to keep my eye on you for a little
while longer."

"Perhaps so," said Lancaster, "but the time has come when curb-bits,
cages, and good advice are not for me. I must burst loose from
everything and go my way, right or wrong, whatever it may be."

"I see that," said she; "but if it had not been for the curbed bit and
all that, you would be leaving this place a discarded lover, like the
rest of them. They depart with their love-affairs finished forever,
ended; you go as free to woo, to win, or to lose as you ever were. And
you owe this entirely to me, so whatever else you do, don't sneer at my
curbs and my cages; to them you owe your liberty."

The professor fully appreciated everything she had done for him, and
told her so earnestly and warmly. But she interrupted his grateful
expressions.

"It would have been very hard on me," she said, "if Olive had asked me
to carry to you the news of your rejection. That is what I did for the
others, I suppose you know."

"Oh, yes," said Lancaster; "Locker told me."

"I might have supposed that," said she. "And now I feel bound to tell
you also, although it is not a message, that Olive does not expect to
see you at her uncle's house. She infers that you are going to continue
your vacation journey."

"I have made my plans for my journey," said he, "and I do not think,
Mrs. Easterfield, that you will care to have me talk them over with
you."

"No, indeed," she replied; "I do not want to hear a word about them, but
I am going to give you one piece of advice, whether you like it or not.
Don't be in a hurry to ask her to marry you. At this moment she does not
want to marry anybody. Her position has entirely changed. She wanted to
marry so that her plans might be settled before her father and his new
wife arrive; and now she considers that they are settled. So be careful.
It is true that the objections she formerly had to you are removed, but
before you ask her to marry you, you should seriously ask yourself what
reason there is she should do so. She does not know you very well; she
is not interested in you; and I am very sure she is not in love with
you. Now you know, for I have told you so, that I would be delighted to
see you two married. I believe you would suit each other admirably, but
although you may agree with me in this opinion, I am quite sure she does
not; at least, not yet. Now, this is all I am going to say, except that
you have my very best wishes that you may get her."

"I shall never forget that," said he, "but I see I am not to be free
from the memory, at least, of the curb and the cage."

After breakfast on Monday the three discarded lovers departed in a
dog-cart, Mr. Du Brant in front with the driver, and Claude Locker and
Hemphill behind. For some minutes the party was silent. If
circumstances had permitted they would have gone separately.

As long as he could see the mansion of Broadstone, Claude Locker spoke
no word. When the time had come to go he had not wanted to go. When
taking leave of Dick Lancaster he had congratulated that favored young
man upon the fact that he had not been rejected, and had assured him
that if he had remained at Broadstone he would have done his best to
back him up as he had said he would.

Hemphill was not inclined to talk. Of course, Locker did not care to
converse with the young diplomat, and consequently he found himself
bored, and to relieve his feelings he burst into song. His words were
impromptu, and although the verse was not very good, it was very
impressive. It began as follows:

    "Here we go,
        Lovers three,
    All steeped deep
        In miseree."

At this Mr. Hemphill turned and looked at him, while a deep grunt came
from the front seat, but the singer kept on without much attention to
meter, and none at all to tune.

    "This is so,
        Here we go,
    Flabbergasted,
        Hopes all blasted,
    Flags half-masted.
        While it lasted,
    We poor--"

"Look here," cried Du Brant, turning round suddenly, "I beg you desist
that. You are insulting. And what you say is not true, as regards me at
least. You can sing for yourself."

"Not true!" cried Locker. "Oh, ho, oh ho! Perhaps you have forgotten
yourself, kind sir."

This little speech seemed to make Du Brant very angry, and he fairly
shouted at Locker: "No, I haven't forgotten myself, and I have not
forgotten you! You have insulted me before, and I should like to make
you pay for it! I should like to have satisfaction from you, sir"

"That sounds well," cried Locker. "Do you mean to fight?"

"I want the satisfaction due to a gentleman," answered the young
Austrian.

"Good," cried Locker, "that would suit me exactly. It would brighten me
up. Let's do it now. I am not going to stop at Washington, and this is
the only time I can give you. Driver, can we get to the station in time
if we stop a little while?"

The person addressed was a young negro who had become intensely
interested in the conversation.

"Oh, yes, sah," he answered. "We'll git dar twenty minutes before de
train does, and if you takes half an hour I can whip up. That train's
mostly late, anyway."

"All right," cried Locker. "And now, sir, how shall we fight? What have
you got to fight with?"

