The Final Reckoning.
About four o'clock we reached the ferry, just behind a fagged-out team and
a light buggy that had in it two figures--one of whom, at least, looked
familiar to me.
"Frosty, by all that's holy!" I exclaimed when we came close enough to
recognize a man. "I clean forgot, but I was sent to Kenmore this morning
to find that very fellow."
"Don't you know the other?" Beryl laughed teasingly. "I was at their
wedding this morning, and wished them God-speed. I never dreamed I should
be God-speeded myself, directly! I drove Edith, over to Kenmore quite
early in the car, and--"
"Edith!"
"Certainly, Edith. Whom else? Did you think she would be left behind,
pining at your infidelity? Didn't you know they are old, old sweethearts
who had quarreled and parted quite like a story? She used to read your
letters so eagerly to see if you made any remark about him; you did, quite
often, you know. I drove her over to Kenmore, and afterward went off
toward Laurel just to put in the time and not arrive home too soon without
her--which might have been awkward, if father took a notion to go after
her. I'm so glad we came up with them." She stood up and waved her hand at
Edith.
I shouted reassurances to Frosty, who was looking apprehensively back at
us. But it was a facer. I had never once suspected them of such a thing.
"Well," I greeted, when we overtook them and could talk comfortably; "this
is luck. When we get across to Pochette's you can get in with us, Mr. and
Mrs. Miller, and add the desired touch of propriety to _our_ wedding."
They did some staring themselves, then, and Beryl blushed
delightfully--just as she did everything else. She was growing an
altogether bewitching bit of femininity, and I kept thanking my private
Providence that I had had the nerve to kidnap her first and take chances
on her being willing. Honest, I don't believe I'd ever have got her in any
other way.
When we stopped at Pochette's door the girls ran up and tangled their arms
around each other and wasted enough kisses to make Frosty and me swear.
And they whispered things, and then laughed about it, and whispered some
more, and all we could hear was a gurgle of "You dear!" and the like of
that. Frosty and I didn't do much; we just looked at each other and
grinned. And it's long odds we understood each other quite as well as the
girls did after they'd whispered and gurgled an hour.
We had an early dinner--or supper--and ate fried bacon and stewed
prunes--and right there I couldn't keep the joke, but had to tell the
girls about how Frosty and I had deviled Beryl's father, that time. They
could see the point, all right, and they seemed to appreciate it, too.
After that, we all talked at once, sometimes; and sometimes we wouldn't
have a thing to say--times when the girls would look at each other and
smile, with their eyes all shiny. Frosty and I would look at them, and
then at each other; and Frosty's eyes were shiny, too.
Then we went on, with the motor purring love-songs and sliding the miles
behind us, while Frosty and Edith cooed in the tonneau behind us, and
didn't thank us to look around or interrupt. Beryl and I didn't say much;
I was driving as fast as was wise, and sometimes faster. There was always
the chance that the other car would come slithering along on our trail.
Besides, it was enough just to know that this was real, and that Beryl
would marry me just as soon as we found a preacher. There was no incentive
to linger along the road.
It yet lacked an hour of sunset when we slid into Osage and stopped before
a little goods-box church, with a sample of the same style of architecture
chucked close against one side.
We left the girls with the preacher's wife, and Frosty wrote down our
ages--Beryl was twenty-one, if you're curious--and our parents' names and
where we were born, and if we were black or white, and a few other
impertinent things which he, having been through it himself, insisted was
necessary. Then he hustled out after the license, while I went over to the
dry-goods and jewelry store to get a ring. I will say that Osage puts up a
mighty poor showing of wedding-rings.
We were married. I suppose I ought to stop now and describe just how it
was, and what the bride wore, and a list of the presents. But it didn't
last long enough to be clear in my mind. Everything is a bit hazy, just
there. I dropped the ring, I know that for certain, because it rolled
under an article of furniture that looked suspiciously like a folding-bed
masquerading as a cabinet, and Frosty had to get down on all fours and
fish it out before we could go on. And Edith put her handkerchief to her
mouth and giggled disreputably. But, anyway, we got married.
The preacher gave Beryl an impressive lily-and-rose certificate, which
caused her much embarrassment, because it would not go into any pocket of
hers or mine, but must be carried ostentatiously in the hand. I believe
Edith was a bit jealous of that beflowered roll. _Her_ preacher had been
out of certificates, and had made shift with a plain, undecorated sheet of
foolscap that Frosty said looked exactly like a home-made bill of sale.
I told Edith she could paint some lilies around the edge, and she flounced
out with her nose in the air.
We had decided that we must go back in the morning and face the music. We
had no desire to be arrested for stealing Weaver's car, and there was not
a man in Osage who could be trusted to drive it back. Then the girls
needed a lot of things; and though Frosty had intended to take the next
train East, I persuaded him to go back and wait for us.
Beryl said she was almost sure her father would be nice about it, now
there was no good in being anything else. I think that long roll of stiff
paper went a long way toward strengthening her confidence; she simply
could not conceive of any father being able to resist its appeal and its
look of finality.
We all got into the car again, and went up to the station, so I might
send a wire to dad. It seemed only right and fair to let him know at once
that he had a daughter to be proud of.
"Good Lord!" I broke out, when we were nearly to the depot "If that
isn't--do any of you notice anything out on the side-track, over there?"
I pointed an unsteady finger toward the purple and crimson sunset.
