2.
If Jill's vision of Brookport as a wintery Southend was not entirely
fulfilled, neither was Uncle Chris' picture of it as an earthly
paradise. At the right time of the year, like most of the summer
resorts on the south shore of Long Island, it is not without its
attractions; but January is not the month which most people would
choose for living in it. It presented itself to Jill on first
acquaintance in the aspect of a wind-swept railroad station, dumped
down far away from human habitation in the middle of a stretch of
flat and ragged country that reminded her a little of parts of
Surrey. The station was just a shed on a foundation of planks which
lay flush with the rails. From this shed, as the train clanked in,
there emerged a tall, shambling man in a weather-beaten overcoat. He
had a clean-shaven, wrinkled face, and he looked doubtfully at Jill
with small eyes. Something in his expression reminded Jill of her
father, as a bad caricature of a public man will recall the original,
she introduced herself.
"If you're Uncle Elmer," she said, "I'm Jill."
The man held out a long hand. He did not smile. He was as bleak as
the east wind that swept the platform.
"Glad to meet you again," he said in a melancholy voice. It was news
to Jill that they had met before. She wondered where. Her uncle
supplied the information. "Last time I saw you, you were a kiddy in
short frocks, running around and shouting to beat the band." He
looked up and down the platform. "_I_ never heard a child make so
much noise!"
"I'm quite quiet now," said Jill encouragingly. The recollection of
her infant revelry seemed to her to be distressing her relative.
It appeared, however, that it was not only this that was on his mind.
"If you want to drive home," he said, "we'll have to phone to the
Durham House for a hack." He brooded awhile, Jill remaining silent at
his side, loath to break in upon whatever secret sorrow he was
wrestling with. "That would be a dollar," he went on. "They're
robbers in these parts! A dollar! And it's not over a mile and a
half. Are you fond of walking?"
Jill was a bright girl, and could take a hint.
"I love walking," she said. She might have added that she preferred
to do it on a day when the wind was not blowing quite so keenly from
the East, but her uncle's obvious excitement at the prospect of
cheating the rapacity of the sharks at the Durham House restrained
her. Her independent soul had not quite adjusted itself to the
prospect of living on the bounty of her fellows, relatives though
they were, and she was desirous of imposing as light a burden upon
them as possible. "But how about my trunk?"
"The expressman will bring that up. Fifty cents!" said Uncle Elmer in
a crushed way. The high cost of entertaining seemed to be afflicting
this man deeply.
"Oh, yes," said Jill. She could not see how this particular
expenditure was to be avoided. Anxious as she was to make herself
pleasant, she declined to consider carrying the trunk to their
destination. "Shall we start, then?"
Mr Mariner led the way out into the ice-covered road. The wind
welcomed them like a boisterous dog. For some minutes they proceeded
in silence.
"Your aunt will be glad to see you," said Mr Mariner at last in the
voice with which one announces the death of a dear friend.
"It's awfully kind of you to have me to stay with you," said Jill. It
is a human tendency to think, when crises occur, in terms of
melodrama, and unconsciously she had begun to regard herself somewhat
in the light of a heroine driven out into the world from the old
home, with no roof to shelter her head. The promptitude with which
these good people, who, though relatives, were after all complete
strangers, had offered her a resting-place touched her. "I hope I
shan't be in the way."
"Major Selby was speaking to me on the telephone just now," said Mr
Mariner, "and he said that you might be thinking of settling down in
Brookport. I've some nice little places round here which you might
like to look at. Rent or buy. It's cheaper to buy. Brookport's a
growing place. It's getting known as a summer resort. There's a
bungalow down on the shore I'd like to show you tomorrow. Stands in a
nice large plot of ground, and if you bought it for twelve thousand
you'd be getting a bargain."
Jill was too astonished to speak. Plainly Uncle Chris had made no
mention of the change in her fortunes, and this man looked on her as
a girl of wealth. She could only think how typical this was of Uncle
Chris. There was a sort of boyish impishness about him. She could see
him at the telephone, suave and important. He would have hung up the
receiver with a complacent smirk, thoroughly satisfied that he had
done her an excellent turn.
"I put all my money into real estate when I came to live here," went
on Mr Mariner. "I believe in the place. It's growing all the time."
They had come to the outskirts of a straggling village. The lights in
the windows gave a welcome suggestion of warmth, for darkness had
fallen swiftly during their walk and the chill of the wind had become
more biting. There was a smell of salt in the air now, and once or
twice Jill had caught the low booming of waves on some distant beach.
This was the Atlantic pounding the sandy shore of Fire Island.
Brookport itself lay inside, on the lagoon called the Great South
Bay.
"This is Brookport," said Mr Mariner. "That's Haydock's grocery
store there by the post-office. He charges sixty cents a pound for
bacon, and I can get the same bacon by walking into Patchogue for
fifty-seven!" He brooded awhile on the greed of man, as exemplified
by the pirates of Brookport. "The very same bacon!" he said.
"How far is Patchogue?" asked Jill, feeling that some comment was
required of her.
"Four miles," said Mr Mariner.
They passed through the village, bearing to the right, and found
themselves in a road bordered by large gardens in which stood big,
dark houses. The spectacle of these stimulated Mr Mariner to
something approaching eloquence. He quoted the price paid for each,
the price asked, the price offered, the price that had been paid five
years ago. The recital carried them on for another mile, in the
course of which the houses became smaller and more scattered, and
finally, when the country had become bare and desolate again, they
turned down a narrow lane and came to a tall, gaunt house standing by
itself in a field.
"This is Sandringham," said Mr Mariner.
"What!" said Jill. "What did you say?"
"Sandringham. Where we live. I got the name from your father. I
remember him telling me there was a place called that in England."
"There is." Jill's voice bubbled. "The King lives there."
"Is that so?" said Mr Mariner. "Well, I bet he doesn't have the
trouble with help that we have here. I have to pay our girl fifty
dollars a month, and another twenty for the man who looks after the
furnace and chops wood. They're all robbers. And if you kick they
quit on you!"
