Part 13

“No, he didn't have no collision, ma'am, he just got kidnapped you see. And not wanting to get found out, natchelly the kidnappers give him a little dope to keep his mouth shut fer a while. What's that? Who'm I? Well, now, Mrs. Shafton, that's tellin,' ain't it? I wouldn't want to go so far as that 'thout I was sure of your cooperation. What's that? You'll reward me? Oh, thanks, that's what I was figgering about. You see I'm in rather of a hole myself. That's what. You see, much against my will I was one of the kidnappers myself ma'am. Yes ma'am, much against my will! You see I'm a farmer's son myself, good an' honest and respectable. Never had nothin' to do with such doin's in my life, my word of honor, lady. But I come to town just to look around an' have a bit of fun an' I got in with a bad lot, an' they pract'cally _compelled_ me to assist 'em in this here kidnappin.' Oh, I didn't do nothin', jest helped to carry him--Oh, ma'am, it ain't that bad. He's still livin' an' he'll be awwright if you just he'p me to get him away 'thout their knowin'. Yes ma'am. I'm honest. I'm offerin' to help you. You see, when I see him layin' there on the bed--Oh, yes, he's on a bed, I ain't sayin' how comfortable it is, but it's a bed, an' he ain't sufferin' now,--but of course if they don't get what they want they may put him to the torture jest to get more outta you all--No, ma'am don't scream that way ur I'll have to hang up. This is on the q.t. you know. What? You don't understand? Why, I was sayin' you mustn't let a soul know what's happened. Not a _soul._ If it should get out an' his kidnappers should find it out they'd kill him easy as a fly an' no mistake. You gotta go slow on this. Yes, lady, they're desperate characters, _I'm sayin' it!_ an' the sooner you get your son outta their han's the better fer his future, lady, fer even if he should escape after they'd been found out they'd probably lame him fer life or put out his eyes or some little old thing like that, so you see, lady, you gotta talk low an' take care you don't let on to no one. If you should turn yella it ud be all up with little Laurie an' no mistake, so keep yer mouth shet an' do as I tell ye, and I'll help ye out. Yes, as I was sayin' when I seen little Laurie layin' there so still an' white, my conscience--There, there, lady, don't you take on--as I was sayin' my conscience troubled me, an' I says, I'm agonta get this fella free! So I figgered out a way. You see lady, there's two of us, me'n another feller set to watch 'im, an' feed him dope if he tries to wake up, an' when I get feelin' worried about it I says to the other fella I was agonta tell his folks, an' he says he'll shoot me, but I keeps on tellin' him how sinful 'twas to make a poor mother suffer--I gotta mother myself ma'am! Yes ma'am a good old mother, an' she taught me to be honest, so I says to thother fella, I says what'll you take an' git out, an' he says ten thousand dollars, an' I says, awwright, I'll get it fer ya, an' so now lady, 'f I was you I'd pay it right down quick 'fore he changes his mind. Cause the other fellas they was goin' to ast a million, an' kill 'im if you didn't fall fer it right to oncet. No ma'am I don't want nothin' fer myself. I just want to go back to the old farm with a clean conscience. What? Oh, yes, I want the money right away, that is before mornin'. If we can't get him out before mornin' it ain't no use, fer the other fellas is comin' back an' move him an' we can't do nothin'? What? Where is he? I couldn't' really say, lady, it wouldn't be allowed, an' my mate he's outside the telephone booth with a loaded revolver holdin' it up to my head, and he's listenin' an' ef I give anythin' away he'd shoot me on the spot. So where would your nice lookin' son be then? Mrs. Shafton hadn't you better--? That's right lady, I knew you'd thank me, an' yes, now I'll tell you what to do. First place, how much money ya got in the house? No, that's not 'nough. That wouldn't do a mite of good, it wouldn't be a drop in the bucket. Ain't ya got any bonds, ur jewels or papers? Yes, that's the talk! Now yer shoutin'--Yes, lady, that would do. No,--not that. You gotta have something that he can't get caught with. I know you're loosin' a lot lady, but you got lots left, and what's money an' jewels compared to your only son, ma'am? Why, think how he used to look when he wore little white dresses an' used to come to have his head kissed when he fell down! Wasn't he sweet, lady, and he had a pair of little blue shoes didn't he? I thought so. Say, lady, you'r the right sort! I knowed you must be to be a mother of such a handsome son. Now, lady, could you hustle those things together you spoke of an' any more you may happen to come on, and just put 'em in a little box or basket, and tie a string on 'em an' let 'em down outta yer winda? It's all I'll ask. Let 'em down outta yer winda. Then you turn out the lights and turn 'em on again three times real quick, out an' in, an' that'll be the signal. An' after ten minutes you look out yer front winda an' off as fur as ye can see an' I'll flash a signal light to ya jest to let ya know it's all right. An' I'll promise you on my word of honor that you'll hear your own son's voice over the telephone good an' early tomorrow mornin' an' no mistake. But lady, ye mustn't turn yella an' holler ner nothin or we'll fling yer jewels an' paper back in yer yard an' let yer son die. We ain't goin' to run no chances ye know. You ain't got no dogs, have ye? And which side is yer room on? The front? Yes, an' which is the easiest way to get to the house without comin' near the servants' quarters? To the right? Yes, I see. An' you'll play straight? All right lady. Your son's as good as home now. I'll give you just one hour by the clock to get yer stuff together, but mind ya, if ya weaken an' try to put the p'lice onto me, I got a way to signal my pal, an' he'll have that boy o' yours shot within five minutes after you call fer help? Understand? Oh, yes, I know lady, you wouldn't do no such a thing, but my pal he made me say that. He's a desperate man lady, an' there ain't no use toyin' with him. All right. One hour. It's just quarter to 'leven. Good-bye!”

