“Trust Nate for that,” interrupted Wingate. “He's just as much a born bully as he is a cheat and a skinflint.”

“Yup,” went on Captain Sol. “Well, when Nate got back to the house the professor was alone in the chair, lookin' sick and weak. Olivia was up in her room havin' a cryin' fit. Nate got the old man to bed, made him some clam soup and hot tea, and fetched and carried for him like he was a baby. The professor's talk was mainly about the ungrateful desertion, as he called it, of his assistant.

“'Keep him away from this island,' he says. 'If he comes, I shall commit murder; I know it.'

“Scudder promised that Augustus shouldn't come back. The professor wanted guard kept night and day. Nate said he didn't know's he could afford so much time, and Dixland doubled his wages on the spot. So Nate agreed to stand double watches, made him comfort'ble for the night, and left him.

“Olivia didn't come downstairs again. She didn't seem to want any supper, but Nate did and had it, a good one. Galileo, the cat, came yowlin' around, and Nate kicked him under the sofy. Phillips Brooks was howlin' starvation in the woodshed, and Scudder let him howl. If he starved to death Nate wouldn't put no flowers on his grave. Take it altogether, he was havin' a fairly good time.

“And when, later on, he set alone up in his room over the kitchen, he begun to have a better one. Prospects looked good. Maybe old Dixland WOULD disown his niece. If he did, Nate figgered he was as healthy a candidate for adoption as anybody. And Augustus would have to come to terms or stay single. That is, unless him and Olivia got married on nothin' a week, paid yearly. Nate guessed Huldy Ann would think he'd managed pretty well.

“He set there for a long while, thinkin', and then he says he cal'lates he must have dozed off. At any rate, next thing he knew he was settin' up straight in his chair, listenin'. It seemed to him that he'd heard a sound in the kitchen underneath.

“He looked out of the window, and right away he noticed somethin'. 'Twas a beautiful, clear moonlight night, and the high board fence around the buildin's showed black against the white sand. And in that white strip was a ten-foot white gape. Nate had shut that gate afore he went upstairs. Who'd opened it? Then he heard the noise in the kitchen again. Somebody was talkin' down there.

“Nate got up and tiptoed acrost the room. He was in his stockin' feet, so he didn't make a sound. He reached into the corner and took out his old duck gun. It was loaded, both barrels. Nate cocked the gun and crept down the back stairs.

“There was a lamp burnin' low on the kitchen table, and there, in a couple of chairs hauled as close together as they could be, set that Olivia niece and Augustus. They was in a clove hitch again and whisperin' soft and slushy.

“My! but Scudder was b'ilin'! He give one jump and landed in the middle of that kitchen floor.

“'You—you—you!' he yelled, wavin' the shotgun. 'You're back here, are you? You know what I told you I'd do to you? Well, now, I'll do it.'

“The pair of 'em had jumped about as far as Nate had, only the opposite way. Augustus was a paralyzed statue, but Olivia had her senses with her.

“'Run, Augustus!' she screamed. 'He'll shoot you. Run!'

“And then, with a screech like a siren whistle, Augustus commenced to run. Nate was between him and the outside door, so he bolted headfirst into the dining room. And after him went Nate Scudder, so crazy mad he didn't know what he was doin'.

“'Twas pitch dark in the dining room, but through it they went rattlety bang! dishes smashin', chairs upsettin' and 'hurrah, boys!' to pay gen'rally. Then through the best parlor and into the front hall.

“I cal'late Nate would have had him at the foot of the front stairs if it hadn't been for Galileo. That cat had been asleep on the sofy, and the noise and hullabaloo had stirred him up till he was as crazy as the rest of 'em. He run right under Nate's feet and down went Nate sprawlin' and both barrels of the shotgun bust loose like a couple of cannon.

“Galileo took for tall timber, whoopin' anthems. Up them front stairs went Augustus, screechin' shrill, like a woman; he was SURE Nate meant to murder him now. And after him his uncle went on all fours, swearin' tremendous.

“Then 'twas through one bedroom after another, and each one more crowded with noisy, smashable things than that previous. Nate said he could remember the professor roarin' 'Fire!' and 'Help!' as the two of 'em bumped into his bed, but they didn't stop—they was too busy. The whole length of the house upstairs they traveled, then through the ell, then the woodshed loft, and finally out into the upper story of the barn. And there Nate knew he had him. The ladder was down.

