Chapter 8

job was a picnic compared to his. As a matter of fact, I have always claimed that I was in greater danger when I was in the American Ambulance than when I was flying, quite safely, a couple of miles up in the air. At any rate, I FELT safer."

"Oh, but think of falling that distance," cried Miss Angie Miller.

"It was against the rules to think of falling," said he, and every one laughed.

The "reception" followed. Every one came up and shook hands with Courtney and told him how much his address was enjoyed. As the group around him grew thicker and at the same time more reluctant to move on, he began to despair of meeting Alix Crown. He could see her over near the door conversing with Alaska Spigg and Charlie Webster. Then he saw her wave her hand in farewell to some one across the room and bow to Charlie. There was a bright, gay smile on her lips as she said something to Charlie which caused that gentleman to laugh prodigiously. All hope seemed lost as she and little old Alaska turned toward the open door.

It was not fate that intervened. It was Pastor Mavity. Disengaging himself from the group and leaving a profound sentence uncompleted, he dashed over to her, calling out her name as he did so.

"Alix! Just a moment, please!"

She paused,--and Courtney discreetly turned his back. Presently a benevolent hand was laid on his shoulder and the voice of the shepherd fell upon his ear.

"I want you to meet Miss Crown, Mr. Thane. She has just been telling me how interested she was in your remarks. Miss Crown, my very dear friend, Mr. Courtney Thane. Mr. Thane, as you may already know, is sojourning in our midst for--"

"I am delighted to meet you, Miss Crown," broke in Courtney, with an abashed smile. "Formally, I mean. I have a very distinct recollection of meeting you informally," he added wrily.

"Dear me!" exclaimed Mr. Mavity, elevating his eyebrows.

Courtney's humility disarmed her. She allowed her lips to curve slightly in a faint smile. The merest trace of a dimple flickered for an instant in her smooth cheek.

"I suppose it was the old story of forbidden fruit, Mr. Thane," said she. Then, impulsively, she extended her hand. He clasped it firmly, and there was peace between them.

"On the contrary, Miss Crown, it was an unpardonable piece of impudence, for which I am so heartily ashamed that I wonder how I can look you in the face."

"I was tremendously interested in your talk tonight," she said, coolly dismissing the subject. "Thank you for giving us the pleasure. It is just such adventures as you have had that makes me wish more than ever that I had not been born a girl."

He bowed gallantly. "What would the world be like if God had neglected to create the rose?"

"Bravo!" cried Mr. Mavity, slapping him on the back. "Spoken like a knight of old."

"Good night, Mr. Thane,--and thank you again," she said. Nodding to Mr. Mavity, she turned to leave the group.

Again the parson intervened. "My dear Alix, I can't let you go without saying a word about your splendid defence of David Strong. It was fine. And you, sir, were--ah--what shall I say?--you were most generous in saying what you did. David is a fine fellow. He--"

"I should have said the same about any doctor who was up at the front," said Courtney simply. "Is he an old friend, Miss Crown?"

"I have known him ever since I can remember," she replied, and he detected a slight stiffness in her manner.

"Ahem! Er--ah--" began Mr. Mavity tactfully. "David was born here, Mr. Thane. Well, good night, Alix,--good night."

When she was quite out of hearing, the flustered parson lowered his voice and said to Courtney:

"They--er--don't get along very well, you see. I couldn't explain while she was here. Something to do with money matters,--nothing of consequence, I assure you,--but very distressing, most distressing. It is too bad,--too bad."

Mrs. Pollock overheard. "They're both terribly set in their ways," she remarked. "Stubborn as mules. For my part, I think Alix is too silly for words about it. Especially with his mother living in the same house with her. Now, mind you, I'm not saying anything against Alix. I love her. But just the same, she can be the most unreasonable--"

"They haven't spoken to each other for over three years," inserted Angie Miller. "When they were children they were almost inseparable. David Windom took a fancy to little David. The story is that he was trying to ease his conscience by being nice to a blacksmith's son. You see, his own daughter ran away with a blacksmith's son,--and you've heard what happened, Mr. Thane. David was in my class for two years before he went up to High School, and I remember he always used to get long letters from Alix when she was in England. Then, when she came home,--she was about twelve I think,--they were great friends. Always together, playing, studying, reading, riding and--"

"Everybody used to say old David Windom was doing his best to make a match of it," interrupted Mrs. Pollock, who had been out of the conversation longer than she liked. "Up to the time the old man died, we used to take it for granted that some day they would get married,--but, my goodness, it's like waving a red flag at a bull to even mention his name to Alix now. She hates him,--and I guess he hates her."

"Oh, my dear friend," cried Mr. Mavity, "I really don't think you ought to say that. Hate is a very dreadful word. I am sure Alix is incapable of actually hating any one. And as for David, he is kindness, gentleness itself. It is just one of those unfortunate situations that cannot be accounted for."

Charlie Webster came up at that juncture.

"Say, Court, why didn't you tell 'em about the time you called Colonel What's-His-Name down,--the French guy that--" The scowl on Courtney's brow silenced the genial Charlie. He coughed and sputtered for a moment or two and then said something about "taking a joke."

As Charlie moved away, Miss Angie Miller sniffed and said, without appreciably lowering her voice:

"I wonder where he gets it. There isn't supposed to be a drop in Windomville." Suddenly her eyes flew wide open. "Furman! Oh, Furman Hatch!" she called out to a man who was sidling toward the door in the wake of the pernicious Mr. Webster.

While there was nothing to indicate that Mr. Hatch heard her, the most disinterested spectator would have observed a perceptible acceleration of speed on his part.

"You promised to tell me how to--" But Mr. Hatch was gone. Mr. Webster turned a surprised and resentful look upon him as he felt himself being pushed rather roughly through the door ahead of the hurrying photographer. When Miss Angie reached the door,--she had lost some little time because of the seats and the stupidity of Mrs. Primmer who blocked the way by first turning to the right, then to the left, and finally by not turning at all,--Mr. Hatch was nowhere in sight, even though Mr. Webster was barely two-thirds of the way down the stairs.

A pleasant, courteous voice accosted her from behind as she stood glaring after the chubby warehouseman.

"Do you mind if I walk home with you, Miss Miller?"

"Oh, is--is that you, Mr. Thane?" she fairly gasped. Then she simpered. "I'm really not a bit afraid. Still,"--hastily--"if you really wish to, I should be delighted."

If Mr. Hatch was lurking anywhere in the shadows, he must have been profoundly impressed by the transformation in Miss Angie Miller as she strode homeward at the side of the tall young New Yorker, her hand on his arm, her head held high,--he might also have noticed that she stepped a little higher than usual.