The Shadow Part 23

Hertha looked down at her feet which were beginning to feel cold, and struck one against the other; but while she did not speak she did not go away, and the young man still tried to make talk.

"It certainly is a pretty day," he said desperately.

Then Hertha looked up and laughed. She had not heard that greeting since she left home.

The young man laughed back heartily, even noisily. He was delighted at his success.

"Won't you tell me your name?" he said pleadingly. "Mine's Brown, Richard Shelby Brown's the whole of it, but d.i.c.k is what everybody uses at home. I come from Georgia and that's the best state in the union except yours. I'm working as salesman with a wholesale firm over on Broadway not far from here--I'll show you the place if you'll walk over there. I'm twenty-five years old and I don't drink, brought up prohibition and won't touch the stuff. Now, please, it's your turn.

Won't you tell me your name?"

Hertha still stood hesitating, pus.h.i.+ng one foot over the other, clasping her hands together in her m.u.f.f and striving to decide in her mind what to do. She looked so shyly pretty that the young man watching her, his heart in his mouth, felt that the sentence would be beyond his deserts if she sent him away. Yet he would have gone without question, so much a lady did she seem, so far above the social circle attainable by Richard Shelby Brown. She in her turn was thinking it would be easy to go and escape all questionings; and yet easier to let him have his way, at least to recognize him, not continually to pa.s.s him if they met; and easiest of all just to stand there, looking down at her m.u.f.f or up at the church and the white clouds piled back of it; and then, at length to say, still not looking at him, "My name is Hertha Ogilvie."

"That's a lovely name, and Georgia, too. You came from that state, didn't you, Miss Hertha?"

"No, my family came from Florida."

"That's queer, for it's a Georgia name."

"Didn't any one ever leave Georgia for Florida?"

She was looking up at him now, her brown eyes s.h.i.+ning, a little smile on her lips.

"I can't conceive it," he said in a loud, jovial voice to hide his own embarra.s.sment. She was far above him, he felt sure, in birth and breeding. "It's a fine name, I know that. I wish we could find we were kin."

"Everybody is kin in the South," she said decidedly, anxious to leave the subject of family. And then, pointing to the gate, asked, "What has that boy trailing after him?"

A little boy of about eight, in shabby coat and broken shoes, had come into the park and, behind him, drawn by a rope, was a sled. Stopping a moment to survey the ground, the boy lifted the sled, ran a few steps, flung himself upon it, and coasted along the path, slowing down close to where they stood.

d.i.c.k Brown looked at the youngster as he lay happily sprawling on his stomach, and then turned to Hertha. "And I've lived for twenty-five years without a chance at that!"

"It's never too late to learn," she suggested.

He thrust his hand in his pocket and pulled out a nickel. "Say," he said, calling to the boy who was starting off, "Gimme a ride!"

The youngster grinned derisively. "What 'er givin' me?" he asked, and slid away on the path.

Brown ran after him. "I'm giving you this," he answered and produced the nickel.

This altered the situation. The boy looked a little doubtfully at his sled and at the tall young man beside him, but, financial gain outweighing distrust, he took the money and handed over his property.

"Go a little easy," he said, "it ain't yer size."

The man from Georgia eyed the bit of board on runners and then looked down at his long overcoat, his gloved hands, his highly polished shoes.

Suddenly he felt very foolish. He glanced up at Hertha who was standing some rods away watching.

Moved by an impulse of mischief, she ran over to where he was. "I'm waiting to see you do it," she said. "It's perfectly easy, isn't it?"

turning to the boy.

"I bet you two are dagoes," the youngster said by way of answer. "Dagoes don't know any more about snow 'n the fleas they bring wid 'em. Say, mister, this sled ain't your fit. Why don't you give your girl a ride?"

"Will you?" said d.i.c.k Brown, glowing with pleasure at the suggestion.

The park was filling up. Ahead on the path were two girls, one not more than a baby, clad in so many jackets that she looked like a little ball, sitting upright on a sled, which her little sister, in red coat and white hood, was pulling. She same running down the path, steering with accuracy and care.

"I could do that all right," Brown said with a.s.surance. "Won't you try?"

"Oh, no, I couldn't!"

"Please do," he pleaded.

There were only children about, and, to Hertha, d.i.c.k Brown himself was beginning to seem just a big boy. The intoxicating air and the dazzling snow were breaking down convention and leaving her quite gay and daring.

"Well, just a little way," she said curling herself up on the sled.

d.i.c.k at once took off his overcoat and wrapped it about her, tucking it well under her feet. To her expostulations he paid not the slightest attention.

"There you are, all right," he cried joyously, and ran with her down the path.

The owner of the sled followed after, steering occasionally from behind when expert skill was needed, or firing a s...o...b..ll at any boy who got in the way of their triumphal progress. It was glorious sport, and there was no knowing how long it might have continued had not d.i.c.k Brown, careless in his growing skill, looked away from duty for a moment and striking an obstacle in the path, rolled Hertha into the snow.

Protected by his great coat she was entirely unhurt, both in person and in dress and she found herself laughing immoderately as he helped her up; but he was prostrate in his contrition.

"I'm the stupidest hill billy in Casper County," he said. "I'd like to kick myself. Are you sure you aren't hurt?"

"Of course, I'm not! The snow is as soft as a pillow. Don't mind, please, Mr. Brown, we've had such fun."

"Have you? I have, but I wouldn't have dumped you out that way, not for a hundred dollars."

"You could have done it for five cents."

The snow was brushed from her dress and she was standing, her m.u.f.f pulled over her arm, settling her hat in place.

"It's not quite straight," he said and moved as though to put it right for her.

She drew back, indignant. Was he going to be fresh and spoil everything after their jolly time together?

"Excuse me!" he grew red with embarra.s.sment. Here was a girl with whom evidently he must never practise the code of manners agreeable to the girls at his own home. He added somewhat lamely, "It's all right now."

"I'm glad," she was her shyest self again; "and now good-by."

"You won't let me take you home?"

"I'm not going home," and she held out her hand.

He shook it heartily. "I mean to read the book through," he declared.

"I think you'll like it. Good-by."

"Good-by."