Apron-Strings Part 26

"I mean ten years ago."

"Well, if you want to know, I was tired of being cooped up, so I dug out."

"Cooped up!" exclaimed Farvel, bitterly.

"I guess you know it! And Church! Church! Church! And prayers three times a day! And a small town! Oh, it was _deadly_!"

"No other reason?" asked Farvel, coldly.

She got up, suddenly impatient. "I've told you the truth!" she cried.

Then more quietly, seeing how white and drawn he looked, "I'm sorry it worried you." She set the cage on a chair near the double door.

"Worried!" echoed Farvel, bitterly. "Ha! ha!" And with significance, "And who was concerned in your going?"

"That's a nice thing for you to insinuate!" she returned hotly.

"I beg your pardon."

Mrs. Milo fell to rocking nervously. She was enjoying the situation to the full; still--the att.i.tude of Farvel toward this young woman was far from lover-like; while her att.i.tude toward him was marked by hatred badly disguised. Hence an unpleasant and unwelcome thought: What if this "Laura" turned out to be only a relative of the clergyman's!

Farvel's apology moved Clare to laughter. "Oh, that's all right," she a.s.sured him, impudently; "I understand. The more religious people are, you know, the more vile are their suspicions"--this with a mocking glance at Mrs. Milo.

The green velour rocker suddenly stood still, and Mrs. Milo fairly glared at the girl. Clare, seeing that she had gained the result she sought, grinned with satisfaction, and resumed her chair.

Farvel had not noticed what pa.s.sed between the two women. He was watching Wallace. "And you----" he began presently.

The younger man straightened, writhed within his clothes as if he were in pain, and went back to his stooping position once more--all with that swiftness which was so like the effect of an electrical current.

"Alan," he whispered.

"--What had you to do with it?" went on the clergyman.

Clare scoffed. "Wallace had nothing to do with it," she declared.

"What in the d.i.c.kens is the matter with you?"

"Nothing to do with it?" repeated Farvel. Then, with sudden fury, "Look at him!" He made for Wallace, pus.h.i.+ng aside a chair that was not in his way.

"Alan! Stop!" Clare rose, and Mrs. Milo rose, too.

"Come now, Wallace," Farvel said more quietly. "I want the truth."

Mrs. Milo hastened to her son. "Darling, I know you haven't done anything wrong," she said, tenderly. "This 'friend' is trying to s.h.i.+ft the blame. Stand up for yourself, my boy. Mother believes in you."

Wallace's chin sank to his breast. At the end of his long arms, his hands knotted and unknotted like the hands of a man in agony.

"My dearest!" comforted his mother. His suffering was evidence of guilt to Balcome and Farvel; to her it was grief, at having been put under unjust suspicion.

He lifted a white face. His eyes were streaming now, his whole body trembling pitifully. "Oh, what'll I do!" he cried. "What'll I do!"

He tottered to the chair that Farvel had shoved aside, dropped into it, and covered his face with both hands.

"My boy! My boy!"

"Don't act like a baby!" Clare came to him, and gave him a smart slap on the shoulder. "Cut it out! You haven't done anything."

"Just a moment," interrupted Farvel. He shoved her out of the way as impersonally as he had the chair. Then, "What do you mean by 'What'll do'?" he demanded. And to Clare, pulling at his arm, "Let me alone, I tell you. I'm going to know what's back of this!--_Wallace Milo_!"

Slowly Wallace got up. His cheeks were wet. His mouth was distorted, like the mouth of a woeful small boy. His throat worked spasmodically, so that the cords stood out above his collar.

Clare defended him fiercely. "What've you got into your head?" she asked Farvel. "You're wrong! You're dead wrong!--Wallace, tell him he's wrong!"

Wallace shook his head. "No," he said, striving to speak evenly; "no, I won't. All these years I've suffered, too. I've wanted to make a clean breast of it a million times--to get it off my conscience. Now, I can. I"--he braced himself to go on--"I was at the Rectory so much, Alan. I think that's how--it started. And--and she was nice to me, and I--I liked her. And we were almost the same age. So----" He could go no further. With a gesture of agonized appeal, he sank to his knees. "Oh, Alan, forgive me!" he sobbed. "Forgive----"

There could be no doubt of his meaning--of the character of his confession. Farvel bent over him, seizing an arm. "Get on your feet!"

he shouted. "Get up! Get up, I tell you! I'm going to knock you down!"

"Oh, help! Help!" wept Mrs. Milo, appealing to Balcome, who came forward promptly.

"Farvel!" he admonished. He got between the two men.

Clare was dragging at Farvel. "Blame me!" she cried. "I was older!

Blame me!"

Farvel pushed her aside. "Don't try to s.h.i.+eld him!" he answered.

"He's a dog! A dog!"

A loud voice sounded from the hall. It was Tottie, storming virtuously. "I won't have it!" she cried. "This is my house, and I won't have it!"

Another voice pleaded with her--"Now wait! Please!"

"I'm goin' in there," a.s.serted the landlady. She came pounding against the hall door, opened it, and entered, her bobbed hair lifting and falling with the rush of her coming. "Say! What do you call this, anyhow?" she demanded, shaking off the hand with which Sue was attempting to restrain her.

"Keep out of here," ordered Balcome, advancing upon her boldly.

She met him without flinching. "I won't have no knock-down and drag-out in my house!" she declared. "This is a respectable----"

"Oh, I'm used to tantrums," he retorted. And without more ado, he forced Miss St. Clair backward into the hall, followed her, and shut himself as well as her out of the room.

"I'll have you arrested for this!" she shrilled.

"Oh, shut up!"

Their voices mingled, and became less audible.

"You can't blame her," said Sue. "Really, from out there, it sounded suspiciously like murder." She stared at her brother. He was not kneeling now, but half-sitting, half-lying, in an awkward sprawl, at Farvel's feet, much as if he had thrown himself down in a fit of temper.

Farvel turned to her. His face was set. His eyes were dull, as if a glaze was spread upon them. His hands twitched. But he spoke quietly.

"Get this man out of here," he directed, "or I _shall_ kill him."

"Oh, go! Go!" pleaded Mrs. Milo.