LUNCHEON
For several days, he moped about the house, not even venturing upon
the porch, his face a sight to behold. His spirits were lower than
they had been in all his life. The unmerciful beating he had sustained
at the hands of Fairfax was not the sole cause of his depression. As
the consequences of that pummelling subsided, the conditions which led
up to it forced themselves upon him with such horrifying immensity
that he fairly staggered under them.
It slowly dawned on him that there was something very sinister in
Fairfax's visit, something terrible. Nellie's protracted stay in town,
her strange neglect of Phoebe, to say nothing of himself, the presence
of Fairfax in her dressing-room that night, and a great many
circumstances which came plainly to mind, now that he considered them
worth while noticing, all went a long way toward justifying Fairfax in
coming to him with the base proposition that had resulted so seriously
to his countenance.
Nellie was tired of him! He did not belong to her world. That was the
sum and substance of it. As he dropped out of her world, some one else
quite naturally rose to fill the void. That person was Fairfax. The
big man had said that she wanted a separation, she wanted to provide a
safe haven for Phoebe. The inference was plain. She wanted to get rid
of him in order to marry Fairfax. Fairfax had been honest enough to
confess that he was acting on his own initiative in proposing the
bribe, but there must have been something behind it all.
He had spoken of "charges." What charge could Nellie bring against
him? He was two days in arriving at the only one--failure to provide.
Yes, that was it. "Failure to provide." How he hated the words. How he
despised men who did not provide for their wives. He had never thought
of himself in that light before. But it was true, all true. And Nellie
was slipping away from him as the result. Not only Nellie but Phoebe.
She would be taken from him.
"I don't drink," he argued with himself, "and I've never treated her
cruelly. Other women don't interest me. I never swear at her. I've
never beaten her. I've always loved her. So it must be that I'm 'no
good,' just as that scoundrel says. 'No good!' Why, she knows better
than that. There never was a fellow who worked harder than I did for
Mr. Davis. I drew trade to his store. Anybody in Blakeville will swear
to that. Haven't I tried my best to get a job in the same shows with
her? Wasn't I the best comedian they had in the dramatic club? I've
never had the chance to show what I could do, and Nellie knows it. But
I'll show them all! I'll make that big brute wish he'd never been
born. I'll--I'll assert myself. He shan't take her away from me."
His resolutions soared to great heights, only to succumb to chilly
blasts that sent them shrivelled back to the lowest depths. What could
he do against a man who had all the money that Fairfax possessed? What
could he offer for Nellie, now that some one else had put a stupendous
price on her? He remembered reading about an oil painting that
originally sold for five hundred francs and afterward brought forty
thousand dollars. Somehow he likened Nellie to a picture, with the
reservation that he didn't believe any painting on earth was worth
forty thousand dollars. If there was such a thing, he had never seen
it.
Then he began to think of poor Nellie cast helpless among the
tempters. She was like a child among voracious beasts of prey. No
wonder she felt hard toward him! He was to blame, terribly to blame.
In the highest, most exalted state of remorse he wept, not once but
often. His poor little Nellie!
In one of these strange ever-growing flights of combined self-reproach
and self-exaltation he so vividly imagined himself as a rescuer, as an
able-bodied defender against all the ills and evils that beset her,
that the fancy took the shape of positive determination. He made up
his mind to take her off the stage, back to Blakeville, and to an
environment so sweet and pure that her life would be one long season
of joy and happiness.
With the growth of this resolution he began to plan his own personal
rehabilitation. First of all, he would let his face recover its
natural shape; then he would cultivate muscle and brawn at the
emporium of Professor Flaherty; moreover, he would devote considerable
attention to his own personal appearance and to the habits of the
"men about town." He would fight the tempters with their own
weapons--the corkscrew, the lobster pick, the knife and fork, and the
nut-splitter!
He did not emerge from the house for five days. By that time he was
fairly presentable.
It was Annie's day out, so he took Phoebe for a little walk. As for
Phoebe, she never passed a certain door upstairs without kicking at it
with first one, then the other of her tiny feet, in revenge for the
way it had hurt her father by remaining open so that he could bump
into it on that bloody, terrifying day. She sent little darts of
exquisite pain through him by constantly alluding to the real
devastator as "that nice Mr. Fairy-fax." It was her pleasure to regard
him as a great big fairy who had promised her in secret that she would
some day be like Cinderella and have all the riches the slipper
showered upon that poor little lady.
