Part 15

“You wouldn’t care, would you?” he persisted, “if some old duffer had taken it into his noddle to do a good deed? Once we are married, I shan’t bother to unearth him, you’d better believe. I’m in favor of letting sleeping philanthropists lie—eh, Barbie?”

“We’ll not be married,” Barbara said, in a low voice, “till——”

He caught her suddenly about the waist and stopped her words with one of his close kisses.

“You shan’t say it,” he murmured, his lips still on hers.

She twisted sharply out of his grasp, her face crimsoning slowly.

“I wish—you wouldn’t, David.”

“Wouldn’t what, little wife?” he drawled, reaching for her lazily from his comfortable seat in the corner of the sofa.

“I am not your wife,” she said coldly.

“Pretty near,” he laughed; “too near for such little exhibitions of prudery.”

His eyes, vividly blue and sparkling under their long curling lashes, met hers with a look which she silently resented.

“I have sold the apples on the trees,” she said presently, seating herself near the window, under pretence of getting a better light on her sewing.

David yawned audibly, and thrust his hands into his trousers pockets.

“You have—eh?”

“Yes; and for a good price, as prices go, Peg says.”

“How much?” he wanted to know.

She told him, and he shook his head.

“Do y’ know, that old Morrison is a fool. I mean to get rid of him, when I take charge here.”

Barbara was silent.

“The old chap doesn’t know enough to last him over night,” pursued David. “I don’t believe you’d ever have gotten into such a hole financially, if it hadn’t been for his running things into the ground. What you want is a couple of capable young men about the place. Of course we’ll keep some decent horses. I’ve bought one already, a beauty! Come out and look at him, Barbie. Or, say, put on your hat and I’ll take you for a spin. We’ll take in the county fair, if you say so. It’s in full blast to-day.”

She arose and folded her work.

“Not to-day, David; I’ve bread to bake. But I’ll come out and look at your horse.”

“You’re getting so confoundedly difficult, Barbara. I never know how to take you,” complained David, as they walked, a little apart, along the gravel path.

He turned to look at her and was struck afresh by her beauty. During the long days of the summer that was past, she seemed to have bloomed into a new and more vivid loveliness. He drew his breath sharply as his eyes lingered on the rich red of her mouth, the full column of her round white throat, and the soft undulations of her figure as she moved slowly under the dazzling light of the September sky.

“If you weren’t such a tearing beauty,” he said, under his breath, “I don’t know as I could stand for it long. You’re forever treading on a fellow’s toes; did you know it, Barbie? Now, I like a woman to be sweet and—er—yielding.”

He smiled at the vision of Jennie, the pink-cheeked waitress at the Barford Eagle, which chose to obtrude itself at the moment. The humble, almost suppliant look of adoration in her childish blue eyes had lately, afforded David a vast amount of indolent amusement.

“A woman,” he went on, didactically, “ought not to be always thinking of herself.”

“I know that, David,” Barbara said meekly. “I try not to. But——”

“That’s just it!” he broke in quickly; “there’s always a ‘but’ in your mind and in your attitude towards me, and always has been. You needn’t deny it,” he added, openly complacent, in view of his own cleverness. “I know women.”

The girl looked at him in silence, a mutinous question behind her closed lips.

David smiled down at her brilliantly, his eyes, his tawny hair, his white teeth, and his ruddy color suggesting the magnificent youth and virility of a pagan deity, newly alighted on the common earth.

“The fact is, Barbara,” he went on confidently, “you’ve lived here so long practically alone that you’re a bit spoiled. What you need is to give up trying to control everything and everybody and just be a sweet little wife. Didn’t you know that?”

Her eyes drooped under the blue fire of his gaze. David laughed aloud.

