163CHAPTER XXIIMOLLY’S DISCOVERY
Peggy had given Jinnie a violin box, and as the girlwalked rapidly homeward, she gazed at it with pride, and began to plan how the woman’s burdens could be lightened a little—how she could bring a smile now and then to the sullen face. This had been discussed between Lafe and herself many times, and they had rejoiced that in a few months, when Jinnie was eighteen, Mrs. Grandoken’s worries would be lessened.
She reached the bottom of the hill just as a car dashed around the lower corner, a woman at the wheel. One glance at the occupant, and Jinnie recognized Molly Merriweather. The woman smiled sweetly and drove to the edge of the pavement.
“Good afternoon,” she greeted Jinnie. “Won’t you take a little ride with me? I’ll drive you home afterwards.”
Jinnie’s heart bounded. As yet Molly had not discovered her identity, and the girl, in spite of Lafe’s caution, wanted to know all that had passed in Mottville after she left. She wanted to hear about her dead father, of Matty, and the old home. She gave ready assent to Molly’s invitation by climbing into the door opened for her.
“You don’t have to go home right away, do you?” asked Miss Merriweather pleasantly.
“No, I suppose not,” acceded Jinnie shyly.164
She connected Molly the Merry with all that was good. She remembered the woman’s kindly smiles so long ago in Mottville, and—that she was a friend of Theodore King. She was startled, however, after they had ridden in silence a while, when the woman pronounced his name.
“Have you seen Mr. King lately?”
Jinnie shook her head.
“I guess it’s three days,” she answered, low-voiced.
Three days! Molly racked her brain during the few seconds before she spoke again to bring to mind when Theodore had been absent from home out of business hours.
“He’s a very nice man,” she remarked disinterestedly.
Jinnie’s gratitude burst forth in youthful impetuosity.
“He’s more’n nice,—he’s the best man in the world.”
“Yes, he is,” murmured Molly.
“Theo—I mean Mr. King,” stammered Jinnie.
Molly turned so quickly to look at the girl’s reddening face that the car almost described a circle.
“You call him by his first name, then?” she asked, with a sharp backward turn of the wheel.
“No,” denied Jinnie, extremely confused. “Oh, no! Only—only––”
“Only what?”
“When I think of him, then I do. Theodore’s such a pretty name, isn’t it?”
Molly bit her lip. Here was the niece of a cobbler who dared to think familiarly of a man in high social position. She had tried to make herself believe Theo was simply philanthropic, but now the more closely she examined the beautiful face of the girl, the more she argued with herself, the greater grew her fear.
“What does he call you?” Molly spoke amiably, as if discussing these unimportant little matters for mere politeness’ sake.165
“Mostly Jinnie,” was the prompt reply. “I’m just Jinnie to every one who loves me.”
She said this without thought of its import. Angrily Molly sent the motor spinning along at a higher rate. She was growing to hate the little person at her side.
“Where are your own people?” she demanded, when they were on the road leading to the country.
Jinnie glanced up. “Dead!” she answered.
“And the cobbler, Mr. Grandoken, is he your father’s or mother’s brother?”
Jinnie pondered a moment, undecided how to answer.
“Why, you see it’s like this––”
Molly lessened the speed. Turning squarely around, she looked keenly at the scarlet, lovely face.
“Why are you blushing?” she queried.
Then like a flash she remembered. What a silly fool she had been! Jordan Morse would give his eyes almost to locate this girl.
“I remember now who you are,” she said, taking a long breath. “You’re Virginia Singleton.”
Jinnie touched her arm appealingly.
“You won’t tell anybody, will you, please? Please don’t.... There’s a reason why.”
“Tell me the reason.”
“I couldn’t now, not now. But I have to live with Lafe Grandoken quite a long time yet.”
“You ran away from your home?”
“Yes.”
“Your father died the same night you came away.”
“Yes, and—please, what happened after I left?”
“Oh, he was buried, and the house is empty.”
Molly forebore to mention Jordan Morse, and Jinnie’s tongue refused to utter the terrifying name.
Presently the girl, with tears in her eyes, said softly:166
“And Matty, old Matty?”
“Who’s Matty?” interjected Molly.
“The black woman who took care of me. She lived with me for ever so long.”
Molly didn’t reply for some time. Then:
“I think she died; at least I heard she did.”
A cold shudder ran over Jinnie’s body. Matty then had gone to join those who, when they were called, had no choice but to answer. She leaned against the soft cushions moodily. She was harking back to other days, and Molly permitted her to remain silent for some time.
“You must have people of your own you could live with,” she resumed presently. “It’s wrong for a girl with your money––”
Jinnie’s lovely mouth set at the corners.
