Chapter 13

It was May when Willard Hinton arrived at the Cove and took up his abode at Mrs. Gusty’s. For the first week he kept to his bed, but at the end of that time he was able to crawl down to the porch and, under the protection of dark glasses and a heavy shade, sit for hours at a time in the sunshine. The loss of his accustomed environment, the ennui that ensues from absolute idleness, the consciousness that the light was growing dimmer day by day, combined to plunge him into abysmal gloom.

He shrank from speaking to any one, he scowled at a suggestion of sympathy, he treated Mr. Opp’s friendly overtures with open discourtesy. Conceiving himself on the rack of torture, he set his teeth and determined to submit in silence, but without witnesses.

One endless day dragged in the wake of another, and between them lay the black strips of night that were heavy with the suggestion of another darkness pending. When sleep refused to come, he would go out into the woods and walk for hours, moody, wretched, and sick to his innermost soul with loneliness.

The one thing in the whole dreary round of existence that roused in him a spark of interest was his hostess. She bestowed upon him the same impersonal attention that she gave her fowls. She fed him and cared for him and doctored him as she saw fit, and after these duties were performed, she left him to himself, pursuing her own vigorous routine in her own vigorous way.

Hinton soon discovered that Mrs. Gusty was temperamental. Her intensely energetic nature demanded an emotional as well as a physical outlet. Sometime during the course of each day she indulged in emotional fireworks, bombs of anger, rockets of indignation, or set pieces of sulks and pouts.

These periodic spells of anger acted upon her like wine: they warmed her vitals and exhilarated her; they made her talk fluently and eloquently. As a toper will accept any beverage that intoxicates, so Mrs. Gusty accepted any cause that would rouse her. At stated intervals her feelings demanded a stimulant, and obeying the call of nature, she went forth and got angry.

Hinton came to consider these outbursts as the one diversion in a succession of monotonous hours. He tabulated the causes, and made bets with himself as to the strength and duration of each.

Meanwhile the sun and the wind and the silence were working their miracle. Hinton was introduced to nature by a warlike old rooster whose Hellenic cast of countenance had suggested the name of Menelaus. A fierce combat with a brother-fowl had inevitably recalled the great fight with Paris, and upon investigation Hinton found that the speckled hen was Helen of Troy! This was but the beginning of a series of discoveries, and the result was an animated and piquant version of Greek history, which boldly set aside tradition, and suggested many possibilities heretofore undreamed of.

Early one morning as Hinton was wandering listlessly about the yard he heard the gate click, and, looking up, saw Mr. Opp hurrying up the walk with a large bunch of lilacs in one hand and a cornet in the other.

“Good morning,” said that gentleman, cheerily. “Mighty glad to see you out enjoying the beauties of nature. I haven’t got but a moment in which to stop; appointment at eight-fifteen. We are arranging for a concert soon up in Main Street, going to practise this afternoon. I’ll be glad to call by for you if you feel able to enjoy some remarkable fine selections.”

Hinton accepted the proffered bouquet, but made a wry face at the invitation.

“None of your concerts for me,” he said brusquely. “It would interfere too seriously with my own musical job of getting in tune with the infinite.”

“Mornin’, Mr. Opp,” said Mrs. Gusty from the dining-room window. “There ain’t many editors has time to stand around and talk this time of day.”

“Just paused a moment in passing,” said Mr. Opp. “Wanted to see if I couldn’t induce our young friend here to give us a’ article for ‘The Opp Eagle.’ Any nature, you know; we are always metropolitan in our taste. Thought maybe he’d tell us some of his first impressions of our city.”

Hinton smiled and shook his head. “You’d better not stir up my impressions about anything these days; I am apt to splash mud.”

“We can stand it,” said Mr. Opp, affably. “If Cove City needs criticism and rebuke, ‘The Opp Eagle’ is the vehicle to administer it. You dictate a few remarks to my reporter, and I’ll feature it on the front editorial column.”

Hinton’s eyes twinkled wickedly behind his blue glasses. “I’ll give you an article,” he said, “but no name is to be signed.”