"This is folly," growled Du Brant. "I have nothing to fight with. I do
not fight with fists, like you Americans."

"Haven't you a penknife" coolly asked Locker. "If not, I daresay Mr.
Hemphill will lend you one."

Du Brant now fairly trembled with anger. "When I fight," said he, "I
fight like a gentleman; with a sword or a pistol."

"I am sorry," said Locker, "but if I remembered to bring my sword and
pistol I must have put them in the bottom of my trunk, and that has gone
on to the station. Have you two pistols or swords with you? Or do you
think you could get sufficient satisfaction out of a couple of piles of
stones that we could hurl at each other?"

Du Brant made no English answer to this, but uttered some savage remarks
in French.

"Do you understand what all that means?" inquired Locker of Hemphill,
who had been quietly listening to what had been going on.

"Yes," said the other, "he is cursing you up hill, and down dale."

"Oh," said Locker, "it sounds to me as if he were calculating his last
week's expenses. But when he gets to French cursing, I drop him. I can't
fight him that way."

The colored boy now showed that he was very much disappointed. He had
expected the pleasure of a fight, and he was afraid he was going to lose
it.

"I tell you, sah," he said to Locker, "why don't you try kick-shins? Do
you know what kick-shins is? You don't know what kick-shins is? Well,
kick-shins is this: one fellow stands in front of the other fellow, and
one takes hold of the collar of the other fellow, and the other fellow
takes hold of his collar, and then they kicks each other's shins, and
the one what squeals fust, he's licked, and the other one gits the gal.
You've got pretty thin shoes, sah," addressing Du Brant, "and your feet
ain't half as big as his'n, but your toes is more p'inted."

"No kick-shins for me," said Locker. "I've got to be economical about my
clothes."

Du Brant's rage now became ungovernable. "Do you apologize," he cried,
"or I take you by the throat, and I strangle you."

Hemphill, who had been smiling mildly at the kick-shin proposition, now
turned himself about. "You will not do that," he said, "and if you don't
sit quiet and keep your mouth shut, I'll toss you out of this cart, and
make you walk the rest of the way to the station."

As Hemphill looked quite big and strong enough to execute this threat,
and as he was too quiet a man to be ignored, Du Brant turned his face to
the horse, and said no more.

"I did not know you were such a trump" cried Locker. "Give me your hand.
I should hate to be strangled by a foreigner!"

When they took the train Du Brant went by himself into the smoking-car,
and Locker and Hemphill had a seat together.

"Do you know," said Locker, "I am beginning to like you, although I must
admit that before this morning I can remember no feeling of the sort."

"That is not surprising," said Hemphill. "A man is not generally fond of
his rival."

"We will let it go at that," said Locker, "we'll let it go at that! I
should not wonder, if we had all stayed at Broadstone; and if the
central object of interest had also remained; and, if I had failed, as
I have failed, to make the proper impression; and if the professor, whom
I promised to back up in case I should find myself out of the combat,
should also have failed; I should not wonder if I had backed up you."




_CHAPTER XXIX_

_Two Pieces of News._


It was nearly two weeks after Mrs. Easterfield drove away from the
captain's toll-gate before she went back there again. There were many
reasons for thus depriving herself of Olive's society. Mr. Tom had
stayed with her for an unusually long time; a house full of visitors,
mostly relatives, had succeeded the departed lovers, and Foxes; and,
besides, Olive was so very busy and so very happy--as she learned from
many little notes--cleaning the house from garret to cellar, and loving
her uncle better every day, that it really would have been a misdemeanor
to interfere with her ardent pursuits.

But now Olive had written that she wanted to tell her a lot of things
which could not go into a letter, and so the Broadstone carriage stopped
again at the toll-gate.

Two great things had Olive to tell, and she was really glad that her
uncle was not at home so that she might get at once to the telling.

In the first place, old Mr. Port was dead, and Captain Asher was in
great trouble about this. Of course, he could not keep away from the
deathbed of his old friend, nor could he neglect to do all honor to his
memory, but it was a terrible thing for him to have to go into the
house where Maria Port lived. After what had happened it was almost too
much for his courage, although he was a brave man. But he had conquered
his feelings, and he was there now. The funeral would be to-morrow.

When Mrs. Easterfield heard all that Olive had to tell her about Maria
Port, her heart went out to that brave man who kept the toll-gate.

