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Mr. Pratt's patients /
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MR. PRATT'S
PATIENTS
" ' I can see a great many things, Mr. Pratt,' says she."
IPatesl
Mr. Pratt's Patients
By yoseph C. Lincoln
Author of
" Mr. Pratt," " The Rise of Roscoe Paine,"
" Cap'n Warren's Wards," " Cap'n Kri,"
Etc,
A. L. BURT C^^PANY
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
tti
?5
SfcAPPLETON AND COMtAH*
■■/
Printed in the Utiited States of America
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
CHAPTER I
I WAS having my rortune told. Sophrony Gott
was telling it, with tea leaves. She had drawn
off the tea and was shaking the leaves in the
bottom of the cup around in circles. After she'd
shook for a minute or so she drained off what little
tea there was left and then stared solemn at the
leaves. I stood by the kitchen window looking out
at the yellow sand strip that they call a road in
East Trumet. 'Twas early June, the new grass was
flourishing everywheres, the posies in the yard —
peonies and such — in full bloom, the sun was shin-
ing, and the water of the bay was blue, with light
green streaks where the shoals showed. It was a
mighty fine afternoon and, by all that was fitting,
I ought to have felt like a yacht just off the ways.
But I didn't. I felt like an old hulk just ready to
be towed in and broke up for junk. For the first
I
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
time in my born days I was out of a job. Me, Solo-
mon Pratt — only fifty-odd year old and used to
scratching for a living since I was knee high to a
horse-foot crab ! Out of a job !
Sophrony give the tea leaves and her head an-
other shake. Fur's that was concerned, she shook
all over, being terrible big and fleshy. Adoniram,
her husband, drifted in through the doorway and
stood looking at her, interested as could be. It
always interested Adonirarm to see somebody else
doing something.
"Weill" says Sophrony, solemn, "I'd have
scarcely believed it. There's a whole lot here, Mr.
Pratt. I can see a lot of things in this cup."
Adoniram thought 'twas time for him to say
something, I cal'late. He most likely judged that
I was finding fault with his wife's table board.
"That's nothing," says he, cheerful. "Them ac-
cidents are li'ble to happen anywheres. Sol won't
blame you for that, Sophrony. Why, one time, over
to Peleg Ellis's, I was eating a piece of pie and I
see
I never found out what 'twas he saw. Maybe it's
just as well. I was born with a pie appetite; it's
one of my few natural gifts, as you might say, and
I'd hate to lose any of it. Anyhow, Adoniram
hadn't got any further than " see " when Sophrony
2
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
swung round in her chair and looked at him. You
wouldn't have believed a body could shut up the way-
he did and leave his mouth standing open.
His wife kept on looking until he shut even that.
Then she turned to me.
"I can see a great many things, important things,
in this cup, Mr. Pratt," says she, dignified.
"That's good," says I. "You don't see a fifteen
dollar a week job down in the no'theast corner, do
you?"
"No," she says. "No — o, not exactly. And yet
there's money here, a lot of money."
"That would do on a pinch," says I, sarcastic.
"If I had the money maybe I could manage to worry
along a spell without working for it. I never tried
the experiment, I'm free to confess, but I'd chance
it just now. Never mind the job, Mrs. Gott; just
keep your eye on the money. Say, there ain't a
crack in that tea cup, is there?"
She didn't pay any attention. Fur's jokes was
concerned she was an ironclad old frigate. A comic
almanac man might have practiced on her all day
and never dented her broadside.
"Yes," she went on, "there's money here. And
a letter. I seem to see a letter with good luck in it.
You ain't expecting any letter, are you, Mr. Pratt ?"
"No," says I. "My girl's gone back on me, I'm
3
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
afraid. Took up with a handsomer man, I sup-
pose — if there is such a person living. Don't seem
hardly possible, does it, Adoniram."
But Adoniram was as solemn as his wife, just
then. Solemn, and a little mite excited.
"Why, Sophrony," says he, "don't you suppose
that means "
"Don't interrupt the reading."
"But, Sophrony, I was only going to say-
"Be still. Yes, Mr. Pratt, the lucky letter's there;
I can see it plain. And there's a journey; you're
going to take a journey."
"Humph! I hope 'tain't a long one. Walking's
all right, fur's it goes, but I'd just as soon it wouldn't
go too fur. There ain't any railroad ticket under
them tea grounds, is there?"
"No. . . . Let me see." She took a spoon and
poked around in the cup with the handle of it. "Let
me see," she says again. "Why, what's this? I can
see two spirits hovering over your life; one's dark
and the other's light. They're going to have con-
sider'ble influence. And here's two men. One of
'em's a sort of thin man with — ^with kind of thick
hair, and the other's a — a "
"A thick man with kind of thin hair, hey?" I fin-
ished for her. "Well, all right; I wouldn't bother
any longer if I was you, Mrs. Gott. You've found
4
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
more in that cup already than the average person
could dredge out of a wash-boiler. If you'll excuse
me I cal'late I'll trot along and see if I can locate
any of that money."
"But you haven't heard it all. There's lots more,
I can see a bottle — that means sickness."
"Maybe it has something to do with the spirits;
hey, Adoniram?"
"No, it ain't. Adoniram, you be still. It means
sickness. You're going to be mixed up with sickness,
Mr. Pratt."
"Going to be ! Have been, you mean I"
"And here's a dark blot — that means trouble. I'll
stir it a little, and "
"No, you won't. I don't need anybody to stir up
any more trouble for me. I'm ever so much obliged
to you, Mrs. Gott, but I must be going. Morning,
Adoniram."
I was on my way to the door when Adoniram
got in my way. He was so excited that he actually
forgot to be scared of his wife, which is saying some-
thing.
"The letter 1" he says. "The letter. Soil"
"Yes," says I. "Well, when I get it I'll let you
know. Don't hinder me now."
I brushed past him' and went out on the front
piazza. There I stopped. After all, I hadn't much
5
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
of anywheres to go. I'd been about everywheres
in that neighborhood.
That winter and spring was the worst I'd ever put
in. A chap named Eleazir Kendrick and I had
chummed in together the summer afore and built a
fish-weir and shanty at Setuckit Point, down Orham
way. For a spell we done pretty well. Then there
came a reg'lar terror of a sou'wester, same as you
don't get one summer in a thousand, and blowed the
shanty flat and ripped about half of the weir poles
out of the sand. We spent consider'ble money get-
ting 'em reset, and then a swordfish got into the
pound and tore the nets all to slathers, right in the
middle of the squiteague season. We'd no sooner
got that fixed than Eleazir was took sick with some-
thing that the doctors couldn't label for much as a
fortni't. Time they decided 'twas walking typhoid,
brought on by eating sp'iled clams, I'd got it, and
mine wa'n't the walking kind by as much as two
trots and a gallop. 'Twas January afore I cared
whether school kept or not, and mid-winter afore
I could do anything the way a healthy man ought
to, except cuss. Then the doctors, and the nurses
they'd hired when I was too crazy to stop 'em, had
run up a bill that was higher than our weir poles,
enough sight — for the ice had come into the bay
and scraped every last one of them out to sea.
6
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
In March Eleazir and me got together — we was
so thin that we had to hug each other to make a
lump big enough to cast a shadow — and decided we'd
give Setuckit another try. We had just enough cash,
after paying the doctors' bills, to buy stuff for a new
weir; but Coxton and Bragg, the fish dealers up to
Boston, owed us a good deal, so we didn't call our-
selves poorhouse candidates, exactly. We built the
weir, caught seven hundred barrel of mackerel inside
of a month, and shipped 'em to the Coxton and
. Bragg folks. Then the mackerel stopped running
and Coxton started. He run to South America or
soinewheres, taking the heft of the firm's money with
him. Bragg had enough reserve on hand to fail
with, and he done it. Eleazir and I set down in
the sand and looked at the empty weir and counted
our fingers. They was all we had to count.
Well, we counted till May. Then we drawed lots
to see who'd stay by the weir and who'd go hunting
some other job. I lost — or won, whichever way you
look at it — and 'twas me that went. I'll never forget
Kendrick's parting remarks.
"So long, Sol," he says. "Think of me down
here on the flats with a typhoid appetite and nothing
to satisfy it but the clams that made me sick in the
first place. It's what you might call the — the flat-
irony of fate, ain't it?"
7
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
He was a real droll feller, with some consider'ble
education, and was always making jokes like that.
I liked Eleazir; we got along first rate together.
The first place I headed for after leaving Setuckit
was the Old Home House at Wellmouth Port. My
catboat, the Dora Bassett, was still in commission —
Coxton and Bragg hadn't got her away from
me — and I thought maybe I could get the chance
of running party boat for the hotel — taking out
boarders on fishing and sailing cruises, you under-
stand. 'Twould be only a summer's job, if I got
it, but a summer job is a heap better than no job.
I didn't get that party boat job for the same rea-
son that Abel Simmons stayed an old bach. Abe
used to say that he'd have got married two or three
times if no had meant yes. If another skipper hadn't
signed up with the Old Home folks in April, I might
have signed in June. As 'twas, I got a lot of sym-
pathy and a five cent cigar to pay me for my trip".
I didn't really appreciate the sympathy till I started
to smoke the cigar.
I put in another week cruising from Provincetown
to Ostable, but 'twa'n't no use. An able-bodied ty-
phoid relic by the name of Solomon Pratt seemed
to be about as much in demand just then as a fiddler
at a funeral. Finally I drifted around to East
Trumet and hired a room on the hurricane deck of
8
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
Sophrony Gott's boarding house. Sophrony kept
hens and a pig and two or three boarders and a hus-
band. I mention 'em in that order because that's
the way they was rated on the ship's books, the hens
first and the husband last. Adoniram, the husband,
was little and thin. The hens didn't have any special
names, but they was big and fat like Sophrony. Me
and the other boarders averaged in between the pig
and Adoniram. And at Sophrony's I stayed, feeling
the tide going out in my pocketbook every day and
my pluck going along with it. I was bluer than
a sp'iled mackerel and all hands noticed it. That's
why, I cal'late, that Sophrony took the notion of
telHng my fortune. She thought 'twould brace me
up, I shouldn't wonder. It didn't; 'twould have
taken something a plaguey sight stronger than
boarding-house tea to do that.
I came out of that setting-room, as I said, and
stood there on the piazza, looking at nothing in par-
ticular — ^which is all there is to look at in East
Trumet, and thinking hard. What should I do?
I'd got to do something, but what?
And, as. I stood there, I heard the biggest sort
of pow-wow bust out in the house behind me. I
hadn't more'n swung round on my anchor, as you
might say, when the door flew open and Sophrony
and Adoniram hove in sight under full steam. The
9
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
doorway was like them in most Cape houses, not
any too wide, and they both tried to get through it
at the same time. 'Twas a mistake in judgment,
on Adoniram's part, anyhow. One of these summer
boy's canoes trying to shove an iceberg out of the
channel wouldn't have been wrecked any quicker than
he was. He went up against the port door jamb
with a smash that a body'd think would have stove
in his poor little timbers, and his wife swept out
into the fairway without even rocking. There is
some advantage in being built broad in the beam.
"Oh, Mr. Pratt!" says Sophrony.
"Ugh!" says Adoniram.
Then they both said something about a letter.
"It's here," says Sophrony. "It's here, Mr. Pratt.
I didn't think of it till "
" 'Twas me that thought of it first," puts in her
husband, gasping but game. "When she see that
in the tea cup about — ■ — "
"And all at once it come to me. I don't know
what made me think of it, but "
"I do. / made you. I says to you, says I "
"Here! here! hold on!" I interrupted. "You
sound like one of them choir anthems in church.
Make it a solo, can't you? What's the matter,?"
"Why, you see " begins Adoniram.
"Be still," orders Sophrony. "Mr. Pratt'll think
10
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
you're crazy, Mr. Pratt, it's the most amazing
tiling. When I saw that letter for you in the tea
leaves I never thought of the mantel-piece. It had
been there for three or four days, too. You hush
up, AdoniramI Can't you let me tell him?"
"Well, you be telling him, ain't you. All I can
see you've told so far is that the mantel-piece has
been there three or four days."
"Not the mantel-piece I The idea ! The mantel-
piece has been there ever since the house was built.
It's the letter, Mr. Pratt. It came three or four
days ago. You was away, over to Wellmouth or
somewheres, and so we put it behind the clock.
'Twa'n't till just this minute that I remembered it."
"You wouldn't have remembered it then if I
hadn't gone and got it," says Adoniram.
He may have been the one that got it first, but
'twas his wife that had it now. She gave it to me
and the two of 'em stood dose alongside when I
started to rip open the envelope. I don't patronize
Uncle Sam's mails to any great extent, but, gen-
erally sp saking, a letter for me wasn't such a miracle
as all this fuss amounted to. 'Twas account of the
fool fortune-telling business that they'd got so ex-
cited. If you believe that the past, present and
hereafter can be strained out of a teapot you can
get excited over anything. I could hear Adoniram
II
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
breathing hard close at my weather ear and So-
phrony was saying: "It's a lucky letter. It'll bring
you luck, now you seel"
There was only one sheet of paper in the en-
velope. This was a bill for eighteen dollars and
forty cents for some canvas and a new anchor and
some running rigging for the Dora Bassett that I'd
bought of old man Scudder over at Wapatomac the
fall afore I was took sick. I'd paid for It, too; but,
-like an everlasting idiot, I hadn't took any receipt.
And now here was a bill with "Please Remmit" on
it in red ink, and underlined at that. A bill for
eighteen dollars; and I had less than twelve in my
pocket I This was the "luck I"
About an hour later I was setting in the stern of
the Dora Bassett bound for Wapatomac. Why was
I going? I didn't know scarcely; and yet I did, too.
I was going to talk Dutch to Nate Scudder. Not
that 'twould do any good. He'd swear blue that
I'd never paid him, .and I didn't have a scrap of
writing to prove that I had. He'd threaten to sue
me, probably. All right; the way I felt just then
he might have something real to sue for after wc
got through with our talk. The low-down swindler 1
What did he think I was ; a fool summer chap from
the city?
you think it's queer, may be, that I didn't writCj
12
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
instead of cruising that distance. If it had been any-
body else I would have wrote, but not to Nate. I
knew him of did. No, the more I thought of the*
trick he was trying to play me the madder I got,
and the quicker I wanted to tell him what I thought
of him. So I asked Sophrony to put up a snack for
me to take along for supper, and marched straight
down to the shore.
Adoniram went with me, fur as the dock. I
hadn't told him nor his wife what was in that "lucky
letter," and he was just bubbling over with the won-
der of it all. He talked a steady streak every foot
of the way and all the time while I was casting off
and making my skiff fast astern, and the like of that.
I tried not to pay attention to his clack, but he made
me nervous, just the same. The "letter" part of
the fool fortune-telling coming true, as he saw it,
had gone to his head and made him drunk, as you
might say. He kept preaching over and over what
a wonderful woman Sophrony was.
"You know she's a Spiritu'list," he says. "She's
way up in Spiritu'lism. Sort of a — of a clair-
voyum, that's what she is. She can see spirits just
the same as you and me can see humans. That's
how she saw them two hovering over you in the
tea cup, Sol. And the spirits can see her."
"Don't have to put on their specs to do that, I
13
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
cal'Iate," says I. "There's enough of her for a blind
spook to see in the dark."
"You don't understand," he says. "She's a clair-
voyum, I told you. Suppose you wanted to talk to
your grandmarm, say "
"I don't," I cut in. "Nor anybody else just now."
That ought to have shut him up, but it didn't. He
never could see a point until after he'd set on it.
"But if you did," he says, "you'd go to her and
pay her a little something — fifty cents or so, maybe —
and then she'd go into what they call a trance.
Wouldn't speak a word for much as five minutes."
"Godfreys!" says I, "you don't mean it! It's
wuth the money, ain't it. You don't ever take a
trance, do you, Adoniram?"
"No, I ain't got the gift. I wish I had. But
Sophrony's got it. When she's in one of them
trances, and there's somebody there that the spirits
want to talk to, they come and talk to 'em through
her."
"Want to know! All the way through? Have
to holler some, don't they?"
'Twas no use. He went gassing along, and the
only relief I got was when the engine — the two-and-
a-half horse power motor I'd put into the Dora
Bassett when cash was something more to me than
a typhoid memory or a tea-leaf hope — got gassing,
MR. PKATT'S PATIENTS
too. And even then he wa'n't quite through. As
I swung out of the dock and got the boat's nose
headed for the bay, he commenced to holler again.
"Oh, Sol!" he sung out. "Oh, Sol! Hold on a
minute! I just thought of something! I bet you
ain't thought of it neither ! You know what you're
doing?"
I might have told him I was trying to get away
from a graduate of the feeble-minded school, but
I didn't. I just looked at him over my shoulder.
"You're taking a journey!" he hollered, actually
hopping up and down, he was so excited. "You're-
taking the journey Sophrony see you taking in the
tea. It's coming true ! It's all coming true, every
bit of it! Goodbye! Keep your eye out for the
luck."
I didn't answer. The kind of luck that was com-
ing to me nowadays I wanted to keep my eyes out
of the way of. If I didn't, I figgered it was liable
to black both of 'em.
That cruise to Wapatomac was a long one. 'Twas
pretty fur into the afternoon when I started and
J had a little mite of engine trouble to hinder me,
besides. It was almost sunset when I made out
the Denboro shore, and I had some miles to go then.
As I sat there in the stern sheets, hanging on to the
tiller and crunching the dry ham sandwiches So-
15
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
phrony had put up for my supper, I couldn't help
thinking of the last trip I took to Wapatomac, the
one with Martin Hartley, when he and I sailed
across that very bay in a howling gale to get the
doctor for little "Redny," the Fresh Air young-
ster.
That's all been told about afore, of course, so
I sha'n't tell it again. But I got to thinking what a
lot of changes had took place since. Van Brunt
and Hartley, the New York fellers that had come
to Wellmouth to live what they called "The Natural
Life," was back on Fifth Avenue and Wall Street,
living, from all accounts, about as complicated a life
as a body could live. Nate Scudder, who rented
'em his island, "Horsefoot Bar," had moved from
Wellmouth to Wapatomac. He and his wife, Huldy
Ann, was keeping a little store there, and Nate had
managed to get himself made postmaster. His
character hadn't changed any, though; my "bill"
proved that. As for me, I was a little older and
considerable poorer, otherwise about the same. But
Eureka Sparrow and "Washy" Sparrow, her dad,
and Lycurgus and Editha and Dewey and all the
rest of the Sparrow young ones — I wondered where
they was and what had become of 'em. They'd
moved from the shanty on the Neck Road years
ago, and 'twas common report that they'd gone to
i6
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
Brockton, where Lycurgus had a good job in a shoe
factory. I hadn't heard a word from 'em since.
Seemed as if I could see Eureka right then, as I
set thinking of her. I couldn't help grinning as I
remembered how she looked when she first came
to "Ozone Island" to cook for us. Thin, she was,
and straight up and down — ^not a curve in her any-
wheres. She must be a reg'lar rail by this time,
I thought, 'cause her kind generally stretch out as
they shoot up, like an asparagus sprout. Never
mind, I liked her, in spite of her looks. Her dad
might be the laziest critter on earth, same as Nate
Scudder was the meanest, but his daughter was all
right. I was for Eureka, first, last and all the time.
The sun had set and 'twas dark when I came
abreast of Wapatomac Neck. Wapatomac harbor,
where Hartley and me had come so nigh getting
wrecked, was further on, and the more I thought of
navigating that channel in the dark the less I liked it.
I could do it, of course, when I had to, but just now
I didn't have to. I see a little cove in the shore and
decided to anchor the Dora Bassett there and go
ashore in the skiff and walk the rest of the way.
I could have my seance with Scudder and then come
back and sleep aboard the boat. I put what was left
of the ham sandwiches in my pocket and swung in
for die mainland.
17
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
The place where I beached the skiff was a deserted
hole, not even a fish shanty on the beach. However,
some ways back amongst the pines was the roof of
a big building sticking up and I judged that the
road must be somewheres there or thereabouts.
After I'd carried the skiff's anchor up above tide
mark, and hid the oars in the bushes, I was ready
to start. By that time 'twas getting pretty dark.
I stumbled along through the young pines and
huckleberry bushes. Pretty soon I struck into a sort
of path that, I cal'lated, might lead to the road I was
hunting for. It twisted and turned, and, the first
thing I knew, made a sudden bend around a bunch
of bayberry scrub and opened out into a big clear
space like a lawn. And, back of the lawn, was a big,
old-fashioned house, with piazzas stretching in front
of it, and all blazing with lights. 'Twas the house
I'd seen the roof of from the beach.
Thinks I to myself, "Sol, you're run off your
course again. This is some rich city man's summer
'cottage' and if you don't look out there's likely to
be some nice, lively dog taking an interest in your
underpinning." So I started to back away again
into the bushes. But I hadn't backed more'n a cou-
ple of yards when I see something so amazing that
I couldn't help scooching down behind the bayberries
and looking at it.
i8
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
From around the corner of the house come a pro-
cession of men, four of 'em together, running at a
dog trot. At first I couldn't make out much about
'em except that they was running, but as they swung
round the edge of the lawn in my direction, I made
♦out that every last one of 'em was fat as a porpoise
and puffing like the engine on the Dora Bassett.
And, trotting easy on t'other side of 'em and not
puffing the least mite, was a big square-shouldered
chap, bare-headed and bare-armed. Against the
lights from the house they stood out like black
shadows cut out of cardboard, though 'twould have
taken a sight of cardboard to cut the fattest out of,
and that's a fact.
Just as they got abreast of me the square-
shouldered feller stopped and slapped his hands to-
gether. Then the four fat ones stopped, too — all
but their puffing, they kept that up — and one or two
of 'em groaned dismal as a funeral. Didn't speak,
but just stood there and puffed and groaned.
"Now then," says Square-Shoulders, "that's
enough for to-night. Into the house with yez —
lively."
There was more puffing and more groans; then
the procession tacks ship and begins to move slow
toward the piazzas. Only one hung back, the flesh-
iest one of the lot.
19
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Oh — oh, I say!" he pants, "just let us have one
drink, won't you? The well's right here."
"Nothing doing," says Square-Shoulders. "It's
the house and the hay for yours. Cornel Get a
move on now."
"But — I'll give you a dollar for a drink of water."
"Nothing doing, I tell youl Beat it."
They beat it, though they was too much out of
breath to have beat a mud turtle in an even race.
One after the other I saw 'em go in at the door.
Then the lights in the house begun to go out,
the downstairs ones. Inside of five minutes there
was only one or two feeble gleams on the main
deck.
I woke up and stepped out of the bushes. I'd been
too much interested in the circus to move afore..
I couldn't make out what sort of a place 'twas I'd
struck. It might have been a fat men's home, but,
if it was, they wa'n't over tender with the inmates.
I'd gone about ten foot and had just discovered that
a black, square thing in front of me was a wooden
well-top, with an old-fashioned windlass, when I
heard a door creak in the house. I had just time
to dodge back to my bayberries when somebody
come tiptoein' across the grass. I could hear him
wheeze afore he got much more'n half way, so I
didn't need the little light the stars give me to prove
20
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
'twas one of the inmates, probably one of the four
that had just gone in.
Down he comes as fur as the well, and I could
see him leaning over the top and fiddling with some-
thing inside. Then I heard the old windlass begin
to squeal. Every time it squealed the fleshy feller
would turn his head and look at the house and say,
"Oh, Lord!" or something more emphatic, under
what breath he had left. 'Twas the most mysterious,
ridiculous performance ever I come across.
At last I couldn't stand it no longer. I just had
to find out what was going on. So / done some
tiptoeing — 'twas catching, I cal'late — and I reached
that well just as ray hefty friend dragged the bucket,
brimming, slopping full, over the curb.
"Good evening," says I.
He jumped as if I'd stuck something into him.
I expected he'd drop the bucket back into the well
again, but he didn't; he clung on to it as if 'twas the
"Ark of Safety" that old Amos Peters used to be
always talking about in Come-Outer meeting. He
raised his head, glared at me, says "Oh, Lord I"
again, and then ducked down to the edge of that
bucket and begun to drink as if he'd never stop.
I never see a human being suck up water the way
he did; a sponge wa'n't a circumstance to him.
He drunk and drunk till I expected to see the
21
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
bottom of the bucket come out at the top.
Then he fetched a long sigh and set the bucket
down.
"There!" says he. "I've had it, anyhow. You
can't take that away from me, blast you!"
I shook my head. This was a good many fathoms
too deep for me.
"Yes," says I, "you've had it. I should say you'd
had about all there was."
"I needed it," says he, stuffy and sulky as a young
one; "I needed it, by thunder!"
"I should think what you needed now was a
pump. What was you trying to do ; drink the well
dry?"
He leaned over the curb and stared at me through
the dark.
"You ain't McCarty," he says. "I never saw you
before. Who the blazes are you?"
"My name's Pratt," says I. "I hope you'll excuse
me for "
He didn't wait to hear any excuse.
"I never saw you before," he says again. "You're
a new victim, I suppose. What ails youf"
"Nothing ails me, 'special," says I, grinning.
"Humph! you're in luck. What are you doing
here?"
This was the most sensible thing he'd said yet,
22
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
'cording to my notion. I tried to give him a sensible
answer.
"I'm here by mistake," I told him. "Just landed
down abreast here on the shore and I'm trying to
find my way to the road to the Neck. How do you
get to it?"
He didn't seem to believe me ; acted awful funny.
"Here by mistake!" he says, slow. "Then it's
the biggest mistake of your life, I'll tell you that.
Isn't there anything the matter with you?"
"Nothing, except that I could use a meal's vittles
with consider'ble comfort. Ain't had nothing to eat
but dry sandwiches since noon."
He jumped again and come around to my side
of the well.
"Sandwiches!" he whispers, excited. "Sand-
wiches! What kind of sandwiches?"
"Well, they was labeled 'ham,' but there wa'n't
scarcely enough substance to 'em to make the chris-
tening worth while. My landlady, she "
"Say! you haven't any of 'em left, have you?"
As a matter of fact, I did have a couple of 'em
in my pocket.
"Why, yes," says I, "there's one or two "
"I'll give you a dollar apiece for the lot."
I stepped back. I'd begun to suspicion that I'd
run afoul of a private crazy asylum; and this was
23
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
the proof I needed. Anybody that would give five
honest cents for a barrel of Sophrony Gott's sand-
wiches was too much of a loon for me to keep com-
pany with.
"Cornel" he snaps, impatient. "Are you deaf?
I say I'll give a dollar apiece for whatever sand-
wiches you have left."
I'd read somewheres that the way to get on with
lunatics was to pacify 'em. I dove into my star-
board pocket and resurrected the sandwiches.
"Here you be," says I. "I don't want your doU
lars either."
He grabbed the sandwiches the way a shark would
grab a herring. Inside of a half second his teeth
was rattling amongst the dry bread.
"By George I" says he, through the crumbs,
"that's good. I never tasted anything so good in
my life I"
I couldn't help laughing. I was a little worried,
too — I didn't know where he might break out next —
but I laughed just the same. He struck me funny.
"You ain't lived very long, have you?" I says.
He didn't answer; or, when he did, it wa'n't
rightly an answer. 'Twas another question.
"What's that other thing in your hand?" he
sung out.
"Well," says I, "it's a . . . humph I it's a sort
24
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
of heirloom. In the beginning 'twas a doughnut,
I presume likely; but now it's what a summer
woman would call a genuine antique."
He held out one of his hands ; the other was full
of sandwiches.
"Give it to me," says he.
"You don't want it."
"Give it to me."
I passed it over. When a strange Bedlamite talks
to me in that tone of voice he generally gets what
he asks for ; but I did think I'd ought to warn him.
"You listen to me now, whoever you are," says I.
"That doughnut ain't fit to eat. It's as old as "
"Shut upl" he snaps. "You don't know what
you're talking about. Anything's fit to eat when
you're starving — anything but nuts and raw oatmeal
and "
He didn't get any further. There was a click
and out of the dark about twenty foot to one side
of us — the side we hadn't either of us been watch-
ing — ^blazed a stream of light that hit that fat loon
right plumb in the face and eyes. Then a voice,
a female voice, said:
"Um I I thought 'twas you. What do you s'pose
the Doctor'U say to this kind of doings?"
I was too surprised and set back to move or say
a word. The fat man didn't say a word neither;
?5
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
but he moyed. I heard him give one gasp, and the
next second I was left alone on the well platform.
My sandwiches and doughnut and the critter I'd
give 'em to was going through the bushes the way
the swordfish went through Eleazir's and my fish
net; and making full as much fuss about it.
Then the lantern light — that's what 'twas, the
light from a dark lantern — swung over in my direc-
tion and the voice says:
"Now who are you? And what are you doing,
sneaking around, interfering with the patients?
Well, why don't you answer?"
I tried to answer. I done my best. There was
something about that voice that sounded familiar,
too. If I could have seen who was talking to me
I'd have felt better, but the blaze in my eyes dazzled
me.
"Ma'am," I stammers, "I cal'late I've made a
mistake. I got into your — ^your asylum by accident.
I was "
That's as far as I got. The person that was
holding the lantern almost dropped it. She took a
step toward me and sung out :
"Why! Why! Mr. Pratt! What in the wide
world fetched you here? I'm awful glad to sec
you! Don't you know me? I'm Eureka Sparrow."
No wonder I thought the voice was familiar.
26
CHAPTER II
"X"^ TELL! well! well! Eureka," says I; "this
^y^ does seem like old times for sartin."
We was inside the kitchen of the big
house by this time. I was setting in a chair by the
table and Eureka was flying around, busy as a wasp
in an empty molasses hogshead, getting supper foi
me. She'd insisted on doing it; nothing I could say
would stop her. She was terrible glad to see me,
she said, and I own up that she acted as if she meant
it. Well, fur's that goes, I was mighty glad to see
her.
"Don't it?" says she. "I declare if it don't ! You
haven't changed a mite, Mr. Pratt. I should know
you anywheres."
I shouldn't have known her. She'd changed, all
right enough. When she did the cooking for me
and the "Heavenlies" at "Ozone-Horsefoot-Bar
Island" she was thin as an August herring, and as
for her looks — well, her face mightn't have stopped
a clock, but 'twould have fixed it so's you'd had
to wind it every few days to keep it from losing
time. Now she was round and plump; her hair,
27
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
riiat always used to be pulled back so tight she
couldn't scowl without running the risk of cracking
her forehead, was fixed real wavy and pretty; and
her gown was white, and fitted her first-rate. And
she'd growed rosy-cheeked and good-looking, in a
wholesome, healthy kind of way. I could scarcely
believe 'twas her, unless I shut my eyes; then the
way she talked, and the brisk, snappy way she had
of moving, and the way she sung when she worked —
all these was the Eureka I used to know and like.
When my eyes was shut she was natural as life, and
when I opened 'em she was twice as handsome, as
the saying is.
She asked me more'n a shipload of questions and
I answered 'em best I could, trying hard to get a
chance to ask one or two on my own hook. When
I told her about Kendrick's and my luck with our
weir, and our typhoid and all, she was fairly bub-
bling over with sympathy. And when I got to
Nate Scudder's bill her eyes snapped and she
stamped her foot just as Fd seen her do so often
in the old days.
"There 1" says she, "ain't that just like that Scud-
der thing I The contriving old scalawag 1 I knew
he was here at Wapatomac. Miss Emeline and
me hadn't been in this house more'n two days when
round he comes to see if he can't sell us groceries.
28
MR. PRATl^'S PATIENTS
I guess likely he'd have talked Miss Emeline over,
for he saw her first, but I got into the room just
in time. You ought to have seen his face when
he laid eyes on me. Ho I ho I Miss Emeline was
surprised. 'Why 1' says she, 'Eureka, have you met
Mr. Scudder afore?' 'Yes'm,' says I, 'I have; and
that's the only safe way to meet him, unless you
want to spend the rest of your days trying to catch
up.' Oh, I give her his character, all right 1 Old
cheat I He's just the same as ever, ain't he? Pa
always used to say that you couldn't teach an old
dog new tricks."
"Humph!" I says, "you don't need to teach Nate
any new ones; he's got enough of the old ones to
keep the average person busy. But who's this Miss
Emeline you're talking about? And what are you
doing in this asylum?"
"It ain't an asylum," says she.
"It ain't ! Then what's all the lunatics doing loose
around the premises?"
"They ain't any looneys here ; we don't take 'em."
"Don't take — say, look here. Eureka; don't that
fat man — the one I run afoul of out in the yard
just now, the one that was trying to drink up the
well a bucketful at a time — don't he belong here?"
"Yes, course he belongs here. That's Colonel
Applegate, from Providence. He's a stock broker
29
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
man with barrels and barrels of money and he's
been in the milishy and on the Governor's staff and
all that. He's a Rhode Island first family, the
Colonel is."
"He's big enough to be a family. But do you
mean to tell me he ain't crazy?"
"Course he ain't."
"Then — ^why, what are you talking about? If he
ain't out of his head, then I am. Why, he et one
of Sophrony Gott's sandwiches and vowed and de-
clared 'twas the finest thing ever he tasted in his
born days."
"He didl O — oh, won't he catch it when the
Doctor finds it out 1 I wouldn't be in his shoes for
something."
"He wa'n't in 'em when I met him ; he was in his
stocking feet."
"I bet youl that's how he sneaked out without
making any noise. But I suspected he was up to
some kind of capers. Myl myl but we have to
watch 'em all the time. Just like young ones at
school, they are. You wouldn't believe grown up
people could "
"Eureka Sparrow, stop itl Stop where you be I
What sort of a place is this, anyway?"
"Don't you know? I thought everybody knew*
The papers have been full of it."
30
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Maybe so, but I've had something else to do
with my money besides buy papers. And, if I had
bought 'em, nobody but a web-footed person could
deliver 'em at Setuckit Point. What sort of a place
is this, I ask you?"
"It's a sanitarium, that's what it is."
She give this out as if 'twas a sort of Gov'ment
proclamation that ought to settle everything. But I
was about as settled as a cup of fo'castle coffee.
"Sanitarium," says I. "I want to know 1 /nsani-
tarlum, you mean, don't you?"
"No, I don't. There ain't any crazy folks here,
I tell you. It's a sanitarium, a place where sick
folks come to be made well."
I let this sink in a spell.
"Do you mean to tell me," says I, "that that fat
man — that Cap'n Appetite, or whatever his name
is — is sick?"
"He's fat, and fat's a kind of sickness."
" 'Tis, hey ! Humph I Then Sophrony Gott's
a desperate invalid, and I'd never have guessed it
to look at her. Well! well!"
"It's a sanitarium," says Eureka again. "The
name of it is 'Sea Breeze Bluff.' There! you've
heard of 'Sea Breeze Bluff Sanitarium for Right
Living and Rest,' ain't you?"
I shook my head.
31
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"No," says I. "I hate to lower myself in your
opinion, Eureka, but I ain't."
"Ain't heard of Sea Breeze Bluff? Or the salt
air cure? Or the sand baths? Or Doctor Wool?"
"Nary onel"
"Not of Doctor Lysander P. Wool? Why, I
thought everybody had heard of him! His adver-
tisements have been in the papers for ever so long.
And his picture, too."
Then I begun to get a glimmer of light. The
word "advertisement" give it to me.
"Hold on," I sung out. "You don't mean
•Wool's Willow Wine for the Weak'? Not that
feller?"
"Um-hm," says she, nodding emphatic. "That's
the one, but he ain't a feller. 'Wool's Willow Wine
for the Weak' and 'Wool's Licorice Lozenges for
the Liver,' and 'Wool's Perfect Plasters for Pleu-
risy.' That's him. Well, he is running this place.
You see. Miss Emeline, she "
"Belay, Eureka I" I cut in. "If you and me arc
going to get anywheres on this cruise, I cal'late we'd
better go back and start over again at the mark
buoy. Suppose you commence by telling me about
yourself and how you come here."
"Why, I come here along of Miss Emeline."
"You don't say? And Miss Emeline come along
32
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
of you, I presume likely. But you ain't told me
who Miss Emeline is yet."
She stopped rattling dishes in the sink — she'd
been washing 'em as fast as I cleared 'em — and
says she:
"I see," she says, "you want me to tell you every
thing, right from the beginning."
"That's the idea. You commence at the first
chapter of Genesis and work down slow. Time you
get to Revelations I may be where I can understand
why a sane man — even a fat sick one like this Cap'n
Applecart — trots around in his stocking feet after
dark offering to pay a dollar for three square inches
of stale bread and canned ham. Don't say any
more; just heave ahiead and tell."
So she towed a chair up to the table abreast of
me and commenced. And she commenced at Gen-
esis, just as I'd ordered her to.
Seems that after the Sparrows had flocked to
Brockton, about everybody in the nest worked for
a spell — everybody but the babies, that is, and the
oldest ones of them took care of the younger. Ly-
curgus and Editha and Napoleon was in the shoe
factory and doing first-rate. Even Washy — Pa
Sparrow — got a job, night watchman in a drug
store. He slept under the counter and answered
the night bell and the telephone, provided they rung
33
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
loud enough and long enough to interfere with his
naps. As for Eureka herself, she went out at
housework. She got a place with a single old maid,
name of Miss Emeline Adams, and had been with
her ever since. 'Twas her that Eureka called "Miss
Emeline."
Well, this Miss Emeline had been poor and every-
day and healthy once on a time, but now she was
rich and high-toned and ailing. She was born in
New Bedford, but when she was twenty she went
to Brockton and lived with a couple of old ladies
who thought the world of her and kind of brought
her up, as you might say. 'Twas from them she
got her aristocratic notions and, after they died, her
money. They left her all they had, which was con-
sider'ble, and part of the inheritance was this big
old house and grounds at Wapatomac. For three
years Eureka and Miss Emeline had lived together,
winters in Brockton and summers at Wapatomac.
They got along fine together. 'Twas plain enough
to see why, too. Eureka was a smart, capable girl
and a good housekeeper, and, besides and more-
over, I judged there was a kind of romantic nobil-
ity, so's to speak, about this Adams woman that
hit Eureka where she lived. As I remember her —
Eureka, I mean- — she was always reading story-
paper yarns about counts and lords and earls and
34
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
earlesses. Miss Emeline, with her high-toned ideas
and her worship of "family" — 'cording to Eureka's
tell, she had a pedigree like a trotting-horse and
was possessed with the conviction that the name of
Eve's husband in Scriptur' was a printer's mistake
and there should have been an s on the end of it —
all this was just the sort of thing Eureka would
love. Keeping house for Miss Emeline Adams was
the nighest thing to being hired help for an earless
that you're liable to find this side of the big salt
water.
'Twas after Miss Emeline got her money that
she begun to collect symptoms. Afore that she was
well enough, but she hadn't been cutting coupons
long afore she begun to feel feeble and to read all
sorts of doctors' books and take all kinds of medi-
cine. At last she run afoul of "Wool's Willow
Wine," and, later on, of Doctor Wool himself.
From that time she and the Doctor had been mighty
friendly.
"And last winter," goes on Eureka, her good-
looking face all lit up like a binnacle lamp, with
excitement and enthusiasm; "only last February
'twas, just think of it ! — last February Doctor Wool
came to see us and told us of his great discovery.
And what do you suppose that discovery was?"
"Land knows 1" says I. "What was it?'
35
3"
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
" 'Twas that all his life his theory of curing folks
had been wrong. Yes, sir, all wrong! He's dis-
covered that medicines wa'n't what really cured
'at all. The real cures was those provided by
'Mother Nature."
"Whose mother's that?" says I. "His wife's?"
"No, no I He ain't married. Don't you under-
stand.- Mother Nature; everybody's mother, yours
and mine and everybody's. Mother Nature means
the earth we live on and the sun and the sand and
the fresh air and salt water — and — and all. Those
are what cures, not medicines at all. And he'd just
found it out."
"Humph!" says I, remembering some of the ad-
vertisements; "how about the million or so souls
that the 'Willow Wine' and the 'Licorice Loz-
enges' and the 'Pleurisy Plasters' yanked out of the
grave? Land sakes! Pve read more letters tes-
tifying to "
"I know. That's what I said to Miss Emeline.
But she explained all that. Doctor Wool had ex-
plained it to her, you see. 'Twa'n't the 'Wine' and
the 'Plasters' they took that really cured 'em. They
wa'n't cured by them at all."
"They're a set of awful liars, then," says L "They
ought to take something for that. Never mind;
heave ahead."
36
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
She went on, explaining that the medicines helped
some, in a way, because the folks that took 'em
thought they was helped, but that really they was
only what she called "stimulated," and stimulants
wa'n't lasting cures. I told her that I'd seen plenty
of folks in temperance towns "stimulated" by Ja-
maica ginger, but she didn't even smile. This was
a serious business for her; I could see that.'
"No," says she. "Doctor Wool had discovered
'twas Nature that done the curing, and he'd de-
cided to give up his medicine making and start in
curing in the right way. He was figgering to open
a sanitarium. Well, he'd no sooner said that than
Miss Emeline had an inspiration. Says she, 'I'll
help you open one.' And she did. This is it. This
is 'Sea Breeze Bluff Sanitarium for Right Living
and Rest.' Miss Emeline owns it, and Doctor Wool
runs it. There! now you understand."
I didn't understand any too well. There was
nine hundred and ninety-nine odd points that wa'n't
dear in my mind even yet. I mentioned one of
'em.
"This Cap'n Apple^Apple " I begun.
"Colonel, not Cap'n," interrupted Eureka. "Colo-
nel Applegate, his name is."
"All right, Colonel it is. Do I understand he'$
one of the Right Livers?"
37
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Um-hm, I told you so."
"I know you did, but it don't seem hardly possi-
ble. And the other three heavyweights I see sachay-
ing around the yard — I suppose likely they was
Livers, too?"
"Sure."
I thought this over.
"Well," says I, "maybe so. If you say so. Eu-
reka, 'tis so, of course. But if ever a gang acted
as if they was living about as wrong as could be,
they did. And for the land sakes, answer me this:
Why did that — that Colonel man drink a gallon
of cold water? And why did he grab that sand-
wich and doughnut like a shipwrecked f o'mast hand
on a raft? And what made him "
She moved her hands for me to stop. Her eyes
was snapping with the glory of it all.
"I'll tell you," says she; "I'll tell you. 'Twas
account of his treatment. He's being cured of his
flesh. Every morning he gets up at five and goes
for a walk, a mile or so. Then he runs a half a
mile. Then he has his breakfast, some weak tea,
and some toast with no butter on it, and some
uncooked cereal without sugar or milk. And
four prunes. He has four now; at first he only
had three, but he's been advanced to four.
And "
38
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Hold on!" I sung out. "Do you mean to say
that's all the breakfast he has, after turning out at
five and running a mile and a half?"
"Yes. And "
"And are the rest of his meals like that?"
"Not exactly. He has some rare steak — awful
rare, hardly cooked at all — at noon. Four ounces
of rare steak; we have to be awful careful and
weigh it just right. He has that, and a quarter of
a pint more weak tea, or b'illng hot water, just as
he likes, and five more prunes. And at night, after
his sand bath, and his different kinds of exercises,
he has "
"Belay again! My soul and body! Four ounces
of raw steak and five prunes ! No wonder the poor
thing was starving! But why was he so crazy to
get at that well?"
"Because he was thirsty for something cold, I
suppose. They all get that way first along. You
see, cold water is terrible bad for fleshy folks, and
we don't allow 'em but one glass of it a day. It's
all in the treatment."
"Well, I wouldn't stand such treatment. I
shouldn't think he would neither. Great grown-up
man like him! and a Colonel, too. Why don't
he "
"Oh, my sakes I Don't you see ? It's a part of
39
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
the treatment, same as I say. He's paying for it,
and "
"Paying for it I Eureka Sparrow, are those poor,
wheezing, puffing, suffering things' I saw limping
across that yard paying money to be treated so?"
"Of course they are. They pay five hundred dol-
lars apiece for it. And they have to pay it ahead
of time, too, else they might get discouraged and
quit afore they was cured. They can't quit after
they've paid, or they lose the five hundred. That's
pretty smart, I think, don't you?"
I rubbed my forehead. "Well," says I, "I can
see one thing plain enough. Nate Scudder is in the
primer class alongside of this Wool doctor of yours.
I suppose that was him I see bullying the lunatics —
the patients, I mean. He talked like the second
mate on a cattle boat, and he looked like one, too —
what I could see of him in the dark. So tha^ was
your Doctor Wool, hey?"
If I'd said a swear word on the meeting-house
steps I couldn't have shocked her more. She
gave a little scream and jumped half out of her
chair.
"My sakes, no!" she squealed. "That was Mike
McCarty, the physical director. He is pretty rough,
and Miss Emeline don't like him very well, but
Doctor Wool keeps him 'cause he ain't been able
40
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
to get anybody else. I don't believe he'll keep him
very long, though; they had a big row the other
day. I suspicion that this McCarty man used to
drink liquor and that he's beginning to do it again.
I've thought two or three times I've smelt it on him
lately. Him and Thoph Pease, the hired man, are
awful thick, and "
"Hold on," says I. When she got started talking
she was as hard to stop as a young one's sled going
down hill. "If that wa'n't the Doctor that I see,
where is he?"
"He's gone to Boston to fetch down a new pa-
tient. Oh, he's a wonderful man, Doctor Lysander
P. Wool is ! You'll say so, too, when you see him,
Mr. Pratt. He don't bully. He's as gentle and
grand and — and noble as a duke or — or a Seneschal
in a story book. Talk ! You never heard anybody
talk the way he can. It sort of flows out of his
face, the talk does, and all you have to do is set
and listen. Such talkl Full of high thoughts and
uplift and such, like a 'Poet's Corner' in a paper.