“I’ll make you happy,” he said, possessing himself of her hand. “You won’t know yourself a year from now, little girl. All this worry will be over; and I’m never going to allow you to bother your dear little head again over farm-products and such things as cows, pigs, and chickens. I mean to give up a lot of that sort of farming. It doesn’t pay, and it’s a whole lot of useless bother and expense. There! what do you think of my horse? Isn’t he a beauty? Look at his head and eyes, will you? and the build and color of him? There’s blood for you, and I tell you he’s a hummer on the road!”

Barbara passed a knowing little hand over the satin neck, and the horse turned his large, full, intelligent eyes upon her with a whinny of welcome.

“He likes you, Barbie; first thing. Perhaps you can drive him after a while. But just now he’s like a certain little woman I know, a bit restive and needing a strong hand to guide and control. You don’t mind my seeing it so clearly, do you, dear?”

Barbara threw back her head and looked at him from under lowered lashes.

“I mind your saying it,” she said. “And I may as well tell you—now—that I don’t intend to discharge Peg; and I must always have a voice in the management of the farm. It is Jimmy’s farm, you know.”

“I’ve heard you say so before,” he said sulkily. “But why isn’t half of it yours, I’d like to know?”

“Because Jimmy is the last Preston, and father wanted it so. I shall have all that comes off of it till Jimmy is of age. We——”

She hesitated, with a doubtful look at him. “There is other good land near. We shall, perhaps, be able to acquire it; start fresh orchards, and——”

“Perhaps—perhaps!” he echoed irritably. “I’ll tell you straight it’s all nonsense. Under the law you’re entitled to half. Ask old Jarvis, if you don’t believe me.”

He watched the quick color rise in Barbara’s face, with a low laugh of arrogant amusement.

“Jarvis is a curious old duffer,” he added, lazily stroking the smooth shoulder of his horse. “But he knows rather better than to tackle me on certain subjects.”

His eyes were fastened on Barbara, narrowly watching her.

“He’s tried it once or twice; but I called his bluff each time. He hasn’t been here lately, has he?”

“No,” said Barbara faintly.

“Well, he’d best keep his distance; that’s all.”

He turned quickly at sound of a boyish whoop from behind.

“Oh, hello, Jimmy!” he said carelessly. “How’s your majesty’s highness to-day?”

“I’m pretty well, ’xcept that bof my front teef are loose,” replied the little boy seriously. “I can’t eat corn or apples, ’cept wiv my side teef.”

“Don’t you think it’s about time you taught that boy to speak the English language, Barbara? It’s _teeth_ and _with_, my boy. Don’t let me hear you make that babyish blunder again.”

The child hung his head, his face flushing to a shamed scarlet under his thatch of yellow hair.

“I’m going to try,” he said manfully.

“Want to take a ride with me, old man?” asked David. “Your sister says she can’t.”

Jimmy looked up eagerly into Barbara’s face for the coveted permission.

“I’m going to drive over to the fair,” pursued David. “I’d like to take my best girl along pretty well; but you’ll do, Jimmy.”

Barbara hesitated, her eyes averted.

“Of course, if you’re afraid to trust him with me——” mocked David. “I’ve a tolerably fast horse here, and I’m supposed to be a reckless——”

“It isn’t that,” she interrupted hurriedly. “He may go, if he’d like to.”

Jimmy burst into a shout of joy.

“I guess I’d better brush my hair,” he exulted, “and put on my best clo’es! Shall I, Barbara?”

“You’re well enough as you are,” David said peremptorily. “Jump in, boy, and we’ll be off!”

She stood watching them as they drove away, the little boy’s yellow hair blowing about his rosy face.

“Good-bye, Barbara!” he shouted. “We’re going awful fast!”

David’s attention seemed centred upon his horse. He did not once look at the girl, as she waved her hand in token of a cheerful good-bye.

XXII

DAVID was quite his expansive, good-humored self again by the time he and Jimmy reached the fair-grounds. He joked with the little boy about his capacity for pink lemonade and peanuts as he drove his spirited young horse carefully into the crowded enclosure; and Jimmy, all eager and glowing with joyous anticipation, gazed with round eyes at the stirring scene. Everywhere flags fluttered merrily in the wind, and the crash and blare of band-music mingled with the shouts of vendors, the trampling of feet, and the hum of many voices.

