CHAPTER IV
NEW FRIENDS AND THE GREEN STAIRS
THE town filled up with artists earlier than usual that summer. Stablelofts and old boathouses along the shore blossomed into studios.Sketching classes met in the rooms of the big summer art schools whichmade the Cape end famous, or set up their models down by the wharfs. Oneran into easels pitched in the most public places: on busy streetcorners, on the steps of the souvenir shops and even in front of thetown hall. People in paint-besmeared smocks, loaded with canvases,sketching stools and palettes, filled the board-walk and overflowed intothe middle of the street.
The _Dorothy Bradford_ steamed up to the wharf from Boston with herdaily load of excursionists, and the "accommodation" busses began to plyup and down the three miles of narrow street with its restless tide ofsummer visitors.
Up along, through the thick of it one June morning, came the Towncrier,a picturesque figure in his short blue jacket and wide seaman'strousers, a red bandanna knotted around his throat and a wide-rimmedstraw hat on the back of his head.
"Notice!" he cried, after each vigorous ringing of his big brass bell."Lost, between Mayflower Heights and the Gray Inn, a black leatherbill-case with important papers."
He made slow progress, for someone stopped him at almost every rod witha word of greeting, and he stopped to pat every dog which thrust afriendly nose into his hand in passing. Several times strangers steppedup to him to inquire into his affairs as if he were some ancienthistorical personage come to life. Once he heard a man say:
"Quick with your kodak, Ethel. Catch the Towncrier as he comes along.They say there's only one other place in the whole United States thathas one. You can't afford to miss anything _this_ quaint."
It was nearly noon when he came towards the end of the beach. He walkedstill more slowly here, for many cottages had been opened for summerresidents since the last time he passed along, and he knew some of theowners. He noticed that the loft above a boat-house which had once beenthe studio of a famous painter of marine scenes was again in use. Hewondered who had taken it. Almost across from it was the "Green Stairs"where Georgina always came to meet him if she were outdoors and heardhis bell.
The "Green Stairs" was the name she had given to a long flight of woodensteps with a railing on each side, leading from the sidewalk up a steepembankment to the bungalow on top. It was a wide-spreading bungalowwith as many windows looking out to sea as a lighthouse, and had had anespecial interest for Georgina, since she heard someone say that itsowner, Mr. Milford, was an old bachelor who lived by himself. She usedto wonder when she was younger if "all the bread and cheese he got hekept upon a shelf." Once she asked Barbara why he didn't "go to Londonto get him a wife," and was told probably because he had so many gueststhat there wasn't time. Interesting people were always coming and goingabout the house; men famous for things they had done or written orpainted.
Now as the Towncrier came nearer, he saw Georgina skipping along towardhim with her jumping rope. She was bare-headed, her pink dressfluttering in the salt breeze, her curls blowing back from her glowinglittle face. He would have hastened his steps to meet her, but hishonest soul always demanded a certain amount of service from himself forthe dollar paid him for each trip of this kind. So he went on at hiscustomary gait, stopping at the usual intervals to ring his bell andcall his news.
At the Green Stairs Georgina paused, her attention attracted by aforeign-looking battleship just steaming into the harbor. She wasfamiliar with nearly every kind of sea-going craft that ever anchoredhere, but she could not classify this one. With her hands behind her,clasping her jumping rope ready for another throw, she stood lookingout to sea. Presently a slight scratching sound behind her made her turnsuddenly. Then she drew back startled, for she was face to face with adog which was sitting on the step just on a level with her eyes. He wasa ragged-looking tramp of a dog, an Irish terrier, but he looked at herin such a knowing, human way that she spoke to him as if he had been aperson.
"For goodness' sake, how you made me jump! I didn't know anybody wassitting there behind me."
It was almost uncanny the way his eyes twinkled through his hair, as ifhe were laughing with her over some good joke they had together. It gaveher such a feeling of comradeship that she stood and smiled back at him.Suddenly he raised his right paw and thrust it towards her. She drewback another step. She was not used to dogs, and she hesitated abouttouching anything with such claws in it as the paw he gravely presented.
