Read The Strange Proposal Page 16


  But Mary Elizabeth, as she gave a look at the world below sailing in its silver sea and then closed her eyes, turned the page into the next day and the problems she would have to meet when she reached Florida.

  And Sam, though ostensibly resting, did not take his eager, wondering eyes off that silver world below him until they actually dropped shut with sleep, and then as he slipped off into slumber, there was a prayer upon his young lips.

  “Oh, God, keep her alive till we get there. Oh, God, show the doctor what to do, and save her, if it be Your will!”

  Chapter 17

  It was after one o’clock when Mr. Robert Wainwright turned over for the thousandth time in his bed and stretched out his hand for the telephone, calling a familiar number with a sort of sheepish sound in his voice.

  “That you, Sam? Well, I couldn’t sleep. Sorry to wake you up, but I thought it would be better now than to wait another hour or so. I was bound to do it before the night was over.”

  “Yes, all right, Bob,” came the sleepy voice of Mary Elizabeth’s father. “I got used to that long ago. As I remember, the night you were born you began waking me in the night!”

  “Shut up!” said Robert Wainwright. “You couldn’t remember that far back. You know I’m only a year younger than you are. And besides, I shall wake you if I like. I intend to keep on waking you up whenever I please the rest of my life.”

  “Yes, Bob, I know I couldn’t expect anything else. What is it this time?”

  “Well, it’s that pest of a Mary Elizabeth of yours. Whatever is this mad scheme she’s got up now, and pulled my Sam in with her? Where has she gone anyway?”

  “Why, Florida! Didn’t she ask your permission? She said she was going to.”

  “Yes, she asked it, and I said yes, he might go, but somehow since I got to bed, I got to thinking how Clarice would feel about it. She’d think of that awful wide sky and so many mountains to fall on and die, and all that bunk, you know, and I decided he’d better take the morning train back to the city and stay with me till she got back.”

  “Too late, Bob, they left half an hour ago. Mary Liz’beth phoned me just before they started.”

  “Yes, I found that out!” snapped his brother. “At least I was afraid I had. I called up that shore cottage of yours where they were supposed to be stopping and nobody answered. Don’t you keep any servants down there to answer the phone?”

  “Why, yes, there’s the caretaker and his wife, but they likely sleep in the far corner of the house, and there isn’t any extension. But it’s too late, Bob. They’ve gone, and I wouldn’t worry. Mary Elizabeth promised to wire as soon as they arrived. And if you just turn over and snatch a nap or two, the wire will be here and the thing will be over. You can write Clarice he’s gone to Florida. She doesn’t need to know how he went. In fact you don’t need to say anything about it for a few days. She knows he’s at the shore. Why not let it go at that? Go to sleep, old man. It’s only a few hours now till they arrive.”

  “Yes, but a lot of things could happen in a few hours!”

  “There always could. Even if he was at home things could happen.”

  “Yes, but Clarice would blame me!”

  “I don’t see that. He’s half your son. Haven’t you a right to let your half go planing? He’s old enough to enjoy it. That’s the kind of thing boys like.”

  “Yes, that’s what I figured when I said yes,” moaned Sam’s father.

  “Well, figure it again. Richie’s along. No flier has a better record than Richie. He’ll look after them.”

  “You’re sure he went?”

  “Absolutely. He called me up and said he’d look out for them.”

  “Well, that’s different. But all the same, that Mary Elizabeth of yours is a wild, erratic child and ought to be spanked.”

  “Absolutely! Try and do it!”

  “What started her off on this wild goose trip?”

  “Some old lady dying for want of a special operation, and Mary Elizabeth seemed to think the people wouldn’t let the doctor in or something unless she went along. Sam seemed to be mixed in it, too, somehow, some friend of his. Saxon’s the name.”

  “Saxon? Not anyone belonging to that friend of Jeff’s? Not the best man of Jeff’s wedding?”

  “Might be. How should I know? Mary Liz’beth didn’t have time for details. She seemed to think your Sam was even more essential than the noted doctor they raked up.”

