The Awakening of Helena Richie Part 23

"Well, now, I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's been in me a good while," David explained, "but yesterday I said it. It was 'd.a.m.n.'"

"It's a foolish word, David; I never use it."

"You _don't_?" David said blankly, and all his pride was gone.

They parted with some seriousness; but Dr. Lavendar was still chuckling when he turned in at Benjamin Wright's neglected carriage road where burdocks and plantains grew rank between the wheel-tracks.

As he came up to the house he saw Mr. Wright sitting out in the sun on the gravel of the driveway, facing his veranda. A great locust was dropping its honey-sweet blossoms all about--on his bent shoulders, on his green cashmere dressing-gown, on his shrunken knees, even one or two on the tall beaver hat. A dozen bird-cages had been placed in a row along the edge of the veranda, and he was nibbling orange-skin and watching the canaries twittering and hopping on their perches. As he heard the wheels of the buggy, he looked around, and raised a cautioning hand:

"Look out! You scare my birds. Rein in that mettlesome steed of yours!

That green c.o.c.k was just going to take a bath."

Goliath stopped at a discreet distance, and Dr. Lavendar sat still.

There was a breathless moment of awaiting the pleasure of the green c.o.c.k, who, balancing on the edge of his tub, his head on one side, looked with inquisitive eyes at the two old men before deciding to return to his perch and attack the cuttle-fish stuck between the bars of his cage. Upon which Mr. Wright swore at him with proud affection, and waved his hand to his visitor.

"Come on! Sorry I can't take you indoors. I have to sit out here and watch these confounded fowls for fear a cat will come along. There's not a soul I can trust to attend to it, so I have to waste my valuable time. Sit down."

Dr. Lavendar clambered out of the buggy, and came up to the porch where he was told to "_'s.h.!.+_" while Mr. Wright held his breath to see if the green c.o.c.k would not bathe, after all.

"That n.i.g.g.e.r of mine is perfectly useless. Look at that perch! Hasn't been cleaned for a week."

"Yes, suh; cleaned yesterday, suh," Simmons murmured, hobbling up with a handful of chickweed which he arranged on the top of one of the cages, its faint faded smell mingling with the heavy fragrance of the locust blossoms.

"Whiskey!" Mr. Wright commanded.

"Not for me," said Dr. Lavendar; and there was the usual snarl, during which Simmons disappeared. The whiskey was not produced.

"Lavendar, look at that c.o.c.k--the scoundrel understands every word we say."

"He does look knowing. Benjamin, I just dropped in to tell you that I think you needn't worry so about Sam's Sam. Your neighbor has promised w.i.l.l.y King that she will help us with him. But I want you to talk the matter over with Samuel, and--" "My _neighbor?_" the older man interrupted, his lower lip dropping with dismay. "Ye don't mean--the female at the Stuffed Animal House?"

"Yes; Mrs. Richie. She will snub him if it's necessary, William says; but she'll help us, by urging him to attend to his business. See?"

"I see--more than you do!" cried Benjamin Wright. "Much w.i.l.l.y King has accomplished! It's just what I've always said;--if you want a thing done, do it yourself. It's another case of these confounded canaries.

If they are not to be eaten up by some devilish cat, I've got to sit out here and watch over 'em. If that boy is not to be injured, I've got to watch over him. My neighbor is going to help? Gad-a-mercy!

Help!"

Dr. Lavendar took off his broad-brimmed felt hat and wiped his forehead with his big red bandanna. "Benjamin, what's got into you? A little being in love won't hurt him. Why, before I was his age I had lost my heart to my grandmother's first cousin!"

But the older man was not listening. His anger had suddenly hardened into alarm; he even forgot the canaries. "She's going to help?

Lavendar, this is serious; it is very serious. He's got to be sent away!--if I have to see"--his voice trailed into a whisper; he looked at Dr. Lavendar with startled eyes.

The green c.o.c.k hopped down into his gla.s.s tub and began to ruffle and splash, but Benjamin Wright did not notice him. Dr. Lavendar beamed.

"You mean you'll see his father?"

The very old man nodded. "Yes; I'll have to see--my son."

"Thank G.o.d!" said Dr. Lavendar.

"Dominie," said Mr. Wright, "it's better to make your manners when you've got your 'baccy.' Yes; I'll have to see--his father; if there's no other way of getting him out of town?"

"Of course there's no other way. Sam won't go without his father's consent. But you mustn't make play-writing the excuse; you mustn't talk about that."

"I won't talk about anything else," said Benjamin Wright.

