Bubbles accommodated his friend with eagerness.
"And now," said West, "the road's clear to Marrow Lane; better slip down
and see if Rose has any word for us. I'll keep a good ear on Blizzard."
Bubbles changed from his buttons to his street-jacket, and departed by
the back stairs. Harry West took a small automatic pistol from his
breast pocket and played with it, but in the expression of the young
man's face was nothing bellicose or threatening; only a kind of gentle,
patient misery.
He passed fifteen minutes in taking quick aims with the little automatic
pistol at the roses on the wall-paper. Short of actual target-practice,
he knew by experience that this was the best way to keep the hand and
eye in touch with each other. He let his thoughts run as they would. And
presently he heard the sound of Bubbles's feet upon the back stairs.
"All serene here," said West.
"All serene there," said Bubbles, and he produced a slip of paper upon
which Rose had written:
"Don't come so often. You've been noticed. He'll tell me things before
long--or wring my neck."
"She worked her hands some," said Bubbles, and he made letters of the
deaf and dumb alphabet upon his fingers. "She said O'Hagan's in the
city. They had him to eat with them last night. He's growed a beard, and
trained off twenty pounds, so's not to be knowed."
The air of revery had left Harry West. "O'Hagan in the East!" he
exclaimed, rather with exhilaration than excitement. "Things are coming
to a head."
"Yep," said Bubbles, "and we don't know what things is--"
"Bubbles! Oh, Bubbles!"
The boy disappeared in the direction of the studio.
"Mr. Blizzard has gone," said Barbara. "Ask Mr. West if he will speak to
me a moment."
Mr. West would; and he, the athlete, the man of trained poise, actually
overturned a chair in his willingness.
"Mr. West," she said, "you know all sorts of things about people, don't
you? And if you don't know them, you can find them out, can't you?"
"Sometimes, Miss Barbara."
"I want to know about the man who comes here to pose--not vague things,
but facts; who his people were, what turned him against the world."
"You're troubled, Miss Barbara?"
"I am terribly troubled. He has told me a terrible story. But how do I
know if it's true or not? If it's true, he ought not to be hounded and
hunted, Mr. West; he ought to be pitied."
"Then I'm sure it's not true," West smiled quietly. "What did he tell
you?"
"No matter. But will you find out what you can about him?"
"Why, yes, of course. But believe me, it's not his beginnings that are
of importance. It's his subsequent achievements and his schemes for
the future."
"Another thing," she said, "I'm sure he means no harm where I'm
concerned. He has never known that I have a protector within call, and
yet his whole attitude toward me has been gentle, humorous, and even
chivalrous. I think," and the color came into her cheeks, "that he feels
a fatherly sort of affection for me. So thank you for all the trouble
you've taken."
"I, too, have reason to think that he means no harm," said West, "and if
that is true, I am wasting my time."
There was a look of bitterness in his eyes that was not lost upon
Barbara. And she was troubled.
"Of course," she said, "if you _like_ to waste your time--"
He looked her straight in the eyes. "I do," he said, "I love to. No
man's life would ever be complete if he didn't waste the best part of
it--throw it away on something or other--on an ambition--on an
ideal--on a woman."
Barbara returned his glance. "Just what, Mr. West," she said, "is the
idea?"
And here, Mr. Harry West might have found the sudden courage to speak
out what was in his heart, had he not remembered that to all intents and
purposes he had no father, and consequently in the eyes of the great
world to which Barbara belonged could not be considered to have any
existence.
"Oh," he said, "I was just talking through my hat."
Barbara, who, you may say, had been unconsciously putting out tentacles
of affection toward Harry West, at once withdrew them, and said coolly:
"So I supposed."
"May I look at the bust?"
"Certainly."
She removed the damp cloths from her work, and Harry found himself
looking into the legless man's face. The features at once attracted and
repelled him, and these sensations mingled with them feelings of wonder.
Some subconscious knowledge told the young man authoritatively that he
was looking on a master work. Barbara noticed this, and her heart
warmed, and her pride was gratified.
"I'm going to hurt your feelings," she said.
"Mine? Don't. Please don't."
"If you," she said, "devoted the next twenty years of your life to
wickedness and vengeful thoughts you would get to look like my friend,
Mr. Blizzard."
Now that same thought had occurred, and not for the first time, to Harry
West, but he did not care to admit it. So he laughed gently, and said:
"In that case I shall devote the next twenty years of my life to
philanthropy and--loving thoughts."
He turned toward her, all smiling. And she avoided his eyes without
appearing to do so.