Part 7 (1/2)

But suppose d.i.c.k insisted on clearing everything up before he married?

For to Lucy it was unthinkable that any girl in her senses would refuse him. Suppose he went back to Norada? He had not changed greatly in ten years. He had been well known there, a conspicuous figure.

Her mind began to turn on the possibility of keeping him away from Norada.

Some time later she heard the office door open and then close with d.i.c.k's characteristic slam. He came up the stairs, two at a time as was his custom, and knocked at her door. When he came in she saw what David's answer had been, and she closed her eyes for an instant.

”Put on your things,” he said gayly, ”and we'll take a ride on the hill-tops. I've arranged for a moon.”

And when she hesitated:

”It makes you sleep, you know. I'm going, if I have to ride alone and talk to an imaginary lady beside me.”

She rather imagined that that had been his first idea, modified by his thought of her. She went over and put a wrinkled hand on his arm.

”You look happy, d.i.c.k,” she said wistfully.

”I am happy, Aunt Lucy,” he replied, and bending over, kissed her.

On Wednesday he was in a state of alternating high spirits and periods of silence. Even Minnie noticed it.

”Mr. d.i.c.k's that queer I hardly know how to take him.” she said to Lucy. ”He came back and asked for noodle soup, and he put about all the hardware in the kitchen on him and said he was a knight in armor. And when I took the soup in he didn't eat it.”

It was when he was ready to go out that Lucy's fears were realized. He came in, as always when anything unusual was afoot, to let her look him over. He knew that she waited for him, to give his tie a final pat, to inspect the laundering of his s.h.i.+rt bosom, to pick imaginary threads off his dinner coat.

”Well?” he said, standing before her, ”how's this? Art can do no more, Mrs. Crosby.”

”I'll brush your back,” she said, and brought the brush. He stooped to her, according to the little ceremony she had established, and she made little dabs at his speckless back. ”There, that's better.”

He straightened.

”How do you think Uncle David is?” he asked, unexpectedly.

”Better than he has been in years. Why?”

”Because I'm thinking of taking a little trip. Only ten days,” he added, seeing her face. ”You could house-clean my office while I'm away. You know you've been wanting to.”

She dropped the brush, and he stooped to pick it up. That gave her a moment.

”'Where?” she managed.

”To Dry River, by way of Norada.”

”Why should you go back there?” she asked, in a carefully suppressed voice. ”Why don't you go East? You've wanted to go back to Johns Hopkins for months?”

”On the other hand, why shouldn't I go back to Norada?” he asked, with an affectation of lightness. Then he put his hand on her shoulders. ”Why shouldn't I go back and clear things up in my own mind? Why shouldn't I find out, for instance, that I am a free man?”

”You are free.”