Figure Away

by Phoebe Atwood Taylor

  “What about your roadster?” Kay asked.

  “Like your percolator, no one’ll steal it in that condition. I’ll phone Al to fix it. He’ll have it retired ’fore mornin’. Come on.

  “Aren’t you going to tell us anything?” Brinley sounded annoyed. “Anything – what’s happened?”

  “Good night,” Asey said.

  “What happened? What are you going to do?”

  “Figure,” Asey said, “away. That’s all the story there is, an’ what I’m goin’ to do. Now Wes, don’t you start! Come on, Kay.”

  Back at Aunt Sara’s, Asey exclaimed at the terrific litter of papers in the living room.

  “That’s Jeff Leach,” Sara said, “trying to balance his accounts. He’ll spend the winter with’em, by the looks. For once I don’t blame him. What can you do, with old settlers and new tourists and everyone giving you odd sums and saying it’s for those taxes in 1929, and for this and that and the other thing. Weston had some fancy slips, but we ran out of em day before yesterday. You all go to bed. I’ve got to help Jeff figure. He counts on his fingers, and with his arthritis his fingers are none too reliable.”

  “Where’s Jane?” Asey asked.

  “Upstairs in bed, long ago. Mike’s been here most of the evening. I told him about Eloise. How’d he take it? He was perfunctorily sorry, and brought out the budget he started today. The two of them argued themselves hoarse. It did Jane good. She hasn’t been anywhere near so lugubrious since he left. He told her to trust you, Asey, and I guess she is. Oh, this is all such a horrible thing! Asey, what are you going to do now?”

  “Figure,” Asey told her. “ ’Night.”

  Around four-thirty that morning Zeb woke with a start and the uneasy feeling that someone was moving around in the room. He snapped on the light to find Asey, fully dressed, pacing around the outer edge of the big braided rug.

  “What are – haven’t you been to bed yet?”

  “Go to sleep,” Asey said, and continued his monotonous pacing.

  He was eating breakfast when Zeb got down to the dining room in the morning.

  “Marvelous day,” Sara said. “Thank goodness, it’ll end in a blaze of glory, this week will, and all I’ve got to do today is hand out silver cups at the Town Hall with Bessie Brinley and Mrs. Philbrick. I’m going to watch the yacht races, and tonight is the grand ball; that will doubtless sap the last ounce of strength I have. I look forward to Church Day and the end of it all. Not for a Billingsgate wallowing in gold would I go through a week like this again!”

  “When,” Bertha asked anxiously, “when is the jelly? I mean, the prizes?”

  “Three o’clock,” Sara said, “and I want to give warning to you all, this is the last meal Bertha and Sally bother with till Monday. Jeff and I will have lunch with the notables, and the rest of you will have to fend for yourselves. There’s a buffet supper at the golf club, and you can come there with us, or not. Tomorrow being the Lord’s day, I suppose the Lord will somehow provide. Jane, you certainly aren’t going to the hollow, are you?”

  “No!” Asey said.

  “No, Mike said not, either. I’m going to spend the day with Mike.”

  “Very wise of her, isn’t it, Asey? Come to Jeff or me if you get bored with Mike. Zeb, you’ll be at the store all day, I suppose? It’s Saturday, and you’ll have—”

  “It is Saturday,” Zeb said. “Isn’t it? That’s the hardest part of business, remembering Saturday as the day you work on instead of just part of a weekend. I can’t get used to it. I suppose I’ll have to go to the store. Matt gave me hell for taking off so much time yesterday. I did want to grab time for – Kay, what are you doing?”

  “Me? I’ve got to get my stuff ready for Shorty. Asey, Win’s picture was in last night’s paper. I cut it out for you to give him, if you want to. And what are you doing?”

  “I figure,” Asey said rather gloomily. “I just figure and figure. On an’ on.” His figuring led him first to the ball field, where the sports program was already in progress. He allowed himself to be dragged into the horse shoe pitching, and won the event, to his own amazement, from Weston and Mike Slade.

  “Snappy work.” Zeb Chase, dressed in running trunks and a sweater, appeared at Asey’s elbow. “Now come and mile run with me, Tarzan.”

  “Yah,” Asey jeered. “What the hard-workin’ business man wears for Saturday! The vig’rous Chase boy, who thinks so much about beans. Yah. Slacker!”

