"That's right—that's how I gotmystart!" said Bill, as he went out.
The following morning, rising at dawn, Mrs. Jones again tried to awaken her husband to a full sense of his shortcomings anent his foolish reluctance to sign the deed to the property. Bill, however, merely turned on the pillow, gave her a brief smile, and dropped quickly into a gentle snore. After several more attempts to awaken him and impress on him the fact that his absence the day before had kept Thomas and Hammond on a day longer when they had important business calling them to the city, she gave up in despair and went below to look after breakfast, taking with her the packet of letters that should have been in the hands of the guests the afternoon previous.
The morning was a busy one for Mrs. Jones and Millie. Bill, coming down unexpectedly, escaped them, calling through the door, on his way out, that he was going for the mail. When noon came and Bill did not turn up, Mrs. Jones's anxiety reached fever pitch, and she sought Millie in the hope that she could offer some solution of the problem of forcing the deed through Bill's unwilling hands.
At breakfast, Thomas and Hammond again had painted to her and Millie golden pictures of the ease and even luxury that would be theirs as a result of the sale of the property. Trembling with anticipation, Mrs. Jones had then and there put her name to the deed which disposed of her last bit of land; and she was determined that, no matter what it cost her in seeming coldness and harshness toward him, Bill should be made to place his name directly under hers. She made up her mind that he should be brought to terms as soon as he got back; hence her extreme annoyance as the morning went by without his showing up.
As she went about the house, looking for Millie, her determination took on a hard and bitter aspect which was only softened when she caught the sound of Raymond Thomas's voice. He was speaking softly to Millie in the lobby. Mrs. Jones belonged to a generation not so long past when eavesdropping was not considered a wholly unworthy occupation if it tended to place the culprit in a position to know the inner secrets of those bound by the tie of relationship. For some time, so cleverly did he manage her, Mrs. Jones had felt a motherly tenderness for Thomas springing up within her, and she hoped and dreamed that her affection would have a chance to express itself. That Thomas was in love with Millie she had fully decided on. It was for this reason that the very sight of John Marvin, whom she knew to be a poor young man with no particular prospects, filled her with displeasure. Then, too, she did not approve of her husband's friendship with Marvin, having a strong suspicion that Marvin was influencing Bill against Thomas, and an intuition that Bill, in his unworldliness, would stand back of Marvin's love for Millie.
And so it was that the sight of Millie smiling up at Thomas as he looked earnestly down into the girl's brown eyes set Mrs. Jones's heart beating hopefully—and sent her behind a curtain to listen to what was being said.
Thomas had just come in from the veranda, where he had begged to be excused from accompanying two prospective widows on a walk to see the waterfall at the edge of the place. He was smiling with affected indifference when he met Mildred, who had just come down one of the stairways, of which there were two, one leading to the Nevada side of the house and the other to the California side. "It's a shame to miss a stroll with them!" belying his words with a sneering toss of the head and shrug of the shoulders.
Millie's brow was drawn thoughtfully into wrinkles and there was a wistful pucker to her mouth.
At once he was all attention. "What is the matter, Millie?" he asked, a note bordering on tenderness in his voice.
"It's daddy again. He did not get back until midnight, and he was off again this morning before mother or I could prevent him. I just heard the boarders complaining about the mail service. It's all so hard on mother, and yet"—she hesitated, her mind reverting to her foster-father's kindness to her through all the years of her babyhood and girlhood—"and yet," she went on, "he's really so good and kind at heart, he really would feel dreadfully if he understood what he puts us through." She stood by the newel-post, her eyes pleading for advice.
Thomas took her hand and looked at it thoughtfully.
For a moment Millie let it lie in his; then her lids dropped and she blushed, withdrawing her hand and walking slowly toward one of the desks, of which there were also two, one on each side of the hall.
Thomas followed her, bending down and looking into her face. "I would not let his absence bother you. I'm going up-stairs to pack my grips. As soon as I finish I'll go after him," he said, soothingly, as, one hand in pocket, he let the other flip a pack of cards on the table.
"Oh, you've been too kind already," Millie protested, again meeting his eyes and turning away, her lips quivering.
"Oh, I'm not so kind as you think!" He laughed, an honest humor rising to infrequent expression. "I've got to see Lightnin' myself before I go. He hasn't signed the deed yet, and—"
"I really can't see what he's got to do with it!" Millie interrupted. "The place is mother's. Oh, well"—she sighed and shook her head in despair—"I suppose to be safe his signature must be obtained. I do hope he'll turn up before you leave. It's too bad—"
"Well, if he doesn't, maybe you and Mrs. Jones can make him see the light. I'll leave the papers with you, and when he signs them you can send for me and I'll be up and—"
"You don't know how much I appreciate all you've done for us. Now don't say it's nothing." Millie turned and put her hand on his arm, her eyes resting intently on his.
He bent over her for a minute, then straightened up as he heard a slight movement in the portière, a gleam of wisdom illuminating his face. He smiled with a nonchalant disregard of his former intention and backed away from the girl.
Millie's color mounted her forehead. Shyly she withdrew her hand from his arm and fumbled with the bunch of keys about her neck. After an awkward silence she continued:
"You've been so good to us. When mother and I've been in such distress that we did not know where to turn and mother was nearly frantic, you come forward and in no time arrange everything so that mother and daddy are going to be better off than they ever dreamed of. For years, you know, mother and I have worried about her and daddy's old age. Piece by piece we've sold the land and the timber. Even if this place does pay it will only be running expenses, with nothing saved up, as you said. And then the Nevada divorce laws might change. Oh! You've been so kind," she breathed, in deep sincerity.
"Now don't make me ashamed," Thomas coaxed in his soothing way, backing slowly toward the stairs on the California side. "What I've done is just the simplest thing in the world. I grew to be very fond of you when you were in my office, Millie, and I'm glad to be of what service I can."
As he was half-way up the stairs, Mrs. Jones emerged from behind the portière. He stopped and bent in a nattering bow, a twinkle in his eye. "Why, good morning, Mrs. Jones!" he called down.
"Oh, excuse me!" Mrs. Jones, a guilty conscience bringing his courtly sarcasm, which would otherwise have escaped her gullible nature, into notice, stepped back, turning to the kitchen, whence she had come when she stopped to listen. But Millie followed her, and, with arm around her waist, drew her into the room and seated her near the table.
"You're not going into that hot kitchen again to-day," remonstrated Millie, planting a daughterly kiss on her cheek. "You've been out there working like a slave for three mortal hours."
Mrs. Jones hid her hands awkwardly under her apron and reddened as she glanced up at Thomas, who had come back from above-stairs.
"I don't look presentable," she murmured, fidgeting in the chair.
"Come now, you mustn't mind me," said Thomas, Millie adding her word to his: "Please stay there just for a few minutes, mother. You look ready to drop."
"She's always tellin' me that." Mrs. Jones showed her pleasure in Millie's concern by beaming knowingly from one to the other, an act which sent Millie to the desk, where she pretended to look at the register.