  “Hmm! If it’s John Saxon, then I guess it’s my child that needs spanking. Thought yours was a party to it. She humors Sammy too much. He seems to be able to get anything out of her he wants. Look at the way he wheedled her into keeping him away from that lady-camp his mother wanted to send him to! But Sammy is just gone daffy about John Saxon!”

  “John Saxon!” said Mary Elizabeth’s father. “She said it was a woman!”

  “Perhaps it’s Saxon’s sister,” said Robert. “Likely somebody she knew in college. This Saxon is an intellectual fellow, I believe.”

  “What kind of man is this Saxon, anyway? Is he down there now, do you suppose?”

  “I wouldn’t be expected to know that,” said Robert, “but he’s an A-number-one lad all right, according to Jeff. Jeff thinks he’s the finest fellow he knows. That’s why he chose him for best man.”

  “Hmm!” said Mary Elizabeth’s father thoughtfully. “Rich and conceited like all the rest, I suppose. I declare, I wish I could hide Mary Elizabeth away from them all. I haven’t liked any of ’em so far, but I suppose a mere father is not expected to interfere in such matters anymore. There’s that Farwell, I can’t stay in the room with him, he irritates me so. Thinks he’s the only authority on any subject you happen to mention, has a way of looking at you as if you hadn’t a right to exist, thinks all people over his own age are in their dotage.”

  “Just so!” assented Uncle Robert. “I wondered what you were thinking about to tolerate that intimacy. If it were my affair, I’d read the riot act to Mary Beth, even if she is twenty-one. I wouldn’t have it! That fellow is a puppy! I could tell you some things—well—not over the phone, but I will when I see you!”

  “Oh, yeah? Think I don’t know a few myself? But the thing is how to get rid of him? I’ve taken her to Europe with me twice hoping to shed him, and what does he do but trot along, or come afterward!”

  “Why don’t you talk to her?”

  “Well, you know Mary Elizabeth’s a chip off the old block. She’s like the rest of us. She likes to run her own affairs. I was afraid I might only make her stronger for him if I said anything against him, although she knows I don’t like him. At least, she ought to know. Man! I wish I knew where there were some real men. I’d like her to meet a few. I begin to think your Jeff is the only one left I know, and I wasn’t so sure of him awhile ago. But he seems to have settled down for sure now. What’s he going to do? Going to take him in with you?”

  “That’s what I’ve planned to do, and he seems to think it’s about the best thing he knows.”

  “Well, that’s great, Bob! I wish I had a son to come in and lift the burden off my shoulders. But now, how about this Saxon fellow? If he’s down there and my girl’s gone down, I suppose I’ll have to begin to worry about him. What’s he doing down there this time of year anyway? Did the sister or whoever she is get sick and they couldn’t come back north when everybody else did, or what?”

  “Oh, they live down there, I understand. They have an orange grove.”

  “You don’t say? I don’t see why anyone would stay so far south in the summer. What’s the idea?”

  “Well, I don’t really know much about it, but I’ve surmised they couldn’t afford to travel around, and they’ve just settled there.”

  “What’s the matter? Lost their money? What was it? Investment or real estate? Don’t tell me they were Florida boom people!”

  “Nothing of the kind, Sam, they never had any money to lose. As I understand it, Saxon’s father is a retired minister or doctor or so
mething professional, I’m not sure just what. They’re nice people, Jeff says. But you needn’t worry about Mary Elizabeth. This young Saxon’s poor as a church mouse and has his own way to make yet, so he’s out of the running so far as Mary Beth is concerned.”

  “I don’t see why,” said Mary Elizabeth’s father, “not if she took a liking to him. She’s not a gold digger, and after all she’s got plenty of her own. But I’m not so sure I wouldn’t like him all the better for being poor. Money’s what’s spoiled most of the young men today. They’ve had too much of it, and they don’t know what it means to have to get down to hard work and earn it the way you and I did. I guess it’s a mistake to hand over a lot of money to your children before they’ve cut their eyeteeth. Your Jeff was an exception.”