The next thing that Olive had to tell was that she had heard from her
father, who wrote that he would soon arrive in this country; that he
would then go West, where he would marry Olive's former schoolmate; and
that, on their wedding tour, he would make a little visit at the
tollhouse so that Olive might see her new mother.

"Now, isn't this enough," cried Olive, "to make any girl spread her
wings and fly to the ends of the earth? But I have no wings; they have
all gone away in a dog-cart. But I don't feel about that as I used to
feel," she continued, a little hardness coming into her face. "I am
settled now just the same as if I were married, and father and Edith
Malcolmsen may come just as soon as they please. They shall make no
plans for me; I am going to stay here with Uncle John. This house is
mine now, and I am seriously thinking of having it painted. I shall stay
here just as if I were one of those trees, and my father and my new
mother--"

Here tears came into Olive's eyes and Mrs. Easterfield stopped her.

"Olive," said she, "I will give you a piece of advice. When your father
and his young wife come here, treat her exactly as if she were your old
friend. If you do so I think you will get along very well. This is
partly selfish advice, for I greatly desire the opportunity to treat
your father hospitably. He was my friend when I was a girl, you
remember, and I looked up to him with very great admiration."

And so these two friends sat and talked, and talked, and talked until it
was positively shameful, considering that the Broadstone horses were
accustomed to be fed and watered at noon, and that the coachman was very
hungry.

When, at last, Mrs. Easterfield drove home, and it must have been three
in the afternoon, she left Olive very much comforted, even in regard to
the unfortunate obligations which had fallen upon her uncle. For now
that her old father had gone, all intercourse with the Port woman would
cease.

But in her own mind Mrs. Easterfield was not so very much comforted. It
was all well enough to talk about Olive and her uncle and the happiness
and safety of the home he had given her, but that sort of thing could
not last very long. He was an elderly man and she was a girl. In the
natural course of events, she would probably be left alone while she was
very young. She would then be alone, for her father's wife could never
be a mother to her when he was at sea, and their home would never be a
home for her when he was on shore. What Olive wanted, in Mrs.
Easterfield's opinion, was a husband. An uncle, such as Captain Asher,
was very charming, but he was not enough.

During this pleasant afternoon, when Captain Asher was in town
attending to some arrangements for the burial of Mr. Port, Miss Maria
was sitting discreetly alone in her darkened chamber. She had a great
many things to think about, and if she had allowed her conscience full
freedom of action, there would have been much more upon her mind. She
might have been troubled by the recollection that since her father's
very determined treatment of her when she had endeavored to fix herself
upon the affections of Captain Asher, she had so conducted herself
toward her venerable parent that she had actually nagged the life out of
him; and that had she been the dutiful daughter she ought to have been
he might have been living yet. But thoughts of this nature were not
common to Maria Port. She had made herself sure that the will was all
right, and he was very old. There was a time for all things, and Maria
was now about to begin life for herself. To her plans for this new life
she now gave almost her sole attention.

She had one great object in view which overshadowed everything else, and
this was to marry Captain Asher. This she could have done before, she
firmly believed, had it not been for her old father and that horrid
girl, the captain's niece. As for the elderly man who kept the toll-gate
she did not mind him. If not interfered with, she was sure she could
make him marry her, and then the great ambition of her life would be
satisfied.

Unpretentious as was her establishment in town, she did not care to
spend the money necessary to keep it up, and although she was often an
unkind woman, she was not cruel enough to think of inflicting herself
as a boarder upon any housewife in the town. No, the toll-gate was the
home for her; and if Captain Asher chose to inflict himself upon her for
a few years longer, she would try to endure it.

One obstacle to her plans was now gone, and she must devote herself to
the work of getting rid of the other one. While Olive Asher remained at
the tollhouse there was no chance for her in that quarter.

The funeral was over, and when the bereaved Miss Port took leave of
Captain Asher she exhibited a quiet gratitude which was very becoming
and suitable. During the short time when he had visited the house every
day she had showed him no resentment on account of what had passed
between them, and had treated him very much as if he had been one of her
father's old friends with whom she was not very well acquainted and to
whom she was indebted for various services connected with the sad
occasion.

When he took final leave of her he shook her hand, and as he did so he
gave her a peculiar grasp which, in his own mind, indicated that he and
she had now nothing more to do with each other, and that the
acquaintance was adjourned without day. She bade him a simple farewell,
and as he left the house she grinned at his broad back. This grin
expressed, to herself at least, that the old and rather faulty
acquaintance was at an end, and that the new connection which she
intended to establish between herself and him would be upon an entirely
different basis.

