Diane of the Green Van Read online

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE YOUNG MAN OF THE SEA

  Diane was to learn that the infernal persistence of the Old Man of theSea of Arabian origin could find its match in youth. A week slippedby. Philip wove an unsatisfactory mat of sedge upon a loom of cord andstakes, whittled himself a knife and fork and spoon which he initialedgorgeously with the dye of a boiled alder, invented a camp rake offorked branches, made a broom of twigs, and sunk a candle in the floorof his tent which he covered with a bottomless milk bottle. All inall, he told Nero, he was evoluting rapidly into an excellent woodsman,despite the peculiar appearance of the sedge mat.

  When Diane was honestly indignant, Philip was quiet and industrious,and accomplished a great deal with his knife and bits of wood. When,finding his cheerful good humor irresistible, she was forced to fly theflag of truce, he was profoundly grateful.

  "When do you think you'll go?" demanded Diane pointedly one morning asshe deftly swung her line into the river. "Unless you contrive to getstabbed again," she added doubtfully, "I really don't see what'skeeping you."

  "When I may help you break camp and escort you back to your aunt,"replied Philip pleasantly, "I'll pack up my two shirts and my wildwoodpipe and depart, exceedingly grateful for my stay in Arcadia."

  Diane bit her lip and frowned.

  "Suppose," she flashed, with angry scarlet in her cheeks, "suppose Ibreak camp and leave you behind!"

  "I'll go with you," shrugged Philip. "Don't you remember? I told youso before. And I'll sit on the rear steps of the van all the way toFlorida and play a tin whistle."

  Appalled by the thought of the spectacular vagaries which this YoungMan of the Sea might develop if she took to the road, Diane saidnothing.

  "No matter how I view you," she indignantly exclaimed a little later,"you're a problem."

  "Settle the problem," advised Philip. "It's simple enough."

  "He'll go presently," she told herself resentfully. "He'll have to."

  "How it amuses these fish to watch me murder worms!" exclaimed Philipin deep disgust. "Look at the audience over there! I attract 'em andyou get 'em! Miss Westfall, are you a slave driver?"

  "What do you mean?" asked Diane cautiously.

  Philip's most innocent beginnings frequently led into argumentativemorasses for his opponent.

  "Does Johnny have complete freedom in your camp?"

  "Certainly!" exclaimed Diane warmly. "Johnny is old and faithful. Hemay do as he pleases."

  Philip changed an angemic worm of considerable transparency for one ofmore interest to his river audience and smiled.

  "Johnny," said he cheerfully, "has been good enough to invite me tostay in camp with him indefinitely. I'm his guest, in fact, until yougo home. I imagine that as Johnny's guest I ought to enjoy immunityfrom sarcastic shafts, but I may be mistaken. I've washed and drainedmost of these worms. Will you lend me an inch or so of that stoutinvertebrate climbing out of the can by you?"

  Thoroughly out of patience, Diane reeled in her line and returned tocamp, whence she presently heard Philip blithely whistling afisherman's hornpipe and urging Nero to retrieve certain sticks he hadthrown into the river. A little later he caught a sunfish and swunginto camp with such a smile of irresistible pride and good humor on hissun-browned face, that Diane laughed in spite of herself.

  "How ridiculous it is!" she mused uncomfortably. "Here I may notdepart for fear a happy-go-lucky young man will play a tin whistle onthe steps of the van, and I will not go home. What in the world am Ito do with him? Are you an orphan?" she asked with guileful curiosity.

  "No," said Philip.

  "I'm sorry," said Diane maliciously. "For then I could take out papersof adoption--"

  "I'll stay without them," promised Philip. And Diane added wood to thefire with cheeks like the scarlet sunset.

  "I'm going to send for my aunt," she announced a few days later.

  "Yes?" said Philip.

  "Unconventionality of any sort shocks her dreadfully. Like as notshe'll faint dead away at the sight of you domiciled in my camp as ifyou own it. She'll see that you go."

  "Better not," advised Philip.

  "Why?"

  "I'll produce credentials proving I'm a reputable victim ofcircumstances. I'll suggest that in complete concurrence with her Ideem it unsafe for a young and attractive girl to tour about thecountry--and that I do not feel that I can conscientiously depart.Between the two of us you'll likely have a most uncomfortable hour orso."

  Aunt Agatha was impressionable. It needed but a spark of concurrenceto arouse her dreadfully. Diane dismissed the project.

  "I think," she said hopefully, "that you'll most likely go to-night."

  "In any circumstances," said Philip easily, "I fear that would beimpossible. Johnny's behind with the laundry and I haven't acollarable shirt." Whereupon he whistled for Nero and set off amiablythrough the woods to gather an inaccessible flower he knew his ladywould prize.

  By nine that night Diane was asleep in the van. Philip, with whom shehad indignantly crossed swords a little earlier, lay thoughtfully bythe fire watching the snowy curtains of the van windows billowinglazily in the warm night wind. He felt restless and perturbed andpresently sought his tent, where he lit the bottled candle to look forthe predecessor of his insatiable wildwood pipe, but halted suddenlywith a peculiar whistle.

  The silk shirt he had worn from Sherrill's lay conspicuously upon thebed, washed and ironed and beautifully mended up the slashed sleeve andalong the shoulder. As a laundress of parts, Johnny was a jewel, buthe could not mend!

  Now oddly enough as Mr. Poynter stared at the shirt upon the bed, hisappearance was that of a young man decidedly out of sorts. Presentlywith an ominous glint of temper in his fine eyes, he noiselesslyrearranged his tent, viciously donned the offending shirt, whistled forNero and leaving the camp of his lady as unexpectedly as he had enteredit, set out for Sherrill's.

  Even the most equable of tempers, it would seem, may now and then provecrotchety.

  And who may say? Mr. Poynter was a young man of infinite resource.And there were other ways.