But as he continued to hold it out she felt it would be impolite not torespond in some way, so reaching out very cautiously she gave it a limpshake. Then as he still kept looking at her with questioning eyes sheasked quite as if she expected him to speak, "What's your name, Dog?"
A voice from the top of the steps answered, "It's Captain Kidd." Evenmore startled than when the dog had claimed her attention, she glancedup to see a small boy on the highest step. He was sucking an orange,but he took his mouth away from it long enough to add, "His name's onhis collar that he got yesterday, and so's mine. You can look at 'em ifyou want to."
Georgina leaned forward to peer at the engraving on the front of thecollar, but the hair on the shaggy throat hid it, and she was timidabout touching a spot just below such a wide open mouth with a redtongue lolling out of it. She put her hands behind her instead.
"Is--is he--a pirate dog?" she ventured.
The boy considered a minute, not wanting to say yes if pirates were notrespectable in her eyes, and not wanting to lose the chance ofglorifying him if she held them in as high esteem as he did. After along meditative suck at his orange he announced, "Well, he's just asgood as one. He buries all his treasures. That's why we call him CaptainKidd."
Georgina shot a long, appraising glance at the boy from under her darklashes. His eyes were dark, too. There was something about him thatattracted her, even if his face was smeary with orange juice andstreaked with dirty finger marks. She wanted to ask more about CaptainKidd, but her acquaintance with boys was as slight as with dogs.Overcome by a sudden shyness she threw her rope over her head and wentskipping on down the boardwalk to meet the Towncrier.
The boy stood up and looked after her. He wished she hadn't been in sucha hurry. It had been the longest morning he ever lived through. Havingarrived only the day before with his father to visit at the bungalow hehadn't yet discovered what there was for a boy to do in this strangeplace. Everybody had gone off and left him with the servants, and toldhim to play around till they got back. It wouldn't be long, they said,but he had waited and waited until he felt he had been looking out tosea from the top of those green steps all the days of his life. Ofcourse, he wouldn't want to play with just a girl, but----
He watched the pink dress go fluttering on, and then he saw Georginatake the bell away from the old man as if it were her right to do so.She turned and walked along beside him, tinkling it faintly as shetalked. He wished _he_ had a chance at it. He'd show her how loud hecould make it sound.
"Notice," called the old man, seeing faces appear at some of the windowsthey were passing. "Lost, a black leather bill-case----"
The boy, listening curiously, slid down the steps until he reached theone on which the dog was sitting, and put his arm around its neck. Thebanister posts hid him from the approaching couple. He could hearGeorgina's eager voice piping up flute-like:
"It's a pirate dog, Uncle Darcy. He's named Captain Kidd because heburies his treasures."
In answer the old man's quavering voice rose in a song which he hadroared lustily many a time in his younger days, aboard many a gallantvessel:
"_Oh, my name is Captain Kidd, And many wick-ud things I did, And heaps of gold I hid, As I sailed._"
The way his voice slid down on the word wick-_ud_ made a queer thrillyfeeling run down the boy's back, and all of a sudden the day grewwonderfully interesting, and this old seaport town one of the nicestplaces he had ever been in. The singer stopped at the steps andGeorgina, disconcerted at finding the b
oy at such close range when sheexpected to see him far above her, got no further in her introduction toCaptain Kidd than "Here he----"
But the old man needed no introduction. He had only to speak to the dogto set every inch of him quivering in affectionate response. "Here's afriend worth having," the raggedy tail seemed to signal in a wig-wagcode of its own.
Then the wrinkled hand went from the dog's head to the boy's shoulderwith the same kind of an affectionate pat. "What's _your_ name, son?"
"Richard Morland."
"What?" was the surprised question. "Are you a son of the artistMorland, who is visiting up here at the Milford bungalow?"
"Yes, that's us."
"Well, bless my stars, it's _his_ bill-case I have been crying allmorning. If I'd known there was a fine lad like you sitting about doingnothing, I'd had you with me, ringing the bell."
The little fellow's face glowed. He was as quick to recognize a friendworth having as Captain Kidd had been.
