Part 42 (2/2)

The eldest Miss Morton, in her best silk dress, with her mother's cameo brooch at her throat, and with the full, maidenly ripeness of twenty-nine years upon her brow, with her hair demurely parted on said brow, where there was the faintest hint of a wrinkle coming--which Miss Morton attributed to a person she called ”the dratted Calvin kid,”--the eldest Miss Morton, hair, cameo, silk dress, wrinkle, the dratted Calvin kid and all, did or did not look like a siren, according to the point of view of the spectator. If he was seeking the voluptuous curves of the early spring of youth--no: but if he was seeking those quieter and more restful lines that follow a maiden with a true and tender heart, who is a good cook and who sweeps under the sofa, yes.

Mr. Brotherton did not know exactly what he desired. He had been coming to the Morton home on various errands since the girls were little tots.

He had seen Emma in her first millinery store hat. He had bought Martha her first sled; he had got Ruth her last doll. But he shook his head. He liked them all. And then, as though to puzzle him more, he had noticed that for two or three years, he had never got more than two consecutive evenings with any of them--or with all of them. The mystery of their conduct baffled him. He sometimes wondered indignantly why they worked him in s.h.i.+fts? Sometimes he had Ruth twice; sometimes Emma and Martha in succession--sometimes Martha twice. He like them all. But he could not understand what system they followed in disposing of him. So as he sat and toyed with his Shriner's pin and listened to the tales of a tepid schoolmistress' romance that Emma told, he wondered if after all--for a man of his tastes, she wasn't really the flower of the flock.

”You know, George,” she was old enough for that, and at rare times when they were alone she called him George, ”I'm working up a kind of sorrow for Judge Van Dorn--or pity or something. When I taught little Lila he was always sending her candy and little trinkets. Now Lila is in the grade above me, and do you know the Judge has taken to walking by the schoolhouse at recess, just to see her, and walking along at noon and at night to get a word with her. He has put up a swing and a teeter-totter board on the girls' playgrounds. This morning I saw him standing, gazing after her, and he was as sad a figure as I ever saw. He caught me looking at him and smiled and said:

”'Fine girl, Emma,' and walked away.”

”Lord, Emma,” said Mr. Brotherton, as he brought his big, baseball hands down on his fat knees. ”I don't blame him. Don't you just think children are about the nicest things in this world?”

Emma was silent. She had expressed other sentiments too recently. Still she smiled. And he went on:

”Oh, wow!--they're mighty fine to have around.”

But Mr. Brotherton was restless after that, and when the clock was striking ten he was in the hall. He left as he had gone for a dozen years. And the young woman stood watching him through the gla.s.s of the door, a big, strong, handsome man--who strode down the walk with clicking heels of pride, and she turned away sadly and hurried upstairs.

”Martha,” she asked, as she took down her hair, ”was it ordained in the beginning of the world that all school teachers would have to take widowers?”

And without hearing the answer, she put out the light.

Mr. Brotherton, stalking--not altogether unconsciously down the walk, turned into the street and as he went down the hill, he was aware that a boy was overtaking him. He let the boy catch up with him. ”Oh, Mr.

Brotherton,” cried the boy, ”I've been looking for you!”

”Well, here I am; what's the trouble?”

”Grant sent me,” returned the boy, ”to ask you if he could see you at eight o'clock to-morrow morning at the store?”

Brotherton looked the boy over and exclaimed:

”Grant?” and then, ”Oh--why, Kenyon, I didn't know you. You are certainly that human bean-stalk, son. Let's take a look at you. Well, say--” Mr. Brotherton stopped and backed up and paused for dramatic effect. Then he exploded: ”Say, boy, if I had you in an olive wood frame, I could get $2.75 or $3.00 for you as Narcissus or a boy Adonis!

You surely are the angel child!”

The boy's great black eyes shone up at the man with something wistful and dream-like in them that only his large, sensitive mouth seemed to comprehend. For the rest of the child's face was boy--boy in early adolescence. The boy answered simply:

”Grant said to tell you that he expects the break to-morrow and is anxious to see you.”

Mr. Brotherton looked at the boy again--the eyes haunted the man--he could not place them, yet they were familiar to him.

”Where you been, kid?” he asked. ”I thought you were in Boston, studying.”

”It's vacation, sir,” answered Kenyon.

Brotherton pulled the lad up under the next corner electric lamp and again gazed at him. Then Mr. Brotherton remembered where he had seen the eyes. The second Mrs. Van Dorn had them. This bothered the man.

The eyes of the boy that flashed so brightly into Mr. Brotherton's eyes, certainly puzzled him and startled him. But not so much as the news the boy carried. For then Mr. Brotherton knew that Market Street would be buzzing in the morning and that the cyclone clouds that were lowering, soon would break into storm.

CHAPTER x.x.xVI

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