XVIII
For a long while, seated on either side of the slumbering puppy, theyremained silent, in fascinated contemplation of what they had rescued.
Finally Gray said slowly: "It may seem odd to you that I should be sofirm and uncompromising concerning my right to a very small dog whichmay be duplicated in the North for a few dollars."
She lifted her brown eyes to his, then let them fall again on the dog.
"The reason is this," said Gray. "The native dogs I dislike intensely.Dogs imported from the North soon die in this region. But this littlepup was evidently born on shipboard and on tropical seas. I think he'svery likely to survive the climate. And as I am obliged to reside herefor a while, and as I am to live all alone, this pup is a godsend tome."
The girl, still resting her eyes on the sleeping puppy, said veryquietly:
"I do not desire to appear selfish, but a girl is twice as lonely as aman. And as I fortunately first discovered the dog it seems to meabsolutely right and just that I should keep him."
Gray sat pouring sand through his fingers and casting an occasionaloblique glance at the girl. She was not sunburned, so she must be arecent arrival. She spoke with a northern accent, which determined herorigin.
_What_ was she doing down here on this absurd island? Why didn't she goback to St. Augustine where she belonged?
"You know," he said craftily, "I can buy a very nice little dog indeedfor you in St. Augustine."
"I am not stopping in St. Augustine. Besides, there are only horridlittle lap-dogs there."
"Don't you like lap-dogs--Pomms, Pekinese, Maltese?" he inquiredpersuasively.
"No."
"You are unlike the majority of girls then. What sort of dog do youlike?"
"Setters," she explained with decision.
And as he bit his lip in annoyed silence she added:
"Setter puppies are what I adore."
"I'm sorry," he said bluntly.
She added, not heeding his observation: "I am mad about setter puppies,particularly English setter puppies. And when I try to realise that Idiscovered a shipwrecked one all by myself, and rescued it, I canscarcely believe in such an adorable miracle."
It was on the tip of his tongue to offer to purchase the pup, but aquick glance at the girl checked him. She was evidently perfectlysincere, and the quality of her was unmistakable.
Already, within these few minutes, her skin had begun to burn a delicaterose tint from the sun's fierce reflection on the white sands. Her hairwas a splendid golden brown, her eyes darker, or perhaps the long, darklashes made them seem so. She was daintily and prettily made, head,throat, shoulders, and limbs; she wore a summer gown so waistless andlimp that it conformed to the corsetless fashions in vogue, makingevident here and there the contours of her slim and supple figure.
From the tip of her white shoe to the tip of her hat she was the futileand exquisite essence of Gotham.
Gray realised it because he lived there himself. But he could notunderstand where all her determination and obstinacy came from, for sheseemed so young and inexperienced, and there was about her a childishdewiness of eye and lip that suggested a blossom's fragrance.
She was very lovely; and that was all very well in its way, but Gray hadcome down there on stern business, and how long his business might last,and how long he was to inhabit a palmetto bungalow above the coquinaquarry he did not know. The coquina quarry was as hot as the infernalpit. Also, snakes frequented it.
No black servant--promised him faithfully in St. Augustine the daybefore--had yet arrived. A few supplies had been sent over from St.Augustine, and he was camping in his little house of logs, along withwood-ticks, blue lizards, white ants, gophers, hornets, and severalchestnut-colored scorpions.
"I wouldn't mind yielding the dog to you," he admitted, "if I were notso horribly lonely on this miserable island. When evening comes, _you_will go back to luxury and comfort somewhere or other, with dinnerawaiting you and servants to do everything, and a nice bed to retire to.That's a pleasant picture, isn't it?"
"Very," she replied, with a slight shrug.
"Now," he said, "please gaze mentally upon this other picture. _I_ amobliged to go back to a shack haunted by every species of creature thatthis wretched island harbours.
"There will be no dinner for me except what I can scoop out of a tin; noservants to do one bally thing for me; no bed.
"Listen attentively," he continued, becoming slightly dramatic as heremembered more clearly the horrors of the preceding night--his first onIbis Island. "I shall go into that devilish bungalow and look aroundlike a scared dog, standing very carefully in the exact centre of theroom. And what will be the first object that my unwilling eyesencounter? A scorpion! Perhaps two, crawling out from the Spanish mosswith which the chinks of that miserable abode are stuffed. I shall slayit--or _them_--as the case may be. Then a blue-tailed lizard will friskover the ceiling--or perhaps one of those big, heavy ones with blunt,red heads. Doubtless at that same instant I shall discover a wood-tickadvancing up one of my trousers' legs. Spiders will begin to move acrossthe walls. Perhaps a snake or two will then develop from some shadowycorner."
He waved his arm impressively and pointed at the sleeping puppy.
"Under such circumstances," he said pathetically, "would you care todeprive me of this little companion sent by Providence for me to rescueout of the sea?"
She, too, had been steadily pouring sand between her white fingersduring the moving recital of his woes. Now she looked up, controlling ashudder.