After he's talked to you for a spell you don't know
where you are, scarcely. And you don't care,
neither. You're willing to be anywheres so's you
can rest back and hear him. He's "
The praise service broke off there, 'count of some
folks coming to the back door. I cal'late 'twas a
41
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
mercy, fur's I was concerned. I'd never heard the
Wool man talk, so I couldn't judge the effect, but I
did know that Eureka's talk had got me whirling.
I'd always figgered that my brains was as hard as
the average alongshore, but now they was soften-
ing up fast. I couldn't understand more'n half I'd
heard, and that half was pretty foggy. So the
noise of somebody else talking, and steps on the
kitchen piazz^ was the blessed relief I needed, as
the feller with the p'ison-ivy rash said when the
cat scratched him.
I got up to go, but afore I could get started the
folks was in the kitchen. There was a pair of 'em:
one the square-shouldered feller I'd seen in the yard,
the McCarty one, and the other a long-legged, red
chin-whiskered critter that Fureka called "Thoph"
and "introduced to me as "Mr. Theophilus Pease,
who does the gardening and such ; you've heard me
speak of him, Mr. Pratt."
I didn't remember that I had, but I said I was
glad to hear of him now, and him and me and the
McCarty man shook hands.
"I do hope you've chained up th^ dog of yours,
Mr. McCarty," says Eureka. "He's got the most
terrible bulldog evePwas," she adds, turning to me.
"He'll mind Mr. McCarty fine, but the rest of us
don't feel safe unless he's chained up. He's a good
42
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
watchdog, though; that's why the Doctor lets him
stay here. His name's Pet."
"That's a pretty name," I says, for the sake of
saying something. McCarty laughed.
"He's a pretty dog, all right; ain't he, Thoph?"
he chuckled, turning to the Pease man. "Do you
like dogs, Bratt?"
"Some kinds," says I.
"He'll like you. He can eat a guy about your
size for supper."
"He'll have to have good teeth. I'm fairly
tough for my age," says I, getting up to go. I
didn't take much shine to McCarty, nor the other
feller, neither. And, speaking of liquor, it did seem
to me that there was a floating smell of it on the
premises just then.
"Don't hurry, Mr. Pratt," Eureka says.
"Got to hurry, or I'll be too late to catch Nate
Scudder afore he turns in for the night."
"You're too late now," says she. "He's turned
in long afore this, ain't he, Thoph."
Thoph said he cal'lated so. He didn't seem to
be in what you'd call a good humor with himself or
anybody else. McCarty, though, was talky enough
for two. He was looking me ever, with a kind of
■condescending grin on his face.
"Sure he's turned in," he says. "It's after eight
43
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
o'clock and all you hayseeds down here hit the mat-
tress soon as it gets dark, so's to save kerosene and
spite the oil trust. Scudder's place was pitch dark
when we came by it, so you might just as well camp
where you are, Spratt. Say, are you a relation of
the guy in the book the kids read — ^the one that
licked the platter clean?"
"No," says I, pretty crisp.
"His name ain't Spratt, Mr. McCarty," says Eu-
reka, coming to the rescue. "It's Pratt."
He laughed louder than ever. "Oh, all right,"
he says; "my mistake, Pratt. No hard feelings,
hey?"
"Not a bit," says I. "I can make allowances, Mc-
Ginty."
"McCarty," he says, sharp.
"Oh, I beg your pardon. I had an idee you
might be a brother of the critter that went to the
bottom of the sea, in the song."
Afore he could think of an answer to this, Thoph
took a notion to say something.
"Has the old man got back yet?" he wanted ta
know.
Eureka looked at him. "If you mean Doctor
Wool," she says, dignified, "he ain't. But we ex-
pect him 'most any time."
"That's who I mean. When he comes, I've got a.
44
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
word to say to him. By time, I'm getting sick— •
that's what I'm getting, sickl"
He seemed to be talking to me as much as any-
body, so I answered him.
"That so?" says I. "Well, I should judge you'd
come to the right place to be cured."
"Humph ! No sir-ee ! I'm sick. And McCarty's
sick, too.-^ Ain't you, Mac?"
"You bet your life I" says McCarty ugly.
"Maybe you ain't took your prunes reg'lar," I
put in, by way of suggestion.
Neither of 'em smiled. Pease looked sourer
than ever, and the square-shouldered chap leaned
for'ard in his chair and scowled at me.
"Say, Rube," he says, "you may not know it, but
you're pretty blamed fresh, if you ask me."
"I don't recollect asking you," says I, "but I'm
much obliged for the information. Now that you
mention it, I had noticed there was something around
here that needed to be pickled pretty soon, or 'twas
liable to spile."
I don't know what might have happened then.
The weather was thickening up and it looked to me
like squalls. But Eyreka took charge of the deck.
"There, there!" says she. "That's enough of
this kind of talk. Mr. Pratt's a friend of mine,
Mike McCarty, and if you and Thoph Pease can't
45
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
be civil to him, you needn't stay here. You can take
yourselves and your sulks right out of here this
minute."
Pease didn't say anything; he looked kind of
scared. But McCarty had a shot left in the locker.
"Are you running this joint?" he wanted to know.
"I'm running this kitchen, and it ain't a joint,
whatever that is. You get right out of here, Mike
McCarty. If you don't, I'll report you both to
the Doctor when he comes."
I didn't want her to get into any trouble on my
account, and afore anything else happened I grabbed
my cap and headed for the door. She followed me
to the back piazza.
"It's a shame," says sEe, sftappy as a bunch of
firecrackers. "The sassy, impudent things I You
stay here, Mr. Pratt. Don't you go till you get
good and ready."
"I 'ought to have been ready half an hour ago,"
I told her. "Don't worry," Eureka; I'm going be-
cause I want to, not because of them two. What
ails 'em, any way?"
"Oh, I don't know. Thoph Pease has a notion
that he don't get pay enough for what he does."
"What does he do?"
"Nothing mainly. He's supposed to be male
hired help around the place, tak9 care of the hens
46
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
and the cow and cut the grass and so on. Make
himself generally useful, that's what Doctor Wool
said when he hired him. But what he does is to be
generally useless. I never saw anybody do that
better'n he does. It comes natural to him. But he
don't count. It's McCarty that's responsible for
most of the fuss. He's a trouble-maker, that's what
he is."
I laughed. "Yes," says I, "that's plain enough.
Well, I've dodged the trouble that Sophron^ Gott
saw in the teacup when she was telling my fortune
this afternoon, and I'm going to keep on dodging
long's I c*i. Good-bye, Eureka. I'm awful glad
I run across you again and I'm much obliged for
the supper."
I was stepping off the porch, but she wouldn't let
me go. The mention of that fortune-telling was
like a chunk of sp'iled fish to a crab, 'twas the kind
of bait she liked and she wouldn't let go till she had
the whole of it. Nothing would do but I must tell
her all about it.
"Well!" says she, when I'd finished. "Well, I
declare ! Ain't that wonderful ! Just like a story !
And some of it's come true already, ain't it? You
did get a letter, even if 'twas only a bill; and you
have taken a journey. Maybe it'll all come true.
There was two female spirits hovering over you,
47
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
she said, didn't she ? I wonder who they are. Why,
perhaps I'm one of 'em."
I shook my head. "When you get to hovering
over me, Eureka," I says, "I'm going to stand out
from under. You weigh too much nowadays to
hover comfortable."
But joking wa'n't in her log just then. She held
tight to my arm and, though 'twas too dark to see,
I could feel that she was awful excited.
"And the money!" she says. "There ,was a
lot of money coming to you from the journey.
How do you s'pose that. . . . Oh, my good-
ness gracious 1 I do believe. . . . You don't
s'pose "
She stopped. There was a rattle of wheels and
the "thump-thump" of horse's hoofs coming along
the drive. A covered wagon, a depot wagon it
looked like, hauled by an old white horse, came roll-
ing past us and up to the front piazza.
"Whoal" says the feller on the driver's scat.
The door of the wagon opened and a big, heavy-
built man got out.
"It's the Doctor 1" whispered Eureka in my ear.
"It's Doctor Wool himself. I'm so gladl Now
you've seen him, anyway."
I couldn't see much of him. There was a lamp
burning now, in a glass frame by the front door,
48
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
but it wa'n't a Highland Light lighthouse by con-
sider 'blc.
"Who's the other critter with hira?" I asked.,
"I guess likely it must be Professor Quill, the new
patient," says Eureka. "He was coming with the
Doctor."
The Professor was long and lanky. Against the
light his clothes hung on him as if he was framed
with laths. He had on a tall hat, and he knocked
it off getting out of the carriage. When he stooped
to pick it up his hair fell down all around his face.
"Too bad, too bad!" says the thick-set man, in
a voice like a church organ, 'twas so deep and kind
of musical and purry. "No harm done, I trust?
No? No? Good! Good! Walk in. Enter, if
you please. After you, Professor. Our arrange-
ments here are a bit primitive, a bit primitive and
rural — ^yes, but homelike, we — er — hope. Walk in,
walk in."
They walked in, the big voice purring along till
the door shut it off. Eureka hadn't said a word
since the accident to the hat. Now I heard her give
a kind of gasp.
"Did you see?" she sung out. "Oh, did you sec?
It is coming true I It is I It is 1"
I pulled my arm loose. "Stop !" she called after
me. "Wait! Please wait! Mr. Pratt, you must
49
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
promise me that you won't go back to Wellmouth till
you've come here again. Come to-morrow morning.
Promise I"
I'd have promised 'most anything to get away.
I was sort of anxious to make sure the Dora Bus-
sett was safe and sound; and, besides, I was sleepy.
"All right, I'll promise," says I. "I'll have my
little folksy chat with Scudder and then I'll run up
and say good-bye to you. So long, Eureka."
"Good-night," says she. "It's wonderful, ain't it?
I never knew anything so wonderful. You did see,
didn't you?"
"I saw your Wool doctor, if that's what you
mean."
"No, no I the other one — Professor Quill. You
saw him. You know who he is ?"
"Who he is? What do you mean?"
"I mean you realized who he is. I did; it came
to me just the minute his hat fell off. He's the thin
man with the thick hair, the one Mrs. Gott saw in
the teacup. Of course he isl Isn't it wonderful!"
CHAPTER III
I CHUCKLED to myself all the way down to the
skiff at the ridiculousness of the whole thing.
But I made up my mind to keep my promise.
I wanted to see more of that "Rest" place and the
"Right Livers." They was the most curious com-
bination I'd run across for a good while. On the
way down the path I heard a dog growling some-
wheres off to the left; I judged 'twas "Pet," chained
up. I was perfectly satisfied to have him chained;
bulldogs ain't as much in my line as dog-fish, al-
though I have about as much use for one as t'other.
The skiff was all right, and so was the Dora
Bassett, when I'd rowed off to her. I turned in
and slept sound all night, cal'lating to start for
Nate's first thing in the morning.
But in the morning, when I turned out, that pesky
appetite of mine got to reminding me that I hadn't
had any breakfast. As a general thing, I don't chuck
overboard much advice about making over creation,
but it does seem to me there's been a mistake in this
appetite business. A poor man's appetite and di-
gestion is usually first class and able to tackle any-
51
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
thing — ^but there's precious little for him to tackle;
and a rich man, with all the world on ice, so to
speak, has dyspepsy and must worry along on hot
milk and such. Now, the way I look at it, there's
a misdeal here somewhercs. You think it over and
see if I ain't right.
Well, as I said, my appetite was on deck that
morning, and 'twas a troublesome cargo. I'd given
Colonel Applecart all the sandwiches and dough-
nuts I had left from Sophrony's luncheon, and,
hungry as I was, I didn't shed any tears over the
memory of them. But it did look like a long wait
till I got to Wapatomac, and, as the tide was going
out, I took my clam hoe and a dreener, and got into
the skiff and rowed ashore, hoping to locate a few
clams to stay myself with till I got where I could
buy something else.
My hopes wa'n't disappointed. I never saw clams
thicker than they was along them inshore flats. I
filled my dreener in no time, and then it come to
me that 'twouldn't be a bad idee to get a lot more,
take 'em with me to Wellmouth, and peddle 'em
out. Clams was fairly scarce over that side of the
bay and ought to fetch a fair price.
So I went back to the Dora Bassett, taking my
full dreener with me, lit up my little ile-stove that
I always carry aboard, and put on a kettle of dams
52
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
to steam while I was digging some more. Then I
rowed ashore again. As I was on my way out I'd
noticed a heap of old barrels and such piled up at
the edge of the pines; the rubbish pile from the
sanitarium, I judged 'twas. I ransacked the pile and
resurrected a big box that, according to the mark-
ings^on it, must have had crockery in it at one time
or 'nother. I lugged the box down to tide mark
and left it there, cal'lating to fill it with clams soon's
I'd filled the dreener again.
But I'd hadn't got the dreener more'n half full,
when another notion struck me. The further out
from shore I got the bigger the clams I found.
Thinks I, "Why not go to see Scudder first, and
then come back and do the rest of my digging?"
The tide would be further out then, and I'd stand a
better chance for the big fellers. So I left my clam
dreener right where 'twas, in a hole where the water
covered it a foot or more, and rowed back to the
Dora Bassett, anchored my skiff, started up the en-
gine, and headed for Wapatomac and Nate. I ate
mysteamed clam breakfast as I went along.
'Twas only half-past seven, and a fine morning
with an off-shore wind. The long stretch of nar-
rows leading up to Wapatomac harbor didn't look
much the way it did when Martin Hartley and me
came through it that time in the gale. The Dora
S3
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
Bassett chugged along, slick as a greased eel, and I
run her up to the wharf and made fast.
There was a feller setting on a mackerel keg on
the wharf, same as there always is on any wharf or
around 'most any railroad depot. And he was a
fine specimen of the average run of such fellers. I
don't know why his /kind are always there, but they
always are. Maybe they're anywheres where there's
a chance to set.
I climbed up over the string-piece and hailed him.
"Morning," says I, cheerful.
"Ugh," says he. A hog would have said about
as much and in pretty much the same way.
"Is there a man name of Scudder running a store
in this latitude?" I wanted to know.
"Um-hm," says he. "Ain't got no smoking ter-
backer on you nowheres, 'tain't likely?"
"Oh, yes, 'tis," I says. "It's the likeliest thing
ever you saw. Want some, do you?"
"Yup, I shouldn't wonder if I did."
"Then I shouldn't wonder if you could have
it."
I rummaged out my plug and handed it to him.
He dug an ancient and honorable old clay, pipe out
of his overalls and set looking at it, mournful.
"Got a knife?" says he.
I passed over my knife. He whittled up a quar-
54
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
ter of the plug and filled his pipe with part of the
whittlings ; what was left he put in his pocket.
"Speaking of Scudder's store," I says, by way of
suggestion.
'Twas like a poor vaccination, it didn't take. He
seemed to have suggestions enough of his own.
"Ain't got a match you can lend me, have you?"
says he.
I grinned. I was in kind of a hurry, too, but I
couldn't help grinning.
"I might," I says, "if you give it back when you
get through with it."
He didn't answer, but held out his hand.
"Don't you want me to light it for you?"
says I.
"No-o, I don't know's I do."
He lit it himself and got the old pipe to going.
Then he crossed his legs and looked me over.
"Where'd you come from?" says he.
"Wellmouth Neck. I "
"What in time do you want to find Nate Scud-
der's store for? Want to buy something there?"
"No, I don't."
"Looking for mail at the office?"
"No."
I said it pretty sharp, I cal'late, and he looked at
me again. He actually leaned for'ard a little on the
SS
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
keg, too, which was the first symptom of interest
he'd shown.
"Say," he says, "you ain't going to try to sell
Scudder something, be you?"
"No."
"What do you want of him, anyhow?"
I'd been heating up slow and by now I was pretty
well het.
"I want to break his everlasting neck," I snapped.
"And I may do it afore I get through. Now will
you dry up on the catechism and tell me how to
locate him; or won't you?"
He jumped up off the keg and slapped me on the
shoulder. I was so surprised I pretty nigh fell
down.
"I'll do more'n that," he says. "I'll go along
with you and see that you take the short cuts. Come
on I Break old Scudder's neck I Gosh!"
I never see a body look happier at a prospect. I
judged Nate was about as popular in Wapatomac
as he had been in Wellmouth.
The store wa'n't but a little ways off, standing
by itself, and wa'n't much to look at when we got
to it. The sign over the door was "Wapatomac
Generail Store. Groceries, Dry Goods, Yacht and
Boat Supplies, Conf ectionery, ""Boots and Shoes and
Cigars. Hulda A. Scudder, Proprietor." There
56
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
was a little one by itself that said, "Post-OfEcc." I
grinned again, in spite of my temper, when I see
those signs. I hadn't noticed it on the billhead,
but you could always trust Nate to keep his weather
eye out for squalls and put everything in his wife's
name ; he run the post-office in his own, but that was
all he'd risk.
My pilot stopped when we got as fur as the plat-
form.
"Ain't you comin' in?" says I.
"No-o," says he, "I cal'late I won't, not just now.
There's a little mite of a bill that. . . . No, I'll
stay out here till the neck-breaking begins. Say,"
he whispers, with the first sign of a smile I'd seen
on his face, "don't do it too quick, will you? Kind
of stretch out his sufferings long as you can, for my
sake. So long."
The store was as dingy inside as 'twas out. Nate
wa'n't nowheres in sight, but Huldy Ann was astern
of the counter; she hadn't changed a mite, fur's looks
went. Setting in a rickety old wooden armchair
close by was a middle-aged, prim-looking woman,
dressed in black, with a prim-looking hat on her
head and gray silk gloves on her hands. Her hair
was fixed smooth and plain, not a wisp of it loosct
anywheres, and if ever "Old Maid" was wrote large
on a person, 'twas on her. Yet what she was wcar-
57
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
ing was good quality, and she looked as if she was
used to her clothes.
"I cannot wait, Mrs. Scudder," she was saying,
as I came in. "I cannot. I must get back. Is there
no one with a horse and vehicle whom I can hire to
drive me home? When do you expect your hus-
band?"
Huldy Ann looked sort of troubled.
"He won't be back afore noon," she says, regret-
ful. "He's gone over to Brantboro to collect a . . .
on a matter of business. I'd drive you back myself,
only I can't leave the store very well, and Nate's
took the horse, besides. Can't you get a team down
to the livery stable?"
"I suppose I can," says the other woman. "If I
may use your 'phone, I'll try."
Huldy shook her head. "Well, now, ain't that
too bad !" she says. "It does beat all how contrary
things act sometimes. Our telephone ain't working.
My husband had some little argument with the
company about — about a charge they put on our
bill, and the unlikely critters cut off the service.
That's the trouble with them big corporations, they
ain't got any souls. I "
The other woman interrupted her. "Very well,"
says she, sort of impatient, but resigned; "then I
will walk home. Good-morning, Mrs. Scudder."
5«
MR, PRATT'S PATIENTS
She was turning to go, but when she turned she
saw me standing by the door. Huldy Ann looked
up and saw me, too.
"Well," says Huldy, brisk, "what can I do for
you, Mister?" Then she looked a little closer and
sung out: "Why! whyl I do believe it's Solomon
Pratt!"
"Your belief's orthodox so fur, Huldy," says I.
"How are you?"
"Solomon Pratt I" says she again. "Solomon
Pratt from Wellmouth! What in the wide world
are you doing way over here?"
"Oh, I couldn't stay away from you and Nate
any longer, 'specially since you took the trouble to
write and invite me."
"I invite you? Oh I" She looked a little queer,
seemed to me, and sort of flustered. "Oh!" she
says again, "you mean that little statement Nathan
sent you. You needn't have come way over here
to pay that."
"I didn't," says I, prompt. "So don't let that
weigh on your conscience, Huldy. Nate's out, I
understand."
"Yes. No Oh, are you going. Miss
Adams ? You're really not going to walk way back
home!"
"It looks as if I should have to," says the other
59
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
woman. "It is a long way for one in my state of
health, but I must get back."
"Well, I must say it's a shame. If there was
anybody I could get to drive."
"I wish there was, but it appears there isn't. It
is almost as far to the livery stable as it is to the
sanitarium, so I may as well walk home, if walk I
must. Oh, dear!"
She looked at me, sideways, when she said it. I
had been looking at her. The name Adams had
given me the idea who she must be. The description
Eureka give me fitted her to a T. She was the Miss
Emeline I'd heard so much about: Doctor Ly-
sander Wool's star patient; the one that owned the
"Right Livers' Rest Place."
"I would gladly pay two dollars for a horse and
carriage — and driver," she said, still looking at me
sideways.
Maybe 'twas the two dollars. I could use money
about as well as the next feller, just then. Anyhow
I says:
"I'll take you back home, ma'am, if you want me
to."
She started and looked me over again.
"Thank you," says she, kind of hopeful but doubt-
ful, so to speak. "I am much obliged to you, I am
sure. But I "
60
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Oh, I'm fairly respectable, in spite of my looks,"
I put in. "Huldy Ann here'U give me a recommend,
I shouldn't wonder; though she ain't much in the
giving habit. How about it, Huldy?"
Huldy looked more fussed-up than ever, and a
little mite put out besides.
"Mr. Pratt is an old fri — neighbor — of ours at
Wellmouth," she says, short. "He's all right; you
can trust him same as you would my husband, Miss
Adams."
"There I" says I. "Now I am proud. You
couldn't ask more'n that, ma'am, could you?"
She never smiled. I judged all my good sarcasm
was going to waste. However, she acted a little
more satisfied.
"I am sure I can trust him," she says to Huldy.
"You must excuse my hesitation, Mr. — er — Pratt,"
turning to me, "but I have had a very disagreeable
experience this morning with one whom I had
trusted heretofore, and perhaps I am over-cautious.
I thank you. But do you know where I wish to go ?"
I told her I cal'lated I did, if she was Miss Emc-
line Adams of Doctor Wool's sanitarium. She
seemed surprised that I knew her name, and Huldy
Ann acted similar. I explained that I had a friend
who knew her.
"Eureka Sparrow, her name is, ma'am," says I.
6i
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Oh," says she, as if this settled it. "Are you that
Mr. Pratt? Eureka has spoken of you often. I
accept your offer, of course, Mr. Pratt. Is your
horse and carriage outside here?"
I shook my head.
"No, ma'am," says I; "but my power boat, the
'Dora Bassett, is right down to the wharf. She'll
get you home quick as any horse, now I tell you."
This opened up a whole lot more trouble. She
wa'n't used to boats and was scared of going in one.
However, after consider'ble pow-wow she agreed to
run the risk, and we started. Huldy Ann got me
to one side afore I reached the door.
"If you want to pay that bill, Solomon," says she,
"you can leave the money with me."
"If I wanted to, Huldy, I would," I says. "It's
awful kind of you to think of it."
She flared up in a jiffy. "Look here, Mr. Pratt,"
says she, "if you expect my husband to go clear to
tWellmouth Neck to collect that bill you owe him
you're "
"There, there!" says I. "I don't. /'// tell him
where he can go, when I see him. So long, Huldy."
The long-legged critter that had piloted me up
from the wharf was waiting around the corner.
"Have you broke it?" he whispers, eager.
"Broke what?"
62
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Old Scudder's neck. Have you? I didn't hear
no row."
"No, I ain't broke it yet."
"Humph! Why not?"
"Well, for one reason, he's gone to Brantboro
and taken his neck with him."
He was awful disappointed. "Humph!" he says
again, "then you ain't done nothing to him, after
all."
"Oh, yes, I have. I've been trying a little Chris-
tian Science, giving him absent treatment. Right this
way. Miss Adams."
The tide had gone out consider'ble while I was
up to Scudder's store, and I had a good deal of a
job getting the Emeline woman to climb down the
ladder into the boat. However, I got her there
finally and I cranked up and got under way. On
the run down to the Narrows she asked me a lot
of questions about myself, what I'd been doing, and
the like of that.
"Can you cut grass, Mr. Pratt?" says she.
I shrugged my shoulders. What on earth she
asked that for I couldn't make out.
"Cal'late I can, ma'am," I said. "If I don't get
a job pretty soon I'll have to I'arn to eat it, like
Nebuchadnezzar in Scriptur' !"
She smiled then. 'Twas a kind of uncertain smile,
63
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
sume as if she guessed there was a joke round the
premises somewheres, but wa'n't sure, not being
used to the breed.
"I do hope you won't think me unduly curious, Mr.
Pratt," she says. "I am not asking these questions
merely from idle curiosity, I assure you."
"That's all right, ma'am. Heave ahead and ask."
"I have an idea that perhaps Well, I'll say
no more now. We will discuss it later, after I have
spoken with Doctor Wool. I presume you wonder
why I happened to be at Mr. Scudder's store so
early with no way of getting back. I will explain. I
have had such an experience !"
I had been wondering what such a precise female
as she was doing, hunting for somebody to take her
home at half-past eight in the morning. Now she
went ahead and told me. Seems she always turned
out about six, that being a part of the particular
"treatment" she was taking. Eureka, who was sort
of over-seeing housekeeper at the Rest shop, had
just been told by the cook that they needed some
more oatmeal or prunes or something right off.
Thoph Pease, the feller I'd met the night afore, had
been given his orders to hitch up the horse and drive
over after it. Miss Emeline took a notion to go
along.
" 'Twas such a beautiful morning, Mr. Pratt,"
64
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
says she. "I thought the drive would do me good.
I should have asked permission of the Doctor, but I
did not."
"Asked permission," says I. "What for? You
own the place, don't you? Eureka said you did.
What do you have to ask anybody's permission for?"
She looked at me as if I'd said something unre-
ligious.
"It is true," she says, dignified, "that I own the
property itself, but Doctor Wool is in full charge of
the sanitarium. I am merely one of his patients
and we abide entirely by his directions and advice.
The Doctor is a wonderful man."
Eureka had said the same thing, and in the same
reverent, meeting-house kind of voice, too. I was
more anxious to meet Lysander the Great than ever;
anxious and a little mite nervous. I'd never run
afoul of any saints and heroes alongshore, and I
wa'n't sure that I'd know how to behave.
"But that is immaterial," she went on. "I did not
ask his permission and I did start for Mr. Scudder's
with that dreadful Theophilus. I thought he be-
haved queerly when I got into the buggy, and It
seemed to me that I noticed a peculiar odor about
him."
"Yes, ma'am," says I, "I noticed it last night.
Rum and molasses, wa'n't it? I wouldn't take my
65
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
oath on the molasses, but the rest of the prescription
was there."
"It was some sort of spirits," she says, kind of
shuddering. "He frightened me, Mr. Pratt, and
when I remonstrated with him for driving so reck-
lessly he used the most dreadful language. Before
we reached the village I insisted on getting out of
the carriage. I thought for a moment he was going
to detain me by force — yes, physical force. But he
did not quite dare and I got out and walked the rest
of the way. I told him to go home at once ; that I
would see he was discharged. He was Why,
Mr. Pratt, the man was — ^was actuall y I'm
ashamed to speak the word !"
"I'll speak it for you, ma'am. You was going to
say he was drunk, tighter'n a b'iled owl, wa'n't you.
He was on the way to it last night, and his McCarty
friend wa'n't much better. I cal'late the pair of 'em
have been keeping it up ever since. What did he
say when you bounced him?"
"He was dreadfully ugly. He said I had better
not mention it to the Doctor or it would be the worse
for me. I was frightened and hurried away and left
him. I think he drove back then, but I'm not sure.
What is it? What are you looking at?"
I was bending for'ard to stare over the port bow
ahead. It had seemed to me that I'd noticed a
66
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
couple of fellers in the bushes on a point of land we
was passing. However, I didn't see 'em any more
and I didn't mention 'em to her. She went on talk-
ing about this and that, principally Thoph and his
dreadful actions. I was busy keeping clear of the
flats and shoals. The tide had gone out a lot and I
wa'n't used to the coast.
However, everything went first rate till I turned
the last point and swung in where I'd left my skiff.
Then I had a shock. The skiff wa'n't there any
more — 'twas gone.
I was surprised and pretty mad, at myself, of
course. I thought I'd anchored that skiff hard and
fast, but it seemed as if I hadn't. I looked out over
the bay, but she wa'n't nowheres in sight. A good,
four-year-old skiff, too, worth fifteen dollars of any
man's money; and fifteen dollars was a Standard He
salary to me just then.
"What is the matter?" says Miss Emeline. "Oh,
what is it, Mr. Pratt? We are not in any danger,
are we?"
"No, no," says I. "You couldn't find any danger
here if you dredged for it. My skiff's drifted out
to sea, that's all. I'd like to go and hunt for her,
but I cal'late you're in a hurry to get back to the
house, ain't you ?"
Indeed she was I She must get back at once. No
67
MR. PRATT'S -PATIENTS
one knew where she had gone and they would be
worried.
"All right," says I, "then I'll get you back some-
how. It's all right; don't you fret, Miss Adams."
I run the Dora Bassett as close inshore as I dast
to, but that wa'n't so awful close. There was a good
fifty yards of shoal water between me and the beach
when I got the anchor overside, but not more'n a
couple of foot under the keel.
"Now, Miss Adams," says I, beginning to take
off my boots and socks, "if you'll just not be scared
and set still in my arms I'll hop overboard and lug
you ashore."
Well, sir, you wouldn't have believed a sane per-
son could have made such a fuss over a simple thing
like that. If I'd proposed hitching that Emeline
woman to the anchor she couldn't have made more
objections.
"But there's no danger," says I. "I'll see that
you don't get wet, and I'm a kind of half fish, any-
how. Salt water's good for me. I'm like old Tony
Peters, the Portygee. He fell off the wharf and
got wet all over for the first time in ten years, I
cal'late. When they fished him out he acted sort
of surprised. 'No, nol' says he. 'Tony no hurt.
Tony feel better. I go in again sometime, maybe.' "
I laughed. I always laugh when I think of Tony.
68
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
But that Emeline woman didn't laugh. No, sir-eel
I give you my word I thought she was going to cty.
She would not let me lug her ashore, that's all there
was to it.
"All right, ma'am," says I, losing patience.
"Then there's nothing to do but set here and wait
till somebody comes, fur's I see."
"But no one ever comes down here," says she.
"Not oftener than once a week."
"All right, then we'll wait a week; unless you're
willing fur me to leave you here and go ashore by
myself and hunt up a dory or something."
No, no 1 she wouldn't be left alone in that dread-
ful boat for anything. That would be worse than
being toted in my arms. So there being nothing to
do, I set still and did it.
Pretty soon she begun to whoop for help. You'd
think she was drowning. I was so ashamed I didn't
know what to do.
"Look here, ma'am," says I, after the nineteenth
whoop, "I'd just as soon you wouldn't do that, if
you please. There's an offshore breeze anyhow, so
it don't do us no good; and, besides, I ain't so proud
of this pickle we're in that I want to advertise it.
. . . I. . . . Say, keep still, will you !"
I guess my tone wa'n't any too peaceful; anyhow
she kept still. Then, for five minutes or so, there
69
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
wa'n't hardly a sound. From ashore somewheres
a dog barked, but his bark shut oS sudden in the
middle.
Then, all at once, Miss Emeline spoke up.
"You are sure it would be safe?" says she.
"I've told you so, ma'am, ain't I?"
"And you won't drop me?"
"Nary drop."
"Then — then I'll trust you. I — I'm ready." She
said it as if she was going to be led out and hung.
However, she didn't have to say it but once. Next
second I was overboard in water above my knees
and holding out my arms for her. She flopped into
'cm with her eyes shut and groaning as if she was
dying. I started for shore.
The first fifteen yards was all right, except that
I was pretty nigh strangled from the death grip
she had on my neck. And every second step she
screamed, not loud screams, but, being as they was
straight into my port ear, they was loud enough.
Then we come to a channel and the water deepened
up some. It deepened till 'twas up to my waist.
Miss Emeline stopped screaming and begun to give
orders.
"I'm going back," says she. "I'm going back."
"No, no, you ain't," says I ; "you're going ahead.
Just keep still and we'll be out of this in a shake."
70
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"I'm going back I I command you to take me
back at once 1 I command you 1"
"Ma'am," says I, "you keep still. Keep still I
If you don't I'll — I swan to man I'll put you
downl"
I was mad enough to do it. I guess she realized
I meant it, for she stopped kicking. On I went.
"Ouchl" says I.
"Ohl" she gasps. "What is it? What »5 it? Is
this the end?"
"Which end? I stepped on a crab, if you want
to know. There I now she begins to shoal up again.
Your troubles are 'most over, Miss Adams."
But they wasn't ; they was just beginning. I hadn't
no more'n said this when from astern of us come a
hail. I stopped and looked over my shoulder. What
I see made me forget all about crabs and women
and such trifles.
Back of us, between where we stood and the Dora
Bassett, was a skiff — my skiff, the one I thought had
floated adrift. And in that skiff, grinning the ugliest
grin ever you saw, was Mike McCarty, Physical Di-
rector of the Right Livers' Rest. He had — so I
found out afterwards — waded off and got the skiff
and had been hiding in it behind the next point, wait-
ing for us to come. He had one oar in the water,
steadying the skiff where it was, and the other bal-
71
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
anced across the rail. I stared at him and hfi
grinned at me. / didn't grin much.
"Hello, Spratt!" says he. "How's the water;
wet?"
I could have punched his head; the only reason I
didn't was that I couldn't get at it.
"What in thunder are you doing in that skiff?" J
hollered.
"Taking a little fresh air," says he, cheerful.
"You two make a classy picture, Spratt. Pity I ain't
got a kodak."
"You'll make a whole panorama when I get hold
of you," I sung out. "Come here with that boat."
"Oh, no, I guess not. We'll have a little talk
first. How's the old girl ; heavy ?"
I don't know how Miss Emeline liked being called
"old girl." I didn't wait to find out.
"I'll see you in just two minutes, chummie," says
I. "Wait till I put this lady on dry ground and I'll
talk to you — more'n you want, I shouldn't wonder."
He just grinned again. "We won't wait, Spratt,"
he says. "Stop where you are! Hi, Thophl
Thoph!. . . . Humph! Now you'll stop, maybe."
And stop I did. I had took a couple of long
steps toward the shore when out of the bushes walks
that Thoph Pease critter, the hired man, the rum
and molasses one. He was holding tight to one
72
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
end of a rope. At the other end of that rope was
the savagest, ugliest, hungriest-looking bulldog I'd
ever run acrost in my born days.
I saw that bulldog and Thoph, and, as I say, I
stopped. Miss Emeline saw 'em and screamed.
From astern of us I'heard McCarty laugh.
"Pretty, ain't he," says he. "Let him go, Thoph 1
Hi, Pet! Look out for 'eml Sic 'em, boyl"
Thoph let go of his end of the rope. "Pet"
turned loose a growl like the first rumblings of an
earthquake and come tearing to the shore. There
he pranced up and down, with his forepaws in the
water, and stood, ready for his breakfast. There
wa'n't much doubt in my mind that we was the
breakfast.
"And now," says McCarty, "we'll have our little
talk. Miss Adams, you listen to what me and Pease
have got to say."
I was too much set back and surprised to get a
word loose, but I felt Miss Emeline kind of stiffen
in my arms.
"Theophilus Pease," says she, stern and sharp,
"how dare you I Call off that dog ! Take the crea-
ture away Immediately."
Thoph acted a little mite scared, in spite of his
rum and molasses.
"I — I can't, ma'am," he says.
73
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"You bet he can't I" This was from McCarty.
"I own that dog and he minds nobody but me. Miss
Adams, you stay right where you are until you
promise on your word of honor not to tell Wool or
anybody else about Thoph's row with you this morn-
ing. You've said you was going to have him fired.
Well, you ain't. Him and me are standing to-
gether in this thing and we'll see it through. Hey,
Thoph?"
"Bet your life!" drawls Thoph, uneasy but ugly.
I'd found my tongue by this time and I was b'il-
ing over.
"Don't you promise nothing, ma'am," I bel-
lowed. "I'll settle this business myself. Don't be
scared."
I swung round and commenced to make toward
the skiff. Miss Emeline gave another gasp.
"What are you going to do?" she sung out.
"I'm going to take you back to the Dora Bus-
'sett. Then I'll do a little physical directing on my
own hook."
But I hadn't got into the deep water again afore
McCarty made his next move. In that skiff he had
a big advantage over me. Two strokes of the oars
and he was alongside the Dora Bassett and his
jackknife was out.
"Nothing doing," says he, with a snap of his jaws.
74
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"You come this way another inch and I'll cut the
anchor rope and let her go adrift."
Well, I never wanted to keep moving more, but
I didn't — I stopped. The wind had been breezing
up and 'twas dead offshore. If he cut that anchor
rope the boat might drift to Jericho. Ten to one
I'd never see her again. And she was about all I
had left in the world.
"Hal ha I" laughs McCarty.
"Hel hel" chuckles Thoph.
"Gr-r-rl Bow-wow I" remarks Pet.
And the water was getting colder and Miss Eme-
line getting heavier every second.
'Twas McCarty that spoke next. He was boss
of the situation for the time being. More'n that,
he'd had plenty of time to think in, which I hadn't.
"We ain't unreasonable, Miss Adams," he says,
more polite and coaxing. "We don't want to lose
our jobs, that's all. I'll own that Thoph has been
tanking up a bit, but that's nothing; maybe he won't*
do it again. All we want of you is to keep still
about it and give us another show. If you promise
I know you'll keep your word. And you don't get
out of that water till you do."
She opened her mouth to scream, but McCarty
shut it up in a hurry.
"There's no use to yell," he sayS. "Nobody'll
75
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
hear you. The Doc and his new guy, old Quill,
have gone for a walk. The patients are all over on
the exercise ground, quarter of a mile off. The
Sparrow girl has gone to the store to find you.
There's nobody in the house but the cook and
maid, and they're busy. There's nothing doing in
the rescue line, so you can promise us to keep stilly
or you can stay there — and drown."
Miss Emeline's clutch on my neck got tighter
than ever, if that was possible.
"What shall I do?" she groaned in my ear.
"What shall I do?"
I managed to gurgle out a word or two over her
"wrist.
"Do!" I choked. "Do nothing, of course. You
couldn't drown on these flats unless you dug a hole
and put your head in it. Don't you promise a single
thing."
"But— but "
"Hold on! Ease up on my throat a jiffy, will
you. Whew ! Much obliged. I'll tell you what you
do. Promise, same as they say. You needn't tell a
word. I'll do all the talking's necessary. Prom-
ise."
She hesitated.
"I hate to," she gasped. "It is against my prin-
dples. I "
76
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Well?" says McCarty. "Going to be sensible^,
are you?"
"I— I don't know."
"I guess you know all right. Now, Spratt, or
Pratt, or whatever your name is, you've got tq.
promise, too."
"Promise be— keelhauled 1" says I. It's a good'
thing Miss Emeline choked me off when she did,
or I'd have made it more lively. "I'll promise to,
break your figurehead for you ; that's what I'll prom-
ise.
"No, you won't. I'll risk my figurehead. Bu<;
you'll promise to keep your mouth shut or I'll cul,
this anchor rope. And see here, Miss Adams,
if he does promise and then blabs, you've got to
swear he's a liar. You'll have to promise that,
too."
She almost jumped out of my arms.
"Whatl" she says. "You expect me to. tell a
falsehood ! You — you — I never did such a thing in,
my life!"
"You've missed something," says McCarty. "It
ain't too late to begin."
"Never !" says she, "never 1 I'll stay h;ere till I
drown first."
"Right you are, ma'am," says I. "'And we won't
«lrown nuther. Come on, we'll go as^cw:?,."
77
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
Anc/ for shore I headed. But I didn't get very
far.
"Watch 'em, Pet," yelled McCarty. Pet watched
us, all right. It's a bad thing to have too much
imagination. I could feel them teeth in my under-
pinning already.
"Is — is that critter very ferocious?" I asked, eas-
ing up in my stride.
"Dreadful 1 Oh, dreadful 1 He has bitten sev-
eral people. He would kill us, I do believe."
Well, I didn't hanker to be fresh meat for a bull-
dog. And it sartin did look as if 'twould take a lot
to fill that mouth. I kept on edging in, but mighty
slow. McCarty and Thoph noticed the slowness
and they both laughed.
"He don't like the scenery, Pease," giggles the
physical director.
I was thinking awful hard. As for Miss Emeline,
she was trembling, but quiet. It was plain she'd
ruther die than lie. I begun to have more respect^
for that old maid.
I edged in a little further, and then I spied some-
thing that give me an idea. Just in front of me, in
the hole where I'd left it, was my dreener half full
of clams. I remembered something Obed Nicker-
son, of Orham, told me about an experience he had
with a dog.
78
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Ma'am," I whispered. "Miss Adams, I want
you to do just what I tell you. I'm going to put
you down."
"Oh, no, no I" says she. "No, no I"
"Yes, yes! 'Tain't more'n up to your — ^up to
the tops of your shoes. I'm going to set you down."
"No, no I you mustn't ! I "
She hung on to me as if I was a life preserver. I
grabbed her wrists and pulled 'em loose.
"I've got to," says I. "There's a limit to being
choked and froze, and, besides, you weigh all of
fifty pounds more'n you did when I picked you up.
Down you go 1 There I"
I stood her on her feet in the shallow water. I
heard McCarty yell, but I didn't pay no attention.
"Now," I whispers, not asking, but ordering, this
time, "you start for the beach up there," pointing
off to starboard. "Go, as fast as you can."
"I can't — I can't — the dog "
"I'll look after the dog. Or he'll look after me.
When I start you start, too."
I didn't wait to see whether she did or not. I
made one jump for'ard, grabbed up the dreener of
clams, and ran pell-mell for the beach. Only I took
a course in the opposite direction from what I'd sent
her.
Through the sand and water I went, yelling like
79
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
a loon. Thoph and Pet danced around on shore,
not knowing which of us to take after. The Mc-
Carty swab, though, kept his head and he yelled his
orders.
"Look out for the woman, Thoph!" he roared.
"Sic him. Pet I Sic him!"
So after Miss Emeline went Pease, and after me
came Pet, mouth open and teeth snapping.
'Twas what I'd cal'lated on and I was ready for
him. I grabbed a handful of clams out of the
dreener and let him have 'em, hard as I could throw.
Four out of the half-dozen missed, but 'tother two
bust right in his face and eyes. He yelled and
jumped, and I gained a lap in the race.
When he come on again he got another handful.
A clam shell Is pretty sharp when It lands edgeways
on your nose, and, for the average pup, two broad-
sides would have been enough. But not for Pet —
no, sir ! On he came, coughing and snarling.
By this time I was on the beach and heading
straight for that big empty box I'd found early in
the morning, and had figgered to put my extry clams
into. He was at my heels when I reached it, and I
fired all my ammunition, dreener and all, at him.
It hit and over he went as if he'd been blowed up.
He wa'n't discouraged, not him, but neither was I.
I had the big box, open side down, in my arms in
80
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
front of me by now, and, when he made his next
jump, I jumped, too.
It was more luck than anything else, but if any-
body ever had luck due 'em, I was that feller. I
jumped up in the air, box and all. When I come
down the sharp edge of the box caught that dog
about six inches from his tail and right acrost his
back. Naturally, he jumped for'ard to get out from
under. When he jumped he went inside the box.
Down it came "plunk" in the sand with me sprawled
on top of it. As for "Pet," he was inside the box,
for all the world like a rabbit in a trap.
Well, 'twas some situation. There I was,
sprawled on top of the box; underneath was the
dog, humping up and snarling and growling and
yelping and sneezing all at once; up the beach was
the Adams woman, running best she could, with
Pease after her; and McCarty in the skiff was row-
ing for shore and yelling orders to his messmate
and brimstone remarks to me.
And then a voice right alongside of me says:
"You go and help Miss Emeline, Mr. Pratt. I'll
set on the dog."
I twisted my neck and looked up. Eureka Spar-
row was standing there, calm and cool as an iced
codfish.
"My soul 1 Eureka !" says I.
8i
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Yes," says she. "Don't get up all to once; just
shove over a little and give me room. I weigh a
hundred and fifty-two, and I'll stay put, I guess
likely. It's all right, Miss Emeline. Mr. Pratt's
a-coming."
CHAPTER IV
WELL, I shoved over; I don't know why,
nuther. I'm mighty sure 'twa'n't because
I sensed what Joash Howes, when he
talked politics at the post-office, used to call the
"true inwardness of the crisis that's onto us." I
didn't seem to sense much of anything, except that
my inwardness was awful scant of breath. How-
ever, I shoved over on the box and down set Eureka.
The solid, everyday way she did it kind of brought
me to myself. I scrambled to my feet and took
after Pease. He had caught up with the Adams
woman by this time and was dancing around in front
of her, waving both fists and telling her to stop.
He didn't hardly dast to actually lay hands on her.
McCarty would have grabbed her and thrown her
into the bay, for what I know ; but not Thoph. He
was the weak end of that rum and molasses con-
cern, and his partner wasn't there to help him.
And I got there afore the partner did. Mc-
Carty wasn't over halfway to the beach when my
boot hit that Pease critter and pitchpoled him same
83
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
as I've seen a boat pitchpoled in the surf when a
summer boarder tried to make a landing. Thoph's
nose — and there was consider'ble of it — made a fur-
row in the sand. I grabbed Miss Emeline by the
waist. I thought maybe she was going to faint —
women do that sometimes, they tell me — but I was
mistaken. She was on dry land now and the first
word she said proved there wa'n't much faint about
her.
"Is — is that dog out of the way?" she panted.
"Yes'm," says I, "he is."
"Where is he?"
"He's — he's under Eureka."
"Eureka I Where is Eureka?"
"Over the dog. Over there, I mean."
She looked where I pointed. Eureka smiled and
nodded.
"He's all right, Miss Emeline," she called. "He
can't get out. Mr. Pratt, McCarty's 'most here."