Thomas smiled. "Millie's right," he responded. "You do work a great deal too hard; but it won't be long now before you can say good-by to hard work for the rest of your life."
"Oh, Mr. Thomas!" Mrs. Jones arose, forgetting the red, hardened hands she had been endeavoring to hide behind the blue and white checked apron, and hastened to Thomas, holding them toward him in a gesture half of gratitude, half of pleading. "I can scarcely realize that all this is going to come true and we owe it all to you. I only wish I could tell you how grateful I am."
Thomas was quite determined to escape further enthusiasm, either on Millie's or on Mrs. Jones's part. His game nearly played, he wished to withdraw gracefully and without detriment to a certain lurking decency which had not quite been swept away. Thwarting Mrs. Jones's attempt to wring his hand in gratitude, he took two light bounds up the stairs, stopping to laugh back: "Well, I'm going to get out for fear you'll spoil me with a thankfulness I don't deserve. Hang on to her, Millie." He directed a gleam toward the young girl as she went up to her mother. "Make her take a rest."
"Oh dear! Do you think I've driven him away?" There was genuine concern in Mrs. Jones's voice as she sank back into the chair and gazed anxiously after Thomas.
"No, you haven't." Millie smoothed the brown hair which was fast streaking with gray from her brow, damp with excitement. "He is going up-stairs to pack. He's arranged everything about selling the place, and there's nothing more for him to stay—"
"You're here, ain't you?" Mrs. Jones folded her arms stiffly across her chest and assumed a rigid position in her chair as she questioned Millie with eyes suddenly grown fierce with the look of an angry hen when she thinks her brood has been disturbed.
"Oh, mother!" The girl pursed her lips into a pouting smile as she leaned over the back of the chair, an affectionate arm on Mrs. Jones's shoulder. "Please get that foolish idea out of your head. You know—"
"Know nothin'." Mrs. Jones's head jerked vehemently while she insisted: "Every letter you wrote home all the time you was workin' in his office showed that he cared for you."
"I never wrote anything of the sort!" Millie drew a surprised breath as her mouth was drawn into a tiny O of expostulation. "Never!" she reiterated, with a slight stamp of her foot, as she went to the California desk and became absorbed in the register.
"Oh, I could read between the lines! I ain't that stupid. If he isn't in love with you, why is he plannin' for us to come and live in San Francisco? Oh, won't it be grand!" Mrs. Jones, carried away by the recollection of a long-ago visit to the city, and by a dream of what a permanent life there would be, resumed her own hearty enthusiasm. "I want to live in the city real bad, but I'm just skeered to death I won't know how to dress. I want to get a lot o' pretty things 'n' be like the women I saw when I was at the Palace. Do ye think Bill 'll think I'm getting crazy?"
An indulgent smile from Millie met her uneasy but smiling gaze, and she went on: "I know I've talked about the city ever since I can remember, but now that it's in sight I'm awful afraid I'll be out o' place."
"Well, you'll not," answered Millie, going behind the counter to look at the letter-rack, almost empty. "I'm going to see that you have just as nice things as any of the women stopping here."
There was a silence as both of the women smiled in contented anticipation. Mrs. Jones was the first to speak, a sudden doubt expressing itself in an anxious frown and a narrowing of the eyes. "But there's Bill," she said, with a start. "I'm so afraid of the way he'll act!"
"Daddy 'll be all right, I'm sure."
Mrs. Jones composed herself and began planning. "When his pension comes, you must take him to town and buy him some new clothes. Them others we got before didn't fit a bit good."
Millie turned quickly at the mention of her father's pension, remembering that it was time for it to arrive. She reminded her mother of this fact.
Mrs. Jones's gaiety had brief life after Millie's remark. "He ain't back with the mail! I'll bet—"
"Oh, mother!" Millie, deeply concerned, came from behind the desk and went up to the older woman, questioning, "You don't suppose his pension has come?"
"I think it's gone!" Mrs. Jones bowed emphatically in a rising voice and hurried to the desk on the Nevada side, where she took a cursory but none the less exhaustive look at the mail indexes. "I found him hanging around this desk this morning, and when I come in he beat it, sayin', before I could stop him, that he was goin' after the mail. I wonder—" She stopped and gave a deep groan of acquiescence. "Huh! Huh!" She had opened up the top of the desk to find a half-filled flask. "There!" she exclaimed, holding it to the light. "He was waiting for a chance to get this when I shooed him away!"
Millie put her arm around her and drew her into the middle of the room, trying to soothe her. "Anyway, don't let's blame him for anything until we're sure. He may come home perfectly all right. You know he loves the woods and the lake and the autumn coloring which is so wonderful now. He always lingers like this. Please go up-stairs and have a good rest." Millie tried to lead her mother toward the stairs, but Mrs. Jones gently shook the girl's arm from about her waist and went toward the kitchen.
"Where are you going?" Millie asked, standing still, a puzzled frown giving place to an understanding laugh as Mrs. Jones hesitated and looked at the floor, answering in a manner half ashamed: "Why—well—I thought—" she stammered, "he might come home soon, an' he's used to findin' somethin' good kept warm—though he don't deserve it!"
She hesitated, her kindly, better nature shining in her eyes, battling for expression. "Yes—please set a place for him, Millie!" And Mrs. Jones hastily disappeared into the kitchen to avoid the girl's rippling laugh of gentle amusement. Smiling to herself, Millie crossed the lobby and went into the dining-room.
The moment she had left the lobby the street door of the hotel was pushed open cautiously and an inquiring head thrust itself in. The head was that of Bill Jones. Evidently satisfied that the coast was clear, Bill came slowly into the lobby. Looking warily up at the stairs on either side, and toward the dining-room and kitchen doors, he eased himself softly over to the Nevada desk, raised the top and fumbled expectantly inside.
As Bill reached the desk and lifted the top, another gray-haired old man, possibly the same age as Lightnin', though larger and huskier in build, stole in through the street door and stood there doubtfully, puffing a cigar. He looked about fearfully, evidently ready to decamp at an instant's notice; but his glance, traveling back to the figure at the desk, bespoke a childlike trustfulness in Bill Jones. This gentleman's clothes were as disreputable as might be, as was his battered slouch-hat. His face was very red and very unshaven, and his expression was a comical mixture of uncertainty as to his welcome on the premises and maudlin kindliness toward the world at large. He rejoiced in the name of "Zeb," and was a down-and-out prospector, a relic of the past. His only reason for existence these days seemed to be that he was a crony and devout satellite of Bill's—to the great aggravation of Mrs. Jones. There was a legend in the district that Zeb and Bill had spent many years together in the old days, up and down the trails. There seemed to be considerable truth in the story. Anyway, no efforts of Mrs. Jones's or of anybody else's could make Bill forget his pal. Zeb was always sure of a meal, or a drink and a cigar, provided Lightnin' could find a way of producing those necessities of a broken-down prospector's life.
