CHAPTER X--THE SIGN OF THE WINDMILL
Eben George Edgar Edwin Delmonico Frank went out, dabbin' at hisforehead with the red and yellow handkerchief. Jacobs kept his clovehitch on my arm and led me out to the settee on the front platform.
"Set down, Skipper," he says, cheerful and more'n extra friendly, seemedto me. "Set down," he says, "and enjoy the December ozone."
We come to anchor on the settee and there we set and shivered for muchas five minutes, each of us waitin' for the other to begin. Finally JimHenry says, without lookin' at me:
"Well, Skipper," he says, "that chap's sharp all right, ain't he?"
"Seems to be," says I, not too enthusiastic.
"Yes, he is. If I'm any judge of human nature--and I hand myself _that_bouquet any day in the week--he knows his business. Don't you think so?"
"Maybe," I says. "But what business of ours his business is I don'tsee--yet. If you do, bein' as you and me are supposed to be partners,perhaps you wouldn't mind soundin' the fog whistle for my benefit. Iseem to have lost my reckonin' on this v'yage. Why should we beinterested in this Frank man and his eatin'-house?"
He laughed, louder'n was necessary, I thought, and slapped me on theshoulder.
"You don't see where we come in, hey?" he says. "Well, I do. Adinin'-room like that one of his will need a good many supplies, won'tit? And, if I can mesmerize him into patronizin' the home market, theOstable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Emporiumwill gain some, I shouldn't wonder. Hey, pard! How about that?" And heslapped my shoulder again.
I turned this over in my mind. "Humph!" I says. "I begin to see."
"You bet you do!" he says, laughin'. "The amount of stuff I can sellthat restaurant will--"
But I broke in here. I remembered that wink and I didn't believe I wasclear of the choppin'-block yet.
"Hold on!" says I. "Heave to! And never mind poundin' my starboardshoulder to pieces, either. I said I _begun_ to see; I don't see clearyet. How did you and he come to get together in the fust place? Did yougo and hunt him up? or did he come in here to see you?"
He kind of hesitated. "Why," he says, "he come into the store, and--"
"Did he happen in, or did he come to see you a-purpose?"
"He--I believe he came to see me. Then he and I--"
"Heave to again! He didn't come to see you to beg the favor of buyin'goods of you, 'tain't likely. Jim Jacobs, answer me straight. There'ssomethin' else. That feller wants somethin' of you--or of us. Now whatis it?"
He hesitated some more. Then he upset the woodpile and let out thedarky.
"Well," he says, "I'll tell you. I was goin' to tell you, anyway.Frank's all right. He's got a good idea and he's got the experience toput it into practice; but he's somethin' the way old Beanblossom wasafore you took a share in this store--he needs a little more capital."
I swung round on the settee and looked him square in the eye.
"I--see," I says, slow. "Now--I see! He's after money and he wants us tolend it to him. I might have guessed it. Well, did you say no right off?or was you waitin' to have me say it? You might have said it yourself.You knew I'd back you up."
Would you believe it? he got as red as a beet.
"I didn't say anything," he says. "Don't go off half-cocked like that.What's the matter with you this mornin'? He don't want to borrer money.He wants more capital in the proposition--wants to float it right. Andhe's been inquirin' around and has found that you and me are the twoleadin' business men in the place and has come to us first. It's more afavor on his part than anything else. He offers to let us have a thirdinterest between us; you put in a thousand and I do the same. Why, man,it's a cinch! It's a chance that don't come every day. As I told you,I've had the same notion in my head for a long time. A summerdinin'-room like that in this town is--"
"Wait!" I interrupted. "What do you know about this Frank critter?Where'd he come from? Who is he?"
"He comes from Pittsburg. That's the last place he was in. And he's gothis pockets full of references and testimonials."
"Humph! Anybody can get testimonials. Write 'em himself, if there wa'n'tany other way. I had a second mate once with more testimonials thanshirts, enough sight, and he--"
"Oh, cut it out! Besides, I don't care where he comes from. He's sharpas a steel trap; that much I can tell with one eye shut. And he's rundinin'-rooms and hotels; that I'll bet my hat on. That's all we need toknow. A road-house in this town is a twenty per cent proposition durin'the summer months. It's the chance of a lifetime, I tell you."
