AN INSPIRATION
Afterward Kenny thought that Nellie must have ambled into the doctor's
barnyard and turned herself, for he had no memory of guiding her. A
paralyzed conviction of another anti-climax had gripped him. He
remembered turning into the road with a haunting sense of eyes upon
him--Adam's eyes, piercing and bright with malevolent amusement. The
chart! The hints! The will! The cunning of him! What would he tell
Hughie and Hannah and Hetty? What would he tell Joan? What was there
to tell save that he had put two and two together and made five, a
romantic five lurid with melodrama?
And the brutal practice hour in Adam's room when he had told the truth!
Kenny went sick and cold and shivered. How unwittingly he had flung
the old man's poverty in his teeth! How at times it must have hurt!
The memory made him shrink. And it hadn't been truth. He had battled
for Joan with misinterpretation and cruelty; he had practiced the truth
with the telling of untruth. And the proud old man who veiled his
poverty with pretense, had listened, listened inscrutably and laughed,
ready to thrust from the grave itself.
Ah! Fate was forever flinging down her gauntlet.
"To Kennicott O'Neill, my friend, my signet ring." His friend! In
spite of the practice hour--his friend. Kenny's eyes smarted.
"Oh, Adam, Adam!" he said, sick at heart, "I beg your pardon."
The snow crunched steadily under Nellie's feet. Kenny stared sadly at
the road ahead. Could he tell Joan what now he knew: that when the few
bills were paid and the estate balanced, there would be no money left
for the year of study?
Perhaps Joan would marry him now--at once--to-morrow! And they could
leave the farm together. After all there was silver to his cloud.
Kenny brightened.
A preposterous notion of hers, that unfitness. The memory of the
sunset hour in the cabin came again to darken the silver lining of his
cloud. Joan's arms, Joan's voice, Joan's eyes had pleaded; it would
make her happier to wait and study and watch his world before she came
to it, his wife.
Kenny sighed.
It would make her--happier. And the problem still was with him.
Kenny cursed the evil in the world that had forced men to convention.
If only he could help her! If only--
A car was coming up behind him with a familiar noise of rattle. It was
the doctor. Kenny sat up, alert, inspired, excited.
"Doctor," he called cheerfully, "is there a long distance telephone
near?"
"A mile on. Road to the right," called the doctor, inwardly amazed at
his visitor's mercurial disposition. "They call it Rink's Hotel. Not
much of a place. Really a road house. But you'll find a telephone."
Kenny found the telephone at Rink's Hotel in a pantry near the barroom
and closed the door to insure his privacy. It seemed an interminable
interval of waiting, an interval of blankness filled with voices
calling numbers on to further voices, before the Club Central answered.
Again he waited, tapping with impatience on the table. When the voice
came he wanted, it was far away and drowsy. Kenny looked at his watch.
It was not yet eight o'clock.
"Garry," he said, "is that you?"
"Yes. Who's calling?"
"It's I--Kenny."
"Kenny!" Garry's astonished voice came clearly over the wire. "Kenny,
where on earth did you go?" he demanded. "And what's the matter? Is
anything wrong? What are you doing up in the middle of the night?"
Kenny snorted.
"Garry," he said, "I'm mailing to you now in a very few minutes my
check for four thousand dollars--"
"Say it again."
"I said--I'm mailing to you--my check--for--four thousand--dollars."
"Wait a minute, Kenny. This wire must be out of order."
Kenny swore beneath his teeth.
"I said," he repeated with withering distinctness, "that
I--am--mailing--to--you--my--check--for--four--thousand--dollars. And
I want you to cash it in old bills. Get, that, Garry, please. Old
bills."
"Old bills!" repeated Garry in a strangled voice. "For the love of
Mike! . . . _Old bills_!"
"Garry! For God's sake, listen! This is absolute, unadulterated
common sense. I want you to get that money in old bills, the older the
better. Ragged if you can. And I want you to send it to me, Craig
Farm, by registered package, special delivery."
"Are you in some mess or other? Because if you are I'll bring it."
"No, I can wait. I particularly don't want you to bring it. I can't
explain now. I'll write you all the details. Then I want you to get a
statement from the bank. Even with the four thousand gone, my balance
ought to be at least a thousand dollars. See what they make it."
"Yes."
"Next I want you to call up Ann Marvin and ask her if she's still
looking for another girl to share her studio with her . . . Ann Marvin."
"Peggy's with her."
"I know that. She said she wanted a third girl. If she does, tell her
I'm bringing my ward--"
"Your--what!"
"My--ward--"
"Kenny," came in cold and scandalized tones from the other end, "have
you been to bed at all?"
"If you make any pretense at all of being my friend," roared Kenny in a
flash of temper, "will you do me the favor of assuming that I'm
serious? I'm not drunk. I'm not insane. I've slept the night
through. And I'm tired and terribly in earnest."
"You did say your ward."
"I did. Mr. Craig--the uncle, you remember, an invalid--died. And
he's made me the guardian of his niece--"
"The poor boob." Garry's voice was sad and sincere.
"Garry! Are you or are you not my friend?"
"I am."
"Then listen. Next I want you to ask Max Kreiling for the name and
address of the French woman he knows who teaches music--"
"Just a minute, Kenny, old man. Let me say this all after you. I am
to cash your check for four thousand dollars in old bills. Ragged if
possible. I am to send it registered and special delivery to Craig
Farm. I am to call up Ann and tell her about your--your ward. And I'm
to ask Max for the name of the French woman who teaches music."
"Right. Garry, has Brian been back?"
"No. John Whitaker may have heard from him. I don't know. I haven't
seen him. Oh, by the way, Kenny, Joe Curtis was in here blazing up and
down my studio. Said you promised to paint his wife's portrait.
What'll I tell him?"
"Tell him," said Kenny, "to go to--No, never mind. I'll be needing to
work. Tell him I'll be back in New York positively by the end of next
week."