The Portygee Part 32

She paused for some moment before answering, but her reply, when it came, was firm.

"No," she said, "I don't think we should promise anything, except to remain friends. You might promise and then be sorry, later."

"_I_ might? How about you?"

"Perhaps we both might. So we won't take the risk. You may come and see me to-morrow evening and say good-by, if you like. But you mustn't stay long. It is my last night with father for some time and I mustn't cheat him out of it. Good night, Albert. I'm so glad our misunderstanding is over, aren't you?"

"Of course I am. But, Helen--"

"I must go in now. Good night."

The reflections of Alberto Speranza during his walk back to the Snow place were varied but wonderful. He thought of Raymond's humiliation and gloried in it. He thought of Helen and rhapsodized. And if, occasionally, he thought also of the dance and of Madeline Fosd.i.c.k, forgive him. He was barely twenty-one and the moon was shining.

CHAPTER IX

The good-by call the following evening was, to him at least, not very satisfactory. Helen was tired, having been busy all day with the final preparations for leaving, and old Mr. Kendall insisted on being present during the entire visit and in telling long and involved stories of the trip abroad he had made when a young man and the unfavorable opinion which he had then formed of Prussians as traveling companions. Albert's opinion of Prussians was at least as unfavorable as his own, but his complete and even eager agreement with each of the old gentleman's statements did not have the effect of choking the latter off, but rather seemed to act as encouragement for more. When ten o'clock came and it was time to go Albert felt as if he had been listening to a lecture on the Hohenzollerns. "Great Scott, Helen," he whispered, as she came to the door with him, "I don't feel as if I had talked with you a minute.

Why, I scarcely--"

But just here Mr. Kendall came hurrying from the sitting-room to tell of one incident which he had hitherto forgotten, and so even this brief interval of privacy was denied. But Albert made one more attempt.

"I'm going to run over to the station to-morrow morning to see you off,"

he called from the gate. "Good night."

The morning train left at nine o'clock, and at a quarter to nine Albert, who had kept his eye on the clock ever since eight, his hour of arriving at the office, called to Mr. Price.

"I say," he said, in a low tone and one as casual as he could a.s.sume, "I am going to run out for a few minutes. I'll be right back."

Issachar's response was as usual anything but low.

"Eh?" he shouted. "Goin' out? Where you goin'?"

"Oh, I'm just going out--er--on an errand."

"What kind of an errand? I was cal'latin' to run out myself for a little spell. Can't I do your errand for you?"

"No, no... There, there, don't bother me any more. I'm in a hurry."

"Hurry! So'm I in a hurry. I was cal'latin' to run acrost to the deepo and see Helen Kendall start for Boston. She's goin' this morning; did you know it?"

Before the somewhat fl.u.s.tered a.s.sistant bookkeeper could reply Captain Zelotes called from the inner office:

"Wouldn't wonder if that was where Al was bound, too," he observed. "And I was thinkin' of the same thing. Suppose we all go together. Labe'll keep shop, won't you, Labe?"

Mr. Keeler looked over his spectacles. "Eh?" he observed. "Oh, yes, yes ... yes, yes, yes. And say good-by to Helen for me, some of you, if you happen to think of it. Not that 'twill make much difference to her,"

he added, "whether she gets my good-bys or not, but it might make some to me... . Um, yes, yes."

Mr. Price was eager to oblige.

"I'll tell her you sent 'em, Labe," he said, patronizingly. "Set your mind to rest; I'll tell her."

Laban's lip twitched. "Much obliged, Is," he chirruped. "That's a great relief! My mind's rested some already."

So, instead of going alone to the railway station, Albert made one of a delegation of three. And at the station was Mr. Kendall, and two of the school committee, and one or two members of the church sewing circle, and the president and secretary of the Society for the Relief of the French Wounded. So far from being an intimate confidential farewell, Helen's departure was in the nature of a public ceremony with speech-making. Mr. Price made most of the speeches, in fact the lower portion of his countenance was in violent motion most of the ten minutes.

"Take care of yourself, Helen," he urged loudly. "Don't you worry about your pa, we'll look out for him. And don't let none of them Boston fellers carry you off. We'll watch and see that Eddie Raymond and Al here don't get into mischief while you're gone. I ... Crimustee! Jim Young, what in time's the matter with you? Can't ye see nothin'?"

This last outburst was directed at the driver of the depot-wagon, who, wheeling a trunk on a baggage truck, had b.u.mped violently into the rear of Mr. Price's legs, just at the knee joint, causing their owner to bend backward unexpectedly, and with enthusiasm.

"Can't you see nothin' when it's right in front of ye?" demanded Issachar, righteously indignant.

Jim Young winked over his shoulder at Albert. "Sorry, Is," he said, as he continued toward the baggage car. "I didn't notice you WAS in front of me."

"Well, then, you'd better... . Eh? See here, what do you mean by that?"

Even after Mr. Price had thus been pushed out of the foreground, so to speak, Albert was denied the opportunity of taking his place by Helen's side. Her father had a few last messages to deliver, then Captain Zelotes shook her hand and talked for a moment, and, after that, the ladies of the sewing circle and the war work society felt it their duty to, severally and jointly, kiss her good-by. This last was a trying operation to watch.

Then the engine bell rang and the train began to move. Albert, running beside the platform of the last car, held up his hand for a farewell clasp.

"Good-by," he said, and added in a whisper, "You'll write, won't you?"

"Of course. And so must you. Good-by."

The last car and the handkerchief waving figure on its platform disappeared around the curve. The little group by the station broke up.

Albert and his grandfather walked over to the office together.

"There goes a good girl, Al," was Captain Lote's only comment. "A mighty good capable girl."

Albert nodded. A moment later he lifted his hat to a group in a pa.s.sing automobile.

"Who were those folks?" asked the Captain.

"The Fosd.i.c.ks," was the reply. "The people who are going to build down by the Inlet."

It was Madeline and her mother. The latter had been serenely indifferent, but the young lady had smiled and bowed behind the maternal shoulders.

"Oh; that so?" observed Captain Zelotes, looking after the flying car with interest. "That's who 'tis, eh? Nice lookin', the young one, ain't she?"

Albert did not answer. With the noise of the train which was carrying Helen out of his life still ringing in his ears it seemed wicked even to mention another girl's name, to say nothing of commenting upon her good looks. For the rest of that day he was a gloomy spirit, a dark shadow in the office of Z. Snow and Co.

Before the end of another fortnight the season at South Harniss was definitely over. The hotel closed on the Sat.u.r.day following the dance, and by October first the last of the cottages was locked and shuttered.

The Kelseys went on the twentieth and the Fosd.i.c.ks went with them.

Albert met Madeline and Jane at the post-office in the evening of the nineteenth and there more farewells were said.

"Don't forget us down here in the sand, will you?" he suggested to Miss Fosd.i.c.k. It was Jane Kelsey who answered.

"Oh, she won't forget," returned that young lady. "Why she has your photograph to remember you by."