_Chapter Five_
In the sunlight on Reuben's bed sat two male images, the smaller one allorange-gold, the larger cross-legged and brighter than rippling gold andivory, with brown hair, and a heartless voice saying: "This I waswaiting to observe. Note, Mr. Eccles, the motions of the creature'shead, how they creak. Are these actual sounds of pain, or only noises ofsome mechanism which creates an illusion of animation?"
"Alas!" said Ben. "I am not fit to rise and murder you--yet."
"It speaks. Note that, Eccles. Note the bleared eyes, how obscene! Willyou go to the kitchen and fetch a pot of coffee for it?" Mr. Ecclesyawned and filed his yellow paws. "Unfeeling animal! Have you no pity?Must _I_ wait on the needs of this moaning monster?"
"Some day when _you_ feel like dawn on the battlefield, I'll stand onyour stomach and read aloud every word of _Magnalia Christi Americana_."
"You heard that, Eccles?--how it appeals to my humanity and in the samebreath threatens my life? I must act." Ben watched the golden imagerise, slip on a dressing-gown, and stand over him in the enormous light."Puh, what a breath even now!" said Reuben, and stooped suddenly to kisshis forehead, and vanished out of the room.
Moving his head with care, Ben met the contemplation of Mr. Eccles, whohad nothing to offer. Uncle John was accustomed to explain that the catderived his name from a merchant Levi Eccles of Plymouth who looked andbehaved just like him. But to the boys privately, after he had come toknow them a little, the old man admitted this was an _ex post facto_invention. He took them into his study and opened his much-worn Bible;over Reuben's shoulder Ben had read familiar words: _For that whichbefalleth the sons of men befalleth beasts; even one thing befalleththem: as the one dieth, so dieth the other; yea, they have all onebreath; so that a man hath no preeminence above a beast: for all isvanity. Ecclesiastes iii: 19._
Reuben was displaying a different mood altogether when he returned witha pot of the blessed stuff--quiet and no longer much amused, or at leastnot showing it. "Drink deep, sufferer, and tell all--if you wish."
The coffee was a benediction; so long as The Head did not move suddenly,all might be well. "Oh, I ran into Mr. Shawn at Uncle John's wharf--O myGod! Uncle John! Why, he must have thought----"
Reuben shook his head casually. "Beyond a broad statement to the effectthat boys will be boys, for the which he claimed no great measure oforiginality, I saw no sign of severe displeasure. When he insisted onhelping me remove your smelly boots, he--chuckled: this I affirm. Youmay get a few instructions this morning, but without pain. Proceed."
"Oh--a few drinks with Shawn--dinner at a tavern--I don't seem toremember all of it." But he did.
Reuben studied his finger tip that was scratching Mr. Eccles' chin. "Youbrought home some books. Over there on your dresser."
"They're for you."
"What!" Reuben was a long time at the dresser, his back turned, hishands on the books not turning the pages. "Ben--how did you know?"
"I guessed right, then?"
"Yes! Yes, but I--why, I only gabbled. I don't see how----"
"You did. Came to me later, what you must mean. Is it a call?"
Eyes wet, face shining and troubled and amazed, Reuben turned to him andstarted once or twice to speak, then said only: "Yes."
"You can--oh, damn my head!--you can be certain?"
"I'm--certain. I did go to see Mr. Welland again yesterday. He spoke ofan apprenticeship."
"Oh.... Well--well, good, if it's what you wish. What about Harvard,Ru?"
"I don't know." Reuben sat on the floor by Ben's bed, a motion ofeffortless grace that made Ben's head throb to watch it. "I must speakto Uncle John of course. Maybe I can go to the college and study withMr. Welland at the same time. There'll be the summers."
Ben groped at it uneasily, with some small confusion of envy."Pills--pills and sick people and----"
Reuben shook his head. "It's not like that, Ben. I mean, that is onlyone part of it, and for the rest--I can't explain it because I don'tknow enough, but of a sudden, after a long time of not knowing what Idesired, there is this, and I do seem to be certain."
"But for myself, I've not found it."
"You will," said Reuben quickly. "It'll come to you, as it has--as Iknow it has to me." He reached for Ben's empty cup and poured a drinkfor himself, sitting cross-legged, intent, a small man with a boy'sface. "Ben, I think--so far as I can explain it, I think it's a desireto know."
"To know?"
"About human creatures. How they're made, why they feel, think, suffer,act as they do. I wish...." His face tightened in distress, and Ben,with some insight, knew it was merely the distress of a search forcommunication among inadequate slippery words.
"But medicine--that's healing the sick. That's going about----"
"It's that, and that I accept, that I desire too, but it's more, Ben,it's study. Mr. Welland says a doctor must remain a student or die onhis feet. And the study is not only sickness, remedies, surgery, thestudy is human beings--men, women, children, in all their ways--and_that_ I desire." He smiled suddenly, vulnerably, holding up his littlefinger. "There are creatures so tiny--Mr. Welland showed me a book, the_Micrographia_--so tiny there might be hundreds, nay thousands of themthere on the space of my little fingernail. Too small to see withoutthe lens, but living things, Ben--separate living beings, no fancy atall but the discovery of sober men--and he says, Mr. Welland says, whymayn't these animalculae have something to do with the mysteries ofdisease? They've been found everywhere--pond water, earth, the surfaceof the skin. Why mayn't they enter us sometimes, causing the ills wecan't explain? It's a speculation, Mr. Welland says--he found it not inthe books, only had the thought, and now and then (he said himself) fromsuch thoughts come discoveries. I must--_know_," said Reuben. He jumpedup and crossed the room swiftly to examine the books again. "One thing Iknow: you wasn't drunk when you bought these."
"No, I didn't drink until supper at the tavern, and then later."
"Later?"
"Well, Mr. Shawn took me to a--place. A house, Ru--one of those."
"Oh?..." Ben wondered why he had been moved to speak of it at all: therewas no need. But even now, aware of something tight and painful inReuben's silence, he felt and suppressed a continuing impulse to brag,to invent for Reuben a story of what never happened. "Was it--any good,Ben?"
"I can't say it was. I think I'd had too much ale, and then somethingmore there--buttered rum. That was my undoing." His laughter sounded tohimself feeble and unwelcome.
"You mean nothing happened?"
"Nothing much.... No, damn it, nothing--I spilled at the gates. I thinkmaybe I didn't really wish to go. Mr. Shawn----"
Reuben's words raced and ran together: "Well, the devil fly off withyour friend Shawn, and couldn't the son of a bitch stand by you and youso drunk? Do you know you was stepping direct for that quicksand?"
"I--was?"
"We might have gone down in it."