“I wouldn’t leave Lafe and Peggy for anybody in the world, not if I had relations, but I haven’t.”
“I thought—I thought,” began Molly, pretending to bring to mind something she’d forgotten. “You have an uncle,” she burst forth.
Jinnie grew cold from head to foot. Her father’s words, “He won’t find in you much of an obstacle,” came to her distinctly.
“Does your uncle know where you are?”
This question brought the girl to the present.
“No. I don’t want him to know, either. Not till—not till I’m eighteen.”
“Why?”
Molly’s tone was so cold and unsympathetic Jinnie regretted she had accepted her invitation to ride. But she need not be afraid; Lafe would keep her safe from all harm. Had she not tried out his faith and the angels’ care with Maudlin Bates? However, she felt she owed some explanation to the woman at her side.167
“My uncle doesn’t like me,” she stammered, calming her fear. “And Lafe loves me, Lafe does.”
“How do you know your uncle doesn’t love you?”
Thinking of Lafe’s often repeated caution not to divulge her father’s disclosure of Morse’s perfidy, Jinnie remained quiet.
The birds above their heads kept up a shrill chatter. On ordinary occasions Jinnie would have listened to mark down in her memory a few notes to draw from her fiddle, but at this moment she was too busy looking for a proper explanation. Glancing sidelong at the woman’s face and noting the expression upon it, she grew cold and drew into the corner. She would not dare––
“I almost think it’s my duty to write your uncle,” said Molly deliberately.
Jinnie gasped. She straightened and put forth an impetuous hand.
“Please don’t! I beg you not to. Some day, mebbe, some day––”
“In the meantime you’re living with people who can’t take care of you.”
“Oh, but they do, and Mr. King’s helping me,” faltered Jinnie. “Why, he’d do anything for me he could. He loves my fiddle––”
“Does he love you?” asked Molly, her heart beating swiftly.
“I don’t know, but he’s very good to me.”
Molly with one hand carefully brushed a dead leaf from her skirt.
“Do you love him?” she asked, forcing casuality into her tone.
Did she love Theodore King? The question was flung at Jinnie so suddenly that the truth burst from her lips.
“Oh, yes, I love him very, very much––”168
The machine started forward with a tremendous jerk. Jinnie gave a frightened little cry, but the woman did not heed her. The motor sped along at a terrific rate, and there just ahead Jinnie spied a lean barn-cat, crossing the road. She screamed again in terror. Still Molly sped on, driving the car straight over the thin, gaunt animal. Jinnie’s heart leapt into her mouth. All her great love for living things rose in stout appeal against this ruthless deed. She lifted her slight body and sprang up and out, striking the hard ground with a sickening thud. She sat up, shaking from head to foot. A short distance ahead Molly Merriweather was turning her machine. Jinnie crawled to the middle of the road, still dizzy from her fall. There, struggling before her, was the object for which she had jumped. The cat was writhing in distracted misery, and Jinnie picked him up in her arms. She was sitting on the ground when Molly, very pale, rolled back.
“You little fool! You silly little fool!” she exclaimed, leaping out. “You might have been killed doing such a thing.”
“You ran over the kitty,” wept Jinnie, bowing her head.
“And what if I did? It’s only a cat. Throw it down and come with me immediately.”
Jinnie wasn’t used to such sentiments. She got to her feet, a queer, rebellious feeling buzzing through her brain.
“I’m going to walk home,” she said brokenly, “and take the kitty with me.”
Saying this, she took off her jacket and wrapped it about the cat. Molly glared at her furiously.
“You’re the strangest little dunce I ever saw,” she cried. “If you’re determined to take the little beast, get in.”
Molly was sorry afterward she had not let Jinnie have her way, for they had driven homeward but a little distance169when she saw Theodore’s car coming toward them. He himself was at the wheel, and waved good-naturedly. Molly reluctantly stopped her machine. The man looked in astonishment from the girl to the woman. He noticed Jinnie’s white face and the long blue mark running from her forehead to her chin. Molly, too, wore an expression which changed her materially. He stepped to the ground and leaned over the edge of their car.
“Something happened?” he questioned, eyeing first one, then the other.
Molly looked down upon the girl, who was staring at Mr. King.
“I—I––” began Jinnie.
Molly made a short explanation.
“She jumped out of the car,” she said. “I was just telling her she might have been killed.”
“Jumped out of the car?” repeated Theodore, aghast.
“And we were going at a terrible rate,” Molly went on.
Her voice was toned with accusation, and Jinnie saw a reprimanding expression spread over the man’s face. She didn’t want him to think ill of her, yet she was not sorry she had jumped. He was kind and good; he would pity the hurt thing throbbing against her breast.
