Joyce sat up startled and peered furtively from her window.
The man was outside waiting to board the car. He was big and red and
ugly, with bold blue eyes and red hair. He had a weak mouth and a cruel
jaw, and she couldn’t help shrinking into her corner as she looked.
Suppose he had been the one to catch her and hold her hands in a
vise-like grip last night! Her soul turned sick within her.
He came up the steps prating in a loud voice about women, called them
“dames” and “skirts,” and his laughter was an offense. Laughter is like
smells, it can be fragrant as the morning or it can be foul as the
breath of a gutter. This man’s laughter was like a noxious gas.
Joyce would have fled if the aisle had not been blocked either way.
Failing in that she shrank still further back in her seat, drew her
hat over her eyes, and found herself trembling in every fibre. Why
did such a man have to be on the earth, she wondered as she heard his
voice going on in coarse remarks. And what possible companionship, even
in business, could he have with the man she knew, whom she had always
thought fine of soul?
The stab of that question came into her morning with renewed sharpness
as she was compelled to sit and listen, as were all the rest of the
passengers in the car, to this crude man’s conversation.
There was nothing to fear of course, for it was broad daylight and
there were plenty of men in the car whose faces told that they would
defend her. They might be all common workingmen, but they had homes and
mothers and wives and sisters and they respected them. There was a kind
of nobleness in their faces that made one sure of that.
Joyce sat motionless and tried to still the trembling of her lips,
tried to control the foolish desire to let the tears come into her
eyes, tried to tell herself she was silly, and only needed her
breakfast and there was no sense in her giving way to her feelings like
this. This man did not know her. He had no idea that she had been the
intruder at his midnight work. Oh, that work--that terrible work! What
was it that bound these men together, the one so coarse, the other who
had always seemed so fine? It haunted her with dark possibilities.
Some money making scheme of course it was. But--it must be something
terrible! She could not forget the look, the droop of the man in the
darkness, when she had asked him about it.
And this other one. He must live somewhere near where he had boarded
the car. He was not any one from Meadow Brook. The business was a
partnership with strangers, yet the one she knew had been the captain,
the head of it all. It was his voice that had given the orders, that
had told them to go back and not come after her. Why should he be bound
up in something that all too clearly was illicit--something of which
he was ashamed? How she wished she had not had to know this about her
one time friend. Of course she had not seen him much since the old
school days--but it had never seemed possible that anything gruesome,
mysterious,--_wrong_, could be connected with him. It would have been
much pleasanter to have gone away from home carrying with her to the
end of life the pleasant thoughts of those she left behind, those who
were connected in any way with the dearness of the old days.
But this was no time to think of such things. The morning was full
upon them in a flood of sunshine, and the car was coming to a halt at
what seemed like some kind of a terminal. There was a platform, and a
shed-like shelter, and the entire car arose as one man and crowded out
on the platform. Joyce waited until they were gone and slipping out
the other end went around the back of the car, crossed the tracks and
walked rapidly up a side street, rejoicing to hear the hum of the cross
line trolley for which the men seemed to be waiting. It would be good
to know that that dreadful man was gone.
On the first corner was a small grocery whose door was just being
unlocked by a sleepy looking lad, and Joyce went in and bought a box of
crackers and some cheese. This would reinforce her and save time. She
wanted to get well out of this region before people began to be about
much. She did not care to run any risk of meeting any one she knew who
would go back home and talk about it.
So, munching her crackers and cheese, she walked briskly down the
street, a new one evidently, filled with rows of neat two-story houses,
some of which were not yet fully finished, for workmen were about and
signs were up for rent and sale.
At a broader cross street she turned the corner and came full upon a
band of men who were working away at a sewer that was being laid,
and suddenly from out of the group arose the noxious laughter of the
red-haired man of the trolley. She stopped as if she had been shot, and
wheeled, back to the quieter street of the small houses. But not back
in time to escape the mocking words that were flung after her:
“There she comes! That’s my girlie! Isn’t she a pippin? Oh, don’t run
away darling! I won’t let the naughty men hurt you!”
Words could not describe the taunting tone nor her horror, as if she
had been desecrated. She was trembling and the tears were flowing down
her cheeks as she fled, block after block without knowing whither
she went. It seemed so degrading that she could not rally her usual
common sense. She began to wonder if perhaps all this was to teach her
that she ought not to have gone away from home? That she should have
remained and borne all there was to bear and just waited until relief
came. But at that her sound sense came to her rescue and she began to
breathe more freely.
She had passed into quite another section of the city now, and trolleys
were coming and going and plenty of people on the streets. She boarded
one of the cars and rode until it came to a railroad station where she
got off and went in. There was a restaurant here where she could get a
glass of milk, and there was a rest room where she might tidy herself
and sit down and get her bearings. She would study the time-tables and
find out where to go intelligently. This running away hit or miss might
only lead her in a circle and bring her back home before night.
So she went in and asked some questions, finally buying a ticket to a
small town about a hundred miles away. Half an hour later, she boarded
the train, having added to her crackers and cheese, an orange and a
couple of bananas for lunch.
