RED-ROBIN
For twenty-five years Cornelius Allendyce had worn nothing but black
ties. On the morning of his contemplated invasion of Patchin Place in
search of a Forsyth heir he knotted a lavender scarf about his neck and
felt oddly excited. Such a sudden and unexplainable impulse, he thought,
must portend adventure.
With a notion that all artists were "at home" at tea time, Mr. Allendyce
waited until four o'clock before he approached his agreeable task. At
the door of 22 Patchin Place he dismissed his taxicab and stood for a
moment surveying the dilapidated front of the building--with a moment's
mental picture of the magnificent pile that was Gray Manor.
A pretentious though slightly soiled register just inside the doorway,
told him that "James Forsyth" lived on the fifth floor, so the little
man toiled resolutely up the narrow, steep stairway, puffing as he
ascended. It was necessary to count the landings to know, in the dimness
of the hallway, when he reached the fifth floor. He had to pause outside
the door to catch his breath; a moment's nausea seized him at the smell
of stale food and damp walls.
But at his knock the door swung back upon so much sunshine and color
that the little man blinked in amazement. A mite of a girl with a halo
of sun-red hair smiled at him in a very friendly fashion.
"Does Mr. James Forsyth live here?" It seemed almost ridiculous to ask
the question for surely it must be some witch's cranny upon which he had
stumbled.
"Yes. But Jimmie isn't home. Won't you come in?"
Mr. Allendyce stared about the room--a big room, its size enhanced by
the great glass windows and the glass skylight. Everywhere bloomed
flowers in gayly painted boxes and pots and tubs. And after another
blink Mr. Allendyce perceived that there were a few real chairs, very
shabby, and a table covered with a cloth woven in brilliant colors and
some very lovely pictures hanging wherever, because of the windows and
the sloping roof, there was any place to hang them.
The young girl closed the door, whereupon there came a gay chirping from
birds perching, the bewildered lawyer discovered, in various places
around the room quite as though this corner of a tenement was a
woodland.
"Hush, Bo, hush. They're dreadfully noisy. They love company. Won't you
sit down?"
Mr. Allendyce sat gingerly upon the nearest chair. His companion pulled
one up close to him. He perceived with something of a shock that she
limped and at this discovery he looked at her again and drew in a quick
breath.
Why, here was the oddest little thing he had ever seen. He had thought
her a child, yet the wide eyes, set deep and of the blue of midnight,
had a quaint seriousness and understanding; in the corner of her lips
lingered a tender droop oddly at variance with the childish dimple of
the finely moulded chin. Though the girl's red hair--like flame, as the
lawyer had first thought, gave her an alive look, the little form under
the queer straight dress was diminutive to frailty.
"Who are you, my dear?"
"Robin Forsyth. Jimmie calls me Red-Robin because I hop when I walk."
"Is Jimmie your--"
"He's my Parent. Do you know Jimmie?"
"N-no, not--exactly." The little man was wondering how his investigators
had failed to report this young girl.
"Jimmie ought to be here soon. He went out to sell a picture to old Mrs.
Wycke. She wanted it but she wanted it cheap, Jimmie says. But we didn't
have anything to eat today so he took the picture to her and he's going
to bring back some cake and ice cream. We'll have a party. Will you
stay?"
"Good heavens," thought Allendyce, startled at her astonishing
frankness. He reached out and patted the small hand.
"You are very kind. Does your Jimmie sell--many pictures?"
"Not many--I heard him and Mr. Tony talking. Mr. Tony's his best friend.
If it were not for me Jimmie'd go away with Mr. Tony. Mr. Tony writes,
you see, and he wants Jimmie to illustrate for him."
"And where is your brother Gordon?"
Robin stared. "My--brother--Gordon?"
"Yes. Gordon--"
"_I_ am Gordon."
"You!"
"My real name is Gordon but Jimmie doesn't like it. He always said it
was too formal for a little girl. So he calls me Red-Robin and he says
he'll never call me anything else. Why do you look so funny?"
For Mr. Allendyce seemed to have crumpled together and to be quite
speechless.
"Don't _you_ think I'm too, oh, sort of insignificant, to be Gordon? I
like Robin much better."
The lawyer did not hear her. Here was a fine balking of all his and
Madame's plans. The Forsyth heir! That that heir should be a girl had
never entered their calculations. And a little lame girl at that; Mr.
Allendyce suddenly recalled how Madame had worshipped the splendid
manliness of young Christopher the Third.
