the woman-haters-第38节

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afraid　to　hear　her　answer。　　If　it　should　be　no；　thenwell；　then　he
did　not　care　what　became　of　him。

He　watched　the　bungalow　for　a　time；　hoping　that　she　might　come　out
that　he　might　at　least　see　herbut　the　door　did　not　open。　　Auguring
all　sorts　of　dismal　things　from　this；　he　moped　gloomily　back　to　the
kitchen。　　He　was　tired　and　had　not　slept　for　thirty　hours；　but　he
felt　no　desire　for　bed。　　He　could　not　go　to　bed　anyway　until　Atkins
returnedand　he　did　not　want　to。

He　sat　down　in　a　chair　and　idly　picked　up　one　of　a　pile　of
newspapers　lying　in　the　corner。　　They　were　the　New　York　and　Boston
papers　which　the　grocery　boy　had　brought　over　from　Eastboro；　with
the　mail；　the　previous　day。　　Seth　had　not　even　looked　at　them；　and
Brown；　who　seldom　or　never　read　newspapers；　found　that　he　could　not
do　so　now。　　He　tossed　them　on　the　table　and　once　more　went　out　of
doors。　　After　another　glance　at　the　bungalow；　he　walked　to　the　edge
of　the　bluff　and　looked　over。

He　was　astonished　to　see　how　far　the　tide　had　risen　in　the　night。
The　line　of　seaweed　and　drift　marking　its　highest　point　was　well　up
the　bank。　　Now　the　ebb　was　foaming　past　the　end　of　the　wharf。　　He
looked　for　the　lobster　car；　which　should　have　been　floating　at　its
moorings；　but　could　not　see　it。　　Either　it　was　under　the　wharf　or　it
had　been　swept　away　and　was　gone。　　And　one　of　the　dories　was　gone；
too。　　No；　there　it　was；　across　the　cove；　high　and　dry　on　the　beach。
If　so　much　damage　was　visible　from　where　he　stood；　it　was　probable
that　a　closer　examination　might　show　even　more。　　He　reentered　the
kitchen；　took　the　boathouse　key　from　its　nailthe　key　to　Seth's
wonderful　purchase；　the　spring　lock　which　was　to　keep　out　thieves
and　had　so　far　been　of　no　use　except　as　a　trouble…makerand　started
for　the　wharf。　　As　he　passed　the　table　he　picked　up　the　bundle　of
newspapers　and　took　them　with　him。　　The　boathouse　was　the　repository
for　rubbish；　old　papers　and　magazines　included；　and　these　might　as
well　be　added　to　the　heap。　　Atkins　had　not　read　this　particular　lot；
but　the　substitute　assistant　did　not　think　of　this。

The　lobster　car　was　not　under　the　wharf。　　The　ropes　which　had　moored
it　were　broken；　and　the　car　was　gone。　　Splinters　and　dents　in　the
piles　showed　where　it　had　banged　and　thumped　in　the　grasp　of　the
tide　before　breaking　loose。　　And；　lying　flat　on　the　wharf　and
peering　under　it；　it　seemed　to　him　that　the　piles　themselves　were　a
trifle　aslant；　that　the　whole　wharf　had　settled　down　on　the　outer
side。

He　rose　and　was　about　to　go　further　out　for　another　examination；
when　his　foot　struck　the　pile　of　papers　he　had　brought　with　him。　　He
picked　them　up；　and；　unlocking　the　boathouse　doorit　stuck　and
required　considerable　effort　to　open　itentered　the　building；
tossed　the　papers　on　the　floor；　and　turned　to　go　out。　　Before　he
could　do　so　the　door　swung　shut　with　a　bang　and　a　click。

