I Walked in Arden Part 20

Afterwards I noticed that she sipped it quite often when the rest of us were talking, until she gradually returned to an almost cheerful frame of mind. Mr. Claybourne's anecdotes and humorous stories increased in numbers; he sandwiched many toasts in between them: to "mother"; to Helen; to "happy days"; to the "young people"; to "rum--down with it,"

and like persiflage of an obvious nature. At each toast "mother" raised a feeble objection, less and less prolonged as time went on. We had another bottle, for Mr. Claybourne said "A quart among four is only a teaser--an aggravation." Once Helen risked taking my hand: "Be careful, Ted, won't you?" she whispered. I nodded. Mr. Claybourne saw us. "Ted is old enough to take care of himself, Helen," he admonished, winking at me. When the second bottle was emptied, Mr. Claybourne brought forth a humidor filled with large, black Havanas.

"Now, mother, we'll carry Helen into the living room, and Ted and I are going to sit here and talk business over our cigars." I started, and Helen's free foot lightly touched mine under the table. Mr. Claybourne was delighted with the effect of his dramatic announcement. His eyes twinkled as he watched us.

"I guess you thought the old man was asleep," he chuckled, as we picked Helen up. "I wasn't born yesterday."

"Can I stay, dad?" Helen asked.

"No, we'll attend to you later, young lady," and with this cryptic threat Helen was carried off. Of course things were not working out as I had planned, but I was beginning to get used to Fate's perversity.

"Light up, Ted," commanded Mr. Claybourne upon our return to the dining room. I obeyed; my hand was not so steady as I should have wished.

"Old man Tyler let slip something last night that has set me thinking, Ted," he continued, locking his hands behind his head and studying my face attentively. "So that was how the milk was spilt," I thought. "Of course, I must say a blind man could have told which way the wind blew,"

he added, with a reckless mixture of proverbs. There was a pause, during which I was trying to compose a suitable speech.

"Well, Ted, so you two kids imagine you're in love with each other?"

"We are," I said with a decision that surprised me. Again this wasn't the speech I had been composing.

"Suppose for the sake of argument we concede this point for the moment: was it playing square not to tell me?" and Mr. Claybourne blew a cloud of smoke rings toward the ceiling.

"We only found it out last night," I answered eagerly desirous to put myself in the right. "I came here today to tell you."

He looked sharply at me, chewing his cigar. I did not flinch this time.

"Some one was pretty slow," he said, breaking into a laugh. "I found it out two weeks ago." I moistened my lips and tried a smile on my own account.

"To come down to bra.s.s tacks, Ted, can you support a wife?"

"No, sir--at least, not yet."

"Then what right have you to go putting ideas in my little girl's head?"

"Because, sir, I love her, and there is good reason to believe that I shall be able to support her by next summer."

"I know more about your business, through my connection with the bank, than you do yourself," he commented. "Maybe what you say will be all right, and maybe it won't. Business is a funny game, Ted; with all your eggs in one basket you can't count your chickens before they're hatched." Proverbs always are annoying, if quoted against me.

"Well," I retorted, "my prospects are as good as the average young man's at my age, if not better." I was surprised at my own self-a.s.surance.

"All right--we'll concede that, too," he said with a wave of his cigar.

"Now, Ted, you know Helen's very young--only just out of school. Her tastes may change--probably will. She thinks she loves you, but she's only in love with love. Neither you nor she knows what love is."

"We have to take our chances with it, just as all young people do. By the time we learn what love is we can preach it to our grandchildren."

It seemed, when I spoke, as if I were listening to a third person. I really wanted to be conciliatory, but the words came to suit themselves.

"You are sentencing yourselves to each other for life; it's a long penalty to pay if you make a mistake. As for love, that doesn't help much--not the kind of thing you imagine it to be, doesn't. Marriage means a lot of plain, everyday facts--a few pleasant, more unpleasant. I married for love," he concluded reflectively.