I turned around. The skiff was almost to the
beach. Thoph was getting on his knees again. He
seemed sort of undecided in his mind whether to
run away or stay there and hold onto his nose. I
was undecided, too. I hated to leave Miss Eme-
line, but I didn't want McCarty to get ashore. Two
to one's a big majority, and I'd ruther have the two
separate.
84
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
Miss Emeline settled it for me. She twisted out
of my arm.
"Look out for that creature," she says, pointing
toward the skiff. "I am all right now."
"But — but him," says I, pointing toward Thoph.
He was on his knees still. It looked almost as if
he was praying — ^but it didn't sound that way.
"He!" snapped Miss Emeline. "I'm not afraid
of himf I'm ashamed to think I ever was. Let
me be, Mr. Pratt."
I let her be. I was glad of the chance. I run
down to the shore and stood there, waiting. For
the first time in twenty minutes I was happy, actually
happy.
"Come on, Mr. Physical Director," says I.
"Come on, and get your morning exercise."
He kept coming; I'll give him that much credit.
But all at once he stopped and jumped to his feet.
There was a rustle in the bushes astern of us, and
a voice, the big, purry, organ voice I'd heard the
night afore, said:
"What is all this? Tut I tut! tut! I am sur-
prised! What does this mean?"
All hands looked, I cal'late. I know I did. For
a jiffy 'twas still as could be; then everything hap-
pened at once.
Thoph Pease give one gulp, or groan, or swear,
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
or combination of all three, and put for tall timber
as if the Old Scratch was after him. McCarty
sat down again in the skiff and looked sick. Miss
Emeline collapsed in the sand and looked thankful.
And Eureka, perched on the dog coop, spoke up,
resigned and contented.
"It's the Doctor," says she. "There I Now
we're all right."
He come marching down the beach, big and calm
and serene, like the admiral of all creation on par-
ade. He was dressed in white, generally speaking —
white flannel pants and white vest and a white broad-
brimmed hat in his hand. His coat, though, was
long-tailed and black like a parson's, and his neck-
tie was blue with white spots, and clewed up in a
big, floppy bow. All these things I noticed after-
wards; what I was watching just then was his
face.
'Twas a big face and smooth, no whiskers, no
mustache, no nothing, and his forehead run up over
the top of his head. His nose was big, and his mouth
was big, and his hair, what there was of it, was
brushed back astern of his ears. When he walked
he stepped deliberate ; when he moved his big white
hands he moved 'em deliberate; everything he did
he did deliberate and grand. Somehow he made you
feel little and — and — ^well — ^young.
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
He looked us all over, one after the other. Then
he took command of the deck.
"McCarty," he boomed, in his big voice, "bring
that boat ashore immediately."
And, by time I McCarty done it. I was expecting
a row, but there wa'n't any. That physical director
hesitated for half a shake, but that was all.
"McCarty," says Doctor Wool, "did you hear
me? Bring that boat ashore."
I took one step into the water.
"Yes, McCarty," says I, "bring it ashore. And
don't forget to come yourself, 'cause I'm waiting
for you."
McCarty was just stepping out of the skiff. He
glared at me and doubled up his fist.
"McCarty!" booms the big voice again. "And
you, sir, kindly let him pass, if you please."
I let him pass; I don't know why; one thing's
sartin, I hadn't been intending to.
"Go up t& my office and wait for me," orders
the Doctor.
"Aw, now, Boss !" pleads McCarty. "I — 'twas all
just a mistake. I "
"To my office. I will hear your — er — explanation
later. Gol"
And he went. Yes, sir, he went! And I, who
had been jumping up and down with the hankering
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
to get at him, let him go and never said a word.
As for Thoph, he'd been gone quite a spell.
The Doctor paraded majestic over to Miss Eme-
line.
"Miss Adams," says he, and when he spoke
to her the purr in his voice got stronger and
sweeter and more wonderful than ever, "I trust
you have suffered no actual — er — harm. I trust
not."
"Oh, no — no — I think not, Doctor. I — I am —
my nerves "
"Nerves, my dear madam, are what we permit
them to be, as you know. I am certain that a strong,
womanly nature, such as yours. . . . Ah, you are
better already, are you not? Yes. Quite yourself
again. May I assist you to rise?"
He put one hand under her elbow and hiked her
up out of that sand as easy as if she'd been a feather-
weight, which she wa'n't, according to my experi-
ence. I don't mean he really lifted her by main
strength — not by no means. He kind of purred her
up, if such a thing's possible.
"You are yourself again?" says he.
"Yes. I— I— think so."
"As we think, we are. Er — Eureka," he swung
around and looked at the Sparrow girl; "Eureka,"
he says, "may I ask why you continue to decorate
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
that — er — ^box; and why you do not come to Miss
Adams's aid?"
Poor Eureka looked scared and troubled.
"I'm setting on the dog," says she.
Even he was surprised, I cal'late.
"The dog?" he says.
"Yes, sir. Mr. McCarty's dog — Pet, you know.
He set him onto Mr. Pratt."
"Ah! I see — I see. And now you are — er — re-
turning the compliment. Very good, very good."
He smiled, and that smile on his big face was
like sunshine breaking through and lighting up half
a mile of white beach.
"And this — er — gentleman?" waving a big white
hand at me.
"That is Mr. Pratt," says Eureka, prompt. "He's
a friend of mine. I used to know him over to
Wellmouth."
"He saved my life, Doctor Wool," puts in Miss
Emeline, getting fussed up again and beginning to
tremble. "I verily believe he saved my life. If it"
were not for him Oh, Doctor, if you knew — — "
"There, there ! My dear madam, calm yourself.
Force your thoughts in the right direction. I shall
know all very soon. I shall make it my business
to know. Meanwhile, suppose we return to the—
er — sanitarium, if you please."
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
He offered her his arm and they paraded
toward the bushes. At the edge of 'em he
stopped.
"Eureka," he said, "perhaps your friend here will
assist you in securing the — er — dog. Afterwards
I shall be obliged if you will bring Mr. — er — Pratt
to me. I shall wish to thank him for the service
which it — er — appears he has rendered our dear
Miss Adams."
"I'll fetch him right up," says Eureka, quick as
a flash.
"Why I I don't know," says I. "I ought to be
getting back home. I was cal'lating to dig a few
clams and then I ought to see Nate Scudder. That's
what I come over fur."
"Doubtless, doubtless. But I am certain you will
not go without giving me a moment. I shall count
upon your doing so, sir. Say no more ; I shall count
upon it."
And, by the everlasting, I didn't say any more.
Somehow or 'nother I couldn't. Contradicting him
seemed sort of ridiculous and useless, like a hen's
trying to stop a funeral by getting in the way of
the hearse.
"And now, Miss Adams," says he.
They went away together. I looked at Eureka
and she looked at me.
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Ain't he the grandest thing 1" says she, in a sort
of whispering hooray. "Ain't he?"
I shook my head. "I don't know," says I. "He's
something, sartin. Anyhow, I never see anybody
like him."
"That's 'cause there ain't anybody like him. And
now what'U we do with this Pet nuisance. I do
believe he's et a hole half through this box al-
ready."
He hadn't, but he'd dug himself 'most out from
underneath it. I filled in the hole he'd made, piled
sand a foot deep all round the edges, and laid four
or five big chunks of driftwood and pine stumps on
top of the box. Then Eureka got up.
"There I" says she, "that'll keep him jailed for a
spell, I shouldn't wonder, and McCarty can let him
out himself by and by. He can breathe; there's
holes enough in the box. You 'tend to your skiff
and boat, Mr. Pratt, and then come right up to the
house. I'll be waiting for you in the kitchen. Your
luck, the tea leaf luck, has started; mind what I tell
you."
I laughed for the first time in an hour.
"If the rest of it's like what's hit me already,"
says I, "I cal'late I'll finish afore it does."
Thirty or forty minutes later I knocked on the
kitchen door of the Rest place. I looked around,
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
as I walked acrost the lawn, for my old chum Apple-
cart, or some others of the Right Livers, but there
wa'n't none in sight.
Eureka was waiting for me, all on tiptoe with
excitement.
"He expects you," says she. "He's in his office
and you're to come right in. I've told him all about
you. It's perfectly splendid. Don't you dare say
anything but yes, Mr. Pratt."
Afore I could ask what I was to say yes to, she
was piloting me through two or three big rooms, a
whale of a dining-room amongst 'em, and knocking
on a door.
"Come in," booms the big voice. Hitting a bass
drum with a spoonful of sugared hasty-pudding
might have sounded something like it; I can't think
of any other soft-slick-loud-sweet noise that would
fill the bill. Eureka opened the door.
"Here he is, Doctor Wool," says she.
And in I marched.
He was sitting at the other side of a big table,
and the sun, streaming in at the window behind him,
lit up the shiny top of his head like a glory.
"Be seated, sir," says he. "Be seated, I
beg."
I set down in the chair he pointed out to me. He
smiled and thanked me for doing it. I never thought
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
afore that setting down was anything to be proud of
'special, but that smile and the thanks made me feel
as if I'd done something wuth while. I told, him
he was welcome.
"Will you pardon me," says he, "if for a moment
I continue with the little task upon which I was
engaged. A mere business letter — a trifle only-r-
and yet trifles neglected make the mountains upon
which the ships of our lives are so often wrecked.
You agree with me, I'm sure."
"Yes, indeed," says I, "I've noticed it often."
And yet now, as I come to think of it, I don't re-
member ever hearing of a ship being wrecked on a
mountain.
So he went on with his letter writing and I looked
around the room.
'Twa'n't a very big room — I learned afterwards
that it had been the first floor bedroom of the old
house — and there wa'n't much in it, in the furniture
line. Two or three chairs, the desk, and a table
with a vase full of posies on it, that was about all.
The walls, though, was covered with pictures, mainly
framed photographs and mottoes; there was a lot
of letters framed amongst 'em, too. From where
I set I could read a few of the letters.
One had "White House" printed at the top of it.
The writing underneath went like this :
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
The President directs me to thank Doctor
Wool for his favor of the 19th.
So and So, Secretary,
Per R.
Another was headed "Office of J. P. Astorbilt &
Co., Wall Street, New York."
Mr. Astorbilt regrets that he will be unable
to see Doctor Wool on the date named in the
latter" s letter.
There was a good many more, and the photo-
graphs was mainly of folks whose pictures I'd seen
in the newspapers, play-actors and congressmen and
such. Each one had a name on it, but whether they'd
been wrote by the folks themselves or not I wa'n't
able to say. The mottoes was generally good ad-
vice, like, "Man, Know Thyself," and "The Proper
Study for Mankind Is Man." In the middle place
of all was a crayon enlargement of Doctor Wool,
setting in a chair and beaming grand and good and
kind on all creation. He had a book open on his
knee, and you could see that he was thinking high
thoughts and enjoying 'em. Over this picture was a
big sign, "As We Think, We Are," which was what
he'd said to Miss Emeline on the beach, I recol-
lected.
94
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
I stared around at the decorations and the Doc-
tor went on with his letter-writing. By and by he
laid down the pen and turned to me.
"Ah I" says he, "you are observing my collection,
I perceive. What do you think of it?"
"Seems to be — er — first rate," says I, not knowing
just how to answer.
"Little tributes, little tributes, Mr. Pratt. Trifles
in themselves, but gratifying in the mass, gratifying
■■ — ^yes. It is pleasant, although humbling, to feel
that one is, even in a small way, a benefactor to one's
fellow creatures. They flatter me." .
"That one don't flatter you none," says I, waving
my hand to the crayon enlargement. "It's as natu-
ral as can be. Joash Kenney, over to Wellmouth,
never done a better enlargement than that; and he's
the best enlarger we've got around here."
He bowed and thanked me again. I begun to
fidget a little. Seemed to me 'twas time for what-
ever he wanted to see me about to get out from
under hatches.
"You had something you wanted to say to me, I
believe, Doctor Wool," I hove out, by way of sug-
gestion.
He moved his big head up and down slow.
"I did," says he; "I did— er— yes."
"Then — then suppose you say it, if 'tain't too
95
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
much to ask. I ain't got none too much time,
and- "
He stopped me with a wave of his hand. "Time,"
he purred, "is for slaves, as the wise man has said."
"It and the tide waits for no man; that's been
said, too. And if I'm going to do any errand over
to Wapatomac and get back to Wellmouth by night,
I mustn't set here."
"I trust you will not go back to Wellmouth to-
night, Mr. Pratt."
"I've got to."
"I trust not, Mr. Pratt. Eureka, our accom-
plished young friend in the kitchen, teUs me that
you are out of employment just now. Is that true ?"
I fetched a long breath. The dog, and Miss
Emeline, and all the rest of it, had made me forget
my other troubles for a spell; now they come back
onto me hard.
"It's true enough, all right," I said. "More's
the pity, it's true enough."
"Yes — er — ^yes. I see, I see. Well — er — Mr.
Pratt, I trust we may be able to change all that, to
overcome that difEculty — er — ^yes."
I straightened up in my chair.
"What do you mean by that?" I wanted to know.
"I will explain presently. In the meantime will
you be good enough to tell me something about
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
yourself? What you have been doing, and the like.
If you please."
I told him about everything I could think of; and
what I couldn't think of he did. He asked about six
questions during my yarn, but every question had a
point to it. At the end he bowed and thanked me
once more. As a thanker he was main-truck high ; I
never see anybody so polite.
"That will do," he said. "This bears out Eu-
reka's story and what Miss Adams has said. She —
and I, of course — are much indebted to you for your
coolness this morning."
"There wasn't much coolness about it. I never
was hotter in my life — my head, anyhow. My feet
and legs was cool enough, when I was in that
water."
I grinned, but he was sober as a deacon. Grins
seemed to be scurce on those premises.
"How would you like," he says, "to remain with
us; to become one of our little circle?"
"Here? At this— this place? Me?"
"Yes."
"But why? I ain't a Right Liver. There's noth-
ing ails me."
"You misunderstand. I mean, how would you
like to enter my employ? To become one of the
staff of the Sea Breeze Bluff Sanitarium? To join
97
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
us in our great work for the uplift of humanity?'*
I stared at him.
"Me?" says I, again. "You mean to give me
a job? What kind of a job? What could I do
here?"
"Various things. Superintend the grounds, at-
tend to the livestock, cut the lawns "
"Hold onl Hold on!" I broke in, forgetting
my reverence in the shock of surprise. "What are
you talking about. Mister? You've got Thoph
Pease for that job."
He waved his hand as if he was brushing away
a fly.
"Pease," he says, "is no longer with us. The
society of the late lamented Theophilus is ours no
more. He has departed."
"Fired?"
"One might call it that."
"You don't say! But there's McCarty. Him
and me would never cruise together, not after this
morning's doings."
For the first time since Pd met him he acted
human and not like a plaster saint. His eyebrows
pulled together and his eyes snapped.
"McCarty," says he, "will cease to trouble us,
also."
"You'll fire him, too?"
98
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
He brushed off another fly. "Suppose we con-
sider you and not McCarty," he said. "Will you
accept my offer, Mr. Pratt?"
I shook my head.
"I don't know," says I. "I'd accept 'most any-
thing, but it does seem to me that I'd be as much
out of place here as a chunk of tar in a snowbank.
What good would I be? I don't know anything
about doctoring."
Then he commenced to talk, really talk, and in-
side of two flaps of a herring's fin he had me mes-
merized, like Eben Holt's boy at the town hall
show. He talked about the ills of humanity, and
the glories of health and Nature and service and
land knows what all. My brain was doing flip-
flaps, but I managed to make out that the Sea
Breeze Bluff Sanitarium for Right Livers and Rest
was a branch station of Paradise, and to be con-
nected with it was like being made an angel with-
out going through the regular preparations. It
was a chance he was offering me, a wonderful, eight-
een carat, solid gold chance. I must take it, of
course.
He run down, after a spell, and I got up off my
chair.
"Weill" says I. "Weill I— I "
"Say no more," says he. "I see that you accept.
99
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
The sanitarium has made an acquisition, Mr. Pratt.
You may begin your new duties at once."
I was on my way to the door, but all at once,
through the fog in my head, I begun to sight one
reef that I hadn't paid any attention to afore.
"What — what wages do I get?" I asked.
He stood up and laid a hand on my shoulder.
"In a matter like this," he says, "I never permit
expense to stand in the way. Salary is a secondary
consideration. You will receive thirty dollars a
month and your board. Good morning, Mr. Pratt.
As you yourself might say, 'A happy voyage.' Good
morning."
I went out and through the dining-room. At the
kitchen door Eureka was waiting for me. She
give one look at my face and then she grabbed me
by both hands.
"You've said yes," she says. "He's hired you,
ain't he?"
"Yes," says I, slow, "he's hired me, I cal'late.
I didn't have to say yes; he said it all."
She was as tickled as a cat with a litter of six
double-pawed kittens.
"I knew it!" she sung out. "I knew it! The
luck's come! I told you 'twould! And the money,
tool"
I leaned up against the door-jamb.
lOO
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Money I" I says slow. "Money 1. . . . Humph 1
A dollar a day and board is money, I suppose, but
I — well, I sha'n't declare no extry dividends right
away, I can see that. He said salary was a second
consideration. Well, I guess 'tis, Eureka I I guess
'tis."
CHAPTER V
AND so that's how I came to ship as fo'mast
hand aboard the Right Livers' Rest. And
'twas a high old craft, I tell you. I went
down to the beach once more and fixed up the Dora
Bassett and the skiff. McCarty wa'n't nowhere in
sight, though I judged he'd been there, for the big
box was laying upside down and Pet wa'n't visible.
I didn't feel bad on that account. I hoped he
never would be visible to me again, nor his master
neither.
Then I walked up to the kitchen.
"Here I be, Eureka," says I. "You can report
me on board and ready for duty. What'U I do
first."
'Tm to show you around first," she says, "so
you'll be kind of familiar with the premises. The
Doctor told me to. Don't you want to put your
things in your room?"
"Ain't got any things with me," says I, "except
those Pve got on. The rest are in my chest over
to Sophrony's. Pll write and have her send 'cm
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
by express to-morrow. Meantime you'll have to
'take me as I am,' as the hymn tune says."
"Oh, it won't make any difference," says she.
"You'll have your uniform in a day or so, anyway."
"Uniform?"
"Of course. All the help here wear uniforms
when they're on duty, I've got mine on now. Ain't
you noticed it?"
She was wearing the same white rig she'd had on
the night afore. 'Twas so clean and starchy it
pretty nigh put a body's eyes out, but there was no
uniform to it, fur's I could see. And I said so.
"But it is a uniform, just the same," she sayp.
"See here."
She pointed to a big round thing, pretty nigh as
big as the top of a teacup, that she wore fastened
at her throat.
"Didn't you notice that?" she says.
"Couldn't very well help noticing it, unless I
was struck blind. What is it?"
"Well, what did you think 'twas?"
"Why — why, it's a breast-pin, ain't it?"
"Breast-pin! The idea! Breast-pins ain't the
style nowadays. It's my badge. See the initials:
'S. B. B. S.' They stand for Sea Breeze Bluff
Sanitarium. We all wear one of those. You'll
have one."
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Will, hey? You don't say! And have I got to
rig up in white, too?"
"Of course. Oh, I'm just dying to see you!"
"Humph! Better wait till you do see me; then
you may want to die. My red face sticking out of
the top of a white jacket'!! look fine, won't it ! AH
I'll need is a black bow necktie to make me a reg^
'lar lighthouse. But there's something else on that
badge, ain't there?"
"Yup. That's our motto, 'Think Right.' The
Doctor's great on folks thinking right. He says a
right thought is two-thirds of the battle. You can
do almost anything if you only think you can."
"So? Well, I wish I'd known that this morning;
maybe I'd have done that dog sooner. Somebody
ought to teach him to think right, seems to me."
"Aw, you're just fooling. But it ain't any joke;
it's so. It's helped me a lot. For instance, when
you was here last night and told me how much you
wanted a job, I made up my mind I'd think you
into one. And I have; anyhow, you've got it."
"That's so. Well, I 'most wish you'd thought
a little harder; maybe you'd have histed the wages
some."
"No, you'll have to do that yourself. You must
keep thinking, 'I want more money ! I want more
money!' That's what you must do."
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
««i
T will. 'Twon't be a mite of trouble for me
to do that, Eureka. I'll think that in my sleep."
She put on her hat and we started off to look over
^he premises. There was consider'ble of 'em — ^big
yards, and an acre or two of woodland, and a barn,
and sheds, and I don't know what all. I met the
rest of the kitchen help, the cook aqd the girl that
done most of the waiting on table. The cook was
a big woman about the size of Sophrony Gott, and
her name turned out to be Olivia Gunnison. The
girl's name was Annabelle Atterbury. They was
both pleasant spoken enough to me, but I didn't take
a big shine to 'em, somehow. I had an idea that
Olivia could be pretty cross-grained if she took a
notion, and Annabelle run strong to crimps and
flounces and ribbon bows. She had bows at her
neck and bows on her elbows and the biggest bow
of all on top of her crimps.
"Say, look here, Eureka," says I, when we was
under way once more, "our old chum Applecart,
or Applegate, or whatever his name is, may live on
raw steak and prunes, but that Gunnison woman
don't, I'll bet high on that. She ain't taking no
anti-fat remedies, I cal'late."
"Of course not. The servants don't take treat-
ment, 'tain't likely. It's too expensive for them."
If that cook's appetite was corresponding to her
105
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
size, I should have figgered the treatment was the
less expensive of the two, in the long run. But I
didn't say nothing; 'twas comforting to me to know
that I could eat what I wanted.
"What's Annabelle rigged up so gay for?" I
wanted to know. "The way she's trimmed ship
you'd think the Admiral was expected aboard. And
it's the forenoon, too."
Eureka sniffed. "Um-hm," says she, "forenoon
or afternoon don't make any difference, fur's that's
concerned."
"She runs strong to bows, don't she."
"Yup. And you can spell bow more ways than
one.
I thought this over. "I see," says I. "Yes, yes."
"You will see if you stay here long enough. Al-
pheus Parker, that drives the grocery order cart, is
her latest."
We was in the woods by now and, to all appear-
ances, ten miles from any other humans.
"Where's all the patients?" says I. "I ain't laid
eyes on one of 'em yet."
"They're taking the sand bath, most of 'em.
You'll see 'em pretty soon."
Sure enough, I did. And 'twas a sight I sha'n't
forget in a hurry. We come out of the woods onto
a sandy, shady beach in a little cove, something like
io6
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
the one where the Dora B as sett was moored, only
more shut in and out of sight. Sticking up out of
that beach was a parcel of mounds of sand, six foot
long or thereabouts, each of 'em, and rounded on
top, with what I thought was a bunch of seaweed
at the end.
"Land sakesl" I sung out. "What's this — the
graveyard?"
And I hadn't no more'n spoke when, if you'll be-
lieve it, the seaweed end of each of them mounds
moved. 'Twa'n't seaweed at all, 'twas a head I Yes,
sir, a head, laying on a little pillow. Them mounds
was folks, living folks, buried up to their necks in
sand and laying out on that beach. I don't know
which upset me most, to see all them graves in the
first place or to find they wa'n't graves, after all.
"These are some of the patients," says Eureka,
cheerful. "They're taking the sand bath, same as
I told you."
"But what for? What in the name of common
-V"
sense-
" 'Cause It's good for 'em."
"Good for 'em? Who said so?"
"The Doctor, of course. He ought to be around
here somewheres, but I don't see him. Come on, I
want to introduce you."
She led the way and I fell into her wake. When
107
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
I got close abreast of the cemetery I could see that
the xemains — the patients, I mean — was wearing
bathing suits, just as if they was in swimming. Some
of 'em was buried plumb to the chin, and some had
one arm free so's they could turn the pages of the
books and magazines that was propped up in front
of 'em.
"That's something new," says Eureka, "those
books and things. Usually they ain't left alone like
this. The Doctor's generally here, or I am, and
we read to 'em out loud. Here's somebody you
know."
'Twas Miss Emeline. She was glad to see me
and real gracious and polite.
"I am sure the sanitarium has made a great ac-
quisition," she says, beaming out of her tomb. "It
is needless, I am certain, for me to tell you how
grateful I am to you, Mr. Pratt."
"Don't say a word, ma'am," says I. "I'm only
thankful 'tain't no worse than it is. There was one
spell when I didn't know but we'd both be "
I was going to say, "ready for the undertaker,"
but I hove short just in time. Considering where
she was, I thought maybe 'twould be too suggestive.
She didn't seem to notice I hadn't finished, but
smiled and bowed a good-by and went on reading
her book- The label on the cover of it was "Sun-
io8
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
beams and Dewdrops, by Pansy Rush"; I could see
the gilt letters plain, as I went past the foot of her
grave.
"It's a love story," says Eureka, noticing what I
was looking at. "She's always reading love stories,
Miss Emeline is — ^when she ain't studying up her
family tree."
"I should think she was 'most too antique for
them kind of yarns," I whispered back.
"You don't understand. She's had a love story
of her own. Miss Emeline has; a beautiful one,
beautiful but sad. I'll tell it to you some time.
Here's somebody else you know. How d'ye do,
Colonel Applegate?"
'Twas the Colonel, sure enough, and his heap of
sand was a boy's size Bunker Hill, as you might
say. He hardly glanced at me — 'twas dark when
we met by the well, and I cal'late he couldn't have
seen my face good — ^but the look he give Eureka
was a combination of mad and scare.
"Say," he whispers, eager, "have you told Wool
about — about last night?"
"No, not yet."
"Well, don't you do it. You keep a still tongue
in your head and you won't lose anything by it;
understand?"
Eureka winked at me on the off side.
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"I don't know, Colonel," she says. "It's my duty
to report any breaking of the rules, and you broke
about all there was, if what Mr. Pratt here says is
so. I
He looked at me then. "Pratt 1" he growls.
"Who in blazes is Pratt?"
"This gentleman here. He's took Thoph Pease's
place and is going to work for us regular."
"Colonel," says I, "how'd you like another ham
sandwich ?"
He started so that a bucketful of sand slid down
off his hill. "Good Lord!" he sung out, under his
breath, "are you that Was it you?"
"It sartin was."
"Good Lordl Have you told anybody?"
"Nobody but Eureka."
"Then don't you do it, there's a good chap.
Heavens and earth I I've got troubles enough on
your account; I don't need any more."
I cal'late Eureka didn't catch on to what he was
driving at, but I did. I'd et some of them -sart^
wiches myself.
"I told you they wa'n't fit for human fodder,"
says I. "Those sandwiches "
"It wa'n't the sandwiches; it was that d ^n
doughnut. It weighed a pound, and it is right in
the place it went when I swallowed it; hasn't moved
no
"'Colonel,' says I, 'how'ci you like another ham sandwich?' '
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
nor digested one inch. Say, paw a ton or so of
this sand off me, won't you, and give it a chance."
I laughed out loud, and Eureka's eyes were snap-
ping with fun.
"All right," I says. "I'll keep mum, and I guess
Eureka will, too. Won't you, Eureka?"
"Ye — es, I will, this time. But you mustn't do
it again. Colonel Applegate. If Doctor Wool knew
what you'd been up to you wouldn't have anything
to eat for two days. He'd even take away your
prunes and things."
"If he'd take away this doughnut, I'd be willing
to risk it. What the brimstone blazes I ever came
to this place for I don't know."
I laughed again. "It strikes me," says I, "that
you ain't read your badge lately, Cap'n — Colonel, I
should say. You ain't thinking right. As we think,
we are, you know."
"Humph! I think I was a prize jackass, and
I'm one yet. There! clear out; I'm going to try
to get a nap if that doughnut don't object."
A little ways off from the Colonel, in a sort of
private lot by themselves, was a big, red-faced, stout
woman and a nice-looking young girl. The woman
had a double chin and diamonds, and was reading
through a pair of gold-band specs mounted on a
gold handle. As we came nigher to her she turned
III
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
her head and stared at us through the specs. If
we'd been a couple of wooden posts she couldn't
have stared any steadier or with any less regard
for our feelings.
"Hortense," says she, not taking the trouble to
lower her voice any to speak of, "who are these
persons?"
The girl acted real embarrassed. She whispered
something. It had about as much effect on the old
lady as a teaspoonful of water might have on a
bonfire.
"What?" she snaps. "I asked you who they
were."
"Hush, Mother," says the girl. "It is the house-
keeper. Good morning, Eureka."
"Good morning, Miss Hortense," answers Eu-
reka, trying to look as if she hadn't heard any of
the rest of it. "Good morning, Mrs. Todd.'°
The old lady did a little more of the wooden
post business. Then she put down her gold spy-
glass.
"Umph," says she. "It's you, is it. Eureka 1
Mercy, what a name I Where on earth did you
get it?"
"Don't know, ma'am. I've had it ever since I
can remember. I cal'late it's one Pa dug up some-
wheres. He's great on names. Pa is. This is our
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
new man, him that's going to take Th'ophilus's jdS,
you know. Mr. Pratt, let me make you acquainted
with Mrs. Cordova Todd and Miss Hortense
Todd."
The girl smiled real sweet and pretty and bowed.
All her ma said was "Umphl" What I said don't
amount to nothing; 'twas the regulation lie about
being pleased to know 'em.
"Mr. Pratt's an old friend of mine," explained
Eureka. "He's a mighty nice man, too. Arid there
ain't anybody on the Cape who can sail a boat
better'n he can."
Miss Hortense acted interested. "Really?" she
says. "Oh, Fm so glad. Perhaps Doctor Wool
will let us go sailing sometimes. I'm ever so fond
of the water, Mr. Pratt."
"Tickled to take you out any time. Miss," says
I. "And the Dora Bassett's a good, able boat, if I
do say it."
'Twas all I had a chance to say. Marm Todd
ordered her daughter to be quiet.
"You know the sand bath is an hour of complete
relaxation," says she. "Avoid unnecessary conver-
sation, daughter."
She didn't avoid it a whole lot herself. Her
voice was one of the kind that carry a good ways.
We hadn't gone fur afore I heard her say:
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Hortense, how many times must I caution you
against familiarity with servants? You will ruin
that girl with the extraordinary name if you are
not careful. I don't care if she is Miss Adams's
pet fad at present. Other people's fads are not
necessarily ours. And did you notice that creature
with her? A salt-water barbarian 1 Why couldn't
the Doctor have engaged a civilized being? An-
other yokel 1 As if there were not enough already."
Eureka's temper's about as smooth and hard
to stir up as the average, but she was hopping
now.
"Extraordinary name, heyl" she snaps. "Well,
if I was labeled Evangeline Cordova Todd, I'd
keep still when names was mentioned. What's a
yokel, I'd like to know?"
"You've got me," says I. "I cal'lated I'd been
called about everything during my going to sea, but
yokel's bran' new. However, whatever 'tis, I judge
I'm it. Sweet old gal, ain't she? The young one
seems to be nice enough, though. And good-look-
ing, too."
Eureka said the Todds was, next to Miss Eme-
line and Applegate, the star boarders at the Right
Livers' Rest. Mrs. Evangeline Cordova was being
treated for something or other, she nor nobody
knew exactly what. Hortense, the daughter, was
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
there because her mother was. The old lady never
let her out of reach of her apron-strings.
"Scared she'll fall in love with somebody that
ain't a walking money-bag, I guess likely," said Eu-
reka. "All right, maybe she'll be surprised some
day. True love always wins in the end."
"Does, hey?" says I. "How do you know so
much about it? You ain't in love, are you, Eu-
reka?"
She reddened up like a cooked lobster.
"Course not!" says she. "But I've read enough
stories to know it always turns out that way. Why,
in 'Madeline, the Shirtwaist Maker' — that's a
Story in the Home Comforter, Mr. Pratt — nobody
thought the Duke of Lowescraft would marry
Madeline, but he did; not till the very last number,
though. Afore that they had the most awful times.
You'd hardly believe such things could happen."
"Shouldn't wonder if I couldn't, that's a fact.
But there ain't any dukes after the Todd girl, is
there?"
"There's — ^but there I I'm forgetting what Miss
Emeline's always saying about talking too much. I
sha'n't say another word. But I know what I know,
and, if you keep your eyes open, maybe you'll know,
too, pretty soon."
My eyes was fairly well open already. Of all the
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
queer collections of humans outside of a crazy asy-
lum, it seemed to me this sanitarium was the cup
winner. But, after all, I shouldn't have expected
nothing different. When you're well enough off so's
you don't have to fret about anything but your heft
or your diseases you begin to get queer, I suppose.
And the queerer the cures for those ailings the big-
ger the attraction. A place like the Right Livers'
Rest was bound to draw freaks, same as molasses
draws flies.
I met the balance of the draft that forenoon. Doc-
tor Wool showed up in a little ^hile with some of
'em In tow. They'd been for a walk, It turned out.
There was the three fat men that I'd seen cruising
across the lawn in company with Applecart and Mc-
Carty that first night. They was mainly short of
breath and long on perspiration, and their names
was Smith, and Greenbaum, and Hendricks. Smith
and Hendricks left the Rest works a month or so
afterwards, and Greenbaum didn't amount to much,
so there's no use describing 'em. But along with
'em was Clayton Saunders and Professor Quill, and
they, as things turned out, amounted to a good
deal.
Saunders was a nice-looking, pleasant-spoken
young chap, about twenty-four, I should say. He
was a Right Liver on account of his having been
ii6
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
difough a siege of sickness and not getting hial
strength fast enough. Doctor Wool was "building
him up," though, to look at him, you'd say he was
built a plenty, being six foot over all and broad in
the beam besides. He had a twinkle in his eye when
he talked to you, and him and I were friends from
the first go-off.
Professor Quill was just as long and thin in the
daytime as he'd looked in the lamplight. He had
a kind, dreamy sort of face, and a gentle,' absent-
minded way of speaking. He'd been a teacher in
a little one-horse college somewhere and was edu-
cated way up to his hair. He was an inventor, too,
though none of his inventions had amounted to
much, fur's money-making went. Between the in-
ventions and the college boys, his nerves had had
a breakdown and he'd come to the sanitarium. A
rich cousin of his had sent him there; that was the
story, according to Doctor Wool's tell. The Doc
seemed anxious that everyone should know about
that rich cousin.
I found out all these particulars later, of course.
Just then 'twas just "Howdy do" and not much
more. And yet, considering what happened after-
wards, there was two little items that are worth
mentioning, though they didn't seem much at the
time.
"7
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
Doctor Wool purred a word or two to Eureka
and me and then led Professor Quill around, intro-
ducing him to the graveyard. When he got to Miss
Emeline I heard the Professor give a little "Ohl"
in that meek voice of his.
"Why — why, dear me I" he said. "Is it possible?
Miss Adams ! Bless me, I didn't expect-- "
"Why, Professor 1" broke in Miss Emeline. "Is
it you? How strange! Doctor Wool told me a
gentleman named Quill was expected here, but I
didn't once think it could be you. How do you do?"
That was one of the happenings. The other was
that, as Eureka was leading me away toward the
house, I happened to look back. Clayton Saunders,
the young fellow I was telling you about, had wan-
dered over alongside the Todd lot and was stand-
ing there talking with Miss Hortense. The girl
seemed to like it first rate, but you should have seen
the look on her ma's face.
And now, being acquainted with the Right Livers
and their boss, I started in taking up Thoph Pease's
job where he dropped it. And he'd dropped con-
sider'ble of it, now I tell you. There was a ship-
load of things that needed to be done right off and
I was busy catching up. I cut grass and milked a
cow and cleaned out her stall and the horse's, and
tidied up the barn, and took care of the hens, and
n8
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
/
helped Eureka, and done errands to the village, and
dug clams — for the help, of course ; the Livers didn't
get anything so common and tasty as clams — and,
between jobs, I took over some of McCarty's "phys-
ical directing." Not much, of course — I wa'n't quali-
fied for "special exercise" — ^but I piloted the heavy-
weight brigade on some of their walks and runs
and got to know 'em pretty well, especially Colonel
Applegate, who put in the most of his spare time
cussing the Rest shop and himself for coming there.
They was grown men, those fat folks, but they
was as hard to handle as young ones in school.
They'd come there to be cured, and they'd paid
money — ^lots of it — for just that; consequently
you'd cal'late they would warjt to do what the Doc-
tor ordered. But not much ; they mustn't drink cold
water, so they would drink it every chance they got.
They mustn't eat sweet stuff, so if I didn't keep an
eye on 'em they'd buy a pie off the bake cart and
bolt it down as fast as they could. The Colonel
wa'n't quite as bad; his sandwich and doughnut
experience had warned him, I cal'late, but the others
was trials. They knew 'twas bad for their extry
flesh and that they'd have dyspepsy and repentance
afterwards, but that didn't make any difference.
Why, they'd even buy striped stick candy and crunch
that; and I bet they hadn't any one of 'em tasted
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
candy since they was boys. If there ever was a
proof of the contrary streak in human nature, that
fleshy quartette was it. As for liquor, that was for-
bid especial, so they talked about it most of the
time. They found out that Pease and McCarty
had been given clearance papers for getting tight,
and that set 'em going at a great rate.
"Fired for taking a drink!" says Hendricks.
"Think of itl Why, a chap ought to be promoted
for being able to locate one in this Sahara."
"Say, Pratt," says Applegate, "would they fire
me, think, if I got loaded? Let's try it and see.
'Twill be an interesting experiment. I'll give you
ten dollars for a Scotch high ball."
"Better keep your ten," says I. "If you'd kept
the five hundred you paid to get in here you could
have bought enough Scotch to swim in, if that's
what you want."
That always shut 'em up. The mention of that
five hundred was better'n the "gold cure" for break-
ing the alcohol craving. They'd put in the next
half-hour swearing because they'd been such idiots
as to pay it. And yet everyone of 'em was well-
off, and the five hundred wa'n't no more to them
than a nickel was to me. They'd always had their
own way afore, that was it; now they couldn't have
it and they began to appreciate what they'd lost.
I20
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
But they could have walked out of that sanitarium
any minute; 'twas up to them. They didn't walk,
and they'd have raised hob if they'd been told to go
afore they was thinned down. Just young-uns, same
as I've said.
Applecart — ^Applegate, I mean; sometimes I
called him one name and sometimes 'tother — was
a big man in stocks and corporations. The Con-
solidated Porcelain Brick Company was his pet; he
was president of it. The Boston and New York
morning papers came to the Right Livers' Rest
and he always cabbaged the financial pages and
read 'em through. In that way he reminded me of
the Heavenly Twins — Hartley and Van Brunt —
when I had 'em on Ozone Island. But the Heaven-
lies was just speculators ; old Colonel Applecart was
more'n that; he was what they call a magnet, a
financial magnet, and his own name, and how he
was getting on atthe salnitarium, was in those papers
pretty frequently. Once in a while reporters would
come from the city on purpose to see him and get
his views on the market.
I wrote to Sophrony and had her send my dun-
nage over from Wellmouth, and the first time I
had an errand at Wapatomac I went in and saw
Nate Scudder about that bill. Nate was surpris-
ingly decent about i^, for him. He wouldn't admit
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
riiat I'd paid cash when I bought the stuff, but he
did say that he didn't want to be unreasonable nor
nothing, and — er — ^well, him and me would talk it
over some more and he didn't doubt but we'd come
to some sort of settlement agreeable to us both. He
was so sweet and syrupy that I couldn't understand;
there was a darkey in the kindling pile somewheres,
knowing Nate as I did, I was willing to bet on it,
but I hadn't located him yet.
Just as I was leaving, though, I began to get on
his trail. Scudder came as fur as the store plat-
form with me.
"You're over to the sanitarium for good now,
ain't you, Sol?" says he.
"I hope it's for good," says I; "anyhow I've
taken the job for better or worse."
"Yes," says he. "Well, you and me have always
been pretty good friends, you know. Friends ought
to do little favors for one another; don't you think
that's a good Christian spirit?"
"I think it's better Christianity than trying to do
one another, if that's what you mean."
"That's what I mean. Yes, yes ; sartin. Well —
er — I don't know as you know it, but when that
place was first started I happened to be passing by
and I dropped in to see if I couldn't get the grocery
orders. That Sparrow girl — she's about as sassy
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
and pert as they make — she put in her oar and kind
of prejudiced Miss Adams and Doctor Wool againa?
me, seemed so. Anyhow, I ain't got any orders to
speak of. Now you're there, and, you and me
being friends, as I said, why — why "
"Why what?"
"Why, it runs acrost my mind that maybe we
could make a little dicker for the good of both of
us. You might put a few trades in my way and. —
er — ^well, I might give you — er — say, a little com-
mission on 'em, and we'd take the commissions off
that bill you owe. Understand? He, he, he I See,
don't you?"
I looked at him. "Yes," says I, prompt. "I see
first rate. It was a little foggy for a spell, but now
I see fine."
He acted kind of doubtful. "He, he!" he
chuckled again, but more feeble. "Well, what do
you think?"
"Nate," said I, "do you know the motto over to
the Right Livers' Rest? It's 'Think Right.' "
"What's that got to do with it?"
"Everything. I think that bill of yours was paid
long ago, and I'm right. Good-bye."
He fairly hopped up and down.
"You — ^you " he stuttered. "Am I a dum
fool?"
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"As we think, we are — some of us," says I, and
walked off.
I heard afterwards that he was going around
threatening to have me took up for what he called
"deforming" his character. What little character
he had left was a hopeless cripple long afore I knew
him, so I didn't worry about that.
None of us at the Rest shop heard or saw Mc-
Carty again. I shouldn't wonder if he and Doctor
Wool had a final session, but, if so, nobody else
was present at the exercises. McCarty and his do^
departed our life and, so fur as I could learn, there
was no mourners. For a spell of a week or two
we got along without any physical directors except
the doctor himself and what little I could do to help.
Then Eureka told me what Miss Emeline had told
her, which was that a new director had been ad-
vertised for and that answers were coming every
mail.
Meanwhile I settled down, doing my work —
which was enough to keep me out of mischief, land
knows! — and getting more and more broken in to
Sea Breeze Bluff and the queer folks there.
"Mr. Pratt," says Eureka, "you're getting real
used to your new job, ain't you?"
"Well," I says, "I cal'late a body could get used
to Tophet if he stayed there long enough."
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
She flared up; the least mite of a slam at Doc-
tor Wool was enough to set her going.
"Humph 1" she snapped. "Most of the jobs
there are permanent, from what I hear. You'd bet-
ter learn to be contented where you are, first. 'Twill
be good practice for you, if nothing more."
I laughed. She was as sharp as a fish-knife, that
girl. We was getting better friends all the time.
CHAPTER VI
EUREKA," says I one morning, "I have a
notion that I've got track of the love story
you hinted at that time."
She and I was having breakfast together. We
ate by ourselves, generally speaking. She was house-
keeper and sort of superior to Mrs. Gunnison, the
cook, and Annabelle, the chambermaid; at any rate
she figgered that she was and kept them under her
thumb pretty constant. They'd had their breakfast
and were out of the kitchen. Eureka and me was
alone.
She looked up from her fried potatoes and cod-
fish balls — the help wa'n't enough consequence for
"treatment," which was a mercy, the way I looked
at it; we ate what we wanted to — she looked up, as
I say, and says she:
"What love story?"
"Miss Emeline's," says I. "I think I know who
she's in love with."
She put down her knife and fork.
"You do, hey?" she says. "Who is it?"
"That Quill man; the Professor one; the thin
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
man with the long hair, that you're so sartin is
mixed up in my 'fortune.' "
She acted awful surprised.
"For merqr sakes," she said, "what made you
think that?"
"Oh, just for instance, I guess. You gave me to
understand there was somebody she'd been in love
with, and, if you'll recollect, that morning when
they first met out there in the sand bath graveyard,
they was astonished enough to see each other. As-
tonished and glad, too. And ever since then they've
been thick as can be, setting on the piazza together,
and walking together, and being buried alive right
alongside of each other, and "
"Rubbish I" she interrupted; "that's nothing."
"Maybe 'tain't, but it looks as if 'twas going to
be something. You've noticed it yourself, you know
you have."
"I've noticed they was friendly and sociable, but
that's to be expected. She used to know the Pro-
fessor in Brockton. He was a reg'lar caller at our
house there. You see, Mr. Quill taught at the
Edgewater Academy; he was one of the faculty."
"Yes, and now he's got a faculty of being right
around where she is. Oh, I'm an old bach. Eu-
reka, but I've got eyes."
"You ought to have 'em seen to, then. There's
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
something wrong with your sight if you think there's
anything more'n friendship between Miss Emeline
and the Professor. There ain't, and I know it."
"But, Eureka, look here. They're just made for
each other, them two. He's old-familied and quiet
and moony and respectable, just the same as she is.
And they talk just the same kind of stufiE — as if
they'd swallowed dictionaries instead of prunes.
And, more'n that, they "
"Nonsense 1 It ain't so, I tell you. Miss Eme-
line's love story hasn't got a thing to do with Pro-
fessor Quill. I tell you, I know it ain't."
She spoke as if she did know, that was a fact.
I begun to cast around for other possibilities.
"Who has it got to do with, then?" says I. "Doc-
tor Wool?"
She kind of started and looked at me sharp.
"What makes you say that?" she asked.
"Oh, just for instance, maybe."
"You ain't seen anything to make you think the
Doctor is in love with her, have you?"
I laughed. "Not exactly," says I. "Fact is, I've
always cal'lated the Doc to be too much in love with
himself to waste much affection on anybody else."
I expected she'd flare up, but she didn't. Instead
she kept looking at me hard.
"Then what made you mention him?" she says.
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Why, nothing 'special. Only I've noticed he
keeps an eye on her pretty constant. And, as for
her, she just worships the ground he treads on.
That's plain enough for anybody to see."
"Rubbish! Is that all? Course she thinks an
awful lot of the Doctor, and respects him and —
and all that. Course she does ! So do the rest of
us, fur's that goes. But she ain't in love with him.
