TEXAS HAS AN INTERVIEW.
Texas' promised "fun" in the effort to see Mark did not, as it proved,
materialize; because, whereas Texas had expected to be refused
admittance and to raise a rumpus about it, he was allowed to enter and
was escorted to Mark's room with all politeness.
"Well!" thought Texas, "I reckon he must be gittin' better."
This eventually proved to be the case; and Texas shrewdly guessed the
reason for it as he approached the room and heard the sound of voices
through the open door.
"With her to talk to," he muttered, "anybody could get well."
Grace Fuller was sitting by the window, dressed in white, an angel of
loveliness, as she appeared to Powers. She was reading aloud to Mark,
but she stopped suddenly as Texas burst into the room. And a moment
later the newcomer had seized his chum by his one well arm and was
shaking it vigorously.
"Hello, ole man!" he cried. "I kain't tell you how glad I am to see
you."
"Take it easy," said Mark, smiling. "I've got better news still. They
found that my shoulder was only dislocated; and I'll be out to-day."
Texas uttered a whoop that brought the attendants in on a run. He
subsided after a threat of expulsion and sat down by the bedside and
stared at Mark. It was still the same old Mark, handsome and sturdy, but
just a little pale.
"Say," growled Texas, "you've got no idee how lonely things are 'thout
you. There's nobody to lick the cadets, or anything."
"What's all the fuss I hear?" inquired Mark.
Texas explained to him what was happening; and went into ecstasies when
he was told that Mark would be out to see that afternoon's drill. With
just the same startling impulsiveness as that which had led him to pay
his brief visit, Texas sprang up again and made for the door.
"Wow!" he cried. "I'm a-goin' out to tell the fellers 'bout this. Whoop!
See you later, Mark. I reckon you're in pretty good company."
Mark "reckoned" so too, and said so, as he laughed over his friend's
hot-headed manner.
Texas in the meantime was bounding down the hall and out of the door of
the building; he meant to turn up toward camp on a run, and he had even
started up the street. But something happened just then that made him
change his mind in a hurry. In the first place he heard some one call
his name:
"Mr. Powers! Oh, Mr. Powers!"
It was a sweet girlish voice, and "Mr. Powers" faced about with
alacrity, to find himself, to his infinite surprise, face to face with
Mary Adams, the girl he had not long ago been discussing.
"Hello!" thought he, "what on earth's up?"
His surprise was the greater because he did not know the girl; he had
never been introduced to her, and he wondered how she even knew his
name. She was indeed a beautiful girl, with a full round figure, deep
black hair and eyes, and a complexion that was warm and red. There was a
look of anxiety upon her face that the cadet did not fail to notice.
"Tell me!" she cried. "Mr. Powers, how is he?"
"Why--why----" stammered Texas, adding, "Bless my soul!" after the
fashion of his fat friend Indian. "He's all right. He'll be out this
afternoon."
"I thought he was nearly killed," said the girl. "I have been so
worried."
There was a brief silence after that, during which Texas shifted his
feet in embarrassment.
"Tell me," she exclaimed, suddenly. "Do you--do you think he would like
to see me?"
"Why, er!" stammered Texas. "To be sure. Why wouldn't he?"
The girl noticed his hesitating tone, and her dark eyes flashed as she
spoke again.
"Answer me," she cried. "Is she there?"
"If by 'she,'" answered the other, "you mean Miss Fuller?"
"Yes, yes, I mean her."
"Then she is," said Texas, defiantly.
He said that with a dogged, none-of-your-business sort of an air, though
rather sheepishly for all that. The girl stared at him for a moment, and
then to Texas' indescribable consternation and bewilderment, she buried
her head in her hands and burst into a passionate flood of tears.
"My Lord!" gasped the astounded plebe.
Poor Texas wasn't used to girls; the only things he knew of that cried
were babies, and a baby he would have taken in his arms and rocked until
it stopped. But he had an instinctive impression that that wouldn't do
in this case. Beyond that he was at a loss.
