As the motor-stage drew up to the door, Millie ran out on the veranda to
deliver a few commissions to the driver to execute when he got back to
town. She noted that Sheriff Blodgett was a passenger, and that he
jumped down and preceded the guests into the lobby.
The first of the new arrivals to step out of the stage and enter the
hotel was a chic little woman of about twenty-four, with big brown eyes
and auburn hair, dressed in a bright blue outing-flannel coat and skirt
and a tiny red hat from which hung a heavy veil. It was obvious that she
was suffering from great embarrassment, as she walked quickly about the
lobby, going from one register to the other, while a maid followed her
with an armful of bundles. The woman looked helplessly from wall to wall
and desk to desk. The presence of Blodgett and Townsend seemed to add to
her embarrassment, a condition still further aggravated by the
appearance of a third man, Everett Hammond, who chanced to come
strolling down from up-stairs at the moment. She fluttered up to Millie
as the girl came in from the veranda.
"Would you like to register?" Millie asked.
"How do you do," was the reply, uttered in a timid treble. "I am Mrs.
Harper. I understand--" Her head turned from side to side as she
hesitated. She clasped her hands and gazed pleadingly at Millie. "I've
been told--" Again she hesitated nervously, tears in her eyes. She
noticed Blodgett and Hammond gazing at her. In desperation, her blushes
showing under the heavy veil, she whispered, quaveringly, "Could I speak
to you privately?"
"Certainly," said Millie, hiding her amusement. "Just step into this
room," and she led the little woman away.
As they left the room, followed by the faithful maid, another guest
entered, an attractive woman of thirty. She was highly colored as to
hair and complexion, and she had about her an air far removed from the
chic, haughty member of the millionaire divorce colony that centered
about the Reno hotels. In type she was not unlike Mrs. Harper, except
that she did not show any special evidence of timidity. On the contrary,
she seemed perfectly at home. But she came in with the aid of a crutch
and leaning on the arm of the stage-driver. Her eyes took a calm
inventory of the lobby--including Townsend, on whom she smiled
coquettishly as she sighed with relief and sank into a chair.
Townsend was leaning against the California desk, and he had been
watching Blodgett and Hammond, who, conversing in low tones, had
strolled out to the veranda. He was surprised to note that the pair had
met before and seemed to know each other quite well. His attention,
however, was now drawn to the attractive new guest. Her smile was not
without effect. She turned to the driver.
"I'm all right now, thank you," she drawled, though her voice was soft
and pleasant. "Just drop my bag here." Fumbling in her purse for change
that did not seem to be there, she directed a glance toward Townsend and
smiled again. "Will you change five dollars for me?" she asked.
Townsend drew out his wallet and examined its contents, but put it back
again disappointedly. "I'm afraid I can't," he said, with obvious
regret.
"Well, then," said the attractive woman, with a frown, "pay the driver,
please."
Townsend gave a slight start of chagrin, feeling that his standing as a
candidate for a judgeship was suffering by her lack of discernment.
Then, as the truth of the situation dawned on him, he suppressed a
chuckle. Without a word, he handed some change to the driver.
"Charge it to my account," she ordered, settling herself comfortably in
the chair, extending one foot which was bound in a heavy bandage about
the ankle and clad in a soft slipper.
Townsend, still smiling, began: "Well--er--"
"I'm Mrs. Davis," she interrupted, ignoring his embarrassment. "Mrs.
Margaret Davis." She turned her wide blue eyes full upon him as she
switched in her chair, the movement bringing a twinge of pain to her
face.
Townsend left the desk and came toward her. "I'm very glad to meet you."
He extended an affable hand. "I'm Lemuel Townsend, and I--"
Mrs. Davis did not offer him her hand at once, but gave him an
inquisitive glance. "Will you show me to my room?" she asked.
"I don't know where it is," he said, laughing. By this time his ruffled
dignity was assuaged by the twinkle in Mrs. Davis's eye and the deep
dimple in her chin.
