Kitabı oku: «Lightnin'», sayfa 3
"No," replied Bill, slowly, a little nervously; "no – but mother an' Millie is kinder hot on my trail fer to make me do it. Them two fellers has sure got 'em goin', John! Well, I guess as they'll all be in bed by the time I gets back now, so I'll be gettin' along. You'll be up to-morrow, John?"
"I'll come – don't worry, Lightnin'," said Marvin. "Better go now, Bill; you've got a long walk ahead of you, you know."
He dropped into his chair and reached thoughtfully for one of his law-books. Bill opened the door; then turned back for a moment.
"Studyin' them books?" he inquired.
"Trying to," Marvin remarked, turning a page.
"That's right – that's how I got my start!" said Bill, as he went out.
CHAPTER V
The following morning, rising at dawn, Mrs. Jones again tried to awaken her husband to a full sense of his shortcomings anent his foolish reluctance to sign the deed to the property. Bill, however, merely turned on the pillow, gave her a brief smile, and dropped quickly into a gentle snore. After several more attempts to awaken him and impress on him the fact that his absence the day before had kept Thomas and Hammond on a day longer when they had important business calling them to the city, she gave up in despair and went below to look after breakfast, taking with her the packet of letters that should have been in the hands of the guests the afternoon previous.
The morning was a busy one for Mrs. Jones and Millie. Bill, coming down unexpectedly, escaped them, calling through the door, on his way out, that he was going for the mail. When noon came and Bill did not turn up, Mrs. Jones's anxiety reached fever pitch, and she sought Millie in the hope that she could offer some solution of the problem of forcing the deed through Bill's unwilling hands.
At breakfast, Thomas and Hammond again had painted to her and Millie golden pictures of the ease and even luxury that would be theirs as a result of the sale of the property. Trembling with anticipation, Mrs. Jones had then and there put her name to the deed which disposed of her last bit of land; and she was determined that, no matter what it cost her in seeming coldness and harshness toward him, Bill should be made to place his name directly under hers. She made up her mind that he should be brought to terms as soon as he got back; hence her extreme annoyance as the morning went by without his showing up.
As she went about the house, looking for Millie, her determination took on a hard and bitter aspect which was only softened when she caught the sound of Raymond Thomas's voice. He was speaking softly to Millie in the lobby. Mrs. Jones belonged to a generation not so long past when eavesdropping was not considered a wholly unworthy occupation if it tended to place the culprit in a position to know the inner secrets of those bound by the tie of relationship. For some time, so cleverly did he manage her, Mrs. Jones had felt a motherly tenderness for Thomas springing up within her, and she hoped and dreamed that her affection would have a chance to express itself. That Thomas was in love with Millie she had fully decided on. It was for this reason that the very sight of John Marvin, whom she knew to be a poor young man with no particular prospects, filled her with displeasure. Then, too, she did not approve of her husband's friendship with Marvin, having a strong suspicion that Marvin was influencing Bill against Thomas, and an intuition that Bill, in his unworldliness, would stand back of Marvin's love for Millie.
And so it was that the sight of Millie smiling up at Thomas as he looked earnestly down into the girl's brown eyes set Mrs. Jones's heart beating hopefully – and sent her behind a curtain to listen to what was being said.
Thomas had just come in from the veranda, where he had begged to be excused from accompanying two prospective widows on a walk to see the waterfall at the edge of the place. He was smiling with affected indifference when he met Mildred, who had just come down one of the stairways, of which there were two, one leading to the Nevada side of the house and the other to the California side. "It's a shame to miss a stroll with them!" belying his words with a sneering toss of the head and shrug of the shoulders.
Millie's brow was drawn thoughtfully into wrinkles and there was a wistful pucker to her mouth.
At once he was all attention. "What is the matter, Millie?" he asked, a note bordering on tenderness in his voice.
"It's daddy again. He did not get back until midnight, and he was off again this morning before mother or I could prevent him. I just heard the boarders complaining about the mail service. It's all so hard on mother, and yet" – she hesitated, her mind reverting to her foster-father's kindness to her through all the years of her babyhood and girlhood – "and yet," she went on, "he's really so good and kind at heart, he really would feel dreadfully if he understood what he puts us through." She stood by the newel-post, her eyes pleading for advice.