"Yes--and it brought you Helen." This time I knew I had scored. He laid his cigar down and looked out the window. Then he turned to me: "Ted, I'll put my cards on the table; if Helen wants you she shall have you.

I've never gone against her will in anything important, and I don't intend to. I wish she was older, but there's no use wishing that now." I half rose to my feet in sheer joy. "Sit down, Ted; I'm not through. I make two conditions: first, I don't want you to say anything about this to any one but Helen's mother until Christmas. Let's see how you get on when you get to know each other better. Next, if Helen takes you, she must take you as you are. Because I have been fairly successful in business won't count at all. I'll not give her a cent before I go. Helen has to make her own choice and put up with it, whether it is riches or poverty."

"As far as I am concerned, I agree to both conditions." "You would," he a.s.sented drily. "Let's hear what Helen has to say about it."

We went into the next room, to find Helen hugging her violets to her bosom. "Mother" had gone upstairs for her afternoon rest. I boldly walked over to Helen and kissed her.

"Ted, I wish you'd stop all that until Christmas," Mr. Claybourne said grimly. We sat down, but Helen left her hand in mine.

"Well, little girl, Ted tells me you love him."

"Yes, dad dear." The look on Helen's face as she said this brought the tears to my eyes, and even Mr. Claybourne, with all his a.s.sumption of practicality, was none too comfortable.

He got up and paced the floor and gazed out at Myrtle Boulevard; then he came back to us.

"You've thought it all over--and made up your mind?" He stooped over her, turned her face up to his, and gently pushed the hair back on her forehead. Helen's grey eyes looked fearlessly into his.

"Yes, dad, I'm sure."

"What if I say 'no'?"

"You won't, dad--not when you know Ted. But if you do--why, dad, you believe I love you, don't you?--even if you said 'no' I should love Ted just the same."

Mr. Claybourne turned away and twisted one end of his moustache. There were no tears in Helen's eyes, only a quiet conviction in her voice which indicated a strength of character much like her father's. I knew that he too recognized it.

"I won't give you a penny, Helen; you've got to take him as he is, fight your own fight, and make your own way. I did it, and your grandfather did it; you'll have to do it, too."

"Then I shall do it," she answered, "as you did. I'm your daughter, and I'm not afraid--whatever the future brings, as long as I have Teddy--and he has me." She said it simply, unemotionally, like some one stating a fact.

"There's not much more to discuss, is there, Ted?" and he took my hand in a grip that hurt. "But mind you," he exclaimed, "you'll regard yourselves as both on probation. No announcement can be made before Christmas--and not then unless I say the word."

"If you don't say the word then, we'll simply run away," Helen came back at him with her dangerous calm. Then she smiled again: "Dear old dad."

He looked at me: "I warn you, Ted! You see what you are letting yourself in for. As far as I can judge, you haven't been consulted any more than I have."

"Father!" Helen interrupted.

"I hope you are prepared never to have your own way again, Edward, from this time forth."

"You can't frighten Ted that way," laughed Helen; "we both want the same things."

Mr. Claybourne snorted: "You hear that, Ted?"

I took Helen's hand, and she held it tight against her violets, crushing them and staining my palm with their fragrant juice. I didn't dare trust myself to speak.

"And now that it is all settled, let's break it to mother," Mr.

Claybourne exploded with a grim attempt at his usual humour. He left the room without giving us a chance to object. I looked at Helen's face, more beautiful now than I had ever dreamed a woman's could be. A large tear rolled down her cheek, and I fell on my knees beside her, burying my face in her lap. She stroked my head.

"I'm not crying, Ted dear--I'm not the crying kind. I am just so happy I guess a--a little of it--overflowed." I kissed her wet cheek, and we sat in silence, waiting. Sounds of sobbing came from the stairs, and of patient, consolatory remarks. Helen smiled: "Poor mother--it sounds horrid to say it, but she always acts her part perfectly."

"Mother" entered, with smelling salts and dainty lace handkerchief, collapsed on her husband's shoulder, striving wonderfully for hysterics.