CHAPTER V
WANTED--AN OWNER
I have never reproached Miss Patty, but if she had only given me theletter to read or had told me the whole truth instead of a part of it,I would have understood, and things would all have been different. It isall very well for her to say that I looked worried enough already, andthat anyhow it was a family affair. I SHOULD HAVE BEEN TOLD.
All she did was to come up to me as I stood in the spring, with her faceperfectly white, and ask me if my Dicky Carter was the Richard Carterwho stayed at the Grosvenor in town.
"He doesn't stay anywhere," I said, with my feet getting cold, "butthat's where he has apartments. What has he been doing now?"
"You're expecting him on the evening train, aren't you?" she asked."Don't stare like that: my father's watching."
"He ought to be on the evening train," I said. I wasn't going to say Iexpected him. I didn't.
"Listen, Minnie," she said, "you'll have to send him away again themoment he comes. He must not go into the house."
I stood looking at her, with my mouth open.
"Not go into the house," I repeated, "with everybody waiting for him forthe last six days, and Mr. Stitt here to turn things over to him!"
She stood tapping her foot, with her pretty brows knitted.
"The wretch!" she cried, "the hateful creature as if things weren't badenough! I suppose he'll have to come, Minnie, but I must see him beforehe sees any one else."
Just then the bishop brought his glass over to the spring.
"Hot this time, Minnie," he said. "Do you know, I'm getting themineral-water habit, Patty! I'm afraid plain water will have noattraction for me after this."
He put his hand over hers on the rail. They were old friends, the bishopand the Jenningses.
"Well, how goes it to-day with the father?" he said in a low tone, andsmiling.
Miss Patty shrugged her shoulders. "Worse, if possible."
"I thought so," he said cheerfully. "If state of mind is any criterionI should think he has had a relapse. A little salt, Minnie." Miss Pattystood watching him while he tasted it.
"Bishop," she said suddenly, "will you do something for me?"
"I always have, Patty." He was very fond of Miss Patty, was the bishop.
"Then--to-night, not later than eight o'clock, get father to playcribbage, will you? And keep him in the card-room until nine."
"Another escapade!" he said, pretending to be very serious. "Patty,Patty, you'll be the death of me yet. Is thy servant a dog, that heshould do this thing?"
"Certainly NOT," said Miss Patty. "Just a dear, slightly bald, but stillvery distinguished slave!"
The bishop picked up her left hand and looked at the ring and from thatto her face.
"There will be plenty of slaves to kiss this little hand, where you aregoing, my child," he said. "Sometimes I wish that some nice red-bloodedboy here at home--but I dare say it will turn out surprisingly well asit is."
"Bishop, Bishop!" Mrs. Moody called. "How naughty of you, and with yourbridge hand waiting to be held!"
He carried his glass back to the table, stopping for a moment beside Mr.Jennings.
"If Patty becomes any more beautiful," he said, "I shall be in favor ofhaving her wear a mask. How are we young men to protect ourselves?"
"Pretty is as pretty does!" declared Mr. Jennings from behind hisnewspaper, and Miss Patty went out with her chin up.
Well, I knew Mr. Dick had been up to some mischief; I had suspected itall along. But Miss Patty went to bed, and old Mrs. Hutchins, who's asort of lady's-maid-companion of hers, said she mustn't be disturbed. Iwas pretty nearly sick myself. And when Mr. Sam came out at five o'clockand said he'd been in the long-distance telephone booth for an hourand had called everybody who had ever known Mr. Dick, and that he haddropped right off the earth, I just about gave up. He had got somedetectives, he said, and there was some sort of a story about his havingkept right on the train to Salem, Ohio, but if he had they'd lost thetrail there, and anyhow, with the railroad service tied up by the stormthere wasn't much chance of his getting to Finleyville in time.
Luckily Mr. Stitt was in bed with a mustard leaf over his stomach andice on his head, and didn't know whether it was night or morning. ButThoburn was going around with a watch in his hand, and Mr. Sam was forkilling him and burying the body in the snow.
At half past five I just about gave up. I was sitting in front of thefire wondering why I'd taken influenza the spring before from getting myfeet wet in a shower, when I had been standing in a mineral spring forso many years that it's a wonder I'm not web-footed. It was when I hadinfluenza that the old doctor made the will, you remember. Maybe I wascrying, I don't recall.
It was dark outside, and nothing inside but firelight. Suddenly I seemedto feel somebody looking at the back of my neck and I turned around.There was a man standing outside one of the windows, staring in.
My first thought, of course, was that it was Mr. Dick, but just as theface vanished I saw that it wasn't. It was older by three or four yearsthan Mr. Dick's and a bit fuller.
