BETTY'S KNIGHT
The drawing room fire was soon
crackling. "It is so nice to feel
I have the privilege of lighting it;
I have been dying to for the past hour,
but didn't think I could afford it without
company," Betty confided, blowing at the
flames. "Do please get some chairs and
let us draw up quite close. It is so much
pleasanter to talk that way."
Yet Anthony Graham only stared without
moving. To think of a Princess speaking
of not being able to afford so inexpensive a
luxury as a fire. Suddenly the young man
longed to be able immediately to chop
down an entire forest of trees and lay it as
a thank offering before her. Of course his
sister Nan had written him of Mr. Ashton's
death and of the change in the family
fortunes, but to associate real poverty with
his conception of Betty was impossible.
Glancing uneasily about the great room it
was good to see how beautiful it still
looked, how perfect a setting for its young
mistress. So at least they were able to keep
their handsome home.
To the young man Betty Ashton now
appeared more beautiful than his former
impression of her. For on the day of their
original meeting she had worn a fur coat
and a cap covering her hair and a portion
of her face. But now the three Camp
Fire candles were once more burning,
forming a kind of shining background for the
girl's figure. Her hair was a deep red
brown, with bronze tones, the colors in the
autumn woods. There was no longer any
sign of pallor or weariness in her cheeks,
for pleasure and excitement had
reawakened the old Betty.
"Do sit down," she urged again. "I
want to hear all about you."
Then, coming to his senses, Anthony
managed to drag two comfortable chairs
before the blaze.
"There isn't anything much to tell,"
he began shyly. "Only after you gave me
that money I just started walking farther
and farther away from Woodford. Why,
it seemed to me that I didn't ever want to
stop, for that would give me a chance to
realize what I had done. And I didn't
stop, either, until I was too dead tired to
go on. But by that time I had come to
another town and it must have been pretty
late, because the main street was empty.
I was passing along close to the wall of a
building when I saw that an office door had
been left open. It was pretty cold, so I
peeped in. The room was dark and there
was nobody about, so creeping inside I
lay down on the floor and went to sleep." The
boy stopped, but his listener was leaning
forward with her hands clasped and her
lips parted with eagerness.
[Illustration: "There isn't anything much to tell"]
"Do go on and tell me every detail. It
sounds just like a story," she entreated.
"When I woke up it was daylight and
I found that I had landed in a dusty,
untidy place, littered with old books and
papers," he continued. "A small stove in
the corner was choked up with ashes. I
can't tell exactly why, but the first thing
I did that morning was to scrape out those
ashes, and then I found some sticks and
coals and built a fresh fire." Anthony
flashed a glance at Betty out of his shy,
almost frightened blue eyes. "I guess I
was feeling kind of well disposed toward
fires just then, camp fires anyhow. Then
I was thinking that I would like to pay for
my night's lodging in some way. I fell to
brushing out the room, so that when the
young man came down later he would find
his office cleaned up. Seemed like all of a
sudden, after what had happened between
you and me, that I wanted to work and
pay my own way. I had never before been
anything but a loafer."
"But you couldn't have known that the
office belonged to a young man unless you
waited there until after he came in!"
Betty exclaimed.
Anthony laughed. "Oh, yes, I waited
all right and I have been in that same
office more or less ever since, until I came
home to Woodford the day before yesterday.
Of course I meant to clear out as
soon as I had finished, but while I was
working I heard a quiet chuckle behind me,
and swinging around, there stood Mr. Andrews!"
"But who was or is this Mr. Andrews?"
Betty asked impatiently, too interested to
be particularly polite.
"My next best friend, after you," the
young fellow answered. "Why, I think I
can remember even now his very first
words to me: 'Hello,' he said, 'why are
you doing me such a good turn?' 'Because
you have just done me one. I slept all
night in your office,' I answered. He
didn't seem surprised and I thought that
rather funny. But afterwards I learned
that he had been a poor boy himself and
had slept in all sorts of queer places.