Bill felt around in the desk for a minute, while Zeb watched, fearfully, hopefully; then Lightnin' turned around, disappointment in his face. But before he could break the sad news regarding the strange disappearance of a half-filled flask, Zeb held up a warning finger and began to back through the door. His ear, ever keen for the swish of Mrs. Jones's skirts, reported danger.
"What's the matter, Zeb?" Bill asked. "Aw, come back. What ye 'fraid of?" With a disgusted motion he beckoned Zeb into the room again.
But Zeb, answering the warning that had never failed him, stayed close to the door, whispering back to Bill, "Where's your old woman?"
"That's all right. Come on in. She ain't here now." Bill, determined in his search, lifted the lid a second time and began to take out the contents of the drawer.
Zeb, taking heart, tiptoed up to him and, looking over his shoulder, murmured, contemptuously, "I don't believe you've got a drop."
"I'll show ye!" Looking intently under the lid, Bill's voice was half smothered. It stopped short when the kitchen door flew open and Mrs. Jones burst with emphatic and quick tread into the room.
She did not pay heed to Bill at once. Zeb received the full force of her mood. "Clear out now!" she called, in no gentle tone, as she swept up to him—an unnecessary action, as Zeb, catching one glance of the irate woman, made double-quick time in getting out of the door and down the steps of the veranda.
Zeb disposed of, Mrs. Jones turned her attention to her errant husband. Both arms akimbo, she stood still in the middle of the floor and concentrated her glare upon him.
"Bill Jones," she asked, in a loud, rasping tone, "where have you been?"
Bill had put down the lid at the first hint of her entrance. While she was addressing Zeb he had quietly slipped behind the desk and busied himself with the mail which he had drawn from the back pocket of his trousers. Whistling softly to himself, he sorted the letters, placing them in their proper pigeonholes.
He did not answer Mrs. Jones at once, but went on whistling. After a second in which he decided that a soft answer might draw the sting from her wrath, he stood still and, without looking around, said, gently, "Hello, mother." Without waiting for a reply, he went on sorting the mail.
The fire in Mrs. Jones's eye flamed brighter. Nothing exasperated her as did Bill's refusal to take her tempers seriously. It was not easy to do all of the fighting—one reason why Bill usually succeeded in carrying his idleness with a high hand. But this time she was not going to be ignored. The conference with Hammond and Thomas, the knowledge that he had been looking for his flask—that he was looking for it more for Zeb's sake than his own, this time, made no difference—as well as complaints by the guests because of Bill's tardiness with the mail, had exhausted her patience and whetted her into bringing Bill to quick order.
"Do you know what time it is?" She took a step closer to Bill, her voice retaining its hard ring.
Bill paid no attention to the question, but went on whistling and sorting the mail.
"It's after two o'clock!" She stamped her foot and glared at him.
Her glare fell on unseeing eyes, her tones on unheeding ears, for the uneven tenor of Bill's whistle kept up and the spasmodic sorting of the mail went on.
"Let's see," he said, softly, to himself, "Mrs. Taft's letter—she's in Number Four, ain't she?" he addressed his wife. Receiving no answer himself this time, he kept on with his soliloquy, changing the letter to its proper place. "There! that's right. This one," he said, holding the envelop to the light and studying it, "is for Mr. Thomas." He hesitated and looked at it more closely. Placing the other letters on the desk, he came from behind it and went toward Mrs. Jones.
Noting that Mrs. Jones was interested in the letter and that she had made a quick move toward him, he changed his mind and sauntered to the other side of the room, still scrutinizing the letter in his hand. As he paused, he placed the envelop close to his eyes and read, "Raymond Thomas Es-Q."
Mrs. Jones, her arms folded across her adamant breast, narrowed her eyes into a quizzical stare. Satisfied that her estimate of Bill's condition was correct, she hastened to verify it. Going close to him, she demanded, "Bill, have you been drinkin'?"
For once in his life Bill could prove his innocence. He was quick to avail himself of the opportunity, and, much to her surprise, he turned and blew his blameless breath at her.
Mrs. Jones relaxed, exclaiming, in tones of relief, "Thank the Lord!"
"What's He got to do with it?" Bill asked, quickly.
Mrs. Jones smiled. For the time being her manner was mollified. She followed him to the desk behind which he had returned to the mail-rack. "You know," she explained, "it's 'way past dinner-time, and if you won't work, the least you can do is to be on time for your meals."
"I been workin'," Bill chirped, as he placed the last letter in its box and went toward the dining-room door.
Mrs. Jones placed herself in the middle of the room and in such a way that Bill could not reach his goal without passing her. "What work have you been doin'?" The sarcasm in the glance which pierced Bill's shifting gaze did not pierce his good humor. He continued to chirp. "I got the mail."
"The mail?" There was contempt in his wife's question and in the answer she gave to it. "The mail came at ten o'clock."
"I got it, didn't I?" Bill registered another cheerful quip.
Suddenly Mrs. Jones's mind recurred to the day of the month. Her contempt gave place to anxiety and she stepped close to her husband and looked into his face again. "Bill, was there a letter for you?" she asked.
Bill did not answer her with words. Instead he looked away from her and shook his head slowly.
"Bill Jones," his wife persisted, her tones reverting to their former clear coldness, "didn't your pension come to-day?"
"To-day?" Bill smiled a self-congratulatory smile for the word which gave him the loophole of escape. Had his wife omitted that one word he would have, for his honor's sake, been forced to admit that he had it. For it was a part of his peculiar code that under no circumstances was "mother" ever to be lied to. Prevarications, yes, but downright, indisputable lies, no. And that with vigorous emphasis. But now she had mentioned the day. The pension had not come to-day. It had reposed in his pocket since yesterday, where, true to his promise to John Marvin, it should remain until he had made up his mind to hand it over to his family. So he felt the coins in his pocket and looked up at her with a half-guilty grin, drawing out his words one by one, in halting tones. "Not—to—day."
"Well, when it does come," she said, pleasantly, "Millie's going to go to Truckee with you and buy you some clothes. You gotta have some new ones for when we goes to the city."
It was on the tip of Bill's tongue to reaffirm, as he had countless times, that he was never going to the city as long as he lived; but he had begun to realize in the last few days that tact must enter into his negotiations with his dissatisfied spouse. So he responded, mildly, "I got clothes enough."
Mrs. Jones made an impatient gesture and tossed her head in dismay. "I don't know what's got into you, Bill Jones. When you came courtin' me you had good clothes."
"This is the same suit." Bill's jest might have brought further nagging upon his shoulders, but Millie's entrance from the dining-room turned Mrs. Jones's attention to her.
"Oh, daddy, you're back!" Millie went quickly to her foster-father and attempted to put her arms about his neck.
He drew away from her, asking, quickly, "What of it?"
"Are you all right?" Her tones were anxious and her gaze not less so. Whereupon Bill proved his sobriety just as he had proved it to her mother.
"Now are you satisfied?" he asked, as she smiled at him.
