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Stolen Singer

<h3> CHAPTER XXIII </h3> <h3> JIMMY MUFFS THE BALL </h3> It will sometimes happen that young gentlemen, skipping confident, even under their lucky star, will get a fall. Fortune had been too constant to Jimmy not to be ready to turn her fickle face away the moment he wasn't looking. But such is the rashness born of success and a bounding heart, that young blood leaps to its doom, smiling, as it were, on the faithless lady's back. Jimmy had no forebodings, but rioted gorgeously in returning health, in a whole pack of new emotions, and in what he supposed to be his lady's favor. Aleck, more philosophical, took his happiness with a more quiet gusto, not provoking the frown of the gods. But for Jim the day of reckoning was coming. One day Aleck joined him, walking up and down the porch. Jim was in one of his boyish, cocksure moods. "I know what you're going to say," he began, before Aleck could spring his news. "You're going to marry the princess." "Just so," said Aleck. "How'd you know? Clairvoyance?" "Nope." "Well, you needn't look so high and mighty about it, old man. Why don't you do the same thing yourself? Then we'll have a double wedding." "I've thought of that," said Jim. As the two men talked, Agatha and Mélanie, both dressed in white, strolled side by side down the garden path toward the wall. They were deep in conversation, their backs turned toward the veranda. "I don't see that they look so much alike," announced Jim, who had but recently learned all the causes and effects of the Chatelard business. Aleck's eyes gleamed. "Which one, as they stand there now, do you take to be Miss Redmond?" he asked. "One on the left," answered Jim promptly. Aleck gave a signaling whistle which caused both the women quickly to turn. Agatha was on the right. Aleck grinned broadly. "So that Yahoo of a Frenchman wasn't so stupid after all." "I'd like to get my hands on him!" muttered Jim. "Frenchman or not, there's going to be a wedding right here in the old red house on Wednesday," said Aleck. "Hoopla! I knew that was it!" "And then Mélanie and I are going to cruise back to New York. Awfully sorry—but you're not invited." "You couldn't get me aboard any gilt-edged yacht that floats!" At Jimmy's words—wholly untrue, by the way—Aleck's happy mood suddenly dimmed, as he thought of the dangers and anxieties of the past month. He turned and laid an arm, boy-fashion, over Jim's shoulder, pulling his hair as his hand went by. "You're a fool of a kid!" he said, choking. When Jim looked into his cousin's face, he knew. "Oh, I say, old man, it wasn't so bad as all that." Aleck stiffened up. "Who said anything about its being bad? You'd better get some togs to wear at the wedding. I'm going to need these clothes myself." It turned out, actually enough, that the wedding was to come off on a certain Wednesday in September. "Would you like New York and a bishop and a big church better than the old red house and the Charlesport minister?" Aleck anxiously asked of Mélanie. "Oh, no," she protested; and Aleck knew she was sincere. So they prepared to terminate their holidays by celebrating the wedding in the pine grove. Mélanie spent the intervening days happily with Agatha, or walking with Aleck, or with the delightful group that foregathered in Parson Thayer's library. Jimmy made extravagant and highly colored verses to the bride-to-be, to Sallie Kingsbury, and even to himself. His feet were often lame, but he solemnly assured the company that it was entirely due to circumstances over which he had no control. A wedding was a wedding, said he, and should have its bard; also its dancers and its minstrels. "We'll have all our friends in Ilion, anyway," said Aleck. They counted up the list. Besides the occupants of the house and those from the Hillside, there would be Doctor Thayer, Susan Stoddard and Angie, Big and Little Simon, and the lawyer. "And they're all going to dance with the bride," announced Jim. "After me. I'm first choice." "A dance led, so to speak, by the elusive Monsieur Chatelard?" The name alone made Jimmy wroth. "It's a dance for which he will pay the fiddler yet!" he prophesied. "Oh, he's gone this time. Scared out of the country for keeps!" was Aleck's expressed opinion. But that it might or might not be so, was what they all secretly thought. The day before the wedding was a jewel of a day, such as New England at her best can fling into the lap of early autumn. A wind from the sea, flocks of white cloud scudding across the sapphire sky, and a sun all kindness—such was the day. It was never a "weather breeder" either; but steady, promising good for the morrow. Many times during the week James and Chamberlain and Agatha had their heads together, planning surprises for the bridal pair. The result was that on Tuesday Jim and Chamberlain borrowed the white motor-car, loaded it down with a large variety of junk, such as food from Sallie's kitchen, flowers and so on, and started for Charlesport. They ran down to the wharf, transferred their loot to the rowboat, and pulled out to the Sea Gull, swinging