Part 13 (1/2)
Mrs. Severs only sniffed. She knew this was the working out of Eveley's plot, though Eveley had not confided in her, knowing instinctively that the bride would tell the groom, and that the groom would be sure to stop it. So Mrs. Severs saw her father-in-law clamber into the little car at five o'clock, with something like hope in her breast.
For a time, he was intensely absorbed in the manipulation of the gears, and the brakes, his lower lip clutched tightly between his teeth, breathing in full short gusts like a war horse champing for battle. But when at last they were fully started and running with reasonable smoothness, he said:
”Who says this isn't a car? You talk to daughter about it, will you? You explain to her that this is a regular car like anything else.”
”Some people are so funny, aren't they? How well you drive it! It is lots of sport, isn't it? I should think it would be fine for you to have a car to run around in. Then you and your friend could go to Ocean Beach, and fish, and up to the mountains and shoot, and have a wonderful time.”
”I hadn't thought of that. I--you talk to daughter, will you? Tell her she won't have to ride in it.”
”Turn to the right here,” said Eveley suddenly. ”The cottage is the cunningest thing you ever saw, just two rooms, high on the hill overlooking the bay. I am so tired of being cooped up in a house with a whole crowd. I want to be absolutely free to do as I please.”
He sighed heavily again. ”It is the only life. The only way to live. But shucks, folks can't always have what they want.”
”There it is, that little white house, third from the corner,” she said, pointing eagerly, as he drew up the car to a spasmodic halt.
He looked critically at the small lawn and the tiny cottage. ”Those rose-bushes need tr.i.m.m.i.n.g,” he said, frowning. ”There's a loose corner on the porch, too. Bet that gra.s.s hasn't been watered for three weeks. Why folks don't keep up their property is more than I can see.”
”Look at the view,” said Eveley suddenly. ”See the s.h.i.+ps out in the bay, and the aeroplanes over North Island. Isn't it beautiful? If we had field-gla.s.ses we could see the people walking around in Tent City, and the lemon in the tea on the veranda at Coronado.”
”I've got field-gla.s.ses at home,” he said wistfully. ”In my suit-case.
But I didn't unpack. Daughter does not like a lot of trash around the house. I'll bet we could see the gobs on that battle-s.h.i.+p if we had the gla.s.ses.” He turned again to the yard. ”It'll take a lot of work keeping up this place. And you busy every day wouldn't have much time for it. I reckon you'd be afraid alone nights, too. An apartment is better for a woman by herself.”
”But the freedom--”
”Women hadn't ought to have too much freedom. It spoils 'em. This is the born place for a man--and a dog--and field-gla.s.ses--and a Ford.”
”Let's go inside and look it over,” said Eveley. ”Did you ever see such a place for chickens? Nice clean little coops all ready for them. Wouldn't it be a paradise for half a dozen hens?”
”It's a lot of work raising chickens,” said the old man. ”It's a job for a man, really. You wouldn't like it.” Then, thoughtfully: ”Half a day's work would make that place fit for the king's pullets.”
”And look at the cunning little garden,” urged Eveley.
”Needs hoeing. All run over with weeds. Whole place going to rack and ruin. Needs a man around here, anybody can see that.”
”Come in, come in,” cried Eveley, unlocking the kitchen door. ”See the little gas stove, and the tiny table--and the cooler. Isn't it fun?
Couldn't you have the time of your life here, reveling in liver and cabbage and pinochle? Wouldn't your friend be crazy about it?”
The old man squirmed restlessly, and pa.s.sed into the next room. Eveley dropped down on the side of the bed, and set the springs bounding.
”It is a good bed. That table seems made for pinochle, doesn't it? I can just see this place, with you and your friend, the room thick with smoke--and no one to say, 'Oh, father, it's terribly late.'” Eveley put up a very fair imitation of Mrs. Severs' ripply, bridal voice.
”A phonograph--there ought to be a phonograph, to play _Bonnie Sweet Bessie_, and _Nelly Gray_.”
”Just the thing. A phonograph. That is the one thing lacking. I knew there was something needed.”
Father-in-law was quiet after that. He walked about slowly, peering into every nook and corner. But finally he went out to the car, and climbed in. Eveley followed silently. He started the car with a bang and a tug, and drove home swiftly, speaking not one word on the way. But Eveley was content.
Quite late that evening he came up the rustic stairs and knocked on her window.
”Say, Miss Ainsworth,” he asked anxiously, ”did you decide to take that cottage and live alone? Pretty risky business, I'm afraid. And it's a sight of work keeping up a garden like that--and chickens are a d.i.c.kens of a lot of trouble.”