Kissing him, Millie reminded him gently that it was past dinner-time and that he had better go into the dining-room, where something hot awaited him.
"Please come now, daddy," she added. "The girls want to get their work done."
Bill hesitated. He glanced surreptitiously over at the Nevada desk, where, to the best of his knowledge, he had deposited a half-filled flask the night previous. His wife's eye, however, was on him. Suddenly she stepped up to him and took him firmly by the arm.
"Bill Jones," she said, "you're comin' right inside now an' eat! Whatever else is on your mind can wait—an' it might be a waste o' time, anyway!"
Finding himself propelled toward the dining-room, Lightnin' cast an appealing, whimsical glance at Millie, but she covertly shook her head to indicate that even she could not gainsay Mrs. Jones just then.
Left alone, Millie busied herself at the desk with some accounts which she wanted to finish before the arrival of a fresh contingent of guests, due that afternoon. She put down her pencil after a few minutes of work, however, and leaned her elbows on the desk, her chin in her hands thoughtfully. She had a well-defined suspicion as to where Lightnin' had been the night previous, and—well, Millie was curious about it.
Her reflections were interrupted by the entrance of Lemuel Townsend. There was an air of importance about him. He was frock-coated and altogether spick and span.
"Hello, Millie!" he said, walking up to the desk and shaking hands with her. "I've been trying to get around here all week, but I'm mighty pressed for time these days, you know! How is everything? You're all filled up, I suppose?"
"Nevada is full," Millie answered, smiling; "it always is, but the California side is often empty. Oh, it's great fun—I call it the Hotel Lopside! Sometimes I'm sorry that we're giving it up."
"Oh! Then you've really decided to put through the idea of selling the place!"
"Yes. Mother made up her mind this morning, and I more than approve it, all things considered. Daddy hasn't—hasn't quite agreed, though, but it's for his own good. I don't quite understand daddy's objections. I wanted to talk to him this morning about it, but I didn't get a chance. There's been something mysterious in his manner lately."
"Something mysterious—about Lightnin'?"
"Yes," said Millie, thoughtfully. "Mother hasn't noticed it, of course, being so busy and worried—and outwardly daddy is his usual easy-going, amiable self. But I have a feeling that he has—or thinks he has—something up his sleeve. Daddy can't hide things from me, you know! Another thing, he doesn't seem to like Mr. Thomas at all—is downright rude to him at times. I can't understand it, for it isn't like daddy!"
Townsend frowned in a puzzled way. "Perhaps you're taking some of dear old Lightnin's notions too seriously, Millie," he remarked. "Though I must say that I have a great deal of faith in Bill. I've been a little out of touch with the situation lately," he went on, judicially, "but from what you and mother have told me about the proposed sale, and from the one or two talks I have had with Mr. Thomas, I am inclined to agree with you and mother that this sale is an excellent idea. So far as I can judge, it is a sound investment and all for the best."
"Of course it is!" said Millie. "But now—how about yourself? How is the campaign going, Mr. Townsend?"
"Splendidly! But it's rather trying, as I have to do most of the campaigning myself—even the odd jobs!"
He looked down at a bundle of large, printed placards which he carried under his arm. Withdrawing one, he held it up for her inspection. Millie read, "Vote for Lemuel Townsend for Superior Judge of the Second Judicial District."
"Would you mind if I tacked up some of these in the lobby?" he asked, joining in her laugh.
"Not at all!" Millie exclaimed. "I've a hammer and tacks right here in the desk. Let me help you—and I do so hope you'll win!"
Chatting, they proceeded to embellish the lobby with Lem Townsend's name and ambition. Their operations were brought to a pause by the arrival of the expected new guests.
As the motor-stage drew up to the door, Millie ran out on the veranda to deliver a few commissions to the driver to execute when he got back to town. She noted that Sheriff Blodgett was a passenger, and that he jumped down and preceded the guests into the lobby.
The first of the new arrivals to step out of the stage and enter the hotel was a chic little woman of about twenty-four, with big brown eyes and auburn hair, dressed in a bright blue outing-flannel coat and skirt and a tiny red hat from which hung a heavy veil. It was obvious that she was suffering from great embarrassment, as she walked quickly about the lobby, going from one register to the other, while a maid followed her with an armful of bundles. The woman looked helplessly from wall to wall and desk to desk. The presence of Blodgett and Townsend seemed to add to her embarrassment, a condition still further aggravated by the appearance of a third man, Everett Hammond, who chanced to come strolling down from up-stairs at the moment. She fluttered up to Millie as the girl came in from the veranda.
"Would you like to register?" Millie asked.
"How do you do," was the reply, uttered in a timid treble. "I am Mrs. Harper. I understand—" Her head turned from side to side as she hesitated. She clasped her hands and gazed pleadingly at Millie. "I've been told—" Again she hesitated nervously, tears in her eyes. She noticed Blodgett and Hammond gazing at her. In desperation, her blushes showing under the heavy veil, she whispered, quaveringly, "Could I speak to you privately?"
"Certainly," said Millie, hiding her amusement. "Just step into this room," and she led the little woman away.
As they left the room, followed by the faithful maid, another guest entered, an attractive woman of thirty. She was highly colored as to hair and complexion, and she had about her an air far removed from the chic, haughty member of the millionaire divorce colony that centered about the Reno hotels. In type she was not unlike Mrs. Harper, except that she did not show any special evidence of timidity. On the contrary, she seemed perfectly at home. But she came in with the aid of a crutch and leaning on the arm of the stage-driver. Her eyes took a calm inventory of the lobby—including Townsend, on whom she smiled coquettishly as she sighed with relief and sank into a chair.
Townsend was leaning against the California desk, and he had been watching Blodgett and Hammond, who, conversing in low tones, had strolled out to the veranda. He was surprised to note that the pair had met before and seemed to know each other quite well. His attention, however, was now drawn to the attractive new guest. Her smile was not without effect. She turned to the driver.
"I'm all right now, thank you," she drawled, though her voice was soft and pleasant. "Just drop my bag here." Fumbling in her purse for change that did not seem to be there, she directed a glance toward Townsend and smiled again. "Will you change five dollars for me?" she asked.
Townsend drew out his wallet and examined its contents, but put it back again disappointedly. "I'm afraid I can't," he said, with obvious regret.
"Well, then," said the attractive woman, with a frown, "pay the driver, please."
Townsend gave a slight start of chagrin, feeling that his standing as a candidate for a judgeship was suffering by her lack of discernment. Then, as the truth of the situation dawned on him, he suppressed a chuckle. Without a word, he handed some change to the driver.
"Charge it to my account," she ordered, settling herself comfortably in the chair, extending one foot which was bound in a heavy bandage about the ankle and clad in a soft slipper.
Townsend, still smiling, began: "Well—er—"
"I'm Mrs. Davis," she interrupted, ignoring his embarrassment. "Mrs. Margaret Davis." She turned her wide blue eyes full upon him as she switched in her chair, the movement bringing a twinge of pain to her face.
