Surely, but very, very slowly, the little Berry house moved on its rollers up the Hill Boulevard. Right at its heels--if a house may be said to have heels--came the "pure Colonial," under the guidance of the foreman with "progressive methods." Groups of idlers, male and female, stood about and commented. Simeon Phinney smilingly replied to their questions. Captain Sol himself seemed little interested. He spent most of his daylight time at the depot, only going to the Higginses' house for his meals. At night, after the station was closed, he sought his own dwelling, climbed over the joist and rollers, entered, retired to his room, and went to bed.
Each day also he grew more taciturn. Even with Simeon, his particular friend, he talked little.
"What IS the matter with you, Sol?" asked Mr. Phinney. "You're as glum as a tongue-tied parrot. Ain't you satisfied with the way I'm doin' your movin'? The white horse can go back again if you say so."
"I'm satisfied," grunted the depot master. "Let you know when I've got any fault to find. How soon will you get abreast the--abreast the Seabury lot?"
"Let's see," mused the building mover. "Today's the eighth. Well, I'll be there by the eleventh, SURE. Can't drag it out no longer, Sol, even if the other horse is took sick. 'Twon't do. Williams has been complainin' to the selectmen and they're beginnin' to pester me. As for that Colt and Adams foreman--whew!"
He whistled. His companion smiled grimly.
"Williams himself drops in to see me occasional," he said. "Tells me what he thinks of me, with all the trimmin's added. I cal'late he gets as good as he sends. I'm always glad to see him; he keeps me cheered up, in his way."
"Ye-es, I shouldn't wonder. Was he in to-day?"
"He was. And somethin' has pleased him, I guess. At any rate he was in better spirits. Asked me if I was goin' to move right onto that Main Street lot soon as my house got there."
"What did you say?"
"I said I was cal'latin' to. Told him I hated to get out of the high-society circles I'd been livin' in lately, but that everyone had their comedowns in this world."
"Ho, ho! that was a good one. What answer did he make to that?"
"Well, he said the 'high society' would miss me. Then he finished up with a piece of advice. 'Berry,' says he, 'don't move onto that lot TOO quick. I wouldn't if I was you.' Then he went away, chucklin'."
"Chucklin', hey? What made him so joyful?"
"Don't know"--Captain Sol's face clouded once more--"and I care less," he added brusquely.
Simeon pondered. "Have you heard from Abner Payne, Sol?" he asked.
"Has Ab answered that letter you wrote sayin' you'd swap your lot for the Main Street one?"
"No, he hasn't. I wrote him that day I told you to move me."
"Hum! that's kind of funny. You don't s'pose--"
He stopped, noticing the expression on his friend's face. The depot master was looking out through the open door of the waiting room. On the opposite side of the road, just emerging from Mr. Higgins's "general store," was Olive Edwards, the widow whose home was to be pulled down as soon as the "Colonial" reached its destination. She came out of the store and started up Main Street.
Suddenly, and as if obeying an involuntary impulse, she turned her head. Her eyes met those of Captain Sol Berry, the depot master.
For a brief instant their glance met, then Mrs. Edwards hurried on.
Sim Phinney sighed pityingly. "Looks kind of tired and worried, don't she?" he ventured. His friend did not speak.
"I say," repeated Phinney, "that Olive looks sort of worn out and--"
"Has she heard from the Omaha cousin yet?" interrupted the depot master.
"No; Mr. Hilton says not. Sol, what DO you s'pose--"
But Captain Sol had risen and gone into the ticket office. The door closed behind him. Mr. Phinney shook his head and walked out of the building. On his way back to the scene of the house moving he shook his head several times.
On the afternoon of the ninth Captain Bailey Stitt and his friend Wingate came to say good-by. Stitt was going back to Orham on the "up" train, due at 3:3O. Barzilla would return to Wellmouth and the Old Home House on the evening (the "down") train.
"Hey, Sol!" shouted Wingate, as they entered the waiting room.
"Sol! where be you?"
The depot master came out of the ticket office. "Hello, boys!" he said shortly.
"Hello, Sol!" hailed Stitt. "Barzilla and me have come to shed the farewell tear. As hirelin's of soulless corporations, meanin' the Old Home House at Wellmouth and the Ocean House at Orham, we've engaged all the shellfish along-shore and are goin' to clear out."
"Yes," chimed in his fellow "hireling," "and we thought the pleasantest place to put in our few remainin' hours--as the papers say when a feller's goin' to be hung--was with you."
"I thought so," said Captain Bailey, with a wink. "We've been havin' more or less of an argument, Sol. Remember how Barzilla made fun of Jonadab Wixon for believin' in dreams? Yes, well that was only make believe. He believes in 'em himself."
"I don't either," declared Wingate. "And I never said so. What I said was that sometimes it almost seemed as if there was somethin' IN fortune tellin' and such."
"There is," chuckled Bailey with another wink at the depot master.
"There's money in it--for the fortune tellers."
"I said--and I say again," protested Barzilla, "that I knew a case at our hotel of a servant girl named Effie, and she--"
"Oh, Heavens to Betsy! Here he goes again, I steered him in here on purpose, Sol, so's he'd get off that subject."
"You never neither. You said--"
The depot master held up his hand. "Don't both talk at once," he commanded. "Set down and be peaceful, can't you. That's right.
What about this Effie, Barzilla?"
"Now look here!" protested Stitt.
"Shut up, Bailey! Who was Effie, Barzilla?"
"She was third assistant roustabout and table girl at the Old Home House," said Wingate triumphantly. "Got another cigar, Sol?
Thanks. Yes, this Effie had never worked out afore and she was greener'n a mess of spinach; but she was kind of pretty to look at and--"
