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After giving the invalid his breakfast, and arranging him on his couch
where he could see the cars pass, Mrs. Preston hurried over to the
Everglade School, which was only two blocks west of Stoney Island Avenue.
At noon she slipped out, while the other teachers gathered in one of the
larger rooms to chat and unroll their luncheons. These were wrapped in
little fancy napkins that were carefully shaken and folded to serve for the
next day. As the Everglade teachers had dismissed Mrs. Preston from the
first as queer, her absence from the noon gossip was rather welcome, though
resented.
The recess hour gave Mrs. Preston enough time to carry upstairs a cold
meal, to take a hasty nibble of food, and to hurry back across the vacant
lots before the gong should ring for the afternoon session. At the close of
school she returned to the cottage more deliberately, to finish her house
work before taking her daily walk. Occasionally she found this work already
performed; Anna Svenson's robust form would greet her as she entered the
cottage, with the apologetic phrase, "My fingers were restless." Mrs.
Svenson had an unquenchable appetite for work. The two women would have a
silent cup of tea; then Mrs. Svenson would smile in her broad, apathetic
manner, saying, "One lives, you see, after all," and disappear through the
oak copse. Thus very quickly between the school and the cottage Mrs.
Preston's day arranged itself in a routine.
Three days after the unexpected visit from the doctor, Mrs. Preston found
on her return from the school a woman's bicycle leaning against the gate.
Under the arbor sat the owner of the bicycle, fanning herself with a little
"perky" hat. She wore a short plaid skirt, high shoes elaborately laced,
and a flaming violet waist. Her eyes were travelling over the cottage and
all its premises.
"Miss M'Gann!" Mrs. Preston exclaimed.
"My!" the young woman responded, "but they did send you to kingdom come.
You're the next thing, Alves, to Indiana. I do hope you can get out of this
soon."
Mrs. Preston sat down beside her in the little arbor, and made polite
inquiries about the school where they had taught together, about Jane
M'Gann's "beaux," the "cat," and the "house" where she boarded.
"It was good of you to come all this way to see me," she concluded.
"I wanted a ride. We had a half day off--infectious disease in Rosa
Macraw's room. Besides, I told the girls I'd hunt you out. How _are_
you? You look rather down. Say, you mustn't shut yourself off here where
folks can't get at you. Why don't you live up town, at the house?"
"I can't," Mrs. Preston answered briefly.
"Do you know the news? The 'cat' has gone up higher. They made him
supervisor, 'count of his sly walk, I guess. And we've got a new principal.
He's fine. You can just do what you want with him, if you handle him right.
Oh, do you know Rosemarry King, the girl that used to dress so queer, has
been discharged? She lived in bachelor-girl apartments with a lot of
artists, and they say they were pretty lively. And Miss Cohen is going to
be married, ain't coming back any more after this year. Some of us thought
we could work it so as the new principal--Hoff's his name--would ask to
have you transferred back to one of those places. There's just a chance.
Now I've told all my news and everything!"
At that moment a man's figure appeared at an upper window. He was in a
dressing-gown, and unshaven. Miss M'Gann's keen vision spied him at once.
"You'll get queer, if you stay here!" she said falteringly.
"I guess I am queer already," Mrs. Preston answered with a smile. "Let us
go inside and have some tea."
Miss M'Gann looked the room over critically.
"You must come down to the house some night soon and meet the principal. He
rides a wheel, and we girls see considerable of him. If you are nice to
him, he'll do anything--he is one of the soft kind, sweet on all women, and
likes a little adoration."
"No, I don't believe I can." Mrs. Preston listened. There was noise in the
chamber above. "Besides, I like it out here. I like the quiet," she added.
Miss M'Gann looked at her incredulously, as if she were waiting to hear
more. As nothing came, she went on:
"We are having high times over the new readers. The 'cat' has done a set of
readers for the fourth and fifth. McNamara and Hills are bringing 'em out.
The Express Book Co. has a lot of money in the old ones, and they are
fighting hard to keep the cat's out of the schools. They're sending men
around to get reports from the teachers. There's a man, one of their
agents, who comes over to the house pretty often. He's a college man, was a
professor at Exonia."
"Excuse me," Mrs. Preston interrupted. The continued noise in the room
overhead had made her more and more nervous. She had not heard Miss
M'Gann's story, which would probably be the preface of a tender personal
episode. "I will be back in a moment," she said, closing the sitting-room
door carefully.
Miss M'Gann sat forward, listening intently. She could hear the stairs
creak under Mrs. Preston's quick steps; then there was silence; then an
angry voice, a man's voice. Excited by this mystery, she rose noiselessly
and set the hall door ajar. She could hear Alves Preston's voice:
"You must not come down. You aren't fit."
"Thank you for your advice," a man's voice replied. "Who's your visitor?
Some man? I am going to see. Don't make a scene."
There was the sound of a scuffle; then the cry of a woman, as she fell back
exhausted from her physical struggle.
