Chapter: THE Coreys had always had a house at Nahant, but after letting it for a
season or two they found they could get on without it, and sold it at
the son's instance, who foresaw that if things went on as they were
going, the family would be straitened to the point of changing their
mode of life altogether.  They began to be of the people of whom it was
said that they stayed in town very late; and when the ladies did go
away, it was for a brief summering in this place and that.  The father
remained at home altogether; and the son joined them in the intervals
of his enterprises, which occurred only too often.

At Bar Harbour, where he now went to find them, after his winter in
Texas, he confessed to his mother that there seemed no very good
opening there for him.  He might do as well as Loring Stanton, but he
doubted if Stanton was doing very well.  Then he mentioned the new
project which he had been thinking over.  She did not deny that there
was something in it, but she could not think of any young man who had
gone into such a business as that, and it appeared to her that he might
as well go into a patent medicine or a stove-polish.

"There was one of his hideous advertisements," she said, "painted on a
reef that we saw as we came down."

Corey smiled.  "Well, I suppose, if it was in a good state of
preservation, that is proof positive of the efficacy of the paint on
the hulls of vessels."

"It's very distasteful to me, Tom," said his mother; and if there was
something else in her mind, she did not speak more plainly of it than
to add: "It's not only the kind of business, but the kind of people you
would be mixed up with."

"I thought you didn't find them so very bad," suggested Corey.

"I hadn't seen them in Nankeen Square then."

"You can see them on the water side of Beacon Street when you go back."

Then he told of his encounter with the Lapham family in their new
house.  At the end his mother merely said, "It is getting very common
down there," and she did not try to oppose anything further to his
scheme.

The young man went to see Colonel Lapham shortly after his return to
Boston.  He paid his visit at Lapham's office, and if he had studied
simplicity in his summer dress he could not have presented himself in a
figure more to the mind of a practical man.  His hands and neck still
kept the brown of the Texan suns and winds, and he looked as
business-like as Lapham himself.

He spoke up promptly and briskly in the outer office, and caused the
pretty girl to look away from her copying at him.  "Is Mr. Lapham in?"
he asked; and after that moment for reflection which an array of
book-keepers so addressed likes to give the inquirer, a head was lifted
from a ledger and nodded toward the inner office.

Lapham had recognised the voice, and he was standing, in considerable
perplexity, to receive Corey, when the young man opened his painted
glass door.  It was a hot afternoon, and Lapham was in his shirt
sleeves.  Scarcely a trace of the boastful hospitality with which he
had welcomed Corey to his house a few days before lingered in his
present address.  He looked at the young man's face, as if he expected
him to despatch whatever unimaginable affair he had come upon.

"Won't you sit down? How are you? You'll excuse me," he added, in brief
allusion to the shirt-sleeves. "I'm about roasted."

Corey laughed.  "I wish you'd let me take off MY coat."

"Why, TAKE it off!" cried the Colonel, with instant pleasure.  There is
something in human nature which causes the man in his shirt-sleeves to
wish all other men to appear in the same deshabille.

"I will, if you ask me after I've talked with you two minutes," said
the young fellow, companionably pulling up the chair offered him toward
the desk where Lapham had again seated himself.  "But perhaps you
haven't got two minutes to give me?"

"Oh yes, I have," said the Colonel.  "I was just going to knock off.  I
can give you twenty, and then I shall have fifteen minutes to catch the
boat."

"All right," said Corey.  "I want you to take me into the mineral paint
business."

The Colonel sat dumb.  He twisted his thick neck, and looked round at
the door to see if it was shut.  He would not have liked to have any of
those fellows outside hear him, but there is no saying what sum of
money he would not have given if his wife had been there to hear what
Corey had just said.

"I suppose," continued the young man, "I could have got several people
whose names you know to back my industry and sobriety, and say a word
for my business capacity.  But I thought I wouldn't trouble anybody for
certificates till I found whether there was a chance, or the ghost of
one, of your wanting me.  So I came straight to you."

