CHAPTER XIII

THE MERCY OF THE COURT

Mrs. Hullis stayed late, and Wint had time to do some thinking before she finally departed. But he did very little. He was in no mood for thinking. It was characteristic of Wint that when his sympathies were aroused, he was an unfaltering partisan; and there was no question that his sympathies had been aroused in behalf of Hetty.

It was equally characteristic of him that he wasted very little time wondering who was to blame for what had happened; and that he wasted no time at all in considering what Hardiston would say about it all. He was going to help the girl; he had made up his mind to that. The rest did not matter at all.

He counted on his mother’s sympathy and understanding; and when, after a time, he heard her showing Mrs. Hullis to the door, and heard their two voices upraised in a last babel as they cleaned up the tag ends of conversation and said good-by, he went out into the upper hall, to be ready to descend. Hetty had gone upstairs a little earlier; he could hear her now, moving about in her room.

His mother went out on the front steps with Mrs. Hullis, to be sure no word had been forgotten; and when she came in after her visitor had gone, Wint was waiting for her. She said: “Why, Wint, I thought you’d gone to bed long ago. I told Mrs. Hullis you were studying the law books up in your room. Mr. Hullis is a lawyer, you know. She says he brings his books home and sits up half the night, but I told her you were always one to go early to bed, ever since you was a boy. And she said she--”

Wint took her arm good-naturedly. “There, mother,” he interrupted. “I don’t care what Mrs. Hullis said. I want to talk to you about something that has just come up. Come in and sit down.”

Mrs. Chase, like most talkative women, was habitually so absorbed in her own conversation and her own thoughts that it was hard to surprise her. She took Wint’s announcement as a matter of course; and they went into the sitting room arm in arm, and she picked up her sewing basket and sat down in the chair she had occupied all evening, and began to rock primly back and forth while she stretched a sock on her fingers to discover any holes it might have acquired. “...do get such a comfort out of talking to Mrs. Hullis,” she was saying, as she sat down. “She’s such a nice woman, Wint. I never could see why you didn’t like her more. She and I--”

Wint said: “I don’t want to talk to you about Mrs. Hullis, mother. I want to talk to you about Hetty.”

Mrs. Chase did drop her work in her lap at that. “About Hetty?” she echoed. “Why should you want to talk about Hetty? Wint! You’re never going to marry her, are you? I--”

Wint laughed. “No, no. Not that Hetty isn’t a nice girl; and she’ll make some fellow a mighty fine wife. But I want to--”

“There,” said Mrs. Chase, immensely reassured. “I knew it couldn’t be that. I always knew you and Joan.... I said to Mrs. Hullis to-night that you and Joan were friendly as ever. She’s a nice girl, Wint. I don’t see why you don’t get married right away. Your father and I were married before--”

Wint said, persistently bringing her back to the point: “I don’t want to talk about Joan, either, mother. It’s Hetty.”

“Well, I should think you would want to talk about Joan,” Mrs. Chase declared. “She’s worth talking about. I’m sure she wouldn’t like it very much to know you didn’t want to talk about her, Wint. She--”

“Mother,” Wint insisted. “Hetty needs our help. I want you to--”

Mrs. Chase looked at him with a face that had suddenly turned white and cold. She put one trembling hand to her throat. “Wint?” she asked, in a husky whisper. “What’s the matter with Hetty? What are you talking about? What is the--”

“Hetty’s going to have a little baby,” said Wint gently.

Mrs. Chase exclaimed: “Wint! You’re not.... You haven’t.... It isn’t you?”

“No, no,” Wint said impatiently. “Of course not. I--”

“The shameless girl!” his mother cried, all her alarm turning into anger. “The shameless hussy. In my house. I declare--”

“Please,” her son protested. His mother got up.

“She sha’n’t sleep another night under my roof,” she declared. “I never thought to live to--”

“Mother,” said Wint, so sternly that his mother stopped in the doorway. “Come back,” he told her. And she obeyed him, protesting weakly. “Sit down,” he said. “Hetty needs our help. Don’t you understand?”

