Ellis Butler - In Pawn

“Oh, Carter Bruce!” admitted Gay. “Of course, he was fussing around. He is always fussing around. Or was.”

“Yes, and we thought he was going to steal you, Gay. Well – that’s the answer!”

“You mean – ”

“Of course! Henrietta just couldn’t stand having you engaged when she was not. So she invented Billy Vane while she was at Spirit Lake, and told us he had gone out to Colorado, where he would be out of the way.”

“But who writes her the letters from Colorado?”

“How do I know? She may have a brother out there. That is easy. She would have dear Bill go wherever there was some one who could write her a letter now and then. And Henrietta does the rest. It is n’t so impossible when you think of it that way, is it? After she had invented dear Bill it was natural enough that she should keep him alive and interested, when we were so interested.”

“Lorna, it is the greatest thing I ever heard of!” exclaimed Gay. “And I think you are a wizard to discover the truth.”

“No, I’m not,” said Lorna. “Just think back, Gay. The strange thing is that we did not hit on it sooner. Think! Can’t you remember a hundred things that should have made us suspicious?”

“Yes,” Gay admitted. “Especially the presents, and the way she borrows just before the presents come.”

“And never letting us see a single letter, and always moving away when we come near her when she is reading them to us, and never getting another photograph from Billy ‘ – and a thousand things.”

“Yes,” said Gay again; and then, “Are you going to do anything about it?”

“Do? No, why should I? If she enjoys it I’m sure we do. Only – we must not lend her any more, if we can help it. There’s no reason why we should lend her our hard-earned money to buy presents for herself with.”

Gay giggled.

“How much does she owe you now?” she asked.

“Almost two hundred.”

“And me over one hundred and fifty! Is n’t it rich?”

“It’s peachy!”

In her own room Henrietta Bates was looking at her comely face reflected in her mirror. She was pleased with it, and she glanced down at the three framed photographs on her dresser. One was the picture of the imaginary William Vane, the others were of her dearest friends – Gay and Lorna. To William’s portrait she gave only a careless glance. She lingered over Gay’s and Lorna’s.

“Stupid dears!” she thought. “So you have found me out? It has taken you long enough, I’m sure. I wonder what next.”

As Lorna Percy, Lem, and Gay Loring sat on the porch a jaunty straw hat came into view above the terrace, and, as it reached the gate, proved to be on the head of a man as jaunty as the hat. The man paused at the gate to look up the street.

“There’s Freeman,” said Lorna. “He’s home early.”

“Not so very. It is getting toward supper-time.”

Gay answered. “I’d better be getting home to help mother set the table.”

“Poor excuse!” teased Lorna. “But run along if you want to have a nice little session at the gate all by your lonies. Gay – ”

“Yes?”

“I do think Freeman is in love with you.”

Gay colored.

“Why?” she asked.

“The way he acts, and everything. Don’t you think so yourself?”

“Well – he’s persistent enough. He’s never said anything outright. Not anything much. I don’t know whether he loves me or just wants to see how far he can go, Lorna.”

Lorna was silent for a moment.

“I’d say I was glad if he was n’t such a – you know, Gay. Flashy. Don’t you think he is rather flashy? Not very heavy. He’s fast, too. I’d rather have you like Carter Bruce.”

“For all I know he is a thousand miles from thinking anything serious,” Gay answered. “I’m simply not going to take him seriously until he is serious.”

“How old do you suppose he really is?”

“Twenty-five. Don’t you think so?”

“I doubt it, Gay. He may be. It is hard to judge. He’s queer. I don’t like him. He is queer sometimes. He – ”

“Sh!” said Gay, indicating Lem, who was listening with all his ears.

“I forgot. You’re such a quiet little boy,” she said to Lem. “Are you a little pitcher with big ears?”

“Yes’m,” said Lem. “I guess so.”

“What I meant,” said Lorna to Gay, “was L-i-q-u-o-r. Have you suspected it?”

“Ellicker,” said Lem. “What’s that mean?”

“Hush!” said Lorna. “He’s coming in.” Freeman Todder, the young man of whom they were speaking, climbed the terrace steps slowly. He carried a cane, which was an unusual bit of dandyism in Riverbank, and he was what Miss Redding called “dressy.” Very few young fellows in Riverbank were “dressy” and almost none of the older men. Trousers seldom or never were creased on week days, for the “Sunday suit” held sway on the Sabbath and at parties and dances. To be well dressed on a week day was almost a sign of ungodliness, because the few who were well dressed were certainly apt to be ungodly. They were thought to be interested in poker, woman, and wine.

Freeman Todder, when he arrived in Riverbank, had almost immediately affiliated himself with the dozen “dressy” young fellows. He was seen in Alberson’s drug store, in the Smokeorium, in front of Weltschaffel’s clothing store, and wherever the young bucks gathered. It was said that his first labors in Riverbank were in the nature of holding a handful of playing cards in Alberson’s back room, in company with a number of other young fellows, and it was some time before he had found a job. The job he found was serving soda water in Alberson’s store. In the winter, when the soda trade was slack, he was behind Alberson’s cigar counter.

Some wondered how Freeman Todder could live and dress on what Johnnie Alberson paid him. Some guessed that Freeman “knocked down” some of the change that passed through his hands, but those who knew Johnnie Alberson best did not believe that. None who knew Johnnie ever believed he would let even a penny that belonged to him go astray.

That Freeman could dress as he did and board at Miss Redding’s – which was not the cheapest place in Riverbank – and have silver dollars to dink in his pocket, and do it on what Alberson paid, was manifestly impossible. The answer that most of those who thought they were knowing gave was “poker.” Even the other “dressy” youths said, “Poker.” Freeman played a careful, not showy, game and did win now and then. No one ever bothered to foot up his winnings and compare them with his losses. As a matter of fact, Freeman Todder’s net poker winnings would not have paid for his showy shirts, the gayly striped cuffs of which always showed liberally below his coat sleeves.

As he came up the walk toward the two girls on Miss Redding’s porch steps, he raised his hat, and then let it hang in his hand.

“Hello, one and all,” he said. “Who’s the young gent you have clamped between you there?”

“This is Lem,” said Lorna. “Lem’s going to be among those present here after this, are n’t you, Lem?”

“Yes’m,” said Lem; and then to Freeman, “What’s ‘ellicker’?”

“Now hush, Lem!” said Lorna.

“Well, I want to know. What is it?” Lem insisted. “It’s about you ,” he said, looking up at Freeman. “ She said it. She said she expected it about you.”

Lorna reddened. Freeman Todder’s eyes narrowed for an instant; then he smiled.

“I expect it is something devilish, then, son,” he said, “but it’s probably not half as bad as the truth. You’ll learn that, if you associate with this wicked man long. I’m a ‘horrid example.’ That right, Gay? They’ll take you by the hand, Lem, and point at me and say, ‘See that man? Beware! Do not be like him. He is a lost soul. He uses cigarettes and blows the smoke through his nose.’”