The following morning, rising at dawn, Mrs. Jones again tried to awaken
her husband to a full sense of his shortcomings anent his foolish
reluctance to sign the deed to the property. Bill, however, merely
turned on the pillow, gave her a brief smile, and dropped quickly into a
gentle snore. After several more attempts to awaken him and impress on
him the fact that his absence the day before had kept Thomas and Hammond
on a day longer when they had important business calling them to the
city, she gave up in despair and went below to look after breakfast,
taking with her the packet of letters that should have been in the hands
of the guests the afternoon previous.
The morning was a busy one for Mrs. Jones and Millie. Bill, coming down
unexpectedly, escaped them, calling through the door, on his way out,
that he was going for the mail. When noon came and Bill did not turn up,
Mrs. Jones's anxiety reached fever pitch, and she sought Millie in the
hope that she could offer some solution of the problem of forcing the
deed through Bill's unwilling hands.
At breakfast, Thomas and Hammond again had painted to her and Millie
golden pictures of the ease and even luxury that would be theirs as a
result of the sale of the property. Trembling with anticipation, Mrs.
Jones had then and there put her name to the deed which disposed of her
last bit of land; and she was determined that, no matter what it cost
her in seeming coldness and harshness toward him, Bill should be made to
place his name directly under hers. She made up her mind that he should
be brought to terms as soon as he got back; hence her extreme annoyance
as the morning went by without his showing up.
As she went about the house, looking for Millie, her determination took
on a hard and bitter aspect which was only softened when she caught the
sound of Raymond Thomas's voice. He was speaking softly to Millie in the
lobby. Mrs. Jones belonged to a generation not so long past when
eavesdropping was not considered a wholly unworthy occupation if it
tended to place the culprit in a position to know the inner secrets of
those bound by the tie of relationship. For some time, so cleverly did
he manage her, Mrs. Jones had felt a motherly tenderness for Thomas
springing up within her, and she hoped and dreamed that her affection
would have a chance to express itself. That Thomas was in love with
Millie she had fully decided on. It was for this reason that the very
sight of John Marvin, whom she knew to be a poor young man with no
particular prospects, filled her with displeasure. Then, too, she did
not approve of her husband's friendship with Marvin, having a strong
suspicion that Marvin was influencing Bill against Thomas, and an
intuition that Bill, in his unworldliness, would stand back of Marvin's
love for Millie.
And so it was that the sight of Millie smiling up at Thomas as he looked
earnestly down into the girl's brown eyes set Mrs. Jones's heart beating
hopefully--and sent her behind a curtain to listen to what was being
said.
Thomas had just come in from the veranda, where he had begged to be
excused from accompanying two prospective widows on a walk to see the
waterfall at the edge of the place. He was smiling with affected
indifference when he met Mildred, who had just come down one of the
stairways, of which there were two, one leading to the Nevada side of
the house and the other to the California side. "It's a shame to miss a
stroll with them!" belying his words with a sneering toss of the head
and shrug of the shoulders.
Millie's brow was drawn thoughtfully into wrinkles and there was a
wistful pucker to her mouth.
At once he was all attention. "What is the matter, Millie?" he asked, a
note bordering on tenderness in his voice.
"It's daddy again. He did not get back until midnight, and he was off
again this morning before mother or I could prevent him. I just heard
the boarders complaining about the mail service. It's all so hard on
mother, and yet"--she hesitated, her mind reverting to her
foster-father's kindness to her through all the years of her babyhood
and girlhood--"and yet," she went on, "he's really so good and kind at
heart, he really would feel dreadfully if he understood what he puts us
through." She stood by the newel-post, her eyes pleading for advice.
Thomas took her hand and looked at it thoughtfully.
For a moment Millie let it lie in his; then her lids dropped and she
blushed, withdrawing her hand and walking slowly toward one of the
desks, of which there were also two, one on each side of the hall.
Thomas followed her, bending down and looking into her face. "I would
not let his absence bother you. I'm going up-stairs to pack my grips. As
soon as I finish I'll go after him," he said, soothingly, as, one hand
in pocket, he let the other flip a pack of cards on the table.
"Oh, you've been too kind already," Millie protested, again meeting his
eyes and turning away, her lips quivering.
"Oh, I'm not so kind as you think!" He laughed, an honest humor rising
to infrequent expression. "I've got to see Lightnin' myself before I go.
He hasn't signed the deed yet, and--"
"I really can't see what he's got to do with it!" Millie interrupted.
