Captivating Mary Carstairs Part 47

Peter's melancholy prediction, though it spread quickly among the crowd after Varney left the porch, was quite unfounded. Varney had not the least idea of fainting. At Hare's tribute, which was as unexpected as he felt it to be totally undeserved, and the sudden rain of eyes upon him, an unaccountable dizziness had seized him, while he stood reluctantly bowing; he had thrust out his hand and caught hold of the post. This blackness pa.s.sed as quickly as it had come. The next instant he felt as fit a man as ever; and to the tender requests of his host, Mr. Hackley, that he should withdraw into the house for a "leetle rest-up," he returned a laughing refusal. For this was his last appearance in Hunston, as well as his first in recent days, and very strongly did he desire to make it testify to his warm interest in the town's great day and the personal triumph of his friend, Peter Maginnis.

What removed Varney so abruptly from the Hackley porch and the public view was the sudden fulfilment of quite another prediction of Peter's: the one about the return to Hunston of the gum-shod Mr. Higginson.

The news came without warning. At just the moment when the Mayor replunged into his interrupted oratory, Varney became aware that a low, anxious voice behind him was insistently calling his name. He turned, and saw the figure of a man standing in Hackley's entryway, just inside the door; he had evidently slipped in from the rear; and now, catching the young man's eye, he began mysteriously beckoning and making signs.

"Kin I speak to you a minute, Mr. Varney?" he called in the same dramatic whisper.

Varney, in some surprise, advanced to the doorway and stepped inside the entry after the stranger--a poorly dressed fellow with an unshaven chin and a collarless neck.

"Well? What do you want, my man? And how do you know my name?"

At that the man gave the air of exploding, though his voice remained only a whisper, at once apologetic and immensely reproachful.

"_Know_ your _name_, sir! Why, _excuse_ me for usin' it so free, but I guess there ain't n.o.body in Hunston don't know _you_, Mr. Varney! Why, Mr. Varney, my six-year-old kid c'd pick you right out o' that crowd out there, same as 't was her pa, what with seein' your picture in the papers an' all, an' I guess there ain't anything you'd ever want in _Hunston_ you couldn't have just for the trouble o' namin' it."

The random a.s.sertion struck some of the blood from the young man's cheek, but he said good-humoredly: "Well, I'm glad to hear it. But tell me who you are, and what I can do for you."

The man's face, which had grown rather loose and mobile, instantly became business-like and alert.

"I'm 'Lije Stobo, Mr. Varney--Hackley'll tell you. I was hired a week ago by Mr. Maginnis to watch trains for a certain party kind of expected to show up here." His voice, already very low, dropped several tones lower, as he hurriedly went on: "Well, Mr. Varney, the party come in on Number 14 just now. It ain't five minutes ago since he stepped down on the deepo platform--disguised in some pretty good glad rags, he was, but o' course we spotted him right off, and--"

"Higginson?"

The man nodded. "My partner was with me--Callery--and we shadows our party to the Palace Hotel where he takes Room 41 and sneaks upstairs.

Callery's sitting in the lobby now, and I runs out to take the tip to Mr. Maginnis--but Lord bless you, Mr. Varney--" He pointed out the open door in the direction of the little speaker's stand where Peter sat impregnably walled in on all sides by dense human ma.s.ses. "It might be an hour before I could get to him through _that_. I was up against it, f'r he'd sure kill me if I let our party give us the slip again, and then I heard 'em all cheerin' you, and thinks I, _there's_ my man, and--"

Varney interrupted gratefully but briskly.

"You did exactly right, Mr. Stobo. I have long been anxious to see Mr.--that is, this party. In fact," he added, putting on his hat with significant firmness, "it is because of some business that I have with this party that Mr. Maginnis asked you to look out for him."

Mr. Stobo's eyes ardently approved the young man's readiness for "trouble."

"Well, _sir_--that's took a load off'n my mind, I tell you! I'll just skip on--will I, Mr. Varney?--and try to get the tip to Mr. Maginnis, as my orders was. He was _that set_ on interviewin' this here party--but Lor', he'd give him to you, same's himself. Only--are you _sure_ you're feelin' up to it to-day, Mr. Varney? If mebbe you'd let me'r Callery go along now, just in case, y' know--"

Varney gave an answer which Mr. Stobo found completely rea.s.suring. At the same time, he rapidly produced his pocket-book and pulled out a bill of alluring complexion.

"I owe you a great deal for bringing me this information, Mr.

Stobo--more than I can repay. But perhaps you would let me--"

He stopped suddenly, for the man had started backing off down the entryway, a dull unaccustomed color showing in his grimy face.

"You didn't mean it, Mr. Varney! Why, how'd I look my missus in the face--let alone myself--and tell her I took money off'n _you_--"

He disappeared out of the back door, and Varney, feeling uncomfortable and disproportionately touched, put his spurned bill back in his pocket. Hackley, now perceiving that his guest's visitor was gone, turned his back on the speechmaking and hurried forward solicitously.