"Well--wait, Ru! It was no fault of Shawn. I left him at the house. Hewas still with his wench when I was ready to go, and some-way I didn'twish to see him then, so I came off alone."
"Oh." His face still averted, his thin hands motionless on the books,Reuben muttered: "Sorry, Ben. The cork popped out of the bottle and Ispattered. My regrets." He started getting dressed, and Ben knew hischatter was mainly for his own benefit: "Beware the lightning afterbreakfast--Pontifex is not wholly pleased with our Benjamin, and will besummoning the cohorts of Ovid, his _Tristia_; Ramus, his _Logic_;Cicero, his honorificabilitudinitatibus."
"Ow-ooh!"
"What--coach wheels?"
"I thought that was my head."
"No," said Reuben, and flung open the window. "Something's afoot."
"If on wheels, how should it be--ow! Shut that arctic window, you bloodyworm!" But as Ben tried to creep under the covers, Reuben hauled acorner of them over his shoulder and marched to the door with it, hisgood humor restored, peeling Ben raw to the April breeze. He wadded thebedclothes into a spherical
snarl out of Ben's reach, heaved that intothe closet, barked in some satisfaction, and ran downstairs. Ben couldplainly make out the squeak and rattle of coach wheels from the drivewaybefore the house. He leaped for his clothes--unwisely, considering hishead--and paused to reflect on the uses of sobriety.
* * * * *
The fat horses were lathered, blowing in relief at the halt. From theparlor window Reuben saw the girl alight before the coachman's handcould aid her, a square small maiden in a hurry. As Kate Dobson openedthe door he heard fright, determination and embarrassment in the throatyvoice: "I must speak with Mr. Kenny--'tis most urgent."
Kate was fluttering. "He's at breakfast, my dear."
Reuben intervened, startled as she abruptly swung to him, a miniaturewhirlwind with sea-blue eyes. Some blurred yellowish phenomenon passedher feet--a dog apparently, not relevant unless Mr. Eccles should choosethat moment to come downstairs. "I'll take you to him," Reuben said, andKate relaxed at the authority of a man in the house.
"You are Mr. Cory's brother."
"Madam, the charge is well founded."
"This," said Charity, "is no time for schoolboy levity."
"Ow-ooh!" said Reuben, and stood to attention by the dining-room doorwayas Charity passed, and the dog. In a woolgathering way, the animalacknowledged Reuben's feet, but had no time for them. It was merecarelessness, not sin, that made Reuben leave the door open as hefollowed Charity with all the meekness of Sultan.
Pleased and then alarmed, Mr. Kenny jumped up, winced at his bad footand clutched the table-edge. "Charity, my dear, what lucky wind----"
"Sir, Faith said I'd best be the one to bring word, seeing Mama isprostrated and--and so--so I----" she lapsed into stuttering confusionand stamped her foot in rage at her own behavior.
"Breathe slow, my dear," said the old man, no longer smiling. "Count tofour, my dear, then to eight by twos. Now: two, four, six----"
"Eight, ten, twelve," said Charity, and shuddered. "Pray don't beprostrated, Mr. Kenny, the way Mama said you was sure to be. I'd notknow what to do."
"Now sit thee down," said John Kenny. "I shall undertake not to beprostrated, and a'n't thy bonnet-strings a little tight?"
Standing by her chair, Reuben briefly recalled the sensation of livingas a pigmy in a world of giants. "Mama saith, never no such thinghappened here in all her time. My father--he--well, when they broughtthe news he heard something and came downstairs, but he--but he...."
Reuben noticed her fists pressing on the table. On impulse he lifted oneof them. "Allow me," said Reuben, urging the fingers to open and relax.They did so, as Charity stared up at him in a trance of observation. Hepatted the hand and set it back on the table. "I think, Charity, myUncle John would prefer not to have bad news broken gently. Am I right,sir? Better to hear it quick and plain?"
"Much better." John Kenny spoke absently, watching him and not Charity,who would have accomplished her errand then, Reuben guessed, but hellbroke loose.
Reuben glimpsed the preliminary tableau--Sultan in the doorway, frozenin unbelieving horror at a ball of golden evil which advanced on stifflegs directly toward his nose. Reuben had time to lay a private wagerentirely in favor of Mr. Eccles, but was too late for anything else--thegolden ball rose up straight, reversed itself in mid-air, and dropped onSultan's back with the ineluctable certainty of the Puritan Hell.
"Oh!" Charity cried. "Oh, the horrid beast!" She jumped up on her chair,maybe to see better. "Sultan, stop it!"
Sultan would have loved to, if he could. John Kenny swung up his agingfeet as the storm swept by.
Reuben followed.
"Sultan!" Charity wailed. "Come here this instant! Sultan, shame!Abusing that poor cat!"
Mr. Kenny lifted his feet again.
Reuben followed.
A chair toppled over. If Sultan had nourished any hopes at all, they hadcentered around that chair. He might, like Milton's Lucifer, have hadnone--_Which way I fly is hell, myself am hell...._ Reuben followed,dimly aware of his brother in the doorway and Kate Dobson behind him,both shouting encouragement. Uncle John seemed rather happy too, but waspreparing to lift his feet a third time. Reuben observed that everyone,in fact, was laughing except himself, and he would too if he could only_gain_ a little.... At last he was able to swoop down and grasp theloose skin of a rigid yellow neck. He hoisted it; Sultan shot away fromunder it. A good deal of Sultan's hair came up on the claws, but theessential dog was then able to flee under Charity's chair and leave allthe rest to the judgment of history.
Reuben secured Mr. Eccles' threshing hind legs and bore him to thekitchen door. Ben dived to open it for him, doubled over and hooting butaware of the flashing forepaws.
"Ben!" said Mr. Kenny--"Ben, you a'n't got sea-room. You, Reuben, I meanMr. Cory, do you tack a mite to la'board--la'board, sir! There--now,Ben, now you can cross his bow."
"'Sbody!" said Kate. "I wouldn't trade 'im for a mastiff!"
"Best not leave him alone out there, Kate," said Mr. Kenny. "You hearthat?" Reuben had flung Mr. Eccles into the kitchen and closed the doorjust in time, but he could be heard marching up and down, blaspheming."He's lonely, the little thing."
Kate bounced away whooping. Mr. Kenny wiped his eyes and finished abuttered bun. "I suppose," said Reuben, "it happens to the best ofdogs."
"Why," said Charity, "he was overtaken by surprise."
"Of course he was," said Mr. Kenny. "Come, Sultan! Come here, boy, goodboy!" Mr. Kenny chirped, but though Sultan was willing to explaineverything in a long undertone, he was not at the moment cominganywhere, for anyone.