Lapham gathered himself together as well as he could.  He had not yet
forgiven Corey for Mrs. Lapham's insinuation that he would feel himself
too good for the mineral paint business; and though he was dispersed by
that astounding shot at first, he was not going to let any one even
hypothetically despise his paint with impunity.  "How do you think I am
going to take you on?" They took on hands at the works; and Lapham put
it as if Corey were a hand coming to him for employment.  Whether he
satisfied himself by this or not, he reddened a little after he had
said it.

Corey answered, ignorant of the offence: "I haven't a very clear idea,
I'm afraid; but I've been looking a little into the matter from the
outside."

"I hope you hain't been paying any attention to that fellow's stuff in
the Events?" Lapham interrupted.  Since Bartley's interview had
appeared, Lapham had regarded it with very mixed feelings.  At first it
gave him a glow of secret pleasure, blended with doubt as to how his
wife would like the use Bartley had made of her in it.  But she had not
seemed to notice it much, and Lapham had experienced the gratitude of
the man who escapes.  Then his girls had begun to make fun of it; and
though he did not mind Penelope's jokes much, he did not like to see
that Irene's gentility was wounded.  Business friends met him with the
kind of knowing smile about it that implied their sense of the
fraudulent character of its praise--the smile of men who had been there
and who knew how it was themselves.  Lapham had his misgivings as to
how his clerks and underlings looked at it; he treated them with
stately severity for a while after it came out, and he ended by feeling
rather sore about it.  He took it for granted that everybody had read
it.

"I don't know what you mean," replied Corey, "I don't see the Events
regularly."

"Oh, it was nothing.  They sent a fellow down here to interview me, and
he got everything about as twisted as he could."

"I believe they always do," said Corey.  "I hadn't seen it.  Perhaps it
came out before I got home."

"Perhaps it did."

"My notion of making myself useful to you was based on a hint I got
from one of your own circulars."

Lapham was proud of those circulars; he thought they read very well.
"What was that?"

"I could put a little capital into the business," said Corey, with the
tentative accent of a man who chances a thing.  "I've got a little
money, but I didn't imagine you cared for anything of that kind."

"No, sir, I don't," returned the Colonel bluntly.  "I've had one
partner, and one's enough."

"Yes," assented the young man, who doubtless had his own ideas as to
eventualities--or perhaps rather had the vague hopes of youth.  "I
didn't come to propose a partnership.  But I see that you are
introducing your paint into the foreign markets, and there I really
thought I might be of use to you, and to myself too."

"How?" asked the Colonel scantly.

"Well, I know two or three languages pretty well.  I know French, and I
know German, and I've got a pretty fair sprinkling of Spanish."

"You mean that you can talk them?" asked the Colonel, with the mingled
awe and slight that such a man feels for such accomplishments.  "Yes;
and I can write an intelligible letter in either of them."

Lapham rubbed his nose.  "It's easy enough to get all the letters we
want translated."

"Well," pursued Corey, not showing his discouragement if he felt any,
"I know the countries where you want to introduce this paint of yours.
I've been there.  I've been in Germany and France and I've been in
South America and Mexico; I've been in Italy, of course.  I believe I
could go to any of those countries and place it to advantage."

Lapham had listened with a trace of persuasion in his face, but now he
shook his head.

"It's placing itself as fast as there's any call for it.  It wouldn't
pay us to send anybody out to look after it.  Your salary and expenses
would eat up about all we should make on it."

"Yes," returned the young man intrepidly, "if you had to pay me any
salary and expenses."

"You don't propose to work for nothing?"

"I propose to work for a commission." The Colonel was beginning to
shake his head again, but Corey hurried on.  "I haven't come to you
without making some inquiries about the paint, and I know how it stands
with those who know best.  I believe in it."

Lapham lifted his head and looked at the young man, deeply moved.

"It's the best paint in God's universe," he said with the solemnity of
prayer.

"It's the best in the market," said Corey; and he repeated, "I believe
in it."

