Half a Rogue Part 26

"But come; you are up here to be cheered, not lectured. Let us play billiards. I can hear John and Kate playing now. We'll play sides; and if we win against those two, I promise to call you Richard once a day while you are up here. Or, would you rather I played and sang?"

"Much rather," brightening up a bit. "There is always time to play billiards. But first, I want you to come with me into the reading-room. I have something to show you; I had almost forgotten."

"The reading-room?" puzzled.

"Yes. Will you come?"

She nodded her a.s.sent, and the two entered the house. Warrington, having arrived at the writing-desk, bade her sit down. He had an idea.

Patty sat down.

"I want you to write something for me," he said, pushing the pen and tablet toward her.

"What's the matter with your hand?" she demanded.

"Nothing."

"Then why do you want me to write?"

"I have never seen your handwriting. I'm something of an expert in that line. I'll read your future."

"But I don't want my future read," rebelliously.

"Well, then, your past."

"Much less my past. Come; you are only beating about the bush. What is it you want?"

"I want to know," he said quietly, "why you have kept me in ignorance all this while." He laid the letter on the desk, and placed a finger on the water-mark. "It wasn't fair to let me compose panegyrics over it all the while you were laughing in your sleeve. Ah, I've caught you. You can't get away this time, Patty."

"I haven't the slightest idea what you are talking about." But she looked at the letter and not at him.

"Do you see those water-marks?" he demanded.

"Yes. You will find them in a thousand tablets like this. I bought a dozen of them in New York; cheap and handy."

Warrington's confidence in his discovery began to shake. He braced himself and took a bold course.

"Patty, you wrote that letter; you know you did. You wrote it in New York, the day you bought the tablets."

"I?"

"Yes. Confess."

"My dear Mr. Warrington, you must prove it," lightly. "It would not be proper for me to admit that I had been so foolish as to write a letter like that."

"But you've praised it!"

"Simply because praising it would please you; for no other reason."

"Did you, or did you not write it?"

"Find out. You must prove that I wrote it. Certainly I have nothing to confess."

"You will not answer me one way or the other?"

"No."

"If you had not written it you would."

"I don't believe I shall sing this morning," rising.

"And I have wondered a thousand times who could have written it. And all the time it was you."

"Nor play billiards," went on Patty.

"If only I were all you hitherto believed me to be!"

"Nor fish to-morrow morning."

"This letter has been like an anchor. Immediately upon receiving it I began to try to live better."

"Nor fish the day after to-morrow."

"And I had forgotten all about Jack's having a sister!"

"Something I shall neither forget nor forgive. And if you persist in accusing me of writing that letter, I promise not to fish again while you are here." She walked toward the door, her chin held high.

"You wrote it. Come and sing. I'll say nothing more about it. There's nothing more to be said." He carelessly picked up a book and looked at the fly-leaf. "From Sister Patty to Brother John," he read. There was no mistake now. He laughed. Patty turned. "The writing is the same."

"Is it?"

"Will you sing?"

No answer.

"Please."

Patty stood between the door that led to the veranda and the door that led to the music-room--between Charybdis and Scylla, as it were, for she knew he would follow her whichever way she went. She turned into the music-room.

"Thanks," he said.

The days pa.s.sed all too quickly for Warrington. He walked in the golden glow of his first romance, that romance which never leaves us till life itself departs. He spoke no word of his love, but at times there was something in his voice that thrilled Patty and subdued her elfish gaiety. Some girls would have understood at once, but Patty was different. She was happy one moment, and troubled the next, not knowing the reason. She was not a.n.a.lytical; there was no sophistry in her young heart. She did not dream that this man loved her; she was not vain enough for that.

John and Kate watched them approvingly. They knew the worth of the man; they were not at all worried over what was past. They saw their own romance tenderly reflected. Mrs. Bennington was utterly oblivious.

Mothers never realize that their daughters and sons must some day leave them; they refuse to accept this natural law; they lament over it to-day as they lamented in the days of the Old Testament. The truth is, children are always children to the parents; paternal and maternal authority believes its right indefinite.

By this time all the newspapers, save the Telegraph, had made readable copy out of Warrington's candidacy. Why the Telegraph remained mute was rather mystifying. Warrington saw the hand of McQuade in this. The party papers had to defend the senator, but their defense was not so strong as it might have been. Not a single sheet came out frankly for Warrington. The young candidate smoked his pipe and said nothing, but mentally he was rolling up his sleeves a little each day. He had not yet pulled through the convention. Strong as the senator was, there might yet be a hitch in the final adjustment. So far nothing had come of Bolles' trip to New York. Occasionally newspapers from the nearby towns fell into Warrington's hands. These spoke of his candidacy in the highest terms, and belabored the editors of Herculaneum for not accepting such a good chance of ridding itself of McQuadeism.

Meantime, there was fishing, long trips into the heart of the forests, dancing at the hotel at the head of the lake, billiards and music.

Warrington was already deeply tanned, and Patty's nose was liberally sprinkled with golden freckles.