Kent Knowles: Quahaug | Page 3

two hundred and ten and had a face on her as red as--"
"Just a minute, Ase. About that pig?"
"Oh, yes! Well, the pig reminded me of Violet's parrot and the parrot reminded me of a Plymouth Rock rooster I had that used to roost in the pigpen nights--wouldn't use the henhouse no more'n you nor I would--and that, naturally, made me think of pigs, and pigs fetched Josiah's uncle's pig to mind and there I was all ready to start on the yarn. It pretty often works out that way. When you want to start a yarn and you can't start--you've forgot it, or somethin'--just begin somewhere, get goin' somehow. Edge around and keep edgin' around and pretty soon you'll fetch up at the right place TO start. See, don't you, Kent?"
I saw--that is, I saw enough. I came home and this morning I began the "edging around" process. I don't seem to have "fetched up" anywhere in particular, but I shall keep on with the edging until I do. As Asaph says, I must begin somewhere, so I shall begin with the Saturday morning of last April when Jim Campbell, my publisher and my friend--which is by no means such an unusual combination as many people think--sat on the veranda of my boathouse overlooking Cape Cod Bay and discussed my past, present and, more particularly, my future.
CHAPTER II
Which Repeats, for the Most Part, What Jim Campbell Said to Me and What I Said to Him
"Jim," said I, "what is the matter with me?"
Jim, who was seated in the ancient and dilapidated arm-chair which was the finest piece of furniture in the boathouse and which I always offered to visitors, looked at me over the collar of my sweater. I used the sweater as I did the arm-chair when I did not have visitors. He was using it then because, like an idiot, he had come to Cape Cod in April with nothing warmer than a very natty suit and a light overcoat. Of course one may go clamming and fishing in a light overcoat, but--one doesn't.
Jim looked at me over the collar of my sweater. Then he crossed his oilskinned and rubber-booted legs--they were my oilskins and my boots--and answered promptly.
"Indigestion," he said. "You ate nine of those biscuits this morning; I saw you."
"I did not," I retorted, "because you saw them first. MY interior is in its normal condition. As for yours--"
"Mine," he interrupted, filling his pipe from my tobacco pouch, "being accustomed to a breakfast, not a gorge, is abnormal but satisfactory, thank you--quite satisfactory."
"That," said I, "we will discuss later, when I have you out back of the bar in my catboat. Judging from present indications there will be some sea-running. The "Hephzy" is a good, capable craft, but a bit cranky, like the lady she is named for. I imagine she will roll."
He didn't like that. You see, I had sailed with him before and I remembered.
"Ho-se-a," he drawled, "you have a vivid imagination. It is a pity you don't use more of it in those stories of yours."
"Humph! I am obliged to use the most of it on the royalty statements you send me. If you call me 'Hosea' again I will take the 'Hephzy' across the Point Rip. The waves there are fifteen feet high at low tide. See here, I asked you a serious question and I should like a serious answer. Jim, what IS the matter with me? Have I written out or what is the trouble?"
He looked at me again.
"Are you in earnest?" he asked.
"I am, very much in earnest."
"And you really want to talk shop after a breakfast like that and on a morning like this?"
"I do."
"Was that why you asked me to come to Bayport and spend the week- end?"
"No-o. No, of course not."
"You're another; it was. When you met me at the railroad station yesterday I could see there was something wrong with you. All this morning you've had something on your chest. I thought it was the biscuits, of course; but it wasn't, eh?"
"It was not."
"Then what was it? Aren't we paying you a large enough royalty?"
"You are paying me a good deal larger one than I deserve. I don't see why you do it."
"Oh," with a wave of the hand, "that's all right. The publishing of books is a pure philanthropy. We are in business for our health, and--"
"Shut up. You know as well as I do that the last two yarns of mine which your house published have not done as well as the others."
I had caught him now. Anything remotely approaching a reflection upon the business house of which he was the head was sufficient to stir up Jim Campbell. That business, its methods and its success, were his idols.
"I don't know any