Round the Corner in Gay Street Part 36

He was somewhere back in that red glare, working, without doubt, if there were anything for him to do. She was thankful that it was after hours, and that there were probably few of the factory hands about the place, yet there were undoubtedly many things to be saved in the office--books and papers and drawings. She knew Peter well enough to be sure that his own personal safety would be the last thing he would think of, so long as he could do what might look like his duty to the house he served.

The Bells did not know how far they went, nor did they guess at what a pace. Brant's machine was a fine one, and he was an expert at smooth running. The flight through the warm moonlight was a delightful experience, for few curves and no sharp grades gave accent to the speed, and the hour flew by as swiftly as the road. When they turned again toward the city, the crimson glow upon the clouds had gone.

"The fire is out," remarked Mr. Bell, as they arrived at the top of a small hill in the suburbs, from which he could see into the heart of the business district. "Hope it was n't as serious as it looked."

But Brant's eyes and Shirley's, younger and sharper, could make out a dense ma.s.s of smoke hanging over the place where the flames had been.

"It won't do to take them home yet," thought the girl, setting her wits at work again.

The result was an invitation to the Bells to alight at the great porch of the Townsend house, instead of in Gay Street, with the promise of some light refreshment. At first they shook their heads; but Hille declared so loudly that he knew what Shirley had to offer, and could not think of letting them down short of the full measure of the entertainment, that there seemed to be no way out without spoiling the pleasure of the two young people. So presently they were all partaking of a hastily concocted iced drink, served with tiny cakes, and laughing over Hille's stories of certain college incidents, which he told with gusto, incited thereto by Shirley's whispered, "You 're helping me splendidly. Please keep it up, and I 'll be forever in your debt."

"If there's any way of making you forever in my debt," Brant made reply under his breath, "I 'll do a continuous performance for your friends till daylight."

But such an effort as this would have been was unnecessary. Mrs. Bell presently took her husband away, and since it was a late hour, and no other chaperons appeared upon the scene, Brant was forced to go, also.

He was obliged to give up making any further attempts at gaining headway in Shirley's good graces, for although she dismissed him with hearty thanks, it was with an air of abstraction hardly to be wondered at. Her one desire was to hear the telephone-bell ring again, and learn that although the factory might have burned to the ground, no lives were lost--and that not a hair of her friend's head was hurt.

She stood alone upon the porch, waiting anxiously, when the Townsend landau drove in at the gate, bringing home Murray and Jane, who had been out to dinner.

"There she is," said Murray, with suppressed excitement. The next instant he was out, had whirled Jane out also, and was grasping his young sister's hands.

"Don't be frightened--it 's all right. But a few things have happened this evening. The Armstrong factory----"

"I know. Is it gone?"

"To the foundations. Peter found the fire, fought it alone till the firemen came, rescued the night-watchman--played the leading part generally--till an accident put him out. My word!--that fellow----Well--he 's all right, but he 's burned a bit, and his leg 's broken. He was so confoundedly risky, trying to save the last calendar on the wall----"

"Where is he?"

"St. Martin's Hospital. We 've just come from there. He got his knock-out the first half-hour after the thing began, so there 's been time to get him fixed up. Our man Larrabee was at the fire, saw Peter put into the ambulance, and telephoned me at the Kingsfords'. Tried three times to get his people at home, but could n't. See here, he wants you to tell his mother--says Jane is too much upset."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'LARRABEE WAS AT THE FIRE AND SAW PETER PUT INTO THE AMBULANCE'"]

Shirley looked at Jane. "I 'm not upset," said Jane, but her lips were unsteady. Murray put his arm around her.

"You see, Larrabee thought it was worse than it was with Peter, when they put him in the ambulance. He was stunned by the fall that broke his leg. It gave Janey a bad shock, and no wonder--it did me. But the old boy 's himself again, all right, and his one idea is to let his mother know why he does n't come home, but to keep even the news of the factory fire from his father to-night, if he can. We don't see why, but he seems to, so we 'll follow his wishes. It's the least we can do for him."

Shirley slipped through the hedge, and slowly crossed Gay Street in the moonlight. She was trying hard to be cool and do as Peter wanted her to do. If she rang, Mr. Bell would come to the door, and then how should she manage, what excuse should she give? She thought of a way.

"Mr. Bell," she said when he appeared, "Janey 's come home from her party--and she 's had just a little bit too much party. She feels like a small girl again, and wants her mother to come over for a few minutes."

"Why, of course," said Mr. Bell, heartily, from the shadow of the doorway. "Nothing much the matter with the little girl?"

"Oh, no--she 'll be all right in the morning."