Charity exploded in fresh cries. "I can't stop laughing!" she wept, anddropped her head on the table. "I can't _stop_ it!" Mr. Kenny bent overher, concerned; her laughter had gone shrill and sick. "Dreadful news,and I--I _can't stop laughing_! Help!"
For Reuben, the worst of Mr. Eccles' dangerous writhing had not obscureda second's glimpse of Charity in the moment when she discovered that Benwas in the room. Under cover of her wailing laughter he muttered inBen's ear: "Can't you see she loves you? Do something!"
He knew Ben did not quite understand nor believe it, but Ben took anuncertain step toward the chair where Charity struggled with the demonsof her laughter, and that was enough. Charity flung herself at him.Reuben saw his brother's arms close around her with a natural kindness,and heard him say: "Now, now! What's the matter, Mistress Charity?"
"Cousin Jan--Mr. Dyckman." She spoke quietly into Ben's shirt, alllaughter spent.
"Dyckman?" John Kenny came to them, and touched her shoulder lightly, asif it might burn him. "What of Mr. Dyckman, my dear?"
"He is dead."
"Dead! But----"
Her cheek over Ben's heart, Charity was able now to deliver plainly andbleakly the words she must have rehearsed a dozen times during thejourney in the coach. "The men of the watch discovered him in an alleyoff Ship Street a little before dawn. Faith bade me take the coach,seeing you might wish to return in it with me. Our servant Clarissa isseeing to the house while Faith cares for Mama, so--none to send butme."
"Of course, my dear," said Mr. Kenny vacantly. "I'll go with thee atonce." Mr. Hibbs had come down for breakfast, but stood apart gloomily,apparently not presuming to hope that anyone would explain matters tohim. "I'll go with thee, and--and my two sons."
"I was to say, sir, that the Constable Mr. Derry hath undertook to be atyour office at the warehouse this forenoon, and will summon back the menof the Select Watch if you wish to question them."
"Mr. Derry?--the watch? What art thou saying, Charity? Mr. Dyckman wasmurdered?"
"I alway do _everything_ wrong!" Charity mourned, but Ben patted hershoulder and she quieted again. "Yes, and they said, sir, his wallet wasgone--some footpad of the water front, but Mama will have it that it wasthe French. She will have it that Frenchmen are a-prowl in the streetsof our neighborhood seeking opportunity to murder my father and herself.Could--could it be so?"
"It could not," said Mr
. Kenny, and managed a wavering laugh. "Yourmother is fanciful."
"She speaks of selling our Clarissa, and away from Boston, for thatClarissa was bred and born in Guadeloupe."
John Kenny snorted; Reuben hoped he was recovering his firmness. "Itrust Mr. Jenks will forbid any such thing--meaning no disrespect toyour mother, Charity."
Charity sighed, burrowing her nose deeper. Reuben supposed that for herthe worst was over. She went on in a brittle but steady monotone:"Cousin Jan--Mr. Dyckman was--they said he was yet alive when he wasfound, and must have been lying there untended for many hours, for bloodwas dry on his garments."
"Alive? Could he speak then?"
"He told the watch his name. And then begged that he might speak with myfather, and said somewhat more of justice being done, and they said hecommended his soul unto God, and there was some other word, but notclear, and when they would lift him to carry him the blood came up inhis mouth, they said, and he choked, and died. He was stabbed, theysaid, stabbed in the back, stabbed in a dozen places."
* * * * *
Constable Malachi Derry, a sad man with excellent muscle disguised by aconcave chest, a willowy neck and a jaw like a pick-axe, commonlydescribed himself as slow to wrath, but he could be angry, and Ben sawthat he was now, as he drooped on a three-legged stool in Mr. Kenny'soffice and tried to find space for surplus leg where the uncompromisingfeet of Captain Peter Jenks allowed not another inch of it and would notbudge. Mr. Derry was a ship chandler by trade. Chosen for the thanklessposition of constable, he had done his level New England best to wriggleout of it, until informed by Governor Dudley himself that he wouldserve, or else pay a fine of not less than ten pounds, possibly more.Faced with that, Mr. Derry did the next best thing--tried to be a goodconstable.
It came hard, leaving him scant time for his rightful labors. He mustwaste hours in the courts, bustle about serving warrants, seeing to thedaytime peace of his district, while the chandlery went to ruin. On theSabbath, engaged in preventing others from ungodliness, how could hefind proper time to look to his own soul? The supplementary emoluments,in view of the damage to his trade, were dem'd low. Besides, the workwas dangerous. Still trying to find room for his legs, he rumbled on toa peroration: "I was compelled, Mr. Kenny, to say this morning to MadamDyckman herself, poor woman: 'We do what we may, more we cannot.' I haveheard Judge Sewall himself declare that disorder increaseth continually,but doth the power of my office increase also? Not at all, sir, thewhile this very air of the water front, as it were, spawns evildoers,the cutthroat, the footpad, the blasphemer, the piraticallyinclined--mostly foreigners, you understand."
"I understand," said John Kenny, "that you hold out small hope ofdiscovering the ruffian who hath murdered the mate of my ketch _Artemis_and so taken from me and my captain a good friend."
Captain Jenks slammed his fist down on his knee and said nothing. To Benthis morning he was almost unrecognizable as the same man who had comeashore in a flood of sunlight. His whole broad face was darkly flushed,the red skin raddled with a thousand lines. When his thick hands werenot jumping like those of an old man with the palsy, a fine tremorpossessed them. Bags hung like flabby udders below his bloodshot blueeyes, and the eyes were cold with wrath and confusion: a man goaded bymuch pain, unable to understand the source of it; a stricken leviathanunable to see the harpoon that has pierced it.
"That's true," said Mr. Derry--"small hope, I fear. You understand, sir,a cobblestone takes no footprint, a knife-blade leaves no signature. Weknow he was scurvily set upon, robbed, slain. But are you aware, sir,there may be as many as two or three hundred evil livers in and aboutthe city who might have done this, and for no reason but the scent ofwhatever money or goods he had upon him?"
"Well..." Mr. Kenny rested his head on his shriveled hands. Reuben haddrawn up a chair to sit by him at the desk, unbidden except by a silentglance that Ben had seen. Lounging across the room, Ben felt thecoolness of the light, always dusty in this small office, pouring overtheir faces, the old man and the boy, the sick man and the well-meaningofficer of the law. The stirring of pain within himself was so vague hecould not know whether it was a foolish jealousy because Uncle John hadsent that message to Reuben and not to him, or merely that unreasonablestab of loneliness which may assail any person at certain times. "Well,"said Mr. Kenny, "I see no profit in summoning the watch. I take it, Mr.Derry, you've told us everything Mr. Dyckman was able to say before hedied?"
