I Walked in Arden Part 13

"The porches are full at this time, Ted, and I know every living soul on Myrtle Boulevard."

I walked a few paces in silence.

"I must see your father--I can show him some letters--"

"Ted, you won't do anything so insanely silly."

"But what can I do?"

"If I were you," she remarked demurely, "I'd try staying on my very best behaviour." Her eyes flashed mischief as she said this.

"Does every inquisitive idiot in Deep Harbor know me by sight?"

"Be careful, Ted, how you refer to our upper circles," she laughed. "Of course they know you, silly boy. You buy a factory from one of our prominent business men, come all the way from London, speak to no one, live a mysterious life all by yourself, with a strange piratey-looking cutthroat--"

"Prospero!" I exclaimed.

"Prospero! Delicious name!" she echoed. "Well, you do all these things and then imagine you are invisible. Could any one but a man be so stupid?"

"There does seem to be something in what you say," I gurgled humbly. Her laugh this time was loud and joyous enough to add to Myrtle Boulevard's suspicions.

"Any one with any common sense would have presented his letters of introduction at the beginning."

"How do you know I have any?"

"Oh, dad had the bank look up all your connections, of course, when you borrowed money for the pay roll. He's a director. He told me all about it."

"This is a chatty little village"--I said with a very feeble effort at withering sarcasm.

"So you see, Ted, dad and I know you are all right,--only mother and the rest rather stick at your not presenting yourself properly. It will take a lot of grandfather to get around that!"--and she went off again into peals of laughter.

"Helen, you don't believe--"

She cut me off. "Ted. I make friends with whom I please, and no explanations are necessary, unless I ask for them."

"But there wasn't--"

"That will do, Teddy. You must turn back now," and she went on, leaving me with one last protest hanging in mid-air. I looked at my watch, as one always does in the street to cover embarra.s.sment. It was quarter to six! By dashing up a side street and running after an electric car I arrived at the office exactly with the whistle.

Chapter Six

I GO FOR A RIDE ON SATAN

My precious riding clothes were delivered Sat.u.r.day night, somewhat to my surprise. I tried them on at a private dress rehearsal before going to bed.

By eight in the morning I was under way to a certain livery and feed stable that had been recommended and found that no progress had yet been made with saddling my chosen horse--or even with the grooming of the angular-looking brute. A tip spurred the hostler's efforts, and finally Satan was as presentable as a horse possessing his peculiar anatomy could be. The beast was an underfed Western broncho somewhat past the first bloom of youth. His eye was not confiding, showing too much white; the manipulation of his ears confirmed the moroseness indicated by his eyes. The poor animal's bony frame was seared all over with hieroglyphic brands proclaiming service under the dynasties of many ranches; he was as interesting to study as the panels on an Egyptian tomb. I suspected that much of the important history of the Far West was engraved upon him. The question of riding, him, however, was a matter of Hobson's choice, for the other animals were fat ladies' cobs mainly used in harness.

When Satan and I appeared before Helen's house there were half a dozen other horses, both good and bad, tethered in front or watched over by grooms. It was to be quite a large party, I noted, with considerable disappointment. Helen came out immediately, looking radiant in a linen riding habit, black sailor hat, and shiny boots. Why is it that a smart riding habit is the most becoming costume a woman can wear? She invited me in to await the others. Her father met us in the entrance hall. He was a typical clear-cut business man, with a rigid moustache, a keen eye, and a hearty hand-clasp. He looked a little searchingly at me, but was friendly. Mother, on the other hand, was certain it was going to rain; the whole party was a foolish idea; we ought to go to church; horses were never safe, and so on. Helen kept up an automatic "Yes, mother. Now don't worry about us, mother," with what I thought was angelic patience.

The others were not long in getting ready. Among them was Miss Hemphill; the rest were strangers to me. There were two more girls, besides Helen and Miss Hemphill, and three other men, one of whom was a dapper German who spoke but little English. Helen told me he was a cavalry officer visiting German-American relatives in Deep Harbor. I was detailed to talk to him because I had fragments of his language and could at least understand him. He clicked his heels and bowed with the customary Prussian stiffness that carried me back at a bound to a week once spent in Berlin. I was curious to know what he was doing in Deep Harbor. There was, however, no opportunity at that time for me to pump him, for Helen ordered us to horse.

