CHAPTER NINE
Shows how Miss Bentley and the Reporter take refuge in a cave, and how in the course of the conversation which follows, she hears something which disposes her to feel more kindly toward the Candy Man; shows also how Uncle Bob proves faithless to his trust, and his niece finds herself locked out in consequence.
"Let's pretend we are pursued by wild Indians and take refuge in this cave."
The scene was one of those afternoon crushes which everybody attends and few enjoy. Miss Bentley, struggling with an ice, which the state of the atmosphere rendered eminently desirable, and the density of the crowd made indulgence in precarious, addressed her next neighbour, whom she had catalogued as a nice, friendly boy. "It's Mr. Brown, isn't it?" she added in triumph at so easily associating the name with the face.
The young man's beaming countenance showed his delight. "Good for you, Miss Bentley! It would be great. Let me have your plate while you squeeze in."
This corner behind a mass of greens seemed to have been left with the intention of protecting an elaborate cabinet that occupied a shallow recess. However it might be, here was a refuge, difficult of access, but possible. Margaret Elizabeth held on to her hat and dived in.
"Grand!" she cried. "This is beyond my wildest hopes," and she perched herself on a short step-ladder, left here no doubt by the decorators, and held out her hands for the plates. Mr. Brown found a more lowly seat beneath a bay tree. They looked at each other and laughed.
"My position is a ticklish one, so to speak," he observed, vainly trying to dodge the palm leaves to the right of him; "but I think we are reasonably safe from pursuit."
"I haven't the remotest idea where my aunt is," Margaret Elizabeth remarked, eating her ice in serene unconcern.
"Say, Miss Bentley, I have heard my cousin speak of you—Augustus McAllister, you know."
"Are you Mr. McAllister's cousin?" Miss Bentley's tone and smile left it to be inferred that this fact above any other was a passport to her favour. It must be regretfully recognised, however, that it would have been the same if Mr. Brown had mentioned the market-man.
Having thus successfully established his claim to notice, the Reporter, as was his custom, went on to explain that he belonged to the moneyless branch of the family.
Margaret Elizabeth assured him, in a grandmotherly manner, that it was much better for a young man to have his way to make in the world than to have too much money.
The Reporter owned this seemed to be the consensus of opinion. How the strange notion had gained such vogue he could not understand, but there was no use kicking when you were up against it.
"Of course, it must be hard work, but it must be interesting. Don't you have exciting experiences?" Miss Bentley asked.
Oh, he had, certainly, and met such queer people, too. There was a fellow who ran a Candy Wagon on the Y.M.C.A. corner, for instance. "You ought to meet him, really, Miss Bentley, though, of course, you couldn't very well. He's a character, and I have puzzled my brains to discover what he's doing it for."
Miss Bentley was interested and requested further enlightenment.
"Well, I have two theories in regard to him. He is an educated man, and a gentleman, so far as I can tell, and I think he is either studying some social problem, or he is a detective on some trail."
"I never thought——" began Margaret Elizabeth. "I mean," hastily correcting herself, "I should never have thought of such an explanation."
"He's up to something, you may be sure," Mr. Brown continued. "I like to talk to him, and do, every chance I get."
Margaret Elizabeth certainly showed a flattering interest in all the Reporter had to say. "Some day when you have become a great editor," she assured him at parting, "I shall refer proudly to the afternoon when we sat together in a cave and ate ice cream."
"Oh, now, Miss Bentley," the Reporter protested in some embarrassment, "I'm sure I shall always think of it with pride, whatever I get to be, though that probably won't be much."
This conversation was not without its influence upon Miss Bentley's subsequent attitude toward the Candy Man. That some one else had found him a unique and interesting personality was reassuring, and the thought that he might be engaged on some secret mission was novel and suggestive. She began to reconsider and readjust, and in future, although she still avoided the Y.M.C.A. corner, she allowed her thoughts to turn once in a while in that direction.
Meanwhile she paid two more visits to the Miser's library, on these occasions laying deliberate siege to his reserve with all the charm of her bright friendliness. She asked questions about his beloved prints; intelligent questions, for Margaret Elizabeth had grown up in an atmosphere of appreciation for things rare and fine. She chatted about her father and his work, and even ventured some wise advice about fresh air and its tonic effect. Indeed, it is a cause for wonder that she was able at the same time to collect the material which took shape later in that most erudite paper.
Under this invasion of youth and gaiety, the sombre, student atmosphere became charged with a new, electric current. It was not owing solely to Miss Bentley, however, for Sunday evening now frequently found the Candy Man dropping in sociably to chat with Mr. Knight in his library.