As they were returning home after a stroll through a rather remote
street, they came upon Mr. Butler, who was down on his knees fixing
something or other about his automobile. Harvey thought it a good
opportunity to start his crusade against New York City.
"Hello," he said, halting. Butler looked up. He was mad as a wet hen
to begin with.
"Hello," he snarled, resuming his work.
"I've been thinking about that little----"
"Get out of the light, will you?"
Harvey moved over, dragging Phoebe after him.
"That little scheme of ours to dine together in town some night. You
remember we talked about it----"
"No, I don't," snapped Butler.
"We might lunch together early next week. I know a nice little place
on Seventh Avenue where you get fine spaghetti. We----"
"I'm booked for a whole month of luncheons," said Butler, sitting back
on his heels to stare at this impossible person. "Can't join you."
"Some other time, then," said Harvey, waving his hand genially. "Your
wife home yet?"
Butler got upon his feet.
"Say," said he, aggressively, "do you know she's heard about that
idiotic trip of mine to town that night? Fairfax told everybody, and
somebody's wife told Mrs. Butler. It got me in a devil of a mess."
"You don't say so!"
"Yes, I do say so. Next time you catch me--But, what's the use?" He
turned to his work with an expressive shrug of his shoulders.
"I'll have my wife explain everything to Mrs. Butler the first time
she comes out," said Harvey, more bravely than he felt. He could not
help wondering when Nellie would come out.
"It isn't necessary," Butler made haste to assure him.
Harvey was silent for a moment.
"Fixing your automobile?" he asked, unwilling to give it up without
another effort.
"What do you suppose I'm doing?"
"It's wonderful how fast one of these little one-seated cars can go,"
mused Harvey. "Cheap, too; ain't they?"
Butler faced him again, malice in his glance.
"It's not in it with that big green car your wife uses," he said,
distinctly.
"Big green----" began Harvey, blankly. Then he understood. He
swallowed hard, straightened Phoebe's hat with infinite care and
gentleness, and looking over Butler's head, managed to say, quite
calmly:--"It used to be blue. We've had it painted. Come along,
Phoebe, Mr. Butler's busy. We mustn't bother him. So long, Butler."
"So long," said Mr. Butler, suddenly intent upon finding something in
the tool-box.
The pair moved on. Out of the corner of his eye Butler watched them
turn the corner below.
"Poor little guy!" he said to the monkey wrench.
The big green car! All the way home that juggernaut green car ran
through, over, and around him. He could see nothing else, think of
nothing else. A big green car!
That evening he got from Bridget the address of her brother, Professor
Flaherty, the physical trainer and body builder.
In the morning he examined himself in the mirror, a fever of
restlessness and impatience afflicting him with the desire to be once
more presentable to the world. He had been encouraged by the fact that
Butler had offered no comment on the black rims around his eyes. They
must be disappearing.
With his chin in his hands he sat across the room staring at his
reflection in the glass, a gloomy, desolate figure.
"It wouldn't be wise to apply for a job until these eyes are all right
again," he was saying to himself, bitterly. "Nobody would hire a man
with a pair of black eyes and a busted lip--especially a druggist.
I'll simply have to wait a few days longer. Heigh-ho! To-morrow's
Sunday again. I--I wonder if Nellie will be out to see us."
But Nellie did not come out. She journeyed far and fast in a big green
car, but it was in another direction.
Thursday of the next week witnessed the sallying forth of Harvey
What's-His-Name, moved to energy by a long dormant and mournfully
acquired ambition. The delay had been irksome.
Nellie's check for the month's expenses had arrived in the mail that
morning. He folded it carefully and put it away in his pocketbook,
firmly resolved not to present it at the bank. He intended to return
it to her with the announcement that he had secured a position and
hereafter would do the providing.
Spick and span in his best checked suit, his hat tilted airily over
one ear, he stepped briskly down the street. You wouldn't have known
him, I am sure, with his walking-stick in one hand, his light spring
overcoat over the other arm. A freshly cleaned pair of grey gloves,
smelling of gasoline, covered his hands. On the lapel of his coat
loomed a splendid yellow chrysanthemum. Regular football weather, he
had said.
The first drug store he came to he entered with an air of confidence.
