The Big-Town Round-Up
Page 26
CHAPTER XXV
JOHNNIE SAYS HE IS MUCH OBLIGED
Beatrice, just back from riding with Bromfield, stood on the steps infront of the grilled door and stripped the gloves from her hands.
"I'm on fire with impatience, Bee," he told her. "I can hardly waitfor that three weeks to pass. The days drag when I'm not with you."
He was standing a step or two below her, a graceful, well-groomedfigure of ease, an altogether desirable catch in the matrimonialmarket. His dark hair, parted in the middle, was beginning to thin,and tiny crow's-feet radiated from the eyes, but he retained the light,slim figure of youth. It ought not to be hard to love ClarendonBromfield, his fiancee reflected. Yet he disappointingly failed tostir her pulses.
She smiled with friendly derision. "Poor Clary! You don't look like aVesuvius ready to erupt. You have such remarkable self-control."
His smile met hers. "I can't go up and down the street ringing a belllike a town crier and shouting it out to everybody I meet."
Round the corner of the house a voice was lifted in tuneless song.
"Oh, I'm goin' home Bull-whackin' for to spurn; I ain't got a nickel, And I don't give a dern. 'T is when I meet a pretty girl, You bet I will or try, I'll make her my little wife, Root hog or die."
"You see Johnnie isn't ashamed to shout out his good intentions," shesaid.
"Johnnie isn't engaged to the loveliest creature under heaven. Hedoesn't have to lie awake nights for fear the skies will fall and blothim out before his day of bliss."
Beatrice dropped a little curtsy. She held out her hand in dismissal."Till to-morrow, Clary."
As Bromfield turned away, Johnnie came round a corner of the housedragging a garden hose. He was attacking another stanza of the song:
"There's hard times on old Bitter Creek That never can be beat. It was root hog or die Under every wagon sheet. We cleared up all the Indians, Drank . . ."
The puncher stopped abruptly at sight of his mistress.
"What did you drink that has made you so happy this morning, Johnnie?"she asked lightly.
The cowpuncher's secret burst from him. "I done got married, MissBeatrice."
"You--what?"
"I up and got married day before yesterday," he beamed.
"And who's the happy girl?"
"Kitty Mason. We jes' walked to the church round the corner. Clay hestood up with us and give the bride away. It's me 'n' her for Arizona_poco pronto_."
Beatrice felt a queer joyous lift inside her as of some weight that hadgone. In a single breath Johnnie had blown away the mists ofmisunderstanding that for weeks had clouded her vision. Her heart wentout to Clay with a rush of warm emotion. The friend she had distrustedwas all she had ever believed him. He was more--a man too stanch todesert under pressure any one who had even a slight claim on him.
"I want to meet her. Will you bring her to see me this afternoon,Johnnie?" she asked.
His face was one glad grin. "I sure will. Y'betcha, by jollies."
He did.
To Beatrice, busy writing a letter, came Jenkins some hours later.
"A young--person--to see you, Miss Whitford."
He said it with a manner so apologetic that it stressed his opinion ofthe social status of the visitor.
"What kind of a person?"
"A young woman, Miss. From the country, I tyke it."
"She didn't give you a card?"
"No, Miss. She came with the person Mr. Whitford took on to 'elp withthe work houtside."
"Oh! Show them both up. And have tea sent in, Jenkins."
Kitty's shy eyes lifted apprehensively to those of this slim youngpatrician so beautifully and simply gowned. Instantly her fears fled.Beatrice moved swiftly to her with both hands outstretched.
"I'm so glad to meet you."
She kissed the young wife with unaccustomed tenderness. For theColorado girl had about her a certain modesty that was disarming, anappeal of helplessness Beatrice could not resist.
Kitty, in the arms of her hostess, wept a few tears. She had beenunder a strain in anticipating the ordeal of meeting Johnnie'smistress, and she had discovered her to be a very sweet, warm-heartedgirl.
As for Johnnie, he had a miserably happy half-hour. He had brought hishat in with him and he did not know how to dispose of it. What he diddo was to keep it revolving in his hands. This had to be abandonedwhen Miss Whitford handed him a quite unnecessary cup of tea and asuperfluous plate of toasted English muffins. He wished his hands hadnot been so big and red and freckled. Also he had an uncomfortablesuspicion that his tow hair was tousled and uncombed in spite of hisattempts at home to plaster it down.
He declined sugar and cream because for some reason it seemed easier tosay "No'm" than "Yes," though he always took both with tea. And hedisgraced himself by scalding his tongue and failing to suppress thepain. Finally the plate, with his muffin, carefully balanced on hisknee, from some devilish caprice plunged over the precipice to thecarpet and the bit of china broke.
Whereupon Kitty gently reproved him, as was her wifely duty.
"I ain't no society fellow," the distressed puncher explained to hishostess, tiny beads of perspiration on his forehead.
Beatrice had already guessed as much, but she did not admit it toJohnnie. She and Kitty smiled at each other in that common superioritywhich their sex gives them to any mere man upon such an occasion. ForMrs. John Green, though afternoon tea was to her too an alien custom,took to it as a duck does to water.
Miss Whitford handed Johnnie an envelope. "Would it be too muchtrouble for you to take a letter to Mr. Lindsay?" she asked verycasually as they rose to go.
The bridegroom said he was much obliged and he would be plumb tickledto take a message to Clay.
When Clay read the note his blood glowed. It was a characteristictwo-line apology:
I've been a horrid little prig, Clay [so the letter ran]. Won't youcome over to-morrow and go riding with me?
BEATRICE