"I think so, sir. Sadly little, seeing he was in the last extremity. Hespoke his name, he begged to be taken to Captain Jenks. All of the men,sir, heard him say: 'God's will be done!' And as they were endeavoringto lift him, Mr. Dyckman did speak some word of his wife and children,but the men could scarce hear it, and that was all."
Ben fidgeted. He knew he should have spoken during the journey fromRoxbury; Charity's distracted presence had restrained him. When theyleft her at home and the Captain took her place in the coach, certainlyhe ought to have spoken. Captain Jenks had made a difficult and vaguelycourageous thing of the journey from the house steps to the coach,winning each step like an old man, his face rigid, red and terrible.Waiting in the coach and looking the other way, Uncle John had murmuredto Ben: "Don't offer your hand to aid him into the seat." And once theCaptain was installed there, Ben had barely room to breathe, let alonespeak. But now in the slightly less crowded office he managed to blurtout: "Uncle John...."
The old man looked up at him dimly, and Reuben searched him with a gazeof intentness like a sword. Malachi Derry wheeled about to observe himwith that kind of tight patience that operates like a thumb in the eye.Captain Jenks alone paid him no attention; earlier he had acknowledgedBen's existence with a grunt, Reuben's not at all.
"Yes, Ben?" said Uncle John.
"I saw Mr. Dyckman yesterday evening. I ought to have spoke sooner, butdidn't wish to distress little Charity further." They simply waited;even Captain Jenks was looking at him now, his attention caught perhapsby Charity's name. "I met Mr. Shawn by chance, and he seemed to wish mycompany, so we went to dine at--I think the Lion is the name of it, atavern on Ship Street."
"Well, young man," said Mr. Derry, "I know the place, the which----"
Jenks interrupted as if Derry were a plaguy noise in the street: "Shawn?Who a devil's name is Shawn?"
Mr. Kenny said rather sharply: "I know him, Peter. Let the boy tell it.Why--you met Mr. Shawn yourself, I remember, the afternoon you cameashore. He was with us at the wharf."
"Oh, that--yah." Jenks rubbed his face wearily and subsided.
"Go on, Ben."
"Well, sir, only that Mr. Dyckman came to that tavern while we werethere, and was drinking rum with the new bosun Tom Ball, and--hadevidently been drinking already for some time. He was very foxed."
"Jan Dyckman? Are you certain, Ben?"
"Of course, sir. Mr. Shawn noticed it too. I had the thought he mightwish me to introduce him to Mr. Dyckman, but Mr. Shawn said nay, let itbe another time, for Mr. Dyckman was not himself. In fact, Uncle John,he looked directly at me without recognition, though he knows me wellenough. Knew me, I suppose I must say."
Captain Jenks was staring down into his hands as if wondering why theywere empty. To them he said ponderously: "Jan seldom drank, and when hedid could always hold his liquor like a man. Shit, I don't believe it."
"Peter, my boy Benjamin is not an inventor of tales."
"Tell him," said Jenks--Ben might have been in Roxbury--"tell him tospend more time with the futtering books, and less with silver-tonguedbloody idlers and Irish at that."
"Mr. Jenks"--that was Reuben, an ugly softness such as Ben had neverbefore heard in his light adolescent baritone--"you are doing aninjustice, to my brother certainly, and perhaps to Mr. Shawn."
Jenks turned slowly to examine him, as one who wished to ask: Who adevil's name are you? Beside Reuben's cold furious face was the waitingquiet of Mr. Kenny. The Captain's wrath appeared to fade, a fire hecould not be troubled to sustain. "D
'you tell me the same, John?"
"I do."
"Then I am sorry, and will retract what I said, and hope no offense wastaken."
"None, sir," said Ben quickly, inwardly very greatly offended; but PeterJenks was Faith's father, and was at present (as Uncle John would havesaid) not his own man.
Mr. Derry, evidently fatigued from the labor of saying nothing, nowmildly and respectfully asked: "Had you more to tell, Mr. Cory?"
"There was one thing," said Ben, but stopped at a knocking on theoffice door, and after a nod from Uncle John opened it.
Daniel Shawn was very clean, fresh, brisk. He smiled at Ben, not withany smirk of conspiracy or other reminder of the night, but openly andamiably. "Good morning, Ben--but it's not the good morning, now that'sno lie." He turned at once to Mr. Kenny. "Sir, don't be slow to tell meif I intrude. I heard, sir--the water front is talking of nothing elsethe day. I wished to say, if there be anything I might do, I owe yousome service, Mr. Kenny, if only for your kindness and hospitality theother night, and you may call on me for anything it's in my power to doat all."
"That's kind," said Mr. Kenny vaguely.
Mr. Derry got his legs loose at last, and moved to lean against thedoor, by that rambling action somehow making them all his prisoners ofthe moment. The room had been crowded before--Captain Jenks made anyclosed space seem so; now, with Daniel Shawn lean and large in his greencoat, and Mr. Derry obscurely grown in stature, the little place wasstifling as a shut box. "Who are you, sir?"
"Daniel Shawn, seaman. And you?"
"I am Malachi Derry, and Constable. Your name was mentioned but now, Mr.Shawn. I understand you dined yesterday evening with Mr. Cory here, atthe Lion Tavern on Ship Street?"
"Oh, I did that," said Mr. Shawn lightly. "And later, Mr. Kenny, Ifeared maybe I had presumed, but sir, the boy and I were both at a looseend, you might say, and most pleasant conversation we had, and no harmin it, I hope?"
"Oh, none," said John Kenny, groping at something in his mind. "I wishBen might have let me know, but that's unreasonable of me, for I don'tknow how he could, seeing I left early for Roxbury. Ben, you hadsomething more to tell?"
"Yes, and I'm glad Mr. Shawn is here, for he'll remember it too. Therewas a man seated at the back of the tavern when Mr. Shawn and I went in,a total stranger, a one-eyed man I'd know again if I saw him, no matterhow far away, and--oh, it can't be important, only a feeling I had----"
"Now I will judge of that," said Malachi Derry, and came alive, leaningaway from the door with the sudden monstrous tension of a cat who hasjust sighted a wriggle in the grass. "A one-eyed man?"
"Ay, a black patch, over the left eye. And the only reason I mentionhim, sir, is that when Mr. Dyckman and Ball left the place, this manrose at once and followed them out, but until then he had been sittingidle with the flies gathered on his empty trencher, and when I first sawhim I had a feeling that he was--oh, waiting for something."
Captain Jenks shook his head in grim disgust.
"The left eye, Mr. Cory? You are certain?"