In these days the Miser often sat leaning his head on his hand, a meditative, half whimsical expression on his face, as if he found both wonder and amusement in the chance that had so strangely brought these young people across his threshold.
One Sunday afternoon the Pennington motor, having deposited Margaret Elizabeth at the Vandegrift gate, with a scornful snort went on its swift way to more select regions. It was the first really cold weather of the season, and while she waited at the door Margaret Elizabeth examined the thermometer, and then buried her nose in her muff. "Dear me!" she exclaimed impatiently. "Why doesn't somebody come?"
She rang again with no uncertain touch upon the button this time, and then, crunching across the frozen grass, peeped in at her own window, where a glimpse of smouldering fire rewarded her. She returned to the door to ring and rap, still with no response.
This was a most unusual state of affairs, for it was an inexorable decree of Dr. Prue's that the telephone must never be left alone. Somebody must have gone to sleep. The cold and the darkness deepened and it became more and more evident that she was locked out. What should she do? After canvassing the situation thoroughly, she could think of nothing for it but to seek refuge with the Miser. Her acquaintance in the neighbourhood was limited. Miss Kitty the dressmaker had gone to vespers, and her cottage was dark. The apartment house was too far away. From the Miser's library she could watch for the light which would betoken the waking up of the delinquent one. So across the street, her nose in her muff, ran Margaret Elizabeth.
The little housekeeper, Mrs. Sampson, who opened the door, was all solicitude. Such a cold evening to be locked out! She knew Mr. Knight would be glad to have her wait in the library. He had stepped out for a little walk, though she had warned him it was too cold. Thus saying, Mrs. Sampson ushered her in, and followed to see if the fire was all it should be.
It was, for the Candy Man had just given it a vigorous poking and put on fresh coal. The room was full of its pleasant light.
Mrs. Sampson was surprised to find him there. "Miss Bentley, this is Mr. Reynolds, a friend of Mr. Knight's," she explained, adding that Miss Bentley was locked out, and wished to sit by the window and watch for her uncle to come back. "And if you'll excuse me, Miss Bentley, the cook has her Sunday evenings out, and I get supper myself," she added as she withdrew.
Margaret Elizabeth and the Candy Man faced each other in silence for a second or two, then she said, very gravely indeed, "I am glad to meet you, Mr. Reynolds."
"Thank you, Miss Bentley. May I give you a chair?" he asked.
"Thank you, I will sit here by the window." The window was some distance from the fire, but as she sat down Margaret Elizabeth loosened her furs as if she felt its heat.
The Candy Man waited, uncertain what course he should pursue.
"Please sit down, Mr. Reynolds. I should like to talk to you, now the opportunity has so unexpectedly offered." She regarded him still seriously, her hands clasped within her large muff. "I think you owe me an explanation."
"I am not sure I understand." The Candy Man's heart was beating in an absurd and disconcerting way, but he would keep his head and follow her lead.
"Of course you are aware that you allowed me to talk to you that morning in the park, in a—most unsuitable manner, without even——"
"How could I?" cried the Candy Man entreatingly. "I did not know."
"Did not know what?" demanded Miss Bentley sternly, as he hesitated.
"I thought perhaps—I was dreadfully lonely, you see, and I thought—it was preposterous—but I hoped you—don't you see?—didn't mind talking to an unknown Candy Man."
"Oh! was that it?" exclaimed Margaret Elizabeth in a tone difficult to interpret. Did she think it preposterous, or not? It seemed to indicate she found something preposterous. "Then you were disappointed in me," she added.
Never would the Candy Man admit such a thing. He had realised since then what a cad he must have seemed, but——
"That, however, is neither here nor there," she continued, "since I did not recognise you. It was——"
"Preposterous?" he suggested.
"Yes, preposterous, to suppose that I could. Why, it was nearly dark that afternoon, and I——"
"Please don't rub it in. I know. You see I knew you so well."
"Me?" cried Margaret Elizabeth.
"I had seen you pass, I mean."
Again Miss Bentley said "Oh!" adding: "You are also the person who laughed when I made an idiotic remark about lighthouses in the grocery."
The Candy Man protested. He had not laughed.
"Your eyes laughed. That is how I first discovered my mistake. Your resemblance to Mr. McAllister is remarkable."
"So I have been told." The Candy Man shrugged his shoulders, ever so little.