He did not ask her if there was anything more that he could do for her,
for he did not desire to mix himself up with her affairs, which he knew
she was eminently able to manage for herself, and it was with a deep
breath of relief that he got into his buggy and drove home to his
toll-gate.




_CHAPTER XXX_

_By the Sea._


When Lieutenant Asher and his bride arrived at his brother's toll-gate
they were surprised as well as delighted by the cordiality of their
greeting. Each of them had expected a little stiffness during the first
interview, but there was nothing of the kind, although young Mrs. Asher
was bound to admit, when she took time to think upon the subject, that
Olive treated her exactly as if she had been a dear old schoolmate, and
not at all as her father's wife. This made things very pleasant and easy
at that time, she thought, although it might have to be corrected a
little after a while.

Things were all very pleasant, and there never had been so much talk at
the tollhouse since the first stone of its foundation had been laid. The
day after the arrival of the newly married couple Mrs. Easterfield
called upon them, and invited the whole family to dinner.

"I have never realized how much she must have thought of my parents!"
said Olive to herself, as she gazed upon her father and Mrs.
Easterfield. "They are so very glad to see each other!"

She did not know that Lieutenant Asher had been to the present Mrs.
Easterfield almost as much of a divinity as Mr. Hemphill had been to
her girlish fancy; the difference being that the young cadet was well
aware of the adoration of this child, not yet in long dresses, and
greatly enjoyed and encouraged it. When, a few years later, the child
heard of his marriage, she had outgrown the love with the lengthening of
the skirts. But she had a tender recollection of it which she cherished.

The dinner the next day was a great success, and after it the lieutenant
and Mrs. Easterfield earnestly discussed Olive when they had the
opportunity for a _tГЄte-Г -tГЄte_. She was so much to each of them, and he
was grateful that his daughter had fallen under the influence of this
old friend, now a charming woman.

"She is so beautiful," said the lady, "that she ought to be married as
soon as possible to the most suitable bachelor in the United States."

"Not so fast! Not so fast" said the lieutenant. "Edith and I are going
to housekeeping very soon, and then we shall want Olive."

Mrs. Easterfield smiled, but made no reply.

When the lieutenant and his wife, with Olive, came a few days afterward
to make their proper dinner call, he found an occasion to speak to their
hostess.

"Do you know," said he, "that this is a strange girl of mine?" She
positively refuses to come and live with us. We had counted upon having
her, and had made all our arrangements for it. She is as good and nice
as she can be, but we can not move her."

"You ought not to try," said Mrs. Easterfield; "it would be a shame for
her to go away and leave her uncle. You have one young lady, and you
should not ask for both. Olive must marry, and the captain must go and
live with her."

"Have you arranged all that?" said he. "I remember you were a great
schemer when quite a little girl."

"I am as great as ever," said she. "And I have selected the gentleman."

"Oh, ho!" cried the lieutenant. "And is that all settled? Olive should
have told me that."

"She could not do it," said Mrs. Easterfield; "for it is not all
settled. There are some obstacles in the way; and the greatest of them
is that she does not love him."

The lieutenant laughed. "Then that is settled. I know Olive."

Mrs. Easterfield flushed, and then laughed. "I doubt that knowledge. It
is certain you do not know me! The young man loves her with all his
heart; there is no objection to him; and I am most earnestly in favor of
the match."

"Ah" said the lieutenant, with a bow; "if that is the case, I must get a
pencil and paper and calculate what I can give her for her trousseau. I
hope the wedding will not come off very soon, for I am decidedly short
at present, on account of recent matrimonial expenses. Would you mind
telling me his name? Is he naval?"

"Oh, no," said she; "he is pedagogy."

"What!" he cried, his eyes wide open.

Then she laughed and told him all about Dick Lancaster.

"Of course," concluded Mrs. Easterfield, "I can not ask you not to
speak to _anybody_ about what I have told you, but I do hope you will
prevent its getting to Olive's ears. I am afraid it would make a breach
between us if she knew that I was trying to make a match for her. And,
you see, that is exactly what I am doing."

"And you are right," said the lieutenant; "and what is more, I am with
you! You don't know," he added in a softer tone, "how grateful I am to
you for your care of Olive now that my dear wife is gone!"

For the moment he totally forgot that his dear wife had merely gone to
the edge of the bluff with the captain and Olive to look at the river.

