CHAPTER THREE
Mantling Behavior
Copyright 2004, All Rights Reserved
The next morning, the doorbell woke Sean to a note which read Thank you for a funky time. Sean grinned but was halted in mid-reminiscence by another ringing of his doorbell. He stumbled out of the bedroom in his pajama bottoms and shuffled about to find his robe. “Just a minute, I’ll be right there!”
He finally reached the front door after tripping on the Yahtzee box unintentionally left on the floor. He opened the front door to reveal Anthony Hawke--a well dressed, well groomed man who appeared to be in his mid to late sixties. He was burly, in good physical shape, and smacked of the international film director Robert Altman.
“Mr. Allen. How do you do?” he said with a Scottish accent while extending his hand to a flustered Sean.
“Good. Fine. Dr. Hawke?”
“In the flesh. I hope I haven’t….”
“No, no,” interjected Sean, “My fault. I overslept. Come in, come in,” he led Hawke into the living room.
“The best-laid schemes of mice and men often go astray,” explained the elderly gentleman, “I’m afraid the airplane landed early.”
“How was your flight?” Sean inquired disingenuously.
“Fine. Fine. The weather in Maine is beautiful this time of year. I was remiss to leave it,”
“Yeah. It’s been pretty good around here lately. Can I get you a drink?” asked Sean forgetting that it wasn’t even ten yet.
“I appreciate your kindness. Cognac.”
Sean was taken back. “Cognac, very classy. I’ll be right back.”
He darted off to the kitchen and opened up the cupboard housing the booze. Dr. Hawke maintained his conversational tone as he looked about the condominium inquisitively. Sean continued from the kitchen…
“My father drinks cognac. I can’t stand the stuff myself. I’m a straight Tequila man. You didn’t sound Scottish over the phone,”
Hawke noticed a crate of papers and slowly made his way towards them.
“You know,” Sean called out, “ it’s strange. Yesterday, I spoke with you and you were three thousand miles away; and today, I’m here getting you a drink,” he said as he reentered the living room with a glass of cognac and an O.J. for himself. Hawke seemed startled at his return.
“Thank you,” Hawke reacted, “I realize that…”
“Do you mind if I change really quickly?” asked Sean.
“Not at all, good lad, not at all” answered Hawke.
Sean hastily scurried off to his bedroom continuing his conversation with this eccentric, avuncular man. “So, which museum did you say you were from?”
Hawke had made his way now to Sean’s collection of ships-in-a-bottle. “The Atlantic Maritime Historical Society,” he responded. I see you’re fond of ships.”
“That’s right. I’ve been collecting ever since a I was a wee-lad,” Sean caught himself. Was he mocking this guy subconsciously?
“We’ve got quite the collection on display next month. You should fly out and see it.” Hawke suggested. “I brought you some brochures and a complete project description for your review.”
The now composed Sean finally returned to the living room dressed appropriately.
“That’s great,” he said, “Thank you. I guess you folks run a pretty tight ship out there,”
An awkward pause followed. His attempt at levity had completely escaped Dr. Hawke and he was considering not pointing it out. He figured, he could diminish the chances of this guy lowering his evaluation of him just a bit if he could pretend that he wasn’t even trying to be funny. Dr. Hawke continued:
“Quite. We’ve been dealing with the history of maritime trade and commerce as well as it’s other facets--as in myths and legends. It gives us an edge over other maritime museums. You see Mr. Allen, maritime museums are not what they used to be. I remember as a child going to see models of galleons at the Scottish Maritime Museum and simply being entranced. Of course the times are changing and the interests of the seafarer now lie in technology, which is all good and fine. However, we, at A.M.H.S., strive to sustain a more romantic approach to being at sea. The oceans have much to offer us Sean. It’s important that we be clear in our relationship with Neptune. You ever been to a maritime museum?”
“I’m afraid not,” Sean reacted.
“Surprising, considering your interests in ships. All the same,” Hawke broke. “‘I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, and all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by. The wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking, and a gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray dawn breaking.’”
Sean had taken notice of Hawke’s palpable sense of zeal. The peculiar man rapidly continued,
“Forgive me. Well, I trust that you’ve examined the documents?” he said as he made his way back to the crate. “Are these they?”
“Yes. Those are…I mean that’s the…I was looking through them yesterday and I just left them laying about. Here. Let me…” he got the crate and the few pieces of parchment that fell to the floor. “If you don’t mind me asking, what are these things anyway?” requested Sean. He felt more anxious than the circumstances beckoned.
