Concerning Sally Part 65

Then I will come back. I may have as much success as Spencer, perhaps." And Everett began a little smile of his own; but, thinking that Sally might see it, he stopped before the smile was well born.

Sally shook her head again. "I told Eugene to tell Charlie that I should wait here until he came out. It isn't pleasant, but I shall wait."

"But, Sally," Everett remonstrated, "you don't understand. You--"

"I do understand," Sally interrupted. "I will take care of myself."

She may not have realized how this would sound and how it would exasperate Everett. But perhaps she did realize.

Everett only shrugged his shoulders and turned away. Sally was an obstinate piece.

"If you want to do me a kindness," she continued, "you will help to get Charlie out as soon as you can."

"As you like," he returned. "I will certainly do what I can to get Charlie out. That's what I am here for." Again Sally smiled her peculiar little smile. She couldn't help it. That Everett should think she would believe that! "But you had much better let me take you to your hotel first," he added, persuasively. "I will explain to Spencer."

"I will wait."

Everett was irritated and quite out of patience with her. He shrugged his shoulders again and started on.

"You are very good, Everett," Sally called softly. "Thank you, and good night."

He made no reply unless a perfunctory touch of his hat and an impatient mutter could be called a reply; and he was swallowed up by the doorway and admitted by the doorman with a familiar nod and a grin which it was as well, he thought, that Sally did not see. She would not have been surprised if she had seen.

Everett had hardly disappeared when the lurking figure left its post in the shadows and advanced toward Sally. She saw it and braced herself for the encounter. In the matter of encounters that lonely street was doing pretty well. For an instant she meditated flight, but instantly decided against it. The man must have known, from her att.i.tude, what was pa.s.sing in her mind, for he spoke when he was but halfway across.

"Sally," he said gently, "you needn't be frightened. It--"

Whereupon Sally behaved in a most peculiar and reprehensible manner.

At the sound of the voice she had stiffened; but now she cast herself at the man and seized his arm with both her hands.

"Fox, Fox," she said, with a quiver in her voice, for she was very near to crying. "I'm glad. You are an old comfort. You don't know how lonely it was, waiting by myself. I thought I could stand it, but I don't know whether I could have held out much longer. The street was getting on my nerves."

"I know, Sally," he replied. "I was afraid it would. And now what is the prospect? Is Charlie likely to come soon? And shall we go to your hotel or wait?"

"I must wait. But--but, Fox, it would provoke Jane and Charlie, too, to find you here."

Fox laughed. "Then I will vanish at the first sign of them. But I should really like to know how your enterprise comes out. Do you mind telling me, Sally? And how shall we manage it without telling your mother? I suppose she doesn't know the purpose of your coming."

"Not from me, although she may guess. I'll come out, in a day or two, to call on you, sir. Shall you feel honored?"

"You know I shall, Sally. But how will you account for your call?"

"I shall come to collect the rent," returned Sally promptly, "if any excuse is necessary. Be sure that you have it ready. And I shall give you a faithful account of all that has transpired." She had Fox's arm and she gave it a little squeeze. It was a very little squeeze and very brief, but it made his heart jump. "It was lucky for me that you--" And then she stopped short, realizing that Fox would not have happened to be in that street, leading to nowhere, at that time.

"Don't you know," he asked simply, with a laugh of content, "that I always keep track of you? Did you think that you could come to such a place as this without my being somewhere about?"

Sally changed the subject quickly. It was an unspeakable comfort to her to know--but Fox must not pursue that subject now. Fox had no intention of pursuing that subject; and they walked slowly to and fro over what had been Sally's beat, talking of anything or of nothing.

Sally was content; and again she forgot Charlie and Jane and her errand, and she became almost gay. Those sombre old houses echoed quiet laughter, of a kind that they had not heard for goodness knows how many years, and low voices. Some more men came, singly, or in groups of two or three, and looked at them with curiosity. Sally hardly saw them. And the last group pa.s.sed into the house and up the stairs and into the room where the table stood before the front windows and they stopped short at the sound of angry voices.

