Quill's Window Part 11

"I should have said the same about any doctor who was up at the front," said Courtney simply. "Is he an old friend, Miss Crown?"

"I have known him ever since I can remember," she replied, and he detected a slight stiffness in her manner.

"Ahem! Er--ah--" began Mr. Mavity tactfully. "David was born here, Mr. Thane. Well, good night, Alix,--good night."

When she was quite out of hearing, the fl.u.s.tered parson lowered his voice and said to Courtney:

"They--er--don't get along very well, you see. I couldn't explain while she was here. Something to do with money matters,--nothing of consequence, I a.s.sure you,--but very distressing, most distressing.

It is too bad,--too bad."

Mrs. Pollock overheard. "They're both terribly set in their ways,"

she remarked. "Stubborn as mules. For my part, I think Alix is too silly for words about it. Especially with his mother living in the same house with her. Now, mind you, I'm not saying anything against Alix. I love her. But just the same, she can be the most unreasonable--"

"They haven't spoken to each other for over three years," inserted Angie Miller. "When they were children they were almost inseparable.

David Windom took a fancy to little David. The story is that he was trying to ease his conscience by being nice to a blacksmith's son. You see, his own daughter ran away with a blacksmith's son,--and you've heard what happened, Mr. Thane. David was in my cla.s.s for two years before he went up to High School, and I remember he always used to get long letters from Alix when she was in England.

Then, when she came home,--she was about twelve I think,--they were great friends. Always together, playing, studying, reading, riding and--"

"Everybody used to say old David Windom was doing his best to make a match of it," interrupted Mrs. Pollock, who had been out of the conversation longer than she liked. "Up to the time the old man died, we used to take it for granted that some day they would get married,--but, my goodness, it's like waving a red flag at a bull to even mention his name to Alix now. She hates him,--and I guess he hates her."

"Oh, my dear friend," cried Mr. Mavity, "I really don't think you ought to say that. Hate is a very dreadful word. I am sure Alix is incapable of actually hating any one. And as for David, he is kindness, gentleness itself. It is just one of those unfortunate situations that cannot be accounted for."

Charlie Webster came up at that juncture.

"Say, Court, why didn't you tell 'em about the time you called Colonel What's-His-Name down,--the French guy that--" The scowl on Courtney's brow silenced the genial Charlie. He coughed and sputtered for a moment or two and then said something about "taking a joke."

As Charlie moved away, Miss Angie Miller sniffed and said, without appreciably lowering her voice:

"I wonder where he gets it. There isn't supposed to be a drop in Windomville." Suddenly her eyes flew wide open. "Furman! Oh, Furman Hatch!" she called out to a man who was sidling toward the door in the wake of the pernicious Mr. Webster.

While there was nothing to indicate that Mr. Hatch heard her, the most disinterested spectator would have observed a perceptible acceleration of speed on his part.

"You promised to tell me how to--" But Mr. Hatch was gone. Mr.

Webster turned a surprised and resentful look upon him as he felt himself being pushed rather roughly through the door ahead of the hurrying photographer. When Miss Angie reached the door,--she had lost some little time because of the seats and the stupidity of Mrs. Primmer who blocked the way by first turning to the right, then to the left, and finally by not turning at all,--Mr. Hatch was nowhere in sight, even though Mr. Webster was barely two-thirds of the way down the stairs.

A pleasant, courteous voice accosted her from behind as she stood glaring after the chubby warehouseman.

"Do you mind if I walk home with you, Miss Miller?"

"Oh, is--is that you, Mr. Thane?" she fairly gasped. Then she simpered. "I'm really not a bit afraid. Still,"--hastily--"if you really wish to, I should be delighted."

If Mr. Hatch was lurking anywhere in the shadows, he must have been profoundly impressed by the transformation in Miss Angie Miller as she strode homeward at the side of the tall young New Yorker, her hand on his arm, her head held high,--he might also have noticed that she stepped a little higher than usual.

CHAPTER VIII

ALIX THE THIRD

October came, with its red and golden trees, its brown pastures, its crisp nights and its hazy, smoky days. Fires were kindled in old-fashioned fireplaces; out in the farmyards busy housewives were making soap and apple b.u.t.ter in great iron kettles suspended over blazing logs; wagons laden with wheat and corn rumbled through country roads and up to the Windom elevator; stores were thriving under the spur of new-found money; the school was open, Main Street childless for hours at a time,--and Courtney Thane was still in Windomville.

