“Yes, you did.  And you knew all the time how I felt about it, you sneak.”

Jed’s foot slowly sank to the floor and just as slowly he hoisted himself from the chair.

“Phin,” he said, with deliberate mildness, “is there anything else you’d like to ask me?  ’Cause if there isn’t, maybe you’d better run along.”

“You sneakin’ coward!”

“Er—­er—­now—­now, Phin, you didn’t understand.  I said ‘ask’ me, not ‘call’ me.”

“No, I didn’t come here to ask you anything.  I came here and waited here so’s to be able to tell you somethin’.  And that is that I know now that you’re responsible for my son—­my only boy, the boy I’d depended on—­and—­and—­”

The fierce little man was, for the moment, close to breaking down.  Jed’s heart softened; he felt almost conscience-stricken.

“I’m sorry for you, Phineas,” he said.  “I know how hard it must be for you.  Leander realized it, too.  He—­”

“Shut up!  Shavin’s, you listen to me.  I don’t forget.  All my life I’ve never forgot.  And I ain’t never missed gettin’ square.  I can wait, just as I waited here in the dark over an hour so’s to say this to you.  I’ll get square with you just as I’ll get square with Sam Hunniwell. . . .  That’s all. . . .  That’s all. . . .  Damn you!”

He stamped from the room and Jed heard him stumbling through the littered darkness of the shops on his way to the front door, kicking at the obstacles he tripped over and swearing and sobbing as he went.  It was ridiculous enough, of course, but Jed did not feel like smiling.  The bitterness of the little man’s final curse was not humorous.  Neither was the heartbreak in his tone when he spoke of his boy.  Jed felt no self-reproach; he had advised Leander just as he might have advised his own son had his life been like other men’s lives, normal men who had married and possessed sons.  He had no sympathy for Phineas Babbitt’s vindictive hatred of all those more fortunate than he or who opposed him, or for his silly and selfish ideas concerning the war.  But he did pity him; he pitied him profoundly.

Babbitt had left the front door open in his emotional departure and Jed followed to close it.  Before doing so he stepped out into the yard.

It was pitch dark now and still.  He could hear the footsteps of his recent visitor pounding up the road, and the splashy grumble of the surf on the bar was unusually audible.  He stood for a moment looking up at the black sky, with the few stars shining between the cloud blotches.  Then he turned and looked at the little house next door.

The windows of the sitting-room were alight and the shades drawn.  At one window he saw Charles Phillips’ silhouette; he was reading, apparently.  Across the other shade Ruth’s dainty profile came and went.  Jed looked and looked.  He saw her turn and speak to some one.  Then another shadow crossed the window, the shadow of Major Grover.  Evidently the major had not gone home at once as he had told Jed he intended doing, plainly he had been persuaded to enter the Armstrong house and make Charlie and his sister a short call.  This was Jed’s estimate of the situation, his sole speculation concerning it and its probabilities.