"Don't know, eh?" he asked in an indescribably offensive tone.
"I think he went to the bank to see you."
"Oh, he did, eh? Did he have anything for me."
The girl took up another glass. "I don't know, sir," she said wearily.
"I'm afraid not."
"Well, if he didn't there's no use see in' me. It won't do him any
good."
"I guess he knows that," she returned with a little flash of spirit.
Lockwood looked her up and down as if he had never seen her before,
then summarised his resentful impression of her attitude in an open
sneer. "Does, eh? Well, that's a good thing; saves talk."
She contained herself, saying nothing. He glared round the place,
remarking the improvements.
"You don't do no business here, not to speak of, do ye?"
"No," she admitted without interest, "not to speak of."
"Then what's the good of all this foolishness, fixing up?"
"I don't know."
"Costs money, don't it?"
"I guess so."
"And that money belongs to me."
"It's Mr. Duncan's doing. Father ain't paying for it. He can't."
"What's he doin', then? Sittin' round foolin' with his inventions,
ain't he?"
"Yes."
"What's he inventin' now?"
"I don't know much about it." She pointed to the model beneath the
window. "That's the last thing, I guess."
Blinky snorted and stamped over to the window, stooping to peer at the
machine. "What's the good of that?" he demanded, disdainful; and
without waiting for her response went on nagging. "Foolishness! That's
what it is. Why don't you tell him not to waste his time this way?"
"Because he likes it," said Betty hopelessly. "It's the only thing that
makes life worth while to him. So I let him alone."
"What difference does that make? It don't bring him in nothin', does
it?"
"No ..."
"Nor do any good?"
"No."
"No, siree, it don't. He'd oughter stop it. What does he do with them
things when he gets 'em finished?"
"Patents them."
"And then what?"
"Nothin' that I know of."
"That's it; nothing--nor ever will. Well, he's been getting money from
me for those patents--I thought at fust there might be somethin' in
'em--but he won't any more. I'd oughter had more sense."
A little colour spotted the girl's sallow cheeks. "He'd never ha' got
money from you if he hadn't thought he could pay it back," she told
Blinky hotly.
"No, nor if I hadn't thought he could----"
She interjected a significant "Huh!" He broke off abruptly, pale with
anger.
"Well, I want to see him, and I want to see him before noon," he
snapped. "I'm goin' over to the bank, an' if he knows what's good for
him he'll come there pretty darn quick."
"I'll try to find him for you; he must be somewhere round," she
offered.
"Well, you better. I ain't got much patience to-day."
He swung on one heel and slouched out, as Betty turned to go upstairs.
Presently she reappeared pinning on her sad little hat, and left the
store.
It was upwards of an hour before she returned, walking quickly and very
erect, with her head up and shoulders back, her eyes suspiciously
bright, the spots of colour in her cheeks blazing scarlet, her mouth
set and hard, the little work-worn hands at her sides clenched tightly
as if for self-control. Even old Sam, who had returned from the depot
after missing Blinky at the bank--even he, blind as he ordinarily was,
saw instantly that something was wrong with the child.
"Why, Betty!" he cried in solicitude as she flung into the
store--"Betty, dear, what's the matter?"
For an instant she seemed speechless. Then she tore the hat from her
head and cast it regardlessly upon the counter. "Father!" she cried.
"Father!"--and gulped to down her emotion. "Can you get me some money?"
"Money? Why, Betty, what--?"
Her foot came down on the floor impatiently. "Can you get me some
money?" she repeated in a breath.
"Well--er--how much, Betty?" He tried to touch her, to take her to his
arms, but she moved away, her sorry little figure quivering from head
to feet.
"Enough," she said, half sobbing--"enough to buy a dress--a nice
dress--a dress that will surprise folks--"
"But tell me what the matter is, Betty. Wanting a dress would never
upset you like this."
She whipped the cracked and crumpled card from her pocket and pushed it
into his hand. "Look at that!" she bade him, and turned away,
struggling with all her might to keep back the tears.
He read, his old face softening. "Josie Lockwood's party, eh? And she's
sent you an invitation. Well, that was kind of her, very kind."
She swung upon him in a fury. "No, it was not kind. It was mean... It
was mean!"
"Oh, Betty," he begged in consternation, "don't say that. I'm sure--"
"Oh, you don't know... I heard the girls talking in the post-office--
Angle Tuthill and Mame Garrison and Bessie Gabriel... I was round by
the boxes where they couldn't see me, but I could hear them, and they
were laughing because I was invited. They said the reason Josie did it
was because she knew I didn't have anything to wear, and she wanted to
hear what excuse I'd make for not going. Ah, I heard them!"
"Oh, but Betty, Betty," he pleaded; "don't you mind what they say.
Don't--"
"But I do mind; I can't help mindin'. They're mean." She paused, her
features hardening. "I'm going to that party," she declared tensely:
"I'm goin' to that party and--and I'm goin' to have a dress to go in,
too! I don't care what I do--I'm goin' to have that dress!"
Sam would have soothed her as best he might, but she would neither look
at nor come near him.
"We'll see," he said gently. "We'll see. I'll try--"
She turned on him, exasperated beyond thought. "That only means you
can't help me!"
"Oh, no, it doesn't. I'll do what I can--"
"Have you got any money now?"
He hung his head to avoid her blazing eyes. "Well, no--not at present,
but here's this new stock and--."
"That doesn't mean anything, and you know it. You owe that note to Mr.
Lockwood, don't you? And you can't pay it?"
