Part 30 (2/2)
”I give you my word then.”
”Thanks. I believe that too; but--”
For the second time Roberts smiled, the smile of finality unquestionable.
”Must we return and go through it all again?” he asked. ”It's after midnight now, but if you wish--”
”No; not that either.”
”All right. I'll send the office-boy around in the morning to help you move. He has nothing else really to do.” Roberts paused at a sudden thought. ”By the way, I'll not be back until a week from to-morrow.
Suppose we have a little housewarming, just we four--strangers, that night?” and before the other could answer, before the complex suggestion in its entirety took effect, he was gone.
CHAPTER IV
COMPREHENSION
It was three o'clock in the afternoon of a sultry July Sunday when a big red roadster drew up all but noiselessly and, with an instinct common to all motorists, a heritage from an equine age past, stopped at the nose of the hitching-post in front of the Gleason cottage. In it the single occupant throttled down the engine until it barely throbbed. Alighting, goggles on forehead, he pa.s.sed up the walk toward the house. Not until he was fairly at the steps did he apparently notice his surroundings. Then, unexpectedly, he bared his head.
”Be not surprised, it is I,” he said. ”Not in the spirit alone but in the flesh.” Equally without warning he smiled. ”Needless to say I'm glad to see you again, Elice,” as he took the girl's offered hand. Then deliberately releasing it: ”and you too, Armstrong,” extending his own.
Precisely as, with his companion of the shady porch, he had risen upon the newcomer's advent, the other man stood there. If possible his face, already unnaturally pale for a torrid afternoon, shaded whiter as an instant pa.s.sed without his making a motion in response.
”And you too, Armstrong,” Roberts repeated, the smile still on his face, the hand still extended; then, when there still came no response, the voice lowered until it was just audible, but nevertheless significant in its curt brevity: ”Shake whether you want to or not. There are seven pairs of eyes watching from behind that trellis across the street.”
Armstrong obeyed as though moved by a wire.
”Speak loud, so they can all hear. They're listening too,” directed the low-voiced mentor.
Armstrong, red in the face now, formulated the conventional.
”Thanks.” Roberts sat down on the top step, his big-boned body at ease, his great bushy head, in which the gray was beginning to sprinkle thick, a contrast to the dark pillar of the porch. ”I just returned an hour ago,” he added as casually as though food for gossip had not been avoided by a hair's breadth and was not still imminent. ”It's good, unqualifiedly, to be back.”
Armstrong returned to his seat, a bit uncertainly. His hands were trembling uncontrollably; in self-defence he thrust them deep into his pockets.
”Have you been out of town?” he asked.
”Yes, for over a month.” No affectation in that even friendliness. He laughed suddenly in tolerant, all but impersonal, self-a.n.a.lysis. ”And I'm tired--tired until the marrow of my bones aches.” He laughed again. ”It seems as though I never was so tired in my life.”
Armstrong looked at him, in a sudden flash of the old confidence and admiration.
”I beg your pardon, then,” he said hurriedly. ”I didn't know that you had been away, of course, and rather fancied, from your coming so unexpected--And that again after two years almost--You can understand how it was possible, can't you? I'm ashamed.”
”Certainly I can understand,” easily. ”Let's all forget it. I have already.” He smiled an instant comprehensively fair into the blue eyes, then characteristically abruptly he digressed. ”By the way, Elice,” he said, ”can't we have some of those cookies of yours? I've dreamed of them, along with other things, until--Do, please, if they're in stock. I mean it. Still down at Phelps's are you?” he asked the other directly when the girl had gone.
”No.” A long pause wherein Armstrong did not look up. ”I--left there a couple of weeks ago. I'm not doing anything in particular just now.”
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