Thomas took her hand and looked at it thoughtfully.
For a moment Millie let it lie in his; then her lids dropped and she blushed, withdrawing her hand and walking slowly toward one of the desks, of which there were also two, one on each side of the hall.
Thomas followed her, bending down and looking into her face. "I would not let his absence bother you. I'm going up-stairs to pack my grips. As soon as I finish I'll go after him," he said, soothingly, as, one hand in pocket, he let the other flip a pack of cards on the table.
"Oh, you've been too kind already," Millie protested, again meeting his eyes and turning away, her lips quivering.
"Oh, I'm not so kind as you think!" He laughed, an honest humor rising to infrequent expression. "I've got to see Lightnin' myself before I go. He hasn't signed the deed yet, and – "
"I really can't see what he's got to do with it!" Millie interrupted. "The place is mother's. Oh, well" – she sighed and shook her head in despair – "I suppose to be safe his signature must be obtained. I do hope he'll turn up before you leave. It's too bad – "
"Well, if he doesn't, maybe you and Mrs. Jones can make him see the light. I'll leave the papers with you, and when he signs them you can send for me and I'll be up and – "
"You don't know how much I appreciate all you've done for us. Now don't say it's nothing." Millie turned and put her hand on his arm, her eyes resting intently on his.
He bent over her for a minute, then straightened up as he heard a slight movement in the portière, a gleam of wisdom illuminating his face. He smiled with a nonchalant disregard of his former intention and backed away from the girl.
Millie's color mounted her forehead. Shyly she withdrew her hand from his arm and fumbled with the bunch of keys about her neck. After an awkward silence she continued:
"You've been so good to us. When mother and I've been in such distress that we did not know where to turn and mother was nearly frantic, you come forward and in no time arrange everything so that mother and daddy are going to be better off than they ever dreamed of. For years, you know, mother and I have worried about her and daddy's old age. Piece by piece we've sold the land and the timber. Even if this place does pay it will only be running expenses, with nothing saved up, as you said. And then the Nevada divorce laws might change. Oh! You've been so kind," she breathed, in deep sincerity.
"Now don't make me ashamed," Thomas coaxed in his soothing way, backing slowly toward the stairs on the California side. "What I've done is just the simplest thing in the world. I grew to be very fond of you when you were in my office, Millie, and I'm glad to be of what service I can."
As he was half-way up the stairs, Mrs. Jones emerged from behind the portière. He stopped and bent in a nattering bow, a twinkle in his eye. "Why, good morning, Mrs. Jones!" he called down.
"Oh, excuse me!" Mrs. Jones, a guilty conscience bringing his courtly sarcasm, which would otherwise have escaped her gullible nature, into notice, stepped back, turning to the kitchen, whence she had come when she stopped to listen. But Millie followed her, and, with arm around her waist, drew her into the room and seated her near the table.
"You're not going into that hot kitchen again to-day," remonstrated Millie, planting a daughterly kiss on her cheek. "You've been out there working like a slave for three mortal hours."
Mrs. Jones hid her hands awkwardly under her apron and reddened as she glanced up at Thomas, who had come back from above-stairs.
"I don't look presentable," she murmured, fidgeting in the chair.
"Come now, you mustn't mind me," said Thomas, Millie adding her word to his: "Please stay there just for a few minutes, mother. You look ready to drop."
"She's always tellin' me that." Mrs. Jones showed her pleasure in Millie's concern by beaming knowingly from one to the other, an act which sent Millie to the desk, where she pretended to look at the register.
Thomas smiled. "Millie's right," he responded. "You do work a great deal too hard; but it won't be long now before you can say good-by to hard work for the rest of your life."
"Oh, Mr. Thomas!" Mrs. Jones arose, forgetting the red, hardened hands she had been endeavoring to hide behind the blue and white checked apron, and hastened to Thomas, holding them toward him in a gesture half of gratitude, half of pleading. "I can scarcely realize that all this is going to come true and we owe it all to you. I only wish I could tell you how grateful I am."
