“Whit,” asked Asaph next day, “wan't you surprised to see Heman last night?”

Captain Cy nodded. He was once more busy with the doll house, the construction of which had progressed slowly of late, owing to the demands which the party and politics made upon its builder's time.

“Yup,” he said, “I sartinly was. Pretty good sign, I shouldn't wonder. Looks as if friend Tad had found the tide settin' too strong against him and had whistled for a tug. All right; the more scared the other side get, the better for us.”

“But what in the world made Heman come over and have supper? He never so much as stepped foot in the house afore, did he? That's the biggest conundrum of all.”

“Well, I guess I've got the answer. Strikes me that Heman's sociableness is the best sign yet. Heman's a slick article, and when he sees there's danger of losin' the frostin' on the cake he takes care to scrape the burnt part off the bottom. I may be school committeeman after town meetin'. He'll move all creation to stop me, of course—in his quiet, round-the-corner way—but, if I do win out, he wants to be in a position to take me one side and tell me that he's glad of it; he felt all along I was the right feller for the job, and if there's anything he can do to make things easier for me just call on him. That's the way I size it up, anyhow.”

“Cy, I never see anybody like you. You're dead set against Heman, and have been right along. And he's never done anything to you, fur's I see. He's given a lot to the town, and he's always been the most looked-up-to man we've got. Joe Dimick and two or three more chronic growls have been the only ones to sling out hints against him, till you come. Course I'm working for you, tooth and nail, and I will say that you seem to be gettin' the votes some way or other. But if Heman SHOULD step right out and say: 'Feller citizens, I'm behind Tad Simpson in this fight, and as a favor to me and 'cause I think it's right and best, I want 'Lonzo Snow elected'—well, I don't believe you'd have more'n one jack and a ten spot to count for game.”

“Probably not, Ase; I presume likely not. But you take a day off some time and see if you can remember that Heman EVER stepped right out and said things. Blame it! that's just it. As for WHY he riles me up and makes me stubborn as a balky mule, I don't know exactly. All I'm sure is that he does. Maybe it's 'cause I don't like the way he wears his whiskers. Maybe it's because he's so top-lofty and condescendin'. A feller can whistle to me and say: 'Come on, Bill,' and I'll trot at his heels all day. But when he pats me on the head and says: 'There there! nice doggie. Go under the bed and lay down,' my back bristles up and I commence to growl right off. There's consider'ble Whittaker in me, as I've told you before.”

The town clerk pondered over this rather unsatisfactory line of reasoning for some minutes. His companion fitted a wooden chimney on the doll house, found it a trifle out of plumb, and proceeded to whittle a shaving off the lower edge. Then Asaph sighed, as one who gives up a perplexing riddle, put his hand in his pocket, and produced a bundle of papers.

“I made out a list of fellers down to the east'ard that I'm goin' to see this afternoon,” he said. “Some of 'em I guess 'll vote for you, but most of 'em are pretty sartin' for 'Lonzo. However, I—Where is that list? I had it somewhere's. And—well, I swan! I come pretty near forgettin' it myself. I'm 'most as bad as Bailey.”

From the bundle of papers he produced a crumpled envelope.

“That Bailey,” he observed, “must be in love, I cal'late, though I don't know who with. Ketury, I s'pose, 'cordin' to law and order, but—Well, anyhow, he's gettin' more absent-minded all the time. Here's a letter for you, Cy, that he got at the post-office a week ago Monday. 'Twas the night of the church sociable, and he had on his Sunday cutaway, and he ain't worn it sence, till the party yesterday. When he took off the coat, goin' to bed, the letter fell out of it. I guess he was ashamed to fetch it round himself, so he asked me to do it. Better late than never, hey? Here's that list at last.”

He produced the list and handed it to the captain for inspection. The latter looked it over, made a few comments and suggestions, and told his friend to heave ahead and land as many of the listed as possible. This Mr. Tidditt promised to do, and, replacing the papers in his pocket, started for the gate.

“Oh! Say, Ase!”

The town clerk, his hand on the gate latch, turned.

“Well, what is it?” he asked. “Don't keep me no longer'n you can help. I got work to do, I have.”

“All right, I won't stop you. Only fallin' in love is kind of epidemic down at the boardin' house, I guess. Who is it that's got you in tow—Matildy?”

“What are you talkin' about? Didn't I tell you to quit namin' me with Matildy Tripp? I like a joke as well as most folks, but when it's wore into the ground I—”

“Sho, sho! Don't get mad. It's your own fault. You said that absent-mindedness was a love symptom, so I just got to thinkin', that's all. That letter that Bailey forgot—you haven't given it to me yet.”

Asaph turned red and hastily snatched the papers from his pocket. He strode back to the door of the woodshed, handed his friend the crumpled envelope, and stalked off without another word. The captain chuckled, laid the letter on the bench beside him and went on with his work. It was perhaps ten minutes later when, happening to glance at the postmark on the envelope, he saw that it was “Concord, N. H.”