He was a frequent, almost constant visitor at the red-brick house on the knoll. The gossips were busy. Sage winks were exchanged when Alix and he were seen together in her automobile; many a head was lowered so that its owner might peer quizzically over the upper rims of spectacles as they strolled past the postoffice and other public porches; convicting feminine smiles pursued the young man up the lane leading to Alix's home. There were some doubtful head-shakings, but in the main Windomville was rather well pleased with the prospect. Opinion, though divided, was almost unanimous: few there were who held that "nothin' would come of it."

Charlie Webster was one of the latter. His early intimacy with the ex-aviator had suffered a decided slump. His jovial attempts to plague the young man about his intentions met with the frostiest reception. Indeed, on one memorable occasion, the object of these good-natured banterings turned upon him coldly and said:

"See here, Webster, you're getting to be considerable of a nuisance.

Cut it out, will you? You are not half as funny as you think you are. I'm pretty well fed up with your freshness--understand?"

It was a slap in the face that Charlie DID understand, and one he never forgot. As the rebuke was uttered on the porch of Dowd's Tavern and in the presence of Flora Grady, Maude Baggs Pollock and one or two others, the sting was likely to endure.

While Courtney's manner had undergone a decided change so far as nearly all of his fellow-lodgers were concerned, he still maintained a very friendly and courteous att.i.tude toward the Dowd sisters and Mr. and Mrs. Pollock. For some reason known only to himself,--(but doubtless plain to the reader of this narrative),--he devoted most of his attention to the editor and his wife and to the two spinsters who were such close friends of the young lady of his dreams. As for the others, he made no attempt to conceal his disdain.

It was not long before the Irish in Miss Flora Grady was aroused.

She announced to Miss Angie Miller that he was a "stuck up smart-Aleck,"

and sooner or later he'd get a piece of her mind that would "take him down a couple of pegs." Miss Miller, while in complete accord with Flora's views, was content to speak of him as "supercilious."

Charlie Webster grew more and more thoughtful under the weight of indignity.

"I certainly missed my guess as to that feller," he remarked to Doc Simpson and Hatch one day. "I had him sized up as a different sort of feller altogether. Why, up to a couple of weeks ago, he was as nice as pie to all of us,--'specially to me. He used to come over to my office and sit around for hours, chatting and smoking cigarettes and joshing like a good feller. But I've got it all figgered out, boys. He was simply workin' me. He always led the conversation round to Alix Crown, and then, like a dern' fool, I'd let him pump me dry. Why, there's nothing he don't know about that girl,--and all through me. Now he's got in with her,--just as he wanted to all along,--and what does he do but tie a can to me and give me a swift kick. And there's another thing I might as well say to you fellers while I'm about it. I've been doing a lot of thinking lately,--sort of putting things together in my mind,--and it's my opinion that he is one of the blamedest liars I've ever come across."

He paused to see the effect of this startling a.s.sertion. Hatch removed the corn-cob pipe from between his lips and laconically observed:

"Well, I know of one lie he's told."

"You do?"

"Remember him telling us at the supper table one night that a German submarine fired three torpedoes at the steamer he was coming home on with a lot of other sick and wounded? Well, a couple of nights ago he forgot himself and made the statement that he was in a hospital in England for nearly two months after the armistice was signed."

"By gosh, that's right," cried Doc Simpson.

"And what's more," went on Hatch, "wasn't he serving in the British Army? What I'd like to know is this: why would England be sending her wounded soldiers over to America? You can bet your life England wasn't doing anything like that."

"There's another thing that don't sound just right to me," said Charlie, his brow furrowed. "He says one night he got lost driving his ambulance and the first thing he knew he was away behind the German lines. I may be wrong, but I've always thought both sides had trenches. What puzzles me is how the d.i.c.kens he managed to drive that Ford of his over the German trenches without noticin'

'em,--and back again besides."

"Well," said Doc, desiring to be fair, "it seems to be the habit of soldiers to lie a little. That's where we get the saying, 'he lied like a trooper.' I know my Uncle George lied so much about what he did in the Civil War that he ought to have had twenty pensions instead of one. Still, there's a big change in Court, as you say, Charlie. I wonder if Alix is really keen about him. He's up there all the time, seems to me. Or is she just stringin' him?"

Charlie frowned darkly. "He's a slick one. I--I'd hate to see Alix fall for him."

The sententious Mr. Hatch: "The smartest women in the world lose their heads over a feller as soon as they find out he's in poor health."

"He's in perfect health," exploded Charlie.

"I know,--but that don't prevent him from coughing and holding his side and walking with a cane, does it? That's what gets 'em, Charlie. The quickest way to get a girl interested is to let her think you're in need of sympathy."

"It don't work when you're as fat as I am," said Charlie gloomily.