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The Wag-Lady
by
The day she walked over to the Wag house unassisted was one of such wild rejoicing that she was forced to tell them shyly of her own happiness, a happiness so new that as yet she could scarcely credit it. She was to be Mrs. Harry Hope, and asked them to wish her joy.
Llewellyn made a speech that evoked the admiration of them all, even to the Kid, who was miserably jealous, and June went home with her heart very warm and tender toward these six adventurers who had been so true to her.
It was to be expected that Hope would share in his sweetheart’s extravagant gladness, for he loved her deeply, with all the force of his big, strong nature, yet he acted strangely as time went on. Now he was sad and worried, again he seemed tortured by a lurking disquietude of spirit. This alarmed the Wag-lady, and she set out to find the secret of his trouble.
The ice was breaking when he made a clean breast of it, and when he had finished June felt that her heart was breaking also. It was the commonplace story of a young man tempted beyond his strength. Hope’s popularity had made him a host of friends, while his generosity had made “no” a difficult answer. He had plunged into excesses during the early winter; gambled wildly, not to win, but for the fun of it. He had lost company money, trusting to his ability to make it good from his own pocket when the time came. The time was coming, and his pockets were empty. Spring was here, the first boats would arrive any day, and with them would come the P. C. men to audit his accounts. It was possible to cover it up, to be sure, but he scorned to falsify his books.
“I should have stayed in Council City,” he said, “but when I heard you were–sick–” He buried his brown face in his hands.
The girl’s lips were white as she asked, “How much is it?”
“Nearly twenty thousand.”
She shook her head hopelessly. “I haven’t nearly that much, Harry, but perhaps they would let us pay off the balance as we are able.”
“June!” he cried. “I wouldn’t let you! I’ll go to jail first! I–I suppose you won’t want to marry me, now that you know?”
“I love you more than twenty thousand dollars’ worth,” she replied. “We’ll face it out together.”
“If only I had time I could pay it back and they’d never know, for I have property that will sell, once the season opens.”
“Then you must take time.”
“I can’t. Sternberg will tell.”
“What has Sternberg to do with it?”
“I lost the money in his place–his books will show. He suspects, even now, and he’s talking about it. He doesn’t like me, you know, since he heard of our engagement.”
The days fled swiftly by; the hills thrust their scarred sides up through the melting snow; the open sea showed black beyond the rim of anchor ice. As nature awoke and blossomed, June faded and shrank until she was no more than the ghost of her former self. Then one day smoke was reported upon the horizon, and the town became a bedlam; for the door of the frozen North was creaking on its hinges, and just beyond lay the good, glad world of men and things.
June could stand it no longer; so she told her sorrow to Llewellyn, who had half guessed it, anyhow, and he in turn retold it to his fellow-Wags.
The Scrap Iron Kid was for killing Hope at once, and argued that it was by far the simplest way out of June’s trouble, carrying with it also an agreeable element of retribution. Hope had hurt the Wag-lady, therefore the least atonement he could offer was his blood. But Dummy, the foxy old alibi man of the outfit, said:
“I’ve got a better scheme. Hope wants to do the right thing, and June’ll make him if she has a chance. The company will get its coin, she’ll get her square guy, an’ nobody’ll be hurt, provided he has time to swing himself. The ace in the hole is Sammy Sternberg; he’s got the books. Now what’s the answer?”