So Mrs. Bell crossed the road with Shirley, and the girl, with her arm round the elder woman's shoulders, gently told her the news. Mrs. Bell took it as Peter had known she would, quietly, although, aside from his personal injury, there was much cause for anxious thought in the loss of the factory and the consequent putting of its workers out of employment.

When Peter's mother had gone home again, resting on Murray's promise that in the morning he would take her to the hospital, Shirley turned to her brother. He had taken Jane upstairs, and come down again, himself too restless to go to bed. He discovered his sister to be in a like mood, and they sat down once more in the moonlit porch to talk it over, regardless of the hour, which was past midnight.

"I wonder sometimes," said Murray, suddenly, when he had told Shirley in detail all he knew of the events of the evening, "whether anybody but me fully appreciates that chap, Peter Bell. Do you know what I' ve been thinking a long time? That he 's the man we need at the head of one of our departments. From all I can learn, he 's been growing as nearly invaluable to the Armstrongs as a man can be, yet they have n't raised his salary for two years. Now 's our chance to jump in and get him. If I can only convince father--and I think he 's pretty nearly convinced--I 'll make Peter an offer to-morrow. Pretty good medicine for a broken leg and burned hands--eh?"

"I should hope it would be."

"You 'd like to see him in the business, would n't you?"

"If you think him fit for it."

"If I think him fit! What about you?"

"How can I judge? It's for you to say."

Murray looked sharply at her, in the shaded light of the electric bulbs.

He smiled, for in spite of her remarkably quiet manner, her fingers, unconsciously twisting and untwisting her delicate handkerchief, were, as he put it to himself, "giving her away." He had an idea that it mattered a good deal to his sister what Peter Bell's future might be, although he was confident that there was no understanding between them.

If he knew Peter, that young man was not the one to ask to marry a rich man's daughter until his own feet were on substantial ground. But that Peter cared, and cared very deeply, for Murray Townsend's sister, Murray was well a.s.sured.

"It's for me to say, is it?" he went on, wickedly persisting in his theme. "But it's for you to think! How about having him round our office every day--desk next mine--giving you dictation, now and then, maybe, when it suits me to put it off on him? Think you could stand it?

Look up at him as coolly as you do at me? Could you, Miss Townsend, stenographer? See here, what are you jumping up for?"

"Because you are getting impudent," responded Miss Townsend, turning her head so that her face was in shadow. Her heart was beating so quickly she was afraid her brother would recognise the fact. It had been an agitating evening all through, and now this last suggestion was rather more than she could face with composure.

"I 've a notion P. B. himself could put up with the situation," went on Murray, watching her. "His dictation might be a trifle flurried at first, and he might forget himself now and then, and ignore those purely businesslike relations which should always exist between a business man and his stenographer. But I 've no doubt that by a judicious course of snubbing you could----"

But he was talking to the empty air. By a hasty flight and the abrupt closing of a door, his sister had put herself out of range.

CHAPTER X

PETER PREFERS THE PORCH

"You 're quite sure you want me?" asked Peter Bell.

"Quite sure," replied Murray Townsend. The two pairs of eyes looked into each other.

Peter's gaze shifted to his father. "I 'll do it under one condition,"

he said. "That father gives up factory work and goes to live at the old farm."

Mr. Harrison Townsend turned also toward Mr. Joseph Bell. He smiled slightly, noting the hesitation of the other man.

"It's time you and I retired, Bell," said he. "I 've been getting to the point for a long time. Let's make a bargain of it. If you 'll go back to the farm, I 'll come and spend a good share of my time there. I 'd like to help with the haying. I should enjoy watching the cows come home. I 'll venture to say I could drive a mowing-machine--for an hour or two."

The four men occupied the small rear porch of the house in Gay Street, looking out on Nancy's garden. Peter lay upon a couch, his leg in splints, his hands in bandages. After a few days at the hospital he had been brought home, to spend the long hours of his recovery where he could bear them best. The other three were close by, Murray nearest.

He had put off making his proposition to Peter until he and his father could arrive at a perfect agreement as to every term of the offer.

Joseph Bell met his son's meaning gaze with understanding. He knew nothing counted with Peter as did the anxiety over his father's physical condition. He had kept his boy a long time upon the rack, because of his own unwillingness to give up his old work. But the work was taken away from him now; there would be a considerable interval before the Armstrongs would be ready for him again; and he could hardly think of trying for a new position. Meanwhile, the haying season was approaching. He thought with longing of the scent of the newly cut gra.s.s. He could not work hard out under the sun, he knew that; but--he could play at work. And his friend, Harrison Townsend, rich man though he was, was offering to play, too.

He looked at Peter and smiled, under his short gray beard. Peter smiled back entreatingly. Slowly Joseph Bell nodded. "All right, Peter," he said. "I'll let you have your way at last."