As the Heart Grows Older
Bonner's eagerness to begin probing into the mystery grew as his
strength came back to him. He volunteered to interest his uncle in the
matter, and through him to begin a systematic effort to unravel the
tangled ends of Rosalie's life. Money was not to be spared; time and
intelligence were to be devoted to the cause. He knew that Rosalie was
in reality a creature of good birth and worthy of the name that any man
might seek to bestow upon her--a name given in love by a man to the
woman who would share it with him forever.
The days and nights were teaching him the sacredness of a growing
attachment. He was not closing his eyes to the truth. It was quite as
impossible for big, worldly Wick Bonner to be near her and not fall a
victim, as it was for the crude, humble youth of Tinkletown. His heart
was just as fragile as theirs when it bared itself to her attack. Her
beauty attracted him, her natural refinement of character appealed to
him; her pureness, her tenderness, her goodness, wrought havoc with his
impressions. Fresh, bright, as clear-headed as the June sunshine, she
was a revelation to him--to Bonner, who had known her sex in all its
environments. His heart was full of her, day and night; for day and
night he was wondering whether she could care for him as he knew he was
coming to care for her.
One day he received a telegram. It was from his mother and his sister,
who had just reached Boston from Bermuda, and it carried the brief
though emphatic information that they were starting to Tinkletown to
nurse and care for him. Bonner was thrown into a panic. He realised in
the instant that it would be impossible for them to come to Mr. Crow's
home, and he knew they could not be deceived as to his real condition.
His mother would naturally insist upon his going at once to Bonner
Place, across the river, and on to Boston as soon as he was able; his
clever sister would see through his motives like a flash of lightning.
Young Mr. Bonner loved them, but he was distinctly bored by the prospect
of their coming. In some haste and confusion, he sent for "Doc" Smith.
"Doctor, how soon will I be able to navigate?" he asked anxiously.
"Right now."
"You don't say so! I don't feel strong, you know."
"Well, your leg's doing well and all danger is past. Of course, you
won't be as spry as usual for some time, and you can't walk without
crutches, but I don't see any sense in your loafing around here on that
account. You'd be safe to go at any time, Mr. Bonner."
"Look here, doctor, I'm afraid to change doctors. You've handled this
case mighty well, and if I went to some other chap, he might undo it
all. I've made up my mind to have you look out for me until this wound
is completely healed. That's all right, now. I know what I'm talking
about. I'll take no chances. How long will it be until it is completely
healed?"
"A couple of weeks, I suppose."
"Well, I'll stay right here and have you look at it every day. It's too
serious a matter for me to trifle with. By the way, my mother is coming
up, and I dare say she'll want me to go to Boston. Our family doctor is
an old fossil and I don't like to trust him with this thing. You'll be
doing me a favour, doctor, if you keep me here until I'm thoroughly
well. I intend to tell my mother that it will not be wise to move me
until all danger of blood poisoning is past."
"Blood poisoning? There's no danger now, sir."
"You never can tell," said Bonner sagely.
"But I'd be a perfect fool, Mr. Bonner, if there were still danger of
that," complained the doctor. "What sort of a doctor would they consider
me?"
"They'd certainly give you credit for being careful, and that's what
appeals to a mother, you know," said Bonner still more sagely. "Besides,
it's _my_ leg, doctor, and I'll have it treated my way. I think a couple
of weeks more under your care will put me straight. Mother has to
consider me, that's all. I wish you'd stop in to-morrow and change these
bandages, doctor; if you don't mind--"
"Doc" Smith was not slow. He saw more than Bonner thought, so he winked
to himself as he crossed over to his office. At the corner he met
Anderson Crow.
"Say, Anderson," he said, half chuckling, "that young Bonner has had a
relapse."
"Thunderation!"
"He can't be moved for a week or two."
"Will you have to cut it off?"
"The leg?"
"Certainly. That's the only thing that pains him, ain't it?"
"I think not. I'm going to put his heart in a sling," said Smith,
laughing heartily at what he thought would be taken as a brilliant piece
of jesting. But he erred. Anderson went home in a great flurry and
privately cautioned every member of the household, including Rosalie, to
treat Bonner with every consideration, as his heart was weak and liable
to give him great trouble. Above all, he cautioned them to keep the
distressing news from Bonner. It would discourage him mightily. For a
full week Anderson watched Bonner with anxious eyes, writhing every
time the big fellow exerted himself, groaning when he gave vent to his
hearty laugh.
"Have you heard anything?" asked Bonner with faithful regularity when
Anderson came home each night. He referred to the chase for the
fugitives.
"Nothin' worth while," replied Anderson dismally. "Uncle Jimmy Borton
had a letter from Albany to-day, an' his son-in-law said three strange
men had been seen in the Albany depot the other day. I had Uncle Jimmy
write an' ast him if he had seen anybody answerin' the description, you
know. But the three men he spoke of took a train for New York, so I
suppose they're lost by this time. It's the most bafflin' case I ever
worked on."
