Charlie stood by the mantel in Patty's room, in such an attitude as he
imagined that Everett might take, under similar circumstances, and he
was trying to look troubled. It was an imitation mantel by which he
stood, being no more than a marble slab set upon iron brackets; for
the real mantel, of wood, which had surrounded a real fireplace of
generous proportions, had been removed when the fireplace had been
bricked up and a register inserted. That register, of the regulation
black, now stared at Miss Patty as she sat facing Charlie, and it
emitted a thin column of faintly warm air. Altogether, it was a poor
substitute for a fire and a gloomy thing to contemplate. Charlie's
attitude, too, as has been intimated, was but an imitation. His
trouble was no imitation, though, and his attempt to look troubled
succeeded beyond his fondest hopes.
Patty had been looking at him for some time, growing more anxious
every minute. Charlie had said nothing at all, but had kept his eyes
fixed upon the distance; upon such distance as he could get through
Patty's window. That was not so very much, the distance being limited
by the house across the street, perhaps sixty feet away. At intervals
he sighed heavily, the time between sighs apparently--to Patty, at
least, his only hearer--apparently occupied by equally heavy thinking.
At last Patty could stand it no longer. "What is it, Charlie, dear?"
she asked in a voice which trembled a little. "What is the matter,
dear boy?"
Charlie forced a smile, his frown disappeared for an instant, and he
brought his gaze back, with a great effort, a superhuman effort, to
things near at hand: eventually to Patty herself.
"Oh, nothing," he said gently. "Nothing at all." And he resumed his
gazing at the front of that house, sixty feet away, and his frowning
and his sighing and his heavy thinking.
Patty was silent for some minutes. "Won't you tell me?" she asked
then. "I am sure there must be something which troubles you. You know
you can count on my sympathy."
Charlie went through the same process as before. It took time. "What
did you say?" he said absently, when his look had, at last, come down
to Patty. "Sympathy? I'm afraid that won't do me much good." He
smiled; a smile that was meant to be pitiful. "But, no. There's
nothing the matter. Nothing at all, I assure you. It's all my own
fault anyway; my misfortune, rather," he added, so low that Patty
barely heard, and she thought that the words were not meant for her
ears. That was exactly in accordance with Charlie's intention.
"Charlie!" she cried. "Charlie! You've got to tell me. I heard those
last words which you didn't mean me to hear. Now, you've got to tell
me." Her voice trembled more than ever.
Charlie could not seem to resist this plea. He looked at her
pityingly, and he drew a long breath.
"Well, Pat," he said--Pat was his pet name for her, used only under
stress--"well, Pat, if you must have it, then here goes. I'm only out,
for this vacation, on bail. I've got to--"
"Wh-what?" asked Patty faintly. Her heart was playing mad pranks and
she put up her hand to steady it. At least, that seemed to be her
idea. "What was that you said, Charlie? Oh, Charlie, dear!"
"Bail" and "jail" sound very much alike. They conveyed about the same
idea to poor Patty. Under certain circumstances, they convey about the
same idea to the one most intimately concerned.
Charlie did not appear to be affected. "I've got to show up day after
to-morrow or forfeit my bail," he continued unfeelingly. "Well," he
said doggedly, "I will. I may have to go to jail, but what of it?"
"Oh, Charlie, dear!" Patty cried, more faintly than before. "Oh,
Charlie, dear! Whatever have you done that you should talk of going
to--to--Charlie, I feel faint. My salts, dear," she said hurriedly.
"They are on the top of my bureau, in that green bottle."
"Charlie dear" obediently got the little green bottle, stifling a
smile which would curl the corners of his mouth, in spite of himself,
while his back was turned to Patty. When he came back to her he looked
properly concerned; but Patty's eyes were closed. He removed the
stopper and held the bottle close under her nose, to revive her, which
happy event occurred with a suddenness that was a surprise to Patty,
at least. She gasped and gave a little choking cry.
"Oh, Charlie! Not so cl-close."
"All right now, Pat?" he asked with a cheerfulness that was evidently
assumed. He removed the bottle and put in the stopper.
"I--I think so," she replied, still faintly. "Now--go--on, Charlie.
Tell me. I think I can bear it. I'll try to."
"Why," said Charlie, "there's nothing to tell. I got bail so that I
could come home for my Easter vacation. Time's up day after to-morrow,
and I've got to show up or forfeit my bail."
"Who is the--the bailer?" Patty inquired as if it were her last
breath.
"One of the other men," Charlie returned glibly. "He isn't really rich
either, so he couldn't very well afford to have me jump it."
"Jump it?" Patty repeated. She was getting pretty well dazed.
