Part 40 (1/2)

”And would you have come to me if I had said 'I want you '?”

”If you had said it as you say it now, I--listen! Good gracious! There are the children!”

She sprang to her feet, blus.h.i.+ng furiously. The door opened and three small children were fairly blown into the room,--three swarthy, black-eyed urchins who stared in some doubt at the ”boss” and the adored ”teacher.”

”Good morning, children,” she cried out jerkily, and then glanced at each of the windows in quick succession. ”You don't suppose,--” she began under her breath, turning to Percival with a distressed look in her eyes.

”I wouldn't put it above 'em,” said he, cheerfully.

”We should have thought of the windows.”

”Thank G.o.d, we didn't,” he cried.

He went out into the storm with the song of the lark in his heart.

”G.o.d, what a beautiful place the world is!” he was saying to himself, and all the while the sleet was stinging his radiant face with the relentlessness of angry bees.

CHAPTER XIII.

As he swung jauntily down the road in the direction of his ”office,”

all the world might have seen that it was a beautiful place for him. He pa.s.sed children hurrying to school, and shouted envious ”hurry-ups” to them. Men and women, going about the morning's business, felt better for the cheery greetings he gave them. Even Manuel Crust, pus.h.i.+ng a crude barrow laden with fire-wood, paused to look after the strutting figure, resuming his progress with an annoyed scowl on his brow, for he had been guilty of a pleasant response to Percival's genial ”good-morning.”

Manuel went his way wondering what the devil had got into both of them.

Olga Obosky was peering from a window as he pa.s.sed her hut. He waved his hand at her,--and then shook his head. He had pa.s.sed her three dancing-girls some distance down the road, romping like children in the snow.

Buck Chizler was waiting for him outside the ”office.” The little jockey had something on his mind,--something that caused him to grin sheepishly and at the same time look furtively over his shoulder.

”Can I see you for a coupla minutes, A. A.?” he inquired, following the other to the door.

”Certainly, Buck,--as many minutes as you like.”

Buck discovered Randolph Fitts and Michael Malone seated before the fire. He drew back.

”I'd like to see you outside,” he said nervously.

”Well, what is it?” asked Percival, stepping outside and closing the door.

Buck led him around the corner of the hut.

”It ain't so windy here,” he explained. ”Awful weather, ain't it?”

”What's troubling you, Buck? Put on your cap, you idiot. You'll take cold.”

”Plumb nervousness,” said Buck. ”Same as if I was pulling up to the start with fifty thousand on the nag. I want to ask your advice, A. A.

Just a little private matter. Oh, nothing serious. Nothing like that, you know. I just thought maybe you'd--Gosh, I never saw it snow like this up home, did you? Funny, too, when you think how tropical we ought to be. There was a bad blizzard a coupla years ago in Buenos Aires, but--”

”Come to the point, Buck. What's up?”

Buck lowered his voice. ”Well, you see it's this way. I'm thinking of getting married. Tomorrow, if possible. Don't laugh! I don't see anything to laugh at in--”