Jewel Weed Part 20

"Then you'll be glad to know that d.i.c.k has already been answerable for galvanizing the Munic.i.p.al Club into new life," Ellery put in. "It has been, as you know, a delightfully scholarly affair, any of whose members were quite capable of writing a text-book on civics; but d.i.c.k has roped in a lot of new men and stirred up the old ones."

"To what end?"

"Well, for two things; we have appointed committees to keep close tab on all of the proceedings of the council--to attend every meeting--and others to work up the ward organizations so that we shall be prepared to work intelligently and together by the next election. We want to get some clean business man, who is well known, to stand for mayor. There's a chance for you, Lenox."

Lenox laughed. "You've caught me there, haven't you? I am condemned for being still in the stage where I am content to mention things with indignation. However, if you have really gone so far, I'm more than willing to trail after you. I'll at least back you with a few facts, such as every business man knows, and I'm good for a substantial contribution toward any campaign you may undertake. And what I do there are others who will do, too."

"I'll not forget your promise," said d.i.c.k.

As usual, when men talk public affairs, the women had been content to listen, but Madeline's temperament was too strong for her restraint.

"It's all very well for you to put your hand in your pocket, Mr. Lenox,"

she cried, "but I don't want to hear you trying to undermine d.i.c.k's idealism. If he does not have the comfort of some purpose higher than the daily fight, how can he endure it? Don't persuade him to run through life on all fours and never look at the stars."

Mr. Lenox looked at her warmly.

"Thank the Lord for you women," he said. "You do not forget that there are stars and sky above the city smoke. If it were not for you and your kind, I'm afraid most of the world would be tied to the ground like serfs."

"Oh, I fancy nature has liberated a few of you, and I am glad to believe that d.i.c.k is among the free," she said.

She sat beside d.i.c.k, but she turned from him and spoke to Mr. Lenox.

When Percival, softened by her words and the tone of belief in which they were spoken, looked up, he saw, not her eyes, but, across the table, those of Lena, big and sympathetic. As he gazed into them he saw all of Madeline's confidence in him, all of Madeline's ideals, but the more spiritual, the more feminine, because they were unspoken. Lena's eyes were eloquent even if she was silent; internally she was really resenting Madeline's tone, which seemed to her to a.s.sume that d.i.c.k was somehow Miss Elton's particular property. "Perhaps you needn't be so sure, missy," she thought.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "You look like incarnate song"--Page 199]

After dinner, when the three men found their way to the drawing-room, Mrs. Lenox had started Madeline on a career of song. She was already in the midst of a curious weird Roumanian thing, and Norris made straight for the piano. Lena, ethereal in pale blue, was sympathetically listening to perfection. She had lost her look of incongruity with her surroundings. The dreamy eyes and the transparent skin found their setting in her filmy gown and the rich soft light. d.i.c.k drew in his breath. He seemed never to get used to her. Naturally he found a seat near her. She was his protegee.

"Don't you sing, Miss Quincy?" was his inevitable query.

And she replied with inward anguish, "Not at all."

"But I'm sure you do. You look like incarnate song," he persisted.

"You're playing modest."

Lena cast down her eyes and said, "I am a very truthful little girl."

"Have you had a good time here?"

Then she looked up with kindling face. "Oh, so good! You can't know how I thank you, Mr. Percival. I know I owe it to you. I feel as though I were breathing the air I belong in, at last. It's so different from--but you know all about my life," said Lena brokenly. "And Mrs. Lenox is so sweet and kind, I just love her!"

"And Miss Elton?"

Lena stiffened and made no reply for an instant.

"Miss Elton is quite as clever as you men, isn't she?" Lena asked, in quite another tone of voice.

"Infinitely more so," said d.i.c.k cordially.

"Do you like it?" she asked in a breathless way.

"Why, yes, in Madeline," he answered. "She isn't a bit priggish, you know, but just naturally interested in everything good. Why? Don't you and she get on?"

Lena gave an uneasy little twist as though she did not enjoy the question, and she sighed.

"Why, frankly, I don't wholly. It's my own stupid little fault, of course. I'm not clever. She's very charming; but she gets a little tiresome to me."

"Does she?" said d.i.c.k ponderingly.

"It's very hateful of me to say such things about your particular friend," said Lena contritely. "Besides, I don't mean--what do I mean? I never thought it out. But it's so easy to tell you everything, Mr.

Percival. And I think it's rather nice for a girl to be more silly and inconsequential part of the time." She laughed in a gurgling little fashion.

