Part 9 (1/2)

”Do; she's spoiling to quiz you.”

”To quiz me? What about?”

”You wouldn't expect me to tell, if I knew. Go on and find out.”

Brockway went forward with languid curiosity.

”I thought you had quite deserted us,” said the little lady. ”Sit down and give an account of yourself. Where have you been all afternoon?”

”With my ancients and invalids,” Brockway replied.

Mrs. Burton shook a warning finger at him. ”Don't begin by telling me fibs. Miss Vennor is neither old nor infirm.”

Brockway reddened and made a shameless attempt to change the subject.

”How did you like the supper at Carvalho?” he asked.

The general agent's wife laughed as one who refuses to be diverted.

”Neither better nor worse than you did. We had a buffet luncheon--baked beans and that exquisite tomato-catchup, you know--served in our section, and we saw one act of a charming little comedy playing itself on the platform at the supper station. Be nice and tell me all about it.

Did the cold-blooded gentleman with the overseeing eyes succeed in overtaking you?”

Brockway saw it was no use, and laughed good-naturedly. ”You are a born detective, Mrs. Burton; I wouldn't be in Burton's shoes for a farm in the Golden Belt,” he retorted. ”How much did you really see, and how much did you take for granted?”

”I saw a young man, who didn't take the trouble to keep his emotions out of his face, marching up and down the platform with Miss Vennor on his arm. Then I saw an elderly gentleman pacing back and forth between two feminine chatterboxes, and trying to outgeneral the two happy people.

Naturally, I want to know more. Did you really go without your supper to take a const.i.tutional with Miss Gertrude? And did the unhappy father contrive to spoil your _tete-a-tete_?”

There was triumph in Brockway's grin.

”No, he didn't--not that time; I out-witted him. And I didn't go without my supper, either. I had the honor of dining with the President's party in the Naught-fifty.”

”You did! Then I'm sure she must have invited you; _he'd_ never do it.

How did it happen?”

Brockway told the story of the disabled cooking-stove, and Mrs. Burton laughed till the tears came. ”How perfectly ridiculous!” she exclaimed, between gasps. ”And she took your part and invited you to dinner, did she? Then what happened?”

”I was properly humiliated and sat upon,” said Brockway, in wrathful recollection. ”They talked about everything under the sun that I'd never heard of, and I had to sit through it all like a confounded oyster!”

”Oh, nonsense!” said Mrs. Burton, sweetly; ”you know a good many things that they never dreamed of. But how did you manage to get Gertrude away from them all?”

”I didn't; she managed it for me. When we got up from the table the train was just slowing into Carvalho. I was going to run away, as befitted me, but she proposed a breath of fresh air on the platform.”

”Then you had a chance to show her that you weren't born dumb, and I hope you improved it. But how did you dodge Mr. Vennor?”

”We missed a turn and went forward to look at the engine. Then Ger--Miss Vennor thought she would like to take a ride in the cab, and----”

”And, of course, you arranged it. You knew that was just the thing of all others that would reinstate you. It was perfectly Machiavellian!”

Brockway opened his eyes very wide. ”Knew what?” he said, bluntly. ”I only knew it was the thing she wanted to do, and that was enough. Well, we skipped back and notified Mrs. Dunham--she's the chaperon, you know--and then we chased ahead again and got on the engine.”