Link came lounging out of the booth mopping his wet forehead:

“She fell fer it all right,” he said jerking a wan smile, but he looked as though the last of his own nerve had gone into the telephone receiver. “She wanted to put in an extra check, but I told her we'd be generous and let it go at what she could find without her name on it. Gosh, what fools some wommen are! I thought I got her number all right, a whimperin' fool! A whimperin' little old fool! Now, Shorty, all we gotta do is collect the boodle. It's up to you to watch outside the hedge. I'm takin' all the risks this time m'self, an' I'm goin' to ferret my way under that there madam's winder. You stay outside and gimme the signal. Ef you get cold feet an' leave me in the lurch you don't get no dividends, See?”

XIII

Billy, with that fine inner sense that some boys have, perceived that there was deep emotion of a silent sort between the minister and Mark, and he drifted away from them unnoticed, back toward the car.

“Billy!” whispered Lynn, rising from the upper step in the shadow of the church.

The boy turned with a quick silent stride and was beside her:

“I couldn't help it, Miss Lynn, I really couldn't--There was something very important--Cart--That is--Cart needed me! I knew you'd understand.”

“Yes, Billy, I understand. Somehow I knew you were with Mark. It's good to have a friend like you, Billy!” She smiled wanly.

Billy looked up half proud, half ashamed:

“It's nothin'!” said Billy, “I just had to. Cart--well, I had to.”

“I know, Billy--Mark needed you. And Billy,--if there's any trouble--any--any--that is if Mark ever needs you, you'll stick by him I know?”

“Sure!” said Billy looking up with a sudden searching glance, “Sure, I'll stick by him!”

“And if there's anything--anything that ought to be done--why--I mean anything _we_ could do--Billy,--you'll let us know?”

“Sure, I will!” There was utmost comprehension in the firm young voice. Billy kicked his heel softly into the grass by the walk, looking down embarrassedly. He half started on toward the car and then turning back he said suddenly, “Why doncha go see Cherry, Miss Lynn?”

“Cherry?” she said startled, her face growing white in the darkness.

The boy nodded, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets and regarding her with sudden boldness. He opened his lips as if he would speak further, then thought better of it and closed them again firmly, dropping his eyes as if he were done with the topic. There was a bit of silence, then Lynn said gravely:

“Perhaps I will,” and “Thank you, Billy.”

Billy felt as though the balm of Gilead had suddenly been poured over his tired heart.

“G'night!” he murmured, feeling that he had put his troubles into capable hands that would care for them, as he would himself.

There had been no word spoken between the minister and Mark as they went together toward the parsonage, but there had seemed to each to be a great clearing of the clouds between them, and a tender love springing anew, with warm understanding and sympathy. Mark felt himself a boy again, with the minister's arm across his shoulder, and a strong yearning to confide in this understanding friend, swept over him. If there had been a quiet place with no one about just then there is no telling what might have happened to change the story from that point on, but their silent intercourse was rudely interrupted by the voice of Laurie Shafton breaking in:

“Oh, I say, Mr. Severn, who did you say that man was that could fix cars? I'd like to call him up and see if he doesn't happen to have some bearings now. He surely must have returned by this time hasn't he? I'd like to take these girls a spin. The moon is perfectly gorgeous. We could go in the lady's car, only it is smaller and I thought I'd ask your daughter to go along.”