"Yes," said Charlie impatiently. "Haven't you ever heard that
expression? It's the legal expression for failing to show up and
forfeiting your bail. If I should jump it, that other man would have
to pay the amount of my bail."
"Ho-how much is it?" Patty asked in a trembling voice.
Charlie made a rapid mental calculation. "One thousand dollars," he
said.
"One thousand dollars!" repeated poor Patty slowly. "One thou--but,
Charlie," for a gleam of light had come to her,--"but, Charlie, what
is it for? What ha-have you done? Oh, it is too terrible!"
"I haven't done much of anything, really," Charlie protested; "nothing
worth mentioning if we hadn't had an accident."
"An accident!" Patty murmured.
"Yes, an accident. You see there were four of us that thought it would
be fun--and no harm, Pat, really, if things hadn't gone wrong--to take
a little run in a motor--an automobile. Fostrow has a car of his own
at home, and he was to drive. In fact, he did." Charlie chuckled, as
though at the recollection. "He did until he had got us arrested twice
for speeding. But that was a small matter, only twenty-five dollars a
time. Fostrow paid that himself. He said it was worth double the money
to see those country-men get out of the way. And we ran over a dog. It
turned out to be a very valuable dog. All that is in the day's work,
though. We--"
"Oh, Charlie," Patty interrupted, "I _knew_ you would get into trouble
if you went in those _horrible_ machines, at any rate, without a
_competent_ and _reliable_ driver. I have always thought that Edward
would be the driver I should choose; so steady and--"
"Edward!" Charlie exclaimed. He had been about to add something
further, in the way of comment, but he thought better of it. "No
doubt, Edward would be very steady, but he is too old, to my way of
thinking. Well, we had gone about fifty miles and began to think it
was time to go back. So we filled up our gasoline tank, got something
to eat, and started back. It was dark by that time. We were rather
hurrying over the country roads, when something went wrong with the
steering-gear and the next thing I knew I was lying on the other side
of a stone wall--"
"O-oh!" shuddered Patty.
"--And the machine was completely smashed--crumpled up--with a
telephone pole on top of it. Then the gasoline caught fire and the
whole thing burned up, pole and all. The other men were more or less
hurt, but I hadn't a scratch, only some bruises. Fostrow's in a
hospital out there, now, with two ribs broken. The owner of the
machine got after us. It was a new machine and a beauty; cost five
thousand, he said. So that explains the bail."
"Oh, Charlie!" breathed Patty. "What a mercy you escaped!"
Charlie smiled complacently. He had really done pretty well. That
story, he thought, would be a credit to anybody.
"But, Charlie," Patty continued, after a short silence, "why don't you
tell Sally the whole story. She'd find some way to get you out of it.
She--she is really very good at managing affairs."
Charlie shivered involuntarily. Sally was very good at managing
affairs. He could see her pitying smile as she listened in silence to
his string of plausible lies and the look from the gray eyes would be
boring straight down into his soul as he talked, and he would be
afraid. And his speech would grow more halting, and he would finish in
some confusion and Sally would turn away with a quiet "Humph!" or she
would say nothing at all, which would be almost worse. And she would
not tell him what she was going to do, but she would go and do it, and
it--whatever it was--would be most effective, and that was exactly
what Charlie did not want. He shivered again as he thought of it.
Sally managed affairs too well; that was the trouble. No, distinctly
no; he did not want Sally to have any hand in this affair. He thought
that he could manage it very well himself. It was going beautifully,
so far.
"No, Pat," he said gently. "I prefer not to tell Sally. I--to tell the
truth, Sally and mother don't seem very glad to see me. I think they'd
rather I stayed away."
"Oh, you poor boy!" Patty's eyes shone with pity. "You dear boy!
_I'm_ glad to see you, anyway, Charlie, dear. You have one friend who
won't desert you."
"Thank you, Pat. I thought I could depend on you."
"I'll undertake the management of this affair." Patty spoke with
pride. A faint smile began to curl the corners of Charlie's mouth. He
suppressed it. Patty was deep in thought; or she flattered herself
that she was.
She might as well have undertaken to add a cubit to her stature by
taking thought. She was silent for some minutes, looking more worried
with every minute that passed. At last she looked up.
"Oh, dear!" she said, sighing, "I can't think of anything. It wouldn't
do any good for you to go away, would it?"
Charlie shook his head and looked very solemn. "No. That would mean
giving up my college course and jumping my bail. I should become a
fugitive from justice." That sounded rather impressive and Charlie
repeated it, as impressively as he could. "A fugitive from justice."
"Charlie, don't!" cried Patty wildly. "It sounds as if you were a
criminal." Charlie made no reply. "What would you suggest?"