He ain't the one — no, sir-eel"
"Then who is?"
Afore she could answer Miss Emeline herself
came into the kitchen. She was dressed to go out,
and, or so it seemed to me, there was a kind of
troubled look on her face. I cal'late Eureka no-
ticed it, too, for she says:
"What is it, Miss Emeline? Is anything wrong?"
Miss Emeline answered quick and uneasy.
"No, no," she said. "I am going for a walk
and I wished to tell you so in case there was any-
thing you cared to consult me about. Is there?"
"No, ma'am. No. But — but are you sure you're
feeling all right? You look sort of peaked and "
"I — I did not sleep well, that is all. I shall re-
turn in one hour."
She left the room. Eureka stared after her, kind
of worried like. All at once she slapped her hands
together and swung around to me.
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Mr. Pratt," she sung out, "what day is this?"
"Friday," says I.
"No, no, the day of the month."
"Eighth."
She clapped her hands together again.
"I knew it!" she says. "She's been dreaming
about him again. She 'most always dreams about
him on the eighth or seventh or ninth or so. 'Twas
the eighth it happened on. Poor thing! no won-
der she looks peaked. I declare, you'd think eigh-
teen years was enough to make anybody forget, but
not her. And the way them dreams keep coming
is enough to frighten anybody. I wonder if he will
come back ! If he should ! My soul 1 if he should
Why, 'twould be just like a story in the Comfort-
er!"
I shook my head. "Eureka," says I, "jour talk
is awful interesting — to yourself, maybe. It's a
little mite foggy to outsiders, though. Why does
she dream about him on the eighth or tenth, or
whatever 'tis? And what's he and she got to do
with eighteen years and the Home Comforter? And
who is he, anyhow?"
For just a second she hesitated. Then she come
over alongside of me and bent down to my ear.
"You promise not to tell anybody?" she whis-
pered. "Not a living soul?"
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Not one, living or dead."
"Well, then, I'll tell you. She's been dreaming
about Lot Deacon. There I"
She give this out as though it settled everything.
It didn't settle me, though; I was more riled than
ever.
"Sho 1" says I. "You don't say ! That's the most
paralyzing notion ever I heard of. There's only
one or two p'ints that ain't clear. Who in the name
of goodness is Lot Deacon, and where does he live
when he's to home?"
I was a little mite sarcastic, but she was too ex-
cited to notice. She straightened up and then bent
down again.
"He is her young man," she says. "The one
she's engaged to. There I that surprises you, any-
how!"
It did. I set up in my chair.
"Her young man!" I sung out. "Her young
man! And she's engaged to him! Why — ^why —
where ?"
"Eighteen years ago, in New Bedford. They
was keeping company — engaged, you know. Then
they had some foolish squabble or other — something
she wanted for the new house they was going to
live in when they was married. She thought he
ought to buy it, and he said he couldn't afford it.
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
Anyhow, they quarreled and he went off and left
her. Next day, she had to go to Boston and stay
for a fortni't. When she come back she found he'd
skipped aboard a whaler. He'd left her a note
saying he was going to make his fortune. When
he made it he'd come back. He loved her much
as ever and if she cared for him she'd wait. And —
and she's been waiting ever since."
"Eighteen years?" says I.
"Yes."
"Heaven and airthl That was some v'yagc he
went on, wa'n't it!"
"Oh, he hasn't been whaling all this time. The
ship was wrecked and the crew separated. Lot's
part drifted around in a boat and was picked up
by a bark bound to Rio Janeiro. He landed there,
so much we know. And he ain't been heard of
since."
"Tutl tut! tut! Well, I snum! Is this the
love story you've been hinting about all this
time?"
"Yes. Ain't it wonderful?"
"It sartin is. Do you mean to tell me that Miss
Emeline has been setting back waiting all this time
for a feller that cleared out aboard a whaler eigh-
teen years ago?"
"Yes."
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Humph! Ten chances to one he's dead and
buried."
"She don't think so. Over and over again she's
told me that she's got a presentiment that he's aUve
and will come back to her some day. She was a
poor girl when he went away; now she's well off,
but that don't make any difference. In his letter
he begged her to be true to him and she's done
it."
"You don't say! Well, does she think — provid-
ing he is living — that he's been true to her?"
"Of course ! He said in his letter that he would
be. What are you grinning like that for?"
"Oh, nothing. Only I've run afoul of consider-
'ble many whalers in my time and they. . . .
Humph ! Well, I must say I admire Miss Emeline's
faith, that's all."
"Ain't you ashamed ! I should think you'd be, to
talk so. Why shouldn't he be true to her? I tell
you she's been true to him."
"Ye-es, but maybe he's had more chances in
South America than she has in Brockton and Bos-
ton. Land sakes, Eureka, be sensible! If this Lot
man ain't dead, which is the most likely thing, he's
practically sartin to be married long ago. He'll
never show up, mark my words."
"Why not? And if he's dead, or married, whj;
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
should she keep dreaming of hira? Answer me
that."
"Well, I should say the answer was that he was
the only one she's had so fur to dream about. I
should want a signed contract from him that his
dreams was confined to New Bedford, afore I bet
high on his coming back to her. Sailors are sailors
and eighteen years is a long time."
She was so mad she wouldn't speak to me for
quite a spell, but at last I coaxed her into going
up to Miss Emeline's room and fetching down a
tintype of the missing Deacon man. Eureka said
that Miss Emeline kept it on her bureau and
wouldn't part with it for no money. If it had been
mine I'd have sold it cheap. The long-lost wouldn't
ever been hung for his beauty. He was wholesome
and pleasant looking enough, but his clothes was
old-fashioned and queer, of course, and his hair,
which was thick and black, was plastered down in
a couple of curls on his forehead. Likewise he was
slim, not to say skinny.
"Don't wonder the old lady is unhappy after she
dreams of him," says I. "Look at that hairl for
all the world like a barber's on Sunday!"
" 'Twas the fashion then," snaps Eureka. "And
Miss Emeline's always talking about his lovely curls.
See the writing on the back."
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
I turned the picture over and there, wrote in
faded ink, was "Emeline, from Lot. May 6th,
1 8 ."
"Just two days afore he went away," says Eu-
reka. "Think of it! It's the most romantic thing
ever I heard of in my life. Oh, I wish he'd come
back. Sometimes it seems as if I could see him;
thin, and dressed poor, you know, but with the love-
light shining in his eyes. Oh, I wish he'd come 1"
"Humph!" says I. "He may wear specs by this
time. Well, if I was he, I'd hurry up and come.
There's too much Quill and Wool around here to
keep love-lights burning for whalers. He'd better
hustle or 'twill be too late."
When I got by myself I laughed over the whole
business. Of course 'twas plain enough why Miss
Emeline was possessed with the idea of her Deacon
feller's coming back to her, and why she dreamed
about him, and all. He was the one real, genuine
big happening in her precise, prim little life and she
just wouldn't give him up. Besides, she was a fe-
male and, in spite of her primness, had consider'ble
of Eureka's hankering for the story book kind of
thing, the romantic thing, the tender, sweet, sad,
mushy thing. As I say, I laughed when I got by
myself, but I didn't mention the subject again. What
was the use? If she and Eureka got comfort out
^35
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
of their pet fairy tale, why should I spile their fun
by telling 'em how ridiculous it was.
Besides, I had other things to think about. Doc-
tor Wool and me had some words about the "physi-
cal directing" business. Of course most of the
words come from him; that was to be expected.
And they were sweet and buttery and uplifting a*
usual. Every time I had a talk with that doctor
man I felt as if I was in church and that the only
things lacking was a hymn tune and a collection.
He preached the sermon, of course, but I did man-
age to speak up enough to do a little testifying. I
said I simply couldn't keep up the physical directing.-
For one reason I didn't know nothing about the job,
and, for another, I was too busy with my regular
work to attend to anything else if I had known. He
must get somebody in McCarty's place and get 'cnn
right away, I told him.
"Otherwise," says I, "you'll have a new sufferer
on your hands, and his name'U be Sol Pratt."
He bowed and smiled, serene and condescend-
ing.
"I trust not," says he; "I trust not that — no. I
sympathize with you, my dear Pratt, I assure you.
But patience — ^patience, and in a very little while we
shall overcome this trifling difficulty. As you know,
I am advertising for a physical director."
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
He had been, of course, but so far the ads hadn't
dredged up nothing worth having. There'd been
answers sartin, but only one of 'em had been prom-
ising enough for him to ask the candidate to come
down for inspection. Then it turned out that this
one, who'd wrote large and lengthy about his "ex-
perience" and fitness for the job, had been trainer
for prize fighters and was an "ex" one himself.
One look at him was enough, and, if more was
needed, his remarks when he run afoul of the
clothes line was plenty and to spare. You see, he
come down on the night train and walked over from
the village in the dark. 'Twas a Monday and the
line was stretched acrost the back yard. He didn't
know it was there until it reminded him by catching
him under the chin. 'Twas awful still, without a
breath of wind, and what he said would have car-
ried half a mile even if there'd been a gale blowing.
Most of the Right Livers was setting on the front
piazza when the exercises commenced, but nobody
but Colonel Applegate and a few more of the male
patients was there when they finished. The Colonel
said afterward that them few remarks did him more
good than anything he'd heard since he struck the
sanitarium; they expressed his own feelings almost
as well as he could have done it himself. But the
applause was limited to him and his chums, and the
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
new hand was shipped back to Boston in the morn-
ing.
Well, I reminded the doctor of this, but he just
kept on smiling and purring and waving his hands
till he got me mesmerized, as usual, and I left that
office feeling that everything was all settled.
'Twa'n't till I got alone by myself that I realized I
was just where I started and that nothing was set-
tled at all.
That evening, after the Right Livers had turned
in, I went for a walk, not that I needed exercise, but
because I wanted to be clear of that Wool shop for
a little while, anyhow. It had rained all day, but
now it had cleared off, and I tramped and smoked
for quite a spell. When I got back to the sani-
tarium 'twas after ten o'clock. The house was all
dark except for a light in the kitchen. I judged
that Eureka was setting up reading some of her
Home Comforter yarns, such being her custom.
But when I stepped up on the back porch I heard
voices inside. One of 'em was Eureka's, all right
enough, but 'tother was a man's voice. I wondered
if she'd got a beau and had never told me about
him. In one way 'twouldn't have been surprising,
for she'd grown to be such a nice-looking young
woman; but, in another, 'twould have been surpris-
ing enough, for she and me were mighty chummy,
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
and, if she'd had a steady company, I did thinib
she'd mention him to me.
However, I cleared my throat loud, so's to give
'em warning, and started to open the door. But I
hadn't no more than got it half open when I heard
Eureka sing out and come running to meet me. Her
eyes were shining, and she was as bubbling over
with excitement as she'd been that night when I told
her about my "fortune."
"Oh, Mr. Pratt!" says she, clapping her hands
together; "oh, Mr. Pratt! what do you s'pose has
happened now?"
"Land knows 1" says I. "House got afire, has it?"
"No, no ! Of course not I Do you think I'd be
setting here if it had? But something has hap-
pened, something wonderful! Guess what it isl
Guess the most wonderful thing you can think of."
I wa'n't so terrible upset. Eureka was always
seeing wonders where nobody else could, and I didn't
take a great deal of stock in this one.
"Humph!" says I. "Want me to guess, hey?
Well, let's see. I guess Doctor Lysander has given
somebody back their five hundred. That would be
about as wonderful as anything I can think of off-
hand."
I said it to tease her, but she was too excited even
to notice a slap at Lysander the Great.
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"No, nol" she says. "Don't be foolish. Some-
body's come; come here to-night. Somebody you
nor I never expected to see. Guess who 'tis."
I tried to think. Then a crazy notion got hold of
me. "Good land!" I sung out all at once. "You
don't mean — Eureka Sparrow; you don't mean that
long-lost feller of Miss Emeline's has turned up?
You don't mean that?"
She shook her head. "No," she says, kind of
regretful. "It's wonderful, but it ain't so wonder-
ful as all that. It's somebody you used to know^
and so did I. But there 1 you come right into the-
kitchen and see for yourself. I guess you'll be some
surprised !"
So into the kitchen we both went. Alongside the:
table was sitting a tall, straight-up-and-down feller,,
who got up as I came in. I blinked at him, for I'd
been in the dark and the lamplight sort of dazzleci
me, and he stood looking at me. Then he put out
his hand.
"Good evening, Mr. Pr&tt, sir," says he, "Very
'appy to see you again, sir, I'm sure."
For a second longer I stood blinking and staring.
The voice was one I remembered, sartin; but
who
"I 'ave no doubt you don't remember me, sir,"
he says. "I 'ave changed a bit, sir„ awing to 'arcS
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
luck which I've 'ad recent. But I should 'ave known
you anywhere. When Eureka told me you were
'ere I was astonished. 'My word!' I said, 'I ' '*
That was enough. The "my word" settled it. I
stepped forward and looked him straight in the
face.
"Well, I swan to man!" I gasped. "It's Lord
James Hopper, by all that's miraculous! I swan
to man! Hopper, how are you?"
And Eureka clapped her hands together and
danced around the pair of us.
"I told you you'd be surprised," she cried. "I
told you I"
I hadn't seen him since the Ozone Island days.
He'd been Van Brunt's valet then, and was mixed
up in all the Natural Life ridiculousness. I remem-
bered him as tall and thin and dreadful neat and
precise and dignified. He was tall and thin enough
now, land knows; but the neatness and dignity had
kind of gone to seed, seemed so. He wore the same
prim little mutton-chop whiskers half mast on hi&
cheeks, but there was a little gray in amongst the
red of 'em, and the rest of his face had a two days''
growth of beard on it. When I'd known him afore,,
his clothes always looked as if they'd just come out
of the spare-room bureau drawer; now they was
wrinkled and all splashed with mud; as for his shoes»
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
they wa'n't nothing but mud. Take him by and
large, he sartin did look as if he'd had a rough
v'yage. Him and I shook hands, and then he went
back and set down by the table, where he'd been
when I come in. There was bread and butter and
cookies on the table and a bottle and glass.
"I told you you'd be surprised, Mr. Pratt,"
crowed Eureka again. "You are surprised, ain't
you?"
"Surprised!" I says; "surprised! Well, I guess
you might call it as much as a surprise without strain-
ing the truth. Wonders'U never cease, will they I
Hopper, where in the world did you drop from?"
His mouth was full of bread and butter, and he
couldn't talk through the cargo, but he managed to
groan. 'Twas a doleful groan, too. I looked at
Eureka.
"Come, Eureka," says I, "you say something.
What's he doing here? And where did he come
from? Tell a body, can't you?"
She nodded. "You set down, Mr. Pratt," says
she. "Set down and I'll tell you. Keep right on
eating, Mr. Hopper," she says to him. "I know
you're hungry, poor soul And take a little more
of that cherry bounce ; 'twill do you good and keep
you from getting cold. Just think, Mr. Pratt ! he's
walked miles and miles through the rain and all,
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
and he ain't had a bite to eat since yesterday. Think
of it I"
I thought. I cal'late Hopper thought, too, for
he groaned again and poured himself out another
glass of the "bounce." 'Twas some that Olivia Gun-
nison, the cook, had fetched over from her brother's
at South Ostable, for "emergencies," she said; I
judged Lord James — that's what we always used
to call him on account of his high and mighty ways
and his Englishness — figgered that he was an emer-
gency.
"Just think!" went on Eureka, when I'd come to
anchor in a chair. "I can hardly believe he's here.
But he is ! He is I You can see him yourself."
I could, and he could see the food and the bounce
bottle, especially the bottle. He never let go of it
for a minute. Eureka's tongue kept on running full
speed ahead.
Seemed that His Lordship had dropped in on
her unexpected, after all hands but she and me had
turned in. He was weak and tired and faint from
hunger and wet and thirst; she didn't mention the
thirst, but 'twa'n't necessary. He'd started from
Boston the day afore, but his money give out, or
he'd lost it or something — his yarn was pretty foggy
right here — but, anyhow, he'd got off the train at
Tremont and walked the rest of the way. She'd
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
pumped him pretty hard and had found out already
that he hadn't worked for the Van Brunts for ever
so long, had had a good many jobs since, but none
of 'em real satisfying. One of the last he'd had was
at what he called a "country club."
"And what," goes on Eureka, "what do you sup-
pose fetched him down here to Wapatomac?"
I was filling my pipe, and now I reached under
hatches for a match.
"What do yo^ suppose fetched him here?" says
Eureka, getting impatient.
"Well," says I, lighting up, "I judge 'twas his
feet. You say he walked from Tremont."
She bounced on her chair. "If that's a joke," she
snaps, "it's a pretty mean one. Of course his feet
fetched him, poor thing! But what started 'em
heading for here?"
"Don't know."
"Well, I'll tell you. He saw Doctor Wool's ad-
vertisement for a physical director, and he's come
to apply for the place."
I guess likely she expected me to act astonished
when she said this ; if that's so, I cal'late I lived up
to her expectations.
"Physical director! Him?" I sung out. "Go
'long! How you talk!"
But she was talking serious. She meant it. And,
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
it turned out, so did he. He'd had consider'ble ex-
perience in the gymnasium of that country club;
'twas a sort of young sanitarium, that club was, and
he'd handled a good many critters like some of our
Right Livers. Between bread and butter attacks
and bounce relapses, he spun some yarns about his
experiences that made me believe his applying for
McCarty's job might not be such a joke as it seemed.
I was willing to believe it; I wanted somebody to
take the job off my hands, and if he would do it so
much the better. Besides, knowing what he used
to be, and seeing what he was now, I couldn't help
feeling sorry for him. He looked like a family
cat that had been locked out in a snowstorm all
night.
"You'll help him get the place, won't you, Mr.
Pratt?" asks Eureka.
"Ye-es," says I, kind of doubtful. "I'll be glad
to help him get a trial at it. But what on earth,
Hopper, has brought you down so that you have' to
hoof it thirty miles to get work. You ? Good land 1
what are you doing; crying?"
If he wa'n't, I'd never see anybody do it, that's
all. He had one hand on the bounce bottle — he'd
never let go of that since he got back to the table —
but he had a handkerchief in the other and was
swabbing his deadlights with it. I'd never had any-
145
MR. PRAIT'S PATIENTS
thing set me back more ; I felt like a man that had
robbed an orphan asylum. To think that I'd been
poking fun at a poor critter so wore out by his trou-
bles that he cried I
"There! there!" says I; "don't do that. It's all
right now. I'll do my best to help you with the
Doctor. It's all right, I tell you. Stop it ! What
is the matter?"
He wouldn't stop, but kept on Swabbing and talk-
ing.
"Don't mind me, sir," he says. "Don't mind me.
It's- — it's the thoughts of — of what I've lost that —
that "
"Lost!" says I. "Oh, you mean your money.
Never mind that. You're amongst friends now
and "
"My wife," he sniffs. "My — my poor wife!"
Here was news, bran' new news. Eureka and I
stared at each other. She spoke first.
"Your wife!" she says. "Why, we didn't know
you was married!"
He didn't seem to pay much attention,
"My wife," says he. "My poor wife ! Wife of
my bosom. She's a 'ummer. Saving your presence,
ma'am, she's a 'ummer."
"A which! Eureka, what's a 'ummer?"
"I don't know. He means a hummer, I guess,
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
but what — Mr. Hopper, don't take on so! What
"A 'ummer," says Lord James again. "She —
she's a 'ummer, my wife is."
"Is I I thought you said you'd lost her. Is she
alive?"
He kind of perked up and looked at us over the
handkerchief.
"I don't know," says he. "I don't know. 'Er
name's Christina" — he pronounced it "Chrishtina,"
— "and she's a Swede. I married 'er at — at a place
in Philadelphia where we both was in service. She's
a Swede, and 'er English is — is a bit off, but she's
all right; she's a 'ummer. That's what I say, a
'ummer. Oh," says he, acting kind of queer and
vacant-like, "oh, 'ow 'eavenly 'appy we was ! When
I think of it— I— I "
He was going to cry again; I could see it com-
ing, and so could Eureka.
She hove out a life preserver, as you might
say.
"But where is she now?" she wanted to know,
quick.
"Eh? I don't know. I don't know. Lost!
That's all I know. Lost. We come to Boston — I
mean New York — together. Left 'er at the rail-
way sta'tion — ^went to get a drink — of water. Come
H7
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
back — she was gone. Wife gonel Everything
gone. What's the use? What's the use?" ♦
He collapsed into the handkerchief again. Eu-
reka was ready to cry herself. Maybe I'd have
been, too, only for one thing. I reached over when
he wa'n't looking, got a clove hitch on that bounce
bottle and put it under my chair, out of the way.
Eureka was all upset. "The poor man I the poor
ifnanl" she says. "Just think what he's been
through I What will we do?"
"Well," says I, whispering, "I guess likely the
first thing is to get him up to bed."
She looked over at him. He appeared to be
asleep, or next door to it.
"Yes," says she, "I wouldn't wonder if you was
right. He needs rest."
"He does," says I, "bad. Come on. Hopper.
JLet's go aloft and turn in. You can have the room
next to me for to-night. Come onl Tumble
upl"
He obeyed orders, obeyed 'em too well, 'cording
to my way of thinking; he tumbled most of the way
upstairs. But when he got there he was all right
enough and seemed anxious to get to bed. I lent
him one of my nightshirts — he didn't have any of
his own along — and when I left him he was sleep.,
ing like a lamb. I went down again to the kitchen,
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
Eureka was waiting for me, all lit up with cxcite-
njent.
"Oh!" says she. "Did you ever in your born
days! Think of him wandering around under all
that burden of sorrow. Ain't it splendid he come
here, where his friends are!"
I didn't say nothing; I was thinking hard.
"Pm sure he'll make a fine director," says she.
"And now Pve got another job on my hands."
"On your hands?" says I, surprised. "What do
you mean?"
"I mean Pm going to locate that lost wife of his,
that's what I mean. Oh, I do think this sanitarium
is the most romantic place in the world. There's
two romances here already — Miss Emeline's and
his. And your fortune, Mr. Pratt; that's another.
Pm so glad Pm mixed up in 'em, ain't you?"
I wa'n't bubbling over with joy. There was alto-
gether too much "mix" to suit a steady-going sea-
faring man like me. I went to bed myself, but afore
I went I hid that bounce bottle where no more be-
reaved husbands could get at it.
CHAPTER VII
I DIDN'T sleep much that night. I put in most
of it listening for sounds from the next room.
But there wa'n't any. Lord James slept
peaceful as could be, in spite of his sorrows. In
the morning he called to me and asked for the loan
of my razor. Then he wanted to know if Eureka
wouldn't send him up a hot flatiron and the shoe
brush.
Whep he came downstairs I wouldn't scarcely
have known him, he'd changed so since the night
afore. He was shaved, his clothes was cleaned and
pressed, and his boots was shined. I declare! he
was the old Lord James oack again, just as he used
to be.
And his dignity was back, too. He ate an aston-
ishing amount of breakfast, considering; and his
talk was as smooth and high and mighty as it was
in the "Natural Life" days. Olivia Gunnison and
Annabelle was ever so took with him; they thought
— or so Annabelle said — that he was a "perfect
gentleman." There was only one thing he wouldn't
talk about, that was his wife, the one he'd lost, or
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
had lost him. Eureka happened to throw out a hint
about her and he shut up like a clam. And every
time she mentioned the subject he changed it. No,
'twas plain he didn't care to speak of the " 'ummer" ;
seemed to be sorry he'd spoke of her in the first
place.
Eureka said she guessed he thought his heart
story — that was what she called it, his "heart story"
— was too sacred a thing to be gossiped about by
everybody. As for her, she wa'n't going to men-
tion it again, and she hoped I wouldn't. I was will-
ing to keep mum, and I told her so.
"We'll forget it," says I.
She flared up right off. "Indeed, we won't forget
itl" says she. "We won't talk about it on account
of his feelings, poor suffering soul 1 but I want you
to understand, Mr. Pratt, that I believe his coming
here and telling us that story wa'n't any accident.
No sir-ee! He was sent here; that's what I believe
— he was sent. And some day that lost wife of his
will be sent here, too. You see."
I thought I was used to her story-book ways by
this time, but every once in a while she gave me a
fresh jolt.
"You don't really believe that, do you. Eureka?"
I wanted to know.
"Of course I do."
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Humph! And you believe that New Bedford
Deacon of Miss Emeline's will come, too?"
"Yes."
"And that my tea-leaf fortune, money and all, is
coming true?"
"Sartin."
"Well, all right. As a believer, Eureka, you've
got the rest of the human race hull down. You
didn't use to be this way; you was more or less skep-
tic, if I recollect right. What's changed you so?"
The answer was ready on her topgue.
"Doctor Lysander P. Wool," says she, emphatic
and reverent. "He's taught me to think right. As
we think, we are. You think right, and keep on
thinking, and everything'U be right. Mark my
words."
"They're marked," says I. "But tell me this:
Do you think that Lysander the Gr — that is. Doc-
tor Wool, will hire His Lordship to be physical
director here ?"
"Of course I do. If not, why was Mr. Hopper
sent?"
I didn't know, so I didn't try to answer. If my
judgment was correct, he'd be sent away full as
quick as he come.
But he wa'n't, and he did get the job. After
breakfast was over he marched straight into Ly-
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
Sander's office. He was in there for half an hour.
When he come out the Doctor was with him. By
and by he hunted me up — His Lordship did, I
mean — and says he:
"Pratt," he says, "the 'ead says you're to fit me
to a livery immediate."
"Fit you to a what?" says I.
"A livery. I'm in service 'ere now."
I dropped the rake I was using and stared at him.
"Heavens to Betsy!" I sung out. "You don't
mean he's hired you."
He drawed himself up, dignified as a Sunday
School superintendent.
"Why wouldn't 'e 'ire me?" says he. " 'E's a
good judge of character, the 'ead, and a perfect;
gentleman. A man like me don't come 'is way every
day and 'e knew it. 'Im and me'U get on fine. And<
you're to 'ave me fitted to the livery immediate."
"Meaning "
"Meaning a livery, of course. A suit of white,
like you and the rest of the 'elp wear."
I picked up the rake again. 'Twas all I could jlo
to keep from welting him over the main truck with
the handle of it.
"Look here. Hopper," says I, "I don't know howl
you and the 'head,' as you call him, will get on, but
I do know that if you call my duds a 'livery' again
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
there'll be trouble. It's bad enough to go around
togged out like a life saver on drill day, but I can
stand that 'cause I'm paid for it. What I won't
stand is to have them togs called a livery. They
may be one, but I don't want to know it. Under-
stand?"
He came right down off his high horse and begged
my pardon. Said of course he could see they wa'n't
really livery at all. That being all settled satis-
factory, I took him to the supply closet, off the
kitchen, and sorted out some white duds for him
to put on. The coats was all right, but every pair
of pants we had on hand was a foot too short for
his lower yards. However, Eureka said she cal'-
lated she could piece onto the legs of a couple of
pairs, so they'd do for the present, and we let it go
at that. Inside of twenty minutes he was rigged
up, white and regardless, same as me, but there was
this difference betwixt us — he seemed to like the uni-
form and be proud of it, whereas I felt all the time
like a hand-organ monkey. And he kept his "Think
Right" badge in the most prominent place on his
chest, while I hid mine under the lapel of my
jacket. It's all in the bringing up, I presume likely;
he was used to monkey clothes and I wa'n't.
But, so fur as his job went, he filled it fine. Doc-
tor Wool was tickled to death with him, said he
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MR. PRATl'S PATIENTS
was a "genuine discovery" — whatever that might
be.
"A most superior person, Pratt," purrs the Wool
man. "Very adequate and superior, indeed — ^yes."
Well, he was superior, too everlasting superior
to suit me. But he learned to keep his superiority
for ^he Right Livers and the Doctor; he didn't try
much of it in my latitude, now I tell you. Course
he drapped the "sirs" and "Misters" that he soft-
soaped me with the first night, and hailed me as
"Pratt," same as he used to. But that was all right;
it gave me the chance to call him whatever name
come handiest. First along I was sort of afraid
he'd show a hankering for the bounce bottle, but he
never did, and, after a while, I forgot to expect it;
begun to think maybe I was mistook about that,
after all. But he never mentioned his lost "wife from
that night, and we never mentioned her to him.
He handled the patients tiptop, took 'em on
walks, and exercised 'em, and saw that they was
buried proper when "sand-bath" time come. Miss
Emeline Adams thought he was lovely, and Mrs.
Cordova Todd fairly raved over him. She said he
reminded her of an old family servant she had once.
"A treasure. Miss Adams, a veritable treasure, I
assure you; and English, of course, just as James
is. There are no good servants but the English:
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
we never have any other kind at home. Hortense,
my dear, do you remember . . . Who was
that you bowed to? Haven't I warned you not to
be so familiar with that person?"
The "person" was Clayton Saunders, the young
feller I'd met among the sand tombs that morning,
in company with Professor Quill and Wool. He
was Marm Todd's special horror, though the only
horrible thing about him, so fur as I could make
out, was that he didn't have much money. He had
a little, 'cause he told me so himself, but I judged
from his talk that he was pretty toler'ble hard up,
though a likely boy of good character. Mrs. Todd
wa'n't looking for character, and her daughter be-
ing labeled "For Sale — All Bidders but Million-
aires Barred," she made up her mind to keep Clay-
ton off the premises. Miss Hortense wa'n't nigh
so particular, judging by appearances; she seemed
to like young Saunders mighty well. A one-eyed
man could have seen how dead gone he was on her,
and, consequently, the old lady was as fidgety and
nervous as a hen with a brood of ducks.
Clayton and I were pretty chummy by now. His
ailments — ^the ones that had fetched him to the
Rest shop — was about all gone, and he might have
left if he'd wanted to ; but he didn't want to. The
reason for his not wanting to was so plain that even
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
•I didn't mention it. Now that Lord James was on
deck, I had a little more time to myself, and I got
a chance to go sailing or power-boating once in a
while. Clayton was my shipmate on a good many of
these v'yages. He knew a little something about
sailing a boat, and I learned him a lot more. Afore
long he could handle a catboat under power or «an-
vas in any sort of everyday weather.
Sometimes old Applecart — Applegate, I mean,
went along, too. A couple of the fleshy patients —
Smith and Hendricks they was — had graduated
from the sanitarium, and the Colonel and Green-
baum didn't hitch up any too well. So Applegate
fell back on me and young Saunders for sociable-
ness. We three cruised consider'ble. The Colonel
was neck deep in his stock doings just at present.
There was what he called a "hen on" in Consoli-
dated Brick, and he, being president of the concern,
got telegrams and letters by the barrel. First along
Doctor Wool was fearful of all this; said the worry
and responsibility would be too much for the patient,
and the telegrams and things must stop. Then the
Colonel made proclamations — he was cranky as all
get out by this time; lost two pounds of temper
with every one of flesh — he made proclamation that
if they stopped coming he'd start going; he'd leave
the rippetty-rip sanitarium that minute. So Ly-
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
Sander thought it over and changed his mind; said
he guessed long as the Colonel thought 'twas right,
why, doubtless 'twas; thought was all; as we
thought, we was ; etcetery and so forth.
Applegate and young Saunders had some lively
arguments on those sailing trips. I remember one
particular. I was at the helm, of course, and them
two was sprawled around in the cockpit, taking life
easy. The talk had drifted from one thing to an-
other till it run afoul of business and opportunity
and such.
"Don't talk to me about chances and opportuni-
ties," says the Colonel. "That sort of stuff makes
me tired. There's opportunities laying around loose
everywhere; the trouble is that you young chaps
don't know an opportunity when you see it. Or,
if you do know it, you are afraid to risk the chance
of grabbing it. I tell you right now that if I hadn't
taken risks I wouldn't be what I am to-day. I don't
know as you know it, but I'm what they call a self-
made man."
Clayton winked over his shoulder at me. If we
didn't know it, 'twa'n't because we hadn't been told
often enough. Colonel Applegate's self-madeness
was the one thing he talked about more'n anything
else, except, maybe, the stuff they gave him to ea?
at the Rest shop.
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Now that you remind me, Colonel," says Saund-
ers, serious as could be, "I believe you have men-
tioned that fact. Yes, I distinctly recall your men-
tioning it. You remember Colonel Applegate's
hinting that he was self-made, don't you, Pratt?"
I had to get over a hard coughing fit afore I
could trust myself to answer.
"Yes," says I, choking, "seems to me I do."
"Yes," says Clayton, not a smile on his face any-
wheres, "we both remember it. Colonel."
"Well, I am, whether you remember it or not.
Now, look her'e, Saunders, I'm old enough to be
your father and I'm going to talk to you as if I was
just that. I've had my eye on you for some time.
You're a nice young feller, and smart enough in
some things, but, unless I'm mightily mistaken, you
haven't got what I call the business sense."
"So?" says Clayton.
"Yes, it's so. See here, you've got some money
of your own, haven't you?"
Clayton kind of hesitated. I cai'late he was de-
bating whether to tell Applegate to mind his own
concerns or not. I guess likely the Colonel knew
what was in his mind, for says he :
"Of course," he says, "I'm not butting in. You
needn't answer unless you want to. My idea was
to hand you a little advice that might be worth
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
something to you some day, but it's no compulsory
dose ; you don't have to take it unless you want to."
"Quite willing to take it, Colonel, and obliged,
besides. Yes, I have a little money."
"How much?"
"Well, thirty thousand dollars, perhaps."
I pretty nigh fell off the stern thwart.
"Thirty thousand dollars!" I sung out. "Thirty
thousand 1 Great land of love! How you talk I
Thought you told me you only had a little."
He hunched his shoulders. "That's little enough,
when it's all you've got, isn't it?" says he.
"Little! My godfrey's domino! Thifty thou-
sand 1 Why "
"Shut up, Pratt," cuts in Applegate. "You
haven't any business sense, either."
"Maybe not, but if I had thirty thousand dollars
I wouldn't worry about the sense — no, nor the cents,
nuther."
"Shut up, I tell you. Saunders, what are you
doing with that money? Is it earning anything?"
"It's bringing me a fair rate of interest, if that's
what you mean. Now that I'm knocked out of
working I manage to live on my income, after a
fashion."
"Bah! Why, see here, young man; if you had
the business sense I'm talking about you would have
1 60
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
doubled that money before now. When I was your
age I didn't have thirty thousand by a whole lot,
but what I did have was making more fast. You
don't take advantage of your opportunities, that's
what's the matter with you."
He went on to tell about "opportunities" he'd
taken advantage of in his day. They had different
names and lived in different parts of the country,
but he'd took advantage of 'em, all right. If I
was an opportunity and owned a ten cent piece I'd
bury it when I heard he was anywheres in the neigh-
borhood. And even then I'd sit on the grave.
. Saunders listened, smiling and calm. Applegate
finished up something like this :
"I've got an opportunity right now," he says.
"One of my little jobs happens to be the presidency
of the Consolidated Porcelain Brick Company; the
fact is, if you asked me, I should say I was pretty
near the whole works. Possibly you've noticed that
the papers are giving some space to the company
just now. There's a question of a dividend; per-
haps you've noticed that. Some people think we're
making money and will declare that dividend.!
Others think we've been losing money during the
past year and will pass it. Whichever way the cat
jumps, there's going to be a big difference in the
price of the stock. Now I'm the only one that really
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
knows what Is going to happen. It's up to me.
That's what I call an opportunity."
I should have called it one, myself. Clayton
Saunders laughed.
"When is the guileless outsider to be informed
as to the cat's jumping?" he asked.
"At the annu9,l meeting in Boston. That's next
Friday, four days off. I shall be at that meeting,
my boy, and "
But I interrupted. "You will?" I sung out. "You
will? Why, Colonel, look a-here! How are you
going to get away from the sanitarium? Doctor
Wool won't let you off, will he?"
He winked. "There are some things he can't
help," he says, "and that's one of 'em. I'll be at
that meeting. If I wasn't, there' d be the dickens to
pay in the stock market."
This was of a Monday. 'Twas Wednesday even-
ing that the big happenings commenced. I was
down at the cove, digging some clams for the help's
breakfast. Colonel Applegate was setting on a sand
heap, watching me and making guesses as to who
owned a steam yacht that was laying to four or five
mile out in the bay. She'd been there all day long
and nobody in our latitude knew who owned her.
After a spell Lord James happened along, and
him and the Colonel got to talking. I didn't pay
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
much attention to their jabber, being busy, and
pretty soon they went away together.
I filled my dreener with clams and started for the
house. 'Twas a gloomy, overcast kind of an after-
noon and now 'twas getting dark fast. I looked
around, when I got to the edge of the woods, for
Applegate and His Lordship, but I didn't see noth-
ing of 'em. I was moving on again, when I heard
a yell.
"Help!"
I stopped and turned quick. The yell seemed to
come from somewheres out on the bay, I thought.
i looked and looked. The yell come again.
"Help, Pratt I Help!"
And then another voice.
"'Elp! 'Elpl"
I give another long look and then I saw 'em.
Out about a hundred yards or so beyond where
the Dora Bassett lay at her moorings was a dark
spot on the water ; a boat, 'twas, and in it was two
people waving their arms and yelling. I couldn't
see 'em plain, 'twas getting too dark for that, but
I didn't need to. That last " 'elp !" proved that one
was Lord James; and the other must be Colonel
Applecart. But what was they doing out there?
And what ailed 'em? And whose boat was, they
in?
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
The last question answered itself first. I looked
down the beach to where my skiff ought to be. She
wa'n't there. She was gone.
The yells kept coming all the time, and more
desperate every second. What on eairth could be
the matter? I dropped my dreener and run up
the beach towards the point.
"What ails you?" I hollered.
"He-lpI 'Elp! Help! 'Elp!"
That was the only answer I got. There must
be something desperate. I was getting scared.
Were they sinking, or what?
"Come quick, Pratt! For 'eaven's sake, come!
'Elp!"
If I'd had time to think, I might not have acted
like a fool, maybe. It generally takes time to keep
the average man from acting that way, and I'm
only average. What I should have done, of course,
was to swim to the Dora Bassett and go after 'era
in her. But I didn't. I was scared, and my one
idee was to get to them two landlubbers as soon as
possible. So I run out to the end of the point ahead
of where they was drifting and started wading
towards 'em.
"I'm coming, I whooped, "I'm a-coming."
"Help! "Elp!"
Well, I started wading, as I said, but pretty soon
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
I got where I couldn't wade no more. The shore's
pretty bold off that point, and the water deepens
quick. I got up to my waist; then to my shoulders.
I couldn't wade, and, if I didn't do something in a
hurry, that skiff would drift by me. Don't tell me
I'd ought to have let it drift and gone back for
the motor boat. Don't tell me nothing. Land
knows I've thought enough about it since.
'"ElpI 'ElpI We're drowning!"
That settled it. In I splashed, heaa, neck and
heels, and commenced to swim out to meet that
skiff.
'Twould have been a pretty good swim if there
hadn't been any tide; but there was a tide — I hadn't
took twenty strokes afore I realized it, but 'twas
too late to back out. On I went, fighting for all
there was in me. Once I thought I wa'n't going to
make it, and then I remembered I'd got to. 'Twa'n't
a question now of just saving them two idiots ; 'twas
one of saving me. I'd got to make that skiff or go
Tinder, one or t'other.
Well, I made it, but just barely. She was 'most
past me afore I got alongside.
"Hand me an oar," I managed to pant out.
"'Reach me — oar — so's I — can get a holt."
But nothing doing. Old Applegate, in the stern,
just set and looked at me, and Lord James, amid-
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
ship, waved both arms and kept hollering for help.
I took a couple of everlasting big strokes and man-
aged to grab hold of the skiff's rail, close to the
stern. Then, for a jiffy, I hung on and fought
for breath.
"Get in, get in," orders Applegate. "What are
you waiting for?"
Getting in wa'n't such an easy matter. I thought
sartin the craft would upset afore I swung over the
rail. Course if I hadn't hitched along up towards
the bow she would have capsized. But get in I did,
though a bucketful of salt water got in with me.
"Why in tunket," I gasped, soon's I could gasp
anything, "didn't you reach me that oar? Couldn't
you see I was next door to foundering?"
The answer I got wa'n't what you'd call satis-
fying. The Colonel bu'st out into a perfect hail-
storm of cuss words; they seemed to be hove at
Lord James, nigh as I could make out.
"Here !" I ordered finally. "Stow that, will you?
What ails you two, anyway? Show me where the
leak is, so's I can stop it."
Plis Lordship answered, if you call it an answer.
"Leak!" says he. "Is there a leak? My word I
Oh, it's awful. We're lost! 'ElpI 'ElpI"
I grabbed him by the neck. I was mad, and
some scared, besides.
1 66
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Dry up I" I ordered, "or I'll choke you. Colo-
nel, where's the leak?"
"There's no leak that I know of."
"No leak ! Then what in time is the matter with
you? I thought you said you was drowning."
"/ didn't. 'Twas that jackass there. He "
"Stop ! I want to know what's the matter? What
were you yelling help and blue murder for? I
thought you were sinking sure. And there ain't any
leak. Except for what she shipped when I got in,
she's dry as a contribution box. Well, never mind
it now; you can tell me later. Give me the oars
and let's get ashore."
They looked at each other.
"Oarsl" gasps Hopper. "There — there
Why, Pratt, it's awful! There "
"Blast it!" roars Applegate. "That's what's the
matter. There ain't any oars."
Well, it sounds silly enough, but 'twas a fact;
there wa'n't any oars. There had been one — one
that I'd left in the skiff to use when I went off to
the motor boat — ^but that one His Lordship had
managed to lose overboard. Seemed that the Colo-
nel had taken a notion into his fat head to go to the
Dora Bassett and get a memorandum book he'd
left there the day afore ; 'twas one he'd kept a rec-
ord of his stock doings in and he'd been looking it
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
over and had left It on the locker around the cockpit.,
If he'd asked me to pilot him 'twould have beeit
all right; but he didn't; he ordered Lord James to-
do it.
'Twas shoal water between the Dora and the
shore, and His Lordship used the one oar to
reach down to the bottom and shove. They got
the book, but when they started in again the oar-
got stuck in the mud and wouldn't come out, pulled,
loose from Hopper's hands and stayed where 'twas.
The skiff didn't stay, though; it commenced to drift
out to sea. Even then if one had jumped in and
waded 'twould have been all serene, bujt neither
hankered to get wet, so they set still. Pretty sooa
they was out where 'twas over their heads and they
couldn't wade if they wanted to. Then they com-
menced to yell.
'Twas a fine mess to be in, and the more I thought
of it the finer it looked. The wind was breezing:
up, 'twas getting darker all the time, and we was
getting further and further away from home and.
ma, as the saying is. There wa'n't a blessed thing
to do but drift — and we drifted.
'Twa'n't a silent drift, the first part of it, any-
how. Applecart asked more'n a million questions,
and when he found out I was going to set still and
do nothing, he commenced to call me about every
i68
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
:name he could think of. I stood it for awhile and
then I spoke my mind.
"That'll be enough of that," says I. "I'll admit
there is a dum fool aboard this craft, but we might
not agree as to his location. If you've got to talk,
talk to yourself, and not to me. 'Twas my oar you
lost, and it's my skiff you run off in. If I don't
.call names, you needn't. Keep still."
But he didn't keep still ; he commenced to lay into
Lord James. He had an easier victim there, for
His Lordship was scart pretty nigh to death and
■expected to drown every other second. He wouldn't
talk back, so, after a spell, the Colonel let up on
liim, and whatever proclamation he had to make
-was mainly hove at the sanitarium and Wool. I'd
heard him do that so often that I judged his
barometer was getting back to "cloudy and lower-
ing" instead of "high temperature and wind
squalls."
We drifted and drifted, afore the breeze, which
wa'n't directly off shore, but kind of quartering. It
carried us up the beach, but further out all the time.
'Twas black night by now, and it got to be nine,
and ten, and then eleven o'clock. By and by, off
on the port bow, I see a little twinkle of a light.
It got brighter and brighter as we drifted nigher to
3t, and at last I made out that it must be a lamp in
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
the window of some house on a point making out
from the main.
I wa'n't used to these latitudes much; most of
my cruising had been done further down the Cajie
a good ways; but I did know that the beach along
here was as lonesome as a graveyard, and I'd never
heard of anybody's living on it. However, some-
body must live there, or else what was the light?
We drifted and drifted. I could see that we
was likely to drift by and I was figgering on jumping
overboard and making a try for land by towing the
skiff. But pretty soon there came a little shift of
wind that carried us in nigher.
Colonel Applecart hadn't spoke a word for a
long time; he was asleep, I cal'late. I'll say this
for the old chap, except for the first few minutes
after he found we was liable to drift to Jericho he
hadn't whimpered nor acted scared. Mad — ^yes,
but not frightened a hair. And now he was asleep.
As for Lord James, he hadn't talked much nuther,
but he wa'n't asleep. He sat all huddled up on
the thwart amidship and every once in a while he'd
shiver and groan. 'Twas plain enough that he fig-
gered on making a port a good deal further off
than Jericho, and he wa'n't happy at the prospect.
As I say, that shift of wind carried us nigher
to the point and the light on it. And now, above
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
the splash of the water and the whistling of the
breeze in the pines ashore, I begun to hear a queer
kind of noise; heard it and lost it and then heard
it again.
"What in the nation," says I, "is that? Music,
ain't it?"
Hopper groaned. "I've 'eard it a long while,"
says he. "It's 'arps, spirit 'arps a-wailing. It's a
warning for us. It's our death knell. We're gone I
We're gone! Oh, why did I come 'ere?"
I could have told him why he come, but 'twould
have taken too long to do the subject justice. Be-
sides, I begun to get a glimmer of hope.
