Isham Frederic Stewart - Nothing But the Truth стр 6.

Hold on. Bob took the grip away from the man. Why, its outrageous, such a tariff! Same price, with or without me, indeed! I tell you Suddenly he stopped. He had an awful realization that he was acting a part. That forced indignation of his was not the truth; that aloof kind of an attitude wasnt the truth, either.

To tell you the truth, said Bob, I cant afford it.

Cant afford. Ha! ha! That was a joke. One of Mrs. Ralstons guests, not afford !

No, said Bob. Ive only got about fifteen dollars and a half to my name. I guess youre worth more than that yourself, arent you? With sudden respect in his tone.

I guess I am, said the man, grinning.

Then, logically, I should be carrying your valise, retorted Bob.

Ha! ha! Thats good. The fellow had been transporting the overflow of Mrs. Ralstons guests for years, but he had never met quite such an eccentric one as this. He chuckled now as if it were the best joke. Ill tell you what Ill take it for nothing, and leave it to you what you give me! Maybe, for a joke, hed get a fifty dollars, not cents. These young millionaire men did perpetrate little funnyisms like that. Why, one of them had once beat him down a quarter on his fare and then given him ten dollars for a tip. Ha! ha! repeated the fellow, surveying Bobs elegant and faultless attire, Ill do it for nothing, and you

Bob walked away carrying his grip. Here he was telling the truth and he wasnt believed. The man took him for one of those irresponsible merry fellows. That was odd. Was it auspicious? Should he derive encouragement therefrom? Maybe the others would only say Ha! ha! when he told the truth. But though he tried to feel the fellows attitude was a good omen, he didnt succeed very well.

No use trying to deceive himself! Might as well get accustomed to that truth-telling habit even in his own thoughts! That diabolical trio of friends had seen plainer than he. They had realized the dazzling difficulties of the task confronting him. How they were laughing in their sleeves now at darn fool Bob! Bob, a young Don Quixote, sallying forth to attempt the impossible! The preposterous part of the whole business was that his role was preposterous. Why, he really and truly, in his transformed condition, ought to be just like every one else. That he was a unique exception a figure alone in his glory, or ingloriously alone was a fine commentary on this old world, anyhow.

What an old humbug of a world it was, he thought, when, passing before the one and only book-store the little village boasted of, he ran plump into, or almost into, Miss Gwendoline Gerald.

She, at that moment, had just emerged from the shop with a supply of popular magazines in her arms. A gracious expression immediately softened the young ladys lovely patrician features and she extended a hand. As in a dream Bob looked at it, for the fraction of a second. It was a beautiful, shapely and capable hand. It was also sunburned. It looked like the hand of a young woman who would grasp what she wanted and wave aside peremptorily what she didnt want. It was a strong hand, but it was also an adorable hand. It went with the proud but lovely face. It supplemented the steady, direct violet eyes. The pink nails gleamed like sea-shells. Bob set down the grip and took the hand. His heart was going fast.

Glad to see you, said Miss Gwendoline.

Bob remained silent. He was glad and he wasnt glad. That is to say, he was deliriously glad and he knew he ought not to be. He found it difficult to conceal the effect she had upon him. He dreaded, too, the outcome of that meeting. So, how should he answer and yet tell the truth? It was considerable of a poser, he concluded, as he strove to collect his perturbed thoughts.

Well, why dont you say something? she asked.

Lovely clay, observed Bob.

The violet eyes drilled into him slightly. Shades of Hebe! but she had a fine figure! She looked great next to Bob. Maybe she knew it. Perhaps that was why she was just a shade more friendly and gracious to him than to some of the others. They two appeared so well together. He certainly did set her off.

Is that all you have to say? asked Miss Gwendoline after a moment.

Let me put those magazines in the trap for you? said Bob, making a desperate recovery and indicating the smart rig at the curb as he spoke.

Thanks, she answered. Make yourself useful. And gave them to him. But there was now a slight reserve on her part. His manner had slightly puzzled her. There was a constraint, or hold-offishness about him that seemed to her rather a new symptom in him. What did it mean? Had he misinterpreted her Will you? The violet eyes flashed slightly, then she laughed. How ridiculous!

There! You did it very well, she commended him mockingly.

Thanks, said Bob awkwardly, and shifted. It would be better if she let him go. Those awful things he might say?  that she might make him say? But she showed no disposition to permit him to depart at once. She lingered. People didnt usually seek to terminate talks with her. As a rule they just stuck and stuck around and it was hard to get rid of them. Did she divine his uneasiness? Bob showed he certainly wasnt enjoying himself. The violet eyes grew more and more puzzled.

What a brilliant conversationalist you are to-day, Mr. Bennett! she remarked with a trace of irony in her tones.

Yes; I dont feel very strong on the talk to-day, answered Bob truthfully.

Miss Gwendoline pondered a moment on this. She had seen young men embarrassed before especially when she was alone with them. Sometimes her decidedly pronounced beauty had a disquieting effect on certain sensitive young souls. Bobs manner recalled the manner of one or two of those others just before they indulged, or tried to indulge, in unusual sentiments, or too close personalities. Miss Geralds long sweeping lashes lowered ominously. Then they slowly lifted. She didnt feel to-day any inordinate endeavor or desire on Bobs part to break down the nice barriers of convention and to establish that more intimate and magnetic atmosphere of a new relationship. Well, that was the way it should be. It must be he was only stupid at the moment. Thats why he acted strange and unlike himself.

Perhaps he had been up late the night before. Maybe he had a headache. His handsome face was certainly very sober. There was a silent appeal to her in that blond head, a little over half-a-head above hers. Miss Gwendolines red lips softened. What a great, big, nice-looking boy he was, after all! She let the lights of her eyes play on him more kindly. She had always thought Bob a good sort. He was an excellent partner in tennis and when it came to horses they had certainly had some great spurts together. She had tried to follow Bob but it had sometimes been hard. His jumps were famous. What he couldnt put a horse over, no one else could. For the sake of these and a few kindred recollections, she softened.

I suppose men sometimes do feel that way the next day, she observed with tentative sympathy. One just had to forgive Bob. She knew a lot of cleverer men who werent half so interesting on certain occasions. Intellectual conversation isnt everything. Even that soul-to-soul talk of the higher faddists sometimes palled. I suppose thats why youre walking.

Why? he repeated, puzzled.

To dissipate that tired feeling, I believe you call it?

But Im not tired, said Bob.

Headachey, then?