The Double Life Of Mr. Alfred Burton Part 42

He nodded and proceeded on his way to the front door of his domicile.

Mr. Johnson, narrowly escaping an impulse to take off his hat, proceeded on his homeward way.

"Any one at home?" Mr. Burton inquired, letting himself in.

There was no reply. Mr. Burton knocked with his gold-headed cane upon the side of the wall. The door at the end of the pa.s.sage opened abruptly. Ellen appeared.

"What are you doing there, knocking all the plaster down?" she demanded, sharply. "If you want to come in, why can't you ring the bell?

Standing there with your hat on as though the place belonged to you!"

Burton was a little taken aback. He recovered himself, however, secure in the splendid consciousness of his irreproachable clothes and the waiting motor-car. He threw open the door of the parlor.

"Step this way a moment, Ellen," he said. She followed him reluctantly into the room. He put his hand upon her shoulder to lead her to the window. She shook herself free at once.

"Hands off!" she ordered. "What is it you want?"

He pointed out of the window to the magnificent memorial of his success.

She looked at it disparagingly.

"What's that? Your taxicab?" she asked. "What did you keep him for?

You can get another one at the corner."

Burton gasped.

"Taxicab!" he exclaimed. "Taxicab, indeed! Look at it again. That's a motor-car--my own motor-car. Do you hear that? Bought and paid for!"

"Well, run away and play with it, then!" she retorted, turning as though to leave the room. "I don't want you fooling about here. I'm just getting Alfred's supper." Burton dropped his cigar upon the carpet.

Even when he had picked it up, he stood looking at her with his mouth a little open.

"You don't seem to understand, Ellen," he said. "Listen. I've come back home. A share of that motor-car is yours."

"Come back home," Ellen repeated slowly.

"Exactly," he admitted, complacently. "I am afraid this is rather a shock for you, but good news never kills, you know. We'll motor up to the band presently and I've asked the Johnsons to supper. If you've nothing in the house, we'll all go up to the west-end somewhere. . . .

What's the matter with you?"

Ellen was looking at that moment positively handsome. Her cheeks were scarlet and her eyes ablaze.

"Alfred Burton," she declared, "the last few times I've seen you, I've put you down as being dotty. Now I am sure of it. The sooner you're out of this, the better, before I lose my temper."

"But, my dear Ellen," he protested, soothingly, "I can a.s.sure you that what I am telling you is the truth! I have become unexpectedly rich. A fortunate stroke of business--the Menatogen Company, you know--has completely altered our lives. You are naturally overcome--"

"Naturally over-fiddlesticks!" Ellen interrupted. "Look here, my man, I've had about enough of this. You come down here, thinking because you've come to your senses, and because you've got new clothes and a motor-car, that you can just sit down as though nothing had happened.

Just let me tell you this--you can't do it! You can leave your wife because she can't stop you. You can stay away from her because she can't drag you back. But you can't come and put on a new suit of clothes and bring a motor-car and say 'I've come back,' and sit down at your usual place and find everything just as you've left it. You can't do that, Alfred Burton, and you must be a bigger fool even than you look to imagine that you can!"

"Ellen," he faltered, "don't you want me back?"

"Not I!" she replied, fiercely. "Not you nor your motor-car nor your money nor any part of you. Come swaggering in, dropping your cigar ash over the place, and behaving as though you'd been a respectable person all your life!" she continued, indignantly. "What right have you got to think that your wife was made to be your slave or your trained dog, to beg when you hold out a piece of biscuit, and go and lie down alone when you don't want her. Send your three pounds a week and get out of it.

That's all I want to hear of you! You know the way, don't you?"

Her outstretched forefinger pointed to the door. Burton had never felt so pitifully short of words in his life.

"I--I've asked the Johnsons to supper," he stammered, as he took up his hat.

"Take them to your west-end, then!" Ellen cried, scornfully. "Take them riding in your motor-car. Why don't you tell the man to drive up and down the avenue, that every one may see how fine you are! Would you like to know just what I think of you?"

Burton looked into her face and felt a singular reluctance to listen to the torrent of words which he felt was ready to break upon his head. He tried to hold himself a little more upright.

"You will be sorry for this, Ellen," he said, with some attempt at dignity.

She laughed scornfully.

"One isn't sorry at getting rid of such as you," she answered, and slammed the door behind him.

Burton walked with hesitating footsteps down the footpath. This was not in the least the triumphal return he had intended to make! He stood for a moment upon the pavement, considering. It was curious, but his motor-car no longer seemed to him a glorious vehicle. He was distinctly dissatisfied with the cut of his clothes, the glossiness of his silk hat, his general appearance. The thought of his bank balance failed to bring him any satisfaction whatever. He seemed suddenly, as clearly as though he were looking into a mirror, to see himself with eyes. He recognized even the blatant stupidity of his return, and he admired Ellen more than he had ever admired her in his life.

"Where to, sir?" his brand-new chauffeur asked.

Burton pitched away his cigar.

"Wait a moment," he said, and turning round, walked with firm footsteps back to the house. He tried the door and opened it, looked into the parlor and found it empty. He walked down the pa.s.sage and pushed open the door of the kitchen. Little Alfred's meal was ready on a tray, the room was spotless and s.h.i.+ning, but Ellen, with her head buried in her hands, was leaning forward in her chair, sobbing. He suddenly fell on his knees by her side.

"Please forgive me, Ellen!" he cried, almost sobbing himself. "Please forgive me for being such a rotter. I'll never--I promise that I'll never do anything of the sort again."

She looked up. He ventured to put his arm around her waist. She shook herself free, very weakly. He tried again and with success.

"I know I've made an idiot of myself," he went on. "I'd no right to come down here like that. I just want you to forgive me now, that's all. I didn't mean to swagger about being rich. I'm not enjoying it a bit till you come along."

Ellen raised her head once more. Her lips were' quivering, half with a smile, although the tears were still in her eyes.

"Sure you mean it?" she asked softly.

"Absolutely!" he insisted. "Go and put on your hat with the feathers and we'll meet the Johnsons and take them for a ride."

"You don't like the one with the feathers," she said, doubtfully.

"I like it now," he a.s.sured her heartily. "I'm fonder of you at this moment, Ellen, than any one in the world. I always have been, really."

"Stupid!" she declared. "I shall wear my hat with the wing and we will call around at Saunders' and I can buy a motor veil. I always did think that a motor veil would suit me. We'd better call at Mrs.

Cross's, too, and have her come in and cook the supper. Don't get into mischief while I'm upstairs."

"I'll come, too--and see little Alfred," he added, hastily.

"Carry the tray, then, and mind where you're going," Ellen ordered.

CHAPTER x.x.x