“Miss Martha,” she cried, “Miss Martha, do you hear me? Zach—he says—”
Her mistress answered. “Yes, yes, Primmie,” she said, “I hear you.” Then, turning again toward the banker and his relative, she said, “Mr. Cabot, I—did I understand you to say—?”
“Miss Martha!” The voice outside the door was more insistent than ever. “Miss Martha, Zach he says we've all hands got to come right straight off, 'cause if we don't there'll be hell to pay.... My savin' soul, I never meant to say that, Miss Martha! Zach, he said it, but I never meant to. I—I—Oh, my Lord of Isrul! I—I—oh, Miss Martha!”
Further wails of the frightened and repentant one were lost in an ecstatic shout of laughter from Mr. Cabot. Martha slowly shook her head.
“Well,” she observed, dryly, “I guess likely we'd better go, hadn't we? If it is as bad as all that I should say we had, sure and certain. Primmie Cash, I'm ashamed of you. Mr. Cabot, we'll finish our talk when we come back. What under the sun you can possibly mean I declare I don't understand.... But, there, it will keep. Come, Mr. Bangs.”
She led the way from the sitting room. Cabot followed her and, staggering slightly and with a hand still pressed to his forehead, Galusha followed them. He was saved for the time, he realized that, but for such a very short time. For an hour or two he was to hang in the air and then would come the inevitable crash. When they returned home, after the seance was over, Martha would question Cousin Gussie, Cousin Gussie would answer, then he would be questioned and—and the end would come. Martha would know him for what he was. As they emerged from the Phipps' door into the damp chill and blackness of that October evening, Galusha Bangs looked hopelessly up and down and for the first time in months yearned for Egypt, to be in Egypt, in Abyssinia, in the middle of the great Sahara—anywhere except where he was and where he was fated to be.
The windows of the light keeper's cottage were ablaze as they drew near. Overhead the great stream of radiance from the lantern in the tower shot far out. There was almost no wind, and the grumble of the surf at the foot of the bluff was a steady bass monotone.
Zacheus, who had waited to walk over with them, was in a fault-finding state of mind. It developed that he could not attend the meeting in the parlor; his superior had ordered that he “tend light.”
“The old man says I hadn't no business comin' to the other sea-ants thing,” said Zach. “Says him and me ain't both supposed never to leave the light alone. I cal'late he's right, but that don't make it any better. There's a whole lot of things that's right that hadn't ought to be. I presume likely it's right enough for you to play that mouth organ of yours, Posy. They ain't passed no law against it yet. But—”
“Oh, be still, Zach Bloomer! You're always talkin' about my playin' the mouth organ. I notice you can't play anything, no, nor sing neither.”