Nothing But the Truth

“Yes,” she assured him quietly. “So run along now.”

The slave, glad to get away, started to obey, when – “One moment!” said Miss Dolly as if seized with an afterthought. “Dickie asked about you so particularly that it occurred to me that – Well, do you think he harbors any suspicions?”

“Suspicions?”

“Yes; do you imagine he, too, by any chance, may have guessed – you know?” And Dolly again drew closer, her eyes beaming with new excitement.

Bob looked disagreeable, but he had to reply. “I’m sure he doesn’t think what you do,” he answered ill-humoredly.

Dolly looked relieved, but still slightly dubious. She didn’t appear to notice that lack of appreciation in Bob’s manner for her interest in his welfare. “Well, you’d better see him,” she said in the tone of one who had already established herself to the post of secret adviser. “He’s bent on an interview with you. Says it’s business. And speaking about business, what business could he possibly have in that dinky little town? Unless he wanted to buy the whole village! His conduct is, to say the least, slightly mysterious. Dickie may prove a factor to be reckoned with.”

“That’s true enough,” assented Bob, and went in to breakfast.

The temperamental little thing gazed after him approvingly; she quite gloried in her big burglar. It was so nice to know something no one else knew, to be a little wiser than all the rest of the world, including the police and the detective force! Bob must be terribly resourceful and subtle, to have deceived them all so thoroughly. He only seemed a little dense at times, just to keep up the deception. It was a part of the role. He wouldn’t even let her, who knew his secret, see under the surface and she liked him all the better for his reticence. It lent piquancy to the situation and added zest to the game. Dickie’s manner had certainly seemed to her unduly sober. He appeared to have something on his mind, though of course he was awfully eager and joyous about seeing her.

At the breakfast-table Bob only dallied with his hot rolls and took but a few gulps of coffee. The monocle-man who sat near by noticed that want of appetite.

“Don’t seem very keen for your feed this morning,” he observed jocularly.

“No, not over-peckish,” answered Bob.

“Why not? You look – aw – fit enough!” Reaching for one of those racks for unbuttered toast which Mrs. Ralston had brought home with her from London.

“Headache, for one thing,” returned Bob. It was the truth, or part of the truth. No one looked sympathetic, however. In fact, with the exception of the monocle-man (Mrs. Ralston hadn’t yet come down), every one in there made it apparent he or she desired as little as possible of Mr. Bennett’s society. Bob soon got up, casting a last bitter glance at Miss Gerald who seemed quite contented with her stalwart, honest-looking hammer-thrower. And why not? His character, Bob reflected, was unimpeachable. He looked so good and honest and so utterly wholesome that Bob, who himself was tainted with suspicion, wanted to get out of his presence. So Bob went out to the porch, to hunt up Dickie and ascertain what was the matter with him?

It didn’t take Bob long to learn what was worrying Dickie. He was carrying the weight of a new and tremendous responsibility. He had now become an emissary, a friend in need, to Clarence and the commodore, who certainly needed one at this moment. It seemed that Mrs. Clarence and Mrs. Dan had set detectives searching for Gee-gee and Gid-up and they had succeeded in locating one of the pair, partly by a freckle and a turned-up nose. The detectives must have worked fast. They were assisted by the fact that foolish Clarence had kept up an innocent and Platonic friendship with “Gee-gee’s” chum, after that momentous evening when Bob had been along. Now when a young man begins to hang around the vicinity of a stage door in a big car, he is apt to make himself a subject for remark and to become known, especially to the door-keeper who takes a fatherly interest in his Shetland herd. As Gid-up and Gee-gee were inseparable, it was but a step to place one by the other.

Detectives, Dickie informed Bob, had already interviewed the ladies. They may have offered them money in exchange for information. Mrs. Dan was very rich in her own name. She could outbid the commodore. Gid-up might hesitate or refuse to supply or manufacture information for filthy lucre, but Gee-gee was known to be ambitious. She longed to soar. And here was a means to that end. Quite a legitimate and customary one!

“Why, that girl would do anything to get herself talked about,” said Dickie sadly, thinking of Dan, and incidentally, too, of Clarence. “She’d manufacture information by the car-load. Out of a little, teeny-weeny remnant of truth, she’d build a magnificent divorce case. Think of the glorious publicity! Why, Gee-gee and one of the manager-chaps would sit up nights to see how many columns they could fill each day in the press. They’d make poor old Dan out worse than Nero. They’d picture him as a monster. They’d give him claws. And Clarence would come crawling after him like a slimy snake. Incidentally, they’d throw in a few weeps for Gee-gee. And then some more for Gid-up! Why, man, when I think of the mischief you’ve done – ”