  “It’s for the honor of the firm.” Zeb pulled up his faded crimson sweater and displayed the six-inch letters on his shirt. “See, Chase’s Baked Beans. That’s me. Isn’t it tasty? Old Matt had to let me off when I showed him this jersey. Just couldn’t resist it. And Kay said if I won—”

  “You know you will.”

  “It’s no cinch. Purdy’s here, with exSenator Puddleface. Purdy’s going to marry Puddleface’s daughter – at least she hopes so, and that’s why the cup’s so big. Puddleface gave it, and I owe Purdy a bit, and – oh, Kay said, if I won, she’d give us any amount of space, and that’ll charm father. At school he always wanted me to say I trained on beans – number forty-one? Hey, I’m forty-one – wait!”

  Mike Slade rushed up.

  “Come on, we need you for the tug of war, natives versus visitors, and Wes wants you to pitch the soft ball game—”

  “Dream on,” Asey said, “I shot my bolt with the hoss shoes. I done my bit.”

  “Is that cooperation? Is that—”

  “No,” Asey said, “it’s common sense. I got to—”

  “Asey!” Weston raced up. “Did Mike tell you—”

  “He did, an’ I’m not. Wes, I never seen such vigor! Rushin’ around—”

  “Someone’s got to!” Weston said.

  “You really won’t? Hey, Carruthers! Slade, go get Carruthers and tell Zeb Chase he’s got to pitch—”

  Weston rushed off after Mike.

  Asey grinned and strolled over to the Town Hall. In the exhibition rooms, Mrs. Brinley and Aunt Sara and half a dozen other town women were matching up contestants’ names with the prizewinning numbers on the various entries.

  “Here’s one!” Mrs. Brinley said excitedly. “Here – oh, look, girls! Look at this jar of jelly! It’s won – why, gracious sakes! It’s the best in the show, best in all the jellies, and best beach- plum jelly! What do you know about that! Three prizes! That means three cups and the big prize money—”

  “What’s the number?” Sara asked. “Thirty. Let’s see. Oh, isn’t that simply splendid, now! That’s Bertha. My Bertha. Bertha Cook from over by the point. She’ll be simply tickled to pieces, and she deserves it. She’s a marvelous cook and a splendid jelly—”

  Mrs. Brinley sniffed. “Well, I don’t think that jelly looks like much, if you should ask me! Those judges – I told Arthur, I said, Arthur, you couldn’t have picked worse judges! And when I see one of them, I’m going to tell him what I think! Him, or her. Not that I intend to make any trouble – dear me, no! I always say, what’s the use of entering anything if you haven’t the spirit to lose as well as the spirit to win. I mean, if you can’t be a good loser, what’s the use. And I entered the very same batch of jelly that won at the Grange, and the church fair, and the county – not that I dispute for one instant what the judges think, but I always say—”

  “We understand, dear,” Sara tried to soothe her.

  “But the first one of those judges I see,” Bessie said ominously, “the very first I see, I’m going to tell him—”

  Asey quietly withdrew.

  He viewed the tug of war, and watched Zeb beat out Purdy by an eyelash for the mile run, and then got into his roadster and drove slowly over to his shack on the outer beach, where his cousin Syl Mayo greeted him cheerily.

  “Hi, Asey. Want Win?”

  “How is he? Been troublesome?”

  “He ain’t a mite of trouble,” Syl said. “Good’s gold. Nice old feller. He just sleeps an’ sleeps “Drunk, huh?”


  “No,” Syl said. “You know what I think, Asey? I think the old feller’s been starvin’. He eats a meal, an’ then he sleeps, an’ after a while he bobs up to see if I’m here, an’ he gets some more to eat, an’ then he sleeps again. I always heard tell he was an awful old souse, but he don’t drink much. An’ you know, it don’t seem to affect him none, what he does drink. Seems to think a heap of you, he does. I’ll go fetch him. The doc’s been here reg’lar to look at his shoulder,” he added. “Doc says he understands Billin’sgate if the first Billin’s was as rugged as the last.”

  Win pumped Asey’s hand. “Nice feller, Syl,” he said. “No nonsense to him. When you want feat, he feeds you. What you got there?”

  “Picture of you, cut from the Boston paper.”

  Win peered at it and then held it off at a distance.

  “That me? You sure?”

  “Certain sure. See what it says underneath?”

  “By gorry,” Win said. “Whaddye know. Huh. That thing goin’ on yet?”

  “You don’t want to go back, do you?”

