After their departure Checkers and Arthur sat together in the hammock.

Arthur was monosyllabic. Checkers talked for a while against time, but not with any brilliant success. "Come, 'smoke up,' old man--you 're going out!" he exclaimed, slapping Arthur on the back, a figure doubtless suggested to him by the dying cigarette-stump between his fingers.

"I wish to heaven I had 'gone out;' instead of getting well," was the answer; "I am no good to myself, nor to any one else, and the only being in the world I love, except my father, cares no more for me than she does for a yellow dog."

There was an embarra.s.sing silence.

"Girls are funny," said Checkers, musingly.

Arthur saw no grounds for argument, and Checkers continued, "I never had much time for them, myself, but my friend 'Push' Miller had them coming his way in carriages. You never saw such a fellow for girls; he always had three or four on his staff. He used to play a system on them. I think he called it the Fabian System, after some old joker in the war, who used to win his battles by running away. You see, the other guys would come chasing after this joker, and when he got them where he wanted, he 'd go out and nail them--easy thing.

"Well, this Fabian System was a dead sure winner for Push, and if I were you, I 'd try it. The next time you get together, 'jolly up'

Sadie. Don't push it too strong; but just enough so that Pert will notice it--she'll get jealous. 'Jolly' Sadie harder, but be polite to Pert, and pretty soon you 'll have her guessing. The chances are that before long she 'll make a play at you--give her the frozen face. Put up a talk about how much you used to love her; work in something about the past, and what might have been. But keep a little up your sleeve; you do n't want her to think you 're coming too easy, and after things are all fixed up, do n't treat her too well again. Push used to say 'there was nothing that really spoiled a girl like treating her too well.' He used to make a date every once in a while, and then break it without sending any excuse, just to show the girl that he was 'good people,' and teach her to have a proper respect for him."

Arthur smiled wearily. "Yes;" he said, "that may have done all very well for Push, but it would n't do for me. The girl does n't love me, and there's the end of it. Perhaps some day--well, there's no use discussing it; besides, it would n't be fair to Sadie to use her merely as a cat's-paw. She is a true little girl, with a big, warm heart, and I would n't deceive her for the world."

"Well, what's the matter with going out after Sadie in earnest, then?"

said Checkers. "Now there 's a scheme that fixes things up all around." Checkers waxed enthusiastic.

Arthur did not reply immediately. "Sadie is an earnest, capable girl,"

he said at length, "and she 'll make some man a splendid wife. I would cheerfully recommend her to my very best friend, but----"

"But your friend could have her without a struggle," suggested Checkers; and then they both laughed.

This, Checkers afterwards told me was the nearest approach to a joke he ever heard Arthur make.

A week pa.s.sed by uneventfully. Arthur continued to improve in health.

Checkers drove home each evening tired from his hard day's work.

Sat.u.r.day night a note from Pert arrived, inviting them both to dinner on the following day; a return of courtesies which they accepted with pleasure.

Sadie drove up that morning to spend a day or two with her cousin. The dinner pa.s.sed off pleasantly, and in the afternoon the four took a stroll through the neighboring woods, to a beautiful spot where from the top of a cliff of ma.s.sive rock they could gaze for miles up the dark, thickly wooded ravine, lying sheer many feet below.

Sadie and Arthur walked off together. Checkers and Pert followed leisurely.

"Do you think you deserve to be treated so well, after neglecting me as you have lately?" asked Pert.

"I have n't been able to get here, Miss Pert," replied Checkers. "The Broadway cable isn't in it with the way I've been pulling to get away; but if Arthur had known I was coming here, we would only have had a speaking acquaintance. I'll tell you, Miss Pert, that poor boy is all broke up about you, and to come down to cases, it ain't very safe for me to be seeing so much of you, when--well, you know he saw you first, and the rights of property----"

"Now, listen to me," interrupted Pert, with a stamp of her foot, "Arthur is nothing to me; I do n't love him and I shall never marry him. I 've told him so, and I 'll tell you so. I 've enjoyed having you call here very much, and there 's no reason why you shouldn't come--unless, of course, you would rather not."

Ahead, Arthur was carefully helping Sadie over a fallen tree which lay across the path. "He 's playing the system, after all," thought Checkers, "I'll help him push it along. May I come to-morrow night?"

he said; "it's the first night I 've got disengaged."

"Certainly," laughed Pert. "Sadie is going to stay until Tuesday morning, and--"

"Make it Tuesday night."

Pert a.s.sented with an audible chuckle.