at her mooring in deep water. A half-hour of work, and the yacht was dressed for festival. There were strings of flags to stretch from bow to masthead and to stern; pennants for topmasts; the Stars and Stripes in beautiful silk for a standard, and a gorgeous banner with an embroidered A and M intertwined, for special occasions. Flowers were placed in the cabins, and food in the lockers. The seamen had been aboard, made the yacht clean and shipshape as a war vessel on parade, and had got permission to leave for their last night ashore. Everything was in readiness, even to the laying of the fire in the engine hold. The bride and groom were to come aboard the next day about noon, and cruise down the coast leisurely, as weather permitted. Hand, in charge of the white motor-car, with Madame Reynier, Chamberlain, Agatha and Jimmy, were to start for New York, touring as long as their inclination lasted. The sophisticated Lizzie was to travel to what was, for her, the center of the universe, by the fastest Pullman. Jimmy and Chamberlain, on the way home from their visit to the Sea Gull, came very near being confidential. "I want to say, Mr. Hambleton, that I shall never forgive myself for bungling about that Chatelard business." "As I understand the matter, it wasn't your bungling, but the sheriff's." "It's all the same," conceded Mr. Chamberlain mournfully. "And in my opinion, the Frenchman's not done with his tricks yet. He's a dangerous character, Mr. Hambleton." Jim laughed, remembering certain incidents on the Jeanne D'Arc. "Do you know," Chamberlain continued, "I'm convinced the bloomin' beggar is hiding about here somewhere. I'm glad Aleck is getting away." "I thought the evidence favored the theory that Chatelard had made straight for New York." "Not a bit of it. Aleck and I let you all believe that, for the sake of the ladies. But the evidence is all the other way. We would surely have caught him if he had been on any of the New York trains. I believe he's about here and means mischief yet." "If he's about here, there's no doubt about the mischief." "I'm going down to-night to bunk on the Sea Gull. Aleck let the men off, to go to a sailor's dance over on one of the islands. They'll probably be at it all night, so I'm going back." "Why not let me go? I'm fine as a fiddle. You've had your full share of nasty detective work." "Not at all. I'm booked to see this thing through." "All right!" laughed Jimsy. "But if you change your mind, let me know." Arriving at the house, the men found it deserted. Windows were open and doors unlatched, but no one, not even Danny, responded to Jim's call. Chamberlain started for the Hillside in the car, and Jim wandered about lonesomely, wondering where everybody was. With Jim, as in most cases, everybody meant one person; and presently Sallie, appearing slowly from the upper regions, gave him his clue. He started nimbly for the pine wood. The wagon road stretched alluringly into the sunflecked shade of the grove. A hush like that of primeval day threw its uncanny influence over the world. Jim felt something tugging at his spirit that was unfamiliar, disquieting. He began to whistle just for company, and in a moment, as if at a signal call, Danny came along the path, sedately trotting to meet him. "Hullo, old pardner! So this is where you are." Danny said yes, and led Jim into the clearing and up to a pine stump, where everybody sat, quite alone, chin propped on hand. No singing, no book, and—or did Jimmy imagine it?—a spirit decidedly quenched. Her eyelids were red and her face was pale. "So, dear lady, I have found you. But I was listening for the song." "There is no song to-day." Agatha's manner resembled an Arctic breeze. "May one ask why?" "One can not always be singing." "No? Why not? I could—if I could." Agatha was obliged to relax a trifle at Jimmy's foolishness, but only to reveal, more and more distinctly, a wretchedness of spirit that was quite baffling. It was not feminine wretchedness waiting for a masculine comforter, either, as James observed with regret; it was a stoical spirit, braced to meet a blow—or to deal one. Jimmy was not used to being snubbed, and instinctively prepared for vigorous protest. He began with a little preliminary diplomacy. "You haven't inquired what I'm going to do with the remainder of my holiday," he remarked. "I supposed you would return soon to Lynn. Shall we walk back to the house?" The unkind words were spoken in a rare-sweet voice, courteously enough. Jim looked at the speaker a moment, then emphatically said "No!" "It is quite time I was returning." "Have you anything there to do that is more important than listening to me for fifteen minutes?" Agatha did not pretend not to understand him. She turned toward him with unflinching eyes. "Truth to say, yes, Mr. Hambleton, I have. I don't wish to listen to—anything." "Oh—if you feel like that! Your 'Mr. Hambleton' is enough to strike me dumb." "Believe me, it is the best way." "Again, may one ask why?" "You are going back to your own people, to your own work. And I to mine." "But that's the very point. My idea was to—to