The Merry Anne 6
He was silent.
"Well, why don't you answer me?"
"What's all this fuss about, Madge? I haven't gone yet."
"Don't try to put me off. Have you told them you would go back?"
"I haven't told 'em a thing. I'm going around in a minute to see the
Cap'n, and we 'll talk it over then."
"And you have forgotten what you promised me?"
"No, I ain't forgot nothing. Look here, there ain't no use o' getting
stagy about this. I ain't told him I 'll do it. I don't believe I will do
it."
"Why should you want to, Joe? Aren't you happy here? Aren't you making
more money than you ever did on the Lake?"
"Why, of course."
"Then why not stay here?"
"There's only this about it," he replied, leaning against the bar, and
speaking in an off-hand manner; "Stenzenberger offers me the chance to
do both. I could be in here every few days--see you most as much as I do
now in a busy season--and make the extra pay clear."
"Oh, that's why you have been thinking you might do it?"
"Well, that's the only thing about it that--" He was wondering what was
in her other hand. "You see, I can't afford to get the Cap'n down on
me."
"You can't? I should think _he_ would be the one that couldn't afford--"
"Now see here, Madge." He stepped up to her, and would have slipped his
arm around her waist, but she eluded him. "I guess I 'll go over and see
what he has to offer, and then I 'll come back, and you and me can talk
it all over and see if we think--"
"If _we_ think!" she burst out. "Do you take me for a fool, Joe McGlory?
Do you think for a minute I don't know why you want to go--and why
you mean to go? Look at that!" She produced a photograph of a pretty,
foolish young woman, and read aloud the inscription on the back, "To
Joe, from Estelle."
An ugly look came into his eye. "I wouldn't get excited about that
kiddishness if I was you."
"So you call it kiddishness, do you, and at your age?"
"Well, so long now, Madge. I 'll be back in a few minutes."
"Joe--wait--don't go off like that. Tell me that don't mean anything!
Tell me you aren't ever going to see her again!"
"Sure, there's nothing in it."
"And you won't see her?"
"Why, of course I won't see her. She ain't within five hundred miles of
here. I don't know where she is."
"You 'll promise me that?"
"You don't need to holler, Madge. I can hear you. Somebody's likely to
be coming in any minute, and what are they going to think?" He passed
out into the back room, and she followed him.
"How soon will you be back, Joe?" She saw that he was putting on his
heavy jacket--heavier than was needed to step over to the lumber office.
"Just a minute--that's all."
"And you won't promise them anything?"
"Why, sure I won't. I wouldn't agree to anything before you'd had a look
at it."
He watched her furtively; and she stood motionless, trembling a little,
ready at the slightest signal to spring into his arms. But he reached
for his hat and went out.
She stood there, still motionless, until his step sounded on the front
walk; then she ran upstairs and knelt by the window that overlooked the
yards. She saw him enter the office. A few moments, and the two men who
had been with Stenzenberger came out and walked away. A half-hour,
and still Joe was in there with the lumber merchant. An hour--and then
finally he appeared, glanced back at the saloon, and walked hurriedly
around the corner out of sight. And she knew that he had slipped away
from her. The photograph was still in her hand, and now she looked at it
again, scornfully, bitterly.
A man entered the saloon below, and she did not hear him until he fell
to whistling a music-hall tune. At something familiar in the sound a
peculiar __EXPRESSION__ came over her face, and she threw the picture on the
floor and hurried down. When she entered the sample room, her eyes were
reckless.
The man was young, with the air of the commercial traveller of the
better sort. He was seated at one of the tables, smoking a cigarette.
His name was William Beveridge, but he passed here by the name of
Bedloe.
"Hello, Madge," he said; "what's the matter--all alone here?"
"Yes; Mr. Murphy's down town."
"And McGlory--where's he?"
"He's out too."
He looked at her admiringly. Indeed, she was younger and prettier, for
the odd __EXPRESSION__ of her eyes.
"Well, I'm in luck."
"Why?" she asked, coming slowly to the opposite side of the table and
leaning on the back of a chair.
But in gazing at her he neglected to reply. "By Jove, Madge," he broke
out, "do you know you're a beauty?"
She flushed and shook her head. Then she slipped down into the chair,
and rested her elbows on the table.
"You're the hardest person to forget I ever knew."
"I guess you have tried hard enough."
"No--I couldn't get round lately--I've been too busy. Anyhow, what was
the use? If I had thought I stood any show of seeing you, I would
have come or broken something. But there was always Murphy or McGlory
around." He could not tell her his real object in coming, nor in
avoiding the two proprietors, who had watched him with suspicion from
the first. "Do you know, this is the first real chance you've ever given
me to talk to you?"
"How did I know you wanted to?"
"Oh, come, Madge, you know better than that. How could anybody help
wanting to? But"--he looked around--"are we all right here? Are we
likely to be disturbed?"
"Why, no, not unless a customer comes in."
"Isn't there another room out back there where we can have a good talk?"
She shook her head slowly, with her eyes fixed on his face. And he, of
course, misread the flush on her cheek, the dash of excitement in her
eyes. And her low reply, too, "We'd better stay here," was almost a
caress. He leaned eagerly over the table, and said in a voice as low as
hers: "When are you going to let me see you? There's no use in my trying
to stay away--I couldn't ever do it. I'm sure to keep on coming until
you treat me right--or send me away. And I don't believe that would stop
me."
"Aren't you a little of an Irishman, Mr. Bedloe?"
"Why?"
She smiled, with all a woman's pleasure in conquest. "Why haven't you
told me any of these things before?"
"How could I? Now, Madge, any minute somebody's likely to come in. I
want you to tell me--can you ever get away evenings?"
"Of course I can, if I want to."
"To-morrow?"
"Why?"
"There's going to be a dance in the pavilion at St. Paul's Park. Do you
ride a wheel?" She nodded.
"It's a first-rate ride over there. There's a moon now, and the roads
are fine. Have you ever been there?"
"No."
"It's out on the north branch--only about a four-mile run from here. We
can start out, say, at five o'clock, and take along something to eat.
Then, if we don't feel like dancing, we can take a boat and row up the
river."
She rested her chin on her hands, and looked at him with a half smile.
"Do you really mean all this, Mr. Bedloe?"
For reply, he reached over and took both her hands. "Will you go?"
"Don't do that, please. Do you know how old I am?"
"I don't care. What do you say?"
"Please don't. I hear some one."
"No, it's a wagon. I want you to say yes."
"You--you know what it would mean if--if--"
"If McGlory--Yes, I know. You're not afraid?"
Her face hardened for an instant at this, and then, as suddenly,
softened. "No," she said; "I'm not afraid of anything."
"And you 'll go?"
She nodded.
댓글 없음:
댓글 쓰기