CHAPTER III

HETTY HAS HER DAY

Wint and his father walked home in a silence that was little broken. Across the railroad yards, up the hill. A new understanding of his father and mother was coming to Wint; some measure of comprehension of the completeness of their love for him. He marked that there had been no reproaches from his father, no questions, no scolding. That which had passed was to be forgotten, was to be ignored. He was their son; nothing else mattered in any degree. His father, on their homeward way, spoke of other matters, once or twice. He said the day was fine; he said Mrs. Chase would probably have breakfast waiting. Wint took the older man’s lead, ignored what had passed the night before.

When they got to the house, his mother met him in the hall, and she put her arms around him and cried on his shoulder, and called him her boy. Wint cried, too, and was not ashamed of it. He kept patting her head, and saying: “There, mother,” in an awkward way. She told him he must never go away from home again. Never; for anything....

He said: “I thought you would want me to go.”

But she clasped him close, protesting.

She had breakfast hot upon the stove. The elder Chase had gone downtown as soon as it was day, to try to locate Wint. They ate together; and after that first moment in the hall, they did not speak of what had happened at all. When breakfast was done, Wint went into the kitchen with his mother to help with the dishes. She tied an apron around him, and laughed at him with a sob in her voice; and Wint laughed with her, and joked her, till the sob disappeared. His father looked in on them once or twice, then left them alone together.

Once, Wint broke a little silence by saying, his arm around her shoulders:

“Mother!”

She looked up at him with quick anxiety; and he said: “I’m sorry, for your sakes.”

She said: “You didn’t lie, Wint. Anyway, you didn’t lie. There, dry that plate. So....”

He smiled a little whimsically. After all, he had lied. But they did not care whether it was true or false; these two. He was their son. The thought was glorious. He nursed it, treasured it.

When the work was done, and the dishes were being put away, they heard a step on the porch outside the kitchen. They both looked that way; and through the window saw Hetty. She passed the window, knocked on the door.

Wint looked toward his mother; and he saw that she was white as death. But even while he looked at her, she touched her mouth with her hand, and steadied herself, and went to the door and opened. “Hetty!” she said pleasantly, gently. “Hetty! Well, come in.”

The girl came into the kitchen. She was pale, but she seemed very sure of herself. She looked from Mrs. Chase to Wint. “I want to talk to Wint,” she said gently.

Mrs. Chase nodded. “You wait here.” She went quickly out into the dining room. They heard her speak to her husband. She was back, almost at once. “Go into the sitting room,” she said. “There’s no one there.”

Hetty went toward the door; but Wint at first did not stir. He was curiously ashamed to face Hetty. She stopped in the doorway, and looked back at him; and he pulled himself together, and untied his apron and followed her. In the sitting room, she sat down on the couch, and Wint sat by the table. She looked at him steadily, smiled a little.

He said: “Well, Hetty.”

She laughed at him in a tender way. “Oh, you Wint!” she exclaimed, in a fashion that reminded him of the old, careless Hetty. He shifted uneasily. He felt as though he were guilty toward her. But there was no accusation in her voice. She shook a forefinger at him. “What got into you?” she asked. “Why didn’t you tell them to go to the devil?”

There was no way to put it into words. He shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s all right.”

“You knocked us flat; the lot of us,” she said. “Wint, you pretty near killed me. You darned, decent kid.”

Wint stirred uneasily.

“I thought I’d die,” she said. Her voice shook, though she was smiling. “I....” She laughed. “You ought to have seen the others.”

He asked awkwardly: “What happened? I haven’t heard.”

“Didn’t your father--”

“No. I stayed at the Weaver House last night.”

She laughed. “Oh, you. Leave it to you. To think of the fool thing to do.”

He said soberly: “I was in earnest, Hetty. I meant what I said.”

She nodded. “Sure you did. You’re just a big enough fool to go through with it, too.”

“Of course.”

“You’ve got a f-fat chance, Wint,” she said, and her voice broke, and she was very near crying through her smiles. “I’ve waked up, now. You’ve got a fine, fat chance of that.”

“I don’t hold it against you,” he said. “I’d--be good to you.”

“Don’t be a nut, darn you! You’ll make me cry. I came near crying myself to death, last night.”

Wint’s curiosity was awake; he asked again: “What happened?”

“Why, you knocked us all flat,” she said. “I took it out in crying. Routt beat it after you. He was the first to move.”

There was a curious, hard quality in her voice; and Wint asked: “Was it....” He bit off the question, furious with himself for asking. She said slowly:

“Never mind. That’s past. I thought for a while I’d be better dead; but I know better, now. Nothing can kill you unless you want to be killed. Nobody ever fell so hard they couldn’t get up. I’m going to get up, Wint, and go right on living.”