Thomas was quite determined to escape further enthusiasm, either on Millie's or on Mrs. Jones's part. His game nearly played, he wished to withdraw gracefully and without detriment to a certain lurking decency which had not quite been swept away. Thwarting Mrs. Jones's attempt to wring his hand in gratitude, he took two light bounds up the stairs, stopping to laugh back: "Well, I'm going to get out for fear you'll spoil me with a thankfulness I don't deserve. Hang on to her, Millie." He directed a gleam toward the young girl as she went up to her mother. "Make her take a rest."
"Oh dear! Do you think I've driven him away?" There was genuine concern in Mrs. Jones's voice as she sank back into the chair and gazed anxiously after Thomas.
"No, you haven't." Millie smoothed the brown hair which was fast streaking with gray from her brow, damp with excitement. "He is going up-stairs to pack. He's arranged everything about selling the place, and there's nothing more for him to stay – "
"You're here, ain't you?" Mrs. Jones folded her arms stiffly across her chest and assumed a rigid position in her chair as she questioned Millie with eyes suddenly grown fierce with the look of an angry hen when she thinks her brood has been disturbed.
"Oh, mother!" The girl pursed her lips into a pouting smile as she leaned over the back of the chair, an affectionate arm on Mrs. Jones's shoulder. "Please get that foolish idea out of your head. You know – "
"Know nothin'." Mrs. Jones's head jerked vehemently while she insisted: "Every letter you wrote home all the time you was workin' in his office showed that he cared for you."
"I never wrote anything of the sort!" Millie drew a surprised breath as her mouth was drawn into a tiny O of expostulation. "Never!" she reiterated, with a slight stamp of her foot, as she went to the California desk and became absorbed in the register.
"Oh, I could read between the lines! I ain't that stupid. If he isn't in love with you, why is he plannin' for us to come and live in San Francisco? Oh, won't it be grand!" Mrs. Jones, carried away by the recollection of a long-ago visit to the city, and by a dream of what a permanent life there would be, resumed her own hearty enthusiasm. "I want to live in the city real bad, but I'm just skeered to death I won't know how to dress. I want to get a lot o' pretty things 'n' be like the women I saw when I was at the Palace. Do ye think Bill 'll think I'm getting crazy?"
An indulgent smile from Millie met her uneasy but smiling gaze, and she went on: "I know I've talked about the city ever since I can remember, but now that it's in sight I'm awful afraid I'll be out o' place."
"Well, you'll not," answered Millie, going behind the counter to look at the letter-rack, almost empty. "I'm going to see that you have just as nice things as any of the women stopping here."
There was a silence as both of the women smiled in contented anticipation. Mrs. Jones was the first to speak, a sudden doubt expressing itself in an anxious frown and a narrowing of the eyes. "But there's Bill," she said, with a start. "I'm so afraid of the way he'll act!"
"Daddy 'll be all right, I'm sure."
Mrs. Jones composed herself and began planning. "When his pension comes, you must take him to town and buy him some new clothes. Them others we got before didn't fit a bit good."
Millie turned quickly at the mention of her father's pension, remembering that it was time for it to arrive. She reminded her mother of this fact.
Mrs. Jones's gaiety had brief life after Millie's remark. "He ain't back with the mail! I'll bet – "
"Oh, mother!" Millie, deeply concerned, came from behind the desk and went up to the older woman, questioning, "You don't suppose his pension has come?"
"I think it's gone!" Mrs. Jones bowed emphatically in a rising voice and hurried to the desk on the Nevada side, where she took a cursory but none the less exhaustive look at the mail indexes. "I found him hanging around this desk this morning, and when I come in he beat it, sayin', before I could stop him, that he was goin' after the mail. I wonder – " She stopped and gave a deep groan of acquiescence. "Huh! Huh!" She had opened up the top of the desk to find a half-filled flask. "There!" she exclaimed, holding it to the light. "He was waiting for a chance to get this when I shooed him away!"
Millie put her arm around her and drew her into the middle of the room, trying to soothe her. "Anyway, don't let's blame him for anything until we're sure. He may come home perfectly all right. You know he loves the woods and the lake and the autumn coloring which is so wonderful now. He always lingers like this. Please go up-stairs and have a good rest." Millie tried to lead her mother toward the stairs, but Mrs. Jones gently shook the girl's arm from about her waist and went toward the kitchen.
