CHAPTER XI--FISHING
They had an afternoon of it, Bob and Dolly. Bob made himself useful, ifnot agreeable. He was a willing though not altogether cheerful slave.But the girl did not appear to mind that. She had spirits enough forboth of them and ordered Bob around royally. She was nice to him, butshe wanted him to know that he was her property, as much hers as if shehad bought him at one of those old human auction sales. Only hers was awhite slave!
She had the grandest time. She made him help her across the stream on anumber of unnecessary occasions, holding the slave's hand, so that shewouldn't slip on the slippery stones. And once she had him carry heracross. She had to, because there weren't any stones, slippery orotherwise, she could avail herself of, at that particular spot. It istrue she might have gone on a little farther and found some slipperystones that would have served her purpose, but she pretended not to knowabout them. Besides, what is the use of being a despot and having aprivate 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. MissDolly experienced a real bookish feeling when Bob carried her. He fullyrealized the popular ideal, he had such strong arms. True, he didn'tbreathe 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 hersuggestion that he had better take them off. But what cared he for wetfeet? Might cause pneumonia, of course; but pneumonia had no terrors forBob! She smiled at his precipitancy, while secretly approving of it. Theact partook of a large gallantry. It reminded her of Sir Walter Raleighand that cloak episode. Miss Dolly nestled very cozily, en route, with awarm young arm flung carelessly over a broad masculine shoulder and hereyes were dreamy, the way heroines' eyes are in the books. She was notthinking of chimneys.
On the other side, she sat down, and imperiously--mistresses of slavesare always imperious--bade him take off her shoes. It was doublyexciting to vary the role of heroine with that of capriciousslave-mistress. Of course, she might just as well have taken off hershoes on the other side and walked over but she never dreamed of doingthat. After the slave had taken off her shoes, she herself removed herstockings, while the slave (seemingly cold and impassive as Angelo'smarble Greek slave) looked away. Then she dabbled her tiny white feet inthe cold stream. She was thinking of that Undine heroine. Dabbling herfeet, also made her feel bookish. Only in the books the heroes (orslaves) gaze adoringly at said feet. Hers were worth gazing at, but Bobdidn't seem to have eyes. Never mind! She told herself she liked thatcold Anglo-Saxon phlegm (what an ugly word!) in a man. She saw in it afoil to her own temperamental disposition.
Having dabbled briefly, she held out a tiny foot and the slave dried itwith his handkerchief, looking very handsome as he knelt before her.Then she put out the other and he repeated the operation. Then she puton her shoes and stockings. Then she remembered they had come ostensiblyto fish and began whipping the stream spasmodically, while he did thesame mechanically. They caught one or two speckled beauties, or Bob did.She couldn't land hers. They always got tangled in something which shethought very cute of them. She didn't feel annoyed at all when they gotaway, but just laughed as if it were the best kind of a joke, while Boblooked at her amazed. She called _that_"sport."
Then she made him build a "cunning little fire" on a rock and clean thefish and cook them and set them before her. She graciously let him sitby her side and partake of a few overdone titbits and a sandwich or twothey had brought in the basket. But she also made him jump up every oncein 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 justwhat she wanted. Bob, however, didn't complain, for the minutes andhours went by and she asked no embarrassing questions. She didn't makeherself disagreeable in that respect, and as long as she didn't, hedidn't mind helping her over rocks, or toting her. At least, this was arespite. His headache wasn't quite so bad; the fresh air seemed to havehelped it.
As for her thinking him one of those high-class society-burglars, orsocial buccaneers, it didn't so much matter to him, after all. He wasgetting rather accustomed to the idea. Of course, she would be terriblydisappointed if she ever found out he wasn't one, but there didn't seemmuch chance of his ever clearing himself, in her mind, of that unjustsuspicion. At least, he reflected moodily, he was capable of making oneperson in the world not positively miserable. Last night when he hadparted from Dickie, he had found a small grain of the same kind ofcomfort, in the fact the he (or truth) had not harmed Dickie. But to-dayDickie 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 eyeswith the temperamental young thing whom Dickie wanted to marry the worstway. And here he (Bob) was helping her over stones, "toting" frizzlingtrout for her, and performing a hundred other little services whichshould, by right, have been Dickie's pleasure and privilege to perform.
Bob murmured a few idle regrets about Dickie, but Miss Dolly dismissedthem--and Dickie--peremptorily. She was sitting now, leaning against atree 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, Istarted, went a mile or two, and then got tired. But I marched there, inprinciple, 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 everhad had any shackles to throw off, but she didn't give him time toreply. "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.' Allwomen are 'super' nowadays." She regarded him tentatively. Her glancewas appraising. "Do you know of any reason why women should _not_ do theproposing, Mr. Bennett?"
