Читать книгу Crimson Mountain (Musaicum Romance Classics) - Grace Livingston Hill - Страница 5

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They arrived presently in front of the high school.

"They’ll be meeting in the principal’s office, I suppose, if they are still here," he said. "Would you like me to go in and find out?"

"Oh no. I’d better run in myself, and then if they are still there, I can save them a little time."

"Please don’t say that." He smiled. "My time is yours until I’ve seen you in possession of your car again. I’m really not in a hurry."

She looked into his frank eyes and quietly accepted his planning. "That’s very good of you," she said. "I thank you. I’ll be as quick as possible."

"All right. I’ll wait a few minutes now, in case they have left. And if the hour is up before you come, I’ll run across to the drugstore and telephone the garage."

She smiled and hurried up the walk into the school.

A moment later, he saw her shadow as she crossed the front window in the principal’s office and took a seat where he could see her.

He sat there in the car going over the strange events of the afternoon and trying to work them out clearly and define this odd feeling of exultation that seemed to dominate him, unlike any emotional stirring that had ever come to him before.

"Silly!" he said to himself. "She’s not in your class! Do all you can for her and then get on your way! Your paths will not cross again."

But still he sat and went over what had happened, remembering her tones of voice, the way she had lifted her eyes to look at him, the exquisite turn of cheek and lip and chin, the very likeness of her childish self when she used to come with the chauffeur and her doll. How strange life was! Why had she crossed his path just now when he was likely going away from this part of the world entirely? He would probably never see her again in this life after to-day. And she was the first young woman who had ever won his thoughts away from the path he had set himself to walk.

He had thought he was immune to the wiles of girls. He had kept his own way through college, had declined the few invitations that came to him, had been too busy to step into the world. Furthermore, he had lived too close to nature and the great outdoors to admire the artificiality of most worldly girls. He had merely glanced past them and escaped from all but passing contact.

But this girl was different. Or else perhaps he hadn’t looked at the others closely enough to see any beauty in them. He had never been quite so near to any girl before, since his mother died. He thrilled at the thought of Laurel in his arms. There hadn’t been time to think much about it while it was happening, but to hold that light, helpless figure had been like holding something very precious, preserving it from danger; and the soft pressure of her head against his shoulder, the touch of her hair against his face lingered in his thoughts as a costly perfume might that had touched his garments. Just to draw his breath and feel the sweetness over again gave him a new and exquisite pleasure that he had never before dreamed there might be in the world.

Of course she was not for him. She belonged to a world into which he could not enter. A world of fashion and culture in which he was utterly unfit to live. A costly world where only the wealthy could enter with ease. Of course she might say her father’s fortune was gone, but she had been brought up under its privileges. She had never had to struggle for a bare existence and would not understand what his struggling life had been. She was not for him!

And yet he would always be glad that he had been privileged to hold her close for those moments of danger. He would never forget the thrill of his very soul as he felt that soft hair on his cheek. He considered it most reverently and marveled at the power that memory had over his spirit. Or was it just over his senses?

Oh, this was madness. He must snap out of it quickly!

He passed a quick hand across his forehead impatiently, firmly over the cheek where her soft cloud of hair seemed still to linger, shook his head as if to shake the dreams out of his mind, and looked at his watch. There was plenty of time to go over to that drugstore across the road and make three or four phone calls that would practically cover the matter of the errands he had not been able to work in that afternoon. That would leave him free to do anything for the girl that she needed, without her having to know that she was hindering him. Indeed, those errands were not important. He had only planned them because he had this time off, and he wanted to kid himself into feeling that he had some home interests. Though of course it wouldn’t matter to a soul in Carrollton whether he called them up or not. But just to get his thoughts back into sensible, everyday, normal channels, he swung himself out of the car, snapped its door shut behind him, and strode across to the drugstore, at once immersing himself in a study of the telephone book.

But he found he was only halfheartedly interested now. Instead of eagerly accepting the invitations that these former associates of his offered to come to dinner or spend the evening, he found no inclination whatsoever in his heart for any such plans.

"Thank you, but I don’t believe that will be possible this trip," he told them all. "If I find I can get done what I am doing and can drop around for a few minutes later, I’ll call you up."

He turned away from the telephone half disgusted with himself. What did he have in the back of his mind that he did not want to go to his former friends? If it had anything to do with the girl into whose attention he had been thrust to-day, he had better cut it out. Oh, of course, it was just possible that when she came out of the schoolhouse there might be some urgent errand she ought to go on for which he would have to offer his services. And it was true that he should in courtesy keep the way clear to help a lady in distress.