"Your circumstances, with all their attendant horrors, are my own," shebegan. "I, also, since last night, inhabit a picturesque but most horridbungalow not very far from here; and every one of the creatures youdescribe, and several others also, inhabit it with me. Do you wonder Iwant _some_ companionship? Do you wonder that I am inclined to cling tothis little dog--whether or not it may seem ill bred and selfish toyou?"
He said: "I suppose all the houses in this latitude harbour tarantulas,centipedes, and similar things, but you must remember that you do notlive alone as I do----"
"Yes, I do!"
"What?"
"Certainly. I engaged two black servants in St. Augustine, but they havenot arrived, and I was obliged to remain all alone in that frightfulplace last night."
"That's very odd," he said uneasily. "Where _is_ this bungalow ofyours?"
She started to speak, checked herself as at a sudden and unpleasantthought, looked up at him searchingly; and found his steel-grey eyes assearchingly fixed on her.
"Where is _your_ bungalow?" she asked, watching him intently.
"Mine is situated at the west end of a coquina quarry. Where is yours?"
"Mine," she answered unsteadily but defiantly, "is situated on theeastern edge of a coquina quarry."
"Why did _you_ choose a quarry bungalow?"
"Why did _you_ choose one?"
"Because the coquina quarry happens to belong to me."
"The quarry," she retorted, "belongs to _me_."
He was almost too disgusted to speak, but he contrived to say, quietlyand civilly:
"You are Constance Leslie, are you not?"
"Yes.... You are Johnson Gray?"
"Yes, I am," he answered, checking his exasperation and forcing a smile."It's rather odd, isn't it--rather unfortunate, I'm afraid."
"It _is_ unfortunate for you, Mr. Gray," she returned firmly. "I'msorry--really sorry that this long journey is in vain."
"So am I," he said, with lips compressed.
For a few moments they sat very still, not looking at each other.
Presently he said: "It was a fool of a will. He was a most disagreeableold man."
"_I_ never saw him."
"Nor I. They say he was a terror. But he had a sense of humour--a grimand acrid one--the cynic's idea of wit. No doubt he enjoyed it. No doubthe is enjoying this very scene between you and me--if he's anywherewithin sight or hearing----"
"Don't say that!" she excla
imed, almost violently. "It is horribleenough on this island without hinting of ghosts."
"Ghosts? Of course there are ghosts. But I'd rather have my bungalowfull of 'em than full of scorpions."
"We differ," she said coldly.
Silence fell again, and again was broken by Gray.
"Certainly the old fellow had a sense of humour," he insisted; "the willhe left was one huge joke on every relative who had expectations.Imagine all that buzzard family of his who got nothing to amount toanything; and all those distant relatives who expected nothing and gotalmost everything!"
"Do you think that was humourous?"
"Yes; don't you? And I think what he did about you and me was reallyvery funny. Don't you?"
"Why is it funny for a very horrid old man to make a will full of grimjokes and jests, and take that occasion to tell everybody exactly whathe thinks of everybody?"
"He said nothing disagreeable about _us_ that I recollect," remarkedGray, laughing.
Pouring sand between her fingers, she said:
"I remember very well how he mentioned us. He said that he had neverseen either one of us, and was glad of it. He said that as I was anorphan with no money, and that as you were similarly situated, and thatas neither you nor I had brains enough to ever make any, he would leavehis coquina quarry to that one of us who had brains enough to get herefirst and stake the claim. Do you call that an agreeable manner ofmaking a bequest?"
Gray laughed easily: "_I_ don't care what he thought about myintellectual capacity."
"I suppose that I don't either. And anyway the bequest may be valuable."
"There is no doubt about that," said Gray.
She let her brown eyes rest thoughtfully on the ocean.
"I think," she said, "that I shall dispose of it at once."
"The dog?" he asked politely.
Her pretty, hostile eyes met his:
"The quarry," she replied calmly.
"Good Lord!" he exclaimed. "Do you think also that _you_ arrived at thequarry before I arrived?"
"You will find my stake with its written notice sticking in the sand onthe eastern edge of the quarry, about a hundred yards south of mybungalow!"
"_My_ notice is very carefully staked on the western edge of the quarryabout the same distance from my bungalow," he said. "I placed it thereyesterday evening."
"I also placed my notice there yesterday evening!"
"By what train did you come?"
"By the Verbena Special. It arrived at St. Augustine yesterday at fouro'clock in the afternoon."
"_I_ also came on that train."
"I," she said, "waited in St. Augustine only long enough to telephonefor servants, and then I jumped into a victoria and drove over thecauseway to the eastern end of the quarry."
"I did exactly the same," he insisted, "only I drove to the western endof the quarry. What time did you set your notice?"
"I don't know exactly. It was just about dusk."
"It was just about dusk when I drove in _my_ stake!"
After a moment's idling in the sand with her slim fingers, she looked upat him a trifle pale.
"I suppose this means a lawsuit."
"I'm afraid it does."
