A TIN CYLINDER
The week dragged through to a lifeless close, and the anxiety of those
nearest Dale perceptibly increased. Unquestionably he was getting
thinner, his eyes were deeper and more haunted. In vain did they urge
him to rest but he turned a deaf ear to all entreaty.
The doctor had been expected since noon of the previous day, and every
sound on the pike brought the old gentleman to his feet, peering
hopefully through the trees. Each hour, from twelve on, had made him
more restive. Throughout luncheon and dinner his gaze would repeatedly
wander across the terrace to a strip of lane in view from the
dining-room window; and he sat up late that night, still listening. So
he had slept late this Sunday morning.
But Brent, aroused by an undercurrent of some strange excitement,
awakened with the birds. He went softly down the hall for his tub and
dressed with more than his usual care; all the while wanting to whistle,
but desisting through deference to the sleeping household.
As he stepped out into the fresh early morning one might have remarked a
noticeable change in him since the night he crossed twice to Bradford's
cottage. His eyes were clearer, the flesh upon his cheeks was firm and
bronzed. He was a few pounds lighter, and this gave his face a
clean-cut, chiselled look. His step was buoyant, and one instinctively
knew that beneath the well-fitting clothes played a network of
splendidly laced muscles. He threw back his head and took a deep, joyous
breath of the cool pure air, then went on toward the chairs clustered in
inviting comfort beneath the trees. But the grass and they were still
wet, so he began strolling around the tanbark circle, following paths
and brushing through dew-bathed spider webs stretched like spun glass
across his way.
The picturesque old peach orchard was a wealth of blushing fruit,
dropping from the over-weighted branches into a carpet of red clover. He
went in here, and came out with his teeth buried in a luscious
peach--leaning forward and wanting to laugh as its juice trickled over
his chin. For not only were his hands occupied with other peaches, but
he was pressing tightly beneath one arm a tin cylinder, three feet long
and several inches in diameter. This was the thing Zack first noticed
when that worthy appeared some half hour later.
"Good mawnin', Marse Brent," he bowed. "It sho'ly do look good to see
you down so fresh an' early! What's dat cu'ious lookin' thing you got
dar?"
"It's a lay-over-to-catch-meddlers, Uncle Zack."
"A lay over to do which?" he squinted.
"It has a present in it," Brent laughed. "Give me a match!"
He lit a cigarette, and the old fellow watched with a fond expression
which gradually drew up into a tangle of wrinkles.
"Doesn' you want me to fetch you a li'l julep fer a mawnin'-mawnin'?
It'll make yoh breakfas' set mighty good arter all dem peaches, an' I
ain' fixed you none for--why, it must be moh'n a month!"
"No, you old sinner, I'm through with your mawnin'-mawnin's; and if you
bring any around I'll take you to the grindstone!"
Uncle Zack stroked his jaw and grinned.
"Sho! Dat ain' gwine do me no hahm now, 'caze mah onlies' toof's done
drapped out."
"Then I'll get Miss Liz after you!"
"Lawd, Marse Brent," the old fellow grew serious, "you knows she ain'
turr'ble no moh! She's jest as meller as dem peaches, an' only las' week
give me a dollar 'caze I hadn' cyarried de Cunnel but one julep dat
day!"
"Is the Colonel getting up?"
"Naw, sah, he ain' budged. He say he sleepin' better'n he uster."
"Zack, do you want to ride over to Mister Bob's for me before
breakfast?"
"You knows I do--'foh breakfas', an' arter breakfas'!"
"Then get your mule--I'll have something for you to take."
While Zack was hurrying to the stables, Brent walked excitedly to the
garden to pick a bouquet of flowers; but, although there were thousands
of blossoms from which to choose, their selection seemed a most
difficult problem. More difficult, however, was a note he tried to write
a few minutes later in the library; and Zack was waiting patiently
before the third attempt--which happened to be the successful one--was
sealed.
This he tied with the flowers to the mysterious cylinder and handed them
to the grinning negro.
"Don't muss things up," he admonished. "And you know who to give them
to!"
"I knows you ain' sendin' no flowers to Marse Bob or li'l Bip," the grin
became broader.
Then Brent continued his walk. He felt that he could never be quiet
again. The Colonel, when he came down, was too much occupied with his
own thoughts to notice this restlessness, but, as a woman appeared to
serve breakfast, he asked:
"Where is Zack?"
"I'm to blame," Brent answered. "I sent him over to Bob's with a little
remembrance. This is Jane's birthday, you know!"
"Why, so it is!" But then he looked fixedly across at Brent, and began
to raise up slowly out of his chair. "You didn't send the--the
railroad?"
