John Upjohn Junior ran into the house just in time for supper. He was
so excited and his entrance was so precipitate that he almost collided
with his mother, who had just reached the foot of the stairs; and only
by the exercise of almost superhuman agility he managed to avoid that
catastrophe. It was just as well, for many reasons; the reason which
influenced John Junior being that such an accident was likely to
result, then and thereafter, in more damage to himself than to his
mother.
He flung his cap down on the hall table with such violence that it
slid off and fell upon the floor; but he could not pick it up at the
moment because he was engaged in shedding his overcoat, which
immediately slipped off of his arms upon a chair. He began to speak at
once.
"M--m--m--moth--ther!" he exclaimed explosively. "I--I--'v--ve--darn
it all!"
Mrs. Upjohn rebuked her offspring mildly. "John, what is the matter
with you? Is your name Carling, that you can't speak without
stuttering so? And I should think you would do well to moderate your
language, at any rate when you speak to your mother. And you must
learn to come into the house less like a tornado. Come in quietly,
like a gentleman."
John Junior gave a contemptuous grunt. "J--just been h--hearing the
Carlings talking. That's wh--why I can't talk 'n' wh--why I
st--st--stut--t--ter so. Gosh darn it! I mean hang it!"
"Pick up your cap, John," Mrs. Upjohn commanded sternly. "And hang it,
if you will." This pun of Mrs. Upjohn's somewhat softened her stern
command. She could not help smiling.
John kicked his cap out from behind the table and, picking it up,
threw it at the hat-rack, where it happened to catch and stick. He
began again.
"I--I--I'v--ve g--g--got s--s--s--"
"Suppose you go up and wash your face and hands," Mrs. Upjohn
suggested, "and come down to supper. The bell rang before you came in.
When you come down you may be able to talk intelligibly."
So John Junior rushed upstairs and, after an incredibly short period,
during which we must suppose that he went through some sort of an
operation which he regarded as sufficient, he appeared again, slid
down the balusters like lightning, landed at the bottom with an
appalling thump, and ran into the dining-room.
"Guess I can talk now," he announced, taking his chair by the back and
sliding it under him. "I was hurrying home, so's not to be late to
supper, when I came up behind the Carlings. They--Letty ain't here, is
she?" he added, looking about doubtfully.
"No," Mrs. Upjohn replied. "You know that Letty won't come again for
more than a month."
"Huh!" growled John Junior. "She will if she feels like it. Never can
tell when she'll be here. She's always here."
Mrs. Upjohn was a little slow about taking anything in. She had been
puzzling over John's former speech and had just the full import of it.
"Did you say the Carlings, John?" she asked. "I don't see how that can
be, for Harry's in Cambridge."
"He ain't either," John replied amiably. "Don't you s'pose I'd know
those freaks? I guess I would."
"Well," said Mrs. Upjohn doubtfully.
"And they were talking together," John continued, "or trying to talk.
They didn't know I was behind 'em, and I kept still as I could so's I
could hear what they said. They ought to have an interpreter. But I
got most of it, and then I slid out for fear they'd see me. What d'you
s'pose they were talking about?"
"I'm sure I don't know," said Mrs. Upjohn curiously.
"What?"
John kept his mother in suspense while he disposed of his mouthful. He
swallowed twice, then took a drink of water. At last he was ready and
he looked at his mother, suspending operations for that purpose.
"Charlie Ladue's a gambler," he announced abruptly.
"What!" Mrs. Upjohn exclaimed. But she was pleased in spite of
herself. What would Letty say to that? "Are you sure you heard it
right?"
"'Course I'm sure."
"Well, John, I'm grieved to hear it. You must be careful not to talk
about it."
"'Course I won't talk about it. I'll stop now if you want me to."
"No," said Mrs. Upjohn judicially. "No, I think you ought to tell me
all you heard. How long has it been going on and where does Charlie
go?"
So John Junior retailed at some length all that he had heard, rather
to the neglect of his supper. Certain important details were lacking
and he had to fill them in from his imaginings, which were rather
defective as to the points under discussion.
"Well," said Mrs. Upjohn, when the recital and the supper were both
finished, "I think somebody ought to be told. I don't just like to
tell Sally, but she ought to know."
"They didn't want to tell Sally either. Horry Carling's in her office
and he could tell her easy enough if he wanted to."
"That's so," Mrs. Upjohn agreed. "I guess I'll tell Patty. I have a
pretty good idea where Charlie's money came from. Patty won't thank
me, but somebody ought to open her eyes. I'll go out there to-morrow.
I wonder if I couldn't find somebody who's going out. You look around,
early to-morrow, before school, and see if you can't find somebody
that's going and send him up here. There's no need to hire a horse,
for that."
Accordingly the grocer's delivery wagon stopped at the house the next
forenoon, and the boy asked for Mrs. Upjohn. That lady came to the
door, looking a little puzzled. It seemed that John had--
Mrs. Upjohn laughed. "And he's gone to school," she said. "I didn't
mean that he should ask you." She laughed again. "But I don't know why
I shouldn't go in a grocery wagon. It's perfectly respectable."