"The place is mother's. Oh, well"--she sighed and shook her head in
despair--"I suppose to be safe his signature must be obtained. I do hope
he'll turn up before you leave. It's too bad--"
"Well, if he doesn't, maybe you and Mrs. Jones can make him see the
light. I'll leave the papers with you, and when he signs them you can
send for me and I'll be up and--"
"You don't know how much I appreciate all you've done for us. Now don't
say it's nothing." Millie turned and put her hand on his arm, her eyes
resting intently on his.
He bent over her for a minute, then straightened up as he heard a slight
movement in the portiere, a gleam of wisdom illuminating his face. He
smiled with a nonchalant disregard of his former intention and backed
away from the girl.
Millie's color mounted her forehead. Shyly she withdrew her hand from
his arm and fumbled with the bunch of keys about her neck. After an
awkward silence she continued:
"You've been so good to us. When mother and I've been in such distress
that we did not know where to turn and mother was nearly frantic, you
come forward and in no time arrange everything so that mother and daddy
are going to be better off than they ever dreamed of. For years, you
know, mother and I have worried about her and daddy's old age. Piece by
piece we've sold the land and the timber. Even if this place does pay it
will only be running expenses, with nothing saved up, as you said. And
then the Nevada divorce laws might change. Oh! You've been so kind," she
breathed, in deep sincerity.
"Now don't make me ashamed," Thomas coaxed in his soothing way, backing
slowly toward the stairs on the California side. "What I've done is just
the simplest thing in the world. I grew to be very fond of you when you
were in my office, Millie, and I'm glad to be of what service I can."
As he was half-way up the stairs, Mrs. Jones emerged from behind the
portiere. He stopped and bent in a nattering bow, a twinkle in his eye.
"Why, good morning, Mrs. Jones!" he called down.
"Oh, excuse me!" Mrs. Jones, a guilty conscience bringing his courtly
sarcasm, which would otherwise have escaped her gullible nature, into
notice, stepped back, turning to the kitchen, whence she had come when
she stopped to listen. But Millie followed her, and, with arm around her
waist, drew her into the room and seated her near the table.
"You're not going into that hot kitchen again to-day," remonstrated
Millie, planting a daughterly kiss on her cheek. "You've been out there
working like a slave for three mortal hours."
Mrs. Jones hid her hands awkwardly under her apron and reddened as she
glanced up at Thomas, who had come back from above-stairs.
"I don't look presentable," she murmured, fidgeting in the chair.
"Come now, you mustn't mind me," said Thomas, Millie adding her word to
his: "Please stay there just for a few minutes, mother. You look ready
to drop."
"She's always tellin' me that." Mrs. Jones showed her pleasure in
Millie's concern by beaming knowingly from one to the other, an act
which sent Millie to the desk, where she pretended to look at the
register.
Thomas smiled. "Millie's right," he responded. "You do work a great deal
too hard; but it won't be long now before you can say good-by to hard
work for the rest of your life."
"Oh, Mr. Thomas!" Mrs. Jones arose, forgetting the red, hardened hands
she had been endeavoring to hide behind the blue and white checked
apron, and hastened to Thomas, holding them toward him in a gesture half
of gratitude, half of pleading. "I can scarcely realize that all this is
going to come true and we owe it all to you. I only wish I could tell
you how grateful I am."
Thomas was quite determined to escape further enthusiasm, either on
Millie's or on Mrs. Jones's part. His game nearly played, he wished to
withdraw gracefully and without detriment to a certain lurking decency
which had not quite been swept away. Thwarting Mrs. Jones's attempt to
wring his hand in gratitude, he took two light bounds up the stairs,
stopping to laugh back: "Well, I'm going to get out for fear you'll
spoil me with a thankfulness I don't deserve. Hang on to her, Millie."
He directed a gleam toward the young girl as she went up to her mother.
"Make her take a rest."
"Oh dear! Do you think I've driven him away?" There was genuine concern
in Mrs. Jones's voice as she sank back into the chair and gazed
anxiously after Thomas.
"No, you haven't." Millie smoothed the brown hair which was fast
streaking with gray from her brow, damp with excitement. "He is going
up-stairs to pack. He's arranged everything about selling the place, and
there's nothing more for him to stay--"
"You're here, ain't you?" Mrs. Jones folded her arms stiffly across her
chest and assumed a rigid position in her chair as she questioned Millie
with eyes suddenly grown fierce with the look of an angry hen when she
thinks her brood has been disturbed.
