"_It's the wrong number._"

CHAPTER XII

MRS. PRUITT EFFECTS A PLAN

He had some friends who lived on Federal Street and to their home he decided to go. He thought of the day when he had married. The man ran on the road. His wife he had known long, her name being Mildred, Mildred Merrill. She had been invited to his wedding but had not attended. When he had seen her a year later, and had asked her why she had not attended, she replied that she had been unable to purchase a suitable wedding gift.

Her parents had been lifelong friends of his parents, and he had been provoked because she stayed away. She and her husband had been quietly married in the court house and had since lived happily together.

"Oh, Jean," Mildred cried, when the door opened and she saw his face.

"We have just been talking of you," as she swung the door wide for him to enter.

"Mama," she called, "here is Jean Baptiste!" Her mother came hurriedly forward, grasped his hand, and exchanged a meaning look with Mildred.

"And you are back _again_," she said as all three became seated.

"Yes," he said, and sighed.

"It's awful," commented her mother.

"Isn't it the truth, oh, my God, how can those people be so mean?" cried Mildred.

"He's in Chicago," said her mother.

"Yes," said Mildred, "and I'll bet right over at Mrs. Pruitt's every day."

"He wouldn't be _likely_ to be home," commented her mother.

"He returns as a rule along about midnight." The two laughed then, and regarded the man.

"You ought to give her up, Jean," said Mildred. "A woman that has no more will power than she has, isn't fit--isn't worth the grief you are spending."

"Yes, Mildred, it does seem so, but she is my wife, and somehow I feel that I should give her every chance."

"The case _is_ unusual," commented her mother again. "The man has a reputation for such actions--rather, he has been known to persecute, and does persecute the preachers that are under his dictation in the church.

But that such would extend to the possible happiness of his own children! Indeed, it hardly seems credible."

"Vanity, mama. Reverend McCarthy is regarded as the most vain man in the church. Jean here has never flattered him--tickled his vanity, and this is the price he's paying."

"Well," said her mother. "Such as this _can't_ keep up. Some day he's going to be called on to pay--and the debt will be large."

"Understand that he aspires for the bishopric in the convention next month," said Mildred.

"Shucks!" exclaimed her mother. "That's all bluff. He seeks to grab off a little cheap notoriety around Chicago before he goes to conference.

There is as much chance of his being even entered as a candidate for the office as there is of me."

"That's what I think," from Mildred.

"What are your plans, Jean?" her mother now inquired of Baptiste who sat in a sort of stupor listening to their talk.

"I am trying to get to see her without the old man's knowledge." And he told them of his conversation with Mrs. Pruitt.

"Isn't that a wife, now!" exclaimed Mildred. "Afraid to meet the man she has married."

"Orlean and old lady McCarthy have no voice in that house," said her mother. "First it's the Reverend, and then follows Ethel."

"And it hardly seems credible when one knows how he has always flirted with other women," said Mildred.

"I asked Orlean the last time I saw her," said Mildred again, "what was the matter; was Jean mean to her, or had he neglected her. She said: No, that he was just as good to her as he could be, but that she could not stay out in that wild country; that it would impair her health, and she just couldn't stay out there, and that was all."

"Reverend McCarthy," said her mother.

"Of course. But that is one thing I have observed. They have never got her to lie as they have done, and say that he mistreated her." From Mildred.

"It's to be regretted that she has not more will to stand up for what she knows to be right," said her mother.

"You have taken it up with the right person, Jean," said Mildred. "If any one can help you in such a delicate undertaking, it is Mrs. Pruitt.

She has more influence with that old rascal than his wife. In fact, his wife, from what I hear, has no influence at all."

"Well, Jean," said Mildred's mother, "you are to be admired for the patience you have exercised with Orlean. The average man would have knocked that old white headed rascal stiff and let Orlean go, and I don't wonder that if I was a man that I wouldn't have done so myself."

"If I were that weak, and could see things as I do now, I would want my husband to shoot me. I'm getting out of patience with Orlean's weakness," Mildred added.

"Well," said Baptiste at this point, "it is now eleven, and I will call up Mrs. Pruitt to go ahead with certain plans that I have in view. Have you a 'phone?"

"Just outside," said Mildred, and opened the door.

He got Mrs. Pruitt directly, and again came back over the wire:

"It's the wrong number!" But during the recent conversation he had forgotten for the moment the "counter sign," and continued calling back.

Frantically he heard again and again, "_The wrong number! You have the wrong number!_" Suddenly he caught on, and as suddenly hung up the receiver with a jerk.

He didn't go to the Keystone that night. He felt as though he wanted to be near some friends. Accordingly he went to Miss Rankin's. She was glad to see him, and, like all his friends, knew his troubles, and welcomed him.

"You will awaken me early tomorrow--say, six o'clock?" he asked, and upon being assured she would, he went to bed.

All the night through his sleep was fitful. He saw gorgeous processions that frightened him, and then again he was thrilled; but never did he seem to feel just right. Then he saw his enemy. He dreamed that he came to him and kissed him; he heard him saying kind words, and saw his wife by his side. They were back in the West and his wife was returning from a visit. He was aroused, and jumped to his feet. He looked at the clock, and the time was half past five. All the agony of the day before came back with a rush, and he was overwhelmed. Thereupon he got him up, and, dressing quickly, hurried out of the house and caught a car to where Mrs. Pruitt lived on the west side, in the basement of an apartment building, of which her husband was janitor.

He estimated that the other would go home during the night, and early morning would be the time to form some plan of action. It seemed a long way to the west side, and it was after seven when he arrived there.

He was greeted by Mrs. Pruitt, and the expression upon her face did not disappoint him.

"Now, Jean," she said, "I have prepared you some breakfast, and you must eat first, for I'll wager that not a bite have you eaten since you talked with me yesterday."