“We—we—ran over a cat––” she said wretchedly.
“A barn-cat,” cut in Molly.
“And he was awfully hurt,” interpolated Jinnie. “I couldn’t leave him in the road. I had to get him, didn’t I?”
Theodore King made a movement of surprise.
“Did you notice it in the road?” he asked Miss Merriweather.
The woman was thoroughly angry, so angry she could not guard her tongue.
“Of course I saw him,” she replied haughtily, “but I wouldn’t stop for an old cat; I can tell you that much.”170
“Miss Grandoken looks ill,” Theodore answered slowly, “and as I am going her way, I think she’d better come with me.”
Molly was about to protest when two strong arms were thrust forth, and Jinnie with the cat was lifted out. Before the girl fully realized what had happened, she was sitting beside her friend, driving homeward. She could hear through her aching brain the chug-chug of Molly’s motor following. It was not until they turned into Paradise Road that Mr. King spoke to her. Then he said gently:
“It was a dreadful risk you took, child.”
“I didn’t think about that,” murmured Jinnie, closing her eyes.
“No, I suppose not. Your heart’s too tender to let anything be abused.... Is the cat dead?”
Jinnie pulled aside her jacket.
“No, but he’s breathing awful hard. It hurts him to try to live. I want to get home quick so Peggy can do something for him.”
“I’ll hurry, then,” replied Mr. King, and when he saw Lafe’s face in the window, he again addressed her:
“You’d better try to smile a little, Miss Jinnie, or your uncle’ll be frightened.”
Jinnie roused herself, but she was so weak when she tried to walk that Theodore picked her up in his arms and carried her into the shop.
171CHAPTER XXIIINOBODY’S CAT
Lafe uttered a quick little prayer as the door opened. His glance through the window had shown him Jinnie’s pale face and her dark head drooping against Mr. King’s shoulder. Theodore smiled as he entered, which instantly eased the fear in the cobbler’s heart and he waited for the other man to speak.
“Jinnie had a fall,” explained Mr. King, “so I drove her home.”
He placed the girl in a chair. She was still holding the mangled cat in her arms.
“Is she much hurt?” questioned Lafe anxiously.
“No, Lafe, I’m not hurt a bit. Miss Merriweather took me for a little ride. I jumped out to get this kitty because she ran over ’im.”
She displayed the quivering grey tiger cat.
“Jumped out of a fast-goin’ car, honey!” chided Lafe. “That was some dangerous.”
Jinnie’s eyes were veiled with wonder.
“But I couldn’t let him stay and get run over again, could I, Lafe?”
“No, darlin’, of course you couldn’t.... Are you pretty well broke up?”
Mr. King explained the accident as best he could, and after he departed Mrs. Grandoken came in with Bobbie clinging to her skirts. Then the story was repeated.172
“Can’t we do something for him, Peg?” pleaded Jinnie.
Peg knelt down and examined the animal as it lay on the floor. She would not have admitted for anything that she was disturbed because of Jinnie’s fall. She only said:
“’Twasn’t your fault, miss, that you ain’t almost dead yourself.... I’ll get a dish with some water.... You need it as much as the cat.”
It was Bobbie who brought from Peggy a fierce ejaculation. He was standing in the middle of the floor with fluttering hands, a woebegone expression on his upturned face.
“My stars’re goin’ out,” he whimpered. “I want to touch my Jinnie.”
“She ain’t hurt much, kid,” said Peg, hoarsely. “Don’t be shakin’ like a leaf, Bobbie! You’d think the girl was dead.”
Jinnie called the boy to her.
“I’m here, honey,” she soothed him, “and I’m all right. I got a little whack on the ground, that’s all.... There, don’t cry, dearie.”
Peg looked down on them frowningly.
“You’re both of you little fools,” she muttered. “Get out of my way till I go to the kitchen, or I’ll kick you out.”
When Mrs. Grandoken brought the water, they worked over the cat for a long time, and at length Peg carried the poor little mangled body to the kitchen, Bobbie following her.
Jinnie sat down beside the cobbler on the bench.
“There’s something I don’t know, Jinnie,” he said.
Fully and freely she told him all—all that had happened that day. She explained Molly’s recognition of her and the terrors of the afternoon’s ride.
“She hates barn-cats,” went on the girl, “and, Lafe,173when the wheels gritted over him, I flew right out on the ground.”
Lafe’s arms tightened about her.
“You just couldn’t help it,” he murmured. “God bless my little girl!”
“Then Mr. King took me with him,” concluded Jinnie.
