As Mildred still stared, Mrs. Lenhardt saw at last that this might not be pretense. Her manner changing, she leaned forward and asked eagerly: "You mean Veda hasn't told you anything?"

"Not a word."

"Ah!"

Mrs. Forrester was excited now, obviously aware of her advantage in being able to give Mildred her own version of this situation, whatever it was, first. She stripped off her gloves and shot appraising glances at Mildred for some time before proceeding. Then: "Shall I begin at the beginning, Mrs. Pierce?"

"Please."

"They met—well it seems only yesterday, actually it was several weeks ago, at my house. My husband, no doubt you've heard of him—he's a director, and he was considering Veda for a part. And as he so often does with these kids, when we have a little party going on, he asked her over—Veda and her little friend Elaine, another lovely child, Mrs. Pierce. My husband has known her for years, and—"

"Yes, I've met her."

"So it was at my own house, Mrs. Pierce, that Veda and Sam met. And it was simply simply love at first sight. It must have been, because that boy of mine, Mrs. Pierce, is so sincere, so—,' love at first sight. It must have been, because that boy of mine, Mrs. Pierce, is so sincere, so—,'

"You mean they're engaged? engaged?"

"I was coming to that. No, I wouldn't say they were engaged. In fact I know know that Sammy had no such thing in mind. But Veda has somehow got the idea that—well, I that Sammy had no such thing in mind. But Veda has somehow got the idea that—well, I understand understand it, of course. Any girl wants to get married, but Sam had no such thing in mind. I want that made clear." it, of course. Any girl wants to get married, but Sam had no such thing in mind. I want that made clear."

Mrs. Lenhardt's voice was becoming a little high, a little strident, and she waggled a stiff forefinger at Mildred as she went on. "And I'm quite quite sure you'll agree with me, Mrs. Pierce, that any discussion of marriage between them would be sure you'll agree with me, Mrs. Pierce, that any discussion of marriage between them would be most most undesirable." undesirable."

"Why?"

So far as Mildred was concerned, marriage for Veda would have been a major calamity, but at Mrs. Lenhardt's manner she bristled with hot partisanship. Mrs. Lerthardt snapped: "Because they're nothing but children! Veda can't be over nineteen—"

"She's seventeen."

"And my boy is twenty. That's too young. Mrs. Pierce, it's entirely too young. Furthermore, they move in two different worlds—"

"What different worlds?"

Mildred's eyes blazed, and Mrs. Lenhardt hastily backed off. "That isn't quite what I mean, Mrs. Pierce, of course. Let us say different communities communities. They have different backgrounds, different ideals, different friends. And of course, Sam has always been used to a great deal of money—"

"Do you think Veda hasn't?"

"I'm sure she has everything you can give her—"

"You may find she's been used to just as much as your boy has, and more. I'm not exactly on relief, I can tell you."

"But you didn't let me finish finish, Mrs. Pierce. If Veda's accustomed to wealth and position, so much the more more reason that this thing should not for a second be considered. I want to make this clear: If Sammy gets married, he'll be reason that this thing should not for a second be considered. I want to make this clear: If Sammy gets married, he'll be completely completely on his own, and it will certainly be hard for two young people, both born with silver spoons in their mouths, to live on what on his own, and it will certainly be hard for two young people, both born with silver spoons in their mouths, to live on what he he can earn." can earn."

Having made this clear, Mrs. Lenhardt tried to calm down, and Mildred tried to calm down. She said this was the first she had heard of it, and she would have to talk to Veda before she could say what she thought. But as Mrs. Lenhardt politely agreed that this was an excellent idea, Mildred began to have a suspicion that the whole truth had not been told. Suddenly and sharply she asked: "Why should Veda feel this way about it, and your boy not?"

"Mrs. Pierce, I'm not a mind reader."

