Part 7 (2/2)

”I don't mean licking. But he keeps me out of the room when I'm sent out, and docks me at the end of the week. Mother needs every cent.

She's back in the rent. I was sent out to-day.”

”But why? What were you doing?”

”Nothing--leastways I didn't mean to. There wasn't none of us sick this morning, and Billy c.o.o.ns was acting down behind High-Spy's back, and I tried not to laugh. She don't let us laugh. But she said I did. I didn't laugh--” Jimmy's voice was protesting. ”I just smiled and it--it busted.”

”Is that why she made you go out of the room?” I turned away and looked out of the window lest the accident to Jimmy's smile be mine.

”Is that why she sent you out?”

He nodded. ”Mr. Pritchard kept me out an hour. Sometimes he lets me make it up at lunch. I was going to ask him to let me to-day, but--”

”I'm preventing. I'm glad of it! When are you going to eat your lunch?”

”I've done et it--” Jimmy's tongue moistened his lips. ”I et it on my way here this morning. I got paid off last night and I took out five cents and gave the rest to mother, and this morning I bought a pie with it and et up every bite. It might have been hooked when I was out the room, so I'm glad I didn't save none. I got it at Heck's. He keeps the best pies in town for five cents. They're real fat.”

I was paying little attention to Jimmy. At the open window I could see a young girl across the street with a baby in her arms. She had brought it from a small frame house with high steps leading to a sagging porch, in the door of which a large and kindly-faced woman was standing, arms folded and eyes watching the movements of the girl. As the latter lifted her head, on which was no hat, I leaned forward, my heart in my throat. The odd, eager young face, the boyish arrangement of the hair above it, the quick, bird-like movements of the slender body, had burned for days and nights in my brain, and I recognized her at once.

”Jimmy,” I said, ”come here.” I drew him to the window with nervous haste, my fingers twitching, my breath unsteady. ”Who is that girl with the baby? There she is, turning the corner. Look quick! Do you know her?”

Jimmy shook his head. ”Never saw her. Can't see her now.” He leaned far out the window, but the girl had disappeared, and the woman in the doorway had gone in and closed the door.

I must have said something, made some sort of sound, for Jimmy, turning from the window, looked at me uneasily, in his eyes distress and understanding.

”What's the matter, Miss Heath? You'd better sit down. Did the heat make you sick? You're--you're whiter than that wall.”

CHAPTER XI

A sickness which Jimmy could not understand was indeed upon me, and unsteadily I leaned against the window-frame, looking at, but not seeing, him, and not until he spoke again did I remember I was not alone.

”Is it very bad? You look as if it hurts so. Wait a minute--I'll get you some water.”

I caught him as he started to run down the hall, and drew him back.

”I don't want any water. I am not sick.” My head went up. ”The smell of paste would make me ill if I stayed, however, and I'm not going to stay to-day. I'll come some other time. Run on and join the other boys. Tell your mother”--I seemed groping for words--”tell your mother I will see her before you start to school. Run on, Jimmy, and thank Mr. Pritchard for lending you to me. And laugh as much as you want to, Jimmy. Laugh all you can before--you can't!”

Over the banister the child was leaning anxiously, watching me as I stumbled down the steps. At their foot I turned and waved my hand and laughed, an odd, faint, far-away laugh that seemed to come from some one else; and then I went into the street and found myself crossing it, impelled by surging impulse to know--

To know what? At the foot of the rickety stairs leading to the high porch from which I had seen the girl come I stopped. All I had been repressing, fighting, resisting for days past, had in a moment yielded to horror, and hurt that seemed past healing, and I was surrendering to what I should know was impossible. I must be mad!

With a shudder that was half a sob I turned away and walked down the street and into the one which would lead to Scarborough Square. As I walked my shoulders straightened. What was the matter with me? Was I becoming that which I loathed--a suspicious, spying person? I was insulting Selwyn. He knew I hated mystery, however, knew the right of explanation was mine, knew that I expected of any man who was my friend that his life should be as open as my life. If I had hurt him, angered him by my question when I last saw him, he had hurt, had angered me far more. For now I was angry. Did he imagine I was the sort of woman who accepted reticence with resignation? I was not.

At the corner Mr. Fogg was standing in the door of his little shop, holding a blue bottle up to the light and examining it with critical care. He had on his usual clothes of many colors, shabby from much wearing, but in his round, clean-shaven face, pink with health and inward cheer, was smiling serenity, and in his eyes a twinkle that yielded not to time or circ.u.mstance. His second-hand bookshelf, his canary-birds and white rabbits, his fox-terriers and goldfish are friends that never fail, and in them he has found content. His eagerness to chat occasionally with some one who cares, as he cares, for his beloved books, is not at times to be resisted, but I was in no mood to talk to-day. I wondered if I could hurry by.

”Good morning!” The blue bottle, half filled with water, in which a tiny bulb was floating, was waved toward me, and a s.h.a.ggy white head nodded at me. ”It's a fine day, ain't it?--a fine day for snow.

Good and gray. I think we'll have some flakes before night. Kinder feel like a boy again when it's snowing. I don't know yet which season I like best. Every one has got its glory. What you been up to to-day? Seeing some more things?”

I nodded. ”I wish I could come in, but I can't.” I s.h.i.+vered, though I was not cold. ”I am going up-town.” A minute before I had no intention of going up-town, but to go indoors was suddenly impossible. Whatever was possessing me must be fought off alone. ”I will bring you my copy of Men and Nations to-morrow. Keep it as long as you wish.”

”Thank you, ma'am. Thank you hearty. I'll take good care of it. I suppose you haven't heard of the widow Robb? Her name's Patty, you know, and she's got a beau. He's named Cake. Luck plays tricks with love, don't it? Don't get caught in a snow-storm. You ain't”--his voice was anxious--”you ain't thinking of leaving us, are you? The girls down here are needing of you, needing sore. All of us are needing of you.”

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