Daphne Deane (10 page)

"Well, you see," said Daphne, quite rosy now, with downcast eyes, a bit embarrassed, "when I turned around to look for Father, who had said he might come to the game if he got through in time, I saw you watching me, and for just a little instant I thought you recognized me. And then I knew at once you didn't--and of course I knew you wouldn't be likely to anyway--so I just turned away. And then when you spoke I couldn't bear to think you were just flirting--"

"Oh, I say now,
please
! I don't want you to think that of me! I don't know why I spoke to you the way I did. I hadn't the slightest intention of it. But I did want to find out who you were. Your face haunted me with a resemblance, so I slipped around back of the grandstand, intending just to watch and find out if you were somebody I ought to know, and then before I realized how it would appear to you, I spoke. I do hope you won't hold that against me!"

Daphne laughed merrily.

"Oh, no, I don't! We've had a good time today, and I've forgotten all about it. We're just old schoolmates."

"But--I don't want you to be disappointed in what you grew up thinking I was."

"I'm not." Daphne's eyes sobered. "I guess I was too prim or something. After all, we did know each other well enough to have spoken, even if you had forgotten. I guess it was just my pride. Let's forget it."

She smiled at him, and just then the professor-father came in and was introduced.

"Well, I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Morrell," said Mr. Deane. "You've changed a bit since the days when we used to see you over in your garden. But I remember your father well. I thought he was one of the finest men I ever knew. He was my first acquaintance in Rosedale, and he certainly was a friend to me in those first days when we came here and needed friends. I felt it keenly when he was taken away. He was a true Christian gentleman!"

"He was a wonderful father!" said Keith, his face kindling tenderly.

Daphne gave a quick glance at the two and slipped out into the kitchen to help her mother get the meal on the table, while they settled down on the wide couch in the dining room and talked. Daphne could hear them as she went back and forth putting things on the table. Something swelled pleasantly in her heart. She told herself that she was glad that the hero of the years was running true to form and that the fairy tale she had learned as a child had not been rudely proved to be a fake.

Donald came down and stood listening, putting in a word now and then, asking a question. Keith was speaking of the relative advantages of education at home and abroad. The mother glanced through the door and smiled. It was a pleasant atmosphere of home and friendliness. How well this guest fitted into the family life. Would he stand the test of intimacy, she wondered vaguely? Oh well, it was just for a day, but pleasant to remember.

Then they all sat down at the table, and Keith thought again how nice it was to be here, how much more congenial than the Avery crowd!

Donald and Keith went out for a few minutes of ball play before the dark came down, and when they came in again the dishes were finished and Daphne had slipped upstairs and changed her dress. She was wearing a little pink cotton dress, filmy and crisp, that gave her the look of being very young and sweet. Keith looked at her and was reminded of high school days and the girl who had dropped into his classes in the middle of a semester and outstripped them all. What a fool he had been not to have cultivated her acquaintance then. But as she had explained, she had been scarcely ever available except for classes.

And now he suddenly realized that his day was almost over and he was loath to leave.

Daphne sat down at the piano and touched the keys lightly, wandering into an old melody that reminded him of his mother. They all sat down and a sort of holy hush came over them, as if it were a special time, a ceremony that they expected. And now Keith noticed the Bible Mr. Deane was opening. Family worship, of course, but it had been so long since he had even heard of the custom that he had forgotten. Dimly in his early childhood he could remember his father, too, with an open Bible and his mother's arm about him while they knelt in prayer. His heart was deeply stirred. He felt as if he were in a dream of other days, and he began to dread the awakening. Tomorrow there would be New York, and--what? Anne Casper? His two worlds did not belong together. But this one was something he had lost long ago. In a few days it would be but a memory again.

After the prayer they sang a song or two, old hymns that he was surprised to find he knew. Then suddenly the living room clock struck the half hour and Don jumped up.

"I've got to beat it!" he declared with a wistful note in his voice. "I'm driving Mrs. Houghton into town tonight to the symphony concert, and it's time we were on the way."

"That means you'll be late coming home again," said his mother anxiously. "You need your sleep."

