Part 46 (1/2)
His eyes filled and his voice needed a cough to prime it. The fire, glowing in Emma Morton's eyes, steamed up George Brotherton's will--the will which had sent him cras.h.i.+ng forward in life from a train peddler to a purveyor of literature and the arts in Harvey. Deeds followed impulses with him swiftly, so in an instant the floor of the Morton cottage was shaking under his tread and with rash indifference, high and heroic, ignoring with equal disdain two t.i.ttering girls, an astonished little old man and a cold base burner, the big man stalked across the room and cried:
”Well, say--why, Emma--my dear!” He had her hands in his and was putting his arm about her as he bellowed: ”Girls--” his voice broke under its heavy emotional load. ”Why, dammit all, I'm your long-lost brother George! Cap, kick me, kick me--me the prize jacka.s.s--the grand sweepstake prize all these years!”
”No, no, George,” protested the wriggling maiden. ”Not--not here! Not--”
”Don't you 'no--no' me, Emmy Morton,” roared the big man, pulling her to his side. ”Girl--girl, what do we care?” He gave her a resounding kiss and gazed proudly around and exclaimed, ”Ruthie, run and call up the _Times_ and give 'em the news. Martha, call up old man Adams--and I'll take a bell to-morrow and go calling it up and down Market Street.
Then, Cap, you tell Mrs. Herd.i.c.ker. This is the big news.” As he spoke he was gathering the amazed Ruth and Martha under his wing and kissing them, crying, ”Take that one for luck--and that to grow on.” Then he let out his laugh. But in vain did Emma Morton try to squirm from his grasp; in vain she tried to quiet his clatter. ”Say, girls, cl.u.s.ter around Brother George's knee--or knees--and let's plan the wedding.”
”You are going to have a wedding, aren't you, Emma?” burst in Ruth, and George cut in:
”Wedding--why, this is to be the big show--the laughing show, all the wonders of the world and marvels of the deep under one canvas. Why, girls--”
”Well, Emma, you've just got to wear a veil,” laughed Martha hysterically.
”Veil nothing--shame on you, Martha Morton. Why, George hasn't asked--”
”Now ain't it the truth!” roared Brotherton. ”Why veil! Veil?” he exclaimed. ”She's going to wear seven veils and forty flower girls--forty--count 'em--forty! And Morty Sands best man--”
”Keep still, George,” interrupted Ruth. ”Now, Emma, when--when, I say, are you going to resign your school?”
Mr. Brotherton gave the youngest and most practical Miss Morton a look of quick intelligence. ”Don't you fret; Ruthie, I'm hog tied by the silken skein of love. She's going to resign her school to-morrow.”
”Indeed I am not, George Brotherton--and if you people don't hush--”
But Mr. Brotherton interrupted the bride-to-be, incidentally kissing her by way of punctuation, and boomed on in his poster tone, ”Morty Sands best man with his gym cla.s.s from South Harvey doing ground and lofty tumbling up and down the aisles in pink tights. Doc Jim in linen pants whistling the Wedding March to Kenyon Adams's violin obligato, with the General hitting the bones at the organ! The greatest show on earth and the baby elephant in evening clothes prancing down the aisle like the behemoth of holy writ! Well, say--say, I tell you!”
The Captain touched the big man on the shoulder apologetically. ”George, of course, if you could wait a year till the Household Horse gets going good, I could stake you for a trip to the Grand Canyon myself, but just now, 'y gory, man!”
”Grand Canyon!” laughed Brotherton. ”Why, Cap, we're going to go seven times around the world and twice to the moon before we turn up in Harvey. Grand Canyon--”
”Well, at least, father,” cried Martha, ”we'll get her that tan traveling dress and hat she's always wanted.”
”But I tell you girls to keep still,” protested the bride-to-be, still in the prospective groom's arms and proud as Punch of her position.
”Why, George hasn't even asked me and--”
”Neither have you asked me, Emma, ''eathen idol made of mud what she called the Great G.o.d Buhd.'” He stooped over tenderly and when his face rose, he said softly, ”And a plucky lot she cared for tan traveling dresses when I kissed her where she stud!” And then and there before the Morton family a.s.sembled, he kissed his sweetheart again, a middle-aged man unashamed in his joy.
It was a tremendous event in the Morton family and the Captain felt his responsibility heavily. The excited girls, half-shocked and half-amused and wholly delighted, tried to lead the Captain away and leave the lovers alone after George had hugged them all around and kissed them again for luck. But the Captain refused to be led. He had many things to say. He had to impress upon Mr. Brotherton, now that he was about to enter the family, the great fact that the Mortons were about to come into riches. Hence a dissertation on the Household Horse and its growing popularity among makers of automobiles; Nate Perry's plans in blue print for the new factory were brought in, and a wilderness of detail spread before an ardent lover, keen for his first hour alone with the woman who had touched his bachelor heart. A hundred speeches came to his lips and dissolved--first formal and ardent love vows--while the Captain rattled on recounting familiar details of his dream.
Then Ruth and Martha rose in their might and literally dragged their father from the room and upstairs. Half an hour later the two lovers in the doorway heard a stir in the house behind them. They heard the Captain cry:
”The hash--George, she's the best girl--'Y gory, the best girl in the world. But she will forget to chop the hash over night!”
As George Brotherton, b.u.mping his head upon the eternal stars, turned into the street, he saw the great black hulk of the Van Dorn house among the trees. He smiled as he wondered how the ceremonies were proceeding in the Temple of Love that night.
It was not a ceremony fit for smiles, but rather for the tears of G.o.ds and men, that the priest and priestess had performed. Margaret Van Dorn had taken Kenyon home, then dropped Lila at the Nesbit door as she returned from South Harvey. When she found that her husband had not reached home, she ran to her room to fortify herself for the meeting with him. And she found her fortifications in the farthest corner of the bottom drawer of her dresser. From its hiding place she brought forth a little black box and from the box a brown pellet. This fortification had been her refuge for over a year when the stress of life in the Temple of Love was about to overcome her. It gave her courage, quickened her wits and loosened her tongue. Always she retired to her fortress when the combat in the Temple threatened to strain her nerves. So she had worn a beaten path of habit to her refuge.
Then she made herself presentable; took care of her hair, smoothed her face at the mirror and behind the s.h.i.+eld of the drug she waited. She heard the old car rattling up the street, and braced herself for the struggle. She knew--she had learned by bitter experience that the first blow in a rough and tumble was half the battle. As he came raging through the door, slamming it behind him, she faced him, and before he could speak, she sneered:
”Ah, you coward--you sneaking, cur coward--who would murder a child to win--Ach!” she cried. ”You are loathsome--get away from me!”