Part 42 (1/2)

”Don't cry, Tony,” he begged. ”I can't stand it. You needn't have worried. There wasn't any danger of anything like that happening. I care too much to let you in for anything of that sort. So does he for that matter. He saw it in a minute. He really wouldn't want to do you any harm anyway, Tony. Even I know that, and you must know it better than I.”

Tony put down her hands, looked at d.i.c.k. ”I suppose that is true,” she sighed. ”He does love me, d.i.c.k.”

”He does, Tony. I wish he didn't. And I wish with all my heart I were sure you didn't love him.”

Tony sighed again and her eyes fell.

”I wish--I were sure, too,” she faltered.

d.i.c.k winced at that. He had no answer. What was there to say?

”I don't see why I should care. I don't see how I can care after to-night. He is horrid in lots of ways--a cad--just as you called him. I know Larry would feel just as you do and hate to have him come near me.

Larry and I have almost quarreled about it now. He thinks Uncle Phil is all wrong not to forbid my seeing Alan at all. But Uncle Phil is too wise. He doesn't want to have me marry Alan any more than the rest of you do but he knows if he fights it it would put me on the other side in a minute and I'd do it, maybe, in spite of everybody.”

”Tony, you aren't engaged to him?”

She shook her head.

”Not exactly. I am afraid I might as well be though. I said I didn't ever want to see him again, but I didn't mean it. I shall want to see him again by to-morrow. I always do no matter what he does. I always shall I am afraid. It is like that with me. I'm sorry, d.i.c.ky. I ought to have told you that before. I've been horrid not to, I know. Take me home now, please. I'm tired--awfully tired.”

Going home in the cab neither spoke until just as they were within a few blocks of the Hostelry when d.i.c.k broke the silence.

”I am sorry all this had to happen to-night,” he said. ”Because, well, I am going away tomorrow.”

”Going away! d.i.c.k! Where?” It was horribly selfish of her, Tony knew; but it didn't seem as if she could bear to have d.i.c.k go. It seemed as if the only thing that was stable in her reeling life would be gone if he went. If he went she would belong to Alan more and more. There would be nothing to hold her back. She was afraid. She clung to d.i.c.k. He alone of the whole city full of human beings was a symbol of Holiday Hill. With him gone it seemed to her as if she would be hopelessly adrift on perilous seas.

”To Mexico--Vera Cruz, I believe,” he answered her question.

”Vera Cruz! d.i.c.k, you mustn't! It is awful down there now. Everybody says so.” He smiled a little at that.

”It is because it is more or less awful that they are sending me,” he said. ”Journalism isn't much interested in placidity. A newspaper man has to be where things are happening fast and plenty. If things are hot down there so much the better. They will sizzle more in the copy.”

”d.i.c.k! I can't have you go. I can't bear it.” Tony's hand crept into his. ”Something dreadful might happen to you,” she wailed.

He pressed her hand, grateful for her real trouble about him and for her caring.

”Oh no, dear. Nothing dreadful will happen to me. You mustn't worry,”

he soothed.

”But I do. I shall. How can I help it? It is just as if Larry or Ted were going. It scares me.”

d.i.c.k drew away his hand suddenly.

”For heaven's sake, Tony, please don't tell me again that I'm just like Larry and Ted to you. It is bad enough to know it without your rubbing it in all the time. I can't stand it--not to-night.”

”d.i.c.k!” Tony was startled, taken aback by his tone. d.i.c.k rarely let himself go like that.

In a moment he was all contrition.