Part 23 (1/2)

”I don't want to be crazy--I don't know what I want,” said Helena petulantly. Her chin went into her hands, and she stared wide-eyed at the breaking surf. ”I wonder what it all means?” she murmured, with a mirthless little laugh.

Her thoughts began to run riot. What _did_ it all mean? What was this faith? There was, there _must_ be something in it. There was the Holmes boy--suppose it _was_ only some nervous disorder--well, something had risen superior to whatever it was and had _cured_ him. There was Naida Thornton--true, she was ill again--her heart, Mr. Thornton had said--but she could still walk, a thing she had not been able to do for a long time until she came to Needley.

Helena laughed again--oh, it was a good game! The Doc had made no mistake about that--but then, when it came to planting anything the Doc rarely did make a mistake. Fancy fifty thousand dollars in one haul!

_Fifty thousand in one haul!_ The bank had sent her a pa.s.sbook with that amount to her credit. And that was only the beginning--hardly anybody had come yet, and already there was several hundred dollars more in real money that she had handed over to Madison from the offering box.

Money! They'd have more money than they'd know what to do with before they got through--there was nothing the matter with the game--all there was to do was to play it to a finish. And there wasn't the slightest risk about it--everything was given voluntarily. Oh, the game was all right--but somehow she wasn't happy--not nearly so happy as she had been in New York, even in lean periods when she and the Doc had been pressed for money. But, anyway, then they had been together, and fought, and laughed, and loved, and quarrelled through flush times and bad.

Maybe that was it! The Doc! Of course, she loved him--she had loved him ever since she had known him. There was no secret about that--she loved him fiercely, pa.s.sionately, more than she loved anything else in the world, with all the love she was capable of--more than he loved her--he seemed to accept her, too often, so casually, so indifferently, so much as a matter of course. He was so confidently and complacently sure of her--and she was not at all sure of him. She was only sure that he was quite right in being sure--she couldn't help loving him if she tried.

She had hardly seen anything of him since that night in the Roost before he had left for Needley--and he hadn't seemed to care much whether she did or not. That talk about playing the game and taking no chances was all bosh--there had been plenty of chances where it wouldn't have hurt the game any. Perhaps the little jolt she had given him last night, turning the tables a little, would wake him up a bit. Perhaps, as the Flopper had said, he would come out to-night, and--

”Helena! Helena!”

Helena sat suddenly upright--the noise of the surf m.u.f.fled the sound of the voice, but that was probably Doc now--she could hear footsteps running from the direction of the cottage. Deliberately, Helena leaned back again against the rock, took out a cigarette and with no attempt to shade the flame of the match, rather to use it as a challenging beacon, held it to the cigarette--but for the second time she flung both match and cigarette hurriedly away. It wasn't Madison at all--it was only the Flopper.

”Say!” gasped the Flopper, blowing hard. ”Why can't youse answer when yer called? Wot you tryin' ter do--light a bonfire ter save yer voice?

Say, youse wanter get a wiggle on--beat it--quick! Dey're after you.”

”What?” cried Helena sharply, jumping to her feet. ”After me? Who? What do you mean?”

”I dunno,” said the Flopper with sudden imperturbability--and evidently quite pleased with the agitation he had caused. ”He talks like his mouth was full, an' he's got a scare t'rown inter him so's his teeth have got de jiggles.”

Helena caught the Flopper's arm and shook him angrily.

”What are you talking about--what is it?” she demanded fiercely.

”It's de porter from de private car,” said the Flopper, wriggling away from her. ”He drove out here. De lady's on de toboggan--sick. She's askin' fer youse an'--”

Helena waited for no more. She raced to the cottage and around to the front. A wagon was standing before the porch; the negro porter on the seat.

”What is it, Sam?” she called anxiously, as she came up. ”Is Mrs.

Thornton seriously ill?”

”Yas--yas'um, miss,” Sam answered excitedly. ”I done feel in mah bones she's gwine to die. Miss Harvey she done tole me to get a team an' drive foh you-all like de debbil.”

Without waste of words, Helena clambered in beside him.

”Then drive,” she said shortly. ”Drive as fast as you can.”

At first, as they drove along, Helena plied Sam with questions--and then lapsed into silence. The man did not know very much--only that Mrs.

Thornton had been taken suddenly ill, and that the nurse had sent him on the errand that had brought him to the cottage. A turmoil of conflicting emotions filled Helena's mind, obtruding upon her anxiety, for she had grown to care a great deal for Naida Thornton--this was a complication that Doc Madison must know about--Thornton had left that morning and was already far away--the newspaper men, or some of them at least, were still in the town--and there were so many things else--they all came crowding upon her, as she clung to her seat in the jolting wagon. But Doc must know--that rose a paramount consideration. It seemed an age, an eternity before they stopped finally at the station.

She sprang out and turned to Sam.

”Sam,” she directed hurriedly, ”you go back to the Congress Hotel and get Mr. Madison. Mr. Madison is a friend of Mr. Thornton's, you know. Go about it quietly--you needn't let any one know what you came for. You can tell Mr. Madison what the trouble is--and tell him that I sent you, and that I am here. Do you understand?”

”Yas'um, mum,” said Sam impressively. ”Just you done leab all that to me, missy.”