CHAPTER ELEVEN
The screen-door slammed once, and Girt looked up hopefully, but decided it was a breeze. She should have known better, for there had been no breeze in Santa Fé for a week. But she was deep in the latest copy of “Screenland” and could spare time only for the paper bag of chocolates next to her.
The door slammed three times, and Teddy called out indignantly, “Anybody home?”
“Teddy!” she squealed joyfully, and jumped up. “I was just wondering when you’d come back. Come in and tell me about it. Where did you go and what happened? You’ve got a swell sunburn.”
He stepped inside and kissed her perfunctorily. “I want some lemonade,” he said. “Have you got any? If you haven’t I’m going down to the plaza, and I wish you’d tell Blake when he comes——”
“I can make some in a minute,” she said. “Sit down and cool off. How did you know I wasn’t out of town?”
“Passed by La Fonda and Margaret told me. Where are the cigarettes?”
“On the mantel,” she called from the kitchen, and began to chop ice vigorously. “Now tell me about the Navajo country. What happened?”
“Not much. Blake can tell you when he comes: I’m meeting him here. We got home late last night—Mrs. Saville-Sanders wanted to stop overnight in Albuquerque and they were having the Masonic Convention and all the hotels were full. You should have seen her!” He giggled. “She stood up and insisted on having rooms for all of us, and it didn’t do the slightest bit of good, naturally. So then she was crushed and wouldn’t speak for two hours on the way up, and we were all very tactful and didn’t say anything.” She could hear him roaming about the room, stopping here and there to pick things up and put them down again. When she came back with a pitcher and glasses, he was staring disgustedly at a small oil painting on the wall.
“Why do you keep that kind of stuff around?” he asked.
“It’s Flo, and she said it’s worth a lot of money. Here’s your lemonade.”
“Well, here’s to luck.”
“Is there any left for me?” Blake came in and sat down, panting from the heat. He held out his hand pleadingly for a glass.
“Did you like it?” Gin asked him. “The Reservation, I mean.”
“It was grand,” said Teddy. “We took a private jaunt into the country and learned how to trade. We made plans to take out a license and start a post of our own. Oh, but the really important plan....”
“Look here,” Blake interrupted, “you’re not going around talking about that, are you?”
“Gin’s safe,” Teddy argued.
“She’s not. Nobody’s safe. Are you trying to ruin it? We promised we weren’t going to speak of it at all, to anyone. He’s been in town four hours,” he added despairingly to Gin, “and everybody has heard all about it!”
“No, they haven’t. I swear they haven’t, Blake,” Teddy said. “Don’t get all worked up. I just thought she’d be interested: she’s perfectly safe, honestly.”
“Go on, Blake,” said Gin. “I won’t tell. I never tell anything.”
Sulkily, he answered, “Well, it isn’t very much. We’re running away.”
She had a sudden pang of fear. “Running away? Where? When?”
“We’re not sure about anything: it’s all very nebulous,” Teddy explained. “That’s why we’re not telling. It will probably be after Fiesta, just before Blake has to go back to school. We’re aiming for Mexico, and of course Mrs. Lennard mustn’t have any idea of it. You will be careful, won’t you?”
“Certainly I will. But....” She hesitated, her mind struggling against despair. “You make me sick. What’ll I do without you?”
“Come along,” Teddy said easily. “The more the merrier.”
“Madden!” Blake was outraged again. “You don’t really take it seriously at all. I don’t think you mean to come.”
She leaned forward eagerly. “But why can’t I come? I’d be useful, really I would. I’d do the cooking for you. I’ll try to save up something before we start. Please! Honest, Blake, I’m serious. I am. Couldn’t I come? Would it really spoil it all if I came?”
“It’s all right with me,” said Teddy. “Why not, Blake?”
“Because....”
“Oh, you don’t want me,” she cried. “You are afraid I’ll spoil it. Let me come. If it looks as if I’ll spoil it, I’ll take the next train back. But let me try. Please. If you don’t, I’ll get up another expedition by myself, and I’ll probably be killed. Go on, Blake. Say yes.”
“Oh,” he said, relenting, “I guess it doesn’t make much difference if we keep it down to three. You’re not joking?” He searched her face seriously, and she tried to look as intense as possible. “All right,” he decided, “we’ll all go. But remember if anyone hears about it it’s all off.”
“I promise faithfully,” she said.
Teddy stood up and reached for his racket. “It’s time we’re shoving off. Coming along, Gin? You can watch us play.”
“Not this trip. Don’t you want another round of lemonade to pledge the business?”
“I’m full up,” Blake said, and Teddy added, “Better not; we’ll splash when we play. Never mind.”
“Well then, we’ll just shake on it.”
They clasped hands and she watched them from the side windows as they drove away. After they were out of sight she stood there, staring at a most uninteresting house across the street and thinking so deeply that she didn’t hear Flo come in. “What on earth are you looking at?” Flo said in her ear, and she jumped.
“Are you here already? It must be late.”
“No, I’m early. Oh, goody. Lemonade! You’re an angel. Did anyone call me?”
“Call? Well, let’s see if I can remember....”
“You imbecile,” Flo said pleasantly. “Did Russell call?”
“Oh, Russell. Of course he did, constantly, all the time, perpetually. I wish you’d tell him to phone the office instead. I get all excited when the phone rings, and it’s always Russell for you.”
“Why not?” Flo went over to the mirror and started to comb her hair. “Don’t you like him?”
“Oh, he’s all right, I guess. Are you going to marry him?”
“I don’t know. What do you think about it?” She sat down on the couch and put her arms around her knees. “I guess I could if I tried. He’s doing pretty well at the office. What do you think?”
Gin said promptly, “Oh, marry him. You said you wanted to be married. I don’t know why, but you said so.”
“All right. I’ll marry him.” Flo laughed suddenly and picked up the phone. “I’ll tell him now.” Just then it rang, and she picked up the receiver. “Hello. Just a minute, I’ll see.” Covering the transmitter with her hand, she whispered to Gin, “It’s for you; it sounds like Harvey. What’ll I say?”
“Let me talk to him.... Hello!”
“Hello, Gin. Say, listen....”
“How are you, Harvey?”
“I’m all right. Listen, can’t we talk this thing over? I miss you a lot. Let’s have dinner tonight.”
Suddenly, happily indifferent to all quarrels that had any connection with Santa Fé, she answered, “All right. Come along at six-thirty.”
“Well,” Flo cried, “When did all this happen?”
“Just now.” She handed the phone over. “Now call your Russell.” She went into the kitchen and started to clean up, throwing away the lemon-peels. She sang loudly and happily, until her roommate called through the door in protest.
“Sing me a song of a lad that is gone:
Say, could that lad be I?...”
On a sudden impulse, she shouted to Flo, “When you get married would you want this apartment?”
“Me? I’m not really getting married. Did you take me seriously?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I thought maybe you’d like to keep it.” She emptied a plate into the garbage pail, clattering it cheerfully.
“Russell can’t get married yet anyway: he hasn’t enough money. Why do you ask? Are you thinking of moving anywhere?”
“Not at all,” Gin said, and threw the dish-towel against its hook on the wall. “Not in the least.”