Part 1 (2/2)
”Oh!” broke in Betty, ”there's the 'The Don.' do wish they would look.
They needn't pretend they don't see us, the horrid things.”
”Of course they see you,” answered Lloyd, ”but they are engaged in serious business. You surely don't expect to divert their attention from the pursuit of their n.o.ble art. Why, who, or what do you conceive yourself to be?”
But Betty only smiled serenely, and shook her curls back saucily.
”Oh, I know,” replied Lloyd, ”I know what you are saying. 'Some day, some day they will grovel.' Alas, only too soon! And, indeed, here comes The Don on his second round. I'll ask him what he means.”
”If you dare!” cried Betty.
”Mr. Lloyd!” said Helen haughtily, and Mr. Lloyd thought better of it.
But ”The Don” did not even glance toward the group.
”Look at that, now,” said Lloyd disgustedly.
”Did anyone ever see such besotted devotion to a barbarous vocation.”
”He did not see us at all,” insisted Betty. ”But why is Mr. Balfour called 'The Don'?”
”Obviously, I should say, from his Don-like appearance, bearing, carriage, etc. But I am not an authority. Ask little Brown, your special slave. He knows all about both Shock and The Don.”
”What absurd names you have,” exclaimed Betty. ”Now, what is the reason for Shock's name? Is it the shock of his charge in the scrimmage?”
”Not bad, that. I rather fear, however, it has to do with his most striking feature, if feature it be, for, when you pull him feet first out of a scrimmage, a method not infrequently adopted, his head is a sight to behold. But, as I said before, ask Brown.”
”I will to-night. He's coming over after tea. You are coming, too, are you not?”
Lloyd bowed. ”I shall be delighted”
True to her word Betty greeted Brown, on his appearance in the cosy, homelike parlour of the Fairbanks' that evening, with the question, ”How did 'The Don' come by his nickname?”
”Oh, did you never know that? Most fellows put it down to his style, but it's not that. He got it from his blood. You know, his father was one of those West India, sea-captains that one used to find strewn thick through Halifax society, who made fortunes in rum and lost them pretty much the same way. Well, the old captain married a Spanish girl.
I have seen her portrait, and she was a beauty, a 'high-bred Spanish lady,' sure enough. Lived somewhere in the islands. Came home with the Captain, and died in Halifax, leaving her seven year old boy in charge of an aunt. Father died soon afterwards. Grief, I believe, and drink.
Even then his people called the 'the little Don.' He had a little money left him to start with, but that has long since vanished. At any rate, for the last five or six years he has had to fend for himself.”
”Quite a romance,” said Lloyd.
”Isn't it?” exclaimed Betty. ”And he never told a word.”
”Well, The Don's not a publisher.”
”But then he told you.”
”Yes, he told me and Shock one night. He likes us, you see.”
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