Queed Part 20

She shook her head slowly.

"Don't you know that I'll prize it--and why?" said he in a low voice.

"Give it to me."

Their eyes met; hers fluttered down; but she raised them suddenly and put the flower in his b.u.t.tonhole, her face so close that he felt her breath on his cheek.

Beside him at supper, she took up the thread of their earlier talk.

"If you must give up your business, why shouldn't it be for something bigger than the college--public life for instance?"

"I may say," West answered her, "that as yet there has not been that st.u.r.dy demand from the public, that uproarious insistence from the honest voter ..."

"At dinner the other evening I met one of your fine old patriarchs, Colonel Cowles. He told us that the new Mayor of this city, if he was at all the right sort, would go from the City Hall to the Governors.h.i.+p. And do you know who represents his idea of the right sort of Mayor?"

West, picking at a bit of duck, said that he hadn't the least idea.

"So modest--so modest! He said that the city needed a young progressive man of the better cla.s.s and the highest character, and that man was--you. No other, by your leave! The Mayoralty, the Governors.h.i.+p, the Senate waiting behind that, perhaps--who knows? Is it wise to bottle one's self up in the blind alley of the college?"

Thus Delilah: to which Samson replied that a modern college is by no means a blind alley; that from the presidential retreat he would keep a close eye upon the march of affairs, doubtless doing his share toward moulding public opinion through contributions to the _Post_ and the reviews; that, in fact, public life had long had an appeal for him, and that if at any time a cry arose in the land for him to come forward ...

"For a public career," said Delilah, with a sigh, "I should think you had far rather be editor of the _Post_, for example, than head of this college."

Samson made an engaging reply that had to do with Colonel Cowles. The talk ran off into other channels, but somehow Delilah's remark stuck in the young man's head.

Soul is not all that flows at the Thursday German, and it has frequently been noticed that the dance becomes gayest after supper. But it becomes, too, sadly brief, and _Home Sweet Home_ falls all too soon upon the enthralled ear. Now began the movement toward that place, be it never so humble, like which there is none; and amid the throng gathered in the vestibule before the cloak-rooms, West again found himself face to face with Miss Weyland with whom he had stepped many a measure that evening.

"I've been thinking about it lots, President West," said she; "it grows better all the time. Won't you please teach all your boys to be very good, and to work hard, and never to grow up to make trouble for the State Department of Charities."

She had on a carriage-robe of light blue, collared and edged with white fur, and her arms were as full of red roses as arms could be.

"But if I do that too well," said he, "what would become of you? Blaines College shall never blot out the Department of Charities. I nearly forgot a bit of news. Gloomy news. The _Post_ is going to fire your little Doctor."

"Ah--_no!_"

"It looks that way. The directors will take it up definitely in April.

Colonel Cowles is going to recommend it. He says the Doc has more learning than society requires."

"But don't you think his articles give a--a tone to the paper--and--?"

"I do; a sombre, awful, majestic tone, if you like, but still one that ought to be worth something."

Sharlee looked sad, and it was one of her best looks.

"Ah, me! I don't know what will become of him if he is turned adrift.

Could you, _could_ you do anything?"

"I can, and will," said he agreeably. "I think the man's valuable, and you may count on it that I shall use my influence to have him kept."

So the Star and the Planet again fought in their courses for Mr. Queed.

West, gazing down at her, overcoat on arm, looked like a Planet who usually had his way. The Star, too, had strong inclinations in the same direction. For example, she had noted at supper the lily-of-the-valley in the Planet's b.u.t.tonhole, and she had not been able to see any good reason for that.

Her eyes became dreamy. "How shall I say thank you?... I know. I must give you one of my pretty flowers for your b.u.t.tonhole." She began pulling out one of the glorious roses, but suddenly checked herself and gazed off pensively into s.p.a.ce, a finger at her lip. "Ah! I thought this gesture seemed strangely familiar, and now I remember. I gave him a flower once before, and ah, look!... the president of the college has tossed it away."

West glanced hastily down at his b.u.t.tonhole. The lily-of-the-valley was gone; he had no idea where he had lost it, nor could he now stay to inquire. The rose he took with tender carefulness from the upper pocket of his waistcoat.

"What did Mademoiselle expect?" said he, with a courtly bow. "The president wears it over his heart."

Sharlee's smile was a coronation for a man.

"That one was for the president. This new one," said she, plucking it out, "is for the director and--the man."

This new one, after all, she put into his b.u.t.tonhole with her own hands, while he held her great bunch of them. As she turned away from the dainty ceremony, her color faintly heightened, Sharlee looked straight into the narrow eyes of Miss Avery, who, talking with a little knot of men some distance away, had been watching her closely. The two girls smiled and bowed to each other with extraordinary sweetness.

X

_Of Fifi on Friends.h.i.+p, and who would be sorry if Queed died; of Queed's Mad Impulse, sternly overcome; of his Indignant Call upon Nicolovius, the Old Professor_.

Could I interrupt you for just a minute, Mr. Queed?"

"No. It is not time yet."

"Cicero's so horrid to-night."

"Don't scatter your difficulties, as I've told you before. Gather them all together and have them ready to present to me at the proper time. I shall make the usual pause," said Mr. Queed, "at nine sharp."

Fifi, after all, had been selfish enough to take the little Doctor at his word. He had both given her the freedom of his dining-room and ordered her to bring her difficulties to him, instead of sitting there and noisily crying over them. And she had done his bidding, night after night. For his part he had stuck manfully by his moment of reckless generosity, no matter how much he may have regretted it. He helped Fifi, upon her request, without spoken protest or censure. But he insisted on doing it after an iron-clad schedule: Absolute silence until nine o'clock; then an interlude for the solving of difficulties; absolute silence after that; then at 9.45 a second interlude for the solving of the last difficulties of the night. The old rule of the dining-room, the _Silence_ sign, had been necessarily suspended, but the young man enforced his schedule of hours far more strictly than the average railroad.

"Nine o'clock," he announced presently. "Bring me your difficulties."

Fifi's brain was at low ebb to-night. She came around with several books, and he jabbed his pencil at her open Cicero with some contempt.

"You have a fundamental lack of acquaintance with Latin grammar, Miss--Miss Fifi. You badly need--"

"Why don't you call me Fifi, Mr. Queed? That's what all my friends call me."

He stared at her startled; she thought his eyes looked almost terrified.

"My dear young lady! _I'm_ not your friend."

A rare color sprang into Fifi's pallid cheeks: "I--I thought you liked me--from your being so good about helping me with my lessons--and everything."

Queed cleared his throat. "I do like you--in a way. Yes--in that way--I like you very well. I will call you F--Fifi, if you wish. But--friends!

Oh, no! They take up more time than such a man as I can afford."

"I don't think I would take up one bit more time as your friend than I do now," said Fifi, in a plaintive voice.