"Has it occurred to you that the real leader was in this neighbourhood
at the time? In Boggs City, let us say. According to Rosa--Miss Gray's
story, the man Sam went out nightly for instructions. Well, he either
went to Boggs City or to a meeting place agreed upon between him and his
superior. It is possible that he saw this person on the very night of my
own adventure. Now, the thing for us to do is to find out if a stranger
was seen in these parts on that night. The hotel registers in Boggs City
may give us a clew. If you don't mind, Mr. Crow, I'll have this New York
detective, who is coming up to-morrow, take a look into this phase of
the case. It won't interfere with your plans, will it?" asked Bonner,
always considerate of the feelings of the good-hearted, simple-minded
old marshal.
"Not at all, an' I'll help him all I can, sir," responded Anderson
magnanimously. "Here, Eva, here's a letter fer Rosalie. It's the second
she's had from New York in three days."
"It's from Miss Banks. They correspond, Anderson," said Mrs. Crow.
"And say, Eva, I've decided on one thing. We've got to calculate on
gittin' along without that thousand dollars after this."
"Why, An--der--son Crow!"
"Yep. We're goin' to find her folks, no matter if we do have to give up
the thousand. It's no more'n right. She'll be twenty-one in March, an'
I'll have to settle the guardeenship business anyhow. But, doggone it,
Mr. Bonner, she says she won't take the money we've saved fer her."
"She has told me as much, Mr. Crow. I think she's partly right. If she
takes my advice she will divide it with you. You are entitled to all of
it, you know--it was to be your pay--and she will not listen to your
plan to give all of it to her. Still, I feel that she should not be
penniless at this time. She may never need it--she certainly will not as
long as you are alive--but it seems a wise thing for her to be protected
against emergencies. But I dare say you can arrange that between
yourselves. I have no right to interfere. Was there any mail for me?"
"Yep. I almost fergot to fork it over. Here's one from your mother, I
figger. This is from your sister, an' here's one from your--your
sweetheart, I reckon. I deduce all this by sizin' up the--" and he went
on to tell how he reached his conclusions, all of which were wrong.
They were invitations to social affairs in Boston. "But I got somethin'
important to tell you, Mr. Bonner. I think a trap is bein' set fer me by
the desperadoes we're after. I guess I'm gittin' too hot on their trail.
I had an ananymous letter to-day."
"A what?"
"Ananymous letter. Didn't you ever hear of one? This one was writ fer
the express purpose of lurin' me into a trap. They want to git me out of
the way. But I'll fool 'em. I'll not pay any attention to it."
"Goodness, Anderson, I bet you'll be assassinated yet!" cried his poor
wife. "I wish you'd give up chasin' people down."
"May I have a look at the letter, Mr. Crow?" asked Bonner. Anderson
stealthily drew the square envelope from his inside pocket and passed it
over.
"They've got to git up purty early to ketch me asleep," he said proudly.
Bonner drew the enclosure from the envelope. As he read, his eyes
twinkled and the corners of his mouth twitched, but his face was
politely sober as he handed the missive back to the marshal. "Looks like
a trap, don't it?" said Anderson. "You see there ain't no signature.
The raskils were afraid to sign a name."
"I wouldn't say anything to Miss Gray about this if I were you, Mr.
Crow. It might disturb her, you know," said Bonner.
"That means you, too, Eva," commanded Anderson in turn. "Don't worry the
girl. She mustn't know anything about this."
"I don't think it's a trap," remarked Eva as she finished reading the
missive. Bonner took this opportunity to laugh heartily. He had held it
back as long as possible. What Anderson described as an "ananymous"
letter was nothing more than a polite, formal invitation to attend a
"house warming" at Colonel Randall's on the opposite side of the river.
It read:
"Mr. and Mrs. D.F. Randall request the honour of your presence at a
house warming, Friday evening, January 30, 190--, at eight o'clock.
Rockden-of-the-Hills."
"It is addressed to me, too, Anderson," said his wife, pointing to the
envelope. "It's the new house they finished last fall. Anonymous letter!
Fiddlesticks! I bet there's one at the post-office fer each one of the
girls."
"Roscoe got some of the mail," murmured the marshal sheepishly. "Where
is that infernal boy? He'd oughter be strapped good and hard fer holdin'
back letters like this," growled he, eager to run the subject into
another channel. After pondering all evening, he screwed up the courage
and asked Bonner not to tell any one of his error in regard to the
invitation. Roscoe produced invitations for his sister and Rosalie. He
furthermore announced that half the people in town had received them.
"There's a telegram comin' up fer you after a while, Mr. Bonner," he
said. "Bud's out delivering one to Mr. Grimes, and he's going to stop
here on the way back. I was at the station when it come in. It's from
your ma, and it says she'll be over from Boggs City early in the
morning."
"Thanks, Roscoe," said Bonner with an amused glance at Rosalie; "you've
saved me the trouble of reading it."
"They are coming to-morrow," said Rosalie long afterward, as the last of
the Crows straggled off to bed. "You will have to go away with them,
won't you?"
"I'm an awful nuisance about here, I fancy, and you'll be glad to be rid
of me," he said softly, his gaze on the blazing "back-log."
"No more so than you will be to go," she said so coolly that his pride
suffered a distinct shock. He stole a shy glance at the face of the girl
opposite. It was as calm and serene as a May morning. Her eyes likewise
were gazing into the blaze, and her fingers were idly toying with the
fringe on the arm of the chair.
"By George!" he thought, a weakness assailing his heart suddenly; "I
don't believe she cares a rap!"