Patricia (12 page)

Tears on her face when she was daring to come to God intimately for the first time! Was that right? But yet, if He was to comfort her and help, if He was the loving, caring God that John had seemed to suggest, might she not hid her face on God's breast and let her tears tell Him just how sorrowful and perplexed she was? Her earthly father was always touched by the sight of her tears. Perhaps the heavenly Father would care, too, and do something about it.

So with her head down on her clasped hands she prayed:

Oh, dear heavenly Father, won't You please straighten out this trouble about Thorny? Won't You please fix it somehow about that nice pretty basket so Mother won't be so angry with me? Won't You please make me Your real child, and help me to live so I please You, and if possible my mother, too.

She remembered her lilies and stole into her bathroom to set the glass in the open window. Taking one long cool stem of the flowers back to bed with her, she lay with it against her cheek, the sweet perfume soothing her to sleep.

About that time over in another street, a noisy couple of groups were wending their way home from the roadhouse where they had been dancing. They had had something much stronger to drink than water, and at least Thorny was exceeding boisterous with it all for he had not stopped with a few glasses, and he had reached the affectionate stage. The quiet shy girl who was his excited and half-frightened companion was in a stage between giggling and screaming.

“Oh, stop it, Thorny! I say, stop it!”

And then in real protest.

“Don't you do that again!
Stop
it!”

It wasn't so far away that Patricia wouldn't have heard the echo of the screams if she had been awake, but she was sweetly sleeping and did not know.

John Worth was coming swiftly down the street behind them when he heard the scream. He had been on an errand into the city after planting the lilies and had had to wait for quite a lengthy answer to a letter his father had written to an old friend about the possibility of a part-time job for John next winter in case he should be able to enter college. He had had to come out on the late train and was hurrying because he knew his mother would be awake until he came in.

And then he heard those three sharp screams!

That was Della Bright. Could she be out with Thorny Bellingham! How did she get to know Thorny? She was frightened! That was plain.

He dashed ahead and saw them, struggling there on the sidewalk, Thorny giving a maudlin laugh now and then, two or three others in a group a little farther ahead, laughing inanely.

Yes, that was Thorny, and his mind reverted to the few words he had inadvertently heard from Patricia's door while he was patting the earth around the lilies. Yes, that was unmistakably Thorny! The hound. The cur! The
swine
! He could not think of words enough to call him. And poor, backward, stupid Della Bright was getting the worst of it. Thorny had her in his arms now against the fence, and Della was screaming and writhing away from him. Was this what Thorny had dared to do to Patricia, that she had told her mother was so dreadful?

He had wanted to give Thorny what he deserved ever since he was a youngster and had seen him tripping the little boys and girls from kindergarten, making them cry. He had wanted it more as the years went by and he saw the hateful, contemptible acts that Thorny perpetrated on others, always those weaker, less able to cope with him; and especially had he wanted it since that day when he and Patricia had enjoyed that brief skating time together and he knew that Thorny's torments had been dealt out to her as well. And now it looked as if here was his opportunity! Patricia's words to her mother about Thorny had sunk into his heart and stirred his deepest sense of outrage. So now he darted in and went to the rescue.

As he ran his mind reasoned it all out; he was doing this to help poor, dumb Della Bright, of course, but he was really doing it for Patricia's sake; and at last he was going to give Thorny that walloping that he had so long been promising him in his heart!

With well-calculated poise he took Thorny off his guard, just as Della, twisting away from him, fell heavily to the sidewalk, screaming as she fell. Thorny lost his balance and fell with her, taking care to pin her beneath him where she could not get away.

But instantly John Worth was above him. He plucked him by a strong arm, clutching Thorny's collar and swinging him away from the girl.

“Get up, Della!” he ordered in a low tone. “Get up and run!
Scram!
”

And then as Thorny rolled over and attempted to rise with an angry roar, he pounced down upon him and pinned him with a strong young knee, administering the punishment that Thorny had had coming to him for many a day and many a deed.

When John Worth was through with him, there was no spirit left in Thorny. He lolled against a picket fence in front of a vacant lot and surveyed his suddenly blighted world with a more sober mind than he had had for several hours. He looked at his adversary impersonally, unable to find any of his usually voluble taunts to address him with.

