Quill's Window Part 17

She wore a long mole-skin coat and a smart little red turban. She had never looked so alluring to the young man who waited in the open door until the car started away.

"Close the door, please," called out Mrs. Pollock. "This isn't July, you know."

"So she slept like a log, did she?" muttered Courtney as he turned away from his lockbox with a letter. "Well, that's more than I did."

He glanced hurriedly through the letter, crumpled it up in his hand, and went jauntily up the street until he came to Hatch's Photograph Gallery. Entering, he gave the proprietor a hearty "good morning,"

and then drew a chair up before the low "sheet-iron stove" which heated the reception-room. Hatch was "printing" behind a part.i.tion, and their conversation was carried on at long range over the top.

Presently the visitor drew the crumpled letter from his pocket, tore it into tiny pieces and cast it into the fire.

"Well, so long, Hatch. I'm off for a stroll in your crisp October air."

CHAPTER XI

THANE VISITS TWO HOUSES

All day long Alix was troubled. She could not free her thoughts of that searing look or the spell it had cast over her during the brief instant of contact. She was haunted by it. At times she gave herself up to a reckless, unmaidenly rejoicing in the thrill it had given her; at such times she flushed to the roots of her hair despite the chill of ecstasy that swept over her. But far more often she found herself resenting the liberty his eyes had taken,--a mental rather than a physical liberty. She was resolved that it should not happen again.

She had posted a note to David Strong that morning. Before the car had covered the first mile on its way to town, she was wishing she had not dropped it into the slot at the post-office. Only the fear of appearing ridiculous to Mrs. Pollock kept her from turning back to reclaim it. She could not explain this sudden, almost frantic impulse,--she did not attempt to account for it. Somehow she sensed that it had to do with the look in Thane's eyes,--but it was all so vague and intangible that even the suggestion did not take the form of thought.

In this curt little note she had said:

DEAR DAVID:

I hereby acknowledge receipt of your cheque No. 372 for two hundred and fifty dollars, but as I have tried to make you understand before, it is not only an unnecessary but a most unwelcome bit of paper. You are perfectly well aware that my grandfather's estate has been settled and, as I have informed you time and again, your obligation to him no longer exists. You may have owed something to him, but you owe nothing to me. If I were to follow my impulse I should tear up this cheque of yours. It would be useless to return it to you, for you would only send it back to me, as you did with the first two cheques that came last winter. I want you to understand that I do not accept this money as my own. If it is any satisfaction to you to know that I give it away,--no matter how,--you are welcome to all the consolation you may get out of it.

Yours truly,

ALIX CROWN.

P.S.--I have advised your mother to go to Philadelphia whenever you are ready for her to come. A.

P.S.S.--Under separate cover by registered post I am also returning to you the bracelet you sent me from Paris. I think I wrote you a long time ago how much I admired it. A.

Meanwhile, Thane was making the best of a rather empty morning. He put off finishing a letter to his mother, who had returned to New York and was so busy with dressmakers that twice she had employed the telegraph in promising to "write soon,"--a letter in which he already had written, among other rapturous pa.s.sages: "She is positively ravishing, mater dear. I am simply mad about her, and I know you will be too." He was determined that the day should not be a total loss; he would turn at least a portion of it to profit.

First of all, he visited Alaska Spigg at the log-hut village library. Miss Spigg was very proud of her geraniums. No one else in Windomville,--or in the world, for that matter, if one were to recall Mr. Pollock's article in the Sun,--no one else cultivated such geraniums as those to be seen in the pots that crowned the superinforced windowsills at the library.

There was no such thing as a florist's shop in Windomville. Roses or orchids or even carnations were un.o.btainable. A potted geranium plant, in full bloom,--one of Alaska Spigg's tall, st.u.r.dy, jealously guarded treasures was the best he could do in the way of a floral offering to his G.o.ddess. So he set about the supposedly hopeless task of inducing Alaska to part with one of her plants. Half an hour after entering the library he departed with a balloon shaped object in his arms. He was not too proud to be seen shuffling up the lane with his prize, a huge thing loosely done up in newspapers,--leaving behind him a completely dazzled Alaska who went about the place aimlessly folding and unfolding a brand new two-dollar bill.

"I don't know what come over me," explained Alaska later on to a couple of astonished ladies who had hurried in to see if the report was true that she had parted with one of her geraniums. "For the life of me, I don't know how I happened to do it. 'Specially the one I was proudest of, too. I've always said I'd never sell one of my plants,--not even if the President of the United States was to come in and offer me untold millions for it,--and here I--I--why, Martha, I almost GAVE it to him, honest I did. I just couldn't seem to help letting him have it. Of course, I don't mind its loss half so much, knowing that it is going to Alix. She loves flowers. She'll take the best of care of it. But how I ever came to--"

"Don't cry, Alaska," broke in one of her callers cheerfully. "You'll be getting it back before long."

