In the old days, the great days of sailing ships and land merchant fleets, Bayport was a community of travelers. Every ambitious man went to sea, and eventually, if he lived, became a captain. Then he took his wife, and in most cases his children, with him on long voyages. To the stay-at-homes came letters with odd, foreign stamps and postmarks. Our what-nots and parlor mantels were filled with carved bits of ivory, gorgeous shells, alabaster candlesticks, and plaster miniatures of the Leaning Tower at Pisa or the Coliseum at Rome. We usually began a conversation with "When my husband and I were at Hong Kong the last time--" or "I remember at Mauritius they always--" New Orleans or 'Frisco were the nearest domestic ports the mention of which was considered worth while.
But this is so no longer. A trip to Boston is, of course, no novelty to the most of us; but when we visit New York we take care to advertise it beforehand. And the few who avail themselves of the spring "cut rates" and go on excursions to Washington, plan definite programmes for each day at the Capital, and discuss them with envious friends for weeks in advance. And if the prearranged programme is not scrupulously carried out, we feel that we have been defrauded. It was the regret of Aunt Sophronia Hallett's life that, on her Washington excursion, she had not seen the "Diplomatic Corpse." She saw the President and the Monument and Congress and "the relics in the Smithsonian Institute," but the "Corpse" was not on view; Aunt Sophronia never quite got over the disappointment.
Probably no other Bayporter, in recent years, has started for Washington on such short notice or with so ill-defined a programme as Captain Cy. He went because he felt that he must go somewhere.
After the conversation with Asaph, he simply could not remain at home. If Phoebe Dawes called, he knew that he must see her, and if he saw her, what should he say to her? He could not tell her that she must not visit the Cy Whittaker place again. If he did, she would insist upon the reason. If he told her of the "town talk,"he felt sure, knowing her, that she would indignantly refuse to heed the malicious gossip. And he was firmly resolved not to permit her to compromise her life and her future by friendship with a social outcast like himself. As for anything deeper and more sacred than friendship, that was ridiculous. If, for a moment, a remark of hers had led him to dream of such a thing, it was because he was, as he had so often declared, an "old fool."So Captain Cy had resolved upon flight, and he fled to Washington because the business of the "committee of one" offered a legitimate excuse for going there. The blunt message he had intrusted to Georgianna would, he believed, arouse Phoebe's indignation. She would not call again. And when he returned to Bos'n, it would be to take up the child's fight alone. If he lost that fight, or WHENhe lost it, he would close the Cy Whittaker place, and leave Bayport for good.
He had been in Washington once before, years ago, when he was first mate of a ship and had a few weeks' shore leave. Then he went there on a pleasure trip with some seagoing friends, and had a jolly time. But there was precious little jollity in the present visit. He had never felt so thoroughly miserable. In order to forget, he made up his mind to work his hardest to discover why the harbor appropriation was not to be given to Bayport.
The city had changed greatly. He would scarcely have known it.
He went to the hotel where he had stayed before, and found a big, modern building in its place. The clerk was inclined to be rather curt and perfunctory at first, but when he learned that the captain was not anxious concerning the price of accommodations, but merely wanted a "comf'table berth somewheres on the saloon deck," and appeared to have plenty of money, he grew polite. Captain Cy was shown to his room, where he left his valise. Then he went down to dinner.
After the meal was over, he seated himself in one of the big leather chairs in the hotel lobby, smoked and thought. In the summer, before Bos'n came, and before her father had arisen to upset every calculation and wreck all his plans, the captain had given serious thought to what he should do if Congressman Atkins failed, as even then he seemed likely to do, in securing that appropriation. The obvious thing, of course, would have been to hunt up Mr. Atkins and question him. But this was altogether too obvious. In the first place, the strained relations between them would make the interview uncomfortable; and, in the second, if there was anything underhand in Heman's backsliding on the appropriation, Atkins was too wary a bird to be snared with questions.
But Captain Cy had another acquaintance in the city, the son of a still older acquaintance, who had been a wealthy shipping merchant and mine owner in California. The son was also a congressman, from a coast State, and the captain had read of him in the papers. Asketch of his life had been printed, and this made his identity absolutely certain. Captain Cy's original idea had been to write to this congressman. Now he determined to find and interview him.
He inquired concerning him of the hotel clerk, who, like all Washington clerks, was a walking edition of "Who's Who at the Capital.""Congressman Everdean?" repeated the all-knowing young gentleman.
"Yes. He's in town. Has rooms at the Gloria; second hotel on the right as you go up the avenue. Only a short walk. What can I do for you, sir?"The Gloria was an even bigger hotel than the one where the captain had his "berth." An inquiry at the desk, of another important clerk, was answered with a brisk:
"Mr. Everdean? Yes, he rooms here. Don't know whether he's in or not. Evening, judge. Nice Winter weather we're having."The judge, who was a ponderous person vaguely suggesting the great Heman, admitted that the weather was fine, patronizing it as he did so. The clerk continued the conversation. Captain Cy waited. At length he spoke.
