CHAPTER XXIII.
IN THE NOOK.
That afternoon was to be long remembered by all the visitors at MerryHome. It passed pleasantly in spite of the fact that Hans insisted on"rending a selection" on the flute and seemed rather disappointed anddowncast when they begged him not to play any more.
"Der musig haf no heart for you," he complained. "Maype you vould like apopular song to sing to me. I vill gif you 'Efrybody Vorks Poor Vather.'Yes? No?"
"Don't yez do it, Hans," entreated Barney. "We have suffered enoughalready."
"Und id vos such a peautiful song!" moaned Dunnerwurst. "I understandtder author uf dot song got only fife hundret dollars for writin' id."
"Waal," drawled Gallup, "maybe it was his first offense. Did he pay thefine?"
"Fife hundret dollars vos a small amoundt," said Hans. "Still I vouldlike to add it py my 'lefen dollars and seventeen cents vot I haf mypocket in."
"How much would that make in all?" questioned Gallup. "You always was arippin' good mathematicker, Hans, though seems to me you did git alittle balled up in substraction. If you've gut eleven dollars andsixteen cents in your pocket, and I should take five dollars away fromyou, whaot would be the result?"
"You vould be carried avay an ambulance in," said the Dutchman promptly.
Carker had bestowed a great deal of attention on Juanita. Although shepretended not to notice this, Mrs. Morton was waiting her opportunity,and it came when Greg strolled away alone beneath the trees. In a fewmoments she made an excuse and followed him. Finding him seated on arustic bench in a little nook, she uttered an exclamation of pretendedsurprise over discovering him there.
"Why, Greg," she fluttered, "are you here?"
He rose at once.
"Yes, I'm here," he answered. "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Morton, if Ialarmed you. I'll not bother you if you wish to sit here."
"Oh, you foolish boy!" she laughed, placing her hands on his breast andpushing him back on the seat. "Sit down. Isn't this a delightful place!We're all alone here by ourselves, and nobody can see or hear us."
She placed herself at his side.
"It might be somewhat embarrassing for you if any one should discover ushere," said Greg.
"Embarrassing for me? What a foolish idea! You always were a foolishfellow, Greg Carker."
"You've told me so before."
"And told you the truth."
"I presume you still think so. You thought me foolish because of mysocialistic beliefs. You used to make sport of me. I haven't forgottenthat."
"The trouble with you, Greg, is that you take things too seriously. Younever can see a joke. If any one plays a joke on you, you're offended,and you try to get even. You've been getting even with me to-day."
"In what manner?"
"By the way you made eyes at that insipid creature, Juanita."
"I wouldn't call her insipid if I were in your place," he remonstrated."It doesn't seem nice of you, Madge--I mean Mrs. Morton."
"Oh, call me Madge. There is no reason why you should be so extremelyformal. I knew you before I met George Morton."
He shrugged his shoulders.
"I thought I knew you," he retorted, "but I discovered I was mistaken."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because it is true."
"I don't believe you ever cared for me, Greg."
"And I know you never really cared for me. If you had, you'd not havecast me over as you did for Morton."
"But I couldn't do anything with you, Gregory. You persisted in throwingyour life away."
"In what manner?"
"In becoming a socialist. In lecturing on socialism in defiance of yourfather's wishes and my entreaties. Your father threatened to cut you offwithout a dollar."
"I believe he's made a will in which I am given the liberal sum of onedollar," said Carker. "So you see he has not quite cut me off without adollar. The money made all the difference with you, Madge. Morton waswealthy. I had nothing in the world, and no particular prospects. Youmarried Morton."
"Well, a girl has to look out for herself in these days."
"But you pretended that you loved me."
"I did," she declared earnestly. "I loved you then, Greg, and I've lovedyou ever since."
Again he shrugged his shoulders, and a low laugh came from his lips.
"You don't believe me!" she exclaimed. "If you only knew how much ithurt me to see you smiling into the eyes of that Spanish girl! Oh, Ilonged to choke her!"
"How do you think I felt when you dropped me and became George Morton'swife?"
"I'd never done that had you been sensible. Had you promised your fatherthat you'd give up socialism, I'd have clung to you through everything,Gregory. You know socialism is so ridiculous! And socialists are theskuff and rabble of humanity. All the cranks and crackbrains aresocialists."
"Every great thinker since the world began has been called a crank. Iadmit that there are many undesirable persons allied with thesocialists, but because of that the great principles of the party cannotbe condemned. The theory of socialism is founded on the rock of justiceand----"
"Oh, I've heard all that before, Gregory. Don't talk it any more. Howcan you blame me if I did not wish to marry a penniless man absolutelywithout prospects?"
"I don't blame you," he said. "At the same time, Madge, I hate to thinkthat you married George Morton simply for his money. I hate to think youdeceived him in such a manner."
"Oh, George was a good fellow, and money is an absolute necessity,Gregory. Had I possessed a fortune, it would have been different. Themere fact that your father had cut you off would have made no differenceto me then. It makes no difference to me now."
"But it's too late now, Madge."
"Oh, no, it isn't too late."
He drew back from her, and the look she saw in his eyes brought a suddenflush to her cheeks.
"You think me bold. You think me forward," she hastily said. "Long agoyou made me confess that I loved you. Do you think I forgot you? Oh,no; there's been never a day since we parted that I've not longed to seeyou again."
In spite of her hand on his arm, he rose to his feet.
"This won't do, Madge," he said calmly. "You're a married woman. What ifyour husband should hear you speaking such words to me?"
She was on her feet also.
"My husband--why, Gregory,--don't you know--haven't you heard? I have nohusband!"
"You--have--no--husband?"
"No. I'm a widow. I've just come out of mourning. George has been deadmore than a year."
Carker seemed turned to stone. She was standing squarely in front ofhim, and she placed both her hands on his arms, looking up into hiseyes.
"I supposed you knew," she murmured. "He left me in comfortablecircumstances, and there is now no reason why I should worry about thefuture. If your father is unrelenting, it can make but little differenceto us. Even though we may not agree about socialism, I'll let you haveyour way. Everything has come out right at last, Greg. Isn't itsplendid!"
Before he realized her intention, one of her arms slipped round hisneck.
At that moment Juanita Garcia passed the entrance to that little nookand saw them. She did not pause, but, pale-faced and wide-eyed, hurriedsilently on.
Frank Merriwell's Son; Or, A Chip Off the Old Block Page 23