He is still poor enough, goodness knows,
but he has graduated in law and set
up an office. He will succeed some
day, sure as faith. You can bet on him."
Betty bit her lips, her eyes dancing with
amusement and curiosity. Actually her
visitor was becoming so much in earnest
over his friend that he was forgetting to
be afraid of her.
"But what about you and your success?"
she demanded.
The young man flushed, moving uncomfortably
in his chair, as though yearning to
get away from his questioner, and yet not
knowing exactly how.
"Success, _my_ success? I haven't yet
used that word in connection with myself.
I have just managed to keep on working,
that's about all. Mr. Andrews let me
continue sleeping in his office after I told him
my story and cleaning it to pay for my
lodging. Then by getting up early enough
I arranged to take care of a few others for
money and to run errands now and then.
I read in between times."
"Read? Read what?" Betty inquired
inexorably, half smiling and half frowning
at her own persistence. For somehow in
their half hour's talk together she had seen
something in Anthony Graham that made
her guess that the young man had worked
harder and dreamed better in this past
year than he was willing to acknowledge to her.
But Anthony got up from his chair and
began deliberately backing toward the door.
He seemed suddenly to have became more
awkward and self-conscious. "I read the
law books, as there wasn't anything else to
read. And I was determined to get more
education so that in the future Nan need
not be ashamed of me. Afterwards I
went to night school and----"
"So you have made up your mind to be
a lawyer yourself some day." Betty sighed
with satisfaction. How very like a book
his confession sounded! She wanted to
get more information from her visitor and
yet at the same time longed to rush upstairs
and commence a letter to Polly O'Neill at
once. Wouldn't Polly be interested? For
she had predicted on the day of their first
meeting that the young man would either
turn out to be absolutely no good, or else
(and here Betty blushed, recalling the
prophecy) "Remain your faithful knight to
the end of the chapter."
"But why did you come back to Woodford
if this Mr. Andrews was befriending
you and giving you a chance?" she
inquired, fearing that her illusion might now
be shattered.
The young man did not reply at once.
And he scowled until Betty had an uncomfortable
recollection of the expression which
she had seen on his face the day of his
attack upon Polly and her.
Then after moving a few steps nearer the
fire so that he and the girl were once more
facing each other, Betty could see that
his scowl had been due to embarrassment
and not anger.
"You are awfully good to be willing to
listen to so long a tale of a ne'er-do-well,"
he returned. "I came back to
Woodford because I was determined to
make good in my own town. A fellow that
can't trust himself in the face of
temptations isn't worth being trusted. I'm going
back to Mr. Andrews later, perhaps, but
this winter I am to stick right here in
Woodford and live down my bad name if
I can. Judge Maynard says he will give
me the same kind of a chance that
Mr. Andrews did, if I am worth it. And I
shall be able to see Nan and the others now
and then. It didn't seem fair for me to be
leaving all the family troubles to a girl."
Involuntarily Betty clapped her hands.
She had not intended to express her
emotion openly, but so pleased was she with
Anthony's reply that she couldn't help it.
The next moment she felt a little ashamed
of her enthusiasm.
"Oh, Nan is equal to almost anything;
we consider her the greatest success in our
Camp Fire club," Betty protested. "Nan
is studying domestic science at the High
School and intends teaching it some day,
so she will make you awfully comfortable
at home."
The young man put out his hand.
"Good-bye," he said. "I never dreamed
I would be brave enough to ask you to
shake hands with me for a good many
years yet. But since you have been kind
enough----"
"To ask you ten thousand questions,"
Betty laughed, rising and putting out
both hands with a friendly gesture, and
then moving toward the door with her
caller.
"I am not going to be able to live at
home, however," Anthony concluded. "It
is too far to our little place to get into
town early enough for my work and to
be here in the evenings for the night school.