"A maroon-colored car, with dark-green--" Beryl began promptly.
"That's it," I cut in. "I was afraid joy had gone to my head and was
making me see crooked. It's dad's car, the _Shasta_. And I wonder how the
deuce she got _here_!"
"Probably by the railroad," said Edith flippantly.
I drove over to the _Shasta_, and we stopped. I couldn't for the life of
me understand her being, there. I stared up at the windows, and nodded
dazedly to Crom, grinning down at me. The next minute, dad himself came
out on the platform.
"So it's you, Ellie?" he greeted calmly. "I thought Potter wasn't to let
you know I was coming; he must be getting garrulous as he grows old.
However, since you are here, I'm very glad to see you, my boy."
"Hello, dad," I said meekly, and helped Beryl out. I wasn't at all sure
that I was glad to see him, just then. Telling dad face to face was a lot
different from telling him by telegraph. I swallowed.
"Dad, let me introduce you to Miss--Mrs. Beryl King--that is, Carleton; my
_wife_." I got that last word out plain enough, at any rate.
Dad stared. For once I had rather floored him. But he's a thoroughbred,
all right; you can't feaze him for longer than ten seconds, and then only
in extreme cases. He leaned down over the rail and held out his hand to
her.
"I'm very glad to meet you, Mrs. Beryl King--that is, Carleton," he said,
mimicking me. "Come up and give your dad-in-law a proper welcome."
Beryl did. I wondered how long it had been since dad had been kissed like
that. It made me gulp once or twice to think of all he had missed.
Frosty and Edith came up, then, and Edith shook hands with dad and
I introduced Frosty. Five minutes, there on the platform, went for
explanations. Dad didn't say much; he just listened and sized up the
layout. Then he led us through the vestibule into the drawing-room. And
I knew, from the look of him, that we would get his verdict straight.
But it was a relief not to see his finger-tips together.
"Perry Potter wrote me something of all this," he observed, settling
himself comfortably in his pet chair. "He said this young cub needed
looking after, or King--your father, Mrs. Carleton--would have him by the
heels. I thought I'd better come and see what particular brand of--er--
"As for the motor, I might make shift to take it back myself, seeing
Potter hasn't got a rig here to meet me. And if you'd like a little jaunt
in the _Shasta_, you four, you're welcome to her for a couple of weeks or
so. I'm not going back right away. Ellis has done his da--er--is married
and off my hands, so I can take a vacation too. I can arrange
transportation over any lines you want, before I start for the ranch. Will
that do?"
I guess he found that it would, from the way Edith and Beryl made for him.
Frosty glanced out of the window and motioned to me. I looked, and we both
bolted for the door, reaching it just as old King's foot was on the lower
step of the platform. Weaver, looking like chief mourner at a funeral, was
down below in his car. King came up another step, glaring and evidently in
a mood for war and extermination.
"How d'y' do, King?" Dad greeted over my shoulder, before I could say a
word. He may not have had his finger-tips together, but he had the
finger-tip tone, all right, and I knew it was a good man who would get the
better of him. "Out looking for strays? Come right up; I've got two brand
new married couples here, and I need some sane person pretty bad to help
me out." There was the faintest possible accent on the _sane_.
Say, it was the finest thing I had ever seen dad do. And it wasn't what he
said, so much as the way he said it. I knew then why he had such, a record
for getting his own way.
King swallowed hard and glared from dad to me, and then at Beryl, who had
come up and laid my arm over her shoulder--where it was perfectly
satisfied to stay. There was a half-minute when I didn't know whether King
would shoot somebody, or have apoplexy.
"You're late, father," said Beryl sweetly, displaying that blessed
certificate rather conspicuously. "If you had only hurried a little, you
might have been in time for the we-wedding."
I squeezed my arm tight in approval, and came near choking her. King
gasped as if somebody had an arm around his neck, too, and was squeezing.
"Oh, well, you're here now, and it's all right," put in dad easily, as
though everything was quite commonplace and had happened dozens of times
to us. "Crom will have dinner ready soon, though as he and Tony weren't
notified that there would be a wedding-party here, I can't promise the
feast I'd like to. Still, there's a bottle or two good enough to drink
even _their_ happiness in, Homer. Just send your chauffeur down to the
town, and come in." (Good one on Weaver, that--and, the best part of it
was, he heard it.)
King hesitated while I could count ten--if I I counted fast enough--and
came in, following us all back through the vestibule. Inside, he looked me
over and drew his hand down over his mouth; I think to hide a smile.
"Young man, yuh seem born to leave a path uh destruction behind yuh," he
said. "There's a lot uh fixing to be done on that gate--and I don't reckon
I ever _will_ find the padlock again."
His eyes met the keen, steady look of dad, stopped there, wavered,
softened to friendliness. Their hands went out half-shyly and met. "Kids
are sure terrors, these days," he remarked, and they laughed a little. "Us
old folks have got to stand in the corners when they're around."
* * * * *
King's Highway is open trail. Beryl and I go through there often in the
_Yellow Peril_, since dad gave me outright the Bay State Ranch and all
pertaining thereto--except, of course, Perry Potter; he stays on of his
own accord.
Frosty is father King's foreman, and Aunt Lodema went back East and stayed
there. She writes prim little letters to Beryl, once in awhile, and
I gather that she doesn't approve of the match at all. But Beryl does, and,
if you ask me, I approve also. So what does anything else matter?