Part 9 (1/2)
”Colonel Armstrong, will you do me a great favor? Will you be his counsel?”
He was looking directly to the front as she spoke. Something told him what was coming, yet he could not answer all at once. What did it mean, after all, but just what he had been thinking for a week, that the girl's fresh young heart had gone out to this merry, handsome, soldierly lad, whom he, too, had often marked with keen appreciation when in command of his big company at drill. What possible thought of hers could he, ”more than twice her years,” have ever hoped to win. She had come to him in her sore trouble--and her lover's--as she would have gone to her father had he been a soldier schooled in such affairs. Armstrong pulled himself together with quick, stern self-command.
Looking down, he saw that her eyes were filling, her lips paling, and a rush of tenderness overcame him as he simply and gently answered:
”Yes, and there is no time to be lost.”
All these last days, it will be remembered, Mrs. Frank Garrison with pretty ”Cherry Ripe” had found shelter at the Presidio. The Palace was no place for a poor soldier's wife, and there was no longer a grateful nabob as a possible source of income. It is doubtful indeed whether that mine could be further tapped, for the effusive brother-in-law of the winter gone by had found disillusion in more ways than one. Garrison, busy day and night with his staff duties, had plainly to tell his capricious wife that she had come without his knowledge or consent, and that he could not think of meeting the expense of even a two weeks' stay in town. He could not account for her coming at all. He had left her with his own people where at least she would be in comfort while he took the field. He desired that she should return thither at once. She determined to remain and gayly tapped his cheek and bade him have no concern. She could readily find quarters, and so she did. The regular garrison of the Presidio was long since afield, but the families of many of its officers still remained there, while the houses of two or three, completely furnished so far as army furnis.h.i.+ngs go, were there in charge of the post quartermaster. From being the temporary guests of some old friends, Mrs.
Frank and her pretty companion suddenly opened housekeeping in one of these vacated homes, and all her witchery was called into play to make it the most popular resort of the younger element at the post. Money she might lack, but no woman could eclipse her in the dazzle of her dainty toilets. The Presidio was practically at her feet before she had been established forty-eight hours. Other peoples' vehicles trundled her over to camp whenever she would drive. Other peoples' horses stood saddled at her door when she would ride. Other peoples' servants flew to do her bidding. Women might whisper and frown, but for the present, at least, she had the men at her beck and call. Morn, noon and night she was on the go, the mornings being given over, as a rule, to a gallop over the breezy heights where the brigade or regimental drills were going on, the afternoons to calls, wherein it is ever more blessed to give than to receive--and the evenings to hops at the a.s.sembly room, or to entertaining--charmingly entertaining the little swarm of officers with occasional angels of her own s.e.x, sure to drop in and spend an hour.
Cherry played and sang and ”made eyes” at the boys. Mrs. Frank was winsome and genial and joyous to everybody, and when Garrison himself arrived from camp, generally late in the evening, looking worn and jaded from long hours at the desk, she had ever a comforting supper and smiling, playful welcome for her lord, making much of him before the a.s.sembled company, to the end that more than one callow sub was heard to say that there would be some sense in marrying, by George, if a fellow could pick up a wife like Mrs. Frank. All the same the post soon learned that the supposedly blest aide-de-camp breakfasted _solus_ on what he could forage for himself before he mounted and rode over to his long day's labor at Camp Merritt. Another thing was speedily apparent, the _entente cordial_ between her radiant self and the Primes was at an end, if indeed it ever existed. _She_, to be sure, was suns.h.i.+ne itself when they chanced to meet at camp. The clouds were on the faces of the father and daughter, while Miss Lawrence maintained a serene neutrality.
They were lingering in 'Frisco, still hopefully, were the Primes. The detectives on duty at the landing stage the evening Stewart's regiment embarked swore that no one answering the description of either of the two young men had slipped aboard. Those in the employ of the sad old man were persistent in the statement that they had clues--were on the scent, etc.
