“I didn’t say ‘never,’” interposed Cecily, hastily.
“You did,” Billy contradicted. “Twice. You said: ‘I will never, never forget this—’”
“No! No!” cried Cecily.
Billy stopped obediently, and there was a short silence.
“Why do you always stop when people tell you to?” Cecily demanded. “Haven’t you any tongue?”
“Did you say ‘never’?” demanded Billy, exasperated.
“Yes.”
“Did you mean ‘never’?”
“I... I’ve forgotten.”
As she spoke, the car drew up at the Larchmont Yacht Club. At a word from Billy the chauffeur descended from his seat and, disappearing into the Club office, returned shortly with a telegram blank.
Billy placed the blank against the back of the chauffeur’s seat, and wrote on it.
Then, holding it before Cecily’s eyes, he commanded:
“Read that.”
The message was short:
“M. L. Allen,
New York, Clarion,
New York.
Rumor of engagement positively false. Best authority.
WILLIAM DU MONT.”
“Is it true?” asked Billy, as he handed the message to the chauffeur.
Cecily was silent.
“Is it true?” repeated Billy.
“Yes,” reluctantly.
“Yes — Billy.”
And then; “Billy! Stop! He’s looking!”
“Can you blame him?” asked Billy, shamelessly.
Barnacles
Before he began publishing short stories, Rex Stout served for two years in the United States Navy. Stout’s period in service could hardly be called typical — he spent much of it as pay-yeoman on President Theodore Roosevelt’s yacht — but it gave him enough Navy background and terminology to lend some verisimilitude to this story. From Young’s Magazine.
Since Annie is still living, it would hardly be fair to tell you the name of the town. It is enough to say that it contains about three thousand inhabitants and is somewhere between Albany and Buffalo. It was here that William Brownell enlisted in the Navy; it was from here that he shipped to the receiving ship Franklin at Norfolk. Also, it was here that he bade a tearful good-by to Annie, though Annie knew nothing about it, and cared less.
William’s first six months in the navy were full of novel incidents, but they were more troublesome than exciting. Then, having successfully survived the somewhat painful instruction of the training school, and having rubbed out, on his hands and knees, the disgraceful stiffness of his recruit’s outfit, he was assigned to a berth on the deck of the Kansas, and began to criticise the Bureau of Navigation and revile the commissary according to the most approved rules and precedents.
Friendships in the navy rarely have anything to do with caste. A coxswain is as apt to open his heart to a coal passer as to anyone else, or a quartermaster to an apprentice seaman. There is even a case on record where a marine — twelve-eighty and a horse blanket — became the bosom friend of the captain’s writer. Therefore, there is really nothing surprising in the fact that within three months William was the acknowledged chum of the equipment yeoman.
The equipment yeoman’s name was Jimmy Spear. He was on his second cruise, and he spent most of his time swearing to the Deity that he’d “take one a yard long” before he’d ship over for “a third one.” He was, in short, of the stuff of which C. S. C. men are made.
William and Jimmy spent many a pleasant hour together in the little store-room just forward of the pay office, or walking to and fro on the forecastle. They rehashed all their experiences and exploited their opinions with endless enjoyment and ceaseless repetition. Jimmy, whose choice for a liberty port was, first, New York, and, second, Aden, Arabia, recited over and over incredible tales of conquests both bacchanalian and amorous, while William was forced to devote himself chiefly to humble pastorals and glowing descriptions of the County Fair.
It was nearly a year before he mentioned Annie. The corner she occupied in his heart was so deep and sacred that it seemed a sacrilege to expose it even to the sympathetic Jimmy. But it is hard to suffer in silence when a willing ear is waiting to hear your woes; and the time came when William felt an irresistible impulse to lay bare his soul. He was surprised and pleased at the eager interest of Jimmy, who squatted on a ditty box and gazed long and earnestly at the little framed photograph William had handed him.
“She’s a peach,” declared Jimmy in a tone of authority. “Who is she?”
“Annie.”
“Who’s Annie?”
William walked over to a box of salt water soap and sat down thoughtfully. “Jimmy, I’ve never spoke about this before.” His voice was filled with sadness. “She’s the only girl I ever loved. For as long as I can remember I’ve loved her. I wish you could see her.”
Jimmy tapped the photograph with his finger. “Do you mean to say you left that to join the outfit?”
William, unable to speak for emotion, nodded.
“You’re a blooming idiot. But, of course, there are always explanations. Tell us about it.”
“I guess you won’t understand,” said William, timidly. “You see, I never knew her. She used to go past the store where I worked on her way to school. There was always two or three guys with her; sissy guys, you know, mamma’s boys. I used to catch ’em when they was alone and beat ’em up, but I never had the nerve to speak to her. You see, I was in a different class. Then afterward I delivered groceries to her house, till one day she... she—”
“Well?” said Jimmy, encouragingly.
“That was when I enlisted. She insulted me. I did it just to get away from her. Because, of course, she’d never look at me.”
“For the second time,” Jimmy’s tone was emphatic, “You’re a blooming idiot. Say!” he tapped the photograph again, “show me one like that, and in two weeks I’ll have her rigged to the davits and both the masts down. Delivered groceries to her! Best chance in the world. Why, don’t you go in at the back door just like the rest of the family?”
At this William smiled weakly and sighed hopelessly.
“Forget it,” continued Jimmy. “Wait till we get to San Juan, and I’ll show you the original and only genuine antidote for unrequited love. Who wants to eat canned willie and red lead? Forget it.”
It was soon sadly apparent that Jimmy’s advice was useless. For days, which rapidly extended into weeks, William consistently and absolutely refused to consider any topic for discussion except Annie. Having once opened his heart, he poured into Jimmy’s sympathetic ear all the pitiful details of a mad and hopeless passion. And Jimmy, who had seen William’s indifference in the combined fire of a thousand eyes on the Prado, and who had studied Annie’s photograph, began to take an interest in the affair on his own account. But he succeeded in convincing himself that it was purely through friendship that he evolved and proposed a plan which met with William’s instantaneous and unqualified approval.
The first letter, composed by Jimmy, read as follows:
“Dear Annie:
“I am writing this because there is something I want to say which I never had the courage to tell you. I won’t write it now, but I will later if you want to hear it. I am now a sailor on the battleship Kansas, and we are going to start on a cruise to the Mediterranean in July. My address is U. S. S. Kansas, care of Postmaster, New York City.