The Carleton Case Part 11

"Oh, yes, he'll be here in a moment," answered his employer, and even as he spoke, Carleton appeared around the corner of the station, tossed his bag into the tonneau, and came up to the front of the machine with outstretched hand. "Well, Tom, old man," he cried, "and how are you?

Looking fine. You couldn't drive anything but horses when I went away.

How do you like this kind of thing? More speed, I guess, all right."

The chauffeur's answering smile was the friendliest imaginable, although his taking of Carleton's outstretched hand was a little reluctant, as if he were aware that this was a freedom hardly likely, in a servant, to find favor in his master's eyes. Henry Carleton, indeed, frowned with repressed disapproval. Kindness and even affability toward one's dependents were permissible--but this frank friendship, with its implication of equality, of which Jack was guilty, was apt to be destructive of a proper domestic regime. "We're waiting, Jack," he said, his meaning perfectly manifest in his tone, "jump in behind, please."

Jack Carleton was about to comply; then suddenly, either the beauty of the day or his lack of pleasure in Jim c.u.mmings' society, served to make him change his mind. He stepped quickly back. "I guess I'll walk it, after all," he said, "just for the sake of old times. See you at the house," and before he had gone a quarter of the length of the station lane, a cloud of powdery dust was the only memento of the big motor left in sight.

Thoughtfully he traversed the familiar path, the meadow lying smooth and fair before him, still peaceful and serene as on the day when Helmar had walked there three years ago. The same outward world, the same green underfoot, the same glory of blue above. But though Helmar had found nothing but pleasure in the scene, now, mellowed and tinted with the oncoming of the summer night, Carleton's meditation ran in a quieter and sadder strain.

Midway at the bank of the little stream, he paused, and his thoughts, casting backward, were of the little boy who had sailed his boat in the pool below the bridge, and who had searched so patiently along the pleasant, gra.s.s-grown banks to gather and bring home in triumph to his mother the earliest violets of the spring. Tinged all with vague regret were his dreamings, as backward glances in one sense always must be, but even as his thoughts came down the years, his face did not seem to brighten with them.

"Three years," he muttered, "of good resolutions. Three years of killing out old hatred, and honestly trying to feel toward him as I ought. And now--almost the first day home--to be put back just where I was before.

To find him the same as ever, so smooth, so self-satisfied, and so cursedly successful, too. And if I told any one what I believe--why, they'd think I was mad, I suppose."

Once more he started on his homeward way, taking the old familiar short-cut through the woods, as the twilight deepened and the shadows of the tall elms lengthened down the quiet road. Still lost in thought, he strode along unheeding; then all at once, struck with a sense of something unfamiliar, he pulled up sharply and glanced about him. The path he was following now was new to him, there was something about it which he could not call to mind, tax his memory as he would. And then suddenly, as he turned a sharp corner, tucked away amid the shelter of a grove of birches which rose about it on every hand, a little cottage appeared before his eyes.

For a moment he stood silent, staring in astonishment. Of this Henry had told him nothing. The Birches itself was still a good half mile away.

"What in the world--" he muttered to himself, and then, obeying a sudden impulse, he turned aside, walked quickly up the path to the little house, mounted the steps leading to the porch, and knocked.

For a moment or two he waited. Then somewhere above him, a window opened; a woman's voice called low, "Is it you?"

At the sound Carleton threw back his head with an uncontrollable start of astonishment; and then without raising his voice, he answered, "Yes, it's I."

The window closed. A moment still he waited in suspense, until the door cautiously opened. And then, suddenly, through the dusk there sounded a surprised cry, "Jack, Jack!"

Carleton took a quick step forward. Three long years, as far as seeing women of any attraction went, he had spent practically alone. Three long years, and in the girl before him what a change. Charming she had always been, yet now in looks, in dress, in bearing, in every way she had altered for the better a hundredfold. Almost with a gasp, the memories of old days came flooding over heart and mind and soul. His voice, when at last he spoke, sounded hoa.r.s.e with stifled emotion; "Jeanne," he cried, "you!"

As of old, the woman seemed to dominate the situation. She laughed the old friendly laugh as she stepped backward into the gloom. Her words were commonplace enough, but not the tone in which she uttered them.

"I'm glad to see you back, Jack," she said. "Won't you come in?"

CHAPTER XI

THE EVENTS OF AN EVENING

"What mighty ills have not been done by woman!"

