Part 9 (1/2)
”I don't know, I'm sure,” replied Alice.
”Ah, well, I'll wait and find out. I'll sit down here by you and wait,”
went on the young man, drawing a chair so close to that of Alice that it touched. ”Fine day, isn't it? I say! you did that bit of acting very cleverly to-day.”
”Did I?” and Alice went on reading.
”Yes. I had a little bit myself. I carried a message from the field headquarters to the rear--after more ammunition, you know. Did you notice me riding?”
”I did not.”
”Well, I saw you, all right. If Miss Brown isn't home, do you want to go over to the village with me?”
”I do not!” and Alice was very emphatic.
”Then for a row on the lake?”
”No!”
”You look as though you would enjoy canoeing,” went on the persistent Whitlow. ”You have a very strong little hand--very pretty!” and he boldly reached up and removed Alice's fingers from the edge of the magazine. ”A very pretty little hand--yes!” and he sighed foolishly.
”How dare you!” cried Alice, indignantly. ”If you don't----”
”See how you like that pretty bit of gra.s.s down there!” exclaimed a sharp voice behind Alice, and the next moment Mr. Maurice Whitlow, eye-gla.s.ses, lavender tie, socks and all, went sailing over the porch railing, to land in a sprawling heap on the sod below.
CHAPTER VII
ESTELLE'S LEAP
”Oh!” murmured Alice, shrinking down in her chair. ”Oh--my!”
She gave a hasty glance over her shoulder, to behold Paul Ardite standing back of her chair, an angry look on his face. Then Alice looked at the sprawling form of the extra player. He was getting up with a dazed expression on his countenance.
”What--what does this mean?” he gasped, striving to make his tones indignant. But it is hard for dignity to a.s.sert itself when one is on one's hands and knees in the gra.s.s, conscious that there is a big gra.s.s stain on one's white cuff, and with one's clothing generally disarranged. ”What does this mean? I demand an explanation,” came from Mr. Maurice Whitlow.
”You know well enough what it means!” snapped Paul. ”If you don't, why, come back here and try it over again and I'll give you another demonstration!”
”Oh, don't, Paul--please!” pleaded Alice in a low voice.
”There's no danger. He won't come,” was the confident reply.
By this time Whitlow had picked himself up and was brus.h.i.+ng his garments. He settled his collar, straightened his lavender tie and wet his lips as though about to speak.
”You--you--I----” he began. ”I don't see what right you had to----”
”That'll do now!” interrupted Paul, sternly. ”It's of no use to go into explanations. You know as well as I do what you were doing and why I pitched you over the railing. I'll do it again if you want me to, but twice as hard. And if I catch you here again, annoying any of the ladies of this company, I'll report you to the director. Now skip--and stay skipped!” concluded Paul significantly. ”Perhaps you can't read that notice?” and he pointed to one recently posted on the main gateway leading to the big farmhouse. It was to the effect that none of the extra players were allowed admission to the grounds without a permit from the director.
”Huh! I'm as good an actor as you, any day!” sneered Whitlow, as he limped down the walk.