CHAPTER VIII

Charlie Bowen ran into the printing office one day on his way home to dinner. "d.i.c.k," he said, "it's time you got out of this. I want you to put on your best bib and tucker to-night and go with me to meet some young people."

d.i.c.k carefully spread a pile of letterheads on the drying rack; then shutting off the power, stood watching the machine as its movements grew slower and slower. "Young people," he thought; "the Young People's Society of the Jerusalem Church. I saw the announcement in to-day's Independent. Church members--_she'll_ be there, and I'll have the joy of seeing how near I can come to the candle without getting my wings singed. Well, I suppose a fellow can't stay in the dark all the time,"

he said aloud, as he turned from the now motionless press.

"Of course not," cried Charlie. "You've hidden yourself long enough.

It will do you a world of good to get out; and, beside, I always do feel like a sneak when I'm having a good time and you're moping up here in this dirty old place."

d.i.c.k looked around. "I've moped in worse places," he said. "But I'll go with you to-night and be as giddy as you please. I'll whisper pretty nothings to the female lambkins and exchange commonplace lies with the young gentlemen, and then--why then--we'll come away again and straightway forget what manner of things we said and did, and they won't count when we meet on the street before folks."

"That's all right," returned the other. "You just come anyway and see how badly you're mistaken. I'll call for you at seven-thirty sharp."

And he left him cleaning up for his mid-day lunch.

When Charlie returned to the office that evening he found d.i.c.k dressed ready to go, and a strange contrast the latter presented to the poorly-clad, half-starved tramp who had walked into Boyd City only a few weeks before. Some thought of this flashed through d.i.c.k's mind as he read the admiration in his friend's face, and his own eyes glowed with pleasure. Then a shadow swiftly came, but only for a moment. He was determined to forget, for one evening at least. "Come on," he cried gaily, squaring his shoulders as though looking forward to a battle, "my soul seemeth anxious for the fray."

Charlie laughed as he answered, "I only hope that you'll come off whole. There will be some mighty nice girls there to-night. Look out you don't get your everlasting."

When the two young men reached the home of Helen Mayfield, where the social was to be held, they were met at the door by Miss Clara Wilson, who was Chairman of the reception committee.

"Glory," whispered that young lady to herself. "Here comes Charlie Bowen with that tramp printer of George's. Wish George could see him now." But not a hint of her thought found expression in her face, and the cordial, whole-hearted way in which she offered her hand in greeting, carried the conviction that no matter what might be his reception from others, this, at least, was genuine.

The guests gathered quickly, and soon there was a house full of laughing, chattering, joking young people; and d.i.c.k, true to his promise, laughed and chattered with the rest.

"Who is that tall, handsome man with the dark hair, talking to those girls with Nellie Graham and Will Clifton?" whispered Amy Goodrich to Miss Wilson, who had been asking her why Frank was not at the gathering.

"Haven't you met him yet?" answered Clara, secretly amused, for George had told her of the incident at the office. "That's Mr. Falkner, from Kansas City. Come, you must meet him. Mr. Falkner," she said, skillfully breaking up the group, "I wish to present you to a very dear friend.

Miss Goodrich, Mr. Falkner." Poor d.i.c.k felt the room spin round and everybody looking at him, as he mumbled over some nonsense about the great honor and happiness of having met Miss Goodrich before.

Amy looked at him in astonishment. "I think you are mistaken, Mr.

Falkner," she said. "I do not remember having met you. Where was it; here in town?"

With a mighty effort, d.i.c.k caught hold of himself, as it were, and gazed around with an air of defiance. To his amazement, no one was paying the least attention to him. Only his fair partner was looking up into his face with mingled amus.e.m.e.nt, wonder and admiration written on her features.

"In California; I think it was year before last," he said glibly.

Amy laughed--"But I never was in California in my life, so you must be mistaken." Then, as d.i.c.k swept the room with another anxious glance: "What is the matter, Mr. Falkner; are you looking for someone?"

"I was wondering where Charlie Bowen went to," he answered desperately.

"I didn't know but what he would want me to turn the ice-cream freezer or something."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Mr. Falkner, I wish to present you to a very dear friend."]

Miss Goodrich laughed again. "You're the funniest man," she said, and something in her voice or manner brought d.i.c.k to his senses with a jar.

"Well," he said, with a smile, "if I am mistaken I am very sorry, I a.s.sure you."

"About the ice cream?"

"No, about having met you before."

"Oh, sorry that you thought you had met me?"

d.i.c.k protested to some length with much unnecessary earnestness, and at last suggested that they find seats. Miss Goodrich agreed, and leading the way to an adjoining room, discovered a cushioned corner near the window. "Do you know," she said, when they were seated, "I, too, feel as you do?"

"About the ice-cream?" retorted d.i.c.k.

"No," she laughed, "about having met you before."

"Indeed, I am glad."

"Glad?"

"Yes, that you feel as I do."

"Truly," she said, ignoring his reply, "you _do_ remind me of someone I have seen somewhere. Oh, I know; it's that tramp printer of Mr.

Udell's, I--Why, what is the matter, Mr. Falkner? Are you sick? Let me call someone."

"No, no," gasped d.i.c.k. "I'll be all right in a moment. It's my heart.

Please don't worry." He caught up a basket of pictures. "Here, let's look at these. I find nothing that has a more quieting effect than the things one finds on the center tables of our American homes."

Amy looked uneasy but began turning over the pictures in the basket.

There were some commonplace photos of commonplace people, a number of homemade kodaks, one or two stray views of Yellowstone Park, the big trees of California, Niagara Falls, and several groups that were supposed to be amusing. "Oh, here's a picture of that printer," she cried, picking up one which showed the interior of an old-fashioned printing office, with a Washington hand-press and a shock-headed printer's devil sitting on a high stool, his face and shirt-front bespattered with ink. "That looks just like him. Why,--why, Mr. Falkner, you've torn that picture! What _will_ Helen Mayfield say?"

"Awfully sorry," said d.i.c.k, "I'll find her another. It was very awkward of me, I am sure." Then in desperation, "But tell me more about this printer of whom I remind you; what was his name?"

"Oh, I don't know that," replied Amy, "but he was very kind to me and sat up at night to design a cover for a little booklet I was having printed. I never saw him to thank him though, for he was out when I called the next day. I heard that Mr. Udell had a tramp working for him and I suppose it was he, for he acted very strangely--he may have been drinking. It is too bad for he must have been a splendid workman.

There ought to be one of those books here," and she began turning over the things on the table. "Yes, here it is." And she handed d.i.c.k the pamphlet that had caused him so much trouble that night in the office.

It is hard to say where the matter would have ended had not Miss Jameson, another member of the social committee, appeared just then, and ordered them to the parlor, where Amy was wanted to play.

After the company had listened to several instrumental pieces and one or two solos by different girls, one of the young men asked, "Don't you sing, Mr. Falkner?"

"Of course he does," and all began calling for a song.

A sudden thought struck d.i.c.k, and stepping quickly to the piano, he played his own accompaniment and sang, in a rich baritone voice, a street song:

"They tell me go work for a living, And not round the country to stamp; And then when I ask for employment, They say there's no work for a tramp."

The song was by no means a cla.s.sic one, but the manner in which d.i.c.k rendered it made it seem so, and as he sang:

"There's many a true heart beating, Beneath the old coat of a tramp."

A strange hush fell over the little audience, and when the song was finished a subdued murmur of applause filled the room, while eager voices called for more. d.i.c.k responded with another selection and then declaring that he had done his share, left the instrument and seated himself by Charlie's side.