"Yes, Mr. Derry, the left eye. He was--not the common sort. I'd know himagain, anywhere. Shabby clothes, black, patched. Tall, thin, a graydiagonal scar across the back of his right hand, and on his face a madfixed smile such as I never saw on any man before."
"Oh, come!" said Captain Jenks. "May we not have the precise height ofthis hobgoblin, in inches and fractions?"
John Kenny said carefully: "Mr. Derry, I have sometimes walked with Benin the woods. Though an old man, I did not know until then how much thehuman eye can grasp." Ben warmed within; he saw Reuben smile as if thesmall triumph were his own. "You may take it, Mr. Derry, it was the lefteye, and with this pencil--catch, Ben!--he can draw you an accuratesketch of the diagonal scar."
"No need," said Mr. Derry softly, examining the ceiling, a littlerelaxed. "I happen to know of mine own knowledge, the description isjust." His gaze wandered here and there, and settled on Daniel Shawn."Did you also see this man?"
Shawn considered with gravity. "I think I noticed some such person whenwe entered. I recall I sat facing the front of the tavern. I didn'tnotice him leaving, but if it's Beneen says he left soon after Mr.Dyckman, then sure he did."
"But," said Ben--"oh, I remember. When he passed our table, Mr. Shawn,you'd just then leaned to the fireplace, and likely never saw him. Oneother thing I remember, Mr. Derry--nay, but it was only a feeling ofmine, and of no importance----"
"Tell me anyway," said the Constable.
"Why, only that when he passed our table, he looked at me, just onequick look from his one eye, and--I can't explain this, Mr. Derry. Hedid nothing, you understand, only glanced at me and likely with nothought for me at all, and yet I felt as if he'd spat in my face."
"Ay, that," said Constable Derry as if he found nothing strange in it atall, and Ben looked down at the little pencil in his fingers, wonderingwhy Daniel Shawn should suddenly be angry with him. Not anger perhaps;only something probingly cold and measuring in the large blue eyes. Itcould not really be so, Ben thought. Or if it was so, then it meant thatShawn was hurt or offended because Ben had run away without waiting forhim from Mistress Gundy's house....
* * * * *
Reuben watched the glittery ink-blots of Mr. Derry's little brown eyes;heavy brows above them danced for Reuben's troubled amusement like busymoths. "Another name was mentioned--a new bosun, Tom Ball--will thatmean bosun of your ketch _Artemis_, Mr. Kenny? And could you or theCaptain tell me anything of him?"
"I've met him only to shake hands. Peter?"
"Good sailor," said Captain Jenks thickly. "Obeys orders, works hard,keeps his mouth shut--more'n that I never ask of my men."
Except, Reuben thought, their souls and their lives. But how can acaptain demand less than that even if he would? Reuben tried to put thethought away, and succeeded, because now every nerve of observation inhim had grown taut to the edge of agony, and the focal point was notCaptain Jenks. Something in this crowded room was wrong as a rattlesnakein a flower bed. It became a severe effort not to look toward the blueeyes of Daniel Shawn. Reuben forced his attention back to what theConstable was saying--something more about Tom Ball, maybe notimportant. "Another thing, Mr. Kenny, and I'll be on my way. Have youever heard tell of one named Jack Marsh, or some say it should be JudahMarsh, or Judas?"
"Why, that name--it doth echo somewhere....
"Think back, sir, ten or eleven years. Eleven it is--'96. An occasionwhen a certain Captain Avery, or Every, alias Bridgeman and sometimescalled Long Ben, was allowed to enter Boston, and that openly, to dickerfor the sale of his plunder gotten under the black flag. To the greatscandal, I must say, of any man who can tell a privateer from agallows-bird, but so it was, Mr. Stoughton being acting Governor."
Mr. Kenny peered down his nose with the lopsided half of a smile,perhaps suspecting Mr. Derry of humorous intent in linking holyStoughton with dreadful Avery. Malachi Derry appeared quite innocent."Mph, yes, and m'lord Bellomont as Governor had his Captain Kidd, yesyes. Of course, Mr. Derry, I remember Avery, as who would not?"
"We suffered much odious brawling in the town by Avery's men."
"I recall it."
"One of them, known then as Judah or Judas Marsh, did have his left eyegouged out in a brush with--umph--some of the ruder element." A glint inthe brown eyes suggested he might not be wholly innocent after all. "Ithappened near my establishment, though I didn't witness it."
"And I recall the roustabout who blinded him was flogged, andMarsh--(but wasn't it March, Mr. Derry?)--nursed the wound at the AlmsHouse as an idle, drunken and disorderly person."
"And escaped."
"Oh?--that I'd forgotten. So many have done so, and we still continue touse the Alms House, damn the thing, because the House of Correction isnot in fit posture to restrain ailing rats. And by the way, Constable,if the Meeting shall ever instruct the Selectmen and Justices in thisparticular, I predict nothing will come of it. Go on, pray."
&nb
sp; "Amen, sir. Yes, Marsh escaped after Captain Avery had gone his way.Later Marsh was seen, oh, here and there--Plymouth, Salem Village--alwaywith an evil reputation. And disappeared--for good, it wasthought--about the time we began to hear tell of John Quelch. A monthago I received intelligence from a worthy man of my acquaintance atGloucester, who is a justice of the peace and a man of substance." Mr.Derry swelled comfortably and brushed lint from his jacket, applying thepressure of a genial silence.
John Kenny said reminiscently: "I was obliged to serve a year once asconstable, at Roxbury--mph--must confess that lieth further in the pastthan 1696. Onerous occupation." He smiled like a December thaw. Mr.Derry looked politely attentive and slightly sulky. Mr. Kenny sighed andobliged: "You heard, from your friend at Gloucester--?"
"I heard that this man Marsh--sometimes his name did appear as March,it's all one--had been hanging about there recent, seeking a berth withone of the fishing vessels, but because of his foul conversation andugly habit, none would have him. My informant advised me that Marsh hadleft, possibly for Boston, and recommended I be watchful, seeing troublefollows this man as stink follows a polecat. Marsh, I hear, is quickwith a knife, and nowadays they do call him Smiling Jack. I believe,sir, that thanks to this timely aid from Mr. Cory, we may be able toconclude the grievous happening of last night by persuading Mister Marshto dance without benefit of a floor."
"Still, what do we know, man?" Mr. Kenny bleakly asked. "Item, he leftthe tavern when Dyckman did. Any man might have done so for any of adozen innocent reasons."