Lafe had his own view of Molly the Merry, but he didn’t tell the faint, white girl at his side that he thought the woman was jealous of her.
As Jinnie again recounted nervously the conversation about her Uncle Jordan, the cobbler said softly:
“It’s all in the hands of the angels, pet! No harm’ll come to you ever.”
Jordan Morse answered Miss Merriweather’s telephone call.
“I want to talk with you,” said she peremptorily.
“I’ll come right up,” replied Morse.
She stood on the porch with her hands tightly locked together when Jordan dashed up the roadway. She walked slowly down the steps.
“What’s up?” demanded Morse.
Molly glanced backward at the quiet home. Theodore’s mother was taking her afternoon siesta, and no one else was about. She slipped her hand into Morse’s arm and led him under the trees.
“Let’s go to the summer house,” she urged.
Once seated, Morse looked at her curiously.
“You’re ill,” he said, noting her distorted face.
“No, only furious.... I’ve made a discovery.”
“Anything of value?”
“Yes, to you—and to me.”
Morse bent a keen glance upon her.174
“Well?” was all he said.
“I know where your niece, Virginia Singleton, is.”
She said this deliberately, realizing the while the worth of her words.
Morse got to his feet unsteadily.
“I don’t believe it,” he returned.
“I knew you wouldn’t, but I do just the same.”
“Where?”
“In this town.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
Morse dropped back on the seat once more.
“For God’s sake, don’t play with me. Why don’t you––”
“I’m going to! Keep still, can’t you?”
“You’re torturing me,” muttered the man, mopping his brow.
“She’s—she’s Jinnie Grandoken—the girl who played at Theo’s party.”
“Good God!” and then through the silence came another muttered, “Great merciful God!”
Molly allowed him to regain his self-control.
“I told you that night, Jordan, I thought I remembered her,” she then said. “To-day I found out it was she.”
“Tell me all you know,” ordered Morse, with darkening brow.
Molly openly admitted her jealousy of Jinnie. She had no shame because, long before, she had told her husband of her absorbing passion for Theodore King.
“I discovered it purely by accident,” she went on, relating the story.
Morse chewed the end of his cigar.
“Now what’re you going to do?” demanded Molly presently.175
Jordan threw away his cigar and thrust his hands deep into his pockets, stretching out a pair of long legs. There he sat considering the tips of his boots in silence.
“I’ve got to think, and think quick,” he broke out suddenly. “My God! I might have known she didn’t belong in that cobbler’s shop.... I’ll go now.... Don’t mention this to Theo.”
As he was leaving, he said with curling lip:
“I guess now you know my prospects you won’t be so stingy. I’ll have to have money to carry this through.”
“All right,” said Molly.
When she was alone, Molly’s anger decreased. She had an ally now worth having. She smiled delicately as she passed up the stairs to her room, and the smile was brought to her lips because she remembered having begged Jordan to help her in this matter several times before. Then he had had no incentive, but to-day––Ah, now he would give her a divorce quietly! The social world in which she hoped to move would know nothing of her youthful indiscretion.
That night Jinnie and Peg were bending anxiously over a basket near the kitchen stove. All that human hands and hearts could do had been done for the suffering barn-cat. He had given no sign of consciousness, his breath coming and going in long, deep gasps.
“He’ll die, won’t he, Peg?” asked Jinnie, sorrowfully.
“Yes, sure. An’ it’ll be better for the beast, too.” Peg said this tempestuously.
“I’d like to have him live,” replied Jinnie. “Milly Ann mightn’t love him, but she got used to Happy Pete, didn’t she?”176
“This feller,” assured Peggy, wagging her head, “won’t get used to anything more on this earth.”
“Poor kitty,” mourned Jinnie.
She was thinking of the beautiful world, the trees and the flowers, and the wonderful songs of nature amidst which the dying animal had existed.
“I hope he’ll go to some nice place,” she observed sadly, walking away from Mrs. Grandoken.
Later, after cogitating deeply, Jinnie expressed herself to the cobbler.
“Lafe, Lafe dear,” she said, “it’s all true you told me, ain’t it?... All about the angels and God?... The poor kitty’s suffering awful. He’s got the Christ too, hasn’t he, Lafe?”
The man looked into the agonized young face.
“Yes, child,” he replied reverently, “he’s got the Christ too, same’s you an’ me. God’s in everything. He loves ’em all.”
That night the girl sat unusually long with paper and pencil. Just before going to bed she placed a paper on the cobbler’s knee.
“I wrote that hurt kitty some poetry,” she said shyly.
