Seth frowned. The suspicious look returned to his face.

"Humph!" he grunted. "Depended on what you asked me, maybe."

"Yes. Well, this one is harmless--at least, I hope it is. I thought the other was, also, but I . . . There! there! be calm. Sit down again and listen. This question is nothing like that. It's about that assistant of yours, the chap who left a day or two before I drifted in. What were his duties? What did he have to do when he was here?"

"Wa-al," drawled Seth with sarcasm, resuming his seat on the bench; "he was SUPPOSED to do consider'ble many things. Stand watch and watch with me, and scrub brass and clean up around, and sweep and wash dishes and--and--well, make himself gen'rally useful. Them was the duties he was supposed to have. What he done was diff'rent. Pesky loafer! Why?"

"That's what I'm going to tell you. Have they appointed his successor yet? Have you got any one to take his place?"

"No. Fact is, I'd ought to have telegraphed right off to the Board, but I ain't. I was so glad to see the last of him that I kept puttin' it off. I'll do it tomorrer."

"Perhaps you won't need to."

"Course I'll need to! Why not? Got to have somebody to help. That's rules and regulations; and, besides, I can't keep awake day and night, too. What makes you think I won't need to?"

The young man knocked the ashes from his pipe. Rising, he laid a hand on his companion's shoulder.

"Because you've got an assistant right here on the premises," he said. "Delivered by the Atlantic express right at your door. Far be it from me to toot my horn, Mr. Atkins, or to proclaim my merits from the housetops. But, speaking as one discerning person to another, when it comes to an A1, first chop lightkeeper's assistant, I ask: 'What's the matter with yours truly, John Brown?'"

Seth's reply was not in words. The hand holding his pipe fell limp upon his lap, and he stared at the speaker. The latter, entirely unabashed, waved an airy gesture, and continued.

"I repeat," he said, "'What's the matter with John Brown?' And echo answers, 'He's all right!' I am a candidate for the position of assistant keeper at Eastboro Twin-Lights."

"YOU?"

"Me."

"But--but--aw, go on! You're foolin'."

"Not a fool. I mean it. I am here. I'm green, but in the sunshine of your experience I agree to ripen rapidly. I can wash dishes-- you've seen me. I believe I could scrub brass and sweep."

"You wantin' to be assistant at a place like this! YOU! an edicated, able young chap, that's been used to valets and servants and--"

"Why do you say that? How do you know I've been used to those things?"

"'Cause, as I hinted to you a spell ago, I ain't altogether a dum fool. I can put two and two together and make four, without having the example done for me on a blackboard. You're a rich man's son; you've been used to sassiety and city ways and good clothes. YOU wantin' to put in your days and nights in a forsaken hole like this! Nonsense! Get out!"

But Mr. Brown refused to get out.

"No nonsense about it," he declared. "It is the hand of Fate. With the whole broadside of Cape Cod to land upon, why was I washed ashore just at this particular spot? Answer:--Because at this spot, at this time, Eastboro Twin-Lights needed an assistant keeper. I like the spot. It is beautiful. 'Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife.' With your permission, I'll stay here. The leopard may or may not change his spots, but I sha'n't. I like this one and here I stay. Yes, I mean it. I stay--as your assistant. Come, what do you say? Is it a go?"

The lightkeeper rose once more. "I'm goin' on watch," he said with decision. "You turn in. You'll feel better in the mornin'."

He started towards the tower. But John Brown sprang from the bench and followed him.

"Not until you've answered my question," he declared. "AM I to be your assistant?"

"No, course you ain't. It's dum foolishness. Besides, I ain't got the say; the government hires its own keepers."

"But you can square the government. That will be easy. Why," with a modest gesture, "look what the government is getting. It will jump at the chance. Atkins, you must say yes."

"I sha'n't, neither. Let go of my arm. It's blame foolishness, I tell you. Why," impatiently, "course it's foolishness! I don't know the first thing about you."

"What of it? I don't know anything about you, either."

Again the lightkeeper seemed unaccountably agitated. He stopped in his stride and whirled to face his companion.

"What do you mean by that?" he demanded fiercely. Before the young man could reply, he turned again, strode to the door of the light, flung it open, and disappeared within. The door closed behind him with a thunderous bang.

John Brown gazed after him in bewilderment. Then he shrugged his shoulders and returned to the bench.

The surf at the foot of the bluff grumbled and chuckled wickedly, as if it knew all of poor humanity's secrets and found a cynic's enjoyment in the knowledge.

CHAPTER IV

THE COMING OF JOB

The next morning Seth was gloomy and uncommunicative. At the breakfast table, when Brown glanced up from his plate, he several times caught the lightkeeper looking intently at him with the distrustful, half-suspicious gaze of the night before. Though quite aware of this scrutiny, he made no comment upon it until the meal was nearly over; then he observed suddenly:

"It's all right; you needn't."

"Needn't what?" demanded Atkins, in astonishment.

"Look at me as if you expected me to explode at any minute. I sha'n't. I'm not loaded."

Seth colored, under his coat of sunburn, and seemed embarrassed.

"I don't know what you're talkin' about," he stammered. "Have the moskeeters affected YOUR brains?"

"No. My brains, such as they are, are all right, and I want to keep them so. That's why I request you not to look at me in that way."

"How was I lookin' at you? I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do. You are wondering how much I know. I don't know anything and I'm not curious. That's the truth. Now why not let it go at that?"

"See here, young feller, I--"

"No; you see here. I'm not an Old Sleuth; I haven't any ambitions that way. I don't know anything about you--what you've been, what you've done--"

"Done!" Seth leaned across the table so suddenly that he upset his chair. "Done?" he cried; "what do you mean by that? Who said I'd done anything? It's a lie."

"What is a lie?"

"Why--why--er--whatever they said!"

"Who said?"

"Why, the ones that--that said what you said they said."

"I didn't say anyone had said anything."

"Then what do you mean by--by hintin'? Hey? What do you mean by it?"

He brandished a clenched fist over the breakfast dishes. Brown leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

"Call me when the patient recovers his senses," he drawled wearily. "This delirium is painful to a sensitive nature."

Atkins's fist wavered in mid-air, opened, and was drawn across its owner's forehead.

"Well, by jiminy!" exclaimed the lightkeeper with emphasis, "this is--is-- . . . I guess I BE crazy. If I ain't, you are. Would you mind tellin' me what in time you mean by THAT?"

"It is not the mosquitoes," continued his companion, in apparent soliloquy; "there are no mosquitoes at present. It must be the other thing, of course. But so early in the morning, and so violent. Alcohol is--"

"SHUT UP!" It was not a request, but an order. Brown opened his eyes.