Chapter XVIII: Mr. Sam Hammond

At that very moment Mr. Hammond, seated on the fence by the vestry door, was puffing at a cigar and talking in an unusually loud voice of New York and his experiences there. He seemed to be very happy and his boisterous laughter penetrated even to the little company of worshippers on the settees inside.

When the meeting was over he threw away the stump of his cigar and shouldered himself into the front row of waiting swains by the door. As Gus came out he stepped forward to meet her, and in doing so bumped against Mrs. Piper, who, looking the other way, had not seen him, and, being deaf, had not heard his step.

“Gracious sakes alive!” exclaimed the old lady, rubbing her shoulder. “Excuse me, Mr. Hammond, I didn’t see you.”

Sam nodded serenely. “Don’t mention it,” he shouted, winking over his shoulder at Georgiana Bailey. “You didn’t hurt me a bit.”

Georgiana giggled, and most of the young men grinned at the joke. Gus glanced hurriedly at Mrs. Piper and then at Hammond. She looked surprised and troubled.

Sam took her arm without asking permission and led her to the sidewalk. She still looked back.

“I’m afraid you hurt Mrs. Piper,” she said. “What made you so rough?”

Her escort laughed. “I guess it won’t be fatal,” he observed. “If I’d managed to fracture that voice of hers so’s she couldn’t sing, maybe the congregation would give me a vote of thanks.”

Gus didn’t reply. There was something in her companion’s manner that made her recoil instinctively. She disengaged her arm from his, but he took it again and walked on, joking and laughing.

“What a crowd of jays there is in this town,” he remarked after a while, and, with a sneer, “enough to stock a dime museum.”

He had always spoken patronizingly of the townspeople--that she had not minded so much, coming from a city man, but heretofore he had not openly made fun of them. She resented the remark, but most of all the tone in which it was uttered.

“Why do you stay here then?” she asked, coldly.

“Why? I guess you know the reason all right. Don’t you, Gus? Hey?”

He chuckled and bent down to look in her face. She shivered and drew away from him.

His hand upon her arm, the look he had just given her, his air of assumed proprietorship--above all, that new and vulgar something in his manner, as if the real soul of the man was showing for the first time, filled her with disgust.

She did not speak again until they reached the gate. Then she said, without looking at him, “Good night.”

He put his hand over hers on the latch. “Oh, say,” he exclaimed, with a laugh, “this isn’t a square deal, Gus. Aren’t you goin’ to ask me in?”

She tried to snatch her hand away, but he held it fast, and, leaning across the gate, threw his arm about her waist and drew her to him.

“There!” he cried, exultantly, “this is more like it. This is more like friends. Give us a kiss. You’re too high and mighty to be the prettiest girl on the Cape.”

She struggled from his grasp and stood panting. “Oh!” she whispered, with a shudder, as she realized the truth. “Oh, you’ve been drinking!”

He laughed foolishly and shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, what’s one glass between friends?” he said. “I stopped into Web’s a minute and he set ’em up. First drink I’ve had since I left New York. Thought you was too sensible to have blue ribbon notions. Come; be more sociable--that’s a good girl.”

She was afraid of him now, not afraid of physical violence, but as she would have feared the contact with something loathsome and unclean. A sense of utter loneliness came over her. She longed for protection and help. She thought of Bradley; he would have helped her; she could have trusted him. But she had driven him out of her life, and this fellow----

“Go!” she cried. “_Go!_”

Sam ceased to smile. Other girls had told him to go, but never in that way or with such quivering scorn. He began to realize that this was the end of his game; he had lost the prize. But he made one more effort.

“Oh, say,” he cried. “Don’t get mad, Gus. I was only fooling. Don’t be such an old maid. Come here.”

She turned on her heel and, without replying, walked toward the house. Hammond swore between his teeth, opened the gate, took one step in her direction, and then stopped. He laughed a short, ugly laugh, and nodded.

“You mean it, do you?” he asked. “Want me to clear out, hey? Well, don’t you fool yourself that I don’t know what ails you. You can’t come the high moral game on me, my lady. You’re whining after that sneaking Sunday-school kid, Brad Nickerson, the fellow that didn’t care enough about you to lift his hand, but stood still and let me walk off with his girl, as if she was as common as dishwater. The whole town thinks you’re going to marry me. What’ll they say when I show ’em _I’m_ done with you?” He laughed again and put his hands in his pockets.

