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The clatter of my hoofs made both Mr. England and Martin glance
back. They saw Missy coming after, pulling me in with might and
main, and fairly standing in her stirrups. Mr. England gave Martin the
reins and sprang to the ground. The trap was turned squarely across
the drive. And I came bouncing into it, Mr. England catching at my
bridle.
Missy dismounted, breathing hard.
“Thank you, thank you,” she said. “What possessed you, Hector?
Oh, there’s something the matter with the darling!”
At that Thunderbolt turned his head. “Overfeeding,” he snickered.
The hide-bound spavin!
“I think,” Mr. England was saying, “that you’d better not ride to the
stable. Martin will drive you home, and I’ll take charge of this chap.
He’s still excited.”
(I was only out of temper with Thunderbolt.)
But poor Missy! She lowered the nigh stirrup quick as a wink. “No,
no, it really isn’t necessary,” she said; “Really it isn’t. I wouldn’t for
the world let Hector think he’d scared me. It would spoil him. I must
ride him right away, and conquer him.” And she mounted.
Martin had turned the trap by now, for other vehicles were passing.
But Mr. England did not get up.
“You’re right, of course,” he answered. “If he thinks he beat you out,
he’ll only bully you every chance he gets after this. But still I must
insist on taking you to the stable. We’ll go slowly, and you put his
nose close behind the rumble and keep it there.”
I felt the reins tremble dreadfully. It wasn’t fear, either. Then Missy
bent over, speaking low.
“Mr. England,” she said earnestly, “not Martin. Won’t you send him
home with Thunderbolt? Please.”
Mr. England saw that she was troubled about something and he
gave her her head. “Martin,” he called to the groom, “you take the
trap in. And attend to that thong on the whiffletree—it doesn’t hold
the trace.”
Thunderbolt went trotting off. Mr. England turned back to Missy.
“Hector seems a little quieter now,” he said.
Then I saw that Missy wasn’t going to let Mr. England come with her
any more than she had Martin. “There isn’t any reason for your
coming,” she said. “Hector’s like a lamb.”
For a second, I thought he hesitated. But I settled that. With a little
squeal and a shake of my head, I reared—just a trifle.
Quick as a fly, Mr. England had my reins. “He isn’t over his tantrum
yet, you see,” he said quietly, but very decidedly. “I can’t think of
letting you take him in alone.”
Well, Missy protested. But he was firm. And we started for the
entrance, with him at my bridle.
As soon as I saw he was really coming, I hung my head and went
along like a case of chest-founder. When we reached the street, he
took to the sidewalk, watching me every instant though, and
watching poor Missy. She was hanging her head, too.
At a corner, Mr. England turned north, expecting us to follow. For that
was the way to Hawley’s. Missy reined me up and called to him, and
he came back.
I could see her face was dreadfully pale. But she was just as straight
in her saddle as she could be. “Not that way, Mr. England,” she said.
He didn’t show the least surprise. (He is a thoroughbred, too.) “You
lead,” he said; “I’ll follow.”
And so we went on—to the wagon-yard, Mr. England looking at the
sidewalk, Missy looking straight ahead.
The gate was open. I went in, not stopping till I reached the door of
my shanty. There, Missy got down. She was standing beside me as
Mr. England came around the corner, and leaning a little upon me,
one gloved hand reached up to the saddle.
Mr. England strode close up to her, and they stood for a moment, her
face raised bravely to his, his eyes searching her.
“Oh, little woman!” he said, and his voice shook; “oh, little woman!”
She took her under lip in her teeth. “There’s—there’s no reason for
me to conceal anything,” she said. “Matters were a little tight at
home, and I had to be economical.”
He was looking at her as if he was bewildered. “Matters tight—at
home——” he repeated. Then, of a sudden, he seemed to know
what it all meant, and his face got as white as Missy’s. “Your father—
then, your father——?” he began, almost chokingly.
Missy looked straight back at him, and there was no more leaning
against me. “Yes. And now you know why I didn’t want you to come
here. It wasn’t because I was ashamed of this. It was because I
knew you’d find out. And then you might think—might think that I felt
there was something personal about it. You see, I realise there
wasn’t. Father made contracts to deliver. Afterward, wool went up
——”
Mr. England groaned. “To think it reached you! That you had to
suffer.”