"Is there anything the matter with you, Mr.--why, you haven't told me
your name!"
With a tremendous effort Cornelius Allendyce pulled himself together. He
flushed under the wondering wide-eyed scrutiny of his companion, who
reached out and laid a small, warm hand upon his.
"You're not ill, are you?" with solicitude.
"No--no, my dear. No, I am not ill. But I am upset. You see--I came
here--well, I call it--a most interesting story. Up in Connecticut
there's a small town and a very big mill which has been there for ever
so long, heaping up millions of dollars. And there's a very big house
there that looks like a castle because it's built of gray stone and is
up on a hill--it has everything but the moat itself. And an old lady
lives there all alone." The lawyer paused, a little frightened at a wild
thought that was persistently creeping up over his sensibilities. It
must be the lavender tie or the witchery of the flowers and the absurd
chirping birds.
"Oh, that's the old Dragon!" cried Robin, delightedly, with a chuckle as
though she knew all about the old lady and the lonely castle. "That's
what Jimmie calls her--poor old thing. Jimmie says she must be
dreadfully unhappy in that lonely old house after all that's happened
there."
"Do you--do you mean that--you _know_--"
"About those rich Forsyth's? Why, of course. That's Jimmie's pet
story--about his terrible relatives."
"But your father has never--"
"Seen her? Oh, no. Jimmie's very proud, you see. And he thinks one good
picture is worth more than any old fortune or mill or anything. Oh,
Jimmie's wonderful. Why, we wouldn't trade our little home here for two
of her castles! Jimmie couldn't paint if he were rich. He says money
kills genius. Only--" She stopped abruptly, flushing.
"Only what, my dear--"
"I ought not to rattle on like this to you. Jimmie says I
am--sometimes--_too_ friendly. I suppose it's because I don't know many
people. But I wish I just had a _little_ money. You see _I'm_ not a bit
of a genius. I can't paint like Jimmie or sing like my mother did--or do
a single thing."
Now Mr. Allendyce suddenly felt so excited that he wriggled on the
rickety chair until it creaked threateningly.
"If you had money, Miss Gordon--what would you do?"
"Why I'd run away." She answered with startling promptness. "Oh, I don't
mean that I'm not happy here. I love it. And I adore Jimmie. But I'm a
girl and I'm lame, so I'm a--a millstone 'round Jimmie's neck!"
"What in the world--"
"_Promise_ you won't ever tell him what I'm saying. Oh, he'd feel
dreadfully. You see it's just that. He feels sorry 'cause I'm lame and
he won't believe that I don't mind a bit--why, I can run and do
everything--and he won't ever go anywhere without me. And an artist
shouldn't have to be tied down; I heard Mr. Tony say so, once, when
Jimmie was very blue. He didn't know I heard. Now Mr. Tony's going off
for a long cruise in the South Seas on a sailing boat and he wants
Jimmie to go with him. He's going to write stories and he says if Jimmie
sees it all he will make his fortune painting pictures. And he can
illustrate the stories, too. And Jimmie won't go because he won't leave
me. Don't you see what I'd do if I had some money? I'd run away
somewhere and tell Jimmie that he must go with Mr. Tony."
Mr. Allendyce sprang to his feet and paced up and down the room. In all
his life the world had never seemed so full of youth and color and
adventure as it did at that precise moment; his cautious soul fairly
burst with imaginative daring.
"Miss Gordon--that's what I came for. I mean, I came to tell this Gordon
Forsyth that the old lady, Madame Forsyth, wanted him to come to Gray
Manor to live--for a year. He's to be tutored there. And if at the end
of a year he is a--"
"But there isn't any he! Gordon's me."
"I know. I know. But a Forsyth's a Forsyth."
"You mean--_I_ might go to--the castle--"
"Yes, why not? Madame--and I--just took it for granted that you were a
boy, because of your name. But our mistake does not make you any less a
Forsyth or less a possible heir--" The thought was a full-fledged idea
now!
"Who _are_ you?" broke in Robin, excitedly.
"I am Cornelius Allendyce, attorney for the Forsyth family. And I am--if
your father consents--your future guardian."
"Oh, Jimmie'll _never_ consent, never!"
"Why not?" pressed the lawyer. "You say you have no--particular genius
to be killed by--money."
"Would it mean that I'd have to give Jimmie up forever?"