I've got to find a room somewhere. I
oughtn't to kick because nobody seems
crazy to let me stay in their house. I
did leave a pretty poor reputation behind
me around here and I've got to _show_
people first that I mean to behave differently.
I guess I'll strike better luck later."
Although Betty was extremely
sympathetic, she did not answer at once.
For a sudden surprising understanding had
come to her. How difficult it must be for
any one to have to go about telling his
acquaintances of his reformation before
having the chance to prove it. Then an
almost appealing expression crept into her
face, making her cheeks flush hotly and
her lashes droop. Her old friends would
have recognized the look. For it was the
one that she most often wore when she
desired to do another person a kindness
and feared she might not be allowed.
"Couldn't you, won't you come here
and have a room with us?" she asked
unexpectedly. "We have such heaps of
rooms in this old house and now mother
and I are here alone, we really would like
to have you for protection. And if you
don't like to accept with just my
invitation, will you come in again tomorrow
or next day? I am sure mother will wish
to ask you too."
Anthony Graham had had rather a rough
time always. He had a peculiar disposition,
and all his life probably liked only a
few people very deeply. His wasted
youth--nearly twenty years of idling rather than
study or work--and his mixed parentage--the
Italian peasant mother and his New
England father--would make his struggle
in the world a long and an uphill one even
if he should finally succeed. Among the
first things he meant to learn was not to
show his emotions too easily, to hide his
feelings whenever he could, so that he
might learn to take without apparent
flinching the hard knocks that life was
sure to send. He had been preparing
himself for the unkindnesses. Now at
Betty's words he felt a lump forming in
his throat and had a terrified moment of
believing that he was about to cry like a
girl. For could it be possible that any
human being could so forgive one's sins
as almost to forget them? Yet here was
Betty Ashton asking him to stay in her
home to protect her mother and herself
when his only other meeting had been his
effort to rob her.
Anthony set his teeth. "I can't live in
so grand a house as this. I couldn't afford
it," he replied huskily.
It was on the tip of Betty's tongue to
protest that she had never dreamed of
Anthony's paying anything. For Betty
Ashton, whatever the degree of her poverty,
could never fail in generosity, since
generosity is a matter not of the pocketbook
but of the spirit. However, all of a sudden
she appreciated that the young man had
quite as much right to his self-respect as
she had to hers.
"Even the little will be a help to mother
and me," she returned more humbly than
any one else had ever before heard her speak.
"But perhaps I could be useful. Maybe
you haven't so many servants as you once
had----"
Anthony stopped, for Betty's expression
had changed so completely. Of course
she had already repented of her offer.
"We have no servants and you could
help a great deal," she answered. And
then without any pretense of concealing
them, she let two tears slide down her
face. "It is only that I had forgotten
for the moment that we are not going to
be able to stay in our house much longer.
We can't afford to keep it for ourselves
and I haven't been a success with having
boarders. Still it may be some time before
we can rent or sell it, and if you will stay
here until then----"
Betty winced, for her visitor had this
time clasped her hand until the pressure
of its hard surface hurt.
"You know it would be the greatest
thing that ever happened for me to be
allowed to stay here a week," he added.
And Betty laughed. "Then stay."
As she opened the front door another
visitor stood waiting on the outside. He
was almost as unexpected as Anthony
Graham. For it was Herr Crippen, the
German music professor and Esther's father.
"What on earth could he want?" Betty
thought irritably. She was beginning to
feel anxious to get upstairs to her mother
again. For in spite of the fact that she
now believed that she had a real affection
for Esther, she had never been able to
recover from her first prejudice for this
shabby, hesitating man. Then his manner
toward her was always so apologetic. Why
on earth should it be? She was always
perfectly polite to him. What a queer
combination of Thanksgiving visitors she
was having!
"Gnädiges Fräulein," he began. And
Betty ushered him into the drawing room.
For perhaps he was bringing her news of Esther.