"Where are you going?" Millie asked, standing still, a puzzled frown giving place to an understanding laugh as Mrs. Jones hesitated and looked at the floor, answering in a manner half ashamed: "Why – well – I thought – " she stammered, "he might come home soon, an' he's used to findin' somethin' good kept warm – though he don't deserve it!"
She hesitated, her kindly, better nature shining in her eyes, battling for expression. "Yes – please set a place for him, Millie!" And Mrs. Jones hastily disappeared into the kitchen to avoid the girl's rippling laugh of gentle amusement. Smiling to herself, Millie crossed the lobby and went into the dining-room.
The moment she had left the lobby the street door of the hotel was pushed open cautiously and an inquiring head thrust itself in. The head was that of Bill Jones. Evidently satisfied that the coast was clear, Bill came slowly into the lobby. Looking warily up at the stairs on either side, and toward the dining-room and kitchen doors, he eased himself softly over to the Nevada desk, raised the top and fumbled expectantly inside.
CHAPTER VI
As Bill reached the desk and lifted the top, another gray-haired old man, possibly the same age as Lightnin', though larger and huskier in build, stole in through the street door and stood there doubtfully, puffing a cigar. He looked about fearfully, evidently ready to decamp at an instant's notice; but his glance, traveling back to the figure at the desk, bespoke a childlike trustfulness in Bill Jones. This gentleman's clothes were as disreputable as might be, as was his battered slouch-hat. His face was very red and very unshaven, and his expression was a comical mixture of uncertainty as to his welcome on the premises and maudlin kindliness toward the world at large. He rejoiced in the name of "Zeb," and was a down-and-out prospector, a relic of the past. His only reason for existence these days seemed to be that he was a crony and devout satellite of Bill's – to the great aggravation of Mrs. Jones. There was a legend in the district that Zeb and Bill had spent many years together in the old days, up and down the trails. There seemed to be considerable truth in the story. Anyway, no efforts of Mrs. Jones's or of anybody else's could make Bill forget his pal. Zeb was always sure of a meal, or a drink and a cigar, provided Lightnin' could find a way of producing those necessities of a broken-down prospector's life.
Bill felt around in the desk for a minute, while Zeb watched, fearfully, hopefully; then Lightnin' turned around, disappointment in his face. But before he could break the sad news regarding the strange disappearance of a half-filled flask, Zeb held up a warning finger and began to back through the door. His ear, ever keen for the swish of Mrs. Jones's skirts, reported danger.
"What's the matter, Zeb?" Bill asked. "Aw, come back. What ye 'fraid of?" With a disgusted motion he beckoned Zeb into the room again.
But Zeb, answering the warning that had never failed him, stayed close to the door, whispering back to Bill, "Where's your old woman?"
"That's all right. Come on in. She ain't here now." Bill, determined in his search, lifted the lid a second time and began to take out the contents of the drawer.
Zeb, taking heart, tiptoed up to him and, looking over his shoulder, murmured, contemptuously, "I don't believe you've got a drop."
"I'll show ye!" Looking intently under the lid, Bill's voice was half smothered. It stopped short when the kitchen door flew open and Mrs. Jones burst with emphatic and quick tread into the room.
She did not pay heed to Bill at once. Zeb received the full force of her mood. "Clear out now!" she called, in no gentle tone, as she swept up to him – an unnecessary action, as Zeb, catching one glance of the irate woman, made double-quick time in getting out of the door and down the steps of the veranda.
Zeb disposed of, Mrs. Jones turned her attention to her errant husband. Both arms akimbo, she stood still in the middle of the floor and concentrated her glare upon him.
"Bill Jones," she asked, in a loud, rasping tone, "where have you been?"
Bill had put down the lid at the first hint of her entrance. While she was addressing Zeb he had quietly slipped behind the desk and busied himself with the mail which he had drawn from the back pocket of his trousers. Whistling softly to himself, he sorted the letters, placing them in their proper pigeonholes.
He did not answer Mrs. Jones at once, but went on whistling. After a second in which he decided that a soft answer might draw the sting from her wrath, he stood still and, without looking around, said, gently, "Hello, mother." Without waiting for a reply, he went on sorting the mail.