"You believe in it," began the Colonel, and then he stopped.  If there
had really been any purchasing power in money, a year's income would
have bought Mrs. Lapham's instant presence.  He warmed and softened to
the young man in every way, not only because he must do so to any one
who believed in his paint, but because he had done this innocent person
the wrong of listening to a defamation of his instinct and good sense,
and had been willing to see him suffer for a purely supposititious
offence.

Corey rose.

"You mustn't let me outstay my twenty minutes," he said, taking out his
watch.  "I don't expect you to give a decided answer on the spot.  All
that I ask is that you'll consider my proposition."

"Don't hurry," said Lapham.  "Sit still! I want to tell you about this
paint," he added, in a voice husky with the feeling that his hearer
could not divine.  "I want to tell you ALL about it."

"I could walk with you to the boat," suggested the young man.

"Never mind the boat! I can take the next one.  Look here!" The Colonel
pulled open a drawer, as Corey sat down again, and took out a
photograph of the locality of the mine.  "Here's where we get it.  This
photograph don't half do the place justice," he said, as if the
imperfect art had slighted the features of a beloved face.  "It's one
of the sightliest places in the country, and here's the very spot "--he
covered it with his huge forefinger--"where my father found that paint,
more than forty--years--ago. Yes, sir!"

He went on, and told the story in unsparing detail, while his chance
for the boat passed unheeded, and the clerks in the outer office hung
up their linen office coats and put on their seersucker or flannel
street coats.  The young lady went too, and nobody was left but the
porter, who made from time to time a noisy demonstration of fastening a
distant blind, or putting something in place.  At last the Colonel
roused himself from the autobiographical delight of the history of his
paint.  "Well, sir, that's the story."

"It's an interesting story," said Corey, with a long breath, as they
rose together, and Lapham put on his coat.

"That's what it is," said the Colonel.  "Well!" he added, "I don't see
but what we've got to have another talk about this thing.  It's a
surprise to me, and I don't see exactly how you're going to make it
pay."

"I'm willing to take the chances," answered Corey.  "As I said, I
believe in it.  I should try South America first.  I should try Chili."

"Look here!" said Lapham, with his watch in his hand.  "I like to get
things over.  We've just got time for the six o'clock boat.  Why don't
you come down with me to Nantasket? I can give you a bed as well as
not.  And then we can finish up."

The impatience of youth in Corey responded to the impatience of
temperament in his elder.  "Why, I don't see why I shouldn't," he
allowed himself to say.  "I confess I should like to have it finished
up myself, if it could be finished up in the right way."

"Well, we'll see.  Dennis!" Lapham called to the remote porter, and the
man came.  "Want to send any word home?" he asked Corey.

"No; my father and I go and come as we like, without keeping account of
each other.  If I don't come home, he knows that I'm not there.  That's
all."

"Well, that's convenient.  You'll find you can't do that when you're
married.  Never mind, Dennis," said the Colonel.

He had time to buy two newspapers on the wharf before he jumped on
board the steam-boat with Corey.  "Just made it," he said; "and that's
what I like to do.  I can't stand it to be aboard much more than a
minute before she shoves out." He gave one of the newspapers to Corey
as he spoke, and set him the example of catching up a camp-stool on
their way to that point on the boat which his experience had taught him
was the best.  He opened his paper at once and began to run over its
news, while the young man watched the spectacular recession of the
city, and was vaguely conscious of the people about him, and of the gay
life of the water round the boat.  The air freshened; the craft thinned
in number; they met larger sail, lagging slowly inward in the afternoon
light; the islands of the bay waxed and waned as the steamer approached
and left them behind.

"I hate to see them stirring up those Southern fellows again," said the
Colonel, speaking into the paper on his lap.  "Seems to me it's time to
let those old issues go."

"Yes," said the young man.  "What are they doing now?"

