Page:The Popular Magazine v72 n1 (1924-04-20).djvu/24

 anything on earth! Why should I or any of mine ask? He knows it belongs to us, and if he had any decency wouldn't have to be asked. I'd as soon think of asking the devil for holy water.” She stopped for a moment, then turned back across the sea wall and added, “And that's not all of it, either. I—I did ask him one time, and he refused. Brutally refused! Worst of all, he ridiculed me, because after I had left his house and was walking past his library window I heard him laughing as if he would burst.”

“But—but what did he say when you asked him for—whatever it is—this casket you want?”

Her indignation was extreme, absurdly so he thought, when she replied:

“He told me that if I was a year younger he would put me over his knee and spank me! That shows what a brute he is! I tried to get my brother Bill to go and shoot him; but—pshaw!—Bill is nearly as bad. He laughed, too, until I scratched his face!”

“And since then you, and your brother”

“Since then I've never told him any of my plans. If I'm the only one left to maintain the family honor I'll do it! I swear I will!”

He was inclined to laugh at her agitation, but was too patient and wise to thus imperil her further confidences, and so, after looking around and peering through the starlit gloom suggested, “Come. There's a seat over there, I think. Suppose we go and sit where you can be comfortable while you tell me as much as you wish of this quest of yours. For I suppose you call it a quest, don't you?”

“Yes, it's nothing less than that,” she asserted; but willingly walked with him until they reached and sat on a-fine old bench whose arms comfortably and shieldingly portrayed the Winged Lions of St. Mark's.

“I've been considering this taking you into my confidence for several days now,” she admitted. “So I may as well tell you all about it. First—I'm afraid you'll think I'm an awful little liar—my name isn't Cardell at all. That is merely one I took to keep that old villain, Lemuel Harnway, from knowing that I was registered at a hotel in Venice. My real name is Powell. And my first name isn't Tommie, either. That's just a nickname. My real name is Tania, which is an old family name in my tribe. What is it? Did you hear some one?”

Even in the darkness she had observed the sudden start and restless movement that, in his surprise, he had been unable to check.

“I must have been mistaken,” he said, recovering himself and peering around as if to assure himself that he had been needlessly alarmed.

“Of course you will understand, when I explain, why I had to take a false name. Then there was another reason for it. My brother Bill is one of those good-natured things, 'Laughing Billy' they used to call him at William and Mary when he was on the football team, because no matter how rough the game got he always laughed. He's like a—like a—big, good-natured St. Bernard dog, except that when he gets really in earnest and puts his foot down about something he's right emphatic. He kept his foot on me after that time I told old man Harnway what I thought of him, and until I came of age and could do what I pleased with my own money. I gritted my teeth and waited, after I saw that there was no use in depending on Bill to uphold the family traditions. Then I told him I was going to carry on myself without any help of his and—we had a bit of a scene, Bill and I did!—he told me that if he ever heard of my doing anything foolish in this matter he would telegraph Harnway, himself, and telegraph the police and—oh well!—do all sorts of mighty foolish things. So when I made up my mind to act I told Bill I was going to spend the summer with some friends up in the Maine woods, and came over here under another name so he couldn't do anything to stop me. I suppose he thinks I'm up around Moosehead Lake fishing, right now! But I'm not. You can see that! I'm over here to square accounts with this man Harnway, who laughed at me and who has got what belongs to my family—not his, or him!”

She was so vehement that she was slapping her white hand on the winged lion's head to emphasize her words; but the lion, being of marble, did not show signs of resentment and seemed a benevolent lion, indeed, that enjoyed a caress.

Ware was smiling in the darkness and watching her, absorbed and quite as benevolent as the lion. Furthermore, he felt that he would no more have resented it had she