CRIMSON MOUNTAIN (3 page)

T
hey arrived presently in front of the high school.

“They’ll be meeting in the principal’s office, I suppose, if they are still here,” he said. “Would you like me to go in and find out?”

“Oh no. I’d better run in myself, and then if they are still there, I can save them a little time.”

“Please don’t say that.” He smiled. “My time is yours until I’ve seen you in possession of your car again. I’m really not in a hurry.”

She looked into his frank eyes and quietly accepted his planning. “That’s very good of you,” she said. “I thank you. I’ll be as quick as possible.”

“All right. I’ll wait a few minutes now, in case they have left. And if the hour is up before you come, I’ll run across to the drugstore and telephone the garage.”

She smiled and hurried up the walk into the school.

A moment later, he saw her shadow as she crossed the front window in the principal’s office and took a seat where he could see her.

He sat there in the car going over the strange events of the afternoon and trying to work them out clearly and define this odd feeling of exultation that seemed to dominate him, unlike any emotional stirring that had ever come to him before.

“Silly!” he said to himself. “She’s not in your class! Do all you can for her and then get on your way! Your paths will not cross again.”

But still he sat and went over what had happened, remembering her tones of voice, the way she had lifted her eyes to look at him, the exquisite turn of cheek and lip and chin, the very likeness of her childish self when she used to come with the chauffeur and her doll. How strange life was! Why had she crossed his path just now when he was likely going away from this part of the world entirely? He would probably never see her again in this life after today. And she was the first young woman who had ever won his thoughts away from the path he had set himself to walk.

He had thought he was immune to the wiles of girls. He had kept his own way through college, had declined the few invitations that came to him, had been too busy to step into the world. Furthermore, he had lived too close to nature and the great outdoors to admire the artificiality of most worldly girls. He had merely glanced past them and escaped from all but passing contact.

But this girl was different. Or else perhaps he hadn’t looked at the others closely enough to see any beauty in them. He had never been quite so near to any girl before, since his mother died. He thrilled at the thought of Laurel in his arms. There hadn’t been time to think much about it while it was happening, but to hold that light, helpless figure had been like holding something very precious, preserving it from danger; and the soft pressure of her head against his shoulder, the touch of her hair against his face lingered in his thoughts as a costly perfume might that had touched his garments. Just to draw his breath and feel the sweetness over again gave him a new and exquisite pleasure that he had never before dreamed there might be in the world.

Of course she was not for him. She belonged to a world into which he could not enter. A world of fashion and culture in which he was utterly unfit to live. A costly world where only the wealthy could enter with ease. Of course she might say her father’s fortune was gone, but she had been brought up under its privileges. She had never had to struggle for a bare existence and would not understand what his struggling life had been. She was not for him!

And yet he would always be glad that he had been privileged to hold her close for those moments of danger. He would never forget the thrill of his very soul as he felt that soft hair on his cheek. He considered it most reverently and marveled at the power that memory had over his spirit. Or was it just over his senses?

Oh, this was madness. He must snap out of it quickly!

He passed a quick hand across his forehead impatiently, firmly over the cheek where her soft cloud of hair seemed still to linger, shook his head as if to shake the dreams out of his mind, and looked at his watch. There was plenty of time to go over to that drugstore across the road and make three or four phone calls that would practically cover the matter of the errands he had not been able to work in that afternoon. That would leave him free to do anything for the girl that she needed, without her having to know that she was hindering him. Indeed, those errands were not important. He had only planned them because he had this time off, and he wanted to kid himself into feeling that he had some home interests. Though of course it wouldn’t matter to a soul in Carrollton whether he called them up or not. But just to get his thoughts back into sensible, everyday, normal channels, he swung himself out of the car, snapped its door shut behind him, and strode across to the drugstore, at once immersing himself in a study of the telephone book.

But he found he was only halfheartedly interested now. Instead of eagerly accepting the invitations that these former associates of his offered to come to dinner or spend the evening, he found no inclination whatsoever in his heart for any such plans.

“Thank you, but I don’t believe that will be possible this trip,” he told them all. “If I find I can get done what I am doing and can drop around for a few minutes later, I’ll call you up.”

He turned away from the telephone half disgusted with himself. What did he have in the back of his mind that he did not want to go to his former friends? If it had anything to do with the girl into whose attention he had been thrust today, he had better cut it out. Oh, of course, it was just possible that when she came out of the schoolhouse there might be some urgent errand she ought to go on for which he would have to offer his services. And it was true that he should in courtesy keep the way clear to help a lady in distress.

A glance through the window showed that Miss Sheridan had not yet come out of the schoolhouse, and his watch showed the hour was up when he was to call the garage. He turned back to the telephone.

“Hello! Is this Mark? This is Pilgrim speaking. Have you got the car back? What seems to be the trouble? Was I right?”

It wasn’t a long conversation but a rather serious one.

“You can’t do any better than that? The girl is in a hurry to get her car. You’re sure you haven’t the necessary parts? Well, could I help by running in town to get anything? Oh, Chester has gone over to Granby, you say? And if he succeeds in getting what you need, can you fix it tonight? Well, about what time tomorrow? I see. Well, I’ll tell her, and meanwhile do your best, and we’ll drop around there in a little while and see how you are making out.”