“'Now!' says Nate. 'Now, you long-legged villain, if I don't give you what's comin' to you, then—Oh, there ain't no use in your climbin' out there; you can't get down.'

“The big barn doors was open, and, in the moonlight, Nate could see Gus scramblin' up and around on the flyin' stage where the professor's aeroplane was perched, lookin' like some kind of magnified June bug.

“'Come back, you fool!' Scudder yelled at him. 'Come back and be butchered. You might as well; it's too high for you to drop. You won't? Then I'll come after you.'

“Nate says he never shall forget Augustus's face in the blue light when he see his uncle climbin' out on that stage after him. He was simply desperate—that's it, desperate. And the next thing he did was jump into the saddle of the machine and pull the startin' lever.

“There was the buzz of the electric motor, a slippery, slidin' sound, one awful hair-raisin' whoop from Augustus, and then—'F-s-s-s-t!'—down the flyin' stage whizzed that aeroplane and out through the doors.

“Nate set down on the trestles and waited for the sound of the smash. I guess he actually felt conscience stricken. Of course, he'd only done his duty, and yet—

“But no smash came. Instead, there was a long scream from the kitchen—Olivia's voice that was. And then another yell that for pure joy beat anything ever heard.

“'It flies!' screamed Professor Ansel Hobart Whiskers Dixland, from his bedroom window. 'At last! At last! It FLIES!'

“It took Nate some few minutes to paw his way back through the shed loft and the ell over the things him and Gus knocked down on the fust lap, until he got to his room where the trouble had started. Then he went down to the kitchen and outdoor.

“Olivia, a heavenly sort of look on her face, was standin' in the moonlight, with her hands clasped, lookin' up at the sky.

“'It flies!' says she, in a kind of whisper over and over again. 'Oh! it FLIES!'

“Alongside of her was old Dixland, wrapped in a bedquilt, forgettin' all about sprains and lameness; and he likewise was staring at the sky and sayin' over and over:

“'It flies! It really FLIES!'

“And Nate looked up, and there, scootin' around in circles, now up high and now down low, tippin' this way and tippin' that, was that aeroplane. And in the stillness you could hear the buzz of the motor and the yells of Augustus.

“Down flopped Scudder in the sand. 'Great land of love,' he says, 'it FLIES!'

“Well, for five minutes or so they watched that thing swoop and duck and sail up there overhead. And then, slow and easy as a feather in a May breeze, down she flutters and lands soft on a hummock a little ways off. And that Augustus—a fool for luck—staggers out of it safe and sound, and sets down and begins to cry.

“The fust thing to reach him was Olivia. She grabbed him around the neck, and you never heard such goin's on as them two had. Nate come hurryin' up.

“'Here you!' he says, pullin' 'em apart. 'That's enough of this. And you,' he adds to Gus, 'clear right out off this island. I won't make shark bait of you this time, but—'

“And then comes Dixland, hippity-hop over the hummocks. 'My noble boy!' he sings out, fallin' all of a heap onto Augustus's round shoulders. 'My noble boy! My hero!'

“Nate looked on for a full minute with his mouth open. Olivia went away toward the house. The professor and Gus was sheddin' tears like a couple of waterin' pots.

“'Come! come!' says Scudder finally; 'get up, Mr. Dixland; you'll catch cold. Now then, you Tolliver, toddle right along to your boat. Don't you worry, professor, I'll fix him so's he won't come here no more.'

“But the professor turned on him like a flash.

“'How dare you interfere?' says he. 'I forgive him everything. He is a hero. Why, man, he FLEW!'

“Olivia came up behind and touched Nate on the shoulders. 'Don't you think you'd better go, Mr. Scudder?' she purred. 'I've unchained Phillips Brooks.'

“Nate swears he never made better time than he done gettin' to the shore and the boat Augustus had come over in. But that philanthropist dog only missed the supper he'd been waitin' for by about a foot and a half, even as 'twas.

“And that was the end of it, fur's Nate was concerned. Olivia was boss from then on, and Scudder wa'n't allowed to land on his own island. And pretty soon they all went away, flyin' machine and all, and now Gus and Olivia are married.”

“Well, by gum!” cried Wingate. “Say, that must have broke Nate's heart completely. All that good money goin' to the poor. Ha! ha!”