“I’m going,” he said. “I’m going all right. You go to bed and dream about Brad. Dreams come true sometimes, they say. Maybe _I’ll_ dream about him, too.”

He pulled his hat over his eyes and walked rapidly away. Gus watched him go. Then she went into the house, threw herself into a chair beside the table and laid her head upon her arms.

Sam plunged straight on through the mud and wet grass until he reached the back door of the billiard-room. Web Saunders came hurrying to see who it was that had knocked: only the tried and true were admitted at that door.

“Hello, Sam!” he exclaimed, with a look of relief. “Why, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” replied Hammond gruffly. “Where’s that jug of yours, Web? I’m dying for another drink.”

After cautioning his visitor against speaking so loud, Mr. Saunders indicated the whereabouts of the jug. Sam poured out a liberal dose of the villainous cheap whiskey and drank it forthwith. Then he poured out another.

He refused to go home that night and Web put him to bed upon one of the settees in the little back room. And in that back room he stayed throughout the next day, drinking frequently, in spite of his friend’s protests, and growing more ugly with every drink.

That next day, Friday, was wet and foggy, with occasional cold showers, but there was no wind worth mentioning and the wreckers put in ten hours of the hardest kind of work. The _Freedom_ had moved perceptibly in the sweep of the latest tides and the partners were happy in consequence.

It was dark, though a few stars were showing dimly through the mist overhead, when the _Diving Belle_ entered Orham Harbor that evening. Alvin Bearse was at the helm, and he brought the schooner alongside the wharf. A half-dozen men--the only members of the wrecking gang who returned to Orham at the end of the day’s work--climbed over the stringpiece and departed for their homes in the village. Bearse remained on board when the vessel ran out to her moorings, to help his employers make snug for the night.

A few minutes later Bradley stood by the cabin door, with a lantern in his hand. Alvin and the Captain were forward. Suddenly the junior partner was aware that some one was standing beside him.

“Well, Cap’n Ez,” he observed; “all ready to go ashore?”

There was no answer. He looked up--into the face of Sam Hammond. The diver wore no overcoat. His stiff hat, battered and muddy, was pushed back on his head. His face, under the tumbled, damp hair on the forehead, was flushed and scowling, and his half-shut eyes had an ugly glimmer. Even in the dim light of the lantern his condition was unmistakable.

Hammond’s behavior in his native village had heretofore been of the best, so far as this particular vice was concerned. Bradley was dumbfounded.

“Hello, Sam!” he exclaimed. “Where’d you come from?”

“Off the wharf,” was the gruff answer. “Where’d you think, you fool?”

It was evident that the fellow was spoiling for a fight. Bradley, however, had no wish to quarrel with a drunken man, especially this one.

“All right, all right,” he said, mechanically, “I didn’t see you come aboard, that’s all. Want to see Cap’n Ez?”

“No, I don’t want to see Cap’n Ez nor any other ’longshore thief but you. I want to go below and get my things.”

“Your things?”

“Yes, my things. My oilskins and the rest of my stuff. I wouldn’t leave ’em aboard this rotten tub another minute for a million dollars.”

“Oh, very well.” Bradley swung open the cabin door and started to lead the way with the lantern. Hammond shoved him aside.

“I’ll go alone,” he muttered.

“You can’t see without the lantern. You’ll have to go with me or wait till to-morrow morning.”

“Give me that lantern,” snarled Sam, making a grab for it.

Bradley held it out of reach.

“You’re not fit to carry it,” he said, shortly.

“You mealy-mouthed sneak!” shouted Hammond. “I’m fit to fix you.”

Bradley saw the blow coming. He dropped the lantern and ducked. Next instant Sam was upon him, screaming and cursing. They tripped over the swinging door and fell to the deck. Alvin and Captain Titcomb came running from the fo’castle.

“What in the nation----?” cried the Captain. “Here, quit that, you! Let him alone, Brad!”

Hammond yelled and fought as they dragged him to his feet. Finally, overpowered, he sobbed in maudlin fury.

