Part 13 (1/2)

It was a gray day of damp air and a dull, thick sky bearing down upon the earth--a day conducive to forebodings. But Solon Denney's spirit, to the best of Little Arcady's belief, soared aloft to realms of pure sunlight.

My knowledge of subsequent events that day was gained partly by word of mouth and partly by observations which I was permitted to make.

To the hotel Solon conducted his charges, handing them from the 'bus with a flourish that seemed to confer upon them the freedom of the city.

From shop doors and adjacent street corners the most curious among us beheld a tall, full-figured woman of majestic carriage, with a high, n.o.ble forehead and a face that seemed to register traces of some thirty-five earnest but not unprofitable years. Even in the quick glance she bestowed up and down Was.h.i.+ngton Street before the hotel swallowed her up, her quality was to be noted by the discerning,--the quality of a commander, of one born to prevail. The flash of her gray-green eye was interested but unconcerned. Complemented by the marked auburn of her plenteous hair, the eyes were masterful, advertising most legibly the temperament of a capable ruler. The subdued, white-faced boy of twelve, with hair like his mother's, who trotted closely at her heels was, for the moment, a negligible factor.

An hour later I entered the sanctum of the _Argus_, to find its owner alone before his littered table. Upon his usually careless face was the most profoundly thoughtful look I had ever known him wear. Open before him was that week's _Argus_, but his eyes narrowed to its neat columns only at intervals. For the most part his gaze plunged far into virgin realms of meditation. It was only after several reminding coughs that I succeeded in recalling him from afield; and even then the deeply thoughtful look remained to estrange his face from me.

”Say, Cal, do you believe in _powers_?”

”What kind of powers?”

”Well, I don't know--every kind--just _powers_--mystic, occult powers.”

”I don't care to commit myself without more details,” I answered with a caution that seemed to be needed.

”Well, sir, that woman has 'em--she has _powers_--she certainly has.

There is something in her eye that paralyzes the will; you look at her and you say yes to anything she suggests.”

”For example--”

”Well, I've just agreed with her that the _Argus_ isn't what it ought to be.”

I gasped. This indeed savored of the blackest magic.

”What did she _do_ to you?”

”Just looked at me, that's all,--and took it for granted.”

”Heavens! You're s.h.i.+vering!”

”You _wait_--wait till she talks to you! She's promised to give me a little book,” he went on dejectedly, ”'One Hundred Common Errors in Writing and Speaking,' and she says the split infinitive is a crime in this nineteenth century. But, say, this paper would never get to press if I took time to unsplit all my infinitives.”

”Well, put Billy Durgin to work on her case right away,” I said to cheer him. ”If the woman talks like that, I'll bet Billy can find some good reason why she ought to push on after the Colonel.”

Again his deeply thoughtful gaze bore upon me.

”I'm puzzled,” he said,--”honestly puzzled. I don't know whether she'll be good for this town or not. She may in a way--and in a way she may not. She will be disturbing,--I can see that already,--but she is stimulating. She may stir us up to n.o.bler endeavors.”

”Did she say so?”

”Well--uh--something of the sort. I believe that _was_ the expression she used. I'll tell you what you do. You come along with me and see the lady right now. They've had dinner by this time.”

Together we went and were presently climbing the stairs that led to the second floor of the City Hotel.

Mrs. Potts received us graciously. Upon me she bestowed a glance of friendly curiosity, as does a kind physician who waits to be told of symptoms before prescribing. Upon Solon she bent a more knowing look, as upon one whose frailties have already been revealed. She gave us chairs and she talked. Little Roscoe Potts writhed near by upon an ottoman and betrayed that he, too, could talk when circ.u.mstances were kindly. The detail of their personalities, salient in that first moment, was that Heaven had denied them both the gift of reticence.

”Yes--I've been telling Mr. Denney--I feel that there is a work here for me,” she began briskly. ”I felt it strongly when I perused the columns of the newspaper which Mr. Denney was thoughtful enough to send me.”

Solon's eyes uneasily sought the cabbage-like flowers in the faded carpet of the room.

”And I feel it more strongly now that I have ventured among you,”