Part 13 (2/2)
”No, no!” he said, brightening. ”I am very well.”
It was at the table that Mr. Fern had his first conversation with Roseleaf, and the two men got along nicely together. s.h.i.+rley acquitted himself creditably. Weil, who saw everything, noticed that the negro, Hannibal, in superintending the service in the dining-room, lingered more about Miss Daisy's chair than any other, and took extra pains to see that her wants were antic.i.p.ated. In spite of this, however, Mr. Fern frequently asked his younger daughter to have more of certain dishes, as if his mind was constantly turned in that direction.
”How long do you think it will require to do the work you have so generously undertaken?” asked Mr. Fern of Roseleaf, when the dessert was reached.
”It is impossible to say,” stammered the young man. ”Some weeks, at least.”
”So I supposed,” said Mr. Fern. ”That being the case I wish to tender you the hospitality of my home. It would be a great deal of trouble for you to come every day from the city, and I know we could make you comfortable here.”
Roseleaf was about to decline the offer with thanks, when Mr. Weil spoke to him in a low tone.
”Take it, by all means,” he said. ”It's a chance in a lifetime. You know nothing of family life. Don't dream of refusing.”
The delay allowed Miss Millicent to add her request to that of her father, and fearing to let his protege answer, Mr. Weil boldly spoke for him.
”It is a good idea,” he said. ”He will have his baggage brought up to-morrow. There's nothing like being on the ground, when there's work to be done. And, with the general permission, I am going to run out pretty often myself, to see how things progress.”
The bright, off-hand way of the last speaker seemed to please Mr. Fern, for he heartily seconded this suggestion. When the table was vacated, Mr. Fern asked if he might be excused for a few minutes, while he wrote a couple of important letters, and requested Walker Boggs to show the guests through the grounds, where they could smoke their cigars till he returned.
Accordingly Weil and Roseleaf accompanied their new guide out of doors and across an extensive lawn to an arbor at the further end, where a handsome prospect of the Hudson unfolded itself. As Archie was wis.h.i.+ng for some feasible way of getting rid of Boggs, temporarily, that gentleman espied an acquaintance in the adjacent road and went off to speak to him.
”Are you in love yet, you dog?” asked Archie, as soon as he and his young friend were alone. ”What! You're not! Don't let an hour pa.s.s, then, before you are. The best of all proverbs is, 'Never put off till to-morrow what you can do to-day.'”
”How can I do this to-day?” was the doleful response.
”How can you help it, you mean? There she was at the table--t.i.tian hair, hazel-grey eyes, lovely waist--everything. Love! _I_ could fall in love with that girl, marry her, get a divorce and commit suicide, within forty-eight hours.”
Even Roseleaf had to smile at this extravagant statement.
”Do you want me to do all of those things?” he asked.
”Only the first one, at present. If you can't do that, give up all ideas of being a novelist and secure a place in some factory or counting-room.
Everything is ready for you. You are _persona grata_ here. Nothing can come in your way. Oh, don't exasperate me!”
Roseleaf haltingly said he would do his best; and the next day he came to Midlands, prepared to spend a month or longer.
CHAPTER VIII.
HOLDING HER HAND.
For the first three days Roseleaf gave most of his time to reading the MSS. that Miss Fern had written. He could not say that he liked it, exactly, but that was not necessary. To fill in the time, he consented to let the girl read his own story that Gouger had rejected, though he did this with trepidation, having a dread that she would think it insipid. When she had finished it, however, her delight was unbounded.
”It is lovely!” she exclaimed, in response to his inquiring eyes. ”I cannot see why they refused it. I haven't been so interested in a story in years.”
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