On Monday afternoon the minister made a few calls.Keziah made out a short list for him to follow,a sort of chart of the main channel,she called it,with the safe ports marked and the shoals and risky places labeled dangerous.You see,she said,Trumet ain't a course you can navigate with your eyes shut.We divide ourselves into about four sets--aristocrats,poor relations,town folks,and scum.The aristocrats are the big bugs like Cap'n Elkanah and the other well-off sea captains,afloat or ashore.They 'most all go to the Regular church and the parish committee is steered by 'em.The poor relations are mainly widows and such,whose husbands died or were lost at sea.Most of them are Regulars.The town folks are those that stay ashore and keep store or run salt works or somethin'.And the scum work around on odd jobs or go fishin'.So,if you really want to be safe,you must call on the aristocrats first,after that on the poor relations,and so on down.You won't be bothered with scum much;they're mainly Come-Outers.Ellery took the list from her hand and looked it over.
Hum!he said musingly.Am I supposed to recognize these--er--class distinctions?
Yes.That is,not in meetin' or sewin' circle or anything like that,or not out and out and open anywhere.But you want to cultivate a sort of different handshake and how-dy-do for each set,so's to speak.Gush all you want to over an aristocrat.Be thankful for advice and always SO glad to see 'em.With the poor relations you can ease up on the gush and maybe condescend some.Town folks expect condescension and superiority;give it to 'em.When it comes to scum,why--well,any short kind of a bow and a Mornin'll do for them.'Course the Lord,in His infinite mercy,made 'em,same as He did potato bugs,but it's necessary to keep both bugs and them down to their proper place.She delivered this in the intervals between trips to the kitchen with the dinner dishes.The minister listened with a troubled expression on his face.
Mrs.Coffin,he said,I guess I'm dull.There was a Scotch professor at college and the fellows used to say his bump of humor was a dent.Maybe mine isn't much better.Are you joking?Keziah stacked the cups and saucers.
I ain't jokin',she declared.I've been a poor relation in this village for a good while and my brother was a shoemaker and on the upper fringe of the town-folk class.My humor bump would have to stick up like Cannon Hill a fore I could see any joke in that.But you're not seriously advising me to treat a rich man differently from a poor one?Not openly different--no.But if you want to steer a perfectly SAFE course,one that'll keep deep water under your keel the whole voyage,why,there's your chart.Mr.Ellery promptly tore the chartin to small pieces.
I'm going out,he said.I shall be back by supper time.Mrs.Coffin eyed him grimly.
Goin'to run it blindfold,are you?she asked.
Yes,I am.
Her grimness disappeared and she smiled.
I'll have your supper ready for you,she said.Bring back a good appetite.The young man hesitated on the threshold.
Mrs.Coffin,he demanded,would YOU have called only on the aristocrats at first?She shook her head,smiling still.
No,she replied,not me.I've always taken risks.But I didn't know but you might be a safe sailor.It saves a lot of trouble in this world.How about the next?
Oh,well,perhaps even the scum may count for somethin' over there.She turned to face him and her smile vanished.Go on,Mr.Ellery,she said.Go and call where you please.Far be it from me that I should tell you to do anything else.I suppose likely you hope some day to be a great preacher.I hope you will.But I'd enough sight rather you was a good man than the very greatest.No reason why you can't be both.There was a preacher over in Galilee once,so you told us yesterday,who was just good.'Twa'n't till years afterwards that the crowd came to realize that he was great,too.And,if I recollect right,he chummed in with publicans and sinners.I'm glad you tore up that fool paper of mine.I hoped you might when I gave it to you.Now you run along,and I'll wash dishes.If cleanliness is next to godliness,then a parson ought to eat out of clean plates.As a matter of fact,the minister's calls were in the nature of a compromise,although an unintentional one.He dropped in on Zebedee Mayo,owner of the big house on the slope of the hill.
Captain Zeb took him up into what he called his cupoler,the observatory on the top of the house,and showed him Trumet spread out like a map.The main road was north and south,winding and twisting its rutted,sandy way.Along it were clustered the principal houses and shops,shaded by silver-leaf poplars,a few elms,and some willows and spruces.Each tree bent slightly away from the northeast,the direction from which blew the heavy winter gales.Beyond the main road were green slopes and pastures,with swamps in the hollows,swamps which were to be cranberry bogs in the days to come.Then the lower road,with more houses,and,farther on,the beach,the flats--partially uncovered because it was high tide--and the bay.
Behind the Mayo house was the crest of Cannon Hill,more hills,pastures and swamps,scattered houses and pine groves.Then began the tumbled,humped waste of sand dunes,and,over their ragged fringes of beach plum and bayberry bushes,the deep blue of the wide Atlantic.The lighthouse was a white dot and the fish shanties a blotch of brown.Along the inner edge of the blue were scars of dancing white,the flashing teeth of hungry shoals which had torn to pieces and swallowed many a good ship.And,far out,dotted and sprinkled along the horizon,were sails.
