He did find himself forgetting that injury, in time. Who, in the face of d.i.c.k's leisurely cordiality and general good nature, could remember not to forget it? And in time--not so very long a time either--he perceived that Henrietta had a secret sorrow which gnawed like a worm at her heart. He set himself the task of pursuing this sorrow and plucking it out; and--marvel of marvels!--he succeeded in dragging from the unwilling Henrietta some information as to its nature. We can, perhaps, imagine the reluctance with which this information was given.

Charlie, although he may have been secretly disappointed that Henrietta's sorrow was not more serious,--he may have thought that it was of no less import than that she had found, too late, that she loved another man better than she did her husband,--Charlie, I say, although he may have been disappointed, managed to conceal whatever of disappointment he felt.

"Oh," he said magnanimously and with sufficient indifference, "don't you worry about that. I can fix that. I'll just speak to Patty about it the very next time I go out there."

He did; and he reported to Henrietta that he had prevailed upon Patty to consent to any arrangement she liked. He had also prevailed upon Patty--not reported to Henrietta--to sc.r.a.pe together as many dollars as she could conveniently manage to sc.r.a.pe--conveniently or inconveniently, it was all one to Charlie--and to hand them over to him for some purpose. It really does not matter what the purpose was.

Charlie was very fertile in invention, and if it was not one thing it was another. Any excuse was good enough. But the strain was telling upon Patty. Charlie should have been more careful.

Henrietta was so pleased with the report that she redoubled her attentions. This may not have been wise, but there seems to be no doubt that it was good for Charlie, on the whole. He went in to number seven but once before Christmas, and there might have been some ground for hope that, between Henrietta's attentions and his devotion to automobiles, he might be induced to give it up altogether. Harry Carling, who was keeping as close a watch upon Charlie as he could, hoped so, at all events.

For Charlie, in his soph.o.m.ore year, ran to motor cars. Indulgence of a fine fancy for motors is apt to be expensive, as Patty was finding out, but it is not as expensive as Charlie's one other diversion is apt to be, on occasion. That his one experience of it, in his first term, was not more expensive must be set down solely to luck.

Automobiles were bad enough, as a diversion, for a boy who could afford them no better than Charlie Ladue. Patty learned of them with horror. She had hoped, fondly, that Charlie had given them up after his experience with them only last Easter; oh, she _hoped_ he had. She said it with tears in her eyes and with an agonized expression that would have melted a heart less hard than Charlie's. But Charlie merely smiled. That phantom car had done him no harm, although he did not call it a phantom car to Patty. Motor cars were not for the Hazens; not for people of the older regime. And Charlie smiled again and remarked that they might not have come to motors yet, but they would.

Patty said, with some spirit, that they were vulgar and that they--they had a bad smell. For her part, she was satisfied to go no faster than nature intended. The horse, as Charlie might be aware, was the fastest animal that goes.

Having delivered this shot with evident pride, Patty sat back in her chair and waited to see if Charlie would be able to make any reply.

She considered that last argument unanswerable. Charlie apparently did not. He observed that Pat's horse, rising thirty and rather fat, could hardly be called the fastest animal that goes. He never was very fast.

But he contented himself with that, for Patty had just turned over to him all the ready money that she could raise and was feeling really impoverished in consequence. So Charlie, having got what he came for, took his leave, bidding Pat not to be anxious on his account, for he wasn't going to get smashed up again--he almost forgot to put in the "again"--and he wasn't going to spend much money on machines in the future. They always cost more at first, before you got used to them.

With this comforting a.s.surance, at which poor Patty sighed and said that she hoped he was right, Charlie went out cheerfully to sit behind one of the fastest animals that go, and to take the rig, for which Sally would have to pay, back to the livery stable.

Nothing in particular happened that winter, except that d.i.c.k and Henrietta moved into Miss Patty's house early in February. Patty was getting to be considered--and to consider herself--one of Doctor Sanderson's patients. And the Retreat was filling up and she did not want to give up her comfortable room, with the probable chance that she would be unable to get it again when she came back. In fact, it looked as if anybody had better hold on to what she had at Doctor Sanderson's.

So Sally saw but little of Fox that winter. They were both very busy, and Sally had her hands and her head full, with the office and her school, too. But she liked the office in spite of the work which, between you and me, was not very hard. There was a good deal of it, but it was interesting and Sally went home at night, tired and happy and with her head full of schemes. Sometimes Everett was waiting for her. She did not know whether she liked that or not, but there did not seem to be reason enough for sending him away. She did not quite know what her relations were with Everett; friendly, she hoped, no more.

For there was a difference between Sally's state of mind now and her state of mind the year before. She was not indifferent now, she was happy and things mattered in a wholesome way. But Sally knew that Fox had not opened the cream-colored house again; not since Henrietta's wedding. He had not even made any preparations to open it. Sally was watching that house, out of the corner of her eye, and she knew. What an old slow poke he was, wasn't he? The winter was gone before she knew it and it was almost Easter. Then, one afternoon, Charlie made his appearance, suddenly and unexpectedly, and went up to see Henrietta almost immediately.