Mrs. Lenhardt spoke angrily, the color appearing in her cheeks. Then she added: "But let me tell you one thing. If you, or that girl, or anybody, employ any more tricks tricks, trying to blackmail my boy into—"

"Trying to—what?"

Mildred's voice cracked like a whip, and for a few moments Mrs. Lenhardt didn't speak. Apparently she knew she had said too much, and was trying to be discreet. Her effort was unsuccessful. When her nostrils had dilated and closed several times, she exploded: "You may as well understand here and now, Mrs. Pierce, that I shall prevent prevent this marriage. I shall prevent it in any way that I can, and by legal means, if necessary." The way she said " this marriage. I shall prevent it in any way that I can, and by legal means, if necessary." The way she said "necess'ry" had a very ominous sound to it.

By now the reality behind this visit was beginning to dawn on Mildred, and she became calm, cold, calculating. Looking up, she saw Arline at her dusting again, her ears bigger than ever. Calling her, she told her to straighten the chairs at the next table, and as she approached, turned pleasantly to Mrs. Lenhardt. "I beg your pardon. For a moment I wasn't listening."

Mrs. Lenhardt's voice rose to a scream. "I say if there are any more threats, any more officers at my door, any more of these tricks she's been playing—I shall have her arrested, I shall have her prosecuted for blackmail, I shall not hesitate for one moment, for I've quite reached the limit of my patience!"

Mrs. Lenhardt, after panting a moment, got up and swept out. Mildred looked at Arline. "Did you hear what she said?"

"I wasn't listening, Mrs. Pierce."

"I asked if you heard what she said?"

Arline studied Mildred for a cue. Then: "She said Veda was trying to blackmail her boy into marrying her and if she kept it up she'd have the law on her."

"Remember that, in case I need you."

"Yes'm."

That night Mildred didn't go to Laguna or to Beverly. She stayed home, tramping around, tortured by the fear that Arline had probably told everybody in the restaurant by now, by uncertainty as to what dreadful mess Veda had got herself into, by a sick, nauseating, physical jealousy that she couldn't fight down. At eleven, she went to her room and lay down, pulling a blanket over her but not taking off her clothes. Around one, when Veda's car zipped up the drive, she took no chances on a locked door, but jumped up and met Veda in the kitchen. "Mother! . . . My, how you startled me!"

"I'm sorry, darling. But I have to talk to you. Something has happened."

"Well—at least let me take off my hat."

Mildred went to the den, relieved that she had smelled no liquor. In a minute or two Veda came in, sat down, lit a cigarette, yawned. "Personally, I find pictures a bore, don't you? At least Nelson Eddy pictures. Still, I suppose it's not his fault, for it isn't how he sings but what he sings. And I suppose he has nothing to do with how dreadfully long they are."

Miserably, Mildred tried to think how to begin. In a low, timid voice, she said: "A Mrs. Lenhardt was in to see me today. A Mrs. John Lenhardt?"

"Oh, really?"

"She says you're engaged to marry her son, or have some idea you want to marry him, or—something."

"She's quite talkative. What else?"

"She opposes it."

In spite of her effort, Mildred had been unable to get started. Now she blurted out: "Darling, what was she talking about? What does it all mean?"

Veda smoked reflectively a few moments, then said, in her clear, suave way: "Well, it would be going too far to say it was my idea that Sam and I get married. After the big rush they gave me, with Pa breaking his neck to get me a screen test and Ma having me over morning, noon and night, and Sonny Boy phoning me, and writing me, and wiring me that if I didn't didn't marry him he'd end his young life—you might say it was a conspiracy. Certainly I said nothing about it, or even thought about it, until it seemed advisable." marry him he'd end his young life—you might say it was a conspiracy. Certainly I said nothing about it, or even thought about it, until it seemed advisable."

"What do you mean, advisable?"

