The Times News

PAGE SIX

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For Love of Polly
By RACHEL MACK

Yesterday: Jerry plans to aid Polly's escape from England, for he is thoroughly in love with her. They are to flee across the English Channel in a smuggler's boat.

CHAPTER VI

Old Oliver Dart did not always sit in his study. Often his withered legs took him through the streets on long walks—sometimes down to the water front where, looking at ships and sailors, he was pleasurably reminded of the time when his warehouse used to ship tea to the colonies. It was not to remind himself of other days, however, that he set out for the river this morning. He went on an errand regarding one Jerry Whitfield, American seaman, who had visited him in his study last night.

"A bully," he muttered. "An upstart! An enemy to England."

An hour later old Dart, who knew his river front, was seated in a mean tavern that smelled of the sea and bad rum. The clothes he wore (he had borrowed them from his porter) did not betray him as a man of property, and so he could sit unnoticed in a corner, pretending to sip grog while studying his fellow men. When he finally spied a large man with a torn ear and a broken nose, carelessly mended, he beckoned to him.

When the man arrived he said to him, "Sit with me, friend. I'll buy you grog!" and he drew up a stool invitingly.

After the second glass of hot watered rum had been downed by his new acquaintance, Oliver Dart tested his shrewd guess. "I'll wager you're the best man the press-gang's got! With your muscles, now, and your chest—"

The torn-eared one did not deny his calling. In fact, he clarified it.

"Never a man I've been set on 'as ever got away from me," he stated with professional pride.

"Ah!" said Oliver Dart. "Just as I thought.... Listen, my friend. I've a little assignment for you. At the Unicorn and Crown Tavern there's an American seaman named Jeremiah Whitfield—"

His voice dropped to a whisper; but the pressman, accustomed to getting his instructions in just such cautious manner, turned his torn ear attentively and left off drinking grog.

"A poun' in advance for me," he pronounced when old Dart had finished, "an' a poun' to pay the woman for 'er part."

"Too much! You'll get your pay from the ship's captain, too, you robber."

"The money comes down from the admirals, sir, I grant ye. A tidy little quid to pay for every deserter that's caught. But by the time it gets down to us in the press-gangs, sir, it's dribbled somethin' awful. An' us havin' the work on the peril!"

Old Dart grumblingly brought out the two pounds, being careful to show it was all he had on his aged person, except a shilling or two to pay the bartender. "Get at it tonight," he ordered. "These tricky Yankees have a way of slipping through the fingers. And remember! Let it be plainly seen at the tavern that Whitfield's had speech with a pretty girl before going out.... Not too flashy," he advised thoughtfully. "Something neat and rather tasty would do the trick."

"I understand, sir. There's a fine-looking barmaid at the Sheaf of Wheat, edge of town. Used to be a actress. She plays a role now and then to 'elp 'is Majesty's Navy an' 'er own pocketbook. She 'as 'er 'usband's consent. Very regular it is, an' respectable."

Old Oliver Dart walked home by way of the commons, feeling sprightly and gay, as one does when one has accomplished a neat piece of business. He saw a girl with her bonnet hanging down her back by its ribbons, throwing sticks for a little mongrel dog to retrieve. She reminded him of Polly Chelsey, but only vaguely. This girl was care-free and relaxed, very unlike the tense and antagonistic Miss Chelsey as he recalled her at their last meeting. Moreover, she appeared to be the possessor of more luggage than Polly Chelsey had had—no encumbrances beyond a trunk.

He went on his way, and when Polly saw his narrow but erect back moving toward Hemphill street she gave a little gasp of concern. Had he recognized her? She called Nuisance to heel and set out for the Unicorn and Crown, walking very rapidly. The sight of the bitter old man had set all sorts of ominous thoughts to seething in her mind. But as she turned a corner and neared the entrance of the decent tavern which now seemed a haven of refuge to her, she saw Jerry swinging along toward her. She saw his bronzed face light at sight of her, saw his hands reach out toward her impulsively, possessively, as a lover's might. And then everything was right again, and hostile London existed only for a girl and a lad from America who had found each other there.

Jerry said, "We'll eat braised beef in the tavern and afterward go to see Buckingham Palace, if you're in the notion."

"I'm in the notion." Polly assured him. "Did you seal friendship with the smuggler?"

"We're like that." Jerry answered, holding up two parallel fingers. "Tomorrow morning you and I leave by coach for Dover. We'll stay the night there. The following morning we start toward Deal.... Somewhere short of Deal there's a wretched fishing village where this smuggler puts in before stopping at his cove, further on.... Well, I've got our instructions, and it's going to cost us five pounds each to be carried across the Channel."

"It seems dear," Polly said, calculating the equivalent in American money. "About twenty-five dollars, isn't it?" She had barely fifty dollars to her name and she knew Jerry had less. "He may even raise his price in mid-channel, Jerry," she speculated with concern.

"You can count on me keeping him to his bargain. Polly, just rely on me and don't worry. The Channel's narrow. Once we reach France, we're safe. We'll be in time to catch Tim Chelsey's ship at Cherbourg. Then home, Polly! Home! Do you realize what that means?"

"It's going to mean more to me than it's ever meant before," Polly said. Then she confided, quite without self-consciousness: "I'm going to be proud, Jerry, showing you off in Lyme! There's a Mrs. Pell there with three handsome daughters, all well married, who can never remember to ask me to any parties except sewing circle. It used to anger me when I was young and foolish."

"What are you now?" Jerry asked tenderly. "Aren't you just 18?"

Polly laughed. "Yes, but I've learned wisdom and patience early. It used to hurt me, seeing the other Lyme girls my age going to Seminary and embroidering samplers at the front window while I had to study at home with Dick and roughen my hands scrubbing floors and kettles.... Yes, and helping my father mend fish nets and sails."

"My poor Polly! And you with as good blood as the finest of them!"

"I'm not bitter about it!" declared Polly honestly. "Never a night's passed but I've thanked God I was able to take my mother's place. But Jerry, I will be proud to walk down the street of Lyme on your arm and introduce my husband to Mrs. Pell."

Jerry felt that he loved Polly Chelsey more deeply with each new revelation of herself. She was complex and full of infinite variety. Though mature in body and dignity, her shining youth darted out at times in ways as amusing as this childish feud with cruel Mrs. Pell, the village snob who had hurt her.

"I must try to make it up to her," Jerry told himself. Ambition stirred him. The thought, "A ship of my own!" rang through his mind like a clarion call.... But first there was this war. One's country came first. One's flag before one's sweetheart.

They went into the public room now and had braised beef for dinner, because it was cheaper than guinea fowl, and even Jerry, the munificent, had begun to count pennies.

(To be continued)