Читать книгу Lightnin' - Bacon Frank - Страница 5

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?"