"Sell it! Sell that strip of sand and beach grass! Who would buy it?""I don't know as anybody would.I just asked if you'd sell it, that's all.""Perhaps I would.I presume I should, if I had the chance.""Ain't had any chance yet, have you?"
"What do you mean by that?"
"Oh, nothin', nothin'! Well, you just think it over.If you decide you would sell it and get so fur as fixin' a price on it, let me know, will you?""Captain, what in the world do you want of that land? See here!
you don't want to shut off the Shore Lane, do you?""What in time would I want to shut it off for? I use it as much as anybody, don't I?""Then I don't see--"
"Maybe there ain't nothin' TO see.Only, if you decide to sell, let me know.Yes, and don't sell WITHOUT lettin' me know.
Understand?"
"No, I don't."
"Well, you understand enough, I cal'late.All I want you to do is to promise not to sell that land the Lane's on without speakin' to me fust.Will you promise that?"I considered for a moment."Yes," I said, "I'll promise that.
Though I can't imagine what you're driving at.""You don't need to.Maybe I'm just drivin' blind; I hope I am.
That's all I wanted to talk about," rising from the settee."Oh, by the way," he added, "your neighborhood's honored just now, ain't it? The King of New York's arrived, they tell me.""King of New York? Oh! I see; you mean the Coltons.""Sartin.Who else? Met his Majesty yet?""No.Have you?"
"I met him when he was down a month ago.Sim Eldredge introduced me right here in the store.'Mr.Colton,' says Sim, proud but humble, so to speak, 'let me make you acquainted with one of our selectmen, Cap'n Dean.Cap'n, shake hands with Mr.Colton of New York.' We shook, and I cal'late I'd ought to have kept that hand in a glass case ever since.But, somehow or other, I ain't.""What sort of a chap is Colton?" I asked.
"Oh, all right of his kind, I guess.In amongst a gang of high financers like himself he'd size up as a pretty good sport, Ishouldn't wonder.And he was polite enough to me, I suppose.But, darn him, I didn't like the way he looked at me! He looked as if--as if--well, I can't tell you how he looked.""You don't need to," I said, brusquely."I know.""You do, hey? He ain't looked at you, has he? No, course he ain't! You said you hadn't met him.""I've met others of his kind."
"Yes.Well, I'm a hayseed and I know it.I'm just a countryman and he's a millionaire.He'll be the big show in this town from now on.When he blows his nose seven-eighths of this community 'll start in workin' up a cold in the head."He turned on his heel and started to go.
"Will you?" I asked, slily.
He looked back over his shoulder."I ain't subject to colds--much," he snapped."But YOU better lay in a supply of handkerchiefs, Ros."I smiled.I knew what was troubling him.A little tin god has a pleasant time of it, no doubt, until the coming of the eighteen carat gold idol.Captain Jed had been boss of Denboro--self-appointed to that eminent position, but holding it nevertheless--and to be pushed from his perch by a city rival was disagreeable.
If I knew him he would not be dethroned without a fight.There were likely to be some interesting and lively times in our village.
I could understand Dean's dislike of Colton, but his interest in the Shore Lane was a mystery.Why should he wish to buy that worthless strip of land? And what did he mean by asking if I had chances to sell it? Still pondering over this puzzle, I walked toward the front of the store, past the group waiting for the mail, where the discussion concerning the Coltons was still going on, Thoph Newcomb and Alvin Baker both talking at once.
"You ask Ros," shouted Alvin, pounding the counter beside him.
"Say, Ros, Newcomb here seems to think that because a feller comes from the city and is rich that that gives him the right to order the rest of us around as if we was fo'mast hands.He says--""I don't neither!" yelled Thoph."What I say is that money counts, and--""You do, too! Ros, do YOU intend to get down on your knees to them Coltons?"I laughed and went on without replying.I left the store and strolled across the road to the bank, intending to make a short call on George Taylor, the cashier, my most intimate acquaintance and the one person in Denboro who came nearest to being my friend.
But George was busy in the directors' room, and, after waiting a few moments in conversation with Henry Small, the bookkeeper, Igave it up and walked home, across the fields this time; I had no desire to meet more automobilists.
Dorinda had finished dusting the dining room and was busy upstairs.
I could hear the swish-swish of her broom overhead.I opened the door leading to Mother's bedroom and entered, closing the door behind me.
The curtains were drawn, as they always were on sunny days, and the room was in deep shadow.Mother had been asleep, I think, but she heard my step and recognized it.
"Is that you, Boy?" she asked.If I had been fifty, instead of thirty-one, Mother would have called me "Boy" just the same.
"Yes, Mother," I said.
