Bunch Grass Part 40

"She married the wrong man," he repeated, "and that is what is keeping me awake nights. She'd have been happy with Thorpe. He could have given her all the little things women value."

"And how about the great things?"

"The little things are great things--to her. Good-night, boys." We shook hands and he went to the door. On the threshold he turned a tired face towards us. "I hope I haven't given you fellows the idea that Angela isn't the best little woman on earth. She never complains.

And Thorpe has been a pal in ten thousand. His heart simply bleeds for Angela. So long!"

Ajax mixed a stiff tumbler. Before he put it to his lips he looked at me. "If that bounder's heart would bleed and bleed and bleed to death, I should not cross the road to fetch a doctor."

About a fortnight later the annual County Fair was held outside San Lorenzo. We drove to the Buena Vista Hotel, and, to our surprise, upon the broad verandah we discovered Angela, in the last of her pretty dresses, and Thorpe. Angela explained matters. Jim and she were Thorpe's guests for the week. They were going to the races, to the ball, to all the shows. She finished breathlessly--

"And there's a captive balloon!"

Thorpe added, "Jim is rather blue, you know." As soon as we were alone, Ajax said savagely--

"Do you think Jim understands?"

"Understands what?"

"Oh, don't pretend! We know our Thorpe by this time. He's a cutlet- for-a-cutlet fellow. What do I say? A cutlet-for-a-baron-of-beef gentleman. Hang him!"

"But Angela----"

"Angela is a reckless little idiot. She's been starving for a lark, and she's swallowed it without counting the cost."

"But I trust her," said I; "and Jim is here."

Ajax shrugged his shoulders and walked away.

Next day, at the races, Jim attached himself to us, while aloft in the grand-stand Angela sat with Thorpe: the handsomest couple at the Fair.

For the moment, at any rate, Angela was enjoying herself; Jim, on the other hand, looked miserable. Contrast had discoloured the good time.

He couldn't s.n.a.t.c.h pleasure out of the present because he saw so plainly the future.

"I'm a wet blanket," he said dolefully. "Every time Angela laughs I want to cry, and yet I ought to be thankful that old Thorpe can give her what I can't."

"He's doing the thing well," said Ajax meaningly.

"He has been left a bit more money. Didn't he tell you? No? And he's going to buy that big tract to the north-west of us. Mum's the word, but--between ourselves--the agreement is signed."

"Oh!" said Ajax.

The big tract in question belonged to a bank, whose president, a very good fellow, was our particular friend. Early next morning I paid him a visit. Almost immediately he asked me questions about Thorpe, which I was able to answer satisfactorily from a business point of view.

"Mr. Thorpe struck me as a very shrewd young man. He'll get there."

"He played football for England."

"Ah! Well, indirectly, I suppose, we can thank you for this deal."

"You can thank Jim Misterton and his wife."

"I have not the pleasure of knowing them. They had something to do with this, eh?"

"Everything."

The president frowned; his voice was not quite so pleasant as he said--

"Are they likely to claim a commission?"

"Certainly not. All the same, something is due. Without the Mistertons you would never have sold this ranch to Thorpe. One moment. It is in your power to do these people a service, and it will cost you nothing.

Jim Misterton was a clerk in London, and a capable one, but his health broke down. He came out here to the brush-hills. He got back his health, but he's lost everything else. Give him a place in this bank.

He's straight as a string, and he knows his work."

Before I left the bank it was understood that Jim was to call upon the president and submit his credentials. Humanly speaking, the billet was secured. Nothing remained but to find Jim. To my surprise, however, Ajax urged me to wait a few hours.

"I want to see Jim's honest grin again as much as you do, but we must tell him before Thorpe When I upset an apple-cart, I like to see the apple rolling about, don't you?"

"We'll tell 'em after dinner to-night."

That afternoon we forgathered in the Fair Grounds. The racing was uninteresting, and presently Angela suggested that we should go up in the captive balloon. We had watched it ascending and descending with interest. Some of our friends bored us by describing at too great length the panoramic splendour of the view. Angela and Ajax wanted to soar, Thorpe and I preferred Mother Earth; to Jim was offered the casting vote. He spun a dollar to decide, and within a few minutes the five of us were seated in the wicker-car. I remember that our aeronaut inspired confidence in Angela because he wore the Grand Army medal. A windla.s.s and a donkey-engine controlled the big rope which held us captive. We went aloft in a series of disagreeable and upsetting jerks. This may be an unusual experience, but it was ours. I am a bad sailor, and so is Ajax. Neither of us smiled when Thorpe addressed the veteran as--"Steward!"

Suddenly there came a still sharper jerk, and the cable split. The balloon seemed to leap upwards, swerved like a frightened bird, and then, caught by the wind, sailed upward and seaward, swooping on with a paradoxically smooth yet uneven flight.

"Jeeroosalem!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed our aeronaut. Then he added coolly enough: "Sit tight; you'll none of you be the worse for this little trip."

His confidence diffused itself agreeably. Angela laughed, Thorpe's face relaxed, Jim peered over the edge of the car.

"Gad!" said he, "we seem to be going a tremendous pace."

The veteran took a squint alow and aloft as he fingered the rope that opened the valve. Next time he spoke the confidence had leaked from his voice, leaving behind a nervous squeak.

"This yere valve won't work!"

"Oh!" said Angela.

She looked at Thorpe as if seeking from him some word, some sign, of comfort and encouragement. At the same moment she made an instinctive movement towards him. Jim was staring at her, very pale. I saw him half-open his lips and then close them. Frightened as I was, I can swear that Jim was thinking only of his wife and what he could read upon her face. Thorpe was quite impa.s.sive, but his fingers were twitching. Then I heard Jim's voice curiously distinct--

"What are you going to do?"

"The valve may work loose. Anyways, she leaks a bit. Guess we're all right."

Once more his confidence diffused itself subtly, and again a phrase shattered it.

"How far is San Lorenzy from the ocean?"

"Eleven miles," said Ajax.