"Why, weren't you expecting me?" she asked, in astonishment, her mind as
yet refusing to grasp the situation.
"No, I wasn't." He was bending over her, a courtly flattery in his gaze.
"But I wrote you!" She turned clear about on her chair, forgetting for
the moment the pain in her foot, her eyes and mouth wide open with
surprise at the thought that she could be thus forgotten.
"No, you didn't write me. You see, I'm only a guest, just as you are."
Here they both laughed, while Townsend placed a chair close to hers and
sat down beside her.
Mrs. Davis prolonged her giggle and bent her head, her eyes seeking his
under her heavily beaded lashes. "And I said--Oh!" She put her two hands
to her mouth and sidled, "I took you for the clerk."
He nodded indulgently.
"Oh, and I made you pay the driver! I couldn't allow that. Just as soon
as somebody comes I'll return it. I hope you'll forgive me." By this
time her manner was as friendly as Townsend's feminine-loving soul could
wish. She sidled her chair a little closer to his, still holding him
with her eyes, wide as the innocent stare of a baby.
"I'm glad it happened," said Townsend.
"Will you allow me to introduce myself properly?"
She nodded, and he got up and went to the desk, returning with one of
his campaign cards and handing it to her. "Permit me," he said, "my
card." As she took it from him he explained, "I'm candidate for judge at
the next election."
Immediately Mrs. Davis's interest was aroused to fever pitch. With a
knowing look she leaned forward, placing a hand on his arm, while she
slowly and attentively dwelt upon the words on the card. "Oh, really?"
she drawled. "Where will you be judge?"
"If I'm elected--in Reno."
"Will you try divorce cases?" the question was snapped out.
He nodded.
"Oh, I'm awfully glad to meet you!" she gushed, shaking his arm.
"The pleasure is mutual, believe me," he responded, placing his hand on
top of hers. As she withdrew hers with a giggle, he went on, unabashed,
"Do you intend remaining here long?"
"I'm in for six months." She sighed like a hurt baby.
He was all sympathy as he leaned toward her and apologized: "Oh, I'm
very sorry for you, Mrs. Davis--If--"
"Oh, my case doesn't call for sympathy. Congratulations!
Congratulations!" she emphasized with a long-drawn-out inflection.
"Oh!!!" he shook his head wisely, adding, laughingly, "It's that way?"
A twinge from the invalid ankle concentrated Mrs. Davis's full attention
as she lifted her foot, adjusting it against the crutch, thinking to
stop the pain. When it had subsided she smiled up at Townsend again,
pointed to it and said, with an ingenue turn of the head, "I'd probably
never have been able to get a divorce if it had not been for this."
"You don't mean that your husband was brute enough to--" Townsend was
shocked at the thought, but was not allowed to deliver himself of his
full sympathy. Mrs. Davis was just getting into the lines of her part
and she was quick to catch her cues.
"Oh, heavens, no!" she broke in upon his condolences. "This was an
accident. It's a sprain, and it is quite serious, as I'm a dancer." She
beamed up at him and wriggled in the chair, continuing her explanation.
"It's probably all for the best. Of course it'll break into my
engagements. I'm in vaudeville, you know. I've wanted a divorce for
years, but I'm always booked solid and I never stay in one place long
enough to get one. When this happened I saw my chance to get a good long
rest, and my freedom in the bargain." Her eyes begged his for
understanding and received it.
While she had been talking Townsend had been drinking in every word she
said. Her variety of attractiveness was a new one to him. It appealed to
his small-town idea of being a gay blade. He had often cast longing eyes
at the Eastern wives sojourning in Reno for the six months necessary to
establish a residence and therefore their right to a quick freedom which
brought with it no restrictions in the matter of remarrying. The
majority of these prospective divorcees were of a larger world and
reckoned in figures of which Lemuel Townsend did not know the simplest
rules. The only notice he had received for his ambitions being a smile
to his face and a snicker at his back. But here was some one who not
only was taking notice of him, but was actually meeting his advances
half-way. Besides, she was pretty, and he could never withstand a pretty
woman. As she finished the first lap of her story he exclaimed, "That
certainly is a scheme!"
