"Pardon me a moment," he apologized, "I--forgot something."

Perforce Roberts waited while the other man returned to the tiny library they had just vacated. The girl was standing within precisely as when they had left and, as Armstrong did not close the door, the visitor knew to a certainty that his presence as listener and spectator was intentional. It was all a premeditated scene, the climax of the evening.

"By the way, Elice," said the actor, evenly, "I've been considering that Graham offer carefully since I spoke to you about it the other night."

He did not look at her but stood twirling his hat judicially in his hand.

"I tried to convince myself that it was for the best to accept; but I failed. I told him so to-day."

There was a pause.

"Yes," suggested the girl.

Another pause.

"I hope you're not--disappointed, Elice."

Still another pause, appreciable, though shorter than before.

"No; I'm not disappointed," replied the girl then. At last Armstrong had glanced up and, without looking himself, the listener knew as well as though he had seen that the speaker was smiling steadily. "I'm not disappointed in the least, Steve."

CHAPTER IV

UNCERTAINTY

It was ten minutes after three on the following afternoon when Stephen Armstrong, in the lightest of flannels and jauntiest of b.u.t.terfly ties, strolled up the tree-lined avenue and with an air of comfortable proprietorship wandered in at the Gleason cottage. A movable sprinkler was playing busily on the front lawn and, observing that the surrounding sod was well soaked, with lazy deliberation he shifted it to a new quarter. As he approached the house a mother wren flitted away before his face, and at the new suggestion he stood peering up at the angle under the eaves for the nest that he knew was near about. Once, standing there with the hot afternoon sun beating down upon him, he whistled in imitation of the tiny bird's call; nothing developing, he mounted the steps and pulled the old-fashioned knocker familiarly.

There was no immediate response and he pulled again; without waiting for an answer, he dropped into the ever-convenient hammock stretched beside the door and swung back and forth luxuriously. Unconsciously, and for the same reason that a bird sings--because it is carelessly oblivious of anything save the happiness of the moment--he began whistling softly to himself: without definite time or metre, subconsciously improvising.

Perhaps a dozen times he swung back and forth; then the whistling ceased.

"Anything doing at this restaurant this afternoon, Elice?" he plunged without preface. An expansive smile made up for the lack of conventional greeting. "I'm as hungry as those little wrens I hear cheeping up there somewhere."

The smile was contagious and the girl returned it unconsciously.

"I believe you're always hungry, Steve Armstrong," she commented.

"I know it. I was born that way."

"And you never grew up."

"Physically, yes, unfortunately. Otherwise--I'm fighting to the last ditch. I believe about three of those cookies you make--and, by the way, they're much better than mother used to manufacture--will fill the void.

Don't you hear that cheeping?"

The girl hesitated, disappeared, and returned.

"Thank you, Elice. Sit down over there, please, where I can see you. It makes them taste better. That's right. Thank you, again. I'm going to pay my bill now by telling you your fortune. You're going to make a great cook."

"I wonder," said the girl, enigmatically.

"There's no question about it. And for good measure I'm going to retail the latest gossip. What, by the way and as a preliminary, do you suppose I've been doing all day?"

"It's vacation. Fishing, I presume."

"Stung! I did go fishing this morning--four o'clock, caught one too; but it was so small and innocent looking that I apologized and threw it back.

That wasn't what I referred to, however. You'll have to guess again."

"I haven't the slightest idea."

"I'm compelled to a.s.sist you then. I've been helping the Randalls settle.

Harry 'phoned me early this morning and wanted to know if I didn't desire to be useful; said he would exchange compliments sometime." A significant pause, then a reminiscent sigh. "Every vertebra in my spinal column aches with an individual and peculiar pain."

"They're really settled at last, are they?" inquired the girl, interestedly. "I can hardly wait to see how things look."

"I don't blame you for being curious, Elice," sympathized Armstrong. "I felt a bit the same way myself." A rueful grin. "Merely among ourselves, however, and as a word of advice between friends, you'd better curb your impatience for about a week longer."

"And why? You're darkly mysterious, as usual."

"Mysterious! Heavens, no; merely compa.s.sionate." He held up his hand for inspection. "Look at that blister. It's as big as a dime and feels like a prune. They're not done yet and they'd induce you to duplicate it if they ever got you into their clutches. So long as it's all in the family I think one blister is about sufficient. Better lay low for a week anyway."

"Steve," the voice was severe, "you're simply impossible. They'd never forgive you if they knew you talked that way."

"Yes, they would," easily. "I promised to come back and help complete the job." Of a sudden he laughed boyishly, reminiscently. "Seriously, Elice, I've had a memorable day." He laughed again. "Pardon me, but I've wanted to do that for hours and didn't dare. Such a mixture of furnishings as those two people have acc.u.mulated you never saw brought together under one roof before in your life."

"Mixture, how? I fail to see the joke."

"You will when you visit them, all right. I warn you in advance to be discreet." He looked at his companion with whimsical directness. "You see it was this way. They started out together to buy things, with Margery at the helm. She's not accustomed particularly to consider cost and went at the job with avidity. She's methodical also, you know, and began at the front door. In fancy she entered the reception hall, and the first need that appealed to her was a rug. She picked out one. It's Oriental, and a beauty: cost one hundred dollars if a cent. Next, in her mind's eye, she noticed the bare windows--curtains were required, of course. So she selected them. They're the real thing and two pairs--another hundred, I'll wager. Following came three or four big leather chairs--nothing better in town. I can fancy old Harry's heart sinking by this time; but he didn't say a word--yet. Margery took another spurt and went on to the living-room. In consequence another big rug--and another hundred withdrawn from circulation. A jolly big davenport--more curtains;--and then something happened. They told me so, but I didn't need to be told; for it was then that Harry b.u.t.ted in. They were bankrupt already, and he knew it. He simply had to call a halt. It's the funniest contrast I ever saw, and pathetic too; for from this point on the whole house is a nightmare. Cheap! he bought the cheapest things he could find and even then he got scared. By the time they got through the dining-room he must have been a nervous wreck, for the kitchen and upstairs furniture is second-hand, every stick and frying pan; and even then--" The humor left the speaker's face. "It's a shame to make fun of it, though, Elice.

They're going to replace it all as soon as they can."

For a moment neither said anything.

"And Margery?" suggested the girl at last.

"That's where the little tragedy crops out. You see we began the way she had begun--at the front door. She was pleased as a boy with new boots at the reception hall. Still cheerful over the living-room. Non-committal in the diner. From there on Harry and I carted things upstairs and juggled with them alone and according to our own ideas."

For the second time there was silence; then, low-voiced, came another suggestion.

"And--Harry?"

"He's game," admiringly. "He may be thinking a lot--I've no doubt he is; but he's not letting out a peep or making a sign. He pretended Margery was just tired out and bundled her out of doors under the trees. That's one thing they've got at least: a whole yard full of grandfather elms. He sort of looked at me cross-eyed while he was doing it to see if I caught on, but I was blind as a post. By the way, I nearly forgot to mention it, but you and I are invited there for dinner this coming Thursday--sort of a house-warming and appreciation of my efforts combined."

"For dinner, so soon?" The girl stared incredulously. "I don't believe Margery ever cooked a meal in her life."

"She isn't going to try to yet, she informed me, so be of good cheer.

That sort of thing is all to come later on, with the replaced furniture.

At present she's to have a maid and take observations." The speaker laughed characteristically. "I asked her if she referred to the sort of individual my mother used to call a hired girl, but she stuck to 'maid.'

It seems they are to pay her six dollars a week. Hired girls only command four."