Townsend left the desk and came toward her. "I'm very glad to meet you." He extended an affable hand. "I'm Lemuel Townsend, and I—"
Mrs. Davis did not offer him her hand at once, but gave him an inquisitive glance. "Will you show me to my room?" she asked.
"I don't know where it is," he said, laughing. By this time his ruffled dignity was assuaged by the twinkle in Mrs. Davis's eye and the deep dimple in her chin.
"Why, weren't you expecting me?" she asked, in astonishment, her mind as yet refusing to grasp the situation.
"No, I wasn't." He was bending over her, a courtly flattery in his gaze.
"But I wrote you!" She turned clear about on her chair, forgetting for the moment the pain in her foot, her eyes and mouth wide open with surprise at the thought that she could be thus forgotten.
"No, you didn't write me. You see, I'm only a guest, just as you are."
Here they both laughed, while Townsend placed a chair close to hers and sat down beside her.
Mrs. Davis prolonged her giggle and bent her head, her eyes seeking his under her heavily beaded lashes. "And I said—Oh!" She put her two hands to her mouth and sidled, "I took you for the clerk."
He nodded indulgently.
"Oh, and I made you pay the driver! I couldn't allow that. Just as soon as somebody comes I'll return it. I hope you'll forgive me." By this time her manner was as friendly as Townsend's feminine-loving soul could wish. She sidled her chair a little closer to his, still holding him with her eyes, wide as the innocent stare of a baby.
"I'm glad it happened," said Townsend.
"Will you allow me to introduce myself properly?"
She nodded, and he got up and went to the desk, returning with one of his campaign cards and handing it to her. "Permit me," he said, "my card." As she took it from him he explained, "I'm candidate for judge at the next election."
Immediately Mrs. Davis's interest was aroused to fever pitch. With a knowing look she leaned forward, placing a hand on his arm, while she slowly and attentively dwelt upon the words on the card. "Oh, really?" she drawled. "Where will you be judge?"
"If I'm elected—in Reno."
"Will you try divorce cases?" the question was snapped out.
He nodded.
"Oh, I'm awfully glad to meet you!" she gushed, shaking his arm.
"The pleasure is mutual, believe me," he responded, placing his hand on top of hers. As she withdrew hers with a giggle, he went on, unabashed, "Do you intend remaining here long?"
"I'm in for six months." She sighed like a hurt baby.
He was all sympathy as he leaned toward her and apologized: "Oh, I'm very sorry for you, Mrs. Davis—If—"
"Oh, my case doesn't call for sympathy. Congratulations! Congratulations!" she emphasized with a long-drawn-out inflection.
"Oh!!!" he shook his head wisely, adding, laughingly, "It's that way?"
A twinge from the invalid ankle concentrated Mrs. Davis's full attention as she lifted her foot, adjusting it against the crutch, thinking to stop the pain. When it had subsided she smiled up at Townsend again, pointed to it and said, with an ingénue turn of the head, "I'd probably never have been able to get a divorce if it had not been for this."
"You don't mean that your husband was brute enough to—" Townsend was shocked at the thought, but was not allowed to deliver himself of his full sympathy. Mrs. Davis was just getting into the lines of her part and she was quick to catch her cues.
"Oh, heavens, no!" she broke in upon his condolences. "This was an accident. It's a sprain, and it is quite serious, as I'm a dancer." She beamed up at him and wriggled in the chair, continuing her explanation. "It's probably all for the best. Of course it'll break into my engagements. I'm in vaudeville, you know. I've wanted a divorce for years, but I'm always booked solid and I never stay in one place long enough to get one. When this happened I saw my chance to get a good long rest, and my freedom in the bargain." Her eyes begged his for understanding and received it.
While she had been talking Townsend had been drinking in every word she said. Her variety of attractiveness was a new one to him. It appealed to his small-town idea of being a gay blade. He had often cast longing eyes at the Eastern wives sojourning in Reno for the six months necessary to establish a residence and therefore their right to a quick freedom which brought with it no restrictions in the matter of remarrying. The majority of these prospective divorcées were of a larger world and reckoned in figures of which Lemuel Townsend did not know the simplest rules. The only notice he had received for his ambitions being a smile to his face and a snicker at his back. But here was some one who not only was taking notice of him, but was actually meeting his advances half-way. Besides, she was pretty, and he could never withstand a pretty woman. As she finished the first lap of her story he exclaimed, "That certainly is a scheme!"
"It's nice of you to listen to it all," she murmured, apologetically, moving her idle crutch up and down as if writing her mood in invisible letters on the floor.
"I'm glad you told it to me. Do you know—" and he sidled in his chair, while a sugar-laden approval beamed at her in a steady flow from over the top of his glasses, "from the minute I saw you enter the door I was worried about you—I was afraid—Well, it was a great relief to find that you had two good—" he halted in hopeless confusion, as his eyes sought her ankle. He took his handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose furiously, hoping to hide the real reason for a blush that seemed to have come to stay, having settled in a deep crimson even from the nape of his neck to the top of a head whose sparse hair refused to hide his embarrassment.
But Margaret Davis, seeing no reason for shyness, just smiled graciously upon him and hastened to standardize her reputation. "Any one who has seen me dance can inform you about—well—about—them," she said seriously, adding by way of flavor to her remark another languishing droop of her eyelids. There was a moment of coy silence for the two of them. Then Mrs. Davis asked, "Are you stopping here for pleasure or are you doing time?"
"I'm a bachelor."
"How nice!" she replied, in honeyed accents, as she leaned toward him and put a soft hand on his arm. Undoubtedly in Lem Townsend she saw the possibility of an easy divorce trial. Besides, Townsend was by no means without personal attractions. Mrs. Davis gazed at him, her languishing smile concealing the feminine appraisal in her eyes. She decided to cultivate the possibility, and was about to say something in furtherance of her object when she was startled by a gentle voice coming from directly behind her and inquiring, pleasantly, "Rheumatism?"
Bill Jones had entered the lobby unobserved by the pair and was leaning over the desk idly, looking at his new guest with kindly interest. Townsend introduced Bill, and Mrs. Davis, with Lem's assistance, rose and took up a pen.
"No," she said; "I have not acquired rheumatism as yet, Mr. Jones. I'll register—you're reserving a room for me."
"How long you here for?" Bill asked.
"The usual," she sighed, and rolled her eyes toward Townsend.
"Eh?" Bill grinned and walked slowly from behind the desk.
"Six months," she drawled, wearily.
Politely staying her hand and taking the pen from her, Bill pointed to the other desk. "This is the six months' side—over here," he said, sauntering to the back of the Nevada desk.