“But I haven’t suffered. Work was offered me here,—work in an art
line. I have felt no hardship from it. In fact, there is happiness in
earning a living. I am learning so much. The only disappointment I’ve
had was about Hector. He’s not been quite as comfortable——” She
stopped and caressed my shoulder tenderly.
Something got into my wind-pipe then, and I had to mouth my bits to
keep from coughing.
“And where do you live?” asked Mr. England. “Not where you did. I
went there—more than once.”
“Well,—no-o—. But in a very nice place. I take my meals across from
the store.”
“The store?”
“Yes. I am painting Christmas things—cards and so on. It’s pleasant
work. And my room looks out on the side of a church. And there’s a
stained-glass window there, and ivy all over the church wall.”
Mr. England began again, low and deep and earnestly. “Once in a
lifetime,” he said, “a man meets a girl like you—sweet and sensible
and good, that can take a blow like this without a word, find her feet
again, and begin her fight bravely, doing without things that are
second nature to her, and going without comforts for a friend, even
when that friend is only a horse!”
“But I couldn’t do without Hector,” Missy declared. “I love him too
much.”
(I rubbed my nose against her sleeve.)
“Sometimes I’ve had a terrible thought,” she said, half in a whisper.
“It was that I might be forced to part with him. And—and I’ve
wondered—oh, you’ll forgive me, I hope—if I have to, you’ll take him,
Mr. England? He’s a perfect lady’s saddler.”
“You mean,—I may need a lady’s saddler?”
“Well, you—you might.”
“I shall—if I have my way about it.”
Dear Missy turned to me again, and put her arms about my neck.
“I’m not brave about this,” she whispered, and hid her face in my
mane.
All of a sudden he pulled her hands free and turned her toward him.
“You love him,” he said. “I wonder if there’s room in your heart for
anyone else, dear little woman?”
And just at that moment that ragamuffin of a stable-boy popped into
sight. Of course, I was led away.
I don’t know how I ever lived through the next few days. No Missy,
no dainties, nothing but a short airing each morning to take me out of
that terrible shanty. Ah, I knew what had happened to me this time. I
was out of the Sanborn family. I was somebody else’s lady’s saddler!
Then, one morning, when the boy led me out through the gate, he
started off south along the Boulevard. I had on my dress-blanket and
hood. Behind me came another boy, carrying my saddle and bridle
and the rest of my clothes. This was going somewhere.
“They can’t find any place in New York worse than that shanty,” I said
to myself. And for the first time since leaving California, I completely
lost heart. I put my head down and just stumbled long.
And then—I suddenly found that we had passed the Circle, turned
east, and were in front of Hart’s! We mounted the runway. And there
it was—the roomy box-stall across from Thunderbolt’s, deep with
sweet bedding, and matted in Peter’s best style. And there was
Missy, looking so pink and pretty! And there was Mr. England,
smiling so hard he couldn’t talk!
“Dear Hector!” cried Missy. “Oh, Martin, be very good to him while
we’re away!”
“Yes, mum,” said Martin.
“And to Thunderbolt, too,” said Missy.
Martin bobbed, and tugged at his cap.
Then Missy reached up and pulled my head down close to her.
“Darling Hector!” she whispered. “We’re home to stay!” And she
kissed the star in my forehead.
THE GENEVIEVE EPIDEMIC
“I ’M homely,” said Sue, smiling and pulling the grey pony down to a
walk; “I’m the homeliest girl to be found at the Brampton Country
Club. Why, even plain young married women ask me to their houses
on protracted visits.”
As he reined his own horse, Philip Rawson turned upon her a look of
reproof. “Ridiculous!” he exclaimed. “The first time a fellow meets
you, maybe he only does remember your hair or your eyes. You’ve
got awfully attractive eyes, Sue. But the second time he sees how
nice you are. And the third time he’s sure to look forward to meeting
you again. But by the fourth or fifth time! Well, by gad! by the fourth
or fifth time there’s no half-way about it—he thinks you’re a dandy!”
Sue laughed teasingly. “You’ve grown up with those ideas,” she
declared. “Do you remember that once—you were twelve, Phil,—you
gave Len Hammond the nosebleed because he called me ‘cotton-
top’?”
“Your hair is stunning,” said Phil defensively. “And no girl could look
better than you do on a horse.”
“But imagine riding a horse to a dance,” said Sue.
