"Why?" I asked.
"Because you'll be out on Myrtle Boulevard telling some one the big
news."
"Honest?" I said. "I can have the morning off?"
"Say," he came back, "for gosh' sake cut out this me-the-boss stuff. I
don't give a darn if you never come out again. Yes, I do; I'll take that
back. You'll tell me some time tomorrow what you cabled your father, or
I'll sit on the door step at Myrtle Boulevard until I find out.
Seriously, kid, one day off, then we get things in shape to turn the
works over. No Norwood stunts for us. It'll be a healthy, going concern.
August, did you say? That gives us three months clear. Put your back in
it and give my love to Helen in the morning," and he hung up the
receiver with a crash in my ear.
* * * * *
I thought sleep was going to be impossible that night, but about four
o'clock, as my mind seemed in a perfect welter which defied all efforts
at reduction to order, I fell into a dreamless slumber. It was after
eight when I awoke, with a curse at myself for forgetting to set the
alarm. After a hasty shower and omitting breakfast I dashed out Myrtle
Boulevard as rapidly as decorum permitted. I arrived a little after
nine. Mr. Claybourne had already gone to his office. Mrs. Claybourne was
anything but pleased to see me at that hour. Her forehead was still
adorned with one or two iron clamps in which her hair was tightly wound.
I tried to get past her to call for Helen. Mrs. Claybourne was firm.
Helen was assisting Jane with the house work, and I was on no account to
disturb her. Besides, I ought to be out at the factory at work, like
other sensible men. It was bad enough my calling every night. If I was
to be underfoot in the morning, too, things might just as well stop
where they were. There was a limit to a mother's patience. She was
accustomed to the fact that neither Helen nor I ever showed her the
slightest consideration, but there was a bound set up by decency which
no one had a right to cross, and that bound she would defend at all
costs.
Not for anything would I have told her the object of my call, until
Helen had first heard the news, and I was ruefully considering going
home and telephoning Helen, when this young lady herself stuck her head
over the banisters.
"What in the world, Ted, are you quarrelling with mother for just after
breakfast? Come upstairs and be scolded at once."
Mother let out a shocked "Helen! The rooms aren't done!" but I bounded
by her and upstairs before Mrs. Claybourne could clutch me. Helen looked
adorable in a boudoir cap with little pink roses on it and a Japanese
kimono that trailed on the floor.
"Well," she said with mock severity, "what do you mean, sir, by forcing
your way into the house in this fashion?"
Belowstairs Mrs. Claybourne was repeatedly ordering me to come down. I
wondered how long I dared ignore her.
"Helen," I gasped, "I must see you alone--my father's cable--the best
news--urgent."
Helen caught my arm, and the strength of her grasp surprised me.
"Ted--you don't mean?--is it true?"
"Yes," I choked, "as soon as we can make all arrangements."
She planted a sudden kiss square on my mouth just as Mrs. Claybourne
toiled to the top of the stairs, in breathless and exasperated pursuit.
"Helen, I'm surprised at you--and at Edward. You are not properly
dressed--go to your room at once."
By way of reply, Helen did the most surprising thing. She deliberately
kicked as high as the rather tight kimono would permit, threw her arms
around her mother's neck, and, frantically kissing her, bore Mrs.
Claybourne heavily to ground in a sitting posture on top of a cedar
clothes chest. I had never seen Helen before in a reckless state of high
spirits. Mrs. Claybourne energetically fought off her daughter's
embraces.
"Helen Claybourne," she exclaimed, "don't you dare tell me that you and
Edward are going to be married. I won't hear it!"
"We are, mother, we are!" cried the excited child, and flung her arms
about me, leading me around the hall in a wild and undignified dance. I
feebly protested, fearing at least double-woman-power hysterics from
Mrs. Claybourne. But "mother" was made of sterner stuff when it came to
a pinch. Her lips narrowed to an ominous straight line as she got upon
her feet.
"Helen," she commanded in a changed tone of voice. "Go to your room!
Your father will deal with you presently. Edward, you will oblige me by
leaving my house instantly!"
