CHAPTER XXVI
AUNT PHILOMELA GAMBLES
Though Mr. Van Patten improved steadily during the week after Barnes’ return, the old gentleman did not venture from his room. Joe remained daily by his side from morning until bedtime, with a view to establishing himself so firmly in his father’s mind that if ever it became necessary to introduce Barnes in his proper person it would not be possible for the father to make comparisons. The possibility of such a contingency was really slight. The original deception had been practiced upon Mr. Van Patten’s touch and hearing, and whatever discrepancies of evidence based on these might bob up would have little weight against what the father was now able to see for himself. As for contradictions in the narrative, the father’s memory was weak and Barnes had appealed almost wholly to his emotions. It was really not until now that Mr. Van Patten had been able to fix his attention at all upon details.
Yet it was thought advisable not to let him know that a guest was in the house. This was no very difficult matter and involved nothing but a certain amount of caution. Aunt Philomela, who had quite recovered her spirits, disapproved of it on general principles but admitted the wisdom of the course.
“I don’t expect to see the end of this until I’m in my grave,” she avowed.
“Nor I,” admitted Barnes.
“And I shall consider myself very lucky if I do then.”
“And I—” Barnes paused. “Well, after all,” he went on, “that depends upon how it all turns out.”
Aunt Philomela looked at him curiously. She had looked at him curiously a great many times this last week. Barnes drew from his pocket a handful of loose matches. He began to arrange them with their heads in one direction.
“I have an embarrassment of riches,” he observed.
“I’m not sure that I like that new game you taught me,” snapped Aunt Philomela.
“It helps one to forget the duets,” suggested Barnes.
“You won most of those matches when you didn’t have anything at all in your hand,” commented Aunt Philomela.
“There is little skill in winning when you hold a Royal Straight Flush.”
“I held four aces and even then you won.”
“Because you didn’t have the courage of your convictions,” explained Barnes. “I had only a pair of deuces that time.”
Aunt Philomela’s eyes snapped dangerously.
“Then,” she asserted, “I consider your gains decidedly ill gotten.”
“If you had only called me.”
“After you shoved forward a whole handful of matches as though you held all the cards in the pack?”
“That is the game. All is fair in love and—”
“Love!” snapped Aunt Philomela in disgust.
But she was interrupted in further comment by the entrance of Eleanor. She had often been interrupted in further comment this last week by the entrance of Eleanor.
The girl had regained her color at a wonderful rate these last few days. This may have been due to the rapid recovery her father was making, or it may have been due to the return of her brother and the good news he brought of ‘The Lucky Find,’ or it may have been due to Carl, who was noticeably assiduous in his attentions. Barnes spent a great deal of time trying to make out which it was. Last night she had played duets with Carl until ten o’clock, while Barnes and Aunt Philomela sat at cards in the next room.
“Are you at liberty this morning?” inquired Barnes of Miss Van Patten.
“I don’t know what Aunty has planned for me,” she said dutifully.
“As though what I planned for anyone mattered,” exploded Aunt Philomela.
“I’m sure,” murmured Barnes, “that so far we have all of us followed your plans to the letter.”
“So far?”
“From the beginning,” nodded Barnes. “From the moment you sent me upstairs to see Mr. Van Patten.”
“I? I sent you upstairs? I’m responsible for this whole affair?”
“But for your orders I should have gone on again along the saffron road.”
“Well, of all the—”
But Eleanor effectively stifled her aunt’s righteous indignation by putting her arms about the thin shoulders.
“There, Aunty, dear,” she wheedled, “don’t mind him. Now, I’ll do anything you say. Do you wish me to help you with your accounts?”
“Or,” put in Barnes, “do you wish us to catch you a fish?”
Aunt Philomela rose to her feet and swept grandly towards the door.
“A fish by all means,” she answered.
At the door she paused and added:
“I have no doubt that Mr. Barnes will find it unnecessary to use even so much as a hook in his fishing.”
She hurried out leaving the girl staring in amazement at Barnes.
“At cards last night,” explained Barnes, “I won fifty-three sulphur matches from your Aunt—mostly by bluffing.”
“Oh,” she murmured in relief, “that explains it.”
“You’ll come with me?”
She hesitated.
“The sun is almost too bright for fishing,” she faltered.
“The sun is not too bright to go down by the brook,” he asserted.
“But if we go, we shall have to fish,” she exclaimed instantly.
“Very well,” he agreed. “We will fish even if we catch nothing.”
She went to the closet and brought out her big hat, the fishing-poles, the book of flies, the basket, and, this time, the landing-net. At sight of it he drew a deep breath. It recalled to him his oath to the king trout. He must keep true to that no matter what complications it brought about.
And she, as she gathered the things together, grew uneasy. That, however, was nothing unusual. She could not recall a minute in his presence when she had ever felt anything else. One never knew what he was going to say next or what odd turn he would give the simplest platitudes of conversation. She felt much safer when Aunt Philomela was near except that even then he would generally contrive some argument that ended by involving them all. No—she could not honestly say that she was any the happier for having Aunt Philomela at hand. She could not say honestly that she did not now look forward to a morning with Barnes by the side of Schuyler brook. She anticipated it with a degree of pleasure that in itself was discomforting. She did not trust herself as she did three weeks ago.
In the meanwhile she had put on her hat and again succeeded in tying beneath her chin a most wonderful bow-knot.
“I haven’t learned yet how to do that,” commented Barnes.