“Hello, Dave! Goin’ t’ trot that nag o’ yourn?” called a voice from among the crowd of men and boys lined up along the race-track.

“Oh, hello, Bud Hawley! That you?” responded Dave, pulling in his horse. “Why, no; I hadn’t thought of it. It’s too late to enter; isn’t it?”

The Barford liveryman, tipping a solemn wink at the men near him, slowly advanced and stood, his hat pulled low over his eyes, examining David’s horse. He passed an experienced hand over his withers, felt his hock-joints, lifted his feet, and stared critically at the frogs and the setting of his shoes. Then he sauntered around in front and looked the animal full in the face, his cautious hand still feeling, caressing, sliding from neck to powerful shoulder, from shoulder to slender foreleg.

“Say, Dave,” he drawled at length, “that ain’t a half bad horse. ’F I was you, I’d enter him. Like ’s not you’d pull off some money; mebbe enough t’ buy a new buggy. The’s a free-fer-all comin’ off ’bout four-thirty. I’ll see t’ enterin’ him fer you, if you say so. ’N’ I dunno but what I’d back him t’ the extent of a few dollars. What d’ you say t’ lettin’ me drive him, ’n’ go shares on possible winnin’s?”

David laughed arrogantly.

“I’d say ’no’ to that last,” he said. “I’ll drive him myself, if I enter him at all. Where’s the office?”

Mr. Hawley thrust his hands deep into his trousers pockets, where he thoughtfully jingled some loose silver.

“Better let me handle the ribbons,” he advised. “I c’n git the paces out o’ him without ha’f killin’ him, ’n’ that’s more’n some folks c’n do. I ain’t anxious, though, ’s fur’s that’s concerned. But you’d have the fun o’ lookin’ on from the grand stand.”

“There’s something in that,” admitted David.

“If y’ never drove in a race,” pursued Mr. Hawley, “y’ don’t want t’ begin t’-day. There’ll sure be a ruck o’ horses in that free-fer-all.”

David glanced over the rail at the spectacle of half a dozen horses hitched to light sulkies and driven at a furious rate of speed, which at that moment dashed past.

“Them’s the two-year-olds,” vouchsafed Mr. Hawley. “I ain’t speshully int’rested in seein’ ’em go it. Don’t b’lieve in racin’ colts m’self. It’s too much like givin’ a man’s work t’ a boy. Breaks ’em down, like es not, b’fore they’ve had a fair chance.”

He glanced kindly at Jimmy.

“Well, son,” he went on, “how d’ you like the fair?”

“I like it,” Jimmy said shyly. “I like the music an’ the horses an’ the flags ’n’—’n’ everythin’.”

“Want to get out, old man, and take in the side-shows?” asked David.

“What are side-shows?” Jimmy demanded guilelessly.

Mr. Hawley laughed heartily.

“A little bit of everythin’,” he answered. “The’s the agercult’ral exhibit—I seen some o’ your apples an’ a pile o’ them onions Peg Morrison’s be’n raisin’ in there. An’ there’s the woman’s tent, with the bigges’ lot o’ patchwork an’ jell’-cake an’ canned fruit y’ ever saw. I jus’ come f’om there. Y’ c’n hitch over yonder, if y’ wan’ to, Dave.”

David’s eyes had been roaming somewhat impatiently over the gay scene. He thrust his hand into his pocket.

“See here, boy,” he said to Jimmy, “you take this small change and go around to suit yourself. I don’t care anything about all that sort of thing. But you can take it in as long as you’ve a mind to.”

“What! All b’ my lone?” asked Jimmy, a frightened look in his brown eyes. “I guess I’d rather stay wiv you, David.”

