BOB IS CLEARED
"Betty, you stay out of this," commanded Bob sternly. "If there's
going to be a scene, two actors will be a-plenty. You go away and
take the girls with you."
The clerk who had been regarding them curiously over his ledger now
took a hand.
"If this argument is likely to be prolonged," he suggested
sarcastically, "I'd advise you either to go up to your room, Mr.
Peabody, or into that card room there. That's deserted in the day
time."
"Yes, come on in here," said Betty, anxious to get away from the
gaze of the other guests. She led the way into the card room which
opened off the lobby and was preferable to making a public journey in
the elevator. "Close the door, Louise."
Mr. Peabody kept his hold on Bob's collar and from time to time he
shook him vigorously, whether with the idea of shaking the
stubbornness out of him or merely to indicate that he held the whip
hand, Betty was undecided.
"You can let go of Bob," she said heatedly, as soon as they were in
the room with the door shut. "He isn't going to run away."
"I'll see that he doesn't," was the grim reply. "You hand over that
deed, young man, or I'll call a policeman in two minutes."
"I tell you I haven't got it!" protested Bob desperately. "I never
saw the thing. What would I be doing with a paper of yours? I haven't
got it, and that's all there is to it."
"Of course he hasn't!" For the life of her Betty could not keep
still, though perhaps caution dictated that she hold her tongue. "I
know he hasn't that deed, Mr. Peabody. And having him arrested won't
give you what he hasn't got."
"How do you know he hasn't got it?" demanded the farmer. "Deeds
don't walk off and hide themselves, young lady. Bob happens to know
why I want that deed. And if he doesn't produce it, and that mighty
quick, he'll find himself where they can shake the truth out of him
with no fooling."
Bobby sprang to her feet from the leather chair where she had curled
up to listen to the proceedings.
"I'll telephone my father," she cried. "He'll help Bob to sue you
for false arrest. If you have some one arrested and it is found he
didn't do what you said he did, he can sue you for damages. I've
heard my father say so. Don't you care, Bob, Daddy will find a way to
beat this horrid old man."
An unpleasant smile spread over the mean, shriveled face.
"Is that so?" queried Joseph Peabody. "Well, I don't know who you
are, Miss, but you need a lesson on how to keep a civil tongue in
your head. All the fine friends Mister Bob has picked up in
Washington won't stand by him long when they find out he's a
poorhouse rat and a runaway at that. There'll be some explaining for
you to do before the almshouse authorities are satisfied, young man."
Betty's anger flamed as the familiar odious phrase fell from the
farmer's lips, and added to her anger was the crystallized fear that
had been haunting her for weeks. She did not know whether Bob could
really be returned to the poor-house or whether it was another trick
of Peabody's, but she feared the worst and dreaded it.
"You try to return Bob to the poorhouse!" she cried, her cheeks
blazing, her hands clenched. She took a step toward Peabody and he
fell back, dragging Bob with him so that a chair stood between them
and the furious girl. "You try to return Bob to the poorhouse, and
I'll tell every one what I know about that deed," flared Betty. "I
know all about the Warren lots and the kind of sale you forced
through. You--you--" to her distress and amazement, Betty burst into
tears.
"Don't cry, dear," whispered Bobby, putting her arm around her.
"Daddy won't let them do anything to Bob. You see if he does."
Joseph Peabody was apparently impervious to verbal assaults and tears.
"Once more I ask you," he shook Bob violently, "are you going to
hand over that paper? Yes, or no?"
"I tell you I haven't got it," said Bob doggedly. "Shaking my teeth
out won't help me get a paper I never saw in my life. As for having
me arrested, you keep up this racket much longer and the hotel
authorities will send for the police on their own responsibility."
Peabody picked up his hat.
"All right, you come along with me," he said sourly. "You won't go
before a soft-headed police recorder this time, either. You'll find
out what it means to face a real judge."
He was marching Bob toward the door when a sharp rap sounded.
Louise, nearest the door, had the presence of mind to open it. A
bellboy stood there with a telegram on a tray.
"Telegram for Mr. Joseph Peabody," he announced impassively, his
alert eyes darting about the room from which such angry voices had
been coming for the last quarter of an hour.
