Part 58 (2/2)

”Yes, a mistake. An awful mistake. You see,” explained Helen, hurriedly, ”I was dreadfully excited, and--well, you know, I made a fool of myself. And so, Brownie, you must help me.”

”Help you--how? To keep him off? That won't be hard. Tell him it was all a mistake last spring and that you regret it, and you won't need to do anything else, if I know him.”

”I have--at least mother has told him.”

”Your mother?” gasped Brown. ”Then that settles it. Good-by. I did not expect this of you.”

”Come back, Brownie. You know you are unkind, and you must not desert me.”

”Well, what in heaven's name do you want me to do? Keep him off?”

”Oh, I do not know,” said Helen, breaking through her calm. ”I don't know. What can I do?”

”Do?” said Brown. ”Let him tell you.” He had great faith in Shock's powers.

But the next two days were days of miserable anxiety to Brown. If Shock would only do as he was told and act like an ordinary man, Brown had no doubt of the issue.

”Oh, if he'll only play up,” he groaned to himself, in a moment of desperation. ”If he'll only play up he'll take all that out of her in about three minutes.”

The only question was, would he play. Brown could only trust that in some way kind Providence would come to his aid. On the afternoon of the second day, the day of Shock's arrival, his hope was realized, and he could not but feel that Fortune had condescended to smile a little upon him.

Shock's train was late. The Superintendent had sought Brown out, and adjured him by all things sacred to produce his man at the committee meeting at the earliest possible moment, and this commission Brown had conscientiously fulfilled.

Toward evening he met Helen downtown, and was escorting her homeward when they fell in with Tommy Phillips, a reporter for the Times. He was evidently in a state of considerable excitement.

”I have just had a great experience,” he exclaimed. ”I was down this afternoon at your church committee, and I tell you I had a circus.

There was a big chap there from the wild and woolly, and he made 'em sit up. Why, you know him, I guess. He's that 'Varsity football chap the fellows used to rave about.”

”Oh, yes, I know,” said Brown. ”Macgregor. Shock, we used to call him.”

”Yes, of course. I remember I saw him last year at the McGill match.”

”Well, what was up?” said Brown, scenting something good. ”Let us have it. Do the reporter act.”

”Well, it's good copy, let me tell you, but I don't want to allow my professional zeal to obliterate my sense of the decencies of polite society.”

”Go on,” said Brown, ”I want to hear. You know, I played quarter behind him for three years, and Miss Fairbanks is interested, I know.”

”You did? Well, if he bucked up as he did this afternoon, you must have had good hunting. Well, then, when that committee met you never saw a more solemn-looking bunch in your life. You would think they had all lost their mothers-in-law. And when they broke up they didn't know but they were standing on their heads.”

”What was the matter?”

”Oh, there was a big deficit on, and they had to go up to your big council--conference--what do you call it in your pagan outfit?

a.s.sembly? Yes, that's it--and take their medicine. Twenty thousand dollars of a debt. Well, sir, on the back of all that didn't their Grand Mogul--archbishop--you know, from the West--no, not Macgregor--their chief pusher. Superintendent? Yes--come in and put an ice pack on them in the shape of a new scheme for exploration and extension in the Kootenay country, the Lord knows where, some place out of sight. Well, you ought to have heard him. He burned red fire, you bet. Pardon my broken English, Miss Fairbanks.”

”Go on,” said Helen, ”I like it,” and Brown gave himself a little hug.

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