We made quite a cavalcade down Myrtle Boulevard, going two by two, with Helen and me in the lead. Behind us rode the German, lavishing most studied attention upon Miss Delia Greyson, who, Helen said, was one of Deep Harbor's heiresses. I felt quite shabby on poor old Satan alongside Helen's neat lady's mare, followed as we were by two superb horses belonging to the Greysons' stables. The German, who was called Lieutenant Ludwig von Oberhausen, took pains to make his horse show off, a thing which caused my Western democratic beast to make vicious threats at such carryings on. I was obliged to ask the Herr Lieutenant to have a care that Satan did not plant his heels where they would be undesirable.

The Lieutenant raised his eyebrows and said "Ach so?"--not very pleasantly.

"What have I done to be punished with a German?" I asked Helen, after the Lieutenant had curvetted into Satan and me for about the tenth time.

Helen laughed. "Why, we think him very nice. He's quite an important man in his own country."

"Oh, I'm sure of that," I retorted. "They all are, in their own estimation."

"Now, you've got to behave, Ted, and forget your nasty English prejudices. Ludwig is a wonderful horseman and dances adorably."

"Wouldn't you know it?" I thought to myself. "Of course the brute has his parlour tricks down perfectly"--but I was too canny to say this aloud.

"We'll ride on ahead of them, if he annoys," she conceded.

"By the way, Helen," I remarked as we reached the dusty and cinder-strewn outskirts to the eastward of Deep Harbor, "where are we going?"

"Haven't I told you, Ted? Oh, I always forget you don't know us. We are going where we often go--to a wonderful little inn to eat a chicken-and-waffle dinner."

"How far is it?" I enquired, for I was already aware that it had been several months since I had ridden a horse.

"Not over fifteen miles," she replied, quite unconscious of the shock her words were to me. A thirty-mile ride the first day! "We'll have a late supper at my house when we get back," she continued. "There's a lovely ravine north from the inn; we can ride up there to a little fairy waterfall. It's only two or three miles out of our way."

"It sounds delightful," I stated quite truthfully. "Satan," I whispered, "you poor old beast, if you are game, I am. It may kill us both, but we'll see it through." Satan shook his head, insulted at the liberty I took of addressing him confidentially.

We were now in the open country, which fairly sparkled in the clear October air. The vineyards on either side of the road were hung with purple cl.u.s.ters, the maples were giving the first hints of their autumn colouring; the sumach was already flaming. Beyond, the lake lay, a colder blue than I had seen it; one felt like shouting with the very joy of living. All this, by some strange twist, reminded me of Mrs.

Claybourne's hostility to me. I questioned Helen about it.

"Oh, mother made an awful fuss when she heard I'd asked you to come. Dad spoke up for you; at least, he told mother I was old enough to take care of myself. The trouble was that Ludwig had asked me to go with him--"

"That German?" I interrupted savagely.

"Hush, Ted. Remember your manners. I refused his invitation to ask you.

Now are you satisfied?" Giving her horse a touch with her riding crop, she cantered off down the road ahead of me.

"Come Satan," I spoke to my animal, "shades of cattle round-ups and the Wyoming Trail--show what you are good for," and we set off madly in pursuit. It was her pleasure to let us catch her, for Satan, willing enough, was beyond the time of life when he could overhaul a thoroughbred. He was breathing hard, but with dignity, when I pulled upon his iron mouth as we came abreast. I found Helen laughing until tears were in her eyes.

"What now, little woman?" I asked with the anxiety a man has when a woman laughs by herself.

"I was thinking that if Satan were half a hand taller he would exactly match Mr. Winkle's horse. You looked too funny lumbering down the hill after us."

"Apart from the fact that it was bad form of you to canter down a hill and thus imperil Satan's rheumatic joints, I hope you don't intend the comparison to extend to the rider," I rebuked her.

"No," pursing her lips, "you handle a horse well--a little finicky, perhaps, as if you were riding in a park. All told, you compare quite favourably with Mr. Winkle"--this with a most merry twinkle.