A glance through the window showed that Miss Sheridan had not yet come out of the schoolhouse, and his watch showed the hour was up when he was to call the garage. He turned back to the telephone.

"Hello! Is this Mark? This is Pilgrim speaking. Have you got the car back? What seems to be the trouble? Was I right?"

It wasn’t a long conversation but a rather serious one.

"You can’t do any better than that? The girl is in a hurry to get her car. You’re sure you haven’t the necessary parts? Well, could I help by running in town to get anything? Oh, Chester has gone over to Granby, you say? And if he succeeds in getting what you need, can you fix it to-night? Well, about what time to-morrow? I see. Well, I’ll tell her, and meanwhile do your best, and we’ll drop around there in a little while and see how you are making out."

He went back to his car, a kind of pleasant elation filling him in spite of his common sense. He took his seat in the car, but his attention was toward the window where Laurel had been sitting before he went across the road to telephone. She had disappeared from it now.

While he sat watching the high school door for her appearance, his mind was busy thinking out possibilities. No, not really possibilities, just fantastic dreams.

Where would she be going for dinner? Could he by any stretch of imagination ask her to go with him? Of course not. A former filling station assistant taking a multimillionaire’s daughter to dinner! It was not even to be thought of. He drew a deep breath and threw his chin up in that gesture of challenge that was significant of his own quiet pride.

Suddenly she was coming out the door, pausing an instant on the top step, looking toward the car, then hurrying down as lithely and happily as a young student slipping out for recess. Without his knowledge, Phil’s sternness went into a welcoming smile.

And Laurel’s face was wreathed in smiles, too.

"I’m sorry I kept you waiting so long," she said as she stepped into the car, accepting Pilgrim’s courteous help. "I hadn’t any idea it was going to take so long, or I would have told you to go on and forget about me."

"Yes?" he said with a grin. "You’re not so easy to forget, my lady. And remember, we still have business to transact."

"Business?" said Laurel, lifting questioning eyes to his.

"Your car," he reminded.

"Oh yes, of course," said the girl in chagrin. "But I should have told you not to bother any further about that. You know, really I’m not a baby, and if I’m going to teach school and earn my own living I’ve got to learn to look after my own car, and all my other affairs."

"Yes?" Pilgrim said with a little tinge of his habitual gravity edging his grin. "But not when there’s a gentleman near to help. At least I hope I can count as a gentleman."

She gave him a swift questioning look. Had she somehow hurt him? "Oh—why, of course," she said heartily. "I don’t think I ever saw one with more courtesy. You’ve been perfectly marvelous. But I certainly am ashamed to have taken advantage of your courtesy all this time. And I mustn’t do it any longer. If you’ll just take me back to that garage, we’ll call it a day and—you can go on your way." Her voice trembled the least little bit as she said it, and she cast a frightened look up at him, trying to smile calmly.

He read all that in his one glance at her face, and his own took on a tenderer light. "Say, now, look here! Why can’t you give up that ‘perfectly marvelous’ way of looking at this thing and just for the time being pretend that we are old friends? I’ll promise you I’ll never take advantage of you afterward on account of it."

She gave him a quick almost indignant look. "Of course not!" she said definitely. "Even though we’re practically strangers, I would know that as well as if I had known you for years."

"Thank you," he said pleasantly. "But you forget. We’re not strangers. Not even practically. We are old friends, at least for the convenience of the day. Childhood friends, or if you prefer, school friends. We might compromise on that, although I do look a little old to have been a contemporary of yours in school."

"I don’t think you do," said Laurel quickly. "When people are grown up, no one stops to count the years between them. And it’s a woman’s business to keep young-looking of course, especially if she has to earn her living." She gave him a merry little twinkle and pushed her hair back from her forehead.

"Oh, by the way," said Pilgrim, "how did you make out?"

"Why, I made out very well when they finally got around to me," she said. "They must have been somewhat peeved that I wasn’t there at the beginning of the session, or else that’s their usual way of keeping applicants on nettles until they have had opportunity to study them carefully. At any rate, after they had given me a chair, they practically ignored me until they had canvassed a number of unimportant matters, like what they were going to do with one named Jimmy, and whether they should give up a certain kind of soap for cleaning that they have bought for years, in favor of a new kind that claims to do the work more cheaply, and whether they should allow any students to help in the cafeteria or require the matron in charge to do all the work. But after due time had passed and all the questions of the universe had been settled, they put me through a rigid questionnaire and then hired me. I am to begin Monday."

