Apron-Strings Part 19

"Well, money's your friend," declared Tottie, philosophically. "Me for it!"

A door-latch clicked. Someone had entered the hall.

"That's her!"

"Don't tell her Barbara's here. It'll be a jolly surprise."

Tottie agreed, and with a quick movement caught the silk shawl from her own shoulders and covered the child.

CHAPTER VI

Clare ran all the way, with scared eyes, and heaving breast, and a hand clutching the rim of the tilted hat. And only when she reached the corner nearest home did she slow a little, to look behind her as if she feared pursuit. Then finding herself breathless, she stepped aside for a moment into the entrance of an apartment house, and there, under the suspicious watch of a negro elevator boy, pretended to hunt for something in her music-roll.

As she waited, she remembered that there was some laundry due her in the bas.e.m.e.nt. That must be collected. She walked on, having taken a second look around, and darted under the front steps to make her inquiry. She promised to call for the articles in ten minutes by way of the back stairs; then slowly ascended the brownstone steps, glancing up the street as she climbed, but as indifferently as possible.

Once inside the storm door, she listened. Someone might be telephoning--they knew her number at the Rectory. Or Tottie might have a visitor, which would interfere with plans.

She heard no sound. Letting herself in noiselessly, she tiptoed to the parlor door and opened it softly.

"h.e.l.lo-o-o-o!" It was Hull, laughing at the surprise they had for her.

"Felix!" She halted, aghast.

"Well, aren't you glad to see me?"

"Oh, yes! Yes!"--but her face belied her. She tugged at her hat, seeking, even in her nervousness, to adjust it becomingly.

"What're y' p.u.s.s.y-footin' around here for?" questioned Tottie, sharply.

"I'm not.--Tottie, can I see Mr. Hull alone?"

"Sure, dearie. As I say, don't never git your ear full of other folks's troubles--_and_ secrets." She went out, with a backward look at once crafty and resentful.

With a quick warning sign to Hull, Clare ran to the door, bent to listen a moment, holding her breath, then ran to him, leading him toward the window. "Felix," she began, "go back to Northrups. I'll 'phone you in an hour."

He had been watching her anxiously. "What is it? Something wrong?"

"Yes! Yes! My--my brother and sister--in Africa." She got his hat from where he had laid it on the rocker.

"In trouble?" he persisted, studying her narrowly.

"Yes,--in trouble. And I don't want to see any reporters--not one!"

"That's all right"--he spoke very gently--"I'll see them."

Her face whitened. "Oh, no! There isn't anything to say. Felix, I'll just leave here, and they won't be able to find me. And you go now----" She urged him toward the door.

He stood his ground. "You're not giving me the straight of this," he a.s.serted, suddenly severe.

"I am, I tell you! I am!" Her face drew into lines of suffering. She entreated him, clasping his arm with her trembling hands.

He freed himself from her hold. "If I thought you were lying----"

Then, roughly, "I hate a liar!"

"Oh, but I'm not lying! Honest I'm not! Oh, believe me, and go!--Felix!"

He forbore looking at her. "Very well," he said coldly, and started out.

She followed him to the door. "And don't come back here, will you?

Promise you won't!"

"I shan't come back," he promised.

"Oh, thank you! Thank you!" Then in tearful appeal, seeing his displeasure, "Oh, Felix, I love you!" The poignancy of her cry made him relent suddenly, and turn. He put an arm about her, and she clung to him wildly. "Oh, Felix, trust me! Oh, you're all I've got!"

"But there's something I don't understand about this," he reminded more kindly.

"I'll explain later. I will! You'll hear from me soon."

Again he drew away from her. "Just as you say,"--resentfully.

The front door shut behind him, Clare called up the stairs. "Tottie!

Tottie!" She listened, a hand pressing her bosom.

"A-a-a-all right!"

Clare did not wait. Running back into the front-parlor, she stood on a chair in the bay-window, and worked at the hook holding the bird-cage.

"Well, precious!" she crooned. "Missy's little friend! Her darling pet! Her love-bird! How's the sweet baby?" The cage released, she stepped down and hurried across the room.'

"Aunt Clare!"--first the clear, glad cry; next, a head all tumbled curls.

"Barbara!" Clare came short. Then, as Tottie sauntered in, "Oh, what's this young one doing here?"

Barbara had risen, discarding the doll and the shawl, and gone to Clare. Now, feeling herself rebuffed, she went back to the settee, watching Clare anxiously.

"Waitin' for you," answered Tottie, taking up her shawl.

"Aunt Clare!" pleaded the child, softly.

"Oh! Oh!" mourned Clare. She set the cage on the table.

Barbara bethought herself of the gift. Out of the sagging pocket of the gingham, she produced the tightly-made bouquet. "See!" she cried, holding out the flowers with a smile. "For you, Aunt Clare!"

But Clare brushed them aside, and fetched the child's hat. "Where's that Colter woman?" she demanded angrily.