Part 11 (1/2)
CHAPTER VII
STRANGE WILD THINGS
”Phoebe,” said David Kildare as he seated himself on the corner of the table just across from where Phoebe sat in Major Buchanan's chair writing up her one o'clock notes, ”what is there about me that makes people think they must make me judge of the criminal court of this county? Do I look job-hungry so as to notice it?”
”No,” answered Phoebe as she folded her last sheet and laid down her pencil, ”that is one thing no one can accuse you of, David. But your work down there has brought its results. They need you and are calling to you rather decisively I think. Any more delegations to-day?”
”Several. Susie Carrie Snow came with more Civic Improvements, rather short as to skirts and skimpy as to hats. They have fully decided that I am going to feed Mayor Potts out of my hand as Taylor does, and they want my influence to put up two more drinking fountains and three bra.s.s plates to mark the homes of the founders of the city, in return for their precious support. I promised; and they fell on my neck. That is, if _you_ don't mind?” David edged a tentative inch or two nearer Phoebe who had rested her elbows on the table and her head on her hands as she looked up at him.
”I don't,” she answered with a cruel smile. Then she asked, with an unconcerned glance over the top of his head, ”Did you hear from the United Charities?”
”Well, yes, some,” returned David with an open countenance, no suspicion of a trap in even the flicker of an eyelash. ”They sent Mrs. Cherry.
Blooming more every day isn't she, don't you think? She didn't fall on my neck worth a cent though I had braced myself for the shock. She managed to convey the fact that the whole organization is for me just the same.
It's some pumpkins to be a candidate. I'm for all there is in it--if at all.”
”You aren't hesitating, David?” asked Phoebe as she rose and stood straight and tall beside him, her eyes on a level with his as he sat on the table. ”Ah, David, you can if you will--will you? I know what it means to you,” and Phoebe laid one hand on his shoulder as she looked him straight in the eyes, ”for it will be work, _work_ and fight like mad to put out the fire. You will have to fight honest--and they won't.
But, David”--a little catch in her voice betrayed her as she entreated.
”Yes, dear,” answered David as he laid his hand over the one on his shoulder and pressed it closer, ”I sent in the announcement of my candidacy to the afternoon papers just as I came around here to see the major--and you. The fight is on and it is going to be harder than you realize, for there is so little time. Are you for me, girl?”
”If _I_ fall on your neck it will make seven this morning. Aren't you satisfied?” And Phoebe drew her hand away from his, allowing, however, a regretful squeeze as he let it go.
”No, six if you would do it,” answered David disconsolately, ”I told you that Mrs. Cherry failed me.”
”Yes,” answered Phoebe as she lowered her eyes, ”I know you told me.”
David Kildare was keen of wit but it takes a most extraordinary wisdom to fathom such a woman as Phoebe chose to be--out of business hours.
”Isn't it time for you to go to dress for the parade?” she asked quickly with apparent anxiety.
”No,” answered David as he filled his tooled leather case from the major's jar of choice Seven Oaks heart-leaf--he had seen Phoebe's white fingers roll it to the proper fineness just the night before, ”I'm all ready! Did you think I was going to wear a lace collar and a sash?
Everything is in order and I only have to be there at two to start them off. Everybody is placed on the platform and everybody is satisfied. The unveiling will be at three-thirty. You are going out with Mrs. Matilda early, aren't you? I want you to see me come prancing up at the head of the mounted police. Won't you be proud of me?”
”Sometimes, really, I think you are the missing twin to little Billy Bob,” answered Phoebe with a laugh, but in an instant her face became grave again. ”I'm worried about Caroline Darrah,” she said softly. ”I found her crying last night after I had finished work. I was staying here with Mrs. Matilda for the night and I went into her room for a moment on the chance that she would be awake. She said she had wakened from an ugly dream--but I know she dreads this presentation, and I don't blame her. It was lovely of her to want to give the statue and plucky of her to come and do it--but it's in every way trying for her.”
”And isn't she the darling child?” answered David Kildare, a tender smile coming into his eyes. ”Plucky! Well I should say so! To come dragging old Peters Brown's money-bags down here just as soon as he croaked, with the express intention of opening up and pa.s.sing us all our wads back. Could anything as--as pathetic ever have happened before?”
”No,” answered Phoebe. Then she said slowly, tentatively, as she looked into David's eyes that were warm with friendliness for the inherited friend who had preempted a place in both their hearts: ”And the one awful thing for which she can offer no reparation she knows nothing of. I pray she never knows!”
”Yes, but it is about to do him to the death. I sometimes wake and find him sitting over his papers at daybreak with burned-out eyes and as pale as a white horse in a fog.”
”But why does it _have_ to be that way? Andrew isn't bitter and it isn't her fault--she wasn't even born then. She doesn't even know.”
”I think it's mostly the money,” said David slowly. ”If she were poor it would be all right to forgive her and take her, but a man couldn't very well marry his father's blood money. And he's suffering G.o.d knows. Here I've been counting for years on his getting love-tied at home, and to think it should be like this! Sometimes I wish she _did_ know--she offers herself to him like a little child; and thinks she is only doing reverence to the poet. It's driving him mad, but he won't cut and run.”
”And yet,” said Phoebe, ”it would kill her to know. She is so sensitive and she has just begun to be herself with us. She has had so few friends and she isn't like we are. Why, Polly Farrell could manage such a situation better than Caroline Darrah. She is so elemental that she is positively--primitive. I am frightened about it sometimes--I can only trust Andrew.” As Phoebe spoke her eyes grew sad and her lips quivered.
”Dear heart,” said David as he took both her hands in his, ”it's just one of those fatal things that no man can see through; he can just be thankful that there's a G.o.d to handle 'em.” There were times when David Kildare's voice held more of tenderness than Phoebe was calculated to withstand without heroic effort. It behooved her to exert the utmost at this moment in order that she might hold her own.