"It's nice of you to listen to it all," she murmured, apologetically,
moving her idle crutch up and down as if writing her mood in invisible
letters on the floor.
"I'm glad you told it to me. Do you know--" and he sidled in his chair,
while a sugar-laden approval beamed at her in a steady flow from over
the top of his glasses, "from the minute I saw you enter the door I was
worried about you--I was afraid--Well, it was a great relief to find
that you had two good--" he halted in hopeless confusion, as his eyes
sought her ankle. He took his handkerchief from his pocket and blew his
nose furiously, hoping to hide the real reason for a blush that seemed
to have come to stay, having settled in a deep crimson even from the
nape of his neck to the top of a head whose sparse hair refused to hide
his embarrassment.
But Margaret Davis, seeing no reason for shyness, just smiled graciously
upon him and hastened to standardize her reputation. "Any one who has
seen me dance can inform you about--well--about--_them_," she said
seriously, adding by way of flavor to her remark another languishing
droop of her eyelids. There was a moment of coy silence for the two of
them. Then Mrs. Davis asked, "Are you stopping here for pleasure or are
you doing time?"
"I'm a bachelor."
"How nice!" she replied, in honeyed accents, as she leaned toward him
and put a soft hand on his arm. Undoubtedly in Lem Townsend she saw the
possibility of an easy divorce trial. Besides, Townsend was by no means
without personal attractions. Mrs. Davis gazed at him, her languishing
smile concealing the feminine appraisal in her eyes. She decided to
cultivate the possibility, and was about to say something in furtherance
of her object when she was startled by a gentle voice coming from
directly behind her and inquiring, pleasantly, "Rheumatism?"
Bill Jones had entered the lobby unobserved by the pair and was leaning
over the desk idly, looking at his new guest with kindly interest.
Townsend introduced Bill, and Mrs. Davis, with Lem's assistance, rose
and took up a pen.
"No," she said; "I have not acquired rheumatism as yet, Mr. Jones. I'll
register--you're reserving a room for me."
"How long you here for?" Bill asked.
"The usual," she sighed, and rolled her eyes toward Townsend.
"Eh?" Bill grinned and walked slowly from behind the desk.
"Six months," she drawled, wearily.
Politely staying her hand and taking the pen from her, Bill pointed to
the other desk. "This is the six months' side--over here," he said,
sauntering to the back of the Nevada desk.
When the lady was at last settled in her room, and Townsend had
left--having made an arrangement to dine with Mrs. Davis that
evening--Bill found himself strangely alone for the moment. Instantly he
seized on the opportunity to make a thorough investigation into the
mysterious disappearance of a half-filled flask. After turning the
Nevada desk inside out, at last he was convinced that the disappearance
was a fact and not a matter of imagination. "Guess mother has
seequesterated it," he remarked, to himself. "Not that I'm hankerin'
after it so much myself, but I told Zeb I had it, an' when he finds that
I 'ain't, the moral effect on Zeb will sure be bad."
As Bill, rolling a cigarette, meditated on this, Mrs. Harper, followed
by her maid and still casting about like a frightened bird in search of
cover, tiptoed into the lobby, went uncertainly to the California desk
and took up a pen.
Wisdom twitching at the corners of his mouth, Bill was beside her at
once.
"Is either o' you ladies gettin' a divorce?" he inquired, in a helpful
tone, his question including the indignant maid. "'Cause, if you are,"
he explained, "I just wanted to let you know that you are flockin' round
the wrong desk."
Mrs. Harper fluttered some more. "Oh, I--er--but--where--"
"This way, my dears," Bill said, in a gentle, fatherly tone, as he led
them to the Nevada desk.
