wild exhilaration. He had not stopped to ask himself what this mad
freak of Steve's could possibly lead to in the end, he was satisfied to
feel that its immediate result would be that for a brief while, at any
rate, he would have his son to himself, away from all the chilling
surroundings which had curbed him and frozen his natural feelings in
the past.
He tried to keep his mind from dwelling upon Ruth. He had thought too
much of her of late for his comfort. Since they had parted that day of
the thunder-storm the thought that he had lost her had stabbed him
incessantly. He had tried to tell himself that it was the best thing
they could do, to separate, since it was so plain that their love had
died; but he could not cheat himself into believing it.
It might be true in her case, it must be, or why had she let him go
that afternoon?, but, for himself, the separation had taught him that
he loved her as much as ever, more than ever. Absence had purified him
of that dull anger which had been his so short a while before. He
looked back and marvelled that he could ever have imagined for a moment
that he had ceased to love her.
Now, as he drove along the empty country roads, he forced his mind to
dwell, as far as he could, only upon his son. There was a mist before
his eyes as he thought of him. What a bully lad he had been! What fun
they had had in the old days! But that brought his mind back to Ruth,
and he turned his mind resolutely to the future again.
He chuckled silently as he thought of Steve. Of all the mad things to
do! What had made him think of it? How had such a wild scheme ever
entered his head? This, he supposed, was what Steve called punching
instead of sparring. But he had never given him credit for the
imagination that could conceive a punch of this magnitude.
And how had he carried it out? He could hardly have broken into the
house. Yet that seemed the only way in which it could have been done.
From Steve his thoughts returned to William Bannister. He smiled again.
What a time they would have, while it lasted! The worst of it was, it
could not last long. To-morrow, he supposed, he would have to take the
child back to his home. He could not be a party to this kidnapping raid
for any length of time. This must be looked on as a brief holiday, not
as a permanent relief.
That was the only flaw in his happiness as he stopped the car at the
door of the shack, for by now he had succeeded at last in thrusting the
image of Ruth from his mind.
There was a light in the ground-floor window. He raised his head and
shouted:
"Steve!"
The door opened.
"Hello, Kirk. That you? Come along in. You're just in time for the main
performance."
He caught sight of Mamie standing beside Kirk.
"Who's that?" he cried. For a moment he thought it was Ruth, and his
honest heart leaped at the thought that his scheme had worked already
and brought Kirk and her together again.
"It's me, Steve," said Mamie in her small voice. And Steve, as he heard
it, was seized with the first real qualm he had had since he had
embarked upon his great adventure.
As Kirk had endeavoured temporarily to forget Ruth, so had he tried not
to think of Mamie. It was the only thing he was ashamed of in the whole
affair, the shock he must have given her.
"Hello, Mamie," he said sheepishly, and paused. Words did not come
readily to him.
Mamie entered the house without speaking. It seemed to Steve that
invective would have been better than this ominous silence. He looked
ruefully at her retreating back and turned to greet Kirk.
"You're mighty late," he said.
"I only got your telegram toward the end of the afternoon. I had been
away all day. I came here as fast as I could hit it up directly I read
it. We had a blow-out, and that delayed us."
Steve ventured a question.
"Say, Kirk, why 'us,' while we're talking of it? How does Mamie come to
be here?"
"She insisted on coming. It seems that everybody in the house was away
to-day, so she tells me, so she came round to me with your note."
"I guess this has put me in pretty bad with Mamie," observed Steve
regretfully. "Has she been knocking me on the trip?"
"Not a word."
Steve brightened, but became subdued again next moment.
"I guess she's just saving it," he said resignedly.
"Steve, what made you do it?"
"Oh, I reckoned you could do with having the kid to yourself for a
spell," said Steve awkwardly.
"You're all right, Steve. But how did you manage it? I shouldn't have
thought it possible."
"Oh, it wasn't so hard, that part. I just hid in the house, and, but
say, let's forget it; it makes me feel kind of mean, somehow. It seems
to me I may have lost Mamie her job. It's mighty hard to do the right
thing by every one in this world, ain't it? Come along in and see the
kid. He's great. Are you feeling ready for supper? Him and me was just
going to start."
It occurred to Kirk for the first time that he was hungry.
"Have you got anything to eat, Steve?"
Steve brightened again.
"Have we?" he said. "We've got everything there is in Connecticut! Why,
say, we're celebrating. This is our big day. Know what's happened?
Why, "
He stopped short, as if somebody had choked him. They had gone into the
sitting-room while he was speaking. The table was laid for supper. A
chafing-dish stood at one end, and the remainder of the available space
was filled with a collection of foods, from cold chicken to candy,
which did credit to Steve's imagination.
But it was not the sight of these that checked his flow of speech. It
was the look on Mamie's face as he caught sight of it in the lamplight.
The White Hope was sitting at the table in the attitude of one who has
heard the gong and is anxious to begin; while Mamie, bending over him,
raised her head as the two men entered and fixed Steve with a baleful
stare.
"What have you been doing to the poor mite?" she demanded fiercely, "to
get his face scratched this way?"
There was no doubt about the scratch. It was a long, angry red line
running from temple to chin. The White Hope, becoming conscious of the
fact that the attention of the public was upon him, and diagnosing the
cause, volunteered an explanation.
"Bad boy," he said, and looked meaningly again at the candy.
"What does he mean by 'bad boy'?"
"Just what he says, Mamie, honest. Gee! you don't think I done
it, do you?"
"Have you been letting the precious lamb fight?" cried Mamie,
her eyes two circles of blue indignation.
Steve's enthusiasm overcame his sense of guilt. He uttered a whoop.
"Letting him! Gee! Listen to her! Why, say, that kid don't have
to be let! He's a scrapper from Swatville-on-the-Bingle. Honest! That's
what all this food is about. We're celebrating. This is a little supper
given in his honour by a few of his admirers and backers, meaning me.
Why, say, Kirk, that kid of yours is just the greatest thing that ever
happened. Get that chafing-dish going and I'll tell you all about it."
"How did he come by that scratch?" said Mamie, coldly sticking to her
point.
"I'll tell you quick enough. But let's start in on the eats first. You
wouldn't keep a coming champ waiting for his grub, would you? Look how
he's lamping that candy."
"Were you going to let the poor mite stuff himself with candy, Steve
Dingle?"
"Sure. Whatever he says goes. He owns the joint after this afternoon."
Mamie swiftly removed the unwholesome delicacy.