A Good Samaritan | Page 6

political meeting. The feather of her
hat tossed in the May breeze; the fading light from the window behind
her shone through loose hair about her face, turned it into a soft dark
aureole; the gray of her tailor gown was crisp and fresh as spring-time.
To Rex's eyes no picture had ever been more satisfying.
Suddenly she caught sight of him, and her face lighted as if lamps had
shone out of a twilight, and in a second he had her hand in his, and was
talking away, with responsibility and worry, and that heavy weight on
the truck back there, quite gone out of the world. She was in it, and
himself--the world was full. The girl seemed to be as oblivious of
outside facts, as he, for it was quite two minutes, and the last straggler
from the boat had disappeared into the street before she broke into one
of his sentences.
"Why, but--I forgot. You made me forget entirely, Mr. Fairfax. I'm

going to the theater with my cousin, Billy Strong. He ought to be
here--where is he?"
Rex shivered lest her roving eyes might answer the question, for Billy's
truck with Billy slumbering peacefully on it, lay in full view not fifty
feet away. But her gaze passed unsuspiciously over the prostrate,
huddled form.
"It's very queer--I'm sure this was the right boat." She looked up at his
face anxiously, and he almost moaned aloud. What was he going to say
to her?
"That's what I'm here for, Miss Margery--to explain about Billy. He--he
isn't feeling at all himself to-night, and it's utterly impossible for him to
go with you." To his astonishment her face broke into a very satisfied
smile. "Oh--well, I'm sorry Billy's ill, but we'll hope for the best, and I
won't really object to you as a substitute, you know. Of course it's
improper, and mother wouldn't think of letting me go with you--but I'm
going. Mother won't mind when I tell her it's done. I've never been
alone with a man to anything, except with my cousin--it's like stealing
watermelons, isn't it? Don't you think it's rather fun?"
Staggered by the situation, Fairfax thought desperately and murmured
something which sounded like "Oochee-Goochee," as he tried to recall
it later. The girl's gay voice went on: "It would be wicked to waste the
tickets. City people aren't going to the theater as late as this, so we
won't see any one we know. I think it's a dispensation of Providence,
and I'd be a poor-spirited mouse to waste the chance. I think I'll go with
you--don't you?"
[Illustration: "Could he--couldn't he?"]
Could he leave that prostrate form on the truck and snatch at this bit of
heaven dangling before him? Could he--Couldn't he? No, he could not.
It would be a question of fifteen minutes perhaps before the drowsy
Billy would be marching to the police station, and in his entirely casual
and fearless state of mind, the big athlete would make history for some
policeman, his friend could not doubt, before he got there. Rex had put

his hand to this intoxicated plow and he must not look back, even when
the prospect backwards was so bewilderingly attractive, so tantalizingly
easy. He stammered badly when, at length, the silence which followed
the soft voice had to be filled.
"I'm simply--simply--broken up, Miss Margery," and the girl's eyes
looked at him with a sweet wideness that made it harder. "I don't know
how to tell you, and I don't know how to resign myself to it either, but
I--I can't take you to the theater. I--I've got to--got to--well, you see,
I've got to be with Billy."
She spoke quickly at that. "Mr. Fairfax, is Billy really ill--is there
something more than I understand? Why didn't you tell me? Has their
been an accident, perhaps? Why, I must go to him
too--come--hurry--I'll go with you, of course."
Rex stumbled again in his effort to quiet her alarm, to prevent this
scheme of seeking Billy on his couch of pain. "Oh no, indeed you
mustn't do that," he objected strenuously. "I couldn't let you, you know.
I don't want you to be bothered. Billy isn't ill at all--there hasn't been
any accident, I give you my word. He's all right--Billy's all right." He
had quite lost his prospective by now, and did not see the rocks upon
which he rushed.
"If Billy's all right, why isn't he here?" demanded Billy's cousin
severely.
Rex saw now. "He isn't exactly--that is to say--all right, you know. You
see how it is," and he gazed involuntarily at the sleeping giant huddled
on the truck.
"I do not see." The brown eyes had never looked at him so coldly
before, and their expression cut him.
"I'm glad you