Dr. Hawke’s expression seemed to move to a more staid temperament as he perused the documents. “Various items I’m sure,” he spoke. “I won’t be able to tell exactly until I’ve reviewed them. I can tell you that they’re primarily the last known documents of Lord Admiral William Kidd of the British Navy. The National Archives determined your father to be the sole heir to them approximately two months ago. It took quite some time for them to locate the proper Michael Allen. They’d initially shipped these documents out to a Mr. Mike Allen of Hasbro. Once the lineage was refuted, they were quickly retrieved by the Archive and shipped out to their rightful owner. Your father.”
Sean faintly inquired, “So does that mean…”
“Not at all. A.M.H.S. has no quarrels with its private members regarding contributions.”
“So I’m a private member?” asked Sean. Dr. Hawke pulled out a laminated membership card with Sean’s name, including his middle name (something very few people even knew about).
“Welcome to the rich and fulfilling world of philanthropy.” chuckled the broad-shouldered gentleman. “You know Captain Kidd was not a very well known historical figure. However, he was an important one to maritime history. It’s believed that Admiral Kidd made the decision to consider zed latitude and longitude to be Greenwich, England: A remarkable decision indeed. On the surface, it would seem like a haphazard choice but after further inspection, we found that it was ideally suited. Greenwich is’ the exact point of rotational axis for our planet. It wasn’t known until years later that Captain Kidd had devised a methodology to calculate this.”
“Wow. I didn’t even know there was a rotational axis point. I guess…how did he die? I mean, I guess we lost somebody pretty important.” said Sean.
The Doctor elucidated with “The Scottish say ‘Though the cow may die, the grass will still grow.’”.
“Nice. So I’m related to him somehow, right?” asked a now giddy Sean.
“It would appear so,” answered Hawke with something in his tone that Sean couldn’t quite distinguish. “Now, Sean, I’m going to be candid with you. These papers are tremendously unexciting. We hold other ‘Kidd Documents’, as they’ve come to be known, and are also very proud to put on view an entire casing committed to the Admiral.” Dr. Hawke had begun what appear to Sean as a sale pitch. “That is to say, we at A.M.H.S. are very familiar with the writings of Admiral Kidd and, I dare say, are the leading authority on his life and days of oceangoing. These documents wouldn’t be properly exhibited by most of the other organizations, if they’re displayed at all…”
Sean immediately delivered an intervallic comment: “Dr. Hawke, enough said. I would imagine it would take a man of dedication to travel all the way from the State of Maine to get these papers. God knows I have no use for them. What I’m saying to you is that they’re yours.”
A disturbing look came over Hawke. “Thank you Sean. You’ve made an astounding decision. I assure you that they will be properly analyzed and celebrated for their true worth.” Although one might expect elation, Hawke illustrated an alert resolve in completing the transaction.
“Now,” he continued, pulling out what appeared to be some credentials from his inside coat pocket “it’s quite simple really. You sign these release forms, I write a check, and go on on my merry way.” Sean was flabbergasted at the simplicity of the deal. “You seem baffled,” inquired Hawke.
“No, I just never thought that it would be this plain. I’m probably making too much of it all. I’m a law student you see. It’s just seems like there would be more to do than this. But I guess…” he halfheartedly signed the release forms Hawke had laid out on the table.
“Thank you,” Hawke reached back into his coat pocket and drew out a signed check. “And here is your compensation.”
“Fifteen thousand dollars?!” exclaimed Sean. “Wow. Well then… there it is. I’ll be honest with you Dr. Hawke,” he chuckled, “this money is going to come in very handy. I hope it’s well spent.” His chuckle not grew to a forced titter.
“You have no idea, dear boy,” smiled Hawke. “Now, I must be on my way as I have an airplane to catch back to home.”
“Alright. Can I give you a ride or something?” asked Sean. “That’s quite alright” answered Hawke. “I have a car waiting just outside. Mr. Allen, it has been a distinct pleasure. Your contribution will define yet another of the vast annals of time. Again, if you’re ever in the neighborhood…”
“Thank you. If I’m ever in Maine, I’ll be sure to stop by.” This time, Hawke noted the humor and the two shared a pithy moment of mirth. All was mended. Dr. Anthony Hawke left Sean’s condominium and headed down to the silver Lincoln Town car awaiting him. In the driver’s seat sat a murky and lean chauffer who promptly got out and calmly moved towards Sean. Sean realized the man was coming to get the crate with the Kidd documents. The chauffer got the crate, exchanged a menacing look with Sean followed by a forced smile, and returned to the Town Car. Hawke entered the vehicle and they sped off as mysteriously as they appeared.
“Fifteen thousand dollars! Mother lover bone!” cried out the law student after he closed his front door.
