Clever Betsy. Clara Louise Burnham

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ I fancy,” replied Irving. He noticed the small rubber device hanging about the neck of the deaf gentleman and turned to the lady beside him.

      “Will you sit up in front to start off?” he asked, lifting his hat. “Your husband enjoys more through the eyes than through the ears, I observe.”

      The lady, with whom smiles were evidently a rarity, met his eyes and essayed one. She thanked him, and turning to her companion pointed to the driver’s place, as they moved down the steps.

      The gentleman shook his head and motioned the lady into the middle seat of the stage, which she entered.

      “But where is Robert?” she exclaimed in a sort of dignified panic. “Miss Maynard,” turning to the companion who waited passively, “I thought you said you saw my son a moment ago.”

      “Yes, Mrs. Nixon, in the office,” replied the girl.

      “Henry! Henry!” pursued the lady, pushing against the deaf gentleman’s shoulder both to attract his attention and to prevent his entering the stage. “Robert!” She mouthed the name distinctly and motioned toward the hotel. “Robert!”

      “Damn Robert!” returned the other, under the usual impression of the deaf that his heartfelt expression was inaudible.

      As a matter of fact no one observed it in the confusion. Mrs. Bruce was absorbed in mounting to the coveted place with the driver. Irving offered to put Betsy up beside her; but Miss Foster declined. “Get right up there, Mr. Irving. I’m going in here behind you.”

      Meanwhile the two waitresses had obeyed a summons, and Rosalie with her head down and praying to be invisible hastened with her companion to the steps. Her prayer was answered, because all the party were too preoccupied to note the two girls who came swiftly by and entered the back seat of the stage. Moreover, at the same moment out from the door of the hotel came a young fellow in outing clothes and cap, who was greeted with well-bred rebuke by Mrs. Nixon, and a grunt of relief from the deaf gentleman, who put Miss Maynard into the seat and followed her.

      “Well, I told you not to bring me, didn’t I?” responded Robert. His voice was loud and cheery, and had, in his more gleeful moments, a trick of breaking into a high register with a joyous inflection which endeared him to those who enjoyed his conversation. He was clean, gay, and young; but if he possessed any beauty it was of the mind; and among his acquaintance there was a wide difference of opinion on this point.

      While his mother voiced her dignified rebuke, his quick eye glanced along the stage to take in its possibilities.

      Rosalie was shrunk into the further corner of her seat, directly behind the Nixon party, and Miss Hickey, meeting his glance, chewed vigorously while lifting her head with an elegant air of impersonality.

      In Robert’s own mental vernacular he “passed up the gum.”

      The driver’s seat was full, the alternative was the one in front of his mother’s party, where Betsy Foster reigned alone. He stepped in beside her while he spoke to his mother.

      “I told you not to bring me,” he declared again, cheerfully. “I told you I’d be more trouble than I was worth.”

      “You actually detained the stage, dear. I was about to send your uncle Henry to find you.”

      Quick as a flash the culprit snatched the device which aided the deaf gentleman’s hearing, and shrieked across it above the clatter of the stage.

      “Don’t you ever do it, Uncle Henry. Rise up and declare your rights. What if I am lost?”

      “That’s what I say,” responded the older man, equably. “Small loss. One of my rights is not to have my ear-drums cracked. They’re sufficiently nicked already.”

      He took back the rubber disk with decision.

      Irving had turned around during this interchange and looked down from his high perch.

      “Hello, Nixie,” he said.

      Robert leaned forward with alacrity, and took the down-stretched hand.

      “Et tu, Brute?” he cried, his voice breaking joyously.

      Betsy stole the first glance at her companion. His unfeigned gladness to see her idol was in his favor.

      He turned to his mother: “Bruce of our class. Didn’t you recognize him? Best fullback the college ever saw.”

      “I did think there was something familiar about that young man’s face,” responded Mrs. Nixon. “Most attractive; and such charming manners.” Her carefully modulated voice fell agreeably on Miss Foster’s ears. “He tried to give us the front seat; but the lady with him,” Mrs. Nixon raised her eyebrows, “was so very anxious to secure it, that I was glad your uncle refused.”

      Mrs. Bruce turned and looked down to see Irving’s friend, and exclaimed at once, beaming with interest: —

      “I remember you perfectly, Mr. Nixon. You were so funny on Class Day.” As Mrs. Bruce spoke, her eyes roved again to the young man’s party.

      “I remember you at the games too, Mrs. Bruce,” replied the young fellow, rising, “and for the same reason. You were so funny! We’re a couple of family parties, it seems. My mother, and my uncle, Mr. Derwent, are here, and at the first stop we’ll all become acquainted.”

      So saying, Robert dropped back into his seat, and turning with scarce a pause to his mother, said explanatorily, “Brute’s stepmother. An up-and-coming dame. You will have to meet her.”

      Mrs. Nixon frowned at him significantly and nodded her head toward Betsy’s immovable back.

      “All right,” said Robert airily, and glanced at the woman who shared his place. The walnut profile impressed itself upon him for the first time, and in connection with the Bruces he now remembered the woman to whom Irving had been so attentive on various college occasions. “I’ll be jiggered,” thought the youth, “if it isn’t Brute’s nurse! Well, we are being chaperoned through the park, good and plenty.”

      Then he amazed his mother by addressing his companion.

      “Why, how d’ ye do? Why didn’t you speak to me?”

      Betsy gave her odd one-sided smile as she looked back at his cheerfully grinning countenance.

      “It’s all so long ago now, Mr. Nixon, I didn’t suppose you’d remember me. I didn’t know you at first.”

      “I’m not at all surprised. I’ve grown old and decrepit in the last two years; but to show you my mind isn’t failing yet, I can tell you where I last saw you. It was in a gondola in Venice.”

      Betsy smiled and nodded.

      “I remember your calling across to Mr. Irving very well, Mr. Nixon.”

      “Good. Your memory’s all right, too.”

      Helen Maynard, sitting quiet and forgotten at Mrs. Nixon’s elbow, looked at Robert with some approval for the first time. He swung around in his seat so suddenly that he accidentally caught her glance. Miss Maynard had a symmetrical little nose and mouth, and he liked the way she did her hair; and wearing her present expression it occurred to him for the first time that the young woman, who was both his uncle’s stenographer and his mother’s СКАЧАТЬ