Lafe settled his spectacles on his nose, picked up the sheet, and read:
“I’m nobody’s cat and I’ve been here so long,In this world of sorrow and pain,I’ve no father nor mother nor home in this place,And must always stay out in the rain.“Hot dish water, stones at me have been thrown,And one of my hind legs is lame;No wonder I run when I know the boysCome to see if I’m tame.177“I’ve a friend in the country, and he’s nobody’s dog,And his burdens’re heavy as mine,He told me one day the boys had once tiedA tin can to his tail with a line.“Now they talk in the churches of God and his Son,Of Paradise, Heaven and Hell;Of a Savior who came on earth for mankind,And for His children all should be well.“Now I’d like to know if God didn’t make me,And cause me to live and all that?I believe there’s a place for nobody’s child,And also for nobody’s cat.”
Mr. Grandoken lifted misty eyes.
“It’s fine,” he said, “an’ every word true!... Every single word.”
The next morning Jinnie went to the basket behind the stove. The cat was dead,—dead, in the same position in which she had left him the night before, and close to his nose was the meat Peggy had tried to entice him to eat. She lifted the basket and carried it into the shop.
“Poor little feller,” said Lafe. “I ’spose you’ll have to bury him, lass.”
Bobbie edged forward, and felt for Jinnie’s fingers.
“Bury him on the hill, dearie, where you found me,” he whispered. “It’s lovely there, and he can see my stars.”
“All right,” replied Jinnie, dropping her hand on the boy’s golden head.
That afternoon, just before the funeral, Jinnie stood quietly in front of the cobbler.
“Lafe,” she said, looking at him appealingly, “the kitty’s happy even if he is dead, isn’t he?”178
“Sure,” replied Lafe. “His angels’ve got charge of him, all right.”
“I was wondering something,” ventured the girl, thoughtfully. “Couldn’t we take him in the ‘Happy in Spite’?... Eh, Lafe?”
Lake looked at her in surprise.
“I never thought of takin’ anything dead in the club,” said he dubiously.
“But he’s happy, you said, Lafe?”
“He’s happy enough, yes, sure!”
“Then let’s take him in,” repeated Jinnie eagerly.
“Let’s take ’im in, cobbler,” breathed Bobbie, pressing forward. “He wants to come in.”
They lifted the cover of the basket, and there in quietude the barn-cat was sleeping his long last sleep.
Jinnie lifted one of the stiff little paws, and placed it in Lafe’s fingers. The cobbler shook it tenderly.
“You’re in the club, sir,” said he in a thick, choked voice. Then Jinnie and Bobbie, carrying their precious dead comrade, started for the hill.
179CHAPTER XXIV“HE MIGHT EVEN MARRY HER”
“I don’t see why you must have her out of the way entirely,” hesitated Molly Merriweather, looking up into Jordan Morse’s face. “Couldn’t you send her to some girls’ place?”
“Now you don’t know anything about it, Molly,” answered the man impatiently. “If she doesn’t disappear absolutely, the cobbler and Theodore’ll find her.”
“That’s so,” said Molly, meditatively, “but it seems horrible––”
Morse interrupted her with a sarcastic laugh.
“That’s what Theodore would think, and more, too, if he thought any one was going to harm a hair of the child’s head.”
Molly flamed red.
“To save her, he might even marry her,” Morse went on relentlessly.
Molly gestured negatively.
“He wouldn’t. He couldn’t!” she cried stormily. She had never permitted herself to face such a catastrophe save when she was angry.
Jordan Morse contemplated his wife a short space of time.
“I can’t understand your falling in love with a man who hasn’t breathed a word of affection for you,” he said tentatively.180
Molly showed him an angry face.
“You’re not a woman, so you can’t judge,” she replied.
“Thank God for that!” retorted Morse.
“We wouldn’t have had any of this trouble,” he continued, at length, “if you’d let me know about the boy. There’s no excuse for you, absolutely none. You know very well I would have come back.”
All the softness in the woman turned to hardness.
“How many times,” she flamed, “must I tell you I was too angry to write or beg you to come, Jordan?... I’ve told you over and over.”
“And with all you say, I can’t understand it. Are you going to impart your precious past to Theodore?”
“No,” replied Molly, setting her lips.
Presently Morse laughed provokingly.
“How you women do count your chickens before they’re hatched! Where did you get the idea Theodore was going to ask you to marry him?”
“I’ll make him,” breathed Molly, with confidence.
“Well, go ahead,” bantered Morse. “All I ask for releasing you is that you’ll help me rid myself of my beautiful niece, Virginia, at the same time ridding yourself, my lady, and give me my boy when we find him.”
