Выбрать главу

respect. She could still see Sybil's face as it had appeared in that

memorable moment of self-revelation. It had made a deep impression upon

her.

"A man like Bailey is worth a large salary to any one, even if he may

not be able to start out for himself again immediately. I'm not

worrying about you and Bailey. You will have forgotten all about this

crash this time next year." Sybil brightened up. She was by nature

easily moved, and Ruth's words had stimulated her imagination.

"He is awfully clever," she said, her eyes shining.

"Why, this sort of thing happens every six months to anybody who has

anything to do with Wall Street," proceeded Ruth, fired by her own

optimism. "You read about it in the papers every day. Nobody thinks

anything of it."

Sybil, though anxious to look on the bright side, could not quite rise

to these heights of scorn for the earthquake which had shaken her

world.

"I hope not. It would be awful to go through a time like this again."

Ruth reassured her, though it entailed a certain inconsistency on her

part. She had a true woman's contempt for consistency.

"Of course you won't have to go through it again. Bailey will be

careful in future not to, not to do whatever it is that he has done."

She felt that the end of her inspiring speech was a little weak, but

she did not see how she could mend it. Her talk with Mr. Meadows on the

telephone had left her as vague as before as to the actual details of

what had been happening that day in Wall Street. She remembered stray

remarks of his about bulls, and she had gathered that something had

happened to something which Mr. Meadows called G.R.D.'s, which had

evidently been at the root of the trouble; but there her grasp of high

finance ended.

Sybil, however, was not exigent. She brightened at Ruth's words as if

they had been an authoritative pronouncement from an expert.

"Bailey is sure to do right," she said. "I think I'll creep in and see

if he's still asleep."

Ruth, left alone on the porch, fell into a pleasant train of thought.

There was something in her mental attitude which amused her. She

wondered if anybody had ever received the announcement of financial

ruin in quite the same way before. Yet to her this attitude seemed the

only one possible.

How simple everything was now! She could go to Kirk and, as she had

said to Sybil, start again. The golden barrier between them had

vanished. One day had wiped out all the wretchedness of the last year.

They were back where they had started, with all the accumulated

experience of those twelve months to help them steer their little ship

clear of the rocks on its new voyage.

       *       *       *       *       *

She was roused from her dream by the sound of an automobile drawing up

at the door. A voice that she recognised called her name. She went

quickly down the steps.

"Is that you, Aunt Lora?"

Mrs. Porter, masterly woman, never wasted time in useless chatter.

"Jump in, my dear," she said crisply. "Your husband has stolen William

and eloped with that girl Mamie (whom I never trusted) to Connecticut."

Chapter XIII Pastures New

Steve had arrived at the Connecticut shack in the early dawn of the

day which had been so eventful to most of his friends and

acquaintances. William Bannister's interest in the drive, at first

acute, had ceased after the first five miles, and he had passed the

remainder of the journey in a sound sleep from which the stopping of

the car did not awaken him.

Steve jumped down and stretched himself. There was a wonderful

freshness in the air which made him forget for a moment his desire for

repose. He looked about him, breathing deep draughts of its coolness.

The robins which, though not so well advertised, rise just as

punctually as the lark, were beginning to sing as they made their

simple toilets before setting out to attend to the early worm. The sky

to the east was a delicate blend of pinks and greens and yellows, with

a hint of blue behind the grey which was still the prevailing note.

A vaguely sentimental mood came upon Steve. In his heart he knew

perfectly well that he could never be happy for any length of time out

of sight and hearing of Broadway cars; but at that moment, such was the

magic of the dawn, he felt a longing to settle down in the country and

pass the rest of his days a simple farmer with beard unchecked by

razor. He saw himself feeding the chickens and addressing the pigs by

their pet names, while Mamie, in a cotton frock, called cheerfully to

him to come in because breakfast was ready and getting cold.

Mamie! Ah!

His sigh turned into a yawn. He realized with the abruptness which

comes to a man who stands alone with nature in the small hours that he

was very sleepy. The excitement which had sustained him till now had

begun to ebb. The free life of the bearded farmer seemed suddenly less

attractive. Bed was what he wanted now, not nature.

He opened the door of the car and lifted William Bannister out, swathed

in rugs. The White Hope gurgled drowsily, but did not wake. Steve

carried him on to the porch and laid him down. Then he turned his

attention to the problem of effecting an entry.

Once an honest man has taken to amateur burgling he soon picks up the

tricks of it. To open his knife and shoot back the catch of the nearest

window was with Steve the work, if not of a moment, of a very few

minutes. He climbed in and unlocked the front door. Then he carried his

young charge into the sitting-room and laid him down on a chair, a step

nearer his ultimate destination, bed.

Steve's faculties were rapidly becoming numb with approaching sleep,

but he roused himself to face certain details of the country life which

till now had escaped him. His earnest concentration on the main plank

of his platform, the spiriting away of William Bannister, had caused

him to overlook the fact that no preparations had been made to welcome

him on his arrival at his destination. He had treated the shack as if

it had been a summer hotel, where he could walk in and engage a room.

It now struck him that there was much to be attended to before he

could, as he put it to himself, hit the hay. There was the White Hope's

bed to be made, and, by the way of a preliminary to that, sheets must

be found and blankets, not to mention pillows.

Yawning wearily he set out on his search.

He found sheets, but mistrusted them. They might or might not be

perfectly dry. He did not care to risk his godson's valuable health in

the experiment. A hazy notion that blankets were always safe restored

his spirits, and he became cheerful on reflecting that a child with

William Bannister's gift for sleep would not be likely to notice the

absence of linen in his bed.

The couch which he finally passed adequate would have caused Lora

Delane Porter's hair to stand erect, but it satisfied Steve. He went

downstairs, and, returning with William Bannister, placed him carefully

on it and tucked him in. The White Hope slept on.

Having assured himself that all was well, Steve made up a similar nest

for himself, and, removing his coat and shoes, crawled under the

blankets. Five minutes later rhythmical snores proclaimed the fact that

nature had triumphed over all the discomforts of one of the worst-made

beds in Connecticut.

       *       *       *       *       *