"Well, Mother, he was certainly very sweet, or seemed so at any rate, and they were most encouraging, and I hadn't exactly been happy since—Hannen died. And Elaine did have a nice little apartment. And I was certainly most indiscreet. And then, after the big whoop-de-do, their whole att.i.tude changed, alas. And here I am, holding the bag. One might almost say I was a bit of a sap."

If there was any pain, any tragic overtone, to this recital, it was not audible to the ordinary ear. It betrayed regret over folly, perhaps a little self-pity, but all of a casual kind. Mildred, however, wasn't interested in such subtleties. She had reached a point where she had to know one stark, basic fact. Sitting beside Veda, clutching her hand, she said: "Darling, I have to ask you something. I have to, I have to. Are you—going to have a baby?"

"Yes, Mother, I'm afraid I am."

For a second the jealousy was so overwhelming that Mildred actually was afraid she would vomit. But then Veda looked at her in a pretty, contrite way, as one who had sinned but is sure of forgiveness, and dropped her head on Mildred's shoulder. At this the sick feeling left, and a tingle went through Mildred. She gathered Veda to her bosom, held her tight, patted her, cried a little. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was afraid."

"Of me? Of Mother?"

"No, no! Of the suffering it would bring you. Darling Mother, don't you know I can't bear to see you unhappy?"

Mildred closed her eyes for a moment, to savor this sweet blandishment. Then, remembering, she asked: "What did she mean about officers?"

"You mean police?"

"I guess so. At her door."

"My, that is is funny." funny."

Veda sat up, lit another cigarette, and laughed in a silvery,- ironical way. "From what I've learned of the young man since this happened, I'd say that any girl from Central Casting, perhaps all eight thousand of them for that matter, could have sent officers to his door. He has a very inclusive taste. Well, that's really funny, when you stop to think about it, isn't it?"

Hoping for more saccharine remarks, Mildred asked Veda if she'd like to sleep with her, "just for tonight," but Veda said it was something she'd have to face alone, and went to her room. All through the night, Mildred kept waking with the jealousy gnawing at her. In the morning, she went to the Glendale restaurant and called Bert. Dispensing with Tommy, she went down to Mrs. Biederhof's corner and picked him up. Then, starting for the hills, she started to talk. She put in everything that seemed relevant, beginning with Mr. Hannen's hemorrhage, and emphasizing Veda's forebodings about it. When she got to Mr. Treviso, Bert's face darkened, and he exclaimed at the "rottenness" of a dirty wop that would treat a young girl that way. Then, finding the going more difficult, Mildred told about Elaine, the drinking, and Ida's harrowing tales. Then, disconnectedly, hardly able to speak any more, or to drive, she told about Mr. Lenhardt. Then, trying to tell about her talk with Veda, she broke down completely, and blurted: "Bert! She's going to have a baby! She's in a family way!"

Bert's grip tightened on her arm. "Hold it! Stop this G.o.ddam car. I got to-get some place where I can move around."

She stopped, and pulled to one side, on Foothill Boulevard. He got out, began tramping up and down beside the car. Then he began to curse. He said G.o.ddam it, he was going to kill that son of a b.i.t.c.h if it was the last thing he did on earth. He said he was going to kill him if they hung him for it and his soul rotted in h.e.l.l. With still more frightful oaths, he went into full particulars as to where he was going to buy the gun, the way he would lay for the boy, what he would say when he had him face to face, and how he would let him have it. Mildred watched the preposterous little figure striding up and down, and a fierce, glowing pride in him began to warm her. Even his curses gave her a queer, morbid satisfaction. But after a while she said: "Get in, Bert."

He climbed in beside her, held his face in his hands, and for a moment she thought he was going to weep. When he didn't, she started the car and said: "I know you'd kill him, Bert. I know you would, and I glory in you for it. I love you for it." She took his hand, and gripped it, and tears came to her eyes, for he had reached her own great pain, somehow, and by his ferocity, eased it. "But—that wouldn't do Veda any good. If he's dead, that's not getting her anywhere."

"That's right."

