In so far
as she could come close to others she would come closer to him.
THE HARBOR MASTER[12]
By RICHARD MATTHEWS HALLET
(From _Harper's Magazine_)
Coming ashore one summer's night from Meteor Island, Jethro Rackby was
met by Peter Loud--Deep-water Peter he was called, because even so early
he had gone one foreign voyage. Peter was going round with a paper
containing the subscription to a dance.
"Come, Harbor Master," he said; "put your thumb mark in the corner along
with the rest of us."
Rackby drew back. "Why should I dance?" he muttered.
He was town clerk as well as harbor master--a scholarly man with
visionary, pale eyes, and a great solitary, as Peter knew.
"Why? I'll tell you why," said Peter. "To bring joy to Caddie Sill's
heart, if nothing more. The girl would throw all the rest of us in a
heap tomorrow for a firm hold of you, Rackby."
He winked at Zinie Shadd, who swayed on his heels soberly.
Rackby turned his eyes toward the black mound of Meteor, which lay like
a shaggy stone Cerberus at the harbor's mouth.
The star-pointed harbor was quiet at his feet. Shadows in the water were
deep and languid, betokening an early fall of rain through the still
air. But from the rim of the sea, where the surf was seen only as a
white glow waxing and waning, a constant drone was borne in to them--a
thunder of the white horses' hoofs trampling on Pull-an'-be-Damned; the
vindictive sound of seas falling down one after another on wasted rocks,
on shifting sand bars--a powerful monotone seeming to increase in the
ear with fuller attention.
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