“There! that’ll do for you,” observed the Captain, clapping a big hand over his prisoner’s mouth. “Crazy tight, ain’t he? Hold still, or, by the everlastin’ hook-blocks, I’ll heave you overboard! Where’d he come from?”

“Must have come aboard when we stopped at the wharf,” replied Bradley. “He was dead set on taking the lantern and going below after his oilskins and stuff.”

“Sooner trust a blind cripple with a lantern. Chuck his dunnage ashore to-morrer mornin’. Now then,” turning to Hammond, “will you walk to the dory or shall we carry you? Shut up! You’ve cussed enough.”

He led the way to the side, holding Sam by the coat collar. Bradley followed.

“Oh!” exclaimed the skipper, stopping short. “Didn’t shut that cabin door, did you, Brad? I’ve left that blasted key somewheres, and if that spring lock’s snapped shut we’ll be in a mess. No? Well, all right then.”

They got into the dory and Bradley took up the oars. Bearse sat on the bow thwart, while the Captain reclined in the stern with Hammond, sprawling and muttering, between his knees. They had nearly reached the beach when Sam gave a sudden spring, and, with an oath, threw himself upon his enemy. Bradley fell backward. The dory heeled until the water lipped the rail.

“You would, would you?” grunted Captain Titcomb. “There!”

Seizing the struggling diver neck and crop, he whirled him bodily over the side.

“Now, then,” panted the Captain, “if you can’t ride like a man--walk!”

Sam went into the cold water with a tremendous splash. It was not deep and he floundered to his feet, but the shock sobered him a little. He waded to the shore. Turning, he stretched out an arm with a shaking forefinger at the end of it. His rage almost choked him. He tried twice before he managed to speak clearly.

“I pay my debts,” he gasped. “I pay my debts!”

“I’ve heard diff’rent,” remarked the Captain, drily. “But never mind, Sam; it’s a good habit.”

Hammond did not heed him. “I pay my debts,” he repeated. “Do you hear that, Brad Nickerson? You doughface! I’ve got your girl away from you already, and that isn’t the end. I pay my debts, and, by God, Brad Nickerson, I’ll pay you!”

He stood for an instant pointing at the dory. Then he stepped back into the darkness. They heard his footsteps crunching the broken clam-shells of the road.

“Seems to love you like a brother, don’t he, Brad?” observed the Captain, as they were on their way up town. “I jedge from the drift of his entertainin’ remarks that he’s decided to chuck up his job with Titcomb and Nickerson. Well, I cal’late he’ll resign by ‘mutual consint,’ as the Irishman did when him and his boss told each other to go to blazes at the same time. I met one of the Metropolitan men when I was up to Boston and he told me his folks fired Sam because he went on a howlin’ spree, so I guess this little shindy was bound to come sooner or later. Kept pretty straight afore sence he’s been to home, though, ain’t he?”

Bradley did not answer.

Suddenly the Captain slapped his thigh.

“Good land!” he exclaimed. “Brad, I’ve meant to tell you all day, and forgot it: The _Diving Belle’s_ insured. I went down to Obed’s after I left your house last night and we fixed it up. Five thousand dollars, and it went on at noon to-day--leastways, I s’pose it did. He was to telephone the insurance folks this mornin’.”

“Good! I’m glad that’s settled. It has worried me to think we weren’t protected at all.”

“Well, I told you I’d do it, didn’t I? The only hitch was about that dynamite. But I fixed that. Give Obed to understand we’d took it ashore. We have--all but. I spoke to Peleg and he’ll have it off in a day or so.”

Bradley stopped short. “You don’t mean to tell me it hasn’t gone yet?” he exclaimed. “Why! if anything should happen to the schooner with that stuff aboard the policy wouldn’t hold for a minute. I’ve a good mind to go back now and take it off myself.”

“Oh, don’t be an old woman!” cried the Captain, testily. “What do you think’s goin’ to happen? I’ll see to it to-morrow. Come on home!”

The junior partner did not press the subject, but he made up his mind that if he lived until the next morning that dynamite should go ashore the minute the _Diving Belle_ reached the Point.

At the gate of the Traveller’s Rest they separated. “Coming ’round to the house by and by, Cap’n?” asked Bradley.

The Captain’s manner changed. “I don’t know,” he answered, gloomily. “I presume likely I may.”