"I suppose I shall have to go back," said David gloomily. "For a few days, at least. They will be expecting me. And the property is mine now--and all that. But, Mrs. Braddock," he went on feverishly, "I am coming back. In a week, yes, or less than that. I am coming back to be with you--to help you. I can"t stay away now, Mrs. Braddock. It would make me too unhappy. I must be near Christine. She"s more to me now than anything else in all this world."
Mrs. Braddock smiled wanly. "You are very young," she said, "and very impulsive. Do you think it would be kind to Christine if you were to follow the show for no other reason than to be near her? Would that be the act of a sincere friend? She would be compromised, I think you will admit. It was different before. You were one of us. Now you are an outsider. Even the easiest-going of the performers would resent your att.i.tude if you were to follow us now. It is an unwritten law among us that an outsider is always an outsider. We are like gypsies. Even you, who have been one of us, can have no future standing in our tribe--for that is what we are, David. You must take your place among those who look on from afar. As individuals we will always greet you and give you the best of our love; collectively we cannot take you among us. That is over. You are--"
"But I may still be a performer," he cried insistently. He had taken Christine"s hand in his, only to have it gently withdrawn by the girl.
"No, David," said Mary Braddock firmly, "it is out of the question. You are no longer a soldier of fortune. You are a Jenison of Jenison Hall.
We can"t build a bridge for that."
"But I won"t stand it!" he exclaimed pa.s.sionately. "I _will_ come back."
"As a clown?" said she, smiling.
"I"ll buy a part interest in the show," he said stubbornly.
"You are not of age," she reminded him. "The courts will name a guardian for you, I fancy. No, my boy, we must face the thing squarely.
We shall be glad to see you if you happen to be where we may meet naturally."
"But I love Christine," he protested. "You told me last night that you would put no obstacle in our way to--"
"I told you last night that I would put no obstacle in your way, David, if you came to me in five years and still could say that you love her and would make her your wife."
"But we thought then that I might always be near her--with the show, perhaps," he argued.
"Quite true. But all that is blotted out, don"t you see."
Christine was weeping silently.
"You think I"ll forget her!" he cried angrily.
"Oh, David!" moaned Christine.
"You think I"ll not care for her always--"
"Listen, David," said the mother patiently. "I can think of no greater joy that could come to me than to see Christine your wife--some day.
But we must face the true conditions. She may always be a circus rider.
I hope to take her away from this life--yes, soon, may it please G.o.d.
You think now that you will always care. But I know the world. I know youth too well. I--"
"But you were not much older than Christine when you were married," he blurted out. He regretted the unhappy remark almost before it left his lips. She turned away her face, and no word came in response for a full minute. Then she ignored the tactless announcement.
"You must go your way, David. We will go ours. If G.o.d is good to us, we may come together again, and we may still be happy. You are eighteen, Christine is fifteen. You do not know your minds, my children. I have thought it all out. You must be content to wait. Christine must come to you from a different sphere, David. It is not as it was. She must not be of the circus."
"Mrs. Braddock," said he, rising to his full height, "I only ask you to believe that I love her, and that I, at least, will not change. Will you change, Christine?"
"No," said the girl, giving him her hand as she rose to look into his eyes with the whole of her young heart glowing in hers. "I will not change, David."
"Then, Mrs. Braddock, as a Jenison of Jenison Hall I formally ask you for the hand of your daughter. A gentleman may keep his word of honor for five years--for a hundred years. I pledge my love, my name, my fortune to her."
"David," cried the mother, twisting her fingers in the agony of a despair that could no longer be concealed, "how can we know what the next five years may bring to us? What will they be to my darling child?
Oh, if I only knew the way to save her--to preserve her, to give her what belongs to her by all the laws of nature!"
"You must leave the show," he cried. "Give up everything. It is no place for either of you. Let me help you. Mrs. Braddock, give it up before it is too late. I know that harm will come to you here."
He pleaded long and earnestly with the silent, depressed woman. In the end she held up her hand, and he waited.
"Time will tell, David," she said. "When it becomes too heavy to bear I will cast off my yoke. That is all I will say." She hesitated for a moment, and then went on, holding out her hand: "Good-by, David. You are going to-night?" "I suppose so," he said dejectedly. "But, listen; I am coming back very shortly for a few days. I insist on that. If all is not going well with you and Christine, I shall know it. I mean to watch over her in spite of everything."
"We will see you again before you leave," said the mother. "I am sure we understand each other. Come back, David, if you will, but only for a day. Let us walk home. You may walk with Christine. Say your good-bys now. Joey! Are you coming?"
When the train for the East pulled out at eleven o"clock that night David was aboard. He positively had refused to take back any of the money he had lent to Mrs. Braddock, preferring to borrow from Joey and Casey. Christine kissed him good-by at the station.
"I know that my father struck you, David," she whispered, as she put her hand to his cheek. "That won"t prevent your coming back, will it?
You will come, won"t you?"
"As surely as I am alive," he said fervently.
There were tears in his eyes as the train rolled away. He had said good-by to all of them--to Joey and Ruby and Casey, and they had wished him good luck with that complaisant philosophy which was theirs by nature.
Some one sat down beside him in the seat. He looked up.
"I guess I"ll go part ways with you," said Artful d.i.c.k Cronk comfortably. "I want you to do me a favor. Take this money and step into the little inn there in your town and pay the woman what I owe her. I forgot to settle when I left. She was a very good woman. I never trim a woman, good or bad."
Primarily, d.i.c.k Cronk was traveling with David because his brother had disappeared from the snack stand early in the evening. The watchful pickpocket scented trouble. Before joining David in the coach, he traversed the length of the train to a.s.sure himself that Ernie had not slipped aboard in the darkness for the purpose of doing evil to the Virginia boy when least expected. He was satisfied that Ernie was not aboard, but it was now necessary for him to go on to the next station before leaving the train.
"I owe her five dollars and sixty cents. Tell her to keep the change. I hear you"re coming back soon to visit the--er--show. Let me put you onto Colonel Grand. He"s a good loser, that old boy is. He"s terrible disappointed because you"ve squared yourself with the law. He had something up his sleeve for you, but this spoils it all. But you noticed that he took it very pleasantly--polite and agreeable cuss, he is, when he has to be. Maybe you"d like to know what his game was."
"I think I know, d.i.c.k."
"Nix. I guess not. You were to do him a great favor before long. You were going to run away with Christie Braddock!"
David started. "You are mistaken," he cried indignantly. "I wouldn"t think of such a thing."
"Just the same, kid, that"s what he had it fixed for you to do, and you couldn"t ha" got out of it. He"s a wonder, he is. That"s the only way he could get rid of Christie; and, with Christie gone, Mrs. Braddock"s spirit would be smashed. He"s going to get rid of Tom Braddock purty soon. Tom don"t know it, but his days with this show are numbered."
"What a cold-blooded devil he is!" cried David.
"Hot-blooded"s what I"d call him."
CHAPTER XIII
THE SALE
We will forsake David Jenison for the time being. He is well started on his journey to the home of his forefathers, where complete restoration and the newspaper reporters await him. Let the imagination picture the welcome he is to receive; if possible, let it also describe the att.i.tude of the community which had hunted him with dogs and deadly weapons, but which now stood ready to cast itself without reserve at the feet of the boy who had been so cruelly wronged.
Picture Mr. Blake"s disgust at learning from David"s own lips how he had been outwitted by the circus people, and contrast it with his sincere relief in contemplation of the fact that he had not captured the boy in those days of prejudice.