That evening, as they sat together, Lieutenant Asher told his brother
all that Mrs. Easterfield had confided to him about Dick Lancaster. The
captain was delighted.

"That is what I have wanted," he said, "almost from the beginning, and I
want it more than ever now. I am getting to be an old fellow, and I want
to see her settled before I sail."

"You know, John," said the lieutenant, "that I find Olive is a little
more of a girl of her own mind than she used to be. I don't believe she
would rest quietly under the housekeeping of a girl so nearly her own
age."

The captain gave some vigorous puffs. "I should think not!" he said to
himself. "Olive would have that young woman swabbing the decks before
they had been out three days! You are right," said he aloud, "but we
must all look out that Olive does not hear anything about this."

It was not until they were continuing their bridal trip that Lieutenant
Asher considered the subject of mentioning Dick Lancaster to his wife.
Then, after considering it, he concluded not to do it. In the first
place, he knew that he was getting to be a little bit elderly, and he
did not care about discussing the perfections of the young man who had
been selected as a suitable partner for his wife's school friend. This
was all very foolish, of course, but people often are very foolish.

Thus it was that Olive Asher never heard of the tripartite alliance
between her father, her uncle, and her good friend at Broadstone.

When Captain Asher learned, a few days after his brother had left, that
the Broadstone family had gone to the seashore, he sat reflectively and
asked himself if he were doing the right thing by Olive. The season was
well advanced; it was getting very hot at the toll-gate, and at many
other gates in that region; and this navy girl ought to have a breath of
fresh air. It is wonderful that he had not thought of it before!

At breakfast the next morning Olive stopped pouring coffee when he told
her his plans to go to the sea.

"With you, Uncle John!" she cried. "That would be better than anything
in the world! You sail a boat?" she asked inquiringly.

"Sail a boat!" roared the captain. "I have a great mind to kick over
this table! My dear, I can sail a boat, keel uppermost, if the water's
deep enough! Sail a boat!" he repeated. "I sailed a catboat from Boston
to Egg Harbor before your mother was born. By the way, you seem very
anxious about boat sailing. Are you afraid of the water?"

She laughed gaily. "I deserve that," she said, "and I accept it. But
perhaps I have done something that you never did. I have sailed a
felucca."

"Very good," said the captain; "if there's a felucca where we're going
you can sail me in one."

They went to a Virginia seaside resort, these two, and left old Jane in
charge of the toll-gate.

Early in the day after they arrived they went out to engage a boat. When
they found one which suited the captain's critical eye, he said to the
owner thereof: "I will take her for the morning, but I don't want
anybody to sail me. I will do that myself."

"I don't know about that," said the man; "when my boat goes out--"

He stopped speaking suddenly and looked the captain over and over, up
and down. "All right, sir," said he. "And you don't want nobody to
manage the sheet?"

"No," interpolated Olive, "I'll manage the sheet."

So they went out on the bounding sea. And as the wind whistled the hat
off her head so that she had to fling it into the bottom of the boat,
Olive wished that her uncle kept a toll-gate on the sea. Then she could
go out with him and stop the little boats and the great steamers, and
make them drop seven cents or thirteen cents into her hands as she stood
braced in the stern; and she was just beginning to wonder how she could
toss up the change to them if they dropped her a quarter, when the
captain began to sing Tom Bowline. He was just as gay-hearted as she
was.

It was about noon when they returned, for the captain was a very
particular man and he had hired the boat only for the morning. Olive had
scarcely taken ten steps up the beach before she found herself shaking
hands with a young man.

"How on earth!" she exclaimed.

"It was not on earth at all," he said; "I came by water. I wanted to
find out if what I had heard of the horrors of a coastwise voyage were
true; and I found that it was absolutely correct."

"But here!" she exclaimed. "Why here? You could not have known!"

"Of course not," he answered; "if I had known I am sure I would have
felt that I ought not to come. But I didn't know, and so you see I am as
innocent as a butterfly. More innocent, in fact, for that little
wagwings knows where he ought not to go, and he goes there all the
same."

Captain Asher was still at the boat, making some practical suggestions
to her owner; who, being not yet forty, had many things to learn about
the sails and rigging of a catboat.

"Mr. Locker," said Olive, looking at him very intently, "did you come
here to renew any of your previous performances?"

"As a serenader?" said he. "Oh, no! But perhaps you mean as a
love-maker?"

"That is it," said Olive.

