The Rise of Roscoe Paine | Page 7

be. It
had been so used, by sufferance of the former owner, for years, and
when we came into possession of the property we did not interfere with
the custom. Land along the shore was worth precious little at that time
and, besides, it was pleasant, rather than disagreeable, to hear the fish
carts going out to the weirs, and the wagons coming to the beach for
seaweed, or, filled with picnic parties, rattling down the Lane. We
could not see them from the house until they had passed the grove and
emerged upon the beach, but even the noise of them was welcome. The
Paine Place was a good half-mile from the Lower Road and there were
few neighbors; therefore, especially in the winter months, any sounds
of society were comforting.

I strode through the grove, kicking the dead branches out of my way,
for my mind was still busy with Luther and Captain Dean. As I came
out into the Lane I looked across at the Atwater mansion, now the
property of the great and only Colton, "Big Jim" Colton, whose deals
and corners in Wall Street supplied so many and such varied sensations
for the financial pages of the city papers, just as those of his wife and
family supplied news for the society columns; I looked across, I say,
and then I stopped short to take a longer look.
I could see the carpenters, whose hammers I had heard, at work upon
the roof of the barn, now destined to do double duty as a stable and
garage. They, and the painters and plumbers, had been busy on the
premises for months. The establishment had been a big one, even when
Major Atwater owned it, but the new owners had torn down and added
and rebuilt until the house loomed up like a palace or a Newport villa.
A Newport villa in Denboro! Why on earth any one should deliberately
choose Denboro as a place to live in I couldn't understand; but why a
millionaire, with all creation to select from, should build a Newport
villa on the bluff overlooking Denboro Bay was beyond comprehension.
The reason given in the Cape Cod Item was that Mrs. Colton was "in
debilitated health," whatever that is, and had been commanded by her
doctors to seek sea air and seclusion and rest. Well, there was sea air
and rest, not to mention seclusion or sand and mosquitoes, for a square
mile about the new villa, and no one knew that better than I,
condemned to live within the square. But if Mrs. Colton had
deliberately chosen the spot, with malice aforethought, the place for her
was a home for the feeble minded. At least, that was my opinion on that
particular morning.
It was not the carpenters who caused me to pause in my walk and look
across the lane and over the stone wall at my new neighbor's residence.
What caught my attention was that the place looked to be inhabited.
The windows were open--fifty or so of them--smoke was issuing from
one of the six chimneys; a maid in a white cap and apron was standing
by the servants' entrance. Yes, and a tall, bulky man with a yachting
cap on the back of his head and a cigar in his mouth was talking with
Asa Peters, the boss carpenter, by the big door of the barn.

I had not been up to the village for two days, having been employed at
our boat-house on the beach below the house, getting my motor dory
into commission for the summer. But now I remembered that Lute had
said something about the Coltons being expected, or having arrived,
and that he seemed much excited over it. He would have said more, but
Dorinda had pounced on him and sent him out to shut up the chickens,
which gave him the excuse to play truant and take his evening's trip to
the post-office. It was plain that the Coltons HAD arrived. Very likely
the stout man with the yachting cap was the mighty "Big Jim" himself.
Well, I didn't envy him in his present situation. He had my pity, if
anything.
Possibly the fact that I could pity some one other than myself helped to
raise my spirits. At any rate I managed to shake off a little of my gloom
and tramped on up the Lane, feeling more like a human being and less
like a yellow dog. Less as I should imagine a yellow dog ought to feel,
I mean, for, as a matter of fact, most yellow dogs of my acquaintance
seem to be as happy as their brown or white or black relatives. I walked
up the Lane, turned into the Lower Road, and headed for the village.