Children of the Whirlwind [64]
to me, but he's a dear fool. I want to handle this so he'll get a jolt that will waken him up--make him take his responsibilities more seriously--make him able to take care of himself."
"Huh!" grunted Hunt. "You've certainly picked out a few man-sized jobs for yourself: to make a success of the straight life for yourself--to come out ahead of the police and your old pals--to make Maggie love the Ten Commandments--to put me across--to make Dick into a level- headed citizen. Any other little item you'd like to take on?"
Larry ignored the irony of the question. "Some of those things I'm going to do," he said confidently. "And any I see I'm going to fail in, I'll get warning to the people involved. But to come back to your promise: are you willing to give your promise now that you know all the facts?"
Hunt pulled for a long moment at his pipe. Then he said almost gruffly:
"I guess you've guessed that Isabel Sherwood is about the most important person in the world to me?"
That was the nearest Hunt had ever come to telling that he loved Miss Sherwood. Larry nodded.
"I'm in bad there already. Suppose your foot slips and everything about Dick goes wrong. What'll be my situation when she learns I've known all along and have just stood by quietly and let things happen? See what I'll be letting myself in for?"
"I do," said Larry, his spirits sinking. "And of course I can understand your decision not to give your promise."
"Who said I wouldn't give my promise?" demanded Hunt. "Of course I give my promise! All I said was that the weather bureau of my bad toe predicts that there's likely to be a storm because of this--and I want you to use your brain, son, I want you to use your brain!"
He upreared his big, shag-haired figure and gripped Larry's hand. "You're all right, Larry--and here's wishing you luck! Now get to hell out of here before Gavegan and Casey drop in for a cup of tea, or your old friends begin target practice with their hip artillery. I want a little quiet in which to finish my packing.
"And say, son," he added, as he pushed Larry through the door, "don't fall dead at the sight of me when you see me next, for I'm likely to be walking around inside all the finery and vanity of Fifth Avenue."
CHAPTER XXI
Larry came down the stairway from Hunt's studio in a mood of high elation. Through Hunt's promise of cooperation he had at least made a start in his unformed plan regarding Maggie. Somehow, he'd work out and put across the rest of it.
Then Hunt's prediction of the trouble that might rise through his silence recurred to Larry. Indeed, that was a delicate situation!-- containing all kinds of possible disasters for himself as well as for Hunt. He would have to be most watchful, most careful, or he would find himself entangled in worse circumstances than at present.
As he came down into the little back room, his grandmother was sitting over her interminable accounts, each of which represented a little profit to herself, some a little relief to many, some a tragedy to a few; and many of which were in code, for these represented transactions of a character which no pawnshop, particularly one reputed to be a fence, wishes ever to have understood by those presumptive busy-bodies, the police. When Larry had first entered, she had merely given him an unsurprised "good-evening" and permitted him to pass on. But now, as he told her good-night and turned to leave, she said in her thin, monotonous voice:
"Sit down for a minute, Larry. I want to talk to you."
Larry obeyed. "Yes, grandmother."
But the Duchess did not at once speak. She held her red-rimmed, unblinking eyes on him steadily. Larry waited patiently. Though she was so composed, so self-contained, Larry knew her well enough to know that what was passing in her mind was something of deep importance, at least to her.
At length she spoke. "You saw Maggie that night you hurried away from here?"
"Yes, grandmother. Have you heard from her since the?--or from Barney or Old Jimmie?"
The Duchess shook her head. "Do you
"Huh!" grunted Hunt. "You've certainly picked out a few man-sized jobs for yourself: to make a success of the straight life for yourself--to come out ahead of the police and your old pals--to make Maggie love the Ten Commandments--to put me across--to make Dick into a level- headed citizen. Any other little item you'd like to take on?"
Larry ignored the irony of the question. "Some of those things I'm going to do," he said confidently. "And any I see I'm going to fail in, I'll get warning to the people involved. But to come back to your promise: are you willing to give your promise now that you know all the facts?"
Hunt pulled for a long moment at his pipe. Then he said almost gruffly:
"I guess you've guessed that Isabel Sherwood is about the most important person in the world to me?"
That was the nearest Hunt had ever come to telling that he loved Miss Sherwood. Larry nodded.
"I'm in bad there already. Suppose your foot slips and everything about Dick goes wrong. What'll be my situation when she learns I've known all along and have just stood by quietly and let things happen? See what I'll be letting myself in for?"
"I do," said Larry, his spirits sinking. "And of course I can understand your decision not to give your promise."
"Who said I wouldn't give my promise?" demanded Hunt. "Of course I give my promise! All I said was that the weather bureau of my bad toe predicts that there's likely to be a storm because of this--and I want you to use your brain, son, I want you to use your brain!"
He upreared his big, shag-haired figure and gripped Larry's hand. "You're all right, Larry--and here's wishing you luck! Now get to hell out of here before Gavegan and Casey drop in for a cup of tea, or your old friends begin target practice with their hip artillery. I want a little quiet in which to finish my packing.
"And say, son," he added, as he pushed Larry through the door, "don't fall dead at the sight of me when you see me next, for I'm likely to be walking around inside all the finery and vanity of Fifth Avenue."
CHAPTER XXI
Larry came down the stairway from Hunt's studio in a mood of high elation. Through Hunt's promise of cooperation he had at least made a start in his unformed plan regarding Maggie. Somehow, he'd work out and put across the rest of it.
Then Hunt's prediction of the trouble that might rise through his silence recurred to Larry. Indeed, that was a delicate situation!-- containing all kinds of possible disasters for himself as well as for Hunt. He would have to be most watchful, most careful, or he would find himself entangled in worse circumstances than at present.
As he came down into the little back room, his grandmother was sitting over her interminable accounts, each of which represented a little profit to herself, some a little relief to many, some a tragedy to a few; and many of which were in code, for these represented transactions of a character which no pawnshop, particularly one reputed to be a fence, wishes ever to have understood by those presumptive busy-bodies, the police. When Larry had first entered, she had merely given him an unsurprised "good-evening" and permitted him to pass on. But now, as he told her good-night and turned to leave, she said in her thin, monotonous voice:
"Sit down for a minute, Larry. I want to talk to you."
Larry obeyed. "Yes, grandmother."
But the Duchess did not at once speak. She held her red-rimmed, unblinking eyes on him steadily. Larry waited patiently. Though she was so composed, so self-contained, Larry knew her well enough to know that what was passing in her mind was something of deep importance, at least to her.
At length she spoke. "You saw Maggie that night you hurried away from here?"
"Yes, grandmother. Have you heard from her since the?--or from Barney or Old Jimmie?"
The Duchess shook her head. "Do you