Mr. Locker took off his hat, and rubbed his head. "No," said he, "I
didn't; but I wish I could say I did. But that's impossible. I presume
I am right in assuming this impossibility?"

"Entirely," said Olive.

"And, furthermore, I truly didn't know you were here. I think you may
rest satisfied that that flame is out, although--By the way, I believe I
could make some verses on that subject containing these lines:

    "'I do not want the flame,
    I better like the coal--'

meaning, of course, that I hope our friendship may continue."

She smiled. "There are no objections to that," she said.

"Perhaps not, perhaps not," he said, clutching his chin with his hand;
"but some other lines come into my head. Of course, he didn't want the
coal to go out.

    "'He blew too hard,
    The flame revived.'"

"That will do! That will do!" cried Olive. "I don't want any more of
that poem."

"And the result of it all," said he, "is only a burnt match."

"Nothing but a bit of charcoal," added Olive.

At this moment up came the captain. Olive had told him all about Mr.
Locker, and he was not glad to see him. Olive noticed this, and she
spoke quickly. "Here's Mr. Locker, uncle; he has dropped down quite
accidentally at this place."

"Oh" said the captain incredulously.

"You know he used to like me too much. But he knows me better now."

"Charming frankness of friendship!" said Locker.

"And as I like him very much, I am glad he is here," continued Olive.

The young man bowed in gratitude, but Olive's words embarrassed him
somewhat, and he did not know exactly what would be suitable for him to
say. So he took refuge in a change of subject. "Captain," said he, "can
you fish?"

A look of scornful amazement showed itself upon the old mariner's face.
"I have tried it," said he.

"And so have I," cried Locker, "but I never had any luck in fishing
and--some other things. I am vilely unlucky. I expect that's because I
don't know how to fish."

"It is very likely," said Olive, "that your bad luck comes from not
knowing where to fish."

The young man took off his hat and held it for a little while, although
the sun was very hot.

During the course of that afternoon and evening Captain Asher grew to
like Claude Locker. The young man told such gravely comical stories,
especially about his experiences in boats and on the water, that the
captain was very glad he had happened to drop down upon that especial
watering-place. He wanted Olive to have some society besides his own,
and a discarded lover was better than any other young man they might
meet. He knew that Olive was a girl who would not go back on her word.




_CHAPTER XXXI_

_As good as a Man._


The next day our three friends went fishing in a catboat belonging to
the young seaman of forty, and they took their dinner with them,
although Mr. Locker declared that he did not believe that he would want
any.

They had a good time on the water, for the captain had made careful
inquiries about the best fishing grounds, and the mishaps of Locker were
so numerous and so provocative of queer remarks from himself, that the
captain and Olive sometimes forgot to pull up their fish, so preengaged
were they in laughing. The sky was bright, the water smooth, and even
Mr. Locker caught fish, although it might have been thought that he did
everything possible to prevent himself doing so.

When their boat ran up the beach late in the afternoon the captain and
Olive were still laughing, and Mr. Locker was as sober as a soda-water
fountain from which spouts such intermittent sparkle. Dear as was the
toll-gate, this was a fine change from that quiet home.

The next morning, upon the sand, Claude Locker approached Olive. "Would
you like to decline my addresses for the second time?" he abruptly
asked.

"Of course not" she exclaimed.

"Well, then," said he, extending his hand, "good-by!"

"What are you talking about?" said Olive. "What does this mean?"

"It means," said he, "that I have fallen in love with you again. I think
I am rather worse than I was before. If I stay here I shall surely
propose. Nothing can stop me--not even the presence of your uncle if it
is impossible for me to see you alone--and, if you don't want any of
that, it is necessary that I go, and go quickly."

"Of course I don't want it," she said. "But why need you be so foolish?
We were getting along so nicely as friends. I expected to have lots of
fun here with you and uncle."

"Fun!" groaned Locker. "It might have been fun for you and the captain,
but what of the poor torn heart? I know I must go, and now. If I stay
here five minutes longer I shall be at your feet, and it will be far
better if I take to my own. Good-by!" And, with a warm grasp of her
hand, he departed.

Olive looked after him as he walked to the hotel. If he had known how
much she regretted to see him go he would have come back, and all his
troubles would have begun again.

"Hello!" cried the captain when Locker had entered the house, "I was
looking for you. We can run out, and have some fishing this morning. The
tide will suit. You did so well yesterday that I think to-day. I can
even teach you to take out a hook."

