West Wind Drift Part 29

"He is really quite tenderhearted, and awfully fond of children, you know. I am sure he will be very much pleased with the--Besides," she broke off to say with considerable heat, "Mr. Percival is not as high and mighty as he imagines himself to be. Other people have something to say about the management of this camp. You forget,--and so does he perhaps,--that we have a council of ten. I rather fancy--"

"Pooh!" sniffed her aunt. "He is worse than all the Tammany bosses put together. The other men on the council of ten eat out of his hand, as Abel Landover says. His word is law,--or, I should have said, his smile is law. All he has to do is to grin and the argument is over. I've never seen anything like the way people give in when he smiles. It is disgusting."

"Please don't forget, Auntie, that he did not smile on Sat.u.r.day when Manuel Crust stopped him in front of the meeting-house and said he was going to take Sunday off from work up in the woods. He didn't smile then, did he? And there were a dozen men planning to take the day off with Manuel Crust, too."

"I confess I was frightened," admitted Mrs. Spofford, with a slight shudder. "That Manuel Crust is a--a dangerous man. He carries a knife. I saw it."

"Were your sympathies with Manuel Crust or Mr. Percival? Answer, please."

"Naturally, my dear, I--why, of course, they were with Percival. He was one man against a dozen. Besides, he does represent law and order. I have never questioned that, have I?"

"Weren't you a weeny, teeny bit proud of him yesterday, Aunt Julia?"

"Weren't you?" countered the other.

"I could have hugged him," exclaimed Ruth, her eyes sparkling. "I hate him,--mind you,--but I could have hugged him, just the same."

Mrs. Spofford looked searchingly into the girls clear, shining eyes.

"I wish I knew just how much you hate him, Ruth."

"Be honest, Auntie. What you mean is, how little I hate him; isn't that so?"

"I don't believe you hate him at all."

"Well, the first chance you get, ask him how much I hate him. He will tell you. Now let's talk about Easter Sunday. I don't in the least see why I should go down on my knees to Mr. Percival in order to--"

"Manuel Crust went down on his knees, didn't he?"

"Don't be silly! Manuel Crust was leading a strike. I am arranging a sacred entertainment."

"Still, if I were you, my dear, I would ask him what he thinks about it."

"All right," cried Ruth, "I'll ask him. And what's more, I shall ask him to sing in the choir. He will love it."

Not only did Percival promise to sing in the choir, but he eagerly offered to help her with the decorations. But when she announced that she was going up into the hills in quest of the little red winter berries that grew in profusion, he flatly put his foot down on the project.

"I don't feel any too sure of Manuel Crust and his gang," said he.

"They're in an ugly mood and they are brutes, Miss Clinton. Don't be alarmed. They're not likely to molest you or any one else, but I don't believe in taking chances. Just at present they're pretty sore at me and they're doing all they can to stir up discord. It will work out all right in the end, of course. They may be beasts but they're not fools."

"Is it true that Manuel Crust claims that every man should have his woman?" she asked steadily.

He was surprised by the frank, unembarra.s.sed question. "Crust is about as vile as they make them, Miss Clinton. Most of these fellows are decent, however."

"But you have not answered my question."

"I will answer it by saying that if he has any such notion as that in his mind he will have it taken out of him in short order if he attempts to put it into practice. The women on this island will be protected, Miss Clinton, if we have to kill Manuel Crust and his fol-lowers. It is true he has been preaching that sort of gospel among the vicious and ignorant Portugees and half-casts, but it's all talk. Don't pay any attention to it."

"We can't help being worried. Suppose his following is much larger than you think. They are a rough, lawless crowd, and--"

"Ninety-five per cent, of the men here are decent. That's the only comfort I can give you." He smiled his whimsical smile. "I think you will find that you will be courted in the regular, old-fashioned way, and proposed to with as much solemnity and uncertainty as if you were back at home, and it will be left for you to choose your own husband. We have two ministers of the gospel here, you know. I predict some rather violent courtships, and perhaps a few ill-advised marriages, but you may rest a.s.sured that no man is going to claim you until you claim him."

He was looking straight into her eyes. She felt the blood mounting to her cheek,--and was conscious of a strange, delicious sensation as of peril stealing over her.

"You are most rea.s.suring," she managed to say, scarcely above a whisper, and then paused expectant.