CHAPTER FOUR
Chapters
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21 & 22, 23, 24, 25, Epilogue
Mantling Behavior
Copyright 2004, All Rights Reserved
The next morning, the doorbell woke Sean to a note which read Thank you for a funky time. Sean grinned but was halted in mid-reminiscence by another ringing of his doorbell. He stumbled out of the bedroom in his pajama bottoms and shuffled about to find his robe. “Just a minute, I’ll be right there!”
He finally reached the front door after tripping on the Yahtzee box unintentionally left on the floor. He opened the front door to reveal Anthony Hawke--a well dressed, well groomed man who appeared to be in his mid to late sixties. He was burly, in good physical shape, and smacked of the international film director Robert Altman.
“Mr. Allen. How do you do?” he said with a Scottish accent while extending his hand to a flustered Sean.
“Good. Fine. Dr. Hawke?”
“In the flesh. I hope I haven’t….”
“No, no,” interjected Sean, “My fault. I overslept. Come in, come in,” he led Hawke into the living room.
“The best-laid schemes of mice and men often go astray,” explained the elderly gentleman, “I’m afraid the airplane landed early.”
“How was your flight?” Sean inquired disingenuously.
“Fine. Fine. The weather in Maine is beautiful this time of year. I was remiss to leave it,”
“Yeah. It’s been pretty good around here lately. Can I get you a drink?” asked Sean forgetting that it wasn’t even ten yet.
“I appreciate your kindness. Cognac.”
Sean was taken back. “Cognac, very classy. I’ll be right back.”
He darted off to the kitchen and opened up the cupboard housing the booze. Dr. Hawke maintained his conversational tone as he looked about the condominium inquisitively. Sean continued from the kitchen…
“My father drinks cognac. I can’t stand the stuff myself. I’m a straight Tequila man. You didn’t sound Scottish over the phone,”
Hawke noticed a crate of papers and slowly made his way towards them.
“You know,” Sean called out, “ it’s strange. Yesterday, I spoke with you and you were three thousand miles away; and today, I’m here getting you a drink,” he said as he reentered the living room with a glass of cognac and an O.J. for himself. Hawke seemed startled at his return.
“Thank you,” Hawke reacted, “I realize that…”
“Do you mind if I change really quickly?” asked Sean.
“Not at all, good lad, not at all” answered Hawke.
Sean hastily scurried off to his bedroom continuing his conversation with this eccentric, avuncular man. “So, which museum did you say you were from?”
Hawke had made his way now to Sean’s collection of ships-in-a-bottle. “The Atlantic Maritime Historical Society,” he responded. I see you’re fond of ships.”
“That’s right. I’ve been collecting ever since a I was a wee-lad,” Sean caught himself. Was he mocking this guy subconsciously?
“We’ve got quite the collection on display next month. You should fly out and see it.” Hawke suggested. “I brought you some brochures and a complete project description for your review.”
The now composed Sean finally returned to the living room dressed appropriately.
“That’s great,” he said, “Thank you. I guess you folks run a pretty tight ship out there,”
An awkward pause followed. His attempt at levity had completely escaped Dr. Hawke and he was considering not pointing it out. He figured, he could diminish the chances of this guy lowering his evaluation of him just a bit if he could pretend that he wasn’t even trying to be funny. Dr. Hawke continued:
“Quite. We’ve been dealing with the history of maritime trade and commerce as well as it’s other facets--as in myths and legends. It gives us an edge over other maritime museums. You see Mr. Allen, maritime museums are not what they used to be. I remember as a child going to see models of galleons at the Scottish Maritime Museum and simply being entranced. Of course the times are changing and the interests of the seafarer now lie in technology, which is all good and fine. However, we, at A.M.H.S., strive to sustain a more romantic approach to being at sea. The oceans have much to offer us Sean. It’s important that we be clear in our relationship with Neptune. You ever been to a maritime museum?”
“I’m afraid not,” Sean reacted.
“Surprising, considering your interests in ships. All the same,” Hawke broke. “‘I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, and all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by. The wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking, and a gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray dawn breaking.’”
Sean had taken notice of Hawke’s palpable sense of zeal. The peculiar man rapidly continued,
“Forgive me. Well, I trust that you’ve examined the documents?” he said as he made his way back to the crate. “Are these they?”
“Yes. Those are…I mean that’s the…I was looking through them yesterday and I just left them laying about. Here. Let me…” he got the crate and the few pieces of parchment that fell to the floor. “If you don’t mind me asking, what are these things anyway?” requested Sean. He felt more anxious than the circumstances beckoned.
