Mrs. Hand, who had been clasping and unclasping her fingers, exclaimed: “But, Richard! Don’t you think ’twas a mistake to go to Keturah with it? A girl is so likely to misunderstand such matters.”
A look of inscrutable sorrow crept into Mr. Hand’s crafty eyes. He hunched up his shrunken body and nodded earnestly.
“Yes-yes!” he confirmed, using a characteristic ejaculation of the Long Islander. “Keturah was never the woman to understand things in any but her own way. She flared right up at me and said some hard things. I won’t repeat’em, though I remember some of ’em to this day. For one thing,” he went on, disregarding his promise of the breath before, “she accused me of trying to cheat Hosea—to cheat him! She p’tended to think I was trying to keep from Hosea what was rightfully his, when I was right there trying to give it back! She says to me: ‘I’ve heard of folks who wanted to eat their cake and have it, too, but you’re the first ever I see that wanted to give someone else his bite and have it back.’ Then she cried out: ‘I wouldn’t marry a man with a brother so mean as you!’ I went away a good deal upset, for I was real consarned to see her married to Hosea and them both happy. Hosea didn’t have nothing, but she was sure to have plenty from her aunt, and I figgered ’twould be money in the family.” Mr. Hand shook his head regretfully and a sigh whistled between his teeth.
Mrs. Hand smoothed her apron. After a few moments’ silence she observed: “Well, I s’pose it’s all for the best.” It was her favourite observation, and on the philosophy compressed into that one short sentence she had managed to live, hardly but not so unhappily, with Richard Hand for these many years. She wanted to ask him what he was going to do with the extraordinary sum of $20,000 of which he was now possessed, but she knew he would not tell her. Afterward, she would learn, little by little. She did not have to worry, for he was not likely to lose it. She fell to speculating as to whether he would give her enough to buy a black silk dress for Sundays—but it was an idle speculation.... Her thoughts went along in an ineffectual fashion until she rose to get supper.
Her husband ate in silence, undisturbed by his boy’s chatter about the people of Blue Port, to which they had just removed. His mind was already occupied with the possibilities of $20,000 carefully handled, as he would handle it. He would not buy land, he would buy people. He would look about for good mortgages that could be picked up cheap. There must be a few Keturah Smiley had not got hold of. He would go slow and keep money in the savings bank for a while, even though it yielded him only a miserable four per cent. If something good came along he would have it handy. Perhaps he could organize some industry and have people working for him directly. He liked to drive people. The oyster industry, for example—there ought to be something in that for a man who would use a little capital and get control of the trade. Blue Port oysters were famous the world over. A little legal work would be necessary; the thought of paying a lawyer hurt him, but there were papers that would have to be drawn up, articles of incorporation, etc. He would stop in and talk with Judge Hollaby to-morrow.
The upshot of this meditation ultimately was the formation of the Blue Port Bivalve Company, Richard Hand, president; Horace Hollaby, vice-president and secretary; Richard Hand, treasurer. The company gradually obtained liens on most of the boats in which the men of Blue Port went forth to dredge the oyster beds. It acquired these beds. There were also free beds, belonging to the township, but as Richard Hand’s company came to own the boats it suffered less and less competition. Everything went on about as before; the only difference was that everybody came to be in debt to Richard Hand and worked for him. The only person in Blue Port who remained independent of him was Keturah Smiley.
VI
Mermaid, hurrying down the street from school, did not notice a boy coming out of the side street on which young Dick Hand lived. The boy was walking along with a most unboyish air. His head was down and he looked up too late to avoid a collision. It nearly knocked Mermaid’s breath out of her. When she could talk she accepted his confused apology, and smiled.
“You’re Guy Vanton, aren’t you?”