Lem Crabbe had cunningly planned to keep Scraggy under his eye and
follow her to the hiding place of their son. He realized that the lad
was a man now; but so much the better. He would obtain money from him,
or he would bring him back to the scow and make him a partner in his
trade. In spite of his wickedness, Lem had a strong longing for a sight
of his child. Many times he had meditated upon the days Scraggy had
lived in the barge, and, although he had no remorse for his cruelty to
her, he had regretted the death of his boy. To be with him, he would
have to tolerate the presence of Scraggy for awhile. He felt sure that
Flea had gone from him forever, and the loneliness of his home made him
shiver as he entered it a few nights after his conversation with
Scraggy.
He had been in the boat but a few moments when he heard Lon's whistle
and called the squatter in.
"I thought we'd make them plans for Tarrytown," Cronk said presently.
"We might as well get to work as to be lazin' about. Don't ye think so?"
"Well, I were a thinkin' of stayin' here for awhile," stuttered Lem.
"What for?"
"Nothin' perticular."
"Ye know where that rich duffer's house be what ye heard Middy Burnes
speak about?"
"Yep. It ain't far from the graveyard. I thought as how we could crawl
in there while we was waitin' for night."
A strange look passed across Lon's face.
"Ye mean to hide in the cemetray?" he asked.
"Yep. Be ye afeared?"
"I ain't got no likin' for dead folks," muttered Cronk.
He added nothing to this statement; but said after a moment's silence:
"Scraggy ought to go dead herself some of these days, 'cause she's
allers a runnin' about in the storms. I see her ag'in tonight a startin'
out for another ja'nt. She had her bundle and her cat and was makin' a
bee line for Ithaca."
Lem glanced up quickly.
"I've changed my mind, Lon," he grunted. "I'll go to Tarrytown any day
yer ready."
Accordingly, they took a week to prepare their burglar's kit, which they
had not used for sometime, and ten days after the slipping away of
Screech Owl, Lon Cronk and Lem Crabbe left the squatter settlement and
made their way to Tarrytown.
* * * * *
The once happy household of the Shellingtons had turned into a gloomy
abode. Ann was nonplused at the strange behavior of her brother and the
unusual reserve of Flea. Floyd from his bedroom endeavored to bring the
home to its former cheerfulness; but, with all Ann's energies and the
boy's tireless tact, the change did not come. At length Miss Shellington
gave up trying to bring things to their usual routine. She spent her day
hours in helping Fledra with her school studies and giving Floyd simple
lessons at home. Everett came every evening, taking Ann from the
sickroom. This left Fledra free to study quietly beside her brother.
One Thursday, after dinner, Horace went by invitation to Brimbecomb's
home to play billiards. Of late the young men had not passed much of
their time together; for business and the presence of Fledra and Floyd
in his house had given Horace less time for recreation. After a silent
game they sat down to smoke. For many minutes they puffed without
speaking. Everett finally opened the conversation.
"It seems more like old times to be here together again."
"Yes, I've missed our bouts, Everett."
"You've been exasperatingly conservative with your time lately!"
complained Everett. "A fellow can't get sight of you unless your nose is
poked in a book or you're in court!"
Horace laughed.
"Really, I've been awfully busy since--"
"Since the coming of your wonderful charges!" finished Brimbecomb.
Horace scented a sneer. His ears grew hot with anger.
"Ann has done more than I," he explained; "although there is nothing I
would not do."
"I can't understand it at all, old man! Pardon me if I seem dense, but
it's almost an unheard-of thing for a fellow in your and Ann's positions
to fill your home with--beggars." His voice was low, with an inquiring
touch in it. Having gained no satisfaction from Miss Shellington, he was
seeking information from Horace.
"We don't think of either one of them as beggars," interjected Horace.
"Both Ann and I have grown very fond of them."
In former days the two young men had been on terms of intimacy. Everett
presumed now upon that friendship by speaking plainly:
"Are you going to keep them much longer?" he asked.
Horace allowed his lids to droop slowly, and looked meditatively at the
end of his cigarette without replying.
"I have a reason for asking," Everett added.
"And may I ask your reason?"
"Yes, I suppose so. The fact is, I'm rather interested in them myself. I
thought--"
Horace lifted his eyes, and the man opposite noted that they had grown
darker, that they sparkled angrily. Everett was desirous of satisfying
himself whether Horace did, or did not, care for the young girl he was
sheltering.
"They don't need your interest so far as a home is concerned," Horace
said at last.
Everett's face darkened as he mused:
"They're lowly born, and such people were made for our servants, and not
our equals. If the women are pretty, they might act as playthings."
Horace turned his eyes toward the speaker wrathfully. He wondered if he
had understood correctly what was implied by the other's words.
"What did you say, Brimbecomb?"
Everett drew his left leg over his right knee deliberately.
"I think the girl pretty enough to make a capital toy for an hour," said
he.
Disbelief flooded Shellington's face.
