When Egypt Went Broke, Holman Day [free ereaders .txt] 📗

that's what has happened in this case. Not one of us could keep our minds on what we were saying."
"I'm not surprised. Any noise of an evening in this place, except an owl hooting, is a cause for hysterics."
She walked on at his side. "You're disgusted with our poor old town," she said, plaintively.
"I'm going to leave. Do you blame me?"
"I've heard about the--whatever it was!"
"That's right! Leave it unnamed--whatever it was!"
She touched his arm timidly. "Please be kind--to me--no matter how much cause you have to dislike others here."
He stopped, put his arms about her, and drew her into a close embrace. There were shadows of buildings where they stood; no one was near.
"I can't do my best here, Vona. You understand it. But I can't go away and do the best that's in me unless I go with your pledge to me."
"You have it, Frank! The pledge of all my love."
"But your folks! They tell me your father is at home."
"I have said nothing to father and mother--naturally." She smiled up at him. "I have never had any occasion to say anything to them about my loving anybody, because that matter has never come up till now."
"I am going home with you," he said, grimly, and drew her along, his arm linked in hers.
"If you think it is advisable for me to talk with father and mother, I'll do it--I'll do it to-night," she volunteered, courageously.
"Vona, I never want to feel again as I did this afternoon when I allowed you to go alone on an errand that concerned us both. After this, I'm going to stand up, man fashion, and do the talking for the two of us."


CHAPTER VIII
TWO AGAINST THE FIELD
Mr. Harnden had not had a bit of trouble late that afternoon in securing a promise from Tasper Britt to give him audience and view the plans and specifications of Mr. Harnden's latest invention. In fact, the consent had been secured so easily that Mr. Harnden, freshly arrived in town on Ike Jones's stage, and having heard no Egypt gossip during a prolonged absence from home, had blinked at Britt with the air of a man who had expected to find a door held against him, had pushed hard, and had tumbled head over heels when nothing opposed him.
Mr. Harnden went out on the street and put himself in the way of hearing some gossip. Then he went directly back into Britt's office and shook hands with the money king, giving Mr. Britt an arch look which suggested that Mr. Harnden knew a whole lot that he was not going to talk about right then. He said, ascribing the idea to second thought, that it might be cozier and handier to view the plans at the Harnden home. Mr. Britt agreed with a heartiness that clinched the hopes which gossip had given Mr. Harnden. The father causally said he supposed, of course, that Vona had gone home long before from the bank, and he watched Mr. Britt's expression when the banker replied to a question as to how she was getting on with her work.
"Yes, siree, she's a smart girl," corroborated the father, "and I have always impressed on her mind that some day she was bound to rise high and get what she deserves to have. Come early, Tasper, and we'll make a pleasant evening of it."
Mr. Britt went early, but not early enough to catch Vona before she left for the rehearsal.
Although it had been particularly easy to get Mr. Britt to come to the house, Mr. Harnden was not finding it easy to hold his prospective backer's attention. The patent project under consideration was what the inventor called "a duplex door," designed to keep kitchen odors from dining rooms. Mr. Harnden had a model of the apparatus. With his forefinger he kept tripping the doors, showing how a person's weight operated the contrivance, shutting the doors behind and simultaneously opening the doors in front; but Mr. Harnden did not draw attention to the palpable fact that a waiter would need to have the agility of a flea to escape being swatted in the rear or banged in the face.
Mr. Britt watched the model's operations with lackluster eyes; he seemed to be looking through the little doors and at something else that was not visible to the inventor.
Mr. Harnden was short and roly-poly, with a little round mouth and big round eyes, and a curlicue of topknot that he wagged in emphasis as a unicorn might brandish his horn. Mr. Harnden considered that he was a good talker. He was considerably piqued by Britt's apparent failure to get interested, although the banker was making considerable of an effort to return suitable replies when the inventor pinned him to answers.
"Suppose I go over the whole plan again, from the start," suggested Harnden.
"Joe, Mr. Britt looks real tired," protested Mrs. Harnden from the chimney corner. Her querulous tone fitted her lackadaisical looks; her house dress had too many flounces on it; she had a paper-covered novel in her hand.
"Yes, I _am_ tired," declared Britt, mournfully. "Sort of worn out and all discouraged. I feel terribly alone in this world."
"Too bad!" Mrs. Harnden cooed her sympathy, affectedly.
"And I've been through hell's torments in the last few hours," declared Britt; ire succeeded his dolor.
"You must try and forget how those ingrates have abused you, Mr. Britt. This is a beautiful story I have just finished. You must take it with you and read it. The love sentiment is simply elegant. And it speaks of the sheltering walls of the home making a haven for the wounded heart. I hope you have found this home a haven to-night." She rose and crossed to him and laid the novel in his hands.
