Miss Davis, who had risen, stood with one hand on her desk; the other
went to her lips. Something was the matter. What was it?
"I hope you won't mind Carmencita knowing." Van Landing drew the child
to him. "She is an admirable arranger and will like to help, I'm sure.
Miss Davis and Mr. Herrick are going to be married to-morrow,
Carmencita, and spend their holiday--wherever they choose. Why, Miss
Davis--why, you've never done like this before!"
Miss Davis was again in her chair, and, with arms on her desk and face
buried in them, her shoulders were making little twitchy movements.
She was trying desperately hard to keep back something that mustn't be
heard, and in a flash Carmencita was on her knees beside her.
"Oh, Miss Davis, I don't know you much, but I'm so glad, and of course
it's awful exciting to get married without knowing you're going to do
it; but you mustn't cry, Miss Davis--you mustn't, really!"
"I'm not crying." Head up, the pretty brown eyes, wet and shining,
looked first at Herrick and then at Van Landing, and a handkerchief
wiped two quivering lips. "I'm not crying, only--only it's so sudden,
and to-morrow is Christmas, and a boarding-house Christmas--" Again
the flushed face was buried in her arms and tears came hot and
fast--happy, blinding tears.
Moving chairs around that were not in the way, going to the window and
back again, locking up what did not require locking, putting on his
hat and taking it off without knowing what he was doing, Van Landing,
nevertheless, managed in an incredibly short time to accomplish a good
many things and to make practical arrangements. Herrick and Miss Davis
were to come to his apartment at one o'clock to-morrow and bring the
minister. They would be married at once and have dinner immediately
after with him--and with a friend or two, perhaps. Carmencita and her
father would also be there, and they could leave for a trip as soon as
they wished. They must hurry; there was no time to lose--not a
minute.
With a few words to the office-boy, the elevator-boy, the janitor, and
additional remembrances left with the latter for the charwoman, the
watchman, and several others not around, they were out in the street
and Carmencita again helped in the cab.
For a moment there was dazed silence, then she turned to Van Landing.
"Would you mind sticking this in me?" she asked, and handed him a bent
pin. "Is--is it really sure-enough what we've been doing, or am I
making up. Stick hard, please--real hard."
Van Landing laughed. "No need for the pin." He threw it away. "You're
awake, all right. I've been asleep a long time, and you--have waked
me, Carmencita."
For two delicious hours the child led and Van Landing followed. In and
out of stores they went with quickness and decision, and soon on the
seat and on the floor of the cab boxes and bundles of many shapes and
sizes were piled, and then Carmencita said there should be nothing
else.
"It's awful wickedness, Mr. Van, to spend so much." Her head nodded
vigorously. "The children will go crazy, and so will their mothers,
and they'll pop open if they eat some of all the things you've bought
for them, and we mustn't get another one. It's been grand, but--You're
not drunk, are you, Mr. Van, and don't know what you're doing?"
Her voice trailed off anxiously, and in her eyes came sudden, sober
fear.
Again Van Landing laughed. "I think perhaps I am drunk, but not in the
way you mean, Carmencita. It's a matter of spirits, however. Something
has gone to my head, or perhaps it's my heart. But I know very well
what I'm doing. There's one thing more. I forgot to tell you. I have a
little friend who has done a good deal for me. I want to get her a
present or two--some clothes and things that girls like. Your size, I
think, would fit her. I'd like--"
"Is she rich or poor?"
Van Landing hesitated. "She is rich. She has a wonderful imagination
and can see all sorts of things that others don't see, and her friends
are--"
"Kings and queens, and fairies and imps, and ghosts and devils. I
know. I've had friends like that. Does she like pink or blue?"
"I think she likes--blue." Again Van Landing hesitated. Silks and
satins might be Carmencita's choice. Silks and satins would not do. "I
don't mean she has money, and I believe she'd rather have practical
things."
"No, she wouldn't! Girls hate practical things." The long, loose,
shabby coat was touched lightly. "This is practical. Couldn't she have
one pair of shiny slippers, just one, with buckles on them? Maybe
she's as Cinderellary as I am. I'd rather stick my foot out with a
diamond-buckle slipper on it than eat. I do when my princess friends
call, and they always say: 'Oh, Carmencita, what a charming foot you
have!' And that's it. _That_!" And Carmencita's foot with it's coarse
and half-worn shoe was held out at full length. "But we've got to
hurry, or we won't be at the Green Tea-pot by two o'clock. Come on."
With amazing discrimination Carmencita made her purchases, and only
once or twice did she overstep the limitations of practicality and
insist upon a present that could be of little use to its recipient.
For the giving of joy the selection of a pair of shining slippers, a
blue satin sash, and a string of amber beads were eminently suitable,
however, and, watching, Van Landing saw her eyes gleam over the
precious possessions she was supposedly buying for some one else, a
child of her own age, and he made no objection to the selections made.
"Even if she don't wear them she will have them." And Carmencita drew
a long, deep sigh of satisfaction. "It's so nice to know you have got
something you can peep at every now and then. It's like eating when
you're hungry. Oh, I do hope she'll like them! Is it two, Mr. Van?"