Mrs. Harper signed her name. As Bill read it he looked up at her with
sudden interest. He put a detaining hand on her arm before she could
flutter away, and at the same time, turning to the maid, he directed her
to have a chair for a moment--at the other side of the lobby, out of
earshot.
When the maid had complied Bill looked down at the register. "Mrs.
Harper, Truckee," he repeated. Then, glancing up at the surprised and
startled little woman, he asked, "Does your husband happen to drive a
green automobile, ma'am?"
Mrs. Harper stared at him with the big, frightened eyes of a child.
"Why--er--yes. But--why do you ask?"
"I met him last night," said Bill. "He's a fast driver, ain't he? Gets
to Truckee in two hours!"
The color rose to the little woman's face. "I don't see--"
"He's a mighty fine feller!" Bill went on, calmly. "Got a pile o' money,
too, an' I bet he's some generous with it--specially to them what he
loves. People is always makin' fool mistakes. Say, you ain't really
goin' to git a divorce, are you?"
Now the astonished little woman's eyes filled with angry tears. "Oh!"
she gasped. "Oh! How dare you speak to me like this! It's none of your
business!"
"Sure it is," said Lightnin', his voice kindly, confidential. "I know
all about it. He didn't git that present for his stenographer."
"How do you know?" she snapped.
"I heard him tellin' all about it to Marvin, the boy what sold him that
timber up yonder. I knocked," Bill explained, whimsically, "but they
didn't seem to hear, an' I was kinder forced to listen in from the
outside. Your husband was all het up an' near committin' suicide 'cause
you thought he done what he didn't. He told Marvin he bought that
present for you when he was in Noo York. He was just a-showin' it to his
office lady when you walked in."
"Nonsense!"
"No, it ain't. It's truth. There's some things I don't go wrong on, an'
this is one, Mrs. Harper. Your husband's a mighty fine feller an'--"
With a stamp of her foot, the little woman flung away from the desk
and, followed by the faithful maid, hurried up-stairs, where--and
perhaps Bill suspected this--she buried her head in a pillow and cried
and cried.
Bill stood at the desk with his head cocked on one side, idly tapping
his ear with a pen. He heard the door of Mrs. Harper's room slam and he
grinned amiably.
"Eatin' her heart out for him," he mused. "Just eatin' her heart out,
but too spunky to back down!"
He gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling for a few minutes; then slowly he
reached into the drawer and took out a telegram blank. His eyes twinkled
as he wrote a brief message. He folded up the blank, stuffed it into his
pocket, and was turning away from the desk with the intention of seeking
the telegraph-office, when Hammond and Sheriff Blodgett came strolling
back into the lobby.
"Oh, so you're actually here, are you?" exclaimed Hammond, glaring at
Bill. "Have you signed that deed yet?"
Hammond, direct, bulldozing, totally lacking in Thomas's smooth
diplomacy, had lost all patience with Bill Jones. That morning he had
decided that the only way to handle Bill was to ride over him
rough-shod. "Have you signed that deed?" he repeated, loudly.
"Deed?" remarked Lightnin', carelessly. "Oh, I'd kinder forgot about
that little matter. Nope. 'Ain't had time, old top--nope!" Ignoring the
glares of the two men, he started to amble toward the door.
"Look here," Hammond called after him, "is Mr. Thomas in?"
"I guess so," replied Bill, pausing directly in front of Hammond and
gazing up at him with a calm, shrewd light in his half-shut eyes. "He
seems to stick around pretty close."
"Well," said Hammond, with a heavy frown, "just be good enough to step
up and tell him that Sheriff Blodgett and I would like to see him!"
"Step up yourself," said old Bill, quietly, without shifting either his
gaze or his position. "You ain't crippled, be you? An' I don't think as
your friend Thomas'll fall off'n his chair with surprise if you drop in
on him unexpected."
Without waiting for a reply, Bill turned away and ambled out of the
lobby. Hammond swore; then strode angrily up-stairs, followed by
Blodgett.