"Oh, mother!" The girl pursed her lips into a pouting smile as she
leaned over the back of the chair, an affectionate arm on Mrs. Jones's
shoulder. "Please get that foolish idea out of your head. You know--"
"Know nothin'." Mrs. Jones's head jerked vehemently while she insisted:
"Every letter you wrote home all the time you was workin' in his office
showed that he cared for you."
"I never wrote anything of the sort!" Millie drew a surprised breath as
her mouth was drawn into a tiny O of expostulation. "Never!" she
reiterated, with a slight stamp of her foot, as she went to the
California desk and became absorbed in the register.
"Oh, I could read between the lines! I ain't that stupid. If he isn't
in love with you, why is he plannin' for us to come and live in San
Francisco? Oh, won't it be grand!" Mrs. Jones, carried away by the
recollection of a long-ago visit to the city, and by a dream of what a
permanent life there would be, resumed her own hearty enthusiasm. "I
want to live in the city real bad, but I'm just skeered to death I won't
know how to dress. I want to get a lot o' pretty things 'n' be like the
women I saw when I was at the Palace. Do ye think Bill 'll think I'm
getting crazy?"
An indulgent smile from Millie met her uneasy but smiling gaze, and she
went on: "I know I've talked about the city ever since I can remember,
but now that it's in sight I'm awful afraid I'll be out o' place."
"Well, you'll not," answered Millie, going behind the counter to look at
the letter-rack, almost empty. "I'm going to see that you have just as
nice things as any of the women stopping here."
There was a silence as both of the women smiled in contented
anticipation. Mrs. Jones was the first to speak, a sudden doubt
expressing itself in an anxious frown and a narrowing of the eyes. "But
there's Bill," she said, with a start. "I'm so afraid of the way he'll
act!"
"Daddy 'll be all right, I'm sure."
Mrs. Jones composed herself and began planning. "When his pension comes,
you must take him to town and buy him some new clothes. Them others we
got before didn't fit a bit good."
Millie turned quickly at the mention of her father's pension,
remembering that it was time for it to arrive. She reminded her mother
of this fact.
Mrs. Jones's gaiety had brief life after Millie's remark. "He ain't back
with the mail! I'll bet--"
"Oh, mother!" Millie, deeply concerned, came from behind the desk and
went up to the older woman, questioning, "You don't suppose his pension
has come?"
"I think it's gone!" Mrs. Jones bowed emphatically in a rising voice and
hurried to the desk on the Nevada side, where she took a cursory but
none the less exhaustive look at the mail indexes. "I found him hanging
around this desk this morning, and when I come in he beat it, sayin',
before I could stop him, that he was goin' after the mail. I wonder--"
She stopped and gave a deep groan of acquiescence. "Huh! Huh!" She had
opened up the top of the desk to find a half-filled flask. "There!" she
exclaimed, holding it to the light. "He was waiting for a chance to get
this when I shooed him away!"
Millie put her arm around her and drew her into the middle of the room,
trying to soothe her. "Anyway, don't let's blame him for anything until
we're sure. He may come home perfectly all right. You know he loves the
woods and the lake and the autumn coloring which is so wonderful now. He
always lingers like this. Please go up-stairs and have a good rest."
Millie tried to lead her mother toward the stairs, but Mrs. Jones gently
shook the girl's arm from about her waist and went toward the kitchen.
"Where are you going?" Millie asked, standing still, a puzzled frown
giving place to an understanding laugh as Mrs. Jones hesitated and
looked at the floor, answering in a manner half ashamed: "Why--well--I
thought--" she stammered, "he might come home soon, an' he's used to
findin' somethin' good kept warm--though he don't deserve it!"
She hesitated, her kindly, better nature shining in her eyes, battling
for expression. "Yes--please set a place for him, Millie!" And Mrs.
Jones hastily disappeared into the kitchen to avoid the girl's rippling
laugh of gentle amusement. Smiling to herself, Millie crossed the lobby
and went into the dining-room.
The moment she had left the lobby the street door of the hotel was
pushed open cautiously and an inquiring head thrust itself in. The head
was that of Bill Jones. Evidently satisfied that the coast was clear,
Bill came slowly into the lobby. Looking warily up at the stairs on
either side, and toward the dining-room and kitchen doors, he eased
himself softly over to the Nevada desk, raised the top and fumbled
expectantly inside.