No, the proprietor said, he didn't need an assistant. He went on to
the next. The same polite answer, with the additional information, in
response to a suggestion by the applicant, that the soda-water season
was over. Undaunted, he stopped in at the restaurant in the block
below. The proprietor of the place looked so sullen and forbidding
that Harvey lost his courage and instead of asking outright for a
position as manager he asked for a cup of coffee and a couple of fried
eggs. As the result of this extra and quite superfluous breakfast he
applied for the job.
The man looked him over scornfully.
"I'm the manager and the whole works combined," he said. "I need a
dish-washer, come to think of it. Four a week and board. You can go to
work to-day if----"
But Harvey stalked out, swinging his cane manfully.
"Well, God knows I've tried hard enough," he said to himself,
resignedly, as he headed for the railway station. It was still six
minutes of train time. "I'll write to Mr. Davis out in Blakeville this
evening. He told me that my place would always be open to me."
It was nearly one o'clock when he appeared at Nellie's apartment.
Rachel admitted him. He hung his hat and coat on the rack, deposited
his cane in the corner, and sauntered coolly into the little
sitting-room, the maid looking on in no little wonder and uneasiness.
"Where's my wife?" he asked, taking up the morning paper from the
centre table and preparing to make himself at home in the big
armchair.
"She's out to lunch, sir."
He laid the paper down.
"Where?"
Rachel mentioned a prominent downtown café affected by the
profession.
"Will you have lunch here, sir?" she inquired.
"No," said he, determinedly. "Thank you just the same. I'm lunching
downtown. I--I thought perhaps she'd like to join me."
Rachel rang for the elevator and he departed, amiably doffing his hat
to her as he dropped to the floor below.
At one of the popular corner tables in the big café a party of men and
women were seated, seven or eight in all. Nellie Duluth had her back
toward the other tables in the room. It was a bit of modesty that she
always affected. She did not like being stared at. Besides, she could
hold her audience to the very end, so to speak, for all in the place
knew she was there and were willing to wait until she condescended to
face them in the process of departure.
It was a very gay party, comprising a grand-opera soprano and a tenor
of world-wide reputation, as well as three or four very well-known New
Yorkers. Manifestly, it was Fairfax's luncheon. The crowd at this
table was observed by all the neck-craners in the place. Every one was
telling every one else what every one knew:--"That's Nellie Duluth
over there."
As the place began to clear out and tables were being abandoned here
and there, a small man in a checked suit appeared in the doorway. An
attendant took his hat and coat away from him while he was gazing with
kaleidoscopic instability of vision upon the gay scene before him. He
had left his walking-stick in a street car, a circumstance which
delayed him a long time, for, on missing it, he waited at a corner in
the hope of recognising the motorman on his return trip up Madison
Avenue.
The head-waiter was bowing before him and murmuring, "How many, sir?"
"How many what?" mumbled Harvey, with a start.
"In your party?" asked the man, not half so politely and with a degree
of distance in his attitude. It did not look profitable.
"Oh! Only one, sir. Just a sandwich and a cup of coffee, I think."
There was a little table away over in the corner sandwiched between
the doors of entrance and egress for laden waiters and 'bus boys.
Toward this a hastily summoned second or third assistant conducted
the newcomer. Twice during the process of traversing this illimitable
space Harvey bumped against chairs occupied by merry persons who
suddenly became crabbed and asked him who the devil he was stumbling
over.
A blonde, flushed woman who sat opposite Nellie at the table in the
corner caught sight of him as he passed. She stared hard for a moment
and then allowed a queer expression to come into her eyes.
"For Heaven's sake!" she exclaimed, with considerable force.
"What's the matter? Your husband?" demanded Nellie Duluth, with a
laugh.
"No," she said, staring harder. "Why, I can't be mistaken. Yes, as I
live, it's Mr.--Mr. What's-His-Name, your husband, Nellie."
"Don't turn 'round, Nellie," whispered Fairfax, who sat beside her.
"I don't believe it!" cried Nellie, readily. "It isn't possible for
Harvey to be here. Where is he?" she demanded in the same breath,
looking over her shoulder.
Harvey was getting out of the way of a 'bus boy and a stack of
chinaware and in the way of a waiter with a tray of peach Melbas when
she espied him.
"For the land's sake!" she gasped, going clear back to Blakeville for
the expression. "I don't dare look, Carrie. Tell me, has he got a--a
fairy with him? Break it gently."
"Fairy?" sneered Fairfax, suddenly uncomfortable. "Why, he's lost in
the wood. He's alone on a desert isle. What the deuce is he doing
here?"