Mr. Derry smiled slowly, reached in the air for an imaginary throat,twisted it, wiped his hand lingeringly on his breeches. "Mr. Kenny, ifMarsh be found anywhere in the town, I can detain and question him. Why,I dare say he'll be found before Mr. Dyckman must be buried. He shall bebrought before the body, and does any man doubt the wounds will bleed?"
"May I be there!" said Captain Jenks to his tremendous hands.
Reuben felt a new sort of sternness in his great-uncle as the small oldman leaned far over the desk. "Peter." He waited until the Captainturned to look at him. "Peter, I will not delay the sailing of_Artemis_. When she hath her cargo and her complement, and the tide isright, she'll go, sir, and landside justice no concern of hers."
"Well, John---" Captain Jenks sighed cavernously. "Well, John...." Forthe dozenth time he rubbed at his flushed face as if cobwebs clung toit; his gaze wandered until it met Constable Derry's, and then he spokemore or less as to a friend: "Find him soon, Constable."
Daniel Shawn had stepped to the window, a little behind Mr. Kenny.Reuben could see him, his gaunt and handsome face staring away throughthe smeary glass. "It's the hard thing such a man as Mr. Dyckman shoulddie, and for what? The poor scrap of money he may have had withhim--what's money beside a man's life, Mother of God?"
Nobody answered him. To the Captain Mr. Derry said: "I expect to findhim soon enough, and you have the right to be present when he'sexamined. You understand, sir, there'll be no interference with the law,no cheating of the gallows, for except I be strangely deluded, the manwill hang." Malachi Derry bowed to the room at large and moved to thedoor on the balls of his feet.
"And that no great loss, I suppose," said Mr. Kenny. A tumbling ofdisorderly papers on the desk had threatened to submerge his gold-headedcane. He rescued it and rubbed the handle, that was shaped into an elfinwoman's leg and thigh, against the dry sagging skin beneath his jaw."But Jan will still be dead."
Stooping for a passage of the doorway, Mr. Derry paused to stare indisapproval. "Mr. Kenny, surely you, sir, will not display a frowardheart before the will of the Lord? We are insects before his footstool:we do what we may, more we cannot. Is it for us to question thejudgment? Did not your friend himself commend his soul to God? He said:'God's will be done!' Amen."
"I am sure he said it." Mr. Kenny gazed at the Constable politely. "Mr.Dyckman was a Lutheran, by the way. If you find Marsh, and if his guiltbe proven on him, I shall not protest his being hanged, or hanged, drawnand quartered since that ever pleaseth the multitude, and left on thehandiest gallows Boston can provide, as a plain apodeixis"--Mr. Derrywinced and looked largely wise--"a veritable indicium of human justice.Good morning, Mr. Derry."
Reuben heard through the opened door into the warehouse the boom ofrolling barrels, thud of boxes, metallic clang of large voices echoingback from barren walls. _Artemis_ was filling her hold with a cargo ofsalt cod for Bridgetown in Barbados. Word of the death had occasioned apause in the clamor earlier in the morning; a short one: commerce andthe seasons don't wait. The warehouse, Reuben thought, was a roaringdjinn, the ships its only masters; it could pause in its thunderingactivity if someone died, as a giant might hesitate at the squeak ofsomething under his foot, but not for long. Within him a cool voiceremarked that a simile was a mischancy nag to ride--ride him easy.... Hesaw Ben lean down, returning that pencil to the desk, and Ben wasevidently doing battle with some private unease. It was necessary,Reuben reflected with some coolness of his own, to talk with Ben as soonas they could be alone together, if only to learn what it was aboutyesterday evening that Ben had not told.... Outside, Mr. Derry's voicerumbled: "Yes, Mr. Eames, he's within, but engaged."
"He will have time for me." The voice was dry. The man entered theoffice without knocking, his dour face reminding Reuben of that portraitseen long ago in Grandmother Cory's parlor: no specific likeness toGrandfather Matthew in the lean sadness of Mr. Simon Eames, except forthe tight closing of the gash below the nose, the mouth of a man whoexpected life to taste bitter and could not allow his expectation to bewrong.
The wealth of Mr. Eames was all ocean-born; he could have bought out Mr.Kenny twice over. Unfortunately he hated water and was said by thenaughty-minded to turn seasick at the touch of a washrag. He might havesat quiet in his countinghouse and let the pounds and shillings come tohim; he need not even have turned his pale eyes on the sometimes livelywater of the Bay. But human nature is consistent as a lost puppy in atyphoon: whenever one of his ships came in, Mr. Eames invariably grittedhis large teeth and had himself rowed out across the demoniac element.He must have this moment returned from such an ordeal. He was quitegreen. "Mr. Kenny, sir, if you have a moment?"
"Certainly, Mr. Eames. I saw your _Regina_ was in on the tide thismorning. Had she a fair passage?"
"Middling, they tell me. The Lord maketh a way in the sea, and a path inthe mighty waters. No, I thank you, I never drink," he said as Mr. Kennyfumbled at a drawer of his desk. Mr. Eames sniffed, glancing in distasteat the bowed head of Captain Jenks, which had not lifted to acknowledgehis presence. "I regret, Mr. Kenny, it is my grievous Christian duty tobe the bearer of ill news, in the which one must seek to discover theinfinite wisdom of Providence, the Dispenser of all mercies." Reubensickened with understanding: the ship _Regina_ was in the Virginiatrade, and so was Uncle John's ship _Iris_; any moment now this piouscarrion crow would come to the end of the preliminaries he was enjoyingso much, and declare a disaster in plain words. Meanwhile the man wastalking, and talking, and had not yet begun, and Daniel Shawn had swungaway from the window to thrust his hands in the pockets of his greencoat and gaze down at the sad speaker as one might watch a yapping dog.Reuben thought: What's it to Shawn? Why should _he_ step forward so,where Uncle John must be aware of him, and put on a plain show of angerat the bringer of bad news? "... as in all mischances and vicissitudesit is necessary to submit, Mr. Kenny, even to offer up gracioussupplications...."
"Mr. Eames," said John Kenny, and the noise ended. Simon Eames was notaccustomed to interruptions; he probably found them ill-bred. He stoodpatiently, expecting blasphemy. "Mr. Eames, I have not much time, nothere at my warehouse this morning and perhaps not in the world. As forGod's providence and disposition of the burdens men bear, may I leavesuch questions to God himself, rather than have them expounded unto meby men who, I suppose, share my humility as well as my mortality?"
"John Kenny, you had ever a somewhat naughty spirit."
"That may be so.
Will you speak your news?"
