FACE TO FACE
When the automobile left the garage and spun quietly down the
thoroughfare, Mary Louise was amazed to find that she could not
possibly fear this man. The sadness of the set face that was kept
steadily upon the road was such that her kind heart ached for him.
Who was he? What could he be doing? She remembered with a quiver of
dismay the letter she had seen addressed to Danny. What could Danny
possibly have to do with him?
“After all,” thought Mary Louise, “how little Danny has ever told me of
himself!” And the depression of the night seemed suddenly reflected in
her spirits.
The car, being without lights, necessarily had to be driven very
slowly, but at that they could not have been traveling for more than
fifteen minutes when the man at the wheel turned the car into a narrow,
grass-grown lane which ran along the edge of the marsh toward the
river.
About half a mile down the lane he stopped the car. At the same time
the wind died down and a tense quietness came over the feelings of
Mary Louise as of breathless waiting. The man at the wheel stood up
and carefully gazed across the low land toward a willow copse near the
river’s edge. He stood quiet and intent for some few moments. Finally
his search must have been rewarded, for with a sigh of relaxation he
sank down in the seat again.
It was a full minute before Mary Louise could make out what the man’s
sharp sight had detected. A dark object was bobbing and dipping over
the marsh land.
She was instantly recalled from her discovery by the voice of her
companion. It was a kindly voice though thick and nervous, and he spoke
in jerks.
“Mary Louise,” he said, “I believe you are a friend of Danny’s. At
least I know he is a true friend to you, as God knows he is to me! I’m
Danny’s uncle, raised him from a kid, but I guess I’m no good. Anyhow,
when Danny found I wasn’t square, he ran off and enlisted with the
Canadians when the war broke out. But now that he knows they’ve found
me out, he has done everything possible to help me--believes that
blood is thicker than water, I guess. He took your car the night before
your trip just to get me to the junction, for the Santa Fe Limited. I’m
off for China. But Crocker came that night and we had to hide the car
and ourselves.”
Mary Louise was breathless with interest as the man talked. But why
should he be telling it to her? The voice jerked on.
“Danny was sick about worrying you, and finally insisted that we push
back the car and then meet here. Sorry I had to bring you but my
freedom was in pawn, and now--” the man’s voice grew husky--“that lad
has made me give my word to hand him my accounts. He swears he’ll make
up the deficit. Good Lord, what a boy!”
Mary Louise breathed a soft “Amen.” Her eyes were like twin stars from
pride and happiness, and as the man pressed a large envelope into her
hand, she realized that one mystery was solved.
“Will you give him that?” said the man, and added, “God bless you
both,” as he jumped to the ground and left her.
The strange individual seemed to be swallowed up instantly by the
darkness, and except when the flashes of lightning revealed it, the
dark bobbing object in the marsh was also invisible. Mary Louise
suddenly felt very much alone. She welcomed even the approach of the
mysterious something, which each vivid flash of electricity revealed as
coming nearer, ever nearer. It seemed to leap and dip and sidle, but at
the same time constantly to advance.
The weird hoot of an owl from a tree that edged the lane caused Mary
Louise to shiver and to draw the auto robe more closely about her,
although the heat of the night seemed to be weighing down all nature.
She felt cold and utterly deserted. The now incessant rumble of the
thunder drowned any sound the approaching object might be making, and
as Mary Louise sat waiting and trembling a great bat flew blindly down
and beat its loathsome wings against the car. That was enough and more
than enough for Mary Louise. With a gasp she sank on the floor of the
auto and covered her head with the robe.
So it happened that when the Ford runabout came close to the car she
neither saw nor heard it. Neither did she see one man jump out and help
the stranger into his vacant seat, as the latter wrung his hand and
bade him farewell in a queer, choked voice.
“My boy, God bless you,” muttered the older man, “and I promise to be
on the level for your sake from this time on. ‘Thank you’ are feeble
words.”
Danny’s voice was very gentle as he put his strong arm around the
trembling shoulders of the older man.