“Nonsense!” said David sternly. “You’re not a baby, are you? Can’t you walk around and look at pigs and chickens and patchwork quilts without a guardian? You’ve got to quit being such a molly-coddle, my boy, and we’ll begin right now. Come! jump out, and I’ll look you up after a while. You couldn’t get lost, if you tried. Run along now and have a good time.”

“Her brother, ain’t it?” inquired Mr. Hawley, as David lifted the child to the ground.

“Get in, won’t you?” David said, ignoring the question. “We’ll look into that race proposition. I don’t know but what I’ll go in for it. I wouldn’t mind making a little money on the side.”

Mr. Hawley accepted the invitation with a backward glance at Jimmy, who stood watching them forlornly, his rosy mouth half open, the silver pieces tightly clutched in one moist little hand.

“Kind o’ small, ain’t he, to be goin’ ’round by himself in a place like this?” he ventured. “I’ll bet his sister wouldn’t like it over an’ ’bove.”

“He’s been pretty well spoiled,” David said sharply. “I intend to make a man of him, and this is as good a way to begin as any. There’s nothing to hurt him around here.”

“You may ’xperience some trouble in locatin’ him after a spell,” opined Mr. Hawley, shaking his head. “I remember m’ wife let me bring one o’ our boys t’ the fair once, a number o’ years ago, when Lansing, our oldest boy, was ’bout five. I was lookin’ at the live-stock, an’ Lance, he got kind o’ tuckered out, an’ I sez to him——”

“Oh, cut out the details,” David interrupted. “You didn’t lose the kid for good, did you?”

“No; I got him after a while; but it pretty near scared the life out o’ me an’ him both, I remember; ’n’ m’ wife——”

“Come,” said David, with some impatience, “and we’ll enter the horse.”

He turned and stared sharply at the other man.

“You ought to know what you’re talking about, Hawley, when you say my horse stands a good show to win. Suppose I change my mind and allow you to drive him, and you let him be beaten. What then?”

The liveryman shrugged his shoulders.

“You ain’t no sport, Dave; it’s easy t’ see that,” he drawled. “If I drive your horse, I’ll do my best, o’ course. I dunno what sort o’ horses ’ll be entered in that free-fer-all. But judgin’ from past seasons and what I seen outside in the way o’ horseflesh, I sh’d say——”

He paused and winked solemnly at David.

“Try me an’ see,” he advised. “‘F I lose, I won’t sen’ you no bill fer las’ month’s liv’ry. An’ it ’u’d naturally be a stiff one.”

“All right,” said David. “Done! and we’ll have a drink on it.”

“Lemonade fer mine, ’f I’m a-goin’ t’ drive,” said Mr. Hawley.

But David drank something stronger. He felt the need of it, he said.

Later, having settled the preliminaries of the race, David sauntered forth with a hazy notion of looking up Jimmy and taking him up to the grand stand. To this end he walked slowly through the agricultural “pavilion,” with its exhibits of mammoth vegetables and pyramids of red, green, and russet fruit; but nowhere did he catch a glimpse of Jimmy’s yellow head topped with its scarlet tam. There was a crowd of women in the next place of exhibition, where the pine and canvas walls were covered with quilts of wonderful and complicated design, varied with areas of painted tapestries, home-made lace, worsted and crochet work; while the narrow shelves below were occupied with brown loaves, raised biscuit, and frosted cakes, interspersed with jellies of brilliant hues and luscious fruits preserved in lucent syrups. There were many children here, clinging to maternal hands and skirts; but no Jimmy.

“Little nuisance,” muttered David irritably. “He ought to have stayed where I told him to.”

He was elbowing his way through a group of women engaged in an excited discussion concerning the merits of two rival lace counterpanes, when a small figure placed itself directly in his path.

He stopped short and looked down into the babyish blue eyes uplifted timidly to his.

“Why, hello, Jennie!” he said, smiling. “Where did you come from?”

