Helen made her contributions to these enterprises, bought a few bonds and disappeared before the middle of October. The inference was that she had joined her husband in New York. The Shannon Sentinel so stated in a brief local on no better authority than that the editor had seen her board the express one evening. Passengers bound for New York always took this train. And where else could Mrs. Cutter be going when every finger of your imagination pointed to New York and her husband as her logical and legitimate destination?
This long-legged logical faculty, directed by imagination, is responsible for much that is fictitious in current gossip and even in written records; witness, for example, that master work of fiction, Mr. H. G. Wells’ “Outline of History.” It is logical, convincing, and much of it is based upon the most entrancing interpretation of rocks, fossils and bones—which does not prove anything except that the sciences of geology, anthropology and the rest of them are bright-eyed sciences, full of delightfully imaginary conclusions. While it may all be the truth, we do not know that it is true, and Mr. Wells cannot prove that it is. Meanwhile, if we could exercise as much faith and imagination toward God and the future as he has shown in revealing the Paleozoic and previous periods in the past, somebody would be born presently fledged with wings and a skyward mind.
But, all that aside, what I set out to tell was that Helen did not go to New York and that she did not return to Shannon until the beginning of the following year.
Shortly after her departure, a tall, dark young man with high black hair, who carried his head bare, apparently out of deference to or pride in this hair, descended from the morning train at Shannon. He was accompanied by an ordinary looking man, apparently of the higher artisan class. The two of them entered a taxi and disappeared out Wiggs Street.
No notice would ever have been taken of them, if they had not been seen at a distance, standing in front of the Cutter residence, staring at it, gesticulating, evidently engaged in fervid conversation, moving from one side of the lawn to the other to stare again, talk and swing up high gestures at this little, low, white setting hen of a house, as if it was of the uttermost importance to do something about it.
Mrs. Flitch watched these two strangers until she reached a certain conclusion. Then she went to the telephone and called Mrs. Shaw. She asked her if she had heard that the Cutter home was to be sold.
Mrs. Shaw replied that she had not; but that she knew Mrs. Cutter had stored all her furniture and things in the barn before she left.
Mrs. Flitch said, well, that settled it. They were evidently about to sell the place. Some men were out there looking at it now. No, strangers. She had seen them pass just after the morning train from Atlanta came in. Real-estate men, probably. She said she knew all the time that the place would be sold. The wonder to her was that Helen had stayed out there so long, with her husband practically living in New York. And so on and so forth until they reached the usual discussion of Red Cross supplies.
A few days later the ordinary man of the artisan type returned to Shannon with a roll of blue print under his arm. The next thing Shannon knew the roof was off the Cutter house and there was a corps of workmen out there, spreading wings to it, putting on another story and setting up magnificent columns in front to support the coronet-countenance of this house. And from the awful rumpus going on within, it was evident that partitions were being torn out and elegant changes being made.
There was no Creel to censor news in Shannon. Rumors started and turned back, or rumors died during a Liberty Loan drive. Finally, it was settled that the Cutters had not sold their place, but that they were spending a fortune rebuilding it. They were not obliged to count the costs, even during these strenuous times when the price of labor and materials were beyond the reach of most people. They had plenty of money and no children. Still, a display of wealth at such a time was certainly in bad taste. Had anybody heard a word from Helen since she went to New York? This query went the rounds of the Red Cross room late in November. No one had heard from Helen. Mrs. Arnold said that her husband had received one or two letters from Mr. Cutter on matters of business. She understood that Mr. Cutter had some kind of government contract and was making a great deal of money.