The Cricket Part 63

Mrs. Bryce stared--too astonished to speak. The tall, young man bowed.

"This is my father," said Isabelle. The two men shook hands.

"I object to this man's coming in here," began the editor of _Chit-Chat_.

Captain O'Leary fixed him with a stormy eye.

"We'll hear your objections later. I know all about this rotten deal. Is this Jean Jacques Petard?"

"This is none of your business," began Clifford, but he never finished it. With one long arm Captain O'Leary reached for Monsieur Petard, lifted the gentleman by the seat of his trousers and his collar, bore him toward the door. Isabelle opened it for him.

"Don't kill him," she said, as he went out.

Wally and Clifford rushed after him. Isabelle followed and Miss Watts got as far as the door. Max and the editor sat still, but sounds came to them from the outer hall.

It was about ten minutes later that O'Leary strode into the room again, with heightened colour but otherwise undisturbed.

"We'll hear no more of Mr. Petard, I think. Now sir, it is your turn."

The editor defended himself with a chair.

"What business is this, of yours?" he yelled.

"Miss Bryce is going to do me the honour of marrying me, and you'll jolly well see how much it is my business. Put down that chair, it is words for you, not blows. Mr. Bryce, if the ladies will leave us, we can settle shortly with this gentleman."

Max and Miss Watts lost no time in obeying the hint.

"Close the door, Isabelle, please," he said to her.

"Who is this man?" demanded Mrs. Bryce.

"Don't talk! If that creature hurts him," said Isabelle, her ear at the door.

There were sounds of angry voices inside, loud argument. Then silence.

After what seemed a long time, Larry opened the door.

"Come in, now, please."

They filed in. The editor was huddled in his chair. He was pretty much to pieces, nervously. Larry held up a package of letters.

"Mrs. Bryce, the letters are in my possession. May I keep them, for the present, Isabelle?"

She nodded.

"This gentleman has just signed a paper, drawn up by Mr. Bryce and me, signed by Mr. Clifford. This will be held by Mr. Clifford, in case of need. That ends this conference, I believe," he said affably.

The editor left hastily. Mr. Clifford went into the outer office, and Max turned to Isabelle.

"Why didn't you tell us you were going to marry this man?" she demanded.

Isabelle looked at Larry inquiringly, whereupon he took her hand and drew it through his arm.

"Ye must forgive her, Mrs. Bryce, ye see she didn't know it. I've never had a chance yet to ask her."

Max was used to shocks, but this morning had been too much for her. At this astounding statement on the part of their G.o.d-like liberator, she sat down suddenly, bereft of words, and stared at the two young people.

"Take me home, Wally," she said, "I can't stand any more!"

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

"Suppose,"--said Mrs. Bryce, as they got into the limousine, "--suppose we postpone explanations until after lunch. I'm too worn out to understand anything you may say."

So conversation was casual enough on the way home. Once there, Isabelle manoeuvred to get Larry alone, but Wally stuck to him like a father.

"Wally," said his daughter, sternly, "Max wants you."

"What does she want?"--impatiently.

"You."

He went, reluctantly. Larry held out two eager hands to Isabelle, but she ignored them.

"Sweetheart," he said, anxiously.

"Larry, you told a lie."

"Many of 'em, darlin'. Which one?"

"You said I was going to marry you."

"Aren't you, crickety-Cricket?"--anxiously.

"I haven't decided--yet."

"But won't ye decide, dearie?"

"I may--when I'm properly asked."

"What is properly, Mavourneen?"

"I don't know. I've never been proposed to before, except by Jean Jacques Petard."

She was entirely in earnest, so he humoured her.

"Would ye prefer the formal 'Will-ye-do-me-the-honour-to-become-me-bride?'