When the lady was at last settled in her room, and Townsend had left—having made an arrangement to dine with Mrs. Davis that evening—Bill found himself strangely alone for the moment. Instantly he seized on the opportunity to make a thorough investigation into the mysterious disappearance of a half-filled flask. After turning the Nevada desk inside out, at last he was convinced that the disappearance was a fact and not a matter of imagination. "Guess mother has seequesterated it," he remarked, to himself. "Not that I'm hankerin' after it so much myself, but I told Zeb I had it, an' when he finds that I 'ain't, the moral effect on Zeb will sure be bad."
As Bill, rolling a cigarette, meditated on this, Mrs. Harper, followed by her maid and still casting about like a frightened bird in search of cover, tiptoed into the lobby, went uncertainly to the California desk and took up a pen.
Wisdom twitching at the corners of his mouth, Bill was beside her at once.
"Is either o' you ladies gettin' a divorce?" he inquired, in a helpful tone, his question including the indignant maid. "'Cause, if you are," he explained, "I just wanted to let you know that you are flockin' round the wrong desk."
Mrs. Harper fluttered some more. "Oh, I—er—but—where—"
"This way, my dears," Bill said, in a gentle, fatherly tone, as he led them to the Nevada desk.
Mrs. Harper signed her name. As Bill read it he looked up at her with sudden interest. He put a detaining hand on her arm before she could flutter away, and at the same time, turning to the maid, he directed her to have a chair for a moment—at the other side of the lobby, out of earshot.
When the maid had complied Bill looked down at the register. "Mrs. Harper, Truckee," he repeated. Then, glancing up at the surprised and startled little woman, he asked, "Does your husband happen to drive a green automobile, ma'am?"
Mrs. Harper stared at him with the big, frightened eyes of a child. "Why—er—yes. But—why do you ask?"
"I met him last night," said Bill. "He's a fast driver, ain't he? Gets to Truckee in two hours!"
The color rose to the little woman's face. "I don't see—"
"He's a mighty fine feller!" Bill went on, calmly. "Got a pile o' money, too, an' I bet he's some generous with it—specially to them what he loves. People is always makin' fool mistakes. Say, you ain't really goin' to git a divorce, are you?"
Now the astonished little woman's eyes filled with angry tears. "Oh!" she gasped. "Oh! How dare you speak to me like this! It's none of your business!"
"Sure it is," said Lightnin', his voice kindly, confidential. "I know all about it. He didn't git that present for his stenographer."
"How do you know?" she snapped.
"I heard him tellin' all about it to Marvin, the boy what sold him that timber up yonder. I knocked," Bill explained, whimsically, "but they didn't seem to hear, an' I was kinder forced to listen in from the outside. Your husband was all het up an' near committin' suicide 'cause you thought he done what he didn't. He told Marvin he bought that present for you when he was in Noo York. He was just a-showin' it to his office lady when you walked in."
"Nonsense!"
"No, it ain't. It's truth. There's some things I don't go wrong on, an' this is one, Mrs. Harper. Your husband's a mighty fine feller an'—"
With a stamp of her foot, the little woman flung away from the desk and, followed by the faithful maid, hurried up-stairs, where—and perhaps Bill suspected this—she buried her head in a pillow and cried and cried.
Bill stood at the desk with his head cocked on one side, idly tapping his ear with a pen. He heard the door of Mrs. Harper's room slam and he grinned amiably.
"Eatin' her heart out for him," he mused. "Just eatin' her heart out, but too spunky to back down!"
He gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling for a few minutes; then slowly he reached into the drawer and took out a telegram blank. His eyes twinkled as he wrote a brief message. He folded up the blank, stuffed it into his pocket, and was turning away from the desk with the intention of seeking the telegraph-office, when Hammond and Sheriff Blodgett came strolling back into the lobby.
"Oh, so you're actually here, are you?" exclaimed Hammond, glaring at Bill. "Have you signed that deed yet?"
Hammond, direct, bulldozing, totally lacking in Thomas's smooth diplomacy, had lost all patience with Bill Jones. That morning he had decided that the only way to handle Bill was to ride over him rough-shod. "Have you signed that deed?" he repeated, loudly.
"Deed?" remarked Lightnin', carelessly. "Oh, I'd kinder forgot about that little matter. Nope. 'Ain't had time, old top—nope!" Ignoring the glares of the two men, he started to amble toward the door.
"Look here," Hammond called after him, "is Mr. Thomas in?"
"I guess so," replied Bill, pausing directly in front of Hammond and gazing up at him with a calm, shrewd light in his half-shut eyes. "He seems to stick around pretty close."
"Well," said Hammond, with a heavy frown, "just be good enough to step up and tell him that Sheriff Blodgett and I would like to see him!"
"Step up yourself," said old Bill, quietly, without shifting either his gaze or his position. "You ain't crippled, be you? An' I don't think as your friend Thomas'll fall off'n his chair with surprise if you drop in on him unexpected."
Without waiting for a reply, Bill turned away and ambled out of the lobby. Hammond swore; then strode angrily up-stairs, followed by Blodgett.
A few minutes after Lightnin' disappeared down the trail, headed for the local telegraph-office, John Marvin approached the hotel from the opposite direction. He paused when some distance away and viewed the place. It was his first visit in many weeks, and naturally his first since the great transformation. It could be surmised, however, that this visit was not one of idle curiosity; neither was his pause due to a mere desire to observe the various changes recently made. He watched the establishment closely for a minute; then came on slowly, keeping a sharp eye on his surroundings. As he reached the steps Millie came out on the veranda. She was engaged in what, these days, had become one of the chief occupations of nearly every one in the Hotel Calivada—searching for Lightnin' Bill Jones, whose persistent faculty of being absent when most wanted was fast assuming the dimensions of a public aggravation.
"Why, hello, stranger!" Millie exclaimed, with a welcoming smile. "I thought you had forgotten all about us! You haven't been here for ever so long!"
Marvin came up the steps and seized both her hands, which she let him hold for a moment.
"I haven't forgottenyou, Millie," he said, gently, smiling down into her brown eyes. "But—well, you know I went away last time with an idea that you didn't care to see me."
"Silly boy!" Her tone was gaily impersonal, but her red lips puckered into a pretty pout as she walked to a chair in the corner of the veranda and sat down.
"I thought that maybe you had returned to Mr. Thomas's office," he remarked, following her and standing beside her chair.
"No; I'm not going back, not now," said Millie, thoughtfully. She did not look up at him, but fixed her gaze on her hands, folded in her lap. "What a tremendous student you were in his office! I never saw any one work so hard as you did."
"Except when you were in the room—then I was looking at you, most of the time!" Marvin bent over her, but she gave no sign that she read his attitude.
"If you'd been looking at me, I'd have seen you." She smiled and raised her eyes. "You've not given up the study of law, have you?" There was concern in the lift of her brow.
"Oh no! But I'm not going back into Mr. Thomas's office. Why did you leave him, Millie? Was there any trouble?"
"Trouble? Of course not! How could any one have trouble with Mr. Thomas?" Surprise and annoyance stood in her eyes.
Marvin did not reply at once, but drew up another chair and sat down facing her. He leaned forward, his eyes searching hers as he questioned, "You like Mr. Thomas—like him very much, don't you, Millie?"