"Not to-day, Betty, but he'll give me a little more time, I'm sure.
He's kind, very kind."
"You don't know him. He's as mean--as mean as dirt--as mean as Josie."
"Betty!"
"Then if you did get any money you'd have to give it to him, wouldn't
you?"
"Yes, but--I'm sure--I think it'll come all right."
"Ah, what's the use of talkin' that way? What's the use of talkin' at
all? I know you can't do anything for me, and so do you!"
Sam had dropped into his chair, unable to stand before this storm; he
stared now, mute with amazement, at this child who had so long, so
uncomplainingly, shared his poverty and privations, grown suddenly to
the stature of a woman--and a tormented, passionate woman, stung to the
quick by the injustice of her lot. He put out a hand in a feeble
gesture of placation, but she brushed it away as she bent toward him,
speaking so quickly that her words stumbled and ran into one another.
"I can't understand it!" she raged. "Why is it that I have to be more
shabby than any other girl in town? Why is it that the others have all
the fun and I all the drudgery? Why is it that I can't ever go anywhere
with the boys and girls and laugh and--and have a good time like the
rest do?..."
Sam bent his head to the blast. In his lap his hands worked nervously.
But he could not answer her.
"It ain't that I mind the cookin' and doin' the housework and--all the
rest--but--why is it you can never give me anything at all? Why must it
be that everyone looks down on us and sneers and laughs at us? Why is
it that half the time we haven't got enough to eat?... Other men manage
to take care of their families and give their children things to wear.
You've got only us two to look after, and you can't even do that. It
isn't right, it isn't decent, and if I were you I'd be ashamed of
myself--!"
Her temper had spent itself, and with this final cry she checked
abruptly, with a catch at her breath for shame of what she had let
herself say. But, childlike, she was not ready to own her sorrow; and
she turned her back, trembling.
Sam, too, was shaken. In his heart he knew there was justification for
her indictment, truth in what she had said. And he was heartbroken for
her. He got up unsteadily and put a gentle hand upon her shoulder.
"Why, Betty--I--I--"
A dry sob interrupted him. He pulled himself together and forced his
voice to a tone of confidence. "Just be a little patient, dear. I'm
sure things will be better with us, soon. Just a little more patience--
that's all... Why, there was a gentleman here this morning, from Noo
York City, talkin' about an invention of mine."
The girl moved restlessly, shaking off his hand. "Invention!" she
echoed bitterly. "Oh, father! Everybody knows they're no good. You've
been wastin' time on 'em ever since I can remember, and you've never
made a dollar out of one yet."
He bowed to the truth of this, then again braced up bravely. "But this
gentleman seemed quite interested. He's over to the Bigelow House now.
I think I'll step over and have a talk with him--"
"You'd much better go and have a talk with Blinky Lockwood," she told
him brutally. "He's waitin' for you at the bank, and said he wasn't
goin' to wait after twelve o'clock, neither!"
"Wel-l, perhaps you're right. I'll go there. It's after twelve, but..."
He started to get his hat and stopped with an exclamation: "Why, Nat!
I didn't know you'd got back!"
Duncan was at the back of the store, clearing the last remnants of the
old stock from the shelves. "Yes," he said pleasantly, without turning,
"I've been here some time, cleaning up the cellar, to make room for the
stuff that's coming in. I came upstairs just a moment ago, but you were
so busy talking you didn't notice me."
He paused, swept the empty shelves with a calculating glance, and came
out around the end of the counter. "Everything's in tip-top shape," he
said. "I checked up the bill of lading myself, and there's not a thing
missing, not a bit of breakage. Mr. Graham," he continued, dropping a
gentle hand on the old man's shoulder, "you're going to have the finest
drug-store in the State within six months. With the stuff that Sperry
has sent us we can make Sothern and Lee look like sixty-five cents on
the dollar.... We're going to make things hum in this old shop, and
don't you forget it." He laughed lightly, with a note of encouragement.
But he avoided Graham's eyes even as he did Betty's. He could not meet
the pitiful look of the former, any more than that stare of hostility
and defiance in the latter.
"It's good of you, my boy," Graham quavered. "I--but I'm afraid it
won't----"
"Now don't say that!" Duncan interposed firmly. "And don't let me
keep you. I think you said you were going out on business? And I'll be
busy enough right here."
And without exactly knowing how it had come about, Graham found himself
in the street, stumbling downtown, toward the bank.
When he had gone, Duncan would have returned to the shelves for a final
redding-up. He desired least of all things an encounter with Betty in
her present frame of mind, and he tried his level best to seem as one
who had heard nothing, who was only concerned with his occupation of
the moment. But from the instant that she had been made aware of his
presence Betty had been watching him with smouldering eyes, wondering
how much he had heard and what he was thinking of her. The keen
repentance that gnawed at her heart, allied with shame that an alien
should have been private to her exhibition, half maddened the child.
With a sudden movement she threw herself in front of Duncan, thrusting
her white, drawn face before his, her gaze searching his half in anger,
half in morose distrust.
"So you were listening!"
"I'm sorry," he said uncomfortably.
She drew a pace away, holding herself very straight while she threw him
a level glance of unqualified contempt.
"I didn't mean to hear anything," he argued plaintively. "I was in
the room before I understood, and by the time I did, it was too late--
you had finished."
"Oh, don't try to explain. I--I hate you!"
He held her eyes inquiringly. "Yes," he said in the tone of one who
solves a puzzling problem, "I believe you do."