CHAPTER XXVII A HOT NIGHT.

IT was a hot, clear moonlit night.

Our newly arrived guests, after an evening given up to piano music and song, had retired to their various cubby holes.

But peace did not lie upon the house, for it was the hottest night of the season and mosquitoes—hitherto an undreaded foe, attracted by the unwonted light and the music, had descended upon us and as, of course, screens were not dreamed of in a place where the mosquito rivals the tramp in scarceness, they had entered the house and were singing their infernal songs in the ears of people fresh from a mosquitoless city.

I was mortified. It seemed a breach of hospitality to invite people up to a place where every prospect pleases and man is not so vile, and then to let loose a horde of mosquitoes upon them.

It was between three and four in the morning, and soon the first signs of dawn would be upon us.

I was trying to be comfortable in a hammock slung under the boughs of the maple, and Ellery was trying to be comfortable in another hammock slung under other boughs, but neither of us was making a success of it, although he was fitfully sleeping. There is something unmistakably enticing in the thought of depending, cool and free from a leafy arbour while the summer moon watches over one’s slumbers, and the lulling breezes croon one to unconsciousness, but loyal as I am to Clover Lodge and its vicinity, I am more loyal to truth, and that night was a night to be remembered for years even as the blizzard is remembered—but for opposite reasons.

The air was still, but the mosquitoes were not and neither were my guests. I could hear them stirring and slapping and I feared that some of them were cursing, and I longed for dawn with all my heart. Dawn and the hot day that would follow in its wake, for at least we could escape to some lofty point, where the mosquitoes would not follow us.

I knew that Tom and Benedict were used to all sorts of experiences, and I knew their wives too well to think for a moment that they would hold me responsible for the night and the winged pests, but Hepburn—

Hepburn had been raised in the lap of luxury, and when I thought of his tall form accommodating itself to the ornate but contracted sofa, I felt so uncomfortable that I thought of going in and asking him to swap couches with me—and change discomfort.

I fell into a doze, from which I was awakened by hearing a step on the gravelled path.

I was wide awake in an instant.

Between me and the moon was outlined the tall form of Hepburn, fully clothed and smoking a cigar.

“Is that you, Mr. Hepburn?” said I.

“Yes,” said he, softly, so as to awaken no one else. “Did I wake you? Pardon me.”

“Oh, that’s all right. But why are you up and dressed?”

“Why,” said he, very glibly, “the night is so beautiful and bright that it seems a sin to sleep, don’t you know. I thought I’d stroll about a bit.”

My conscience smote me.

“It was that sofa, wasn’t it?”

“Don’t say a word. Sofa’s awfully jolly, but I think I drank too much coffee.”

“What’s the matter?” said Ellery, waking up.

“What do you say to a swim?” said I.

“When?” said Ellery, sleepily.

“Why, now. How does it strike you, Mr. Hepburn?”

“Great.”

Ellery, still half asleep, rubbed his eyes and then saw Hepburn for the first time.

“Why, is it as early as that?” said he.

“Earlier,” said Hepburn, which was not so bad.

I had sat up in the hammock, and setting my feet in my slippers, I rose to my pajamaed height and said,

“This is the hottest ever. I’ll get the other fellows and we’ll go over to Marsh’s Pond and have a swim at sunrise.”

I tiptoed up to the hot box that contained Tom and Benedict and whispered to them, “Are you awake?”

Tom answered, “Oh, no, we’re sound asleep and dreaming of icebergs.”

Then I could hear him shaking the bed with suppressed laughter.

“Well, come along for a swim. Get into your old clothes and don’t make a noise.”

In a few minutes we were all ready. We passed under Minerva’s window, and although we stepped lightly we waked her and we heard her heavy feet coming down on the floor of her room.

I knew that a yawp was due, so I said in a voice loud enough to reach her, “Don’t be frightened, Minerva. It isn’t burglars. It’s Mr. Vernon going for a walk.”

