“We’d ’a’ lost.”
“Were you prepared to lose?”
“Sure! This ain’t the on’y race! Best out o’ five.”
The races were scheduled one each week until one boat had taken three wins, but Richard knew that his work with Walter was over. There was no excuse he would offer to stay longer at “Red Jacket,” for there would be volunteers a-plenty to tend port-stays, and, evidently, Walter had “found himself.” Richard’s feelings were a complex of disappointment and joy. The new life in New York was making a vigorous call upon him. His wander-years were over, and, as easily as season slips into season, he was turning directly about and facing with high curiosity the next stage when he would take up his father’s work as man of many affairs.
Wheelen put off in his motor-boat, and Walter left as soon as everything was stowed away, but Jawn and Richard sat in the shade of the Lombardy poplars and enjoyed the fine August evening. Their talk was interrupted by a crash of some falling object in Phœbe’s cottage. A trifling accident, probably. They had heard Phœbe’s voice when Walter entered. Of course she had driven down with the Wells or probably had come down in the trolley and, naturally, would have made the distance in much less time than it took the yacht to round Bluff Point and beat up to the dock.
Voices in anger and another crash of furniture brought the two men to their feet. Before they had taken a dozen steps they saw Walter rush out and reach up to the little shelf where the whisky had rested untouched since early spring. Phœbe followed instantly; she was talking to him soothingly, although the men noticed that she had unhooked Seth’s whip; but Walter was shrill and defiant. When Jerry, too, emerged from the house the men dropped into a walk and entered upon the scene with seeming calmness.
Jerry stood away from the boy, but Phœbe was not afraid of him.
“You said y’d marry me!” Walter shouted hoarsely and gripped the whisky. “You said——”
“No, Walter,” Phœbe pursued him calmly. “I said I would think about it. An’ I am thinkin’ about it, my boy.”
“Y’r puttin’ me off, an’ puttin’ me off!” he complained harshly. “An’ I won’t stan’ it, d’ye hear? Won’t stan’ it! Gotta know some time ’r other. Gotta know now!”