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Read Ebook: Rose of the World by Castle Agnes Castle Egerton
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Ebook has 1780 lines and 76964 words, and 36 pages
"Here, here!" says the Willie that I'd spotted for Corson. "Oh, it's you is it, professor?"
"Yes, it's me," says I, still holdin' the pair at arms' length. "What's the row?"
"Aw--er--yes," says he. "She insists on fawcing her way in to see Mr. Dawes."
"Well," says I, "she ain't got no bag of dynamite, or anything like that, has she?"
"I just wanted a word with Fletcher," says she, buttin' in--"just a word or two."
"Why-- Well, we have known each other for forty years," says she.
"That ought to pass you in," says I,
"But she refuses to give her name," says Corson.
"I am Mrs. Maria Dawes," says she, holdin' her chin up and lookin' him straight between the eyes.
"You're not on the list," says Corson.
Then Corson weakens, and the old lady throws me a look that was as good as a vote of thanks. And say, when she'd straightened her lid and pulled herself together, she was as ladylike an old party as you'd want to meet. There wa'n't much style about her, but she was dressed expensive enough--furs, and silks, and sparks in her ears. Looked like one of the sort that had been up against a long run of hard luck and had come through without gettin' sour.
While we was arguin', in drifts Mr. Dawes himself. I gets a glimpse of his face when he first spots the old girl, and if ever I see a mouth shut like a safe door, and a jaw stiffen as if it had turned to concrete, his did.
"What does this mean, Maria?" he says between his teeth.
"I couldn't help it, Fletcher," says she. "I wanted to see you about little Bertie."
"Huh!" grunts Fletcher. "Well, step in this way. McCabe, you can come along too."
I wa'n't stuck on the way it was said, and didn't hanker for mixin' up with any such reunions; but it didn't look like Maria had any too many friends handy, so I trots along. When we're shut in, with the draperies pulled, Mr. Dawes plants his feet solid, shoves his hands down into his pockets, and looks Maria over careful.
"Then you have lost the address of my attorneys?" says he, real frosty.
That don't chill Maria at all. She acted like she was used to it. "No," says she; "but I'm tired of talking to lawyers. I couldn't tell them about Bertie, and how lonesome I've been without him these last two years. Can't I have him, Fletcher?"
About then I begins to get a glimmer of what it was all about, and by the time she'd gone on for four or five minutes I had the whole story. Maria was the ex-Mrs. Fletcher Dawes. Little Bertie was a grandson; and grandma wanted Bertie to come and live with her in the big Long Island place that Fletcher had handed her when he swapped her off for one of the sextet, and settled up after the decree was granted.
Hearin' that brought the whole thing back, for the papers printed pages about the Daweses; rakin' up everything, from the time Fletcher run a grocery store and lodgin' house out to Butte, and Maria helped him sell flour and canned goods, besides makin' beds, and jugglin' pans, and takin' in washin' on the side; to the day Fletcher euchred a prospector out of the mine that gave him his start.
"You were satisfied with the terms of the settlement, when it was made," says Mr. Dawes.
"I know," says she; "but I didn't think how badly I should miss Bertie. That is an awful big house over there, and I am getting to be an old woman now, Fletcher."
"Yes, you are," says he, his mouth corners liftin' a little. "But Bertie's in school, where he ought to be and where he is going to stay. Anything more?"
I looks at Maria. Her upper lip was wabblin' some, but that's all. "No, Fletcher," says she. "I shall go now."
She was just about startin', when there's music on the other side of the draperies. It sounds like Corson was havin' his troubles with another female. Only this one had a voice like a brass cornet, and she was usin' it too.
"Why can't I go in there?" says she. "I'd like to know why! Eh, what's that? A woman in there?"
And in she comes. She was a pippin, all right. As she yanks back the curtain and rushes in she looks about as friendly as a spotted leopard that's been stirred up with an elephant hook; but when she sizes up the comp'ny that's present she cools off and lets go a laugh that gives us an iv'ry display worth seein'.
"Oh!" says she. "Fletchy, who's the old one?"
Say, I expect Dawes has run into some mighty worryin' scenes before now, havin' been indicted once or twice and so on, but I'll bet he never bucked up against the equal of this before. He opens his mouth a couple of times, but there don't seem to be any language on tap. The missus was ready, though.
"Maria Dawes is my name, my dear," says she.
"Maria!" says the other one, lookin' some staggered. "Why--why, then you--you're Number One!"
Maria nods her head.
Then Fletcher gets his tongue out of tangle. "Maria," says he, "this is my wife, Maizie."
"Maria!" says Mr. Dawes, his face the colour of a boiled beet, "that's enough of this foolishness! Here, Corson! Show this lady out!"
"Yes, I was just going, Fletcher," says she.
"Good-bye, Maria!" sings out Maizie, and then lets out another of her soprano ha-ha's, holdin' her sides like she was tickled to death. Maybe it was funny to her; it wa'n't to Fletcher.
"Come, McCabe," says he; "we'll get to work."
Say, I can hold in about so long, and then I've got to blow off or else bust a cylinder head. I'd had about enough of this "Come, McCabe" business, too. "Say, Fletchy," says I, "don't be in any grand rush. I ain't so anxious to take you on as you seem to think."
"What's that?" he spits out.
"You keep your ears open long enough and you'll hear it all," says I; for I was gettin' hotter an' hotter under the necktie. "I just want to say that I've worked up a grouch against this job durin' the last few minutes. I guess I'll chuck it up."
That seemed to go in deep. Mr. Dawes, he brings his eyes together until nothin' but the wrinkle keeps 'em apart, and he gets the hectic flush on his cheek bones. "I don't understand," says he.
"But," says he, "you must have some reason."
"Sure," says I; "two of 'em. One's just gone out. That's the other," and I jerks my thumb at Maizie.
She'd been rollin' her eyes from me to Dawes, and from Dawes back to me. "What does this fellow mean by that?" says Maizie. "Fletcher, why don't you have him thrown out?"
"Yes, Fletcher," says I, "why don't you? I'd love to be thrown out just now!"
Someway, Fletcher wasn't anxious, although he had lots of bouncers standin' idle within call. He just stands there and looks at his toes, while Maizie tongue lashes first me and then him. When she gets through I picks up my hat.
"D'jer annex another five or six hundred up to the Brasstonia this afternoon?" asks Swifty, when I gets back.
ROUNDING UP MAGGIE
Say, who was tellin' you? Ah, g'wan! Them sea shore press agents is full of fried eels. Disguises; nothin'! Them folks I has with me was the real things. The Rev. Doc. Akehead? Not much. That was my little old Bishop. And it wa'n't any slummin' party at all. It was just a little errand of mercy that got switched.
It was this way: The Bishop, he shows up at the Studio for his reg'lar medicine ball work, that I'm givin' him so's he can keep his equator from gettin' the best of his latitude. That's all on the quiet, though. It's somethin' I ain't puttin' on the bulletin board, or includin' in my list of references, understand?
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