"I more than like him!" An angry color suffused her cheeks as she looked Marvin up and down. "I adore him!" she added. "You've no idea how fine he is!"
Marvin started at this—naturally. The situation was going to be more difficult than he had anticipated. Could it be that Millie was really in love with Raymond Thomas? Or had he merely convinced her that his business motives were all that they should be? Perhaps it was both! Anyway, it was obvious that the girl had Thomas up on some sort of pedestal; she was in a spunky mood, and Marvin saw that he was going to have his hands full trying to convince her that the feet on the pedestal were made of clay. Marvin flushed himself; he did not relish his position; he shrank from seemingly disparaging another man behind his back, especially to a girl. If there had been only himself to consider, he would not have spoken at all. Neither was it altogether for Millie's sake. She was young, capable, quick-witted; she would see through Thomas of her own accord, soon enough—if she were not actually in love with him! But Marvin was thinking of the old people, of hard-working, simple Mrs. Jones, and of amiable, careless Bill. Millie was the young, strong member of the Jones household, and it was Millie who must be convinced and won over, if possible. Thus ran Marvin's thoughts—but quite honestly he admitted to himself that his love for the girl might be coloring his logic and his motives just a little.
"I'd like to tell you something I know about Thomas—"
"Oh, I know!" Millie interrupted, quickly. "He sold some property for your mother, isn't that it?"
"Yes; he sold it to the railroad—for a big price."
"I know—he told me all about it. He's a splendid business man! Why, that's exactly what he is doing for us! Hasn't daddy told you about it?" She glanced at him quickly, but he gave no sign of having heard this wonderful news. "I should think you'd like to see Mr. Thomas. He's up-stairs packing, now. He's leaving this evening. He came all the way from San Francisco just to help me—to help us all!"
"To help you?" Marvin asked.
Millie clasped her hands over her knees and went on, enthusiastically: "Why, this hotel idea has turned out splendidly, you know. But a week or two ago, Mr. Thomas wrote to mother, saying that he had heard that the railroad company had got wind of our success and contemplated putting up a rival hotel just back of us. Mother was nearly crazy at the news, and I wrote to Mr. Thomas, asking him his advice. He telegraphed that he would be right out to see us! Wasn't that just like him?"
"Exactly," said Marvin, dryly. "And I presume that when Mr. Thomas arrived he suggested that you let him persuade the railroad to buy this place and erect the new hotel here, instead of next door!"
"Why, John—aren't you clever!" Millie exclaimed. "How did you guess it? That is exactly what he suggested, and now it's all arranged! And they're going to pay enough to make mother and daddy comfortable for the rest of their lives!"
With a hopeless gesture, Marvin got to his feet and took a pace or two up and down the veranda. The girl watched him, puzzled.
"Are they going to pay cash?" Marvin asked, pausing in front of her.
"It's much better than cash! It's shares of stock that pay ten per cent. a year! It seems almost too good to be true."
"It does—it certainly does!" came from Marvin.
The girl had risen, glowing with enthusiasm. Quite naturally she put her hand on his arm and looked up at him happily, intimately, naïvely seeking his approval.
In the midst of his perplexity Marvin's heart gave a bound. That naïve touch on his arm and the intimate light in the brown eyes told him that, in one respect at least, all was not lost—not yet! He was about to take her hands and break into a rush of words when the girl suddenly turned her attention from him, remarking, eagerly: "Here comes daddy. We were afraid he'd deserted again!"
Marvin swung around. Much as he wanted to see Lightnin' to-day, he wished, just then, that Bill could have seen fit to delay his appearance a few minutes longer. Bill Jones, however, came serenely up the steps and stood with his hands in his pockets, shrewdly and humorously inspecting the pair.
"Sorry to interrupt the billin' an' cooin'," he remarked. "But say, John, ain't you takin' some chances round here? Did you know that Blodgett's here? I seen him go up-stairs when I went out."
Millie had flushed and turned away at her foster-father's first words, but now she looked curiously from one to the other.
"What on earth do you mean, daddy?" she questioned.
"He's justhelping me, Millie," said Marvin, grinning at Bill. "Thanks for the tip, Lightnin', but I wanted to see you particularly to-day, so I—"
He stopped abruptly, for Bill had raised a warning hand.
Marvin recognized a familiar voice talking in the lobby. Glancing in, he saw Raymond Thomas standing in the center of the room, holding Mrs. Jones in conversation. Hammond and Blodgett had just come down the stairs and were joining the other two.
"Better beat it, John!" Lightnin' whispered.
But Marvin stood there. He was thinking quickly. He had caught a word or two of what Thomas was saying, and he gathered that matters were coming to a climax. Suddenly his expression cleared and he grinned.
"Never mind about that, Lightnin'," he said, mechanically opening the door for Millie, who, seeing that they were ignoring her, tripped in with a petulant toss of her head. "I think I have a little scheme that will fool our friend Blodgett. But first—Bill, promise me that you won't sign that deed without consulting me!"
"All right," said Lightnin', slowly. "I promise. But you better be careful, John, an'—"
"Come on!" Marvin interrupted, leading the way himself. "I've a great desire to be in on these proceedings!"
Seeing that the young man was not to be stopped, Bill said no more as he slid through the door and ambled after him into the lobby.
"I think it is only fair to tell you, Mrs. Jones," Thomas was saying, a delicate, apologetic note creeping into his voice as he caught sight of Millie, "that this Marvin is not a proper person for your daughter to see. I fully believed that he was a fine young man myself once, and you cannot imagine my surprise when I discovered that he is the head of a gang of thieves who are going all over this part of the country, stealing timber."
"Mercy me!" cried Mrs. Jones. "A thief, no less!" Then, seeing Marvin unexpectedly present in person, she glared at him. "Somethin' always warned me against you, John Marvin! Oh, Millie, Millie! How many times have I told you you was makin' a terrible mistake lettin' him annoy you!"
Millie was evidently too astonished and puzzled to say anything. Meanwhile, Thomas had flushed deeply on finding himself confronted by the man he was in the act of damning. Instinctively he took a step back. Blodgett made a quick move toward Marvin, but Hammond seized his arm and stopped him.
"Hold on a minute, Blodgett," he whispered. "You can nab him later—he can't very well get away from us now. I want to have a word, first—I'm going to show this young cub just where he stands!"
Meanwhile, though the sheriff's move did not escape him, Marvin, a grim smile on his face, was gazing steadily at Thomas.
"Go on, Thomas," he said, quietly. "I'm interested! What else were you going to say to Mrs. Jones?"
Indifferently he strolled over beside Lightnin', who was in front of the California desk, his hands in his pockets, his half-shut eyes roving from one to another of the group. To look at him, one would not imagine that Bill Jones had any special interest in the proceedings. He drew out his bag of tobacco and papers and idly rolled a cigarette.