"You're joking! You're making a jest of a sacred thing, Brimbecomb!"
Everett recalled former principles of the boy Horace, and a smile
flickered on his lips.
"I can't concede that," said he. "I think with a great man of whom I
read once. Deal honestly with men in business, was his maxim, keep a
clean record with your fellow citizens; but, as far as strange women are
concerned, treat them as you wish. It's a man's privilege to--to lie to
them, in fact."
Without looking up, Horace broke in:
"Ann has an excellent outlook for happiness, hasn't she?"
"We weren't talking about Ann," snapped Everett. "I was especially
thinking of the girl in your home, who belongs leagues beneath where
you have placed her. I won't have her there! I think my position is such
that I can make certain demands on the family of the woman I'm going to
marry."
"To the devil with your position! I wouldn't give a damn for it, and
I'll take up your first question, Brimbecomb. You asked me how long I
intended to keep those children. This is my answer! As long as they will
stay, and longer if I can make them!" His voice rang vibrant with
passion. "Don't let your position interfere with what I am doing; for,
if you do, Ann, friendship, or anything won't deter me from--"
Brimbecomb rose to his feet and faced the other.
"Threats are not in order," said he.
His deliberate speech made Horace turn upon him.
"I, too, intend to marry!" was his answer. "I intend to marry--Fledra
Cronk!"
Brimbecomb ejaculated in anger.
"If you will be a fool," said he, "it's time your friends took a hand in
your affairs. I think Governor Vandecar will have something to say about
that!"
"No more than you have," warned Horace. "The only regret I have is that
Ann has chosen you for her husband. I'm wondering what she would say if
I repeated tonight's conversation to her--as to a man lying to a woman."
"She wouldn't believe you," replied Everett.
"And you would deny that you so believed?"
"Yes. I told you it was my right to lie to a woman."
"Then, by God! you're a greater dog than I thought you! Let me get out
of here before I smash your face!"
Everett's haughty countenance flamed red; but he stepped aside, and
Horace, shaking with rage, left the house.
"I think I've given him something to think about," muttered Everett.
"He won't be surprised by anything I do now, and I've protected myself
with Ann against him, too."
* * * * *
It was only when alone with Everett that Ann felt completely at her
ease. Then she threw aside the shadow that many times dismayed her and
looked forward to her wedding day, which was to come in May. This
evening she was sitting with her betrothed under the glow of a red
chandelier.
"You know, Ann, I haven't given up the idea of finding my own family,"
said Brimbecomb presently. "The more I work at law, the more I believe I
shall find a way to unearth them. I told Mr. and Mrs. Brimbecomb that I
intended to spend part of my next year looking for them. Mrs. Brimbecomb
said she didn't know the name under which I was born. I'm convinced that
I shall find them."
"I hope you do, Dear."
"You don't blame me, do you, Ann, for wanting to know to whom I'm
indebted for life?"
"No," answered Ann slowly; "although it might not make you any happier.
That is what I most wish for you, Dearest--complete happiness."
Everett lifted her delicate fingers and kissed them.
"I shall have that when you are my wife," he said smoothly.
Later he asked, "Did you speak with Horace of the matter that worried
you, Ann?"
Miss Shellington sighed.
"Not in a personal way," she replied; "but I really think there is more
than either you or I know. Fledra never puts herself in Horace's way any
more; in fact, they have both changed very much."
"Possibly he has told her that he cares for her, and she has--"
Ann shifted from him uneasily. "If Horace loves her, and has told her
so, she could not help but love him in return. She is really growing
thin with hard work, poor baby!"
"Does she love Horace?" sounded Everett.
"I can't tell, although I have watched her very closely."
A strange grip caught Everett's heart. He could not think of the small,
dark girl without a pang of emotion. He had made no effort to see
Fledra; yet he was constantly wishing that chance would throw her in his
path. Later, he intended in some way to bring about another interview.
He dared not write her a letter, although he had gone so far as to begin
one to her, but in disgust at himself had torn it up. The fact that
Horace was unhappy pleased him, now that they had become antagonistic.
The mystery clinging to Fledra haloed her for Everett beyond the point
of interest.
"Ann," he said suddenly, "you haven't told me much about those
children--I mean of their past lives."
"We know so little," she replied reservedly.
"But more than you have told me. Have they parents living?"
"A father, I think," murmured Ann.
"And no mother?"
"No."
"Do you know where their father is?"
"He lives near Ithaca, so we're told." After a silence she continued,
"We want them to forget--to forget, ourselves, all about their former
lives. I asked Horace if he wanted to place them in schools; but he
didn't want them to go away. As long as they are as good as they have
been, they're welcome to stay. Poor little things, they're nothing more
than babies, not yet sixteen!"
"The girl looks older," commented Everett.
"That's because she's suffered more than most girls do. I'm afraid
it'll be a long time before Floyd is completely well."
The conversation then drifted to that happy spring day when they would
be married.