It was a way train and slow, and Joyce curled up in her seat and had
a good, long nap, then woke to eat her lunch and sleep again. She had
thought to plan out a campaign for herself, make some definite outline
in her mind of what she would do with the future so suddenly opened out
before her, but sleep simply dropped down upon her and took possession.
The strain under which she had been, the sudden sharp emotions
following one upon the other had stretched her endurance almost to the
breaking point and relaxation brought such utter weariness that she
could not even think.
Something was the matter with the engine and they stayed on a side
track for a long time while men rushed about shouting to one another
and doing things to the engine and now and again seemingly to the
machinery underneath the cars, but it all made no impression on Joyce.
She slept on, curled into a slim little heap in her seat. After a long
time a train came by from the other direction, bringing aid perhaps,
for it halted, and then there were more poundings and shoutings, and
at last the train went on and Joyce’s train groaned and creaked and
took up its limping way, lumbering slowly on like a person on crutches.
About the middle of the afternoon, they came to a halt, and Joyce,
sitting up suddenly warned by some inner consciousness, perceived she
had arrived at the place she had aimed for, and got out quickly.
She had been told in the city that there would be an electric
connection with another city, and sure enough, there stood a rickety
old trolley in which she embarked, the only passenger for more than
half the way.
Half an hour’s ride brought her through a lovely rolling country, past
country clubs, and estates, and into the real farming district again,
then more country clubs, and scattering bungalows and cottages, till
it seemed evident that she was on the outskirts of a new suburb of the
city that was just being developed.
It might have been the pretty little church, covered with vines and
wearing the air of having been there before the bungalows came, that
gave her the sudden impulse, or perhaps it was the well kept hedges and
the general atmosphere of hominess that pervaded the pleasant streets.
She decided to get out and see the place. She was tired of travel in
the stuffy, rickety old car, and at least she could get into another
car after she had walked a while if she found no place that seemed
livable.
She got out and followed down a pleasant shaded street of homes, at
first drinking in the beauty of the well kept lawns and newly painted
gardens and hedge rows, turning corners and admiring bits of stone
dwellings, bungalows, all on one floor with charming variance of rough
stone pillars and porches. Turning two or three corners thus, she came
upon what seemed to be a large estate, an old stone house far back
from the road almost hidden by wonderful trees and dense, clustering
shrubbery. It had the air of having been a fine old house of a time
past, probably the original estate from which the whole town had been
divided, and down at the corner in a little V of land where three
roads came together and divided, the land sloped from a high wall of
hedge, with a tiny gravelled path to the sidewalk, there stood the
dearest little land office that ever a developing operation dared to
build. It was not more than nine or ten feet long and six or seven feet
wide, but it had five windows and a door, and the tiniest little front
porch with a seat on each side as perfect and complete as any little
house that ever was built. A vine had clambered over the portico and
spread to cover one entire end, and there were window boxes in the
front windows where flowers had grown the past year, though weeds were
overrunning them now.
As she drew nearer Joyce perceived that it had a neglected air as if
no one owned it or the owner was away and didn’t care, and it seemed
somehow so much like her own forlorn self, hunting a home and a place
in life, that her heart went out to it wistfully.
Then strangest of all just as she was feeling that way she turned the
sharp point of the corner and saw two men working about it at the back,
and perceived one of them raise a heavy implement and deal a tremendous
blow at the little dwelling sitting so cozily there on the little
knoll, with such a smiling, inviting air, doing its best to urge people
to buy lots and build in this pleasant town.
The little building shivered in all its timbers, and the sound with
which it reacted to the blow seemed something between a groan and a
sob. Joyce stood still with horror in her eyes, and then the man raised
the heavy iron and swung it back for another blow.
But Joyce, without knowing what she was doing, was all at once by his
side:
“Oh!” she cried putting out a detaining hand upon the exact spot where
the iron must strike, “Oh! _Don’t!_”
The man paused in his motion and looked at her in wonder, his iron on
his shoulder:
“Ma’am?” he said astonished, “Did you speak?”
“Yes,” said Joyce shyly, “Why are you doing that? You will ruin the
little house.”
“Them was the boss’ orders, ma’am. Wreck it. That’s what I’m here for.”
“But--Why? It’s a perfectly good little house.”
“He wants to clear this here corner, ma’am, and set the hedge out all
the way around like the rest. He don’t want no office here any more,
he’s bought the place. He said to get this out of the way the easiest
way we knowed how. I’m obeyin’ orders, ma’am!”
The man raised his arm for another blow and intimated by his glance
that he would be pleased if the lady would move a little further away
and give him more room to strike. But Joyce only stepped nearer in her
earnestness:
“Wouldn’t he, do you think he might--perhaps--_sell_ it?” she asked
eagerly.