_Otway._

It was nearly seven o'clock when Jack Carleton strolled into the carriage house, to find Satterlee, sleeves rolled up, his big rubber ap.r.o.n tied around his waist, busy washing the carriages. Leisurely Carleton took his seat upon an inverted bucket, and lit a cigarette. "So you use a horse now and then, too, do you, Tom?" he asked, "it isn't all automobiles?"

Satterlee grinned a little ruefully. "To speak true, Mr. Jack," he answered, "we gets a lot of trouble out of that there machine. The gentlemen walked the last quarter mile to-night, and she's out there in the road yet. You see, we got a new universal joint--"

Carleton raised his hand. "No, no," he cried, "you don't get me to listen to any of those yarns. I don't know anything about motors, and I don't want to. A horse is good enough for me. It isn't your automobile troubles I want to hear about, Tom. It's your own, if you've got any, only I don't believe you have. As near as I can make out, you're an infernally lucky man."

The chauffeur nodded. "I am that, sir," he answered, readily enough. "No man could have had better luck, or more of it, than I've had the last year. It seems sometimes to me, Mr. Jack, like it couldn't really be so.

It's been most too much for one man."

Jack nodded. "It was all a surprise to me," he said. "Mr. Carleton never told me he'd built you the house; I didn't even know you were married. I wouldn't know it now if I hadn't happened to stop in there on the way up from the train. I only did it out of curiosity, too. I wondered who on earth had built that house, so near the big one."

Satterlee's face lit up with pleasure. "I'm more than glad you did, sir," he said. "It's a neat little place, if I am saying so. And you were after seeing the Mrs., I suppose?"

Jack nodded again. "Yes, indeed I did. She's prettier than ever, Tom.

And she was telling me all about the house. So Mr. Carleton built it for you."

Satterlee pushed the wagon back into place, removed his ap.r.o.n, and took his stand in front of Carleton. "Yes, sir," he answered, "you see, it was like this. I always liked Jeanne fine--no one could help it, she's got that way with her--but I always thought as how she was more than a cut above me, being, as you might say, a lady, almost. And she never'd have much to say to me, either, excepting to pa.s.s the time of day, and such like things, you know, just friendly like, and nothing more. But about a year ago, of a sudden she began to seem to take more notice of me, and at last, never dreaming I was doing anything more than settle all my hopes of ever getting her, once and for all, I got that crazy about her I up and asked her--and she said she would. And then I didn't know what to do. I wanted to go to housekeeping, of course; I knew where I could rent a tidy little house down in the village, but I was feared of losing my job, if Mr. Carleton shouldn't seem to take kindly to the idea of it.

"Well, at last I told him, and he seemed pleased enough, and asked me about my plans, and so on, and finally he said he'd like to think it over for a while. So I said all right, of course, and one evening he came down here, and talked a long time, about how fine a thing it was to be married--he spoke something beautiful about his poor dear lady--and said as how that I'd always done my work right, and been a faithful man to him, and as how he knew Jeanne was a fine girl, and so on, and finally that he'd hate to have me leave him--I got scared then--but he didn't want me so far away as the village, and so, if I'd like it, partly for me, and partly for a good example to the rest of the house, he'd build me a cottage right here on the place, and set me up to housekeeping there. And that he did, and you've seen the cottage for yourself, so there's no need of my saying what a neat little place it is, or how happy we are. I like it fine, and Jeanne even more than me, I believe; you know what it is for a woman to have her own home to fuss round with; flowers and a vegetable garden, and all such things. We couldn't be better fixed in all the wide world."

Carleton slowly nodded. "Well, I should say not," he said at length.

"And about the money, too. Jeanne was telling me of that."

Satterlee's face brightened. "Wasn't that the greatest ever?" he said.

"I never knew she had relatives so well fixed as that; I guess she didn't, either; but Mr. Carleton looked after all the law part of it for her, and it seems she gets a steady income for the rest of her life. Not so much, of course, for some folks, but for her, you see, it's just pin money, to do as she likes with. Of course I'd never touch a cent of it; I'm doing pretty well myself, and I live simple, anyway; but she likes her fine clothes, and her trip in town, same as all the women do, and I'm glad to let her have the fun. Sometimes I get let off, too, but I don't like to go often; there's plenty doing here with six horses, and that rascal of a car. And this summer she's going off for two months to the mountains with some friends of hers. You see, the work gets slacker then; Mr. Carleton always goes away about that time, and it's pretty hot here, of course, for a woman, anyway. Yes, Jeanne's quite the lady now, and no one more glad than me."