Helen released me, for we saw that, in the phraseology of Deep Harbor,
Mrs. Claybourne "meant business." I bowed and started downstairs. I
looked back at Helen from the landing, and over her mother's shoulder I
saw her mouth form silently the word "dad." I took the hint, going
straight to Mr. Claybourne's office as rapidly as I could get there.
I rather precipitately upset the office boy's theory of etiquette and
literally banged into his office. He was talking over the telephone with
a serious face. I realized that "mother" had beaten me in reaching him,
thanks to the curse of the modern machine.
"Sit down, Edward, and keep quiet," he commanded, adding through the
mouthpiece, "Yes. He's here. He has just come."
After what seemed an hour, although it was only a few minutes, he hung
up the receiver. Not by a single word had he indicated his own state of
mind, but the look upon his face made me most uneasy.
"Ted, you and Helen both show a strange lack of appreciation for a
mother's point of view," he began, and I thought, "O Lord, I'm in for a
sermon on filial conduct." "I grant you mother is very nervous and
difficult to handle, but a little show of affection, a little tact even,
would work wonders."
We sat in silence for a moment. I felt rather uncomfortable.
"What possible excuse have you," he went on, "for going out to my house
early in the morning and upsetting Helen's mother when I wasn't there?"
"I wished to see Helen. I've had an important cable from my father, and
I didn't stop to think of anything else."
He adjusted his glasses carefully. "No," he said, "you and Helen never
stop to think of any one but yourselves. Show me your father's cable."
I laid my copy before him. He read it slowly, turning it over once or
twice. Then he handed it back to me.
"I suppose it is useless to ask you to wait until Helen is twenty-one,"
he said, peering at me over his glasses.
"Quite," I answered firmly, for I began to feel it was time we spoke for
ourselves and ceased to play children to please the family.
"I suppose you know that in this state a minor has to have the consent
of her parents before she can be married?" he said, still looking
steadily at me.
"Yes." I spoke rather impudently. "Helen and I looked up the law for
ourselves. But there is another state not far away where eighteen is the
legal age."
"You will do me a favour if you do not speak in that tone." It was not
often that he spoke sharply.
"I beg your pardon," I apologized. "Helen and I intend to get
married--that's all I meant to imply."
"Ted"--he relaxed just a little--"when I gave my consent to your
engagement, I did so with the understanding that you two children loved
each other and intended to marry. I am sorry, more sorry than I can tell
you or than either of you would understand, that it has happened when
Helen is so young. Only last year she was at school," and he looked out
the window at the dusty street. "I want my daughter to be happy--" he
paused. "There isn't a great deal of happiness to be found in this
world, Ted. I want her to have her share--that's all." Once more he
paused. "As for the date of the wedding, you must settle that with
Helen's mother. Your father expects you in August?"
"Yes, sir," I replied, getting to my feet.
"I suppose that means it will have to be the end of July. Ted, you are
asking a great deal of me--she's all the happiness I have." He looked
around at his office. "I've never refused her anything she's asked--if I
could give it her. I shan't now," and he held out his hand. I could
think, of nothing to say, except silly-sounding words, so I said
nothing, but took his hand.
"I think I can trust her to you, Ted--that's all I'll say about you, and
I could hardly say more," he added. "I've got to clear up the morning's
mail. And Ted, when you come out to dinner tonight--be as nice as you
know how to Helen's mother. Tell Helen, too. It will pay."
"Mr. Claybourne--," I stammered, turning at the door.
"Don't try to say it, Ted," he called cheerily from his desk. "I guess I
know. I love Helen, too." He pretended to write as if a matter of
urgency were before him. I watched him for a moment more, cursing words
for their feebleness, and went.
I called Helen up from the nearest telephone pay-station to give her a
summary of her father's talk, but again I had been forestalled. He had
talked to his daughter direct from his desk, as soon as I left. A few
words only, but he had told her it was "all right." Meanwhile, it
seemed, "mother" had issued an ultimatum that I was not to be admitted
to the house again. It would be necessary for me to come in through the
kitchen, Helen giggled over the telephone, or else to climb over the
railing of the side porch. There was no use in my coming at all until
her father returned at dinner-time. We agreed to make the best of out
temporary separation.