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CHAPTER VII

As the motor-stage drew up to the door, Millie ran out on the veranda to deliver a few commissions to the driver to execute when he got back to town. She noted that Sheriff Blodgett was a passenger, and that he jumped down and preceded the guests into the lobby.

The first of the new arrivals to step out of the stage and enter the hotel was a chic little woman of about twenty-four, with big brown eyes and auburn hair, dressed in a bright blue outing-flannel coat and skirt and a tiny red hat from which hung a heavy veil. It was obvious that she was suffering from great embarrassment, as she walked quickly about the lobby, going from one register to the other, while a maid followed her with an armful of bundles. The woman looked helplessly from wall to wall and desk to desk. The presence of Blodgett and Townsend seemed to add to her embarrassment, a condition still further aggravated by the appearance of a third man, Everett Hammond, who chanced to come strolling down from up-stairs at the moment. She fluttered up to Millie as the girl came in from the veranda.

"Would you like to register?" Millie asked.

"How do you do," was the reply, uttered in a timid treble. "I am Mrs. Harper. I understand – " Her head turned from side to side as she hesitated. She clasped her hands and gazed pleadingly at Millie. "I've been told – " Again she hesitated nervously, tears in her eyes. She noticed Blodgett and Hammond gazing at her. In desperation, her blushes showing under the heavy veil, she whispered, quaveringly, "Could I speak to you privately?"

"Certainly," said Millie, hiding her amusement. "Just step into this room," and she led the little woman away.

As they left the room, followed by the faithful maid, another guest entered, an attractive woman of thirty. She was highly colored as to hair and complexion, and she had about her an air far removed from the chic, haughty member of the millionaire divorce colony that centered about the Reno hotels. In type she was not unlike Mrs. Harper, except that she did not show any special evidence of timidity. On the contrary, she seemed perfectly at home. But she came in with the aid of a crutch and leaning on the arm of the stage-driver. Her eyes took a calm inventory of the lobby – including Townsend, on whom she smiled coquettishly as she sighed with relief and sank into a chair.

Townsend was leaning against the California desk, and he had been watching Blodgett and Hammond, who, conversing in low tones, had strolled out to the veranda. He was surprised to note that the pair had met before and seemed to know each other quite well. His attention, however, was now drawn to the attractive new guest. Her smile was not without effect. She turned to the driver.

"I'm all right now, thank you," she drawled, though her voice was soft and pleasant. "Just drop my bag here." Fumbling in her purse for change that did not seem to be there, she directed a glance toward Townsend and smiled again. "Will you change five dollars for me?" she asked.

Townsend drew out his wallet and examined its contents, but put it back again disappointedly. "I'm afraid I can't," he said, with obvious regret.

"Well, then," said the attractive woman, with a frown, "pay the driver, please."

Townsend gave a slight start of chagrin, feeling that his standing as a candidate for a judgeship was suffering by her lack of discernment. Then, as the truth of the situation dawned on him, he suppressed a chuckle. Without a word, he handed some change to the driver.

"Charge it to my account," she ordered, settling herself comfortably in the chair, extending one foot which was bound in a heavy bandage about the ankle and clad in a soft slipper.

Townsend, still smiling, began: "Well – er – "

"I'm Mrs. Davis," she interrupted, ignoring his embarrassment. "Mrs. Margaret Davis." She turned her wide blue eyes full upon him as she switched in her chair, the movement bringing a twinge of pain to her face.

Townsend left the desk and came toward her. "I'm very glad to meet you." He extended an affable hand. "I'm Lemuel Townsend, and I – "

Mrs. Davis did not offer him her hand at once, but gave him an inquisitive glance. "Will you show me to my room?" she asked.

"I don't know where it is," he said, laughing. By this time his ruffled dignity was assuaged by the twinkle in Mrs. Davis's eye and the deep dimple in her chin.

"Why, weren't you expecting me?" she asked, in astonishment, her mind as yet refusing to grasp the situation.

"No, I wasn't." He was bending over her, a courtly flattery in his gaze.

"But I wrote you!" She turned clear about on her chair, forgetting for the moment the pain in her foot, her eyes and mouth wide open with surprise at the thought that she could be thus forgotten.

"No, you didn't write me. You see, I'm only a guest, just as you are."

Here they both laughed, while Townsend placed a chair close to hers and sat down beside her.

Mrs. Davis prolonged her giggle and bent her head, her eyes seeking his under her heavily beaded lashes. "And I said – Oh!" She put her two hands to her mouth and sidled, "I took you for the clerk."

He nodded indulgently.

