"Is it? Then, I say, damn a book. What I want is action."
"I subscribe to your doctrine concerning much of our literary output,"
said the preacher.
William was so delighted at this that he seized the preacher's hand and
shook it with more of vigor than he was wont to put forth. "Good for
you, Bradley. I am half inclined to come to hear you preach."
A twinkle in the Judge's eye showed that again he was playing in the
midst of his sorrow. "You'd never get there, William. You could never
settle on the date."
"Oh, you be confound, John. I have settled on more dates than you ever
saw." He arose, went to the table and took up a pair of long shears.
"Let me take these to my room, will you? I want to clip out something
for my scrap-book."
"Oh, I thought you damned a book. No, sir, put those shears right down
where you found them. You took my mucilage off yesterday and I had to go
after it--down where you found them."
William put down the shears and looked angrily at the Judge. "Oh, I can
put them down."
"Thank you."
"May I have a cigar, John?"
"Help yourself."
"Much obliged." He went to the desk, took up a box of cigars and walked
out unnoticed by the Judge, who had turned his back, following a strand
of his sorrow, intertwined with a strand of humor, the two phases of
himself which he could not comprehend. He walked slowly to the wall,
and, turning, remarked, as he walked toward the preacher, "Bradley, I
feel as one waiting for something--some shadow."
"I'm not a shadow," Agnes cried, skipping into the room. Bradley arose
with a bow. "No, for shadows may be dark," he replied.
"Did you hear that, Mr. Judge? Did you hear him say that shadows may be
dark? Of course, for if they were bright they wouldn't be shadows. May
I sit here?" She sat on a corner of the long baize table swinging her
feet, as if the music in her soul impelled her to dance, Bradley mused.
"Why do you people stick in here all the time?" she went on. "Oh, I
see," she added, lifting her hand with a piece of paper adhering to it.
"You glue yourselves in here." She plucked off the paper, took out a
handkerchief, a dainty bit of lace, and wiped her hand. "Have you just
got here, Mr. Bradley? What's the news? Who's murdered on the West
Side? They have murdered somebody every day since I came, first one
side and then the other, and it's the West Side's turn today. Anybody
killed today?"
"I don't know," Bradley replied, "but I hear that a prominent citizen
was sand-bagged last night--in front of a church."
"Oh, for pity sake. And had he came out of a church fair? Did the
robber get any money?"
"Bradley," said the Judge, "as William would say, she is putting it on
you."
Bradley smiled, and said that it seemed so. Bodney stepped into the
room, halted as if confused, and as Bradley got up to shake hands with
him, hurriedly went out. Agnes spoke in an undertone to the preacher.
"Mr. Bodney is worried, too. And it makes me awfully sorry to see the
Judge so distressed at times. Can't you do something for him?"
"I can simply advise him not to worry, that's all."
"Beg him not to be so sad. I don't see how he can be. Everything is so
bright."
The Judge went to the desk to get a cigar. "That rascal has taken every
one of my cigars. Now, I've got to find him to recover my property."
He went out, and they heard him calling William.
"They have to watch Mr. William all the time," said Agnes. "He carries
off everything he can get his hands on. They say his room looks like a
junk shop."
Bradley nodded in acknowledgment, and after a short silence, full of
meditation, he said: "You seem still to enjoy your visit. And I hope
you are not thinking of going home."
"Ah, ha, I am having a lovely time. Isn't it a nice place to visit.
They make you feel so much at home, snap at each other if they want to,
just as if you weren't here. That's the way for people to do; make you
feel at home. But they are just as good as they can be, and their
little spats are so full of fun to me, only it makes me sad to see the
Judge worry. Yes, I am having a lovely time. I went to the vaudeville
yesterday, and tomorrow I am going to your church."
"Oh, you are?" Bradley laughed.
"Ah, ha. Oh, do you know what I heard about you? I heard you were seen
walking along the street with a drunken man."
"Yes, a friend of mine. And if a preacher shouldn't support a
staggering brother, who should?"
"Oh, how human. I like you for that?"
"Do you?"
"Yes, I do."
"And for that alone?"
"Oh, no, I like you for that and for a good many other things. I think
I could have lots of fun with you."
"Fun with me?" The preacher was thinking of a summer evening in Aldine
Square, the music of the fountain, the sweetness of the flowers.
"Ah, ha. There's something about you that makes me feel like a little
girl. And I dreamed that you took me by the hand and led me along."
"Agnes, let me lead you."
She slid off the corner of the table and stood with her hands flat
together, like a delighted child, but suddenly she looked up with
seriousness in her eyes. "But now you make me feel like a woman."
The Judge came in. Bradley spoke almost in a whisper. "But a woman
might be led by a man." And then to the Judge he remarked, striving to
hide his annoyance at the interruption: "I see you have recovered your
property."
The Judge sat down on a chair near the table. "Yes, some of it. William
is a good grabber, but he gives up after an argument, and there is some
virtue in that."
"What was in the paper that worried Mr. Bodney so?" Agnes asked,
speaking to the Judge.
"I don't know. Has anything worried him?"
"Yes, I saw him grabbing the paper as if he would tear it to pieces."
"Ball game, probably," said the Judge, and then looking at Agnes he
added: "Nothing seems to bother you, little one."
"No, sir. I won't let it. When I am worried something jumps this way,"
she said, making an upward motion with her hands, indicating the sudden
rise of spirits, "and the bother is gone."
The Judge spoke to Bradley. "The heart of youth jumps up and says boo
to a trouble and frightens it away."
"Ah," replied Bradley, "and couldn't an older heart learn to boo a
trouble away?"