"I believe it is," said d.i.c.k speculatively, as he looked at her. "But Madeline's awfully jolly, you know. I've had more good times with her than with any other girl I know. No nonsense about her."

"That's it,--no nonsense," said Lena, and this time her laugh was not so pleasant; and d.i.c.k glanced across at Madeline with a kind of resentment.

"It isn't like Madeline to go back on a fellow that way," he said to himself. "Of course she's had all kinds of advantages over this poor little thing; but it's small of her not to forget them. I trusted her to make things sweet; and for the first time she has disappointed me." He looked at Madeline with a distinct feeling of irritation as she rose from the piano. Mr. Lenox came and absorbed Lena, whom he was teaching to answer him saucily. Lena enjoyed this process, and it had inspired her to a really clever device, namely, to say vulgar little things in a whimsical way, as though she knew better all the time but wanted to be humorous. A good many other people have had the same brilliant idea, but it was none the less original to Lena, and it saved a lot of trouble and pretense. Norris and Miss Elton were hobn.o.bbing and laughing at the other end of the room, and d.i.c.k followed them.

"Have you been out of town, d.i.c.k?" Madeline asked as he came up. "I tried to get you over the telephone a day or two ago, and they told me you were away."

"Yes." He laughed exultantly as he sat down. "I ran down to the penitentiary at Easton, just to make sure that I wasn't mistaken in a fact or two."

"What now?" asked Norris.

"I've been told that Barry--the lord of St. Etienne, Madeline--is at last tired of his humble but powerful place, and intends to show himself the master that he really is by running himself for our next mayor. Now even this docile city would hardly exalt a man whom it knew to be a criminal with a record of two years in the pen,--under another name, of course."

"Is it possible that Barry--"

"I've verified my facts. There is only one man in the city besides myself that knows this, and he's Barry's closest friend. There'll be a jolly old sensation in the bunch, when I spring my mine."

"If n.o.body knows it, how did you happen to find out?" asked Madeline impulsively.

There was just a moment's silence, and in that instant Norris had a flash of memory. He seemed to see d.i.c.k eying a letter addressed to William Barry, Esquire. Even while he remembered, he hated himself for daring to suspect that d.i.c.k would be capable of anything really shabby or dishonorable. Yet he did suspect--nay, more--he was sure; and the pause, the look of innocent inquiry on Madeline's face grew intolerable.

If d.i.c.k would say nothing, he, Norris, must.

"We newspaper men," he rushed in gaily, "get hold of a vast amount of information that people flatter themselves is secret."

Percival looked at him and grinned. The girl turned slowly from her amused survey of d.i.c.k to study Ellery's face, which showed his discomfort in its flush. If a girl so gentle could feel scorn, Ellery would have thought he detected a touch of it. Certainly there was a hint of grieved surprise as she spoke, with her eyes still fixed on Norris.

"I'm very sorry, d.i.c.k," she said humbly. "I didn't mean to be prying.

I've grown so used to asking you about everything. Mr. Norris ought to get a better mask."

She laughed lightly, but Ellery's face grew hotter. He wondered if she suspected him of some underhand trickery, and d.i.c.k realized it, yet kept amused silence. For an instant he hated d.i.c.k, and felt a wild impulse to defend himself; but second thoughts came quickly. She loved d.i.c.k and was therefore slow to impute evil to him. d.i.c.k loved her, and if he had for once played the petty knave, it was the place of a friend to protect her against that knowledge. That had been the instinctive reason for Norris'

words, and he was not going back on them now. Yet Ellery's brain whirled to think how swiftly and by what simple means he might have toppled her slowly-ripening friendship into the mire. Ellery's imagination piled superlatives on every act and expression of his lady. If she looked light disapproval, it was worse than another's scorn. And d.i.c.k--for whom he had thrown away the thing he most valued in the world--d.i.c.k exclaimed gaily:

"Don't be suspicious, Madeline. Are all secrets disgraceful? Can't you trust your old friends?"

"Of course I'm not suspicious," she answered indignantly. "I only mean to beg your pardon, d.i.c.k, and I a.s.sure you again that I'm not curious, even. I asked this question as I have asked a thousand others, and that would have been the end of it----except for Mr. Norris' face."

She smiled as she turned away, and d.i.c.k lifted his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders as much as to say, "What difference does it make, anyway?

What difference!" d.i.c.k didn't care whether she despised Ellery or not--he didn't care enough to speak an honorable word of explanation.