CHAPTER XXIII
Uncle Bob was exasperated. He was talking to Phœbe’s father. Phœbe could hear him, from where she lay on the sofa in Grandma’s bedroom.
“A person would think you’re first-cousin to a mule!” cried Uncle Bob. “What makes you so stubborn, Jim? Don’t you see what you ought to do!—Oh, my goodness, the thing is all so simple!”
Phœbe could hear someone walking, to and fro, to and fro, across Uncle Bob’s room. Then, “Well, you see, old man, the trouble is there isn’t anybody,”—and Phœbe’s father laughed. (What were they talking about?)
“You can’t think of anybody?” scolded Uncle Bob. “Well, I can.”
“Yes?”
“I’ve got it all fixed up.”
The footsteps halted. Again Phœbe’s father laughed. “You’re a wonder!” he cried. “Well, your Honor, who is it?”
“You know.”
There was silence for a moment. Phœbe’s father answered then, but he spoke very gravely. “No, no,” he said. “I know who you mean. And that would never do.”
“What’s the matter with her?” Uncle Bob was impatient.
“Nothing,”—calmly. Phœbe heard the scratch of a match.
“You bet your life there’s nothing the matter with her!” (Who was “her”?)
“What makes you think she’d fall in with your plans, old brother?”
“First hand information. She told me that she cared.”
Phœbe’s father laughed again, but in a curious way. “I don’t believe it,” he said.
“It’s true. I made her confess.” (Confess! “Are they talking about me?” Phœbe asked herself.)
“Bob!—But that wasn’t fair! not fair to her!”
“I know,” agreed Uncle Bob, contritely. “But I did it for the sake of the child.—Oh, Jim, before you go——”
“Before I go,” returned Phœbe’s father, quietly, “I won’t do something unworthy.”
“Unworthy? What do you mean?”
“Along with the rest, Bob, I happen to know that you care.”
“I?—Say!” Now Uncle Bob laughed. “Who on earth’s been telling you fish stories?”
“Bob, you’re a wise old bird. But you don’t fool me.”
“Jim, you’ve been listening to one of Phœbe’s moving-picture yarns!” (Phœbe sat up. They did mean her!)
“Judge,” said Phœbe’s father, “I can beat you at golf.”
It was then that, suddenly, Uncle Bob seemed completely to change. He grew more earnest, his voice rose. “Oh, listen, Jim!” he begged. “I’ve taken her around a little——”
“No, Bob,—no! no! no!”
Phœbe leaned back, completely at a loss to understand any of it. Fish stories? Moving-pictures? Golf? And that “her” again!
“Yes, I tell you!” insisted Uncle Bob. “You ought to have done this fifteen years ago.”
“Is that so!” retorted Phœbe’s father, sarcastically. “Well, fifteen years ago I wouldn’t step in your way.”
“I!” Uncle Bob laughed, but not pleasantly. “Old, and fat, and bald.”
“I will not do it,” said Phœbe’s father.
“And I won’t be a dog in the manger!” Uncle Bob struck a hard surface with his fist.
“Bob, please drop it.”
“You’re a nice father!” taunted Uncle Bob. “You’re a peach! Letting me or anyone else come before Phœbe.” (“It is about me,” declared Phœbe. “I’m ‘her,’ after all.”) “My life’s half over, Jim: Hers is just beginning.”
“You’re a blessed old brother,”—and Phœbe could tell that her father felt deeply as he spoke, for his voice shook. “But listen to me, Bob: When we went tramping, as boys, if I got tired you always dragged me along by the hand. And how you always shared everything with me! Well, you’re my old side partner, and I won’t do this thing—I won’t!”
“Jim, I’m a poor pill if I can’t practice what I’m always preaching from the Bench: The child comes first.”
“Listen!” insisted Phœbe’s father, gently. “I had my chance at happiness, Bob, and I made a mess of it. But—I’ve got Phœbe, and you——”
“Forget me! I’m out of it. And why should you cheat yourself? And her?”
“Sh!”
Phœbe’s father was standing in the door of Grandma’s room, staring down at the figure on the sofa. “Have you been here all the time?” he asked.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Mm. Haven’t been asleep, I suppose?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, do you think you can stand some very good news?” He came to her.
“Oh,—not back!—not New York!—oh!” Phœbe sprang up, holding out both arms. “When?”
He drew her to him. “Tomorrow. So get all the rest that you can today, little girl. Tomorrow at this time we’ll be whirling along.”
Uncle Bob was watching them. “You mean it?” he asked Phœbe’s father. “You’re going to leave? And not say a word?—Oh, it’s all wrong, Jim! It’s all wrong!”