"Harps nothing!" says I. "It's a concertina and
it's playing 'Old Dan Tucker.' Here, youl You
done consider'ble yelling a spell ago when 'twa'n't
any use. See if you can yell now, when it may
amount to something. There's somebody awake in
that house, or shanty, or whatever 'tis. Help me
roust him out."
I made a speaking trumpet of my hands and com-
menced to whoop "Ahoy!" and "Hello!" at thc^
top of my lungs. His Lordship joined in, holler-
ing " 'Elp !" and "Save us !" The Colonel woke up,
and, after asking what in brimstone was the matter,
opened his mouth and roared "Hi!" and "Hello 1"
like the bull of Bashan.
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
For a spell our screeching didn't do a mite of
good. Old Dan Tucker kept on being a nice old
man that washed his face in a frying-pan, and that
was all. Fur's that goes, the tune sounded as if
'twas made with a frying-pan, being squeaky and
scratchy and tooth-gritting. But, at last, just as I
was giving up hope and about ready to make a try
at the swimming, it stopped.
"Now, then," I sung out ; "all together. Hel-lo 1"
And the Colonel and Hopper joined in with
"Hi-Il" and "'ElpI"
Then the door of the building swung open and
we could see a man's figger, a black shadow against
the lamplight. '
"AhoyI" he yelled. "Who are you? What's the
matter?"
" 'E-elp 1" bellers Lord James. I had to tell him
three times to shut up afore he'd do it.
"We're adrift in a skiff without any oars," I
whooped. "Come off and pick us up, won't ye?"
I had to say that three times afore the feller in
the doorway seemed to sense it. But then he come
to life in a hurry. Inside of ten minutes he was
alongside in a dory and had us in tow. We would
have made a first rate landing only for one thing;
the Colonel was so anxious to get on dry land that
he jumped heavy on a rotten board in the skiff'sf
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
bottom — I didn't know 'twas rotten or I'd have had
it fixed afore this — and went through, both feet.
The water wa'n't more'n ten inches deep at the
time, which was a mercy, and all the harm it done
was for him to trip and fall overboard with a splash
like an elephant taking a bath. But I couldn't help
thinking, suppose it had happened when we was
off there in the bay?
We fished him out — that is, the feller who had
picked us up and I did; Lord James was half-way
up the beach when it happened — and started him
on a run for the house. Then I turned to our life-
saver, and says I :
"Well," I says, "I sartin am obliged to you,
Mister — Mister "
"My name's Doane," he drawls; "Philander
Doane. I know you, don't I? You're Sol Pratt,
from over to Wapatomac. Have you broke old
Scudder's neck yet?"
'Twas the long-legged loafer I'd met on the wharf
that morning when I fetched Miss Emeline back in
the Dora Bassett.
CHAPTER VIII
WELL, whoever he was, I was awful glad
to see him just then, and I told him so.
Together we hauled my skiff and his
dory up on the sand. There was a sailboat moored
a little further out and it tickled me to see her. She
looked to me like a way of getting home again. '
"That's too bad about your skiff, ain't it," says
he. "She's liable to talce in water some now, ain't
she?"
I couldn't help laughing. "She can't take in much
more'n she's got already," I told him.
"No," says he, solemn, "not till the tide's come
up. I was cal'lating to haul my dory up and caulk
her. She leaks so she ain't fit to use on any longish
trip. Say, if I had hauled her up I'd have had
some trouble getting alongside of you, wouldn't I."
I told him I presumed likely he would, and we
started for the house. 'Twa'n't much of a house,
nothing but a two-room shanty downstairs, with a
loft overhead. I found out afterwards that this
Philander Doane was what the summer folks label
a hermit, meaning somebody that ain't loony, but
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
is next door to It, being odd and queer and inde-
pendent as a hog on ice. Loony was the only thing
he was next door to; for he lived alone in that
shanty, fishing and clamming and gunning, and there
wa'n't a neighbor nigher than eight miles.
Afore we got to the shanty Colonel Applegate
stuck his head out of the door. His temper had
been getting raggeder all the time, and the sousing
he got when he fell overboard had just about ripped
what was left of it to ravellings.
"For heaven's sakes!" says he. "Pratt, are you
going to stay out there and talk all night? Come
in here, will you? I'm freezing to death."
I started to hurry, but the Philander Doane man
didn't. I cal'late you couldn't have hurried him
with a red-hot poker.
"Say," says he, as if he'd made some kind of
discovery, "he's sort of fretty, ain't he? What got
him tittered up that way?"
"Nothing got him," says I. "He was born 'tit-
tered up,' as you call it, and having his own way all
his life has kept him so. Come on, come on."
He come on, but he come so deliberate you had
to watch the things he went by to make sure he was
moving.
The, setting-room or dining-foom or kitchen, or
all three together, of the shanty wa'n't much big-
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
ger'n a dry goods box. There was a table in it,
and a couple of crippled chairs, and a big, rusty
cook-stove with a wood fire. Applegate, in his wet
clothes, was hugging the stove as if he loved it. As
for Lord James, he was roosting on one of the
chairs, looking happier than ever I'd seen him in
my life.
"Come, come, come 1" snaps the Colonel, his teeth
rattling, "put some more wood on this fire, will you?
Can't you see I'm half frozen?"
If Philander saw it, it didn't appear to jar him
none to speak of. He hauled his feet over to the
stove and took off one of the covers.
" 'Tis sort of feeble, ain't it," he says, referring
to the fire. "I snum! I never noticed it. I was
setting here, a-playing to myself, when I heard you
folks a-hoUering. Thinks I, 'Who's that a-hailing
this time of night?' Generally speaking, there
ain't nobody comes by here more'n once a week
and "
"For heaven's sakes!" roars the Colonel again.
"Are you going to get that wood, or ain't you?"
Philander looked him over. "Why, yes," says he,
as deliberate as ever, "I'll get it, maybe, if I feel
like it. I most always cal'late to do about what I
feel like."
I judged 'twas time for me to take a hand. I
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
didn't want a row the first ten minutes after I got
ashore.
"Never you mind, Doane," says I, "I'll get the
wood."
But he wouldn't let me. "It's my wood," he says,
"and I'll get it — when I get ready."
However, I went with him when he went out
back of the shanty to fetch the wood,
"You mustn't mind the Colonel," I says.
"I wa'n't cal'lating to," says he, amazing prompt,
for him.
"I mean you mustn't mind his talking sharp like
that. His digestion ain't very good, and he ain't
used to roughing it. He's one of Doctor Wool's
patients over to the sanitarium."
He turned around with his arms full of pine
sticks, and stared at me.
"You mean he's one of them crazy critters?" he
says. "One of them lives on raw meat and cow
feed? Humph I I always wanted to see one of
them durn fools." *
"Well, you'll see one now, for a spell, anyhow.
But you mustn't think he's a fool."
"He can't get no cow feed here. I don't keep a
beef critter. Who's the other one?"
"He belongs to the sanitarium, too. One of the
help, he is."
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"What makes him talk so funny? Calls help,
'elp. What ails him — got a split palate, has he?
My cousin Nate's second oldest boy's got one of
them and he talks like a sponge."
"No, no. His palate's all right. He talks that
way 'cause he's an Englishman. He ain't been in
this country more'n a dozen year."
He pretty nigh dropped the wood. "Shol" he
drawls, "How you talk! You don't say! A Brit-
isher, hey? Well, I suppose I'll have to keep him
here — over night, anyhow."
"Why wouldn't you keep him, for the land
sakes?"
"Why would I? Dum foreigners! fighting
against our folks, and all."
"Fighting against 'em I He never fought against
our folks. We ain't fought with England for a
hundred year."
"Don't make no difference; his great granddad
done it, I bet you ! And so'd he, if he dared. Well,
I'm American, by Judas, and he better not say noth-
ing against the Stars and Stripes while I'm around.
Say, he dresses just like real folks, don't he?"
I didn't answer. I judged he figgered that Eng-
lishmen wore bead necklaces and calico, like South
Sea Islanders. He was a specimen, that Doane
man. How he'd escaped being caught and caged
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
for a ten-cent museum was more'n I could make out.
We toted in the wood and got the fire going nice
and comfortable. Lord James still set in one of
the chairs and Applegate had cabbaged the other
and was hugging the stove. Doane kept staring at
Hopper as if he was some kind of animal.
"Say," says I, after a spell, "ain't got nothing to
eat aboard this craft, have you, Philander?"
His Lordship spoke up.
"If I might 'ave something 'ot," he says. "A
bit of 'ot toast now. And some tea, some 'ot
tea."
Doane had started to haul the table into the
middle of the room. He stopped hauling.
"Tea I" says he. "Tea I What do you want tea
for?"
"Why — why, to drink, of course," says Lord
Jame*. "Upon me word, I believe the man thinks
I want to bathe in it."
"Bathe I What do you want to bathe for? Tea I
and a bath! Did you ever hear such talk? I'll
give you coffee, if that'll do. If you want a bath
you'll have to go down to the shore. Salt water's
'good enough bathing for me, and /'m an Ameri-
can.
"The coffee'U be tip-top," I says in a hurry. "Can
I help you. Philander?"
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
But Colonel Applegate had a sermon to preach
first.
"In the name of common sense, Pratt," he
snapped, "what are you thinking of? Can't you see
I'm soaked to the skin? Let the fellow get me some
dry clothes first. How much longer must I sit here
like a drowned rat?"
Doane was pawing 'round on a shelf after the
coffee pot. For a second I thought he was going
to heave It at the Colonel, but he didn't; he just
set it down on the table with a bang.
"Well — ^by Judas I" says he, fervent.
"See here, you," says Applegate, not noticing the
danger signals, "have you got any clothes in this
shack that'll fit me?"
"No, I ain't."
"You haven't? Well, this is a devil of a messl"
"Colonel," says I, "suppose you take this coat of
mine. It's only white duck, and it's damp yet, but
it's dryer than yours."
"What in blazes do I want to take your clothes
for? You've been overboard, too, and you need
'em as much as I do."
"Maybe Lord Ja — Hopper here'U lend you some
of his rigout. He's the only one of us that ain't
been ducked so fur."
His Lordship didn't look real enthusiastic.
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"I'm afraid they'll be a bit small, Colonel Apple-
gate, sir," he says. " 'Owever, if you say so,
I'll "
But Philander interfered.
"There's my Sunday suit up aloft there," says
he, with a jerk of his thumb towards the hatch over-
head. "Maybe you could squeeze into the coat;
and the pants, too, if you reef the bottoms of the
legs. Anyhow, you can try."
Applegate grunted out a "Thanks" and got
up off the chair. Then he looked at the
ladder.
"Think I'm going to climb that thing?" he
wanted to know.
Philander was lighting a hand lamp. He climbed
the ladder a little ways and set the lamp on the floor
of the loft. The Colonel watched him; the ladder
shook consider'ble.
"Think I'm going to climb that thing?" says he,
again.
Philander didn't seem to understand.
"What thing?" says he. "Oh, that ladder? H'm,
I cal'late you'll have to, unless you figger on sleeping
on the floor all night. All the bunks there is are
up there."
"Sleep! you don't suppose I'm going to sleep in
this hole to-night. I'll put on dry clothes and eat
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
something, and then you can sail us over to the
sanitarium."
Philander shook his head.
"I wouldn't sail to Wapatomac to-night for no
man," he drawled. "It's a long stretch and a dead
beat all the way. My catboat's got power in her,
but the engine ain't working good; stops every now
and then, so I can't use it. No, I'd have to sail,
and I don't want to do that. There's too many
shoals to risk in a sailboat in the dark. To-morror
morning — or this morning, 'cause it's to-morror now
— ^when it's daylight and after I've hauled my nets
and cleaned my fish, I'll take you across, all
right."
"After you've cleaned Why, confound you,
do you realize I've got to get back? Pratt, for
heaven's sakes tell him! There's that meeting in
Boston Friday; I intend leaving on the noon train
to-morrow. And there are a bushel of telegrams
and letters waiting to be answered now. Tell him
that."
"Colonel Applegate's got to get back, Doane,"
says I. "It's important."
I might as well have talked to a graven image.
All the answer I got was: "Fish'U spile if they
ain't cleaned right off."
"D n your fish 1" hollers Applegate. "I must
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
be at Wapatomac to-night. I ought to be there
now."
"Carn't afford to spile a day's catch. Squiteagues
running pretty fair now, and I'm likely to have a
good haul. Last week I got fifteen dollars' wuth
one day."
"Maybe the Colonel'U pay you fifteen for taking
him over," I suggested. 'Twas a poor suggestion
just then. The old man's temper was gone and all
his good nature with it. Besides, he always prided
himself on not being took advantage of — by any-
body except flesh-reducers like Doctor Wool.
"I will not," he snaps. "Fifteen dollars! Why,
you robber, I can hire a boat and man all day for
five."
That was true, he could. But he couldn't hire
that hermit.
"I won't risk them fish," was all Philander would
say.
Applegate growled and begged and ordered and
swore, but it wa'n't no use. At last, being full of
shivers, he decided to risk the ladder and hunt up
the Sunday suit. His Lordship and I held the thing
steady while he climbed to the loft. I thought sure
the ladder would break, and after that I thought
he'd get stuck in the hatchway, but he didn't; he
got up safe, after consider'ble many groans and
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
more language, and we could hear him pawing
around after the duds.
Philander went into the next room, which was just
a lean-to hitched on to the end of the shanty, and
came back with a salt mackerel that dripped brine
like a rainstorm. Then he put the coffee pot on
the stove and rummaged out a loaf of dry bread
and some hardtack. Next he put the mackerel in a
fry-pan, and the shanty begun to smell like a Banks
boat just in from a v'yage.
Lord James watched him, mouth open and eyes
popping out. Philander went out after more wood
and His Lordship tackled me.
"For 'eaven's sakes," he says, p'inting to the fry-
pan, "what's that?"
"That's going to be supper, I cal'late. It smells
mighty grateful to me."
"Supper I Supper for 'im ?" He jerked his head
towards the loft.
"I guess likely," says I, grinning.
"But — ^but 'e won't eat it. 'E can't. 'E's on
strict diet."
"That's so, but this is Philander's diet, not his.
If you asked me I should say 'twas salt mackerel
and hardtack or nothing."
"My word!" says Lord James.
When Doane came in I got him to one side,
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Say," says I, "if you'll take us over to Wapa-
tomac to-night I'll pay you fifteen dollars out of my
own pocket."
I forgot I was standing right under the hatch.
There was a roar from the loft that made us jump
as if a thunder clap had gone off.
"You'll do nothing of the sort, Pratt. You mind
your own business. Here, you, whatever your name
is, help me down this condemned ladder."
Philander never even looked up. "You better
help yourself, I cal'late," he drawled. "I'm busy."
Well, helping that fleshy man down that ladder
was worse than helping him up. Hopper and I
done it finally, and then I stepped outdoors. If
I'd stayed in I'd have laughed sure, and that would
have been mighty poor judgment.
That Colonel man in those hermit Sunday clothes
was the funniest outrage I'd seen since I quit going
to sea. How he'd ever squeezed into them pants
I don't know. The coat was bad enough — it didn't
come within a fathom of buttoning and there was a
wrinkle from yardarm to yardarm in the back; but
them pants! Oh, my I Oh, myl They was too
short on top and too long at the lower ends, and
But there I I better stop, I shouldn't wonder.
"Kind of scant, ain't they?" I heard Doane
drawl. "I told you they would be."
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
When I got through with my laugh, and had
swabbed the tears out of my eyes, I went In again.
Philander was just putting supper on the table. You
ought to have seen Applegate glare at it. When
he found 'twas all he was going to get to eat he
fairly b'iled over. But bile was all he could do.
He didn't dast to touch the mackerel or the coffee —
the memory of Sophrony's sandwiches and dough-
nuts was too fresh in his mind, I guess — so he done
the best he could on dry bread and hardtack. Water
he drank by the pailful. After the third flood I
put in my oar.
"See here, Colonel," says I, "I wouldn't overdo
it. Doctor Wool says one glass of cold water Is as
bad as an extry pound for you."
He pretty nigh cried. "Blast you!" he roared,
*'would you take bread and water away from me?
Why, they give that to jailbirds."
If he needed water. Lord James needed it more.
'Cording to his tell, he'd waited on the British no-
bility a good deal in his time, and they don't run
strong to salt mackerel, I judge. He was so hungry
he had to eat it, and he drowned every mouthful
with water. The pump was going most of the time.
After the refreshments was served I helped Phi-
lander wash dishes. Afore I started on the job
Applegate beckoned to me to come out of the
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
shanty. I done it and he put his mouth close to my
ear.
"Pratt," he says, "you can sail a boat. Let's take
that one there," pointing in the direction where
Doane's cat lay at her moorings, "and start her
home. If we're quiet we can get a good start be-
fore that long-legged savage knows anything about
it."
I shook my head.
"Not me. Colonel," says I. "I never stole no-
body's boat yet, and I ain't going to begin this late
along."
"But it ain't stealing," he whispered again. "You
can pay him for borrowing it when you bring it
back. I'll send the money by you. We'll leave
that — that cockney physical director behind, as
hostage."
I shook my head again. "No," says I, "I won't,
for two or three reasons. He's right when he says
there's too many shoals to risk sailing over in the
dark."
"But it's a power boat; he said so himself. You
can run a power boat; so can I, for that matter."
I'd let him handle the Dora Bassett when she was
under gasoline half a dozen times, and it had made
him so stuck up he thought he was admiral of a
fleet. I didn't have nigh the confidence in his navi-
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
gation that he did, but that wa'n't my reason for
saying no.
"No use, Colonel," says I; "I won't steal that
boat — nor borrow It, either, that way. I've tried
'most every kind of salt-water job, but I've never
been a pirate. You take my advice and offer him
fifteen dollars in the morning. That won't be but
a little while to wait; it's one now."
Be hanged if he would 1 It was a holdup, and no
living man could hold him up.
While the dish-washing was going on I noticed
that he and Lord James were mighty confidential.
I didn't pay much attention at the time, but later I
did.
About a quarter to two he made proclamation
that he was going to bed. Lord James said he be-
lieved he'd go, too. I was willing to turn in myself,
but Philander said there wa'n't but two bunks in
the loft, and him and me would have to rig up
shakedowns on the main deck. So, after the two
passengers had shinned the ladder, we commenced
bed-making.
I happened to ask that hermit what 'twas he was
playing when we first drifted abreast of the point.
I asked it without thinking; I ought to have known
better, for that concertina, so it seemed, was his
hobby, and it having been mentioned, he didn't want
i88
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
to talk about nothing else — nor quit talking nuther.
"She's a wonder," says he, getting the thing out
of a locker in the wall. "Fourteen year old, and
just look at her."
I looked. That concertina was a wonder in its
way. The handles that was on it first had wore
out long ago, and he'd made new ones of braided
rope yarn. And the bellows was patched in more
places than a cranberry picker's overalls.
"She's a wonder," he says again. "You ought
to hear her when she gets going good. Kind of
wheezy at the start, afore she fetches her breath,
but after that there ain't nothing can stop her.
Here ; you listen."
I had to listen, 'cause he wouldn't let me do any-
thing else. He and the concertina bust loose in
"Sweet By and By," and I give you my word it
made you wish you was there, and the sooner the
quicker.
"Now she's struck her gait," he says, vainglori-
ous. "Ain't she going some, hey?"
She was. There came a perfect howl from the
loft, Applegate's voice 'twas.
"What kind of a devilish noise is that?" roars
the Colonel. "For the Lord sakes, cut it out I
Shut up!"
Philander shut up. It's surprising, but he did. I
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
fcal'late the shock of anybody's not liking that con-
certina kind of numbed his faculties. He acted as
if he'd had a stroke of paralysis, and him and I
turned in without another word scarcely. I wa'n't
long in getting to sleep, now I tell you.
And I wa'n't long sleeping nuther. What woke
me up was the Colonel, just tiptoeing out of the
door. 'Twas gray light of a cloudy morning. I
looked around for Lord James, but I didn't see
him. Philander was sound asleep on the floor side
of me.
"Hello, Colonel," says I; "where you bound?"
He started and turned his head. "S-shl" says
he, quick. "Don't make such a racket. Bound?
I'm bound outside, where I can smell something be.
sides fish."
And out he went. Doane turned over and
wanted to know what was up.
"The Colonel's up," says I. "I guess likely that's
all."
He settled himself to snooze again, and I tried to,
but 'twas no go. I got to wondering what that fat
man had turned out so early for. Over at the Rest
shop he got up early, but then 'twas 'cause he had
to. Here he didn't.
So I laid there, betwixt sleeping and waking. All
at once, though, I was wide awake. I'd heard
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
something; It came from outside the shanty, and
'twas the "chug-chug" of a motor engine.
I give one jump from the shakedown to the door.
My eyes was wide open enough now, and they saw
a. sight.
In front of the hermit's shanty, there on the
point, the beach curved In to make a little cove, or
harbor, like. Out In the middle of this cove was a
catboat — Philander Doane's catboat — ^with the pro-
peller churning up the water under her stern, and
two men aboard of her. One of these men was In
the bow, hauling up anchor; he was Lord James.
'Tother was aft by the steering wheel; he was Colo-
nel Applegate. The catboat was beginning to move.
I took this In at one gulp of my eyes, as you
might say. Then I whizzed out of that door like
a sky-rocket.
"Hi I" I yelled. "HI, Colonel Applegate, what
are you doing in that boat? Where are you going?"
From astern of me in the shanty I heard a whoop
from Philander.
"Boat?" he sung out, his voice jumping high and
shrill. "What boat?"
From his seat by the helm the Colonel waved
his hand, serene and patronizing and calm.
"It's all right, Pratt," he hollered. "I know what
I'm about. I'll send somebody back after you by
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
and hy. Just now I'm going to see that I catch that
noon train to Boston. All right with that anchor,
are you, Hopper?"
Afore I could answer something bust past me.
'Twas Philander, and if I've said he moved slow
when he moved, I'll take some of it back. He wa'n't
moving that way now.
"You — you " he screamed, dancing up and
down at the edge of the water. "Come out of that
boat! What do you mean?"
The Colonel grinned, expansive.
"You're there, are you," he Ijailed. "Well, you
see that you can't rob me, don't you. I'll pay you
five dollars for the use of What! What's
the matter?"
The matter was that the engine had stopped. It
give a cough or two and then petered out alto-
gether. Philander had said 'twa'n't working right,
and here was proof.
Applegate begun to swear. Lord James yelled.
Philander yelled, too, but there was a reason for
his yelling.
"Keep her off I" he bellered. "Keep her off!
Look where you're going! There's a rock there!
Keep her off! Put your helium hard down! Oh,
by Judas, there you go!"
Ycu see, that catboat had just got under way
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
enough to keep moving at a fair clip, even though
the power had give out. Applegate had forgot all
about steering, and was bending down trying to
crank up. Consequently, the boat went sliding along
straight ahead for, maybe, thirty feet. Then there
was a bump and a scrape and a ripping, grinding
smash. The boat stopped with a jerk, heeled down
to port and begun to sink. She had reason to, for
there was a two-foot hole in her bottom.
" 'Elp !" screeched Lord James. "We're drown-
mg.
It looked to me as if he might be right this time.
I jumped to Philander's dory and started to push
her off. But afore I could much more'n start, 'twas
all over. The catboat sunk more swift and then
her stern went under. It sunk only a little
ways, hung on the rock that had knocked the
bottom out of her, and then capsized. Apple-
gate and His Lordship went out of sight in a lather
of foam.
But they was up again in a jiffy. The water was
only to their shoulders. The first thing Hopper
said when he got the salt out of his mouth was
" 'Elp I" but he said it fervent.
I was still shoving at the dory. Philander jumped
up and down on the sand.
" 'Elp !" screams Lord James.
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
" 'Elpl" mocked Philander back at him. " 'Elp
yourself, you thundering fool! Wade ashore!"
Hopper and Applegate begun to wade toward
the nighest dry spot, and every step the Doane her-
mit called 'em a different name. The Colonel
started to say something, but he was shut up quick.
"You — ^you everlasting old fat fool!" screams
Philander. "You — you sculpin head. Now you've
done it, ain't you ! Want to go to Wapatomac right
off, hey? Well, you won't ! Your rotten old skiff's
out of commission, my dory leaks, and now, by
Judas, you've ruined my catboati Want to go to
Wapatomac? Then you can swim there. I'd like
nothing better than to see you try. O-oh, you cussed
fool!"
I didn't interrupt him. Fact is, my sentiments and
his had a strong family likeness.
If I should undertake to tell all that happened
the rest of that day, I'd be kept busy. And yet I
can't think of it now without laughing. If ever a
man had the conceit took out of him 'twas Apple-
gate. It didn't come back nuther. Philander saw
to that. He bully-ragged that fleshy Right Liver
something terrible. He never let him open his
head scarcely. No, from then on there was only
one skipper of that hermit shanty, and his last name
begun with a D.
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
It commenced to rain and thicken up pretty soon,
and you couldn't see more'n a hundred yards from
shore in any direction. I cooked what breakfast
there was; the hermit said he wa'n't going to get
het up over that cookstove fixing grub for a passel
of dum fools. There was nothing in the shanty that
the Colonel could eat, and he done the best he could
with more dry bread and water ; seemed to be thank-
ful to get that. He put in the heft of his time pacing
up and down the shore and looking out into the
drizzle for a boat or something to pick him up.
I thought myself that we'd be picked up pretty
soon. I knew my turning up missing wouldn't raise
such a dreadful row at the sanitarium, but his would.
Not only Cape Cod, but Boston and Providence
and the stock market would be anxious to know what
had become of him. I mentioned it to him once,
trying to encourage him, but he only waved his
hands and groaned.
"It's that annual meeting, Pratt," he said. "If
I'm not at that meeting there'll be the Old Harry
to pay. Why — ^why, they'll think I've skipped out I
The papers'U be full of it. Consolidated Brick
Common will drop to perdition." -^
Yes, I was sorry for him, but I couldn't do
nothing to help. Walking home was out of the
question ; there was five miles of half-flooded salt
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
marsh to cross afore you struck solid ground. Our
only hope was they'd send out searching parties in
boats and they'd locate us. If the weather had only
been clear I
It got clear along about eight at night. By that
time Applegate had about give up hope and had
turned in. Lord James had turned in afore. He
and the hermit had had a high old rumpus about
the Revolutionary war, or some such foolishness. I
couldn't make out just what 'twas about or who
started it, but I heard Philander hollering and His
Lordship dropping H's, and went out to see what
was the trouble.
"Don't you talk to me," Doane was saying.
"Don't you dare to talk to me. You can't come
round here cal'lating to make us folks slaves, 'cause
we won't have it. We don't have no kings and
queens, we don't. King I by Judas ! I wouldn't have
a king on my premises no more'n I would a — a
tramp. If one of 'em come lording it around me,
I'd — I'd take and bang him over the head with a
clam hoe."
Hopper was pretty excited, too, but more dis-
gusted than anything else.
"King!" says he. "A King around this awful 'olel
My word! If 'Is Majesty could only see, same as
me, what a crowd of 'orrlble blighters there is in
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
this Gawd-forsaken country, 'e'd be thankful we
dropped you when we did. Of all the igno-
rant "
"There! there I" says I, nosing in; "cut it short.
Send it to the Peace Congress. Come on, Doane;
let's you and me see what we can do with that cat-
boat of yours."
When the tide rose we got the boat off the rock
and in on the beach. Then we worked over her to-
gether, and while we was working that hermit
asked me more'n a barrel of questions, about Nate
Scudder mainly, when I was going to break his neck,
same as I said I would. Him and Scudder had
squabbled over a bill and Philander was down on
him and Huldy Ann like a keg of nails on a sore
toe.
That evening, when the other two had gone to
bed, he got out his concertina and tuned up. A
day's rest hadn't done that agony box any good;
'twas worse'n ever, if such a thing's possible. I
never heard such a noise; like the waihng of some-
thing dying and dying hard, it was. But he fairly
gloried in it.
I asked him who learned him to play. I had to
ask something; thought maybe he'd stop cruelizing'
"Rock of Ages" long enough to answer, anyhow,
and I'd have that much recess.
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Nobody I'arned me," says he. "It come to me
natural. Seems as if 'twas born in me, as you might
say."
If it had been born in me, I'd have took ether and
had it out. I wished I could take some right then.
"You know what I want?" he asks. "What do
you cal'late I've got a hankering for?"
"Land knows I A shotgun, maybe."
"Shotgun? How you talk! What made you
think 'twas a shotgun?"
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe I got your longings
and my own mixed up."
"Well, 'twan't a shotgun. I've got one shotgun
already."
"All right. Don't tell me where you keep it,
that's all; I don't dast to know. There! There!
What is it you're hankering for?"
"A violin," says he, "an A Number One violin."
"A fiddle."
"No, no, a violin. A fiddle's easy enough to get.
I want a real violin, same as Adeline Patty and the
rest of the high-tuned music folks you read about
play onto. A fiddle's cheap ; but a good violin costs
money, they tell me. I sent for a catalog, and
some of 'em was high as a hundred dollars. A
hundred dollars — Judas, think of it!"
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"You wouldn't know how to play one if you had
it, would you?"
"I could I'arn. I bet you 'twould come natural
to me, same as the concertina. If I ever get one
I'll send you word and you can come hear me play."
"All right; be sure you send it — don't fetch it
yourself. Better stick a special delivery stamp on
the letter, too. If ever you get that violin. Philan-
der, I want to know it quick."
'Twould be one of them things a man ought to
be prepared for, 'cording to my notion.
About half past nine I took a good-bye look out
over the water, hoping there might be some craft
in sight. No such luck, though; so I turned in on
my shakedown. Philander said he'd be in pretty
soon, and I left him on the bench outdoor.
I woke up about an hour later. I heard some-
thing, just as I had that morning, and 'twas the
same sound, too — the "chug-chug" of a motor boat.
Thinks I, "They're coming at last. We'll be
able to get away from that concertina now." And
outdoor I put, dressed mainly in nothing particu-
lar.
There wa'n't nobody in sight, but the "chug-
chug" sounded from the end of the point beyond
the pines. I run barefoot through the beach grass
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
and over the pine needles until I got 'most to the
shore on that side. And there I met Philander com-
ing back. He started and kind of jumped when he
saw me.
"Doane!" says I, "Doane! Where's that boat?
Quick 1"
He took an awful long time to answer.
"Boat?" says he. "What boat?"
"That motor boat. There's one around here
somewheres. Don't you hear her?"
You could hear her — yes, and, more'n that, you
could see her, too. Her light was a good ways off
shore and heading away from us.
"Oh, that bqat?" says he. "Yes, I did hear her.
She ain't coming this way."
Of course she wa'n't, and 'twa'n't likely she
would unless we done something to make her. I
yelled and hollered "Boat ahoy!" and the like of
that, till I couldn't scarcely speak. No use, the
boat kept going away, and pretty soon her light was
just a speck in the distance.
Philander kept fidgeting back of me.
"It's too bad, ain't it," says he. "She can't hear
you, I'm afraid."
"Course she can't now. But she might have heard
you if you'd hailed afore I got here. When did
you first make her out?"
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
Well, he didn't know exactly. Fact is, he wa'n't
sure. You see, he Well, consarn him, he
didn't seem to be sure of nothing. I never see a
person act queerer. I couldn't get much sense out
of him about that boat. And yet he seemed to be
mighty tickled about something; so absent-minded
he wouldn't answer my question, hardly.
I went back to my shakedown, mad and disgusted
enough. And suspicious, too. Yet I couldn't lo-
cate any reasonableness in my suspicions. There
was no reason why, if that boat — whoever she was
— had come close in to the point, he shouldn't have
hailed her and told the folks aboard about us. Yet
I couldn't help believing she had come close in.
'Twas odd, and queer. I fell asleep wondering
about it.
CHAPTER IX
TTT^WA'N'T until two o'clock the foUering
I afternoon that we got away from that
-^ point and that shanty and that hermit and
that concertina. Then a boat, with an auxiliary,
came chugging along. When she was nigher in, I
see she was the Dora Bassett, and she certainly
looked good to me. A feller from Wapatomac was
running her and Doctor Wool was aboard; so was
two young chaps, reporters from Boston papers.
The Doctor looked pretty anxious and worried
— for him, but when he found that Applegate was
safe and sound he chirked up consider'ble. The
reporters chirked up, too. They was the first ones
to jump ashore, and they put on speed for the
shanty. Here was what they called a "scoop."
They'd located the missing president of the Consoli-
dated Porcelain Brick Company, and for a day and
a half all creation had been divided as to whether
that president had run away, on account of the com-
pany's being worse than bankrupt, as was common
talk, or was dead, which would be pretty nigh as
bad.
But if they was glad to see the Colonel, the Colo-
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
nel was gladder still to see them. It didn't take him
nor Lord James long to get aboard, now I tell you.
Philander didn't shed any tears over our leaving,
nuther, but he got one surprise all right.
The Colonel turned to him. "Doane," says he,
"I've called you a robber and a few other pet names,
haven't I. Well, I'll take some of 'em back. You
tried to hold me up for a big price when I wanted
you to take me home that first night, but "
" 'Twas on account of my fish, I told you," inter-
rupts the hermit. "I "
"There I there I wait till I get through. You tried
to hold me up, but I wouldn't be held, I don't
blame you for trying; that's business; you thought
you saw your opportunity and you did your best to
take advantage of it. That's all right; if you had
had some easy marks to deal with, you'd have won.
You lost because you didn't have an easy mark.
I'm not going to pay you for that, but I am sorry
about that boat of yours, and — here, take this; per-
haps it will pay damages."
He handed over a wad of bills. Philander looked
at the one on top, and his eyes stuck out.
"My — my Judas!" says he. "Why — why, this
is enough to buy the boat. I hadn't ought to take
this."
The Colonel didn't pay no attention; just turned
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
and stepped aboard the leaky dory. Doane turned
to me.
"Why, Sol," he says, "I— I "
"Keep it," says I, "and say nothing. He's got
plenty more."
"Well, I swan! If I'd known he was going to
act like this I cal'late I'd have done different last
night. But when that young feller said . . .
Humph! Well, I swan!"
"What young feller? Last night? What do you
mean?"
"Hey? Oh, nothing, nothing."
"Come on, Pratt," says Doctor Wool. "Don't
keep us waiting."
On the way home the Dora Bassett fairly flew.
She couldn't go too fast to suit Applegate or those
reporters. Seems there'd been the Old Harry to
pay in the stock market. 'Twas the general feeling
that the Colonel had skipped and that affairs in
the Brick Company was a good sight worse than
anybody had suspected. The stock had gone down,
down, down. It had "dropped thirty points," so the
reporters said. The annual meeting had been post-
poned until night, and the other directors had given
out a statement that, barring the president's absence,
everything was fine; but nobody paid any attention
to it.
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"But why," roars Applegate, pounding the
weather rail, "should you think I'd skipped out?
Do I look like an embezzler? By the great and
everlasting," or something like that, "I'll start a
few libel suits. Somebody'U pay for this."
Doctor Wool purred explanations. Of course, he
didn't think any such thing, no, indeed. But, as th&
Colonel was aware, the papers had been stirring up-
rumors — no doubt utterly false and malicious — con-
cerning the Brick Company; and its president's un-
explained absence, just at this rime. You see — -er — •
well
"But why 'skip out'?" shouted Applegate. "I
might have been dead or drowned. By George 1 I
came near enough to both. Why in perdition didn't
you give me the benefit of the doubt?"
One of the reporters answered. "It was that
steam yacht. Colonel," he said. "There was a steanv
yacht lying off here about the time that you — er — ^
disappeared. No one knew who she belonged to.
Naturally, when it was found that she had gone,
and you had gone, too Why — well, the coin-.
cidence attracted attention."
"But how about me?" I wanted to know. "And
Lord James — Hopper, I mean? Did they think
tve'd gone steam-yachting? Has the stock market
price of clams dropped any?"
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
It appeared that they hadn't thought much about
us. When they did they cal'lated maybe we'd seen
the Colonel clearing out and he'd taken us along to
keep the secret safe. 'Twas a fool notion, the whole
of it.
"How'd you happen to come cruising after
us, then?" I asked. "What put you on the
track?"
Wool would have liked to take the credit him-
self, that was plain. But the reporters knew, and
so he couldn't.
"Our clever young friend, Saunders, Is responsi-
ble," purrs the Doctor. "He has been very active
In your behalf — er — Pratt. Has taken quite a fancy
to you, I believe. He was the one who discovered
that your skiff was missing. Yesterday he endeav-
ored to persuade us to send out searching expedi-
tions up the shore. In fact, last evening, on his
own responsibility, he went out alone In this very
boat and was gone for hours. I — er — chided him
for It when he returned. In his state of health It
was an unjustifiable risk."
I never said nothing. But I was thinking hard.
I remembered what happened on the point last
night; likewise I remembered how queer Philander
had acted then and when we left this morning. The
more I thought of it the more I wanted to. I'd
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
have smelt a rat sure, if I could raise any respectable
reason for there being one on the premises.
The minute we struck, the sanitarium the Colonel
sent a half peck of telegrams to Boston. Then he
set to work hiring a special train to take him up
there. 'Twas arranged for, finally, and he hurried
off. Said he'd be back when he could, probably
•early the following week. Doctor Wool went with
him to the station; the Doc was purring directions
as to diet and right thinking when they drove out
of the yard.
Eureka was glad to see me and Lord James, es-
pecially me. I judged that she and Miss Emeline
were the only ones at the Rest shop who had wasted
much worry on my being lost. The Doctor was too
much interested in Applegate, and the cook and
Annabelle were feeling sorry about Lord James, the
"perfect gentleman."
"But I wa'n't so awful worried, Mr. Pratt," Eu-
reka said; "I knew if I kept thinking right 'twould
be right in the end."
"Yes," says I, "but 'twas getting to that end
troubled me."
"And besides," she says, "I knew nothing dread-
ful had happened — terrible dreadful, I mean. Your
fortune said you'd meet trouble, but you'd come out
fine."
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
I drawed a long breath. "That fortune'!! be the
death of me yet, Eurelca," I told her. "If I fell
into the hay cutter I presume lilcely you wouldn't
fret; you'd Icnow I'd come out 'fine.' "
"Oh, you silly!" says she, and laughed. Lord
James had come in, and he heard the last part of
this. He rubbed his chin.
"Why did she laugh?" he wanted to know. "My
word! there's nothing funny about falling into the
'ay cutter."
"Don't you see ?" says Eureka, trying to explain.
"He means he'd come out fine — chopped fine. He's
joking, as usual."
"But — ^but that wouldn't be a joke; that would
be 'orrible! Chopped in a 'ay cutter! My
word!"
He said Americans were "blooming red Indians;
they 'adn't no 'uman feelings at all." We didn't try
to explain any more. What was the use?
All the rest of that day I tried to get a chance
to talk to Clayton Saunders, but I didn't get it. He'd
disappeared now, it looked like. I asked Doctor
Wool where he was, and the Doctor didn't seem
to know much more'n I did. Clayton had gone
away and left a note saying he'd had a hurried
business call that might detain him for a while,
but that he'd be back soon. He didn't come
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
back that night, though. I grabbed a chance when
Miss Hortense Todd was away from her ma's
apron strings, and I asked her if she knew where
Saunders was.
'Twas a simple question, but it bad an astonish-
ing effect. She kind of caught her breath and, it
seemed to me, turned pale under the tan on her
pretty face.
"Why — ^why, what do you mean?" she asked.
"Has — has Nothing has happened to — to
Mr. Saunders, has it?"
"Not that I know of," says I.
"Then why did you ask that question?"
"I don't know; no reason special. He's gone
somewheres or other, so the Doctor says, and I
wondered when he was coming home, that's all. I
wanted to talk to him."
She looked at me, and her big brown eyes looked
as if they'd look me through.
"Then you had no real reason for asking — me?'*
she says, slow.
"No, no more'n I've told you. Do you know
where he's gonp?"
The color was all "back in her cheeks now. She
smiled.
"Why should I know where he has gone?" she
said, and walked off. If I'd been a betting man I'd
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
have risked as much as a lead quarter that she did
know, just the same.
Neither young Saunders nor Applegate showed
up on Saturday or Sunday. The Boston newspapers
was full of the doings in Consolidated Brick stock.
Seems that when no news of the missing president
arrived on the morning of Friday, the day of the
annual meeting, there was pretty nigh a panic in
the stock. The price went slumping down, five
points at a lick. And then, just after the exchange
had closed, come the telegrams saying he was all
right and was on his way to the meeting. At that
meeting the company voted to pay its regular divi-
dend and give out a statement showing that its af-
fairs was in fine shape. Consequently, when the
market opened on Saturday, Consolidated Porcelain
Brick Common was hitched to a balloon, so to speak,
and went up faster than it had gone down. All
hands wanted to buy, of course, and such a hurrah
you never saw. At twelve o'clock, when the broker
works shut down, the price of a share was higher
than it had ever been since the company was
formed.
During Monday forenoon one little thing hap-
pened. I was the only one that saw it happen, and,
if I'd told that I saw it, the other things that hap-
pened later might not have happened at all. I didn't
2IO
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
,tell; 'twas none of my business, anyway, and, even
if it had been, I don't know as I — ^but there, It
wa'n't.
I was cutting grass down nigh the edge of the
pines at the back of the sanitarium grounds. As I
finished the course I was on and swung my lawn
mower about on the back tack, I noticed a cap bob
up out of the bushes off to the port of me, and a
hand wave as if 'twas beckoning.
Afore I could much more than wonder who 'twas
that was hid in them bushes, I noticed something
else. Off to the starboard, the Right Livers, a part
of 'em, was taking their sand baths. Mrs. Cor-
dova Todd was planted amongst 'em, but Miss Hor-
tense wa'n't. She had a headache, so His Lordship
had told me; and was laying down in her room.
Which might have been all straight enough at the
time, only now she wa'n't laying down, for, from
where I was, I could see her window. 'Twas open
and she was looking out of it at that cap and hand
in the bushes. And she waved her own hand back.
Thinks I to myself, "Sol, you never made a mis-
take yet by sticking to your job. Your job just now
is cutting grass."
So I cut, and I looked every way but at them
bushes or that house. Maybe 'twas five minutes
later or perhaps 'twas more, but, anyhow, the next
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
time I turned around Miss Hortense was coming,
out of those very bushes. She had a piece of white
paper in her hand. She looked up from it and saw
me staring in her direction. That paper went out
of sight in a second. I kept on shoving the lawn
mower.
She walked over towards me.
"Good morning, Mr. Pratt," says she. She was
trying awful hard to keep her voice steady, but it
shook just a little.
"Oh, good morning, Miss Hortense," says I,
jumping as if she'd come on me unexpected. "Well,
I'm surprised to see you out here in this sunshine.
Thought you was on the sick list."
"My head is much better, thank you. It's — it's a
beautiful day. Isn't it."
I said 'twas, and she went on back to the house.
I done some more thinking. I wondered who that
note was from and why It made her look as If she'd
been washed in a glory bath, as you might say. She
acted a little scared, seemed to me, and yet her face
was fairly shining. She was sweet enough to eat,
Ah, hum ! Right Livers wa'n't the only ones whose
diet was limited ; being an antique old bach, poorer'n
Job's cat's grandchild, has its drawbacks.
Dinner, or lunch — ^you called it one thing or
t'other according to your bringing up — was put on
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
table at the sanitarium at one o'clock. Eureka
and I was eating ours in the kitchen when Doctor
Wool come running out, his big, round face blaz-
ing. I'd never seen him excited afore, but now he
was.
"Pratt! Pratt I" he snapped — no purring this
time ; "Pratt, come I I want you."
He actually grabbed me by the coat sleeve and
dragged me out of that kitchen.
"Come I" he orders; "foUer me. No, stop. You
have a glass, haven't you?"
"A glass?" says I. "Glass of what?"
"A spyglass — a telescope. Where is it? Aboard
your boat?"
I stopped to think. "Why, no," says I, " 'tain't.
It's up aloft in my room. I fetched it there so's
to "
"Get it," he ordered. "Quick!"
When I come downstairs with the spyglass he
grabbed my arm again.
"Come," he said. "Poller me."
I follered him, across the lawn, through the pines,
and down to the knoll overlooking the beach abreast
of which the Dora Bassett was moored. There, all
ashake with excitement, and looking anything except
an invalid, was Mrs. Evangeline Cordova Todd.
"Where have yoii been?" she wanted to know.
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Didn't I tell you to hurry? They will be out of
sight in a minute. Hurry !"
Doctor Wool done his best to be his own smooth,
serene self, but even his best wa'n't very good just
then. He snatched the spyglass from under my
arm, pulled out the joints, and put it to his eye. I
looked where he was pointing it. Away out on
the water and moving toler'ble fast was a boat, a
power boat; I could just hear her engine cough.
The Doctor looked and looked. Mrs. Todd was
fidgeting all over.
"Is it?" she says. "Is it? I know it is. Don't
waste so much time ! Hurry! /i it?"
Wool lowered the glass. "I think so," says he.
"My eyes are not used to Here, Pratt; look
through this glass and tell us who is in that boat
off there."
I give one look. My eyes are pretty good, and
they was used to the glass.
"Why," says I, "I swan if it ain't Miss Hortensel
Your daughter, ma'am."
"Who is with her?" She and the Doctor both
asked it at once.
"It looks to me," I says, "as if Yes, 'tis.
It's young Saunders. Humph! That's surprising.
Thought he'd gone away."
I didn't have a chance to say any more. Mrs.
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
Evangeline Cordova was ploughing through the
sand for the shore. Doctor Wool yanked me after
her.
"Your boat," he says. "The — the Bassett, or
whatever her name is Is she ready to start at
once?"
