“You think that wouldn’t cause no more rejoicin’ than some other things have? Yes, yes; I cal’late I understand, Mr. Graves. Well, I guess you’ll have to give me to-night to chew over this. I guess you will. It’s come on me so sudden, ’Bije’s death and all, that I want to be by myself and think. I don’t want to seem unsociable or lackin’ in hospitality. The whole house is yours. Help yourself to it. But when I’m caught in a clove hitch, I just have to set down and think myself out of it. I have to. I was built and launched that way, I guess, and maybe you’ll excuse me.”
“Certainly, Captain Warren. You’re quite right in wishing to deliberate on so important a matter. And, if you will excuse me in return, I believe I will go to my room. I’ve had a rather wearing day.”
“And a damp evenin’. Yes, I’ll excuse and sympathize with you, too. I’ll see you to your room, and I’ll hope you’ll have consider’ble more sleep than I’m likely to get. Abbie!... Abbie!... Fetch Mr. Graves’s lamp, won’t you, please?”
It was after two the next morning before Captain Elisha rose from his chair by the fire and entered his bed chamber. Yet, when Atwood Graves came down to breakfast, he found his host in the sitting room awaiting him.
“Afore we tackle Abbie’s pancakes and fishballs, Mr. Graves,” said the captain, “let’s get the rest of that will business off our minds. Then we can have the pancakes to take the taste out of our mouths, as you might say. And let me ask you one more question. This—er—er—Caroline and Stephen, they’re used to livin’ pretty well—fashionable society, and the like of that, hey?”
“Yes. Their home was on Fifth Avenue, and the family moved in the best circles.”
“Hum! I should imagine life on twenty-odd thousand a year must be pretty much all circles, one everlastin’ ‘turn your partners.’ Well, Mr. Graves, my circles down here are consider’ble smaller, but they suit me. I’m worth twenty-odd thousand myself, not in a year, but in a lifetime. I’m selectman and director in the bank and trustee of the church. When I holler ‘Boo,’ the South Denboro folks—some of them, anyhow—set up and take notice. I can lead the grand march down in this neighborhood once in a while, and I cal’late I’m prettier leadin’ it than I would be doin’ a solitaire jig for two years on the outside edge of New York’s best circles. And I’m mighty sure I’m more welcome. Now my eyesight’s strong enough to see through a two-foot hole after the plug’s out, and I can see that you and ’Bije’s children won’t shed tears if I say no to that will. No offense meant, you know; just common sense, that’s all.”
This was plain speaking. Mr. Graves colored, though he didn’t mean to, and for once could not answer offhand.
“So,” continued the captain, “I’ll ease your and their minds by sayin’ that, the way I feel now, I probably sha’n’t accept the trust. I probably sha’n’t. But I won’t say sure I won’t, because—well, because ’Bije was my brother; he was that, no matter what our diff’rences may have been. And I know—I know that there must be some reason bigger than ‘implicit trust’ and the other May-baskets for his appointin’ me in his will. What that reason is I don’t know—yet.”
“Then you intend—?”