|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 16
"Gee, what funny big words you use, Jack! But I know what you
mean; he's too free-handed. Well, he'll be savin' as a trade rat
until we get our home paid for. And I'll manage the checker
business when we're married. No more poker and keno for Bud.
Thank you, Jack. I always knew you was square."
Polly's sincere praise of his "squareness" was the sharpest
thrust possible at Payson's guilty conscience. Well, he resolved
to come as near being square and level as he could. He had told
half-truths to Bud and Polly; he would present the situation to
Echo as a possible, though not actual, one. If Polly were wrong,
and Echo loved him so much that she would break the word she had
pledged to Dick Lane, then he would confess all, and they would
do what could be done to make it right with the discarded lover.
Echo, observing from the window who was Polly's companion, ran
out to Jack with a cry of joy. He looked meaningly at Polly. She
said: "Oh, give me your bridle; I know how many's a crowd." Jack
leaped to the ground and took Echo in his arms while Polly rode
off with the horses to the corral, singing significantly:
"Spoon, spoon, spoon,
While the dish ran away with the spoon."
Jack and Echo embraced clingingly and kissed lingeringly. "It
takes a crazy old song like that to express how foolish we lovers
are," said Jack. "Why, I feel that I could outfiddle the cat,
outjump the cow, outlaugh the dog, and start an elopement that
would knock the performance of the tableware as silly as--well,
as I am talking now. I'm living in a dream--a Midsummer Night's
Dream, such as you were reading to me."
"The lunatic, the lover, and the poet," quoted Echo suggestively.
Dusk was falling. From the bunk-house rose the tinkling notes of
a mandolin; after a few preliminary chords, the player, a
Mexican, began a love-song in Spanish. The distant chimes of
Mission bells sounded softly on the evening air.
Jack and Echo sat down upon the steps of the piazza. Jack
continued the strain of his thought, but in a more serious vein:
"Echo, I'm so happy that I am frightened."
"Frightened?" she asked wonderingly.
"Yes, scared--downright scared," he answered. "I reckon I'm like
an Indian. An Indian doesn't believe it's good medicine to let
the gods know he's big happy. For there's the Thunder Bird--"
"The Thunder Bird?"
"The evil spirit of the storm," continued Jack. "When the
Thunder Bird hears a fellow saying he's big happy, he sends him
bad luck--"
Echo laid her hand softly on the mouth of her sweetheart. "We
won't spoil our happiness, then, by talking about it. We will
just feel it--just be it."
She laid her head upon Jack's knee. He placed his arm lightly
but protectingly over her shoulder. They sat in silence
listening to the Mexican's song. Finally Jack bent over and
whispered gently in her ear:
"Softly, so the Thunder Bird won't hear, Echo; tell me you love
me; that you love only me; that you will always love me, no
matter what shall happen; that you never loved, until you loved
me."
Echo sat upright, with a start. "What do you mean?" she
exclaimed. "Of course I love you, and you only, but the future
and the past are beyond our control. Unless you know of
something that is going to happen which may mar our love, your
question is silly, not at all like your Mother Goose nonsense--
that was dear. And as for the past, you mean Dick Lane."
"Yes, I mean Dick Lane," confessed Payson, in a subdued tone. "I
am jealous of him--that is--even of his memory."
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|