The girl was very becomingly dressed in dark-blue serge, the jacket thrown jauntily wide, revealing a waist of cheap white lace, which in its turn permitted glimpses of the pink skin and rounded contours beneath. A hat of dark-blue straw, wreathed with small pink roses, rested coquettishly on her light-brown curly hair. At the moment of meeting David thus unexpectedly, the light of youth and love shone vividly over the girl’s insignificant face and figure, irradiating them into a beauty almost noble.

David could hardly help noticing the half infantile, wholly adorable curve of her young brows and the clear blue light of the eyes beneath. Then his curious eyes slowly swept the soft oval of pink cheek and the rosy mouth, parted a little to ease the tumultuous heart-beats which shook the transparent stuff at her throat.

“I didn’t know as you’d want to speak to me, Mr. Whitcomb,” murmured the girl.

Her eyes wandered uncertainly past him into the crowd.

“I s’pose,” she added, thrusting out her pink lips in a pout, “that _she’s_ here somewheres.”

“No,” laughed David. “‘She’ doesn’t happen to be along to-day.”

A wayward impulse prompted his next words.

“What do you think, Jennie? I asked her and she wouldn’t come with me.”

“Wouldn’t come—with you?”

The girl’s voice held wonder, incredulity, longing. Her eyes said more.

“You wouldn’t treat me that way, would you, Jennie?”

The girl looked down, an unsuspected delicacy sealing her lips.

David looked at the pretty shadowy circle of the long lashes on the smooth pink cheek.

“You wouldn’t; now, would you, Jennie?” he persisted.

The girl glanced at him sidewise, and tossed her head.

“What do you want t’ know for?” she demanded. “If you don’t like the way she treats you, you c’n tell her so, can’t you?”

David bit his lip.

“Don’t you want some ice cream, Jennie?” he asked.

The girl hesitated.

“I came t’ the fair with Gus Bamber,” she said. “An’ what do you think, we hadn’t no more’n got here when Sutton got after Gus t’ help him in the refreshment booth. Said the other fellow he’d hired wasn’t no good at mixin’ drinks; an’ so nothin’ would do but he must have Gus t’ help. Both of us was awful mad; but we didn’t das’ say so to old Sutton. He’s somethin’ fierce if you don’t do ’xactly as he says.”

“Who’s Gus?” asked David.

“Well, that’s pretty good!” giggled the girl. “I guess you’d ought t’ know Gus Bamber b’ this time. He waits on you often enough at the Eagle.”

“Oh, you mean Sutton’s barkeep—Gus; yes, that’s so. I didn’t know his name was Bamber, though.”

“It is,” the girl said. “Augustus Bamber. I think it’s a real nice name, too. But I don’t like it ’s well’s I do yours.”

“That’s kind of you,” drawled David. “_Mrs._ Augustus Bamber sounds pretty well, though—eh, Jennie?”

The girl moved her shoulders gently.

“Not on your life!” she said positively. “‘N’ I’ve told him so more’n fifty times already, I guess.”

She lifted her eyes to David’s with innocent coquetry.

“I don’t b’lieve in gettin’ married t’ anybody ’nless you’re awfully in love with ’em. That’s what I keep tellin’ Gus, but he says——”

“Are you coming with me to get that ice cream?” asked David, stifling a yawn.

“I dunno whether I’ve got the nerve,” murmured the girl. “The ice cream’s in the same booth where Gus is; it’s right acrost from where Sutton’s got his concession. ’F he should see me—with you——”

“What do you suppose he’d do about it?” inquired David. “Gus—er—went off and left you, didn’t he?”

He paused to laugh sourly; then added, “And my girl wouldn’t come with me; so I guess it’s up to us to do the best we can to have a good time, Jennie. If you’ll come along with me, we’ll take in the whole darned show.”

“If you think it would be all right, Mr. Whitcomb.”

“Why shouldn’t it be all right, I’d like to know?”

“I don’t know, only——”

“Only what? Out with it, little girl.”

“I—I’m kind of scared of you, Mr. Whitcomb,” faltered the girl. “You—you’re so—tall—’n’—’n’ handsome, ’n’ you——”

David laughed outright. The girl’s eyes and voice conveyed so delicious a flattery that he could not help the tenderness that crept into his words.