“Do what?” she inquired, not recalling the former incident.
“Tie a bow-knot that will come untied when you wish.”
“Have you practiced?”
“No,” he admitted.
“Then?”
“I must still limit myself to tying such things as are my own.”
“That is wisest,” she agreed.
And without giving him time to base any embarrassing argument upon this, she led the way out of the little Dutch door. Here the Princess joined them. The big yellow cat had taken a fancy to Barnes of late and was to be seen quite as often in his company as in that of his mistress.
The girl forced a brisk path through the field-grass in as matter of fact a way as though in reality a fish for Aunt Philomela was the only thing in the world that concerned her. Lag as he might it did little good, and in no time they had reached the brook.
It was quite obvious to Barnes that the stream took no interest whatever in the affairs of the brick house from which it derived its name. Its business was solely with water-cress, white pebbles, and golden sand. It was whimpling on its placid course just as unconcernedly as it did three weeks before. If Barnes expected any encouragement here for the deep matters he had in hand he was disappointed.
Eleanor proceeded at once to put her pole together and Barnes reluctantly followed. She paused as he handed her the fly-book.
“You had such good luck before—” she suggested.
“That,” he answered, “was an especial occasion.”
She selected a Silver Moth. As she turned away from him he replaced the fly-book in the basket, picked out a tiny bit of lead, and, fastening it to the end of his line, whipped it at once into the water. She glanced over her shoulder, surprised at the speed he had made, but she was too late to detect his choice. In another second her own fly was in the water and Barnes breathed more easily. Then he turned his attention to a more important matter.
“Eleanor,” he began.
She looked up quickly. The name came to her fraught with new significance.
“Yes?” she answered.
“I think I have outlived my usefulness as a prodigal.”
“The affair has solved itself in so simple a fashion that I had almost forgotten that part of it,” she answered.
He looked up from his line. She was turned a little away. When she was standing there alone with him the matter seemed simple enough to be sure. It had from the beginning until Carl came in. The problem now was to find out just what had become of Carl.
“As far as your father is concerned it seems to have straightened out,” he admitted.
“And as far as Joe is concerned,” she added.
“And Aunt Philomela,” he nodded.
“Yes,” she agreed hastily.
He drew his line from the water and whipped it afresh across the stream.
“Which leaves,” he concluded, “you and Carl and myself.”
She dropped her fly below a clump of alders.
“Are you using a Silver Moth again?” she inquired.
“No,” he confessed.
She followed the bobbing end of his line a second. He allowed it to sink below the water.
“I can’t make out what you have chosen,” she persisted, squinting her eyes.
“It’s a secret,” he affirmed mysteriously.
“Oh, pardon me,” she apologized, with some pique.
“Willingly,” he murmured politely.
She seemed disposed to allow both subjects to drop but he with discomforting insistence reaffirmed,
“Which leaves you and Carl and myself.”
“But you had a talk with Carl?”
“Yes.”
“And though he seems hurt, it is straightened out as well as it can be, isn’t it?”
“It isn’t straightened out at all,” he answered.
She turned uncomfortably so that she faced him. He met her eyes. She lowered hers. Then she smiled. It was her only protection.
“You’ll never catch a fish with your line in the bushes,” she declared.
The current had swept the bit of lead down stream into a clump of grass. He deliberately began to reel in his line.
“I don’t believe I’ll catch a fish anyway,” he decided. “I’ll watch you.”
“Oh, but that’s what you did before,” she protested.
“And enjoyed it immensely,” he admitted.
“It’s shirking your duties.”
As his line left the water she studied him in surprise.
“Why, you didn’t have on any hook at all,” she exclaimed.
It was impossible to deny the fact in face of the evidence. Without answering he detached the sinker and continued to reel in his line. She allowed the Silver Moth to drift into the bushes. He called her attention to this and she grew very red in the face.
It was quite clear to her now that he had enticed her down here upon a pretext. She grew embarrassed out of all proportion to any import she saw in the ruse. She would have been glad if Aunt Philomela had come along.
“There is you and Carl and myself,” he repeated, as though this were a sort of apology for his act.
She hastily reeled in her own line. The Princess watched her anxiously.
“Well?” she faltered.
Barnes took a step towards her. At that moment he heard the approach of someone from behind. He looked about.
“Why,” he exclaimed, “here’s Carl now!”
She almost dropped her pole.
“We’re fishing,” Barnes hastened to explain, in the hope of warding off the commonplace query which he thought he detected upon Carl’s lips. But the remark the latter made was anything but commonplace.
“I hurried down here to say good-by to you,” he explained.
He uttered the words with an effort. They seemed no part of him. The process was purely mechanical.
“Good-by?” exclaimed the girl.
“I take the noon train,” he announced. “From New York I sail to-morrow for Munich.”
“But I don’t understand!” cried the girl.
Carl turned from her to Barnes.
“Do you?” he demanded.
“Yes,” answered Barnes.
“Then that is enough.”
Barnes took a step forward and seized the boy’s hand.
“I’d fight it out if I were you,” he said below his breath.
“I’ll fight it out in Munich,” he answered grimly.
“Then God help you and—the songs.”
Carl pressed the strong man’s hand that held his.
“There’s no need of praying for you,” he answered.
Eleanor stepped forward in a daze.
He seized her hand, gripped it for a second, and without a word started away.
“Carl,” she called after him, “wait! We’re going back to the house with you.”