"Take out a hook?" said Locker. "I have a hook within me which no man
in this world, and but one woman, can take out. And as this she must not
even be asked to do, I go. Farewell!"

"What's the matter with the young man" asked the captain of Olive a
little later.

"Oh, he has fallen in love with me again," said Olive, with a sigh,
"and, of course, that spoils everything. I wish people could be more
sensible."

The captain looked down upon her admiringly. "I don't see any hope for
people," he said. And this was the first personal compliment he had ever
paid his niece.

When Claude Locker had gone, Olive missed him more than she thought she
could miss anybody. Much of the life seemed to have gone out of the
place, and the captain's high spirits waned as if he was suffering from
the depression which follows a stimulant.

"If that young fellow had been better-looking," said the captain, "if he
had more solid sense, and a good business, with both his eyes alike, I
might have been more willing to let him go."

"If he had been all that," asked Olive with a smile, "why shouldn't you
have been willing to let him stay?"

The captain did not answer. No matter what young Locker might have been,
he could never have been Dick Lancaster.

"Uncle," said Olive that afternoon, "where shall we go next?"

"I don't know," said he, "but let's go to-morrow. I don't believe I like
so many strangers except when they pay toll."

They traveled about a good deal; and in a general way enjoyed
themselves; but they were both old travelers, and mere novelty was not
enough for them. Each loved the company of the other, but each would
have liked to have Locker along. It grieved Olive to think that she
wanted him, or anybody, but she would not even try to deceive herself.
The weather grew cooler, and she said to her uncle: "Let us go back to
the toll-gate; it must be perfectly beautiful there now, with the
mountains putting on their gold and red."

So they started for home, planning for a stop in Washington on their
way.

Brightness and people were coming back to Washington. The air was
cooler, and city life was stirring. Olive and her uncle stayed several
days longer than they had intended; as most people do who visit
Washington. On one of these days as they were returning to their hotel
from the Smithsonian grounds, where they had been looking at autumn
leaves from all quarters of this wide land; many of them unknown to
them; they looked with interest from the shaded grounds on one side of
the street to the great public building on the other side, which they
were then passing, and at the broad steps ascending from the sidewalk to
the basement floor.

As they moved on thus slowly they noticed a man standing upon the upper
steps of one of these stairs. His back was toward them; and, as their
eyes fell upon him he stepped upon the upper sidewalk. He was walking
with a cane which seemed to be rather short for him. He stood still for
a moment, and appeared to be waiting for some one. Then, suddenly his
whole frame thrilled with nervous action; he slightly lowered his head,
and, in an instant, he brought his cane to his shoulder, as if it had
been a gun. The captain had seen that sort of thing before. It was an
air-gun. Without a word he made a dash at the man. He was elderly, but
in a case like this he was swift. As he ran he glanced out in the
direction in which the gun was aimed. Along the broad, sunlighted avenue
a barouche was passing. On the back seat sat two gentlemen,
well-dressed, erect. Even in a flash one would notice an air of dignity
in their demeanor.

There was not time to strike down the weapon, but before the man had
heard steps behind him the captain gave him a tremendous blow between
the shoulders which staggered him, and spoiled his aim. Then the captain
seized the air-gun. There was a whiz, and a click on the pavement. Then
the man turned.

His black eyes flashed out of a swarthy face nearly covered with beard;
his soft hat had fallen off when the captain struck him, and his black
hair stood up like bristles on a shoe-brush. He was not a large man; he
wore a loose woolen jacket; his sleeves were short, and his hands were
hairy.

All this Olive saw, for she had been quick to follow her uncle; but the
captain, who firmly held the air-gun, saw nothing but the glaring face
of a devil.

The man jerked furiously at the gun, but the captain's grasp was too
strong. Then the fellow released his hold upon the gun, and, with a
savage fury, threw himself upon the older man. The two stood near the
top of the steps, and the shock of the attack was so great that both
fell, slipping down several of the stone steps.

Olive tried to scream, but in her fright her voice utterly left her. She
could not make a sound. As they lay upon the steps, the captain beneath,
the man seized his victim by the neck with both hands, pressing his
great thumbs deeply into his throat. Apparently he did not notice Olive.
All the efforts of his devilish soul were bent upon stifling the voice
and the life out of the witness of his attempted crime. Olive sprang
down, and stood over the struggling men. Her uncle's eyes stared at her,
and seemed bursting from his head. His face was growing dark. Again
Olive tried to scream; and, in a frenzy, she seized the man to pull him
from the captain. As she did so her hand fell upon something protruding
under his woolen jacket. With a quick flash of instinct her sense of
feeling recognized this thing. She jerked up the jacket, and there was
the stock of a pistol protruding from his hip pocket. In an instant
Olive drew it.