The fire in Mrs. Jones's eye flamed brighter. Nothing exasperated her as did Bill's refusal to take her tempers seriously. It was not easy to do all of the fighting – one reason why Bill usually succeeded in carrying his idleness with a high hand. But this time she was not going to be ignored. The conference with Hammond and Thomas, the knowledge that he had been looking for his flask – that he was looking for it more for Zeb's sake than his own, this time, made no difference – as well as complaints by the guests because of Bill's tardiness with the mail, had exhausted her patience and whetted her into bringing Bill to quick order.
"Do you know what time it is?" She took a step closer to Bill, her voice retaining its hard ring.
Bill paid no attention to the question, but went on whistling and sorting the mail.
"It's after two o'clock!" She stamped her foot and glared at him.
Her glare fell on unseeing eyes, her tones on unheeding ears, for the uneven tenor of Bill's whistle kept up and the spasmodic sorting of the mail went on.
"Let's see," he said, softly, to himself, "Mrs. Taft's letter – she's in Number Four, ain't she?" he addressed his wife. Receiving no answer himself this time, he kept on with his soliloquy, changing the letter to its proper place. "There! that's right. This one," he said, holding the envelop to the light and studying it, "is for Mr. Thomas." He hesitated and looked at it more closely. Placing the other letters on the desk, he came from behind it and went toward Mrs. Jones.
Noting that Mrs. Jones was interested in the letter and that she had made a quick move toward him, he changed his mind and sauntered to the other side of the room, still scrutinizing the letter in his hand. As he paused, he placed the envelop close to his eyes and read, "Raymond Thomas Es-Q."
Mrs. Jones, her arms folded across her adamant breast, narrowed her eyes into a quizzical stare. Satisfied that her estimate of Bill's condition was correct, she hastened to verify it. Going close to him, she demanded, "Bill, have you been drinkin'?"
For once in his life Bill could prove his innocence. He was quick to avail himself of the opportunity, and, much to her surprise, he turned and blew his blameless breath at her.
Mrs. Jones relaxed, exclaiming, in tones of relief, "Thank the Lord!"
"What's He got to do with it?" Bill asked, quickly.
Mrs. Jones smiled. For the time being her manner was mollified. She followed him to the desk behind which he had returned to the mail-rack. "You know," she explained, "it's 'way past dinner-time, and if you won't work, the least you can do is to be on time for your meals."
"I been workin'," Bill chirped, as he placed the last letter in its box and went toward the dining-room door.
Mrs. Jones placed herself in the middle of the room and in such a way that Bill could not reach his goal without passing her. "What work have you been doin'?" The sarcasm in the glance which pierced Bill's shifting gaze did not pierce his good humor. He continued to chirp. "I got the mail."
"The mail?" There was contempt in his wife's question and in the answer she gave to it. "The mail came at ten o'clock."
"I got it, didn't I?" Bill registered another cheerful quip.
Suddenly Mrs. Jones's mind recurred to the day of the month. Her contempt gave place to anxiety and she stepped close to her husband and looked into his face again. "Bill, was there a letter for you?" she asked.
Bill did not answer her with words. Instead he looked away from her and shook his head slowly.
"Bill Jones," his wife persisted, her tones reverting to their former clear coldness, "didn't your pension come to-day?"
"To-day?" Bill smiled a self-congratulatory smile for the word which gave him the loophole of escape. Had his wife omitted that one word he would have, for his honor's sake, been forced to admit that he had it. For it was a part of his peculiar code that under no circumstances was "mother" ever to be lied to. Prevarications, yes, but downright, indisputable lies, no. And that with vigorous emphasis. But now she had mentioned the day. The pension had not come to-day. It had reposed in his pocket since yesterday, where, true to his promise to John Marvin, it should remain until he had made up his mind to hand it over to his family. So he felt the coins in his pocket and looked up at her with a half-guilty grin, drawing out his words one by one, in halting tones. "Not – to – day."
"Well, when it does come," she said, pleasantly, "Millie's going to go to Truckee with you and buy you some clothes. You gotta have some new ones for when we goes to the city."
It was on the tip of Bill's tongue to reaffirm, as he had countless times, that he was never going to the city as long as he lived; but he had begun to realize in the last few days that tact must enter into his negotiations with his dissatisfied spouse. So he responded, mildly, "I got clothes enough."
Mrs. Jones made an impatient gesture and tossed her head in dismay. "I don't know what's got into you, Bill Jones. When you came courtin' me you had good clothes."