And now they had come to the fallen tree, an ancient pine of huge dimensions. Checkers clambered atop of it, and, taking both of Perl's hands, pulled her up; then, from the other side, he supported her tenderly as she jumped to the ground. 'Twas a rapturous moment. The fair, sweet face above him, and the bright, roguish eyes looking down into his; the warm, red lips, half parted in a smile, and coming so near as he carefully lowered her, tempted him sorely. But he resisted; not from any strength of virtue, but because he did not dare to do otherwise.

"Thank you," said Pert. Checkers was silent. His emotions of mingled excitement and regret were such that he could not trust his voice; but as they drew near to where Arthur and Sadie were sitting, he purposely drew away from Pert, and feigned a look of general indifference, which was masterly in its way.

"I may possibly stay down to-night, Arthur," called Checkers, as he drove out of the door-yard Tuesday morning.

Tuesday night found him seated with Pert in the cozy, old-fashioned little sitting-room, before the blazing embers of a large, wood fire, for it had suddenly turned cold.

Checkers had brought up the ill.u.s.trated papers, and with these and the banjo, with nuts and apples, pop-corn and cider, for refection, time sped merrily on.

Now, just how it all came about that night, Checkers never adequately explained to me. He always claimed, shamefacedly, to have a confused recollection of the matter. But suffice it to say, there came an opportunity, and, forgetting his former resolutions, forgetting his poverty--everything, he told as best he could the story of his love to the listening girl beside him. What matter how he told it? She cared not for that, so long as the tale rang true to her ears; and of Checkers' whole-hearted sincerity, there was never a doubt, as after events proved.

The strangeness of a woman's love has been a prolific source of wonder and remark for philosophers of every age. It should not, therefore, seem incongruous that Checkers, penniless, slangy, illiterate, should have won, in a few, short weeks, the love of a girl whom Arthur, a higher type, from a worldly standpoint, had tried for years to make his own, without success. Perhaps the explanation lay in the fact that Checkers possessed two qualities in which Arthur was wholly lacking--tact and magnetism; and again, Pert was too young and inexperienced to let worldly advantages weigh with her.

At all events, they sat there together, blissful in their new-found happiness, talking the love all lovers talk, and heedless of the speeding hours.

As Checkers rather coyly put it, "There was n't very much room in the room." The fire had died almost to ashes, and for the hundredth time he had said, "I must go," when suddenly he was jerked from his seat by a rough hand which had laid hold of his collar.

With a violent effort he broke away, and, turning about, faced Mr.

Barlow.

"So!" snorted the old man, angrily, "so this is what ye 're doin', is it, settin' here philanderin'? I reckoned somethin' was goin' on. You go to yer room, girl; come, git along. And you, my young jack-snipe, mosey off afore I wear ye out with a switch."

Checkers' surprise had been so complete that for a moment he could not collect himself. Then such was his sense of anger at the indignity that had been put upon him that only Pert's hand upon his arm restrained him from making a fight of it. As it was, the two men stood with an armchair between them, grimly glaring at each other.

"Father," cried Pert, peeping timidly from behind Checkers, "Mr.

Campbell and I are engaged to be married."

"To be what?" howled the old man, dancing with rage.

"To be married," said Checkers. "Now, listen to me, and don't you get so gay with yourself. I love your daughter; she loves me; we are going to be married, and that's the end of it."

Checkers stepped back. It was well that he did, for the old man suddenly reached for him, "and if he 'd have got me," said Checkers, afterwards, relating the incident to me, "he would n't have done a thing to me. We made a few laps around the room," he continued, "with the chairs and table in the middle. The old man ran a bang-up second, but he was 'carrying weight for age,' and I fouled him in the stretch, by pulling a rocker in the way, that he stumbled over; then, I opened the door, kissed Pert good by, grabbed my hat, and did the slide for the road. The old joker tried to 'sic' the dogs on me, but they knew me so well they would n't 'sic.'"

It had long been a pet scheme of Mr. Barlow's to marry Pert to Arthur Kendall. In fact, he considered the matter settled, and had often congratulated himself upon his prospects of securing a wealthy son-in-law. The presumption, therefore, of this "little pauper" drove him nearly beside himself.

Pert thought it wise to spend most of her time in her room next day, until the first burst of his anger should have subsided.

As Checkers drove home the following evening, he was met by Tobe, the hired man, about a mile from the house. "h.e.l.lo, Tobe," he called, "what's up?"

"Thar's h.e.l.l out, Mr. Checkers," said Tobe.

"Has old Barlow been up here?'

"He ain't gone two hours."

Checkers smiled. He was glad to know the worst. "I suppose I 'm not very popular with Arthur?"

"He swars he 'll fill ye full o' lead. I overheern the hull conversation atween 'em, and I 'lowed I 'd come down and warn ye. Mr.

Kendall and Aunt Deb 's gone to Little Rock, and won't be back afore to-morrow night."