“Yes,” said Captain Sol, with a broad grin. “Nate told me that every time he realized that Gus's flyin' at all was due to his scarin' him into it, it fairly made him sick of life.”

“What did Huldy Ann say? I'll bet the fur flew when SHE heard of it!”

“I guess likely it did. Scudder says her jawin's was the worst of all. Her principal complaint was that he didn't take up with the professor's five-thousand offer and try to fly. 'What if 'twas risky?' she says. 'If anything happened to you the five thousand would have come to your heirs, wouldn't it? But no! you never think of no one but yourself.'”

Mr. Wingate glanced at his watch. “Good land!” he cried, “I didn't realize 'twas so late. I must trot along down and meet Stitt. He and I are goin' to corner the clam market.”

“I must be goin', too,” said the depot master, rising and moving toward the door, picking up his cap on the way. He threw open the door and exclaimed, “Hello! here's Sim. What you got on your mind, Sim?”

Mr. Phinney looked rather solemn. “I wanted to speak with you a minute, Sol,” he began. “Hello! Barzilla, I didn't know you was here.”

“I shan't be here but one second longer,” replied Mr. Wingate, as he and Phinney shook hands. “I'm late already. Bailey'll think I ain't comin'. Good-by, boys. See you this afternoon, maybe.”

“Yes, do,” cried Berry, as his guest hurried down to the gate. “I want to hear about those automobiles over your way. You ain't bought one, have you, Barzilla?”

Wingate grinned over his shoulder. “No,” he called, “I ain't. But other folks you know have. It's the biggest joke on earth. You and Sim'll want to hear it.”

He waved a big hand and walked briskly up the Shore Road. The depot master turned to his friend.

“Well, Sim?” he asked.

“Well, Sol,” answered the building mover gravely, “I've just met Mr. Hilton, the minister, and he told me somethin' about Olive Edwards, somethin' I thought you'd want to know. You said for me to find out what she was cal'latin' to do when she had to give up her home and—”

“I know what I said,” interrupted the depot master rather sharply. “What did Hilton say?”

“Mr. Hilton told me not to tell,” continued Phinney, “and I shan't tell nobody but you, Sol. I know you wont t mention it. The minister says that Olive's hard up as she can be. All she's got in the world is the little furniture and store stuff in her house. The store stuff don't amount to nothin', but the furniture belonged to her pa and ma, and she set a heap by it. Likewise, as everybody knows, she's awful proud and self-respectin'. Anything like charity would kill her. Now out West—in Omaha or somewheres—she's got a cousin who owed her dad money. Old Cap'n Seabury lent this Omaha man two or three thousand dollars and set him up in business. Course, the debt's outlawed, but Olive don't realize that, or, if she did, it wouldn't count with her. She couldn't understand how law would have any effect on payin' money you honestly owe. She's written to the Omaha cousin, tellin' him what a scrape she's in and askin' him to please, if convenient, let her have a thousand or so on account. She figgers if she gets that, she can go to Bayport or Orham or somewheres and open another notion store.”

Captain Berry lit a cigar. “Hum!” he said, after a minute. “You say she's written to this chap. Has she got an answer yet?”

“No, not any definite one. She heard from the man's wife sayin' that her husband—the cousin—had gone on a fishin' trip somewheres up in Canady and wouldn't be back afore the eighth of next month. Soon's he does come he'll write her. But Mr. Hilton thinks, and so do I—havin' heard a few things about this cousin—that it's mighty doubtful if he sends any money.”

“Yes, I shouldn't wonder. Where's Olive goin' to stay while she's waitin' to hear?”

“In her own house. Mr. Hilton went to Williams and pleaded with him, and he finally agreed to let her stay there until the 'Colonial' is moved onto the lot. Then the Edwardses house'll be tore down and Olive'll have to go, of course.”

The depot master puffed thoughtfully at his cigar.

“She won't hear before the tenth, at the earliest,” he said. “And if Williams begins to move his 'Colonial' at once, he'll get it to her lot by the seventh, sure. Have you given him your figures for the job?”

“Handed 'em in this very mornin'. One of his high-and-mighty servants, all brass buttons and braid, like a feller playin' in the band, took my letter and condescended to say he'd pass it on to Williams. I'd liked to have kicked the critter, just to see if he COULD unbend; but I jedged 'twouldn't be good business.”

