Hempfield. Grayson David

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СКАЧАТЬ it was a bargain. It was marked down from two dollars."

      Anthy turned partly aside, quite unconscious of either Fergus or me, and such a look of discouragement and distress swept over her face as I cannot describe. But it was only for an instant. The Captain was still holding up the pipe for her admiration. She laid her hand again quickly on his shoulder.

      "It is a beauty," she said.

      "I knew you'd like it," exclaimed the Captain benevolently. "When I saw it in the window I said, 'Anthy'd like that pipe.' I knew it. So I bought it."

      "But, Uncle – how we did need the money this morning of all mornings! The insides are here, we must have them – "

      "So I say," said the Captain with great firmness, "we must economize sharply. And I've begun. Let's all get down now to work. Fergus, I've answered the fellow on the Sterling Democrat. I've left nothing of him at all – not a pinfeather."

      With that he took a new pouch of tobacco from his pocket, and began to fill his new pipe. The cat rubbed familiarly against his leg.

      Silence in the office, interrupted a moment later by the second appearance of that villain, Bucky Penrose, who thrust his head in the door and called out:

      "Lend a hand, Fergus. I got the insides."

      Fergus looked at Anthy. She had grown pale.

      "Go on, Fergus."

      It is this way with me, that often I think of the great thing to do after I get home and into bed. But it came to me suddenly – an inspiration that made me a little dizzy for a moment – and I stepped into the story.

      "I forgot a part of my errand," I said, "when we were – interrupted. I want to subscribe to your paper, right away."

      Anthy looked at me keenly for a moment, her colour slowly rising.

      "Whom shall we send it to?" she asked in the dryest, most businesslike voice, as though subscriptions were flowing in all the time.

      For the life of me I couldn't think of anybody. I never was more at sea in my life. I don't know yet how it occurred to me, but I said, suddenly, with great relief:

      "Why, send it to Doctor McAlway."

      "He is already a subscriber, one of our oldest," she responded crisply.

      We stood there, looking at each other desperately.

      "Well," said I, "send it – send it to my uncle – in California."

      At that Anthy laughed; we both laughed. But she was evidently very determined.

      "I appreciate – I know," she began, "but I can't – "

      "See here," I said severely. "You're in the newspaper business, aren't you?"

      "Yes."

      "Then I propose to subscribe for your paper. I demand my rights. And besides" – it came to me with sudden inspiration – "I must have, immediately, a thousand envelopes with my name printed in the corner."

      With that I drew my pocketbook quickly from my pocket and handed her a bill. She took it doubtfully – but at that moment there was a tremendous bump on the porch, and the voice of Fergus shouting directions. When the two men came in with their burden I was studying a fire insurance advertisement on the wall, and Anthy was stepping confidently toward the door.

      I wish I could picture the look on Fergus's face when Bucky presented his book and Anthy gave him a bill requiring change. Fergus stood rubbing one finger behind his ear – a sign that there were things in the universe that puzzled him.

      While these thrilling events and hairbreadth escapes had been taking place, while the doomed Star was being saved to twinkle for another week, the all-unconscious Captain had been sitting at his desk rumbling and grumbling as he opened the exchanges. This was an occupation he affected greatly to despise, but which he would not have given over for the world. By the time he had read about a dozen of his esteemed contemporaries he was usually in a condition in which he could, as he himself put it, "wield a pungent pen." He had arrived at that nefarious sheet, the Sterling Democrat, and was leaning back in his chair reading the utterly preposterous lucubrations of Brother Kendrick, which he always saved to the last to give a final fillip to his spirits. Suddenly he dashed the paper aside, sat up straight, and cried out with tremendous vigour:

      "Fudge!"

      It was glorious; it came quite up to my highest expectations. But somehow, at that moment, it was enough for me to see and hear the Captain, without getting any better acquainted. I wasn't sure, indeed, that I cared to know him at all. I didn't like his new pipe – which shows how little I then understood the Captain!

      As I was going out, for even the most interesting incidents must have an end, I stepped over and said to Anthy in a low voice:

      "I'll see that you get the address of – my uncle in California."

      CHAPTER III

      ANTHY

      It is one of the strange things in our lives – interesting, too – what tricks our early memories play us. What castles in fairyland they build for us, what never-never ships they send to sea! To a single flaming incident imprinted upon our consciousness by the swift shutter of the soul of youth they add a little of that-which-we-have-heard-told, spice it with a bit of that-which-would-be-beautiful-if-it-could-have-happened, and throw in a rosy dream or two – and the compound, well warmed in the fecund soil of the childish imagination, becomes far more real and attractive to us than the drab incidents of our grown-up yesterdays.

      Long afterward, when we had become much better acquainted, Anthy told me one day, very quietly, of the greatest memory of her childhood. It was of something that never could have happened at all; and yet, to Anthy, it was one of the treasured realities of her life, a memory to live by.

      She was standing at the bedside of her mother. She remembered, she said, exactly how her mother looked – her delicate, girlish face, the big clear eyes, the wavy hair all loose on the pillow. They had just placed the child in her arms, and she was drawing the small bundle close up to her, and looking down at it, and crying. It was the crying that Anthy remembered the best of all.

      And the child that Anthy saw so clearly was Anthy herself – and this was the only memory she ever had of her mother. That poor lady, perhaps a little tired of a world too big and harsh for her, and disappointed that her child was not a son whom she could name Anthony, after its father, tarried only a week after Anthy was born.

      "You see," said Anthy, "I was intended to be a boy."

      After that, Anthy remembered a little girl, a very lonely little girl, sitting at a certain place on the third step from the bottom of the stairs. There were curious urns filled with flowers on the wall paper, and her two friends, Richard and Rachel, came out of the wall near the dining-room door and looked through the stair spindles at her. Rachel had lovely curly hair and Richard wore shiny brass buttons on his jacket, and made faces. She used to whisper to them between the spindles, and whenever any one came they went back quickly through the wall. She liked Rachel better than Richard.

      There was a time later when her hero was Ivanhoe – just the name, not the man in the book. She read a great deal there in the lonely house, and her taste in those years ran to the gloomy and mysterious. The early chapters of an old book called "Wuthering СКАЧАТЬ