The Definite Object Part 59

chance--not while I have the say-so. S' long, sport!" and turning upon his heel, Soapy lounged away.

At Times Square Ravenslee entered the subway and, buying his ticket, was jostled by a boy, a freckled boy, round-headed and round of nose, who stared at him with a pair of round, impertinent eyes.

Lost in happy speculation he was duly borne to One Hundred and Thirtieth Street, where he boarded the ferry. Upon the boat he was again conscious of a round head that bobbed here and there amid the throng of pa.s.sengers, but paid small heed as he leaned to watch the broad and n.o.ble river and the green New Jersey sh.o.r.e. At Fort Lee, exchanging boat for trolley car, he was once more vaguely conscious of two round eyes that watched him from a rear seat; but as the powerful car whirled them up-hill, plunged them down steep inclines, swung them around sharp curves, through shady woods, past far-flung boughs whose leaves stirred and whispered as the great car fleeted by, he fell again to dreaming of Hermione and the future; and so reached Englewood, a small towns.h.i.+p dreaming in the fierce midday suns.h.i.+ne. Here he enquired of a perspiring butcher in s.h.i.+rtsleeves the whereabouts of the house he wanted and, being fully directed and carefully admonished how to get there, set off along the road. And remembering that her feet must often have traversed this very path, he straightway fell to his dreaming again. Thus how should he know anything of the round head that bobbed out from behind bush or tree ere it followed whither he went? So Ravenslee came where the road led between tall trees--to smooth green lawns beyond which was the gleam of water and so at last to the house he sought.

Now beside this house, separated by a wide stretch of lawn, was a small wood and, lured by its grateful shade, he turned aside into this wood and began pus.h.i.+ng his way through the dense undergrowth, which presently thinned to form a small clearing, roofed and shut in by leaves and full of a tender green light. Here he paused, and espying a fallen tree hard by, sat himself down and began to fill his pipe. And now, remembering his shabby person, he felt disinclined to go up to the house and demand to see Miss Chesterton. Yet see her he would--but how? He was frowning over this problem when it was resolved for him quite unexpectedly; roused by the sound of a snapping twig, he glanced up--and Hermione was before him. She was coming down a narrow path that wound amid the leaves, and because she wore no hat, the sunlight, filtering through the branches, made a glory of her hair as she pa.s.sed. Her head was bowed, and she walked very slowly as one in thought; she had brought sewing with her, but for once her busy hands were idle, and, as he looked upon her beauty, scarce breathing, he saw again that look of wistful sadness.

As he rose, she glanced up, and seeing him, stood utterly still. Thus for a long moment they gazed upon each other, then, even as he hastened to her, she came to him on swift, light feet, and, flus.h.i.+ng, tremulous, quick-breathing, gave herself into his arms.

"Oh, Hermione, my beloved!" he murmured, his voice tense and eager, "didn't I say enough, last time? Don't you know I love you--wors.h.i.+p you--hunger and yearn for you? I want you with every breath I draw.

When will you be my wife--oh, when will you marry me, Hermione?"

For answer she reached up her arms, sudden, pa.s.sionate arms that clung about him close and strong; so they stood thus, heart beating to heart, thrilling at each other's nearness yet drawing ever closer until, lifting her head, she gave her lips to his.

"Oh, my dear, my dear," she whispered, "is it right to love you so, I wonder? I never thought it could be--like this. It frightens me sometimes, because my love is so great and strong and I--so powerless.

Is it right? I--Oh!" she broke off breathlessly, "how can I speak if--if you--"

"Kiss you so much?" he ended, "you can't speak, so--don't speak, my Hermione!" But now, all at once, he started and glanced up among the leaves above them.

"Dear," she whispered, "what is it?"

"That tapping sound," he answered, still gazing upward.

"It's only the woodp.e.c.k.e.r."

"Why, of course!" he laughed. "It's strange, but I dreamed a scene like this--yes, the great tree yonder, and you in my arms--though it seemed so impossible then, and--"

But uttering a sudden, low cry of alarm, Hermione broke from his clasp and fled from him along the leafy path while he stared after her, lost in amazement; then he ran also and caught her upon the edge of the little wood.