"Oh, stirring up the Confederate brigadiers in Congress.  I don't like
it.  Seems to me, if our party hain't got any other stock-in-trade, we
better shut up shop altogether." Lapham went on, as he scanned his
newspaper, to give his ideas of public questions, in a fragmentary way,
while Corey listened patiently, and waited for him to come back to
business.  He folded up his paper at last, and stuffed it into his coat
pocket.  "There's one thing I always make it a rule to do," he said,
"and that is to give my mind a complete rest from business while I'm
going down on the boat.  I like to get the fresh air all through me,
soul and body.  I believe a man can give his mind a rest, just the same
as he can give his legs a rest, or his back.  All he's got to do is to
use his will-power. Why, I suppose, if I hadn't adopted some such rule,
with the strain I've had on me for the last ten years, I should 'a'
been a dead man long ago.  That's the reason I like a horse.  You've
got to give your mind to the horse; you can't help it, unless you want
to break your neck; but a boat's different, and there you got to use
your will-power.  You got to take your mind right up and put it where
you want it.  I make it a rule to read the paper on the boat----Hold
on!" he interrupted himself to prevent Corey from paying his fare to
the man who had come round for it.  "I've got tickets.  And when I get
through the paper, I try to get somebody to talk to, or I watch the
people.  It's an astonishing thing to me where they all come from.
I've been riding up and down on these boats for six or seven years, and
I don't know but very few of the faces I see on board.  Seems to be a
perfectly fresh lot every time.  Well, of course! Town's full of
strangers in the summer season, anyway, and folks keep coming down from
the country.  They think it's a great thing to get down to the beach,
and they've all heard of the electric light on the water, and they want
to see it.  But you take faces now! The astonishing thing to me is not
what a face tells, but what it don't tell.  When you think of what a
man is, or a woman is, and what most of 'em have been through before
they get to be thirty, it seems as if their experience would burn right
through.  But it don't. I like to watch the couples, and try to make
out which are engaged, or going to be, and which are married, or better
be.  But half the time I can't make any sort of guess.  Of course,
where they're young and kittenish, you can tell; but where they're
anyways on, you can't.  Heigh?"

"Yes, I think you're right," said Corey, not perfectly reconciled to
philosophy in the place of business, but accepting it as he must.

"Well," said the Colonel, "I don't suppose it was meant we should know
what was in each other's minds.  It would take a man out of his own
hands.  As long as he's in his own hands, there's some hopes of his
doing something with himself; but if a fellow has been found out--even
if he hasn't been found out to be so very bad--it's pretty much all up
with him.  No, sir.  I don't want to know people through and through."

The greater part of the crowd on board--and, of course, the boat was
crowded--looked as if they might not only be easily but safely known.
There was little style and no distinction among them; they were people
who were going down to the beach for the fun or the relief of it, and
were able to afford it.  In face they were commonplace, with nothing
but the American poetry of vivid purpose to light them up, where they
did not wholly lack fire.  But they were nearly all shrewd and
friendly-looking, with an apparent readiness for the humorous intimacy
native to us all.  The women were dandified in dress, according to
their means and taste, and the men differed from each other in degrees
of indifference to it.  To a straw-hatted population, such as ours is
in summer, no sort of personal dignity is possible.  We have not even
the power over observers which comes from the fantasticality of an
Englishman when he discards the conventional dress.  In our straw hats
and our serge or flannel sacks we are no more imposing than a crowd of
boys.

"Some day," said Lapham, rising as the boat drew near the wharf of the
final landing, "there's going to be an awful accident on these boats.
Just look at that jam."

He meant the people thickly packed on the pier, and under strong
restraint of locks and gates, to prevent them from rushing on board the
boat and possessing her for the return trip before she had landed her
Nantasket passengers.

"Overload 'em every time," he continued, with a sort of dry, impersonal
concern at the impending calamity, as if it could not possibly include
him.  "They take about twice as many as they ought to carry, and about
ten times as many as they could save if anything happened.  Yes, sir,
it's bound to come.  Hello! There's my girl!" He took out his folded
newspaper and waved it toward a group of phaetons and barouches drawn
up on the pier a little apart from the pack of people, and a lady in
one of them answered with a flourish of her parasol.

