The Essential Booth Tarkington Collection. Booth Tarkington
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it?"
"In what way, Virgil?"
"Why, here," he said--"here we go through all this muck and moil to help fix things nicer for her at home, and what's it all amount to? Seems like she's just gone ahead the way she'd 'a' gone anyhow; and now, I suppose, getting ready to up and leave us! Ain't that a puzzle to you? It is to me."
"Oh, but things haven't gone that far yet."
"Why, you just said----"
She gave a little cry of protest. "Oh, they aren't ENGAGED yet. Of course they WILL be; he's just as much interested in her as she is in him, but----"
"Well, what's the trouble then?"
"You ARE a simple old fellow!" his wife exclaimed, and then rose from her chair. "That reminds me," she said.
"What of?" he asked. "What's my being simple remind you of?"
"Nothing!" she laughed. "It wasn't you that reminded me. It was just something that's been on my mind. I don't believe he's actually ever been inside our house!"
"Hasn't he?"
"I actually don't believe he ever has," she said. "Of course we must----" She paused, debating.
"We must what?"
"I guess I better talk to Alice about it right now," she said. "He don't usually come for about half an hour yet; I guess I've got time." And with that she walked away, leaving him to his puzzles.
CHAPTER XIX
Alice was softly crooning to herself as her mother turned the corner of the house and approached through the dusk.
"Isn't it the most BEAUTIFUL evening!" the daughter said. "WHY can't summer last all year? Did you ever know a lovelier twilight than this, mama?"
Mrs. Adams laughed, and answered, "Not since I was your age, I expect."
Alice was wistful at once. "Don't they stay beautiful after my age?"
"Well, it's not the same thing."
"Isn't it? Not ever?"
"You may have a different kind from mine," the mother said, a little sadly. "I think you will, Alice. You deserve----"
"No, I don't. I don't deserve anything, and I know it. But I'm getting a great deal these days--more than I ever dreamed COULD come to me. I'm--I'm pretty happy, mama!"
"Dearie!" Her mother would have kissed her, but Alice drew away.
"Oh, I don't mean----" She laughed nervously. "I wasn't meaning to tell you I'm ENGAGED, mama. We're not. I mean--oh! things seem pretty beautiful in spite of all I've done to spoil 'em."
"You?" Mrs. Adams cried, incredulously. "What have you done to spoil anything?"
"Little things," Alice said. "A thousand little silly--oh, what's the use? He's so honestly what he is--just simple and good and intelligent--I feel a tricky mess beside him! I don't see why he likes me; and sometimes I'm afraid he wouldn't if he knew me."
"He'd just worship you," said the fond mother. "And the more he knew you, the more he'd worship you."
Alice shook her head. "He's not the worshiping kind. Not like that at all. He's more----"
But Mrs. Adams was not interested in this analysis, and she interrupted briskly, "Of course it's time your father and I showed some interest in him. I was just saying I actually don't believe he's ever been inside the house."
"No," Alice said, musingly; "that's true: I don't believe he has. Except when we've walked in the evening we've always sat out here, even those two times when it was drizzly. It's so much nicer."
"We'll have to do SOMETHING or other, of course," her mother said.
"What like?"
"I was thinking----" Mrs. Adams paused. "Well, of course we could hardly put off asking him to dinner, or something, much longer."
Alice was not enthusiastic; so far from it, indeed, that there was a melancholy alarm in her voice. "Oh, mama, must we? Do you think so?"
"Yes, I do. I really do."
"Couldn't we--well, couldn't we wait?"
"It looks queer," Mrs. Adams said. "It isn't the thing at all for a young man to come as much as he does, and never more than just barely meet your father and mother. No. We ought to do something."
"But a dinner!" Alice objected. "In the first place, there isn't anybody I want to ask. There isn't anybody I WOULD ask."
"I didn't mean trying to give a big dinner," her mother explained. "I just mean having him to dinner. That mulatto woman, Malena Burns, goes out by the day, and she could bring a waitress. We can get some flowers for the table and some to put in the living-room. We might just as well go ahead and do it to-morrow as any other time; because your father's in a fine mood, and I saw Malena this afternoon and told her I might want her soon. She said she didn't have any engagements this week, and I can let her know to-night. Suppose when he comes you ask him for to-morrow, Alice. Everything'll be very nice, I'm sure. Don't worry about it."
"Well--but----" Alice was uncertain.
"But don't you see, it looks so queer, not to do SOMETHING?" her mother urged. "It looks so kind of poverty-stricken. We really oughtn't to wait any longer."
Alice assented, though not with a good heart. "Very well, I'll ask him, if you think we've got to."
"That matter's settled then," Mrs. Adams said. "I'll go telephone Malena, and then I'll tell your father about it."
But when she went back to her husband, she found him in an excited state of mind, and Walter standing before him in the darkness. Adams was almost shouting, so great was his vehemence.
"Hush, hush!" his wife implored, as she came near them. "They'll hear you out on the front porch!"
"I don't care who hears me," Adams said, harshly, though he tempered his loudness. "Do you want to know what this boy's asking me for? I thought he'd maybe come to tell me he'd got a little sense in his head at last, and a little decency about what's due his family! I thought he was going to ask me to take him into my plant. No, ma'am; THAT'S not what he wants!"
"No, it isn't," Walter said. In the darkness his face could not be seen; he stood motionless, in what seemed an apathetic attitude; and he spoke quietly, "No," he repeated. "That isn't what I want."
"You stay down at that place," Adams went on, hotly, "instead of trying to be a little use to your family; and the only reason you're ALLOWED to stay there is because Mr. Lamb's never happened to notice you ARE still there! You just wait----"
"You're off," Walter said, in the same quiet way. "He knows I'm there. He spoke to me yesterday: he asked me how I was getting along with my work."
"He did?" Adams said, seeming not to believe him.
"Yes. He did."
"What else did he say, Walter?" Mrs. Adams asked quickly.
"Nothin'. Just walked on."
"I don't believe he knew who you were," Adams declared.
"Think not? He called me 'Walter Adams.'"
At this Adams was silent; and Walter, after waiting a moment, said:
"Well, are you going to do anything about me? About what I told you I got to have?"
"What is it, Walter?" his mother asked, since Adams did not speak.
Walter cleared