“Oh!” said the minister suddenly brought back into the world of trivial things? “Why, _this_ is Mr. Carter, Mr. Shafton. He can speak for himself.”

Mark stood with lifted head and his princely look regarding the interloper with cold eyes. He acknowledged the introduction almost haughtily, and listened to the story of the burnt out bearings without a change of countenance, then said gravely:

“I think I can fix you up in the morning.”

“Not to-night?” asked the spoiled Laurie with a frown of displeasure.

“Not to-night,” said Mark with a finality that somehow forbade even a Shafton from further parley.

Opal had regarded Mark from the vine covered porch as he stood with bared head in the moonlight and clattered down on her tiny patent leather pumps to be introduced. She came and stood hanging pertly on Laurie Shafton's arm as if he were her private property, with her large limpid eyes fixed upon the stranger, this prince of a man that had suddenly turned up in this funny little country dump.

She put her giddy little tongue into the conversation, something about how delicious it would be to take a little ride to-night, implying that Mark might go along if he would fix up the car. She was dressed in a slim, clinging frock of some rich Persian gauzy silk stuff, heavy with beads in dull barbaric patterns, and girt with a rope of jet and jade. Her slim white neck rose like a stem from the transparent neck line, and a beaded band about her forehead held the fluffy hair in place about her pretty dark little head. She wore long jade earrings which nearly touched the white shoulders, and gave her the air of an Egyptian princess. She was very gorgeous, and unusual even in the moonlight, and she knew it, yet this strange young man gave her one cold scrutinizing glance and turned away.

“I'll see you again in the morning, Mr. Severn,” he said, and wringing the minister's hand silently, he went back across the lawn. The spell was broken and the minister knew it would be of no use to follow. Mark would say no more of his trouble tonight.

It was so that Lynn, coming swiftly from her shadow, with troubled thoughts, came face to face with Mark:

He stopped suddenly as if something had struck him.

“Oh, Mark!” she breathed softly, and put out her hand.

He made a swift motion away from her, and said quickly:

“Don't touch me, Marilyn,--I-am--not--_worthy_!”

Then quickly turning he sprang into his car and started the engine.

The minister stood in the moonlight looking sadly after the wayward boy whom he had loved for years.

Lynn came swiftly toward her father, scarcely seeing the two strangers. She had a feeling that he needed comforting. But the minister, not noticing her approach, had turned and was hurrying into the house by the side entrance.

“Come on girls, let's have a little excitement,” cried Laurie Shafton gaily, “How about some music? There's a piano in the house I see, let's boom her up!”

He made a sudden dive and swooped an arm intimately about each girl's waist, starting them violently toward the steps, forgetting the lame ankle that was supposed to make him somewhat helpless.

The sudden unexpected action took Marilyn unaware, and before she could get her footing or do anything about it she caught a swift vision of a white face in the passing car. Mark had seen the whole thing! She drew back quickly, indignantly flinging the offending arm from her waist, and hurried after her father; but it was too late to undo the impression that Mark must have had. He had passed by.

Inside the door she stopped short, stamping her white shod foot with quick anger, her face white with fury, her eyes fairly blazing. If Laurie had seen her now he would scarcely have compared her to a saint. To think that on this day of trouble and perplexity this gay insolent stranger should dare to intrude and presume! And before Mark!

But a low spoken word of her mother's reached her from the dining-room, turning aside her anger:

“I hate to ask Lynn to take her into her room. Such a queer girl! It seems like a desecration! Lynn's lovely room!”

“She had no right to put herself upon us!” said the father in troubled tones. “She is as far from our daughter as heaven is from the pit. Who is she, anyway?”

“He merely introduced her as his friend Opal.”

“Is there nothing else we can do?”

“We might give her our room, but it would take some time to put it in order for a guest. There would be a good many things to move--and it would be rather awkward in the morning, cots in the living-room. I suppose Lynn could come in with me and you sleep on a cot--!”

“Yes, that's exactly it! Do that. I don't mind.”

“I suppose we'll have to,” sighed the mother, “for I know Lynn would hate it having a stranger among her pretty intimate things--!”

