He seen the jig was up. But he made his bluff.
"Miss Sewell, this coarse feller----"
Macie cut in. "It's all so," she says. "You've put me off and _put_
me off. All my money's gone. I'd banked on t'-night. And now--what am
I goin' to do!" She dropped on to a chair, her face in her hands again.
"My pore little gal!"
She sit up. "No, Alec," she says, "I _ain't_ pore. I've got you,
and the best paw a gal _ever_ had, and my home--aw, the _dear_ ole Bar
Y! And, Alec, I'm goin'."
"Goin' where, little gal?"
She come over and stood in front of me, and put her two hands on my arm.
"Alec," she says, tears and smiles all to oncet, "I'm goin' t'
start home to Oklahomaw."
"Start home to Oklahomaw"--them words made me think, of a suddent,
about what Billy 'd said t' me at the train. I reached into my inside
coat-pocket. "Wait, little gal," I says, "we must read _this_ first.
It's that other letter of Up-State's."
She opened it, her fingers all thumbs, she was so _ex_cited. And
standin' there byside me, with the Perfessor a-watchin' us from a
corner, she begun:
"_'Dear Alec Lloyd----_'Why, it ain't fer _me,_ Alec."
"Go right on, honey."
"Dear Alec Lloyd, you'll git this after Macie's gone to Noo
York. Alec, you know now the trip was needful. Do you think
you could 'a' helt her if she didn't have her try? Mebbe.
But you wouldn't 'a' been happy. All her life she 'd 'a
felt sore about that career she give up, and been longin' and
longin'.
"And, Macie, 'cause you'll read this, too--now you know
they was somethin' else you wanted more 'n a singin'
chanst, and you won't hole it agin me fer sayin' I knowed
you wouldn't make no go of it. The op'ra game at its best
is a five-hunderd-to-one shot. A turrible big herd plays
it, the foreigners git the main prizes, and the hull thing's
fixed crooked by all kinds of inside pull.
"'Sides, you' voice don't match with crowded streets and
sapped-out air. It fits the open desert. Mebbe so many won't
listen to it out here, but they'll even things up by the way
they'll feel. And this letter is to tell you how I thank
y' fer singin' The Mohawk Vale. Gawd bless y', little gal!
"And, Alec, all kinds of good luck to you. What's in this
letter ain't much, but it'll be a nest-aig."
Mace peeked inside the envelope. "Why, here's a bill!" she says.
"Alec!" And she drawed it out.
"A bill?" I turned it over. "Why--why, it's fer five hunderd dollars!
Macie!"
Long-Hair got up and started our way, grinnin'.
"But _you_ don't git a cent of it," I says, turnin' on him quick.
He dodged.
"You'd _better_ be keerful," I says. Then, to Macie, "Honey, here's
another chanst t' make a try. You can git a _good_ teacher, _this_
time--yas, that's what I said, Perfessor, _a good teacher_--and you'll
be the biggest singer in Amuricaw _yet._" And I helt the bill out to her.
The only answer she give was t' run to the door and pull at one of them
round thing-um-a-jigs that brings a telegraph kid. Next, she come back
to a table, found a piece of paper and writ somethin' on it.
"Here, Alec," she says, "here. Read this."
It said:
"Manager Harvey Eatin'-House, Briggs City, Oklahomaw. Please
telephone paw that I'm comin' home, and Alec wants back his
job."