The Merry Anne 18

The Merry Anne 18

"I won't."

 

"And you will be thinking about--"

 

"Yes. We 'll talk it over next time. Good night."

 

"Good night," she replied. And when he had walked a little way, he heard

her humming a tune to herself in the doorway.

 

Wilson was sitting in the shadow on the steps of the lumber office. He

rose and came forward.

 

"Hello, Bill!"

 

"That you, Bert?"

 

"What's left of me. If I'd known you were going to be gone half the

night, I'd have brought a blanket."

 

"Couldn't help it."

 

"I suppose not. Not even if she'd been fifty-five, with red hair and a

squint, eh?" Beveridge, instead of laughing, made an impatient gesture.

"Come out here in the light, Bert. Nobody around, is there?"

 

"No. Our friend the policeman went by ten minutes ago. Just as well he

didn't see you with your friend. They say he's a chum of McGlory's."

 

"See what you think of this," said Bedloe, drawing the bottle from under

his coat.

 

"Hello, you don't mean to say you've got it?"

 

"Take a good look."

 

"Yes, sir. Well, I 'll be----! There's the red seal, and the left foot

a little out of drawing, and the right hand turned out instead of in,

and--is it?--yes, an imperfection in the capital C. Yes, sir, you've

got it! I won't say another word, Bill. You're a wizard. You must have

hypnotized her."

 

"Well, I got it. No matter how. And I got something else, too. Here,

step into the lumber yard before we're seen. Stenzenberger doesn't keep

a private watchman, does he?"

 

"No. He doesn't need it, with his friendly hold on the police."

 

A board was loose in the rear fence. Within a very few minutes the two

men were stepping cautiously between the piles of lumber, Beveridge

peering eagerly into the shadows, his companion watching him and

following close behind.

 

"Wish we'd brought a lantern, Bill."

 

"I thought of it. But it would hardly be safe."

 

"Come this way--over by the Murphy and McGlory shed. That's where it

would have to be handled."

 

Silently they tiptoed forward, reaching out with their hands, to avoid a

collision with the projecting timbers. Once Beveridge tripped and would

have fallen if Wilson had not caught his arm. "Wait--keep still, Bert!"

 

"It's all right. We're way back from the street here."

 

"It isn't the street I'm watching. See that light?" He pointed up to a

second-story window in the adjoining building. "She's still up; and it's

awful quiet around here."

 

A moment later Beveridge stopped and sniffed.

 

"What is it, Bill?"

 

"Don't you smell anything?"

 

"Ye-yes, guess I do, a little. But there are a lot of old kegs and

bottles on the other side of the fence."

 

"There are no old kegs about this." He moved forward, feeling and

sniffing his way along a pile of twelve-by-twelve timbers. "Here, have

you that big jack-knife on you, Bert?"

 

"Yes; here it is."

 

Cautiously, very cautiously, Beveridge began prying at the end of one of

the big sticks.

 

"Shall I lend a hand, Bill?"

 

"No; it's got to be done without leaving any signs of our being here. It

may take time--the thing is in for keeps, all right."

 

During fully a quarter of an hour they stood there, Beveridge prying

with the long blade of the knife, his companion watching him without a

word. Finally Beveridge gave a suppressed exclamation.

 

"Fetched her?"

 

"Yes. Take hold--easy now."

 

Together they pulled a long, circular plug from the end of the timber,

and set it on the ground.

 

"Just put your arm in there, Bert."

 

"Well, I 'll be----! Did she tell you about this?"

 

"She certainly did."

 

"But how did you do it, man, without letting on?"

 

"Never mind about that," replied Beveridge, shortly.

 

"Yes, sir. It's all there--no end of it."

 

"All right now; that's enough. Let's put the plug back. Now's the time

for us to go slow."

 

"You're right there. Even with this it will be awful hard to bring it

home. The next thing to get is the man. I wish we knew where that fellow

Roche went. What do you think?"

 

"I'd be willing to buy him a new hat if he isn't on the train for

northern Michigan just about now. But we don't need him very bad. We

want a bigger man than him."

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER VII--DRAWING TOGETHER

 

 

[Illustration: 0178]

 

THE eleven days Dick had given her for considering were going faster

than any other days Annie had known. To make it worse, she had to pass

them alone, for Beveridge, who was always diverting, hardly appeared

after Dick sailed away. It was now the afternoon of the tenth day, a

bright, cool afternoon with a southerly breeze and a rippling lake. She

was in her room, looking out at the pier, where the _Schmidt_ lay, when

a voice caught her ear. She stepped nearer to the window and then could

see Beveridge and his friend Wilson standing on the beach. While

she looked, Wilson said good-by, and strolled over to the pier; and

Beveridge turned irresolutely toward the house on stilts, looking up at

the flowering balcony.

 

Annie remembered that she had not watered her flowers. She always waited

until the shadows crept around to the eastern side of the house; they

were here now, so, filling her pitcher, she stepped out. Beveridge,

fully recovered from the odd sensations of his evening with Madge,

raised his cap, but found that she had turned her back on him and was

absorbed in her forget-me-nots. "Annie," he called, "aren't you going to

speak to me?"

 

"Oh,"--she came to the railing,--"oh, how do you do?"

 

"Won't you come out?"

 

"Why--I suppose I might."

 

"All right. I 'll wait down here." When she appeared on the steps, he

suggested a sail.

 

"I don't mind--if the wind holds. It's not very strong, and it may go

down with the sun." She was looking about from lake to sky with the easy

air of a veteran mariner; and he was looking at her.

 

"Let's chance it."

 

So they pushed out; and at the moment when Dick and the _Merry Anne_

were coasting along the bluffs above Grosse Pointe the _Captain_ was

skimming out on a long tack for the Lake View reef.

 

Little was said until they were entering on the second mile, then this

from Beveridge, lounging on the windward rail, "Have you been thinking

about our talk that evening, Annie?"

 

"Oh, dear!" thought she; but she said nothing.

 

"You haven't forgotten what I said?"

 

"Oh, the evening you came up for me?"

 

"Yes, and Smiley came later."

 

"But you don't--you don't want me to think that you meant--"

 

"But I did, Annie. Do you remember I told you I thought I had a fair

chance to be something in the world? Well, I'm nearer it than I thought,

even then. There are a good many things I'm going to tell you some

day,--not just yet,--but when you know them, you 'll understand why I've

dared to talk this way. If I didn't believe I was going to be able to

do for you all you could want, and more; if I didn't feel pretty sure I

could help you to grow up away from this beach, to get into surroundings

that will set you off as you deserve, I'd never have said a word. But

I _can_ do these things, Annie. And if I could only know that I had the

right to do them for you--I want to take you away from here."

 

"But I don't want to leave the beach."

 

"I know--I think I understand just how you feel. It's natural--you were

born here--you've never seen anything else. But I can't stay here, and I

can't go without you. I can't get along anywhere without you."