Part 7 (2/2)
”Come, now, that's the most sensible speech that ever fell from Lottie's rosebud lips.” He sat up and viewed his visitor, who, in spite of her crimson embarra.s.sment, was gazing at him appealingly. ”I don't believe, Mehit, my dear, that you've begun at the beginning, and you'll have to, you know, if you want legal advice.”
”I never do, Ben; I am so stupid. I always do begin right in the middle, but now I'll go back. You know I went to the city yesterday.”
”You and the umbrella.”
”Yes, and I was mad at myself for luggin' it around all the mornin' when the weather turned out so pleasant and I had so many other things; but never _mind_”--the narrator tightened her lips impressively--”that umbrella was all _right_.”
”Sure thing,” put in Ben. ”How could you have rescued the girl without it?”
Miss Upton's eyes widened. ”How did you know I did?”
”The legal mind, you know, the legal mind.”
”Oh, but I didn't rescue her near enough, not near enough,” mourned Miss Mehitable. ”I must go on. I got awful tired shoppin' and I went into a restaurant for lunch. I got set down to one table, but it was so draughty I moved to another where a young girl was sittin' alone. A man, a homely, long-necked critter made for that place too, but I got there first. I don't know whether I'm glad or sorry I did. Ben, she was the prettiest girl in this world.”
Miss Upton paused to see if this solemn statement awakened an interest in her listener.
”Maybe,” he replied placidly; ”but then there are the stars, you know.”
”She had lots of golden hair, and dark eyes and lashes, with kind o'
long dark corners to 'em, and a sad little mouth the prettiest shape you ever saw. We got to talkin' and she told me about herself. It was like a story. She had a cruel stepmother who didn't want her around, so kept her away at school, and a handsome, extravagant father without enough backbone to stand up for her; and on top of everything he died suddenly.
Her stepmother had money and she put this poor child in a cheap lodgin'-house tellin' her to find a job, and she herself went calmly off travelin'. This poor lamb tried one place after another, but her beauty always stood in her way. I'm ashamed to speak of such things to you, Ben, but I've got to, to make you understand. She said she wondered if there were any good men in this world. She was in despair.”
Ben's eyes twinkled, but his lips were serious as he returned his friend's valiant gaze.
”Her name is Geraldine Melody. Did you ever hear such a pretty name?”
Miss Upton scrutinized her listener's face for some stir of interest.
”I never did. Your girl was a very complete story-teller. You blessed soul! and you've had all these thrills over that!” Ben leaned forward and took his companion's hand affectionately. ”I didn't believe even you would fall for drug-store hair, darkened eyes, and that chestnut story.
What did the fair Geraldine touch you for?”
Miss Upton returned his compa.s.sionate gaze with surprise and indignation. ”She didn't touch me. What do you mean? Why shouldn't she if she wanted to? I tell you her eyes and her story were all the truth, Ben Barry. I ain't a fool.”
”No, dear, no. Of course. But how much did you give her?”
”Give her what?”
”Money.”
”I didn't give her any, poor lamb.” Into Miss Mehitable's indignant eyes came a wild look. ”I wonder if I'd ought to have. I wonder if it would have helped any.”
Ben gave a low laugh. ”I'll bet she had the disappointment of her young life: to tell you that yarn, and tell it so convincingly, and yet dear old Mehit never rose to the bait!”
Miss Upton glared at him and pulled her hand away. He leaned back and resumed his former easy att.i.tude. ”When are you going to reach the umbrella?” he asked.
”I've pa.s.sed it,” snapped Miss Mehitable, angry and baffled. ”I kept that long-necked, gawky man off with it, pretty near tripped him up so's I could get to the table with that poor child.”
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