"It is up to now, because the Boston folks don't know. But WE know, or we're afraid we know, and that makes it worse. How can we go on buyin'

from folks that has stood our friends ever since we went into business, knowin' as we do that--"

His partner interrupted.

"We don't know anything yet," he declared. "Keep a stiff upper lip, Zoeth. Nine chances to one we'll weather it all right. WHAT a summer this has been! And when I think," he added savagely, "of how well we got along afore those new stores came it makes me nigh crazy. I'll go out with a card of matches some night and burn 'em down. d.a.m.n pirates!

Callin' themselves good Cape Cod names--names that don't belong to 'em!

Baker's Bazaar! Ugh! Rheinstein's Robbers' Roost would be nigher the truth. . . . Say, Zoeth, we mustn't hint a word to Mary-'Gusta about this. We've got cash enough on hand to pay her clearance charges up there at school, ain't we?"

"Yes, Shadrach, I've looked out for that. I don't know's I'd ought to.

The money maybe had ought to go somewheres else, but--but right or wrong it's goin' for her and I hope the Lord'll forgive me. And what you say's true, she mustn't know we're worried. She's so conscientious she might be for givin' up her schoolin' and comin' down here to help us. She'd be just as liable to do it as not."

"You're right, she would. Good thing she thinks she's got money of her own and that that money is payin' her schoolin' bills. She'd be frettin'

all the time about the expense if 'twa'n't for that. You and I must pretend everything's lovely and the goose hangin' high when she's around. And we mustn't let Isaiah drop any hints."

"No. Isaiah has asked me two or three times lately if the new stores was hurtin' our trade. I shouldn't wonder if he had some suspicions down inside him."

"Umph! Well, that's all right, so long as they stay inside. If I see signs of one of those suspicions risin' above his Adam's apple I'll choke 'em down again. I'll put a flea in Isaiah's ear, and I'll put mucilage on its feet so's 'twill stick there."

So although Mary did notice that the two new shops in the village seemed to be prospering and that business at Hamilton and Company's was not rushing even for September, the answers to her questions were so rea.s.suring that her uneasiness was driven away. Her Uncle Zoeth evaded direct reply and Captain Shadrach prevaricated whole-heartedly and cheerfully. Even Isaiah declared that "everything and all hands was doin' fine." But Mary made him promise that should it ever be otherwise than fine he would write her immediately. He gave the promise with some reluctance.

"I cal'late if Cap'n Shad caught me tellin' tales out of school he'd go to work and turn to and bust me over the head with a marlinespike," said Mr. Chase, with the air of one stating a fact.

Mary laughed. "Oh, no, he wouldn't," she declared. "I'll stand back of you, Isaiah. Now mind, you are to keep me posted on JUST how things are here."

CHAPTER XVI

Mary went back to Boston and to school, where old acquaintances were renewed and new ones made. The Misses Cabot welcomed her with fussy and dignified condescension. Barbara Howe hugged and kissed her and vowed she had not seen a girl all summer who was half so sweet.

"Why in the world someone doesn't run off with you and marry you this very minute I cannot see," declared the vivacious young lady. "If I were a man I should."

Mary, who was used to Miss Howe's outbursts, merely smiled.

"Oh, no, you wouldn't," she replied. "I should hope you would be more sensible. No one will run off with me; at least I wouldn't run off with them."

"Why not? Don't you think an elopement is perfectly splendid--so romantic and all that? Suppose you were head over heels in love with someone and his people were dead set against his marrying you, wouldn't you elope then?"

"I think I shouldn't. I think I should try to find out why they were so opposed to me. Perhaps there might be some good reason. If there were no good reason, then--why, then--well, I don't know. But I should hesitate a long while before I came between a person and his family. It must be dreadful to do that."

Barbara laughed. "Nonsense!" she cried. "It's done every day in the best families, my dear. And then the reconciliation is all the sweeter. You just wait! Some of these days I expect to read: 'Elopement in South Harniss High Life. Beautiful Society Maiden Weds Famous Former Football--er--er--I want another F--Oh, yes, Famous Former Football Favorite.' Isn't that beautiful? Dear me, how you blush! Or is it sunburn? At any rate, it's very becoming."

The Famous Former Football Favorite called at Mrs. Wyeth's on the evening following that of Mary's return to Boston. He was as big and brown as ever and declared that he had had a wonderful vacation.

"And you're looking awfully well, too," he exclaimed, inspecting her from head to foot. "She is, isn't she, Mrs. Wyeth?"

Mrs. Wyeth admitted that she thought so. Crawford nodded emphatically.

"By George, you are!" he repeated.

There was no doubt of his sincerity. In fact, the admiration in his voice and look was so obvious and unconcealed that Mary, although she could not help being pleased, was a little embarra.s.sed. The embarra.s.sment wore away, however, when he began to tell of his summer in the Sierras and to ask for additional particulars concerning her European trip. He stayed longer than usual that evening and came again a few evenings later--to show them some photographs he had taken in the mountains, so he said. And the following Sunday he dropped in to accompany them to church. And--but why particularize? Perhaps it will be sufficient to say that during that fall and winter the boy and girl friendship progressed as such friendships are likely to do. Miss Pease, the romantic, nodded and looked wise and even Mrs. Wyeth no longer resented her friend's looks and insinuations with the same indignant certainty of denial.

