Part 40 (1/2)
”I think I'm going to be off,” George told her that night in answer to her inquiry. ”I switch around to a late run tomorrow night, but I won't know until tomorrow whether I'm going to keep it regular. What do you want to do tomorrow night? Ride down with me on my last trip? Then we'd stop and get a soda on the way home.”
”Thank you, Jarge, I think that would be very nice. And you can write me a little note about Labour Day and hand it to me when I get on the car.”
George's face fell. ”Won't talking be good enough?”
”No, Jarge, it'll be better to write. You're doing beautifully in your letters but you must keep them up.”
George sighed but murmured an obedient: ”All right.”
The next evening Rosie was at the corner in good time and, promptly to the minute, George's car came by. It was an open summer car with seats straight across and an outside running board. Rosie climbed into the last seat, which was so close to the rear platform where George stood that it was almost as good as having George beside her. When there were no other pa.s.sengers on the same seat, George could lean in and chat sociably.
”Here's a letter for you,” he announced, as Rosie settled herself. He gave her a little folded paper and at the same time slipped a dime into her hand with which, in all propriety, she was to pay her carfare.
”I'll answer your note tomorrow,” Rosie said.
Duty called George to the front of the car and Rosie peeped hastily into his letter. ”_My dear little Sweetheart,_” it ran; ”_Say, what do you think? I'm off Labour Day afternoon, so we can go to the Parade. Say, kid, I'm just crazy about you. George._”
So that settled the Tom Sullivan business. Rosie felt a little sorry about Tom because Tom did like her. It couldn't be helped, though, for a girl simply can't divide herself up into sections for all the men that want her. She would let Tom down as easily as possible. It might comfort him to take her to the movies. Rosie could easily manage that by suggesting a time when George Riley was busy.
The car was pretty well filled on the down trip, so George had little time for chatting. Rosie was patient as she knew that, on the return trip, the car would be empty or nearly so.
”All out!” George cried at the end of the route, and everybody but Rosie meekly obeyed.
George was about to pull the bell, when Rosie called: ”Wait, Jarge!
There comes a girl!”
The girl was half running, half staggering, and George stepped off the car to help her on. As the light of the car fell on the girl's face, Rosie jumped to her feet, crying out in amazement: ”Ellen!”
Yes, it was Ellen, but not an Ellen they had ever seen before--an Ellen with hat awry and trembling hands and a face red and swollen with weeping.
”George!” she sobbed hysterically, ”is that you! I'm so glad! You'll take me home, won't you? I haven't got a cent of carfare!”
George helped her into the seat beside Rosie and started the car. Then he leaned in over Rosie and demanded:
”What's the matter, Ellen? What's happened?”
CHAPTER x.x.xIV
THE KIND-HEARTED GENTLEMAN
For several moments Ellen sobbed and shook without trying to speak.
Then, instead of answering George's question, she turned solemnly to Rosie. ”Oh, kid,” she begged, ”promise me you'll never have anything to do with a man like Philip Hawes!” There was an unexpected tenderness in her tone but this, far from touching Rosie, stirred up all the antagonism in her nature. Why, forsooth, should Ellen be giving her such advice? Was she the member of the family who was given to chasing men like Philip Hawes? Rosie sat up stiffly and turned her face straight ahead.
Upon George the effect of Ellen's words was different. He leaned farther in, his neck surging with blood, his little eyes growing round and fierce. ”What do you mean, Ellen? Has that fellow been insulting you?”
Ellen was sobbing again and swaying herself back and forth. ”Oh, George, I'm so humiliated I feel like I could never hold up my head again!”
George's strong fist was clenching and unclenching. ”What did that fellow do to you?”