The Desired Woman(Fiscle Part-3 Of 2) by Will N. Harben (e book reader pdf TXT) 📕

Eyes On A Soiled Apron. The Scant Knot Of Brown Hair At The Back Of

Her Head Seemed A Pathetic Badge Of Feminine Destitution. The Eyes,

Peering From Their Red And Swollen Sockets,  Held An Appeal That Would

Have Shaken Sympathy From The Heart Of A Brute.

"Thar Is Nothing You Kin Do,  Miss." The Voice Was A Wail Which Rose,

Swelled Out,  And Cracked Like Floating Ice Against The Shore Of A

Mighty Stream. "Thar Ain't Nothin' Nobody Kin Do. My John Is Dead.

Even God Can't Do Nothin'. It's Over,  I Tell You. Dead,  Dead! I Can't

Believe It,  But They Say It Is So. He Wasn't Well When He Left The

House This Mornin',  But He Was Afeard He'd Lose His Job If He Didn't

Report For Work. He Was So Sick He Could Hardly Drag One Foot After

The Other. But He Just Would Go. We Had No Money. Thar Was Only A

Little Dab O' Meal In The Box,  And Just A Rind O' Hog Meat. Thar Is

Two More Littler Children Than This Un,  An' They Was Cryin' For

Some'n' To Eat. I Know How It Was; John Was Jest Too Weak To Git Out

O' The Way O' The Wheels. Oh,  Don't Mind Me,  Miss! He's Dead--He's

Dead--Dead--Dead! Oh,  God,  Have Mercy! Kill Me--Kill Us All An' Put Us

Out O' Pain."

Tears Stood In Irene's Eyes. Her Breast Shook And Ached With Sympathy.

She Was Trying To Think Of Something To Say When The Whistle Of The

Locomotive Sounded.

"Here's The Place Now!" The Woman Screamed. "Oh,  God! Oh,  God! Where

Have They Put 'Im--Where Have They Put 'Im? Maybe He Is Mashed So Bad

I Won't Know 'Im. Oh,  God! Oh,  God--Kill Me!"

The Conductor,  His Face Set And Pale With Pity,  Had Come To Aid Her To

Alight. Through The Window Irene Saw A Stretch Of Wheat-Fields,  A Red-

Clay Embankment,  A Wrecking-Car,  A Group Of Earth-Stained Laborers

Leaning On Their Picks And Shovels,  And Something Lying Beneath A

Sheet On Bare Ground. Hastily Opening Her Purse,  Irene Took Out A Roll

Of Bills Amounting To A Hundred Dollars And Pressed It Into The

Woman's Hand.

"Keep It," She Said,  Huskily.

"Thank You,  Miss," The Woman Said,  Without Looking At The Money Or

Seeming To Realize That She Had Taken It. She Dropped It To The Floor

As She Rose To Go,  And The Conductor Picked It Up And Gave It Back To

Her.

"Keep It," He Said; "You Will Need It."

Irene Watched The Three Pass Out At The Door Of The Car And Then

Turned Her Face From The Window. All Was Still Outside For A Moment,

And Then A Loud Scream,  Followed By A Fainter One,  Rent The Air. Irene

Covered Her Face With Her Hands And Remained In Darkness Till The

Train Moved On. Buckton Came And Sat Beside Her,  A Disturbed Look On

His Face. He Waited For Several Minutes. Then She Dropped Her Hands

And Sighed.

"I'm Sorry This Has Happened,  Darling," Buckton Said,  Softly. "You Are

So Sympathetic That Such Things Unstring You."

She Bent Toward Him. There Was A Haunted,  Groping Expression In Her

Eyes. "I'll Never Forget This As Long As I Live," She Half Sobbed. "It

Will Cling To Me Till I Die. The Very Pores Of My Soul Seemed To Open

To That Wretched Woman's Spirit. If She Had Been My Sister I Couldn't

Have Felt--"

A Welling Sob Checked Her Words. He Stared At Her Blankly. He Tried To

Formulate Some Helpful Response,  But Failed. It Was Growing Dark

Outside. The Porter Was Lighting The Overhead Lamps,  Using A Step-

Ladder To Reach Them And Moving It From Spot To Spot Between The

Chairs.

"I Want To--To Ask You Something--Something Serious," Irene Said,

Presently. "Do You Believe In Omens?"

He Saw Her Drift And Forced A Smile. "Yes,  In This Way," He Said,

Lightly. "Things Go By Opposites All Through Life. Something Good Or

Jolly Always Follows On The Heels Of Gloom. We Are Going To Be So

Happy That We Won't Have Time To Think Of Anything Disagreeable."

She Sighed Audibly. That Was All.

It Was Past Midnight When They Reached Charleston. He Led Her,  Still

Silent And Abstracted,  To A Cab And Helped Her In. He Then Gave The

Name Of Their Hotel To The Driver And Got In Beside Her. He Took Her

Gloved Hand And Held It Tenderly As The Cab Rumbled Over The Cobble-

Stones Through The Deserted Streets.

"It Is Too Warm For Gloves,  Dear," He Said,  His Hot Breath On Her

Cheek; And With Throbbing,  Eager Hands He Drew One Off. He Kissed The

Soft Fingers And Felt Them,  Flutter Like A Captured Bird. A Moment

Later He Put His Arm About Her And Drew Her Head Down To His Shoulder.