"No, my dear. Indeed no. Madame's plan is that you are to go to Gray
Manor under my guardianship to live for a year. At the end of that time,
if she is satisfied--Why, your father would simply give up any claim--"
"Oh, you don't know Jimmie. He'd never do it, unless--" she paused, her
eyes suddenly wet, "unless--_I_--gave _him_ up. All his life he's made
sacrifices and given up things for me--big chances. So now--couldn't I
run away with you--and then write and tell him?"
The Cornelius Allendyce who had lived up to that moment of crossing the
threshold of this fifth-floor witchery would have scorned such a
suggestion as "ridiculous! ridiculous!" But the Cornelius Allendyce of
the lavender tie saw mad possibilities in such a step. Take the girl to
Gray Manor and settle with Mr. James Forsyth afterwards.
[Illustration: "COULDN'T I RUN AWAY WITH YOU?"]
"Couldn't I?"
"Why--yes, if you think your father would accept the situation--when he
knew."
"Oh, I'd tell him he _had_ to, that he must go away with Mr. Tony. And
he'd go. But, Mr. Allendyce--I couldn't go tonight. I just couldn't let
Jimmie come back with the ice cream and cake and maybe a pumpkin pie
and--not find me here. Our parties are such fun. If you'll come tomorrow
at three o'clock--I'll be ready. But what will the Dragon say when she
sees that I'm a girl?"
Mr. Allendyce suddenly laughed aloud. The whole thing was so very
simple. Madame only waited a telegram from him to set forth upon her
travels. Why let her know that Gordon was a girl until the year had
passed?
"We will not worry about that, my dear. Madame is going away. She will
not be back at Gray Manor for a long time. I will call at
three--tomorrow. I trust you will make your Jimmie understand. You know
this is a very unusual step--there are some who might call it
abduction--"
"Oh, Jimmie wouldn't!" assured Robin. "Not when I tell him why I'm
running away."
Robin had answered him so indifferently that Cornelius Allendyce felt her
mind was working out a plan for the morrow. He gave a last look about
the room as though he wished to carry away a perfect impression of it,
then patted the girl on the shoulder.
"Here is my card and the telephone number of my office. If you decide
that this step is--too irregular, if perhaps we ought to talk with your
father first--"
"No! No!" cried Robin. "That would spoil everything!"
Down in the street Cornelius Allendyce waved off a persistent taxi
driver, deciding that he needed the vent of exercise to bring him back
to earth. And as he hurried along he felt a curious elation, as though
for the first time he enjoyed a zest in living. As a lawyer his life had
been necessarily cut-and-dried; there had been little room for
adventuring. And now, in a brief half-hour, he had let himself into the
wildest sort of conspiracy. (He stopped suddenly and mopped his
forehead.) He was planning to deliberately deceive Madame Forsyth, to
steal a young and very unusual girl from her parent--and, to assume the
guardianship of this same runaway. Where would it all end?
But in that half-hour just past something must have happened to the
little man's conscience for even after the startling summing up, he
laughed and walked on with a step lighter than before.
* * * * *
Back on the fifth floor of the old house in Patchin Place Robin leaned
over the table writing a letter. Her task was made the more difficult
because of the tears which blinded her eyes.
"Jimmie, I love you more than anything in the world but I am going to
run away and leave you. I am going to the Dragon. She wants an heir. I
am going to live in the castle and have a tutor. And my guardian is
going to be the Dragon's lawyer--he's ever so nice and fathery--so you
see I will be looked after as well as can be. Jimmie dearest-darling,
you must not worry about me or try to make me come back for I'll be all
right and you must go away with Mr. Tony and paint lots and I'll be so
proud. And please, please Jimmie, make Aunt Milly promise to take care
of the birds and the flowers for they mustn't die. And you will write to
me, won't you? Good-bye, Jimmie, don't forget your hot milk at night.
Yours always and always, Red-Robin."
She had just signed the letter when James Forsyth opened the door. She
thrust it into her pocket as she turned to meet him.
"Oh, _Jimmie_!" she cried, for under his arm he carried the picture he
had taken to sell to Mrs. Wycke.
"She didn't want it," he explained, testily.
The girl had been well schooled in disappointment; not the slightest
shadow now crossed her face.
"_Someone_ will, Jimmie," she declared, brightly, taking the heavy
package from him. "And you said yourself Mrs. Wycke couldn't tell a
chromo from a masterpiece. We don't want her to have our picture anyway.
I'm not a bit hungry--are you, Jimmie? Let's sit here all cosy and you
read to me--" and thinking of the note that lay in her pocket, she
reached up very suddenly and kissed her Jimmie to hide the break in her
voice.