“You don’t care anything about me or my happiness. It’s all this old boat, and business, and money. Haven’t I worked, night after night, year in, year out! And now, when I have a chance to enjoy myself—it isn’t as if you hadn’t promised me——”
“We’re going, I tell you, Nollie. But your ma isn’t even here. And how did I know Doc was going to be stuck at Baton Rouge! We got plenty of time to have dinner ashore and go to the theatre, but we’ll have to give up the drive to Pontchartrain——”
A heartbroken wail from Magnolia. Her great dark eyes turned in appeal to Ravenal. “It’s the drive I like better than anything in the world. And horses. I’m crazy about horses, and I don’t get a chance to drive—oh, well—” at an objection from Andy—“sometimes; but what kind of horses do they have in those little towns! And here you can get a splendid pair, all shiny, and their nostrils working, and a victoria and lovely long tails and a clanky harness and fawn cushions and the lake and soft-shell crabs——” She was becoming incoherent, but remained as lovely as ever, and grew more appealing by the moment.
Ravenal resisted a mad urge to take her in his arms. He addressed himself earnestly to the agonized Andy. “If you will trust me, Captain Hawks, I have a plan which I have just thought of. I know New Orleans very well and I am—uh—very well known in New Orleans. Miss Magnolia has set her heart on this little holiday. I know where I can get a splendid turnout. Chestnuts—very high steppers, but quite safe.” An unadult squeal of delight from Magnolia. “If we start immediately, we can enjoy quite a drive—Miss Magnolia and I. If you like, we can take Mrs. Means with us, or Mrs. Soaper——”
“No,” from the brazen beauty.
“—and return in time to meet you and Mrs. Hawks at, say, Antoine’s for dinner.”
“Oh, Papa!” cried Magnolia now. “Oh, Papa!”
“Your ma——” began Andy again, feebly. The stacks and piles still lay uncounted on the desk. This thing must be settled somehow. He scuttled to the window, scanned the wharf, the streets that led up from it. “I don’t know where she’s got to.” He turned from the window to survey the pair, helplessly. Something about them—the very fitness of their standing there together, so young, so beautiful, so eager, so alive, so vibrant—melted the romantic heart within him. Magnolia in her holiday garb; Ravenal in his tailored perfection. “Oh, well, I don’t see how it’ll hurt any. Your ma and I will meet you at Antoine’s at, say, half-past six——”
They were off. It was as if they had been lifted bodily and blown together out of the little office, across the gangplank to the landing. Flat Foot stared after them almost benignly.
Andy returned to his desk. Resumed his contented crooning. Four o’clock struck. Half-past four. His pencil beat a rat-a-tat-tat as he jotted down the splendid figures. A gold mine, this Ravenal. A fine figger of a boy. Cheap at thirty. Rat-a-tat-tat. And fifty’s one thousand. And twenty-five’s one thousand twenty-five. And fifty’s—and fifty’s—twelve twenty-five—gosh a’mighty!——