"Not necessarily," said Don with a wry face. "She may not stay long. She only wants to be seen in her private box awhile, and then she may come home. She does that sometimes. I gather she doesn't give a whoop about the music itself. She may not know a symphony from a permanent wave, with a majority in favor of the perm. And that daughter of hers is a pain in the neck if there ever was one!"

"Donald, you shouldn't criticize your employers."

"I know, Mother, but it's true. Good night, Mr. Morrell. Hope you come again. I'll vote for you to join our sunset team if you will."

"Thanks awfully, Don," said Morrell. "I appreciate that, and if I ever get the chance I'll remind you of it. But say, haven't we known each other long enough for you to call me Keith? I'd like that."

"Sure, if you don't mind," grinned Donald. "But I'm a lot younger than you are, you know."

"Now, don't remind me of my age!" laughed Keith. "I can't help it, you know."

Merrily they separated, and then Keith suddenly remembered that he had heard Daphne tell the minister last night that she had two music lessons to give that evening. There used to be an eight o'clock train to the city, and of course he should take it.

With a blank feeling of disappointment in his heart as if the light of a nice pleasant day had suddenly been put out, he said good night and hurried away. It was almost time for that train, and of course he ought to take it. Why did he feel so reluctant? By this time they must think him a great nuisance, though they had all eagerly invited him to return whenever he could.

Mr. and Mrs. Gassner were sitting on their vine-clad porch in the soft darkness as he passed their house, and Mr. Gassner was very hard of hearing. His wife was giving him an account of the day, while she kept an eye out toward the Deane home.

"Well, for goodness' sake, if there he doesn't come now!" she was saying as Keith Morrell came within hearing. "
At last!
Do you know he's been there this whole blessed day, hobnobbing with Daphne Deane! I thought she had better principles than that, and her as good as engaged to the new minister----if all they say is true, and I guess it is!"

Then the train sounded afar and Keith Morrell had to run, but he carried that sentence with him and wondered as he swung himself on the last car why he should care even if she was engaged. She was just an old schoolmate. He had had a pleasant day, yes, but tomorrow night--or was it the next night?--Daphne Deane was going out with that prig of a minister he had seen at her gate last night, and he was going back to New York.

And Anne Casper.

 

The train was well on its way to the city, when Bill Gowney arrived at the house of the real estate agent, William Knox, and rang the bell.

The agent was just on the point of going out to escape him. He hadn't expected him quite so early. Gowney's other visits had been made about nine o'clock. Knox wasn't anxious to meet Bill Gowney until he had that promised telephone call from New York. It was going to be embarrassing to explain the owner's reluctance to come to a settlement, and Knox felt that he must handle this matter cautiously. He couldn't afford to miss the fat commission on a sale like this. It must go through!

He came into his small parlor reluctantly, at the call of his angular wife, who resisted his mild effort to get out the back door unseen, and personally shepherded him down the narrow hall to the parlor.

"Oh, hello, Gowney! That you already?"

"Yeah. I thought I'd come in and sign them papers. You said you'd have 'em ready by last night, ya know, but I couldn't make it then. Had a little business up the state. But I had my son telephone. You got the message, didn't ya? Got the papers here?"

"Well, no, not to say
here
, Gowney. You see, there's been a little hitch in the matter. It may hold ya up a day or two, but it'll come out all right in the end."

"Hitch? Whaddya mean?" Gowney got up and stalked over to the desk where the agent sat, and scowled down at him.

"Well, you see, the owner was here himself yestiday. I found he wasn't just ready to fall in with our plans, not to say
ready
, not as ready as I had been led to expect by his letters."

"You mean, he wasn't willin' ta take the offer? You mean, he wanted more money?"

"Well, I s'pose that's about what it amounted to," said the agent cautiously. "He didn't exactly say so in so many words, but he wasn't impressed with the figures offered. Not as impressed as I expected him to be. You see, he's been away in New York and Europe and other places, and I suppose he's got pretty big ideas."

"Well, why didn't ya offer him more?"

"Well, I did suggest that you might be willing to raise the figure a little, but I didn't get anywhere. You see, you have to have a definite offer to get anywhere with a young man like that."