Asaph's vote-gathering trip “to the east'ard” made a full day for him. He returned to the perfect boarding house just at supper time. During the meal he realized that Mr. Bangs seemed to be trying to attract his attention. Whenever he glanced in that gentleman's direction his glance was met by winks and mystifying shakes of the head. Losing patience at last, he demanded to know what was the matter.

“Want to say somethin' to me, do you?” he inquired briskly. “If you do, out with it! Don't set there workin' your face as if 'twas wound up, like a clockwork image.”

This remark had the effect of turning all the other faces toward Bailey's. He was very much upset.

“No, no!” he stammered. “No, no! I don't want you for nothin'. Was I makin' my face go? I—I didn't know it. I've been washin' carriages and cleanin' up the barn all day and I cal'late I've overdone. I'm gettin' old, and hard work's likely to bring on shakin' palsy to old folks.”

His wife tartly observed that, if WORK was the cause of it, she guessed he was safe from palsy for quite a spell yet. At any rate, a marked recovery set in and he signaled no more during the meal. But when it was over, and his task as dish-wiper completed, he hurried out of doors and found Mr. Tidditt, shivering in the November wind, on the front porch.

“Now what is it?” asked Asaph sharply. “I know there's somethin' and I've froze to death by sections waitin' to hear it.”

“Have you seen Cy?” whispered Bailey, glancing fearfully over his shoulder at the lighted windows of the house.

“No, not sence mornin'. Why?”

“Well, there's somethin' the matter with him. Somethin' serious. I was swabbin' decks in the barn about eleven o'clock, when he come postin' in, white and shaky, and so nervous he couldn't stand still. Looked as if he had had a stroke almost. I—”

“Godfrey scissors! You don't s'pose Heman's comin' back has knocked out his chances for the committee, do you?”

“No, sir-ee! 'twan't that. Cy's anxious to be elected and all, but you know his politics are more of a joke with him than anything else. And any rap Heman or Tad could give him would only make him fight harder. And he wouldn't talk politics at all; didn't seem to give a durn about 'em, one way or t'other. No, 'twas somethin' about that letter, the one I forgot so long. He wanted to know why in time I hadn't given it to him when it fust come. He was real ugly about it, for him, and kept pacin' up and down the barn floor and layin' into me, till I begun to think he was crazy. I guess he see my feelin's were hurt, 'cause, just afore he left, he held out his hand and said I mustn't mind his talk; he'd been knocked on his beam ends, he said, and wan't really responsible.”

“Wouldn't he say what had knocked him?”

“No, couldn't get nothin' out of him. And when he quit he went off toward home, slappin' his fists together and actin' as if he didn't see the road across his bows. Now, you know how cool and easy goin' Whit generally is. I swan to man, Ase! he made me so sorry for him I didn't know what to do.”

“Ain't you been up to see him sence?”

“No, Ketury was sot on havin' the barn cleaned, and she stood over me with a rope's end, as you might say. I couldn't get away a minute, though I made up more'n a dozen errands at Simmons's and the like of that. You hold on till I sneak into the entry and get my cap and we'll put for there now. I won't be but a jiffy. I'm worried.”

They entered the yard of the Cy Whittaker place together and approached the side door. As they stood on the steps Asaph touched his chum on the arm and pointed to the window beside them. The shade was half drawn and beneath it they had a clear view of the interior of the sitting room. Captain Cy was in the rocker before the stove, holding Bos'n in his arms. The child was sound asleep, her yellow braid hanging over the captain's broad shoulder. He was gazing down into her face with a look which was so full of yearning and love that it brought a choke into the throats of the pair who saw it.

They entered the dining room. The captain sprang from his chair and, still holding the little girl close against his breast, met them at the sitting-room door. When he saw who the visitors were, he caught his breath, almost with a sob, and seemed relieved.

“S-s-h-h!” he whispered warningly. “She's asleep.”

The members of the Board of Strategy nodded understandingly and sat down upon the sofa. Captain Cy tiptoed to the bedroom, turned back the bedclothes with one hand and laid Bos'n down. They saw him tuck her carefully in and then stoop and kiss her. He returned to the sitting room and closed the door behind him.

“We see she was asleep afore we come in,” explained Asaph. “We see you and her through the window.”

The captain looked hurriedly at the window indicated. Then he stepped over and pulled the shade down to the sill, doing the same with the curtains of the other two windows.

“What's the matter?” inquired Bailey, trying to be facetious. “'Fraid of 'Lonzo's crowd spyin' on us?”

Captain Cy did not reply. He did not even sit down, but remained standing, his back to the stove.

“Well?” he asked shortly. “Did you fellers want to see me for anything 'special?”