Dr. Lavendar sighed, but he did not encourage perversity by arguing against it. "Benjamin," he said, "I will tell Samuel of your wish to see him--"

"My _wis.h.!.+_"

Dr. Lavendar would not notice the interruption. "Will you appoint the time?"

"Oh, the sooner the better; get through with it! Get through with it!"

He stared at his visitor and blinked rapidly; a moment later he shook all over. "Lavendar, it will kill me!" He was very frail, this shrunken old man in the green dressing-gown and high beaver hat, with his lower lip sucked in like a frightened child's. The torch of life, blown so often into furious flame by hurricanes of rage, had consumed itself, and it seemed now as if its flicker might be snuffed out by any slightest gust. "He may come up to-night," he mumbled, s.h.i.+vering in the hot suns.h.i.+ne and the drift of locust blossoms, as if he were cold.

"It can't be to-night; he's gone out West. He gets back Sat.u.r.day. I'll send him up Sunday evening--if I can."

"Gad-a-mercy, Lavendar," Benjamin Wright said whimpering, "you've got to come, too!" He looked at his old friend with scared eyes. "I won't go to the gate with you. Can't leave these birds. I'm a slave to 'em."

But Dr. Lavendar saw that shaking legs were the real excuse; and he went away a little soberly in spite of his triumph. Would there be any danger to Benjamin from the agitation of the interview? He must ask w.i.l.l.y King. Then he remembered that the doctor had started for Philadelphia that morning; so there was nothing to do but wait. "I'm afraid there's some risk," he thought. "But Benjamin had better die in peace than live in anger. Oh, this play-writing business! If I could only depend on him to hold his tongue about it; but I can't." Then as he and Goliath trudged along in the sun, he gave himself up to his own rejoicings. "To think I was afraid to let him know that Mrs. Richie could be depended upon to help us!" He looked up as if in smiling confession to some unseen Friend. "Yes, indeed; 'He taketh the wise in their own craftiness.' It was the promise of Mrs. Richie's help that scared him into it! I won't be so crafty next time," he promised in loving penitence.

CHAPTER XIV

In the stage the day he started for Philadelphia, William King read over his Martha's memorandum with the bewildered carefulness peculiar to good husbands: ten yards of crash; a pitcher for sorghum; samples of yarn; an ounce of sachet-powder, and so forth.

"Now, what on earth does she want sachet-powder for?" he reflected.

But he did not reflect long; it suddenly came into his mind that though Mrs. Richie had not given him any commission, he could nevertheless do something for her. He could go, when he was in Philadelphia, and call on her brother. "How pleased she'll be!" he said to himself. Naturally, with this project in mind, he gave no more thought to sachet-powders. He decided that he would turn up at Mr.

Pryor's house at six o'clock, and Pryor would ask him to supper. It would save time to do that, and he needed to save time, for this one day in Philadelphia was to be very busy. He had those errands for Martha, and two medical appointments, and a visit to the tailor,--for of late William thought a good deal about his clothes and discovered that he was very shabby. He wished he had asked Mrs. Richie for her brother's address; it took so long to look it up in the Directory.

Happily, the first name was unusual; there was only one Lloyd, or he would have given up the search. He could not have called on all the Johns or Thomases!

What with matching the yarn, and getting his drugs, and being terribly cowed by the tailor, William had a hurried day. However, he managed to reach Mr. Lloyd Pryor's house as the clock struck six. "Just in good time," he said to himself, complacently. Indeed, he was ahead of time, for it appeared that Mr. Pryor had not yet come home.

"But Miss Alice is in, sir," the smiling darky announced.

"Very well," said William King; "tell her 'Dr. King, from Old Chester.'" He followed the man into a parlor that seemed to the country doctor very splendid, and while he waited, he looked about with artless curiosity, thinking that he must tell Martha of all this grandeur. "No wonder she thinks we are stupid people in Old Chester,"

he thought. Now, certainly Martha had never had so disloyal a thought!

At that moment he heard a girlish step, and Lloyd Pryor's daughter came into the room,--a pretty young creature, with blond hair parted over a candid brow, and sweet, frank eyes.

"Dr. King?" she said smiling.

"Doesn't resemble her in the least," the doctor thought, getting on his feet, and putting out a friendly, hand. "I am just in from Old Chester," he said, "and I thought I'd come and say how-do-you-do to your father, and tell you the latest news of Mrs. Richie--"

The front door banged, and Lloyd Pryor pushed aside the curtain.-- William had wondered what Martha would say to a curtain instead of a door! His blank panic as he heard the doctor's last word, turned his face white. ("Bad heart?" William asked himself.)

"_Dr. King!_ Alice, you needn't wait."