The Heart Line. Gelett Burgess

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СКАЧАТЬ a nickel if you will!"

      "I don't want a nickel. I've got all the money I want!"

      "Oh, you have, have you? How much have you got? Say, I hear the Madam's pretty well fixed. How much do you s'pose she's worth, now?"

      "You can't work me that way."

      She put forth a shaky hand to stroke his dark hair, and he warded her off. "Nor that way either!" he said, beginning to grow angry.

      "Say, sonny, do you ever see the spirits here?" she began again.

      "No, but I can smell 'em now," he replied.

      She burst out into a cackle of laughter. "Say, that's pretty good! You're a likely little feller, you be. I didn't mean no harm, noways."

      "You mean that you didn't mean any harm, don't you?" he asked soberly.

      "No, I don't mean no harm, sure I don't! What d'you mean?"

      "She says one shouldn't use double negatives."

      "What's them, then?"

      "I mean you don't use good English," said the boy.

      "I don't talk English? What do I talk then—Dutch? What's the matter with you?"

      "Oh, I'm just studying grammar, that's all. Now you see I don't need to go to school, the way you said. Mamsy teaches me every night."

      "Oh, she does, does she? Well, well! I hear she has a fine education; some say she's went to college, even."

      "Yes, she has. She went to a woman's college in the East, once."

      "Then what's she living in this pigsty for, I'd like to know! It beats all, this room does. Let me come in for a moment and just look round a bit, will you? I won't touch nothing at all, sure."

      The boy protested, and it might have come to a physical struggle had not footsteps been heard coming up the narrow stairway. The visitor peered over the railing of the balusters.

      "That's her!" she whispered hoarsely.

      A head, rising, looked between the balusters, like a wild animal gazing through the bars of its cage. It was the head of a woman of twenty-seven or eight, and though her face had a strange, wild expression, with staring eyes, she was, or had undoubtedly been, a lady. Her hair, prematurely gray, was parted in the center and brought down in waves over her ears. Her eyebrows, in vivid contrast, were black; and between them a single vertical line cleft her forehead. What might have been a rare beauty was now distorted into something fantastic and mysterious, though when at rare intervals she smiled, a veil seemed to be drawn aside and she became an engaging, familiar, warm-hearted woman. She was dressed in a brilliant red gown and dolman of mosaic cloth with a Tyrolean hat of the period. Such striking color was, thirty years ago, uncommon upon the streets, but, even had it been more usual, the severity of her costume with neither a bustle nor the elaborate ruffles and trimmings then in vogue, would have made her conspicuous.

      She came up, with a white face, gasping for breath after her climb, one hand to her heart. For a moment she seemed unable to speak. Then suddenly and sharply she said:

      "Francis, shut the door!"

      The boy obeyed, coming out into the hall, with a hand still holding the knob.

      "The lady wanted me to let her in, but I wouldn't do it, Mamsy," he said.

      Madam Grant turned her eyes upon the apologetic, cringing figure, whose thin, skinny fingers plucked at her shawl.

      "I just called neighborly like, thinkin' maybe you'd give me a settin', Madam Grant," she said.

      Madam Grant had come nearer, now, and stood gazing at her visitor. The expression of scorn had faded from her face, her eyes glazed. She spoke slowly in a deliberate monotone.

      "Your name is Margaret Riley."

      The woman nodded. Her lips had fallen open, and her eyes were fixed in awe.

      "Who are the three men I see beside you?" demanded Madam Grant.

      "They was only two! I swear to God they was only two!"

      "There is a little child, too."

      "For the love of Heaven!" Mrs. Riley moaned. "Send 'em away, send 'em away, tell 'em to leave me be!"

      Madam Grant's eyes brightened a little, and her color returned.

      "Come in the room and I will see what I can do for you."

      The three entered, Mrs. Riley, half terrified but curious, darting her eyes about the apartment, sniffing at the foul odor, her furtive glances returning ever to the mad woman. Francis went to the bookcase and resumed his reading without manifesting further interest in the visitor. Madam Grant seated herself upon a wooden box covered with sacking and untied the strings of her hat.

      "What do you want to know?" she asked sharply.

      "I got three tickets in the lottery, and I want to know which one to keep," Mrs. Riley ventured, somewhat shamefaced.

      Madam Grant gave a fierce gesture, and the line between her brows grew deeper. "I'll answer such questions for nobody! That's the devil's work, not mine. How did your three husbands die, Margaret Riley?"

      The woman held up her hands in protest. "Two, only two!" she cried; "and they died in their beds regular enough. God knows I wore my fingers out for 'em, too!"

      "They died suddenly," Madam Grant replied impassively. "Who's the other one with the smooth face—the one who limps?"

      Mrs. Riley coughed into her hands nervously. "It might be my brother."

      "It is not your brother. You know who it is, Mrs. Riley; and he tells me that you must give back the papers."

      "Oh, I'll give 'em back; I was always meanin' to give 'em back, God knows I was! I'll do it this week."

      "In a week it will be too late."

      "I'll do it to-morrow."

      "You'll do it to-day, Mrs. Riley."

      "I will, oh, I will!"

      "Now, if you want a sitting, I'll give you one," Madam Grant continued. "That is, if I can get Weenie. I can't promise anything. She comes and she goes like the sun in spring."

      "Never mind," said Mrs. Riley, rising abruptly. "I think I'll be going, after all." She started toward the door.

      The clairvoyant's face had set again in a vacant, far-away expression and her voice fell to the same dead tone she had used before. She clutched her throat suddenly.

      "He's in the water—he's drowning—he's passing out now—he's gone! You are responsible, you! you! You drove him to it with your false tongue and your crafty hands. But you'll regret it. You'll pay for it in misery and pain, Margaret Riley. Your old age will be miserable. You'll escape shame to suffer torment!"

      Mrs. СКАЧАТЬ