"Nothing," he answered with resignation. "There is nothing to be done
but for me to surrender myself to my bondsmen--" That sounded
impressive, too. "Surrender myself to my bondsmen," he repeated, "and
to the justice of the court."
"Oh, Charlie!" Patty wailed faintly. "Oh, Charlie, dear, isn't there
some other way?"
He shook his head again. "No other way that I can see. No other way
that wouldn't call for more money than I can possibly raise. For I
won't ask you for it, Pat. I simply _won't_."
Patty was lying back in her chair. She seemed to feel faint again, and
Charlie hurried to her, the little green bottle once more in his hand.
She waved it aside.
"H-how much," she asked, "must you have, Charlie?"
"Never mind that, Pat. That's settled. It's much more than I should
be willing to ask you to lend me, or to accept from you. I'll just
surrender myself. It will soon be over." He spoke as cheerfully as
though he were going to execution.
Patty looked at him. She thought that she had never seen any one so
brave.
"Tell me. How much must you have?"
"I suppose that eight or nine hundred would settle it, since you
insist." He swept it all aside with a wave of his hand. "But dismiss
the matter from your mind. We'll consider it settled."
"We won't. It isn't settled." Poor Patty was having a last struggle
with her conscience. It was really a hard struggle and it took some
time. At last she drew a long shuddering breath. "Look in my top
bureau drawer, Charlie," she said, raising haggard eyes to his, "in
the front. There's a check there somewhere. It's for seven hundred and
fifty dollars."
Charlie protested. Nevertheless, he moved with alacrity and rummaged
until he found the check. It was signed by Richard Torrington,
Executor. He presented it to Patty, folded, as he had found it.
"Is this it, Pat? It is folded, you see, so that it is impossible to
know whether it is the one you wanted or not."
"And to think that you wouldn't look, Charlie! But I might have known
it. I don't know what Richard would say," she murmured. "And I don't
know what the carpenters will do--the builders. But never mind. It is
my own money, anyway, and I'll do what I like with it. Charlie," she
said louder, "you must take this. Perhaps I can raise fifty dollars
more to-morrow morning. Do I have to write my name on the back?"
Charlie protested again, but his protests were fainter than they had
been. He must not overdo it.
Patty had risen from her chair and had gone to her desk. "Perhaps,"
she said doubtfully, "it would be better--you would rather have me
cash the check and give you the money." Charlie's protests were
reduced to a mere murmur now. "Yes, that will be better."
Charlie looked perplexed. He frowned tremendously and was very solemn.
He, too, seemed to be having a terrible struggle with his conscience.
It is, perhaps, unnecessary to say that he wasn't. Patty watched him
fearfully, the check clasped to her bosom and her eyes pitiful. At
last he heaved a long, shivering sigh, looked up and met her eyes
fixed upon him. There was fear in them and a great love. He had the
grace to flush faintly.
"Am I to understand, Pat," he asked slowly, "that you insist upon
letting me have this--this money?"
"You must take it, Charlie. You _shall_ take it," she cried fiercely.
"Please do."
"We-ell," he replied, "to please you, I will, since you insist. But I
am very unwilling to take it and I wouldn't, from anybody else. I only
do it now on condition that you will regard it as a loan which I will
repay very soon." How? Did Patty ask herself that question?
"My dear boy!" exclaimed Patty softly. "My dear boy! Think what it is
saving you from! You won't have to go to j---- Oh, I can't say it. But
you won't have to, now, will you, Charlie? Say you won't."
"No," said he, sighing heavily again, "I guess I won't. But, as far as
I am concerned, that is of very little consequence. It is you that I
am thinking of. Mother and Sally wouldn't care, except as it would
reflect on them, whether I was in jail or not. Of course," he added,
with an apparent wish to be fair, "I may be doing them an injustice,
but I don't think so. But it is different with you. Aside from the
disgrace which I should be bringing down on your head, I think you
would feel it, for my sake."
"Feel it!" she murmured. "Feel it! Oh, Charlie, dear! I believe I
should die. I know it would kill me."
Charlie smiled sympathetically.
Tears stood in Patty's eyes. "You shall have eight hundred dollars
to-morrow morning. I'll get it as soon as the bank is open. And you
come here after it. Come early, Charlie. I want you all to myself for
a little while."
"Thank you, Pat. I am very grateful."
She looked longingly at him; a look which he seemed not to see.
"Charlie," she said softly.
"Yes, Pat?"
She hesitated for a moment. "K-kiss me, Charlie." Her voice was so low
that he scarcely heard her. "Kiss me, won't you, dear?"
And so he did. That was the least he could do.