He told her quickly: “Of course. I’ll help. Honestly....”

She said fiercely: “You will not. If you think I’m going to let you go through with this--” She broke off, laughed. “Well, I was telling you what happened. Routt beat it after you. The rest of us sat still, me bawling. Then your father got up and ran out to the front door, and out to the street. While he was gone, Kite begun to stir. I looked at Kite. Believe me, Wint, he was squashed. He hadn’t expected you to--do what you did. He looked like a dead man. He stuffed his things into his pocket and he pattered out into the hall. Then he came back; and he said to me:

“‘Come, Hetty.’

“I said to him: ‘You go where you’re going, you old buzzard.’ And I went on crying. It felt good.

“I heard Kite go out the front door; and then your father came back. He says: ‘He’s gone! Wint’s gone!’

“Then he looked at me, and I couldn’t look at him. And he went out and went upstairs.

“The rest of them went along, then. Ed Skinner went first. Then B. B. and Amos together. Amos says to me: ‘Don’t cry so, Hetty. Don’t cry so.’ I told him to shut up; and he went along. When they were all gone, I got myself together and went out. Lutcher and Kite were waiting at the corner. They stopped me; and Kite, he says: ‘My God, what are we going to do?’

“I hit him in the face, hard as I could. Lutcher grabbed my arm; and I told him to let go, and he let go. I went on and left them. Went home and cried some more.”

She laughed a little. “I’ll say I felt like crying, Wint. That was your doing. Darn you!”

He said: “You mustn’t feel badly.”

“Badly!” she echoed, and her eyes were suddenly hard. “Wint, I could cut out my tongue.” She moved abruptly, hid her face. After an instant, she turned to him again.

“There’s no use in saying I’m sorry. They fed me up to it. Threats, and promises. If I’d do it, they’d give me--a rat of a man to marry. He said he’d marry me himself. But he’d said that before. He told me himself that he’d marry me if I’d do this. Marry me and take me away. I knew he was a liar, but I thought maybe he’d keep the promise, this time. I thought I had to have him, to be able to look people in the eye. Oh, I’m not making excuses, Wint. There isn’t any excuse for me.”

He said: “It’s all right. Please don’t feel badly.”

“The thing is,” she said steadily, “how am I going to make it up to you? What do you want me to do?” He did not answer at once; and she told him humbly: “I’ll do anything you say.”

He shook his head. “Nothing. I’m willing to go through with it.”

She rose to her feet with a swift, furious movement. “Damn you, Wint!” she cried chokingly. “Don’t you say that again. Ain’t I sorry enough to suit you? Haven’t you poured coals of fire on my head till--till my hair’s all singed? Don’t rub it in, Wint,” she pleaded. “You’ve made me feel bad enough. I’ll say I was ready to quit, last night. It wasn’t worth a penny, to live. Then I thought I might make it up to you. So I--stayed alive. Don’t you rub it in to me, now. Don’t you say that again. I tell you, Wint, I went through something, last night.” Her voice shook, she stretched out her hands to him. “For God’s sake, Wint, don’t rub it in any more!”

There were tears in her eyes, on her cheeks; her face was the face of one in torment. He took her hands; and he said gently: “Please--I didn’t mean to make you unhappy. You’ve--really, you’ve made me happy. I thought every one would be against me. But Amos and B. B. came to me, offered me their friendship, and their help. And father came to me. I never knew before what friends I had. You’ve done that for me, already.”

“I’ll bet Routt came to you, too,” she said, a terrible scorn in her voice. “He’s a friend of yours, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” said Wint, “he came.”

She was frankly crying, now; her shoulders shaking, tears streaming down her face. Her lips twisted; she held out her clenched hands. “I’d like to kill him.”

“Don’t cry,” Wint begged. “Please.”

She brushed her arms across her eyes and smiled at him. “All right. Now.... What do you want me to do? It’s up to you.”

“I don’t want you to do anything,” Wint protested. “It will all come out right in the end.”

“I’m not going to stand and wait.”

“Please. You’ll see.”

She stamped her foot fiercely. “I tell you, no. I was the goat, yesterday. They made a fool of me. But I’m grown up over night, Wint. This is my day. I’m going to tear things open--wide.”

For all the harshness of her speech, there was a strange new gentleness about Hetty; and there was a new strength in her. Wint had never liked her more, respected her more. He said steadily: “You’re wrong, I think. You’re excited, to-day. I tell you, things will turn out better than you think.”

The telephone tinkled in the hall; and Wint said: “Wait a minute, will you?” And he went to answer it.

Sam O’Brien, the fat restaurant man, was on the other end of the wire. He asked: “This Chase’s house?”

Wint said: “Yes, this is Wint Chase. That you, Sam?”

