T’S a strange fact that two such diametrically opposed feelings as love and hate are often engendered by each other. The blackest and most diabolical crimes have been committed through love—love of a woman oftentimes—and, peculiar as it may seem, between the two passions there is but a slight barrier, and a human being can change from one to the other almost instantaneously. Without moralizing further, here is a tale of two strong men and a woman—a tale in which the two emotions led to strange happenings.
Elsie Conover was the daughter of a small farmer who owned a place on the shores of Anchorville Bay. Elsie was pretty, vivacious and something of a flirt—so much so that by the time she was twenty-one she had played serious havoc with the hearts of most of the young farmers, fishermen and sailors of Anchorville County. An impartial critic, endowed with the faculty of reading Miss Conover’s' mind, would have characterized the pretty, brown-eyed young woman as being shallow and heartless.
Tom Anderson and Westley Collins were young sprigs of Anchorville fishermen—both of them smart trawlers and able men in a dory. Tom was intelligent, quick witted, a bit of a dandy and a good talker. As fishermen would say, “He had a way with the women” which made him attractive in their sight. He had a pleasant manner, the art of concealing his feelings, and was universally known as a good shipmate.
Westley Collins was the opposite. Though smart enough aboard of a vessel, yet he was slow and clumsy when ashore. He dressed anyhow, walked with a shambling slouch, and conversationally was neither brilliant nor edifying. Though slow of speech and apparently surly, he was big-hearted and kind.
Among the young fellows of Anchorville Elsie Conover was known as Tommy Anderson’s girl. Tommy went boat-fishing all one Summer and employed most of his time ashore in laying siege to Elsie’s heart. He appeared to be the “white-haired boy” until big, blundering West Collins came home after a long salt-fishing trip and unintentionally “horned in” on Tommy’s preserves.
Westley had drawn a big share out of a “high line” trip, and in all probability it was the size of his bank-roll which made him attractive in Elsie’s eyes. At any rate, the roll gave the girl the means of a good time until the Fall fishing season came around and Westley began to talk of going to sea again.
“Will ye marry me, Elsie?” he blurted out one night in tones which contained more emotion than the girl had ever thought him capable of.
Having anticipated such a question for some time past, Miss Conover had carefully considered it.
“I—I don’t know, Westley,” she faltered, dropping her eyes. “I—I’d want to think it over.”
“So ye kin, sweetheart,” said Westley slowly, “but maybe ye’ll give me somethin’ to go upon? Kin I hope?”
The girl turned her head away as if thinking. After a pause, she looked up and spoke:
“Ask me again in the Spring, Westley. Save your money and ask me then.”
“Are my chances good?” asked the other almost fearfully.
The girl made no reply, but stared at the toe of her shoe.
“Thar ain’t no one else, is there, girlie?” he questioned anxiously.
“N—no! There’s nobody else.”
“Then I might be safe in thinkin’ you’ll say ‘yes’ in th’ Spring?”
He did not wait for an answer, but slipped his arm around her shoulders and drew her to him.
“Gimme a kiss, girlie!” he murmured, and, unresisting, her face turned to his.
After the embrace, she rose to her feet and held out her hand.
“You must go now, Westley,” she said calmly.
“Until the Spring, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m going across to Gloucester tomorrow to join a vessel for the Winter haddockin’ and I’ll come back ’long towards the end o’ March. Wish me good-luck an’ high-line trips, dearie, and—and another kiss.”
When the big fisherman strode happily away, Elsie Conover drew her hand sharply across her mouth.
“The big fool!” she murmured callously. “Me marry him! Ugh!” She shuddered. “He’ll be telling Jack Hooper about it, and Jack will be sure to tell Tom Anderson. Maybe Tom will get jealous when he hears that West Collins is cutting him out and he’ll keep away from that doll-faced Jennie Hooper and come to me again. Marry West Collins in the Spring? I don’t think!” And with a crafty smile she went upstairs to bed.