His tones in the first part of the speech were mocking, but Molly noted when he said “boy” his voice softened. She looked at him wonderingly. What a strange mixture of good and evil he was! When he got up to leave, she was not sorry. She watched him stride away with a deep sigh of relief.
She was still sitting in the summer house when Theodore King swung his motor through the gate and drew up before the porch. He jumped out, wiped his face, saw Molly, and smiled.
“Well, it’s cool here,” he said, walking toward her.181
“Yes,” said Molly. “Come and sit down a minute.”
Theodore looked doubtfully at the house.
“I really ought to do some writing, but I’ll sit a while if you like. I passed Jordan on the way home.”
Molly nodded, and Theodore quizzed her with laughing eyes.
“Isn’t he coming pretty often?” he asked. “Jordan’s got prospects, Molly! If his niece isn’t found, you know, he’ll have a fortune.... Better set your cap for him.”
Molly blushed under his words, trying not to show her resentment. Was Theodore a perfect fool? Couldn’t he see she desired no one but himself, and him alone?
“Jordan doesn’t care for me that way,” she observed with dignity, “and I don’t care for him.”
Theodore flicked an ash from his cigar.
“I think you’re mistaken, Molly—I mean as far as he is concerned.”
“I’m not! Of course, I’m not! Oh, Theodore, I’ve been wanting to ask you something for a long time. I do want to go back home for a day.... Would you take me?”
Theodore eyed her through wreaths of blue smoke.
“Well, I might,” he hesitated, “but hadn’t you better ask Jordan? I’m afraid he wouldn’t like me––”
Molly got up so quickly that Theodore, surprised, got up too.
“I don’t want Jordan, and I do want you,” she said emphatically. “Of course if you don’t care to go––”
“On the contrary,” interrupted Theodore, good-naturedly, “I would really like it.... Yes, I’ll go all right.... I have a reason for going.”
Molly’s whole demeanor changed. She gave a musical laugh. He could have but one reason, and she felt she knew that reason! What a handsome dear he was, and how she loved the whole bigness of him!182
As she turned to walk away, Theodore fell in at her side, suiting his steps to hers.
“Mind you, Molly, any day you say but Saturday.”
“Why not Saturday?” asked Molly, pouting. “I might want you then!”
Unsuspecting, Mr. King explained.
“The fact is, Saturday I’ve planned to go on the hill. You remember Grandoken’s niece? I want to find out how she’s progressing in her music.”
If Theodore had been watching Molly’s face, he would have noted how its expression changed darkly. But, humming a tune, he went into the house unconcernedly, and Molly recognized the rhythm as one Jinnie had played that night long ago with Peg Grandoken’s lace curtains draped about her.
Jinnie’s youth, her bright blue eyes, her wonderful talent, Molly hated, and hated cordially. Then she decided Theodore should go with her Saturday.
That evening when Jordan Morse came in, Molly told him she would help him in any scheme to get Jinnie away from Bellaire.
“You’re beginning to understand he likes her pretty much, eh?” asked the man rudely.
Molly wouldn’t admit this, but she replied simply:
“I don’t want her around. That’s all! As long as she’s in Bellaire, the Kings’ll always have her here with her fiddle.”
“Some fiddle,” monotoned Jordan.
“It’s the violin that attracts Theodore,” hesitated Molly.
“And her blue eyes,” interrupted Jordan, smiling widely.
“Her talent, you mean,” corrected Molly.
“And her curls,” laughed Morse. “I swear if she wasn’t183a relation of mine I’d marry the kid myself. She’s a beauty!... She’s got you skinned to death.”
“You needn’t be insulting, Jordan,” admonished Molly, flushing.
“It’s the truth, though. That’s where the rub comes. You can’t wool me, Molly. If she were hideous, you wouldn’t worry at all.... Why, I know seven or eight girls right here in Bellaire who’d give their eye teeth and wear store ones to get Theodore to look at ’em crosseyed.... Lord, what fools women are!”
Molly left him angrily, and Morse, shrugging his shoulders, strolled on through the trees. Not far from the house he met Theodore, and they wandered on together, smoking in silence. Morse suddenly developed an idea. Why shouldn’t he sound King about Jinnie? Accordingly, he began with:
“That’s a wonderful girl, Grandoken’s niece.”
This topic was one Theodore loved to speak of, to dream so, so he said impetuously:
“She is indeed. I only wish I could get her away from Paradise Road.”
Morse turned curious eyes on his friend.
“Why?”
“Well, I don’t think it’s any place for an impressionable young girl like her.”
“She’s living with Jews, too, isn’t she?”
“Yes, but good people,” Theodore replied. “I want her to go away to school. I’d be willing to pay her expenses––”
Morse flung around upon him.
“Send her away to school? You?”
