Chapter TWENTY-THREE

"I can't understand why Horace wants to keep those children indefinitely," said Governor Vandecar to his wife one evening. "It seems their own father has turned up and asked for them."

"Is Horace going to let him have them?"

"Not without a fight, I fear. He talked to me about it, and seemed perfectly decided to keep them. I told him to take no steps until papers were served upon him."

"Can they keep them, Floyd?"

Mrs. Vandecar had become suddenly interested in Fledra and Floyd.

"I'm sure I don't know," replied the governor. "Such things have to be threshed out in court, although much will depend upon what the youngsters wish to do. I fear, though, that Ann and Horace are making useless trouble for themselves."

"What process will the father have to take to get them?"

"Have _habeas corpus_ papers issued. It will be a nuisance; but I did not try to change his mind, because he was so earnest about it."

"So is Ann," replied Mrs. Vandecar, "and then, Dear, I always think their kindness to those poor little children might make the little dears useful in life sometime. Mildred says they are very pretty and sweet."

"Well, as I said before, it's strange that such a case should be here in this peaceful little town, and I have promised Horace to advise him all I can, although I am too busy to take any active part in it."

"Oh, do everything you ought to, Floyd, if you discover that they have really been abused. It might be that they would be really harmed if they were taken back to their home. Did Horace tell you where they lived?"

"Yes, near Ithaca somewhere. I think he said they had a shanty on Cayuga Lake."

"One of the squatters?"

"Yes."

"I remember very well," remarked Mrs. Vandecar after a moment's thought, "when I went to Ithaca with Ann Shellington, and Horace and Everett were graduated from the university, that we went up the lake in Brimbecomb's yacht. The boys called our attention to numbers of huts on the west shore, near the head of Cayuga. I suppose it must be one of those places the children left."

"I presume so," replied the governor.

"Ann telephoned over that the boy was ill with a rheumatic heart. She seemed quite alarmed over it."

"He probably won't get well, if that's the case," murmured Vandecar. "It's a pernicious thing when it attacks the heart. Wasn't it rather strange that Ann and Horace should have used our names for them, Fledra?"

"You remember Ann asked me if I cared. She said that when they came they had some strange nicknames, and that they wanted to make them forget about their former lives, and it really pleased the poor little things to have our names. I don't mind; do you, Floyd?"

"No," was the answer. "I only wish--" He stopped quickly and turned to his wife.

Her eyes were filled with tears. Floyd Vandecar's wish had been her own, that she knew.

"I wish you had a son, too, Floyd dear!" she sobbed. "Oh, my babies, my poor, pretty little babies!"

"Don't Fledra, don't!" pleaded her husband. "It was God's will, and we must bow to it."

"It's so hard, though, Floyd, so awfully hard, and the days have been so long! Floyd, do you ever wonder and wonder where they are?"

The man shook his shoulders sharply.

"Do I ever wonder, Fledra? My hair is whitened, my life shortened, and many of my efforts of no avail, because of my sorrow and yours. If the days have been long to you, they have been longer to me; if your heart has been torn over their disappearance, mine has been doubly hurt, because--because you have depended upon me to return them to you, and I have not been able to."

He spoke drearily, shading his face with his hand.

"Floyd, dear Floyd, I'm not blaming you. I realize that if it had been possible you would have given me back my babies, and you must not say that your efforts have been of no avail. Why, dear husband, the papers are full of your great, strong doings. I'm immensely proud of you." She had leaned over him; but the despondent man did not take the hand from his eyes.

"Of all the strange cases, Fledra, ours is the strangest. You remember how I turned the state almost upside down to find those children. Yet, with all the power I could bring to bear, I made no headway."

"I did not realize that you felt it so deeply," whispered the wife. "I've been so selfish--forgive me! We'll try to be as happy as possible, and we have Mildred--"

"If we had a dozen children," replied the governor sadly, "our first babies would always have their places in our hearts."

"True," murmured the mother. "How true that is, Floyd! There is never a day but I feel the touch of their fingers, remember their sweet baby ways. And always, when I look at you, I think of them. They were so like their father."

Lon Cronk and Lem Crabbe had arranged between them that the scowman should return to Ithaca for some days, and so the big thief was alone near the Hudson, in a shanty that had been given over to him by a canal friend to use when he wished. When Lon decided to rob Horace Shellington, he had known that there would have to be some place to take the things thus obtained, and had secured the hut for the purpose. It was at this address that Everett came to him, upon his return from New York.

Lon admitted the lawyer, who found the hut reeking with the rank smoke from a short pipe that Cronk held in his hand.

"Have ye got the kids?" the squatter questioned.

Everett catechized the heavy face with a smile.

"Did you think for a moment it was possible to obtain them so quickly?"

"I hain't had no way of knowin'," grunted Lon, "and I'm in a hurry."