"Yes, ma'am," the boy replied, grinning. "And it's a very nice wagon,
almost new, and it's very comfortable."
Patty was sitting at her window when the grocer's wagon stopped at the
door and Mrs. Upjohn got out.
"Mercy on us!" Patty exclaimed. "If there isn't Alicia Upjohn! She'll
break her neck. Come in a grocer's wagon! Alicia was always queer, but
there is a point beyond which--yes, there _is_ a point beyond which
she should not allow herself to go." And Miss Patty gasped faintly and
leaned back, and in a few minutes she heard Mrs. Upjohn at her door.
That interview was painful to Patty, at least. Mrs. Upjohn was rather
pressed for time, as the grocer's boy could not wait more than fifteen
minutes. It is a little difficult to break unwelcome news gently in
fifteen minutes. It might have been difficult to break this particular
news, which was very unwelcome, even if there had been no time limit
set by a grocer's boy. But within ten minutes Mrs. Upjohn had Patty in
tears and protesting her belief in Charlie's innocence and exhibiting
all her characteristic obstinacy in the face of proof. Had not Charlie
been there that very morning to see her? He had just left, indeed, and
he had been as loving as the most exacting of doting aunts could wish.
Didn't Alicia suppose that she, Patty, would be able to detect any
signs of wrong-doing on his part? At which Alicia smiled and made a
reply which made Patty almost frantic and within the five minutes
which remained Patty had told Alicia that she would do well to mind
her own business and she wished she would go and never come near her
again. So, the fifteen minutes being almost up, Alicia went, with
what dignity she could summon. She met Doctor Beatty in the lower hall
and told him that he had better see to Patty, who seemed beside
herself. He went at once; and Mrs. Upjohn seized that opportunity to
climb into her seat beside the grocer's boy.
Doctor Beatty was with Patty a long time and used every art he had--he
hadn't many, but he used all he had with a degree of patience that was
surprising--to quiet Patty, who needed quieting if ever anybody did.
He was more alarmed by that disturbance of Patty's than he would have
acknowledged; more than he had expected, he found, although he had
been in daily expectation of something of the kind.
He found her muttering to herself and exclaiming brokenly. She looked
at him with wild eyes. "Go away!" she cried as he entered. "He's not,
I tell you. He never did!"
"No," Doctor Beatty agreed calmly. "Certainly not. But there! You
don't want me to go away, Patty." He pulled up a chair and sat down.
"Not that chair!" she cried. "Not that chair! That's the chair she sat
in--Alicia Upjohn. If you sit in it you'll say so, too. Take any
other, but not that one."
"Oh, very well," he said. And he drew up another chair and sat down.
"Now, tell me what's the matter."
At this Patty began to weep violently. Her sentences were broken, and
now and then she gave a loud cry that seemed to be wrung from her
heart.
"Alicia oughtn't to have said it. She might have known how--that
I--how I would f-f--Oh!" She could not speak for a moment. "She just
wanted me to think that that was where my money went. She's a spiteful
thing. Oh, how could she? How could she? Cruel! Cruel!" Patty fell to
weeping again. She seemed to lose all control over herself. She rocked
to and fro and leaned so far over, in her new fit of crying, that
Doctor Beatty put out his hand to save her from falling. He was glad
to have her cry so.
She seized his hand and pressed it and looked up at him appealingly,
her eyes raining tears. "Oh, Meriwether," she sobbed, "you don't think
he does, do you? Tell me that you don't."
He looked down into those faded eyes. "Certainly I don't, Patty," he
answered gently. Out of the pity which he felt for her, he may have
pressed her hand a little. He had but the faintest idea what she was
talking about.
Patty flushed and relaxed her hold upon his hand. "You are a
c-c-comfort, Meriwether," she said more calmly. "It is a great deal to
know that I have one friend, at least, who understands me. I--I--have
so few, Meriwether!" She began to sob again. "S-so f-f-few, and I used
to have so so many!"
"Cry quietly as much as you like, Patty. It will do you good."
He made a slight movement, at which Patty cried out.
"Don't go! Don't go yet!" She put out her hand blindly, as if to stop
him.
"I'll stay until you are yourself again. Never fear." He sighed
faintly.
It was a new role for Doctor Beatty, but he played it better than
would have been expected. Patty turned to the window and he heard the
sound of sobbing steadily for some time. At last the sound ceased. She
was sitting with her chin resting on her hand, which held her wet
handkerchief crumpled up into a tight ball; and she was looking out
through her tears, but seeing nothing, and she seemed to have
difficulty in breathing.
"He's such a good boy--to me!" she said, without turning. "Such a good
boy! I am so fond of him that it almost breaks my heart to have
anybody say--say such things. How can they? How can they have the
heart?" She gave a single sob.