“Who wants to go to dances?” demanded Phil. “The idea of wasting
hours getting togged for a confounded silly affair and then more
hours attending it—when there’s all outdoors to enjoy!”
“Don’t scold,” said Sue. “It’s been ages since I’ve ‘wasted hours’ at a
dance. And yesterday I wore out two horses.”
Phil suddenly brightened. “Let’s go to Wheaton Hill some afternoon,”
he suggested. “And up to Hadbury another day. I want to see the
polo-field. Brampton’s going to play Hadbury soon. And there’s a
new litter of collies at the St. Ives kennels. We’ll canter over and see
’em.”
“How I’ve missed you these two years!” said Sue. “I’ve ridden a lot,
of course. But my tennis has suffered. And not a single fish have I
caught. The other men—even Bob and Courtney and Len, too—all
wait on me when I ride with them or fish. I hate that: I hate being
treated like a drawing-room ornament. Now, you, Phil,——”
“Can be pretty nearly as rude and selfish as a brother,” broke in Phil.
“You’re more like a—a chum,” said Sue. “And so I’m awfully glad to
get you back, not a bit spoiled, and not—married.”
Phil stared. “Married!” he repeated. “Me?”
“Hillcrest needs a mistress, Phil.”
“Suppose I were to pull a long face and say: ‘Sue, Arbor Lodge
needs a master’?” He drew off his cap and stuffed it into the front of
his shirt, shook his head vigorously, so that the morning wind could
catch at his hair, and rolled his sleeves up to his elbow, showing two
stout arms as brown as the pony under him.
“I’m so homely,” said Sue, “that I’m marriage-proof.”
“Sue,”—very earnestly—“I didn’t see a single girl on the other side
that I could fall in love with. I guess it’ll have to be an American that
takes my mother’s place.”
Sue waved her whip. “Down with foreign alliances!”
“Oh, there wasn’t anything patriotic about it,” said Phil. “I just didn’t
see the girl.”
“You’re calloused,” asserted Sue. “You’ve played polo so long that
you’ve got a basswood ball for a heart. Here you are, twenty-six,
handsome——”
“Loyalty, thy name is Sue Townsend!”
“And wholesome and good and awfully popular; and rich, too, with
such a place, such woods and streams!”
“And such a blarney of a little friend,” added Phil.
“It’s not blarney,” Sue declared. “No; I leave all that for Larry. Phil,
where did you pick him up?”
Phil gave a quick glance round at the red-cheeked, red-haired groom
riding at the prescribed distance behind. “He was born in Dublin,”
said he, grinning, “and I got him in Hongkong. He hasn’t been twenty
feet away from me since. The fellows call him my ‘shadow.’”
“But, of course, you’re sure to meet your fate some day,” went on
Sue. “And your kind, when they do fall in love, get fearfully hard hit.”
“Huh!”
Sue nodded wisely. “I don’t believe you’ll even survive what’s in store
for you this very week,” she declared.
“No? What is it?”
“She’s coming to The Lilacs to-day to stay a month—Mrs. Vander
Laan knew her mother. Last year she visited me. She’s tall and
slender, and has the most beautiful eyes, and hair, and nose, and
mouth, and complexion——”
“Hold! Hold!” cried Phil, in mock alarm.
“She’s perfect, in fact. Let’s take this dapply road.”
“Haven’t time—the fellows expect me at practice. Go on about the
goddess.”
“She is a goddess. And everybody worships at her shrine. You’ve
heard of faces that haunt?”
“Creditors?” suggested Phil.
“I met her first at Miss Pendleton’s. She ruled the school, she was so
beautiful. No man’s ever seen her without capitulating.”
“Number one,” announced Phil, pointing at his chest. “What’s her
name?”
“Genevieve.”
“I never cared for it.” He looked at his watch. “If I get to the field in
time I’ll have to turn now. Want to come along?”
“I’m afraid I can’t.” Sue wheeled the grey. “Grandmamma hasn’t
been well lately. I shall stay with her to-day. Let’s race home.”
Galloping level, the grey and the brown made back along the shaded
road, with the wind tugging harder than ever at Phil’s hair, and
blowing out wisps against Sue’s pink cheeks. At the wide, stone gate
of Arbor Lodge they drew rein.
“See you to-morrow?” he asked.
“Telephone me,” said Sue. “Meanwhile, you may meet Genevieve.
And I warn you——”
“Rubbish!” said Phil.