"Oh, and I made you pay the driver! I couldn't allow that. Just as soon as somebody comes I'll return it. I hope you'll forgive me." By this time her manner was as friendly as Townsend's feminine-loving soul could wish. She sidled her chair a little closer to his, still holding him with her eyes, wide as the innocent stare of a baby.

"I'm glad it happened," said Townsend.

"Will you allow me to introduce myself properly?"

She nodded, and he got up and went to the desk, returning with one of his campaign cards and handing it to her. "Permit me," he said, "my card." As she took it from him he explained, "I'm candidate for judge at the next election."

Immediately Mrs. Davis's interest was aroused to fever pitch. With a knowing look she leaned forward, placing a hand on his arm, while she slowly and attentively dwelt upon the words on the card. "Oh, really?" she drawled. "Where will you be judge?"

"If I'm elected – in Reno."

"Will you try divorce cases?" the question was snapped out.

He nodded.

"Oh, I'm awfully glad to meet you!" she gushed, shaking his arm.

"The pleasure is mutual, believe me," he responded, placing his hand on top of hers. As she withdrew hers with a giggle, he went on, unabashed, "Do you intend remaining here long?"

"I'm in for six months." She sighed like a hurt baby.

He was all sympathy as he leaned toward her and apologized: "Oh, I'm very sorry for you, Mrs. Davis – If – "

"Oh, my case doesn't call for sympathy. Congratulations! Congratulations!" she emphasized with a long-drawn-out inflection.

"Oh!!!" he shook his head wisely, adding, laughingly, "It's that way?"

A twinge from the invalid ankle concentrated Mrs. Davis's full attention as she lifted her foot, adjusting it against the crutch, thinking to stop the pain. When it had subsided she smiled up at Townsend again, pointed to it and said, with an ingénue turn of the head, "I'd probably never have been able to get a divorce if it had not been for this."

"You don't mean that your husband was brute enough to – " Townsend was shocked at the thought, but was not allowed to deliver himself of his full sympathy. Mrs. Davis was just getting into the lines of her part and she was quick to catch her cues.

"Oh, heavens, no!" she broke in upon his condolences. "This was an accident. It's a sprain, and it is quite serious, as I'm a dancer." She beamed up at him and wriggled in the chair, continuing her explanation. "It's probably all for the best. Of course it'll break into my engagements. I'm in vaudeville, you know. I've wanted a divorce for years, but I'm always booked solid and I never stay in one place long enough to get one. When this happened I saw my chance to get a good long rest, and my freedom in the bargain." Her eyes begged his for understanding and received it.

While she had been talking Townsend had been drinking in every word she said. Her variety of attractiveness was a new one to him. It appealed to his small-town idea of being a gay blade. He had often cast longing eyes at the Eastern wives sojourning in Reno for the six months necessary to establish a residence and therefore their right to a quick freedom which brought with it no restrictions in the matter of remarrying. The majority of these prospective divorcées were of a larger world and reckoned in figures of which Lemuel Townsend did not know the simplest rules. The only notice he had received for his ambitions being a smile to his face and a snicker at his back. But here was some one who not only was taking notice of him, but was actually meeting his advances half-way. Besides, she was pretty, and he could never withstand a pretty woman. As she finished the first lap of her story he exclaimed, "That certainly is a scheme!"

"It's nice of you to listen to it all," she murmured, apologetically, moving her idle crutch up and down as if writing her mood in invisible letters on the floor.

"I'm glad you told it to me. Do you know – " and he sidled in his chair, while a sugar-laden approval beamed at her in a steady flow from over the top of his glasses, "from the minute I saw you enter the door I was worried about you – I was afraid – Well, it was a great relief to find that you had two good – " he halted in hopeless confusion, as his eyes sought her ankle. He took his handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose furiously, hoping to hide the real reason for a blush that seemed to have come to stay, having settled in a deep crimson even from the nape of his neck to the top of a head whose sparse hair refused to hide his embarrassment.

But Margaret Davis, seeing no reason for shyness, just smiled graciously upon him and hastened to standardize her reputation. "Any one who has seen me dance can inform you about – well – about —them," she said seriously, adding by way of flavor to her remark another languishing droop of her eyelids. There was a moment of coy silence for the two of them. Then Mrs. Davis asked, "Are you stopping here for pleasure or are you doing time?"

"I'm a bachelor."

