Duncan Polite Part 16

"Say, though," he exclaimed sympathetically, "all the fellows was sayin' last night it must be kind o' awkward for you, havin' Don pull you out. They're all wonderin' how Jessie Hamilton'll take it."

If Mrs. McNabb had happened to take her patient's temperature at that moment she would have been highly alarmed. But it was impossible to resent Peter's blundering sympathy.

"Where's Donald?" he asked, with an effort. "I must see him."

"He went off this mornin' early. Sandy drove him to Mapletown. Don't know what he was in such a fearful rush for. Allan Fraser's goin' on the same train an' he doesn't go till the afternoon. h.e.l.lo, there's Flo yellin' at me. Now, you take care o' yourself, an' do what mother tells you," he added, rising, and gazing affectionately at the young minister. "You'll soon be all right. There's been about a thousand people here this mornin' already askin' for you."

John Egerton scarcely heard the kindly words. Left alone he turned his face to the wall. He was descending the valley of bitter humiliation and regret. Donald Neil, the young man he had almost hated, had saved his life at the risk of his own, and had then gone off apparently to escape his thanks. Did the young man despise him so much then? His conscience smote him relentlessly as he went over the events of the past two weeks. How must his conduct have looked in Donald's eyes?

And he the minister, the guide and example of the young men of the community. It was impossible to bear his self-accusation and lie inactive. In spite of his landlady's prayers and protests he insisted upon rising. He felt rather weak and giddy, but he got to his writing desk and there poured out his repentant soul in a letter to Donald. He thanked him humbly from the bottom of his heart for the great service he had rendered him. He hinted that if he had ever done Donald an injury, either in word or action, he was willing to make amends ten-fold. He declared that he was ready, nay anxious, to do anything or everything that Donald might suggest that would in any small way help to repay him for what he had done.

Donald was touched by the letter. It was impossible not to read the sorrow and repentance in it, not to feel its ring of truth. He pondered over it deeply. A man who could write such a letter as that could not but be honourable, he reflected. And why should he blame him for falling in love with Jessie? Indeed Donald confessed that he did not see how he could help it. And was he justified in hating the man because he had won that which he himself had lost? It was hard to be generous, but Donald's nature was so essentially honest he could not but respond to the heartfelt words. He intended to answer the letter the very next evening, but was prevented by an invitation to the home of one of his professors.

Donald was glad to escape from his own moody thoughts, so, early in the evening, he found himself packed into a layer of fellow students against the wall of the crowded drawing-room. He was listening absently to the strains of music that floated in from another room, when he felt himself clutched violently from behind. He turned to meet an elegant young man, small and dapper, who was struggling eagerly to his side. Donald recognised him as a law student whose field of labour was in society, and who went by the name of d.i.c.key Deane.

"I say, McDonald," he whispered eagerly, when he had dragged Donald aside, "don't you hail from Glenoro, or some such place, and don't you occasionally masquerade under the t.i.tle of Neil?"

Donald confessed that he was guilty on both counts.

The young man slapped him joyously upon the back. "By Jove!" he cried enthusiastically, "I've found you at last! Come along here, my Eureka; there's a young lady here waiting to fall down and wors.h.i.+p you. Didn't you pull the Reverend Egerton out of a hole in the ice at Christmas?

You close beggar, why couldn't you tell people? And Jack Egerton's your minister! Well, Jupiter, wouldn't that drive anyone to drink!

You'll know all about Miss Weir-Huntley, then. She's had me doing amateur detective work for nearly a week, running down a glorious hero by the name of Neil. I didn't know you had to travel incog. Come along here; you may be a questionable character, for all I know, but she thinks you're Neptune's own son. There she is, under the lamps, the G.o.ddess in pale green. Isn't she a stunner? Don't you wish you had let the Reverend Jack go under?"

Donald's grip brought the young man's headlong progress to a sudden termination. His brain was in a whirl. The young lady's name had awakened vague memories of Glenoro gossip.

"Hold on there," he said firmly, "what are you raving about? Who is Miss Weir-Huntley anyway, and what under the canopy does she want with me?"

"Why, you unshorn, backwoods lamb, she's the belle of Toronto! She's Jack Egerton's dearly-beloved, and finally and most important of all, she's the faithful and adoring wors.h.i.+pper of your glorious self!"

But Donald was in no mood for levity. He looked across the heads of the crowd at the regal young woman beneath the chandelier. "Do you mean to tell me," he asked, "that she's engaged to--to marry our minister, Mr. Egerton?"

"Why, of course. Everybody knows that. She's waiting till he gets famous. Don't faint! By Jove, old fellow, I believe you're hit already! All the fellows get that way over her; I'm a chronic case myself. Cheer up; shouldn't wonder if she'd throw Jack over for you.

She's awfully taken with you already, and when she sees you----" He broke off with an extravagant gesture of admiration which was not altogether feigned.

Donald did not notice him; he was asking himself why he had not let the double-dealing cad drown, but the next moment he was bowing over a beautiful, jewelled hand and a pair of dark eyes were looking unutterable grat.i.tude into his, and Donald felt ashamed. He left her as soon as was possible without seeming rude, and went home to face the matter squarely. This man, this despicable creature who had won Jessie's affection, was playing with her. He was amusing himself making love to the little country girl while this haughty young queen held his heart. Donald was torn by conflicting emotions. Should he write to Jessie and tell her? He was too sorely hurt to do that, besides she would not listen to him. Should he write to John Egerton and tell him in a few scorching words what he thought of him? In the end he did neither, and two in Glenoro who expected to hear from him wondered at his silence.