“Yes. Why not? Wouldn’t it be a good piece of charity work? She’s the most talented girl I ever saw.”
“And the prettiest,” Jordan cut in.184
“By far the prettiest,” answered King without hesitation.
His voice was full of feeling, and Jordan Morse needed no more to tell him plainly that Theodore loved Jinnie Grandoken. A sudden chill clutched at his heart. If King ever took Jinnie under his protection, his own plans would count for nothing. He went home that night disgusted with himself for having stayed away from his home country so long, angry that Molly had not told him about the baby, and more than angry with Theodore King.
185CHAPTER XXVWHEN THEODORE FORGOT
For the next few days Jordan Morse turned over in his mind numerous plans to remove Jinnie from Grandoken’s home, but none seemed feasible. As long as Lafe knew his past and stood like a rock beside the girl, as long as Theodore King was interested in her, he himself was powerless to do anything. How to get both the cobbler and his niece out of the way was a problem which continually worried him.
He mentioned his anxiety to Molly, asking her if by any means she could help him.
“I did tell her I’d write to you,” said Molly.
Morse’s face fell.
“She’s a stubborn little piece,” he declared presently. “Theo’s in love with her all right.”
“You don’t really mean that!” stammered Molly, her heart thumping.
“Perhaps not very seriously, but such deep interest as his must come from something more than just the girl’s talent. He spoke about sending her away to school.”
“He shan’t,” cried Molly, infuriated.
Morse’s rehearsal of Theodore’s suggestion was like goads in her soul.
“If she’d go,” went on the man, “nothing you or I could do would stop him. The only way––”
Molly whirled upon him abruptly.186
“I’ll help you, Jordan, I will.... Anything, any way to keep him from her.”
They were both startled and confused when Theodore came upon them suddenly with his swinging stride, but before Morse went home, he whispered to Molly:
“I’ve thought of something—tell you to-morrow.”
That night Molly scarcely slept. The vision of a black-haired girl in the arms of Theodore King haunted her through her restless dreams, and the agony was so intense that before the dawn broke over the hill she made up her mind to help her husband, even to the point of putting Jinnie out of existence.
That morning Morse approached her with this command:
“You try to get Jinnie to go with you to Mottville. You wouldn’t have to stay but a day or so. There your responsibilities would end.... I’ll be there at the same time.... Will you do it, Molly?”
“Yes,” said Molly, and her heart began to sing and her eyes to shine. Her manner to Jordan as he left was more cordial than since his return from Europe.
At noon time, when Theodore King saw her walking, sweetly cool, under the trees, he joined her. Molly had donned the dress he had complimented most, and as he approached her, she lifted a shy gaze to his.
“You couldn’t take me to-morrow, you’re sure?” she begged, her voice low, deep and appealingly resonant.
Theodore hesitated. Being naturally chivalrous and kindly, he disliked to refuse, but he had already sent a note to Jinnie to meet him at the master’s Saturday, and it went against his inclination to break that appointment.
“I don’t see how I can,” he replied thoughtfully, “but choose any day next week, and we’ll make a real picnic of it.”187
“I’m so disappointed,” Molly murmured sadly. “I wanted to go Saturday. But of course––”
“I’ll see if I can arrange it,” he assured her. “Possibly I might go up to hear her play to-day.... I’ll see.... Later I’ll ’phone you.”
Leaving the house, he headed his car toward the lower end of the town. He was glad of an excuse to go to Paradise Road. Lafe smiled through the window at him, and he entered the shop at the cobbler’s cordial, “Come in!”
“I suppose you want Jinnie, eh?” asked Lafe.
“Yes. I’ll detain her only a moment.”
Bobbie got up from the floor where he was playing soldiers with tacks and nails.
“Boy’ll call Jinnie,” said he, moving forward.
The two men watched the slender blind child feel his way to the door.
“Bobbie loves to take a part in things,” explained Lafe. “Poor little fellow!”
“Is he hopelessly blind?” asked Theodore.
“Yes, yes,” and Lafe sighed. “I sent him once by Peg to ask a big eye specialist. He’s a good little shaver, but his heart’s awful weak. You wouldn’t think he’s almost eleven, would you?”
Theodore shook his head, shocked.
“It isn’t possible!” he exclaimed.
“He ain’t growed much since he come here over two years ago. Jinnie can carry him in one arm.”
“Poor child!” said Theodore sympathetically.
Just then Jinnie came into the room shyly. Bobbie had excitedly whispered to her that “the beautiful big man with the nice hands” wanted her. She hesitated at the sight of Mr. King, but advanced as Lafe held out his hand to her.
