Part 21

"You awful man!" cried Miss Carrington. "How could you do it!"

"I think it was lovely--perfectly lovely!" exclaimed Miss Tilghman.--"Oh! that last hand was too funny for words.--If only you could have seen her face, Mr. Croyden."

"I didn't dare!" laughed he. "One look, and I'd have given the whole thing away."

"She never suspected.--I tell you, she is as dense as asphalt," said Miss Carrington. "Come, now we'll have some Bridge."

"And I'll try to observe the rule of eleven!" said Croyden.

He lingered a moment, after the game was ended and the others had gone. When he came to say good-night, he held Miss Carrington's slender fingers a second longer than the occasion justified.

"And may I come again soon?" he asked.

"As often as you wish," she answered. "You have the advantage of proximity, at least."

CONFIDENCE AND SCRUPLES

The next month, to Croyden, went pleasantly enough. He was occupied with getting the household machinery to run according to his ideas--and still retain Moses and Josephine, who, he early discovered, were invaluable to him; in meeting the people worth knowing in the town and vicinity, and in being entertained, and entertaining--all very quietly and without ostentation.

He had dined, or supped, or played Bridge at all the houses, had given a few small things himself, and ended by paying off all scores with a garden party at Clarendon, which Mrs. Carrington had managed for him with exquisite taste (and, to him, amazing frugality)--and, more wonderful still, with an entire effacement of self. It was Croyden's party throughout, though her hand was at the helm, her brain directed--and Hampton never knew.

And the place had looked attractive; with the house set in its wide sweep of velvety lawn amid great trees and old-fashioned flowers and hedges. With the furniture cleaned and polished, the old china scattered in cupboard and on table, the portraits and commissions freshly dusted, the swords glistening as of yore.

And in that month, Croyden had come to like Hampton immensely. The absence, in its society, of all attempts at show, to make-believe, to impress, to hoodwink, was refreshingly novel to him, who, hitherto, had known it only as a great sham, a huge affectation, with every one striving to outdo everyone else, and all as hollow as a rotten gourd.

He had not got used, however, to the individual espionage of the country town--the habit of watching one's every movement, and telling it, and drawing inferences therefrom--inferences tinctured according to the personal feelings of the inferer.

He learned that, in three weeks, they had him "taken" with every eligible girl in town, engaged to four and undecided as to two more. They busied themselves with his food,--they nosed into his drinks, his cigars, his cigarettes, his pipes,--they bothered themselves about his meal hours,--they even inspected his wash when it hung on the line! Some of them, that is. The rest were totally different; they let every one alone. They did not intrude nor obtrude--they went their way, and permitted every one to go his.

So much had been the way of Northumberland, so much he had been used to always. But--and here was the difference from Northumberland, the vital difference, indeed--they were interested in you, if you wished them to be--and it was genuine interest, not pretense. This, and the way they had treated him as one of them, because Colonel Duval had been his father's friend, made Croyden feel very much at home.

At intervals, he had taken old Parmenter's letter from its secret drawer, and studied it, but he had been so much occupied with getting acquainted, that he had done nothing else. Moreover, there was no pressing need for haste. If the treasure had kept on Greenberry Point for one hundred and ninety years, it would keep a few months longer. Besides, he was a bit uncertain whether or not he should confide in someone, Captain Carrington or Major Borden. He would doubtless need another man to help him, even if the location should be easily determined, which, however, was most unlikely. For him, alone, to go prying about on Greenberry Point, would surely occasion comment and arouse suspicion--which would not be so likely if there were two of them, and especially if one were a well-known resident of Maryland.

He finally determined, however, to go across to Annapolis and look over the ground, before he disclosed the secret to any one. Which was the reasonable decision.

When he came to look up the matter of transportation, however, he was surprised to find that no boat ran between Annapolis and Hampton--or any other port on the Eastern Shore. He either had to go by water to Baltimore (which was available on only three days a week) and thence finish his journey by rail or transfer to another boat, or else he had to go by steam cars north to Wilmington, and then directly south again to Annapolis. In either case, a day's journey between two towns that were almost within seeing distance of each other, across the Bay. Of the two, he chose to go by boat to Baltimore.

Then, the afternoon of the day before it sailed, he received a wire--delivered two hours and more after its receipt, in the leisurely fashion of the Eastern Shore. It was from Macloud, and dated Philadelphia.

"Can I come down to-night? Answer to Bellevue-Stratford."

His reply brought Macloud in the morning train.

Croyden met him at the station. Moses took his bag, and they walked out to Clarendon.

"Sorry I haven't a car!" said Croyden--then he laughed. "The truth is, Colin, they're not popular down here. The old families won't have them--they're innovations--the saddle horse and the family carriage are still to the fore with them. Only the butcher, and the baker and the candlestick maker have motors. There's one, now--he's the candlestick maker, I think. This town is nothing if not conservative. It reminds me of the one down South, where they wouldn't have electric cars. Finally all the street car horses died. Then rather than commit the awful sin of letting new horses come into the city, they accepted the trolley. The fashion suits my pocketbook, however, so I've no kick coming."

"What do you want with a car here, anyway?" Macloud asked. "It looks as if you could walk from one end of the town to the other in fifteen minutes."

"You can, easily."

"And the baker et cetera have theirs only for show, I suppose?"

"Yes, that's about it--the roads, hereabout, are sandy and poor."