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.
* * * * *