“I’ve an idea she has kept right on helping him—in a way,” the man said slowly,—“and then he’s had you to see to him, Pegeen.”
XIV
A tidal wave of excitement rolled through the Valley when news of the Neighborhood Club was noised about; and, when, on the evening of September fourth, the house was thrown open to the public, only the bedridden stayed away. The doors were open at seven o’clock; and at eight, the house was full to the eaves.
“They’re perfectly wild about it,” Pegeen confided happily to Archibald as she passed him in the hall. “Every blessed soul’s doing something—even Deacon Ransom. He was as snippy as could be, when he came; and he said the billard table was an invitation to sin, but now he’s out in the bowling alley in his shirt sleeves, beating Mr. Nelson all to pieces and as proud as Mr. Neal’s turkey gobbler because he can do it. And Sallie Ransom is sitting out on the side steps with Joe Trevor. I sort of think he’s courting. And Mrs. Neal’s dancing with Dr. Fullerton. You ought to see her. She’s as light on her feet as if she didn’t weigh more’n I do. And Mr. Colby is playing checkers with Mr. Frisbie. Mrs. Frisbie thinks it’s worldly for a minister. And Mr. Meredith is teaching some of the boys billiards and Miss Moran is cutting cake. We’re going to have refreshments pretty soon, because the children have to go home early and it’s their club just as much as the old folks’, isn’t it? They ought to grow up into splendid neighbors, getting such a lovely start here. It’s the very best time I ever had, Mr. Archibald. It is really.” She flew on down the hall and Archibald found his way to the kitchen, where the Smiling Lady with a corps of willing helpers was making ready to feed the crowd. She was tired but radiant, and she waved a sticky knife at him as he appeared in the doorway.
“It isn’t a success. It’s a furor,” she called gaily. “Everybody wants to join.”
He crossed the room and stood watching her as she worked. They had been much together, in the weeks of preparation for this night, sharing plans and hopes and dreams, working, side by side, for the good of the neighbors they loved, for her own people whom he had made his own people too. It had been sweet, perilously sweet. There had been times when the words he must not say had trembled on his lips, times when he had felt a blessed surety that the closeness meant as much to her as to him; but he had held fast to his idea of honor. He liked Richard Meredith. The older man had won his friendship against all the heavy odds. There was something about him in which one believed, something behind the outward reserve that gripped and held. He so confidently expected decency that in his quiet there was a compelling force. One did not fail men like Meredith—nor women like the Smiling Lady; and so he had fought hard and kept faith with both of them.
But she was so dear—so unspeakably dear. His heart ached with its desire as he looked down at her; and, glancing up, as she sent one of her helpers away with a laden tray she surprised the desperate longing in his eyes. An answer leaped into her own face. Eyes, lips, cheeks, were flooded with it. For an instant, they stood so, alone in the crowd. Then as swiftly as it had come, the revelation faded from the girl’s face. Only the flush lingered as she turned to her work again; but there was a curious little thrill in her voice when she tried to greet Jerry and Rosy Johnston’s demand for chocolate cake, with her usual light gaiety.
“And you with three pieces of cake apiece tucked away inside of you this minute!” she protested.
“No toklate,” Jerry assured her solemnly.
“No toklate,” echoed Rosy, with an accent of reproach in her solemnity. The Smiling Lady swept the two into her arms and kissed both sticky faces with surprising fervor. The twins endured it. They even hugged her warmly, though hastily; but they did not, for a moment, lose sight of the main issue.