Part 31 (1/2)
But Billy had sighted one on a mahogany desk near at hand and he toppled to the edge of the chair that stood before it. He took down the receiver in a shaky hand, calling Long Distance.
”This Long Distance? Well, gimme Economy 13.”
The Shaftons for the instant were busy looking over the papers, identifying each jewel, wondering if any were missing. They did not notice Billy till a gruff young voice rang out with a pathetic tremble in it: ”That you Chief? This is Billy. Say, c'n I bother you to phone to Miss Severn an' ast her to tell m'yant I'm aw'wright? Yes, tell her I'll be home soon now, an' I'll explain. And Chief, I'm mighty sorry those two guys got away, but I couldn't help it. We'll get 'em yet. Hope you didn't wait long. Tell you more when I see ya, S'long--!”
The boyish voice trailed off into silence as the receiver fell with a crash to the polished desk, and Billy slipped off the chair and lay in a huddled heap on the costly rug.
”Oh, mercy!” cried the lady, ”Is he drunk or what?”
”Come away Sarah, let Morris deal--”
”But he's sick, I believe, William. Look how white he is. I believe he is dead! William, he may have come a long way in the heat! He may have had a sunstroke! Morris, send for a doctor quick! And--call the ambulance too! You better telephone the hospital. We can't have him here! William, look here, what's this on his sleeve? Blood? Oh, William!
And we didn't give him any reward--!”
And so, while the days hastened on Billy lay between clean white sheets on a bed of pain in a private ward of a wonderful Memorial Hospital put up by the Shaftons in honor of a child that died. Tossing and moaning, and dreaming of unquenchable fire, always trying to climb out of the hot crater that held him, and never getting quite to the top, always knowing there was something he must do, yet never quite finding out what it was.
And back in Sabbath Valley Aunt Saxon prayed and cried and waited and took heart of cheer from the message the Chief had sent to Lynn. And quietly the day approached for the trial of Mark Carter, but his mother did not yet know.
XXV
Mrs. Gibson, the wife of the comparatively new elder of the Sabbath Valley church was a semi-invalid. That is she wasn't able to do her own work and kept ”help.” The help was a lady of ample proportions whose husband had died and whose fortunes were depleted. She consented to a.s.sist Mrs. Gibson provided she were considered one of the family, and she presented a continual front of offense so that the favored family must walk most circ.u.mspectly if they would not have her retire to her room with hurt feelings and leave them to s.h.i.+ft for themselves.
On the morning of the trial she settled herself at her side of the breakfast table, after a number of excursions to the kitchen for things she had forgotten, the cream, the coffee, and the brown bread, of which Mr. Gibson was very fond. She was prepared to enjoy her own breakfast.
Mr. Gibson generally managed to bolt his while these excursions of memory were being carried on and escape the morning news, but Mrs.
Gibson, well knowing which side her bread was b.u.t.tered, and not knowing where she could get another housekeeper, usually managed to sit it out.
”Well, this is a great day for Sabbath Valley,” said Mrs. Frost mournfully, spreading an ample slice of bread deep with b.u.t.ter, and balancing it on the uplifted fingers of one hand while she stirred the remainder of the cream into her coffee with one of the best silver spoons. She was wide and bulgy and her chair always seemed inadequate when she settled thus for nourishment.
”A great day,” she repeated sadly, taking an audible sip of her coffee.
”A great day?” repeated little Mrs. Gibson with a puzzled air, quickly recalling her abstracted thoughts.
”Yes. n.o.body ever thought anybody in Sabbath Valley would ever be tried for murder!”
”Oh!” said Mrs. Gibson sharply, drawing back her chair as if she were in a hurry and rolling up her napkin quickly.
”Yes, poor Mark Carter! I remember his sweet little face and his long yellow curls and his baby smile as if it were yesterday!” narrowing her eyes and harrowing her voice, ”I wonder if his poor mother knows yet.”
”I should hope not!” said Mrs. Gibson rising precipitately and wandering over to the window where hung a gilded canary cage. ”Mrs. Frost, did you remember to give the canary some seed and fresh water?”
”Yes, I b'lieve so,” responded the fat lady, ”But you can't keep her from knowing it always. Whatt'll you do when he's _hung?_ Don't you think it would be easier for; her to get used to it little by little?”
”Mrs. Frost, if you were a dog would you rather have your tail cut off all at once, or little by little?” said Mrs. Gibson mischievously.
”I shouldn't like to have it cut off at all I'm quite sure,” said Mrs.
Frost frostily.
”Well, perhaps Mrs. Carter might feel that way too,” said the lady bending over a rose geranium and pinching a leaf to smell.