Starr, of the Desert | Page 9

feeling better than I was; now the weather
is settled, I feel lots better. You can sell whatever you bought; maybe
you can make a profit on the sale. Try and do that, dad. Get enough
profit to pay for that gray suit I saw in the window!" She was smiling at
him now, the whimsical smile that was perhaps her greatest charm.
"Never mind about the gray suit." Peter spoke sharply. "I won't need
it." He got up irritably and began pacing back and forth across the little
sitting room. "You're not better," he declared petulantly. "That's the
way your mother used to talk--even up to the very last. A year in that
office would kill you. I know. The doctor said so. Your only chance is
to get into a high, dry place where you can live out of doors. He told
me so. This young man with the homestead claim was a godsend--a
godsend, I tell you! It would be a crime--it would be murder to let the
chance slip by for lack of money. I'd steal the money, if I knew of any
way to get by with it, and if there was no other way open. But there is a
way. I'm taking it.
"I don't want to hear any more argument," he exclaimed, facing her
quite suddenly. His eyes had a light she had never seen in them before.
"Monday you will go with me and attend to the necessary legal papers.
After that, I'll attend to the means of getting there."
He stood looking down at her where she sat with her hands clasped in
her lap, staring up at him steadfastly from under her eyebrows. His face
softened, quivered until she thought he was going to cry like a woman.
But he only came and laid a shaking hand on her head and smoothed
her hair as one caresses a child.
"Don't oppose me in this, Babe," he said wearily. "I've thought it all out,
and it's best for all of us. I can't see you dying here by inches--in the
harness. And think of Vic, if that happened. He's just at the age where

he needs you. I couldn't do anything much with him alone. It's the best
thing to do, the only thing to do. Don't say anything more against it,
don't argue. When the time comes, you'll do your part bravely, as I shall
do mine. And if you feel that it isn't worth while for yourself, think of
Vic."
Peter turned abruptly and went into his room, and Helen May dropped
her head down upon her arms and cried awhile, though she did not
clearly understand why, except that life seemed very cruel, like some
formless monster that caught and squeezed the very soul out of one.
Soon she heard Vic coming, and pulled herself together for the lecture
he had earned by going out without permission and staying later than
he should. On one point dad was right, she told herself wearily, while
she was locking up for the night. Town certainly was no place for Vic.
The next day, urged by her father, Helen May met Johnny Calvert, and
cooked him a nice dinner, and heard a great deal about her new claim.
And Monday, furthermore, the three attended to certain legal details.
She had many moments of panic when she believed her father was out
of his mind, and when she feared that he would do some desperate
thing like stealing money to carry out this strange plan. But she did as
he wished. There was a certain inflexible quality in Peter's mild voice, a
certain determination in his insignificant face that required obedience to
his wishes. Even Vic noticed it, and eyed Peter curiously, and asked
Helen May what ailed the old man.
An old man Peter was when he went to his room that night, leaving
Helen May dazed and exhausted after another evening spent in
absorbing queer bits of information from the garrulous Johnny Calvert.
She would be able to manage all right, now, Peter told her relievedly
when Johnny left. She knew as much about the place as she could
possibly know without having been there.
He said good night and left her wondering bewilderedly what strange
thing her dad would do next. In the morning she knew.
Peter did not answer when Helen May rapped on his door and said that
breakfast would be ready in five minutes. Never before had he failed to

call out: "All right, Babe!" more or less cheerfully. She waited a minute,
listening, and then rapped again and repeated her customary
announcement. Another wait, and she turned the knob and looked in.
She did not scream at what she found there. Vic, sleeping on the couch
behind