It was ten minutes to two, and, putting Carmencita into the
bundle-packed cab, Van Landing ordered the latter to the Green
Tea-pot, then, getting in, leaned back, took off his hat, and wiped
his forehead. Tension seemed suddenly to relax and his heart for a
moment beat thickly; then with a jerk he sat upright. Carmencita was
again absorbed in watching the crowds upon the streets, and, when the
cab stopped, jumped as if awakened from a dream.
"Are we here already? Oh, my goodness! There she is!"
Miss Barbour was going in the doorway, and as Van Landing saw the
straight, slender figure, caught the turn of the head, held in the way
that was hers alone, the years that were gone slipped out of memory
and she was his again. His--With a swift movement he was out of the
cab and on the street and about to follow her when Carmencita touched
him on the arm.
"Let me go first. She doesn't know you're coming. We'll get a table
near the door."
The crowd separated them, but through it Carmencita wriggled her way
quickly and disappeared. Waiting, Van Landing saw her rush up to Miss
Barbour, then slip in a chair at a table whose occupants were leaving,
and motion Frances to do the same. As the tired little waitress, after
taking off the soiled cloth and putting on a fresh one, went away for
necessary equipment Van Landing opened the door and walked in and to
the table and held out his hand.
"You would not let me thank you this morning. May I thank you now
for--"
[Illustration: "YOU WOULD NOT LET ME THANK YOU THIS MORNING. MAY I
THANK YOU NOW FOR--"]
"Finding him?" Carmencita leaned halfway over the table, and her big
blue eyes looked anxiously at first one and then the other. "He was
looking for you, Miss Frances; he'd been looking all day and all night
because he'd just heard you were somewhere down here, and he's come to
have lunch with us, and--Oh, it's Christmas, Miss Frances, and please
tell him--say something, do something! He's been waiting three
years, and he can't wait another minute. Gracious! that smells good!"
The savory dish that passed caused a turn in Carmencita's head, and
Frances Barbour, looking into the eyes that were looking into hers,
held out her hand. At sight of Van Landing her face had colored
richly, then the color had left it, leaving it white, and in her eyes
was that he had never seen before.
"There is nothing for which to thank me." Her voice with its freshness
and sweetness stirred as of old, but it was low. She smiled slightly.
"I am very glad you are all right this morning. I did not know you
knew our part of the town." Her hand was laid on Carmencita's.
"I didn't until I met your little friend. I had never been in it
before. I know it now very well."
"And he was so fighting mad because he couldn't see you when I sent
the note that he went out, not knowing where he was or how to get
back, and when his senses came on again and he tried to find out he
couldn't find, and he walked 'most all night and was lost like people
in a desert who go round and round. And the next day he walked all
day long and 'most froze, and he'd passed Mother McNeil's house a
dozen times and didn't know it; and he was chasing Noodles and just
leaning against that railing when the cop came and you came. Oh, Miss
Frances, it's Christmas! Won't you please make up and--When are we
going to eat?"
Miss Barbour's hand closed over Carmencita's twisting ones, and into
her face again sprang color; then she laughed. "We are very hungry,
Mr. Van Landing. Would you mind sitting down so we can have lunch?"
An hour later Carmencita leaned back in her chair, hands in her lap
and eyes closed. Presently one hand went out. "Don't ask me anything
for a minute, will you? I've got to think about something. When you're
ready to go let me know."
Through the meal Carmencita's flow of words and flow of spirits had
saved the silences that fell, in spite of effort, between Van Landing
and Miss Barbour, and under the quiet poise so characteristic of her
he had seen her breath come unsteadily. Could he make her care for him
again? With eyes no longer guarded he looked at her, leaned forward.
"From here," he said, "where are you going?"
"Home. I mean to Mother McNeil's. Carmencita says you and she have
done my shopping." She smiled slightly and lifted a glass of water to
her lips. "The tree is to be dressed this afternoon, and to-night the
children come."
"And I--when can I come?"
"You?" She glanced at Carmencita, who was now sitting with her chin on
the back of her chair, arms clasping the latter, watching the strange
and fascinating scene of people ordering what they wanted to eat and
eating as much of it as they wanted. "I don't know. I am very busy.
After Christmas, perhaps."
"You mean for me there is to be no Christmas? Am I to be for ever kept
outside, Frances?"
"Outside?" She looked up and away. "I have no home. We are
both--outside. To have no home at Christmas is--" Quickly she got up.
"We must go. It is getting late, and there is much to do."
For one swift moment she let his eyes hold hers, and in his burned all
the hunger of the years of loss; then, taking up her muff, she went
toward the door. On the street she hesitated, then held out her hand.
"Good-by, Mr. Van Landing. I hope you will have a happy Christmas."
"Do you?" Van Landing opened the cab door. "Get in, please. I will
come in another cab." Stooping, he pushed aside some boxes and bundles
and made room for Carmencita. "I'll be around at four to help dress
the tree. Wait until I come." He nodded to the cabman; then, lifting
his hat, he closed the door with a click and, turning, walked away.
"Carmencita! oh, Carmencita!" Into the child's eyes the beautiful ones
of her friend looked with sudden appeal, and the usually steady hands
held those of Carmencita with frightened force. "What have you done?
What have you done?"
"Done?" Carmencita's fingers twisted into those of her beloved, and
her laugh was joyous. "Done! Not much yet. I've just begun. Did--did
you know you were to have a grand Christmas present, Miss Frances? You
are. It's--it's alive!"