Harvey gave his order to the disdainful waiter and then settled back
in his chair for the first deliberate look around the room in quest of
his wife.
Their eyes met. She had turned halfway round in her chair and was
looking at him with wide-open, unbelieving eyes. He felt himself
suddenly tied hand and foot to the chair. Now that he had found her he
could do no more than stare at her in utter bewilderment. He had come
tilting at windmills.
The flush deepened in her cheek as she turned her attention to the
dessert that had just been set down before her. She was very quiet, in
marked contrast to her mood of the moment before.
Fairfax made a remark which set the others to laughing. She did not
smile, but toyed nervously with the dessert fork. Under cover of the
laughter he leaned over and whispered, an anxious, troubled note in
his voice:--
"I'll call the head waiter and have him put out before he does
anything crazy."
"Put out?" she repeated. "Why, what do you think he'd try to do?"
"He's got an ugly look in his eye. I tell you, he'll create a scene.
That's what he's here for. You remember what happened----"
She laughed shrilly. "He won't shoot any one," she said in his ear.
"Harvey create a scene! Oh, that's rich!"
"He hasn't forgotten the thrashing I gave him. He has been brooding
over it, Nellie." Fairfax was livid about the eyes.
"Well, I respect him for trying to thrash you, even though he got the
worst of it." She looked again in Harvey's direction. He was still
staring steadily at her. "He's all alone over there and he's
miserable. I can't stand it. I'm going over to sit with him."
As she arose Fairfax reached out and grasped her arm.
"Don't be a fool," he said, in dismay.
"I won't," she replied, sweetly. "Trust me. So long, people. I'm going
over to have coffee with my husband."
If the occupants of the big café were surprised to see Nellie Duluth
make her way over to the table and sit down with the queer little
person in checks, not so Harvey. He arose to greet her and would have
kissed her if she had not restrained him. He was gratified, overjoyed,
but not surprised.
"Hello!" she said, sharply, to cover the inward disquiet that
possessed her. She was looking intently into his eyes as if searching
for something she dreaded.
"Hello!" was his response. He was still a trifle dazed.
She sat down opposite him. Before she could think of anything further
to say the head waiter rushed up to inquire if Miss Duluth and her
friend wouldn't prefer a table at one of the windows.
"No, this will do," she said, thankful for the interruption.
"We are doing very nicely," said Harvey, rather pompously, adding in a
loud voice of authority:--"Tell that fellow to hustle my luncheon
along, will you?" Then, turning to Nellie, he said:--"You don't look
as though you'd ever been sick a day in your life, Nellie."
She laughed uncomfortably. "How are you, Harvey? And Phoebe?"
"Fine. Never better. Why don't you come out and see us occasionally?"
"May I order a cup of black coffee?" she asked, ignoring the question.
She was sorely puzzled.
"Have a big one," he urged, signalling a waiter.
Her curiosity conquered. "What in Heaven's name brought you here,
Harvey?"
He told her of the word Rachel had given him. Nellie made a mental
note of the intention to speak plainly to Rachel.
"Who are your friends?" he asked. Just then he caught a glimpse of
Fairfax's face. He turned very cold.
"Mr. Fairfax is giving a luncheon for two of the grand-opera people,"
she explained.
He forced his courage. "I don't want you to have anything more to do
with that man," he said. "He's a scoundrel."
"Now, don't be silly," she cried. "What train are you going out on?"
"I don't know. Maybe I'll stay in. I'll go up to your flat, I guess,
for a couple of days. Phoebe's all right. She's over the diphtheria
now----"
"Diphtheria?" gasped Nellie, wide-eyed, overlooking his other
declaration, which, by the way, was of small moment.
"Almost died, poor kiddie."
She flared up in an instant. "Why wasn't I told? What were you
thinking of, you little fool?"
"If you had taken the trouble to come out to Tarrytown, you could have
found out for yourself," he retorted, coolly. "Now, see here, Nellie,
I've come in to see you and to have a very plain talk with you. So
just hold your horses. Don't fly off the handle. I am the head of this
family and I'm going to boss it from this time on."
"You----" she began, in a furious little shriek, her eyes blazing. She
caught herself up in time. Two or three people nearby looked up at the
sound of her raised voice. She lowered it to a shrill, intense
half-whisper. "What do you mean by coming here in this way? Everybody
is laughing at me. You make me ridiculous. I won't stand for it; do
you hear?"