"How nice!" she replied, in honeyed accents, as she leaned toward him and put a soft hand on his arm. Undoubtedly in Lem Townsend she saw the possibility of an easy divorce trial. Besides, Townsend was by no means without personal attractions. Mrs. Davis gazed at him, her languishing smile concealing the feminine appraisal in her eyes. She decided to cultivate the possibility, and was about to say something in furtherance of her object when she was startled by a gentle voice coming from directly behind her and inquiring, pleasantly, "Rheumatism?"

Bill Jones had entered the lobby unobserved by the pair and was leaning over the desk idly, looking at his new guest with kindly interest. Townsend introduced Bill, and Mrs. Davis, with Lem's assistance, rose and took up a pen.

"No," she said; "I have not acquired rheumatism as yet, Mr. Jones. I'll register – you're reserving a room for me."

"How long you here for?" Bill asked.

"The usual," she sighed, and rolled her eyes toward Townsend.

"Eh?" Bill grinned and walked slowly from behind the desk.

"Six months," she drawled, wearily.

Politely staying her hand and taking the pen from her, Bill pointed to the other desk. "This is the six months' side – over here," he said, sauntering to the back of the Nevada desk.

When the lady was at last settled in her room, and Townsend had left – having made an arrangement to dine with Mrs. Davis that evening – Bill found himself strangely alone for the moment. Instantly he seized on the opportunity to make a thorough investigation into the mysterious disappearance of a half-filled flask. After turning the Nevada desk inside out, at last he was convinced that the disappearance was a fact and not a matter of imagination. "Guess mother has seequesterated it," he remarked, to himself. "Not that I'm hankerin' after it so much myself, but I told Zeb I had it, an' when he finds that I 'ain't, the moral effect on Zeb will sure be bad."

As Bill, rolling a cigarette, meditated on this, Mrs. Harper, followed by her maid and still casting about like a frightened bird in search of cover, tiptoed into the lobby, went uncertainly to the California desk and took up a pen.

Wisdom twitching at the corners of his mouth, Bill was beside her at once.

"Is either o' you ladies gettin' a divorce?" he inquired, in a helpful tone, his question including the indignant maid. "'Cause, if you are," he explained, "I just wanted to let you know that you are flockin' round the wrong desk."

Mrs. Harper fluttered some more. "Oh, I – er – but – where – "

"This way, my dears," Bill said, in a gentle, fatherly tone, as he led them to the Nevada desk.

Mrs. Harper signed her name. As Bill read it he looked up at her with sudden interest. He put a detaining hand on her arm before she could flutter away, and at the same time, turning to the maid, he directed her to have a chair for a moment – at the other side of the lobby, out of earshot.

When the maid had complied Bill looked down at the register. "Mrs. Harper, Truckee," he repeated. Then, glancing up at the surprised and startled little woman, he asked, "Does your husband happen to drive a green automobile, ma'am?"

Mrs. Harper stared at him with the big, frightened eyes of a child. "Why – er – yes. But – why do you ask?"

"I met him last night," said Bill. "He's a fast driver, ain't he? Gets to Truckee in two hours!"

The color rose to the little woman's face. "I don't see – "

"He's a mighty fine feller!" Bill went on, calmly. "Got a pile o' money, too, an' I bet he's some generous with it – specially to them what he loves. People is always makin' fool mistakes. Say, you ain't really goin' to git a divorce, are you?"

Now the astonished little woman's eyes filled with angry tears. "Oh!" she gasped. "Oh! How dare you speak to me like this! It's none of your business!"

"Sure it is," said Lightnin', his voice kindly, confidential. "I know all about it. He didn't git that present for his stenographer."

"How do you know?" she snapped.

"I heard him tellin' all about it to Marvin, the boy what sold him that timber up yonder. I knocked," Bill explained, whimsically, "but they didn't seem to hear, an' I was kinder forced to listen in from the outside. Your husband was all het up an' near committin' suicide 'cause you thought he done what he didn't. He told Marvin he bought that present for you when he was in Noo York. He was just a-showin' it to his office lady when you walked in."

"Nonsense!"

"No, it ain't. It's truth. There's some things I don't go wrong on, an' this is one, Mrs. Harper. Your husband's a mighty fine feller an' – "

With a stamp of her foot, the little woman flung away from the desk and, followed by the faithful maid, hurried up-stairs, where – and perhaps Bill suspected this – she buried her head in a pillow and cried and cried.

Bill stood at the desk with his head cocked on one side, idly tapping his ear with a pen. He heard the door of Mrs. Harper's room slam and he grinned amiably.

"Eatin' her heart out for him," he mused. "Just eatin' her heart out, but too spunky to back down!"

He gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling for a few minutes; then slowly he reached into the drawer and took out a telegram blank. His eyes twinkled as he wrote a brief message. He folded up the blank, stuffed it into his pocket, and was turning away from the desk with the intention of seeking the telegraph-office, when Hammond and Sheriff Blodgett came strolling back into the lobby.

"Oh, so you're actually here, are you?" exclaimed Hammond, glaring at Bill. "Have you signed that deed yet?"

Hammond, direct, bulldozing, totally lacking in Thomas's smooth diplomacy, had lost all patience with Bill Jones. That morning he had decided that the only way to handle Bill was to ride over him rough-shod. "Have you signed that deed?" he repeated, loudly.

"Deed?" remarked Lightnin', carelessly. "Oh, I'd kinder forgot about that little matter. Nope. 'Ain't had time, old top – nope!" Ignoring the glares of the two men, he started to amble toward the door.

"Look here," Hammond called after him, "is Mr. Thomas in?"

"I guess so," replied Bill, pausing directly in front of Hammond and gazing up at him with a calm, shrewd light in his half-shut eyes. "He seems to stick around pretty close."

"Well," said Hammond, with a heavy frown, "just be good enough to step up and tell him that Sheriff Blodgett and I would like to see him!"

"Step up yourself," said old Bill, quietly, without shifting either his gaze or his position. "You ain't crippled, be you? An' I don't think as your friend Thomas'll fall off'n his chair with surprise if you drop in on him unexpected."

Without waiting for a reply, Bill turned away and ambled out of the lobby. Hammond swore; then strode angrily up-stairs, followed by Blodgett.

CHAPTER VIII

A few minutes after Lightnin' disappeared down the trail, headed for the local telegraph-office, John Marvin approached the hotel from the opposite direction. He paused when some distance away and viewed the place. It was his first visit in many weeks, and naturally his first since the great transformation. It could be surmised, however, that this visit was not one of idle curiosity; neither was his pause due to a mere desire to observe the various changes recently made. He watched the establishment closely for a minute; then came on slowly, keeping a sharp eye on his surroundings. As he reached the steps Millie came out on the veranda. She was engaged in what, these days, had become one of the chief occupations of nearly every one in the Hotel Calivada – searching for Lightnin' Bill Jones, whose persistent faculty of being absent when most wanted was fast assuming the dimensions of a public aggravation.

"Why, hello, stranger!" Millie exclaimed, with a welcoming smile. "I thought you had forgotten all about us! You haven't been here for ever so long!"

Marvin came up the steps and seized both her hands, which she let him hold for a moment.

"I haven't forgotten you, Millie," he said, gently, smiling down into her brown eyes. "But – well, you know I went away last time with an idea that you didn't care to see me."

"Silly boy!" Her tone was gaily impersonal, but her red lips puckered into a pretty pout as she walked to a chair in the corner of the veranda and sat down.

"I thought that maybe you had returned to Mr. Thomas's office," he remarked, following her and standing beside her chair.

"No; I'm not going back, not now," said Millie, thoughtfully. She did not look up at him, but fixed her gaze on her hands, folded in her lap. "What a tremendous student you were in his office! I never saw any one work so hard as you did."

"Except when you were in the room – then I was looking at you, most of the time!" Marvin bent over her, but she gave no sign that she read his attitude.

"If you'd been looking at me, I'd have seen you." She smiled and raised her eyes. "You've not given up the study of law, have you?" There was concern in the lift of her brow.

"Oh no! But I'm not going back into Mr. Thomas's office. Why did you leave him, Millie? Was there any trouble?"

"Trouble? Of course not! How could any one have trouble with Mr. Thomas?" Surprise and annoyance stood in her eyes.

Marvin did not reply at once, but drew up another chair and sat down facing her. He leaned forward, his eyes searching hers as he questioned, "You like Mr. Thomas – like him very much, don't you, Millie?"

"I more than like him!" An angry color suffused her cheeks as she looked Marvin up and down. "I adore him!" she added. "You've no idea how fine he is!"

Marvin started at this – naturally. The situation was going to be more difficult than he had anticipated. Could it be that Millie was really in love with Raymond Thomas? Or had he merely convinced her that his business motives were all that they should be? Perhaps it was both! Anyway, it was obvious that the girl had Thomas up on some sort of pedestal; she was in a spunky mood, and Marvin saw that he was going to have his hands full trying to convince her that the feet on the pedestal were made of clay. Marvin flushed himself; he did not relish his position; he shrank from seemingly disparaging another man behind his back, especially to a girl. If there had been only himself to consider, he would not have spoken at all. Neither was it altogether for Millie's sake. She was young, capable, quick-witted; she would see through Thomas of her own accord, soon enough – if she were not actually in love with him! But Marvin was thinking of the old people, of hard-working, simple Mrs. Jones, and of amiable, careless Bill. Millie was the young, strong member of the Jones household, and it was Millie who must be convinced and won over, if possible. Thus ran Marvin's thoughts – but quite honestly he admitted to himself that his love for the girl might be coloring his logic and his motives just a little.