The two men looked at one another amusedly. This was a queer, new kind
of a girl. But they were dwellers near a great city and there were all
kinds in a city. Their problem was to get rid of this one and go on
with their work as soon as possible. The second man took the initiative:
“Lady,” he said stepping up with authority, “The boss is on his way to
Europe an’ we gotta git this here building out o’ this piece of ground
before we quit tonight. That’s my contract, an’ I generally manage to
keep my contrac’s. That’s how I keep my reputashun--gettin’ things
done when I say I will.”
Joyce drew her brows together thoughtfully:
“What are you going to do with this building?” she asked.
“Break her up an’ cart her off. Got a man cornin’ in an hour to clean
her up fer the kindlin’ wood. We ain’t got no time to waste, lady.”
“Then the house is yours? To do as you please with?” Her eyes
persisted, looking at the men earnestly.
“Wal, it amounts to that. Yas, it’s ourn.”
“Well, then, wouldn’t you sell it?”
“But I tell you lady, the house has gotta git off’n this here piece o’
ground before tomorra mornin’ ’r I lose my big contract on the rest o’
this job.”
“Couldn’t it be moved?” persisted Joyce. “They move houses even bigger
than that. I’ve seen them.”
“Aw, yes, she could be moved. A course she could be moved ef you had a
place to put her.”
“I will get a place,” said Joyce decidedly. “What will you sell the
building for?”
The men looked at one another nonplussed:
“I guess we’d take five bucks apiece, wouldn’t we, Tom?” said the older
of the men winking slowly.
“Sure,” said Tom. “But she’s gotta get outta here this arternoon.”
Joyce looked anxiously about her as if she hoped to find a bit of handy
land close by:
“How much time have I?” she asked. “I’ll have to hunt a place. I’m sure
there’s one somewhere. Do you know where I could get a mover?”
The men grew interested. She really meant business. Well, five bucks
was five bucks of course, and if she really wanted the house, why they
didn’t mind earning double money and getting a bit of a rest in the
bargain. They looked at each other again, a long meaningful glance:
“I guess Sam would fix her up, wouldn’t he, Tom? I guess he wouldn’t
overcharge her for movin’, would he? He’s got the big jacks along
today, ain’t he? An’ she ain’t very big--”
“What do you think he would charge?” gasped Joyce awaiting the answer
as if her very life depended upon it. It seemed as though she just
couldn’t bear to lose that little house! It seemed as though it had
just been made for her need, and she found her heart praying, “Oh,
heavenly Father, please make it possible, please make it possible!”
“Oh, he wouldn’t charge you much ef you didn’t go too fur. But I don’t
think you ken git enny land. It’s all took up about here.”
“How much time will you give me?” asked Joyce impatiently, anxiety
growing in her face.
“Well, we oughtta be pullin’ out o’ here in about a nour,” said the
older man. “The truck don’t leave fur a nour an’ a quarter. We’ll say a
nour an’ ten minutes. That oughtta give you time.”
“Oh!” gasped Joyce and flew down the street looking about her on either
side, and leaving the men gaping after her.
“Well, all I gotta say is,” said Tom after gazing for some minutes,
“she’s some new kind of a nut! Do you reckon to wait fer her to come
back, er shall I go on bustin’ her up?”
The older man dropped down comfortably on the grass and took out his
pipe. “A bargain’s a bargain, Tom,” he said cupping his hands around
the match, “I allus keeps my contrac’s.”
“H’m!” said Tom, dropping stiffly beside him, “But sposen she don’t
come back?”
“She’ll come back,” said the other.
“But sposen she can’t find no land?”
“It’s my opinion, Tom, that she’s one o’ them kind, that ef she can’t
find no land she’ll _make_ a little bit. I’ve seen ’em before, an’ they
can bamboozle the eye teeth out of a tightwad ef they really try. She’s
really tryin’ now. She wants this here cottage bad, an’ I intend she’ll
have it.”
Tom squinted his eyes and observed his chief thoughtfully remarking
after a while:
“H’m!”
Pretty soon the chief arose, took up his implements of work and went up
to the little house. He studied the foundation for a few moments and
then he began with his pick to work about it, loosening the stones in
which it was set. Tom arose and followed him, watching his movements a
moment. Then he raised his eyes to the side of the little structure as
if for the first time he observed it as a dwelling, a housing place for
a human being.
“That’s a purty vine,” he observed, “too bad it has to die.”
“It ain’t agoin’ to die,” said the chief. “We’re agoin’ to save it.
Where’s that there big lard kettle we bed around here? See ef it’s
inside the hedge.”
Tom foraged behind the hedge and brought a battered tin can.
The chief dug carefully about the roots of the vine, in a good-sized
circle, dug it deeply and neatly and together they lifted the roots of
the vine with the earth firmly about it, and fitted it into the lard
kettle.
“Now, we’ll hev to work it so’s this here don’t git disturbed when we
move her,” said the chief.
Tom found a bit of board and some nails among their tools behind the
hedge, and made a little shelf on the side of the building upon which
they set the can, nailing it firmly to the house so that it would not
be disturbed.
Then with deep satisfaction the two set about preparing the building
for its removal.