T. Tembarom. Frances Hodgson Burnett

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      “'Ere, 'ere,” he said, “don't you go catchin' hold of ladies. What do you want?”

      “I've forgotten his name now. What shall I do if I can't remember?” faltered Strangeways.

      Little Ann patted his arm comfortingly.

      “There, there, now! You've not really forgotten it. It's just slipped your memory. You want Mr. Tembarom—Mr. T. Tembarom.”

      “Oh, thank you, thank you. That's it. Yes, Tembarom. He said T. Tembarom. He said he wouldn't throw me over.”

      Little Ann led him to a seat and made him sit down. She answered him with quiet decision.

      “Well, if he said he wouldn't, he won't. Will he, Father?”

      “No, he won't.” There was rough good nature in Hutchinson's admission. He paused after it to glance at Ann. “You think a lot of that lad, don't you, Ann?”

      “Yes, I do, Father,” she replied undisturbedly. “He's one you can trust, too. He's up-town at his work,” she explained to Strangeways. “He'll be back before long. He's giving us a bit of a supper in here because we're going away.”

      Strangeways grew nervous again.

      “But he won't go with you? T. Tembarom won't go?”

      “No, no; he's not going. He'll stay here,” she said soothingly. He had evidently not observed the packed and labeled trunks when he came in. He seemed suddenly to see them now, and rose in distress.

      “Whose are these? You said he wasn't going?”

      Ann took hold of his arm and led him to the corner.

      “They are not Mr. Tembarom's trunks,” she explained. “They are father's and mine. Look on the labels. Joseph Hutchinson, Liverpool. Ann Hutchinson, Liverpool.”

      He looked at them closely in a puzzled way. He read a label aloud in a dragging voice.

      “Ann Hutchinson, Liverpool. What's—what's Liverpool?

      “Oh, come,” encouraged Little Ann, “you know that. It's a place in England. We're going back to England.”

      He stood and gazed fixedly before him. Then he began to rub his fingers across his forehead. Ann knew the straining look in his eyes. He was making that horrible struggle to get back somewhere through the darkness which shut him in. It was so painful a thing to see that even Hutchinson turned slightly away.

      “Don't!” said Little Ann, softly, and tried to draw him away.

      He caught his breath convulsively once or twice, and his voice dragged out words again, as though he were dragging them from bottomless depths.

      “Going—back—to—England—back to England—to England.”

      He dropped into a chair near by, his arms thrown over its back, and broke, as his face fell upon them, into heavy, deadly sobbing—the kind of sobbing Tembarom had found it impossible to stand up against. Hutchinson whirled about testily.

      “Dang it!” he broke out, “I wish Tembarom'd turn up. What are we to do?” He didn't like it himself. It struck him as unseemly.

      But Ann went to the chair, and put her hands on the shuddering shoulder, bending over the soul-wrung creature, the wisdom of centuries in the soft, expostulatory voice which seemed to reach the very darkness he was lost in. It was a wisdom of which she was wholly unaware, but it had been born with her, and was the building of her being.

      “'Sh! 'S-h-h!” she said. “You mustn't do that. Mr. Tembarom wouldn't like you to do it. He'll be in directly. 'Sh! 'Sh, now!” And simple as the words were, their soothing reached him. The wildness of his sobs grew less.

      “See here,” Hutchinson protested, “this won't do, my man. I won't have it, Ann. I'm upset myself, what with this going back and everything. I can't have a chap coming and crying like that there. It upsets me worse than ever. And you hangin' over him! It won't do.”

      Strangeways lifted his head from his arms and looked at him.

      “Aye, I mean what I say,” Hutchinson added fretfully.

      Strangeways got up from the chair. When he was not bowed or slouching it was to be seen that he was a tall man with square shoulders. Despite his unshaven, haggard face, he had a sort of presence.

      “I'll go back to my room,” he said. “I forgot. I ought not to be here.”

      Neither Hutchinson nor Little Ann had ever seen any one do the thing he did next. When Ann went with him to the door of the hall bedroom, he took her hand, and bowing low before her, lifted it gently to his lips.

      Hutchinson stared at him as he turned into the room and closed the door behind him.

      “Well, I've read of lords and ladies doin' that in books,” he said, “but I never thought I should see a chap do it myself.”

      Little Ann went back to her mending, looking very thoughtful.

      “Father,” she said, after a few moments, “England made him come near to remembering something.”

      “New York'll come near making me remember a lot of things when I'm out of it,” said Mr. Hutchinson, sitting down heavily in his chair and rubbing his head. “Eh, dang it! dang it!”

      “Don't you let it, Father,” advised Little Ann. “There's never any good in thinking things over.”

      “You're not as cheerful yourself as you let on,” he said. “You've not got much color to-day, my lass.”

      She rubbed one cheek a little, trying to laugh.

      “I shall get it back when we go and stay with grandmother. It's just staying indoors so much. Mr. Tembarom won't be long now; I'll get up and set the table. The things are on a tray outside.”

      As she was going out of the room, Jim Bowles and Julius Steinberger appeared at the door.

      “May we come in?” Jim asked eagerly. “We're invited to the oyster stew, and it's time old T. T. was here. Julius and me are just getting dippy waiting up-stairs to hear if he's made good with Galton.”

      “Well, now, you sit down and be quiet a bit, or you'll be losing your appetites,” advised Ann.

      “You can't lose a thing the size of mine,” answered Jim, “any more than you could lose the Metropolitan Opera-house.”

      Ann turned her head and paused as though she were listening. She heard footsteps in the lower hall.

      “He's coming now,” she announced. “I know his step. He's tired. Don't go yet, you two,” she added as the pair prepared to rush to meet him. “When any one's that tired he wants to wash his face, and talk when he's ready. If you'll just go back to your room I'll call you when I've set the table.”

      She felt that she wanted a little more quiet during the next СКАЧАТЬ