"I don't know, Let.i.tia," she admitted. "I don't know. I'm beginning to think he cares for her and may be really serious about it. Whether or not she cares for him is quite another thing and I am sure I shan't presume to guess. If she does she keeps it to herself, as she does so many other things. She knows how to mind her own business and that is a gift possessed by few, Let.i.tia Pease."

Mary went home for the Christmas vacation and spent the holidays, as she had spent those of the previous year, in helping her uncles at the store. The Christmas trade, although not so brisk as she had seen it, was not so bad as to alarm her, and the partners were optimistic as ever. Isaiah, who had been talked to like a Dutch uncle by Captain Shad and was consequently in deadly fear of the latter's wrath, declared that as far as he could see everything was all right. So Mary left South Harniss and returned to school and the duties of the winter term with few misgivings concerning matters at home. Crawford met her at the train and came to the Pinckney Street house that evening to hear the news from the Cape. It was surprising, the interest in Cape Cod matters manifested of late by that young man.

On a day in early April, Mary, hurrying to Mrs. Wyeth's after school, found a letter awaiting her. She glanced at the postmark, which was South Harniss, and the handwriting, which was Isaiah's, and then laid it aside to be read later on at her leisure. After many postponements and with considerable reluctance she had accepted an invitation to dine with Barbara Howe at the latter's home in Brookline and this evening was the time appointed. It would be her first plunge into society--the home life of society, that is. The Howes were an old family, wealthy and well-connected, and Mary could not help feeling somewhat nervous at the ordeal before her. She knew something of the number and variety of expensive gowns possessed by her young hostess and her own limited wardrobe seemed doubly limited and plain by comparison. But she summoned her unfailing common sense to her rescue and found consolation in the fact that Barbara and her people knew she was, comparatively speaking, a poor girl, and therefore could hardly have invited her with the expectation of seeing her arrayed in fine clothes. And if they had done so--here was a bit of the old Mary-'Gusta philosophy--their opinion was not worth consideration anyhow, and the sooner they and she reached mutual disgust and parting the better.

But although her best gown was not new nor expensive, and her jewels were conspicuous by their absence, the picture she made as she stood before the mirror giving the last touches to her hair was distinctly not an unpleasing one. Maggie, the maid, who entered the room to announce a caller, was extravagant in her praises.

"Ah, sure, Miss, you look fine," she declared. "You're that sweet one look at you would sugar a cup of tea. Ah, he'll be that proud of you and he ought to be, too. But he's a fine young man, and--"

"Who? What are you talking about, Maggie?" interrupted Mary. "Who will be proud of me and who is a fine young fellow?"

"Who? Why, Mr. Smith, of course; who else? He's down in the parlor waitin' for you now. I'll tell him you'll be down."

Before Mary could stop her she had left the room and was on her way downstairs. Mary followed a moment later. She had not expected a visit from Crawford, who had called already that week. She wondered why he had come.

She found him in the parlor. Mrs. Wyeth was out shopping with Miss Pease, and he and she were alone. He rose to meet her as she entered.

"Why, Crawford," she said, "what is the matter? Has anything happened?

Why do you look so serious?"

He smiled ruefully. "I guess because I am rather serious," he answered.

"I've had some news and I came to tell you about it." Then, noticing her gown, he added: "But you're going out, aren't you?"

"I am going out by and by. I am going to dine and spend the evening with Barbara Howe. But I am not going yet. Won't you sit down?"

"I will if you're sure you can spare the time. I hope you can, because--well, because I do want to talk to you. I've had bad news from home. My father is ill--and in the doctor's care."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I hope it isn't serious."

"I don't know whether it is or not. It can't be desperately serious, because he wrote the letter himself. But at any rate it's serious enough for me. He wants me to give up my work here at the Harvard Medical and come West."

Mary gasped. "Give it up!" she repeated. "Give up your studies? Give up medicine? Surely he doesn't want you to do that!"

Crawford shook his head. "No, not quite that," he replied. "I wouldn't do that, even for him. But he writes that he is not well and is not likely to be better for a good while, if ever, and he would be very much happier if I were nearer at hand. He wants me to give up here at the Harvard Med. and take up my work again at Denver or Salt Lake City or somewhere out there. Even Chicago would seem much nearer, he says. It's a pitiful sort of letter. The old chap seems dreadfully down in the dumps. He wants me, that's plain enough, and he seems to think he needs me. Says if I were at Denver I could come home every little while, whereas here I can't. What ought I to do? I hate to say no, and I hate just as much to say yes."

Mary considered.

"I think you must decide for yourself," she said after a moment. "You have your career to consider, of course."

"Yes, I have. But, to be perfectly honest, I suppose my career would not be influenced greatly if I went. There are plenty of good medical colleges in the West. It is only that I am a Harvard man and I hoped to finish at the Harvard school, that is all. But I COULD go. What do you advise?"

Again Mary took time for consideration. Her face now was as grave as his. At last she said, without raising her eyes: "I think you ought to go."