He was colder if possible than before, but he was resolute.
"We've got to have an understanding, the sooner the better," he said,
quietly.
"Yes, you're right," she repeated; "the sooner the better."
"We can't talk here," he said, suddenly conscious that the eyes of
many were upon them. "Go over and ask that infernal sneak to excuse
you, and we'll go up to the flat."
"I'm going motoring this aft----"
"You do as I tell you!" said he, in a strange voice.
"Why, Harvey----" she stammered, catching her breath.
"When you've had your coffee," he added.
She sipped her coffee in silence, in wonder, in bitter resentment. He
munched the club sandwich and sucked the coffee through his thin
moustache with a vehemence that grated on her nerves terribly.
"I've had all I want," she said, suddenly putting the little cup down
with a crash.
"Then go over and tell 'em you've got to go home."
She crossed the room, red-faced and angry. He watched her as she made
an announcement to the party, saw them laugh uproariously, and smiled
in triumph over the evidence of annoyance on the part of Fairfax.
Nellie was whispering something close to the big man's ear, and he was
shaking his head vigorously. Then she waved her hand to the party and
started away. Fairfax arose to follow her. As he did so, Harvey came
to his feet and advanced. The big man stopped short, with a look of
actual alarm in his eyes, and went back to his seat, hastily motioning
to the head waiter.
Five minutes later Miss Duluth emerged from the café, followed by the
little man in the checked suit.
An attendant blew his whistle and called out down the line of waiting
motors:--
"Mr. Fairfax's car up!"
"Get me a taxi," ordered Nellie, hastily.
The man betrayed his surprise. She was obliged to repeat the order.
"What does a taxi to--to our place cost?" demanded Harvey, feeling in
his pocket.
"Never mind," she snapped. "I'll pay for it."
"No, you won't," he asserted. "I raised seventeen dollars yesterday on
the watch mother gave me. It's my own money, Nellie, remember that."
Rachel was plainly amazed when the couple walked into the apartment.
The two at once resumed the conversation they had carried on so
vigorously in the taxicab on the way up from downtown. Nellie did not
remove her hat, sharply commanding Rachel to leave the room.
"No," she said, "she simply has to go to the convent. She'll be safe
there, no matter how things turn out for you and me, Harve, I insist
on that."
"Things are going to turn out all right for us, Nellie," he protested,
a plaintive note in his voice. It was easily to be seen which had been
the dominating force in the ride home.
"Now, you've got to be reasonable, Harve," she said, firmly. "We can't
go on as we have been going. Something's just got to happen."
"Well, doggone it, haven't I said that I'll agree to your trip to
Europe? I won't put a stop to that. I see your point clearly. The
managers think it wise for you to do a bit of studying abroad. I can
see that. I'm not going to be mean. Three months' hard work over there
will get you into grand-opera sure. But that has nothing to do with
Phoebe. She can go to Blakeville with me, and then when you come back
next fall I'll have a job here in New York and we'll----"
"Don't talk foolishness," she blurted out. "You've said that three or
four times. First you wanted me to go back to Blakeville to live. You
insisted on it. What do you think I am? Why, I wouldn't go back to
Blakeville if Heaven was suddenly discovered to be located there
instead of up in the sky. That's settled. No Blakeville for me. Or
Phoebe either. Do you suppose I'm going to have that child grow up
like--like"--she changed the word and continued--"like a yap?"
"All I ask is that you will give me a chance to show what I can do,"
he said, earnestly.
"You can do that just as well with Phoebe in the convent, as I've said
before."
"She's as much my child as she is yours," he proclaimed, stoutly.
"Then you ought to be willing to do the sensible thing by her."
"Why, good Lord, Nell, she's only five," he groaned. "She'll die of
homesickness."
"Nonsense! She'll forget both of us in a month and be happy."
"She won't forget me!" he exclaimed.
"Well, I've said my say," she announced, pacing the floor. "Suppose we
agree to disagree. Well, isn't it better to have her out of the
mess?"
"I won't give her up, derned if I do!"
"Say, don't you know if it comes to a question of law, the Court will
give her to me?"
"I'm not trying to take her away from you."
"You're trying to ruin my career."
"Fairfax has put all this into your head, Nellie, dear. He's a
low-down rascal."
"He's my friend, and a good one, too. I don't believe he offered you
that money to agree to a separation."
