“I don’t see why you should tell us about it,” she said, reproachfully. “Didn’t you know it would spoil our party?”
“I don’t know why it should,” said Allen, shaking off the thoughtful mood with an effort. “None of you knew the old man and we can’t help him any by glooming. I reckon he’s happier now than he has been for a good while, anyway.”
They all felt, as Betty had felt the night when Allen had first spoken to her about his client, that he knew a great deal more than he was at liberty to talk about, and though, their curiosity aroused, they pressed him for details, they soon found that the attempt was useless. When Allen once made up his mind not to talk, wild horses could not draw another word from him.
But this did not keep them from wondering considerably what Allen knew about the queer old man and why he would not talk to them of what he knew.
But as the evening wore on they gradually forgot everything but the good time they were having—all that is, but Allen and one other. That other was the Little Captain.
Underneath Allen’s forced gayety she saw that he was grave, that something was on his mind, and she longed to help him. But Allen guessed nothing of this. As he watched Betty, laughing and gay, the center of all the fun, as she always was, it was little wonder he did not guess how serious her thoughts were. He was a little resentful, too, because he had so little chance to be near her.
When they danced and he started for Betty it seemed as though everybody in the room got in his way and one of the other boys whisked her off beneath his very nose.
“Too slow, Allen,” Roy called once, as he whirled the Little Captain off to the music. “You think you’re popular, but I’ll say Betty can give you points.”
Allen grunted and made for the seclusion of Mollie’s side porch. He wasn’t in the mood for music and dancing anyway, and as for Betty, she did not seem to know he was in the world.
Lost in gloomy reflection he was startled by a light touch on his shoulder. He looked up to see Betty herself smiling impishly down at him. He caught her hand and drew her down on the couch beside him. It—the couch—was a wicker one of the porch furniture variety and a more uncomfortable object to sit on could hardly be imagined. However, if either Betty or Allen was uncomfortable, neither of them noticed the fact.