  “Yes, Sam, our children are always exceptions. However, you’re bearing me out in what I used to say long ago. Clarice always thought I kept Jeff on too small an allowance, but I felt with all that money coming to him from her father when Jeff would come of age, and all I would naturally leave him, he needed to get a little experience before he had the chance to handle it.”

  “Well, you certainly did a good job of bringing him up,” said Jeff’s uncle heartily, “and I guess I can trust Mary Elizabeth, too, to use good common sense. And don’t you worry about Sammy. It’ll do him good to be on his own awhile. Anyway, you were going to send him to camp, what’s the difference?”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” said the troubled father, “only Clarice makes such a fuss about airplanes, and if anything should happen, she’d never let me hear the last of it.”

  “Well, nothing’s going to happen. Just make up your mind to that, brother. Get to sleep now and get a little rest, and by the time you wake up it won’t be long till a telegram comes. I suppose we’re a couple of old fools!”

  “What! Couldn’t you sleep either?”

  “No, blame it!” laughed Mary Elizabeth’s father. “But I’m going to now. Good night!”

  Chapter 18

  Boothby Farwell was exceedingly gloomy and silent as his party went on its way in search of amusement. When he spoke at all he was so disagreeable that presently the rest refrained from speaking to him any more than they could help.

  At the first opportunity to quench their thirst, which by the time they had driven for an hour had become almost unbearable, the entire party indulged freely, Farwell drinking more deeply than the rest. When they arrived at the fashionable hotel a hundred miles up the coast, which was their rendezvous, he drank again and often during the evening. Also, he annexed a young woman of his acquaintance, Stephanie Varrell by name, whose startling artificial beauty was only rivaled by her daring conduct, and the whole party had a very merry time indeed. But during it all, and while he paid for most of it and was a participant in all their hilarity, he was morosely silent, glowering at them and answering only when he had to do so, with caustic sentences that might have been written with a pen dipped in vitriol.

  Now Boothby Farwell was not a man who easily gave up. He had been heard to boast that he always got whatever he really went after. The only question in his mind was whether he really wanted to go after Mary Elizabeth enough to make the effort. There would be ways to get her, of course. He considered several, as he sat at tables with the happy group he was entertaining. There would be weak places in Mary Elizabeth’s armor. If money would not buy her, there were other ways. Her family was a great weakness of hers, the pride of heritage. Just how to get her through her family was not quite plain.

  But the family standards—ah—the conventions! Even though she was fairly broad-minded for the times, her family were great sticklers for the conventions. They were almost Victorian in some things. Suppose, now, that one could plan to get Mary Elizabeth off somewhere in a lonely situation where she would be compelled to stay all night in his company? Would it not be likely that Mary Elizabeth’s father would urge immediate marriage?

  But how to get her away, even after the plan was made? Mary Elizabeth was a young woman who knew her own mind and who did what she wished to do.

  He drank a great deal that night, and when he finally piloted his merry and irresponsible party back to their homes again, he was ready to entertain almost any measure that would reduce Mary Elizabeth to his terms. The next day he studied his plan again and finally got into his high-powered car and drove back to Seacrest alone.

  It wasn’t conceivable that Elizabeth would refuse to see him, nor that she would not accept his apologies for anything that might have been done to annoy her yesterday. It could easily be blamed on someone else in his party. He would have no trouble in persuading her that everything disagreeable he had done had been because of his state of mind, because of his frustrated love for her. For after all, Mary Elizabeth Wainwright was a gentle, kindly soul and did not like to hurt people. Perhaps he might even come to confessing a weakness or two, a little sentiment, which wasn’t his natural line. It might even be that she was holding him off, playing for something of this sort. He had been going with her for so long that perhaps she felt he had come to take things too much for granted. Well, he could give her sentiment, romance, if that was what she wanted. He knew how. He had had large practice in the past, before sentiment and romance walked hand in hand out of the picture of modern times.

