The Tryst. Grace Livingston Hill
by the door talking to Mrs. Horliss-Cole, and from the few words she overheard she decided it must be Mr. Horliss-Cole, and it became evident that he was going with them to the station. Miss Cole's face was in the shadow and she did not speak to Patty, save to make an inarticulate motion of acknowledgment when her sister-in-law told her that here was the new Companion.
The girl was put into the front seat with the chauffeur, Mr. Horliss-Cole got in with his sister, and they whirled through the brilliant lights of the city. Patty caught her breath with delight as they turned into Broadway, her first sight of the fairyland of lights, and the chauffeur half-turned and asked her if she spoke. So Patty sat very straight and tried not to look as if she saw anything, until they rolled smoothly into the station.
There was a little stir as a porter rushed up with a wheeled chair, and Mr. Horliss-Cole gave Patty some bags to hold while he helped his sister out. In a moment more they were down the elevator and in the drawing-room compartment of the Pullman; Mr. Horliss-Cole had kissed his sister and departed.
Then, and not till then, did Patty get a full view of the face of Miss Sylvia Cole, and Miss Sylvia looked full into Patty's face and took stock of her.
“Well,” said Miss Sylvia curtly at last, “you're quite a child, aren't you? I thought they told me you had gray hair. I knew they were lying, somehow, they always do. Pretty too! I’ll be bound! Some combination for a companion. A pretty child!”
Patty laughed a silvery little bit of a laugh that rang out like a bell.
"I'm eighteen!" she declared brightly, “and as for my looks, I can't help them. Would you like the hot water-bag on your feet? They told me you would want a hot water-bag as soon as you got in."
“They told you that, did they? Well, then I don't. If they said I did, I don't. I don't want anything that that crew put upon me, and you can put that down and remember it I just want to be let alone awhile. When I want anything I’ll tell you. Now, sit down there where I can look at you.”
Patty sat down laughing and faced the old lady, and thus their journey together was begun.
CHAPTER V
An old man with eyes like a hawk and an arrogant beak sat shriveled into an invalid's chair in the sunniest window of the best suite in the hotel, querulously watching the driveway that wound up among the trees, glimpsable here and there at open points, until it curved in with a wide sweep at the elaborate gateway and rolled up under the porte cochere.
“You're sure the telegram said he would come on that train, Hespur? You haven't made a mistake about it? Where's that telegram? You've thrown it away, I suppose. You ought never to throw away a thing like that until the time for it is over. I've told you that a thousand times ——”
"Telegram right here, sir." He laid the yellow paper in the trembling hand of the invalid. “It says he'll be on the afternoon train."
"Well, isn't there more than one train in the afternoon?” queried the old man excitedly, his voice rising portentously. “What right did you have to jump to that conclusion? I've told you more than once ——"
“It’s the only train from the North, Mr. Treeves."
"Well, what right had you to think he was coming from the North, you rascal? You're always so cocksure of yourself!"
"You said he came over on a transport, sir!” The telegram was sent from New York——!"
“Well, there, there, there! Don't say any more about it. He hasn't come, has he? You were wrong, weren't you? The hack has come up from the station, hasn't it, and he hasn't come? And you knew the doctor said I mustn't be excited!”
“He might've walked, sir; they sometimes do, you know."
“What nonsense! Walked! The nephew of Calvin Treeves walk up from the station when he could just as well ride? He knew he could ride! I tell you, you are a fool!” The old man’s face was purple with rage.
“There's some one turned in at the drive just now, sir. He's carrying a suitcase, sir.”
“What bosh! As if my nephew would carry a suitcase! Walk and carry a suitcase up to this hotel with all those hens and cats down there on the veranda knitting and clacking their tongues. He would have more respect for me than to do a thing like that. If he didn't, I'm sorry I sent for him! I’ll teach him to disgrace —— !”
The trembling old claw-like hands gripped the arms of the chair, and the selfish old voice trembled dangerously. There were sparks of fire from the dim, disappointed old eyes, and the, puffy veins on the withered face swelled purple and congested.
“Just keep calm a minute, sir, there's some one at the door. You know the doctor said you mustn't get excited, Mr. Treeves –!"
“Keep calm! Keep calm!" muttered the angry old man, trying to lift himself to his feet, and then dropping back helplessly with a groan.
The man returned with a card.
“He has come, Mr. Treeves.”
“How could he? That fellow walking wasn't my nephew. He would have been in uniform. That man wore civilian clothes. He ought to have been in officer's uniform. It was outrageous ——! An insult to the name! My nephew a private! But he won enough honors to make a good showing even in private's uniform, and give those cats something to talk about at last!"
His eyes glittered with a gleam of triumph.
“Well, tell him to come up. Better late than never, I suppose——"
The old man settled back against his pillows and closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath, as if gathering strength for the interview. Then he sat up with a tense alertness and a feverish quiver of his lips that betokened his deep feeling, and looked toward the door as a tall, well-built young man, dressed in a business suit of brown, entered and looked about him.
The young man had crisp brown curly hair cut close, and pleasant brown eyes, but there was a look of aloofness about him as if he were holding any friendliness he might have in abeyance for the present. Even the attendant felt it, and if the truth were known perhaps honored him the more for it. It was a trait of the Treeveses, this independence, this being able to stand alone and demand respect. A look of admiration dawned in old Hespur’s face as he stood watching the young man advance into the room.
John Treeves walked over toward the withered little figure of a man in the chair and stood, as a soldier might stand, at attention, although there was that in his attitude that said he reserved the right to his own thoughts and would give inward respect only to whom respect was due.
“You have sent for me, Mr. Treeves?”
“Why don't you call me Uncle?” whimpered the old man irascibly.
“I understood that you did not wish to own me as a nephew. You disowned my father as a brother, for marrying my mother, and you refused to acknowledge me as your nephew some years ago. Why should I presume to call you Uncle?”
“I sent for you, isn't that enough? No need to have a nasty temper about it,” replied the old man testily.
“You have sent for me. Uncle Calvin."
The old man's face softened just a shade.
“There that sounds better," he gloated like one who has conquered as usual. “Now sit down and let me see what you're made of."
A swift flicker of anger went over the young man's face and left it hard and cold:
“Thank you. I prefer to stand until I know why you sent for me.”
The old man straightened up and looked at his nephew, half in admiration, half in fury:
“You prefer to stand, you young rascal!” he fairly snorted. “You do, do