The next morning there was little change. Cook was no worse, nor was he appreciably better.
“He will get along,” said the doctor, “provided he keeps still and doesn’t try to get up, or worry about that lawsuit or anything else. You are the only person who seems to have any real control over him. If you can just stick around and fight off callers, lawyers especially, and see that he takes his medicine and eats what he should and when he should—if you’ll just stay here with him for a week or two he will get over this upset. There will be others, of course. You know as well as I do that a man at his age is likely to—well, step off almost any time, but I don’t think it is going to be this time. I am counting on you to hold the fort for me.”
So Bob held the fort, but it was nearly a fortnight later before Elisha Cook was sufficiently recovered to permit his grandson’s spending an evening elsewhere than in that house. Bob wrote two letters, one to Esther explaining why he could not come to see her, and one to the steamship company canceling his passage on the Lavornia. And during that fortnight many things happened in Harniss.
The Welfare Society decided to give a performance of “Pinafore” in the town hall. Among the native and summer population of the village and of Bayport and Orham, there were several individuals who sang well and a larger number whose singing was passable. The committee chosen to select the cast picked Esther Townsend for the part of Josephine. The vote was not unanimous. Mrs. Wheeler and a few intimate friends seemed to feel sure that Margery, the Wheeler daughter, was exactly suited for that part and should have it. There was much discussion, resulting in Margery’s being given the part of Little Buttercup. “After all,” Mrs. Wheeler confided to the Reverend Mr. Colton, “perhaps it is just as well. If Margery did sing Josephine the Townsend girl would have to be Buttercup and every one knows that she hasn’t a bone of humor in her body. We should be willing to sacrifice the rights of an individual for the good of the whole, shouldn’t we, Mr. Colton? And if Margery is anything it is self-sacrificing. She has a beautiful spirit.”
Bob Griffin’s name was mentioned in the discussion as a possible member of the cast, but, unfortunately, Bob could not sing. Then it was suggested that, as in the case of the Old Folks’ Concert, he might be given charge of costumes and scenery. Mrs. Wheeler was firm on this point. “It is quite unnecessary,” she declared. “The play book tells us exactly what the costumes should be and, if we really need scenery, we can hire a set in Boston. I see no reason for complicating matters by dragging Mr. Griffin into the affair. You know how fussy he was about the Old Folks’ costumes. He won’t be satisfied unless he can superintend everything and that will mean more time than we can spare. The first week in September is the very latest date when we may expect a good-sized audience; every one will be leaving directly after that. Besides, the story is that Mr. Griffin is going abroad soon to study art. I don’t think we should interfere with anything as necessary as study for his art. Ha, ha!”
Some of the listeners to this decided expression of opinion exchanged side-long glances as they heard it. They remembered how very enthusiastic the Wheeler mother and daughter had formerly been concerning Griffin’s services and ability. Mrs. Captain Ben Snow whispered to Mrs. Colton that she guessed Esther Townsend had put Margery’s nose out of joint so far as Bob Griffin was concerned.
“That nose is where the shoe pinches just now,” asserted Mrs. Snow. Mrs. Colton was aware of some peculiarities in the metaphor, but she agreed with the truth of the statement.
Who should play Ralph Rackstraw was the casting committee’s most difficult problem and Fate solved it in an unexpected way. A stranger came to Harniss, a stranger who could sing, who had had much experience in amateur theatricals, and who in age and physical charm was the ideal Rackstraw. Best of all he had sung the part elsewhere and in a big city. Mrs. Wheeler declared his coming was a dispensation of Providence. Margery agreed with her. So, for the matter of that, did every female—especially every young female—in the cast. At the first rehearsal the new Ralph Rackstraw made a hit even before he opened his mouth to sing. When he did sing the hit assumed the proportions of a triumph. Margery Wheeler’s regret that she was not to play Josephine was bitterer than ever and her hatred of Esther Townsend more implacable.
Bob Griffin knew nothing of all this. Esther had written him, in her reply to his note, that a visitor was expected at the mansion, and he had heard rumors that Foster Townsend was entertaining some one from “out West,” but he paid little attention. The sole dweller in that house in whom he was the least interested was Esther and he was looking forward to seeing her very soon. Elisha Cook was steadily improving in health and the moment his grandson received the doctor’s permission to leave him for an evening that evening would find Bob Griffin knocking at the Townsend door.
Esther’s letter, written the day following that upon which she received his note, was a long one. Its tone was kindly and, remembering only too well the manner of their parting, he found comfort in that. She expressed sorrow at the news of his grandfather’s illness, but hoped, as he did, that it would prove neither serious nor prolonged.