“Me?” said Bob miserably, almost overwhelmed by this pathetic picture Dickie had drawn. “But it wasn’t! It was Truth.” Dickie snorted. “What do you want me to do? Commit suicide? Annihilate truth? That would be one way of doing it. I’m sure I shouldn’t much mind. Shall I poison Truth or blow its brains out? Or shall I take it down to the lake and jump in with it? Do you think it has made me very happy? What am I? What have I become? Where is my good name?” He was thinking of what the temperamental little thing considered him. “Say, do I look like a criminal?” he demanded, confronting Dickie. The latter stared, then shrugged. Of course, if Bob wanted to rave – ? “Or a crazy man? Do I look crazy?” he continued almost fiercely. “Well, there are people in there,” indicating the house, “who think I am.” Dickie started slightly and looked thoughtful. “You ask the judge, or the doctor, or – a lot of others. Ask Miss Gwendoline Gerald,” he concluded bitterly.

Dickie shifted a leg. “It might not be a bad idea,” he said in a peculiar tone, whose accent Bob didn’t notice, however. For some moments the two young men sat moodily and silently side by side.

“Where are Dan and Clarence now?” asked Bob in a dull tone, after a while.

“Gone to New York. Hustled there early this morning after some hurry-up messages gave an inkling of what was going on. I’m to do my best at this end. Keep my eyes on Mrs. Dan and Mrs. Clarence, and incidentally, learn and do what I can.”

As he spoke Dickie tapped his leg with his cane; at the same time he bestowed another of those peculiar looks on Bob. Just then a young lady stepped from the house and came toward them. She was in the trimmest attire – for shooting or fishing – and looked extraordinarily trim, herself. A footman followed with two light rods and a basket.

“Come on,” she said lightly to Bob. “Might as well get started. It’s almost noon.”

“Started?” he stammered, staring at her.

“Yes, on that fishing excursion we planned.”

“We?” he repeated in the same tone. And then – “All right!” he said. It occurred to him, if he went off somewhere alone, with the temperamental young thing, he wouldn’t, at any rate, have to bob against a score or so of other people throughout the day. Better one than a crowd! “I’m ready,” he added, taking the rods and small basket.

“But, I say – ” Dickie had arisen. There was a new look in his eyes – of disappointment, surprise – perhaps apprehension, too! “I say – ” he repeated, looking darkly toward Bob.

The temperamental young thing threw him a smile. “Sorry, Dickie, but a previous engagement. – You know how it is!”

“I can imagine,” thought Dickie ominously, watching them disappear. Then his glance shifted viciously toward the house, and there was a look of stern determination in his eyes. As he mingled with others of the guests a few moments later, however, his expression had become one of studied amiability. Dickie was deep. His grievance now was as great as Dan’s or Clarence’s.

CHAPTER XI – FISHING

They had an afternoon of it, Bob and Dolly. Bob made himself useful, if not agreeable. He was a willing though not altogether cheerful slave. But the girl did not appear to mind that. She had spirits enough for both of them and ordered Bob around royally. She was nice to him, but she wanted him to know that he was her property, as much hers as if she had bought him at one of those old human auction sales. Only hers was a white slave!

She had the grandest time. She made him help her across the stream on a number of unnecessary occasions, holding the slave’s hand, so that she wouldn’t slip on the slippery stones. And once she had him carry her across. She had to, because there weren’t any stones, slippery or otherwise, she could avail herself of, at that particular spot. It is true she might have gone on a little farther and found some slippery stones that would have served her purpose, but she pretended not to know about them. Besides, what is the use of being a despot and having a private slave, all to yourself, if you don’t use him and make him work? Mr. Bennett wasn’t only a slave either, he was a romantic hero, as well, and in the books, heroes always carry the heroines across streams. Miss Dolly experienced a real bookish feeling when Bob carried her. He fully realized the popular ideal, he had such strong arms. True, he didn’t breathe on her neck, or in her ear, and he grasped her rather gingerly, but she found no fault over that. Her great big hero was a modest hero. But he was very manly and masculine, too.

He had plunged right in the stream, shoes and all, in spite of her suggestion that he had better take them off. But what cared he for wet feet? Might cause pneumonia, of course; but pneumonia had no terrors for Bob! She smiled at his precipitancy, while secretly approving of it. The act partook of a large gallantry. It reminded her of Sir Walter Raleigh and that cloak episode. Miss Dolly nestled very cozily, en route, with a warm young arm flung carelessly over a broad masculine shoulder and her eyes were dreamy, the way heroines’ eyes are in the books. She was not thinking of chimneys.

