Aunt Jane's Nieces and Uncle John Part 23

He swung around and turned his gaunt features upward to where the young girl leaned upon her crutches, with clasped hands and a look of distress upon her sweet face.

"Don't!" she repeated, pleadingly.

He pa.s.sed his hand over his eyes with a very weary gesture and looked at Myrtle again--this time quite steadily. She was trembling in every limb and her cheeks were white with fear.

Slowly--very slowly--the man turned and began to climb the rocks; not directly upward to where the girls stood, but diagonally, so as to reach the walk some distance ahead of them. They did not move until he had gained the path and turned toward the hotel. Then they followed and kept him in sight until he reached the entrance to the court and disappeared within.

"I wonder," said Patsy, as they made their way to their rooms, "whether he really was thinking of plunging into the ocean; or whether that time at the Grand Canyon he had a notion of jumping into the chasm."

"If so," added Beth, "Myrtle has saved his life twice. But she can't be always near to watch the man, and if he has suicidal intentions, he'll make an end of himself, sooner or later, without a doubt."

"Perhaps," said Myrtle, hesitatingly, "I am quite wrong, and the strange man had no intention of doing himself an injury. But each time I obeyed an impulse that compelled me to cry out; and afterward I have been much ashamed of my forwardness."

They did not see the melancholy man at dinner; but afterward, in the s.p.a.cious lobby, they discovered him sitting in a far corner reading a magazine. He seemed intent on this occupation and paid no attention to the life around him. The girls called Uncle John's attention to him, and Mr. Merrick at once recognized him as the same individual they had met at the Grand Canyon.

"But I am not especially pleased to encounter him again," he said with a slight frown; "for, if I remember aright, he acted very rudely to Myrtle and proved unsociable when I made overtures and spoke to him."

"I wonder who he is?" mused Patsy, watching the weary, haggard features as his eyes slowly followed the lines of his magazine.

"I'll inquire and find out," replied her uncle.

The cherubic landlord was just then pacing up and down the lobby, pausing here and there to interchange a word with his guests. Uncle John approached him and said:

"Can you tell me, Mr. Ross, who the gentleman is in the corner?"

The landlord looked around at the corner and smiled.

"That," said he, "is the gentleman we spoke of this afternoon--Mr.

C.B. Jones--the man who usurped the rooms intended for you."

"Rooms?" repeated Uncle John. "Has he a large party, then?"

"He is alone; that is the queer part of it," returned the landlord.

"Nor has he much baggage. But he liked the suite--a parlor with five rooms opening out of it--and insisted upon having them all, despite the fact that it is one of the most expensive suites in the hotel. I said he was eccentric, did I not?"

"You were justified," said Mr. Merrick, thought fully. "Thank you, sir, for the information."

Even as he rejoined the girls, who were seated together upon a broad divan, the man arose, laid down his magazine and came slowly down the room, evidently headed for the elevator. But with a start he recognized the girl who had accosted him on the beach, and the others with her, and for an instant came to a full stop before the group, his sad eyes fixed intently upon Myrtle's face.

The situation was a bit awkward, and to relieve it Uncle John remarked in his cheery voice:

"Well, Mr. Jones, we meet again, you see."

The man turned slowly and faced him; then bowed in a mechanical way and proceeded to the elevator, into which he disappeared.

Naturally Uncle John was indignant.

"Confound the fellow!" he exclaimed. "He's worse than a boor. But perhaps his early education was neglected."

"Did you call him Mr. Jones, sir?" asked Myrtle in a voice that trembled with excitement.

"Yes, my dear; but it is not your Uncle Anson. I've inquired about him. The Joneses are pretty thick, wherever you go; but I hope not many are like this fellow."

"Something's wrong with him," declared Patsy. "He's had some sad bereavement--a great blow of some sort--and it has made him somber and melancholy. He doesn't seem to know he acts rudely. You can tell by the man's eyes that he is unhappy."

"His eyes have neither color nor expression," remarked Beth. "At his best, this Mr. Jones must have been an undesirable acquaintance."

"You can't be sure of that," returned Patsy; "and I'm positive my theory is correct. More and more am I inclined to agree with Myrtle that he is disgusted with life, and longs to end it."

"Let him, then," retorted Uncle John. "I'm sure such a person is of no use to the world, and if he doesn't like himself he's better out of it."

That kindly Mr. Merrick should give vent to such a heartless speech proved how much annoyed he had been by Mr. Jones' discourtesy.

"He might be reclaimed, and--and comforted," said Myrtle, softly.

"When I think of the happiness you have brought into my life, sir, I long to express my grat.i.tude by making some one else happy."

"You're doing it, little one," he answered, pinching her cheek. "If we've brought a bit of sunshine into your life we've reaped an ample reward in your companionship. But if you can find a way to comfort that man Jones, and fetch him out of his dumps, you are certainly a more wonderful fairy than I've given you credit for."

Myrtle did not reply to this, although it pleased her. She presently pleaded weariness and asked permission to return to her room. Beth and Patsy wanted to go into the great domed ballroom and watch the dancing; so Myrtle bade them good night and ascended by the elevator to her floor.

CHAPTER XIX

"THREE TIMES"

Softly stepping over the thick carpets, which deadened the sound of the crutches--now becoming scarcely necessary to her--the young girl pa.s.sed along the corridor, pa.s.sing angles and turns innumerable on her way to her room. Some erratic architect certainly concocted the plan of the Hotel del Coronado. It is a very labyrinth of pa.s.sages connecting; its nine hundred rooms, and one has to have a good b.u.mp of location to avoid getting lost in its mazes.

Near one of the abrupt turns a door stood ajar, and in pa.s.sing Myrtle glanced in, and then paused involuntarily. It was a small parlor, prettily furnished, and in a big chair reclined a man whose hands were both pressed tight against his face, thus covering it completely. But Myrtle knew him. The thin frame, as well as the despairing att.i.tude, marked him as the man who had come so strangely into her life and whose personality affected her so strangely. She now stood in the dimly lighted corridor looking in upon him with infinite pity, and as she looked her glance fell upon the table beside him, where something bright glittered beneath the electric lamps.

Her heart gave a sudden thump of mingled fear and dismay. She knew intuitively what that "something" was. "Let him," Uncle John had said; but Myrtle instantly determined _not_ to let him.

She hesitated a moment; but seeing that the man remained motionless, his eyes still covered, as if lost to all his surroundings, she softly crept forward and entered the room. She held the crutches under her arms, but dared not use them for fear of making a noise. Step by step she stole forward until the table was within reach. Then she stretched out her hand, seized the revolver, and hid it in the folds of her blouse.

Turning for a final glance at the man she was startled to find he had removed his hands and was steadfastly regarding her.

Myrtle leaned heavily on her crutches. She felt faint and miserable, like a criminal caught in the act. As her eyes fell before the intent gaze her face turned scarlet with humiliation and chagrin. Still, she did not attempt to escape, the idea not occurring to her; so for a time the tableau was picturesque--the lame girl standing motionless with downcast eyes and the man fixedly staring at her.

"Three times!" he slowly said, in a voice finally stirred by a trace of emotion. "Three times. My child, why are you so persistent?"

Myrtle tried to be brave and meet his gaze. It was not quite so difficult now the silent man had spoken.

"Why do you force me to be persistent?" she asked, a tremor in her voice. "Why are you determined to--to--"

Words failed her, but he nodded to show he understood.

"Because," said he, "I am tired; very tired, my child. It's a big world; too big, in fact; but there's nothing in it for me any more."