At　first　he　did　not　realize　what　the　click　meant。　　Not　until　he
tried　to　open　it　did　he　understand。　　The　settling　of　the　wharf　had
thrown　the　door　and　its　frame　out　of　the　perpendicular。　　That　was
why　it　stuck　and　opened　with　such　reluctance。　　When　he　opened　it；　he
had；　so　to　speak；　pushed　it　uphill。　　Its　own　weight　had　swung　it
back；　and　the　spring　lockin　which　he　had　left　the　keyhad　worked
exactly　as　the　circular　of　directions　declared　it　would　do。　　He　was
a　prisoner　in　that　boathouse。

Even　then　he　did　not　fully　grasp　the　situation。　　He　uttered　an
exclamation　of　impatience　and　tugged　at　the　door；　but　it　was　heavy；
jammed　tight　in　its　frame；　and　the　lock　was　new　and　strong。　　He
might　as　well　have　tried　to　pull　up　the　wharf。

After　a　minute　of　fruitless　effort　he　gave　up　the　attempt　on　the
door　and　moved　about　the　little　building；　seeking　other　avenues　of
escape。　　The　only　window　was　a　narrow　affair；　high　up　at　the　back；
hung　on　hinges　and　fastened　with　a　hook　and　staple。　　He　climbed　up
on　the　fish　nets　and　empty　boxes；　got　the　window　open；　and　thrust
his　head　and　one　shoulder　through　the　opening。　　That；　however；　was
as　far　as　he　could　go。　　A　dwarf　might　have　squeezed　through　that
window；　but　not　an　ex…varsity　athlete　like　Russell　Brooks　or　a　husky
longshoreman　like　〃John　Brown。〃　　It　was　at　the　back；　facing　the
mouth　of　the　creek　and　the　sea；　and　afforded　a　beautiful　marine
view；　but　that　was　all。　　He　dropped　back　on　the　fish　nets　and
audibly　expressed　his　opinion　of　the　lock　and　the　man　who　had　bought
it。

Then　he　tried　the　door　again；　again　gave　it　up；　and　sat　down　on　the
fish　nets　to　think。　　Thinking　was　unsatisfactory　and　provoking。　　He
gave　that　up；　also；　and；　seeing　a　knothole　in　one　of　the　boards　in
the　landward　side　of　his　jail；　knelt　and　applied　his　eye　to　the
aperture。　　His　only　hope　of　freedom；　apparently；　lay　in　the　arrival
home　of　the　lightkeeper。　　If　Seth　had　arrived　he　could　shout　through
that　knothole　and　possibly　be　heard。

The　knothole；　however；　commanded　a　view；　not　of　the　lighthouse
buildings；　but　of　the　cove　and　the　bungalow。　　The　bungalow！　　Ruth
Graham！　　Suddenly；　and　with　a　shock；　flashed　to　his　mind　the　thought
that　his　imprisonment；　if　at　all　prolonged；　was　likely　to　be；　not　a
joke；　but　the　most　serious　catastrophe　of　his　life。

For　Ruth　Graham　was　going　to　leave　the　bungalow　and　Eastboro　that
very　day。　　He　had　begged　to　see　her　once　more；　and　this　day　was　his
last　chance。　　He　had　written　her；　pleading　to　see　her　and　receive
his　answer。　　If　he　did　not　see　her；　if　Seth　did　not　return　before
long　and　he　remained　where　he　was；　a　prisoner　and　invisible；　the
last　chance　was　gone。　　Ruth　would　believe　he　had　repented　of　his
declaration　as　embodied　in　the　fateful　note；　and　had　fled　from　her。
She　had　intimated　that　he　was　a　coward　in　not　seeing　his　fiancee　and
telling　her　the　truth。　　She　did　not　like　his　writing　that　other　girl
and　running　away。　　Now　she　would　believe　the　cowardice　was　inherent；
because　he　had　written　her；　alsoand　had　run　away。　　Horrible！

Through　the　knothole　he　sent　a　yell　for　rescue。　　Another　and
another。　　They　were　unheardat　least；　no　one　emerged　from　the
bungalow。　　He　sprang　to　his　feet　and　made　another　circle　of　the
interior　of　the　boathouse。　　Then　he　sank　down　upon　the　heap　of　nets
and　again　tried　to　think。　　He　must　get　out。　　He　mustsomehow！

