The Seventh Man | Page 6

her desk looking up at him agape; and beside her stood Blondy
Hansen, big, good looking, and equally startled. Fear made the glance
of Vic Gregg swerve--to where little Tommy Aiken scribbled an
arithmetic problem on the blackboard--afterschool work for whispering
in class, or some equally heinous crime. The tingling voices of the
other children on their way home, floated in to Tommy, and the corners
of his mouth drooped.
To regain his poise, Vic tugged at his belt and felt the weight of the
holster slipping into a more convenient place, then he sauntered up the
aisle, sweeping off his sombrero. Every feeling in his body, every nerve,
disappeared in a crystalline hardness, for it seemed to him that the air
was surcharged by a secret something between Betty and young
Hansen. Betty was out from behind her desk and she ran to meet him
and took his hand in both of hers. The rush of her coming took his
breath, and at her touch something melted in her.
"Oh, Vic, are you all through?"
Gregg stiffened for the benefit of Hansen and Tommy Aiken.
"Pretty near through," he said carelessly. "Thought I'd drop down to
Alder for a day or two and get the kinks out. Hello, Blondy. Hey,
Tommy!"
Tommy Aiken flashed a grin at him, but Tommy was not quite sure that
the rules permitted speaking, even under such provocation as the return
of Vic Gregg, so he maintained a desperate silence. Blondy had picked
up his hat as he returned the greeting.
"I guess I'll be going," he said, and coughed to show that he was
perfectly at ease, but it seemed to Vic that it was hard for Blondy to
meet his eye when they shook hands. "See you later, Betty."
"All right." She smiled at Vic--a flash--and then gathered dignity of
both voice and manner. "You may go now, Tommy."

She lapsed into complete unconsciousness of manner as Tommy
swooped on his desk, included hat and book in one grab, and darted
towards the door through which Hansen had just disappeared. Here he
paused, tilting, and his smile twinkled at them with understanding.
"Good-night, Miss Neal. Hope you have a good time, Vic." His heel
clicked twice on the steps outside, and then the patter of his racing feet
across the field.
"The little mischief!" said Betty, delightfully flushed. "It beats
everything, Vic, how Alder takes things for granted."
He should have taken her in his arms and kissed her, now that she had
cleared the room, he very well knew, but the obvious thing was always
last to come in Gregg's repertoire.
"Why not take it for granted? It ain't going to be many days, now."
He watched her eyes sparkle, but the pleasure of seeing him drowned
the gleam almost at once.
"Are you really almost through? Oh, Vic, you've been away so long,
and I--" She checked herself. There was no overflow of sentiment in
Betty.
"Maybe I was a fool for laying off work this way," he admitted, "but I
sure got terrible lonesome up there."
Her glance went over him contentedly, from the hard brown hands to
the wrinkle which labor had sunk in the exact center of his forehead.
He was all man, to Betty.
"Come on along," he said. He would kiss her by surprise as they
reached the door. "Come on along. It's sure enough spring outside. I
been eating it up, and--we can do our talking over things at the dance.
Let's ride now."
"Dance?"

"Sure, down to Singer's place."
"It's going to be kind of hard to get out of going with Blondy. He asked
me."
"And you said you'd go?"
"What are you flarin' up about?"
"Look here, how long have you been traipsin' around with Blondy
Hansen?"
She clenched one hand beside her in a way he knew, but it pleased him
more than it warned him, just as it pleased him to see the ears of Grey
Molly go back.
"What's wrong about Blondy Hansen?"
"What's right about him?" he countered senselessly.
Her voice went a bit shrill. "Blondy is a gentleman, I'll have you
know."
"Is he?"
"Don't you sneer at me, Victor Gregg. I won't have it!"
"You won't, eh?"
He felt that he was pushing her to the danger point, but she was
perfectly, satisfyingly beautiful in her anger; he taunted her with the
pleasure of an artist painting a picture.
"I won't!" she repeated. Something else came to her lips, but she
repressed it, and he could see the pressure from within telling.
"Don't get in a huff over nothing," he urged, in real alarm. "Only, it
made me kind of mad to see Blondy standing there with that calf-look."

"What calf-look? He's a lot better to look at