O’Brien exclaimed: “Yes, it’s me! Say, Wint--you’re there, boy. You’re a man.”

“Pshaw!”

“Say, Wint,” O’Brien cut in. “Is Hetty up there? They say at her room she started for there.”

Wint glanced toward the door of the sitting room. “Yes,” he said.

“Do me a favor?” Sam asked.

“Of course.”

“Keep her there till I come.”

“All right,” Wint agreed. “What--”

But Sam had hung up. Wint went back to Hetty. He decided, for no reason in the world, not to tell her what Sam had asked him to do. She asked, as soon as he came into the sitting room:

“Who was that? Sam O’Brien?”

“Yes.”

“What did he want?”

Wint laughed uneasily, and said: “He just wanted to tell me he was on my side.”

Hetty nodded. “There’s one decent man, Wint.” There was a curious warmth in her tone.

“Yes, he is,” Wint agreed.

“He’s been fine to me,” she said, a little wistfully. Then she put Sam aside with a movement of her hand. “Well, Wint, you want me to go ahead my own way?”

He hesitated; then he said: “Hetty, you’re all right. I don’t blame you for--anything. But I do want you to forget the whole thing. You’ll see it will straighten out. Don’t mix things up.”

They heard his mother come into the dining room, across the hall, and busy herself there; and they kept silent till she went out into the kitchen again. A matter of minutes. Hetty moved once, crossing from her chair to stand beside Wint and touch his shoulder lightly with her hand. When Mrs. Chase had gone out of hearing, she said softly:

“I guess there’s one person you’d like to have know the straight of this.”

Wint’s jaw set slowly with something of the old stubbornness; and he said: “No. She doesn’t believe in me. She’s made no move. I’ll not.”

She twisted her fingers into his hair and shook him good-naturedly. “You, Wint; you’re as stubborn as a mule,” she told him. “What would you think of her if she’d come running? After you’d said you were going to--marry me? What could she do? But she knows you’re a liar, just the same. I’ll bet she’s just waiting.”

Some one came up on the porch outside, and she looked sharply that way, and asked: “Who’s that?”

“I’ll go,” Wint told her; and he went to the front door. Sam O’Brien was there. He had expected Sam. But Jack Routt was with him, and Wint had not expected to see Routt.

He looked from Sam to the other. Routt’s collar, he saw, was rumpled; and there were little beads of perspiration on Sam’s forehead. Wint hesitated. Sam said huskily:

“I know you don’t want this skunk in your house, Wint. But is--she here?”

“Yes,” Wint told him.

“Well, this thing wants to see her,” Sam explained. “Speak up, you.” He looked at Routt.

Routt said: “Yes.” He ran a finger around inside his collar.

Wint moved aside. “Come in,” he agreed; and they stepped into the hall. Then Hetty came out of the sitting room. She had heard their voices, heard what they said. She stood very still, looking at Jack Routt with inscrutable eyes.

Routt looked from Sam to Wint furtively. Then he looked at Hetty; and he moved toward her as though he expected violence. Two paces from where she stood, he stopped; he fidgeted. At last he said:

“Will you marry me?”

There was a parrot-like quality in his voice that made Wint, even in that moment, want to smile. Hetty did smile; she said quietly:

“I suppose Sam brought you here.”

Routt looked at Sam; then he protested: “No. I wanted to come. Honestly.”

“You never wanted anything honestly in your life, Jack,” she told him; and there was as much pity as anger in her voice. “I wouldn’t marry you. I wouldn’t look at you. Not if you were the last man in the world.”

No one said anything. They stood very still. Then Routt moved a little; and he turned, and he looked questioningly at Sam O’Brien. Sam had his hat in his hand. He dropped it, to leave his hands free. He opened the front door and stepped outside; and Routt followed him as though at a word of command.

Sam took him by the arm; then he closed the door. Wint looked at Hetty.

They heard a muffled, thudding sound. A hoarse cry. A scuffle of feet. The front gate banged.

When Wint opened the door, Sam was standing on one foot, precariously poised; and with his handkerchief he was carefully wiping the toe of his right shoe. Routt was not in sight.

Hetty came to the door beside Wint; and Sam looked at her humbly, and he asked:

“Will you walk along with me?”

Hetty, smiling a little tenderly, said: “You oughtn’t to have done that.”

“I can clean my shoe,” Sam explained, as though that were the only consideration. “Will you walk along with me?”

She hesitated a moment; then she said swiftly: “Yes, Sam,” and looked at Wint with a quick, laughing glance. “Yes, Sam, I’ll walk along with you.”

Sam looked at Wint. “We’re much obliged to you,” he said.

Wint nodded. Then Sam and Hetty went down to the gate; and Wint watched them go away together.