Afterwards she was shamed by the exquisite pain of antic.i.p.ation that had coursed through her in that moment of waiting. She never could quite account for the temporary weakness that a.s.sailed her and left her mute and helpless under the spell of his eyes. She only knew that she waited expectant,--for something that never came! What she might have said in response, what she might have done if he had uttered the words she was prepared to hear, she did not care to contemplate, even in the privacy of her own thoughts. She only knew that she was ashamed of the thrill that went over her and strangely bitter toward him for being the cause of it. She would not admit to herself that disappointment had anything to do with it,--for she found herself arguing, nothing could have been more distressing than to rebuff him when he seemed so eager to help her in her plans for Easter Sunday.

The fact remains, however, that Percival held his tongue, and she never quite understood why he did.

The time and the place of this encounter invited confession. There was a full moon in the heavens, the night was still, the air crisp with the tang of October in the north,--and they were alone in the shadow of the "tabernacle." Lights gleamed in the little windows that stretched to the right and left of them. Far off somewhere in the dark, an unseen musician was gently thrumming a fandango on his Spanish guitar. She had been on her way home from Careni-Amori's cabin, where she had gained the prima-donna's promise to sing, when she saw him, walking slowly across the "Green." His hands were clasped behind his back, his head was bent.

She experienced a sudden rush of pity for him,--she knew not why, except that he looked lonely and forgotten. It was she who turned aside from her course and went out across the Green to join him.

"You are most rea.s.suring," she had said. The dusky light of the moon fell full upon her upturned face; her shadowy, limpid eyes were looking straight into his; enchantment charged the air with its soft and languorous breath,--and yet he looked away!

After a moment he spoke. His voice was steady and,--to her,--almost sardonic.

"The day of the cave-man is past. Likewise the cannibal. I think I can promise that you will neither be beaten nor eaten,--but you do run a little risk in being abroad on such a night as this,--and alone."

She stiffened. "I don't think there is the slightest danger, Mr.

Percival."

"I wasn't thinking of danger," he said. "There is a lot of difference between danger and consequences. You see, you might have been mistaken in your man. I might have turned out to be Manuel Crust."

"I--I--I was sure it was you," she stammered, and wished she had not said it. It was a confession that she knew his figure so well that she could recognize it in the gloom of the night and at a distance that should have rendered him almost invisible.

"Even so, I am Manuel's brother under the skin," he said. "Like Judy O'Grady and the Colonel's lady, you know. However, all's well that ends well, so what's the use of magnifying the peril that stalks through the land."

"You were brought up on the good, old-fashioned novels, I see. That's the language of heroes,--and heroes live only in novels, where they are perfectly safe from harm, thanks to the benevolent author."

"You're right. I was brought up among the old-fashioned heroes. I lived through every adventure they had, I longed for every girl they loved, I envied everything they did, and I dreamed the most beautiful dreams about prowess and virtue and love. I rather fancy I'm a better man for having been a swashbuckling boy. I acquired the generous habit of falling in love with every heroine I read about, and in my thoughts I performed even more prodigious deeds of valour in her behalf than the hero to whom she inevitably plighted her troth in the final chapter. In real life, however, I've never been in a position to do anything more heroic than give up my seat in trolley-cars to ladies of all ages,--By the way, have you never longed desperately to be a heroine?"

"Of course, I have," she cried, smiling in spite of herself. Her eyes were sparkling again, for the danger was past. "And I have loved a hundred heroes,--madly." She hesitated and then went on impulsively: "We haven't been very friendly, Mr. Percival. Perhaps I am to blame. In any case, you have been very generous and forbearing. That is more than I have been. I never thought I could bring myself to the point of saying this to you. Can't we be friends again?"

He was silent for a moment.

"Do you mean to go back to where we were before--Well, before we clashed?"

"Yes,--if you will put it in that way."

"I can't go back to that stage," he said, shaking his head. "You may have stood still, Miss Clinton, but I have progressed."

"I don't know what you mean."

"You will, after you reflect awhile," he said.

She drew back, in a sudden panic. She spoke hurriedly, her composure wrecked.

"I--at least, Mr. Percival, I have done my part. If you do not care to be friends, I--I have nothing more to say. We must go on just as we were,--and I am sorry. I have done my part."