"Can't say that I do," answered Bob gloomily, feeling as if some one hadsuddenly 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 notbe proposing to the hammer-thrower at that moment in that "super"fashion, but the chances were that the hammer-thrower was proposing toher. He didn't look like a chap that would delay matters. He wouldstrike while the iron was hot.
The temperamental young thing eyed Bob and then she eyed adreamy-looking cloud. She let the fingers of one hand stray idly inBob'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 startedto 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 thetemperamental young thing.
"I don't know whether I was or not," he snapped. He was getting backinto that snappy mood. Then it struck him this might not be quite thetruth, 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-offvoice. "Nursie must have thought you a darling."
The slave again muttered ominously. He wished the temperamental littlething would take her fingers away. They trailed now idly over an ear.
"You're tickling," said Bob ill-naturedly.
She stopped trailing and patted instead--very gently and carelessly--asif she were patting a big Newfoundland dog which she owned all byherself. That pat expressed a sense of ownership.
"I'm wondering," she said, "whether it would make things nicer, if I didpropose and we became engaged?"
"Oh," said Bob satirically, "you're wondering that, are you?"
"Yes." More tentative pats.
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"And what do you suppose I'd say?" he demanded. He was feeling more andmore grouchy all the time. He didn't want any of that "superwoman"business. He had already had one proposal. What mockery! A proposal! Heheard again that other "Will you marry me?" and looked once more, infancy, into the starry, enigmatical violet eyes. He experienced anewthat surging sensation in his veins. And he awoke again to the hollowjest of those words! He felt, indeed, a moderately vivid duplication ofall his emotions of the night before. The temperamental young thing'svoice recalled him from the poignant recollections of the painful pastinto the dreary and monotonous present.
"Why, you actually blushed, just now," she said accusingly.
"Did I?" growled Bob, looking grudgingly into dark eyes where a momentbefore, in imagination, there had been starry violet ones.
"Yes, you did. And"--her voice taking a tenderer accent--"it wasbecoming, too."
"Rush of blood to the head," he retorted shortly. "Comes from lying likethis."
"What would you say if I did?" she demanded, reverting to that othertopic. "Propose, I mean? Would you accept? Would you take me--I mean,shyly suffer me," with a giggle, "to take you into my arms?"
"Quit joshing!" growled Bob.
"Answer. Would you?"
"No."
"No?" Bending over him more closely. For a "super," she was certainlywonderfully attractive in her slim young way at that moment. Not many ofthe inferior sex would have acted quite so stonily as Bob acted. Hedidn't show any more emotion when she bent over than one of thoseprostrate stone Pharaohs, or Rameses, which lie around with immovablefeatures on the sands of Egypt. "You see you couldn't help it," thesuper-temperamental young thing assured him, confidentially.
"Ouch!" said Bob, for she was tickling again. He wished she would keepthose trailing fingers in her lap. They felt like a fly perambulatinghis brow or walking around his ear.
"You'd just have to accept me," she added.
"Oh, you mean on account of that silly burglar business?"
"Of course. You left two or three thumb-prints in the room."
"I did?" That _was_ incriminating. No getting around thumb-prints! Hefelt as if the temperamental little thing was weaving a mesh around him.In addition to being a "super," she was a Lady of Shalott.
Dolly thrilled with a sense of her power. She could play with poor Bobas a cat with a mouse; she could let him go so far and then put out herclaws and draw him back.
"Besides, I found out you didn't quite tell me the truth about thoseaccomplices of yours," she went on triumphantly. "You said there weren'tany, and when I went out and looked around where the dog barked, I foundfootprints. They led to the trellis, right up into your room. Thetrellis, too, showed some person, or persons, had climbed up, for someof the boughs were broken. Deny now, if you can, you had visitors lastnight," she challenged him.
Bob didn't deny; he lay there helpless.
"Of course," she said with another giggle, "I might let you say you'llthink it over. I might not press you too hard at once for an answer. Idon't want you to reply: 'This is so sudden,' or anything like that."She got up suddenly with a little delirious laugh. "But I simply can'twait. You look so handsome when you're cross. Besides, it will be soexciting to be engaged to a--a--"
"Society-burglar--" grimly.
"That's it. I've never been engaged to a burglar before!"
"But you have been engaged?"
