Round the Corner in Gay Street Part 35

It was fully fifteen minutes--he thought it at least an hour--before Brant looked around. He had vowed to himself that he would give her all the silence she wanted, that he would not speak until she spoke. But after a time her absolute motionlessness struck him as caused by something even less flattering to himself than her desire for absence of speech.

"Confound it--I believe she 's gone to sleep!" he said to himself, and rose abruptly, to stand looking down at her, discomfited and very nearly angry. Of all the odd girls, one who would tell you to stop talking, and then go off to sleep in your presence, was certainly the oddest. He supposed she might be tired, and with reason, but--to go to sleep!

The shaded electric bulbs, which hung at each corner of the porch, at this moment came glowingly into life, as somebody within switched on the current. They were not designed to illuminate the porch strongly, only to turn its gloom into a mellow moonlight effect. But the light was quite sufficient to show Brant that although Shirley's lashes still swept her cheek, her lips were smiling.

"It was a frightful test of your friendship, n't it?" she murmured, without opening her eyes. "But you did n.o.bly. I never thought you could hold out so long!"

"You--rascal! I 'll wager you wanted to talk, yourself, after a while."

"Of course I did. The minute a woman gets what she wants, she wants--something else."

"What is it now? Me to go home?"

"How distrustful of yourself you are to-night!"

"That's the effect you usually have on me." Brant drew up a chair.

"Shirley," he began again abruptly, "do you know what I wish?"

"No."

"Do you want to know it?"

"Not badly."

"You don't care a straw for me, do you?"

"Several straws."

"You do! I say----"

A door opened. Sophy said, deferentially, "You 're wanted at the telephone, if you please, Miss Shirley."

Shirley vanished. Brant rose and paced about the porch, waiting.

"Of course it's no use!" he said, discontentedly, to himself. "I 've got as far as this forty times--and no farther. The next thing she did would be to throw a soaking wet blanket over me. I ought to be used to it. But she might at least take me seriously. She never does. It 's no good--this growing up with a girl and then trying to convince her that you mean anything when you speak!"

Inside, Shirley was listening to a rapid fire of words which woke her up as thoroughly as anything had ever done in her life. They came in the voice of Peter Bell, a voice at once excited and controlled:

"Shirley, the factory is on fire. I don't want father to hear about it--he 'd come down--you understand. Will you think up some way to get him off with yourself for the next hour? We 'll probably have to turn in a general alarm, and if we do, somebody 'll be sure to call him up and tell him. That 's all. I can count on you?"

"Yes--yes. Peter----"

But Peter was already gone. Evidently he had no time to spare for answering questions. Shirley turned away from the telephone, thinking rapidly.

She knew that Mr. Joseph Bell was at home, for she had seen him, an hour earlier, training vines over the front porch. She understood that Peter had remained for late work at the factory office, as he so often did, although it was now nearly nine o'clock. And she knew well that it would never do for Peter's father to go down to the burning building--the excitement of a great fire at his own place of business would be the worst thing in the world for him.

Mr. Joseph Bell had kept steadily on at his work throughout the year, and nothing that Peter had feared had happened. It had been arranged somehow so that the most fatiguing part of his duties now came upon the broad shoulders of the son instead of the bent ones of the father. But it was as necessary as ever that there should be no sudden strain, either physical or mental, and it was this which she now must prevent.

Brant Hille, waiting impatiently outside, saw Shirley fly back to him, and looked up at her with gratification. But her first words made him sit up, for she spoke in haste:

"Brant, is your car ready for a start?"

"Always is. Want to----"

"Will you get it--quick? The Armstrong paper-factory is on fire. Mr.

Bell mustn't know it. I can't stop to explain. I must get him away where he won't hear. I 'll go ask him and Mrs. Bell to take a drive with us--out to the farm, perhaps. I 'll run over. You drive round there--will you?"

"Why on earth should n't he know? He----"

"Oh, don't stop to talk about it. I 'll tell you afterward. The general alarm may go in any minute, and somebody will telephone him if he's at the house. Quick--please!"

Of course Brant did not understand, but Shirley's manner was not to be taken lightly. Even as she spoke she left him and ran indoors again.

Well, if he could serve her, it would be better than having to sit beside her in silence while she thought about technical French phrases.

Besides, he was an enthusiastic motorist, and a hurry call for the car always gave him more or less pleasure. He bolted across the lawn, through the hedge by a short cut to the street, and so to his own home, on the farther side of Worthington Square.

Shirley hurried across Gay Street, having stopped only to pick up a long coat and scarf. She caught sight of Mrs. Bell's light skirt at the edge of the vine-screen of the porch.

"Isn't it a perfect night?" Mrs. Bell heard a familiar, clear-toned voice ask. "Don't you and Mr. Bell want to take a gentle little spin down Northboro road in Mr. Hille's car? He 's asked me out, and given me leave to invite whomever I want. I 'd love to have you."

Mr. Brant Hille--inviting Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Bell to go motoring with him at nine o'clock on a May evening--there was no precedent for this!

But Mrs. Bell, with the intuition of the mother of young people, thought she understood. Shirley wanted a chaperon, and her kind young heart prompted her to ask a pair who were not much accustomed to the delights of automobiling in the moonlight.

"Why, yes, we'll go," said Mr. Bell, getting up from his rocking-chair.

"We 're all alone to-night--the young people are off at a party. If you 'll persuade the young man not to put on too much speed."

So in less than five minutes the party were settling themselves in the big green car, its headlights making a wide, brilliant track before it down the quiet street.

"All ready?" asked Hille, and started the car. As it began to move, the distant but distinct sound of a telephone-bell struck upon Shirley's ear. Mr. Bell turned his head. "Was that in our house?" he asked.

Mrs. Bell was tying a scarf over her hair, slightly m.u.f.fling her ears.

She had not heard.

"Go on--fast!" breathed Shirley in Hille's ear. The street was nearly empty, and he obeyed. For a moment Mr. Bell's attention was taken by the new sensation of speed,--not appreciable speed, from the motorist's stand-point, because the car was within city limits, but to the novice considerable.

At the intersection of Gay Street with Conner Street it was possible to look for a moment straight down toward the heart of the city, into the business district. A red glare was plainly visible, although partly dimmed by hundreds of twinkling electric lights between.

"Must be a big fire," said Mr. Bell, straining his eyes to see. Then the trees and houses hid the city from view. "It was down our way, too.

I wish I could telephone the factory and find out. Peter's there. He 'd know. Might be that was our telephone-bell that rang."

"I did n't hear any bell, dear," his wife a.s.sured him.

"A fire always looks nearer than it is," said Hille, over his shoulder, driving on without diminishing his speed. Instead, he accelerated it.

The street was a quiet one, there was n.o.body in sight.

"One summer, when I was a little girl, and we were staying in the country, father and I walked half a mile to see a fire--and found a big red moon coming up behind the trees," said Shirley, and talked lightly on.

Brant seconded her efforts with skill, for which she inwardly thanked him, and between them they soon had the thoughts of their guests far away from the dangerous subject. They ran quickly through the suburbs out into the open country, taking the Northboro road, for that course led directly away from the red glare which, as Shirley covertly glanced back from time to time, could be clearly perceived on the western side of the city behind them.

Gaily as she talked and laughed, the girl's thoughts were with Peter.