So the game under the "new deal" began.At first it was much easier than the old.And, as a matter of fact, it was never as hard as before.The heart to heart talk between Captain Zelotes and his grandson had given each a glimpse of the other's inner self, a look from the other's point of view, and thereafter it was easier to make allowances.But the necessity for the ****** of those allowances was still there and would continue to be there.
At first Albert made almost no mistakes in his bookkeeping, was almost painfully careful.Then the carefulness relaxed, as it was bound to do, and some mistakes occurred.Captain Lote found little fault, but at times he could not help showing some disappointment.
Then his grandson would set his teeth and buckle down to painstaking effort again.He was resolved to live up to the very letter of the agreement.
In his spare time he continued to write and occasionally he sold something.Whenever he did so there was great rejoicing among the feminine members of the Snow household; his grandmother and Rachel Ellis were enraptured.It was amusing to see Captain Zelotes attempt to join the chorus.He evidently felt that he ought to praise, or at least that praise was expected from him, but it was also evident that he did not approve of what he was praising.
"Your grandma says you got rid of another one of your poetry pieces, Al," he would say."Pay you for it, did they?""Not yet, but they will, I suppose."
"I see, I see.How much, think likely?"
"Oh, I don't know.Ten dollars, perhaps.""Um-hm...I see....Well, that's pretty good, considerin', Isuppose....We did first-rate on that Hyannis school-house contract, didn't we.Nigh's I can figger it we cleared over fourteen hundred and eighty dollars on that."He invariably followed any reference to the profit from the sale of verses by the casual mention of a much larger sum derived from the sale of lumber or hardware.This was so noticeable that Laban Keeler was impelled to speak of it.
"The old man don't want you to forget that you can get more for hard pine than you can for soft sonnets, sellin' 'em both by the foot," observed Labe, peering over his spectacles."More money in shingles than there is in jingles, he cal'lates....Um....
Yes, yes....Consider'ble more, consider'ble."Albert smiled, but it astonished him to find that Mr.Keeler knew what a sonnet was.The little bookkeeper occasionally surprised him by breaking out unexpectedly in that way.
From the indiscriminate praise at home, or the reluctant praise of his grandfather, he found relief when he discussed his verses with Helen Kendall.Her praise was not indiscriminate, in fact sometimes she did not praise at all, but expressed disapproval.
They had some disagreements, marked disagreements, but it did not affect their friendship.Albert was a trifle surprised to find that it did not.
So as the months passed he ground away at the books of Z.Snow and Company during office hours and at the poetry mill between times.
The seeing of his name in print was no longer a novelty and he poetized not quite as steadily.Occasionally he attempted prose, but the two or three short stories of his composition failed to sell.Helen, however, urged him to try again and keep trying."Iknow you can write a good story and some day you are going to," she said.
His first real literary success, that which temporarily lifted him into the outer circle of the limelight of fame, was a poem written the day following that upon which came the news of the sinking of the Lusitania.Captain Zelotes came back from the post-office that morning, a crumpled newspaper in his hand, and upon his face the look which mutinous foremast hands had seen there just before the mutiny ended.Laban Keeler was the first to notice the look."For the land sakes, Cap'n, what's gone wrong?" he asked.The captain flung the paper upon the desk."Read that," he grunted.Labe slowly spread open the paper; the big black headlines shrieked the crime aloud.
"Good God Almighty!" exclaimed the little bookkeeper.Captain Zelotes snorted."He didn't have anything to do with it," he declared."The bunch that pulled that off was handled from the other end of the line.And I wish to thunder I was young enough to help send 'em back there," he added, savagely.
That evening Albert wrote his poem.The next day he sent it to a Boston paper.It was published the following morning, spread across two columns on the front page, and before the month was over had been copied widely over the country.Within the fortnight its author received his first request, a bona fida request for verse from a magazine.Even Captain Lote's praise of the Lusitania poem was whole-hearted and ungrudging.
That summer was a busy one in South Harniss.There was the usual amount of summer gaiety, but in addition there were the gatherings of the various committees for war relief work.Helen belonged to many of these committees.There were dances and theatrical performances for the financial benefit of the various causes and here Albert shone.But he did not shine alone.Helen Kendall was very popular at the social gatherings, popular not only with the permanent residents but with the summer youth as well.Albert noticed this, but he did not notice it so particularly until Issy Price called his attention to it.
"Say, Al," observed Issy, one afternoon in late August of that year, "how do YOU like that Raymond young feller?"Albert looked up absently from the page of the daybook.
"Eh? What?" he asked.
"I say how do YOU like that Eddie Raymond, the Down-at-the-Neck one?""Down at the neck? There's nothing the matter with his neck that Iknow of."
"Who said there was? He LIVES down to the Neck, don't he? I mean that young Raymond, son of the New York bank man, the ones that's had the Cahoon house all summer.How do you like him?"Albert's attention was still divided between the day-book and Mr.