"What are we going to do?"

Gagging over her words, Mildred presently broached the subject of an operation. It was something she knew little about, and hated, not only on account of its physical aspect, but because it went counter to every instinct in her wholly feminine nature. Bert cut her off with a gesture. "Mildred, girls die in that operation. They die. And we're not going to let her die. We lost one, and that's enough. By G.o.d, I'll say she's not going to have any operation, not to make it easy for a dirty little rat that took advantage of her and now wants to do a run-out."

Bert now turned toward Mildred, his eyes flashing. "He's going to marry her, that's what he's going to do. After he's given her child a name, then he can do his run-out. He better better do a run-out, and do it fast, before I catch up with him. He can go to h.e.l.l, for all I give a d.a.m.n, but before he does, he'll march up beside her and say 'I do.' I'll see to that." do a run-out, and do it fast, before I catch up with him. He can go to h.e.l.l, for all I give a d.a.m.n, but before he does, he'll march up beside her and say 'I do.' I'll see to that."

"It's the only thing, Bert."

Mildred drove along, and presently had a hollow feeling they were right back where they started. It was all very well to say the boy had to marry Veda, but how could they make him do it? Suddenly she burst out: "Bert, I'm going to get a lawyer."

"It's just what I've been thinking."

"You and I, we can't do a thing. Precious time is going by, and something has to be done. And the first thing is to get that lawyer."

"O.K. And get him quick."

When Mildred got home, Veda was just getting up. Closing the door, she addressed the tousled girl in the green kimono. "I told your father. We had a talk. He agrees that we need a lawyer. I'm going to call up Wally Burgan."

"Mother, I think that's an excellent idea. . . - As a matter of fact, I've already called him up."

"You—what?"

Veda spoke sleepily, and a little impatiently. "Mother, can't you see that I'm trying to arrange things myself, without putting you to all kinds of trouble about it? I've been trying to spare you. I want to make things easy for you."

Mildred blinked, tried to adjust herself to this astounding revelation.

Wally arrived around three. Mildred brought him to the privacy of the den, then went and sent Letty on an errand that would take her all afternoon. When she got back to the den, Veda was there, in a simple little blue frock that had cost Mildred $75, and Wally was looking at the pictures of Bert attending the banquets. He said things certainly did look familiar, and casually got down to business. He said he had done a little inquiring around, and the situation was about what he figured it was. "The kid comes into dough on his twenty-first birthday, that's the main thing. How much I don't exactly know, but it's well up in six figures. He's got to inherit. There's no way the mother, or the stepfather, or any of them can juggle the books to keep him out of it, and once he dies, whoever is married to him at the time cuts in for her share of the community property. That's what this is all about, and it's all it's all about. That's why they're breaking their necks to head it off. It's got nothing to do with their being too young, or loving each other, or not loving each other, or the different ways they've been brought up, or any of the stuff that mother has been dishing out. It's nothing but the do-re-mi—the old army game."

When Wally stopped Mildred drew a deep breath and spoke slowly, raising her voice a little: "Wally, I'm not interested in whether he inherits, or how much he inherits, or anything of that kind. So long as I'm here, I don't think Veda will be in want. But a situation has been created. It's a terrible situation for Veda, and the only thing that boy can do about it is marry her. If he's a decent boy, he'll do the right thing on his own initiative, regardless of what his family says. If he's not, he'll have to be made. Wally, that woman had a great deal to say that I haven't told Veda, but that I have witnesses to substantiate—about law, and what she'll do, and other things. I'll go just as far as she will I'll go just as far as she will. If it's the only way, I want that boy arrested—and you can tell him he can be very glad it's only the police he has to face, instead of Bert."

"Arresting him may be a little tough."

"Haven't we got laws?"

"He's skipped."

Wally shot a glance at Veda, who considered a few moments, then said: "I think you'd better tell her."

