"And I think she's rather partial to you."
"Do you, really, Mr. Duncan?"
"I do. Do you want to marry her?"
"Gee! I can't hardly wait!... Only," Tracey continued, disconsolate,
"it ain't no use, really. She's so purty and swell and old man
Tuthill's so rich--not like the Lockwoods, but rich, all the same--an'
I'm only the son of the livery-stable man, an' fat an'--all that--an'--"
"Nonsense, Tracey!" Nat interrupted firmly. "If you really want her and
will follow the rules I give you, it's a cinch."
"Honest, Mr. Duncan?"
"I guarantee it, Tracey. Listen to me...." And Duncan expounded
Kellogg's rules at length, adapting them to Tracey's circumstances, of
course; and throughout maintained the gravity of a graven image. "You
try, and you'll see if I'm not right," he concluded.
"Gosh! I b'lieve you are!" Tracey cried admiringly. "I'm just going to
see how it works."
"Do, if you'd favour me, Tracey."
Tracey was quiet for a time, working with the regularity of a mind
relieved. But presently he felt unable to contain himself. Gratitude
surged in his bosom, and he had to speak.
"Sa-y, lis'en...."
"Proceed, Tracey."
"Say, Mist--Nat, you've treated me somethin' immense."
"Your mistake, Tracey. I haven't treated anybody since I've been here:
I'm on the wagon."
"I mean just now, when we was talkin' 'bout me an' Angie. I'd--I'd like
to help you the same way, if I could."
"You would?" Duncan eyed the boy apprehensively, wondering what was
coming.
"Yes, indeedy, I would. An' p'rhaps I kin tell you somethin' that
will."
"Speak, I beg."
"You--er--you're tryin' to court Josie Lockwood, ain't you?"
"Oh!" said Nat. "So that was it! That's a secret, Tracey," he averred.
"All right. Only, if you are, she's your'n."
"Just how do you figure that out?"
"Oh, I kin tell. She was in here to-night with Roland."
"To-night?"
"Yes, just afore you come home from prayer-meetin'. She was lookin'
for you, and when she seen you wasn't here, she wouldn't wait for no
soda nor nothin'. Said she had a headache an' was goin' home. Roland
went with her, but she didn't want him to. You just missed seein'
her."
"Heavens, what a blow!"
"But Roland's takin' her home needn't upset you none."
"Thank you for those kind words, Tracey." Nat sighed and passed a
troubled hand across his brow. "You're a true friend."
"I'm tryin' to be, Nat, same's you are to me." Tracey thought this
over. "But you ain't foolin' me, are you?" he asked presently. "I mean
'bout bein' a true friend?"
"Why should I?"
"Ah, I dunno. You're so cur'us, sometimes. I ain't never sure whether
you mean what you're sayin' or not."
"Oh, don't say that."
"Well, I ain't the only one. Everybody in town says they don't
understand you, half the time."
Duncan left his counter and moved over to that at which Tracey was
occupied. His face was entirely serious, his manner deeply
sympathetic. "Tracey," he said, dropping a hand on the boy's shoulder,
"do you know, nothing in life is harder to bear than not to be
understood?"
Tracey wrestled with this for a moment, but it was beyond him.
"Then why the hell don't you talk so's folks'll know what it's about?"
he demanded heatedly.
"Because... _Hm_." Duncan hesitated, with his enigmatic smile.
"Well, because the rules don't require it."
"What d'you mean by _that_?" Tracey exploded.
Nat couldn't explain, so he countered neatly. "This is one of your
Angie... evenings, isn't it, Tracey?"
"Yep, but--"
"Well, you hurry along. I'll close up the shop."
Tracey had slammed on his hat and was struggling into his overcoat
almost as soon as the words were out of Nat's mouth.
"Kin I?" he cried excitedly.
"Yes," said Nat, watching the boy turn up his collar and button his
overcoat to the throat, "I haven't got the heart to keep you."
"Ah, thanks, Mr. Duncan."
"But, Tracey..."