A Daughter of the Rich Part 48

"Oh, Chi!" broke from Mrs. Blossom and Rose. They cried out as if hurt.

Mr. Blossom grasped Chi's right hand, and March wrung the other.

"I can't stand it," he went on; "we 've been sa.s.sed enough as a nation, 'n' some of us have got to teach those foreigners we ain't goin' to turn the other cheek just coz we're slapped on one. When I wasn't higher than Budd, my great-grandfather--you remember him, Ben, lived the other side of the Mountain--put his father's old Revolution'ry musket (the one, you know, Rose-pose, as I 've used in the N.B.B.O.O.) into my hands, 'n' says: 'Don't you stand no sa.s.s, Malachi Graham, from no foreigners.--Just shoot away, 'n' holler, "Hands off" every time, 'n'

they 'll learn their lesson easy and early, 'n' respect you in the end.'

And I ain't forgot it."

"Chi," Mrs. Blossom's voice was tremulous, "you won't go till you 're asked, or needed, will you?"

"I ain't goin' to wait to be asked, Mis' Blossom; I 'd rather be on hand to be refused. That's my way. So I thought I 'd be gettin' down along this week--"

"This week!" Rose interrupted him with a cry and a half-sob. "Oh, Chi!

dear old Chi! _must_ you go? What if--what if--" Rose's voice broke, and Chi gulped down a big lump, but answered, cheerily:

"Well, Rose-pose, _what if_? Ain't I Old Put? 'n' ain't you Molly Stark? 'n' ain't Lady-bird Barbara Frietchie?--There, just read that--"

he handed a letter to March, who gave it back to him, saying, in a husky voice, that it was too dark to read.

"Well, then we 'll adjourn into the house, 'n' light up.--There now," he said, as he lighted the lamp and set it on the table beside March, "here's your letter, Markis, read ahead."

March read with broken voice:

4 EAST --TH STREET, NEW YORK, May 5, 1898.

DEAR FRIEND CHI,--I never thought when I joined the N.B.B.O.O. Society, that I 'd have to be really brave about real war;--and now dear old Jack is going off to Cuba with Little Shaver and all those cow-boys,--and it's dreadful! Uncle John is about sick over it, for, you know, Jack is all he has. Papa is going to keep the house open all summer; he says there is no telling what may happen.

We have made no plans for the summer, for our hearts are so heavy on Jack's account--his last year in Harvard, too! He told me to tell you he would find out if there is a chance for you in the new cavalry regiment he has joined. He looked so pleased when I told him; he read your letter, and I told him how you wanted to go with him, and he said: "Dear old Chi, I'd like to have him for my bunkie"--and told me what it meant.

He told me to tell you to be prepared for a telegram at any moment.

I must stop now; papa wants me to go out with him. Give my love to _all_, and tell Mother Blossom and Rose I will write them more particulars in a few days.

If you come to New York, you know a room will be ready for you in the home of your

Loving friend, HAZEL CLYDE.

There was silence for a while in the room; then Mr. Blossom spoke:

"How are you going, Chi?"

"I 'm goin' to jog along down with Fleet, 'n' take it kind of easy--thought I 'd cross the Mountain, 'n' strike in on the old post-road; 'n' follow on down by old Ticonderogy,--I 've always wanted to see that,--then across to Saratogy 'n' Albany, 'n' foller the river.

You can't go amiss of New York if you stick to that."

Again there was a prolonged silence. Chi hemmed, and moved uneasily on his chair, while he fumbled about in his trousers' pocket. He pulled out a piece of crumpled, yellow paper.

"S'pose I might just as well make a clean breast of it." He tried to laugh, but it was a failure. "Jack's telegram came along last night, 'n' I thought, maybe I 'd better be gettin' my duds together to-night, Mis' Blossom, as 't will be a mighty early start--before any of you are up," he added, hastily.

The two women broke down then, and Mr. Blossom and March followed Chi out to the barn.

The household, save for the younger children, was early astir--before sunrise. Mrs. Blossom had prepared a hearty breakfast, and Rose was rolling up a few pairs of her father's stockings to put in the netted saddle-bag which Chi was wont to use in hunting.