"Maybe so. But how do you know the feller's honest?"
"I don't care whether he's honest or not. It doesn't make anydifference. If I wa'n't here to keep my eye peeled, it might be; butI'll be here and if he gets ahead of me, he'll be movin' to some extent.Someone else'll grab the chance if we don't. I'm for it. What do yousay?"
I shook my head. "Jim," says I, "I can see where you stand. You're sodead sartin that an eatin'-house of that kind'll pay big, that you'reblind to the rest of it. Now I don't pretend to be a judge of humannature like you--leavin' out Injun and Rosenstein human nature, ofcourse--nor a doctor of sick businesses, which is your profession. Butmy experience is--"
He stood up and sniffed impatient.
"Cut it out, I tell you!" he says, again. "This ain't an experiencemeetin'. Will you take a flyer with me in that road-house, or won'tyou?"
"Way I feel now, I won't," says I, prompt.
He turned on his heel, took a step towards the door and then stopped.
"Well," he says, "you think it over till to-morrer mornin' and then letme know. Only, you mark my words, it's a chance. And, with me to keep myeye on it, there's no risk at all."
So that's the way it ended that day. And half that night I laid awake,feelin' meaner'n dirt to say no to as good a partner as I had, and yetpretty average sure I was right, just the same.
In the mornin' my mind was still betwixt and between. I went down to thestore and walked back to the post-office department. I looked in throughthe little window and saw Mary Blaisdell inside, sortin' the outgoin'letters. The sunshine, streamin' in from outside, lit up her hair tillit looked like one of them halos in a church picture. Seems to me Inever saw her look prettier; but then, every time I saw her I thoughtthe same thing. A good-lookin' woman and a good woman--yes, and capable.That she'd lived so many years without gettin' married, was one of thethings that made a feller lose confidence in the good-sense of humans.The chap that got her would be lucky. Then I caught a glimpse of myselfin the lookin'-glass where customers tried on hats, and decided I'dbetter stop thinkin' foolishness or somebody would catch me at it andsend me to the comic papers.
"Mornin', Mary," says I. "Has Mr. Jacobs come aboard yet?"
She turned and came to her side of the window.
"Yes," she says, "he was here. He's gone out now with that Mr. Frank. Ibelieve they've gone up to the old Higgins Place."
"Um-hm," says I. "Well, Mary, just between friends, I'd like to ask yousomethin'. Do you like that Frank man's looks?"
She wa'n't expectin' that and she didn't know how to answer for a jiffy.Then she kind of half laughed, and says: "No, Cap'n Zeb, since you askme, I--I don't. I don't like him. And I haven't any good reason,either."
I nodded. "Much obliged, Mary," says I. "And, since you ain't asked me,I'll tell you that _I_ don't like him. And my reason's about as good asyours. Maybe it's his clothes. A man, 'cordin' to my notion, has a rightto look like a horse jockey, if he wants to; and he's got a right tolook like an undertaker. But when he looks like a combination of thetwo, I--well, I get skittish and begin to shy, that's all. It's too muchas if he was baited to trap you dead or alive."
Then Jim Henry come in and when, an hour or so later, he got me one sideand asked me if I'd made up my mind about investin' in Frank'sroad-house, I answered prompt that my mind was made up and the answerwas still no. He was disapp'inted, I could see that, and pretty mad.
"Humph!" says he. "Skipper, you're
all right except for onefault--you're as 'country' as they make 'em, and they make 'em prettynarrer sometimes. Well, you've had the chance. Don't ever tell me youhaven't."
"I won't," says I, and we didn't mention the subject for a long time.Then--but that comes later. However, I judged that Frank had found folksin Ostable who wa'n't as narrer and "country" as I was, for, inside of aweek, the carpenters was busy on the Higgins Place. They built on great,wide piazzas; they knocked out partitions between rooms; they made thehouse pretty much over. In March loads of fancy furniture came fromBoston. At last a windmill three feet high--made to look like a littlecopy of the old Cape windmills our great-granddads used to grind gristin, with sails that turned--was set up in the front yard, and on a postby the big gate was swingin' a fancy notice board, with a gilt windmillpainted on that, and the words in big letters:
THE SIGN OF THE WINDMILL.
MEALS AT ALL HOURS.
_Steaks, Chops, Game, Etc._ _Table D'hote Dinner Each Day at 1.15._
_Special Accommodations for Auto Parties._
That was it, you see. "The Sign of the Windmill" was the name of the newroad-house.
But that wa'n't all the advertisin', by a consider'ble sight. There wassigns all up and down the main roads, with hands p'intin' in the"Windmill" direction. And there was ads in the Cape papers and in theBoston papers, too. I swan, I didn't believe anybody but Jim HenryJacobs could have engineered such advertisin'! And there was ablack-lookin' critter with the ends of his mustache waxed so sharp youcould have sewed canvas with 'em--he was the French chef--and threeforeign waiters, and a dark-complected fleshy woman who seemed to be asort of general assistant manager and stewardess, and--and--goodnessknows what there wa'n't. There was so many kinds of hired help that Icouldn't see where Frank himself come in--unless he was the spare"windmill," which, judgin' by his gift of gab, I cal'late might be thefact.
"The Sign of the Windmill" bought all its groceries and general suppliesat the store, which, considerin' that we'd turned down the "chance" tobe part owners, seemed sort of odd to me, 'cause Frank didn't look likea feller who'd forgive a slight like that. But I judged Jim Henry hadhypnotized him, as he done other difficult customers, and so I saidnothin'. The auto season opened and our weekly bills with thatroad-house was big ones, but they was paid every week, and I hadn't anykick there, either.
As for the business that dinin'-room done, it was surprisin',particularly Saturdays and Sundays, when there'd be twenty or more autosin the front yard and more a-comin'. The table d'hote dinner at 1.15 wasso well patronized that folks had to wait their turns at table andlater, on moonlight nights, the old house was all lighted up and youcould hear the noise of dishes rattlin' and the laughin' and singin'till after eleven o'clock. And our bills with the "Sign of the Windmill"kept gettin' bigger and bigger.
But though the auto parties was thick and the patronage good, stillthere was some dissatisfaction, I found out. One big car stopped at thestore on a Saturday afternoon and the boss of it talked with me whilethe women folks was inside buyin' postcards and such.
"Well," says I, to the owner of the car, a big, fleshy, good-naturedchap he was, "well," says I, "I cal'late you've all had a good dinner.Feed you fust-class up there at the Windmill place, don't they?"
He sniffed. "Humph!" says he, "the food's all right. It ought to be, atthe price. Is the proprietor of that hotel named Allie Baby?"
"Allie which?" I says, laughin'. "No, no, his name's Frank. Edwin GeorgeEben etcetery Frank. What made you think 'twas Allie?"
"'Cause he's a close connection of the Forty Thieves," he says, sharp."He'd take a prize in the hog class at a county fair, that chap would.What's the matter with him? Does he think he's runnin' a get-rich-quickshop? Two weeks ago I paid a dollar and a half for a dinner there, andthat was seventy-five cents too much. Now he's jumped to two-fifty andthe feed ain't a bit better."
"Two dollars and a half for a _dinner_!" says I. "Whew! The cost oflivin' _is_ goin' up, ain't it? What do they give you? Canary birds'tongues on toast? Any shore dinner ever I see could be cooked for--"
He interrupted. "Shore dinner nothin'!" he snorts. "I wouldn't kick atthe price if I got a good shore dinner. But what we got here is a poorimitation of a country Waldorf. Everybody's kickin', but we all go therebecause it's the best we can find for twenty miles. However, I hearanother place is to be started in Denboro and if _that_ makes good, yourForty Thief friend will have to haul in his horns. He'll never getanother cent from me, or a hundred others I know, who have been his bestcustomers. We're all waitin' to give him the shake and it looks as if weshould be able to do it. We motorin' fellers stick together and, if theword's passed along the line, the "Sign of the Windmill" will be a deadone, mark my words."
I marked 'em, and when, by and by, I heard that the Denboro dinin'-roomwas open and doin' a good business, I underscored the mark.
This was about the middle of June. A week later Jim Henry got thetelegram about his younger brother out in Colorado bein' sick andwantin' to see him bad. He hated to go, but he felt he had to, so hewent.