“Uncle Jim,” he said, “I understand a great deal more than before I
went into that Hell over there, and I can’t forget that everything
you did was for me--to give me money and education. It is just that I
should square up our accounts and I want to do it.”
At this point Will White, who had been sitting quietly at the wheel,
struck a match and, looking at his watch, suggested: “If my watch ain’t
fast and if that train ain’t slow, we’d better hustle.”
Danny stepped back after one last hand-shake, and the Ford went
chugging down the lane. With a feeling of regret not unmingled with
relief that his part of the escape was accomplished, he turned to Mary
Louise’s car standing empty in the shadow. He swung quickly into the
driver’s seat and quite as quickly swung out again, for with a stifled
“Ouch” a small tousled head appeared above the blankets and Danny and
Mary Louise were face to face!
“Oh, Danny!” cried Mary Louise, when she found breath to speak to the
intruder in her automobile, “Oh, Danny, I’m so glad that you’ve come to
me.”
Had Danny been a disciple of accuracy he could quite easily have
explained that he hadn’t the wildest idea he was coming to her.
Instead, hearing the welcome in her voice, and being so unbelievably
glad to see that tousled head and tear-stained face, he simply said,
“Of course I came, Mary Louise,” and then he could not say another word.
He stood bare-headed there on the running board and stared and stared
down at Mary Louise who was still sitting on the floor of the car and
gazing up at him. Suddenly a huge drop of rain splashed full upon the
upturned nose of Mary Louise. It roused her with a start and evidently
filled her with a spirit of prophecy for she sagely said, “Danny, I
guess it’s going to rain!”
Then Danny, too, felt the great drops beating down his collar, and
with a chuckle and an, “I’ll be darned, I never noticed it,” he was
swooping out the side curtains and adjusting them to their hooks.
Mary Louise insisted on helping. It was very nice to have her, though
of course it delayed matters, and they were both pretty thoroughly
soaked before they finally climbed back into the car. It was dry and
snug in there at least.
Outside, the storm was now lashing and howling with a fury that was
terrific. It was an impossibility to start the car until the wind and
rain abated, so Danny switched on the little light and turned once
again to Mary Louise.
Then, strange to relate, they were both tongue-tied. Mary Louise became
miserably conscious that her hair was in wild disarray, and Danny
became blissfully conscious that the wild disarray of Mary Louise’s
hair was very lovely. It is difficult to say how long the silence
would have lasted had not her hand touched the long, official envelope
upon the seat beside her. Then Mary Louise remembered she was playing
postman.
“Your Uncle Jim asked me to give you this, Danny,” she said, placing
the bulky letter on his knee.
Danny turned to her in wonder and almost in awe. “Mary Louise, you
know about me? You know about Uncle Jim, and still you speak to me?”
“Yes,” said Mary Louise softly. “Maybe I speak to you partly because I
know about your Uncle Jim, because I think it is so splendid of you to
take the responsibility of paying the checks he forged.”
“You can’t know that I took your car that night just to take him to the
junction. He came to me to help him and I had to. But, oh, Mary Louise,
when Crocker came and I had to hide your car--at least let me tell
you what I suffered at the thought of worrying you! I don’t ask your
forgiveness.”
Mary Louise found her voice again. “You don’t have to,” she told Danny.
“I know, too, of all the trouble you took to push it back safely,” and
she turned to him a face so lighted with trust and confidence that
Danny gripped the idle steering wheel very hard and gazed straight
ahead unseeing into the night.
If he had been observant, he would have noticed that the storm had
spent its wildness and was already dying down in the distance. The
cool, cleared air was creeping into the car. It was Mary Louise who
first saw the new-washed moon appear a golden ball again.
“See, it’s all clearing up,” she said; “we’d better go.”
Danny lingered though for a minute longer. Then--“Mary Louise, may I
ask you--” he started to say; then changed it joyously to--“Why, no; I
_know_ you won’t give Uncle Jim away to Crocker.”
“Of course not,” replied Mary Louise, and her eyes answered the steady
look of his.
Then Danny started the auto slowly and drove out into the lane.