"I could 'a' hit that Stobo sneakin' in a-botherin' and a-'noyin' you,"

he said in tones of great sympathy. "I know how it is, Mr. Varney. Bit of a inverlid myself, I am--no health and no const.i.tootion whatsomever, sir. Feelin' a leetle stiddier now, are you? Better lie down on my parlor sofy a while and git rested up nice, hadn't ye?--many's the day I've lazied there, Lord knows, tryin' f'r to coddle my strength back."

Varney regretfully declined the offer. In fact, he must be going at once, he said, as he had a rather important business engagement; and would Mr. Hackley kindly show him the quiet back-exit to the street and the outer world?

Hackley, a tireless host, re-urged the charms of his sofy and cool well-water for invalids; but his guest remained politely firm. So there, on the little rear veranda, the two men parted with mutual esteem: Varney expressing sincere thanks for all Mr. Hackley's courtesies; Hackley compa.s.sionate over Mr. Varney's impaired const.i.tution, but boggling over what regrets might haply betray him into the grip of the law's long arm.

Varney traversed the clothes-hung backyard, came out into the dingy alley, and made rapidly for the cross-street, where a string of carriages showed that "the quality" of Hunston was not without interest in the day's proceedings. He did not see the carriages; to himself he seemed suddenly to walk in a great and silent solitude. There was noise enough about him, in all conscience, for every sentence that fell from Hare's lips was punctuated by a salvo; but the tumult beat itself to stillness against the closed fastness of his mind.

Under his eye, half way down the block to which he drew near, rose the weatherworn flank of the Palace Hotel. Somewhere within the ugly pile was his mortal enemy Higginson, trapped to his reckoning at last. Within five minutes they two would stand face to face; and he had long since promised himself that Higginson would remember the meeting for as long as he lived. A moment ago, the thought had filled him with a strange exhilaration: the prospect of a final accounting with the intriguing fly-by-night who had wronged him past all forgiveness had set his blood to leaping. But, exactly because that wrong went so deep, his pleasurable excitement ebbed faster than it had mounted. The wound that he had had from Higginson was one that no vengeance would heal. And with the recurrence of this knowledge his battle-joy flickered and went out like a spent match, and the little alley was a war-list no longer but a stretch without end of dry and dusty years....

"I was lookin' for yer, Mist' Varney," said a husky, abashed voice.

Varney stared down at the small apparition before him with momentary unrecognition.

"Why--Tommy! Heaven bless us! Where did you spring from, boy?"

Tommy's eyes fell in awe, but sure enough, he was sticking out his small flipper in salutation. In fact, he had shaken hands a number of times since that first memorable occasion, and, in his way, was gradually beginning to catch the spirit of the thing.

"Kem up on the two-forty-five. Wit' Hauser's band. Got a loan of t'ree bucks off a frien'."

"The mischief you did! Where do you find friends like that nowadays? But what on earth made you pop back here? To hear Hauser's play and see all the fireworks?"

Tommy examined his toe with affected interest and shook his head.

"What then? Don't you like it in New York?"

"Ya.s.ser. Noo York's all right, it is." And reluctantly he added: "You be'n sick, ain't you? Thought I'd come and see how you was makin' it.

Come afore now, on'y I couldn't get next to de price."

"Tommy," said Varney, snuggling the boy's left hand into his own right and resuming the promenade, "you're a mighty good friend to me."

They emerged into the street where a double line of vehicles, some of them gay with bright hats and parasols, flanked the curb on either side, and Varney turned north, his back to the square, unconscious of the many curious glances that were flung at him as he pa.s.sed.

"Tommy," said Varney, "I'm bound for the hotel on business, but I'm not going to pull you away from all the fun--"

"Wut, that? That ain't no fun, sir."

"Don't you suppose I know fun when I meet it in the road, you little rascal? You stay here till it's all over and then I want you to come down to the yacht, and we'll have some dinner. Then I'll put you up for the night and to-morrow morning we'll go to New York together, eh? How's that?"

But Tommy said: "Nawser. We can't go yet. Somebody sent me to bring you.

We got a car'dge here--"

"A carriage?"

"A victori'," emphasized Tommy.

"A victoria! All this on three bucks, Tommy! Well, well! You are the spender, though."

"Here's _our_ victori'!" said Tommy proudly.

They halted abruptly before an open carriage ... a victoria, indeed: a handsome double victoria, all polished dark wood and blue upholstery and shining nickeled harness, and sleek bay horses. This he saw in the first flash, wondering by what miracle Tommy Orrick had secured control of so glorious an equipage. And then ... there was the pretty edge of a furbelowed skirt upon the carriage-floor ... a dainty patent-leather toe upon the foot-rest ... an unrolling panorama of white-gloved hands, pale buff dress, great plumed hat, eyes not seen yet known to be blue to match the upholstery ... an exquisite lady sitting in the victoria. And this lady had recognized his presence, first with a faint frightened "Oh!" and then with a movement of those great hat-plumes which was beyond all doubt or cavil a bow ... a bow of proper and civil greeting.

For him that meeting was stunning in its entire unexpectedness. The landscape went off in protest, exploded in pyrotechnic marvels; the earth spun and cavorted; the solar system was disrupted and planets ran amuck with din unbelievable. But he was used to these cataclysms now, and out of the roar of breakage he heard a voice much like his own saying pleasantly: