Part 33 (1/2)
As Mrs. Toomey cast a look of despair about, her eyes met those of the man who was sitting alone at the table across the aisle. Even in her distress she had observed him when he had entered, for his height, breadth of shoulder, erectness of carriage--together with the tan and a certain unconventional freedom of movement which, to the initiated, proclaimed him an outdoor westerner, made him noticeable.
He was fifty--more, possibly--with hair well grayed and the face of a man to whom success had not come easily. Yet that he had succeeded was not to be doubted, for neither his face nor bearing were those of a man who could be, or had been, defeated. His appearance--substantial, unostentatious--inspired confidence in his integrity and confidence in his ability to cope with any emergency. The lines in his strong face suggested something more than the mere marks of obstacles conquered, of battles lost and won in the world of business--they came from a deeper source than surface struggles. His mouth, a trifle austere, had a droop of sadness, and in his calm gray eyes there was the look of understanding which comes not only from wide experience but from suffering.
Mrs. Toomey had the feeling that he comprehended perfectly every emotion she was experiencing--her fright, her mortification, her disgust at j.a.p's maudlin speech and foolish appearance. But it was something more than these things which had caused her to look at him frequently. He reminded her of some one, yet she could not identify the resemblance. In their exchange of glances she now caught a sympathetic flash; then he rose immediately and came over.
”May I be of service, brother?” As he spoke he indicated the small b.u.t.ton he wore which corresponded to another on Toomey's waistcoat. With a slight inclination of the head towards Mrs. Toomey, ”If you'll allow me--”
The relieved waiter promptly fled with the note he laid on the plate.
”These situations are a little awkward for the moment,” he added, smiling slightly.
”Mighty nice of you, Old Top!” Toomey shook hands with him. ”Lemme buy you somethin'. Wha'll you have?”
The stranger declined and thanked him.
Mrs. Toomey expressed her grat.i.tude incoherently.
”You must leave your name and address; we'll mail you a check to-morrow.”
”I always stay at the Auditorium. Mail addressed to me there will be forwarded.” He laid his visiting card upon the table.
Toomey placed a detaining hand upon his arm as he turned from the table.
”Look here! Won't let you go till you promise come make us a visit--stay month--stay year--stay rest o' your life--la'sh string hanging' out for you. Pure air, Swizzerland of America, an' greatest natural resources--”
The stranger detached himself gently.
”I appreciate your hospitality,” he replied courteously. ”Who knows?” to Mrs. Toomey, ”I might some day look in on you--I've never been out in that section of the country.”
With another bow he paid his own account and left the restaurant.
”Thoroughbred!” declared Toomey enthusiastically. ”Old Dear, I made a hit with him.”
Mrs. Toomey was staring after the erect commanding figure.
She read again the name on the card she held in her fingers and murmured with an expression of speculative wonder:
”The spelling's different but--Prentiss! and she looks enough like him to be his daughter.”
CHAPTER XVI
STRAWS
It was spring. The sagebrush had turned from gray to green and the delicate pink of the rock roses showed here and there on the hillsides.
The crisp rattle of cottonwood leaves was heard when the wind stirred through the gulches, and along the water course the drooping plumes of the willows were pale green and tender. It was the season of hope, of energy revived and new ambitions--the months of rejuvenation, when the blood runs faster and the heart beats higher.
But, alas, the joyful finger of spring touched the citizens of Prouty lightly. Worn out and jaded with the strain of a hard winter and waiting for something to happen, they did not feel their pulses greatly accelerated by mere suns.h.i.+ne. It took more than a rock rose and a p.u.s.s.y willow to color the world for them. June might as well be January, if one is financially embarra.s.sed.
The suspicion was becoming a private conviction that when Prouty acquired anything beyond a blacksmith shop and a general merchandise store it got more than it needed. Conceived and born in windy optimism, it had no stamina. The least observant could see that, like a fiddler crab's, the progress of the town was backward. But these truths were admitted only in moments of drunken candor or deepest depression, for to hint that Prouty had no future was as treasonable as criticising the government in a crisis. So the citizens went on boasting with dogged cheerfulness and tried to unload their holdings on any chance stranger.
A trickle of water came through the ditch that had been scratched in the earth from the mountains to some three miles beyond Prouty. Nearly every head-gate the length of it had been the scene of a b.l.o.o.d.y battle where the ranchers fought each other with irrigating shovels for their rights.