A horrid sound issued from the mouth of Captain Asher; he was choking to
death. In the same second that she heard it Olive thrust the muzzle of
the pistol against the side of the man's head and pulled the trigger.

The man's head fell forward and his hairy hands released their grip, but
they still remained at the captain's throat. The latter gave a great
gasp, and for an instant he turned his eyes full upon the face of his
niece. Then his lids closed.

Now there were footsteps, and, looking up, Olive saw a negro cabman in
faded livery and an old silk hat, who stood staring. Before she could
speak to him there came another man, a policeman, who, equally amazed,
stared at the group below him. Only these two had heard the pistol
shots. There were no other people passing on the avenue, and as it was
past office hours there was no one in the great public building.

Until they reached the top of the steps the policeman and cabman could
see nothing. Now they stood astounded as they stared down upon an
elderly man lying on his back on the steps; another man, apparently
lifeless, lying on top of him with his hands upon his throat; and a girl
standing a little below them with a smoking pistol in her hand.

Before they had time to speak or move Olive called out, "Take that man
off my uncle."

In a moment the policeman, followed by the negro, ran down the steps and
pulled the black-headed man off the captain, and the limp body slipped
down several steps.

The policeman now turned toward Olive. "Take this," she said, handing
him the pistol. "I shot him. He was trying to kill my uncle."

The two men raised the captain to a sitting position. He was now
breathing, though in gasps, with his eyes opened.

The policeman took the pistol, looked at it, then at Olive, then at the
captain, and then down at the body on the steps. He was trying to get an
idea of what had happened without asking. If the negro had not been
present he might have asked questions, but this was an unusual
situation, and he felt his responsibility, and his importance. Olive now
stepped toward him, and in obedience to her quick gesture he bent his
head, and she whispered something to him. Instantly he was quivering
with excitement. He thrust the pistol into his pocket, and turned to the
negro. "Run," said he, "and get your cab! Don't say a word to a soul and
I will give you five dollars."

The moment the negro had departed Olive said: "Pick up that air-gun.
There, on the upper step." Then she went to her uncle and sat down by
him.

"Are you hurt?" she said. "Can you speak?"

The captain put his arm around her shoulder, fixing a loving look upon
her, and murmured, "You are as good as a man!"

The policeman picked up the air-gun, and gazed upon it as if it had been
a telegram in cipher from a detective. Then he tried to conceal it under
his coat, but it was too long.

"Let me have it," said Olive; "I will put it behind me."

She had barely concealed it when the cab drove up.

"Now," said the policeman, "you two must go with me. Can you walk, sir?"

"Oh, yes," said the captain in a voice clear, but weak.

Olive rose, holding the air-gun behind her, and the policeman and the
cabman helped the captain to the carriage. Olive followed, and the
policeman, actuated by some strong instinct, did not look around to see
if she were doing so. He had no more idea that she would run away than
that the stone steps would move. When he saw that she had taken the
air-gun into the carriage with her, he closed the door.

"Did your fall hurt you, uncle?" said Olive, looking anxiously into his
face.

"My throat hurts dreadfully," he said, "and I'm stiff. But I'll be
stiffer to-morrow."

The policeman picked up the hat of the black-haired man, and going down
the steps, he placed it on his head. "Now help me up with this
gentleman," he said to the cabman; "we must put him on the box-seat
between us. Take him under the arms, and we'll carry him naturally. He
must be awfully drunk!"

So they lifted him up the steps, and, after much trouble, got him on the
box-seat. Fortunately they were both big men. Then they drove away to
police headquarters. The officer was the happiest policeman in
Washington. This was the greatest piece of work he had known of during
his service; and he was doing it all himself. With the exception of the
driver, nobody else was mixed up in it in the least degree. What he was
doing was not exactly right; it was not according to custom and
regulation. He should have called for assistance, for an ambulance; but
he had not, and his guardian angel had kept all foot-passengers from the
steps of the public building. He did not know what it all meant, but he
was doing it himself, and if that black driver should slip from his seat
(of which he occupied a very small portion) and he should break his
neck, the policeman would clutch the reins, and be happier than any man
in Washington.