The　morning　sunshine　streamed　through　the　little　window　and　fell
directly　upon　the　pile　of　newspapers　he　had　brought　from　the　kitchen
and　thrown　on　the　floor。　　His　glance　chanced　to　rest　for　an　instant
upon　the　topmost　paper　of　the　pile。　　It　was　a　New　York　journal　which
devotes　two　of　its　inside　pages　to　happenings　in　society。　　When　he
threw　it　down　it　had　unfolded　so　that　one　of　these　pages　lay
uppermost。　　Absently；　scarcely　realizing　that　he　was　doing　so；　the
substitute　assistant　read　as　follows：


〃Engagement　in　High　Life　Announced。　　Another　American　Girl　to　Wed　a
Nobleman。　　Miss　Ann　Gardner　Davidson　to　become　the　Baroness
Hardacre。〃


With　a　shout　he　fell　upon　his　knees；　seized　the　paper　and　read　on：


〃Another　contemplated　matrimonial　alliance　between　one　of　New　York's
fairest　daughters　and　a　scion　of　the　English　nobility　was　made
public　yesterday。　　Miss　Ann　Gardner　Davidson；　of　this　city；　the
breaking　of　whose　engagement　to　Russell　Agnew　Brooks；　son　of　George
Agnew　Brooks；　the　wealthy　cotton　broker；　was　the　sensation　of　the
early　spring；　is　to　marry　Herbert　Ainsworth…Ainsworth；　Baron
Hardacre；　of　Hardacre　Towers；　Surrey　on　Kent；　England。　　It　was　said
that　the　young　lady　broke　off　her　former　engagement　with　Young
Brooks　because　of〃


The　prisoner　in　the　boathouse　read　no　further。　　Ruth　Graham　had　said
to　him　the　day　before　that；　in　her　opinion；　he　had　treated　Ann
Davidson　unfairly。　　He　should　have　gone　to　her　and　told　her　of　his
quarrel　with　his　father。　　Although　he　did　not　care　for　Ann；　she
might　care　for　him。　　Might　care　enough　to　wait　and　。　。　。　　Wait？
Why；　she　cared　so　little　that；　within　a　few　months；　she　was　ready　to
marry　another　man。　　And；　if　he　owed　her　any　debt　of　honor；　no　matter
how　farfetched　and　fantastic；　it　was　canceled　now。　　He　was
absolutely　free。　　And　he　had　been　right　all　the　time。　　He　could
prove　it。　　He　would　show　Ruth　Graham　that　paper　and　。　。　。

His　jaw　set　tight；　and　he　rose　from　the　heap　of　fish　nets　with　the
folded　paper　clinched　like　a　club　in　his　hand。　　He　was　going　to　get
out　of　that　boathouse　if　he　had　to　butt　a　hole　through　its　boards
with　his　head。

Once　more　he　climbed　to　the　window　and　made　an　attempt　to　squeeze
through。　　It　was　futile；　of　course；　but　this　time　it　seemed　to　him
that　the　sill　and　the　plank　to　which　it　was　attached　gave　a　little。
He　put　the　paper　between　his　teeth；　seized　the　sill　with　both　hands；
braced　his　feet　against　a　beam　below；　and　jerked　with　all　his
strength。　　Oncetwicethree　times！　　It　was　giving！　　It　was　pulling
loose！　　He　landed　on　his　back　upon　the　nets；　sill　and　a　foot　of
boarding　in　his　hands。　　In　exactly　five　seconds；　the　folded
newspaper　jammed　in　his　trousers　pocket；　he　swung　through　the
opening　and　dropped　to　the　narrow　space　between　the　building　and　the
end　of　the　wharf。

The　space　was　a　bare　six　inches　wide。　　As　he　struck；　his　ankle
turned　under　him；　he　staggered；　tried　wildly　to　regain　his　balance；
and　fell