  “Didn’t know I looked so good,” Win said. “Look pretty good, don’t I? Don’t look such a fool’s I thought.”

  “Looked pretty swell,” Asey said. “Say, want to be in on the finish? Syl, take my car an’ go get him some clothes from my house. Mine’ll fit him. Got one of them white suits. I’ll wait here.”

  He sat down with Win on the rough wooden settee outside the shack.

  “Win,” he said finally, “how much do you know about Billingsgate, anyway?”

  “Keep posted,” Win puffed at his pipe. “Hear a lot. See a lot. Folks think I’m an ole fool, say a lot of things they wouldn’t say t’others. What you want to know?” Asey scratched his head. “Honest, Win, I don’t know how to put it. S’pose there’s trouble in town. Trouble with the runnin’ of the town. Who’s to blame?”

  “Sairey Leach,” Win said after due deliberation. “An’ Bessie Brinley, the nosey thing.”

  “What do you know about Mary Randall?”

  “Up to Hell Holler? Nice woman, no nonsense. Knows when a man’s hungry. I grub in the dump for her often. Gives me dollar for an ole butter firkin, fifty cents for knife boxes—”

  “Who didn’t like her, Win? I mean, who don’t like her?”

  Win caught his slip into the past tense. “Oho. Didn’t, huh? Thought they was trouble. Daughter hates her. Hellcat. Hated the other girl, too. Seen’em fight.”

  “Who?” Asey was confused. “Daughter’d fight Mary Randall an’ the girl. Throw things. Hellcat. Seen a lot while I was to the ice house. Know what? Daughter went off at night. Often.”

  “Win,” Asey said, “what do you mean? You talkin’ about Mary Randall’s daughter Eloise? Let’s get this straight.”

  “Fat woman,” Win said. “Jerky talker. Used t’go off nights. Some feller. Don’t know who. He’d laugh funny, an’ she’d walk ’round the pond to the east road an’ drive off.” He used half a dozen vigorous Anglo-Saxon nouns to sum up his opinion of Eloise. “Know Brinley, fat feller? Seen her with him on the beach once.” Win gave it as his opinion that J. Arthur was little better than Eloise.

  “So that,” Asey said, “is the answer to the other path, is it? That’s Eloise’s own. By – by the almighty! An’ that laugh is her boy friend, signallin’ – no wonder Jane thought there was folks around! Win, tell me more about Sara an’ Bessie.”

  “Brinley woman hates Sairey,” Win said. “Jealous. Know what? She made Brinley switch Jeff Leach’s books. Made mistakes. Jeffs no good at books. Brinley is.”

  “Win! How do you know?”

  “Cold spell this spring,” Win said. “Had t’leave Philbrick’s place. He was cornin’. Slipped into Town Hall. Lived there week or so. Heard a lot. Brinley’s fixin’ to get Jeff out. Wants t’be head of the board, n’en go t’the legislature. Wants t’go t’Congress. Fixed Weston’s books, too.”

  Asey blinked. “Win, whyn’t you tell someone?”

  “Gregrampa always said, more rope y’give a feller, the nicer knot he hung himself with. No one’d b’lieved me, anyways. What’s the use?”

  “Win, I can’t hardly believe this!”

  “Didn’t b’lieve it m’self at first,” Win said. “Sly one. I know. Gregrampa said, look out for potbellied fellers with sharp eyes, an’ if they got a naggin’ wife, look out twice. I’m thirsty.”

  Before Syl returned, Asey began at the beginning and questioned Win all over again. But he couldn’t shake the old man’s story.

  With Syl’s help, he dressed the last Billings up in a white linen suit, combed his hair and shaved him.

  “There!” Asey gave a pat of approval to Win’s blue tie. “You look like J. P. Morgan, Win. I’ll see that Kay’s friend takes another picture of you. Syl, I’m droppin’ you at your house. You dress up, an’ then take Win over to Billingsgate in your car, an’ find Mike Slade, an’ see Win finishes out the program in style. Win, I wouldn’t want you to rust your innards, but go easy, won’t you?”

  “Asey, you nicked m’chin!” Win was peering into the mirror. “Think it’ll show in the picture?”

  “Vanity,” Asey said, “vanity! Syl,take care of him for me, won’t you? I’ll be seein’ you.”

  “Where you bound?” Syl asked.

  “In a manner of speakin’,” Asey said, “I give up figurin,’ an’ I’m goin’ to get another figurer. I’m goin’ up to Boston, but I’ll be back in four-five hours. So long.”