Sally was vaguely worried by this sudden appearance of Charlie, she could not tell why. She had felt, all along, a great relief that he had taken so readily to the Henrietta treatment and she had felt some surprise at it. Having worried about it for an hour, she put it aside.

It would be time enough to worry when she knew there was something to worry about. When that time did come, she would not have time to worry, for she would probably be too busy doing something about it.

It was inaction that worried Sally, which is the case with most of us.

At any rate, Charlie was all right for the present. He had only gone up to Henrietta's. Then Harry Carling came in: "J--j--just c--c--came d--d--down t--to s--s--see H--H--Ho--orry, y--y--you kn--n--now, S--S--Sally, f--f--for a m--m--min--n--nute." And Sally smiled and shook hands with Harry and hastened to say--to save Horry the painful experience of mentioning the matter--that he could go whenever he wanted to, so far as she knew. And they went out together.

CHAPTER XX

John Upjohn Junior ran into the house just in time for supper. He was so excited and his entrance was so precipitate that he almost collided with his mother, who had just reached the foot of the stairs; and only by the exercise of almost superhuman agility he managed to avoid that catastrophe. It was just as well, for many reasons; the reason which influenced John Junior being that such an accident was likely to result, then and thereafter, in more damage to himself than to his mother.

He flung his cap down on the hall table with such violence that it slid off and fell upon the floor; but he could not pick it up at the moment because he was engaged in shedding his overcoat, which immediately slipped off of his arms upon a chair. He began to speak at once.

"M--m--m--moth--ther!" he exclaimed explosively. "I--I--'v--ve--darn it all!"

Mrs. Upjohn rebuked her offspring mildly. "John, what is the matter with you? Is your name Carling, that you can't speak without stuttering so? And I should think you would do well to moderate your language, at any rate when you speak to your mother. And you must learn to come into the house less like a tornado. Come in quietly, like a gentleman."

John Junior gave a contemptuous grunt. "J--just been h--hearing the Carlings talking. That's wh--why I can't talk 'n' wh--why I st--st--stut--t--ter so. Gosh darn it! I mean hang it!"

"Pick up your cap, John," Mrs. Upjohn commanded sternly. "And hang it, if you will." This pun of Mrs. Upjohn's somewhat softened her stern command. She could not help smiling.

John kicked his cap out from behind the table and, picking it up, threw it at the hat-rack, where it happened to catch and stick. He began again.

"I--I--I'v--ve g--g--got s--s--s--"

"Suppose you go up and wash your face and hands," Mrs. Upjohn suggested, "and come down to supper. The bell rang before you came in.

When you come down you may be able to talk intelligibly."

So John Junior rushed upstairs and, after an incredibly short period, during which we must suppose that he went through some sort of an operation which he regarded as sufficient, he appeared again, slid down the bal.u.s.ters like lightning, landed at the bottom with an appalling thump, and ran into the dining-room.

"Guess I can talk now," he announced, taking his chair by the back and sliding it under him. "I was hurrying home, so's not to be late to supper, when I came up behind the Carlings. They--Letty ain't here, is she?" he added, looking about doubtfully.

"No," Mrs. Upjohn replied. "You know that Letty won't come again for more than a month."

"Huh!" growled John Junior. "She will if she feels like it. Never can tell when she'll be here. She's always here."

Mrs. Upjohn was a little slow about taking anything in. She had been puzzling over John's former speech and had just the full import of it.

"Did you say the Carlings, John?" she asked. "I don't see how that can be, for Harry's in Cambridge."

"He ain't either," John replied amiably. "Don't you s'pose I'd know those freaks? I guess I would."

"Well," said Mrs. Upjohn doubtfully.

"And they were talking together," John continued, "or trying to talk.

They didn't know I was behind 'em, and I kept still as I could so's I could hear what they said. They ought to have an interpreter. But I got most of it, and then I slid out for fear they'd see me. What d'you s'pose they were talking about?"

"I'm sure I don't know," said Mrs. Upjohn curiously.

"What?"

John kept his mother in suspense while he disposed of his mouthful. He swallowed twice, then took a drink of water. At last he was ready and he looked at his mother, suspending operations for that purpose.

"Charlie Ladue's a gambler," he announced abruptly.

"What!" Mrs. Upjohn exclaimed. But she was pleased in spite of herself. What would Letty say to that? "Are you sure you heard it right?"

"'Course I'm sure."

"Well, John, I'm grieved to hear it. You must be careful not to talk about it."

"'Course I won't talk about it. I'll stop now if you want me to."

"No," said Mrs. Upjohn judicially. "No, I think you ought to tell me all you heard. How long has it been going on and where does Charlie go?"

So John Junior retailed at some length all that he had heard, rather to the neglect of his supper. Certain important details were lacking and he had to fill them in from his imaginings, which were rather defective as to the points under discussion.

"Well," said Mrs. Upjohn, when the recital and the supper were both finished, "I think somebody ought to be told. I don't just like to tell Sally, but she ought to know."

"They didn't want to tell Sally either. Horry Carling's in her office and he could tell her easy enough if he wanted to."