"All right--give it here." The farmer snatched the yellow envelope
and shut the door in the boy's face without making a motion to tip him.
His back against the door, to prevent Bob's escape, Joseph Peabody
slit the envelope and read the message. The others saw his jaw drop
and a slow, painful flush creep over his face and neck.
"I'm called back to Bramble Farm right away," he mumbled, refusing
to meet their gaze. "Being hurried, and having so much to tend to,
I'm willing to drop the matter of having you arrested, Bob. But let
this be a lesson to you, to hoe a straight row."
Bob stared at the man stupidly, frankly bewildered. But Betty's
quick wit solved the sudden change of front. She had seen how quickly
Peabody folded up the telegram when he had read it.
"Isn't that a message from Mrs. Peabody?" she demanded crisply. "And
doesn't she say she's found the deed? Where was it--in one of your
coat pockets?"
The farmer was taken by surprise, and the truth was shocked out of
him.
"She's found it under the seat in the old market wagon," he blurted.
"I recollect I put it there for safe-keeping, meaning to take it over
to the deposit box the next day. Well, I've wasted more time an'
money in Washington than I like to think of. Got to go home and make
up for it."
Without another word or glance, without the shadow of an apology to
Bob, he swung out of the room and strode over to the desk. In a
moment they heard his harsh voice demanding the amount of his bill.
Bob looked at Betty, who stared back. Louise and Bobby were equally
silent. Then Betty snickered, and the tension was broken. Peal after
peal of laughter rang out, and they dropped helplessly into chairs
and laughed till they could laugh no longer.
"Oh, dear!" Betty sat up, wiping her eyes. "Did you ever see
anything like that? He never said good-by, or admitted that he'd made
a mistake, or--or anything! What do you suppose people in the hotel
must think of him?"
That reminded Bobby of the girl they had come to see and who was
really responsible for their visit to the hotel.
"The first kind thing Ruth Royal ever did for me," she declared
frankly. "I wouldn't have missed seeing Mr. Peabody for worlds."
"How did you ever happen to come here, Bob?" asked Betty, who had
been wondering about this ever since she had seen Bob walk right into
the one man he most wished to avoid.
"I brought a letter from Mr. Derby for one of the guests stopping
here," explained Bob. "That reminds me, I haven't delivered it yet.
Peabody threw me off the track. I'll turn it in, and then I'll have
to hurry back to the office; they'll think I've been run over for
sure."
He went off, promising again to see them on Saturday, and the girls,
feeling too upset to settle down to the quietness of a motion picture
house, went out to walk up and down in the sunshine of Pennsylvania
Avenue until it was time to meet Mr. Littell and Libbie and Esther.
Of course they had much to tell them, and Mr. Littell in particular
was a most appreciative listener. He was genuinely fond of Bob and
interested in him, and he got quite purple with wrath when he learned
of the indignity he had suffered at the hands of the ill-bred farmer.
"Then he went off and never had the grace to ask the lad's pardon!"
sputtered the builder when Betty reached the end of her recital. "I
wish I had him by the collar--just for three minutes. Perhaps I
wouldn't drive a little of the fear of justice into his narrow mind!"
They had lingered over their ice-cream, and although Carter drove at
a good speed, they found that unless they hurried they would be late
for dinner. It was one of Mrs. Littell's few unbreakable rules that
the girls must change into simple, light frocks for the evening meal,
and they went directly upstairs to take off their street clothes.
When they came down dinner had been announced and they went directly
to the table. They had so much to tell Mrs. Littell and she was so
interested that it was not until they were leaving the table that she
remembered what she had meant to ask Betty as soon as the girl came in.
"Betty, darling," she said comfortably, "you found your letter on
the hall table all right, didn't you?"
"Why, I never thought to look for mail," returned Betty in surprise.
"No, Mrs. Littell, I didn't stop in the hall. Was there a letter for
me?"
Mrs. Littell nodded and swept her family across the hall into the
living-room, saying something to her husband in a low voice. Betty
hurried to the console table where the mail was always laid on a
beaten silver tray. The solitary letter lying there was addressed to
her. And the postmark, she saw as she picked it up, was a town in
Oklahoma!