"However, to go back, I think you owe me an explanation, Mr. Reynolds, considering how you allowed me to talk to you under a false impression. I am not absolutely lacking in grey matter," she added, while a smile curled her lips, "and I think you owe it to me to tell me why you became a Candy Man."
"In return for the Fairy Godmother idea?" he asked mischievously.
Miss Bentley's brows drew together. "If you knew how bitterly I have regretted all the foolish things I said that day, you would not laugh," she cried.
"Do not say that, please, Miss Bentley. I beg your pardon, and I am not laughing. I could not. If you only knew what it all meant to me. How I——"
His distress was so genuine that Margaret Elizabeth was touched. "Well, never mind now. It can't be helped, and I am willing to have it in return for the Fairy Godmother nonsense, if you choose to put it so."
And now perforce the Candy Man must explain himself.
"You see," he began, "I had been knocked out of everything through a bad accident that occurred at my home near Chicago—a runaway. Speaking of grey matter, there was some doubt for a time whether mine was not permanently injured. However, I gradually recovered, but I was still forbidden for another six months at least to do any brain work, and ordered by my doctor to loaf in the fresh air. Doing nothing when you are longing to get to work is no easy job. I left home with the intention of going South, and stopped off here for no particular reason. Perhaps I should have said that I have no family. My father died something over a year ago. Oddly enough, in front of the station here I met an Irish woman, once a servant in my father's house. She was overjoyed to see me, and poured out her troubles. Her son, who ran a candy wagon, had been taken ill with fever, and his employers would not promise to keep the place for him, and altogether she was in hard lines, this boy being the main support of a large family. So now you see how the idea occurred to me. To amuse myself and keep the boy's place. And having no family or friends to be disgraced——"
"No one has intimated there was any disgrace about it," Miss Bentley interrupted. "At worst it can be called eccentric. It was also very, very kind."
"Oh, now, Miss Bentley, thank you, but I can't let you overrate that. Any help I have given was merely by the way. You must remember I was in need of some occupation, and I assure you it has been very much of a lark."
"Yes?" said Miss Bentley. "Then no doubt before long you will be writing 'The Impressions of a Candy Man,' or 'Life as Seen from a Candy Wagon.' It will be new."
"Thanks for the suggestion, I'll consider it. But for the chance that made me a Candy Man I should have missed a great deal—for one thing, a realisation of the opportunity that awaits the Fairy Godmother Society."
"But Tim will soon be about again," said Margaret Elizabeth.
"Then I must look out for another job; but your remark implies some further knowledge of Tim. I was not aware I had mentioned his name even."
Miss Bentley bit her lip, then decided to smile frankly. "I met Tim the other day," she said. "My cousin, Dr. Vandegrift, often visits St. Mary's, and I sometimes go with her. Tim is a nice boy, and full of praises for the kind gentleman who has done so much for him."
"And also, let me add, for the lovely young lady who gave him a red rose, and——"
Margaret Elizabeth laughed. There was no getting ahead of this Candy Man. Had he known all along, or had he just guessed? "I see a light at last," she said, rising. "I must go, or they will be wondering what has become of me." ...
"Yes, I know it was my afternoon in," said Uncle Bob plaintively, while Margaret Elizabeth made toast at the grate and Dr. Prue set the table. "I merely ran over to the drug store for a second, but Barlow was there and I got to talking."
"It is quite unnecessary to explain, but I do wish, father, you would refrain from speaking as if you were required to stay in. It was your own proposition to let Nancy go. I could have made other arrangements." Dr. Prue was aggrieved. There was no telling how many telephone calls had been unanswered.
Margaret Elizabeth laughed. "You are absolutely untrustworthy, Uncle Bob. Hereafter I shall carry a latch key."
"By the way, who was that young man who brought you home?" the doctor asked.
"His name is Reynolds. He is a stranger here. I have met him once or twice." This casual explanation was accompanied by side glances which indicated to Uncle Bob that there was more in it than appeared on the surface.
Margaret Elizabeth had been extremely reserved upon the subject of the Candy Man. Uncle Bob had not heard a word of it till now, when, beside the Little Red Chimney hearth, supper having been cleared away, and Dr. Prue resting with a book on the office lounge, she told him the whole story.
"You don't say so! That beats anything I ever heard. Well, I said it would come out all right, didn't I?" Margaret Elizabeth's narrative was punctured, as Mrs. Partington would have said, with many exclamations such as these.
"I own you were right. It isn't as bad as it seemed. He is really very gentlemanly and nice. Still, it is a bit awkward too," she added thoughtfully.
It is possible she was thinking of Mrs. Gerrard Pennington at the moment.