Brent nodded, whereupon the old gentleman threw down his napkin and the
next instant they were clasped in each other's arms, dancing about the
room, boisterously laughing, kicking, and greatly imperiling the
furniture. As they stopped, Miss Liz was standing in the door, her hands
up in an attitude of abject horror.
"My dear," the old gentleman panted, "Brent has finished the railroad
and just this morning sent it over to Jane! We're celebrating!"
"Oh," she sank into her place with a sigh of relief, "I am so thankful
it is no worse!"
"Worse! Why, God bless my--" but he checked himself in Miss Liz's
presence.
"Did your father say you sent it to Jane?" she asked Brent, now
thoroughly mystified, but sharing the happiness which could not be
denied anyone in that room just then. "My dear boy, I am so glad!--and
Dale will be so glad!"
"Where is Dale?" the men inquired.
Zack being away, and the maid not permitted in Bachelors' Belfry at this
hour, Brent was for running up to call him, but the Colonel objected.
"He may be asleep, and that will do him more good than food which he can
get at his pleasure!"
Immediately after breakfast Brent eluded the old gentleman and went out
beyond the gate to watch for Zack. Up and down the cedar bordered avenue
he walked, checking off the eternities which passed before the mule
ambled into view.
"I wouldn' a-been so long, Marse Brent," Zack began apologizing and
fumbling in his pocket for a note, "but Miss Jane jest nachelly taken a
hour writin' dis!"
Now he was as impatient to be away from Zack as he had been for Zack to
come. A few minutes later, down in the woodland pasture under a
spreading beech, he stretched at full length in the bluegrass and
reverently gazed at the little envelope. His own note had not called
for an answer of great--indeed, of any--importance. (The first one had,
and the second!--but the last was, he thought, a model of convention.)
However, Zack had said she was a long time writing it;--at least, his
eyes could lingeringly dwell over line after line, page after page,
traced by her hand!
What did meet his eyes was:
"This is the happiest birthday I have ever known!"
He wondered if she, too, had found note writing difficult!
As the morning wore on he saw the family carriage, with Uncle Zack in
his beaver hat, move toward the pike, and he surmised that the Colonel,
Nancy and Miss Liz were going in state to pay their respects to Jane.
Then he went slowly home. It was very quiet with them away. Someone back
near the kitchen was turning an ice cream freezer, which produced a
rather unpleasant suggestion of Sunday company, and a long and tiresome
feast. He saw the upstairs maid.
"Where's Mister Dale?"
"He's done gone out, sah."
"How was he feeling?"
"I don' know, sah. I didn' see him!"
All of this was true, but Dale had gone out the previous evening,
instead of today as the maid supposed when she found his bed in
disorder. The mountaineer had regularly perpetrated this ruse each night
before starting on his vigil, so, should he any morning be late getting
home, the servant would merely suppose he had risen early. But, once
snug in his hiding place near Tusk's cabin, he would fitfully yield to
cat-naps--alternately dozing a few minutes and watching half an hour.
That the first of these brief slumbers did not hold him in its soothing
clasp throughout the night, was merely proof of his dominant purpose to
remove every obstacle which would keep the school from opening in
September. Yet he had become wretchedly in need of sleep; his eyes were
bloodshot, and his pulse ran fast.
In another two hours Brent, through the library window, saw the carriage
returning majestically along the pike. He glanced at the clock, then at
the telephone, then softly closed the door and called Jane.
She took a few minutes to thank him again, graciously, conventionally;
nor did she mention the present by name, because it was a good-naturedly
accepted neighborhood fact that Miss Gregget listened. Then she told him
the Colonel had been there, that Miss Liz had been there, that Nancy had
been there; that they had stayed awhile, that they had left; she asked
about Dale without giving him a chance to answer; she told him something
bright Bip had said, something sagacious Mac had done--and all the while
the carriage was coming nearer! He had never before known her to talk so
volubly, so incessantly; but, instead of translating its reason, as a
wise man might have done, he looked furtively at the circle and
repeatedly tried to interrupt her. At last, in desperation, he said:
"They're coming up the porch, and I've only thirty seconds to ask you
something!"
She was very quiet then.
"Will you go to the chapel with me this afternoon? Four o'clock?"
"Y--yes! I think it will be fun!"
"Fun! That's worse than 'audience' and 'pulpit'! Shall we ride or
drive?"
"Let's ride."
"And Jane!"
Pause--"Yes?"
"It's my happiest birthday, too!"
She laughed. "How old are you, Brent?"
"My eyes have been open for a month;--how old does that make?"
"A very small infant!"
Miss Gregget snickered.
"Oh," Jane gasped.
"Damn," Brent growled, as both instruments clicked simultaneously.