Before Theodore could explain, she had told him:188
“The master isn’t giving me a lesson to-day, but he will to-morrow because you’re coming.”
With pride in her voice, she said it radiantly, the color mantling high in her cheeks. Molly’s importunate insistence escaped Theodore’s mind. When with Jinnie, ordinary matters generally did fade away.
“I’m very glad,” he replied. “I hope you’ve progressed a lot.”
“She has, sir, she sure has,” Lafe put in. “You’ll be surprised! How long since you’ve heard her play?”
“A long time,” answered Theodore, and still forgetting Molly, he went on, “I wonder if you’d like to come to the house to-morrow to dinner and play for us. My mother was speaking about how much she’d enjoy it only a short time ago.”
Jinnie’s eyes sparkled.
“I should love to come,” she answered gladly.
He rose to go, taking her hand.
“Then I’ll send the car for you,” he promised her.
He was sitting at his office desk when Molly the Merry once more came into his mind. An ejaculation escaped his lips, and he made a wry face. Then, in comparison, Jinnie, with all her sparkling youth, rose triumphant before him. He loved the child, for a child she still seemed to him. To tell her now of his affection might harm her work. He would wait! She was so young, so very young.
For a long time he sat thinking and dreaming of the future, and into the quiet of his office he brought, in brilliant vision, a radiant, raven-haired woman—his ideal—his Jinnie. Suddenly again he remembered his promise to Molly and slowly took down the telephone. Then deliberately he replaced it. It would be easier to explain the circumstances face to face with her, and no doubt entered his mind but that the woman would be satisfied and189very glad that Jinnie was coming with her violin to play for them. Molly wouldn’t mind postponing her trip for a few days.
Molly was reclining as usual in the hammock with a book in her hand when he ran up the steps.
“Molly,” he began, going to her quickly, “I want to confess.”
“Confess?” she repeated, sitting up.
“Yes, it’s this way: When I went out this morning I felt sure I could arrange about to-morrow.... But what do you think?”
Miss Merriweather put down the book, stood up, her hand over her heart.
“I can’t guess,” she breathed.
“Well, I went to Grandoken’s––”
“You could have sent a note,” Molly cut in.
Theodore looked at her curiously.
“I could, but I didn’t. I wanted Jinnie to understand––”
His voice vibrated deeply when he spoke that name, and the listener’s love-laden ears caught the change immediately.
“Well?” she murmured in question.
“When I got there and saw her, I forgot about Saturday. Before I had a chance, she told me she wasn’t going to the master’s to-day. Then without another thought––”
“Well?” interviewed Molly with widening eyes.
“Pardon me, Molly,” Theodore said tactlessly, “for forgetting you—you will, won’t you? I asked her to play here to-morrow night.”
Molly felt the structure of her whole world tumbling down about her ears. He had forgotten her for that girl, that jade in Paradise Road, the girl who stood between190her and all her hopes. She took one step forward and forgot, her dignity, forgot everything but his stinging insult.
“How dared you?” she uttered hoarsely. Her voice grew thin as it raised to the point of a question.
“Dare!” echoed Theodore, his expression changing.
Molly went nearer him with angry, sparkling eyes.
“Yes, how dared you ask that girl to come here when I dislike her? You know how I hate her––”
Mr. King tossed his cigar into the grass, gravity settling on his countenance.
“I hadn’t the slightest idea you disliked her,” he said.
Molly eagerly advanced into the space between them.
“She is trying to gain some sort of influence over you, Theo, just the same as she got over that Jewish cobbler.”
Theodore King gazed in amazement at the reddening, beautiful face. Surely he had not heard aright. Had she really made vile charges against the girl? To implicate Jinnie with a thought of conspiracy brought hot blood about his temples. He wouldn’t stand that even from an old-time friend. Of course he liked Molly very much, yes, very much indeed, but this new antagonistic spirit in her––
“What’s the matter with you, Molly?” he demanded abruptly. “You haven’t any reason to speak of the child that way.”
“The child!” sneered Molly. “Why, she’s a little river rat—a bold, nasty––”
Theodore King raised his great shoulders, throwing back his closely cropped head. Then he sprang to refute the terrible aspersion against the girl he loved.
“Stop!” he commanded in a harsh voice, leaning over the panting woman. “And now I’ll ask you howyoudare?” he finished.191
Molly answered him bravely, catching her breath in a sob.
“I dare because I’m a woman.... I dare because I know what she’s doing. If she hadn’t played her cards well, you’d never’ve paid any attention to her at all.... No one can make me believe you would have been interested in a—in a––”
The man literally whirled from the porch, bounded into the motor, turned the wheel, and shot rapidly away.