Galusha the Magnificent Part 81

She hurried downstairs and put the receiver to her ear. It was Mr. Beebe speaking and he wished to ask something concerning a message which had been left in his care by Primmie Cash.

"It's signed by that Mr. Galushy Bangs of yours," explained Erastus.

"I've got to 'phone it to the telegraph office and there's a word in it I can't make out. Maybe you could help me, Martha, long's Bangs isn't there. 'Tain't nothin' private, I don't cal'late. I'll read it to you if you want I should."

He began to read without waiting for permission. The message was addressed to the Board of Directors of the National Inst.i.tute at Was.h.i.+ngton, D. C., and began like this:

"Deeply regret necessity of refusing your generous and flattering offer to lead--"

It was just here that Mr. Beebe's ability to decipher the Bangs'

handwriting broke down.

"I can't make out the next word, Martha," he said. "It begins with an F, but the rest of it ain't nothin' but a string of kinks. It's all head and no tail, that word is."

"What does it look like?"

"Hey? Looks like a whiplash or an eel, more'n anything else. It might be 'epizootic' or--or--'eclipsin''--or--The word after it ain't very plain neither, but I kind of think that it's 'expedition.'"

"'Expedition'? Is the word you can't make out 'Egyptian'?"

"Hey?... 'Egyptian?' Well, I snum, I guess 'tis! 'Egyptian.' . . .

Humph! I never thought of that. I--"

"Read me the whole of that telegram, Erastus. Read it."

Mr. Beebe read it. "Deeply regret necessity of refusing your generous and flattering offer to lead Egyptian expedition. Do not feel equal to the work. Decision final. Will write.--Galusha Bangs."

Martha's hand shook as it held the receiver to her ear. He had refused the greatest honor of his life. He had declined to carry out the wonderful "plan" concerning which he and she had so often speculated....

And she knew why he had refused.

"Erastus! Ras!" she called. "h.e.l.lo, Ras! Hold that telegram. Don't send it yet. Do you hear?"

Mr. Beebe's voice expressed his surprise. "Why, yes, Martha," he said, "I hear. But I don't know. You see, Mr. Bangs, he sent a note along with the telegram sayin' he wanted it rushed."

"Never mind. You hold it until you hear from me again--or from him. Yes, I'll take all the responsibility. Erastus Beebe, don't you send that telegram."

She hung up the receiver and hurried to the outer door. Galusha was nowhere in sight. Then she remembered that Primmie had said he had gone toward the lighthouse. She threw a knitted scarf over her shoulders, seized an umbrella from the rack--for the walk showed broad splashes where drops of rain had fallen--and started in search of him. She had no definite plan. She was acting as entirely upon impulse as Cabot had acted in seeking their recent interview; but of one thing she was determined--he should not wreck his career if she, in any way, could prevent it.

She reached the gate of the government property, but she did not open it. She was certain he would not be in the light keeper's cottage; she seemed to have an intuition as to where he was, and, turning, followed the path along the edge of the bluff. She followed it for perhaps three hundred yards, then she saw him. He was sitting upon a knoll, his hands clasped about his knees. The early dusk of the gloomy afternoon was rapidly closing in, the raindrops were falling more thickly, but he did not seem to realize these facts, or, if he did, to care. He sat there, a huddled little bundle of misery, and her heart went out to him.

He did not hear her approach. She came and stood beside him.

"Mr. Bangs," she said.

Then he looked up, saw her, and scrambled to his feet.

"Why--why, Miss Martha!" he exclaimed. "I did not see you--ah--hear you, I mean. What is it? Is anything wrong?"

She nodded. She found it very hard to speak and, when she did do so, her voice was shaky.

"Yes," she said, "there is. Somethin' very wrong. Why did you telegraph the Inst.i.tute folks that you wouldn't accept their offer?... Oh, I found it out. Ras Beebe couldn't get one word in your message and he read it to me over the 'phone. But that doesn't matter. That doesn't count. Why did you refuse, Mr. Bangs?"

He put his hand to his forehead. "I--I am sorry if it troubled you,"

he said. "I didn't mean for you to know it--ah--yet. I refused because--well, because I did not care to accept. The--the whole thing did not appeal to me, somehow. I have lost interest in it--ah--quite.

Dear me, yes--quite."

"Lost interest! In Egypt? In such a wonderful chance as this gives you?

Oh, you can't! You mustn't!"

He sighed and then smiled. "It does seem queer, doesn't it?" he admitted. "Yet it is quite true. I have lost interest. I don't seem to care even for Egypt. Now that is very odd."

"But--but if you refuse this what WILL you do?"

He smiled again. "I don't know," he said. "I don't seem to care. But it is quite all right, Miss Martha. Really it is. I--I wouldn't have you think--Oh, dear, no!"

"But what WILL you do? Tell me."

"I don't know. No doubt I shall do something. One has to do that, I suppose. It is only that--" Then, as a new thought came to him, he turned to her in alarm. "Oh, of course," he cried, hastily, "I sha'n't remain here. Please don't think I intend imposing upon you longer. I shall go--ah--at once--to-morrow--ah almost immediately. You have been extremely kind and long-suffering already and--and--"

She interrupted. "Don't!" she said, hurriedly. "Don't! Mr. Bangs, have you truly made up your mind not to go to Egypt with that expedition?

Won't you PLEASE do it, if I beg you to?"

He slowly shook his head.

"It is like you," he said, "to take such an interest, but, if--if you don't mind, I had rather not. I can't. Really, I--ah--can't. It--Well, the thought of it--ah--repels me. Please don't ask me, Miss Martha, because--I can't."

She hesitated. Then she said, "Would you go if I went with you?"

He had been looking, not at her, but at the sea. Now he slowly turned.

"Why--why--" he stammered. "Why, Miss--Oh, dear me, you don't--you can't mean--"

She shook her head. "I suppose I mean anything," she said, "anything that will stop you from throwin' away your life work."

He was very pale and his eyes were fixed upon her face. "Do you mean--"

he began, "do you mean you could--you would marry me?"

She shook her head again. "I think I must be crazy," she said, desperately. "I think we all must be, your cousin as well as the rest of us. He came to me a little while ago and asked me to--to say yes to you.

HE did! He, of all people! The--the very one that I--I--"

"Yes, yes, yes, of course." Galusha was trembling with eagerness. "Yes, of course. Cousin Gussie is an extraordinarily able man. He approves of it highly. He told me so."

She scarcely heard him. "Oh, don't you see," she went on, "why it would be wicked for me to think of such a thing? You are a great man, a famous man; you have been everywhere and seen everything; I haven't had any real education, any that counts besides yours; I haven't been anywhere; I am just a country old maid. Oh, you would be ashamed of me in a month.... No, no, no, I mustn't. I won't."

"But, Miss Martha--"

"No. Oh, no!"

She turned away. Galusha had what was, for him, an amazing and unprecedented inspiration.