"Thank you, Mr.Speranza," she said."I have enjoyed our poetry talk SO much.It must be wonderful to write as you do.Good night."She looked admiringly into his eyes as she said it.In spite of the gall and wormwood Albert found it not at all unpleasant to be looked at in that way by a girl like Madeline Fosdick.His reflections on that point were interrupted by a voice from the car.
"Come, Madeline, come," it said, fussily."What ARE you waiting for?"Albert caught a glimpse of a majestic figure which, seated beside Mrs.Kelsey on the rear seat of the limousine, towered above that short, plump lady as a dreadnaught towers above a coal barge.He surmised this figure to be that of the maternal Fosdick.Madeline climbed in beside her parent and the limousine rolled away.
Albert's going-to-bed reflections that evening were divided in flavor, like a fruit sundae, a combination of sweet and sour.The sour was furnished by thoughts of Edwin Raymond and Helen Kendall, the former's presumption in daring to seek her society as he did, and Helen's amazing silliness in permitting such a thing.The sweet, of course, was furnished by a voice which repeated to his memory the words, "It must be wonderful to write as you do." Also the tone of that voice and the look in the eyes.
Could he have been privileged to hear the closing bits of a conversation which was taking place at that moment his reflections might have been still further saccharined.Miss Jane Kelsey was saying: "And NOW what do you think of our Cape Cod poet? Didn't Ipromise you to show you something you couldn't find on Fifth Avenue?" And to this Miss Madeline Fosdick made reply: "I think he is the handsomest creature I ever saw.And so clever! Why, he is wonderful, Jane! How in the world does he happen to be living here--all the time?"It is perhaps, on the whole, a good thing that Albert Speranza could not hear this.It is certainly a good thing that Captain Zelotes Snow did not hear it.
And although the balance of sweet and sour in Albert's mind that night was almost even, the sour predominated next day and continued to predominate.Issachar Price had sowed the seed of jealousy in the mind of the assistant bookkeeper of Z.Snow and Company, and that seed took root and grew as it is only too likely to do under such circumstances.That evening Albert walked again to the post-office.Helen was not there, neither was Miss Kelsey or Miss Fosdick.He waited for a time and then determined to call at the Kendall home, something he had not done for some time.As he came up to the front walk, between the arbor-vitae hedges, he saw that the parlor windows were alight.The window shade was but partially drawn and beneath it he could see into the room.Helen was seated at the piano and Edwin Raymond was standing beside her, ready to turn the page of her music.
Albert whirled on his heel and walked out of the yard and down the street toward his own home.His attitude of mind was a curious one.He had a mind to wait until Raymond left and then go into the Kendall parlor and demand of Helen to know what she meant by letting that fellow make such a fool of himself.What right had he--Raymond--to call upon her, and turn her music and--and set the whole town talking? Why-- Oh, he could think of many things to ask and say.The trouble was that the saying of them would, he felt sure, be distinctly bad diplomacy on his part.No one--not even he--could talk to Helen Kendall in that fashion; not unless he wished it to be their final conversation.
So he went home, to fret and toss angrily and miserably half the night.He had never before considered himself in the slightest degree in love with Helen, but he had taken for granted the thought that she liked him better than anyone else.Now he was beginning to fear that perhaps she did not, and, with his temperament, wounded vanity and poetic imagination supplied the rest.Within a fortnight he considered himself desperately in love with her.
During this fortnight he called at the parsonage, the Kendall home, several times.On the first of these occasions the Reverend Mr.
Kendall, having just completed a sermon dealing with the war and, being full of his subject, read the said sermon to his daughter and to Albert.The reading itself lasted for three-quarters of an hour and Mr.Kendall's post-argument and general dissertation on German perfidy another hour after that.By that time it was late and Albert went home.The second call was even worse, for Ed Raymond called also and the two young men glowered at each other until ten o'clock.They might have continued to glower indefinitely, for neither meant to leave before the other, but Helen announced that she had some home-study papers to look over and she knew they would excuse her under the circumstances.On that hint they departed simultaneously, separating at the gate and walking with deliberate dignity in opposite directions.
At his third attempt, however, Albert was successful to the extent that Helen was alone when he called and there was no school work to interrupt.But in no other respect was the interview satisfactory.
All that week he had been boiling with the indignation of the landed proprietor who discovers a trespasser on his estate, and before this call was fifteen minutes old his feelings had boiled over.
"What IS the matter with you, Al?" asked Helen."Do tell me and let's see if I can't help you out of your trouble."Her visitor flushed."Trouble?" he repeated, stiffly."I don't know what you mean.""Oh yes, do.You must.What IS the matter?""There is nothing the matter with me."
