Part 16 (1/2)
Nor would my new friend release me when she had refreshed herself, but had it that I must dance with her. I had now to confess that I was unskilled in the native American folk dances which I had observed being performed, whereupon she briskly chided me for my backwardness, but commanded a valse from the musicians, and this we danced together.
I may here say that I am not without a certain finesse on the dancing-floor and I rather enjoyed the momentary abandon with this village worthy. Indeed I had rather enjoyed the whole affair, though I felt that my manner was gradually marking me as one apart from the natives; made conscious I was of a more finished, a suaver formality in myself--the Mrs. Ballard I had met came at length to be by way of tapping me coquettishly with her tambourine in our lighter moments.
Also my presence increasingly drew attention, more and more of the village belles and matrons demanding in their hearty way to be presented to me. Indeed the society was vastly more enlivening, I reflected, than I had found it in a similar walk of life at home.
Rather regretfully I left with Cousin Egbert, who found me at last in one of the tents having my palm read by the gypsy young person who had taken our fees at the gate. Of course I am aware that she was probably without any real gifts for this science, as so few are who undertake it at charity bazaars, yet she told me not a few things that were significant: that my somewhat cold exterior and air of sternness were but a mask to s.h.i.+eld a too-impulsive nature; that I possessed great firmness of character and was fond of Nature. She added peculiarly at the last ”I see trouble ahead, but you are not to be downcast--the skies will brighten.”
It was at this point that Cousin Egbert found me, and after he had warned the young woman that I was ”some mixer” we departed. Not until we had reached the Floud home did he discover that he had quite forgotten to hand the press-chap Mrs. Effie's ma.n.u.script.
”Dog on the luck!” said he in his quaint tone of exasperation, ”here I've went and forgot to give Mrs. Effie's piece to the editor.” He sighed ruefully. ”Well, to-morrow's another day.”
And so the die was cast. To-morrow was indeed another day!
Yet I fell asleep on a memory of the evening that brought me a sort of shamed pleasure--that I had falsely borne the stick and gloves of Cousin Egbert. I knew they had given me rather an air.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I have never been able to recall the precise moment the next morning when I began to feel a strange disquietude but the opening hours of the day were marked by a series of occurrences slight in themselves yet so c.u.mulatively ominous that they seemed to lower above me like a cloud of menace.
Looking from my window, shortly after the rising hour, I observed a paper boy pa.s.s through the street, whistling a popular melody as he ran up to toss folded journals into doorways. Something I cannot explain went through me even then; some premonition of disaster slinking furtively under my casual reflection that even in this remote wild the public press was not unknown.
Half an hour later the telephone rang in a lower room and I heard Mrs.
Effie speak in answer. An unusual note in her voice caused me to listen more attentively. I stepped outside my door. To some one she was expressing amazement, doubt, and quick impatience which seemed to culminate, after she had again, listened, in a piercing cry of consternation. The term is not too strong. Evidently by the unknown speaker she had been first puzzled, then startled, then horrified; and now, as her anguished cry still rang in my ears, that snaky premonition of evil again writhed across my consciousness.
Presently I heard the front door open and close. Peering into the hallway below I saw that she had secured the newspaper I had seen dropped. Her own door now closed upon her. I waited, listening intently. Something told me that the incident was not closed. A brief interval elapsed and she was again at the telephone, excitedly demanding to be put through to a number.
”Come at once!” I heard her cry. ”It's unspeakable! There isn't a moment to lose! Come as you are!” Hereupon, banging the receiver into its place with frenzied roughness, she ran halfway up the stairs to shout:
”Egbert Floud! Egbert Floud! You march right down here this minute, sir!”
From his room I heard an alarmed response, and a moment later knew that he had joined her. The door closed upon them, but high words reached me. Mostly the words of Mrs. Effie they were, though I could detect m.u.f.fled retorts from the other. Wondering what this could portend, I noted from my window some ten minutes later the hurried arrival of the C. Belknap-Jacksons. The husband clenched a crumpled newspaper in one hand and both he and his wife betrayed signs to the trained eye of having performed hasty toilets for this early call.
As the door of the drawing-room closed upon them there ensued a terrific outburst carrying a rich general effect of astounded rage.
Some moments the sinister chorus continued, then a door sharply opened and I heard my own name cried out by Mrs. Effie in a tone that caused me to shudder. Rapidly descending the stairs, I entered the room to face the excited group. Cousin Egbert crouched on a sofa in a far corner like a hunted beast, but the others were standing, and all glared at me furiously.
The ladies addressed me simultaneously, one of them, I believe, asking me what I meant by it and the other demanding how dared I, which had the sole effect of adding to my bewilderment, nor did the words of Cousin Egbert diminish this.
”h.e.l.lo, Bill!” he called, adding with a sort of timid bravado: ”Don't you let 'em bluff you, not for a minute!”
”Yes, and it was probably all that wretched Cousin Egbert's fault in the first place,” snapped Mrs. Belknap-Jackson almost tearfully.
”Say, listen here, now; I don't see as how I've done anything wrong,”
he feebly protested. ”Bill's human, ain't he? Answer me that!”
”One sees it all!” This from Belknap-Jackson in bitter and judicial tones. He flung out his hands at Cousin Egbert in a gesture of pitiless scorn. ”I dare say,” he continued, ”that poor Ruggles was merely a tool in his hands--weak, possibly, but not vicious.”
”May I inquire----” I made bold to begin, but Mrs. Effie shut me off, brandis.h.i.+ng the newspaper before me.
”Read it!” she commanded in hoa.r.s.e, tragic tones. ”There!” she added, pointing at monstrous black headlines on the page as I weakly took it from her. And then I saw. There before them, divining now the enormity of what had come to pa.s.s, I controlled myself to master the following screed: