CHAPTER IIIIT NEVER RAN SMOOTH.“You’re not killed, are you?â€� she sobbed, trying to stanch the flow of blood that trickled from a gash at the edge of his hair near his temple.“If I am,â€� he returned, with a feeble effort to jest, “I don’t know it yet.â€�“But you’re hurt. You struck on your head.â€�“Probably that saved my life. Solid ivory, you know. I will admit that I feel a trifle upset, so to speak. No, don’t move—please don’t! The mere thought of your moving gives me pain.â€�“But I must go for help. You’re wounded.â€�“I am,â€� he admitted, gazing up into her blue eyes in a manner that gave her a most peculiar sensation. “Mortally wounded. I fear. I never was hit so hard in my life, and I am afraid I can’t recover.â€�Again she cried out in apprehension and distress. “Oh, I was afraid you were done for when that beast caught you!â€�“I am,â€� was his singularly cheerful acknowledgment; “I’m done for. I’ve got mine. The jig is up with me.â€�“Is it your arms, your legs? Your ribs—are they smashed? Where do you feel it most?â€�“Here,â€� he answered, putting his hand to his heart. “Rut it isn’t my ribs; it’s something deeper, Daphne.â€�“That isn’t my name; it’s Bessie.â€�“Bessie! Mine’s George. Awfully commonplace, isn’t it? Now, if my folks had only called me Reginald——â€�“You mustn’t try to talk. I’m sure it’s painful. You must keep still.â€�“I will if you’ll keep on talking yourself. The sound of your voice soothes me like the murmuring of a brook. Your eyes are like springtime violets. The touch of your little hand is as delicious as a draft of pure water to a person dying of thirst. Now I’ll leave it to you if a Reginald could beat that speech much.â€�She stiffened and drew back a bit, the color beginning to return to her pale cheeks. They looked at each other steadily, and the returning flush covered her face.Beyond the fence the victorious bull pawed the ground; from a vantage of safety the old dog glared through the rails and regarded the bull with disapproval, but the man and girl paid no attention to either of them. The girl had turned her gaze toward the distant road that wound down into the village.“I don’t believe you are hurt much,â€� she said, in a low voice, which, however, was made unsteady by a queer little throbbing in her throat. “If you were, you couldn’t talk like that.â€�“It’s because I am that I can talk like that,â€� he declared. “It’s the first time I ever talked that way to any one.â€�“Your friends who have to get to Albion,â€� she murmured; “I’m afraid they’ll lose their train.â€�“By Jove!â€� he cried, sitting up suddenly. “I’d clean forgotten them!â€�“You were fooling me!â€� she exclaimed, as she started to rise.With a groan he fell back. The crimson, oozing from his wound, ran down across his temple, and in another moment she was again checking the flow with her handkerchief. His eyes were closed, and she imagined he had fainted.“Oh, dear!â€� She seemed distraught. “I don’t know what to do! I’ve got to get help, but if I leave you, you may bleed to death.â€�“Don’t let me bleed to death,â€� he begged faintly. “Don’t leave me—Bessie. You mustn’t leave me—as long as I live.â€�It seemed a great effort for him to lift his eyelids, but he looked at her again, and the appeal in his eyes filled her with a feeling of desperation.“You must have a doctor.â€�“You’re the only doctor I want. You’re the only doctor who can cure me. If you throw up the case and turn me over to a common pill slinger, I’ll never get over it.â€�“But I’ve simply got to get help for you somehow. I’ll hurry.â€�“I can’t let you go. I’m an awful coward, you know, and——â€�“You’re nothing of the sort! I’ve never seen anybody as brave as you are.â€�A tremor ran over his body. At first she thought it was a convulsive movement of pain, but when it continued she was overcome by the astounding conviction that he was laughing. Astonishment gave place to outraged indignation. There was no mistaking the fact that he was really shaking with laughter that he sought in vain to suppress. She leaped up, letting him drop back, and stood rigid, filled with intense resentment.“You—you’re making sport of me!â€� she said, in a low voice that suddenly had in it something like icy brittleness. “You’ve been playing on my sympathy! You’re not really hurt—much. It was a very ungentlemanly thing to do! I hope you have enjoyed yourself!â€�He sat up without much effort. “I give you my word of honor that I didn’t mean to laugh at you. Perhaps my head is affected a little. This crack on the bean must be the cause. It really was some bump.â€�“You—you wretch!â€� she cried, stamping her foot. “I hate you!â€�Her little hands were tightly clenched. She turned away to hide the tears which welled again into her eyes; but now they were tears of exasperation, shame, and rage.He got quickly to his feet. “Please, Bessie!â€� he said. “You don’t understand. Not for the world would I——â€�He stopped short, staring across at the road, down which a touring car containing two men was speeding toward the village.“Great Caesar!â€� he cried. “There goes the governor! Hitchens must have got the engine running somehow. They’ll expect to find me in town.â€� With all the strength of a good pair of lungs, he shouted, waving his hands above his head. The automobile sped on. Its occupants neither saw nor heard him.“I guess I’m left for the time being,â€� he said. “They’ll go ripping straight through to catch that train at Albion.â€�“They won’t rip through very far,â€� Miss Wiggin flung at him. “There’s a trap just outside the village, watched by a deputy sheriff and two constables. Your old governor will be nabbed and pulled up before my father, who will soak him with a fine. And I hope dad soaks him good,â€� she finished, laughing, and doing so with a vindictiveness that seemed to afford her untold relief and satisfaction.