"Why— why, yes. I cal'late she is. But what
"Then start her. Put me aboard at once and
start. We must catch that other boat. Hurry up."
Well, I was consider'ble flustered; couldn't make
head nor tail of the business, but I hurried fast as
I could down to the shore. My skiff was there. I'd
gone over to Philander's shanty on Sunday, mended
her bottom with new boards and pitch and paint and
rags, and towed her home.
The Doc was aboard of her afore I was.
"Get in," says he, "and shove off quick."
But Marm Todd had a word to say.
"Wait," she orders. "Wait. I'm not In yet."
"But, madam, you are not going. It is not neces-
sary, believe me. I can "
"Going ! Of course I'm going I Do you suppose
I shall stay here when my daughter is eloping with
a pauper? You — Pratt — help me into that boat."
She didn't need much help. She got In, same as
a hippopotamus might have got into a bathtub, and
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
she took up pretty nigh as much room. I had no
light job shoving that skiff off, and, after 'twas off,
I had another to find a place to set and row. How-
ever, we made the Dora Bassett, more by good luck
than anything else, and Doctor Lysander and I
dumped that Evangeline over the rail like a bag
of potatoes. Then we got in and I started up the
engine. Down inside me I was hoping she wouldn't
start, but she did; never worked better since I
owned her; that's the contrariness of things in
this world.
"Now," orders the Doctor, "catch that boat.
Catch it, do you hear."
I give you my word I didn't want to "catch it.
What Mrs. Todd had said had give me an idee of
what was happening. Them two young folks had
made up their minds to be human and sensible and
get married, same as people that care for each other
ought to. I found out afterward that it had been
planned afore Clayton left the sanitarium to go on
that mysterious business errand of his. The note
which that boy in the bushes brought to Hortense
was just the final clincher, that was all.
I didn't want to catch 'em, and I did hope they'd
get clear; but Doctor Wool was my boss; he paid
my wages, and, as long as he was skipper, 'twas up
to me to obey orders. So I set the Dora Bassett's
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
nose on the stern of that other launch and we hiked
along at a fast clip.
'Twa'n't a silent v'yage, by a consider'ble sight.
I never see a madder woman than that Todd speci-
men. She kept clinching her fists and unclinching
'em, and her mouth above her double chin was set
tight as a crack in a locked door. But what came
out through the crack was all pepper, I tell you.
"The hussy!" she breathed. "The ungrateful,
wicked hussy I After all I've done for her, and the
care I've taken that she should meet only eligible
men — men of position and money. And now
Oh, but there 1 I might have expected it. Last sum-
mer at Florence she might have married a Count,
a real Count, if she had had sense. He was com-
pletely infatuated with her; she might have had a
title by merely turning her hand. But no, she
wouldn't listen to me. Persisted in going her own
gait. Said he was too old! Old! And now
She is just like her father, for all the world He
was a perfect fool in practical matters."
The late Todd was lucky to be late, 'cording to
my way of thinking. I could see what had made
him late so early.
She swung around on the Doctor and handed him
some of the seasoning.
"You are to blame for this," says she, "Didn't
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
you tell me that this ridiculous sanitarium of yours
was absolutely free from — from creatures like that
Saunders? Didn't you promise to keep an eye on
my daughter and notify me if you noticed the least
hint of anything wrong? Oh! Oh! If this is not
prevented — if we don't get to land before that boat
does, you shall pay for it. I'll give your sanitarium
one advertisement that it won't get over. I have
some influence with society, thank heaven, even if
I have none with my own child."
Lysander the Great wa'n't nigh so great just then.
He tried to explain that it wa'n't his fault, he'd
done his best, and so on, but the explanations didn't
count for much.
"How about that note of yours which I hold?"
she wanted to know. "The money you talked me
into advancing you ? You want that note indorsed,
I believe. You "
"Hush, hush, Mrs. Todd, please," begged Wool.
"This is not the time to "
"I shall not hush. Either you will make this —
this Pratt catch that boat, or you and I will have
a financial settlement as well as the other sort."
I was picking up information fast. I cal'late Ly-
sander thought so, too, for he began to pitch into
me for not hurrying.
"I'm doing the best I can," I answered, short.
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Talk like that won't help, and" — I put some em-
phasis right here — "it may do the other thing."
"But will you catch that other boat?"
"Yes, I presume likely I will. We're gaining on
her all the time."
We were, too ; worse luck I The other craft was
the Lily and belonged to Samuel Snow over to Wa-
patomac. Sam made his brags about her speed, but
she wa'n't in it with the Dora Bassett. We was
overhauling her slow but sure. If, as it looked,
Clayton was bound across the bay, we'd lay him
aboard sartin, long afore he made port.
On we went. It got so we could see the pair of
elopers without the glass. Clayton was at the helm
and poor Miss Hortense was huddled up alongside
of him. I did pity her. I hoped Saunders would
have the spunk to hang onto her in spite of her
ma.
All at once the Lily turned from the course she'd
been making and set off at right angles.
"They've turned, haven't they?" asked Wool.
"Yes, they have turned. They're not going the same
way. Why?"
"Well," says I, and sorrowful, too, I shouldn't
wonder, "I cal'late he realizes we're overhauling
him and he's going to try to land at Bayport or
thereabouts."
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Don't you let him," orders Mrs. Todd. "Don't
you dare let him. You follow him, do you
hear?"
I never wanted to mutiny more in all my life. But,
during that life, I never had mutinied. I swung
off on the new course myself. And we kept on over-
hauling the Lily.
This course brought the shore closer all the time.
We got in so we could see the Bayport church
steeple and the buildings on the beach. In we went,
further and further. We could see Clayton and his
girl plain now. She was crying on his shoulder.
"We shall do it," says Wool, a trace of the purr
coming back, as his satisfaction grew. "We shall
do it, madam. I told you to trust in me."
Mrs. Todd actually smiled; but it was a mighty
ugly smile.
"I do believe we shall," she said. "And when I
do "
We got in amongst the flats and channels. At
high tide they're all right; at any other time they're
mighty bad navigating and the tide was on the ebb
now.
The Lily swung in to the deepest channel. I set
the helm over and started to foUer, best I could.
"Why do you do that?" snapped Mrs. Todd,
quick as a wink. "You are going out of your way."
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
" 'Tain't safe to go across there," I answered,
sullen.
"But their boat went across."
"She don't draw within six inches of what we do,
ma'am."
"Nonsense I If you go across there you can head
them off. Why, you are going way around. You
are going back. Stop I Stop it, I tell you I"
I was going back, in a manner of speaking. The
flat ahead, between us and the Lily, was shoaling
fast. I knew I'd got to go around the end of it. I
didn't answer; kept on as I was.
"Stop it I' fairly shrieked that everlasting woman.
"Stop, do you hear! Doctor Wool, make him
go straight ahead. They are getting away from
us."
"Pratt," says Wool, "I think you are over-cau-
tious. Why not do as the lady wishes ?"
"Because 'twould be a fool thing to do. They got
over all right, but we can't. And -"
"Are you going to sit there and let him spoil
everything? Make him go straight ahead, why
don't you? Doctor Wool, if my daughter gets off
with that man I will — I will ruin you ; I will, I swear
it."
Wool was fidgeting and getting red and white by
turns.
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Can't you see what is the matter?" sung out the
Todd critter. "He's doing it on purpose. He never
meant to catch them ; I saw it in his eye when he first
started. He's been paid to let them get away.
Bribed I that's what it is — ^bribed!"
Nobody had ever accused me of taking money
that way afore. I was so mad I could hardly hold
the wheel steady. I needed only one thing and that
the Doc provided.
"Pratt," says he, "I must say your conduct is sus-
picious. Do as I tell you ; f oiler that boat."
I looked at him. "Do I understand," I says, de-
liberate, "that you order me to go across that flat?"
"I order you to foUer that other boat. Where
it can go, you can."
"Of course he can, if he wants to. He's been
bribed, I tell you. He was in it from the first."
For a second I hesitated. Then I shoved the
helm over.
"Orders are orders," says I, and I never said
anything more resigned and happy. "You take the
responsibility, I don't."
And I headed straight across that flat. Now we
gained, I tell you. Clayton was foUering his chan-
nel, but we was cutting acrost lots. Only a hundred
yards between us and the Lily. We could hear
Saunders telling that poor Todd girl not to cry.
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
Doctor Wool grinned. Mrs. Todd leaned over
the rail.
"Hortense," she screamed, "I order you to leave
that person at once and come here to me."
'Twould have been a damp trip If Miss Hortense
had tried it, but she didn't try. The Lily kept on
and so did we, but we gained and gained.
I looked over our bow. The sand on the bottom
was shining in the sunshine. The foam we was mak-
ing was all riled up from the suction.
"She's shoaling fast. Doctor," says I. "If you
take my advice you'll "
"Be still," snaps Mrs. Todd.
"Be quiet, Pratt," orders Wool.
I obeyed orders. I kept still and I kept quiet, but
now 'twas me that begun to grin.
Half a minute more. Then there was a bump.
The Dora Bassett shook from stem to stern. An-
other bump; then a long, soft, scrapy noise. She
stopped short. I looked over the side. We was
hard and fast aground.
"What — what?" sputtered Wool.
"Go on ! Go on I" ordered the Todd woman.
I leaned back against the stern rail.
"Well, ma'am," says I. "I'm obHged to tell you
that we can't go on. We're hard and fast on this
flat and here we'll stay till the tide goes out and
223
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
comes in again. I warned you, remember. 'Tain't
my fault. Doctor Wool ordered me to go ahead
and I minded what he said. That's what he pays
me for. Hey, Doc?"
The Lily was going ahead, lickity-cut. All at
once, though, she swung around and came back a
little ways. Clayton Saunders realized what had
happened to us and figgered 'twas his chance to say
something. He brought his boat up into the wind
and hailed us.
"Mrs. Todd," says he, "your daughter and I
made up our minds to be married some time ago.
You could not have prevented it, no matter what
you had done. We shall visit the minister here in
Bayport and then take the train for the city. I
think you are perfectly safe where you are. There
is no danger, is there, Pratt?"
"Not a mite," says I, cheerful. "All we've got
to do is to wait seven or eight hours for the tide.
We're safe enough."
"Mother," says Miss Hortense, "I am sorry it
had to be this way, but there was no other. Clayton
and I will write you when we get to Boston. I shall
be very happy; you must console yourself with that."
Mrs. Evangeline Cordova didn't look as if she
hankered for consolation. She fairly choked, sl»e
was so mad.
224
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"By the way, Pratt," says Saunders, "when you
see Colonel Applegate, tell him that I have devel-
oped the business sense. I came down to that point,
where you and Hopper and he were playing Rob-
inson Crusoe, on Thursday night in your boat there.
That chap who was your host — a peculiar genius,
isn't he — told me that you were safe and sound
and then it occurred to me here was one of the Colo-
nel's 'opportunities.' ConsoUdated Porcelain Brick
Common had fallen off tremendously in price owing
to the rumor that its president had decamped. I
wired my brokers to buy, buy on a margin and buy
a lot. I sold out to-day. I am worth much more
than thirty thousand now. I paid Doane — I think
that was his name — not to tell any of you that my
boat had called that night. Good-by. Good-by,
Doctor Wool. Good-by, Mrs. Todd."
"Good-by, mother," called Miss Hortense.
"Don't worry."
The Lily swung around and started full speed for
Bayport. Mrs. Todd and Doc Lysander glared at
each other. I, thinking of Colonel Applegate and
what he'd say when he found out that he might have
been took off that point twelve hours sooner than
he was, grinned expansive.
But I was the only grinner aboard the Dora BaS'
sett the rest of that day.
225
CHAPTER X
WE got off that flat enough sight quicker
than we had any right to expect, that
is, Doctor Wool and Mrs. Todd did.
About an hour and a half later, and some time
after the up-train for Boston had whistled at
the Bayport depot, a feller come meandering
down to the beach, got into a dory and pulled
and poled out our way. Seems young Saun-
ders had sent him, and a message along with him.
The message was just a short note: 'Twas from
Miss Hortense, only she wa'n't Miss Hortense any
longer. It said that she and Clayton were mar-
ried and were on their way to the train. "Mother,
dear," must forgive her for what she had done.
It was all for the best, "and some day. Mother,
dear, you will realize it." She would write again
that night and tell her ma where to come to meet
her and her husband.
Maybe Mrs. Evangeline Cordova would realize
'twas for the best some day, as the note said, but
the some day wa'n't that day, by a good deal. Doc-
226
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
tor Wool done his best to purr her into some sort
of a civilized state, but he had his hands full.
She was more down on him than she was on any-
body else, and they went off together in that dory,
he arguing and she with her nose in the air. I told
the feller who'd come to take us off that I'd stay
where I was till the tide was high enough to float
my boat. I wa'n't going to leave the old Dora,
of course.
'Twas half-past nine at night afore I got clear and
under way, and 'twas 'most eleven when I got back
to the Rest shop. Eureka said there'd been all kinds
of a time while I'd been gone. Doctor Wool and
Mrs. Todd drove home from Bayport in a hired rig,
and the old lady was talking when she came into the
yard and hadn't stopped, scurcely, since. She
wouldn't come down to supper, though Doctor Ly-
sander had plead with her, through the door of
her room, for ever so long.
"She's awful down on him," says Eureka. "I
never saw anybody so down as she is on him. Keeps
saying it's all his fault and she'll make him pay for
it. How was it his fault, Mr. Pratt?"
"Don't know," says I.
"No, and I guess likely she don't, either. Cross-
grained thing I I never could bear her."
, I didn't say nothing about the "note" that Marm
227
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
Todd had flung at Wool's head in the boat. 'Twa'n't
none of my affairs, anyhow, though the news was
interesting and opened up all sorts of chances to
guess. This much I was sartin of: I'd ruther owe
'most anybody money than that Todd woman.
The next morning she left Sea Breeze Bluff Sani-
tarium bag and baggage. She'd had a telegram
from Hortense and Clayton and was going to where
they was, I cal'late, though she wouldn't give in she
was bound there. I drove her over to the depot
and she was mum as a clam all the way.
At that depot who should we meet but Apple-
gate. He'd just arrived from Boston.
"See here, Colonel," says I, "I've got a message
for you." And I give him Clayton Saunders's part-
ing remarks.
First he swore, and then he laughed.
"The young scamp I" he says. "I'd like to wring
his neck. Keeping me starving to death on bread
and water when he might have taken me home. So
he wanted you to tell me he'd been developing busi-
ness sense, did he? Ha, ha! the young robber!"
"How much do you suppose he made out of keep-
ing you there?" I asked.
"Don't know. By Jove ! now that I think of it,
perhaps I do know a little, though. A broker friend
of mine told me that a customer of his, a young
228
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
chap, he said, must have had some sort of a tip on
the situation, for he cleaned up over seventy thou-
sand by buying heavy on Friday. I wonder — I be-
lieve it was Saunders he meant."
"Good land!" says I. "Seventy thousand in a
day. That ain't a bad job, is it? Say, Colonel,
you was his opportunity that time, wa'n't you? Why
don't you tell Mrs. Todd how much her new son-
in-law is worth? It might comfort her some; she
needs comfort."
It did comfort her, too; you could see it. She
said her daughter was an ungrateful, undutiful girl
and the Saunders person was a "beast." But she
asked twice afore she got aboard the cars if the
Colonel was sartin 'twas seventy thousand the beast
had made.
She went away and I ain't seen her since. And
her leaving that sanitarium was the beginning of a
regular exodus, so Miss Emeline said, though what
she meant I ain't sure ; I always thought an Exodus
was some person in Scripture. If it means a gen-
eral clearing out of all hands, she was right, for
no less than six Right Livers left that Rest shop
that week, and some more the next.
Clayton and Hortense and Marm Todd went,
of course, and Greenbaum quit on Saturday. The
Colonel quit, too, and so did three other patients.
229
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
Didn't seem to be no 'special reason for their going;
just decided to go, and went, that's all.
I was sorry to say good-by to Applegate. He
and I had got on well together, and though he'd
called me a pile of names when his prunes and such
quarreled with his digestion, he never meant noth-
ing by it. I asked why he'd decided to give up his
"treatment."
"You're thinner'n you was. Colonel," says I, "but
you're a long ways on the weather side of being a
dime show skeleton even yet."
He laughed. "I know it," says he, "but I'm
tired of being a mark. I have been one for
some time, and now that I know it, I'm going
to quit."
"Know? What do you mean?"
"Oh, nothing," says he. "Pratt, how much da
you know about the past history of our old friend
Wool here?"
"Why, nothing much," says I, trying to guesa
what he was driving at. "I don't know much of
anything. He's had a lot of experience curing folks,
that's about all I know. And Miss Adams thinks
he's a wonder."
"She does, that's a fact. But I wonder if she
. . . However, that's not my funeral. Only I tell
you this, Pratt, for your own good: I wouldn't
230
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
bank too much on your job here being a permanent
one. Good-by."
I thought he might have thanked me for all the
favors I'd done for him, but he didn't. The only
other thing he said to me was just as he was climb-
ing into the wagon with the Doctor.
"You'll hear from me before long, Pratt," he
says.
I wondered what he meant by my job not being
permanent. And I wondered, too, what there was
about Doctor Wool's "past history." Anyhow, I
began to believe that, whatever it was, he'd dropped
a flea in the ears of Greenbaum and the rest and
that the said flea was responsible for their clearing
out so sudden.
'Twas plain enough that Wool didn't like the
"exodus." He never said nothing, of course, and
went on his grand, purry, imposing way same as
usual. He made proclamations — for Miss Eme-
line's benefit mainly, I judged — that the departing
ones was cured and well and he'd told 'em to go.
But I didn't believe it and even Eureka was sus-
picious.
The worst of it was that, though he kept putting
advertisements in the papers, no new victims came
to take the places of them that had gone. That
looked queer to me; seemed almost as if somebody
231
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
was quietly putting the kibosh on that sanitarium.
It was lonesome around the place now. Miss
Emellne and Professor Quill was the only Right
Livers left. There was more hired help than there
was folks to wait on. If it had been my shebang
I'd have discharged somebody, so as to save ex-
penses, but the nighest that happened to that was
when Annabelle, the waiter girl and chambermaid,
left of her own accord to marry the grocer's cart
driver, and Wool didn't hire no one in her place.
Even Lord James Hopper was kept, though he had
scurcely anything to do. He didn't complain ; land,
no ! that suited him first rate ; but if I'd been he, I'd
have made believe be busy, for safety's sake.
I thought Eureka had forgotten all about that
lost wife of his, the Swede one, the " 'ummer" that
he and the cherry bounce had talked about the night
of his making port at Sea Breeze Bluff. But it
turned out she hadn't, not by a consider'ble sight.
One night I found her in the kitchen, busy writing
something on a piece of paper.
"How do you spell 'communicate,' Mr. Pratt?"
says she. "With two m's or one?"
"I don't, unless I'm drove to it," I told her.
"Then I take a chance on two. Why? What do
you want to spell it for?"
"Oh, nothing," says she, and that was all I could
232
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
get out of her. But, later on, when she'd gone out,
I picked up that piece of paper from the floor
where she'd dropped it, having made a blot. What
was wrote on that blotted piece read like this :
"Information wanted of the whereabouts of Mrs.
Christina Hopper, who lost her husband in the
New York depot. She is a Swede woman and can-
not talk good English. Her husband is James Hop-
per, an Englishman. Communicate at once with
E. H, Sparrow, Wapatomac, Mass."
"For mercy sakes !" I said to myself. "Has that
girl been advertising for His Lordship's wife? This
looks like it."
And, when I taxed her with it, she owned up. She
had been putting advertisements in Boston and New
York papers and paying for 'em out of her own
pocket. She was dreadful fussed to think I'd found
it out.
"But, Eureka," says I, "it's the most foolish
thing ever I heard of. In the first place, I don't
believe Lord James ever had a wife. 'Twas just
talk, all that was."
"Talk! Why should he talk that way? What
made him talk?"
"Well, when a man who ain't ate anything for
as long as he had takes to pouring down "
233
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Solomon Pratt, I'm ashamed of you! I don't
believe you've got any heart."
She had one, and 'twas big enough to take in all
outdoors. I did feel ashamed of myself, though I
hadn't any reason in the world to feel so. I tried
to tell her that, if she was set on putting in them
ads, she better let me pay for half of 'em ; but 'twas
no go.
"No," says she, her eyes snapping. "I want to
do it all myself. Then, if she is found, I shall feel
so proud; just the way Evelyn, in the Home Com-
forter story, felt when she brought back her lover's
old sweetheart to him. She sacrificed herself to
do it, but 'twas noble and she didn't care."
What could a body say in answer to that kind
of tomfoolishness?
"But you ain't sacrificmg nothing. Eureka," I man-
aged to put in. "You ain't in love with Lord James,
are you?"
"Of course notl If I fall in love with anybody,
I should hope 'twouldn't be a married man. No,
I'm not sacrificing anything, but I'm just crazy to
bring those two together again."
"Well, all right," says I, giving up. "I'll own
up that you're just crazy, if that'll satisfy you. But
do tell me this: Does Hopper know you're adver-
tising for his 'ummer?"
234
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Of course he don't I And don't you breathe a
word to him. I want it to be a surprise— ^-if there is
ahy it."
I changed the subject. "Have you seen the Pro-
fessor to-day?" I asked her.
She looked at me. The same queer look was in
her eyes and mine, I guess,
"Yes," she answered, "I've seen him, but only at
meal times, that's all."
"Humph! I caught a glimpse of him then my-
self. Been up in that room of his all day, same as
usual, has he?"
She nodded. "I guess he has," she says. "And
the door's always locked. What do you suppose he
does up there, Mr. Pratt?"
"I don't know. It's a curious thing, that is. Does
Lysander — does Doctor Wool keep you and the
cook away from the hall that room opens off of,
same as he does me?"
"Yup. He found me there yesterday and he
drove me out quick, I tell you. Told me not to
come nigh there again. Mr. Pratt, Professor Quill
is doing something in that room; he's making
something that he and the Doctor don't want
anybody else to know about. I'm sure of it.
Did you smell anything when you was up in that
hall?"
235
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
I had, but this was the first I knew that she'd
smelled it, too.
"Like rubber burning, was it?" I asked.
"Yes, that's it exactly. Smelle^ as if somebody'd
left their overshoes on top of the stove to dry, and
then had forgot 'em."
"Perhaps that's it. The Professor's absent-
minded enough to leave his head on a hot stove,
fur's that goes."
"Nonsense! there's no stove in that room."
Well, 'twas a queer business and it had been go-
ing on now for a fortni't. First along the Profes-
sor stayed in that room only part of the mornings
and took his exercise and his sand bath with the
rest of the Livers. But now, when he was one of
the only two Livers left, and you'd think he'd natu-
rally get more attention and petting from Wool, he
didn't take any, hardly; stayed up in that third-
story room all the time, and sometimes even
had his prunes and eggs and raw steak sent up
to him. And when they was sent up 'twas the
Doctor himself took 'em; no one else ever got
that job.
Naturally, of course, all hands was curious to
know what it meant. I asked Lord James if he
knew. He swelled up with importance.
"It's a secret," says he. "Nobody's supposed to
236
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
know it, but the 'ead told me, in confidence like.
The 'ead trusts me, of course, and 'e told me 'e
knew I could keep a secret. My word 1 if you only
knew 'alf of the secrets I've been trusted with in
my timel"
"Sure," says I, drawing him out; "sartin! Don't
doubt it a mite, Hopper. But this ain't so much of
a secret as you think 'tis. You ain't the only one
that's trusted. I know about what Professor Quill's
doing, myself."
"Did the 'ead tell you?" he asked, eager.
"Oh, that's telling. I can keep things to myself
when it's necessary."
"But did he tell you about the special exercises
and all?"
"Oh, I ain't giving it away."
"No, no. But did 'e tell you all? I 'ave my
doubts if 'e did. 'E trusts me, the 'ead does. Why,
'e told me the whole thing; 'ow the Professor was
taking special exercises for putting on weight, and
'ow 'e 'ad to do it alone in that room. Oh, 'e told
me all about it. It's a new treatment; a bit of an
experiment, I mean to say; and until it's established
as a success no one ain't to know it. The 'ead 'as
charge of it, 'imself. 'E didn't tell you as much
as that, / know."
"No," says I, "he didn't. I'll have to give in
237
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
that he didn't tell me as much as that. I don't be-
lieve he's told anyone that but you, Hopper."
"Of course not. 'E knows who to trust, the 'ead
does."
I didn't say no more, but I grinned when I got
away by myself. Lysander the Great was a wise
old wizard, he was. He knew better than to fill me
up with any such yarn as that, but he wanted the
impression to get around that the Professor's being
in that room was on account of "special exercising"
and so he breathed the news into Lord James's ear
as a "secret."
Special exercise, hey I Well, it must be a hot old
exercise that makes the patient smell like a burnt
rubber boot.
And if the idee was to put flesh on poor Quill's
bones it wa'n't a success so fur. The poor critter
looked thinner and more worried and tired every
day. We hardly saw him at all; that is. Eureka
and I didn't. And even Miss Eraeline saw him only
by fits and starts. She was troubled about it, that
was plain. One afternoon, down on the beach,
when we was alone, she whispered her troubles to
me.
"I'm afraid Professor Quill is overtaxing his
brain," she says. "He looks tired; don't you think
he does, Solomon?"
238
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
She was the only one on the premises tha^ ever
called me by the whole of my for'ard name. "Solo-
mon" had a nice, dignified, old-family, orthodox
sound to it that kind of pleased her, I cal'late.
"Don't you think Professor Quill looks tired,
Solomon?" she asked again.
"Yes, ma'am," says I.
"Don't you think he's overtaxing his brain?"
"Don't know, ma'am. He looks as if he was.
taxed about all he could stand, I must say. There
ain't such a lot of him to tax, if you assessed him
by the square foot."
She never paid any attention to the last part of
this. The "don't know" was all she understood, I
presume likely.
"You do think he is overtaxing his brain; I can
see that you do. So do L Of course you know
what he is doing up there in his room?"
I mumbled something or other.
"Perhaps you don't really know," she says. "It
is a secret, but I feel that I can trust you, and I do
want to discuss it with some one. He is at work,
on a new system of mathematics for use in his col-
lege curriculum. You know what a curriculum is,
Solomon."
If she thought I did there wa'n't any use con-
tradicting her. Besides, if I said anything about
239
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
the thing I might get out of soundings. I kept still
and tried to look as all knowing as my namesake
in Scriptur'.
"Yes," she went on, "it is a new system of mathe-
matics. A wonderful system that he is perfecting
all by himself. But I do wish it did not take up
so much of his time and energy. I am worried
about him."
She looked as if she was.
"Yes, ma'am," says I. "Did he— did the Profes-
sor tell you about his — about this curry — cur-
ry "
I'd forgot it already. All I could think of was
*'curry-comb." But she didn't notice.
"No," she says. "Of course I don't mention the
subject to him, or he to me. Doctor Wool told me
not to. It was the Doctor who told me of the sys-
tem."
I nodded. I expected that. The Doctor was tell-
ing a whole lot these days.
"He said — Doctor Wool, I mean — that Profes-
sor Quill had this on his laind when he came here
and was so unhappy in idleness that the Doctor
believed it best for him to continue to work at it.
Here he could work by himself and under the Doc-
tor's guidance as to diet and exercise. Doctor Wool
is humoring him by permitting hirr" **» do it in se-
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
cret; it helps him to think right. And as we thinky
so we are, you know, Solomon."
I knew, or I'd ought to have known by this time,
having had the doctrine preached to me times
enough. "Think right!" Well, it looked as if our
old chum Wool was strong on thinking right and
talking any way he pleased. Here was two "se-
crets" he'd started going and neither one of 'em
was the real one, 'cording to my notion.
Miss Emeline hove a long sigh.
"I mustn't be selfish," she said. "I miss the Pro-
fessor's society, of course. He and I were very
congenial — old friends, you know — and I miss his
companionship. However, it will be all right soon,
I'm sure. It has seemed to me that he has avoid-
ed But there I I am permitting myself to be-
come nervous and foolish. I have other anxieties
and they. . . . What am I talking about? We'll
think right, won't we, Solomon? Ah! here comes
Doctor Wool himself. Now we shall get back into
the proper uplifting atmosphere."
We did. That is, I presume likely we did. The
Doctor came parading down to us, his big face
shining, his smile working overtime, and the whole
of him sticking up out of that desolation of sand
and pines like a white-washed meeting-house back of
a run-down cemetery. He was a wonder to look
241
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
at, and to hear; and yet I was — ^well, I was getting
hardened, I'm afraid. I didn't experience religion
■every time he got into the pulpit. Down in my
hold was a doubt, a doubt that kept growing, like a
toadstool in a dark cowshed.
Two things I felt fairly sure of: One was that
Miss Emeline was right when she started to say
that Professor Jonathan Quill avoided her. T'other
was a downright sartinty that he didn't like that
avoiding any better'n she did.
And now I've worked up to what was the most
astonishing happening of all that lit on me while I
was at that Rest shop. It's so astonishing, so ever-
lasting ridiculous and unbelievable, that I swan to
man I hate to tell about it. Yet I've got to, I'm
going to, and you and me can argue as to whether
Ananias and Saphiry or me was the biggest liars
as much as you please.
It happened about a week after I had this talk
with Miss Emeline. And it bust loose in the kitch-
en and on Eureka and me, just as most of the sur-
prises had bust. We was together there. Lord
James having gone to his room to read a passel of
English newspapers that Clayton Saunders had sent
him from Boston. Clayton used to get a lot of fun
out of His Lordship's ingrowing Britishness and he
sent these papers with a note saying they might
242
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
freshen up Mr. Hopper's acquaintance with the no-
bility and gentry, something that was too precious
to lose. Olivia, the cook, had gone to her cousin's
in the village. Eureka and I were alone, as I said,
and it was just a quarter-past eight. I know, be-
cause I looked at the clock when the knock came
at the back door.
I answered that knock, wondering who the knock-
er could be. I though it might be Annabelle, the
ex-chambermaid, come to spend the evening, maybe.
But it wa'n't; it was a man, and no man I'd ever
seen afore, I was sartin. Men that I knew around
Wapatomac didn't wear high, shiny plug hats, nor
yeller spring overcoats, nor carry canes with ivory
heads as big as a catboat's anchor, as you might
say.
"Good evening," says the feller, brisk and polite.
He had a big, hearty voice, and was big and husky
and fleshy all over, and when he moved the hand
that held the cane I noticed there was a yeller kid
glove on it.
"Good evening," said I. My fust notion had
been that he might be a peddler or a book agent.
Yet he didn't look like either one of them nuisances.
"Good evening," says he again. And then, kind
of hesitating: "Does — does a party — a lady, I
mean, by the name of Adams live here?"
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Miss Emeline Adams, do you mean?" says I.
It seemed to me that my saying the name sort of
staggered him; and he didn't look like a chap that
was easy staggered, nuther.
"Er-er Yes," says he. "Does she live
here?"
"She does. Yes."
He fetched a long breath. "Is she in?" he
wanted to know.
"Why, yes," says I, doubtful. "She's in, but "
Afore I could say any more he pushed past nle
and walked into the kitchen. Eureka had been
standing inside the door, listening, and he pretty
nigh bumped into her. He started back and stared
at her with all his eyes.
"This — ^you — this ain't her, is it?" he sung out
"No. No, course it ain't."
"Ain't who?" says Eureka, about as much sur-
prised as I was to see him act so.
"This is Miss Sparrow," says I. "She's the
housekeeper."
Him and Eureka shook hands. She was looking
him over from head to foot, yeller overcoat and
tall hat and cane and all. I could see her eyes
begin to stick out. This feller, whoever he might
be, was her idee of the real thing, that was plain.
She said afterwards that she thought for a minute
244
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
that Earl Somebody-or-other in the Home Com-
forter had come to life and come visiting.
He stared at her hard, and rather approving, too,
I thought.
"Excuse my glove," says he, polite as a dancing
teacher.
Eureka colored up, red as a peach in August.
She was real pretty when she got that way.
"Won't — won't you set — I mean sit down, sir?"
says she.
"He wants to see Miss Emeline," I put in, by
way of explanation.
"Oh," says Eureka, trying not to look disap-
pointed; I do believe she'd been hoping he'd come
to see her. "Well, Miss Emeline is in her room.
I don't know as she has gone to bed — I mean re-
tired — yet, but it is pretty late."
The feller pulled out a gold watch as big and
expensive and shiny as the rest of him, by com-
parison of course, and looked at it.
"Latel" he says. "Why, Good G — gracious! it
ain't half-past eight yet. Does she go to bed with
the chickens?"
"No, not exactly, but she goes awful early. She's
under treatment, you know."
"Treatment?"
"Why, yes. This is Sea Breeze Bluff Sanitarium
245
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
for Right Living and Rest. Didn't you know that?"
He nodded. "Yes," he says, "I remember now
they told me 'twas something like that. I should
think there'd be rest enough, from the looks of the
place outside. But see here, is Em — is Miss Adams
sick?"
"Not exactly, but she is invalided — not strong,
you know. Er — if you'll wait here, I'll go and see
if she is up."
He stopped her. "No, no," says he, quick.
"Don't do it yet. I — I Let me talk to you
two a little first. That will be all right. Mister —
Mister "
"Pratt, Solomon Pratt," I told him. "Better set
down, hadn't you? I can most generally talk better
that way, myself."
He acted awful nervous for such a big, fleshy,
sun-burned man. He threw back the yeller over-
coat and I could see that the suit underneath was a
check, and not a quiet, soothing-syrup kind of a
check nuther. But it fitted him fine and must have
cost a heap of money. Then he laid his cane on
the floor and begun to peel off the kid gloves. There
was a diamond ring on his finger that flared lik«
Minot's light in Boston Harbor.
"Won't you take off your hat, sir?" says Eureka.
"Hey? Good Lord, I forgot itl I'm a regulas
246
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
kid to-night — or an old woman, I ain't sure which.
And no wonder, when you come to think of it. Ex-
cuse me, Miss, for keeping my hat on all this time.
I know better."
He laid the hat on the floor side of the cane.
Eureka grabbed it up as if 'twas solid gold and
laid it reverent on the table. His head, in the
lamplight, was balder than Doctor Wool's. All
it needed was gilding to be a Boston State House
dome.
He pulled up a chair and set down. I set down,
too. Eureka didn't; she just stood and looked at
him.
"Are you the new minister?" she says.
They'd hired a new parson at the Orthodox
church in the village and we'd been expecting him
to call; so, maybe, the question was natural enough.
But if you'd kicked the chair this feller sat in he
couldn't have got out of it quicker.
"Minister 1" says he. "Minister!" Then he
looked himself over. "Say, girl," he says, "what's
the matter with me? Is my rigging snarled or has
that fool tailor made a mistake ? A parson 1 You'll
be taking me for a missionary next."
We didn't neither of us know what to make of
that. I begun to suspicion the feller was a lunatic.
And yet he looked rational enough.
247
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
I guess he see we was puzzled, for he set down
again, and says he:
"You'll have to excuse my language. Miss. I
don't mean nothing by it. Parsons up here may be
all right, but I've had experience with the foreign
breed, and when you asked if I was one I blew up
a little. Sit down, sit down. I want to talk to
you iabout — about this Miss Adams. How is she ?"
"Are you a relation of hers?" asked Eureka.
"Why, not a relation of hers, exactly — no. I'm
a friend — that is, I'm a friend of a friend of hers.
She lived in New Bedford one time and — and this
friend of mine knew her there."
Eureka gasped out loud; I heard her. I don't
know but I gasped, too.
"New Bedford 1" she says. "Why I why! you
don't tell me I What — what did you say your name
was?"
"I didn't. It's — er — ^Jones. That's it — ^Jones;
John Jones. What's the matter — anything?"
Eureka sighed. The wild expression faded off
her face. "No, sir," says she, with a look at me.
"No, sir, it's nothing. Only when you said New
Bedford I thought for a second — I hoped — ^but it
couldn't be, of course. It's all right."
The Jones man was looking at her hard. Now
he reached into the hatch of his vest and fetched
248
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
out a couple of cigars, everlasting big ones, with
gilt bands on 'em.
"Have one?" he says, reaching towards me.
I hesitated ; them cigars looked tempting, but
Eureka spoke what I was thinking.
"You — ^you're going to smoke, Mr. Jones?" she
says.
"Sure thing! I generally am smoking, though
where I came from we don't get cigars with jewelry
on 'em like these. They soaked me twenty cents
apiece in Boston for these. I told the clerk that
sold 'em to me he was a pirate, but I bought 'em
just the same. Didn't mean for him to get the idea
that I couldn't afford to smoke what I wanted.
Well," to me, "why don't you light up? Want a
match?"
Eureka was troubled in her mind. You could
see she hated to disaccommodate a genuine member
of the nobility like this one, but she knew what
would happen if him and me lit up.
"I don't know " she stammered. "I'm afraid
Miss Emeline wouldn't like to have you smoke in
here if she's coming down. She's turrible down on
tobacco."
"Shol" Mr. John Jones looked some put out.
"Humph!" he says. "She must have changed since
I — since my friend used to know her. Why, her
249
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
old man — her father, I mean — ^used to smoke like a
tin lantern. Well, never mind. I can wait."
He put the cigar back in his pocket. "So she's
down on tobacco, is she?" he says.
"Indeed she is. Mr. Pratt'U tell you so, too.
Mr. Jones, when this friend of yours and Miss
Emeline's used to live in New Bedford, did he
know a sailor man — a whaler man — named Lot
Deacon?"
The Jones feller started again. For a second
he didn't answer. Then:
"What? Who?" he stuttered.
"Lot Deacon. Oh, I hope he did and that he
told you something about him. Lot Deacon was
Miss Emeline's young man; she was engaged to
him."
"She was, hey? Well, welll"
"Yes. That's why, afore you said what your
name was, I hoped you might be him. She's talked
about him to me so much. She dreams about him,
too. You see, he promised to come back to her
some day and she just knows he will. She's never
give up hope."
Jones mopped his forehead with a silk handker-
chief.
"Is that so?" he says. "Well, well! Lot Dea-
con? Lot? Why, seems to me I have heard my
250
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
friend speak of him. Big, fleshy feller, rather Hght-
complected, and "
"Oh, nol No, indeed! He was slim and dark
and he had the loveliest curls."
"Curls ? Gee ! He must have been a sickly look-
ing pill. However, that was years ago. Probably
he's had a chance to improve since."
Eureka almost forgot her reverence for his
clothes, she was so mad.
"Indeed, he wa'n't a pill I" she snaps. "I've seen
his picture and / call him real handsome."
He didn't seem to be paying attention. Went on
talking almost to himself, seemed so.
"That was years ago," he said. "Where's the
time gone to? A man can get rid of curls and
bones if he has time enough. I cal'late he was meek
as Moses, too ; meek and scared to say his soul was
his own."
"Miss Emeline likes what you call meekness.
She says it's the sign of a gentleman to be re-
tiring. She likes that almost as much as she does
slimness."
"She does? That's funny. I don't. I don't want
a wife that's meek, not by a jugful. I used to say
so to the boys on the plantation. 'Fellers,' I used
to say, 'some of these days, when I've made my pile,
I'm going back to God's country to be married.
251
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
And then I'm going to tog my wife out — ^whewl
Sealskin sack down to her heels, thumbnail dia-
monds in her ears, bonnet with ostrich feathers on
it. That's what 1 Give me,' I used to say, 'a woman
that folks'U turn around in the street and look
at when she passes 'em.' That's what I used to
say."
Eureka was listening with all her ears. Now she
sighed again.
"That would be lovely," she says, "wouldn't it?
I know just how you feel. If I had a husband I'd
want him to feel that way. But Miss Emeline
wouldn't; no, indeed she wouldn't."
Jones went on thinking out loud.
"Queer," he says, "that Emeline Adams should
like thin, bashful folks. She ain't that way herself.
Plump, lively girl she was, something like you, only
not quite so much of her. Dressed pretty and gay.
Full of her tricks and cut-ups. Always dancing
and "
I was out of my chair by this time. He'd forgot
to say 'twas his "friend" had told him this. Spoke
as if he remembered it himself. My head was
whirling; I was beginning to think all sorts of im-
possible thoughts.
But Eureka only thought of what he'd said.
Afore I could speak she put in.
252
"■•Are you the new minister?' she says."
MR. PRATf'S PATIENTS
"Dancing!" she screamed. "Dancing 1 Miss
Emelinel Miss Emeline full of cut-upsi And
plump! Why, she's as thin — I mean slim as can
be! And as for dancing — why, she thinks it's the
invention of the Evil One himself. She always
dresses in black, and "
But Mr. Jones was on his feet now, and as much
upset as she was.
"Hold on there !" he ordered. "There must be
some mistake. This ain't the Emeline Adams I
knew. It can't be. She "
The door between the dining-room and the set-
ting-room opened. It always stuck and opened
hard ; now we heard it open.
"Eureka," said Miss Emeline's voice, "what is
all this noise? I heard it even in my room. If
Doctor Wool "
She was at our door now. I glanced at John
Jones. His bald head was wet with perspiration
?ind he'd turned white under his tan.
"Eureka," says Miss Emeline, coming into the
kitchen, "I must say, I "
She stopped. She and Jones looked at each
other — looked and looked. And, slow but sure,
what little color she had melted away.
"Oh I" she gasped, faint. "Oh! What?
Whor
aS3
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
John Jones held up his hands and dropped 'em
again.
"Lord A'mightyl" says he. "Emelinel"
"Oh! ohl" pants Miss Emeline. "Lotl"
And down she went in a heap on the kitchen floor.
CHAPTER XI
AND that's the way the miracle happened,
just as I've told you. We got Miss Eme-
line up off that kitchen floor, and set her
in a chair and sprinkled water on her; that is, the
Jones — I mean the Deacon — ^man and I did; Eu-
reka was pretty nigh as much upset as her boss,
and kept flying around, saying: "Ain't it wonder-
ful? Oh, I never believed it would really happen!
I told you so, Mr. Pratt I" and so on, forever and
ever, amen.
Miss Emeline came to after a while, and the first
thing she said was: "Does Doctor Wool know?"
And when Eureka said that he didn't, being up-
stairs in the room with Professor Quill, she said not
to tell him.
"Don't tell him; don't tell anyone — ^yet," she
stammered. "I — I can't Oh, Lot, is it really
you?"
I don't wonder she asked. I remembered that
tintype she kept on her bureau and 'twas pretty
hard to realize that this was the fellow who had
set for it nineteen years afore. Eureka tipped me
255
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
the wink and jerked her head towards the other
room. She and I went out of that kitchen and left
'em together.
'Twas three-quarters of an hour later when Miss
Emeline opened the door. I was glad to see her.
My ears was tired listening to Eureka's whispering.
Course she had to whisper, so's to keep Doctor
Wool from hearing and coming down, and she whis-
pered all the time. Wasn't it wonderful? Did I
ever hear anything like it? Didn't I think Mr.
Deacon was a splendid man? And dressed
My soul ! did I notice his clothes? And his jewelry?
And so on, never stopping hardly to draw breath.
I was pretty well shook up and stunned myself, and
I couldn't talk much; but Eureka talked enough for
two.
Miss Emeline was mighty weak and pale when
she opened the door. When we started to speak
to her she asked us not to.
"Please — please don't," she begged. "I — I must
go to my room. This has been such a shock — such
a surprise that — that Oh, please don't speak
to me I"
"But Mr. Lot — Mr. Deacon, I mean," bust out
Eureka. "Will he "
"He is going back to the village to-night. To
the hotel there. To-morrow he will come back, of
256
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
course. But in the meantime you must not breathe
a word to anyone. I — I He will explain.
Please don't ask me anything."
She went up the stairs, holding onto the balusters
with one hand and her head with the other. Eu-
reka and I went out into the kitchen again.
Deacon was standing by the table. He looked
pretty nigh as shook up as Miss Emeline. He was
swabbing at his forehead with the silk handkerchief.
"Hello !" says he, pretty average trembly. "Say,
this beats cock-fighting, don't it. I — I guess I'd
better be getting back to town and hunt up sleeping
quarters."
"You're going away!" sfiys Eureka. "Going
away — to-night ?"
"Oh, I'll be back again in the morning. She —
that is, Emeline — thinks I'd better. We've fixed it
up. She wants me to pretend to be an old friend
of hers that has come here for treatment. Then
I can stay without all hands knowing — knowing how
it is between us. You two have got to promise to
keep mum. Will you?"
"Sartin," says I. Eureka looked awful disap-
pointed.
"Keep mum?" she saysi "Why,- ain't you going
to tell everybody? I should think you would. It's
so wonderful I So lovely and romantic and splen-
257
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
did I Just like the most beautiful story that ever
was I Are you going to keep it a secret?"
"Um-hm. For a while we are. She'd rather have
it that way, and I guess it's about as well. Ye-es,
I guess 'tis."
"But ain't you "
"There, there I" I cut in. "I presume likely the
parties interested know best what they want to do.
It ain't for us to pass out advice, Eureka. Come
on, Mr. Deacon; I'll hitch up the horse and drive
you over to the hotel."
I took him by the arm and hustled him out to
the barn. I knew if he stayed where he was Eu-
reka'd be sartin to ask him a million questions
about where he'd been all these years and so on;
and 'twas plain enough he wa'n't in no condition to
be pumped.
But, as it turned out, pumping wa'n't needed.
While we was driving over he spun the whole yarn
himself. Seems he'd been about everywhere in those
nineteen years. Up to Behring Sea on that whaling
voyage, and to Chiny, and England, and France,
and Italy, and Turkey, and the South Seas. He'd
set his heart on making money — a lot of money —
same as he swore he was going to in that note he
left Emeline when he went away. But 'twa'n't until
lie got back to South America for the third time that
258
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
luck begun to come his way. Then he went up the
Amazon River and him and two other fellers, an-
other Yankee and an Englishman, got a rubber^
growing grant from the government and settled
down. They'd prospered, right from the start. He
was worth all kinds of money now.