“Wanted to see what had struck you all to once,” replied Mr. Tidditt. “Bailey says you scared him half to death this forenoon. And you look now as if somebody's ghost had riz and hollered 'Boo!' at you. For the land sakes, Whit, what IS it?”

The captain drew his hand across his forehead.

“Ghost?” he repeated absently. “No, I haven't SEEN a ghost. There! there! don't mind me. I ain't real well to-day, I guess.” He smiled crookedly.

“Don't you want to hear about my vote-grabbin' cruise?” asked Tidditt. “I was flatterin' myself you'd be tickled to hear I'd done so well. Why, even Marcellus Parker says he may vote for you—if he makes up his mind that way.”

Marcellus was a next-door neighbor of Alonzo Snow's. But Captain Cy didn't seem to care.

“Hey?” he murmured. “Yes. Well?”

“WELL! Is that all you've got to say? Are you really sick, Cy? Or is Bos'n sick?”

“No!” was the answer, almost fierce in its utterance. “She isn't sick. Don't be a fool.”

“What's foolish about that? I didn't know but she might be. There's mumps in town and—”

“She's all right; so shut up, will you! There, Ase!” he added. “I'm the fool myself. Don't mind my barkin'; I don't mean it. I am about sick, I cal'late. Be better to-morrer, maybe.”

“What's got into you? Was that letter of Bailey's—”

“Hush!” The captain held up his hand. “I thought I heard a team.”

“Depot wagon, most likely,” said Bailey. “About time for it! Humph! seems to be stoppin', don't it? Was you expectin' anybody? Shall I go and—”

“No! Set still.”

The pair on the sofa sat still. Captain Cy stood like a statue in the middle of the floor. He squared his shoulders and jammed his clenched fists into his pockets. Steps crunched the gravel of the walk. There came a knock at the door of the dining room.

Walking steadily, but with a face set as the figurehead on one of his own ships, the captain went to answer the knock. They heard the door open, and then a man's voice asked:

“Is this Cap'n Whittaker?”

“Yes,” was the short answer.

“Well, Cap, I guess you don't know me, though maybe you know some of my family. Ha, ha! Don't understand that, hey? Well, you let me in and I'll explain the joke.”

The captain's reply was calm and deliberate.

“I shouldn't wonder if I understood it,” he said. “Come in. Don't—” The remainder of the sentence was whispered and the listeners on the sofa could not hear it. A moment later Captain Cy entered the sitting room, followed by his caller.

The latter was a stranger. He was a broad-shouldered man of medium height, with a yellowish mustache and brown hair. He was dressed in rather shabby clothes, without an overcoat, and he had a soft felt hat in his hand. The most noticeable thing about him was a slight hesitancy in his walk. He was not lame, he did not limp, yet his left foot seemed to halt for an instant as he brought it forward in the step. They learned afterwards that it had been hurt in a mine cave-in. He carried himself with a swagger, and, after his entrance, there was a perceptible aroma of alcohol in the room.

He stared at the Board of Strategy and the stare was returned in full measure. Bailey and Asaph were wildly curious. They, of course, connected the stranger's arrival with the mysterious letter and the captain's perturbation of the day.

But their curiosity was not to be satisfied, at least not then.

“How are you, gents?” hailed the newcomer cheerfully. “Like the looks of me, do you?”

Captain Cy cut off further conversation.

“Ase,” he said, “this—er—gentleman and I have got some business to talk over. I know you're good enough friends of mine not to mind if I ask you to clear out. You'll understand. You WILL understand, boys, won't you?” he added, almost entreatingly.

“Sartin sure!” replied Mr. Tidditt, rising hurriedly. “Don't say another word, Whit.” And the mystified Bangs concurred with a “Yes, yes! Why, of course! Didn't have nothin' that amounts to nothin' to stay for anyhow. See you to-morrer, Cy.”

Outside and at the gate they stopped and looked at each other.

“Well!” exclaimed Asaph. “If that ain't the strangest thing! Who was that feller? Where'd he come from? Did you notice how Cy acted? Seemed to be holdin' himself in by main strength.”

“Did you smell the rum on him?” returned Bailey. “On that t'other chap, I mean? Didn't he look like a reg'lar no-account to you? And say, Ase, didn't he remind you of somebody you'd seen somewheres—kind of, in a way?”

They walked home in a dazed state, asking unanswerable questions and making profitless guesses. But Asaph's final remark seemed to sum up the situation.

“There's trouble comin' of this, Bailey,” he declared. “And it's trouble for Cy Whittaker, I'm afraid. Poor old Cy! Well, WE'LL stand by him, anyhow. I don't believe he'll sleep much to-night. Didn't look as though he would, did he? Who IS that feller?”

If he had seen Captain Cy, at two o'clock the next morning, sitting by Bos'n's bedside and gazing hopelessly at the child, he would have realized that, if his former predictions were wiped off the slate and he could be judged by the one concerning the captain's sleepless night, he might thereafter pose as a true prophet.