Part 44 (2/2)

Danny looked at her kindly. ”Mercy on us, Rosie, what a worryin' little hen you are! If you ask me advice, I'd say: Let Sat.u.r.day take care of itself.”

Rosie wiped her eyes slowly. ”It's all very well for you to talk that way. But I tell you one thing: if Jarge was your dear friend like he's mine, you wouldn't want to stand by and see this Harry fella cut him out.”

Danny gave a non-committal sigh and looked away. ”I don't know about that, Rosie. I think it might be an awful good thing for Jarge if Harry did cut him out.”

”But, Danny,” Rosie cried, ”think how it would hurt Jarge!”

Danny's answer was unfeeling. ”There's worse things can happen to a man than being hurt.”

Rosie's manner stiffened perceptibly. ”Very well, Mr. Agin, if that's how you feel about it, I guess I better be going.”

”Ah, don't go yet,” Danny begged.

Rosie, already started, turned back long enough to say, with frigid politeness: ”Good-bye, Mr. Agin.”

At the gate, her heart misgave her. Danny, after all, had spoken according to his lights. It was not his fault so much as his limitation that he should judge George Riley by the standard of other young men.

Rosie would be magnanimous.

”I got to go anyhow, Danny,” she called back sweetly.

Danny's chuckle reached her faintly. ”But you're coming again, Rosie dear, aren't you? You know I'll be wanting to hear about Sat.u.r.day.”

Danny was old and half sick, so Rosie felt she must be patient. ”All right,” she sang out; ”I'll come.”

CHAPTER x.x.xIX

THE WATCH-DOG

That night at supper, Ellen remarked casually: ”Harry's coming to town on Sat.u.r.day, and if he comes up here, I want you all to treat him nice.”

Mrs. O'Brien glanced at Rosie a little nervously. ”But, Ellen dear,” she asked, ”why does he want to be coming up here?”

Ellen smiled on her mother patronisingly. ”It looks like he wants to call on me.”

Mrs. O'Brien lifted hands in vague protest. ”But tell me, now, do you think Jarge----” She hadn't courage to finish her sentence.

Terence looked over to Rosie with a sudden chuckle. ”Say, Rosie, wouldn't it be fun if Jarge happened in? Let's drop him a line. Gee!

Maybe he wouldn't do a thing to that St. Louis guy!”

”Ma!” Ellen admonished, sharply.

”Terry lad,” Mrs. O'Brien began, obediently, ”I'm surprised at you talkin' this way about the young gentleman that's coming to see your poor sister Ellen on Sat.u.r.day night.”

Terence pushed away his plate and began writing an imaginary postcard with a spoon. ”Dear Jarge,” he read slowly; ”Won't you please come in on Sat.u.r.day night? We're arranging a little surprise for Ellen. Yours truly, Terence O'Brien. Gee!” Terry murmured thoughtfully, ”I wish he would come! It sure would be worth seeing!”

”Now, Terry,” Mrs. O'Brien begged, ”promise me you'll do nuthin' so foolish as that! You know yourself the awful temper Jarge has on him, an' if he was to come I'm afeared there'd be something serious. Don't you think, Ellen dear,” she went on a little timidly, ”that perhaps you'd better tell Mr. Harry not to come this week?”

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