He seemed changed, and looked as if he had not slept. Everett wondered if his affection for the children had been so great that his loss of them had altered him thus. The lawyer did not know how Lon was tortured when he caressed the image of the dead woman, nor could he know the man's agony when her spirit left him suddenly.

"You'll have to curb your haste," said Brimbecomb, with a curl of his lip. "It takes time to set justice in motion."

"Have ye done anything?"

"Not yet. I was forced to go to New York."

"Hadn't ye better git a hustle on yerself?" snarled Lon.

"Yes, I intend to begin tomorrow; that is, to take the first steps in the matter. But I wanted to talk with you first. Are you alone?"

"Yep; there ain't nobody here. Fire ahead, and say what ye're wantin' to."

Everett bent over and looked keenly into Lon's face; then slowly he threw a question at the fellow:

"Are you fond of those two children, or have you other motives for taking them from Shellington?"

Cronk made no reply, but settled back in the rickety chair and eyed Everett from head to foot.

"Be that any of yer business?" he said at length.

The lawyer took the repulse calmly. He had not come to fight with Lon.

"It's my business as far as this is concerned. If you care for them, and intend to shield them after you have them--well, say from all harm--and do your best for them, then I don't want your case. I'm willing to return your money."

For a moment the elder man looked disconcerted; then he jumped to his feet with an oath.

"Put her there, Mister!" said he, with an evil smile. He thrust forth a great hand, and for an instant Everett placed his fingers within it.

"I thought I had not guessed wrongly," the lawyer quickly averred. "If that is how you feel, I can do better work for you."

"I see that, Mister," muttered Lon.

"Are those children really yours?" Everett took out a cigar and lighted it.

"Yep," answered Lon, dropping his gaze.

Everett decided that the man had lied to him, and he was glad.

"I think you said you had some plans for the girl," he broke forth presently.

"Yep; but no plans be any good when she's with Shellington."

"But after she has left him? Would you be willing to change your plans for her?"

Cronk did not reply, but centered his gaze full upon Everett.

"The question is, would you, for a good sum of money, be willing to give her to me?"

"Why give her to ye, Mister--why?" His voice rose to a shout.

"I want her," Everett answered quietly.

"What for?"

"I love her."

"Ye want to marry her?" muttered Lon vindictively.

"No," drawled Everett; "I am going to marry Miss Shellington."

"Good God! ye don't mean it! And yet ye take this case what's most interestin' to 'em? Yer gal won't like that, Mister."

"She loves me, and when I explain that it's all under the law she'll forgive me. There's nothing quite like having a woman in love with you to get her to do what you want her to."

"But her brother, he ain't lovin' ye that way. He won't forgive ye."

"He doesn't cut any ice," said Everett. "In fact, I hate him, and--"

"Be ye lovin' my Flea?" Lon's voice cracked out the question like a gunshot.

"I think so."

"Be Flea lovin' you, or him?"

"She loves him."

"Then it will hurt her like the devil to take her away from him, eh?"

The eagerness expressed in the squatter's tones confirmed Everett's suspicions. Cronk hated that boy and girl. Brimbecomb impassively overlooked Floyd; but Flea he would have!

"Yes," he said, "I think it will hurt them both."

"How much money will ye give if I hand her over to ye?" asked Cronk presently.

"How much do you want?"

"Wal, Mister, it's this way: Ye remember that feller I had with me t'other day?" Everett nodded. "I mean, the feller with the hook?" Again Everett inclined his head. "I said as how he could have Flea. Ye has to buy him off, too, and that ain't so easy as 'tis to settle with me--especially, as ye ain't goin' to marry Flea. I ain't goin' to give her to no man what's honest--ye hear?"

"I supposed as much," commented Everett, reddening.

"Lem's been waitin' for Flea for over three years, and I said as how ye'd have to buy him off, too."

"That's easy. Where is he?"

"Gone to Ithaca. He's went up to bring down his scow. It's gettin' 'long to be spring, and it's easier to lug the kids back by water, and we know that way, and it don't cost so much. I telled him when he went away that he could have the gal as soon as we got back to the settlement. Lem won't reason for a little bit of money."

"Money doesn't count in this," assured Everett. "Now, then, if I take this case, put it through without cost to you, and give you both a good sum, will you give me the girl?"

"If ye promise me ye won't marry her."

Everett laughed, his white teeth gleaming through his lips.

"Don't let that worry you, Mr. Cronk. I have no desire to place at the head of my home a girl like yours. I told you that I was going to marry Miss Shellington--and not even that damned brother of hers can prevent it!"

For a long time after Everett had left the hut Lon sat meditating over what he had heard. He wondered if Everett really loved Ann, and, if he did, how he could wish for Flea. How another woman could erase from any man's mind the picture of a loved woman, Lon with his loyal heart could not understand. He sat for an hour with his head on the old wooden table, and planned what he should do with Flukey, leaving it to the brilliant-eyed lawyer to dicker with Lem for Flea.