She Resisted Feebly,  Turning From Him Once Or Twice,  And Then Allowed

Him To Kiss Her On The Lips.

As They Were Nearing The Hotel He Suddenly Bethought Himself Of

Something He Had Intended To Say By Way Of Precaution.

"You Must Understand That I Sent Separate Telegrams For Rooms," He

Said. "I Took The Precaution For Absolute Safety. I Ordered Yours In

Your Name And Mine In My Name."

"I Understand," She Replied. His Arm Was Still About Her,  But She

Shook It Off. "Was It--Was It Wise For Us To Arrive Like This--In The

Same Cab?"

"Oh,  That Is All Right," He Answered,  Confidently. "I Am A Friend Of

Your Family,  You Know,  And I Have Often Traveled With Ladies. It Will

Not Excite Comment. Besides,  We Know No One Here."

Leaving Her At The Ladies' Entrance To Go Alone Up To The Parlor,  He

Went Into The Office. A Sleepy-Eyed Clerk Bowed,  Turned The Register

Around,  And,  Dipping A Pen,  Handed It To Him.

"Lady With You,  Sir?" He Inquired.

"In My Care,  Yes." Buckton Wrote The Two Names Rather Unsteadily. "She

And I Both Telegraphed For Your Best Rooms. Please Show Her To Hers At

Once. She Seems To Be Quite Tired."

"I Should Think So,  On A Stuffy Day Like This," Said The Clerk,

Affably,  "And Coming South,  Too. I See You Are From Atlanta. That Is A

Higher Altitude Than Ours."

"You Bet It Is." The Voice Was At Buckton's Elbow; And Turning,  He Saw

Hambright,  His Fellow-Passenger,  Smiling On Him Familiarly. "Well,  I

See You Got Through All Right."

Though Highly Displeased By Again Meeting The Man,  Buckton Nodded And

Forced A Casual Smile.

"It Was Pretty Dusty And Hot," He Said.

"Won't You Take A Smoke Before You Turn In?" The Drummer Asked,

Extending A Cigar.

"No,  Thanks; Not To-Night," Buckton Declined.

"Take A Drink? I've Got The Best Samples On Earth. My Customers Say I

Carry Better Samples Than Stock,  But That's A Joke. Name The Brand And

I'll Lay It Before You. I'm Some Drink-Mixer,  I Am."

"Not To-Night; Thank You,  All The Same."

"Show The Lady To Suite Seventy-Five," The Clerk Called Out To A Bell-

Boy. "The Gentleman Goes To Seventy-Four. See To The Ice-Water For

Both Parties."

"Dandy Rooms You Got," Hambright Said,  His Eyes Twinkling

Significantly. "I Know This House Like A Book. I Swear You Atlanta

Bloods Are Sports. You Certainly Keep The Old Fogies Of The Town

Wondering What Prank You Will Play Next."

Buckton Thought Rapidly. To A Certain Extent He Was A Judge Of Human

Nature,  And He Realized That No Explanation To Such A Man Was Safer

Than The Most Adroit And Elaborate One,  So He Elected To Ignore The

Obvious Innuendo. Chatting With Him A Few Minutes Longer,  He Turned

Away.

Half An Hour Later Buckton Was In His Little Sitting-Room,  Seated

Under A Drop-Light,  With A Newspaper Spread Out Before Him. Through

The Rather Thin Partition He Heard Irene Moving About The Adjoining

Chamber. He Sat For A Moment Longer; Then,  Rising,  He Went To The

Connecting Door. He Caught His Breath And Held It As He Rapped Softly,

Very Softly. The Sound Of Movement On The Part Of Irene Ceased. All

Was Quiet For A Moment; Then He Rapped Again. He Heard Her Coming. She

Unlocked The Door,  Turned The Bolt,  And Opened The Door The Width Of

Her Face. She Had Changed Her Dress. She Now Wore A Pretty Flowing

Kimono Which She Held Over Her White Neck With Her Jeweled Hand.

"What Is It?" She Asked.

He Leaned Against The Door-Jamb,  And Gazed Into Her Eyes. "I Must See

You," He Panted. "There Is--Is Something I Want To Tell You."

She Hesitated,  Holding The Door. "I'm Tired," She Faltered. "Besides--

Oh,  Andy,  I've Been Thinking That Perhaps I Ought To Take The First

Morning Train For The Hardys'! I Could Get There Soon Enough To--"

He Leaned His Flaming Face Closer To Hers. He Caught Her Hand And Drew

It Down From Her Fluttering Throat. "No,  It Is Too Late,  Sweetheart,"

He Said. "We Have Burnt Our Bridges Behind Us. We Can't Go Back Now.

We Don't _Want_ To. We Couldn't If We Tried. We Are Human. You Were

Cruel To Me Once; You Can't Be Cruel Enough To Close This Door To-

Night. _You Know You Can't,  Darling_."

He Saw Her Glance Waver. Her Hold On The Door Was Less Firm. He Pushed

Against It. She Fell Back,  And He Took Her Into His Arms And Pressed

His Lips To Hers.

With Irene's Farewell Note In His Pocket And Ever Present To His Mind,

Mostyn Spent The Remainder Of The Morning On Which It Was Received

Mechanically Instructing The Elated Delbridge In His Rival's New

Duties At The Bank As Its Future President. At Noon