Part 13 (1/2)
”What is it?” she asked.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and patted her hands.
”Aunty, old lady, I'm through thinking. I'm going to come home just as soon as I can fix up things in New York.”
”Richard, my boy!” Her arms pulled him downward. ”I knew it when you came in. I've prayed so long for this. G.o.d has answered my prayers.
I'm so happy. Don't you remember how you used to tell me all your plans, the plots of your stories, the funny things that had come to you during the day? You used to come home late, but that didn't matter; you'd always find some pie and cheese and a gla.s.s of milk on the kitchen table--the old kitchen table. I'm so glad!”
”It may be a month or so; for I'll have to sell some of the things.
But I'm coming home, I'm coming home.” He bent swiftly and kissed her.
”Good night.”
Chapter VI
Warrington was up and about at six the next morning. He had never really outgrown the natural habit of waking at dawn, but he had fallen upon the evil way of turning over and sleeping till half after nine.
He ate a light breakfast and went out to the stables and moved among the stalls, talking affectionate nonsense to the horses. A man can not talk baby-talk, that is the undisputed prerogative of the woman; but he has a fas.h.i.+on of his own which serves. ”Aha, old boy! handsome beggar!” or--”How's the little lady this morning, eh?” or yet again--”Rascal! you've been rubbing the hair off your tail!” In the boxstall Warrington's thoroughbred Irish hunter nozzled his palm for loaf-sugar, and whinnied with pleasure when he found it. One of the first things Warrington had done, upon drawing his first big royalty check, was to buy a horse. As a boy on the farm he had hungered for the possession of one of those sleek, handsome animals which men call thoroughbreds. Then for a while he bought, sold and traded horses, for the mere pleasure it gave him to be near them. Finally he came to Herculaneum with two such saddle-horses as made every millionaire in town (and there were several in Herculaneum) offer fabulous sums whenever they ran across the owner. Next, he added two carriage-horses, in their way quite equal to the hunters. Men offered to buy these, too, but Warrington was a property owner now, and he wanted the horses for his own. In New York one of his wealthy friends had given him free use of his stables: so Warrington rode, at home and abroad. His income, ranging from twenty to thirty thousand the year, gave him that financial independence which neither the clerk nor the millionaire knew or understood. In the phraseology of the day, he carried his business under his hat: in other words, he had no business cares or responsibilities whatever.
Warrington made it a rule to saddle and bridle his own horses; grooms become careless. One or two men of his acquaintance had gone to their death for the want of care and a firm buckle. Besides, he enjoyed the work, and it accustomed the horses to his touch. He saddled his favorite hunter and led the eager animal into the open. He mounted and whistled for the dog; but Jove for once did not respond; doubtless he was out of hearing. Thereupon Warrington started for the Benningtons'
and found Patty already in the saddle. It was not that the dramatist was blase, but he had come into contact with so many beautiful women that his pulse rarely stirred out of its healthy, measured beat. But this morning he was conscious of a slight thrill. The girl was really beautiful; more than that, she was fresh with youth and gaiety, gaiety which older women find necessary to repress. She was dressed in a dark grey riding-habit and wore a beaver c.o.c.ked-hat.
”Good morning,” he said, touching his cap with his crop. ”I hope I haven't kept you waiting.”
”Only a moment.” The truth is, she wanted to prove to him that there was one woman who did not keep men waiting. ”Shall I pick the going?”
”I'm afraid I've lost track of the good country roads.”
”Follow me, then.”
They walked their horses to the city limits. You never saw either of them galloping over brick or asphalt, which quickly ruins the surest-footed horse; neither did they permit any fox-trotting, which, while it shows off a spirited horse, decreases his value in the ring. All of which is to say, these two, like their mounts, were thoroughbreds.
”Where is Jove?” she asked presently.
”The rogue is missing. I dare say he is gallivanting around some neighbor's back yard. I haven't laid eyes on him this morning. I believe he realizes that he will see me frequently hereafter, and has not bothered his head to look me up.”
”Frequently?” She turned her head.
”Yes. I am coming home to live. Of course, this is my place of residence; my voter's bed, as the politicians say, is here in Herculaneum. But I mean to live here now in deed as well as in thought.”
”I am sure we shall be delighted to have you with us.” This was said gravely. A thought, which she would have repelled gladly, sprang into being. ”I know John will be glad. He's always talking about you and your exploits at college.”
”Our exploits,” he corrected, laughing. ”Shall we give them a little exercise now?” he asked, with a gesture toward the long brown road.
She nodded, and they started off at a sharp trot, and presently broke into a canter. So he was coming home to live? She felt a hot wave of sudden anger sweep over her, and her hands tightened on the reins. It was true, then? She loved her brother. What right had this man at her side to threaten her brother's happiness? Had Katherine Challoner signified her desire not to leave New York, would Warrington have decided to return to Herculaneum? Her hands relaxed. What a silly little fool she was! She, who despised and contemned gossip, was giving it ready ear. Had she ever found gossip other than an errant, cowardly liar? Gossip, gossip! Ah, if gossip, when she had made her round, would not leave suspicion behind her; suspicion, hydra-headed!
What signified it that Warrington intended to come home to live? What signified it that her brother's wife would live across the way? She was ashamed of her evil thought; presently she would be no better than Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene, or any of those women who get together to tear somebody apart. As if Warrington could compare with her big, handsome, manly brother! It was all impossible. She would punish herself for even entertaining such a thought as had been hers but a moment gone.
She stole a glance at Warrington. He was riding easily, his feet light in the stirrups, his head thrown back, his eyes half closed, and was breathing deeply of the cool air, which was heavy with the smell of sweet clover and dew-wet earth. It was a good, clean, honest face.