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Updated: June 14, 2025
It was plain that, for the first time since his caller intruded upon his privacy, the maker of mills and sailors WAS interested. He did not put down his brush, but he turned his head to look and listen. Bearse, pleased with this symptom of attention, went on. "I was just into Phineas' store," he said, "and he was there, so I had a chance to talk with him.
He stopped short and the smile faded from his lips. Jed knew why. The story of his life was just what he had not told, what he could not tell. As January slid icily into February Mr. Gabriel Bearse became an unusually busy person. There were so many things to talk about. Among these was one morsel which Gabe rolled succulently beneath his tongue.
"Oh, you divilish idiot! Stop tryin' to be funny. I asked you how you thought Cap'n Sam would take the notion of Maud's havin' a steady beau? She's had a good many after her, but looks as if she was stuck on this one for keeps." Jed sighed and looked over his spectacles at Mr. Bearse. The latter grew uneasy under the scrutiny.
Bearse grew impatient. "Have you heard the news about Cap'n Sam?" he repeated. "Say, Shavin's, have you?" The painting went serenely on, but the painter answered. "Well, Gab," he drawled, "I " "Don't call me Gab, I tell you. 'Tain't my name." "Sho! Ain't it?" "You know well enough 'tain't. My name's Gabriel. Call me that or Gabe. I don't like to be called out of my name. But say, Shavin's "
"I had to talk to somebody, had to get it off my chest, and, as I just said, it seems to be easier to talk such things to you than anybody else. Now if any of the town gas engines Gab Bearse or anybody else comes cruisin' in here heavin' overboard questions about how I like the notion of Maud and Charlie takin' up with each other, you can tell 'em I'm tickled to death.
"And, Ros," he leaned forward, his haggard face working with emotion, "those bonds ain't in our safe here, where they should be, and the bank examiner is due here within the next four days. He's at Middleboro now. I 'phoned Bearse, the cashier there, this very forenoon on a matter of business, and he happened to mention that the examiner was in his bank and working his way down the Cape.
"'Thankin' you for the compliment, it ain't, I says. 'My name's Wingate. "'Oh! says he. 'Is that so? I've heard father speak of you, Mr. Wingate. He is Solomon Bearse, of West Ostable. I think you know him slightly. "Know him? Everybody on the Cape knows Sol Bearse; by reputation, anyhow. He's the richest, meanest old cranberry grower and coastin'-fleet owner in these parts.
"The old man was crazy. He'd heard about Willie's literature leanin's, and he give out that he'd never see a writer yet that wa'n't a 'sissy. Wanted us to fire Bearse right off, but we kept him, thanks to me. If he'd seen the 'sissy' kick the ball once, same as I did, it might have changed his mind some.
Then came the volunteering, and after that the draft, and the reality drew a little nearer. Work upon the aviation camp at East Harniss had actually begun. The office buildings were up and the sheds for the workmen. They were erecting frames for the barracks, so Gabriel Bearse reported.
Bearse entered was crowded from floor to ceiling, save for a narrow passage, with hit- or-miss stacks of the wooden toys evidently finished and ready for shipment. Threading his way between the heaps of sailors, mills, vanes and boats, Gabriel came to a door evidently leading to another room. There was a sign tacked to this door, which read, "PRIVATE," but Mr. Bearse did not let that trouble him.
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