Burnham Breaker Part 45

"At what time did you leave my office last night?"

"Right after Rhymin' Joe did. I went out to find him."

"Then you went away without letting me know of your presence there, did you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you find this Rhyming Joe?"

"No, sir, I couldn't find 'im."

"Now, Ralph, when you left me at the Scranton station on Sat.u.r.day night, did you go straight home?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you see any one to talk with except Bachelor Billy that night after you left me?"

"No, sir."

"Where did you go on Sunday morning?"

"Uncle Billy an' me went down to the chapel to meetin'."

"From there where did you go?"

"Back home."

"And had your dinner?"

"Yes, sir."

"What did you do after that?"

"Me an' Uncle Billy went up to the breaker."

"What breaker?"

"Burnham Breaker."

"Why did you go there?"

"Jest for a walk, an' to see how it looked."

"How long did you stay there?"

"Oh, we hadn't been there more'n fifteen or twenty minutes 'fore Mrs.

Burnham's man came for me an' took me to her house."

Sharpman straightened up in his chair. His drag-net had brought up something at last. It might be of value to him and it might not be.

"Ah!" he said, "so you spent a portion of yesterday afternoon at Mrs.

Burnham's house, did you?"

"Yes, sir, I did."

"How long did you stay there?"

"Oh! I shouldn't wonder if it was two or three hours."

"Did you see Mrs. Burnham alone?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have a long talk together?"

"Yes, sir, a very nice long talk."

Sharpman thought that if he could only lead the jury, by inference, to the presumption that what had taken place to-day was understood between Ralph and Mrs. Burnham yesterday it would be a strong point, but he knew that he must go cautiously.

"She was very kind to you, wasn't she?"

"Yes, sir; she was lovely. I never had so good a time before in all my life."

"You took dinner with her, I suppose?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have a good dinner?"

"It was splendid."

"Did you eat a good deal?"

"Yes, sir, I think I eat a great deal."

"Had a good many things that were new to you, I presume?"

"Yes, sir, quite a good many."

"Did you think you would like to go there to live?"

"Oh, yes! I did. It's beautiful there, it's very beautiful. You don't know how lovely it is till you get there. I couldn't help bein' happy in a home like that, an' they couldn't be no nicer mother'n Mrs.

Burnham is, nor no pirtier little sister. An' everybody was jest as good to me there! Why, you don't know what a--"

The glow suddenly left the boy's face, and the rapture fled from his eyes. In the enthusiasm of his description he had forgotten, for the moment, that it was not all to be his, and when the memory of his loss came back to him, it was like a plunge into outer darkness. He stopped so unexpectedly, and in such apparent mental distress that people stared at him in astonishment, wondering what had happened.

After a moment of silence he spoke again: "But it ain't mine any longer; I can't have any of it now; I've got no right to go there at all any more." The sadness in his broken voice was pitiful. Those who were looking on him saw his under lip tremble and his eyes fill with tears. But it was only for a moment. Then he drew himself up until he sat rigidly in his chair, his little hands were tightly clenched, his lips were set in desperate firmness, every muscle of his face grew tense and hard with sudden resolution. It was a magnificently successful effort of the will to hold back almost overpowering emotion, and to keep both mind and body strong and steady for any ordeal through which he might have yet to pa.s.s.