Miss Weir-Huntley found young Mr. McDonald a difficult puzzle. She wanted to show her grat.i.tude to the young man who had saved Jack's life, but this strange youth would have none of her favours. He refused coldly all her invitations. Donald could not be friendly towards John Egerton's betrothed; Jessie's cry was still ringing in his ears. The young lady gave him up at last, concluding that he must be a boor in spite of his fine appearance and his courage. Only once was she able to show him any attention. She was driving home in her carriage when she came upon Donald crossing the campus. She insisted upon his taking the seat at her side as far as his boarding-house. As Donald stepped from the carriage and stood on the sidewalk bowing his thanks very gravely, Allan Fraser appeared at the street door. That young man was profoundly impressed.

"My eye!" he gasped, watching the elegant equipage disappear down the street, "the Prince o' Wales and all the royal family! I say, Don, is that the girl little Deane says is all gone on you? Who is she, anyway?"

Donald turned his back upon him in disgust. "Oh, shut up, will you?"

he cried, slamming the door in his friend's face.

Allan uttered a long whistle. "h.e.l.lo! it's serious, all right," he said to himself. "Christmas, but isn't she a daisy! I'm glad he's got over mooning for that little Hamilton flirt, anyway!"

XII

JESSIE

The first great January snowfall was heralded by a leaden sky and a surly looking sunrise, and early in the forenoon down came the white flakes, thick and fast, whirling this way and that, until the valley and the surrounding hills lay pure and soft under their fairy covering.

In the afternoon Miss Cotton took her sewing, put a shawl over her head, and ran over to the Hamiltons'. She was lonely, and, besides, she had some news to tell.

"Here's 'Liza comin'," announced Maggie to the group sitting around the dining room stove. "Chuck full o' news, too, I know. I can tell by the way she's hoppin' along. Old Mother Fraser's jist gone away from there; she's been tellin' her something new about Mr. Egerton, I guess!"

She ran out to the hall and flung open the door. "h.e.l.lo, 'Liza! Come along in; we're all here, Sarah'n all. It was too snowy for her to go to school. My, but you needn't bring all the snow in; leave a little outdoors for sleighin'."

"If you weren't such a lazy poke, Maggie Hamilton, you'd have a path shovelled to your gate; it looks like the track to a wigwam!"

"It's jist too bad, 'Liza," said Mrs. Hamilton as she swept the snow from her visitor's feet and skirts. "If I've told them girls once to sweep that path, I've told them a dozen times. Where's Mary Fraser been?"

"Up to see old Duncan Polite." Miss Cotton spread her cold hands over the stove, and surveyed the four girls sharply. "My, but you're pretendin' to be awful busy! An' Maggie sewin', too, as I'm alive!

The poor old man's got brownkaties, she says."

Sarah covered her face with her French Grammar and giggled.

"Oh yes, smarty! You've got to snicker at somethin'. I s'pose they've learned you some new-fangled way o' sayin' it at the High School. But brownkaties is good enough for ordinary folks, an' bad enough, too.

An' that's what the poor old fellow's got anyhow. They had a doctor out from Mapletown, an' Betsey Neil's been there three nights. He's had a cold all fall, Mrs. Fraser says, an' wouldn't look after it."

"Dear, dear," said Mrs. Hamilton in distress. "One o' you girls must run up to-morrow with some beef-tea or something. That's too bad. Sit close to the fire, 'Liza, it's dreadful cold."

"You'd better send Jessie up with the stuff," remarked the visitor, planting two trim feet upon the stove damper. "Maybe she'll get news o' Donald."

"How d'ye know she don't get news anyhow?" demanded Maggie.

"Well, I got some news I'll bet she never got. Don's up sides with you now, Miss Jessie!"

Jessie looked at her with a startled expression in her grey eyes.

"I don't know what you mean," she said with attempted lightness.

"Well, Mrs. Fraser told me to-day that Annie got a letter from Allan yesterday and he said Donald Neil was jist gone crazy over a city lady, a real high-flier, too, rich as a Jew, mind you; she has a carriage and she calls at the college every afternoon for my gentleman Donald and drives him home, coachman and footman and everything. Now wouldn't that kill you? I guess n.o.body in Glenoro'll be good enough for Don, now; he'll be gittin' stuck up, like all the other folks that take to book-learnin'"--she cast a meaning glance at Sarah, who smiled good naturedly. She rather enjoyed being considered proud of her educational attainments.

"Well, what do you think o' your old beau now, Jessie?" continued the visitor.

Jessie's cheeks were very pink, but she returned Miss Cotton's gaze steadily. "Why, I guess he's got a right to do anything he likes," she said indifferently.

"Well I should hope so, specially when you've been carryin' on with the minister all fall. I guess Don thought two could play at that game."

She looked sharply at the girl, in some doubt. She really hoped she did not care, for 'Liza Cotton's heart was a kindly one, and she never told her tales from malice, but from a sheer inability to be quiet.

"You'd better look out you don't lose both your beaux," she added.

"You and the minister don't seem so chummy since Christmas. Did you have a tiff?"

Jessie's eyes sparkled, and the garrulous visitor knew she had gone too far. "I think that's my affair," said the girl quietly.

Miss Cotton laughed easily. "There now, you needn't get mad over it.

Goodness me, I always thought you were the good-tempered one o' the family; you'll soon be as bad as Sarah for firin' up."