"What frightened you, Hermione--who was it?"

"I--I thought I saw some one crouching behind a bush--watching us!"

"Not--M'Ginnis?" he demanded, fierce-eyed.

"No--no, I'm sure it wasn't!"

"I'll go and look," said Ravenslee, clenching his fists. But now, as he turned away, two round arms were about him again, soft and compelling, and she was looking up at him, all shy-eyed, pa.s.sionate tenderness; and before the revelation in that look, he forgot all else in the world.

"Hermione--when will you marry me?"

Now, softened by distance, there floated to them the mellow booming of a gong.

"That means I must go!" she sighed.

"Hermione--when will you marry me?"

"Good-by--good-by--I must run!"

But his long arms only clasped her the closer.

"Hermione, when will you be my wife?"

"Oh, please, please let me go; if I'm late--"

"When, Hermione?"

"When I--come home, if--you really--want me--Oh, now my hair's all coming down, I know. Good-by!"

Reluctantly he loosed her and stood to watch until, reaching the verandah of the house, she paused to glance back to where he stood among the leaves ere she vanished between the screen doors. Then Ravenslee turned, and remembering her sudden fright, looked sharply about him, even pausing, now and then, to peer behind bush and thicket; but this time he did not think to glance upward, and thus failed to see the round eyes that watched him from amid the leaves of the great tree.

So he came again to the dusty highway and strode along, throbbing with life and the l.u.s.t of life, revelling in the glory of earth and sky and quite unconscious of the small, furtive figure that flitted after him far behind.

And it was not until he sat in the ferryboat that he remembered he had forgotten to give her the ring, after all.

CHAPTER XXVII

MRS. TRAPES UPON THE MILLENNIUM

Mulligan's was in a ferment. Bare-armed women talked in every doorway; they talked from open windows, they talked leaning over banisters, they congregated on landings and in pa.s.sageways--but everywhere they talked; while men and youths newly returned from work, lunch-can and basket in hand, listened in wide-eyed astonishment, shook incredulous heads, puffed thoughtfully at pipes or cigarettes, and questioned in guttural wonderment.

But Ravenslee, lost in his own happy thoughts, sped up the stairs all unheeding, abstractedly returning such neighbourly salutes as he happened to notice; reaching his lofty habitation in due course he let himself in, and was in the act of filling his pipe when Mrs. Trapes appeared. In one hand she grasped a meat skewer and in the other an open testament, and it was to be noted that her bright eyes, usually so keen and steady, roved here and there, from pink rug to green and yellow tablecloth, thence to the parrot-owl, and at last to her lodger. Finally she spoke.

"Mr. Geoffrey, are ye saved?" she demanded in awe-struck tones.

"Why, really, Mrs. Trapes, I--"

"Because, Mr. Geoffrey, this day it behooveth us all t' think of our souls an' th' hereafter, I reckon."

"Souls?" said Ravenslee, staring in his turn.

"Fire," she continued, shaking portentous head, "fire I'm prepared for; a earthquake I could endoor; battle, murder, and sudden death I could abide; poverty is me lot, Mr. Geoffrey, an' hards.h.i.+p is me portion, an'

for all sich am I dooly prepared, sich things bein' nacheral; but fer this--well, there!"

"What is the matter, Mrs. Trapes?"

"Matter, Mr. Geoffrey? Well, the millenyum's at hand, that's all--the lion is about t' lay down with th' lamb, tigers has lost their taste fer blood, an' snakes an' serpints has shed their vennymous fangs! Mr.

Geoffrey--the day is at hand--beware!"

"What in the world--" began Ravenslee, but Mrs. Trapes stayed him with uplifted skewer, and drew from the mysterious recesses of her ap.r.o.n a folded circular which she proceeded to spread open and from which she read in a hollow voice as follows:

NOTICE AUGUST 1, 1910.

On and after the above date, all tenants soever residing within the tenement house known as Mulligan's are warned that all rents will be reduced by fifty per cent.