“Cal’s snoopin’ ’round ’is coop right now. You c’n see ’im with the spotter,” said the old man, as he brought out his rickety old brass spy-glass. Through it I could just make out a figure moving about on the sand near the distant shanty.
I left the old mariner, intending to come out of the dunes near Cal’s place sometime during the afternoon, being really anxious to accommodate Mrs. Smetters.
In the course of time I reached Cal’s shanty and found him sharpening a knife near the door. We shook hands and, after discussing various matters of mutual interest, I mentioned the call on Mrs. Smetters for the purpose of buying a duck for Sipes.
“W’y didn’t you git me a duck too if you was git’n one fer him?” he asked rather peevishly. He was placated with a cigar and the explanation that I had not expected to see him on this trip. He betrayed no curiosity at the mention of Mrs. Smetters. I tried again, and told him that I had had a long talk with her and she did not look as though she was very well; she appeared sad, and seemed ill. At this he began to show interest.
“Wot d’ye s’pose is the matter with ’er? W’y don’t she eat some catnip if she’s sick?”
I replied that probably she found it rather lonely since her last husband died.
“Say, d’ye know wot I think I’ll do? I’ll go over there tomorrer an’ take ’er some fresh fish, an’ mebbe she’ll gimme a duck. I ain’t seen ’er fer a long time.”
Having approved of his suggestion, and realizing that the mission had been accomplished, I departed after we had talked of other things for a while. Visits to Cal were always enjoyable, although his reminiscences were to be accepted with a grain of salt. His logic, morals, and language were bad, but his narratives had the charm of originality, and he never failed to be entertaining. Naturally, I was curious as to the outcome of the projected call on Mrs. Smetters, but not being concerned in further developments, I dismissed it from my mind. Interest was quickly revived on meeting Sipes a month later.
“Say, wot d’ye think’s happened?” exclaimed the old man. “Elvirey’s snared Cal good an’ plenty. That ol’ cuss has been up to see ’er a dozen times in the last two weeks. Bill an’ me’s been watchin’ ’em with the spotter from up yonder in them trees on top o’ that big dune where we c’n see ’er house. Say, you’d laugh yerself sick. Gener’ly ’e sneaks ’round an’ goes along the edge o’ the marsh over back o’ here, so’s ’e won’t ’ave to go by our place. Last night ’e come by with a collar on. His whiskers was combed an’ so was ’is hair. He was all lit up an’ reminded Bill an’ me o’ that hiker we found walkin’ on the beach once’t that we piloted off a couple o’ miles to show ’im where we told ’im ’e could cetch some mock-turtles. Bill’s up there with the spotter watchin’ now. We call that place the masthead.”
Far away I could see the glint of the spy-glass, and could dimly make out the figure of the lone sentinel in his eyry upon the height. He was ensconced in a mass of gnarled and tangled roots which the wind-blown sand had left bare on the distant hilltop.