Part 9 (1/2)
”I'm no Lily Sanderson,” Saxon answered indignantly. ”I'll never give Billy Roberts a chance to turn me down.”
”You will, if Charley Long b.u.t.ts in. Take it from me, Saxon, he ain't no gentleman. Look what he done to Mr. Moody. That was a awful beatin'.
An' Mr. Moody only a quiet little man that wouldn't harm a fly. Well, he won't find Billy Roberts a sissy by a long shot.”
That night, outside the laundry entrance, Saxon found Charley Long waiting. As he stepped forward to greet her and walk alongside, she felt the sickening palpitation that he had so thoroughly taught her to know. The blood ebbed from her face with the apprehension and fear his appearance caused. She was afraid of the rough bulk of the man; of the heavy brown eyes, dominant and confident; of the big blacksmith-hands and the thick strong fingers with the hair-pads on the back to every first joint. He was unlovely to the eye, and he was unlovely to all her finer sensibilities. It was not his strength itself, but the quality of it and the misuse of it, that affronted her. The beating he had given the gentle Mr. Moody had meant half-hours of horror to her afterward.
Always did the memory of it come to her accompanied by a shudder. And yet, without shock, she had seen Billy fight at Weasel Park in the same primitive man-animal way. But it had been different. She recognized, but could not a.n.a.lyze, the difference. She was aware only of the brutishness of this man's hands and mind.
”You're lookin' white an' all beat to a frazzle,” he was saying. ”Why don't you cut the work? You got to some time, anyway. You can't lose me, kid.”
”I wish I could,” she replied.
He laughed with harsh joviality. ”Nothin' to it, Saxon. You're just cut out to be Mrs. Long, an' you're sure goin' to be.”
”I wish I was as certain about all things as you are,” she said with mild sarcasm that missed.
”Take it from me,” he went on, ”there's just one thing you can be certain of--an' that is that I am certain.” He was pleased with the cleverness of his idea and laughed approvingly. ”When I go after anything I get it, an' if anything gets in between it gets hurt. D'ye get that? It's me for you, an' that's all there is to it, so you might as well make up your mind and go to workin' in my home instead of the laundry. Why, it's a snap. There wouldn't be much to do. I make good money, an' you wouldn't want for anything. You know, I just washed up from work an' skinned over here to tell it to you once more, so you wouldn't forget. I ain't ate yet, an' that shows how much I think of you.”
”You'd better go and eat then,” she advised, though she knew the futility of attempting to get rid of him.
She scarcely heard what he said. It had come upon her suddenly that she was very tired and very small and very weak alongside this colossus of a man. Would he dog her always? she asked despairingly, and seemed to glimpse a vision of all her future life stretched out before her, with always the form and face of the burly blacksmith pursuing her.
”Come on, kid, an' kick in,” he continued. ”It's the good old summer time, an' that's the time to get married.”
”But I'm not going to marry you,” she protested. ”I've told you a thousand times already.”
”Aw, forget it. You want to get them ideas out of your think-box. Of course, you're goin' to marry me. It's a pipe. An' I'll tell you another pipe. You an' me's goin' acrost to Frisco Friday night. There's goin' to be big doin's with the Horsesh.o.e.rs.”
”Only I'm not,” she contradicted.
”Oh, yes you are,” he a.s.serted with absolute a.s.surance. ”We'll catch the last boat back, an' you'll have one fine time. An' I'll put you next to some of the good dancers. Oh, I ain't a pincher, an' I know you like dancin'.”
”But I tell you I can't,” she reiterated.
He shot a glance of suspicion at her from under the black thatch of brows that met above his nose and were as one brow.
”Why can't you?”
”A date,” she said.
”Who's the bloke?”
”None of your business, Charley Long. I've got a date, that's all.”
”I'll make it my business. Remember that lah-de-dah bookkeeper rummy?
Well, just keep on rememberin' him an' what he got.”
”I wish you'd leave me alone,” she pleaded resentfully. ”Can't you be kind just for once?”
The blacksmith laughed unpleasantly.