"Bless my soul, Miss Adams!" he cried--no exclamation seemed to do quite
so well as Indian's in that case. "Please don't do that! What on earth's
the matter?"
Texas had a vague idea that some one might come that way any moment; and
he wondered what that person would think to look at them. Texas just
then wished himself anywhere on earth but there.
In response to his embarrassed pleading, the girl finally looked through
her tears. And her eyes, red with weeping, gave her beautiful face a
look of anguish that touched the Texan's big heart.
"Lord bless me!" said he. "Miss Adams, is there anything I can do?"
She looked at him for a moment and then she answered "Yes," and turned
slowly down the street.
"Come," she said. "Mr. Powers, I want to talk to you."
If he had wanted to, Texas could not have disobeyed; the fact of the
matter was that Texas was too bewildered to have any wants. The true
state of affairs had not dawned upon his unromantic mind.
The two hurried down the road toward Highland Falls, the cadet following
meekly. They came almost to "cadet limits," to an old lonely road that
turned off to the right. Up that the girl turned, and when she was well
out of sight of the main road, turned and faced her companion.
"Now," she said, "I will tell you. Oh, why is it you do not see?"
The look upon her face made Texas fear she was going to burst into tears
again, and he shifted about uncomfortably.
And just then came the crash.
"Tell me, Mr. Powers," demanded the girl, with a suddenness that almost
took the other's breath away, "Tell me, Mr. Powers, do you think
he--he--likes me?"
Texas started; he stared at the girl's anxious face; a sudden light
breaking in upon him. And the girl gazed into his deep gray eyes and
saw--she knew not what.
"Why--why----" stammered Texas.
"I have thought so much of him," cried Mary Adams, pouring out her
feelings, in a passionate flood of words. "I have followed him about, I
have watched him all day! Ever since he befriended me so that night when
he saved my brother, I have thought of no one but him. He is so splendid
and brave and handsome! He--never even looks at me!"
The girl's last words were said in a tone of anguish and despair, and
she buried her head in her hands once more.
"It is all that other girl!" she continued, after a moment's pause. "He
thinks of no one but her! Oh, how I hate her! He is with her all the
time; he asked her to join that society----"
"How--how on earth did you know?" gasped Texas.
"Do you think I am blind?" cried the girl, fiercely. "Do you suppose I
cannot see what Mark Mallory is doing? It is all that Grace Fuller--all!
And, oh, what shall I do?"
In a perfect convulsion of sobbing the girl flung herself down upon the
bank at the side of the road. And Texas stood and gazed at her in
consternation and embarrassment, and vowing if the gods ever got him out
of that most incomprehensible fix, he'd never look at a girl again. A
dozen Comanches could not have inspired Texas with half the awe that
this one passionate and beautiful creature did.
"Miss Adams," he said, at last, "I--I really don't think Mark knows how
you regard him."
"I know it," sobbed the girl; "he doesn't! But I cannot tell him!"
A sudden and brilliant idea flashed across Texas' mind.
"I can!" he exclaimed. "I can, an' I will."
The girl sprang to her feet and stared at him.
"No! no!" she cried, in horror. "What would----"
But Texas had already turned and was striding off in excitement.
"Gosh!" he muttered. "That's jes' the thing! I'll tell Mark fo' her, ef
she kaint. An' anyhow, I couldn't keep a secret from Mark. Dog gone it,
I'd have to ask his advice. This yere's a 'portant matter."
Texas heard Mary Adams crying out to him to come back, imploring him to
listen to her. But Texas, once well out of that embarrassing fix and
beyond the spell of the beautiful girl had no idea of returning to his
uncomfortable position. And to his rough old heart there was no reason
on earth why he should not tell Mark. Who else ought to know it but
Mark?
"An'," muttered Texas, "ef she ain't got sense 'nough to tell him, I
will."
So, deaf to the girl's entreaties, he left her to bemoan her fate alone
and set out in hot haste for camp.