Thomas, having regained his poise again, turned to Mrs. Jones with his dazzling smile. "I'm really very glad that the young man chanced to present himself at this moment, Mrs. Jones, because—"
"That's all right, Thomas!" Hammond interrupted, suddenly thrusting himself forward and waving the other aside. "But we have something much more important on hand. Let's get to it! I can't monkey around here any longer.
"Mrs. Jones," he went on, "I've been trying to get you all together before I left, but you seem such busy people that it is as if I wouldn't have this opportunity. I wanted to tell you that the company for which I am acting has just wired me to close the transaction, and so I am ready to take over the property at once!"
Mrs. Jones, bewildered by his briskness and the swift sequence of events, stared at him, then transferred a gaze no less confounded to Thomas. "You mean," she questioned, "that—that you want us to leave at once?"
"Oh no! That's not necessary. But now that you have put your signature to the deed, the transfer will be made at once and we'll take over the management, allowing you to remain on until you have made your arrangements for the future."
With a sharp nod to her and an insolent sneer directed at Bill, Hammond swung on his heel and busied himself with a portfolio of papers he had dropped on the Nevada desk.
"I'm sure you can have no objections to these arrangements, Mrs. Jones," said Thomas, his voice as smooth as glass, though there was a slight quiver of his eyelids as he avoided Marvin's steady gaze and caught a strange gleam that emanated from Bill's puckered-up eyes.
Mrs. Jones had forgotten all about Bill and his part in the signing of the deed. But a multitude of thoughts were running through her mind, confused as it was. All that she could think of now was the simplest answer to Thomas's question. She stepped up to him and put a hand of confidence on his arm.
"Certainly I do not mind," she said. "I'm delighted and relieved that it is all settled!" Turning to Hammond, she added: "I want to leave the whole matter in Mr. Thomas's hands. I'll do just as he advises."
"All right, Hammond," said Thomas, deliberately turning his back on old Bill. "We shall deliver the deed to you at once, and you can take charge of the place immediately. I presume you will want to have—"
"Hold on there, young feller!" Lightnin's usual lackadaisical monotone was raised to a degree which bespoke a greater interest than his careless attitude indicated. He stepped forward and stood in front of Thomas, looking up at him with his shrewd gaze. When he felt that the man was ready to give him sufficient attention, Bill returned to his customary drawl.
"We ain't goin' to sell this place, my boy," he said. "Not until I consult my lawyer!"
His words brought his wife to his side instantly, her eyes blazing. "Bill Jones," she cried, "you just be quiet! What in the world's the matter with you—tryin' to throw away a chance to be nice and comfortable the rest o' your life! Are you crazy?"
"Nope. I'm the only one that ain't—'cept John, here."
Bill's steady, quiet grin exasperated Hammond and Thomas to white heat, but they were too near their goal to miss it by a step. They knew that under ordinary conditions Bill, in spite of his many shortcomings, held first place in Mrs. Jones's affections, and that any show of harshness toward him on their part might rally her unexpectedly to his support. So they smothered their rage. Hammond leaned an elbow on the desk and nonchalantly twirled his watch-chain, his mouth drawn into an ugly sneer. Thomas continued his air of deference toward Mrs. Jones, leaning over her with an appealing smile. Reacting to it, she took Bill by the arm and shook it roughly.
"You just got to listen to reason, Bill!" she said, transfixing him with angry eyes. "I set my heart on sellin' the place an' goin' to the city, as you oughter know by now. An', besides, it's 'most all fixed up, anyways—all but you signin' that deed. You got to do it, Bill!"
"You're all het up, mother," replied Bill, gazing at her with kindly eyes. "Ease up a bit! Nope. I ain't goin' to sign no deed for them two scamps—leastways not until I consult my lawyer!" And Bill pushed back his battered slouch-hat and stuck his thumbs in his faded vest.
"Scamps—!"
But before Mrs. Jones could complete her sentence Marvin stepped forward and put a friendly arm over Bill's shoulder.
"Bill's right, Mrs. Jones," he said, gently, though there was a fighting light in his eyes as he met those of Thomas. "Lightnin' has no need to apologize for anything he may say about these two men. This sale is a nice little scheme of theirs. They are trying to rob you."
Millie, who had been listening to it all, amazed and abashed, now stared at Marvin defiantly. "How dare you say that?" she blazed. "What right have you to interfere?" She rallied to Mrs. Jones's side and placed an affectionate arm around her waist.
Mrs. Jones was crying by this time. She wiped her eyes on her apron and looked at Marvin. "So it's you who's been puttin' Bill up to this!" she exclaimed. "I might have known—it's right in line with what we just heard about you! Well, he don't need none o' your advice—you just leave Bill alone!"
Marvin held out a deprecating hand. "But, Mrs. Jones, you don't understand—"
Blodgett, at a sign from Hammond, strode up to Marvin and put a hand on his shoulder. Marvin shook him off.
"Don't interrupt me now!" he said. "I've something more important to—"
"I'll show you how important it is!" said Blodgett, jingling a pair of handcuffs in front of Marvin. "I got a warrant for your arrest for stealin' timber! Put out your hands!"
Mrs. Jones and Millie stood by, bewildered, while Thomas, with supercilious satisfaction in his smile, sank into a chair and crossed his legs with an air. Hammond laughed coarsely.
Bill, his arm drawn through Marvin's, looked on, his enigmatic grin between his half-closed eyes and half-open mouth betokening an unswerving confidence in the ultimate.
"I can't be bothered with you now," said Marvin, addressing Blodgett. "Bill needs—"
"None o' your lip!" Blodgett grabbed him roughly and attempted to place a handcuff on one of his wrists, but Marvin flung him off and the sheriff went sprawling. Marvin stepped back a pace or two as Blodgett got up and came at him again, bawling, "Now you're worse off than ever—resisting an officer of the law!"
Marvin, however, did not seem to be worried. He faced Blodgett with an amused smile and pointed to the floor, where an uncovered space left between two rugs indicated the now famous state line.
"Law?" Marvin echoed. "Why, Blodgett, old boy, don't you know any more about law than to try to serve me with a Nevada warrant when I'm in the state of California?"
"By jiminy, he's right!" cried Lightnin', clapping Marvin on the back. "You got 'em where—where the rugs is short, John. Guess I didn't build this house on the state line for nothin'!"
Blodgett started back with a howl of disgust, while Thomas and Hammond looked at each other, making no effort to hide their chagrin. Millie had given an exclamation—an exclamation that sounded very much like one of relief, when she saw the sudden turn of the tables; but if it was an expression of her inner and secret feelings, she quickly smothered it. Mrs. Jones glared at Marvin with keen disgust and disappointment.
Lightnin', grinning, evidently was enjoying the scene hugely. Cocking his old hat over one ear, he struck a pose of comic nonchalance against the California desk and looked across the lobby at the furious Hammond.
"Hello, Hammond, old top!" he called, airily. "How's everythin' in Nevada? Come on over to California, an'—an' have a glass o' water!"