Ben Blair Part 32

The girl turned to the impa.s.sive but observing Benjamin.

"I am glad to see you, too, Mr. Blair," she said, but the voice was as formal as the handshake. "Papa introduced you to Mr. Sidwell, I suppose?"

Her reserve was quite unnecessary. Outwardly, Ben was as coldly polite as she. He placed a chair for her deferentially and took another himself, while Sidwell watched the scene with interest. Somewhere, some time, if he lived, that moment would be reproduced on a printed page.

"Yes," responded Ben, "Mr. Sidwell and I have met." He turned his chair so that he and the girl faced each other. "You like the city, your new life, as well as you expected, I trust?"

They chatted a few minutes as impersonally as two chance acquaintances meeting by accident; then again Ben arose. "I judge you were going driving," he said simply. "I'll not detain you longer."

Florence melted. Such delicate consideration was unexpected.

"You must call again while you are in town," she said.

"Thank you, I shall," Ben responded.

Sidwell felt that he too could afford to be generous.

"If there's anything in the way of amus.e.m.e.nt or otherwise that I can do for you, Mr. Blair, let me know," he said, proffering his address. "I am at your service at any time."

Ben had reached the walk, but he turned. For a moment wherein Florence held her breath he looked steadily at the city man.

"We Western men, Mr. Sidwell," he said at last slowly, "are more or less solitaries. We take our recreation as we do our work, alone. In all probability I shall not have occasion to accept your kindness. But I may call on you before I leave." He bowed to both, and replaced his hat. A "good-night" and he was gone.

Watching the tall figure as it disappeared down the street, Sidwell smiled peculiarly. "Rather a positive person, your friend," he remarked.

Like an echo, Florence took up the word. "Positive!" The small hands pressed tightly together in the speaker's lap. "Positive! You didn't get even a suggestion of him by that. I saw a big prairie fire once. It swept over the country for miles and miles, taking everything clean; and the men fighting it might have been so many children in arms. I always think of it when I think of Ben Blair. They are very much alike."

The smile left Sidwell's face. "One can start a back-fire on the prairie," he said reflectively. "I fancy the same process might work successfully with Blair also."

"Perhaps," admitted Florence. The time came when both she and Sidwell remembered that suggestion.

But the subject was too large to be dropped immediately.

"Something tells me," Sidwell added, after a moment, "that you are a bit fearful of this Blair. Did the gentleman ever attempt to kidnap you--or anything?"

Florence did not smile. "No," she answered.

"What was it, then? Were you in love, and he cold--or the reverse?"

Florence dropped her chin into her hands. "To be frank with you, it was--the reverse; but I would rather not speak of it." She was silent for a moment. "You are right, though," she continued, rather recklessly, "when you say I'm afraid of him. I don't dare think of him, even. I want to forget he was ever a part of my life. He overwhelms me like sleep when I'm tired. I am helpless."

Unconsciously Sidwell had stumbled upon the closet which held the skeleton. "And I--" he queried, "are you afraid of me?"

The girl's great brown eyes peered out above her hands steadily.

"No; with us it is not of you I'm afraid--it's of myself." She arose slowly. "I'm ready to go driving if you wish," she said.

CHAPTER XX

CLUB CONFIDENCES

Late the same evening, in the billiard-room of the "Loungers Club"

Clarence Sidwell met one Winston Hough, seemingly by chance, though in fact very much the reverse. Big and blonde, addicted to laughter, Hough was one of the few men with whom Sidwell fraternized,--why, only the Providence which makes like and unlike attract each other could have explained. However, it was with deliberate intent that Sidwell entered the most brilliantly lighted room in the place and sought out the group of which Hough was the centre.

"h.e.l.lo, Chad!" the latter greeted the new-comer. "I've just trimmed up Watson here, and I'm looking for new worlds to conquer. I'll roll you fifty points to see who pays for a lunch afterward."

Sidwell smiled tolerantly. "I think it would be better for my reputation to settle without playing. Put up your stick and I'm with you."

Hough shook his head. "No," he objected, "I'm not a Weary Willie. I prefer to earn my dole first. Come on."

But Sidwell only looked at him. "Don't be stubborn," he said. "I want to talk with you."

Hough returned his cue to the rack lingeringly. "Of course, if you put it that way there's nothing more to be said. As to the stubbornness, however--" He paused suggestively.

Sidwell made no comment, but led the way directly toward the street.

"What's the matter?" queried Hough, when he saw the direction they were taking. "Isn't the club grill-room good enough for you?"

Sidwell pursued his way unmoved. "I said I wished to talk with you."

"I guess I must be dense," Hough answered gayly. "I certainly never saw any house rules that forbid a man to speak."

Sidwell looked at his companion with a whimsical expression. "The trouble isn't with the house rules but with you. A fellow might as well try to monopolize the wheat-pit on the board of trade as to keep you alone here. You're too confoundedly popular, Hough! You draw people as the proverbial mola.s.ses-barrel attracts flies."

The big man laughed. "Your compliment, if that's what it was, is a bit involved, but I suppose it'll have to do. Lead on!"

Sidwell sought out a modest little _cafe_ in a side street and selected a secluded booth.

"What'll you have?" he asked, as the waiter appeared.

Hough's blue eyes twinkled. "Are you with me, whatever I order?"

Sidwell nodded.

"Club sandwiches and a couple of bottles of beer," Hough concluded.

His companion made no comment.

"Been some time, hasn't it, since you surprised your stomach with anything like this?" bantered the big man, when the order had arrived and the waiter departed.

Sidwell smiled. "I shall have to confess it," he admitted.

"I thought so," remarked Hough dryly. "Next time you depict a plebeian scene you can remember this and thank me."