Marilyn sprang up and burst into the dining-room:

“Mother! Did you think I was such a spoiled baby that I couldn't be courteous to a stranger even if she was a detestable little vamp? You're not to bother about it any more. She'll come into my room with me of course. You didn't expect me to sail through life without any sacrifices at all did you, Motherie? Suppose I had gone to Africa as I almost did last year? Don't you fancy there'd have been some things harder than sharing my twin beds with a disagreeable stranger? Besides, remember those angels unaware that the Bible talks about. I guess this is up to me, so put away your frets and come on in. It's time we had worship and ended this day. But I guess those two self-imposed boarders of ours need a little religion first. Come on!”

She dropped a kiss on each forehead lightly and fled into the other room.

“What a girl she is!” said her father tenderly putting his hand gently on the spot she had kissed, “A great blessing in our home! Dear child!”

The mother said nothing, but her eyes were filled with a great content.

Marilyn, throwing aside her hat and appearing in the front door called pleasantly to the two outside:

“Well, I'm ready for the music. You can come in when you wish.”

They sauntered in presently, but Marilyn was already at the piano playing softly a bit from the Angel Chorus, a snatch of Handel's Largo, a Chopin Nocturne, one of Mendelssohn's songs without words. The two came in hilariously, the young man pretending to lean heavily on the girl, and finding much occasion to hold her hands, a performance to which she seemed to be not at all averse. They came and stood beside the piano.

“Now,” said Opal gaily, when Marilyn came to the end of another Nocturne: “That's enough gloom. Give us a little jazz and Laurie and I'll dance awhile.”

Marilyn let her hands fall with a soft crash on the keys and looked up. Then her face broke up into a smile, as if she had put aside an unpleasant thought and determined to be friendly:

“I'm sorry,” she said firmly, “We don't play jazz, my piano and I. I never learned to love it, and besides I'm tired. I've been playing all day you know. You will excuse anything more I'm sure. And it's getting late for Sabbath Valley. Did you have any plans for to-night?”

Opal stared, but Marilyn stared back pleasantly, and Laurie watched them both.

“Why, no, not exactly,” drawled Opal, “I thought Laurie would be hospitable enough to look me up a place. Where is your best hotel? Is it possible at all?”

“We haven't a sign of a hotel,” said Marilyn smiling.

“Oh, horrors, nothing but a boarding house I suppose. Is it far away?”

“Not even a boarding house.”

“Oh, heavens! Well, where do you stop then?”

“We don't stop, we live,” said Marilyn smiling. “I'm afraid the only thing you can do unless you decide to go back home tonight is to share my room with me,--I have twin beds you know and can make you quite comfortable. I often have a college friend to stay with me for a few weeks.”

Opal stared round eyed. This was a college girl then, hidden away in a hole like this. Not even an extra spare room in the house!

“Oh my gracious!” she responded bluntly, “I'm not used to rooming with some one, but it's very kind of you I'm sure.”

Marilyn's cheeks grew red and her eyes flashed but she whirled back to her keyboard and began to play, this time a sweet old hymn, and while she was playing and before the two strangers had thought of anything to say, Mr. Severn came in with the Book in his hand, followed by his wife, who drew a small rocker and sat down beside him.

Marilyn paused and the minister opened his Bible and looked around on them:

“I hope you'll join us in our evening worship,” he said pleasantly to the two guests, and then while they still stared he began to read: “Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in Me,” on through the beautiful chapter.

It was as Greek to the strangers, who heard and did not comprehend, and they looked about amazed on this little family with dreamy eyes all listening as if it meant great treasures to them. It was as if they saw the Severns for the first time and realized them as individuals, as a force in the world, something complete in itself, a family that was not doing the things they did, not having the things considered essential to life, nor trying to go after any of the things that life had to offer, but living their own beautiful lives in their own way without regard to the world, and actually enjoying it! That was the queer part about it. They were not dull nor bored! They were happy! They could get out from an environment like this if they choose, and _they did not_. They _wanted_ to stay here. It was incredible!

Laurie got out his cigarette case, selected a cigarette, got out his match box, selected a match, and all but lit it. Then somehow there seemed to be something incongruous about the action and he looked around. No one was seeing him but Opal, and she was laughing at him. He flushed, put back the match and the cigarette, and folded his arms, trying to look at home in this strange new environment. But the girl Marilyn's eyes were far away as if she were drinking strange knowledge at a secret invisible source, and she seemed to have forgotten their presence.