I said good-by to him up at the depot and told him not to worry a mite."I'll look out for everything," I says. "Course I'll miss you at thestore, but I'll write you every day or so and keep you posted, and youcan give me business prescriptions by mail."
"That's all right, Skipper," says he, "I know the store'll be took careof. But there's one thing that--that--"
"What's the one thing?" I asked. "Overboard with it. My shoulders arebroad and I won't mind totin' another hogshead or so."
He hesitated and it seemed to me that he looked troubled. But finally hesaid he'd guessed 'twas nothin' that amounted to nothin' anyway and he'dbe back in a couple of weeks sure. So off he went and I had a sort ofRobinson Crusoe desert island feelin' that lasted all that day andnight.
It lasted longer than that, too. I didn't hear from him for ten days.Then I got a note sayin' his brother had scarlet fever--which seemed afool disease for a grown-up man to have--and was pretty sick. I wrote tohim for the land sakes to be careful he didn't get it himself, and thenext news I heard was from a doctor sayin' he _had_ got it. After thatthe bulletins was infrequent and alarmin'.
I'd have put for Colorado in a minute, but I couldn't; that store was onmy shoulders and I couldn't leave. I telegraphed not to spare no expenseand to write or wire every day. 'Twas all I could do, but I never spentsuch a worried time afore nor since. I was worried, not only about mypartner, but about the business he'd put in my charge. There was newdevelopments in that business and they kept on developin'.
'Twas the "Sign of the Windmill" that was troublin' me. As I told you,the weekly bills for that eatin'-house was big ones, but the fust threeor four had been paid on the dot. Now, however, they wa'n't paid andthey was just as big. Frank's account on our books kept gettin' largerand larger and, not only that, but anybody could see that the Windmillwa'n't doin' half the trade it begun with. There was more auto partiesthan ever, but the heft of 'em went right on by to the new road-house inDenboro. I remembered what the fleshy man told me and I judged that theword had been passed to the motorin' crew, just as he prophesied.
I went up to see Frank and had a talk with him. I found him in hisoffice, settin' at a fine new roll-top desk, with the dark-complectedstewardess alongside of him. She seemed to be helpin' him with hisletters and accounts, which looked odd to me, and she glowered at mewhen I come in like a cat at a stray poodle. She didn't get up and goout, neither, till he hinted p'raps she'd better, and even then shewhispered to him mighty confidential afore she went. 'Twas a queer wayfor hired help to act, but 'twa'n't none of my affairs, of course.
He was cordial enough till he found out what I was after and then hechilled up like a freezer full of cream. He was in the habit of payin'his bills, he give me to understand, and he'd pay this one when 'twasconvenient. If I didn't care to sell the Windmill goods, that was
myaffair, of course, but his relations with my partner had been sopleasant that--and so forth and so on. I sneaked out of that office,feelin' like a henroost-thief instead of an honest man tryin' to collectan honest debt. I'd bungled things again. Instead of makin' mattersbetter, I'd made 'em worse; come nigh losin' a good customer and allthat. What business had an old salt herrin' like me to be in business,anyhow? That's how I felt when I was talkin' to him, and how I felt whenI shut that office door and come out into the dinin'-room.
But the sight of that dinin'-room, tables all vacant, and two waiterswhere there had been four, fetched all my uneasiness back again. If evera place had "Goin' down" marked on it 'twas the "Sign of the Windmill."I stewed and fretted all the way to the store and when I got there Ifound that another big order of groceries and canned goods had beendelivered to the eatin' house while I was gone.
The next week'll stick in my mind till doomsday, I cal'late. Everyblessed mornin' found me vowin' I'd stop sellin' that Windmill, andevery night found more dollars added to the bill. You see, I didn't knowwhat to do. If I'd been sole owner and sailin' master, I'd have set myfoot down, I guess; but there was Jim Henry to be considered. I wrote anote to the Frank man, but he didn't even trouble to answer it.
Saturday noon came round and, after the mail was sorted, I wandered outto the front platform and set there, blue as a whetstone. The gang ofsummer boarders and natives, that's always around mail times, meltedaway fast and I was pretty nigh alone. Not quite alone; Alpheus Perkins,the fish man, was occupyin' moorin's at t'other end of the platform andhe didn't seem to be in any hurry. By and by over he comes and sets downalongside of me.
