Part 18 (1/2)

Harrigan looked up. ”No. What's it about?”

”Best story of the London prize-ring ever written. You're Mr. Harrigan, aren't you?”

”Yes,” diffidently.

”My name is Edward Courtlandt. If I am not mistaken, you were a great friend of my father's.”

”Are you d.i.c.k Courtlandt's boy?”

”I am.”

”Well, say!” Harrigan held out his hand and was gratified to encounter a man's grasp. ”So you're Edward Courtlandt? Now, what do you think of that!

Why, your father was the best sportsman I ever met. Square as they make 'em. Not a kink anywhere in his make-up. He used to come to the bouts in his plug hat and dress suit; always had a seat by the ring. I could hear him tap with his cane when there happened to be a bit of pretty sparring.

He was no slouch himself when it came to putting on the mitts. Many's the time I've had a round or two with him in my old gymnasium. Well, well!

It's good to see a man again. I've seen your name in the papers, but I never knew you was d.i.c.k's boy. You've got an old grizzly's head in your dining-room at home. Some day I'll tell you how it got there, when you're not in a hurry. I went out to Montana for a sc.r.a.p, and your dad went along. After the mill was over, we went hunting. Come up to the villa and meet the folks.... Hang it, I forgot. They're up to Caxley-Webster's to tea; piffle water and sticky sponge-cake. I want you to meet my wife and daughter.”

”I should be very pleased to meet them.” So this was Nora's father? ”Won't you come along with me to the colonel's?” with sudden inspiration. Here was an opportunity not to be thrust aside lightly.

”Why, I just begged off. They won't be expecting me now.”

”All the better. I'd rather have you introduce me to your family than to have the colonel. As a matter of fact, I told him I couldn't get up. But I changed my mind. Come along.” The first rift in the storm-packed clouds; and to meet her through the kindly offices of this amiable man who was her father!

”But the pup and the cigar box?”

”Send them up.”

Harrigan eyed his own spotless flannels and compared them with the other's. What was good enough for the son of a millionaire was certainly good enough for him. Besides, it would be a bully good joke on Nora and Molly.

”You're on!” he cried. Here was a lark. He turned the dog and the purchases over to the proprietor, who promised that they should arrive instantly at the villa.

Then the two men sought the quay to engage a boat. They walked shoulder to shoulder, flat-backed, with supple swinging limbs, tanned faces and clear animated eyes. Perhaps Harrigan was ten or fifteen pounds heavier, but the difference would have been noticeable only upon the scales.

”Padre, my shoe pinches,” said Nora with a pucker between her eyes.

”My child,” replied the padre, ”never carry your vanity into a shoemaker's shop. The happiest man is he who walks in loose shoes.”

”If they are his own, and not inherited,” quickly.

The padre laughed quietly. He was very fond of this new-found daughter of his. Her spontaneity, her blooming beauty, her careless observation of convention, her independence, had captivated him. Sometimes he believed that he thoroughly understood her, when all at once he would find himself mentally peering into some dark corner into which the penetrating light of his usually swift deduction could throw no glimmer. She possessed the sins of the b.u.t.terfly and the latent possibilities of a Judith. She was the most interesting feminine problem he had in his long years encountered.

The mother mildly amused him, for he could discern the character that she was sedulously striving to batten down beneath inane social usages and formalities. Some day she would revert to the original type, and then he would be glad to renew the acquaintance. In rather a shamefaced way (a sensation he could not quite a.n.a.lyze) he loved the father. The pugilist will always embarra.s.s the scholar and excite a negligible envy; for physical perfection is the most envied of all nature's gifts. The padre was short, thickset, and inclined toward stoutness in the region of the middle b.u.t.ton of his ca.s.sock. But he was active enough for all purposes.

”I have had many wicked thoughts lately,” resumed Nora, turning her gaze away from the tennis players. She and the padre were sitting on the lower steps of the veranda. The others were loitering by the nets.

”The old plaint disturbs you?”