As a boy, Cheerio’s inability swiftly to explain or defend himself,
had resulted in many unjust punishments. He was not stupid, but became
easily confused, and with the best of intentions, he bungled into
unfortunate situations. His brother, Reggie, swift-witted and glib of
tongue, was far better equipped to defend and care for himself than the
often bewildered and stammering Cheerio. He had changed very little,
and his love had made him now almost obtusely blind.
As he hurried eagerly across the verandah to meet Hilda who was
hastening in her direct way for that “show down” which her peace of
mind demanded, Cheerio held out toward her the intended gift.
In the bright moonlight, Hilda saw the locket in his hand, and she
stopped short in her impetuous approach. Speech at that moment failed
her. She felt as if suddenly choked, struck, and her heart was beating
so riotously that it hurt her physically. A primitive surge of wild,
ungovernable rage surged up within her.
In a far worse dilemma was the unfortunate and deluded and
misunderstood Cheerio. At that psychological moment, when he would have
given his life for eloquent speech in which to tell the girl before him
of his love, he was overtaken with panic and confusion. The hostile
attitude of the girl reduced him to a state of incoherent stuttering as
he continued foolishly to extend the locket.
“Ww-w-w-w-w-w-w----”
She gave him no help. Her angry, wounded stare was pinned condemningly
upon him.
“Www-w-w-w-w-w-will you accept this l-little m-m-m-m--memento of----”
“Accept _that_!”
Hilda said “That” as if referring to something loathsome.
“What should I want with _it_?”
“It” also was spoken as “that.”
Like a tidal wave, the girl’s anger overwhelmed her. Hell, which the
proverb assures us, hath no fury like a woman scorned, raged indeed
in the ungoverned breast of the girl of the ranching country. She was
neither equipped by nature or training with those feminine defenses
that might have shielded her. She was in a way as uncivilized as the
savage woman who beats her untrue mate. All she was fiercely conscious
of was her raging indignation at the imagined affront offered her by
Cheerio. He, who but a short time since she had been deluded enough to
believe actually loved her was now flaunting before her that hateful
locket in which she knew was the picture of the woman he had come to
Canada to make a home for.
Her eyes were aflame. Her anger dominated her entirely.
Crestfallen and surprised, Cheerio drew back a pace:
“I s-say,” he persisted stupidly, “I only w-wanted you to have it. It’s
a n-nice old thing, you know, and----”
“How dare you offer me a thing like that?” demanded Hilda, in a level,
deadly voice. “How dare you! How dare you!”
Her voice rose. She stamped her foot. Her hands clinched. It would have
relieved her to hurt him physically. Surprised and dejected, he turned
away, but his movement whetted her anger. Her fiery words pursued him.
“What do you take me for? Do you think I want your silly old
second-hand jewellery? Why don’t you wrap the precious thing up in
white tissue paper and send it across the sea to the woman that’s in
it?”
At that a light of understanding broke over Cheerio. He moved
impetuously toward her:
“Hilda, don’t you know that you--_you_ are----”
He got no further, for at that moment a loud cough behind him
interrupted him. In their excitement neither Hilda nor Cheerio had
noted the car ascending the grade to the ranch and then circling the
path. Duncan Mallison had come up the stairs and across the verandah
and had coughed loudly before either Cheerio or Hilda were aware of his
presence.
“Good evening, everybody,” said the newspaper man. “How’s chess?”
Cheerio had recovered himself sufficiently to return the grip of the
other’s hand.
“Why, hello!”
Mallison chuckled.
“Didn’t expect to see me back, did you? I’ll tell you just what I’m up
for. No--not after a chess story this time. Do you remember talking to
me about a job on the _Blizzard_? Well, Munns--our city editor--thinks
he can make a place for you.”
It was the snapping closed of the door that apprised them of the
departure of Hilda. Cheerio looked at it thoughtfully, with an element
of sadness, and perhaps of new resolve.
“Look here,” he said to his friend. “You’ve come in the n-nick of time,
I might say. Fact is, old man, I--I’d like most awfully a chance to see
to--to--demonstrate m-m-my ability--t-to do s-something worth while,
you know. C-carn’t go on being a beggar, you understand. G-got to
s-s-succeed, don’t you know.”
Mallison did know. He grinned appreciatively.
“Then you’ll go back with me to Calgary to-night?”
“Can’t do that very well, old man.”
He thought a moment, and then added brightly:
“To-morrow morning. Put you up for to-night, and we’ll leave first
thing. You see, I’ve one more game still to do.”