On the other side, she sat down, and imperiously – mistresses of slaves are always imperious – bade him take off her shoes. It was doubly exciting to vary the role of heroine with that of capricious slave-mistress. Of course, she might just as well have taken off her shoes on the other side and walked over but she never dreamed of doing that. After the slave had taken off her shoes, she herself removed her stockings, while the slave (seemingly cold and impassive as Angelo’s marble Greek slave) looked away. Then she dabbled her tiny white feet in the cold stream. She was thinking of that Undine heroine. Dabbling her feet, also made her feel bookish. Only in the books the heroes (or slaves) gaze adoringly at said feet. Hers were worth gazing at, but Bob didn’t seem to have eyes. Never mind! She told herself she liked that cold Anglo-Saxon phlegm (what an ugly word!) in a man. She saw in it a foil to her own temperamental disposition.

Having dabbled briefly, she held out a tiny foot and the slave dried it with his handkerchief, looking very handsome as he knelt before her. Then she put out the other and he repeated the operation. Then she put on her shoes and stockings. Then she remembered they had come ostensibly to fish and began whipping the stream spasmodically, while he did the same mechanically. They caught one or two speckled beauties, or Bob did. She couldn’t land hers. They always got tangled in something which she thought very cute of them. She didn’t feel annoyed at all when they got away, but just laughed as if it were the best kind of a joke, while Bob looked at her amazed. She called that“sport.”

Then she made him build a “cunning little fire” on a rock and clean the fish and cook them and set them before her. She graciously let him sit by her side and partake of a few overdone titbits and a sandwich or two they had brought in the basket. But she also made him jump up every once in a while to do something, finding plenty of pretexts to keep him busy. In fact, she had never been more waited upon in her life, which was just what she wanted. Bob, however, didn’t complain, for the minutes and hours went by and she asked no embarrassing questions. She didn’t make herself disagreeable in that respect, and as long as she didn’t, he didn’t mind helping her over rocks, or toting her. At least, this was a respite. His headache wasn’t quite so bad; the fresh air seemed to have helped it.

As for her thinking him one of those high-class society-burglars, or social buccaneers, it didn’t so much matter to him, after all. He was getting rather accustomed to the idea. Of course, she would be terribly disappointed if she ever found out he wasn’t one, but there didn’t seem much chance of his ever clearing himself, in her mind, of that unjust suspicion. At least, he reflected moodily, he was capable of making one person in the world not positively miserable. Last night when he had parted from Dickie, he had found a small grain of the same kind of comfort, in the fact the he (or truth) had not harmed Dickie. But to-day Dickie had appeared saddened by Dan’s and Clarence’s troubles. Then, too, Bob had been obliged to walk off, right in front of Dickie’s eyes with the temperamental young thing whom Dickie wanted to marry the worst way. And here he (Bob) was helping her over stones, “toting” frizzling trout for her, and performing a hundred other little services which should, by right, have been Dickie’s pleasure and privilege to perform.

Bob murmured a few idle regrets about Dickie, but Miss Dolly dismissed them – and Dickie – peremptorily. She was sitting now, leaning against a tree and the slave, by command, was lying at her feet.

“Did you know,” she said dreamily, “I am a new woman?”

He didn’t know it. He never would have dreamed it, and he told her so.

“Yes,” she observed, “I marched in the parade to Washington. That is, I started, went a mile or two, and then got tired. But I marched there, in principle, don’t you see? I think women should throw off their shackles. Don’t you?” Bob might have replied he didn’t know that Miss Dolly ever had had any shackles to throw off, but she didn’t give him time to reply. “I read a book the other day wherein the women do the proposing,” she went on. “It’s on an island and the women are ‘superwomen.’ All women are ‘super’ nowadays.” She regarded him tentatively. Her glance was appraising. “Do you know of any reason why women should not do the proposing, Mr. Bennett?”

“Can’t say that I do,” answered Bob gloomily, feeling as if some one had suddenly laid a cold hand on his breast, right over where the heart is. Her words had caused his thoughts to fly back to another. She might not be proposing to the hammer-thrower at that moment in that “super” fashion, but the chances were that the hammer-thrower was proposing to her. He didn’t look like a chap that would delay matters. He would strike while the iron was hot.

The temperamental young thing eyed Bob and then she eyed a dreamy-looking cloud. She let the fingers of one hand stray idly in Bob’s hair as he lay with his head in the grass.

“It tries hard to curl, doesn’t it?” she remarked irrelevantly.

“What?” said Bob absently, his mind about two miles and a half away.

“Your hair. You’ve got lovely hair.” Bob looked disgusted. “It started to curl and then changed its mind, didn’t it?” she giggled.

Bob muttered disagreeably.

“I suppose you were one of those curly-headed little boys?” went on the temperamental young thing.

“I don’t know whether I was or not,” he snapped. He was getting back into that snappy mood. Then it struck him this might not be quite the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, for he added sulkily; “Maybe I was.”

“I can just see you,” said the temperamental young thing in a far-off voice. “Nursie must have thought you a darling.”

The slave again muttered ominously. He wished the temperamental little thing would take her fingers away. They trailed now idly over an ear.