PAGE 8
The Day Of The Dog
by
“It would have been appalling,” he agreed, discreetly allowing her to imagine the worst.
“How can I ever thank you?” cried she impulsively. He made a very creditable show of embarrassment in the effort to convince her that he had accomplished only what any man would have attempted under similar circumstances. She was thoroughly convinced that no other man could have succeeded.
“Well, we’re in a pretty position, are we not?” he asked in the end.
“I think I can stick on without being held, Mr. Crosby,” she said, and his arm slowly and regretfully came to parade rest.
“Are you sure you won’t get dizzy?” he demanded in deep solicitude.
“I’ll not look down,” she said, smiling into his eyes. He lost the power of speech for a moment. “May I look at those figures now?”
For the next ten minutes she studiously followed him as he explained the contents of the various papers. She held the sheets and they sat very close to each other on the big beam. The dog looked on in sour disgust.
“They cannot be wrong,” she cried at last. Her eyes were sparkling. “You are as good as an angel.”
“I only regret that I can’t complete the illusion by unfolding a strong and convenient pair of wings,” he said dolorously. “How are we to catch that train for Chicago?”
“I’m afraid we can’t,” she said demurely. “You’ll miss the box party.”
“That’s a pleasure easily sacrificed.”
“Besides, you are seeing me on business. Pleasure should never interfere with business, you know.”
“It doesn’t seem to,” he said, and the dog saw them smile tranquilly into each other’s eyes.
“Oh, isn’t this too funny for words?” He looked very grateful.
“I wonder when Austin will condescend to release us.”
“I have come to a decision, Mr. Crosby,” she said irrelevantly.
“Indeed?”
“I shall never speak to Robert Austin again, and I’ll never enter his house as long as I live,” she announced determinedly.
“Good! But you forget your personal effects. They are in his house.” He was overflowing with happiness.
“They have all gone to the depot and I have the baggage checks. My ticket and my money are in this purse. You see, we are quite on the same footing.”
“I don’t feel sure of my footing,” he commented ruefully. “By the way, I have a fountain pen. Would you mind signing these papers? We’ll be quite sure of our standing at least.”
She deliberately spread out the papers on the beam, and, while he obligingly kept her from falling, signed seven documents in a full, decisive hand: “Louise Hampton Delancy.”
“There! That means that you are to begin suit,” she said finally, handing the pen to him.
“Don’t do that,” he said resignedly. “Remember how Eliza crossed the ice with the bloodhounds in full trail. Do you know how deep and wide the creek is?”
“It’s a tiny bit of a thing, but it’s wet,” she said ruefully.
“I’ll carry you over.” And a moment later he was splashing through the shallow brook, holding the lithe, warm figure of his client high above the water. As he set her down upon the opposite bank she gave a pretty sigh of satisfaction, and naively told him that he was very strong for a man in the last stages of starvation.
Two or three noisy dogs gave them the first welcome, and Crosby sagely looked aloft for refuge. His companion quieted the dogs, however, and the advance on the squat farmhouse was made without resistance. The visitors were not long in acquainting the good-natured and astonished young farmer with the situation. Mrs. Higgins was called from her bed and in a jiffy was bustling about the kitchen, from which soon floated odors so tantalizing that the refugees could scarcely suppress the desire to rush forth and storm the good cook in her castle.
“It’s mighty lucky you got here when you did, Mrs. Delancy,” said Higgins, peering from the window. “Looks ‘s if it might rain before long. We ain’t got much of a place here, but, if you’ll put up with it, I guess we can take keer of you over night.”