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

Away,  Plunging Again Into The Streets,  There Even More Fully To Face

Himself And His Coming Humiliation. The Hot,  Busy Thoroughfares,

Steaming Under The Water Sprayed Upon Them By Trundling Sprinkling-

Carts,  Were A Veritable Bedlam--Canons Of Baked Pavements And

Heartless Walls Of Brick And Mortar,  Plate Glass And Glaring Gilt

Signs. Cries Of Newsboys--And Cheerful,  Happy Cries They Were--Fell On

His Ears In Sounds So Incongruous To His Mood That They Pierced His

Soul Like Hurled Javelins Of Steel. The Affairs Of The World,  Once So

Fascinating,  Were Moving On; A Juggernaut Of A Thousand Wheels Was

Rumbling Toward Him. He Drew Near His Club. On The Wide Veranda,  In

Easy-Chairs,  Smoking And Reading Newspapers,  Sat Several Of His

Friends. He Started To Turn In On The Walk Which Bisected The

Beautiful Greensward,  But Quailed Under The Ordeal. How Could He

Exchange Platitudes,  Discuss Politics,  Market-Reports,  Or Listen To

New Jokes? He Walked On,  Catching The Eye Of A Friend And Saluting

With A Wave Of His Cane. He Decided That He Would Go To His Sister's

For Lunch,  But He Was Not Sure That He Would Reveal His Woe Even To

Her.

He Found Mrs. Moore In Her Cozy Library,  A Handkerchief Over Her Head,

Dusting The Furniture.

"Got Anything To Eat?" He Asked,  Seating Himself On A Divan And

Watching Her Movements With A Bland Stare.

"Will Have In A Few Minutes." She Turned On Him,  Laying Her Duster On

A Book-Case And Removing Her Handkerchief. "I Really Believe There Is

Something In Thought-Transference,  Dick,  For I Felt That You Were

Coming. But I Don't Know That This Is A Fair Test,  Either,  For It May

Have Been Because I Knew Irene Was Away."

"How Did You Happen To Know That?" He Asked,  In Dumb,  Creeping

Surprise. "She Left Rather--Suddenly." She Smiled Knowingly. "If You

Want Me To Be Frank,  I'll Say That It Is Because Your Doddering

Father-In-Law Is Getting To Be Worse Than A Gossipy Old Maid. He Was

Around Here An Hour Ago. He Tried To Be Sly And Throw Me Off,  But I

Saw Through Him. He Said Irene Had Left For Mrs. Hardy's House-Party.

There Wasn't Anything In That Alone,  You Know,  To Make Him Bother To

Come Around,  For She Certainly Goes When And Where She Likes,  But It

Was The Way The Silly Old Man Went About What He Was Trying To

Discover. He Asked Me If I Knew Who Had Gone From Here--The Men In

Particular; And Then I Saw His Hand. He Wanted To Find Out If Andy

Buckton Went. He Beat About The Bush For A Long Time With A Crazy,

Nervous Stare In His Eyes,  And As Soon As I Told Him I Did Not Know He

Rose To Leave. Irene Is No Doubt Acting Imprudently,  As Many Of Her

Set Do,  But If She Doesn't Look Out Her Own Father Will Start Talk

That Never Can Be Stopped."

Mostyn Suddenly Rose,  Walked To A Window,  And Looked Out.

"What Time Do You Have Luncheon?" He Glanced At His Watch. Mrs. Moore

Made No Reply. She Suddenly Fixed A Curious,  Groping Stare On Him And

Moved To His Side.

"Dick,  What Has Happened?" She Demanded,  Touching His Arm.

"Nothing," He Answered. "I've Been Busy; I'm Tired. I Thought A Cup Of

Strong Coffee Might--"

Her Fingers Clutched His Arm. "Out With It,  Dick. Something Has Gone

Wrong At The Bank. You Are In Trouble Again. You've Been Plunging. I

Feel It. I See It In Your Eyes. I Have Never Seen You Look Like This

Before. You Haven't A Bit Of Blood In Your Face." She Grasped His

Hand,  Stroking His Fingers. "Why,  You Are Actually Cold. What Is The

Matter? What Is The Matter,  Brother? You Can Trust Me."

He Avoided Her Eyes,  Going Back To The Divan And Sinking Upon It. "You

May As Well Know," He Blurted Out,  In Desperation. "Irene And Buckton

Have Gone Off Together."

"No,  No,  No! Don't Tell Me That!" The Woman Paled; Her Lower Lip Fell

And Hung Trembling. "You Have Heard Gossip,  As I Have,  And As Every

One Has,  And In Your Excited Frame Of Mind--"

He Told Her Of The Note From Irene. He Started To Take It From His

Pocket,  But Changed His Mind,  Recalling The Allusion To Marie Winship,

And Not Having Energy Enough To Explain It.

"Lord Have Mercy!" She Gasped. She Sat Down By Him,  Her Hand On His

Knee,  Her Horrified Eyes Glued To His. "It Is Awful! I Didn't Think

She Would Go That Far--Nobody Did,  Because She Refused Him When She

Married You. I Wish I Could Advise You,  But There Is Nothing To Be

Done Now. Of Course,  She Left The Child."

"Yes,  I'd Have Killed Her If She Had Taken Him. I Would,  By God! He's

All I've Got."

"And Worse Than Motherless," Mrs. Moore Sighed. "It Is Awful--Awful!

Irene Is Crazy For Excitement And Novelty. She Has Been Getting Worse

And Worse. She Thinks She Loves Andy Buckton,  But She Doesn't. She

Never Loved Any One But Herself In Her Life. Mark My Words,  She Will

Leave Him. She Will Tire Of Him. She Will Never Stand The Disgrace Of

The Thing,  Either. She Has Been Petted All Her Life By Society,  And

Its Cold Shoulder Will Kill Her. What A Tragedy! But She Brought It On

Herself."

