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Updated: August 5, 2024
New York was calling to her, and Brookport held out no attractions at all. She looked down over the side at the tugs puffing their way through the broken blocks of ice that reminded her of a cocoanut candy familiar to her childhood. "But I want to be with you," she protested. "Impossible, my dear, for the present. I shall be very busy, very busy indeed for some weeks, until I have found my feet.
It seemed incredible that all these people, placidly intent upon their food and their small talk, should not be staring at her, wondering what she was going to say; nudging each other and speculating. Their detachment made her feel alone and helpless. She was nothing to them and they did not care what happened to her, just as she had been nothing to those frozen marshes down at Brookport.
As was his habit, he did not enter into details, but he wrote in a spacious way of large things to be, of affairs that were coming out right, of prosperity in sight. As tangible evidence of success, he enclosed a present of twenty dollars, for Jill to spend in the Brookport shops.
Where was it that she said they were going next week? Portsmouth, that was it. He addressed the letter Care of The Girl and the Artist Company, to the King's Theatre, Portsmouth. The village of Brookport, Long Island, is a summer place. It lives, like the mosquitoes that infest it, entirely on its summer visitors.
Matters were in this state when Lady Wetherby, who, having danced classical dances for three months without a break, required a rest, shifted her camp to the house which she had rented for the summer at Brookport, Long Island, taking with her Algie, her husband, the monkey Eustace, and Claire and Mr Pickering, her guests.
"I landed about ten days ago. I've been down at a place called Brookport on Long Island. How funny running into you like this!" "I was surprised that you remembered me." "I've forgotten your name," admitted Jill frankly. "But that's nothing. I always forget names." "My name's Nelly Bryant." "Of course. And you're on the stage, aren't you?" "Yes.
"Oh, if you are going to talk poetry," said Jill, "I'll leave you. Anyhow, I ought to be getting below and putting my things together. Subject for a historical picture, The Belle of Brookport collecting a few simple necessaries before entering upon the conquest of America."
"I hope I shan't be in the way." "Major Selby was speaking to me on the telephone just now," said Mr Mariner, "and he said that you might be thinking of settling down in Brookport. I've some nice little places round here which you might like to look at. Rent or buy. It's cheaper to buy. Brookport's a growing place. It's getting known as a summer resort.
"Didn't I tell you about that?" said Uncle Chris cheerily, avoiding her eye, however, for he had realized all along that it might be a little bit awkward breaking the news. "I've arranged that you shall go and stay for the time being down at Brookport on Long Island, you know over in that direction with your Uncle Elmer.
Bill was not by nature a plotter, but the mere fact of travelling under an assumed name had developed a streak of wariness in him. He checked himself just as he was about to ask his companion if he happened to know a Miss Elizabeth Boyd, who also lived at Brookport.
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