Chapter 24 Donald and Dorothy by Mary Mapes Dodge
DONALD
Donald was talking rather savagely when Dorothy turned and saw him in the hall as she galloped through the opened gateway. But the man in the wet duster was not in the least vexed by Donald's manner. On the contrary, he assumed an air of superiority, and called him "my boy."
"All the Reeds are impetuous," he had said lightly, as if apologizing for this particular member of the family; "so we'll waive ceremony, my boy. With your permission, as I said before, I'll step into the parlor now, and have a little chat with the young lady."
"And as I said before," retorted Donald, "you'll do no such thing."
"Calm yourself," sneered the other. "It would be easy for me to get in through the window, were it not that one hates to scare the pretty bird; and as for the key—"
"As for the key," echoed Donald, who happened to have it in his possession; "well, and what of the key?"
"Why, my boy," glancing toward Don's pocket, "it wouldn't tax a six-footer like me overmuch to help himself to it; but, under the circumstances, it might be wiser merely to tell mine host in yonder room that an irate little manikin has taken it into his head to lock his sister, as he calls her, in the public parlor, and refuses to let her out."
"Insolent fellow!" exclaimed Donald, yet restraining his anger as well as he could. "Look out what you say. Another word like that, and I'll have you turned out of this place, neck and heels."
"Ha! ha! Pretty good. Well, as I was remarking, I've a word or two to say to my young lady in there. Hold up! H-o-l-d up! No one is going to kill her. Perhaps you're not aware I have a right there!"
"You have a right there, I'll admit, as a traveller," said Don; "but just now, I ask you to stay outside."
"And I ask you to let me in," returned the six-footer, beginning to be angry.
At any other time, Donald would not have parleyed a moment with the man, but, as the reader may have surmised, he had reasons of his own for prolonging the interview. He had planned well and worked quickly to get Dorry off unobserved; and now that his strategy had succeeded, the next point was to gain time for her to be far on her way before Eben Slade—for he it was—should discover that Dorry was not safely locked in the dingy parlor.
"I ask you to let me in," repeated the long, lank man, softening his tone, "as one gentleman would ask another. May be I've more right to talk to her than you have yourself."
"What do you mean, you rascal?"
"Thank you!" sneered Eben. "Rascal is good. Pray, do you know my name?"
"No, I do not; and I don't want to. It's enough that I recognize you; and probably the less one knows about you, the better."
"May be so. But the time's gone by for that. My name's Eben Slade. Now do you know why I want to go into that room? No? Well, I'll tell you," continued Eben Slade; "it's because I've more right to speak to that girl than you have. It's because—Hi! hi! not so fast, young man," muttered Eben, restraining Donald with considerable effort. "You can't put me out on the road this time. As I was saying—"
"What do you mean by those words, sir?"
"Let me into the room, my boy, and I'll tell you and her together, quietly, just what I mean. I want to tell both of you a plain story, and appeal to her sense of justice. She's old enough to act for herself. Perhaps you think I haven't heard something of Dorothy's, or what-you-call-her's, spirit by this time."
"Let her name alone!" cried Donald, furiously. "If you mention my sister again, I'll knock you flat, you overgrown ruffian!"
"Hush, not so fast! You'll have those fellows out here in a minute. What's the use of letting everybody into our private affairs?"
Here Eben stepped further into the hall, followed by Donald.
"Let me into that room, will you?"
Donald, taking the key from his pocket, now threw open the door, with a "much good may it do you;" and, closing it again after Slade had entered, coolly locked him in the room. The blinds flew open. Don rushed out to the still deserted stoop, only to see Eben Slade's angry face glaring at him from the window. The man could have got through the window easily enough, but he preferred his present position. Leaning out, with his elbows on the sill, he said distinctly, in a passionate, low voice:
"You've baffled me this time, Donald Reed, but I'll carry the day yet. That girl, wherever she's gone to, is no more your sister than she is mine, and I can prove it to her! She's my niece—my own sister's child! I've a right to her, and I can prove it. She's going back home with me, out West, where my wife's waitin' for her. Now, sir, what have you to say to that?"
The poor boy, aghast at Eben's statement, stood at first as if stunned; but recovering himself, he made a rush toward Eben, not blindly, but with a fierce determination to clutch him by the throat and force him to unsay his terrible words.
Eben sprang from the window at a bound. A struggle ensued—brief, violent. Donald might have been mastered, had not a strong man sprung upon them and with one blow knocked Eben Slade prostrate upon the boards.
It was Sailor Jack, who had driven up unperceived and leaped from the buggy just in time.
Three or four men rushed from the bar-room, all calling out at once.
"What's the matter here?"
"Any one killed?—What's the row?"
"Hi!—Separate them!" shouted the stout, red-faced landlord, coming out slowly behind the others and, as usual, failing to take in the situation.
Meantime, two of the men had seized Jack as Eben rose slowly; another tried to catch hold of Donald. Their sympathy plainly was with Slade, who, seeing his opportunity, suddenly started toward the buggy with the evident intention of driving off in it.
Jack, breaking from his astonished captors, was upon him in an instant, dragging him back, just as Slade had put one foot on the buggy-step, and as Donald was alertly seizing Lady's bridle.
"Stand off, all of you!" cried Jack, still holding Eben by the collar. "We're out on the open seas at last, my man! and now look out for yourself!"
The thrashing was brief but effective. Jack wore a serene look of satisfaction when it was over; and Eben Slade slunk doggedly away, muttering:
"I'll be even with 'em yet."
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Every hat was off, so to speak, when Jack and Donald, who had paid the landlord handsomely, drove from Vanbogen's door. Lady was impatient to be off; but Jack soon made her understand that the splendid time she had made in coming from Nestletown was no longer necessary, since Dood, tied at the rear of the buggy, could not go faster than a walk. The removal of his shoe and prompt nursing had helped the pony so much that by this time he was able to travel, though with difficulty.
It was a strange drive: the spirited mare ahead, relieving her pent-up speed by gently prancing up and down as she walked; Jack, grim and satisfied, going over again in fancy every stroke that had fallen upon the struggling Eben; Donald, pale and silent, with Slade's vicious words still ringing in his ears; and the pony limping painfully behind.
"He's taken up with his own thoughts," said Jack to himself after a while, noting Don's continued silence. "It ain't for me to disturb him, though them twins somehow seem as near as if they was my own children; but I would like to know just what the little chap has heard from that sea-sarpent. Somethin' or other's took fearful hold on him, sure's sailin', poor lad! He ain't apt to be so onsociable."
Following up these thoughts, as the mare jogged along, it was a great solace to good Sailor Jack, after their dismal drive, to see Don look up at the house as they turned into the lane, and wave his hat gallantly to Dorothy.
She, too, standing at her bedroom window with Lydia, was wonderfully relieved by Don's salutation.
"Oh, it's all right!" she exclaimed, cheerily. "Even Dood isn't hurt as badly as we feared, and how lovely it is to have Don back again, safe and sound! And, oh, Liddy, you should have seen Jack when I refused to get into the buggy, and made him drive on for his life, to help Don. But the trouble is over now. How lovely! Both of us will take supper with Uncle, after all!"
Lydia, who had been doing all sorts of things to save Dorry from "taking her death o' cold," stood admiringly by, while with rapid touches, and many a laughing word, the happy girl arrayed herself to go down and meet "dear old Don and Uncle."
Meanwhile Mr. Reed, in his study, looking up inquiringly to greet Donald's return, was surprised to see the boy's white face and flashing eyes.
"Uncle George," said Donald, the moment he entered the room, "tell me quick! Is Dorothy Reed my sister?"