When he had made his way with his guest through the crowd, she began to
speak to her father before she noticed Corey.  "Well, Colonel, you've
improved your last chance.  We've been coming to every boat since four
o'clock,--or Jerry has,--and I told mother that I would come myself
once, and see if I couldn't fetch you; and if I failed, you could walk
next time.  You're getting perfectly spoiled."

The Colonel enjoyed letting her scold him to the end before he said,
with a twinkle of pride in his guest and satisfaction in her probably
being able to hold her own against any discomfiture, "I've brought Mr.
Corey down for the night with me, and I was showing him things all the
way, and it took time."

The young fellow was at the side of the open beach-wagon, making a
quick bow, and Penelope Lapham was cozily drawling, "Oh, how do you do,
Mr. Corey?" before the Colonel had finished his explanation.

"Get right in there, alongside of Miss Lapham, Mr. Corey," he said,
pulling himself up into the place beside the driver.  "No, no," he had
added quickly, at some signs of polite protest in the young man, "I
don't give up the best place to anybody.  Jerry, suppose you let me
have hold of the leathers a minute."

This was his way of taking the reins from the driver; and in half the
time he specified, he had skilfully turned the vehicle on the pier,
among the crooked lines and groups of foot-passengers, and was spinning
up the road toward the stretch of verandaed hotels and restaurants in
the sand along the shore.  "Pretty gay down here," he said, indicating
all this with a turn of his whip, as he left it behind him.  "But I've
got about sick of hotels; and this summer I made up my mind that I'd
take a cottage.  Well, Pen, how are the folks?" He looked half-way
round for her answer, and with the eye thus brought to bear upon her he
was able to give her a wink of supreme content.  The Colonel, with no
sort of ulterior design, and nothing but his triumph over Mrs. Lapham
definitely in his mind, was feeling, as he would have said, about right.


The girl smiled a daughter's amusement at her father's boyishness.  "I
don't think there's much change since morning.  Did Irene have a
headache when you left?"

"No," said the Colonel.

"Well, then, there's that to report."

"Pshaw!" said the Colonel with vexation in his tone.

"I'm sorry Miss Irene isn't well," said Corey politely.

"I think she must have got it from walking too long on the beach.  The
air is so cool here that you forget how hot the sun is."

"Yes, that's true," assented Corey.

"A good night's rest will make it all right," suggested the Colonel,
without looking round.  "But you girls have got to look out."

"If you're fond of walking," said Corey, "I suppose you find the beach
a temptation."

"Oh, it isn't so much that," returned the girl.  "You keep walking on
and on because it's so smooth and straight before you.  We've been here
so often that we know it all by heart--just how it looks at high tide,
and how it looks at low tide, and how it looks after a storm.  We're as
well acquainted with the crabs and stranded jelly-fish as we are with
the children digging in the sand and the people sitting under
umbrellas.  I think they're always the same, all of them."

The Colonel left the talk to the young people.  When he spoke next it
was to say, "Well, here we are!" and he turned from the highway and
drove up in front of a brown cottage with a vermilion roof, and a group
of geraniums clutching the rock that cropped up in the loop formed by
the road.  It was treeless and bare all round, and the ocean,
unnecessarily vast, weltered away a little more than a stone's-cast
from the cottage.  A hospitable smell of supper filled the air, and
Mrs. Lapham was on the veranda, with that demand in her eyes for her
belated husband's excuses, which she was obliged to check on her tongue
at sight of Corey.

 Tom Corey visits his mother at Bar Harbor to tell her that he is thinking of going into the Lapham paint business. Like her husband, Mrs. Corey objects to Lapham's defacing the countryside with his advertisements. "There was one of his hideous advertisements painted on a reef that we saw as we came down," she says. Despite his mother's objections to this "common" man, Tom visits Lapham and offers to take over the selling of paint in foreign countries with his knowledge of French, German, and Spanish. He offers to sell on a commission, and Lapham decides to talk over the matter, taking Tom to his summer home. During the boat trip, Lapham says he likes to rest his mind by reading his newspaper and looking at the people, whose faces always seem fresh to him.

