Miss Billys Decision | Page 6

the window near them. Perhaps he had not heard. At all
events, when he spoke some time later, it was of a matter far removed
from Miss Billy Neilson, or the way to her heart. Nor was the young
lady mentioned between them again that day.
Long hours later, just before parting for the night, Arkwright said:
``Calderwell, I'm sorry, but I believe, after all, I can't take that trip to

the lakes with you. I-- I'm going home next week.''
``Home! Hang it, Arkwright! I'd counted on you. Isn't this rather
sudden?''
``Yes, and no. I'll own I've been drifting about with you contentedly
enough for the last six months to make you think mountain-climbing
and boat-paddling were the end and aim of my existence. But they
aren't, you know, really.''
``Nonsense! At heart you're as much of a vagabond as I am; and you
know it.''
``Perhaps. But unfortunately I don't happen to carry your pocketbook.''
``You may, if you like. I'll hand it over any time,'' grinned Calderwell.
``Thanks. You know well enough what I mean,'' shrugged the other.
There was a moment's silence; then Calderwell queried:
``Arkwright, how old are you?''
``Twenty-four.''
``Good! Then you're merely travelling to supplement your education,
see?''
``Oh, yes, I see. But something besides my education has got to be
supplemented now, I reckon.''
``What are you going to do?''
There was an almost imperceptible hesitation; then, a little shortly,
came the answer:
``Hit the trail for Grand Opera, and bring up, probably--in vaudeville.''
Calderwell smiled appreciatively.

``You can sing like the devil,'' he admitted.
``Thanks,'' returned his friend, with uplifted eyebrows. ``Do you mind
calling it `an angel' --just for this occasion?''
``Oh, the matine-girls will do that fast enough. But, I say,
Arkwright, what are you going to do with those initials then?''
``Let 'em alone.''
``Oh, no, you won't. And you won't be `Mary Jane,' either. Imagine a
Mary Jane in Grand Opera! I know what you'll be. You'll be `Seor
Martini Johnini Arkwrightino'! By the way, you didn't say what that `M.
J.' really did stand for,'' hinted Calderwell, shamelessly
`` `Merely Jokes'--in your estimation, evidently,'' shrugged the other.
``But my going isn't a joke, Calderwell. I'm really going. And I'm going
to work.''
``But--how shall you manage?''
``Time will tell.''
Calderwell frowned and stirred restlessly in his chair.
``But, honestly, now, to--to follow that trail of yours will take money.
And--er--'' a faint red stole to his forehead--``don't they have--
er--patrons for these young and budding geniuses? Why can't I have a
hand in this trail, too --or maybe you'd call it a foot, eh? I'd be no end
glad to, Arkwright.''
``Thanks, old man.'' The red was duplicated this time above the brown
silky beard. ``That was mighty kind of you, and I appreciate it; but it
won't be necessary. A generous, but perhaps misguided bachelor uncle
left me a few thousands a year or so ago; and I'm going to put them all
down my throat--or rather, into it--before I give up.''
``Where you going to study? New York?''

Again there was an almost imperceptible hesitation before the answer
came.
``I'm not quite prepared to say.''
``Why not try it here?''
Arkwright shook his head.
``I did plan to, when I came over but I've changed my mind. I believe
I'd rather work while longer in America.''
``Hm-m,'' murmured Calderwell.
There was a brief silence, followed by other questions and other
answers; after which the friends said good night.
In his own room, as he was dropping off to sleep, Calderwell muttered
drowsily:
``By George! I haven't found out yet what that blamed `M. J.' stands
for!''
CHAPTER II
AUNT HANNAH GETS A LETTER
In the cozy living-room at Hillside, Billy Neilson's pretty home on
Corey Hill, Billy herself sat writing at the desk. Her pen had just traced
the date, ``October twenty-fifth,'' when Mrs. Stetson entered with a
letter in her hand.
``Writing, my dear? Then don't let me disturb you.'' She turned as if to
go.
Billy dropped her pen, sprang to her feet, flew to the little woman's side
and whirled her half across the room.
``There!'' she exclaimed, as she plumped the breathless and scandalized

Aunt Hannah into the biggest easy chair. ``I feel better. I just had to let
off steam some way. It's so lovely you came in just when you did!''
``Indeed! I--I'm not so sure of that,'' stammered the lady, dropping the
letter into her lap, and patting with agitated fingers her cap, her curls,
the two shawls about her shoulders, and the lace at her throat. ``My
grief and conscience, Billy! Wors't you ever grow up?''
``Hope not,'' purred Billy cheerfully, dropping herself on to a low
hassock at Aunt Hannah's feet.
``But, my dear, you--you're engaged!''
Billy bubbled