Part 17 (2/2)
”That you--dear?” David managed a casual voice with difficulty.
”Yes, David,” came in a voice that fairly radiated across the city. ”I only wanted to ask how it goes.”
”Fine--with a rip! But you never can tell--about anything. I'm a Presbyterian and I'll die in doubt of my election. I'm learning not to count on--things.” His voice carried a mournful note that utterly belied his radiant face. David was enjoying himself to almost the mortal limit!
”David,” there was a perceptible pause--”you--there is one thing you can always count on--isn't there--_me_?” The voice was very gallant but also slightly palpitating. David almost lost his head but hung on tight and came up right side.
”Some,” he answered, which reply, in the light of an extremely modern use of the word combined with the legitimate, was calculated to bring conclusion. Then he hurried another offering on to the wire.
”How long are you going to be at home?” he asked--another dastardly tantalization.
”I--I don't know exactly,” she parried quickly. ”Why?” and this from Phoebe who had always granted interviews like a queen gives jewels! David somewhere found the courage to lay a firm hand on himself. With just a few more blows the citadel was his! His own heart writhed and the uncertainty made him quake internally.
”I wish I could come over, but there are two committees waiting in the other room for me. Do you--” a clash and buzz hummed over the wire into the receiver. There was a jangle and tangle and a rough man's voice cut in with, ”Working on the wires, hang up, please,” and David limply hung up the receiver and collapsed in solitude, for his committees had been evoked out of thin air.
His state of mind was positively abject. His years-old tenderness welled up in his heart and flooded to his eyes--the dash and the pluck of her!
He reached for his hat, then hesitated; it was election eve and in two hours he was due to address the congregation of griddle-cake discontents on how to make men vote like ladies.
A call boy hurried in by way of a fortunate distraction and handed in a budget of papers. David spread them out before him. They were from Susie Carrie of the strong brush and the Civic Improvement League, containing Sketches and specifications for the drinking fountains already pledged, and a request for an early inst.i.tution of legislation on the play-ground proposition. Such a small thing as an uncertain election failed to daunt the artistic fervor of Susie Carrie's fertile brain or to deter her from making demands, however premature, on David the sympathetic.
And David Kildare dropped his head on the papers and groaned. The Vision of a life-work rose up and menaced him and the words ”sweat of his brow” for the first time took on a concrete meaning. Such a good, old, care-free existence he was losing, and--he seized his hat and fled to the refreshment of bath, food and fresh raiment.
And on his way home he stopped in for a word with the major, whom he found tired and on his way to take as much as he could of his usual nap.
He was seated in his chair by the table and Caroline Darrah sat near him, listening eagerly to his story of some of the events in the day's campaign. She rose as David entered and held out her hand to him with a smile.
Every time David had looked at Caroline Darrah for the few days past a sharp pain had cut into his heart and this afternoon she was so radiantly lovely with sympathy and interest that for a moment he stood looking at her with his eyes full of tenderness. Then he managed a bantering smile and backed away a step or two from her, his hands behind him.
”No, you don't, beautiful,” David sometimes ventured on Phoebe's name for the girl, ”you are so sweet in that frock that I'm afraid if I touch you I'll stick. Somebody ought to label such a lollypop as you dangerous.
Call her off, Major!”
The major laughed at Caroline's blush and laid his fingers over her hand that rested on the corner of the table near him.
”David,” he said, ”girls are confections to which it is good for a man to forsake all others and cling--but not to gobble. Matilda, recount to David Kildare your plans for the night of the election. I wish to witness his joy.”
”Oh, yes, I've been wanting to tell you about it for two days, David, dear,” answered Mrs. Buchanan from her chair over by the window where she was busily engaged in checking names off a long list with a pencil. ”We are going to have a reception at the University Club so everybody can come and congratulate you the night of the election. Mrs. Shelby and I thought it up and of course we had to speak to one of the house committee about the arrangements, and who do you think the member was--Billy Bob! I just talked on and didn't notice Mrs. Shelby and finally he was so nice and deferential to her that she talked some, too. She almost started to shake hands with him when we left. I was so glad. I feel that it is going to be a delightful success in every way. Please be thinking up a nice speech to make.”
”Oh, wait,” groaned David Kildare, ”if I begin now I will have to think double, one for election and one for defeat. Last night I dreamed about a black cat that was minus a left eye and limped in the right hind leg.
Jeff almost cried when I told him about it. He hasn't smiled since.”
”I told Tempie to put less pepper in those chicken croquettes last night--I saw Phoebe's light burning until two o'clock and heard her and Caroline laughing and talking even after that. The major was so nervous that he was up and dressed at six o'clock. I must see that all of you get simpler food--your nerves will suffer. Major, suppose you don't eat much dinner--just have a little milk toast. I'll see Tempie about it now!” and Mrs. Buchanan departed after bestowing a glance, in which was a conviction of dyspepsia, upon all three of them.
”Now, David Kildare, see what you've done with your black-cat crawlings!
I'll have to eat that toast--see if I don't! I've consumed it with a smile during stated periods for thirty years. Yes, girl-love is a kind of cup-custard, but wife-love is bread and b.u.t.ter--milk toast, for instance--bless her! But I am hungry!” The major's expression was a tragedy.
”I'm going to try and beg you off, Major, dear,” said Caroline Darrah, and she hurried after Mrs. Matilda into Tempie's domain.
”Major,” said David as he gazed after the girl, ”when I look at her I feel cold all over, then hot-mad! He's going to-morrow night on the midnight train--and she doesn't know! I can't even talk to him about it--he looks like a dead man and works like a demon. I don't know what to do!”
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