"Say," he began, "if it was Daddy's bill-case you were shouting about,you needn't do it any longer. It's found. Captain Kidd came in with itin his mouth just after Daddy went away. He was starting to dig a holein the sand down by the garage to bury it in, like he does everything.He's hardly done being a puppy yet, you know. I took it away from himand reckanized it, and I've been waiting here all morning for Dad tocome home."
He began tugging at the pocket into which he had stowed the bill-casefor safe-keeping, and Captain Kidd, feeling that it was his by right ofdiscovery, stood up, wagging himself all over, and poking his nose inbetween them, with an air of excited interest. The Towncrier shook hisfinger at him.
"You rascal! I suppose you'll be claiming the reward next thing, you oldpirate! How old is he, Richard?"
"About a year. He was given to me when he was just a little puppy."
"And how old are you, son?"
"Ten my last birthday, but I'm so big for my age I wear 'leven-year-oldsuits."
Now the Towncrier hadn't intended to stop, but the dog began burrowingits head ecstatically against him, and there was something in the boy'slonesome, dirty little face which appealed to him, and the next thing heknew he was sitting on the bottom step of the Green Stairs with Georginabeside him, telling the most thrilling pirate story he knew. And he toldit more thrillingly than he had ever told it before. The reason for thiswas he had never had such a spellbound listener before. Not even Justinhad hung on each word with the rapt interest this boy showed. His darkeyes seemed to grow bigger and more luminous with each sentence, moreintense in their piercing gaze. His sensitive mouth changed expressionwith every phase of the adventure--danger, suspense, triumph. Hescarcely breathed, he was listening so hard.
Suddenly the whistle at the cold-storage plant began to blow for noon,and the old man rose stiffly, saying:
"I'm a long way from home, I should have started back sooner."
"Oh, but you haven't finished the story!" cried the boy, in distress atthis sudden ending. "It _couldn't_ stop there."
Georgina caught him by the sleeve of the old blue jacket to pull himback to the seat beside her.
"_Please_, Uncle Darcy!"
It was the first time in all her coaxing that that magic word failed tobend him to her wishes.
"No," he answered firmly, "I can't finish it now, but I'll tell you whatI'll do. This afternoon I'll row up to this end of the beach in my doryand take you two children out to the weirs to see the net hauled in.There's apt to be a big catch of squid worth going to see, and I'llfinish the story on the way. Will that suit you?"
Richard stood up, as eager and excited as Captain Kidd always was whenanybody said "Rats!" But the next instant the light died out of his eyesand he plumped himself gloomily down on the step, as if life were nolonger worth living.
"Oh, bother!" he exclaimed. "I forgot. I can't go anywhere. Dad'spainting my portrait, and I have to stick around so's he can work on itany old time he feels like it. That's why he brought me on this visitwith him, so's he can finish it up here."
"Maybe you can beg off, just for to-day," suggested Mr. Darcy.
"No, it's very important," he explained gravely. "It's the best oneDaddy's done yet, and the last thing before we left home Aunt Lettysaid, 'Whatever you do, boys, don't let anything interfere with gettingthat picture done in time to hang in the exhibition,' and we bothpromised."
There was gloomy silence for a moment, broken by the old man's cheerfulvoice.
"Well, don't you worry till you see what we can do. I want to see yourfather anyhow about this bill-case business, so I'll come around thisafternoon, and if he doesn't let you off to-day maybe he will to-morrow.Just trust your Uncle Darcy for getting where he starts out to go. Skipalong home, Georgina, and tell your mother I want to borrow you for theafternoon."
An excited little pink whirlwind with a jumping rope going over and overits head, went flying up the street toward the end of the beach. Asmiling old man with age looking out of his faded blue eyes but with thespirit of boyhood undimmed in his heart, walked slowly down towards thetown. And on the bottom step of the Green Stairs, his arm around CaptainKidd, the boy sat watching them, looking from one to the other as longas they were in sight. The heart of him was pounding deliciously to themusic of such phrases as, "_Fathoms deep, lonely beach, spade andpickaxe, skull and cross-bones, bags of golden doubloons and chests ofducats and pearls!_"