Flushed, Mr. Eames drew a few deep breaths. Reuben sickly,inconsequently remembered another face, nothing at all like the face ofMr. Eames, a bronze painted face in a darkly reddened room. He had spaton it. In spite of the observations anyone must make, it had neverbecome fully credible to Reuben that a human creature could findpleasure in the pain of others. His mind acknowledged the evidence, hisheart refused it, and he wished weakly that magic could lift him out ofthis chilly crowded room into some place--the spring woods, forchoice--where Mr. Welland would answer questions with mirth andkindness. "Mr. Kenny, your ship _Iris_, Captain Samuel Fostercommanding, put out of Norfolk a fortnight before the departure thenceof my ship _Regina_. I have this intelligence from Captain Bart of the_Regina_, with whom I was but now speaking. The _Iris_ sailed on thethird day of April to be precise, for Barbados, at least that was thedestination announced by Captain Foster."
"Yes, it was Captain Foster's intention to make Barbados."
"The _Regina_ sailed on the sixteenth day of April, arriving here thismorning after a slow passage, having encountered contrary winds as theLord willed. On her second day out of Norfolk, the seventeenth day ofApril, the weather being overcast and a dirty sea running, my CaptainBart hath told me, the _Regina_ overtook the longboat of the ship_Iris_."
"The--longboat," said Captain Jenks, and got laboriously to his feet,massive arms swinging, quite helpless.
Mr. Eames ignored him. "Three men were in it, Mr. Kenny, rather two menand a boy, the boy's name being Bartram Wilks, of Dedham, a lad of aboutsixteen years...."
"I remember him. Will you continue?"
"All three were wounded and famished, the Lord having seen fit to visitthem with the vials of his wrath. The boy Wilks and one of the men werebrought aboard. The other man--the sea running high and as Goddisposeth--burst his head against the strakes and sank immediate. Theman brought aboard perished later, having overeaten though sufferingfrom pistol wounds, but the boy Wilks lived two days."
His gaze not once abandoning Mr. Eames, Daniel Shawn had taken from hispocket a bright copper coin and was rubbing his broad thumb across it,turning it deftly to rub the other side, an action evidently so habitualit needed no guidance of his eyes. A farthing, Reuben thought, but notcolonial. When for a moment the thumb and forefinger held the coinmotionless by the finely milled rim, Reuben could make out a robedfigure kneeling by a floating crown, and the legend FLOREAT REX. Thepale eyes of Simon Eames were caught by the brightness and he let thesilence drag. Shawn asked of no one in particular: "Had Mr. Dyckman wifeand children?"
"Eh?" Mr. Kenny turned to him, startled. "He had, sir. A wife and twolittle girls survive him."
"Oh, hanging's too gentle," said Shawn, rubbing the coin, his eyelidslowered on a blueness like that of two bright mirrors turned to a bluesky. "Is there a blacker thing than murder in the Decalogue? Isn't itthe destroying of the one thing we know we possess? Forgive me, sir--Ishould not be talking, belike I should not be here in your time oftrouble, but I--sir, I feel it. I can't explain--steady as she goes, canI not! for didn't I see a friend murdered in a knife brawl on the brig_Terschelling_, and for nothing, a thing done in the time it'd take youto breathe twice, the time it took me, sir, to run from companionway tola'board rail and no chance, no chance to aid him at all, and then hisblood blackening in the deck seams hour by hour, the way no holystonewould ever rub it out?" Mr. Shawn seemed blankly startled to discoverthe farthing in his fingers, and put it away. "Mr. Kenny, they're sayingabout the docks that the poor soul was yet living when he was found.Could he not speak at all, to damn the man who'd done the thing?"
"Little enough," said Mr. Kenny slowly. "Little enough, Mr. Shawn....Will you continue, Mr. Eames?"
"Ha? Oh.... I believe I was about to say, Wilks lived two days, and thendied of an infection of his wounds, cutlass wounds, though Captain Barttended the boy in his own cabin, bled him, did whatever he might,but--having lived long enough on this wretched earth to give CaptainBart the tidings and to prepare his soul for its going unto the Fatherof all mercies, the boy died, being a lad of decent conversationevidently raised in fear of the Lord, for Captain Bart saith he didmake a most touching confession of faith, indeed exemplary, and may havebeen of the elect, we may hope...."
"Will you continue?"
"Why, as it was told by Wilks, your ship _Iris_ was set upon by a fastsloop which came out of the starboard quarter at dawn on the eighth dayof April, the _Iris_ being then at about latitude thirty, having madevery little southing because of scant and fitful winds, also a suddenleak near the water line--but Captain Foster, it seems, preferred tobeat out the passage to Barbados with extra toil at the pumps ratherthan put back to Norfolk, the Lord having so moved his heart to his ownsad destruction."
"What?" said Jenks. "What? What did you say?"
"Why--he was lost, Mr. Jenks, with the others. On the eighth of Aprilthe weather was fair, the sea moderate. The sloop ran up a French flagand may have been a privateer. The boy Wilks, however, said that the menwho boarded the _Iris_ appeared to be plain pirates, and their generalconduct of the affair would so indicate. Yet they allowed Wilks and fourothers, all wounded and of no mind to go on the account, to take thelongboat, so to make the continental shore if they might or theBermudas--thus carrying out the plain intent of Providence that theintelligence should come to us for a warning and a judgment. They couldnot row with much effect, yet the Lord sent them a southwesterly, earlyfor the season, and by his infinite mercy they did cross the course ofthe _Regina_ as I have said, after nine days afloat with a trifle ofwater and biscuit, during which time two of the men died of theirwounds, having accomplished their part in God's purpose."
"Sam Foster," Jenks said. "Sam was a sailor of King William's time. Howdid he die, Mr. Eames? Will you tell me how he died?"
"It would appear he placed the _Iris_ in posture to resist as best hemight, but was overwhelmed. A shot at close quarters swept away themainmast. The pirates grappled, swarmed aboard superior in numbers andweapons. They were stripping the ship of all they wished to carry aboardthe sloop, when the longboat was put overside. Wilks and the others sawher burned to the water, the sloop bearing off south by southeast."
Daniel Shawn grunted. "They will have been from the Bahamas, Mr.Kenny--wolves, sir, wolves, and with the flags of a dozen nations in thelocker to suit the occasion."
"Eh? Yes, I suppose. Mr. Eames, did any go alive on the sloop?"
At least, Reuben observed, the old man was letting him keep a hand onhis arm, seemed even to welcome it, and must know that Ben was on hisother side. John Kenny was not predictable, his manner tending to putlove in its place--an acquaintance respected, possibly feared a little,and not permitted any too forward liberties.
"The boy Wilks thought not, Mr. Kenny, but was not certain. One of thecutlass blows had destroyed his right eye."
Captain Jenks panted: "Mr. Eames--I asked you--be there any word how SamFoster died?"