"Oh, yes. Lots of times. But not like this. This feels as if it mightlead--"
"To the altar?" Satirically.
"Yes."
"But suppose I got caught?--that is, if I really enjoyed the distinctionof being a burglar which I am not?"
"Then, of course, I never knew--you deceived me--poor innocent!--as wellas the rest of the world. And there would be columns and columns in thepapers. And some people would pity me, but most people would envy me.And I'd visit you in jail with a handkerchief to my eyes and besnap-shotted that way. And I'd sit in a dark corner in the court,looking pale and interesting. And the lady reporters would interview meand they'd publish my picture with yours--'Handsome Bob, the swellsociety yeggman. Member of one of the oldest families, etc.' And--and--"
"Great Scott!" cried Bob. She had that publicity-bee worse than Gee-gee.In another moment she'd be setting the day. "Shall we--ah!--retrace oursteps?"
It was getting late. The hours had gone by somehow and as she offered noobjections, they "retraced." For some time now she was silent. Perhapsshe was imagining herself too happy for words. Once or twice she cast asidelong glance shyly at Bob. It was the look of a capriciousslave-owner metamorphosed, through the power of love, into a yieldingand dependent young maiden. Bob was supposed to be the brutal conqueror.Meanwhile that young man strode along unheedingly. He didn't mind anylittle branches or bushes that happened to stand in his way and plowedright through them. It would have been the same, if he had met thathistoric bramble bush. A thousand scratches, more or less, wouldn'tcount.
"You can put your arm around me now," she observed, with another musicalbut detestable giggle, as they passed through a grove, not very far fromthe house. "It is quite customary here, you know."
He didn't know, but he obeyed. What else could he do?
"Now say something." Her voice had once more that ownership accent.
"What do you want me to say?" None too graciously.
"The usual thing! Those three words that make the world go around."
"But I don't." Even a worm will turn.
"You will." Softly.
"I won't."
"Oh, yes, you will." More softly. Then with a sigh: "This is the place.Under this oak, carved all over with hearts and things. Do it."
"What?" He looked down on lips red as cherries.
"Are you going to?"
"And if I don't?" he challenged her.
"Finger-prints!" she said. "Footmarks!"
"Oh, well! Confound it." And he did--the way a bird pecks at a cherry.
She straightened with another giggle. "Our first!" she said.
"Hope you're satisfied," he remarked grudgingly.
"It will do for a beginning. Oh, dear! some one saw us!" He lookedaround with a start, his unresponsive arm slipping from about a pliantwaist.
"I don't see any one."
"He's dodged behind a tree. I think it was Dickie. And--yes, there areone or two other men. They--they seem to be dodging, too." Bob saw themnow. One, he was sure, was the commodore.
"Funny performance, isn't it?" he said, with a sickly smile.
"Perhaps--?" She looked at him with genuine awe in the temperamentaleyes. He read her thought; she thought--believed they had "come forhim." She appeared positively startled, and--yes, sedulous! Maybe, shewas discovering in herself a little bit of that "really, truly" feeling.
"Oh!" she said. "They mustn't--"
"Don't you worry," he reassured her. "I think I can safely promise youthey won't do what you expect them to."
"You mean," joyously, "you have a way to circumvent them?" She was surenow he had; the aristocratic burglars always have. He would probablyhave a long and varied career before him yet.
"I mean just what I say. But I think they want to talk with me? Indeed,I'm quite sure they do. They are coming up now. Perhaps you'd betterleave me to deal with them."
"You--you are sure they have no evidence to--?"
"Land me in jail? Positively. I assure you, on my honor, you are theonly living person who, by any stretch of the imagination, could offerdamaging testimony against me, along that line."
He spoke so confidently she felt it was the truth. "I believe you," shesaid. She wanted to say more, befitting the thrill of the moment, butshe had no time. Dickie and two others were approaching. It might bebest if he met them alone. So she slipped away and walked toward thehouse. It would be quite exciting enough afterward, she told herself, tofind out what happened. It wasn't until she got almost to the house,that she remembered she ought to have asked Bob for a ring. Of course,he would hav
e a goodly supply of them. Would it make her _particepscriminis_ though, if she wore one of his rings? Then she concluded itwouldn't, because she was innocent of intention. She didn't know. Shewondered, also, if she should announce her "engagement" right off, orwait a day or two. She decided to wait a day or two. But she told MissGwendoline Gerald what a lovely time she and Mr. Bennett had hadtogether, fishing. And Miss Gerald smiled a cryptic smile.
Meanwhile Bob had met Dan and Dickie and Clarence.