"Tell March to call Chi, Rose," said her mother. "His breakfast is ready, I hear him in the barn."

Rose ran out in the dawning light to find her father and March just coming towards the house.

"Why, where 's Chi?" she cried.

For answer, her father pointed to the woodlands. She looked just in time to see in the soft gray of the early morn the horse and rider rise to the three-railed fence that separated the pasture from the woodlands.

He was following the trail he had indicated to Jack--"through the woods 'n' acre or two of brush, 'n' then some pretty steep sliding down the other side, 'n' a dozen rods or so of swimmin', 'n' a tough old clamber up the bank--"

Some ten days afterward, late on a warm afternoon in May, there rode into New York City by the way of the Bronx and Harlem, a middle-aged man on a bright bay horse. The animal's gait was a noticeable one, a long, loping gallop, that covered the ground in a manner that roused the admiration of the drivers on the speedway. The tall, loose-jointed body of the rider apparently loped along with the horse--their movements were identical. The saddle was an old-fashioned cavalry one of the early sixties. A netted saddle-bag and a rolled rubber coat were fastened to the crupper. A light-weight hunting rifle was slung on a strap over the man's shoulder. At the northern entrance to the Park he drew rein beside a mounted policeman.

"Can you tell me if I 'm on the right track to this house?"

He took a card from the pocket of his dusty blue flannel shirt and handed it to the policeman.

The city guardian nodded a.s.sent. "But you can't take that gun along with you; you 're inside city limits and liable to arrest."

"'Gainst the law, hey? Well, I 've come from a pretty law-abiding state, 'n' ain't goin' to get into rows with you fellers--" He laid a brown, knotty, work-roughened finger on the policeman's immaculate blue coat--"I 'd trust that color as far as I could see. Where shall I leave the rifle?"

The city guard unbent as the kindly voice yielded such undefiant obedience to his demand. "You can leave it with me now,--I 'm off my beat by seven, and live over east of this--" he handed back the card--"and I 'll leave it at the house if you 're going to be there."

"All right, that 'll suit me. Yes, I 'm goin' to put up there for a day or two, maybe."

"Off on a hunting trip?"

"You bet--goin' on a big, old, U.S.A. hunt for a lot of darned foreigners in Cuby."

The policeman held out his hand and grasped the stranger's. "You're one of them?"

"Yes, I come down to join a cavalry regiment. Jack Sherrill, he belongs, too. Great rider--can't be beat. Ever seen him round here on Little Shaver?"

The policeman smiled. "No, but I 'd like to see you again--"

"Maybe you will; but I 'd better be getting along before sundown,--'gainst the law to ride this horse a piece through those woods?" He pointed into the Park.

"Oh, no, that's all right. Keep along till you come to Seventieth Street, and inquire; and then turn into Fifth Avenue--east--and you're there."

"Much obliged. Like to show you a trail or two up in Vermont when you come that way. Get, Fleet." The animal set forward into a long, loping gallop.

The brilliant, light green of the May foliage was enhanced by the level rays of the setting sun, as the man turned his horse into Fifth Avenue and drew rein to a rapid walk. Many a one paused to look at him as he paced over the asphalt. He was looking up at the mansions of the Upper East Side. Soon he halted at the corner of a side street and gazed up at the first house, the end of which, with the conservatory, was on the Avenue, but the entrance on the side street. "That's the place," he spoke to himself,--"don't see a hitchin'-post handy, so I 'll just have to tie up to this electric light stand. Iron, by thunder!--Well, there ain't any risk so long as 't isn't lit, 'n' there ain't a tempest."

Leaving his horse firmly tied to the standard he stepped up on the low, broad stoop of "Number 4," and looked for the bell. Not finding any he knocked forcibly on the carved iron grill that protected the plate-gla.s.s doors.

The great doors flew open, and a face--"blacker 'n thunder"--as the man said to himself, scowled on the interloper.

"Wha' fo' yo' come hyar, yo'--" He got no further. A h.o.r.n.y hand was extended, and a cheery voice, that broke into a laugh, spoke the a.s.suaging words:

"Guess you 're Wilkins, ain't you? I 've heard Lady-bird tell 'bout you till I feel as if we 'd been pretty well acquainted goin' on nigh two year now."