"That’s good, if that’s what you really want," said the young man, looking at her as if he would search out her real feelings in the matter.

"Well, I do," said the girl thoughtfully and not very cheerfully. "I’m not so strong on Carrollton, but if I don’t get started somewhere, I’ll never get anywhere. But what did the man say about my car? Have you telephoned?"

"Yes. It was generator trouble as I thought, and in consequence a blown fuse. He says he can’t possibly get it fixed for you before sometime to-morrow morning. How is that going to affect your plans? Have you a place to stay here all night, or would you like me to drive you to the city?"

"Oh, I couldn’t possibly let you do that," she said in dismay. "I’ll have to find a place to stay. Eventually I’m staying of course. But I’m not sure where yet. Didn’t there used to be a hotel in Carrollton?"

"Yes, but it’s not a very possible solution for you," said Pilgrim. "It’s rather tough. It isn’t a place your father would have wanted you to stay. But there must be some tourist place. We’ll see."

"I know," said Laurel. "There used to be a dear lady who lived not far from our old home, in a little cottage. Perhaps she would rent me a room. At least she would take me in for the night until I can have a chance to look around for the right place for the winter. That is, if she is still living. I haven’t heard anything about her for years. She is Mrs. Browning. Did you know her?"

"Did she have a crippled daughter, and did she live in that little white cottage on Maple Street with the ivy all over the porch and red geraniums growing along the walk?"

"Why yes, that’s the place! Did you know her?"

"No, I didn’t exactly know her, but I used to carry eggs and chickens down to her from Hunsicker’s farm when I was a kid. She was a nice, smiling lady and sometimes gave me a dime over price."

"Yes, she was like that. Well, I’ll try her. Perhaps I could telephone her from the garage."

"Yes, that would be a good idea," said the young man with a sudden dismayed feeling that he was about to lose contact with this girl who had seemed for a few minutes as if she belonged to him.

So when they reached the garage, Phil Pilgrim went with Mark to look at the car, and Laurel went to the telephone. But Laurel came back a few minutes later with dismay in her face.

"She’s gone out west to live with her married daughter," she said. "Her crippled daughter died, and she was all alone. She’s been gone a couple of years."

"Say, that’s tough luck!" said Pilgrim. "But don’t worry. We’ll find something. Mark, how about Mrs. Topham? Is she still keeping boarders? Not that she’s so hot as a cook," he explained to Laurel, "but she’s good and respectable."

"No," said Mark, flinging down the big wrench with which he was working and picking up another tool. "Mrs. Topham? was taken to a hospital two months ago, and her married daughter doesn’t take boarders. But if the lady wants a good place, whyn’t ya take her ta the new tearoom? It’s over on Houston Road, and they have swell meals there. They’ve got a few rooms, too, I hear, an’ I think the lady would like it there."

"Thank you," said Laurel. "That sounds good to me."

"All right," said Pilgrim. "Let’s go and investigate. Are there any things in your car you want to take along, in case you find a place to stay, Miss Sheridan?"

"Oh yes, my little overnight bag. It’s in the back of the car. The small key in the case fits it."

Pilgrim unlocked the compartment and brought out the bag.

"Now," he said to the garage man, "Mark, how about that generator? You said Chester couldn’t get one in Granby. Have you telephoned the city about it yet?"

"Sure thing," said Mark importantly. "Yes, they have it, and they’re putting it on the five ten train for me. If all goes well, you’ll have your car the first thing in the morning, lady, or at least before noon, unless something more turns up. But I’ve looked the car all over, and I don’t see anything else the matter."

"Well, that will be all right, I guess, but I’ll have to telephone again, I’m afraid, Mr. Pilgrim." She turned apologetically to Phil. "I had an engagement this evening that I forgot all about, and I’ll have to call it off. I won’t be a minute, if you don’t mind waiting."

Phil Pilgrim stood just outside the window that sheltered the telephone, and he couldn’t help hearing the conversation.