"Never," lamented Alaska. "What makes you think I'll get it back?"

she went on, suddenly peeping over the edge of her handkerchief.

"Why, as soon as Alix knows how miserable you are about parting with that geranium, she'll send it back to you,--and you'll be two dollars ahead. Don't be silly."

Repairing at once to the house on the knoll, Courtney took counsel with Mrs. Strong. The housekeeper could hardly believe her eyes when she saw the geranium.

"Well, all I've got to say is that you must have stolen it," she exclaimed. "There couldn't be any other way to get one of those plants away from Alaska Spigg."

"Be that as it may," said he airily, "what we've got to decide now, Mrs. Strong, is just where to put it. I want to surprise Miss Crown when she returns from town."

"She'll be surprised all right when she finds out you got one of Alaska Spigg's pet geraniums. I remember Alaska saying not so long ago that she wouldn't sell one of those plants for a million dollars. Now let me see. It ought to go where it will get as much sun as possible. That would be in the dining-room. I guess we'd better--"

"I really think it would look better right here in this room, Mrs.

Strong," said he, indicating one of the windows looking out over the terrace. There was little or no sunlight there, but he did not mind that. As a matter of fact, he wasn't at all concerned about the future welfare of the plant. It meant no more to him than the customary bunch of violets that one sends, "sight unseen," to the lady of the hour.

"Well, you're the boss. It's your plant," said Mrs. Strong briskly.

"Alaska Spigg will go into hysterics when she hears where you've put it,--but that's of no consequence."

And so the plant was placed on a small table in the window of the long living-room.

"Link Pollock told us last night that you may go to Philadelphia to join your son, Mrs. Strong," said he, as he watched her arranging the window curtains.

Mrs. Strong flushed. "It did not occur to me to ask Mr. Pollock not to repeat what I said to him in confidence," she said, with dignity.

"I'm sorry I mentioned it. I am sure Pollock didn't understand it was--er--a secret or anything like that, Mrs. Strong."

"It isn't a secret. I have talked it over with Miss Alix, and I have practically decided to remain with her. You may tell that to Mr. Pollock if you like."

"She would miss you terribly," said he, allowing the sarcasm to pa.s.s over his head. "Your son and Miss Crown were boy and girl sweethearts, I hear,--oh, please don't be offended. Those things happen, you know,--and pa.s.s off like all of the children's diseases.

Like the measles, or mumps or chicken pox. Every boy and girl has to go through that stage, you know. I remember being horribly in love with a girl in our block when I was fifteen,--and she with me. But, for the life of me, I can't remember her name now. I mean her married name," he explained, with his whimsical grin.

"I don't believe Alix and David ever were in love with each other,"

said she stiffly. "They were wonderful friends,--playmates and all that,--but,"--here she flushed again, "you see, my boy was only the blacksmith's son. People may have told you that, Mr. Thane."

"What has that to do with it?" he cried instantly. "Wasn't Miss Crown's father the son of a blacksmith?"

He caught the pa.s.sing flicker of appreciation in her eyes as she lifted her head.

"True," she said quietly. "And a fine young man, they tell me,--those who knew him. His father was not like my David's father, however.

He was a drunkard. He beat his wife, they say."

"Abraham Lincoln was a rail splitter. James A. Garfield drove a ca.n.a.l boat. Does anybody think the worse of them for that? Your son, Mrs. Strong,--I am told by all who know him,--will be a great surgeon, a great man. You must not forget that people will speak of HIS son as the son of Dr. David Strong, the famous surgeon."

Her face glowed with pleasure. Mother love and mother pride kindled in her dark eyes. He caught himself wondering if young David Strong was like this tall, grey-haired woman with the steady gaze and quiet smile.

"I am sure David will succeed," she said warmly. "He always was a determined boy. Mr. Windom was very fond of him. He took a great interest in him." A self-conscious, apologetic smile succeeded the proud one. "I suppose you would call Alix and David boy and girl sweethearts. As you say, boys and girls just simply can't help having such ailments. It's like an epidemic. Even the strongest catch it and,--get over it without calling in the doctor."

He grinned. "It is a most amiable disease. The only medicine necessary is soda water and ice cream, with a few pills in the shape of chocolate caramels or marshmallows, taken at all hours and in large doses."

Mrs. Strong's eyes softened as she looked out of the window. A faraway, wistful expression lurked in them.