combine them." "I guessed it." Jimmy smiled his ingenuous smile as he suavely asked, "And don't you—er—like the idea?" Agatha turned her wretched white face toward him. Into it there had come a grim determination that left Jimmy quite out in the cold. "I have no choice in liking or disliking it," she said quite evenly. "But there are plenty of reasons why I can't think of it. And you shouldn't think of it any more. I assure you, you are making a mistake." She got up as if ready to walk away, her face averted. "Agatha!" At the name she turned to Jim, as much as to say she would be quite reasonable if he would be. But her face suddenly flushed gloriously. "Agatha, dear, hear me. I did not intend to tell you all my secret to-day; not until I should be on neutral ground, so to speak. But I can't let you leave me this way." "You will have to. I am going back to the house." Up to this point, James had merely been playing tag, as it were. The game wasn't really on. A little skirmishing on either side was in order. But Agatha's last words were the call to action. They roused the ghost of some old Hambleton ancestor who meant not to be beaten. Jim squared himself in the middle of the path, touched Agatha's shoulder with the lightest, most respectful finger, and requested: "But I would ask you, as a special favor, to stay a few minutes longer." Jim's tone left Agatha no choice. She sat down again on the pine stump, but she could not meet Jimmy's eyes. He stood a few feet away from her. When he spoke, his voice was firm and steady, ringing with earnestness. There was no doubt now but that he was in the game for all he was worth. "Agatha, you shall not turn me down like this. Wait until you know me better, and know yourself better. You've had no time to think this matter over, and it involves a good deal, I admit. But we have lived through a good deal together in these few weeks. I'm here; I'm here to stay. You can't say now, dear, that you care nothing for me—can you?" <center> <ANTIMG SRC="images/img-362.jpg" ALT=""You shall not turn me down like this."" BORDER="2" WIDTH="371" HEIGHT="591"> <h4> [Illustration: "You shall not turn me down like this."] </h4> </center> "What is the use of all this, I ask! You will always be my friend, my rescuer, to whom I am eternally grateful." Jimmy emitted a sound halfway between "Shucks" and "Damn" and swung impatiently clean round on his heels. "Grateful be hanged! I don't want anybody to be grateful. I want you to love me—to marry me. Why, Agatha," he argued boyishly, his hopes rising as he saw her face soften a little, "you're mine, for I plucked you out of the sea. I had to have you. I guess I knew it that Sunday, only it was 'way off, somewhere in the back of my brain. You're a dream I've always loved. Just as this old house is. You're the woman I could have prayed for. I'll do, I'll be, anything you wish; I'll change myself over, but oh, don't say you won't have me. Agatha, Agatha, you don't know how much you mean to me!" Before this speech was finished, James, according to the good old fashion, was down on his knees before his lady, and had imprisoned one of her hands. Stoic she was, not to yield! Her eyes had a suspicious moistness, as she shook her head. "You will always be the most gallant, unselfish friend I have ever known. But—" "But—what?" "Marry you I can not." "Why not?" "I can not marry anybody." Then Jimsy said a disgraceful thing. "You kissed me once. Will you do it again?" At this impudence, she neither got angry nor changed her mind—a bad sign for Jimmy. She put his hand away, saying, "You must forgive me the kiss." Jimmy jumped to his feet with another inarticulate sound, every whit as bad as an oath, and stood before her. "Agatha Redmond, will you marry me?" "No." Jim turned in his tracks and left the wood. Two hours later, at supper, Jim was inquired for. "Our last supper together, and Mr. Hambleton not here!" mourned Chamberlain. Agatha felt guilty, but could scarcely confess it. "You are all invited for next year, you know," she said. "And we're all coming," announced Mélanie. "But poor Mr. Hambleton will miss his supper tonight." The "poor Mr. Hambleton" struck Agatha. "I think Mr. Hambleton is doing very well indeed. I saw him start off for a walk this afternoon." "Jim's a chump. Give him a cold potato," jeered Aleck. But after supper was over, and the twilight deepened into darkness, Agatha sought Aleck where she could speak with him alone. "I—I think Mr. Hambleton was troubled when he left here this afternoon," she said. "Can you think where he would be likely to go? He is not strong enough to bear much hard exercise yet." Aleck looked at her keenly. "If he went anywhere, I think he'd go straight to the yacht." "I feel a little anxious, someway," confessed Agatha. Chamberlain's voice broke in upon them. "Anybody ready to take me down to the Sea Gull in the car?" As Aleck started for the machine, the anxiety in Agatha's face perceptibly lightened. "And may I go with you?" she asked eagerly. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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