“She is all gingered up and ready to go,” he declared, patting Claribel’s glistening shoulder. “She’ll make that Rattler look like a porgy boat tryin’ to keep up with one of them high-toned yachts. I understand,” he added, addressing his employer in the confidential whisper he invariably used on such occasions, “that Baker’s gang are offerin’ ten to seven over there in Bayport. I’m just waitin’ for ’em to show up around here and start their hollerin’. There’s a five dollar bill in my pants pocket that’s goin’ up on Claribel lock, stock and barrel. He, he! Your uncle told you about the game we’ve played on Sam Baker and Seth Emmons and them?” he asked, turning to Esther. “That was a slick trick, if I did handle it myself. He, he!”
Townsend’s eyes twinkled. “You wouldn’t guess Varunas was so clever to look at him, would you,” he observed solemnly. “He can think up more smart tricks—second-hand—than any one you ever saw.”
Mr. Gifford’s wizened face lengthened a trifle. “What was there second-hand about it?” he demanded. “Oh, yes, yes! I recollect now you said you’d heard of its bein’ played afore. Well, anyhow,” triumphantly, “I was the first one to play it in these latitudes. You’ll have to give me credit for that, Cap’n Foster.”
Townsend did not enlighten his niece concerning the nature of the “trick.” He did, however, tell her of the proposed trotting match at the Circle. She had heard rumors of it before; Millard had talked of it during one entire meal at the cottage. As they were leaving the stables Varunas patted her shoulder reassuringly.
“Don’t you worry about it, Esther,” he cautioned. “Don’t worry a mite. We’ve got ’em licked afore they start. It takes more’n Sam Baker to come in ahead of us Townsends, don’t it, eh? I guess you know that.”
So he considered her one of the family already, entitled to the family confidence and sharing the family pride. That was pleasing, too. Just as it was pleasant to have her uncle speak about planting the flower garden, when the time for spring planting came.
“Mother used to attend to all that,” he said. “Now it will be your job.”
And when she met Nabby Gifford, there also was the same polite acceptance of her authority as one of the Townsends. Not that Nabby’s politeness was obsequious, she bent the knee to no one. But she greeted the girl cordially and, far from appearing to resent her presence in the house, seemed to welcome it.
“I’m real glad you’ve come here, Esther,” she whispered, in the only moment when they were alone together. “You can help your uncle a lot. He needs somebody of his own for company in this great ark of a place and I’ve told him so. You’ll be a whole lot of comfort to him.”
Somehow these meetings with the Giffords cheered Esther greatly. It seemed evident that she was not regarded wholly as an object of charity. Almost as if a part of the favor was conferred by her. Her uncle needed her—yes, and he had invited her there because of that need. And she was a Townsend; why, in a way she did belong there, after all. Her homesickness was not so distressing this morning.