"You see, Mildred, just happens we already thought of that. Two, three days, maybe a week ago, I took Veda over to the Sheriff's office and had her swear out a warrant for Sam. No statutory rape, nothing unpleasant like that. Just a little morals charge, and same afternoon, couple of the boys went over to serve it. He wasn't there. And so far—"

"So that's what she meant by officers!"

Veda stirred uneasily under Mildred's accusing eyes. "Well Mother, if you're talking about what I said last night, I didn't know at that time that any officers had actually been been there." there."

Mildred turned on Wally. "It does seem to me that on a thing of this kind, a matter as serious as this, I should have been the first one you would have talked to about it. Why the very idea, of legal steps being taken without my knowing anything whatever about it!"

"Now just hold your horses a minute."

Wally's eyes became very cold, and he got up and marched up and down in front of Mildred before he went on. "One thing you might consider: I've got a little thing called legal ethics to consider. Sure, I'd have been willing to talk to you. We've talked plenty before, haven't we? But when my client makes an express stipulation that I not talk to you, why—"

When Mildred turned, Veda was ready. "Mother, it's about time you got it through your head that after all, I, and not you, am the main figure in this little situation, as you call it. I'm not proud of it. I readily admit it's my own fault, and that I've been very foolish. But when I act on that a.s.sumption, when I try to relieve you of responsibility, when I try to save you unhappiness, it does seem to me you could give me credit for some kind of decent motives, instead of going off the handle in this idiotic way."

"I never never in all my in all my life life—!"

"Now, Mother, n.o.body was asking any help from you, and as Wally has taken my case as a great favor to me, I think the least you can do is let him tell us what to do, as I imagine he knows much more about such things than you do."

As Mildred subsided, a little frightened at Veda's tone, Wally resumed in the casual way he had begun: "Well, so far as his doing anything goes, I'd say the next move was up to them. Way I look at it, we've taken Round 1. When we got out that warrant, that showed we meant business. On a morals charge, all the jury wants to know is the age of the girl—after that it's dead open and shut. When they got him under cover quick, that shows they knew what they're up against. And what they'Ee up against is tough. So long as that warrant is out against him, he dare not come back to the state of California, he can't go back to college, or even use his right name. Course there's a couple of other things we might do, like suing the mother, but then we're in the newspapers, and that's not so good. I'd say leave it like it is. Sooner or later they got to lead to us, and the more we act like we don't care, the prettier were sitting."

"But Wally!"

Mildred's voice was a despairing wail. "Wally! Time is going on! Days are pa.s.sing, and look at this girl's condition! We can't wait! We-.—-" Time is going on! Days are pa.s.sing, and look at this girl's condition! We can't wait! We-.—-"

"I think we can leave it to Wally."

Veda's cool tone ended the discussion, but all that day and all that night Mildred fretted, and by next morning she had worked herself into a rage. When Tommy reported, at noon, she had him drive her over to Mrs. Lenhardt's, to "have it out with her." But as they whirled up the drive, she saw the house man that had let her in, that morning long ago, talking to the driver of a delivery truck. She knew perfectly well he would remember her, and she called shrilly to Tommy to drive on, she had changed her mind. As the car rolled around the loop in front of the house, she leaned far back, so she wouldn't be seen. Then she had Tommy drive her to Ida's, and telephoned Bert. Leaving Tommy in Beverly, she again picked up Bert at Mrs. Biederhof's corner, and headed up to the hills.

Bert listened, and began shaking his head. "Gee Mildred, I wish you'd told me you had Wally Burgan in mind. I'm telling you, I don't like, the guy, and I don't like the way he does business. Telling him to step on the gas is like—well, he's been liquidating Pierce Homes for eight years now, hasn't he? And they're not liquidated yet. He's not trying to get Veda married. He's just running up a bill."

They rode along, each trying to think of something, and suddenly Bert had it. "To h.e.l.l with him! What we want is to find that boy, isn't it? Isn't that right?"