Carleton, again nodding thoughtfully, sat for some time in silence without looking up. At last he raised his eyes to the chauffeur's.

"Tom," he said, speaking with unwonted gravity, "I'd like to ask you one question. What do you really think--" Abruptly he broke off. "Well, speaking of angels," he muttered, and again was silent.

Down the drive Henry Carleton was walking briskly toward them, with a step that a youth of twenty might have envied. As he entered the carriage house, he eyed the pair a trifle keenly, it seemed, yet when he spoke his tone was amiability itself. "Ah, Jack," he said, "I wondered where you'd gone. Talking over old times with Satterlee, I suppose. We dine at seven, you know."

Carelessly Jack Carleton answered him. "Yes, I know. I'll be ready. Lots of time yet."

There was nothing in the words at which offense could be taken, yet at the tone Henry Carleton's eyebrows were raised a trifle. "Suit yourself," he said, "as long as you're not late," then turning to the chauffeur. "It's unfortunate about the motor, isn't it, Satterlee? I understand you to say that you can't possibly have it fixed before to-morrow night?"

Satterlee shook his head. "Oh, no, sir, not possibly," he answered. "I shall have to go in town to-morrow morning, and see them at the factory.

And then there's a good half day, just on labor alone. No, sir, to-morrow night would be the very earliest possible."

Henry Carleton's face clouded a trifle, and for a moment he thought in silence. Then he spoke, with a little reluctance evident in his manner.

"I don't like to ask you to do it, Satterlee, but I can't see any other way. I've promised to send a message over to Mr. Sheldon to-night, a message which is of great importance to both of us. I was going to ask you to take the motor, and go over after dinner--it wouldn't have taken much over an hour, I suppose--but that's out of the question now. Do you think, Satterlee, you could oblige me by taking one of the horses, and driving over. It will be something of a trip, I'm afraid."

Satterlee's a.s.sent could hardly have been readier, or more heartily given. "Of course I'll go, sir," he answered, "and be more than glad to.

It's not too long a drive, sir. The night's fine. Let me see. Twelve miles over. Twelve miles back. I could take old Robin, sir, and make it in a matter of three hours, or I could take Fleetwood, in the sulky, and make it in pretty near an hour quicker, if there's haste."

Henry Carleton shook his head. "Oh, no, there's no special hurry," he answered, "and I wouldn't take Fleetwood, I think. I want to save him for Mr. Jack to drive to-morrow. No, I think I'd take old Robin. And I suppose you could get started by eight. If you'll stop at the house, then, Satterlee, I'll have everything ready, and I'm sure I'm much obliged to you. I won't forget it."

Satterlee's face showed his pleasure. There was a thoughtfulness and consideration in his master's manner unusual and agreeable. "You're more than welcome, I'm sure, sir," he said. "I'll be ready sharp at eight."

Jack Carleton had stood silent, with knitted brows. Now he looked up quickly, gazing at Henry Carleton with a singular intentness, considering the comparative unimportance of the matter involved.

"What's the matter with telephoning?" he asked abruptly, well-nigh rudely, in fact.

Henry Carleton smiled at him benignantly in return. "You always were fond of old Robin, weren't you, Jack?" he said. "Well, I hate myself to use a horse on a drive as long as that, and I hate to use Satterlee so late at night, besides. But these happen to be a set of plans, Jack, and you know to telephone plans is rather a difficult thing; and, since you've been so good as to interest yourself in the matter, I'll tell you further that they're street railway plans, of very great importance, considering the fact that Sheldon is my counsel before a committee of the legislature to-morrow morning. After all," he added more slowly, "it is a practical world, Jack. Some one has to look after things, even if it involves an evening trip, a horse and a man. But I suppose it's hard for you to get used to it. Yours never was the strictly practical side."

The tone was of kindly benevolence. That there was a deliberate purpose behind the words was evident. Jack Carleton's face gave no sign, save that all at once his eyes seemed suddenly to have turned hard and cold.

"I see perfectly now," he answered. "Pardon my suggestion, won't you? I didn't know the drive was connected with any plans, or of course I shouldn't have spoken. Well, I guess I'll go ahead and dress for dinner now."