"I'm sorry. If I wasn't in such desperate need of money----" But shesaid no more, and he also remained silent for a while. Then:
"I shall write to my attorney to come down," he said soberly. "You hadbetter do the same this evening."
She nodded.
"It's got to be settled, of course," he continued; "because I'm too poorto concede the quarry to you."
"It is that way with me also. I do not like to appear so selfish toyou, but what am I to do, Mr. Gray?"
"What am _I_ to do? I honestly believe that I staked the quarry beforeyou did.... And my financial situation does not permit me to relinquishmy claim on the quarry."
"What a horrid will that was!" she exclaimed, the quick tears ofvexation springing into her brown eyes. "If you knew how hard I'veworked, Mr. Gray--all these years having nothing that other girlshave--being obliged to work my way through college, and then take aposition as governess--and just as it seemed that relief was insight--_you_ come into sight!--you!--and you even try to take away mylittle dog--the only thing I--I ever really cared for since I have--havebeen alone in the world----"
Gray sprang up nervously: "I'm sorry--terribly sorry for you! You maykeep the dog anyway."
She had turned away her face sharply as the quick tears started. Now shelooked around at him in unfeigned surprise.
"But--what will _you_ do?"
"Oh, I can stand being alone. I don't mind. There's no doubt about it;you must have the dog----" He glanced down at the little creature andcaught his breath sharply as the puppy opened one eye and wagged itsabsurd tail feebly.
The girl rose lightly and gracefully from the sand, refusing hisassistance, and stood looking down at the puppy. The little thing was onits clumsy feet, wagging and wriggling with happiness, and gazing upadoringly from Gray to Constance Leslie.
The girl looked at the dog, then at Gray.
"It--it seems too cruel," she said. "I can't bear to take him away fromyou."
"Oh, that's all right. I'll get on very well alone."
"You are generous. You are very generous. But after the way youexpressed yourself concerning the dog, I don't feel that I can possiblytake him."
"You really must. I don't blame you at all for falling in love with him.Besides, one adores what one rescues, above everything in the world."
"But--but I thought that you thought _you_ had rescued him?" shefaltered.
"It was a close call. I think perhaps that you arrived just a fractionof a second sooner than I did."
"Do you really? Or do you say that to be kind? Besides, I am not at allsure. It is perfectly possible--even, perhaps, probable that you sawhim before I did."
"No, I don't think so. I think he's your dog, Miss Leslie. I surrenderall claim to him----"
"No! I can not permit you to do such a thing! Forgive me. I was excitedand a little vexed.... I know you would be very unhappy if I took thelittle thing----"
"Please take him. I do love him already, but that is why it gives me ap-p-peculiar pleasure to relinquish all claims in y-your favour."
"Thank you. It is--is charming of you--exceedingly nice of you--but howcan I accept such a real sacrifice?... You would be perfectly wretchedto-night without him."
"So would you, Miss Leslie."
"I shall be wretched anyway. So it doesn't really matter."
"It _does_ matter! If this little dog can alleviate your unhappiness inthe slightest degree, I insist most firmly that you take him!"
The girl stood irresolute, lifted her brown eyes to his, lowered them,and gazed longingly at the puppy.
"Do you suppose he will follow me?"
"Try!"
So she walked one way and Gray started in the opposite direction, andthe bewildered puppy, who at first supposed it was all in play, dashedfrom one back to the other, until the widening distance between themperplexed and finally began to trouble him.
Nevertheless, he continued to run back and forth from Gray to ConstanceLeslie as long as his rather wavering legs held out. Then, unable todecide, he stood panting midway between them, whining at moments, until,unable to understand or endure the spectacle of his two best belovedsvanishing in opposite directions, he put up his nose and howled.
Then both best beloveds came back running, and Constance snatched him toher breast and covered him with caresses.
"What on earth are we to do?" she said in consternation. "We nearlybroke his heart that time."
"_I_ don't know what to do," he admitted, much perplexed. "This pupseems to be impartial in his new-born affections."
"I thought," she said, with an admirable effort at self-denial, "that herather showed a preference for _you_!"
"Why?"
"Because when he was sitting there howling his little heart out, heseemed to look toward you a litt
le oftener than he gazed in mydirection."
Gray rose nobly to the self-effacing level of his generous adversary:
"No, the balance was, if anything, in your favour. I'm very certain thathe will be happier with you. T-take him!"
The girl buried her pretty face in the puppy's coat as though it hadbeen a fluffy muff.
"What a pity," she said, in a muffled voice, "that he is compelled tomake a choice. It will break his heart; I know it will. He is tooyoung."
"He'll very soon forget me, once he is alone with you in your bungalow."
The girl shook her head and stood caressing the puppy. The soft, whitehand, resting on the dog's head, fascinated Gray.
"Perhaps," he ventured, "I had better walk as far as your bungalow withyou.... It may spare the dog a certain amount of superficial anguish."
She nodded, dreamy-eyed there in the sunshine. And of what she might bethinking he could form no idea.
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