When a wolf is injured, his own pack pulls him down; when a crow is hurt, his fellows of the flock peck him to death relentlessly; but wolf and crow are merciful compared to womankind. There is no deeper instinct in woman than that which condemns the sister who has strayed. It is true that, in many women, the compassion overpowers the cruelty of wrath. But Mrs. Chase was a very simple person, elemental, a woman and nothing more. She sat down at Wint’s command; but she said implacably:

“I won’t have her in the house, Wint. A girl like that. I should think you’d be ashamed to stand up for her. A shameless, worthless thing.... You can talk all you’re a mind to, but I’m going to send her packing. You and your father have your own way, most of the time, but this is once that I’m going to have mine. I always knew she was too pretty for any good. Pretty, and impudent, and all. I won’t have her--”

Wint asked: “Hasn’t she worked hard enough for you? Done her work well? Tried to do what you wanted?”

“Course she’s done her work, or I wouldn’t have kept her. That hasn’t a thing to do with it, Wint. I’m surprised at you, standing up for her. I told Mrs. Hullis, only the other day, that she was too pretty for her own good. I might have known she would get into trouble. The nasty little--”

“Mother,” Wint cried sharply, “I won’t let you talk like that. I told Hetty we’d help her; and she said you’d be against her; and I wouldn’t believe it. I can’t believe it. A poor girl without a friend anywhere, in the worst kind of trouble, and you--”

“Wint, I don’t see why you stand up for her if you aren’t--”

“You know I’m not. Don’t be ridiculous, mother. But I’ve known her all our lives. Grew up with her. And I’m going to--”

His mother shook her head positively: “I’m not going to have her in the house, Wint. You don’t need to talk any more. That’s all there is to it. I won’t!”

“I counted on you.”

“Well, you needn’t to count on me any more. I know what’s best; and I’m not going to have that shameless--”

She was interrupted, this time, by the arrival of Wint’s father. They heard the front door open, and heard him come in. Wint got up and went to the door that led into the hall. The elder Chase was hanging up his hat. Mrs. Chase, behind Wint, was talking steadily. Wint said to his father:

“Come in, will you? Mother and I are talking something over.”

Chase nodded; but he had news of his own. “Heard uptown to-night that Routt’s going to run against you in the fall,” he said. “Did you know that, Wint?”

Wint nodded. “I’d heard so.”

“I thought you and he were good friends.”

“We are,” Wint said good-naturedly. “But that doesn’t prevent our being political enemies. He’s had some break with Amos. Come in, dad. I want you to hear--”

But the older man heard it first from Mrs. Chase. She came across the room to meet them, pouring it out indignantly. “And Wint wants me to keep her,” she concluded. “Wants me to keep that girl in the house after this. I told him--”

Chase asked: “What’s that? Wint, what is this? Hetty--in trouble?”

“Yes, sir,” said Wint. “I found it out to-night; and I promised her we’d stand by her. Help her.”

Chase demanded sharply: “What right had you to commit us? If she chooses to destroy herself, how does that concern us? I’m surprised at you, Wint. It’s impossible.”

Wint said, in a steady voice: “She needs friends badly. She hasn’t any one to turn to. And Hetty’s a good sort, underneath. I told her--”

“Why doesn’t she turn to the man?” Chase interjected. “He’s the one that ought to--”

“As a matter of fact, I haven’t thought of him,” said Wint. “But if he were likely to help her, it seems to me he would have taken a hand before this. Don’t you think so?”

“Don’t I think so?” Wint’s father was outraged and angry. “I don’t think anything about it. It’s no concern of ours, so long as she packs herself out of here. Let her get out of her own mess.”

“I’m going to make it a concern of mine,” said Wint, his jaw stiffening. “I’m not going to see her turned adrift. I’m going to help her.”

Chase looked at him keenly. “By God, Wint, is this your doing? Are you--”

Wint said, a little wearily: “That was the first thing mother asked. You people don’t think very highly of me, do you?”