It was fortunate that the location of this brisk skirmish was at the outer edge of town, where the residences were few and far between, or else Della's horrible screams would surely have brought the neighbors to the spot and John might have had to explain several things when it was discovered that handsome Thorny Bellingham was the young man who was being thoroughly chastised.

John Worth, when he was through with his victim, brushed the dust from his best suit and reflected on this. However, there hadn't been time to think about such risks when his duty plainly sent him to the rescue of Della.

Della had evidently “scrammed” in a hurry. And even the huddled group off to the side had disappeared into the shadows. Only furtive shuffling footsteps in the distance gave a hint of where they were.

John Worth stood away from his victim a few steps and watched him. He knew that he had not done him any serious damage, but he wanted to be sure that Thorny was sober enough to take care of himself before he left him. Then Thorny spoke.

“I say, you, you, wha's the matter 'ith you? Who gave you the right ta touch me? Don'tcha know who I am? Don'tcha know who my father is? I c'n have you jailed fer this!”

“It doesn't matter who you are or who your father is,” said John Worth firmly. “If I ever hear of you treating a girl like that again around this town, I'll see that everybody knows
what
you are! And I don't mean maybe, either!” And John Worth turned and walked down the country road toward his home. He wasn't sure whether Thorny knew who he was or not. It didn't matter. He had done what he thought was right. But he did not whistle as he strode down the road in the darkness. He was thinking about Patricia, the girl with the lovely eyes who had spent a little while at his home that afternoon. Thinking of how he had carried her to safety from the storm, as if she had been a young babe. Did a sweet little girl like that have to grow up among such friends as the low-minded cur he had just walloped? Just because he was the son of a rich man, must she be friendly with him and have his vile mouth kiss her sweet lips, even against her will? His heart was heavy with the thought.

As he drew near to the fence he must climb to cross the meadow, he paused a moment with his hands on the top rail, and his head lifted, looking up to the starlit sky, his face very earnest.

“Oh, God!” he uttered in a low tone. “You'll take care of her, won't You? I did this tonight for her sake—and any others he might harm—but it's all I'd be allowed to do, of course. You'll take care of her, I know. She's Yours. I'm leaving her in Your hands. I know You want her kept safe!”

Then after a minute he drew a deep breath and sprang over the fence. Presently across the meadow his cheery whistle rang out to reassure his mother, who would be sure to be listening. Clearly, as if he were speaking the words, the stately melody pierced the night:

Our God, our help in ages past,

Our hope for years to come,

Our shelter from the stormy blast,

And our eternal home!

Under the shadow of Thy throne

Thy saints have dwelt secure;

Sufficient is Thine arm alone,

And our defense is sure.

His heart was singing the words to himself in a young glad trust as he wended his way to his home and thought of the sleeping Patricia for the sake of whom he had just been administering justice.

Thorny Bellingham, draping himself inertly over the picket fence, coming more and more to himself and to the fact that everybody had left him alone and that his assailant wasn't even there to be argued with, contented himself at last with remarking to the countryside that he must be a coward, whoever he was. “Coward!” And he called it out thickly several times without effect.

But he was himself enough now to realize that he had several bruises on his head and face and that when he tried to talk his lips were very stiff and sore. He put up a flabby shaking hand and found that his lip was cut and was swelling fast; a tentative finger presently discovered that one eye was swollen almost shut.

Now, what was he going to do? He had had black eyes before, and experience taught him that they always had to be accounted for. A pensive survey of the situation showed him that it would be most unwise at this juncture to have to account for this one. In the first place, he didn't know just how many people had witnessed his late humiliation, nor who had administered it. If he were only sure of those two things he might be able to manufacture a story that would get by with his father, whom he thought of tenderly under the term “the old man.” But under the circumstances, perhaps it would be best for him to disappear until that eye was well and those bruises healed. There wasn't one of those “fool kids” that he had played around with today who could be depended upon to keep their mouths shut. In fact, he wasn't at all sure that the crowd that came home with him were the ones with whom he had gone to the picnic. Better not try to find out anything. Even Della Bright, whom he vaguely remembered as a girl who had gone to the dance hall with him, was too stupid to trust. She might blurt out something that would be awkward. And his father had distinctly said that if he got into any more scrapes before commencement he would see that he got what was coming to him in a good hard job of work, before he ever got to loaf through another school year. And the worst of it was that when the old man really put down his foot he meant it.

