Grace was not happy! Much as she tried to avoid the flat conclusion,
the best she could do was to twist it into a question. Love was a
worthless thing if its effect was merely to torture, to inflict pain.
She had told Trenton that she loved him and had virtually agreed to
accept him on his own terms. Why, as the days passed, was she still
doubting, questioning, challenging her love for him?
At the end of a rainy day that had been full of exasperations Grace
left the store to take the trolley home. The rain had turned to sleet
that beat spitefully upon her umbrella and the sidewalks were a mass
of slush. She was dreading the passage home in the crowded car and the
evening spent in her room, thinking of Trenton, fashioning her daily
letter. She had begun to hate her room where every object seemed to be
an animate, malevolent embodiment of some evil thought. She had half
decided to persuade her father to brave the weather and return down
town after supper to go to a picture show when, turning the corner,
she heard her name called.
“Hello, there, Grace!”
“Why, Bob, is it you?” she cried peering out at Cummings from under her
umbrella.
He took her umbrella and fell into step with her.
“Don’t look so scared; of course it’s I. Frankly this isn’t just chance
alone; I’ve been lying in ambush!”
“This will never do!” she cried, but in spite of herself she was unable
to throw any resentment into her tone.
“I’ve got a grand idea!” he said. “I’m playing hooky tonight. Evelyn
called me up this afternoon to ask if I’d go to dine with an uncle of
hers who’s having a birthday. These family parties are bad enough at
Christmas and Thanksgiving but when they begin ringing in birthdays I
buck. So I told Evelyn I was too tired to go and that I had a business
engagement anyhow, and would get my dinner down town.”
“Do you realize that I’m getting wet? You beat it for your family
party; I’m going home.”
“Please, Grace, don’t desert me!” he replied coaxingly. “Let’s have a
cozy supper together and I’ll get you home early.”
“I told you I’d never see you again!” she said indignantly. “You have
no excuse for waylaying me like this. It’s unpardonable!”
“Don’t be so cruel!” he pleaded. “I’ll be awfully nice--honestly I
will! You won’t have a thing to be sorry for.”
Firm as her resolution had been not to see him again she was weighing
the relief it would be to avoid going home against the danger of
encouraging him.
“Where are your manners, sir? You haven’t even offered to drive me
home.”
“God pity us homeless children in the great city tonight!” he cried,
aware that she was relenting. “My car’s parked yonder by the Sycamore
Tavern. The night invites the adventurous spirit. We’ll dare the
elements and ride hard and fast like king’s messengers.”
“Will you keep that up--just that way--pretending we’re two kids
cutting up, as we used to do?”
“Of course, Grace; you may count on it.”
“Well, I’m tired and bored with myself, and was dreading the ride
home--I’ll go! But whither?”
“To McGovern’s house of refreshment at the border of a greenwood, known
to Robin Hood in olden times!” cried Cummings, elated by her consent.
“We’ll stop at the Sycamore and I’ll telephone the varlet to make the
coffee hot.”
“I supped there once, years agone! But the crowd was large and
boisterous,” she replied, now entering fully into the spirit of the
proposed adventure. Their attempt at archaic speech recalled their
youthful delight in the Arthurian legends in days when their world was
enfolded in a golden haze of romance.
It was impossible to think of Cummings otherwise than as a boy, and a
foolish boy, but amusing when the humor was on him as now, and to have
supper with him would work injury to no one.
While he talked to McGovern she went into a booth and explained to her
mother that she wouldn’t be home for supper, saying that she was going
to a movie with a girl friend.
“All set?” asked Cummings. “That’s fine. We’ll move right along. You’ll
be in early; that’s a cinch. Evelyn’s sure to be home by ten and I’ll
be practising Chopin furiously when she gets back from her uncle’s.
Mac wasn’t keen about taking us in as he shuts down at the first frost.
But that’s all the better; nobody else would think of going there on
such a night!”
They were planning with much absurd detail the strategy of their
approach to a beleaguered capital when they reached McGovern’s and were
warmly welcomed by the proprietor.
“It gets mighty lonesome out here in the winter,” he said. “The missus
thought you’d like having supper right here in the living room so you
could sort o’ chum with the fire.”
“That’s a heavenly idea,” said Grace, eyeing the table with covers
laid for two. Mrs. McGovern, a stout woman whose face shone with
good nature, appeared and bade her husband help bring in the dishes.
Whereupon Cummings and Grace rushed to the kitchen to assist and filed
in behind him, bearing serving dishes and singing a song they had
learned in their childhood:
“It’s over the river to feed the sheep,
It’s over the river to Charlie;
It’s over the river to feed the sheep
And measure out the barley!”