"I'd like to tell you something I know about Thomas – "

"Oh, I know!" Millie interrupted, quickly. "He sold some property for your mother, isn't that it?"

"Yes; he sold it to the railroad – for a big price."

"I know – he told me all about it. He's a splendid business man! Why, that's exactly what he is doing for us! Hasn't daddy told you about it?" She glanced at him quickly, but he gave no sign of having heard this wonderful news. "I should think you'd like to see Mr. Thomas. He's up-stairs packing, now. He's leaving this evening. He came all the way from San Francisco just to help me – to help us all!"

"To help you?" Marvin asked.

Millie clasped her hands over her knees and went on, enthusiastically: "Why, this hotel idea has turned out splendidly, you know. But a week or two ago, Mr. Thomas wrote to mother, saying that he had heard that the railroad company had got wind of our success and contemplated putting up a rival hotel just back of us. Mother was nearly crazy at the news, and I wrote to Mr. Thomas, asking him his advice. He telegraphed that he would be right out to see us! Wasn't that just like him?"

"Exactly," said Marvin, dryly. "And I presume that when Mr. Thomas arrived he suggested that you let him persuade the railroad to buy this place and erect the new hotel here, instead of next door!"

"Why, John – aren't you clever!" Millie exclaimed. "How did you guess it? That is exactly what he suggested, and now it's all arranged! And they're going to pay enough to make mother and daddy comfortable for the rest of their lives!"

With a hopeless gesture, Marvin got to his feet and took a pace or two up and down the veranda. The girl watched him, puzzled.

"Are they going to pay cash?" Marvin asked, pausing in front of her.

"It's much better than cash! It's shares of stock that pay ten per cent. a year! It seems almost too good to be true."

"It does – it certainly does!" came from Marvin.

The girl had risen, glowing with enthusiasm. Quite naturally she put her hand on his arm and looked up at him happily, intimately, naïvely seeking his approval.

In the midst of his perplexity Marvin's heart gave a bound. That naïve touch on his arm and the intimate light in the brown eyes told him that, in one respect at least, all was not lost – not yet! He was about to take her hands and break into a rush of words when the girl suddenly turned her attention from him, remarking, eagerly: "Here comes daddy. We were afraid he'd deserted again!"

Marvin swung around. Much as he wanted to see Lightnin' to-day, he wished, just then, that Bill could have seen fit to delay his appearance a few minutes longer. Bill Jones, however, came serenely up the steps and stood with his hands in his pockets, shrewdly and humorously inspecting the pair.

"Sorry to interrupt the billin' an' cooin'," he remarked. "But say, John, ain't you takin' some chances round here? Did you know that Blodgett's here? I seen him go up-stairs when I went out."

Millie had flushed and turned away at her foster-father's first words, but now she looked curiously from one to the other.

"What on earth do you mean, daddy?" she questioned.

"He's just helping me, Millie," said Marvin, grinning at Bill. "Thanks for the tip, Lightnin', but I wanted to see you particularly to-day, so I – "

He stopped abruptly, for Bill had raised a warning hand.

Marvin recognized a familiar voice talking in the lobby. Glancing in, he saw Raymond Thomas standing in the center of the room, holding Mrs. Jones in conversation. Hammond and Blodgett had just come down the stairs and were joining the other two.

"Better beat it, John!" Lightnin' whispered.

But Marvin stood there. He was thinking quickly. He had caught a word or two of what Thomas was saying, and he gathered that matters were coming to a climax. Suddenly his expression cleared and he grinned.

"Never mind about that, Lightnin'," he said, mechanically opening the door for Millie, who, seeing that they were ignoring her, tripped in with a petulant toss of her head. "I think I have a little scheme that will fool our friend Blodgett. But first – Bill, promise me that you won't sign that deed without consulting me!"

"All right," said Lightnin', slowly. "I promise. But you better be careful, John, an' – "

"Come on!" Marvin interrupted, leading the way himself. "I've a great desire to be in on these proceedings!"

Seeing that the young man was not to be stopped, Bill said no more as he slid through the door and ambled after him into the lobby.