"She Didn't!" He Said,  Grimly. "I Had A Hand In It. Her Father Had A

Hand In It. She Was A Straw In A Mad Stream. I Can't Blame Her. I

Can't Even Be Angry. I Pity Her. I'd Save Her If I Could,  But It Is

Too Late. The Insane Set That Helped To Wreck Her Life Will Chuckle

And Grin Now."

A Musical Gong In The Dining-Room Sounded Softly.

"That's Luncheon," Mrs. Moore Said. "Let's Go Out. Do You Want To Run

Up And Wash Your Hands?"

He Shook His Head Dumbly,  Looking At His Splayed Fingers With The

Vacant Stare Of An Invalid Just Recovering Consciousness. "I Want Only

The Coffee; Make It Strong,  Please. I Really Am Not Hungry. The

Thought Of Food,  Somehow,  Is Sickening. I've Worked Hard This

Morning."

Late That Afternoon,  Still Shrinking Under His Weighty Secret,  He Went

Home. The Slanting Rays Of The Setting Sun Lay Like Kindling Flames On

The Grass Of The Lawn. He Saw Little Dick And Hilda Seated On The

Lowest Step Of The Veranda; And,  Seeing Him Entering The Gate,  The

Child Rose And Slowly Limped Toward Him.

"Dick Got A Stomach-Ache," The Boy Said,  A Wry Look On His Rather

Sallow And Pinched Face.

Mostyn Paused And Bent Down. "Where Does It Hurt You?" He Asked,

Automatically,  For The Complaint Seemed A Slight Thing Compared To The

Tragedy Lowering Over Them Both.

"It's Here,  Daddy." Dick Put His Little Tapering Hand On His Right

Side.

"He Eats Too Many Sweet Things," The Nurse Said,  Coming Up. "He's Been

Complainin' Of His Stomach For The Last Week,  But He Will Eat What He

Oughtn't To. I've Got Some Good Stomach Medicine. I'm Goin' To Dose

'Im Well To-Night An' Make 'Im Stay Out O' The Kitchen. The Cook Lets

Him Have Everything He Wants."

"Give Him The Medicine,  And Tell The Cook She Must Stop Feeding Him."

Mostyn Took The Boy In His Arms And Started On To The House. "You Will

Stop Eating Trash,  Won't You,  Dick?" The Child Nodded,  Worming His

Fingers Through His Father's Hair. He Took Off Mostyn's Hat,  Put It On

His Bonny Head,  And Laughed Faintly. Reaching The Veranda,  Mostyn

Turned Him Over To Hilda,  Who Said She Was Going To Give Him A Bath

And Put Him To Bed. When They Had Gone Mostyn Went Into The Library.

The Great Portrait-Hung Room In The Shadows Seemed A Dreary,  Accusing

Place,  And He Was Turning To Leave When The Rustling Of A Newspaper

And A Little Nasal Snort Called His Attention To A High-Backed Chair

Of The Wing Type In Which His Father-In-Law Reclined And Was Just

Waking From A Nap.

"Oh,  Is That You?" Mitchell Yawned And Stretched His Arms. "I Was

Wondering When You'd Get Here. I've Been To The Gate Several Times."

"Anything You Want?" Mostyn Regretted The Impulsive Question The

Instant The Words Had Been Spoken.

The Old Man Put His Hands On The Arms Of The Chair And Stood Up,

Feebly. "Yes,  I Want To Know If Your Wife Has Written Or Telegraphed

You Since She Got To Knoxville?"

"No," Mostyn Thought Rapidly,  "But--But I Hardly Expected Her To. She

Doesn't Usually When She Is Away."

"It Is The Very Old Nick In You Both!" Mitchell Sniffed. "I Don't

Expect You To Know Or Care What She's Up To; But I'm Her Own Flesh And

Blood,  And Supposed To Be Interested More Or Less. Home Is Lonely

Enough When She Is Here In Town,  Without Her Being Off So Much.

Besides,  I Know Some Things--Humph! Well,  I'm No Fool,  If I _Am_ A

Back Number. To-Day I Made It My Business To Inquire If A Certain

Party--You Know Who I Mean--Was In Town. I Knew In Reason That He

Wouldn't Be,  But I Just Asked To Satisfy My Mind. Do You Get At My

Meaning,  Sir?"

"I Think I Do." Mostyn's Own Words Seemed To Him To Come From The

Heavy Folds Of The Portiere Hiding The Desolate Drawing-Room Beyond.

"I Thought You Would." The Retort Was All But A Snarl. "And,  Do You

Know,  When I Asked Some Of His Friends About The Club If They Knew,  I

Caught Them Looking At One Another In An Odd Sort Of Way With Twinkles

In Their Eyes? Oh No,  They Didn't Know Where He Was. But I Found Out,

All The Same. I Met His Mother Down-Town. She Said He Had Gone On A

Hurried Trip To Norfolk. You Can See Through That,  Can't You? I Can,

If You Can't. Knoxville Is On The Way To Norfolk. The Two Are At That

Party Together; And,  Not Only That,  I'll Bet This Whole Town Knows It.

That Ought To Be Stopped. I Know My Daughter,  If You Don't,  Sir. She

Is Not Acting Right. She Has Plunged Into Pleasure And Excitement Till

She Doesn't Know What She Wants. A New String Of Diamonds Wouldn't

Amuse Her A Minute. This Giddy,  Fast Life Has Actually Cursed Her. The

Other Night I Caught Her Taking Morphine Tablets To Make Her Sleep--

Said She'd Lie Awake And Think Till Morning