“Lawdy, I thought it was more burglars,” said she, and heaved a sigh of relief.

Other voices were now heard and from the window of the spare room was thrust the head of Madge, who demanded what was the trouble.

“Lack of sleep,” said Tom. “We’re going for a swim. Down to the old swimmin’ hole, my dear.”

“What won’t men do?” said Madge, and retired to envy us our privileges.

“Might as well tell Ethel what we’re doing. She may be worried,” said I, and we walked under her window.

“Give ’em a song,” said Benedict, who was a fine baritone, and he began it, “‘Sleep no more, ladies, sleep no more.’”

He sang it as a solo as none of us knew the setting he used, but as an injunction it was needless. The ladies were not calculating on sleeping any more.

“Where are you going?” asked Ethel from somewhere out of sight.

“Oh, only down to the old swimmin’ hole,” said Tom.

“Why, there’s no swimming hole anywhere’s near,” said she.

“Marsh’s Pond, my dear,” said I. “This is a record-breaker for heat and we’re going to break the record for swimming at an unseasonable hour. We’ll be back for breakfast. Good night.”

“How far is it?” asked Tom.

“Oh, only a couple of miles or so,” said I. “We’ll take it easy there and back.”

“Please may I be excused,” said Benedict. “I’m not in training for such a walk on an empty stomach.”

“That’s easily remedied. We’ll fill up on cold lamb.”

And we did fill up, and then we started, and in spite of the heat, we enjoyed the walk. It was after three and it would need the pencil of a poet and artist combined to tell of the wonders and the beauties of that walk with the delicate indications of the coming dawn filling the east with rosy promise.

Marsh’s Pond is about two miles long and a half a mile wide, and it has at one point a sandy beach. Around it are cottages and bathing houses, most of them bearing the idyllic names that lake dwellers love to bestow upon their houses. We passed “The Inglenook” and “The Ingleside” and “Inglewild,” and “Tramp’s Rest,” and many another bearing equally felicitous titles, and at last we came to the sandy beach just as the sun cast its first golden beams on the foliage of the woods across the lake.

“Hepburn, you’re a brick for waking up so early,” said Tom. “If only I had thought to bring along my little flask. It’s just the thing before a morning swim.”

“If you don’t mind Scotch,” said Hepburn, producing a cunning little silver flask.

Ellery was on the water wagon, but the rest of us drank to the rising sun and then plunged in and were cool.

“It was worth the walk,” said Benedict, as he dove and emerged twenty feet beyond. “Why don’t people do this every day?”

With the sun had come a gentle breeze that was several degrees cooler than the surrounding atmosphere had been, and we spent a pleasant half hour admiring the coming of day from our watery vantage.

After we had come out we went into the bathing house, which went by the name of Tramp’s Rest. It was a roomy affair, and had been left open all winter, or we would have been unable to enter it.

“We’ll put up a shack like that,” said Tom, “and Jack and Billy can bunk in it.”

“I’m afraid we haven’t lumber enough,” said I.

When we were ready to go home Hepburn and Ellery said they were going back by what is called the upper road, which is a half mile farther, but we chose the lower road, and were home a good half hour ahead of them.

It was after six and we were ravenous. A west wind was blowing and it had blown the crazy horde of mosquitoes away, and it was much cooler, and I am thankful to say that not again that summer did we have such a visitation. Mosquitoes might always be found in the long grass, but it was easy to avoid them.

Minerva prepared an early breakfast, and just as we sat down to it Ellery and Hepburn arrived.

“How do you like it as far as you’ve got, Talcott?” asked Tom, as we all sat down.

“Well, do you know I read this ‘Simple Life,’ that the President recommended, and I didn’t see such an awful lot in it, but if this is it, it’s all right. I don’t think I ever had such an appetite for breakfast before.”

“After being awake all night you ought to have,” said I, in an apologetic tone. “You see the Wheelocks had two young children and they did not entertain and as we took the house furnished we were not prepared as we should have been.”

“But it’s nice to have the house full all the time,” said Ethel, who evidently thought my remark ungracious.

“No question of its having been filled last night,” said Tom, rubbing his cheek, “Filled with mosquitoes. I thought they never came up here.”

“You might say they never do. Last night was an exception,” said I.

“Dear, dear, how like Jersey that sounds. Jersey nights are made up of exceptions,” said Tom.

Minerva appeared at the door, not with her hand raised, but in an attitude that said “Please, may I speak,” and Ethel, with a hasty look at Hepburn, said, “What is it, Minerva?”

“Now James wanted to know where’s he’s to build that lean-to.”

“The what?” said Ethel.

“That’s all right,” said Tom, grasping the situation. “You tell James to wait until after breakfast and I’ll come out and show him.”

Minerva shut the door and Tom said, “She believes in free speech.”

“I must speak to her,” said Ethel.

But there was a general chorus of objections, Hepburn expressing his opinion by saying, “It strikes me as awfully quaint, you know.”

After breakfast Tom took me aside and said,

“Now, see here, Phil, this deluge wasn’t expected by you, but I don’t see any indication of the waters subsiding. We all want to stay. Now hospitality is hospitality, but we’re not paupers and we’re not rich enough to feel that we can live on you all summer without a murmur. You understand? Now, I’ve forced Billy and Jack on you, and I’ve been talking with Hepburn and Benedict, and we’re going to form a pool to cover expenses. Don’t want you to make a cent out of us, but we don’t want you to be out of pocket, and so if you’ll let us pay our share of the bills when they come in we’ll stay. Otherwise we all go back to-morrow. Yes, sir, we all go back to-morrow. I’m in earnest.”

Tom was a curious mixture of simplicity and worldly wisdom, and I could not help laughing at him.

“Well, go home,” said I, “and leave us to ourselves.”

He put his arm around my shoulder.

“Now, you don’t mean that at all, old man. You were both glad to see us and you want us to stay. Hepburn’s having the time of his life.”

“With his midnight walks?”

“That’s all right. It was part of the fun. Now, I’m going to see about getting some cot beds because Hepburn is too long for that sofa. Where can I get a wagon?”

I told him about Bert, and he went on to see James about the lean-to.

Later I met Hepburn. He came up as if he wanted to speak about something that was weighing on his mind, and I expected to have him tell me that he had just received a telegram calling him home at once, but I was mistaken.

“It’s no end jolly up here,” said he, “but I can see that we’re a good deal of a household for Mrs. Vernon. She doesn’t look strong. Now, isn’t there some place near by where we could arrange to stay, don’t you know, and come over here for tennis and all that sort of thing? I’d like to come up again.”

“Why, you’re not going?”

“Why, I really ought to, you know. So unexpected my coming and all that sort of thing.”

Ethel had heard us talking and she came out of the house.

“We don’t want you to think of going, Mr. Hepburn, if you can be comfortable. I’ll be able to borrow a bed to-night and if Mr. Warden builds that temporary shed, in such weather as this you’ll be comfortable sort of camping out.”

“Oh, I’m all right. The mosquitoes were a bit annoying, but everything else is all right. I’m feeling very fit this morning, I assure you.”

“Then don’t think of going,” said I.

And then Cherry came out with the tennis net and Hepburn relieved her of it immediately and went with her to put it up, and Ellery and Mrs. Benedict came out a minute later and announced that they were going for a little walk.

Ethel, with a suggestive glance at me, that seemed to imply that all was not right between Cherry and Ellery, went into the house to invite “Jack” and “Billy,” while I went down to James’s house to see about engaging James’s little sister to help Minerva. If we were going to be a hotel we would need more help.

As I passed the woodshed I saw Tom in his shirt sleeves sawing planks, while Benedict and James were acting as willing helpers.

The only one who was doing nothing was Madge, so I hunted her up and invited her to go with me to the house of James.

And thus continued the day begun so early in the morning.