CHAPTER XXI
Promises of that kind are easier to make than to keep. The captain promised promptly enough, but the Fates were against him. He made it his business to go to town the very next day and called upon his friend. He found the young man in a curiously excited and optimistic frame of mind, radically different from that of the past few months. The manuscript of the novel was before him on the desk, also plenty of blank paper. His fountain-pen was in his hand, although apparently, he had written nothing that morning. But he was going to—oh, yes, he was going to! He was feeling just in the mood. He had read his manuscript, and it was not so bad; by George, some of the stuff was pretty good! And the end was not so far off. Five or six chapters more and the thing would be finished. He would have to secure a publisher, of course, but two had already expressed an interest; and so on.
Captain Elisha drew his own conclusions. He judged that his niece’s letter had reached its destination. He did not mention it, however, nor did Pearson. But when the captain hinted at the latter’s running out to the house to see him some time or other, the invitation was accepted.
“That’s fine, Jim,” declared the visitor. “Come any time. I want you to see what a nice little place I’ve got out there. Don’t stand on ceremony, come—er—next week, say.” Then, mindful of his promise, he added, “You and I’ll have it all to ourselves. I’ve been cal’latin’ to hire a sail-boat for the summer; got my eye on a capable little sloop belongin’ to a feller on the Sound shore. If all goes well I’ll close the deal in a few days. I’ll meet you at the depot and we’ll have a sail and get dinner at a hotel or somewheres, and then we’ll come up to the house and take a whack at Cap’n Jim’s doin’s in the new chapters. Just you and I together in the settin’ room; hey?”
Pearson did not seem so enthusiastic over this programme, although he admitted that it sounded tip-top.
“How is Miss Warren?” he asked, mentioning the name with a nonchalance remarkable, considering that he had not done so before for weeks. “She is well, I hope?”
“Yes, she’s fust-rate, thank you. Very well, everything considered. She keeps to herself a good deal. Don’t care to meet many folks, and you can’t hardly blame her.”
Pearson admitted that, and the remainder of the call was largely a monologue by Captain Elisha.