"Cap'n Zeb," he says, fidgety like, "I s'pose likely you've beenwonderin' why I don't pay your bill here at the store, ain't you?"
I hadn't, havin' more important things to think about, but now Iremembered that he did owe consider'ble and had owed it for some time.Alpheus is as straight as they make 'em and usually pays his debtsprompt.
"I know you must have," he went on, not waitin' for me to answer. "Well,I intended to pay long afore this, and I will pay pretty soon. But I'vehad trouble collectin' my own debts and it's held me back. If I couldonly get my hands on one account that's owin' me, I'd be all right.Say," says he, tryin' hard to act careless and as if 'twa'n't importantone way or t'other: "Say," he says, "you know Mr. Frank, up here at thehotel, pretty well, don't you?"
For a minute or so I didn't answer. Then I knocked the ashes out of mypipe and says I, "Why, yes. I know him. What of it?"
"Oh, nothin' much," he says. "Only I was told he was a partic'lar friendof yours and Mr. Jacobs's and--and--"
"Who told you he was our partic'lar friend?" I asked.
"Why, he did. I was up there yesterday, just hintin' I could use a checkon account. Not pressin' the matter nor tryin' to be hard on him, youunderstand; course he's all right; but I was mighty short of ready cashand so--"
"Hold on, Al!" I said, quick. "Wait! Does the 'Sign of the Windmill' oweyou a bill?"
"Pretty nigh a hundred dollars," says he. "I've supplied 'em with fishand lobsters and clams and such ever since they started. Fust month theypaid me by the week. After that--"
"Good heavens and earth!" I sung out. "My soul and body! And--and, whenyou asked for it, this--this Frank man told you he'd pay you when 'twasconvenient, same as he paid Jacobs and me, who was his friends and wasquite ready to do business that way."
He actually jumped, I'd surprised him so.
"Hey?" he sung out. "Zeb Snow, be you a second-sighter? How did you knowhe told me that?"
I drew a long breath. "It didn't take second sight for that," I says. "Iwas up there last Monday and he told me the same thing, only 'twas youand Ed Cahoon who was his friends then."
He let that sink in slow.
"My godfreys domino!" he groaned. "My godfreys! He--he told--Why! why,he must be workin' the same game on all hands!"
"Looks like it," says I, and, thinkin' of Jim Henry, poor feller, sickas he could be, and the business he'd left me to look out for, my heartwent down into my boots.
Perkins set thinkin' for a jiffy. Then he got up off the settee.
"The son of a gun!" he says. "I'll fix him! I'll put my bill in alawyer's hands to-night."
"No, you won't," I sung out, grabbin' him by the arm. "You mustn't. Heowes the Ostable Store four times what he owes you, and it's likely heowes Cahoon and a lot more. The rest of us can't afford to let you upsetthe calabash that way. You might get yours, though I'm pretty doubtful,but where would the rest of us come in. You set down, Alpheus. Set down,and let me think. Set down, I tell you!"
When I talk that way--it's an old seafarin' habit--most folks usuallyobey orders. Alpheus set. He started to talk, but I hushed him up and,havin' filled my pipe and got it to goin', I smoked and thought for muchas five minutes.
"Hum!" says I, after the spell was over, "the way I sense it is likethis: This ain't any fo'mast hand's job; and it ain't a skipper's jobneither. It's a case for all hands and the ship's cat, workin' togetherand standin' by each other. We've got to find out who's who and what'swhat, make up our minds and then all read the lesson in concert, likeyoung ones in school. This Frank Windmill critter owes you and he owesme; we're sartin of that. More'n likely he owes Ed Cahoon for chickensand fowls and eggs, and Bill Bangs for milk, and Henry Hall for ice, andland knows how many more. S'pose you skirmish around and find out who hedoes owe and fetch all the creditors to the store here to-morrer mornin'at eleven o'clock. It'll be church time, I know, but even the parsonwill excuse us for this once, 'specially as the 'Sign of the Windmill'is supposed to sell liquor and he's down on it."
We had consider'ble more talk, but that was the way it ended, finally. Iwent to bed that night, but it didn't take; I might as well have set up,so fur's sleep was concerned. All I could think of was poor, sick JimHenry and the trust he put in me.
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