The game had stopped, for the moment, and the dealer was leaning back with his hand upon the pack, waiting. There was a look upon his face of languid interest under the mask of indifference, as he gazed at the young fellow opposite, his face flushed now with impotent rage, and at the man leaning over him. The face above was flushed with anger, too, but it was not impotent. If Sally had seen it she would have been reminded of her father. The sight seemed to remind the dealer of something, but it was impossible to guess whether that something was pleasant or otherwise. Many things had happened to him which were not pleasant to think of. Indeed, the pleasant things were very few. He did not think of his past when he could help it. It was a thing to be avoided.

"Come, Charlie," said Everett again, sharply. "You're to get up and go. We're all waiting."

Charlie seemed to be divided between his long admiration of Everett--of what he said and did and was--and his helpless anger. He wavered.

"You mean that I have got to leave the game?" he sputtered at last.

"Why have I?" He hesitated a moment, looking from the cards to the dealer who still had that little look of languid interest upon his face. In fact, it was almost compelling a smile on the thin lips.

Charlie could not have stood that. He looked away again quickly, but he did not look at Everett. He could not have stood that, either.

"No," he said, with a sudden accession of courage, "I won't do it. The game can go on."

The dealer did not move a muscle. Everett smiled. "You see," he answered, "that it will not go on with you in it. I'm right, Charlie?"

he added, glancing up at the dealer; but it was less a question than a command.

The dealer nodded. Still Charlie Ladue did not move.

"Come, Ladue," Everett ordered impatiently. "Don't make them put you out. Cash in and go along. You know very well why. I promised to start you and I'm going to. And, let me tell you, I can do it."

There was nothing else to do. Charlie muttered something and rose slowly and pushed his chair back violently in a fit of childish anger.

Instantly the chair was taken and the game was going on almost before he had his back turned. Everett kept close beside him until he had his coat and hat, and he even went down to the door with him. Eugene was waiting there, but he said nothing. He was much mortified at his complete failure and at Everett's complete success. The grinning black opened the door.

"Good night, Spencer," said Everett. "And good night, Charlie. If you take my advice, you'll give it up."

The door shut behind the two and Everett went upstairs again. He paid no attention to the game, but walked into the dimly lighted back room and to the sideboard. He felt out of sorts with himself and with everybody and everything else. He must be thirsty; and he poured himself out a gla.s.s and stood sipping it and looking absently at the heavily curtained windows at the rear. There did not happen to be anybody else at the sideboard.

He was still sipping with his back toward the front room and the game when he felt a touch upon his arm. He turned quickly. There stood the dealer.

"h.e.l.lo, Charlie!" he said in some surprise. "Your recess? Do you want me to apologize for taking that young cub out and making all that row?"

The dealer shook his head. "That was right enough. I've been thinking about him for some--" He stopped short and swallowed--something; possibly a lump or something of the kind. But it is not conceivable that such a man can have the more usual emotions of pity and charity.

For they are the usual emotions, whatever you may say against it. If Everett had only known it, that was the very trouble with him. He had not been thirsty, primarily. His thirst was but a physical symptom of his mental state.

But I interrupted the dealer. He was speaking again. "I should like to ask you a question, Mr. Morton," he said.

"What is it, Charlie?" Everett felt but a pa.s.sing interest in his question.

"I noticed that you called the young man Ladue."

"Did I? That was very thoughtless of me. I apologize."

The dealer did not smile, but went on, apparently pursuing his object, whatever that was. "And the other man spoke of Sally."

"Indeed! That was even more thoughtless."

"Charlie Ladue," the dealer continued in an even voice, "and Sally. It sounds as if Sally should be his sister. Is she?"

Everett hesitated for a moment. After all, what harm? "Well, yes, she is his sister. Much disturbed at hearing of his doings. You and I, Charlie," he said lightly, "know better."

The dealer smiled faintly. For a wonder his faint smile was not unpleasant.

"Can you tell me," he pursued, "where Miss Sally Ladue is to be found--say, in the morning?"