Dr. Hawke’s expression seemed to move to a more staid temperament as he perused the documents. “Various items I’m sure,” he spoke. “I won’t be able to tell exactly until I’ve reviewed them. I can tell you that they’re primarily the last known documents of Lord Admiral William Kidd of the British Navy. The National Archives determined your father to be the sole heir to them approximately two months ago. It took quite some time for them to locate the proper Michael Allen. They’d initially shipped these documents out to a Mr. Mike Allen of Hasbro. Once the lineage was refuted, they were quickly retrieved by the Archive and shipped out to their rightful owner. Your father.”
Sean faintly inquired, “So does that mean…”
“Not at all. A.M.H.S. has no quarrels with its private members regarding contributions.”
“So I’m a private member?” asked Sean. Dr. Hawke pulled out a laminated membership card with Sean’s name, including his middle name (something very few people even knew about).
“Welcome to the rich and fulfilling world of philanthropy.” chuckled the broad-shouldered gentleman. “You know Captain Kidd was not a very well known historical figure. However, he was an important one to maritime history. It’s believed that Admiral Kidd made the decision to consider zed latitude and longitude to be Greenwich, England: A remarkable decision indeed. On the surface, it would seem like a haphazard choice but after further inspection, we found that it was ideally suited. Greenwich is’ the exact point of rotational axis for our planet. It wasn’t known until years later that Captain Kidd had devised a methodology to calculate this.”
“Wow. I didn’t even know there was a rotational axis point. I guess…how did he die? I mean, I guess we lost somebody pretty important.” said Sean.
The Doctor elucidated with “The Scottish say ‘Though the cow may die, the grass will still grow.’”.
“Nice. So I’m related to him somehow, right?” asked a now giddy Sean.
“It would appear so,” answered Hawke with something in his tone that Sean couldn’t quite distinguish. “Now, Sean, I’m going to be candid with you. These papers are tremendously unexciting. We hold other ‘Kidd Documents’, as they’ve come to be known, and are also very proud to put on view an entire casing committed to the Admiral.” Dr. Hawke had begun what appear to Sean as a sale pitch. “That is to say, we at A.M.H.S. are very familiar with the writings of Admiral Kidd and, I dare say, are the leading authority on his life and days of oceangoing. These documents wouldn’t be properly exhibited by most of the other organizations, if they’re displayed at all…”
Sean immediately delivered an intervallic comment: “Dr. Hawke, enough said. I would imagine it would take a man of dedication to travel all the way from the State of Maine to get these papers. God knows I have no use for them. What I’m saying to you is that they’re yours.”
A disturbing look came over Hawke. “Thank you Sean. You’ve made an astounding decision. I assure you that they will be properly analyzed and celebrated for their true worth.” Although one might expect elation, Hawke illustrated an alert resolve in completing the transaction.
“Now,” he continued, pulling out what appeared to be some credentials from his inside coat pocket “it’s quite simple really. You sign these release forms, I write a check, and go on on my merry way.” Sean was flabbergasted at the simplicity of the deal. “You seem baffled,” inquired Hawke.
“No, I just never thought that it would be this plain. I’m probably making too much of it all. I’m a law student you see. It’s just seems like there would be more to do than this. But I guess…” he halfheartedly signed the release forms Hawke had laid out on the table.
“Thank you,” Hawke reached back into his coat pocket and drew out a signed check. “And here is your compensation.”
“Fifteen thousand dollars?!” exclaimed Sean. “Wow. Well then… there it is. I’ll be honest with you Dr. Hawke,” he chuckled, “this money is going to come in very handy. I hope it’s well spent.” His chuckle not grew to a forced titter.
“You have no idea, dear boy,” smiled Hawke. “Now, I must be on my way as I have an airplane to catch back to home.”
“Alright. Can I give you a ride or something?” asked Sean. “That’s quite alright” answered Hawke. “I have a car waiting just outside. Mr. Allen, it has been a distinct pleasure. Your contribution will define yet another of the vast annals of time. Again, if you’re ever in the neighborhood…”
“Thank you. If I’m ever in Maine, I’ll be sure to stop by.” This time, Hawke noted the humor and the two shared a pithy moment of mirth. All was mended. Dr. Anthony Hawke left Sean’s condominium and headed down to the silver Lincoln Town car awaiting him. In the driver’s seat sat a murky and lean chauffer who promptly got out and calmly moved towards Sean. Sean realized the man was coming to get the crate with the Kidd documents. The chauffer got the crate, exchanged a menacing look with Sean followed by a forced smile, and returned to the Town Car. Hawke entered the vehicle and they sped off as mysteriously as they appeared.
“Fifteen thousand dollars! Mother lover bone!” cried out the law student after he closed his front door.
CHAPTER FOUR
Chapters
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21 & 22, 23, 24, 25, Epilogue
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