"But I never forgot the girl I left to home in New
Bedford," he says, sort of warming up as he' went
along. "When I struck South America the first
time, after that three years of whaling and ship-
wrecks and so on, I was flat on my back in the sick
bay for almost another year. Then, soon as I was
well enough to hold a pen in my fist, I wrote to
Emeline. She says she never got the letter; any-
how, I never got any answer. So I thought she
was still mad at me and I didn't write again. But
I never forgot her. No, sir! And I never got
married, neither. Bill and George, my two part-
ners, they took up with a couple of liver-colored
native women and was happy. But not me — not
Lot Deacon! The boys used to say to me, 'Lot,
why in thunder don't you take a wife, same as we've
done ?' But I said, 'No, not much. I ain't saying:
nothing against halfbreeds ; they make good enough
wives ; but some day, when I've made my lucky, I'm
going back to the States and marry a real girl-^one
like this.' And then I'd show 'em this photograph.'"
259
MR. PRATT'S' PATIENTS
He had the photograph in his inside pocket. He
lit matches so's I could look at it. I never said
nothing as I looked, but I thought a heap. Was
this Miss Emeline Adams? This young, plump,
lively-looking country girl, all crimps and ribbons
and fol-de-rol? Whew! Nineteen year had made
a difference in her as it had in him.
I guess he knew what I was thinking, for he put
the photograph back in his pocket and hove a sigh
that seemed to come from the foundations.
"That was a good likeness when 'twas took," he
says. "I couldn't hardly believe that. . . . But
there I I'm getting off my yarn. Four years ago I
come back to the States and started to hunt her up.
Course I supposed likely she was married and didn't
want to see me, but I wanted to see her. I had no
luck at all. I traced her to Boston and there I lost
her. By and by I gave it up and went back to my
partners and rubber, A month ago I tried it over.
This time I put advertisements in the papers."
"Miss Emeline never reads the papers now-
adays," says I. "She thinks they're coarse and vul-
gar. She takes the Christian Herald."
"Yes, I know; so she told me. Lord sakesi I
never thought of advertising in that. However,
nothing come of the ads and I was about ready to
quit, thinking she'd snaffled another man and wanted
260
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
to be rid of yours truly. Then, a few days ago, in
New York, I run into a feller named Peters, her
second cousin."
"Yes. I've heard Eureka mention him. He's
about the only relation she's got now. Benjamin
Peters, that's his name."
"Um-hm. Nosey Peters, we used to call him.
And when old Nosey said she wa'n't married and
told me where she was, I fetched a yell that scared
the barkeep — I mean the hotel man — 'most to death,
bolted for the train, stopped in Boston just long
enough to have a few extra duds made, and here I
am.
He sighed again.
"Yes, sir," he says. "Here I am."
"Did you tell Miss Emeline about how you
learned where she was ?" I wanted to know.
"Yes. Say, what's the matter with Nosey; any-
thing? She didn't seem to like to hear about him.
Seemed to think he was a hard ticket. Acted like
a nice enough chap to me. Little mite of a sport,
maybe, but that's all."
I grinned to myself, in the dark. "He made a
lot of money in the show business," says I. "Was
a play-actor for a spell, and then run a little cheap
theatre of his own, so Eureka says."
"Christmas I that's nothing. Why, one of the
261
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
best fellers I know runs a show and a dance hall at
Para. A Britisher, he is, and a tip-top chap, square
as a brick. He staked me more'n once, in the old
days, when I was broke."
"Don't doubt it, but I wouldn't tell Miss Eme-
line so. She thinks play-acting is sinful. Cousin
Ben is the family disgrace; she never speaks his
name."
"The devil you sayl Humph! Well, well!"
He didn't say any more until we made the hotel
gate. Then he says:
"Say, Pratt, I'm to apply to your skipper over
there — jvhat's his name? Oh, yes, Wool — in the
morning as a sufferer from something or other.
Emeline wants it that way. Can you think of any
disease that'll fit me? I don't look like a con-
sumptive, do I?"
"Not worth mentioning, you don't, no. Disease?
Let me see. Why, say: you might tell him your
heart had troubled you for ever so long. That
would be more or less true, wouldn't it?"
He laughed and said heart-disease would do first
rate. So I said good-night and left him.
When I got back to the sanitarium and had put
up the horse and buggy, I found Eureka, still set-
ting up in the kitchen, waiting for me. She was too
crazy excited to sleep.
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"What did he say to you?" she wanted to know.
"Tell me every word."
I told her as many words as I remembered. She
was more excited and tickled than ever.
"It's lovely 1 lovely 1" she says. "And he's such
''a fine man, a man of the world, same as you read
about. He's been everywheres and seen every-
thing. Oh, did you hear what he said about the
way he'd dress his wifel Think of Miss Emeline
walking down the Roo de Tivoly in Paris all rigged
up in diamonds and sealskins! Think of it!"
"Yes," says I, kind of doubtful; "I've been think-
ing of it."
"Isn't it splendid? Isn't she lucky to get such a
man? Oh, if somebody like that come after me
I'd— I'd "
She couldn't say any more; the joy of it was too
much for her. She'd have set up all night, I cal-
'late, but I wouldn't. I went aloft and turned in.
As I tiptoed past the door of the room where Pro-
fessor Quill was supposed to be perfecting his
mathematics or doing his special exercises, I heard
Doctor Wool's voice purring soft and steady. And
the burnt rubber smell was strong as ever.
Next morning the sufferer from heart-disease
drove into the yard according to schedule. He had
his dunnage with him — a trunk and a big bag all
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
plastered over with foreign labels. Doctor Wool
heard the wagon- wheels and come as nigh to hurry-
ing as I'd ever seen him, except that time when he
dragged me down to the beach to chase Clayton
and Miss Hortense. When he found that the visi-
tor was a candidate for right living he almost melted
into butter, as you might say. He had Lord James
and me look out for the dunnage and he helped
the Deacon man out of the carriage himself. They
went into the office together and the door was shut^
prompt but careful.
Miss Emeline came down about noon. She
looked as if she hadn't slept for a week. The dis^
covery that she and Mr. Deacon were old acquaint-
ances was made just as 'twas planned, and I must
say that she carried it off enough sight better'n he
did. He was pretty nervous, but she was calm and
cool, outside. No use talking, Boston first-family
training counts, a time like that. Doctor Wool
watched 'em pretty close, but I don't think he sus-
picioned a thing.
And from then on Mr. Lot Deacon, the South
American manufacturer, became star boarder, in
Colonel Applecart's place, at the Right Livers' Rest.
Doctor Lysander fairly poured ile over that ex-
whaler. There was nothing too good for him. Be-
ing a heart-diseaser, he hadn't scarcely any exercises
264
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
to take and his diet wa'n't cramped enough to no-
tice. I judged that the price the new boarder was
paying was a big rock in a thirsty land to Lysander
the Great just then.
Deacon spent full as much time with Eureka and
me as he done with Miss Emeline, though of course
he spent a lot with her, too., Eureka heard some
of their talk together and she told me every
word.
"I can't understand Miss Emeline," she said to
me. "She don't act half as glad and radiant and
soul-satisfied as she'd ought to, seems to me. Why,
he's fetched her the loveliest ring. It's as big as —
as a bonfire, pretty near, and she don't wear it at
all. Keeps it in her bureau drawer in a box. I
know she don't like jewelry, but I don't see how
she can help liking that. Mr. Deacon told me it
cost fifteen hundred dollars. Fifteen hundred dol-
lars/ I didn't know all the rings in the world cost
that much. Sometime, when I get the chance, I'll
show it to you, Mr. Pratt."
She did show it to me and it was a bonfire, all
right enough. The one Lot wore on his own finger
wa'n't a circumstance to it. Blessed if it didn't
pretty nigh put a body's eyes out to be in the room
with it.
"I heard 'em talking about it yesterday," says
265
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
Eureka. "They was alone together and I tried
not to hear, but I couldn't help it. He asked hcf
why she didn't wear it. She kind of shivered like,
seemed to me, and she says :
" 'I can't, Lot. I can't — not now, if ever.'
'"But why not, Emeline?' he says. 'We're en-'
gaged, ain't we? Have been for nineteen year, and
Lord knows that's long enough.'
" 'Lot,' she says, 'how do you know I want to
marry you, after all this long time?'
" 'Marry me !' says Mr. Deacon — and no won-
der! 'Why for God sakes, Emeline '
" 'Oh, don't, don't talk that way. Lot. I can't
bear to hear you.'
" 'AH right, I won't. I'm trying not to, but it
comes hard. I've been living kind of rough for a
good while and I can't rub the roughness off all to
once. But what do you mean by talking about want-
ing to marry me? Haven't you been waiting for me
all this time? And saying you knew I was coming
some day? And dreaming about me? That Spar-
row girl says you have.'
" 'Did she say that? Has she been talking to
you of my affairs? She should know better. If sh«
wasn't such a well-meaning, kind-hearted girl, I
should discharge her this moment.'
"You better believe I felt pretty bad when I heard
266
MR. PIATT'S PATIENTS
that, Mr. Pratt. But what Mr. Deacon said made
me feel so proud I didn't care.
" 'Discharge her I' he almost hollered 'Discharge
kerf Why, Emeline, hew you talkl She's a fine
girl I' A bully girll I never saw a better, hand*-
somer, nicer-behaved girl than she is. And I've
seen some in my day, all colors and kinds.'
"I tell you I was proud when I heard that, but
Miss Emeline only shivered again and asked him
please not to speak of the dreadful creatures he'd
met in the awful places he'd been in. He went on
pleading with her.
" 'But, Emeline,' he says, 'how can you talk about
marrying me that way? Ain't I been true to you
all these years? Didn't I work for nothing but to
make you happy some day? What in^ — I mean what
do you think I hunted you up for if it wa'n't for
just that? After I found you hadn't married any-
body else, of course.'
"She bust out crying. 'Oh, I know it. Lot,' she
says. 'I know it. You're a kind, good-hearted man.
I know. But are you sure you want to marry —
me?'
" 'Why — ^why, Emeline ' he stammered.
imagine he couldn't find the words to answer her
with. She spoke again afore he did find 'em.
'You must be patient,' she says. 'You must
267
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
bear with me. And, for my sake, you must learn
to speak lower and not use such — such language
and slang. Perhaps, if you do that, and never tell
Doctor Wool or anyone else a word of this that is
between us, I — I — ^perhaps But oh, I wish
you wouldn't wear those clothes.'
"I give you my word, Mr. Pratt, I almost hol-
lered out loud when she said that about his beautiful
clothes. And he was as much surprised as I was.
" 'Clothes,' he says. 'Why, what's the matter
with these clothes? I spent four days in Boston
getting these clothes made. Paid the tailor extra to
hurry. "Blame the expense I" I says to him. "Tog
me up I Spread yourself I I'm game." That's
what I said.'
"But she only cried again and went off to her
room. I didn't hear any more, Mr. Pratt, and I
wish I hadn't heard that much. What makes her
act so? I can't understand. If he wasn't such a
splendid man, just like a regular nobleman, I might;
but I can't now. Can you?"
I just shook my head. It did seem to me that
Eureka's and Miss Emeline's pet romance they'd
built so much on wa'n't turning out to be all sugar;
there was some vinegar in it.
I was coming to like the Deacon man first-rate.
He and I and Eureka spent more and more time
268
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
together. He seemed to enjoy being in the kitchen
with us full as much as he did confabbing with Wool
or Professor Quill. Yes, or even Miss Emeline.
And he kept his eyes open; he was as sharp as a
razor. There wa'n't much got by him, I tell you.
One day I was out in the barn and he drifted in.
I was currying the horse and he set down on the
wheelbarrow and begun to ask questions. They
was questions about Wool and Quill and Miss Em«-
lifte, mainly. Especially about Wool.
"Who is he, anyway? Tell me what you know
about him."
I told what I knew, which wa'n't so much. He
listened, mighty attentive.
"So Emeline's money — ^part of it, anyhow — is
in that feller's hands. She's backing this Breeze
Bluff health factory, is she? I guessed as much.
Now tell me something about the schoolmaster, old
Long-shanks — Quill, I mean. What is he doing
here?"
I said he was a patient, suffering from general
breakdown.
"Humph ! Does he dance his breakdowns in that
room overhead there? He's shut up in that room
ftiost of the time, and no one but Wool is allowed
to come near him. What is going on in that room?"
I hesitated. "Well," says I, "th€re's two ex-
269
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
planations been given out so fur; that is, you can
call 'em explanations if you want to."
I told him about the "mathematics" and the "ex-
ercises." He sniffed.
"Ratsl" he says. "Tell that to the marines.
You're no marine, Pratt. What do you think is
up?"
For a minute I didn't answer. Then I spoke
what I'd been thinking for some time.
"I believe," I told him, "that there's something
else going on, something that's a dead secret be-
tween the Professor and the Doctor. Miss Eme-
line told Eureka once that Professor Quill was, be-
sides being a schoolteacher, a sort of inventor, as
you might say. He's invented half a dozen con-
traptions that have done pretty well for somebody
else, though he ain't made much out of 'em. I "
"Hold on there! Wait a minute. How did
Emeline know all this?"
"Why, she and Quill are old friends. They knew
each other up to Brockton. Didn't she tell you
that?"
"No. No-o. Fact is, she don't seem to want to
talk about this Quill feller at all. Hum! . . .
Hum I . . . Well, never mind that. So you think
he's working at some invention or other in that
room, do you?"
270
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"That's about the only thing I can think of. Don't
it sound reasonable to you?"
"Why, yes. Only, if he's here for his health, he
don't seem to be getting much of it. And why does.
Wool lie about it? And where does Wool come in„
anyway? Pratt, what's your real inside opinion of
this Doctor Lysander P. Wool anyway? Just be-
tween you and me — what is it?"
I spent a second or two deciding how to answer.
He didn't wait for the decision.
"I see," he says. "Yes, yes. You think he's a
blamed old fraud."
"Why — why, good land, Mr. Deacon I I never
said nothing like that."
"I know you never said it. I said it and you
thought it. All right. Now I'll say something else
you've thought: You think there's some kind of
crooked work going on here."
"There's nothing crooked about Professor Quill.
I'll take my oath on that."
"So will I, from what I've seen of him; but it's
here, just the same. You know what I'm going to
do? I'm going to heave out a line or two baited
with the name of Lysander P. I'm in hopes I may
get a bite or two that'll lead to information."
When he said that I had an idee. I laid down
my currycomb, got a pencil out of my pocket, and
271
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
-wrrote a name and address on the back of an old
envelope.
"You might heave one of your lines in that direc-
tion," says I. "Perhaps you'll get a bite and per-
haps you won't."
He read what I'd written. " 'Colonel. Wil-
liam J. Applegate. Such and such Street, Provi-
dence, R. I.,' " says he. "Humph ! So you
think-^^ "
"I don't think at all, Mr. Deacon; I can't afford
to. But I guess sometimes, and, judging from the
way the Right Livers cleared off these premises in
a few days after the Colonel did, I guess maybe he'd
■come across something interesting and had spread
the news, on the quiet. Anyhow, I'd chuck a line
that way if I was you."
"Thanks. You're a cagey old bird, Pratt. All
right, I'm another."
"Yes, and there's a third that's just as cagey,
and some more, too, if I'm a judge. His name is
Lysander P. Wool. That's what you mustn't for-
get."
"I won't. If I have a business call that takes me
away from these latitudes for a week or so pretty
soon, don't be surprised. And don't ask too many
■questions as to where I'm going, either."
For a week or so after this nothing special hap*
272
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
pened. He and Miss Emeline were together about
as much as usual and no more. When they was
together Doctor Wool most generally happened to
be somewheres in the neighborhood. Once the Doc-
tor spoke to me concerning 'em. Of course the ques-
tions he asked wa'n't really questions — just every-
day talk, that's all — ^but it was him that led the talk
in that direction.
"Miss Adams and our new triend, Mr. Deacon,
are congenial spirits, are they not," he says, smiling
as ever.
"Seem to be," says I.
"It would appear so. Yes. I am — er — delight-
ed, of course. Delighted — ^yes. They are old ac-
quaintances, I believe."
"So Eureka says Miss Emeline says."
"Yes. Old acquaintance should not be forgot-
ten, the song tells us. Mr. Deacon Is a gentleman
of wide experience, I should say."
" 'Pears to be."
"No doubt he and Miss Adams knew each other
t>^er — very well in years gone by."
"Think so?"
"Yes— er Whyl Why! What's this?"
He forgot to purr when he said the "What's
this?" The organ music stopped and his voice
sounded human and pretty sharp, all to once. I
273
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
looked up. What I saw was Professor Quill and
Deacon walking across the lawn together. I looked
at them and then I looked at Wool. His heavy
eyebrows was drawn together and, until he noticed
that I was watching him, he looked uglier'n ever I
see him.
He started over to meet 'em. When he spoke
the ugliness was all gone. He was smooth and
beautiful as a taffy image in a candy store window.
Oh, he was a cagey old bird, Lysander was, just as
I told the Deacon man.
"Ah I" he purred. "Good morning, gentlemen.
Good morning. You have been for a little stroll
together? Yes?"
"Yes," says Deacon. "We've strolled some.
Hey, Professor?"
Professor Quill acted pretty nervous. Yes, and
scared, too, seemed to me. His thin face — thinner
than ever, since he'd been doing the "mathematic
exercise" — went sort of pale and he stammered
when he spoke.
"I — I happened to meet Mr. Deacon and we —
we walked together," he said.
"Of course, naturally. And talked, too, I pre-
sume. That is one of the charms of walking, ac-
cording to — er — one of our great authors. A walk
without the pleasant accompaniment of conversa-
274
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
tion is like — er — I forget the comparison, but it is
immaterial. You have talked — ^yes."
"Guess I've done most of the talking," says Dea-
con. "The Professor's kind of tired, I judge. Acts
pretty worn out, to me."
"Oh, not at all; not at all," put in Quill, in a
hurry. "I — I am quite fresh, I assure you."
Wool shook his big head, same as a Sunday-
school superintendent might shake it at a naughty
little young-one in the front pew.
"Ah," says he, smiling, sugary but reproving, as
you might say, "the Professor does not forget our
motto, I see. He is thinking right — thinking right,
yes. But we must not forget our rules, also, must
we? I am sure it Is time for your exercise,, Pro-
fessor Quill. If I might — in my capacity as father
of this little — er — flock — offer a suggestion, it would
be that you should not forget your exercise. Pro-
fessor."
The Professor was already on his way to the
house.
"I — I did forget," he stammered, walking fast.
"I beg your pardon, Doctor Wool. Mr. Deacon,
you — you will excuse me, won't you?"
"Sure thing," says Deacon. "Don't let me in-
terfere with the exercises. Profess."
"Professor Quill is fatigued," purrs Wool, of-
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
feting explanation. "His system was quite broken
down when he came here, but we are gradually re'
building it we — er — trust. Did he — er — tell you
of4:^er — of his treatment, Mr. Deacon?"
"Not a thing. We just talked along, that's all.
Guess it's time for my exercise, ain't it? Where's
that long-legged director? Hi, King Edward 1
Looking for me, was you?"
He called Hopper "King Edward" or "Richard
the Third" or "Queen Victoria" or any British
name that come handiest. His Lordship didn't like
it a mite, but he didn't dast to say anything.
Two days later he — Deacon, I mean — went off
on that "business errand." He told Miss Emeline
— so Eureka said; I got all that kind of news from
her — that he'd be gone only a few days. He was
going to look into a finance affair, that was his ex-
cuse to her and to Wool, She seemed resigned to
have him go. Their secret had been kept first-rate.
Eureka and I were the only outsiders that knew it.
So he told her he was going on the finance er-
rand; but to me he said different.
"I'm off," he says. "When I come back I may
bring a fish or two off those 'lines' you and I were
talking about. I hope I shall."
"Mr. Deacon," I whispered, looking around to
make sure nobody was listening, "have you located
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
that — that thing that keeps the Professor in his
room?"
He winked. "I am beginning to smell the rat,"
he says. "I rather guess I'm beginning to smell
him."
"What's he smell like?"
"He smells like rubber."
"Humph 1 I smelt as mueh of him as that. You
can't go through that upstairs hall without smelling
that much."
He winked. "Maybe so," he says, "but I've been
used to that smell for a good many years. It's my
business. However, that ain't the smell I'm going
after on this trip. I'm going to smell wool. So
long, Pratt."
CHAPTER XII
MISS EMELINE don't seem to be mourn-
ing for her long-lost now he's gone as
much as she did when she thought he
never would come back," I says to Eureka.
Deacon had been away from the sanitarium five
days, and, though I'd been hoping he might write
and report, he hadn't at all.
"Course she don't!" snapped Eureka. She was
awful touchy on the subject of Miss Emeline and
Lot, seemed so. The touchiness was growing on
her every day. "Why should she? She knows
now he will come back."
"Has he wrote to her?"
"I don't know."
"Does she write to him?"
"I suppose likely she does. Engaged folks usu-
ally write to each other, don't they?"
"Does she talk about him?"
"No, not much."
"What does she talk about?"
"Why, not much of anything. Mr. Pratt, what
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
is the matter with Miss Emeline? There's some-
thing on her mind. She's awful troubled about
something."
I noticed that myself. I should have thought
'twas on account of her "engagement" — I had my
opinion as to the joy of that engagement by this
time — if it hadn't been for her telling me, long
afore the Deacon man showed up, about her "anx-
ieties." No, it wa'n't that alone, nor another thing
that I suspicioned strong, 'twas something else, some
worry that was on her mind. 'Twas plain enough
to see that 'twas there, but what it was I didn't
know.
There wa'n't any use talking about it; there's
never much use talking when talk don't do any good,
at least that's my way of thinking. A pile of folks
in this world think different, I know, but that's my
way. So I changed the subject.
"This Deacon man is a tip-top chap, ain't he,"
says I.
"Yes," says Eureka.
"I like him fine. Don't you?"
"Yes."
"And he likes you. You heard what he said to
Miss Emeline about you, and he's said the same to
me a whole lot of times. Says you're a stunning
good girl."
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
I thought that would please her, and I guess it
did. But she didn't say nothing. I tried again.
"Say, some folks have all the luck, don't they?"
says I. "And them that have it don't seem to ap-
preciate it. Miss Emeline don't appear to hurrah
over what's in store for her as much as & body'd
think she would. Godfrey! Suppose you was go-
ing to marry a man — and a good man, too; a little
rough, but that's nothing — ^just suppose you was go-
ing to be Mrs. Lot Deacon, sealskin sacks and dia-
monds and Roo de What-dye-call-its and — and all
the rest of it. Just suppose you was going to be
that, Eureka; hey? You wouldn't tell him not to
wear thunder-and-lightning clothes, would you? I
tell you, I Why, what's the matter?"
She whirled on me like a teetotum. Her eyes
fairly flashed sparks. Acted as if she was fighting
to keep from crying.
"You — ^you " she sputtered. "How — ^how
— ^what do you mean by talking to me that way?
Just because I'm poor, and work out, and haven't
got any family — I mean any that's more aristo-
cratic than a mud-turtle's — ^you — you think you can
say anything you want to to me. / haven't got any
feelings. I— I "
She choked right up then and turned away. I
never felt worse in my life. I liked Eureka ; I never
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
saw a girl I liked more; and I wouldn't have hurt
her feelings for no money. I couldn't see how I'd
hurt 'em now, but I ain't lived fifty-odd year with-
out learning that there's times when argument with
a female is as bad policy as thumping a bull's nose
with your fist to see which is the hardest. I walked
over to her and put my hand on her shoulder.
"Land of love, Eureka I" says ^. "I didn't mean
to do any harm and I beg your pardon for it. As
for heaving your poverty at you, that would be a
smart thing for me to do, wouldn't It? I'm so
scant of money myself that I welcome a shift in the
weather, on account of the change in it."
That made her laugh and she cheered up a little.
"Oh, well," she says, "I am foolish, I suppose.
Born that way, I guess. I don't know what ails
me lately."
I changed the subject again.
"Any news from the other strayed-or-stolen?" I
asked her. "Any answers from that missing wife
of Lord James's?"
"No, not a thing. I shall begin to believe as you
do, pretty soon, that there ain't any wife and never
was."
If she was losing her faith in romance and the
like of th^t there must something ail her sure, I
dlQUght. This was the fust time I'd ever heard her
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
even hint that the Swede 'ummer wouldn't report
on deck some time or other. And she'd quit talk-
ing about my "fortune," too; never mentioned it
at all. She seemed absent-minded, sort of, and blue
and more'n once during the next couple of days I
caught her setting alone in the kitchen, staring at
nothing in particular and sighing every little while.
When I'd ask her what the trouble was, she'd just
say, "Nothing," and get up and go away.
"I guess you're in love, after all, Eureka," I says,
hoping to tease her into better spirits. "You act
just the way the lovesick young women in your
Home Comforter yarns do. Who's the lucky man?
You told me 'twa'n't Lord James, he being married
already. There's only me and Wool left on the
premises, and I'm too bashful to ask you which of
us 'tis."
"Oh, don't be such a punkinhead," was all the
satisfaction I got out of that.
I was over to the village the next forenoon and
stopped into the post-ofEce, hoping there might be
a note for me from Deacon. There wa'n't, though,
but Nate Scudder come out from behind the letter-
box rack and hailed me. Him and I hadn't had
much to say to each other since he offered me the
"commission" on whatever I'd help him sell the
sanitarium. I was surprised when he called me by
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
name and offered to shake hands. I answered pleas-
ant enough, but I didn't shake.
"Got a minute or two to spare, Sol, have ye?"
he says. "I — I want to talk with you a little
mite."
"All right, Nate," says I. "If I wanted to talk
with you 'twould be a little mite, too. You'd be
surprised how little."
"Now, now," says he, "what's the use of quar-
reling? I ain't going to talk about that bill — not
now, I ain't. It's something else. Here, come on
inside here, where we can be comf'table. Come on,
won't ye?"
First I wa'n't going to, and then I thought I
would, just for the fun of it. I was curious to find
out what he was up to now. So he took me into
the back shop, amongst the kerosene barrels and
empty boxes, and, after beating all around Robin
Hood's barn by talking about the weather and so
on, he finally commenced to work up into the lati-
tude of his subject. And that subject surprised me;
'twas Lord James.
"This Hopper man over to your place," he says;
"he's sort of manager there, ain't he?"
"Manager nothing 1" says I. "He manages his
own job, same as I manage mine, but that's all he
manages."
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"But it's a pretty good job he's got, ain't it?"
says he. "Makes good money at it, don't he?"
"Why, fair to middling, I cal'late. Why? He
don't owe you any 'bills,' does he, Nate?"
"No-o. No, he don't owe me nothing — not yet.
Is he any relation to Eureka Sparrow?"
"Relation? Him? Why, he's from England
and she hails from Wellmouth Neck. I can't think
of any two places that's less liable to be relation
to each other than that, not offhand. What in the
world put that notion into your head, Nate?"
He hummed and hawed. "Oh, I don't know,"
he says. "They was so thick and friendly, you
see."
"Thick and friendly! Nate, if 'twas hard cider
season I'd begin to believe you had been sampling
stock, even if 'tis pretty early in the day for that
kind of exercise."
Course I knew better; the only time he ever
sampled anything was when somebody else was pay-
ing for it; but I liked to stir him up.
"Look here, Sol Pratt," he snarled, "I want you
to understand I don't drink liquor. I've got better
sense."
"That so? Well, I always iieard 'twas good
sense not to drink your brand of cider, Nate. How-
ever, we won't argue about that. What do you
2^4
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
mean by saying Eureka and His Lordship — Hop-
per, I mean — aj:e tliick and friendly?"
"Well, they was together over at Horsefoot
Island that time and now they're together again
and — and ' '
"What are you driving at, Nate?"
"Oh, nothing much. Sol, you answer me this:
If the Sparrow girl and that Englishman ain't awful
friendly, what is she doing his advertising for him
for?"
I whistled. "Oh, I see," says I. "Yes, yes, I see.
How did you know she'd been advertising?"
He fidgeted a jiffy and then he says: "I know
'cause I've seen her advertisement in the Boston
papers. Huldy Ann, my wife, and I both see it.
That's how I know. Who's this wife of his? And
how did he lose her? Funny thing to lose, a wife
is, seems to me."
I laughed. "You can lose 'most anything in
New York, so I've heard tell," I answered. "It's
a pretty big place and there's lots of kidnappers
around."
"Humph I Huldy and I went to New York thir-
teen year ago and she didn't get lost. Nobody kid-
napped her. What are you grinning at?"
I could have told him, but I thought 'twas just
as well not to.
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Nothing," says I. "My face itched, I guess.
Hopper's wife is a foreigner; she can't speak hardly
any English, and so 'twas easy for her to get lost.
That's his story, anyhow." ^
"Humph I I cal'late there's a pretty good-sized
reward for her, ain't there?"
"Not that I ever heard of."
"How you talk ! Course there's a reward. There
must be, else why would Eureka Sparrow be so in-
terested? Seems natural enough if a man lost his
wife he'd pay a reward to get her back. By cracky 1
he'd have to."
"Maybe so."
"No maybe about it. Oh, you can't fool me, Sol
Pratt. That Sparrow girl sees a chance to make
some money, and that's what she's advertising for.
I know a thing or two, I do."
"Do you? Landsakes! I <??re surprised. Learn
something every day, don't we."
"Quit your fooling. There's something queer
about that English Hopper man and I always
thought there was. He ain't a common person at
all; anyhow, / never see anybody like him. You
always call him 'Lord James' and so does Eureka.
What makes you? Tell me now, honest."
I looked at him. He was serious as a meeting-
house door. I was having a fairly good time and
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
I thought 'twas too bad to cut it short. I shook
my head.
"You're asking a whole lot of questions, Nate,"^
says I, trying my best to be mysterious. "What are
you so anxious to know for?"
He answered averaging quick for him.
"Nothing, nothing," he says. "I read only
t'other day about a Lord that had been play-acting
on the stage in this country for years and years.
Nobody knew he was one, nuther, till his dad died
and left him a million or so. You can't always tell
about them foreigners."
"That's so, you can't. You're a pretty smart
feller, Nate, you are. But if I was you, I wouldn't
talk much about Lord — I mean about Mr. Hopper,,
nor about Eureka's advertisements, neither. It's
supposed to be a secret and you might get into
trouble."
"My soul and body! / sha'n't tell. Huldy Ann
nor I ain't mentioned it to a soul. I — I was just
sort of curious, that's all, just curious. Understand,
don't you, Sol? Say, don't tell Eureka I spoke to
you about her advertising. She might not like it."
He made me promise I wouldn't tell Eureka nor
His Lordship, and finally I said I wouldn't. But
all the way home I wondered and wondered what
in the world set him on that track. At last I came
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
to the conclusion that he figgered Eureka must be
in the thing for money and the least idee that some
one was going to lay hands on a cent was enough
to stir him all up. It was a joke, the whole busi-
ness, and his notion that Hopper might be a real
Lord was the funniest part of it.
Another couple of days went by, and I forgot it
altogether. Then I was reminded in an odd way.
'Twas Eureka that reminded me.
"Mr. Pratt," says she, "what do you suppose
Nate Scudder wants to see me about?"
She'd caught me unexpected, and I had to swal-
low afore I could answer.
"Wants to see you ?" I says. "Why? Does he ?"
"He says he does. His man — the poor thing that
delivers his orders for six dollars a week — was in
here just now and left me a note. Here 'tis; read
it."
I took the note. It was wrote in pencil on a piece
of brown paper and read like this :
Dear Eureka:
I wished you would come over to my house
along about eight o'clock to-night. I got some-
thing important I want to talk to you about. It
is business and you will not be sorry you came.
Do not say anything about it to anybody but
send word by Eli [Eli was his order man]
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
that you will be on hand. Come sure. You
will not lose anything by it. I always thought
a lot of you and your folks and so did Hulda,
Yours truly,
Nathan T. Scudder.
"What do you make of that?" says she, watching
my face. "What do you suppose he wants to see
me about?"
I dodged that question. Asked one of my own
instead.
"Are you going?" says I.
"I told Eli I would. First I was mad, on ac-
count of that silliness about he and Huldy Ann
thinking a lot of me and my folks — that's enough
to make anybody mad. Then I got curious, won-
dering what it could be that I 'wouldn't lose any-
thing by,' and I said I'd go. I thought maybe you'd
go with me."
"I'd be glad to. But — but you notice he says
you're not to say anything to anybody."
"I noticed it, but I don't have to mind Nate Scud-
der unless I want to, I should hope. I'd like to
have you come first rate, if you will. Pa always
said it took at least six average humans to keep
abreast of old Nate, and you're more'n average,
'cording to my thinking, so you'd be worth as much
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
as the extry five. I'd feel safer if you was along.
Will you come?"
I didn't have to be asked again. Remembering
Nate's talk to me, I should have hated to miss it.
Maybe here was the answer to the conundrum.
"Yes," says I, "I'll go with you. Eureka. I'll
drive you over to-night, if the Doctor don't say no."
He didn't and we arrived at Scudder's on time.
All the way over Eureka was speculating and won-
dering what it meant and what Nate wanted to see
her about. I had a kind of foggy guess, but I didn't
guess out loud; kept pretending to be as puzzled as
she was.
Nate met us at the front door of his house, which
was out back of the store. He wa'n't any too glad
to lay eyes on me.
"I was kind of expecting you'd come alone. Eu-
reka," he says. "However, I suppose likely you
didn't like to make the trip by yourself. You can
wait out in the store, Sol. Some of the fellers from
the village and around are there, and they'll be
awful tickled to see you."
"They'll have to tickle themselves then," says
Eureka, decided. "Mr. Pratt's going to stay with
me. I fetched him for just that."
He backed and filled, said 'twas kind of private
and so on, but she never budged.
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"You can see us both or neither," she told him.
"/ ain't particular which it is, myself."
So, after a spell, he decided to make the best of
it and shoved us into the front parlor. 'Twas a
dismal sort of a place, with hair wreaths, and wax
fruit, and tin lambrekins over the windows, and
land knows what all. It looked like a tomb and
smelt pretty nigh as musty and dead-and-gone.
We sat down on the hair-cloth sofa, holding
hands to keep from sliding off onto the floor,
and he walked around trying the doors to see if
they was latched. He acted awful fidgety and
excited.
"Where's Huldy Ann?" says I, by the way of
starting things going.
"She's — she's busy," he says. "Eureka, I — I
wrote you I had something to say to you, didn't I?"
"Yes," snaps Eureka, who was pretty fidgety her-
self, "you did. Why don't you say it?"
"I'm going to, I'm going to. I — I Well,
you see. Eureka, it's such a sort of private thing
that I- Sol, don't you think you'd better see
the fellers in the store? They'll be disappointed if
they know you're here and they don't get a chance
to say hullo."
"Then they'll have to bear up best they can,"
says Eureka. "Mr. Pratt don't think any such thing.
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
He's going to stay right here. Go on and tell what
the private thing is. I can't stay all night."
He took a couple of turns up and down the floor,
and then he begun, really begun this time.
"Eureka," he says, "you've been advertising for
a wife — -not for yourself; course I don't mean that.
Ha I ha I No, I don't mean that. But you've been
advertising for a wife for your Mr. Hopper man.
You have, ain't you?"
At the mention of these ads Eureka had stiffened
up like a wooden image. Now she flew at him.
"What if I have," she says. "What business is
that of yours, Nate Scudder? How did you know
about it?"
"There, there, don't get mad. I see it in the pa-
pers, of course. I — I Say, look here; what
reward is there for that wife?"
"Reward?"
"Yes, yes, reward. What will this Mr. Hopper
pay for his wife, suppose a body fetched her to
him? What'U he pay?"
"Pay? Nathan Scudder, what are you talking
about? Do you mean to tell me that you know
"I don't mean to tell you nothing. I'm just ask-
ing about that reward. See here. Eureka; sup-'
pose a — a sartin party had got track of that wife;
292
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
that Swede woman, and could fetch her to her hus-
band any time — would you be willing to divide the
reward with that party?"
Eureka looked at him, and then at me, and then
at him again. She was so set back she didn't know
what to do.
"Reward!" she stammered. "There ain't any re-
ward. What "
But Nate was excited, too.
"I know better," he sung out. "Course there's a
reward. Would anybody be fool enough to takd
all that trouble and pay for them ads for nothing?
There is a reward, and I want half of it. I'm rea-
sonable ; I might have took the whole. Huldy Ann
says I ought to; but I'm reasonable, I want to do
the fair thing and save trouble. When that postal
card came saying that the people she was working
for thought likely she was the one that had been
advertised for, I "
"Postal card 1 What postal card I Whose postal
card?"
"Why, yours, of course. It had 'E. W. Sparrow,
Wapatomac, Mass.,' on it and I— ^ "
"When did it come?"
"It come four days ago, that's when. And I took
all the trouble to go clear up to Boston and see those
people, and pay my fare and hers and — and "
293
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
He stopped. Eureka was standing right in front
of him, and her fingers were twitching. He didn't
have much hair left, but if I was him I'd have been
scared of losing the remainders.
"A postal card!" she snapped. "A postal card
for me! Come four days ago! And you — and
you Where is that postal card?"
Nate turned pale. I guess he'd said more'n he
meant to.
"It's — it's in your box this minute," he stam-
mered. "I — I was going to put it there afore, but
it got — er — er — ^mislaid somehow, and — and "
"Mislaid! I know who mislaid it. And who
kept it and read it, too. Oh, you — you I'll
put you in jail for this. I can. I can put him in
jail, can't I, Mr. Pratt."
I didn't know, but I hated to disappoint her.
Besides, she had all of my sympathy.
"Seems to me I've read of folks getting about
ten years for stealing other people's mail," I said,
cheerful.
"Stealing!" Nate fairly jumped up and down.
"I never stole it. I — I "
The door from the hall opened, and Huldy Ann
put in her head.
"He's come," says she. "He's here now, ahead
•f time. What'U I do with him?"
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
I guessed who 'twas right off, and afore Nate
could answer I stepped over to that door and sang
out:
"Hopper 1" I hailed. "Hopper, here we are!
Come ahead in."
And in he came, afore either Huldy or her hus-
band could make a move. He looked surprised
enough to see us.
" 'EUo," says he. " 'EUo, Pratt. 'EUo, Eureka.
What's all this ? What's up ? Did 'e send for you,
too?"
"He did," says I. "I'm glad to see you, Hopper.
You're right where you belong, even if you are
ahead of time. The "
"Huldy I" hollered Nate, "don't go. Stay here.
I — I need you."
"But I can't stay, Nathan. I mustn't. I can't
leave "
"Stay here, I tell you I And shut that door."
She shut it and stayed. Lord James looked as if
he cal'lated he'd struck a crazy asylum on the
loonies' busy evening.
"What? For 'eaven sakes," says he, "what "
"He's got your " began Eureka. Scudder
shut her off.
"No, you don't!" he yelled. "No, you don't! I
want my half of that reward. It was me that got
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
her. I've took time and spent money, and, by
cracky, I'm going to be paid for it I You, Lord Hop-
per, or whatever your name is, I expect you to pay
me a hundred dollars or else I'll ship her back where
she came from. I will, by cracky I and then I'll sue
you for the cash I've spent. I "
"Shut up!" Somebody had to say it, for Eureka
and Lord James and he and Huldy Ann were all
going at once. "Shut up !" I shouted. "Let's have
some common sense here. Nate Scudder, do you
really mean you've got a hold of Hopper's wife-
Christina — the one he lost?"
"None of your affairs what I've got a hold of, Sol
Pratt. You keep out of this. I'm going to get that
hundred dollars, or "
He stopped. 'Twas Lord James that stopped
him. That physical director had grabbed him by
the neck. I never see a man so white and wild as
that Englishman.
"What — what are you saying?" he panted, be-
twixt his teeth. "What?"
Eureka was half way to crying.
"He's got your wife," she sobbed. "The wife
you lost in that New Yprk depot. I've been adver-
tising for her, to help you, and now he Oh,
you poor thing 1 Mr. Pratt, quick 1 He's going to
faint."
296
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
But he wa'n't going to faint. He looked at us
all, and then he made a flying jump for the door.
Huldy Ann — I cal'late that woman ain't afraid of
nothing If there's a dollar tied to it — she got in his
way and hung onto the knob. He see 'twas no use
there and made a jump to the other door, the one
that led into the next room. That he flung open
and bolted headfirst through it. Nate started to
foUer, but he run into the centre table, with the
lamp and photograph album on it, and tumbled flat
with the album on top of him. It struck his head
and made a holler sound, like thumping an empty
barrel — but I didn't remember this till afterward.
I hadn't time to remember anything. From that
next room came a scream, two screams — one was
from Lord James and t'other was a woman's voice
— and such a voice. Then there was noises like of
things falling and banging around and more screams.
Afore we could any of us get our wits together, out
of that door come His Lordship again, Vunning for
dear life, and right astern of him, with one hand in
his shirt collar and pounding him like a pile-driver
with the other, come a woman about six foot tall
and broad in proportion and with a face on her like
a wild cat let loose. He was hollering for mercy,
and she was screeching in some sort of foreign lingo.
For just about a half a minute they was in that room
297
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
with us. Then they shot out through the door that
Huldy Ann had been holding shut, slam-banged,
through the hall and outdoor. The yells and thumps
moved around the corner of the house and died
away in the distance. From the direction of the
store and post office sounded a tremendous hubbub,
I judged the gang of loafers there had been some
surprised and scared.
Of course they all hands come piling into the
house to know what was up. Two or three of 'em
had water buckets and one had an axe. You see,
they figgered the house must be afire. I was laugh-
ing so I couldn't say nothing. Eureka was half-
way betwixt laughing and crying; and Nate was
rubbing the place where the album hit him and call-
ing his wife names for letting the free-for-all get
by her and outdoor. She might as well have tried
to stop a train of cars, but that didn't make no dif-
ference.
While the powwow was going on the big woman
came back again. She was consider'ble rumpled-
and scratched up, but there was fire in her eye. She
had Lord James's collar in one big fist and she
pounded the table with the other and talked a blue
streak. Nobody could make out plain what she said,
for she was mainly jabbering Swede lingo, but there-
was English enough, of a kind, to give us some idee.
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
Afterward we learned more, and the sense of it was
about this :
Her husband — ^His Lordship was her husband, all
right enough — had run off and left her that time in
the depot. He'd done it on purpose, and I don't
know as I blame him much. She was a holy terror.
I never see such a female. Ever since she'd been
working around in different folks' houses, in differ-
ent places, but she never stayed long in one of 'em,
and there wa'n't any tears shed when she quit, nigh's
I could find out. The people she was with at the
last place had heard her yarn, as much as they could
understand of it, and when they read the advertise-
ment in the paper had wrote the postal to Eureka,
the one that Scudder had got hold of. He'd read
it, seen a chance to grab some money, and had gone
up there, found she was Mrs. Hopper, and had
brought her down with him on the cars. He hadn't
told her that he had her husband — fear the reward
wouldn't be paid, I cal'late — ^but had give her to
understand she was going to have a surprise,
something fine, for coming to Wapatomac with
him.
That's the yarn. The only part I couldn't un-
derstand was why the folks she was working for
hadn't told Nate that she wanted to find her hus-
band only to break his back for him. I cal'late they
299
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
was too glad to have her took off their hands to take
any chances.
Well, Eureka and I left the whole crowd trying
to pacify her and came away. At the door I called
back a parting word.
"Say, Nate," says I, "Eureka says you can have
all the reward. She don't want none of it."
On the way home Eureka was pretty nigh hys-
tericy. First she'd cry and then she'd laugh. I
laughed till I ached all over.
"But why — why," says she, "did he talk about
her so loving that first night? Cry about her? And
call her a hummer, and all that?"
"Well," I said, "I've give you my explanation
a good many times. A pint of cherry bounce'U make
some folks cry and love all creation besides. Lord
James is one of that kind; when he's sober the only
one he loves is himself."
Eureka got calmed down when we got to the yard.
"There I" says she. "That's enough of that. I'm
going to be sensible and forget. But, Mr. Pratt,
don't you ever, ever say romance or long lost to me
again. I've had enough romance to last me
through."
CHAPTER XIII
WE set up till 'most eleven, waiting for His
Lordship to come back home, but he
didn't come. And, to make a long story
shorter, I might as well say right here that I ain't
laid eyes on him since he flew out of Nate Scudder's
parlor with the " 'ummer" after him. Somebody
came to his room that night and took away his
things. I presume 'twas him, but, if it was, he was
mighty still about it. No, I ain't seen Lord James
Hopper from that day to this. How he got off
the Cape so quick and so quiet is a mystery. There's
a freight train for Boston that leaves WapatomacS
about three in the morning, and I shouldn't wondef
if the brakemen of that train could tell a few things
if they wanted to. But, as they ain't supposed to
carry passengers, they won't tell.
Scudder made us a visit the first thing in the morn-
ing. He was wild-eyed and all het up. When he
found that His Lordship had turned up missing he
was hotter than ever. Going to sue somebody right
off, as usual,
"How's Lady Christina this morning, Nate?" I
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
wanted to know. "How's it seem to have one of t&e
nobility in the house?"
He fairly gurgled.
"I— I " he stuttered, "I Somebody's
going to pay for this. Pay for it; you understand?'.'
"Oh, that'll be all right," says I. "Think of the
reward you're going to get. All you've got to do
is to hang onto the lady till you get that reward.