I'm not nervous. I've had to hold my own against chronic grouches toolong to have nerves, so I went to the door and looked out. The mancame around the corner just then and I could see him plainly in thefirelight. He was covered with snow, and he wore a sweater and noovercoat, but he looked like a gentleman.
"I beg your pardon for spying," he said, "but the fire looked so snug!I've been trying to get to the hotel over there, but in the dark I'velost the path."
"That's not a hotel," I snapped, for that touched me on the raw. "That'sHope Springs Sanatorium, and this is one of the Springs."
"Oh, Hope Springs, internal instead of eternal!" he said. "That'sawfully bad, isn't it? To tell you the truth, I think I'd better come inand get some; I'm short on hope just now."
I thought that was likely enough, for although his voice was cheerfuland his eyes smiled, there was a drawn look around his mouth, and hehadn't shaved that day. I wish I had had as much experience in learningwhat's right with folks as I have had in learning what's wrong withthem.
"You'd better come in and get warm, anyhow," I told him, "only don'tspring any more gags. I've been 'Hebe' for fourteen years and I'veserved all the fancy drinks you can name over the brass railing of thatspring. Nowadays, when a fellow gets smart and asks for a Mamie Taylor,I charge him a Mamie Taylor price."
He shut the door behind him and came over to the fire.
"I'm pretty well frozen," he said. "Don't be astonished if I melt beforeyour eyes; I've been walking for hours."
Now that I had a better chance to see him I'd sized up that drawn lookaround his mouth.
"Missed your luncheon, I suppose," I said, poking the fire log. Hegrinned rather sheepishly.
"Well, I haven't had any, and I've certainly missed it," he said.
"Fasting's healthy, you know."
I thought of Senator Biggs, who carried enough fat to nourish him formonths, and then I looked at my visitor, who hadn't an ounce of extraflesh on him.
"Nothing's healthy that isn't natural," I declared. "If you'd care fora dish of buttered and salted pop-corn, there's some on the mantel. It'spretty salty; the idea is to make folks thirsty so they'll enjoy themineral water."
"Think of raising a real thirst only to drown it with spring water!" hesaid. But he got the pop corn and he ate it all. If he hadn't had anyluncheon he hadn't had much breakfast. The queer part was--he was agentleman; his clothes were the right sort, but he had on patent leathershoes in all that snow and an automobile cap.
I put away the glasses while he ate. Pretty soon he looked up and thedrawn lines were gone. He wasn't like Mr. Dick, but he was the sametype, only taller and heavier built.
"And so it isn't a hotel," he remarked. "Well, I'm sorry. Thecaravansary in the village is not to my liking, and I had thought ofengaging a suite up here. My secretary usually attends to these things,but--don't take away all the glasses, Heb--I beg your pardon--but thethirst is
coming."
He filled the glass himself and then he came up and stood in front ofme, with the glass held up in the air.
"To the best woman I have met in many days," he said, not mocking butserious. "I was about to lie down and let the little birds cover mewith leaves." Then he glanced at the empty dish and smiled. "To butteredpop-corn! Long may it wave!" he said, and emptied the glass.
Well, I found a couple of apples in my pantry and brought them out, andafter he ate them he told me what had happened to him. He had been alittle of everything since he left college he was about twenty-five hadcrossed the Atlantic in a catboat and gone with somebody or other intosome part of Africa--they got lost and had to eat each other or lizards,or something like that--and then he went to the Philippines, and gotstuck there and had to sell books to get home. He had a little money,"enough for a grub-stake," he said, and all his folks were dead. Thena college friend of his wrote a rural play called Sweet Peas--"Greattitle, don't you think?" he asked--and he put up all the money. It wouldhave been a hit, he said, but the kid in the play--the one that unitesits parents in the last act just before he dies of tuberculosis--the kidtook the mumps and looked as if, instead of fading away, he was going toblow up. Everybody was so afraid of him that they let him die alone forthree nights in the middle of the stage. Then the leading woman took themumps, and the sheriff took everything else.
"You city folks seem to know so much," I said, "and yet you bring acountry play to the country! Why don't you bring out a play with womenin low-necked gowns, and champagne suppers, and a scandal or two? Theypacked Pike's Opera-House three years ago with a play called Why WomenSin."
Well, of course, the thing failed, and he lost every dollar he'd putinto it, which was all he had, including what he had in his pockets.
"They seized my trunks," he explained, "and I sold my fur-lined overcoatfor eight dollars, which took one of the girls back home. It's hard forthe women. A fellow can always get some sort of a job--I was coming uphere to see if they needed an extra clerk or a waiter, or chauffeur,or anything that meant a roof and something to eat--but I suppose theydon't need a jack-of-all-trades."
"No," I answered, "but I'll tell you what I think they're going to need.And that's an owner!"
Where There's a Will Page 5
