The Unknown Wrestler Part 16

"Oh, I guess they will get through all right," Douglas replied.

"No, ye'd better go," the teamster urged. "Ben'll be as mad as the devil if ye don't. If ye won't, then I'll have to git down an' do it.

There, he's tootin' his horn agin. He's pretty mad, I can tell ye that."

Carrying his fork over his shoulder, Douglas walked deliberately across the field toward the gate. He did not wish to hurry, as he wanted to see how angry Ben could become, and what he would do.

"Get a move on there, you lazy devil!" Ben shouted. "Didn't you hear the horn?"

Douglas had almost reached the gate, when he suddenly stopped and stared at the man in the car. He had seen that face before only for a few seconds beneath the electric light at Long Wharf on the waterfront.

But he would have known it anywhere, for it had been indelibly impressed upon his memory. So Ben Stubbles was the contemptible coward who had pushed that woman into the water and left her to her fate! He had often longed to come face to face with that man, and he had planned what he would do when they met. But here he was before him, haughty and impudent, Nell's lover, and the son of the autocrat of Rixton.

"What in h---- are you staring at?" Ben demanded. "Didn't you ever see human beings before? Open the gate, and be d.a.m.ned quick about it, too."

The blood surged madly through Douglas' veins, and to relieve his feelings he clutched the gate and tore it open. The occupants of the car were greatly amused at his alacrity, and attributed it to fear.

"That stirred your stumps, all right, didn't it?" Ben sneered, as the car lurched past and then sped up the drive-way.

Douglas closed the gate, fastened it, and hastened to the barn where the teamster was awaiting him. He climbed into the loft and stowed away the hay as it was handed up to him. At times he hardly knew what he was doing, so greatly was his mind agitated. Why had he not given that fellow the sound thras.h.i.+ng he deserved? And yet he was thankful that he had controlled himself, as he might have spoiled all his plans had he given way to hasty action. He worked with a feverish haste all that afternoon, and talked but little. This change puzzled the teamster, and he advised him to take his time.

"It's no use killin' yerself," he told him. "Si Stubbles won't thank ye if ye work yer head off."

"I want to get through with this job," Douglas replied. "I'm not working by the day as you are, and Jake needs me."

When the last of the hay had been unloaded, Douglas left the barn and started for the road. He had not seen Ben since the encounter at the gate, and he was hoping that he would not meet him again that afternoon. He did not feel altogether sure of himself, and he needed time and quietness to think carefully over what he had better do.

He was part way down to the road when he heard some one calling.

Stopping and looking back, he saw that it was Ben hurrying after him.

As he approached, Douglas saw that his manner was altogether changed, and he seemed quite affable. He was dressed in a white tennis-suit, and he looked cool and self-possessed.

"Say," he began, "I understand you play the fiddle."

"Well, what of it?" Douglas curtly questioned.

"You really do, then?"

"Yes, when I feel like it."

"Won't you feel like it to-night? You see, there's to be a dance in the hall this evening, but the man who generally plays is sick."

"Can't you get any one else?"

"No one who can really play. There is a chap who tries to, but you would think he was filing a saw instead of playing a fiddle."

"Perhaps I can't do any better."

"Oh, you'll be all right. Jake and his wife have heard you, and so has Empty."

"And Empty spread the report, did he?"

"Yes. But, say, you'll play, won't you?"

Douglas did not reply at once. He wondered what Ben would say if he told him what he knew about his contemptible act at Long Wharf. He did not want to play at the dance, and yet he knew it would be too good an opportunity to miss. He would see many of the young people of Rixton, and learn things which might prove of great a.s.sistance.

"Where is the hall?" he at length asked.

"Down at Kane's corner, about a mile and a half from here."

"What time does the dance begin?"

"Oh, about nine o'clock. The crowd won't get there much before that."

"Very well, then, I will be there and do the best I can."

CHAPTER XI

THE FACE AT THE DOOR

It was after nine before the dance in the hall at the Corner began.

Douglas was there early, and he watched with much interest the arrival of the various young couples. He did not know any of them, and as he sat back in one corner he mused upon their lives, and wondered how many of them would be members of his flock in the years to come. They gave the stranger who was to play for them that night but pa.s.sing glances, though all had heard of his prowess as a wrestler. But if they had only known who he really was, how curiously they would have observed his every movement.

Douglas was much pleased at the quiet way in which the young men and women conducted themselves. There was no loud talking, and when the dance began, they took their places upon the floor without any undue commotion. They danced well and it was a real pleasure for him to play. He was quite familiar with the dances, and he recalled just such events in his own home village years before, when he himself had taken a leading part. He smiled grimly to himself as he thought of what his Bishop and certain of his brother clergymen would say if they could see him playing the fiddle at a country dance.

Among those upon the floor there was one couple which attracted his special attention. They danced well, and seemed greatly devoted to each other. The man was good-looking, and a fine specimen of physical strength. His partner was of medium height, neatly dressed, and remarkably pretty. Her eyes danced with pleasure, and her whole body moved in a graceful rhythm to the music, and occasionally she cast a grateful glance toward the player. She evidently enjoyed good music when she heard it. Everywhere there seemed to be perfect peace and harmony, and to Douglas the dancers appeared like one big family. They all knew one another, and were happy together.

During the intermission which followed the first dance, Ben Stubbles and his sisters, Miss Annabel and Miss Maria, arrived. They were accompanied by Nell, who looked, Douglas thought, prettier than ever.

She had no right to come with the Stubbles, so thought he, and she seemed to be out of place with them.

A new atmosphere now pervaded the room. The feeling of harmony had vanished, and it was easy for Douglas to tell that this was due to the presence of Ben and his sisters. Their pride and haughtiness were most apparent, and Ben dominated the gathering.

He and Nell were partners in the first dance. Douglas' eyes followed them as they moved around the room, and in and out among the others.

Nell fascinated him, though it was quite evident that she was not happy. There was no light of pleasure in her eyes, and her face was unusually pale. Though she danced well, yet she had the appearance of one who was moving almost mechanically. This appealed to Douglas more than if she had shown a great vivacity of spirit. There was something tragic about her face and manner, which, in fact was almost akin to despair. What could it be? the player wondered. How he longed to know the mystery surrounding her young life, and why she was acting a part for which she evidently had no liking.

When the dance was finished, Nell came to where Douglas was sitting and took a chair by his side. A slight sigh of relief escaped her lips, which Douglas was not slow to notice.

"Are you tired?" he asked.

"Very," was the low reply. "I have been working hard all day, and this dance is too much for me."

"You dance well. It was a great pleasure to watch you."

"Was it?" and she looked at him with large, grateful eyes. "No one could help dancing well with such music. This is something new for you, is it not?"

"What makes you think so?"

"It is merely a notion of mine. We have never had such playing here before."