Gowney strode to the window and stared out into the dark a minute, and then he whirled around.

"Well, offer him another ten thousand," he said, biting his words off shortly. "Things have gone too fur for me to go back, an' I gotta get this settled right away. Time's a big object with me. When's he gonta let ya know?"

"Well, he didn't exactly say."

"Know his telephone number?"

"I have his New York address," said Knox. "I could get him on the phone, I s'pose. But there ain't any hurry like that, is there? Long-distance phone calls mount up quick, ya know."

"Get him on the phone, I tell ya. I gotta get this settled right away. Several things have come up an' I wantta be able to tell somebuddy I'm taking possession tanight."

The agent looked startled at the haste.

"I cud get him in a letter by airmail," he suggested.

"I gotta know
right away
, I tell ya. Call up right now! Whadd' I give ya that retainer for ef I ain't got no rights? Get busy there an' call 'im!"

The buyer was ominously still while the call was put in, and while they were waiting Knox tried to be affable.

"Nice day it's been," he remarked, dropping into a chair by the telephone.

But the buyer only grunted, and then after a second he whirled around with stormy eyes and asked: "You think ten thousand more'll satisfy him?"

"Well, I should think it would," said the agent blandly, seeing his commission rise. "Of course, I wouldn't want to guarantee it would. But I can't see why he wouldn't be satisfied with that. It's really more than I would expect ta get myself if the property was mine, but young folks have ideas, ya know."

The buyer sat down stiffly in a straight chair and stared at the agent.

But presently the ring came, with the message that Mr. Morrell was out of town and was not expected back till late that night, or even tomorrow morning.

Gowney made some strong remarks, then, and the agent looked anxiously toward the hall door hoping Martha hadn't heard them. Martha had a way of appearing and speaking her mind at times, and this was too momentous a matter to run any risks. What if it should be all off and he should lose that commission? He would have missed the chance of his lifetime.

"Tell you what," he said mildly. "I don't see any harm in your tellin' your friends you've taken possession taday. Of course, it is a little irregular, but ef you saw fit ta pay a small down-payment, ya know, I should think it would work out all right. I should think he might feel a moral obligation ta let it go at that!"

Gowney's sharp little eyes twinkled as he studied the mild face of the agent.

"Okay by me!" he said and flung down a roll of bills. "You'll stand by me if I take possession tanight, so ta speak?"

"Well, I'll do my best--" said Knox, with an uneasy memory of the young owner's face as he left him the night before. Perhaps he might be getting himself into a jam by making these tentative promises. But then,
surely
--all that money! No young man in his senses would hold out for more, and he had never heard that the Morrells were so awfully wealthy. No, of course it would be all right. But he sincerely hoped that Martha had not heard this last transaction. He stuffed the roll of bills hastily into his side pocket and tried to talk in a genially quiet tone.

"Well, I'm sure it will be all right. Of course, I'll--I'll return this--in case the deal--falls through!"

"Falls through?" shouted the bully. "It can't fall through now! I tell ya I've
got
ta have that property, an' you gave me your guarantee that it was as good as mine. I'll hold ya responsible! I'll knock anybody's block off that stops me now, an' I don't mean mebbe!"

Knox found he was trembling a little as he opened the door to usher his visitor away, but he drew a long breath and soothed him with a few smiling words of assurance. Then he turned with relief to come back into his bright little room and close the door behind him, and there was Martha standing in his way, her lips drawn in a thin line and her gray eyes full of apprehension.

"Now,
William
!" she assailed him. "What's that man going to hold you responsible for? He looks to me like a jailbird!"

And while the temeritous Knox was taking a grilling from the capable Martha, Keith Morrell was leaning back in the train with his eyes closed, thinking with relief that he didn't have to sell his house. Of course he wouldn't sell the old home. He must have been crazy to even think of it. It had just been that dread of going through it alone and having his feelings harrowed. But now he was glad he had gone, glad that wonderful girl had been willing to go with him and give him a picture of his boyhood that somehow had been slipping, fading from his mind. He must not ever lose that. It was too precious a heritage.