"P'r'aps he's murdering her!"
Miss M'Gann opened the door at the foot of the stairs wide enough to detect
a half-clothed man trying to pry open with one arm a heavy door above. She
hesitated for a moment, but when the man had shoved the door back a little
farther, enough for her to see Mrs. Preston struggling with all her force,
she called out:
"Can I help you, Mrs. Preston?"
"No, no, go back! Go out of the house!"
"Well, I never!" Miss M'Gann ejaculated, and retreated to the sitting room,
leaving the door ajar, however.
The struggle ended shortly, and soon the man appeared, plunging, tumbling
over the stairs. Wrenching open the front door he stumbled down the steps
to the road. He was hatless, collarless, and his feet were shod in
slippers. As he reached the gate he looked at himself as if accustomed to
take pride in his personal appearance, drew a handkerchief from his pocket
and wound it negligently about his neck. Then, gazing about to get his
bearings, he aimed for the road. Just as he crossed the car tracks, heading
for the saloon with the big sign, Mrs. Preston entered the room. Her face
was pale and drawn. Miss M'Gann was too embarrassed to speak, and she
pretended to look into the kitchen.
"You will see now why I don't want a transfer," Mrs. Preston began, to
break the awkward silence. "I must look after my husband."
"My!" Miss M'Gann exclaimed, and then restrained herself. She nodded her
head slowly, and crossed to where Mrs. Preston had seated herself.
"But it's terrible to think of you here alone," she remarked gently. She
had intended to put her arm about Mrs. Preston's waist, but something
deterred her. "I wish I could come out and stay right on. I'm going to
spend the night, anyway. Father was that kind," she added in a lower voice.
Mrs. Preston winced under her sympathy and shook her head. "No, no! I am
better alone. You mustn't stay."
"You'd ought to have _some_ woman here," the girl insisted, with the
feminine instinct for the natural league of women. "At least, some one to
look after the house and keep you company."
"I have thought of trying to find a servant," Mrs. Preston admitted. "But
what servant--" she left the sentence unfinished, "even if I could pay the
wages," she continued. "Anna comes in sometimes--she's a young Swede who
has a sister in the school. But I've got to get on alone somehow."
"Well, if that's what getting married is, it's no wonder more of us girls
don't get married, as I told Mr. Dresser."
There was a knock at the outside door. Miss M'Gann quickly barricaded
herself behind the long table, while Mrs. Preston opened the door and
admitted the visitor. Miss M'Gann came forward with evident relief, and
Mrs. Preston introduced her visitors, "Dr. Sommers, Miss M'Gann."
Miss M'Gann greeted the doctor warmly.
"Why, this must be Mr. Dresser's Dr. Sommers." The young doctor bowed and
look annoyed. Miss M'Gann, finding that she could get little from either of
the two silent people, took her leave.
"I'll not forget you, dear," she said, squeezing Mrs. Preston's hand.
When she had ridden away, Mrs. Preston returned to the little sitting room
and dropped wearily into a chair.
"_He_ has just gone, escaped!" she exclaimed. "Just before you came."
The doctor whistled. "Do you know where he's gone to?"
She pointed silently to the low wooden building across the neighboring
avenue.
"If he makes a row, it will all get out. I shall lose my place."
The doctor nodded.
"Has it happened before?"
"He's tried of late. But I have kept him in and barred the door. This time
he forced it open. I was not strong enough to hold it."
The doctor hesitated a moment, and then, as if making a sudden resolve, he
took his hat.
"I'll try to bring him back."
From the open window she could see him walk leisurely down the lane to the
street, and pick his way carefully over the broken planks of the sidewalk
to the avenue. Then he disappeared behind the short shutters that crossed
the door of the saloon.
For some reason this seemed the one thing unbearable in her experience. The
bitterness of it all welled up and overflowed in a few hot tears that stung
her hands as they dropped slowly from the burning eyes. It was a long time
before the little blinds swung out, and the doctor appeared with her
husband. Preston was talking affably, fluently, and now and then he tapped
the doctor familiarly on his shoulders to emphasize a remark. Sommers
responded enough to keep his companion's interest. Once he gently
restrained him, as the hatless man plunged carelessly forward in front of
an approaching car. As the pair neared the house, the woman at the window
could hear the rapid flow of talk. Preston was excited, self-assertive, and
elaborately courteous.
"After you, doctor. Will you come upstairs to my room?" she caught as they
entered the gate. "My wife, doctor, is all right, good woman; but, like the
rest of them, foolish."
And the babbling continued until some one closed the heavy door at the head
of the stairs. Then there was noise, as of a man getting into bed. In time
it was quiet, and just as she was about to make the effort of finding out
what had happened, Sommers came downstairs and signed to her to sit down.
"I have given him a hypodermic injection. He won't trouble you any more
to-night," he said, staring dreamily out into the twilight.
Read next: PART I#CHAPTER XI
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