“Why, you dear little goose, you,” he said in her ear, “I won’t hurt you, and nobody else shall, either, when I’m around. Come, we’ll go and eat that ice cream, right where Augustus Bamber, Esquire, can see us; then we’ll take in the other attractions. Have you seen anything yet?”

“Only the cake an’ jell’ an’ canned peaches an’ stuff, an’ those stupid ol’ quilts an’ things,” said the girl, with spirit. “Those women are all ’s mad as wet hens because the quilt with red stars got the blue ribbon over the one with yellow moons on it, an’ they pretty near come to a scrap over those two big fruitcakes. One of ’em’s got white roses made out o’ tissue paper round the edge, an’ the other’s got a bride on top made out o’ sugar, with a real veil an’ bouquet. It’s awful cute.”

“A bride made out of sugar must be pretty sweet,” said David, smacking his lips and smiling down into the pretty, foolish face at his side. “But I know somebody that’ll be a heap sweeter—when she’s a bride.”

“Oh, Mis-ter Whitcomb!” breathed the girl, the pink brightening in her round cheeks. “But, of course, you meant—her. She’s awful good-lookin’.”

“No; I didn’t mean—her,” said David, laughing outright. “I meant you, Jennie.”

The girl looked down and bit her lips in pretty confusion. Then she sighed.

“I shan’t never be a bride, I guess,” she said mournfully.

“Why not? I’d like to know.”

“Because—I—— If we’re goin’ out o’ here, I guess we’d better be movin’. Folks is lookin’ at us.”

“I have no objections,” David said coolly. “Let ’em look.”

“It was that insurance man that’s stayin’ t’ the Eagle,” whispered the girl. “I don’t like him a bit. He was right behind us; but he’s over there now, lookin’ at those sofa-pillows.”

“You mean Todd? Oh, Todd’s all right. He’s a good fellow.”

“I don’t like him snoopin’ ’round, just the same. He’s got eyes like a gimblet; ’n’ he looks at you like he was tryin’ t’ find out what you had fer breakfas’. Gus says he’s a tight-wad, too. He don’t spen’ nothin’ at the bar, ’xcept you or somebody treats him.”

“He’s welcome to all he gets out of me,” drawled David. “Do you like your ice cream mixed or straight, Jennie?”

“I guess maybe you’ll think I’m kind o’ funny, but I like those little round pancakes, folded around like a cornucopia with v’nilla ice cream inside. They’re awful good.”

“All right; we’ll partake of cornucopias, to begin with. Perhaps we’ll work around to the other kinds after the races.”

“Oh, are there goin’ to be races?” asked Jennie, nibbling prettily at the edges of the cone sparsely filled with vanilla ice cream, which the scarlet-faced man who presided over the gasoline stove and its adjacent can of cold stuff, handed her with a wipe of his sticky fingers on a long-suffering apron-front.

“Get onto Gus, will you?” she whispered, as she bridled, laughed, blushed, and giggled by turns, under the baleful light of Mr. Bamber’s pale-green eyes. “I ’xpect he’ll kill me jus’ the minute he gets a chance. Gus hates you; did you know it, Mr. Whitcomb?”

“Hates me? Why should he? I’m sure I’ve given the fellow tips enough,” David said arrogantly.

All the light went out of the girl’s blue eyes.

“You’ve given me ‘tips,’ as you call them, too,” she said soberly. “Do you want to know what I’ve done with ’em? I jus’ hated to take money from you; but I didn’t know what else t’ do; so I——”

“Well, what did you do with the munificent sums I’ve bestowed on you from time to time?” inquired David good-humoredly. “I’d really like to know.”

The girl had finished her ice cream, leathery receptacle and all. She began pulling on her white cotton gloves.

“Let’s go outside, where Gus can’t see us, an’ I’ll show you,” she whispered.