  Around supper time he returned to the Leach house, not remembering until he reached the front door Sara’s warning that Bertha was to have the week-end off.

  But Bertha herself called to him from an upstairs window as he returned to his car.

  “Asey! Asey Mayo! If you want supper, come ’round to the kitchen door!”

  Asey grinned, and returned.

  “There’s plenty to eat,” Bertha said, “if you don’t mind cold things – look at my cups! Three!” she pointed proudly to the silver cups on the kitchen table. “And fifty dollars, cash money! I give it to my mother, the money. She was so happy she cried. Oh, I was hopin’ – but I thought Mrs. Brinley would get it. She always does! An’ I know it was you that did it!”

  “I was one,” Asey reminded her, “of four women, an’ four men.”

  He didn’t feel it was necessary to add that he had manoeuvred things so that he made his decisions first, and that the others had used the same blank afterwards, or that he had commented rather outspokenly on his ability as a Cape Codder to know good jelly when he saw it in front of his eyes. At least five of the judges had been returned settlers, and they were very anxious to prove themselves good Cape Codders.

  “You fixed it, somehow,” Bertha said. “And I want you to have the jelly. I told mother, and she said you should have it—”

  “I can’t,” Asey said. “Why, you ought to put that on the mantelpiece an’ show it to all your beaus. Get you a husband if you ain’t got one picked out.”

  “No,” Bertha said obstinately. “I want you to have it. Say, did they do anything to the jelly, like cookin’ it? This looks dif’rent from when I took it up.”

  “Not while I was there, an’ not that jar,” Asey said. “Look, I can’t take—”

  “You will. You’ll have it for supper, right now,” Bertha said, “with cold roast beef. There.” She removed the paraffin, and turned the jelly out into a dish. “It certainly looks different,” she said.

  “They must have done something to it after they got through the judging.”

  “It’s a crime to open that, Bertha,” Asey said, “but I want you to know I appreciate it.”

  While he waited for her to cut his beef, he spread some of the jelly on a piece of bread.

  “How is it?” Bertha asked. “How – what’s – what’s the matter?”

  Asey, with his hand to his mouth, rushed from the room.

  Bertha’s eyes filled with tears, and then she grabbed a teaspoon and tasted the jelly
. She was rushing from the kitchen as Asey returned.

  “Well,” Asey said when she came back, “well? I mean, I’m awful sorry to act like that, but seein’ as how you done the same—”

  “Asey Mayo!” Bertha said, “Asey, that’s not my jelly! I never made anything like that awful burned smelly stuff! Why, I should think someone swept out a coal bin and boiled the sweepings with burned sugar! I didn’t think, this afternoon, that it was mine. It looked dif’rent. But the number was right on it, and it was my number, and it was the same jar, and all – Asey, how do you suppose – how did it happen?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But you tasted it – didn’t the judges taste it?”

  Asey nodded. “You c’ntestants put in two jars, an’ they had the same numbers. An’ the judges used one to taste from, an’ then stuck the duplicate under the light an’ stared at it, an’ peered around. Bertha, this ain’t the same jelly of yours we tasted this afternoon! Now, that’s curious. Flip it back into the jar an’ let me stare at it again.”

  He held it up to the light. “No, it’s not. Bertha, let me see that paraffin. Huh. Now, get me one of your glasses of beachplum from the preserve closet.”

  “Same jars,” Bertha said.

  “Nope. This here’s a bluer glass.”

  “They all come from the same set of jars!”

  “Paraffin’s dif’rent,” Asey said. “Not as white. Bertha, let me think.”

  “Well,” Bertha said after fifteen minutes, “where’d that awful stuff come from? What’s the matter, Asey, couldn’t you spit it out in time? You look awful funny—”

  “I think I know,” Asey said slowly, “I think I know where it come from. I can’t be sure. I looked at so many jars of jelly yesterday. Bertha, gimme this—”

  “That stuff? I should say not! It goes right out to the garbage hole!”

  “Nope,” Asey said. “Bertha, I want you to do somethin’ for me. I’m goin’ to take this awful tastin’ stuff, an’ you’re not goin’ to tell a soul I got it. Take the labels an’ put’em on another jar. Whatever you do, don’t you tell a soul!”

  “You – you kind of scare me,” Bertha said. “Why – what’re you so solemn about? What’s the good of that nasty stuff?”