"With a seaman's fortitude apparently, although not, alas, in a state ofgrace. He was struck down soon after the enemy boarded. Wilks saw himlying in his blood and cursing them, but did not see the moment of hisdeath, whether he then turned his thought to the Lord."
"Well, Mr. Eames," said John Kenny, "you have accomplished your errand,and I thank you for the trouble you have taken to bring me word. I begyou also, commend me to your good Captain Bart. I will speak with himwhen I may."
* * * * *
"I keep thinking in what sorry fashion I came home on this road lastnight."
"Forget that, Ben."
"I can't, quite. I feel as though I'd given him another burden whenalready he hath too much to bear--well, you did say, didn't you, that hewasn't too troubled about my--my----"
"Wasn't at all. Would you have everyone perfect, devil any lapse fromvirtue, and yourself a saint in ivory?"
"Oh, I know.... I swear I ought not to be going to Harvard. You must go,but damn it, I'm no scho
lar. Uncle John himself wishes me to go intotrade with him some day. I say, if I do, it ought to be now."
"I disagree."
"Ay, you too.... Ru, a few weeks ago Uncle John told me--only inpassing, because then it was nothing to trouble him--that he had debtswaiting on the profit the ship _Iris_ was to have brought him. Most ofthe debt is from the building of _Artemis_, and her maiden voyage won'thave fetched enough to satisfy it. It could happen, Ru, the creditorswill be on top of him like a pack of wolves."
"I--didn't know that."
"You do now. Look: wouldn't it be unwise to send _Artemis_ to be gonefor months on the Barbados triangle, when she's all he owns--she and thelittle sloop _Hebe_ at Newport that can't give much account of herself?"
"What would you have him do?"
"I think _Artemis_ should make short voyages--should take that salt cod,for instance, maybe no further than New York, back at once for more,until the debt is cleared. I suppose the harshest of 'em would give himthat much time. And then I think that when the debt is cleared, he oughtto get a few more little fast vessels like _Hebe_ for the coastal trade,for heaven knows that's the bread and butter of this colony, and let thelong ventures wait a few years."
"Then tell him so, Ben."
"I?... Commerce should be building, not gambling, a'n't that so? Well,I think Uncle John believes that, but is moved to gamble all the same.The great ventures draw his heart--and why not, seeing that in the pasthe's won them? Only, now...."
"You might as well say it: now he's old, and in trouble, and the timesthemselves are changing, so everyone seems to think. Tell him how yousee it. I say tell him, little brother."
"Can't you be sensible, Muttonhead?"
"Sensible--mm-yas. Well, tell him, maybe not that last morsel of yourwisdom, but tell him at least about the little companions for _Hebe_,and short voyages for _Artemis_."
"I'm to instruct a man of seventy, when he won't even hear to my signingon to learn a bit of seamanship and so be of use to him?"
"You could tell him anything. You only need speak in a plain voice andnever let anyone stop you from smiling in your own peculiar manner. Isay this fully understumbling that in this moment I stand to you _inloco Gideonis Hibborum_."
"Oh, God damn it, Ru, whenever I'm dead in earnest you're laughing on amountaintop--yes, and when I think something comical you're a little oldman a thousand years old."
"Only a thousand? As best I can discover from perusal of ancientrecords, I was born during the government of Pericles of Athens, _circa_five hundred years before the birth of Christ. Plutarch doesn'tspecifically mention me--that's the slipshod scholarship of his timesfor you, obliging a man to read between the lines. It so happens I was_not_ laughing when I urged you to tell that to Uncle John. And now,what was it about yesterday evening at the tavern that you didn't tellthe Constable?"
"The--Constable----"
"Yes, Ben, and yes. One-eyed man. Lion Tavern. Some part of that untoldwas hurting thee. What was it? Note that I stand here in the road, mybare face hung decently in front of my brains, not laughing."
"Good God! Was I so----"
"No one in that room has my eyes and ears."
"I see.... Will you undertake not to speak of it to anyone?"
"Of course, if you charge me so."
"I do. It was simply a fleeting impression I had, that while I hadturned to see Ball and Dyckman leaving the tavern, Shawn also haddone--something or other. Looked back, I thought, where that one-eyedman was sitting, just before he rose and followed them out. Nowunderstand, Ru: I was drank already. It was nothing more than a fancy."
"But I know your eyes."
"No _no_! I was drunk, and did not truly see it anyway. Even if true,why should it mean anything? Why should it stick in my mind?"
"That of course is the question."
"Now what do you mean?"
"What is it in Shawn that should make the thought trouble you?... Whatin fact do you know about Mr. Shawn?"
"Why--why, he is a man of pleasant conversation--mostly. Of--of poeticspirit, wouldn't you say? Possessed of some learning too. He hath readPhysiologus."
"That is learning? And now again you're holding something back, but I amno Malachi Derry."
"'Deed you're not, but what are you? Why do you press me so? Like ajudge?"
"Not to judge you, certainly. You've seen something in Shawn to disturbyou. I wish to know what it was, because--because I'm frightened, Ben;because what touches thee touches me...."
"Something at that--house. He spoke quite cruelly to the women there,poor sluts, as if he hated them, and for no cause. I don't know--I knowyou don't like him, Ru, I can feel it. Let's not speak of him."
"Very well. Let's go on. Pontifex awaits, I'm sure. Let's walk on--youknow, decently, like Christian worthies debating how best to diddle aneighbor over a line fence and yet remain in a state of grace."
"Pagan Athenian!"
"Of course."
"I recall a time, when thou wast--"
"The boy's dead. Poor snotnose, he died near Springfield in theMassachusetts, in the reign of Queen Anne. Tell me something, Ben, anddon't be angry--remember how Mother used to call me Puppy?"
"Of course. And Father called thee Sir Inquiry."
"Ha? So he did...."
"Why should I be angry?"
"She called me that, I think, because I am--I am over-demonstrative,heart on my sleeve and can't help it, Ben, it's my way, my _way_. I onlymeant to ask--does it trouble thee, that I like to put my arm over thyshoulder, sometimes kiss thy cheek? Because----"
"Now why in the world should it trouble me? A'n't thou my own brother,Athenian?"
"I am."
"And didn't I carry thee down the stairs at Deerfield, a small boy in agreat daze at the burning and thinking it his own fault for a failure topray--remember that?"
"He doth ask me, whether I remember it."
"I only meant, thy notion of being at fault for failing to pray." _Butit may be mine own fault that he's an even greater infidel than I--whatdid I ever do but encourage his doubting, when perhaps--when--where isthe way where light dwelleth?_
"I know, Ben. Yes, I remember it." _And if there be no Spice Islands,where shall I go?_