Judging from what little I've seen of her, I should
think you might have to hire a couple of able-bodied
men to help hang on, but that's nothing, consid-
ering."
I gathered from his remarks that him and Huldy
Ann had been up all night anf* that the "hummer"
was humming yet.
"She's a regular tiger," he growled; "a regular
tiger. Yell I You never heard such yelling as she
done. And when we tried to stop her I thought
she'd scratch our eyes out. Half the town was hang-
ing around the house till breakfast time. And all
they done was laugh and carry on. Seemed to think
'twas funny. Funny 1 By cracky, somebody's going
to pay for the fun. You hear me, somebody's go-
ing to pay for it. When I think of the time I wasted,
all out of kindness for other folks, and the car fare
I spent, and all, I — I "
He 'most cried when he mentioned that car fare.
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
Nothing would do but he must see Doctor Wool
right off. Seemed to have an idee that the Doctor
would pay the reward, or the expenses, or some-
thing. He never made a bigger mistake in his life.
Lysander said he was sorry, very sorry, but of
course the domestic affairs of servants was not his
business, and, without wishing to hurt anybody's
feelings, he would suggest that Mr. Scudder did not
holler so in his office or on the sanitarium grounds;
it was disturbing to the patients. Nate went away,
waving both arms and threatening to sue all crea-
tion, Lord James and Eureka especial.
Eureka and I talked about the affair most of that
day, and I presume likely we'd have talked all the
evening, too, if we'd had the chance. But we didn't
have it. Something else happened that evening, and
it put Hopper and the " 'ummer" out of our heads
for good and all.
'Twas after supper and I went out to the barn
to lock up. I was just taking the key out of the
door when I felt a hand on my arm. I turned
around. There, alongside of me, was Lot Deacon,
as large as life — ^which was large enough, goodness
knows.
He'd been away over a week, and I'd begun to
think something must have happened to him; but
it hadn't.
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Hello I" I sung out. "Well, for the land sakeS,
•where did you come from?"
"Hush!" he whispers. "Don't make any noise.
I came on the afternoon train, and I've been hang-
ing around the woods ever since. I don't want any-
one to know I'm here. Don't say anything, but
come along. I want you."
I couldn't help saying something; however, I said
it in a whisper.
"Did you find out " I asked. He Interrupted
me, sharp.
"I found out what I went after," he says. "Now
I mean to find out more. I want you to come with
me to that room of Quill's."
"But— but he's there, ain't he?"
"No, I think he's gone out. There is no light
in the window. And Wool's In his ofiice, so the
coast is clear. Come."
"But how are you going to get into that room?
The door's always locked."
"I've got a key that will fit. I looked after that
while I was away. Be quiet now."
I didn't say any more. We tiptoed Into the
house, up the stairs and along the hall to the door
of the room where the Professor had been spending
so much of his time. 'Twas locked, of course, but
the Deacon man got a big bunch of keys out of his
304
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
pocket and commenced to putter with the lock. The
fifth key he tried fitted, and we tiptoed into the
room, closing the door behind us. The smell of
burnt rubber was so strong it pretty nigh choked us.
Deacon scratched a match, found a lamp and lit
it. Then I pulled the window shades down tight,
and we commenced to look around.
That room was a surprise party in its way. The
carpet had been pulled off the floor, there was a
pine table in the middle, and all around was the
most curious mess of truck. Bottles by the dozen
and little trays and tools and hammers and measur-
ing things, even a little alcohol lamp and a sort of
baby forge which was run by alcohol, too. And
rubber — all kinds of rubber; big round chunks of
the raw stuff, same as it comes from.the place where
they grow it; and strips of soft rubber like the bands
they put around bundles; and pieces of hard, shiny
stuff that didn't look like rubber at all,
I couldn't make head nor tail of the mess, but
Deacon got more interested every second. He went
snooping around, picking up this thing and that,
looking at 'em, and handling 'em, and holding 'em
to the lamp so's to see 'em plainer. All at once I
heard him fetch his breath hard.
"Good Lord I" he says, almost forgetting to whis-
per. "Good Lord A'mighty "
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
He had one of the hard, shiny pieces in his hand
and was staring at it with all the eyes in his head.
"What is it?" says I.
He didn't answer for a second. When he did
his voice sounded sort of scared and reverent.
"I — it can't be," he says. "It can't be. How
could he do it here ? Without the equipment or any-
thing? He couldn't I and yet — and yet I believe he
has. It's a new process; some new process, with
chemicals. If it is — if it is, it is the biggest thing
He stopped and went on twitching and pulling at
the shiny, black thing in his hands.
"What is it?" I whispered. "What have you
struck?"
He turned to me, and his eyes were shining and
his mouth working.
"It's the answer," says he. "By the great and
mighty, I believe it's the answer 1"
Afore I could ask another question I heard some-
thing. So did he. We looked at each other.
"Some one's coming," he whispered, low and
quick. "They may be coming here. We mustn't be
seen. What will we do?"
We couldn't go out of the door we come in with-
out walking right into that hall. I looked around.
There was another room connecting with this one,
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
the Professor's bedroom it was. I grabbed him by
the arm and pulled him into it, closing the door easy
astern of me ; it was swelled and wouldn't latch, but
I held it shut.
The person we'd heard in the hall had stopped
and was knocking on the door to the room where
the bottles and rubber and all the rest of it was.
We'd ought to have locked that door from the
inside, but we hadn't. And we'd left the lamp burn-
ing, too. The knock — a mighty faint, careful knock
it was — sounded again. Then some one said:
"Professor I Professor Quill, are you there?"
No answer, of course. Then I heard the door
open and the person who had knocked came in. I
knew who 'twas, for I recognized the voice, but I
bent down to the keyhole of one door to make sure.
'Twas Miss Emeline, and she was alone. I felt
Deacon's hand moving up and closing over my
mouth. 'Twas plain he wanted me to keep that
mouth shut.
"Professor," says Miss Emeline again. "Profes-
sor, where are you?"
She tried our door, but I hung onto it like grim
death. She whispered the Professor's name again,
and then she gave it up and went tiptoeing around
that other room. Deacon and I kept still.
Next minute there was more footsteps in the hall,
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
heavy, solid footsteps, and I heard Miss Emeline
give a little scream.
"Ohl" says she. "Oh, I "
"Why, Miss Adams I" booms Doctor Wool's
voice. "Miss Adams, what are you doing here?"
Again I thought 'twas time for us to be making
ourselves scarce. I remembered there was a door
from that bedroom to the hall, and the idee struck
me that, we might clear out that way. But, as I
started to move. Deacon held me tight. For some
reason or other he didn't seem to want to clear out.
I heard the Doc close the door of the other room.
Then he says again :
"Why, Miss Adams, what are you doing here?"
I expected to hear some sort of excuse or apology.
I sartin never expected to hear what I did. When
she answered him 'twa'n't to make any excuses.
"Doctor Wool," she says, "why did you tell me
that Professor Quill was working on a mathematical
system in this room?"
He didn't answer on the jump. I wish I might
have seen his face, but he was out of range of the
keyhole.
"My dear Miss Adams," he purred. "Really I
— I can't understand "
"Why did you tell me that?"
"I told you because — ^because you asked me."
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"I asked you for the truth and you told me a
falsehood. Yes, a deliberate falsehood."
"A falsehood! Miss Adams, I am not accus-
tomed to "
It didn't make any difference to her what he was
accustomed to. The "first family" blood was up;
I never heard her speak so sharp and brisk. She
flew back at him afore he could get his purr work-
ing good.
"You told me a falsehood. Anyone can see that
the story of a mathematical system is ridiculous and
untrue. He has been working at some experiment
here, some chemical experiment, I am sure. It is
perfectly plain. You knew that I was Professor
Quill's friend; that we were old friends. Why have
you deceived me in this way?"
He hesitated again. Then I cal'late he made up
his mind to change his course. That tack was
fetching him further from port every second, and
I guess he see 'twas high time to 'bout ship. Any-
how, I heard him walk over to where she was.
"Miss Adams," he says, and the sugar was back
in his voice now for sartin ; every word leaked sweet-
ness; "Miss Adams, will you — er — sit down. You
and I must be frank with each other. This decep-
tion of mine — a harmless deception and meant only
for the best — ^must cease. It has pained me ex-
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
tremely to deceive jrou at all. I shall deceive you
no longer. Sit down — please."
She didn't answer a word, but she set. I guess
likely he set, too, for I heard one of the Professor's
chairs creak as he came to anchor in it.
"Miss Adams," he purred, "I will explain."
Her tone wa'n't purry, by a consider'ble sight. If
she'd spoke to me that way I'd have shivered.
"If you will be so good," says she.
"Yes — yes, I will explain. It is true that I de-
ceived you as to our good friend Quill's occupation
here. But it was a deception which he begged me
to practice upon you. Upon you and the rest — ^yes.
He has not been engaged in mathematical research;
it is research of another kind. I . . . You must be
prepared for a shock, my dear Miss Adams I it pains
me extremely to tell you, but I must. Professor
Quill came here because of the state of his health;
he told you that, did he not?"
"Yes; yes, he did. But what do you mean by
paining me? Is he worse?"
"He will never be better. He told you, I pre-
sume, as I did, that his ailment was a nervous one.
It is more thait that."
"More? Oh, what do you mean?"
"I mean that our friend — ^my friend as well as
yours — is afflicted mentally."
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
I heard her give a little gasp. When she spoke
her voice shook like a loose jib.
"Mentally?" she said. "Afflicted mentally? Oh,
you don't mean "
"I mean the worst. He is afflicted in his mind.
He suffers from hallucinations. This — all this here
— is one of them."
"Oh, what are you trying to tell me? Is he in-
sane?"
"Not precisely that. Not that — now, or ever,
let us hope. But he is mentally irresponsible. He
suffers, as I said, from hallucinations, and they must
be humored or the consequences will be alarming.
He believes himself to be a great inventor. In other
days — ^when you knew him in Brockton — he had in-
vented, or discovered, several — er — ^well, chemical
processes of some trifling value. Now, however, his
hallucination is that he is on the trail of a great dis-
covery; something in the" — he hesitated. I guess
likely he was just going to tell the truth, and, not
being used to it, it choked him — "something in the
line of a new water-proof coating for — er — gar-
ments and the like. It is quite worthless, I fear, but
his mental state requires that he be humored. He
demanded this room for his — er — experiments. He
particularly demanded that the experiments" — he
kind of sneered when he said the word — "be kept
311
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
a secret. They have been so kept, as you know.
They must, for his sake, continue to be kept. I —
er . . . Perhaps, Miss Adams, it would be safer
for us to leave this room ; he may return at any mo-
ment."
He got up from his chair, but she didn't. I didn't
hear her move.
"Do his people know this? That his brain is
affected, I mean?"
"Yes — ah, yes, certainly. Of course."
"Does the wealthy cousin who sent him here and
is paying his expenses, know it?"
"Naturally."
"What is that cousin's name?"
"His name? The cousin's — er — name?"
"Yes. What is his name and where does he
live?"
"He lives — ^he lives ... I must entreat
you to pardon me. Miss Adams, but I cannot tell
you that. As you know — as both he and I told you
when he first came — that cousin wishes to remain un-
known. I have promised not to reveal his identity.
Really, Miss Adams, I think we should go now.
We can continue this conversation in my office."
Still she did not move.
"I wonder," she says, slow, "if you are telling
me the truth — now."
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"The truth I My dear Miss Adams I Really,
I-
"Yes, the truth. Doctor Wool, I am troubled. I
have been troubled, and perplexed, for some time.
There are things I cannot understand."
"Indeed I I fear you are neglecting our chief
guides here in this little haven of rest and true liv-
ing. You are not thinking right, I fear. Remem-
ber, thought is all, and as we think, we are."
This was his sheet anchor, generally speaking.
Give out from the pulpit that way, with his big
voice rolling and purring, it usually done the busi-
ness for the person that tried to argue with him.
But now the anchor dragged.
"Oh, don't 1" says Miss Emeline. "Please don't
repeat that nonsense now."
"Nonsense I My dear Miss "
"Yes, nonsense. I am beginning to believe It is
nonsense. Doctor Wool, why have all the patients
except myself and Professor Quill and — and Mr.
Deacon, left this sanitarium of yours."
"Ours — ours, Miss Adams. Without you it
might never have been."
"Yes, I suppose It is mine, In a sense. My money
financed it. But why did all these people leave; and
leave at once?"
"Some were cured; some were "
313
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"Nonsense ! It was not because they were cured
that they left. Why did they — Colonel Applegate
in particular — hint to me that there was something
wrong here. They did, and they hinted that I
would learn some day what it was. And here is
another thing : Why does it cost so much money to
keep up this establishment?"
"The — er — question of servants; the — er — high
cost of living; the "
"There are fewer servants now than ever. And
almost no patients. Yet you ask me for more and
larger sums of money all the time. Only yesterday
you asked me for five thousand dollars. I can't un-
derstand it. I can't afford it. My bankers tell me
my income will be seriously impaired, if this keeps
on. What do you do with all that money?"
I thought 'twas some question myself. I guess
Deacon did, too, for I felt his hand tighten on my
wrist. The Doctor cleared his throat afore he an-
swered.
"Miss Adams," he purred, "I must confess that
I am hurt. Your suspicions hurt me. Knowing my
feeling toward you, as you do — my real feeling, my
heart yearning "
"Don't! Don't! I have forbidden you to speak
of that."
"I must speak of it. There is not a moment of
3H
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
my Kfe that I do not think it. Miss Adams — ^Eme-
line "
I heard her move now. He was foUering her, I
judged.
"Emeline," he said, "my dear Emeline, why do
you continue to misjudge me? And repulse me?
You know that my one ambition in life is to be
worthy of you. Why do you repulse me always?
Why not yield to my devotion and let me care for
you through life? I worship you. I "
"Don't! don't!" she cried. "I forbid you to
touch me. I have told you that I could never marry
you. Months ago, when I trusted you absolutely,
I told you that. And now, when I Oh, who
is it?"
It came mighty near being Lot Deacon. He was
shoving his way past me. But some one else was
in that other room ahead of him afore he could
open our door.
"What is the matter?" says Professor Quill.
"Miss Adams — Doctor Wool, what is it?"
He'd come along the hall without any of us hear-
ing him, and had opened the door of the "experi-
ment room" and walked in.
"What is it?" says he again, his meek little voice
lumping. "Miss Adams, what is the matter?"
"Oh, oh, Jonathan! I'm so glad you camel"
3ii
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
panted Miss Emierme. "Pm so glad!" 'Twas
the first time I'd ever heard her call him by
his first name, and I guess she didn't know she
did it.
"What is the matter? Doctor, what were you
doing? Why don't you answer me?"
The Doctor answered. Answered pretty cool,
too, considering how he'd been caught.
"Nothing is the matter, Professor," he said,
soothing. "Calm yourself, my dear sir. Miss Ad-
ams and I Well, we are here, as you see. I
felt obliged to disclose your secret to her. She had
surmised it already."
"Then you know?" His voice showed how ex-
cited he was. "Then you know about it? Did he
tell you, Emeline?"
"I told her," purred Wool. "Don't excite your-
self, I beg."
His begging wa'n't much use, so fur's results
went. The Professor kept right on.
"Then you know?" he asked again.
"Yes, I know. He told me."
"Of the process? The vulcanizing process? It
is new I It is wonderful 1 It will revolutionize the
vulcanizing of rubber, make it as hard and as tough
as steel almost and at half the cost of the old, in>
ferior way."
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"She knows," says Wool, hasty. "She knows.
Let us not speak of it now."
But Miss Emeline seemed to want to speak of it.
"Vulcanizing?" she said, as if she didn't under-
stand. "Hard as steel? Why, how can you make
water-proof garments as hard as steel?"
Wool laughed, or tried to. "You misunderstood
me," he began. "I said "
Quill cut him short. "Garments," he sang out.
"It is not used for garments. It is a new vulcan-
izing process. I discovered it, myself. It is not
for water-proofing at all. It is "
"Hush!" Miss Emeline took her turn at inter-
rupting. "Sol" she says, slow, and speaking to
Wool, I judged; "so! this is another falsehood — an-
other one of your lies, is it. Don't answer me yet.
I don't wish to hear you. I am going to have the
truth if I can get it. Professor Quill, as an old
friend of yours, a — a close friend, I think "
"Emeline 1" The Professor said it.
"Hush!" she says again. "Hush, please. I want
you to answer me truthfully, Jonathan. I know
you will if I ask it. Who is responsible for your
being here and at work in this room? Is it your
cousin — the mysterious cousin we have all heard
about? Or is it that man there ?"
There was only one other man in the room, so !»
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
for my part, hadn't any trouble guessing who she
meant.
"Quill," says Wool, dropping his purr and speak-
ing sharp and quick, "be careful."
The Professor was stammering something or
other.
"Please, Jonathan I" begged Miss Emeline.
"Please 1 Oh, don't you lie to me, or I shall never
believe there is a truthful person in the world."
That done the business. The Professor's voice
shook.
"I — I will not lie, Emeline," he said. "Doctor
Wool brought me here. He is interested in my in-
vention. I told him of it over a year ago and proved
to him that I was on the right track. I owe so much
to him. He is backing me with his money. He
has kept me here and furnished me with the ma-
terials and money to continue experimenting. He
: Doctor, I beg your pardon. Forgive me for
telling her. She asked me and I couldn't lie — to
her."
The Doctor couldn't seem to find words to an-
swer, and yet, if I'd been him, I should have cal'-
lated I'd better answer then, or never. Afore he
made a sound Miss Emeline spoke.
"He has backed you — with money?" she said.
**He — ^with his money? Why, he has no money 1
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
I have been supplying him with money to support
this sanitarium. And so much money 1 I couldn't
understand Oh !" as if all at once she had be-
gun to understand; "0-ohI is it possible I Doctor
Wool, have you been backing Professor Quill's ex-
periment with my money? And pretending to me
that it was needed to keep this sanitarium from be-
coming bankrupt. Is this where all the thousands
I have advanced you have gone? Is it? But why
— why?"
If she was knocked over by it, Quill was more so.
"Thousands!" he sung out. "Of your money 1
Yours, Emeline! Oh, no! no! I would not have
taken a penny of your money. I thought it was his.
The experiments were too great a risk. I never —
never would have permitted you to risk your money
in them. You — of all people ! The Doctor has done
it on his own responsibility. I warned him, but he
persisted in backing me. I thought it was his kind-
ness of heart. I was so grateful to him. But not
your money, Emeline! No! no! And not thou-
sands! My experiments have not cost one thou-
sand."
"But he has had thousands. Where have they
gone?"
I was so interested in all this that I'd forgot I
was on earth. What reminded me was being pushed
319
MR. PKATT'S PATIENTS
pretty nigh off of it. Lot Deacon gave me a shove
that sent me reeling, flung the bedroom door open,
and walked in.
"I guess I can answer that, Emeline," he said.
"Wool, you damned robber, I'll answer that; you
needn't bother."
There was an everlasting commotion in that other
room. While 'twas going on I walked in, too. I
didn't see why I should be the only animal outside
the show. My coming didn't make any difference;
nobody noticed me.
"You'll have to excuse me for listening, Eme-
line," says Deacon. "I didn't mean to first along,
but I couldn't get away. Afterward I thought I'd
better listen, for your sake. I'll answer that black-
guard there. You, Wool, you listen to me. I was
onto you the first day I came here. I've had some
experience with fakirs and scalawags in my time,
and I begun to suspect you as soon as I saw you.
Emeline, I'll tell you where your thousands have
gone to. That cuss there" — Miss Emelihe shivered
when he said "cuss," but she looked where he
pointed — "is sharp and smart enough; I'll say that
for him. Somehow or other he got onto the Pro-
fessor's vulcanizing process and saw what was in it.
It's a wonder, I do believe, and properly handled
it'll be worth millions to the company that exploits
320
•"I guess I can answer that, Emeline,' he said."
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
it. Wool knew that. That's why he fetched Quill
here and has kept him hid; so no one else would
learn of the process. The 'mental affliction' was
just another lie, like the 'mathematics' and the 'spe-
cial exercises.' Mental affliction: Humph I Well,
I'd like to be afflicted the same way. I'd be worth a
heap more than I am now.
"And Wool " he goes on. "Shut up, you I
Don't you open your head, or I'll knock it off.
This Wool has been forming a stock company with
himself at the head of it and holding most of the
stock. That's where your thousands have gone,
Emeline. Well, what is it. Professor?"
Poor Quill was white as a sheet and wringing both
hands.
"Oh, it can't be true!" he said. "It can't be!
Your money, Emeline, yours 1 It is lost, and I am
responsible! // And I had hoped — I had hoped
that some day I might be rich and could come to
you and say "
Miss Emeline said, "Hush, Jonathan," and
stopped, him from saying what he'd meant to say.
What it was I could guess, and I saw Deacon look^
at 'em both pretty sharp. As for Doctor Wool, he'
laughed, laughed scornful and top-lofty.
"This is ridiculous, quite," he said. "My dear
Miss Adams, I fear our new patient has been
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
tarrying with the wine cup during his absence.
I will explain to you later on, when we are free
from interlopers and lunatics, and — er — eaves-
droppers."
He started to march out of the room, but Lot
stopped him.
"You wait a minute," says he. "I've got just a
word or two more to say to you. I've been looking
up your record. I know why you got out of the
patent-medicine game. I know how near you came
to going to state's prison when the Government
analyzed your doped 'Willow Wine' and the rest
of it. And, by the Almighty, you'll go there yet—
for swindling — if you don't clear off these premises
inside of twelve hours. I'll give you until noon to-
morrow to skip for good. Now get 1"
Lysander looked at him. "And suppose I don't
choose to 'get' 1" he sneers.
Deacon smiled, in a sort of joyful anticipation, as
you might say.
"Then there'll be some damaged Wool in this
neighborhood," says he. "Why, you fakir 1 you
swindler of sick women I you "
He b'lled right over, and the tongue-lashing he
give that boss Right Liver beat anything ever I lis-
tened to. There was a heap of Scriptur' language
in it, and more brimstone than you'd find in a match
322
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
factory. / didn't mind — I was having a good time
— ^but poor Miss Emeline shrivelled and shivered.
"Oh, Lot!" says she, and started to go. Pro-
fessor Quill jumped for'ard and offered her his arm.
They left the room together, and Wool left, too, but
he went the other way; Deacon saw to it that he
didn't foUer 'em.
"Whew I" says that South American ex-whaler,
mopping his forehead. "Whew I Well, I feel some
better, anyhow. Come on, Pratt; let's have a
smoke."
"But — ^but don't you think you'd better go to
Miss Emeline?" says I. "Maybe she needs you."
He looked down the hall. Miss Emeline and
Quill were just at the top of the stairs, he helping
her and she leaning heavy on his arm.
Deacon turned to me.
"Come on and have that smoke," says he.
CHAPTER XIV
HE told Eureka and me all about it later on,
where he'd been and how he did what he
called "getting onto Wool's little game,"
and the whole thing. 'Twas my suggestion that he
go to Providence and hunt up Applegate that had
helped him most. The Colonel had found out a
little of Doc Lysander's record on his Brick Com-
pany annual meeting trip to Boston, and 'twas that
that had made him decide to quit the sanitarium.
He'd dropped a hint to the other patients, too, and
they'd left on account of it. 'Twas through the
Colonel that Deacon had got onto the forming of
that stock company. That Wool was trying to form
some kind of a company they learned, but just what
*twas for they couldn't be sure. So Deacon had
come back to the Rest shop determined to get into
the Professor's room by hook or by crook, and settle
the question. Well, he had; there wa'n't no doubt
about that.
I thought, of course, that Eureka would pretty
nigh have a shock of paralysis when she found out
that Lysander the Great, her idol and pet healer of
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
all creation, was just a common swindler and black-
guard. But she didn't; when she and I talked it
over she took it surprising cool.
"I ain't so much surprised as you'd think," she
says, sighing. "I ain't liked the way he's acted for
ever so long. And one time, a couple of weeks ago,
I heard him talking to Lord James, when they
thought nobody was around, and what he said then
didn't sound good to me. I never mentioned it, for
what was the use ? But I ain't so terrible astonished.
You know what I believe? I believe that Hopper
man knew more about it than any of the rest of us."
"Hopper 1" I sung out. "He know about it I
Rubbish I"
"No, 'tain't rubbish. After the way he treated
his wife I'd believe anything bad of him."
I laughed out loud. "Ho 1 ho I" says I. "Eureka,
your romances ain't working out according to
Home Comforter rules, and you're put out on ac-
count of it. That's what's the matter with you."
She shook her head.
"I don't care," she says. "Anybody that would
run away and leave his poor foreign wife to starve
is no good."
I laughed again. "Starve I" says I. "She
wouldn't starve. 'Twould take a regiment of mi-
lishy to keep her from eating, if she was hungry.
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
The only wonder to me is that he could run fast
enough to get away from her. Why do you cal'late
he married her in the first place?"
"Maybe she married him," she says, and I agreed
that that was most likely it.
"Speaking of marrying," says I, "I suppose Miss
Emeline'U be Mrs. Deacon pretty soon."
She nodded.
"Yes," I went on, "I presume likely she will.
Well, she's getting a mighty able man, if you asked
me.
And again all she done was nod. Didn't seem
to want to talk on that subject, and I thought she'd
be crazy to talk about it.
"The poor old Professor won't be poor much
longer," I said. "Deacon is wild over that vulcan-
izing process of his. He's going to back the old
chap in putting it on the market, and they'll both
of 'em be millionaires, if half of what Lot says is
true. He ought to know; he's been in the rubber
trade for a long spell."
That made her eyes flash. "Is Mr. Deacon go-
ing to do that?" she says. "Oh, ain't he a wonder-
ful man I"
"Sartin is. Well, Eureka, there's one of your
romances — his and Miss Emeline's — that is work-
ing out right. You ought to be tickled over that."
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
She said yes, she was ; but she didn't look at me
when she said it. I couldn't make her out on that
line.
All that day Wool kept in his rooms, and nobody
went nigh him. His twelve-hour limit was more
than up, and I rather expected Deacon would put
him off the premises by main strength, but he didn't.
I hardly saw Lot nor Miss Enieline nor Professor
Quill during that day; they kept to themselves,
seemed so. And Doctor Wool kept to his.
But after supper I saw him, or he saw me. I
was standing in the pines by the gate looking down
the road in the dusk, and wondering who was com-
ing along that road with a horse and team. I
couldn't see the team, but I could hear the wheels
and horse's hoofs. 'Twas awful still and a rattle
and thump like that would carry half a mile.
I was leaning over the fence, looking and listen-
ing, when I heard a step astern of me. I turned,
and there was Doctor Wool, a suit case in one hand
and a bag in the other. He saw me at the same
time.
"Evening, Doctor," says I.
"Ah — er — good evening, Pratt, good evening."
He said it as natural as life. Just as grand and
condescending and purry as ever. You'd have
thought I was some kind of a bug or hoptoad or
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
something, that he might have trod on if he'd
wanted to, but didn't because of his kind heart.
There wa'n't a flutter in his voice, nor a letdown in
his majesty. Yet I knew now what he was and he
knew I knew.
"A beautiful evening," says he, pattmg the
weather on the head, so to speak.
"Yes, 'tis fine enough," I told him.
"You was — er — admiring the stars?"
"No-o, not exactly. Ain't many stars out yet.
I was wondering whose horse and buggy this wai
coming down the road."
"A horse? And a buggy? Oh, yes, yes, I see."
I could see, too, by this time.
"Wonder if whoever 'tis is coming here," says I.
He smiled. "I imagine so," he answered. "I
imagine so — ^yes. If I am not mistaken, that is
the vehicle whkh I ordered, by 'phone, from the
livery stable."
"You ordered? Why— — " And then I noticed
the dunnage he was carrying, and the idee that he
was clearing out came acrost my mind. "You or-
dered, hey?" says I. "Going to leave us, are you,
Doc?"
He smiled again. "I am going away — for a
time," he answered.
"Sho 1 I want to know 1"
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MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
"You do know. Therefore your observation is a
trifle superfluous. Avoid superfluities, Pratt; un-
less you can make them worth while. Ah, Simeon,
is that you?"
Simeon — his last name was Smalley — ^was the
chap that worked in the livery stable. He pulled
up alongside the gate.
"Simeon," says Doctor Wool, "you are on time,
are you not. That is well. Punctuality is a great
aid in this life of ours. I admire you for it, Simeon."
Simeon's chest swelled out at that, as if he'd
been praised by the President of the United States.
"I generally cal'late to be prompt," says he, vain-
glorious.
"I am sure you do. My valise — and my bag —
may I trouble you?"
'Twa'n't a mite of trouble, you could see that.
Simeon jumped for the dunnage and started to stow
it in the buggy. I was grinning to myself. In his
way, Lysander the Great was great even yet.
"Well, so long, Doctor," says I. "We sha'n't
forget you. And you mustn't forget your motto.
Think right, that's the thing, you know. If you
think right, you'll probably be all right; anyhow,
I'd risk you in the average crowd."
He stopped and looked at me, as if he was won-
dering whether to say what was in his mind or not.
329
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
And then he said it. For just one second I had a
glimpse of the real Wool, underneath the purr and
the padding. He put his mouth close to my ear.
"There is another motto I have found helpful in
this world," he whispers. "It has helped me before
and I rather guess I can depend on it yet. I'll pass
it on to you, Pratt. This is it: 'There's an easy
mark born every minute ' Ah, Simeon, you
are ready, I see. Very good, so am I. Good-bye,
Pratt. Good-bye. Drive on, Simeon."
Simeon drove on. And that's the last I'm ever
likely to see of Doctor Lysander P. Wool. But I
sha'n't forget him very soon.
When I'd got over the effects of that new "mot-
to" of his, I headed for the kitchen to tell Eureka.
She was alone there.
"Eureka," I sung out, busting with the news.
"He's gone. He's skipped. He "
I hadn't got any further than that when I was
interrupted. The dining-room door opened and in
came Miss Emeline. She was all shaky and white
and she had an envelope and a little package in her
hand. She didn't pay any attention to me, but went
straight over to Eureka.
"Is Mr. Deacon here?" she asked.
She could sec he wasn't there, of course, but she
asked it just the same.
330
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
Eureka shook her head. I guess she noticed how
queer Miss Emcline looked, same as I was notic-
ing it.
"Has he been here? Do you know where he
is?"
"No, ma'am," says Eureka.
"I ain't seen him since noon," says I.
"He will be here soon, I am sure. He may have
gone over to the village. When he comes I — ^will
you give him these, please?"
She put the envelope and the package on the
table. Eureka and I looked at them and then at
her.
"Why — why, yes'm," stammered Eureka, "I'll
give 'em to him, if he comes. But maybe you'll see
him afore I do. He "
"No, no, I shall not. I — I am going to my room
and I shall not see anyone. Give them to him,
please. Oh, please do I Good night."
She was out of that kitchen like a shot. The door
banged after her. Eureka and I stared at each
other.
"Weill" says Eureka. "Well, I never in my
life! What do you suppose made her act that
way?"
I couldn't answer; 'twas long past supposing.
And just then another door opened, the back one
331
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
this time, and into the kitchen come the very per-
son Miss Emeline had been asking about — ^Lot Dea-
con himself. And if you'll believe it, he looked
full as pale and shook up as she had. And his
first question was, names' excepted, just what hers
had been.
"Is Emeline — Miss Adams — ^here?" he wanted
to know.
Eureka shook her head. "No," says she. "But
she has "
He didn't wait for her to answer.
"That's good!" he says. "That's good. I was
afraid she might be. I couldn't see her now; I
couldn't."
He come to anchor in a chair, took off his tall
hat — 'twas the first time I'd seen him wear it since
he first come and Miss Emeline asked him not to —
and chucked it on the floor as if it had been the
commonest old slouch that ever was.
"Oh I" squeals Eureka, horrified, and makes a
dive for the hat, picks it up, and starts brushing it.
"What on earth is the matter, Mr. Deacon?"
says I.
He didn't seem to hear me. In fact, all through
what happened right after this he never seemed ta
sense that I was in the room at all.
"Eureka," he pants, mopping his forehead witll
33*
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
the silk handkerchief, "I've come to say good-bye.
I'm going away."
And now 'twas Eureka's turn to get pale. She
dropped the hat on the table and clasped her hands.
"Going away!" she says. "Going awayf Not
( — ^not for good?"
"Yes, for good. My Lordl I've got to. I've
got to. I can't stay here any longer. I've tried
and tried. I've said to myself that I must stay.
Over and over again I've said it. But I can't. I'm
going."
Poor Eureka kept clasping her hands and un-
clasping 'em. "But — ^but Miss Emeline," she gasps.
"How "
"I know. Don't I know? I'm treating her like
a low-down rascal, but I've got to do it. And
sometimes I think she won't feel so bad, after all.
It'll be a shock to her at first, but she'll get over it.
It's all a mistake, this coming back of mine, any-
how. She ain't what she used to be and neither
am I. We've both changed. I ain't fit for her.
/ ain't had any Boston training. / ain't got any
high family connections. / don't use good gram-
mar. When I get mad I swear, swear like the devil.
I don't mean nothing by it; everybody cusses on a
rubber plantation. But she don't understand. When
I ripped that Wool crook up the back last night|
333
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
she was scandalized. This morning she wouldn't
hardly speak to me. Said she was grateful for all
I'd done, and she was, too; but — but that ain't it.
We ain't fitted for each other. She hadn't ou^t
to marry me and — and, by the Almighty — I can't
marry her. There! That's the truth and I'm
darned glad to get it off my chest."
I couldn't say nothing; this was too many for
me. I just stood and gaped, with my mouth open.
However, if I'd stood on my head 'twouldn't have
made any difference to that Lot man; 'twa'n't me
he was talking to.
"Oh, Eureka," he went on, one word tumbling
over the one in front of it, he was so worked up;
"Oh, Eureka, you mustn't think I'm going to de-
sert her. I ain't. I'm going to see that she gets
her share of my money, just the same as if I had
married her. And I'm going to look out for old
Quill and his invention, I'll make him rich afore
I get through, same as I said I would. But I
sha'n't stay here. I can't. You don't know what
I've been through since I landed in this place. I
hate to go. In one way I can't hardly bear to go.
I hate to leave you. You're a nice girl. You're
my idea of a girl. Why, if 'twas you, I could plan
for Paris and all that, same as I used to plan for —
her. And how I used to plan it, poor fool that I
334
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
was! I'd see us walking together down them bou-
levards at night, with the lamps a-shining, same as
I've really seen 'em time and time again. And the
bands playing and the folks laughing and the shows
going on. Whew!"
He stopped — for breath, I shouldn't wonder.
Eureka's cheeks were red again and her eyes
sparkled with the thought of all those wonderful
things.
"Mustn't it be lovely?" says she.
"That's it. You'd appreciate it. If 'twas you,
now, what a time we'd have, hey? You with that
long sealskin and the diamonds and the jewelry I'd
give you. You'd look fine in 'em, too; not like a
clothespin. And me all dressed up to beat the cars
and with money in my pocket. Nothing we couldn't
have. Nothing too dear for us to buy. And
we'd see it all, you and me, and Why I
Why, for Heaven sakesi What are you doing?
Crying?"
Eureka had been looking at him, her lips trem-
bling. Now, all at once, she dropped into a chair
by the table, put her head on her arms, and began
to sob as if her heart was broke. I started towards
her, but Lot Deacon got there first.
"What are you crying for, Eureka?" he sung
out. "Good Lordl Good Lord! You — ^you ain't
335
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
crying about me? You don't feel as bad as that
because I'm going, do you?"
She only sobbed and sobbed.
"Great heavens above I Do you care, Eureka?
Do you? Would you go to Paris with me? You
shall have the sealskin and all the rest of it. I like
you. I like you a heap. Why — ^why, one reason I
couldn't bring myself to marry Emeline was be-
cause I'd come to like you so. Come onl I mean
it. Say the word and you'll be Mrs. Lot Deacon
afore to-morrow's half over. Yes, to-night, if you'll
only say it. We'll go to the parson's in the village
and Do you care, Eureka? Would you be
willing to heave yourself away on an old rough,
tough feller like me?"
She raised her head and looked at him.
"Oh, wouldn't I?" she breathed, sort of as it
she'd got a glimpse of glory.
He bent over her and But there ! I didn'c
see any more, nor hear any more, neither. I wat
out of that kitchen by this time. 'Cording to my
notion, I'd seen and heard too much already.
They hunted me up by and by and found mm
hanging over the fence, holding my head on with
both hands. When that bombshell bust I thought
it had pretty nigh blowed it off.
"Come into the house," says Eureka. "Come u|
336
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
quick, Mr. Pratt. Lot — Mr. Deacon, I mean — ^Haa
got something to show you."
"Lot's the right name," crowed the Deacon man.
"Don't you go putting any Misters on me. Come
on, Pratt. I've got a surprise for you now that
beats any you've struck yet."
I didn't believe it, but I followed him. On the
kitchen table was the package and the envelope Miss
Emeline had left. Both, of 'em had been opened.
"See that, do you?" says Deacon. "See that, do
you, Pratt, old horse? What is it?"
I knew what it was, all right. You couldn't mis-
take it if you had eyes in your head. 'Twas that
diamond headlight ring he'd bought for Miss Eme-
line.
"What is it?" says he again.
"It's Miss Emeline's ring, ain't it?" says I.
He laughed out loud. "No, 'tain't," he crowed.
"It was hers; now it's Eureka's. Herel you read
that."
'Twas the note Miss Emeline had put into that
envelope. I read it, and this was it:
Dear Lot:
I don't know what you will think of me. I
cannot say it myself and so I write it here, I
cannot marry you. I simply cannot. You are a
337
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
good man, a good, kind-hearted man, and I am
very, very grateful to you for all you have done
for me and for Professor Quill. You must not
think I do not appreciate that ; I do ; I do. But
Lot, I cannot marry you. We should not be
happy together. I know it, and, down in your
heart, I think you know it, too. Your coming
back to me was wonderful. It was like you.
But it was a mistake and, if you do not think
so now, you will some day. We have changed,
you and I, in all the years of separation, and
my ways are not your ways any more. Please
go. It is better we should not meet again, for
my mind is made up and I shall not change it.
1 give you back your ring. Please forgive me,
please, and do not think too harshly of one who
will always be
Your friend,
Emeline Adams.
P. S. — ^There is another reason for my writ-
ing this and I am going to give you that
reason. Professor Quill wishes me to marry
him and I am going to do it. He and I have
known each other for a long time and he has
become very dear to me.
"There!" whooped Lot Deacon. "There! Now
everybody's conscience is clear and we're all happy.
Hey, Pratt? Shake hands."
We shook hands, and we shook hard. Eureka's
338
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
pretty face was all streaked with tear-marks, Bui
she smiled through 'em like a rainbow.
"But think," she says, "only think of her giving
up a lover like him for one like old Mr. Quill!"
Ah, well, that was last September, and now it's
April once more. A pile of things have happened
since that night in the kitchen.
Lot and Eureka and the Professor and Miss
Emeline are married. The Deacons have been
pretty much all over creation since, and, judging
by Mrs. D.'s letters, he and she have enjoyed the
real Paris and the rest of it full as much as they
did day-dreaming about 'em. The Quills are up to
Brookline, the vulcanizing invention has been in-
corporated and there's a whacking big factory being
put up in East Cambridge. Neither Jonathan nor
his wife will have to worry about finances, I cal'late,
even if a dozen wolves in Wool's clothing turned
up to rob 'em. Lot Deacon is president of the new
company and Colonel Applegate is on the board of
directors.
Young Clayton Saunders is head man in Apple-
gate's broker place in Providence. The Colonel
said any feller that could pull a trick like that one
Clayton pulled by keeping him in that Doane shanty
339
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
and buying Porcelain Brick Common at the lowest
figger it's ever struck, was too good a financier for
any other firm to get a hold of. Clayton and his
wife — her that was Miss Hortense Todd — are
mighty happy together, I understand. Mother-in-
law, Mrs. Evangeline Cordova, is traveling in the
Holy Land, and perhaps that accounts for some of
the happiness. It's kind of rough on the Holy
Land, though, the way I look at it.
Nate Scudder and Huldy Ann never collected that
reward for fetching Lord James's missing bride
back to him. They had trouble enough getting rid
of the " 'ummer" to last 'em one while. She
wouldn't go for almost a fortni't; seemed to think
Nate had her husband hid around the premises ; and
'twa'n't until Nate got the constable and a passel of
men to put her out that she quit. Even then they
had to haul her out by main strength, and the hol-
lering she done and the furniture she smashed has
made talk enough to last Wapatomac all winter.
Nate's still threatening to sue somebody for some-
thing or other, but he ain't collected a cent. I told
him he could take the damages put of that "bill"
of mine, but even that didn't seem to satisfy him.
Christina boarded the cars for Boston and none of
the Cape Codders has seen her since. I don't doubt
she's got a job, though, working in somebody's fam-
340
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
ily. If she once got it she wouldn't let go of it, I
bet you. How Lord James ever managed to lose
her beats me. I've had more respect for him ever
since I saw her, on that account.
I've heard of him just once since he ran out of
Scudder's parlor. That once was last week. Ed
Baker's oldest boy, over to Wellmouth, has a job
on one of the New York and Baltimore boats, sec-
ond mate, he is — a pretty good job for such a
young feller. He was home last week on a vacation,
and he says to me :
"Say, Sol," he says, "I run afoul of an old ac-
quaintance of yours in Baltimore two trips ago. I
didn't exactly run afoul of him, but I saw him. I
was on an electric car and he came out of one of
the big hotels just as I was passing. 'Twas that
English chap, the long-legged one with the half-
mast side whiskers, that used to work for you and
Hartley and Van Brunt over on Horsefoot Bar that
summer, four or five years ago. I hadn't seen him
since then, but I knew him in a minute. He's got
a job, I guess, for he was carrying two fat valises
for a big, fleshy, pompous feller that walked as if
ihe owned all creation, and had a voice like an old-
fashioned melodeon. He hailed a cab — the pom-
pous feller did — and I heard the voice. 'Xwa'n't!
one you'd forget in a hurry."
341 '/
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
That made me wonder if the man with the volte
could have been Doctor Lysander P. Wool. If it
was, and His Lordship was with him, there might
have been some sense in what Eureka said about
their being thick and confidential at the sanatarium.
Well, all I've got to say is that Baltimore better
look out, that's all. That pair, working together,
is enough to make a blind beggar put his pennies in
his inside pocket.
So much for all hands connected with Sea Breeze
Bluff Sanitarium for Right Living and Rest, except
me. And I — ^well, I'm beginning to have a heap
more faith in tea-leaf fortune-telling than I did one
time. When Sophrony Gott saw that money com-
ing to me in the teacup she sartin had her specs on,
or else she's the best guesser in creation.
First thing that made me set up and take notice
was a letter from Colonel Applegate. Inside it was
a certificate for ten shares of Consolidated Porce-
lain Brick stock.
"From Saunders and me," he wrote. "If it hadn't
been for you, Pratt, we should neither of us have
made money on that deal. Keep it. If you dare to
send it back we'll come down and shut you up in
Doane's shanty and feed you on salt mackerel for a
month."
So I kept it, though I didn't feel as if I'd ought
342
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
to, and every time the dividends come in I'm sort
of ashamed to take 'em. Yet I don't know but I've
earned 'em, in a way. If I hadn't swum out to that
drifting skiff, the Consolidated Company might
have been a president short, and if I hadn't run
the Dora Bassett onto that Bayport flat, Clayton
Saunders might not have had a wife.
But that ain't all. Lot Deacon writes me that
I'm to be a shareholder in the vulcanizing business.
"You've earned it," says he. " 'Twas you that gave
me the tip to see Applegate about Wool. And 'twas
you that was with me in that kitchen when I got
the best wife on earth. No price is high enough
for anybody connected with that piece of luck, and
don't you forget it."
And, to cap the whole thing. Miss Emeline has
put me in charge of the whole of her property at
Wapatomac, house, land, and all the sanitarium
furniture and fixings. She says she never cares to
come there again. "There are pleasant memories
connected with it, but so many that are unpleasant
and that I wish to forget. I don't wish to sell it,
but I know you will take care of it and keep it up,
Solomon. So please take it, for my sake."
She won't take any rent, so you see, from being
flat broke, I've come to be a landholder and a stock-
holder and mercy knows what all. There's only one
343
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
trouble, and that is that hard cash is middling scurce,
even yet. I can't sell my land nor my house nor my
stocks, and it costs like fury to live up to 'em.
Eleazir Kendrick, my old partner in the fish-weir
business, and me have thought serious of opening
up the ex-sanitarium as a summer boarding house
for city folks. We may do it; I shouldn't wonder
if we did. // we do, I wonder what sort of freaks'U
come to stop with us. They can't beat the Right
Livers for freakiness, though; nobody could do
that.
"And anyhow," I says to Eleazir, "I ain't real
sure that it's safe to stay in this neighborhood.
Philander Doane, the hermit chap, has sent me
word that he bought a first-class violin with the
money Saunders and Applegate give him, and he's
got so he can play it fine. 'Tell Sol Pratt,' he
sent word, 'that it come natural to me to play
it, just the same as playing the concertina done.
Tell him I'm coming over some day and play
for him.'
"So you see," I says to Eleazir, "that maybe the
safest thing for me to do is travel. If that violin
makes any worse noise than Philander made on
his concertina, / wouldn't risk hearing it. Maybe
I better start for Chiny right now. 'T would cost
344
MR. PRATT'S PATIENTS
conslder'ble to go, but 'twould be worth more'n
that to get away from Philander's music."
So, if you don't find me at the new boarding house
in Wapatomac this coming summer, you'll know
where I've gone. But don't give Philander my
address.
(8)
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