Part 33 (1/2)

And still so when, blithe and debonair, she galloped up Main Street, past piazzas she pleasurably sensed were not unpeopled nor unimpressed; past the Court House whence a group of men were emerging and stopped dead to stare; past the Post Office where a crowd awaiting the noon mail swelled the usual bunch of loafers; on to Pieker's where, sure enough, Arthur stood in the door!

”Holy cats!” he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. ”Where in the world did--”

”Dare me to ride in the store?” demanded Missy, flicking the air with her crop and speaking insouciantly. She was scarcely aware of the excited sounds from the Post Office, for as yet her madness was upon her.

”Oh, I don't think you could get her in!--You'd better not try!”

Missy exulted--he looked as if actually afraid she might attempt it!

As a matter of fact Arthur was afraid; he was afraid Missy Merriam had suddenly gone out of her head. There was a queer look in her eyes--she didn't look herself at all. He was afraid she might really do that crazy stunt; and he was afraid the boss might return from lunch any second, and catch her doing it and blame HIM! Yes, Arthur Simpson was afraid; and Missy's blood sang at the spectacle of happy-go-lucky Arthur reduced to manifest anxiety.

”CAN'T get her in?” she retorted derisively. ”Just watch me!”

And, patting Gypsy's glossy neck, she headed her mount directly toward the sidewalk and clattered straight into Pieker's store.

Arthur had barely time to jump out of the way. ”Holy cats!” he again invoked fervently. Then: ”Head her out!--She's s...o...b..ring over that bucket of candy!”

True enough; Gypsy's inquisitive nose had led her to a bewildering profusion of the sweets she adored; not just meagre little bits, doled out to her stingily bite by bite. And, as if these delectables had been set out for a special and royal feast, Gypsy tasted this corner and sampled that, in gourmandish abandon.

”For Pete's sake!” implored Arthur, feverishly tugging at the bridle.

”Get her out! The old man's liable to get back any minute!--He won't do a thing to me!”

Missy, then, catching some of his perturbation, slapped with the reins, stroked Gypsy's neck, exhorted her with endearments and then with threats. But Gypsy wouldn't budge; she was having, unexpectedly but ecstatically, the time of her career. Missy climbed down; urged and cajoled, joined Arthur in tugging at the bridle. Gypsy only planted her dainty forefeet and continued her repast in a manner not dainty at all.

Missy began to feel a little desperate; that former fine frenzy, that divine madness, that magnificent tingle of aplomb and dash, was dwindling away. She was conscious of a crowd collecting in the doorway; there suddenly seemed to be millions of people in the store--rude, pus.h.i.+ng, chortling phantoms as in some dreadful nightmare. Hot, p.r.i.c.kling waves began to wash over her. They were laughing at her.

Spurred by the vulgar guffaws she gave another frantic tug--

Oh, dear heaven! The upper air suddenly thickened with sounds of buzzing conflict--a family of mud-wasps, roused by the excitement, were circling round and round! She saw them in terrified fascination--they were scattering!--zizzing horribly, threateningly as they swooped this way and that! Heavens!--that one brushed her hand. She tried to shrink back--then gave an anguished squeal.

WHAT WAS THAT? But she knew what it was. In petrified panic she stood stock-still, rooted. She was afraid to move lest it sting her more viciously. She could feel it exploring around--up near her hip now, now crawling downward, now for a second lost in some voluminous fold. She found time to return thanks that her breeches had been cut with that smart bouffance. Then she cringed as she felt it again. How had It got in there? The realization that she must have torn her pepper-and-salts, for a breath brought embarra.s.sment acutely to the fore; then, as that tickling promenade over her anatomy was resumed, she froze under paramount fear.

”For Pete's sake!” shouted Arthur. ”Don't just stand there!--can't you do SOMETHING?”

But Missy could do nothing. Removing Gypsy was no longer the paramount issue. Ready to die of shame but at the same time engripped by deadly terror, she stood, legs wide apart, for her life's sake unable to move.

She had lost count of time, but was agonizedly aware of its pa.s.sage; she seemed to stand there in that anguished stupor for centuries. In reality it was but a second before she heard Arthur's voice again:

”For Heaven's sake!” he muttered, calamity's approach intensifying his abjurgations. ”There's the old man!”

Apprehensively, abasedly, but with legs still stolidly apart, Missy looked up. Yes, there was Mr. Picker, elbowing his way through the crowd. Then an icy trickle chilled her spine; following Mr. Picker, carrying his noon mail, was Rev. MacGill.

”Here!--What's this?” demanded Mr. Picker.

Then she heard Arthur, that craven-hearted, traitor-souled being she had once called ”friend,” that she had even desired to impress,--she heard him saying:

”I don't know, Mr. Picker. She just came riding in--”

Mr. Picker strode to the centre of the stage and, by a simple expedient strangely unthought-of before--by merely pulling away the bucket, separated Gypsy from the candy.

Then he turned to Missy and eyed her disapprovingly.

”I think you'd better be taking the back cut home. If I was your mamma, I'd give you a good spanking and put you to bed.”

Spanking! Oh, shades of insouciance and swagger! And with Rev. MacGill standing there hearing--and seeing! Tears rolled down over her blushes.