He was a sheep worth the shearing, and so, while Mr. Prime spent many hours in consultation with certain of these so-called sleuth-hounds, the young ladies took their daily drive through the park, generally picking up the smiling Schuyler somewhere along the way, and rarely omitting a call, with creature comforts in the way of baskets of fruit, upon the happy Billy, whose limits were no longer restricted to his tent, as during the first week of his arrest, but whose court was ordered to sit in judgment on him the first of the coming week. Already it began to be whispered that Armstrong had a mine to spring in behalf of the defense, but he was so reserved that no one, even Gordon, sought to question.
”Armstrong is a trump!” said Billy to Miss Lawrence, one fair morning.
”He'll knock those charges silly--though I dare say I could have wormed through all right; only, you see, I couldn't get out to find people to give evidence for me.”
”Do you--see him often?” she asked, somewhat vaguely.
”Armstrong!” exclaimed Billy, in open-eyed amaze. ”Why, he's here with me every day.”
”But never,” thought Miss Lawrence, ”in the morning--when we are.”
The eventful Monday was duly ushered in, but not the court. That case never came to trial. Like the crack of a whip an order snapped in by wire on the Thursday previous--three regiments, the --teenth regulars and the ”Primeval Dudes,” Armstrong's splendid regiment among them--to prepare for sea voyage forthwith. More than that, General Drayton and staff were directed to proceed to Manila at once. Two-thirds of the members of the court were from these regiments. A new detail would be necessary. The General sent for Armstrong.
”Can't we try that case here and now?” he asked.
”Certainly,” said Armstrong, ”if you'll send for Canker that _he_ may be satisfied.”
And Canker came and listened. It was admitted that Gray had had a long talk with the prisoner, took him his overcoat, newspapers, etc., but, in extenuation, they were members of the same college society and their social standing was, outside the army, on the same plane. Gray deserved reprimand and caution--nothing more. As to the carriage, he had nothing to do with the one that drove to camp that night. A man in the uniform of a commissary sergeant giving the name of Foley (how Canker winced) had ordered it at the stable and taught the driver ”Killarney.” Gray had 'phoned for a carriage for himself, hoping to get the officer-of-the-day's permission to be absent two hours to tell his story in person to the General, who was dining with the department commander. He never got the permission, and the carriage went to the wrong camp. Lieutenant W. F. Gray was released from arrest and returned to duty.
”I shall never be able to thank you enough,” said he, sentimentally, to Miss Lawrence, at the Palace that evening. They were strolling up and down the corridor, waiting, as was Schuyler, for Mildred to come down for the theater. Gray's curly head was inclined toward the dark locks of his fair partner. His eyes were fastened on her faintly flus.h.i.+ng face. They made a very pretty picture, said people who looked on knowingly, and so thought the officer in the uniform of a colonel of infantry, who, while talking calmly to Mr. Prime full thirty yards away, watched them with eyes that were full of sadness. How could _he_ see at that distance that her eyes, clear and radiant, were seldom uplifted to the ardent gaze of her escort, and were at the moment looking straight at him? How could he hear at that distance the prompt response, given with an inclination of the bonny head to indicate her meaning?
”There's where your thanks are due, Mr. Gray.”
Quite a gathering of army folk was at the Palace that night. So many wives or sweethearts were going home, so many soldiers abroad, and Mrs.
Frank Garrison, gay and gracious, pa.s.sed them time and again, leaning on the arm of Captain McDonald, a new devotee, while poor Cherry, with an enamored swain from the Presidio, languished in a dim, secluded corner.
She had been recalled by parental authority and was to start for Denver under a matronly wing on the morrow. Mrs. Frank had been bidden, and expected, to go at the same time, but that authority was merely marital.
Up to this time not one army wife had been permitted to accompany her husband on any of the transports to Manila, though one heroine managed to get carried away and to share her liege lord's stateroom as far as Honolulu. The General and his staff, with a big regiment of volunteers, were to sail on the morrow, the other regiments as fast as transports could be coaled and made ready.
Something in Mrs. Garrison's gay, triumphant manner prompted a sore-hearted woman, suffering herself at the coming parting, to turn and say: ”Well, Mrs. Garrison, I suppose that after your husband sails you'll have to follow the rest of us into gra.s.s-widowhood.”
One thing that made women hate Margaret Garrison was that she ”could never be taken down,” and the answer came cuttingly, as it was meant to go, even though a merry laugh went with it.
”Not I! When the s.h.i.+p I want is ready, I go with it!”