"This is the same suit." Bill's jest might have brought further nagging upon his shoulders, but Millie's entrance from the dining-room turned Mrs. Jones's attention to her.
"Oh, daddy, you're back!" Millie went quickly to her foster-father and attempted to put her arms about his neck.
He drew away from her, asking, quickly, "What of it?"
"Are you all right?" Her tones were anxious and her gaze not less so. Whereupon Bill proved his sobriety just as he had proved it to her mother.
"Now are you satisfied?" he asked, as she smiled at him.
Kissing him, Millie reminded him gently that it was past dinner-time and that he had better go into the dining-room, where something hot awaited him.
"Please come now, daddy," she added. "The girls want to get their work done."
Bill hesitated. He glanced surreptitiously over at the Nevada desk, where, to the best of his knowledge, he had deposited a half-filled flask the night previous. His wife's eye, however, was on him. Suddenly she stepped up to him and took him firmly by the arm.
"Bill Jones," she said, "you're comin' right inside now an' eat! Whatever else is on your mind can wait – an' it might be a waste o' time, anyway!"
Finding himself propelled toward the dining-room, Lightnin' cast an appealing, whimsical glance at Millie, but she covertly shook her head to indicate that even she could not gainsay Mrs. Jones just then.
Left alone, Millie busied herself at the desk with some accounts which she wanted to finish before the arrival of a fresh contingent of guests, due that afternoon. She put down her pencil after a few minutes of work, however, and leaned her elbows on the desk, her chin in her hands thoughtfully. She had a well-defined suspicion as to where Lightnin' had been the night previous, and – well, Millie was curious about it.
Her reflections were interrupted by the entrance of Lemuel Townsend. There was an air of importance about him. He was frock-coated and altogether spick and span.
"Hello, Millie!" he said, walking up to the desk and shaking hands with her. "I've been trying to get around here all week, but I'm mighty pressed for time these days, you know! How is everything? You're all filled up, I suppose?"
"Nevada is full," Millie answered, smiling; "it always is, but the California side is often empty. Oh, it's great fun – I call it the Hotel Lopside! Sometimes I'm sorry that we're giving it up."
"Oh! Then you've really decided to put through the idea of selling the place!"
"Yes. Mother made up her mind this morning, and I more than approve it, all things considered. Daddy hasn't – hasn't quite agreed, though, but it's for his own good. I don't quite understand daddy's objections. I wanted to talk to him this morning about it, but I didn't get a chance. There's been something mysterious in his manner lately."
"Something mysterious – about Lightnin'?"
"Yes," said Millie, thoughtfully. "Mother hasn't noticed it, of course, being so busy and worried – and outwardly daddy is his usual easy-going, amiable self. But I have a feeling that he has – or thinks he has – something up his sleeve. Daddy can't hide things from me, you know! Another thing, he doesn't seem to like Mr. Thomas at all – is downright rude to him at times. I can't understand it, for it isn't like daddy!"
Townsend frowned in a puzzled way. "Perhaps you're taking some of dear old Lightnin's notions too seriously, Millie," he remarked. "Though I must say that I have a great deal of faith in Bill. I've been a little out of touch with the situation lately," he went on, judicially, "but from what you and mother have told me about the proposed sale, and from the one or two talks I have had with Mr. Thomas, I am inclined to agree with you and mother that this sale is an excellent idea. So far as I can judge, it is a sound investment and all for the best."
"Of course it is!" said Millie. "But now – how about yourself? How is the campaign going, Mr. Townsend?"
"Splendidly! But it's rather trying, as I have to do most of the campaigning myself – even the odd jobs!"
He looked down at a bundle of large, printed placards which he carried under his arm. Withdrawing one, he held it up for her inspection. Millie read, "Vote for Lemuel Townsend for Superior Judge of the Second Judicial District."
"Would you mind if I tacked up some of these in the lobby?" he asked, joining in her laugh.
"Not at all!" Millie exclaimed. "I've a hammer and tacks right here in the desk. Let me help you – and I do so hope you'll win!"
Chatting, they proceeded to embellish the lobby with Lem Townsend's name and ambition. Their operations were brought to a pause by the arrival of the expected new guests.
