Nothing But the Truth. Isham Frederic Stewart
Dad did lift his eyebrows just a little when Bob brought down his big grip.
“Week-end?” he hazarded.
“Whole week,” replied Bob in a melancholy tone.
“Whither?”
“Tonkton.”
Dad beamed. “Mrs. Ralston?”
“Yes.”
“Aunt of Miss Gwendoline Gerald, I believe?” With a quick penetrating glance at Bob.
“Yes.”
“Sensible boy,” observed dad, still studying him.
“Oh, I’m not going for the reason you think,” said Bob quite savagely. He was most unlike himself.
“Of course not.” Dad was conciliatory.
“I’m not. Think what you like.”
“Too much work to think,” yawned dad.
“But you are thinking.” Resentfully.
“Have it your own way.”
Bob squared his shoulders. “You want to know really why I’m going to Tonkton?”
“Have I ever tried to force your confidences, my son?”
“I’m going because I’ve got to. I can’t help myself.”
“Of course,” said dad. “Ta! ta! Enjoy yourself. See you in three weeks.”
“Three – !” But Bob didn’t finish. What was the use? Dad thought he was going to Tonkton because Miss Gerald might be there.
As a matter of fact Bob’s one great wish now was that she wouldn’t be there. He wanted, and yet didn’t want, to see her. What had he to hope now? Why, he didn’t have a son, or not enough of them to count. He was to all practical intents and purposes a pauper. Dad’s “going broke” had changed his whole life. He had been reared in the lap of luxury, a pampered son. He had never dreamed of being otherwise. And considering himself a favored child of fortune, he had even dared entertain the delirious hope of winning her – her, the goddess of his dreams.
But hope now was gone. Regrets were useless. He could no longer conceive himself in the role of suitor. Why, there were few girls in the whole land so overburdened with “rocks” – as Dickie called them! If only she didn’t have those rocks – or stocks! “Impecunious Gwendoline!” How well that would go with “Impecunious Bob!” If only her trustees would hit the toboggan, the way dad did! But trustees don’t go tobogganing. They eschew the smooth and slippery. They speculate in government bonds and things that fluctuate about a point or so a century. No chance for quick action there! On the contrary, the trustees were probably making those millions grow. Bob heaved a sigh. Then he took something white from his pocket and gazed at two words, ardently yet dubiously.
That “Will you?” of hers on Mrs. Ralston’s card exhilarated and at the same time depressed him. It implied she, herself, did expect to be at her aunt’s country place. He attached no other especial importance to the “Will you?” An imperious young person in her exalted position could command as she pleased. She could say “Will you?” or “You will” to dozens of more or less callow youths, or young grown-ups, with impunity, and none of said dozens would attach any undue flattering meaning to her words. Miss Gerald found safety in numbers. She was as yet heart-free.
“Can you – aw! – tell me how far it is to Tonkton?” a voice behind here interrupted his ruminations.
Bob hastily returned the card to his pocket, and glancing back, saw a monocle. “Matter of ten miles or so,” he responded curtly. He didn’t like monocles.
“Aw!” said the man.
Bob picked up his newspaper that he had laid down, and frowningly began to glance over the head-lines. The man behind him glanced over them, too.
“Another society robbery, I see,” the latter remarked. “No function complete without them nowadays, I understand. Wonderful country, America! Guests here always expect – aw! – to be robbed, I’ve been told.”
“Have the paper,” said Bob with cutting accents.
“Thanks awfully.” The man with the monocle took the paper as a matter of course, seeming totally unaware of the sarcasm in Bob’s tone. At first, Bob felt like kicking himself; the rustle of the paper in those alien hands caused him to shuffle his feet with mild irritation. Then he forgot all about the paper and the monocle man. His thoughts began once more to go over and over the same old ground, until —
“T’nk’n!” The stentorian abbreviation of the conductor made Bob get up with a start. Grabbing his grip – hardly any weight at all for his muscular arm – in one hand, and his implements of the game in the other, he swung down the aisle and on to the platform. A good many people got off, for a small town nestled beneath the high rolling lands of the country estates of the affluent. There were vehicles of all kinds at the station, among them a number of cars, and in one of the latter Bob recognized Mrs. Ralston’s chauffeur.
A moment he hesitated. He supposed he ought to step forward and get in, for that was what he naturally would do. But he wanted to think; he didn’t want to get to the house in a hurry. Still he had to do what he naturally would do and he started to do it when some other people Bob didn’t know – prospective guests, presumably, among them the man with the monocle – got into the car and fairly filled it. That let Bob out nicely and naturally. It gave him another breathing spell. He had got so he was looking forward to these little breathing spells.
“Hack, sir?” said a voice.
“Not for me,” replied Bob. “But you can tote this up the hill,” indicating the grip. “Ralston house.”
“Dollar and a half, sir,” said the man. “Same price if you go along, too.”
“What?” It just occurred to Bob he hadn’t many dollars left, and of course, tips would be expected up there, at the big house. It behooved him, therefore, to be frugal. But to argue about a dollar and a half! – he, a guest at the several million dollar house! On the other hand, that dollar looked large to Bob at this moment. Imagine if he had to earn a dollar and a half! He couldn’t at the moment tell how he would do it.
“Hold on.” Bob took the grip away from the man. “Why, it’s outrageous, such a tariff! Same price, with or without me, indeed! I tell you – ” Suddenly he stopped. He had an awful realization that he was acting a part. That forced indignation of his was not the truth; that aloof kind of an attitude wasn’t the truth, either.
“To tell you the truth,” said Bob, “I can’t afford it.”
“Can’t afford. Ha! ha!” That was a joke. One of Mrs. Ralston’s guests, not afford – !
“No,” said Bob. “I’ve only got about fifteen dollars and a half to my name. I guess you’re worth more than that yourself, aren’t you?” With sudden respect in his tone.
“I guess I am,” said the man, grinning.
“Then, logically, I should be carrying your valise,” retorted Bob.
“Ha! ha! That’s good.” The fellow had been transporting the overflow of Mrs. Ralston’s guests for years, but he had never met quite such an eccentric one as this. He chuckled now as if it were the best joke. “I’ll tell you what – I’ll take it for nothing, and leave it to you what you give me!” Maybe, for a joke, he’d get a fifty – dollars, not cents. These young millionaire men did perpetrate little funnyisms like that. Why, one of them had once “beat him down” a quarter on his fare and then given him ten dollars for a tip. “Ha! ha!” repeated the fellow, surveying Bob’s elegant and faultless attire, “I’ll do it for nothing, and you – ”
Bob walked away carrying his grip. Here he was telling the truth and he wasn’t believed. The man took him for one of those irresponsible merry fellows. That was odd. Was it auspicious? Should he derive encouragement therefrom? Maybe the others would only say “Ha! ha!” when he told the truth.