"Hello, is that you, Adrian? Yes, this is Laurel. Why, I’m sorry, Adrian, I can’t go with you to-night. I had a little car trouble and have to wait for repairs. No, nothing serious. Something went wrong with the generator, and I had to wait for the parts to come. What? You’ll come after me? No indeed, Adrian. I couldn’t think of letting you do that. It’s much too far for you to make it and get back in time for your other guests, and it would throw all your plans out. I’m very sorry to disappoint you, but it isn’t anything I could help. Of course I should have telephoned you sooner, but I didn’t know till just now that I won’t be able to get my car before morning. No, it’s quite impossible, Adrian… Oh yes, I’ll be all right. I have friends here. I’m sorry to disappoint you. When? Why yes, I may be able to see you Saturday evening if you should happen to be around. That is, I think I’ll be at home then, but I can’t be sure. I could telephone if I get back. Sorry, Adrian, but I know You’ll understand how it is. Good-bye!"

Laurel came out of the little glass room with a smile. She wasn’t feeling badly at missing her date! Or was she? Maybe she was smiling at hearing a beloved voice. How could he tell? Pilgrim wished he hadn’t overheard the conversation. He wished this hadn’t happened just now. Somehow it dimmed the pleasure that he had been anticipating in the small expedition on which they were about to embark. Of course she would have men friends. She had been going somewhere with one of them to-night.

But Laurel got into the Pilgrim car quite happily. Her friend Adrian had evidently not been happy over the canceling of their engagement and had been quite insistent that he would come after her, but she reflected contentedly that she had got away with the interview without telling him just where she was or giving him any clue to find her. And now he couldn’t possibly trace her and come after her even if he tried.

And he probably would try. Adrian Faber was that way. He always tried everything there was to try to carry out his point.

To tell the truth, she had come away from the city in haste and without leaving details of her whereabouts partly because she had felt it was essential that she should be by herself and think a few things through to their finish without the influence of any of her friends to distract her attention, especially the insistent friends who would go to the length of trying to make her marry them to prevent her going away. And she was not at all sure that she wanted to marry anyone. At least not now.

Also the events of the afternoon had put a new phase on life and made her feel that there was much to be understood and settled before she was ready to consider marriage with anybody.

So Laurel came back to the examination of her car with a lighter heart, having rid herself of an obligation that had troubled her more or less all day, because she had literally dreaded this evening’s engagement and had had only half an intention of returning in time to keep it, anyway.

"Well, it all depends on whether the new part comes down on the five ten train or not," said Pilgrim as she came toward him smiling.

"Yes?" Laurel. "And—if the part doesn’t come, then what?"

"Well, we’ll wait till the train comes in, and if it isn’t on the train, somebody is driving after it. Don’t worry. I think we’ll manage it somehow."

"Oh, but you mustn’t!" said Laurel with instant trouble in her eyes. "You’ve done so much already. You can’t drive sixty-five miles after a part for my car! I’ve practically used up half a day of your precious leave, and I simply won’t accept any more services. There must be someone I could pay to go after it. Or, wait! I could go back to the city on the train myself. There is an evening train. I looked up trains before I ventured over here, because I didn’t want to put myself permanently where there wouldn’t be good train service anytime I needed it. Then I could leave my car here till it was finished and return on the train or the early morning bus. Now please don’t worry anymore."

"Oh no. I won’t worry. I’m only a stranger you picked up, and I don’t have to do a thing more for you of course. So now, lady, how about our running around to look over that tearoom, just in case? I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry as the dickens, and I don’t see that eating a little snack together would injure the reputation of a schoolteacher in Carrollton, even if we are ‘practically strangers.’ What do you say? We’ve got time enough before that train gets in. But of course, if you’re not hungry, you could sit in my car while I go in and eat. I picked up a magazine and an evening paper when I was at the drugstore. I wouldn’t mind if you read them, just in case you aren’t hungry."

There was a kind of a hurt grin on his pleasant mouth, and she gave him an understanding smile.

"But I am hungry," she said eagerly. "I’m simply starving! Let’s go!" She climbed into his car again, and they drove away together.

"Now, look here," said Pilgrim as they swung around the first corner, "there’s just one condition I’d like to make. Please don’t let’s have any more plaudits for that little act of picking you up and swinging you over my head——!"

"Little act!" sniffed Laurel. "Over the heads of those angry frightened cattle, you mean," said the girl. "I don’t think I can ever thank you enough—"

"But listen! I’m fed up on that I don’t want to hear any more about it. Any decent man would have done the same thing and not expect to be made a hero forever after, so please don’t! If you honestly want to thank me, just be a little kind and friendly to a poor soldier home on leave for a few hours with no one to go and see. Let’s eat dinner together as if we always had been friends and were just having a nice time together. Could you do that? I won’t ever take advantage of it. Honest I won’t!"

