“I don’t know where you came from,”
he said, “but around here decent men cut out
when a girl’s engaged.”
“I see!”
“What’s more, what do we know about you?
Who are you, anyhow? I’ve looked you up.
Even at your office they don’t know anything.
You may be all right, but how do I know it?
And, even if you are, renting a room in the Page
house doesn’t entitle you to interfere with the
family. You get her into trouble and I’ll
kill you!”
It took courage, that speech, with K. Le Moyne towering
five inches above him and growing a little white about
the lips.
“Are you going to say all these things to Sidney?”
“Does she allow you to call her Sidney?”
“Are you?”
“I am. And I am going to find out why
you were upstairs just now.”
Perhaps never in his twenty-two years had young Drummond
been so near a thrashing. Fury that he was ashamed
of shook Le Moyne. For very fear of himself,
he thrust his hands in the pockets of his Norfolk coat.
“Very well,” he said. “You
go to her with just one of these ugly insinuations,
and I’ll take mighty good care that you are sorry
for it. I don’t care to threaten.
You’re younger than I am, and lighter.
But if you are going to behave like a bad child,
you deserve a licking, and I’ll give it to you.”
An overflow from the parlor poured out on the porch.
Le Moyne had got himself in hand somewhat.
He was still angry, but the look in Joe’s eyes
startled him. He put a hand on the boy’s
shoulder.
“You’re wrong, old man,” he said.
“You’re insulting the girl you care for
by the things you are thinking. And, if it’s
any comfort to you, I have no intention of interfering
in any way. You can count me out. It’s
between you and her.” Joe picked his straw
hat from a chair and stood turning it in his hands.
“Even if you don’t care for her, how do
I know she isn’t crazy about you?”
“My word of honor, she isn’t.”
“She sends you notes to McKees’.”
“Just to clear the air, I’ll show it to
you. It’s no breach of confidence.
It’s about the hospital.”
Into the breast pocket of his coat he dived and brought
up a wallet. The wallet had had a name on it
in gilt letters that had been carefully scraped off.
But Joe did not wait to see the note.
“Oh, damn the hospital!” he said—and
went swiftly down the steps and into the gathering
twilight of the June night.
It was only when he reached the street-car, and sat
huddled in a corner, that he remembered something.
Only about the hospital—but Le Moyne had
kept the note, treasured it! Joe was not subtle,
not even clever; but he was a lover, and he knew the
ways of love. The Pages’ roomer was in
love with Sidney whether he knew it or not.
Carlotta Harrison pleaded a headache, and was excused
from the operating-room and from prayers.