“Isn’t it the natural question to ask?” his father demanded. “Isn’t it the only possible explanation of this attitude on your part? Is it true, young man? That you--”

“Have it any way you want,” Wint exclaimed, too angry to deny again. “I don’t care. The point is this. Hetty is in trouble; she needs friends. I’ve promised that we would help her. I’ve promised you and mother would back me up. I counted on you.”

Chase lifted his hand in a terrible, silent rage. “You want to shame us, your mother and me, in the face of all Hardiston. I tell you, Wint, whether it’s your doing or not, you’re crazy. If it’s you--then we’ll give her some money and get rid of her. If it’s not, then she gets out of here to-night. Inside the hour.”

Wint said, half to himself: “We’d have to send her away, in any case. Somewhere. For a while.”

Chase laughed bitterly. “All right. If this is a new scrape you’ve got yourself into, I’ll buy you out of it. How much does the girl want?”

Wint flamed at him: “It’s not my concern, I tell you. You ought not to need to be told.”

“Then get her out of the house,” Chase exclaimed; “as quick as you can. Or I will. Where is she?” He turned toward the door.

But Wint was before him; blocked the doorway. “Father,” he said. “You and mother.... I’ve promised her help. Promised you would be good to her.”

“The more fool you. She goes out to-night.”

“If she goes,” Wint cried, “I go with her. You can do as you please.”

For a little after that, there was silence in the room. Wint stood in the doorway, head high and eyes hot. His father faced him. His mother stood by her chair, across the room, her lips moving soundlessly. It was she who first found voice. She came toward Wint in a clumsy, stumbling little run; and she caught his arms, and she pleaded with him.

“Don’t you do that, Wint. Don’t you. Don’t go away and leave us again. We’re getting old, sonny. Your father and I. Your old mother. Don’t you go away. We’d.... We couldn’t ever stand it again. We--”

Wint said gently: “I don’t want to go. I want to stay at home here with you both, and be proud of you, and love you.”

“You shall stay,” she told him. “You shall. Anything you want, Wint, sonny. I don’t care whether you did it or not. I’ll be good to her. I will, Wint. If you’ll stay--”

The boy said, half abashed: “I don’t want to seem to drive you to it. Only--I’ve promised her. I can’t break my word to her. Please, can’t you see?”

“It’s all right,” his mother protested. “I’ll do anything.” She clutched her husband’s arm. “Tell him to stay, Winthrop,” she begged. “Don’t let him go away. We’ll take care of Hetty.”

Chase said: “You’re making lots of trouble for us, Wint.” He smiled a little unsteadily. “We’re too old for so much excitement. You’ll have to remember that. Remember to take care of us--as well as Hetty.”

Wint could not hold out. He said: “All right. I won’t go away. Do as you think best about Hetty. I hope you’ll let her--”

“I’ll keep her,” his mother cried. “I’ll be as good as I know to her.”

And his father echoed: “We’ll take care of her, Wint.”

“You’re doing it because you want to,” Wint pleaded. “You don’t have to. I’ll stay anyway. But I--hope you’ll want to help her, anyway.”

“Yes,” Chase said. “We’ll keep her--because we want to. Do what we can.”

* * * * *

But they were not to keep her very long, for Hetty’s time was near. It was decided that she should go to Columbus for a little while, returning to them in the fall. Wint wrote a check to cover her expenses. Hetty’s old sullenness had returned to her. She took the check without thanks, and tucked it away in her pocketbook. She was to go to the train alone, to avoid talk.

The night of her going, Jack Routt met V. R. Kite, and took Kite to his office. And he told him certain things, an evil elation in his eyes. Told him in detail that which he had planned.

Kite listened with eyes shining; and at the end he said: “He’ll deny it. What can you prove?”

“This proves the whole thing,” said Routt triumphantly, and slid a slip of paper across the desk to Kite. Kite looked at it. A check, drawn by Winthrop Chase, Junior, to the order of Henrietta Morfee.

The buzzard of a man banged his hard old fist upon the table. “By God, Routt!” he cried, “we win. We’ll skin that cub. We’ll hang his hide on the barn!”

Routt reached into the drawer of his desk. “And that means,” he said, “that it’s time to have a drink. Say when?”

END OF BOOK IV