He went back to his car, a kind of pleasant elation filling him in spite of his common sense. He took his seat in the car, but his attention was toward the window where Laurel had been sitting before he went across the road to telephone. She had disappeared from it now.

While he sat watching the high school door for her appearance, his mind was busy thinking out possibilities. No, not really possibilities, just fantastic dreams.

Where would she be going for dinner? Could he by any stretch of imagination ask her to go with him? Of course not. A former filling station assistant taking a multimillionaire’s daughter to dinner! It was not even to be thought of. He drew a deep breath and threw his chin up in that gesture of challenge that was significant of his own quiet pride.

Suddenly she was coming out the door, pausing an instant on the top step, looking toward the car, then hurrying down as lithely and happily as a young student slipping out for recess. Without his knowledge, Phil’s sternness went into a welcoming smile.

And Laurel’s face was wreathed in smiles, too.

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting so long,” she said as she stepped into the car, accepting Pilgrim’s courteous help. “I hadn’t any idea it was going to take so long, or I would have told you to go on and forget about me.”

“Yes?” he said with a grin. “You’re not so easy to forget, my lady. And remember, we still have business to transact.”

“Business?” said Laurel, lifting questioning eyes to his.

“Your car,” he reminded.

“Oh yes, of course,” said the girl in chagrin. “But I should have told you not to bother any further about that. You know, really I’m not a baby, and if I’m going to teach school and earn my own living I’ve got to learn to look after my own car, and all my other affairs.”

“Yes?” Pilgrim said with a little tinge of his habitual gravity edging his grin. “But not when there’s a gentleman near to help. At least I hope I can count as a gentleman.”

She gave him a swift questioning look. Had she somehow hurt him? “Oh—why,
of course,”
she said heartily. “I don’t think I ever saw one with more courtesy. You’ve been perfectly marvelous. But I certainly am ashamed to have taken advantage of your courtesy all this time. And I mustn’t do it any longer. If you’ll just take me back to that garage, we’ll call it a day and—you can go on your way.” Her voice trembled the least little bit as she said it, and she cast a frightened look up at him, trying to smile calmly.

He read all that in his one glance at her face, and his own took on a tenderer light. “Say, now, look here! Why can’t you give up that ‘perfectly marvelous’ way of looking at this thing and just for the time being pretend that we are old friends? I’ll promise you I’ll never take advantage of you afterward on account of it.”

She gave him a quick almost indignant look. “Of course not!” she said definitely. “Even though we’re practically strangers, I would
know
that as well as if I had known you for years.”

“Thank you,” he said pleasantly. “But you forget. We’re not strangers. Not even practically. We
are
old friends, at least for the convenience of the day. Childhood friends, or if you prefer, school friends. We might compromise on that, although I do look a little old to have been a contemporary of yours in school.”

“I don’t think you do,” said Laurel quickly. “When people are grown up, no one stops to count the years between them. And it’s a woman’s business to keep young-looking of course, especially if she has to earn her living.” She gave him a merry little twinkle and pushed her hair back from her forehead.

“Oh, by the way,” said Pilgrim, “how did you make out?”

“Why, I made out very well when they finally got around to me,” she said. “They must have been somewhat peeved that I wasn’t there at the beginning of the session, or else that’s their usual way of keeping applicants on nettles until they have had opportunity to study them carefully. At any rate, after they had given me a chair, they practically ignored me until they had canvassed a number of unimportant matters, like what they were going to do with one named Jimmy, and whether they should give up a certain kind of soap for cleaning that they have bought for years, in favor of a new kind that claims to do the work more cheaply, and whether they should allow any students to help in the cafeteria or require the matron in charge to do all the work. But after due time had passed and all the questions of the universe had been settled, they put me through a rigid questionnaire and then hired me. I am to begin Monday.”

“That’s good, if that’s what you really want,” said the young man, looking at her as if he would search out her real feelings in the matter.

“Well, I do,” said the girl thoughtfully and not very cheerfully. “I’m not so strong on Carrollton, but if I don’t get started somewhere, I’ll never get anywhere. But what did the man say about my car? Have you telephoned?”

“Yes. It was generator trouble as I thought, and in consequence a blown fuse. He says he can’t possibly get it fixed for you before sometime tomorrow morning. How is that going to affect your plans? Have you a place to stay here all night, or would you like me to drive you to the city?”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly let you do that,” she said in dismay. “I’ll have to find a place to stay. Eventually I’m
staying
of course. But I’m not sure where yet. Didn’t there used to be a hotel in Carrollton?”

“Yes, but it’s not a very possible solution for you,” said Pilgrim. “It’s rather tough. It isn’t a place your father would have wanted you to stay. But there must be some tourist place. We’ll see.”

“I know,” said Laurel. “There used to be a dear lady who lived not far from our old home, in a little cottage. Perhaps she would rent me a room. At least she would take me in for the night until I can have a chance to look around for the right place for the winter. That is, if she is still living. I haven’t heard anything about her for years. She is Mrs. Browning. Did you know her?”