Mr. Harnden shoved his own hands into his trousers pockets, throwing back his coat from his comfortable frontal convexity. He presented a sort of full-rigged effect--giving the appearance of one of those handy-Jack "Emergency Eddies" who make personal equipment a fad: the upper pockets of his waistcoat bristled with pencils and showed the end of a folded rule and some calipers. He had all sorts of chains disappearing into various pockets--chains for keys and knife and cigar cutter and patent light. "Tasper," he advised, briskly, "seeing that you're now in a happy haven, as the wife says, why waste time and temper on this town? The only reason why I have kept my home here is because the town is solid rock and makes a good jumping-off place for me; I can get a firm toe hold. Why do you bother with a dinky office like the one you started out for? With your money and general eminence you can be the Governor of our state. Sure! I know all the men in this state. I've made it my business to know 'em. Let me be your manager and I'll make you Governor like"--Mr. Harnden yanked out one hand and tripped the doors of the model with a loud snap--"like that! Open goes the door to honors--bang goes the door against enemies!"
Mr. Britt glanced at the title of the story in his hands--_The Flowers Along Life's Pathway_--and perked up a bit as if he saw an opportunity to pluck some of those flowers. But when Mr. Harnden went on to say that politics was not as expensive--with the right manager--as some folks supposed, Mr. Britt exhibited gloomy doubt. "A home is about all I have in mind right now," he declared. "A man has got to have a happy home before his mind is free for big plans."
"My experience exactly!" stated Mr. Harnden, graciously indicating with a wave of the hand the happy home which he rarely graced. "And knowing what I do about the help a good home gives an enterprising man, you've got my full co-operation in your efforts, Tasper."
They heard the hall door open.
"It's Vona," announced Mrs. Harnden. She beamed on Britt. "I wonder why the dear girl is coming home so early."
The caller's face lighted up with the effect of an arc lamp going into action.
But when the sitting-room door opened and Vona escorted Vaniman in ahead of her, Britt's illuminated expression instantly became the red glare of rage instead of the white light of hope. He leaped to his feet.
The situation made for embarrassment of overwhelming intensity; there was no detail of the affair in front of Usial's cot that had not been canvassed by every mouth in Egypt, including the mouths of the Harnden home.
Vaniman made the first move. He bowed to Mrs. Harnden; he knew the mother; she had called on Vona in the bank. "May I meet your father?" he asked the girl.
Vona presented him, recovering her composure by the aid of Frank's steadiness.
"How-de-do!" said Mr. Harnden, stiffly. He did not ask the caller to be seated. Vona gave the invitation. While Vaniman hesitated, the master of the household had a word to say, putting on his best business air. "Ordinarily, young man, the latchstring of my home is out and the boys and the girls are welcome here to make merry in a sociable way." Mr. Harnden was distinctly patronizing, with an air that put Frank into the intruding-urchin class. "But it so happens that this evening Banker Britt has seized the opportunity of my being in town and he and I are in close conference regarding an important matter in the investment line. You'll excuse us, I'm sure."
It was certainly no moment to go tilting in the field of Love, and Frank, though undaunted, was deferential; and he was compelled to recognize the father's rights as master of the household. He bowed and turned to leave, carefully keeping his eyes off Britt.
But Vona had her word to say then; her foot was on the hearth of home; she had that advantage over Frank. Moreover, she was moved by the instinct of self-protection; she did not relish the notion of being left alone with that trio.
"We can kindle a fire in the front room, father!"
"There hasn't been a fire in that room all winter, dear girl." Mrs. Harnden's protest was sweetly firm. "No one shall run the chance of catching a cold."
"Exactly! It's tricky weather, and we must be careful of our guests," agreed Mr. Harnden. "Call again, young sir!"
"I will," stated Vaniman. He turned and addressed Vona. "The little matter will take no harm if it's postponed till to-morrow," he told her. His gaze was tender--and the girl looked up at him with an expression which even a careless observer would have found telltale. Britt's vision was sharpened by such jealous venom that he would have misconstrued even innocent familiarity. He had been struggling with his passion ever since Vaniman had appeared, escorting the girl in from the night where the two had been alone together. Age's ugly resentment at being supplanted by youth was sufficiently provocative in this case where Britt ardently longed, and had promised himself what he desired; but to that provocation was added the stinging memory of the blow dealt that day by Youth's hand across Age's withered mouth; he licked the swollen lips with a rabid tongue. He beheld the two young folks exchanging looks that gave to their simple words an import which roused all his fury. Britt shook himself free from all restraint. He had been assured by the Harndens that their home was his haven; he took advantage of that assurance and of the young man's more dubious standing in the household.
Britt was holding to the paper-covered novel--it was doubled in his ireful grip and its title showed plainly above his ridged hand--a particularly infelicitous title it seemed to be under the