Amarilly of Clothes-line Alley Part 21

"I guess," said Bud, in his quiet, little old-man way, "I'm the one to hev the say. I'm agoin' to give ma two dollars a week and bank the rest."

Meanwhile John was having an uncomfortable time as he walked home with Colette. He had started on the trail of the surplice the day before. The "tenner" and the young ladies who had given the tableaux had been interviewed, but in neither case had the mysterious pocket been discovered. To-day he had visited the Beehive, but no one in the store had paid any attention to the pocket, or knew of its existence. Colette remained obdurate to his pleadings. She a.s.sumed that he was entirely to blame for the loss, and seemed to take a gleeful delight in showing him how perverse and wilful she could be. To-night he found himself less able than usual to cope with her caprices, so he began to talk of impersonal matters and dwelt upon the beauties of Bud's voice, and the astonishing way in which it had developed.

She admitted that Bud's voice was indeed wonderful, but maintained that Mrs. Jenkins's poppy hat and white gloves had been far surpa.s.sing in the way of surprises.

"Did you ever, John, see anything more shoutingly funny?"

"It wasn't funny, Colette," he said wistfully, and he proceeded to relate the history of the hat as he had heard it from the bishop that day.

[Ill.u.s.tration: To-night he found himself less able than usual to cope with her caprices]

And though in the depths of her heart Colette was touched by the pathos of the purchase, she must needs tread again the feminine labyrinth instead of following the more natural and open path.

"Who was the young girl with the Boarder?" John next vouchsafed.

"Why, Lily Rose, of course. The Lily for whom he 'sot for his likeness in the surplus.' That awful surplice," she burst forth in irritation at the mere mention of the unfortunate word. "Some of these people must have it. John, you don't half try to find it."

"I am following out the list in order," he a.s.sured her. "I shall go to see Mrs. Hudgers to-morrow."

"And the next one to her," reminded Colette, "is Derry Phillips, Amarilly's new benefactor. She told me to-day that she had a note from him, asking her to begin work at the studio in a few days."

"I have a double duty in my call there," said John didactically. "If he is like some of the young artists I know, his studio will hardly be a proper place for Amarilly."

"As it happens," returned Colette coldly, "Derry Phillips, for all his nonsense, is reported to be a true gentleman; but it would make no difference with Amarilly if he were not. Her inherent goodness would counteract the evil of any atmosphere. She can take care of his rooms until she is a little older. Then she can become a model."

"Colette!" he exclaimed protestingly.

"Why not?" she returned. "Why shouldn't Amarilly be a model, or go on the stage? Neither place would be below her station in life."

John sought refuge in utter silence which admonished and exasperated Colette far more than any reproof would have done.

"You might as well go, if you have nothing to say," she remarked stiffly, as he lingered in the portico, evidently expecting an invitation to enter.

"I have _too_ much to say, Colette."

Her sidelong glance noted his dejection, and her flagging spirits rose again.

"Too much, indeed, when you are so critical of what I say!"

"Colette, hear me!"

"No, I won't listen--never when you preach!"

"I don't mean to preach, Colette, but don't you think--"

"Good night, John," she said, smiling.

"Good night!" he echoed dolefully, but making no move to leave.

"Colette, will you never tell me?"

"Yes," she replied unexpectedly, with a dancing light in her beautiful eyes.

"When?"

"When you restore to me what was in the pocket."

CHAPTER XVII

Jason never sought the Golden Fleece with more unwearying perseverance than John displayed in the pursuit of the lost article which Colette refused to describe. His calls of inquiry didn't mean merely putting the question politely and taking his departure after receiving an answer. It meant, in the case of Mrs. Hudgers, a martyr's test of patience in listening to the devious and manifold routes taken by her rheumatic pains; a rehearsal of the late lamented Hallie's idiosyncracies; the details of his last illness; his death; and his wearing of the surplice at the obsequies.

Throughout her harangue he preached patience unto himself and remembered that she was an old woman, desolate in her "lone lornness," so he counselled not, neither did he pray, but comforted her with the gentleness of voice and speech that won him a fond place in her memory for all time.

"No," she a.s.sured him decisively, as in departing he reminded her of his original question, "I didn't go fer to look in no pockit. I didn't suppose them things had pockits."

Then the scene shifted to Derry Phillips's studio, and this visit was fraught with more difficulties, for there was the case of Amarilly which must be approached delicately and with subtlety.

After stating his errand concisely and receiving a.s.surance that the pocket had not been examined, but that the model should be interviewed by him, John still lingered.

"It's very kind in you to give employment to Amarilly, Mr. Phillips."

Derry shook his head.

"I am the one to be congratulated, Mr. Meredith. I really feel apologetic to Amarilly for accepting her services. They are so conscientiously and faithfully rendered that I feel she should be given a higher scope of work than she can find here. She is an honest, amusing little soul, and if by giving her employment I can encourage her desire to be industrious and earn something, I am very glad of the opportunity to do so."

This was a long and serious observation for the gay-hearted Derry to make, but he shrewdly fathomed the pastoral duty underlying the seemingly casual remark.

John's keen perception recognized the sincerity in the ring of the pleasant young voice, and he was quite won by the boyish directness. An instinctive confidence moved him to extend the right hand of trust and fellowship.

"You have been instructive as well as benevolent," he remarked smilingly. "Two of Amarilly's errors of speech have been eradicated."

The young Artist flushed in slight confusion, and then with a half- embarra.s.sed laugh, he replied lightly: "Amarilly gave full measure of correction in return."

Responding to the nameless something in John that so insistently and irresistibly invited confidence, he related the little incident of the luncheon and her request in regard to temperate orders in the future.

"And I don't mean to say," he replied with winning frankness, "that it was merely the request of a little scrub-girl that has kept me temperate through two months of vacation and temptation, but the guileless suggestion was the spark that fired the flame of a dormant desire to change--certain conditions."

John again extended his hand, this time in a remorseful spirit of apology.

Derry partially understood.

"Amarilly has ardently interested friends," he observed whimsically.

"There was one Vedder, a solemn young German, here to-day in my little maid's interest."

John's call upon the sable-hued preacher, Brother Washington, also demanded strategic approach. The question of pockets must be delicately handled lest any reflection be cast upon the integrity of the race, and their known penchant for pockets.