“You’re not killed, are you?� she sobbed, trying to stanch the flow of blood that trickled from a gash at the edge of his hair near his temple.
“If I am,� he returned, with a feeble effort to jest, “I don’t know it yet.�
“But you’re hurt. You struck on your head.�
“Probably that saved my life. Solid ivory, you know. I will admit that I feel a trifle upset, so to speak. No, don’t move—please don’t! The mere thought of your moving gives me pain.â€�
“But I must go for help. You’re wounded.�
“I am,� he admitted, gazing up into her blue eyes in a manner that gave her a most peculiar sensation. “Mortally wounded. I fear. I never was hit so hard in my life, and I am afraid I can’t recover.�
Again she cried out in apprehension and distress. “Oh, I was afraid you were done for when that beast caught you!�
“I am,� was his singularly cheerful acknowledgment; “I’m done for. I’ve got mine. The jig is up with me.�
“Is it your arms, your legs? Your ribs—are they smashed? Where do you feel it most?â€�
“Here,� he answered, putting his hand to his heart. “Rut it isn’t my ribs; it’s something deeper, Daphne.�
“That isn’t my name; it’s Bessie.�
“Bessie! Mine’s George. Awfully commonplace, isn’t it? Now, if my folks had only called me Reginald——â€�
“You mustn’t try to talk. I’m sure it’s painful. You must keep still.�
“I will if you’ll keep on talking yourself. The sound of your voice soothes me like the murmuring of a brook. Your eyes are like springtime violets. The touch of your little hand is as delicious as a draft of pure water to a person dying of thirst. Now I’ll leave it to you if a Reginald could beat that speech much.�
She stiffened and drew back a bit, the color beginning to return to her pale cheeks. They looked at each other steadily, and the returning flush covered her face.
Beyond the fence the victorious bull pawed the ground; from a vantage of safety the old dog glared through the rails and regarded the bull with disapproval, but the man and girl paid no attention to either of them. The girl had turned her gaze toward the distant road that wound down into the village.
“I don’t believe you are hurt much,� she said, in a low voice, which, however, was made unsteady by a queer little throbbing in her throat. “If you were, you couldn’t talk like that.�
“It’s because I am that I can talk like that,� he declared. “It’s the first time I ever talked that way to any one.�
“Your friends who have to get to Albion,� she murmured; “I’m afraid they’ll lose their train.�
“By Jove!� he cried, sitting up suddenly. “I’d clean forgotten them!�
“You were fooling me!� she exclaimed, as she started to rise.
With a groan he fell back. The crimson, oozing from his wound, ran down across his temple, and in another moment she was again checking the flow with her handkerchief. His eyes were closed, and she imagined he had fainted.
“Oh, dear!� She seemed distraught. “I don’t know what to do! I’ve got to get help, but if I leave you, you may bleed to death.�
“Don’t let me bleed to death,â€� he begged faintly. “Don’t leave me—Bessie. You mustn’t leave me—as long as I live.â€�
It seemed a great effort for him to lift his eyelids, but he looked at her again, and the appeal in his eyes filled her with a feeling of desperation.
“You must have a doctor.�
“You’re the only doctor I want. You’re the only doctor who can cure me. If you throw up the case and turn me over to a common pill slinger, I’ll never get over it.�
“But I’ve simply got to get help for you somehow. I’ll hurry.�
“I can’t let you go. I’m an awful coward, you know, and——â€�
“You’re nothing of the sort! I’ve never seen anybody as brave as you are.�
A tremor ran over his body. At first she thought it was a convulsive movement of pain, but when it continued she was overcome by the astounding conviction that he was laughing. Astonishment gave place to outraged indignation. There was no mistaking the fact that he was really shaking with laughter that he sought in vain to suppress. She leaped up, letting him drop back, and stood rigid, filled with intense resentment.
“You—you’re making sport of me!â€� she said, in a low voice that suddenly had in it something like icy brittleness. “You’ve been playing on my sympathy! You’re not really hurt—much. It was a very ungentlemanly thing to do! I hope you have enjoyed yourself!â€�
He sat up without much effort. “I give you my word of honor that I didn’t mean to laugh at you. Perhaps my head is affected a little. This crack on the bean must be the cause. It really was some bump.�
“You—you wretch!â€� she cried, stamping her foot. “I hate you!â€�
Her little hands were tightly clenched. She turned away to hide the tears which welled again into her eyes; but now they were tears of exasperation, shame, and rage.
He got quickly to his feet. “Please, Bessie!â€� he said. “You don’t understand. Not for the world would I——â€�
He stopped short, staring across at the road, down which a touring car containing two men was speeding toward the village.
“Great Caesar!� he cried. “There goes the governor! Hitchens must have got the engine running somehow. They’ll expect to find me in town.� With all the strength of a good pair of lungs, he shouted, waving his hands above his head. The automobile sped on. Its occupants neither saw nor heard him.
“I guess I’m left for the time being,� he said. “They’ll go ripping straight through to catch that train at Albion.�
“They won’t rip through very far,� Miss Wiggin flung at him. “There’s a trap just outside the village, watched by a deputy sheriff and two constables. Your old governor will be nabbed and pulled up before my father, who will soak him with a fine. And I hope dad soaks him good,� she finished, laughing, and doing so with a vindictiveness that seemed to afford her untold relief and satisfaction.