Читать книгу More Than Conqueror (Musaicum Romance Classics) - Grace Livingston Hill - Страница 4

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Charlie Montgomery, striding down Wolverton Drive, was quickening his pace with every stride until he was fairly hurling himself along, straining his eyes toward the highway. Was that the bus coming? Yes, it was. And he must catch it! He couldn't possibly do all that was to be done before he left unless he did.

But the glad wonder was in his heart even though he hadn't time to cast a thought in its direction. Was he going to make it? He scarcely had breath for the shrill whistle that rent the air and arrested the driver as he was about to start on his route, but it reached the driver's ear, and looking around, he saw the soldier coming. One had to wait for a soldier these days, of course.

Just in time Charlie swung onto the bus and was started on his way; and not till then, as he dropped into the seat that a smiling old gentleman made beside him, did his mind revert to the great joy that he was carrying within him.

He had come this way full of fear and trembling lest he was doing the wrong thing. Lest he would be laughed at, scorned, for daring to call on the young woman upon whom his heart had dared to set itself. She had not only received him graciously, warmly, gladly, but she had listened to his words, had owned that she loved him, had let him hold her in his arms and kiss her. That much was the theme of his joy-symphony. It was enough for the first minute or two till he got his breath.

"Well," said the kindly old gentleman next to him, "you going back to your company?"

Charlie suddenly became aware that someone was addressing him. He turned politely and gave attention.

"Why, yes," he answered hesitantly, recalling his thoughts from the house up Wolverton Drive and the girl he had gone to see.

"Where are you located?" asked the old man with kindly interest.

"I've been in Washington taking some special training," he said evasively.

"Yes? That's interesting. What special service are you doing?"

Charlie twinkled his eyes.

"I'm not supposed to discuss that at present," he said. "Sorry. It's kind of you to be interested."

"Well now, I beg your pardon, of course," said the old man, and he looked at the young soldier with added respect. "But I—I really didn't know that a question like that couldn't be always answered."

"It's all right, sir," said Charlie, with his charming smile. "It's not my fault, you know. And, I beg your pardon, this is where I change buses. You'll excuse me, please." He swung off the bus as its door opened and tore across to another that was standing on the opposite corner. Fortunate that he could catch this one. He had been expecting to have to wait ten minutes more for the next one, and that would have given him little time to pick up his luggage and catch his train.

And now, when he found himself almost alone in a bus, with time to get back to his happy thoughts, it already seemed ages since he had left the girl he loved. He began to wonder if it had surely happened? Perhaps he just dreamed that he had been to the Bonniwells's and talked with Blythe. And then suddenly the sound of her voice whispered in his heart, her eyes seemed to look into his, the feeling of her lips on his! No, it was not a dream! It was real. Joy, joy, joy!

Just at present, in the midst of his tumult of realization that memory brought, the possibility of his own probable death in the offing, the fact that had loomed so large before he had dared to come to her, seemed not to count at all. He was simply rejoicing in the unhoped-for love that had been given him, and could not think of the days ahead when earth would probably come down and wreak its vengeance. He was just exulting in the present, with no thought or plan for the future, as a normal lover would have done. It was enough for the present moment that she loved him and was not angry that he had told her of his love. It made her seem all the dearer than he had dreamed; it gave a glimpse of what it might be to have her thought, her love to carry with him on his dangerous mission. It was enough that he could sit back in that bus and close his eyes and remember the thrill of holding her close in his arms, his face against hers.

With such thoughts as these for company, the ride seemed all too brief, till the bustle and noise of the city brought him back to the present moment and its necessities. Tenth Street, yes, here was the corner where he must get off and pick up those packages he had ordered yesterday over the telephone, to be ready this morning. And over on Chestnut Street was the place where he had promised to stop and pick up a book some kindly stranger had offered him. He didn't think he would be likely to want the book, but he did not like to hurt the man's feelings, for the man had a few days ago gone out of his way to get an address for him that he wanted. Well, it wouldn't take but a minute. He glanced at his watch. There was time. He could give the book away, or conveniently lose it if it proved a bore. He didn't at all know what the book was. The kindly friend had not told him. Just said it was a book he might like to have with him, and it was small, wouldn't take up much room. So, well, he would stop in case the first packages were ready on time.

And then to his surprise the packages were not only ready but waiting near the door for him, and a smiling proprietor handed them out with a few cheery words, and it suddenly came to Charlie to realize how exceedingly kind everybody was to men of the service now. The world had really taken on an air of kindliness. Was it only for the soldiers and sailors, or was it everybody?

He hurried over to his other stopping place and was handed a small, neat package with a letter strapped on with a rubber band. The man himself was out, but the salesman handed it out smiling. More kindliness!

He put the little book in his pocket, thankful it was not large, and went on his way. A glance at the clock told him he had plenty of time to telephone. Should he, dared he, telephone Blythe? He hadn't dared think of that before, but now the longing to hear her voice once more was too much for him. Passing a place where there was a telephone booth, he went in and looked up her number, even now hindered by a shyness that had kept him for days deciding whether to go and see her before he left. Perhaps someone else would answer the phone—that dour servant woman, or even possibly her mother. What should he say? Was this perhaps the wrong thing to do? Was there a possibility that it might spoil his happiness? But no, if such a thing could be possible, it would be better to find it out now than to go on dreaming in a fool's paradise. So he frowned at the number and dialed it quickly before he could change his mind, for now the longing to hear her speak was uncontrollable. It was going to be simply unspeakable if she was gone anywhere and he couldn't get her in time.

It was the dour Susan who answered.

No, Miss Bonniwell was not in. She had just gone out to her Red Cross class.

He felt as if the woman had slapped him in the face, but of course that was foolish. There was an instant's silence, and then Susan asked, "Who shall I tell her called?"

Charlie came to himself crisply. "Montgomery is the name. Is there any way that I can reach her at that Red Cross class?"

"I suppose you might," said Susan disapprovingly. "She's always pretty busy though. Still—if she chooses, of course—the number is Merrivale 1616."

"I thank you," he said with relief in his voice. "It's rather important. I'm leaving in a few minutes. I wouldn't be able to call her later."

He began to dial Merrivale 1616 as if it were some sacred number.

Of course, he did not know how reluctant Blythe had been to go to that class. How eagerly she had flown to the telephone a few minutes before, hoping, praying, that it might be him calling, although he had not said he would—and of course he wouldn't have time, she knew.

"Who is it, Susan?" she had asked eagerly, as she passed the servant in the hall, dusting.

"It's one of them Red Cross women," answered Susan sourly. "They act as if they owned you, body and soul. They said they had to speak to you right away that minute."

"Oh," said Blythe in a crestfallen tone. "I suppose I ought to have gone to that class, but they had so many, I thought they could get along without me for once."

"And so they could!" encouraged Susan indignantly.

"I suppose I could send a message by you that I have something else important to do this morning."

Blythe lingered on the stairs looking hopefully at Susan, for the woman had often helped her out of unwanted engagements, but this time Susan shook her head.

"No, Miss Blythe, you couldn't. I asked them did they want me to give you a message, but they said no, they must speak with you. They seemed in some awful hurry."

Blythe gave an impatient little sigh and hurried down to the telephone in the library.