"Darn it all, you can still see the scar on my lip. That ought to
prove something. If I hadn't stumbled, I'd have knocked him silly. As
it was, he kicked me in the face when I was down."
"He told me you assaulted him without cause."
"He lied."
"Well, that's neither here nor there. I'm sorry you were beaten up so
badly. It wasn't right, I'll admit. He said you were plucky, Harve. I
couldn't believe him at first."
His face brightened.
"You give me a chance and I'll show you how plucky I am!" he cried.
"Come on now, Nellie, let's make a fresh start."
She was silent for a long time. At heart she was fair and honest. She
had lost her love and respect for the little man, but, after all, was
that altogether his fault? She was sorry for him.
"Well, I'll think it over," she said, at last.
"I'll write to Mr. Davis to-night!" he cried, encouraged.
"All right. I hope he'll give you a job," said she, also brightening,
but for an entirely different reason.
"You'll give up this awful thing of--of separating; won't you?"
"I'll promise one thing, Harvey," said she, suddenly sincere. "I won't
do anything until I come back from the road. That's fair, isn't it?
And I'll tell you what else I'll do. I will let Phoebe stay with you
in Tarrytown until the end of the tour--in May."
"But I'm going to Blakeville," he protested.
"No," said she, firmly, "I won't agree to that. Either you stay in
Tarrytown or she goes to the convent."
"I can't get work in Tarrytown."
"You can tell Mr. Davis you will come out to Blakeville in time for
the opening of the soda-water season. I'll do the work for the family
till then. That's all I'll consent to. I'll ask for a legal separation
if you don't agree to that."
"I--I'll think it over," he said, feebly; "I'll stay here with you for
a couple of days, and----"
"You will do nothing of the sort!" she cried. "Do you suppose I'm
going to spoil my chances for a separation, if I want to apply, by
letting you live in the same house with me? Why, that would be wasting
the two months already gone."
He did not comprehend, and he was afraid to ask for an explanation.
The term "failure to provide" was the only one he could get through
his head; "desertion" was out of the question. His brow was wet with
the sweat of a losing conflict. He saw that he would have to accept
her ultimatum and trust to luck to provide a way out of the
difficulty. Time would justify him, he was confident. In the meantime,
he would ease his conscience by returning the check, knowing full well
that it would not be accepted. He would then take it, of course, with
reservations. Every dollar was to be paid back when he obtained a
satisfactory position.
He determined, however, to extract a promise from her before giving
in.
"I will consent, Nellie, on the condition that you stop seeing this
fellow Fairfax and riding around in his big green car. I won't stand
for that."
Nellie smiled, more to herself than to him. She had Fairfax in the
meshes. He was safe. The man was madly in love with her. The instant
she was freed from Harvey he stood ready to become her
husband--Fairfax, with all his money and all his power.
And that is precisely what she was aiming at. She could afford to
smile, but somehow she was coming to feel that this little man who
was now her husband had it in him, after all, to put up a fierce and
desperate fight for his own. If he were pushed to the wall he would
fight back like a wildcat, and well she knew that there would be
disagreeable features in the fray.
"If you are going to talk like that I'll never speak to you again,"
she said, banishing the smile. "Don't you trust me?"
"Sure," he said, and he meant it. "That's not the point."
"See here, Harve," she said, abruptly putting her hands on his
shoulders and looking squarely into his eyes, "I want you to believe
me when I say that I am a--a--well, a good woman."
"I believe it," he said, solemnly. Then, as an after-thought, "and I
want to say the same thing for myself."
"I've never doubted you," said she, fervently. "Now, go home and let
things stand as they are. Write to Mr. Davis to-night."
"I will. I say, won't you give me a kiss?"
She hesitated, still calculating.
"Yes, if you promise not to tell anybody," she said, with mock
solemnity. As she expected, he took it seriously.
"Do you suppose I go 'round telling people I've kissed my wife?"
Then she gave him a peck on the cheek and let it go as a kiss.
"When will you be out to see us?"
"Soon, I hope," she said, quickly. "Now go, Harve, I'm going to lie
down and rest. Kiss Phoebe for me."
He got to the door. She was fairly pushing him.
"I feel better," he said, taking a long breath.
"So do I," said she.
He paused for a moment to frown in some perplexity.
"Say, Nell, I left my cane in a street car coming down. Do you think
it would be worth while to advertise for it?"