She turned and looked squarely at him. "Of course you won’t," she said. "Don’t you know I trust you? And yes, of course, I’ll be delighted to have dinner with you. Then we can really get acquainted. It will be much less awkward that way. ‘Old-school-friends’ stuff, you know." She gave him a dazzling smile and settled back comfortably in the rattly old jalopy.

He looked at her wistfully. How game she was! How great if she really were his friend, not just pretending for the time being. But he had better make the most of it. He wouldn’t have so very many pleasant times to remember when he was on his way to war.

"Thanks a lot," he said with a deep undertone of feeling. "That’s swell of you! Well, here’s the tearoom. Neat little place, isn’t it?"

"Why, yes, it’s very attractive. I think we’re going to have a nice time, don’t you? It’s going to be fun, soldier boy!"

He looked down admiringly at her. She seemed almost like a little girl, out on a real picnic, and something in his warm gaze stirred her heart deeply and brought a rich color into her cheeks. It made him think of the dash of crimson on the mountain.

He helped her out of the car, and together they walked up to the door.

"It’s all like a picture here," she said with a graceful caressing motion of her arm toward the flower borders of the walk, brilliant scarlet and golden autumn flowers, dashing flames of salvia, coordinated sharply, backed by gorgeous marigolds of all shades, deep maroon velvet dahlias, and tawny groups of chrysanthemums merging into pools of creamy white ones. "Isn’t it lovely?"

They lingered together looking at them, like any other young man and maiden on their way to take dinner, and for the moment both forgot that they were strangers but a brief space before.

Inside, the tables were inviting, with a few autumn roses on each, bright pretty china, and spotless linen. Phil Pilgrim seated her as courteously as any of her other young men friends would have done. It seemed all most amazing when she thought of it, only Laurel was enjoying herself too much to think of it. She had a sense of well-being, and she didn’t want to spoil it by any questions of formality. There certainly was nothing wrong in what she was doing. She did know who he was; she had seen him as a child. That he had been working hard then in common denim overalls troubled her not at all. she had plenty of friends whose brothers were taking any positions, or "jobs," as they preferred to call them, that they could get and were glad enough to get them. Why should she distinguish between them because this young man’s relatives had been poor and he had had to work hard from early childhood? Certainly he was to be honored that he had come so far with so little help.

A waitress was by their side at once, naming a long list of interesting appetizers.

"Oyster soup, oh, that sounds good!" said Laurel. "Yes, I’ll take oyster soup!"

And when it came, there was no oyster in sight, but a smooth broth of rich, warm, tempting smell and taste, with crisp crackers of odd shapes.

An attractive tray of exotic salads of quaint fashioning and colors.

Raspberry aspic jelly on a pale lettuce leaf with a dab of whipped cream; orange fritters, crisp brown with delicious orange sauce.

"But you know this is quite an extraordinary menu for a little country town," said Laurel suddenly with an amazed glance toward her companion. "Is this on the regular highway? Does it attract tourists?"

"It sure does," said Pilgrim, deciding on stuffed roast lamb for the meat course. "I never came here before, but it isn’t hard to take, is it? Or to look at either."

"I should say not," said Laurel. "My, I’m glad I came here. And in such delightful company, too! A real soldier. I am honored."

Their warm looks met and lingered, and a pleasant joy throbbed across the table.

"We’re having fun!" twinkled Laurel with another little-girl smile.

And the light from a lost childhood he had never had answered from the young man’s eyes.

When the meal was concluded, they recalled pleasant memories of a high school both had shared, till the long yellow afternoon sunshine warned them that the evening was on its way. Phil Pilgrim sat back in his chair and grew serious.

"Now," said he, "what are we going to do next? In half an hour, it will be time for that train to arrive at the station, and then we shall know whether you can have your car in the morning or not. Are we ready to spring into action as soon as we have that knowledge, or are there things we ought to be doing? Suppose you go and interview that woman at the desk about a possible room for yourself in case you decide to stay. And then on the way back to the garage, I’ve thought of a couple of alternatives we might consider."

So Laurel went to the desk and Phil stood by the door looking out, a gravely pleasant expression in his eyes. He was well aware that there were days coming when he would have to pay for these few hours of unexpected happiness by deadly loneliness. Loneliness that would perhaps wear into his heart and life forever. Yet he was glad to have had this day in spite of all possibilities.