Thorny consulted his watch by aid of a cigarette lighter and found that it had stopped. Whether because time was up or because it had taken the walloping to heart more than Thorny had was a question.

But if he only knew what time it was, he could work on his problem to better effect. He dimly remembered that his mother and father had gone to town to attend a banquet connected with some political organization. That meant that they would return very late and expect to find him fast asleep in bed. If he only knew what time it was!

Just then the town clock in the old church steeple decided to help him out. It began to chime out a great many strokes. He lost count of them but decided it must be somewhere around eleven. And that being the case, there was time to work out something. The best thing would be to write a note saying he had gone back to school Of course, that would be a little hard to explain since he had made a great disturbance getting his mother to ask for his absence over Sunday, but he could surely think up something to explain it. A telegram! That was the thing. They had called him back to school for some important reason. Sure, that was it!

He wouldn't necessarily
go
back to school, of course. He wouldn't want to appear there with a black eye and a swollen lip and jaw, but he could make his mother think he had gone. His years of experience in putting things over on his mother would stand him in good stead now. Only how was he going to get money to finance this expedition? After paying for all those girls' dinners and the drinks, he probably hadn't a cent left to his name, and this bluff would take dough. If Aunt Mamie were only home he could stay with her a few days. He could always put over a tale on Aunt Mamie. But she was abroad. And there wasn't anybody else he dared bully into keeping quiet about his bruises. He would have to go to a hotel somewhere.

He pawed around in his pockets futilely and wavered around tentatively to try his walking abilities. He found not a cent in his pocket and every joint pretty sore. That bird sure had done him up slick. Well, he'd better be getting on to the house and see if he could rustle up some money. His mother had a secret drawer in her desk, the secret of which was an open book to him. If she hadn't taken it all out, he might be able to find some.

So he went home unsteadily.

Thorny was not accustomed to as much drink as he had had that night. His experience thus far had been an occasional drink to seem grown-up and large. His head was spinning around unpleasantly, and it was difficult for him to manage a little thing like fitting a key into a lock. But he managed to get into the house at last without rousing the maid, tiptoed softly upstairs, and went cautiously into his mother's room. He hunted through her desk until he found the secret drawer. He opened it and found a little over fifty dollars. This he pocketed with satisfaction, went into his own room and slung his clothes into his bag without ceremony, then sat down at his desk and scrawled a note to his mother.

Dear Mums:

Just got a wire from school. They want me back in the morning. Something important about a class meeting. Am leaving on midnight train. I got some money—you know where! Will write from school.

So long, Thorny

Then, still stealthily, he made his way to the midnight bus to the city and caught a train to a city not far from his school, reflecting that it would be easy to phone his roommate in case his bruises didn't clear up by tomorrow.

The next morning Mrs. Bellingham found Thorny's note pinned to her pincushion, and when Mrs. Prentiss called her up after breakfast and asked to speak with Thorny, she answered quite sweetly, “Oh, I'm so sorry, dear, but Thorny isn't here. They telegraphed him last night to return to school for some important class meeting and he had to leave on the midnight train. He was so sorry not to be able to say good-bye to dear Patricia, and he asked me to make his excuses and to say that he would be looking forward to the summer vacation and he hoped that there would be many more opportunities to have such good times as they had yesterday. He wanted me to thank you, too, dear, for giving him the opportunity to go with Patricia yesterday. My poor homesick laddie!”

“Why of course, Arabella; it was Patricia's pleasure I was thinking of. But it's nice that Thorny enjoys being with her. I'm sure she was the one to thank him. I know it made the picnic a great thing to remember beside what it would have been if Thorny hadn't come. So sweet to see young things enjoy each other, isn't it, Arabella? But I didn't know Thorny was gone. Patricia didn't tell me.”