  As he drove along in the brightness of the morning he was making shrewd, sinister plans. He would try romance and utter desperate, fervent pleas to her, and if that failed, then he would be abject before her, touch her pity, until she would finally promise to go and take a last ride with him before he left for parts unknown to solace his broken heart.

  Once get her in his car and out of the town where people knew her, and his car would do the rest. He knew a lonely place where they could be stranded for the night while he pretended to work on his car.

  The devilish scheme grew in his mind as he tore along the highway, bearing south and east, arriving at Seacrest an hour sooner than he had expected.

  As he came in sight of the Wainwright estate, its tall plumy pines shut in by the handsome iron grille, he was reminded of the last time he had seen it, when he had had a vision of an imp of a boy in a bright red bathing suit striding down to the beach.

  He was instantly on his guard, instinctively slowed down his speed, and considered. He must reconnoiter. It would not do to come on that kid. He was clever. He would suspect something perhaps and make trouble!

  So he traveled cautiously about the town, approaching the Wainwright place from different angles, but saw no sign of anybody about, and the vista of the beach was free from bathers. No red bathing suit loomed on the prospect.

  He had to ring at the entrance gate, however, as all the approaches to the house were firmly locked with formidable chains. It annoyed him to have to ring for entrance. He was full of impatience. Now that he was here he was anxious to carry out his plan at once. As he sat in his car awaiting admission, he told himself he must proceed cautiously, with a friendly attitude, as if nothing had annoyed him at their last meeting. Elizabeth had always been friendly enough if approached diplomatically. He must remember that and not lose his temper. But once get her married to him, and he would break her will and stop her happy independence! He set his lips together in a thin, hard line, and a glitter came into his eyes. He was certainly going to enjoy breaking Elizabeth’s will and putting her through training, once he really had her fast!

  But when Susan arrived a little hurriedly because of having waited to put on a clean apron, he learned that Elizabeth was not there.

  “They’ve gone!” said Susan, with perhaps a bit of satisfaction in her voice, for she recognized the man and the car, and she had not liked the man. She thought he was not a gentleman.

  “Gone?” said Farwell blankly. “You mean she is out? When will she return?”

  “No, sir, she’s gone away. I couldn’t say when she’s coming back. She said she’d let me know.”

  “When did she go?”

  “Night before last.??
?

  “Oh! You mean she has gone back to the city, to her home?” What a fool he had been not to try her home first. Of course she wouldn’t be likely to stay long in a little backwoods place like this.

  “I couldn’t say, sir,” said the well-trained servant. “She didn’t tell me her plans. She just went away and said she would let me know when she was coming back.”

  “Well, surely you know whether she is likely to come soon.”

  “She might, and then again she mightn’t. She didn’t say.”

  “That seems very strange,” said the man, giving her an ugly look. “I suppose you are holding out for money, but I’d have you to understand that I shall report this to Miss Wainwright. Perhaps you do not know that I am going to marry her. But here, take this, and give me her present whereabouts, or her address or something, or it will go hard with you later.”

  Susan drew back from the offered bill, and her chin went up angrily. She stepped back inside the gate and closed it with a click, letting down the bar that held it from intruders.

  “I’ve no address to give you, and I don’t want your money, no matter who you are. I know my duty and I’m doing it. I’m earning my money. I don’t take it in bribes. I have nothing more to tell you!” And Susan, tossing her head, walked indignantly away from the gate, and no amount of subsequent ringing of the gate bell could induce her to make her appearance again.

  At last the man who always got his way turned his car toward the microscopic town of Seacrest and invaded the post office, confident that money would give him the lady’s present address. She must have left word to have her mail forwarded.

  But he discovered to his amazement that here was at least one honest servant of the government, for the little, round, sturdy postmaster shook his head.

  “Can’t do it, sir, it’s against the law. If you wantta leave a letter here with her name on it, I’ll address it and forward it to her, but the law says I can’t give out addresses.”