“Probably not. If the 'Colonial' gets to Olive's lot afore she hears from the Omaha man, what then?”

“Well, that's the worst of it. The minister don't know what she'll do. There's plenty of places where she'd be more'n welcome to visit a spell, but she's too proud to accept. Mr. Hilton's afraid she'll start for Boston to hunt up a job, or somethin'. You know how much chance she stands of gettin' a job that's wuth anything.”

Phinney paused, anxiously awaiting his companion's reply. When it came it was very unsatisfactory.

“I'm goin' to the depot,” said the Captain, brusquely. “So long, Sim.”

He slammed the door of the house behind him, strode to the gate, flung it open, and marched on. Simeon gazed in astonishment, then hurried to overtake him. Ranging alongside, he endeavored to reopen the conversation, but to no purpose. The depot master would not talk. They turned into Cross Street.

“Well!” exclaimed Mr. Phinney, panting from his unaccustomed hurry, “what be we, runnin' a race? Why! . . . Oh, how d'ye do, Mr. Williams, sir? Want to see me, do you?”

The magnate of East Harniss stepped forward.

“Er—Phinney,” he said, “I want a moment of your time. Morning, Berry.”

“Mornin', Williams,” observed Captain Sol brusquely. “All right, Sim. I'll wait for you farther on.”

He continued his walk. The building mover stood still. Mr. Williams frowned with lofty indignation.

“Phinney,” he said, “I've just looked over those figures of yours, your bid for moving my new house. The price is ridiculous.”

Simeon attempted a pleasantry. “Yes,” he answered, “I thought 'twas ridic'lous myself; but I needed the money, so I thought I could afford to be funny.”

The Williams frown deepened.

“I didn't mean ridiculously low,” he snapped; “I meant ridiculously high. I'd rather help out you town fellows if I can, but you can't work me for a good thing. I've written to Colt and Adams, of Boston, and accepted their offer. You had your chance and didn't see fit to take it. That's all. I'm sorry.”

Simeon was angry; also a trifle skeptical.

“Mr. Williams,” he demanded, “do you mean to tell me that THEM people have agreed to move you cheaper'n I can?”

“Their price—their actual price may be no lower; but considering their up-to-date outfit and—er—progressive methods, they're cheaper. Yes. Morning, Phinney.”

He turned on his heel and walked off. Mr. Phinney, crestfallen and angrier than ever, moved on to where the depot master stood waiting for him. Captain Sol smiled grimly.

“You don't look merry as a Christmas tree, Sim,” he observed. “What did his Majesty have to say to you?”

Simeon related the talk with Williams. The depot master's grim smile grew broader.

“Sim,” he asked, with quiet sarcasm, “don't you realize that progressive methods are necessary in movin' a house?”

Phinney tried to smile in return, but the attempt was a failure.

“Yes,” went on the Captain. “Well, if you can't take the Grand Panjandrum home, you can set on the fence and see him go by. That ought to be honor enough, hadn't it? However, I may need some of your ridiculous figgers on a movin' job of my own, pretty soon. Don't be TOO comical, will you?”

“What do you mean by that, Sol Berry?”

“I mean that I may decide to move my own house.”

“Move your OWN house? Where to, for mercy sakes?”

“To that lot on Main Street that belongs to Abner Payne. Abner has wanted to buy my lot here on the Shore Road for a long time. He knows it'll make a fine site for some rich bigbug's summer 'cottage.' He would have bought the house, too, but I think too much of that to sell it. Now Abner's come back with another offer. He'll swap my lot for the Main Street one, pay my movin' expenses and a fair 'boot' besides. He don't really care for my HOUSE, you understand; it's my LAND he's after.”

“Are you goin' to take it up?”

“I don't know. The Main Street lot's a good one, and my house'll look good on it. And I'll make money by the deal.”

“Yes, but you've always swore by that saltwater view of yours. Told me yourself you never wanted to live anywheres else.”

Captain Sol took the cigar from his lips, looked at it, then threw it violently into the gutter.

“What difference does it make where I live?” he snarled. “Who in blazes cares where I live or whether I live at all?”

“Sol Berry, what on airth—”

“Shut up! Let me alone, Sim! I ain't fit company for anybody just now. Clear out, there's a good feller.”

The next moment he was striding down the hill. Mr. Phinney drew a long breath, scratched his head and shook it solemnly. WHAT did it all mean?