Other Things Being Equal [40]
into one of the dividing streets toward Franklin. Suddenly Arnold felt his companion start, and saw she had taken her far-off gaze from the landscape. Following the direction of her eyes, he also straightened up. The disturbing object was a slight black column attached to a garden fence and bearing in small gold letters the simple name, Dr. Herbert Kemp.
As they approached nearer, Arnold knew of a certainty that there would be more speaking signs of the doctor's propinquity. His forecasting was not at fault.
Dr. Kemp's quaint, dark-red cottage, with its flower-edged lawn, was reached by a flight of low granite steps, at the top of which lounged the medical gentleman in person. He was not heaven-gazing, but seemed plunged in tobacco-inspired meditation of the flowers beneath him. Arnold's quick eye detected the pink flush that rose to the little ear of his cousin. The sound of their footsteps on the stone sidewalk came faintly to Kemp; he raised his eyes slowly and indifferently. The indifference vanished when he recognized them.
With a hasty movement he threw the cigar from him and ran down the steps.
"Good-evening," he called, raising his old slouch hat and arresting their evident intention of proceeding on their way. They came up, perforce, and met him at the foot of the steps.
"A beautiful evening," he said originally, holding out a cordial hand to Arnold and looking with happy eyes at Ruth. She noticed that there was a marked difference in his appearance from anything she had been used to. His figure looked particularly tall and easy in a loose dark velvet jacket, thrown open from his broad chest; the large sombrero-like hat which had settled on the back of his head left to view his dark hair brushed carelessly backward; an unusual color was on his cheek, and a warm glow in his gray eyes.
"I hope," he went on, frankly transferring his attention to Ruth, "this weather will continue. We shall have a magnificent autumn; the woods must be beginning to look gorgeous."
"I shall know better to-morrow."
"To-morrow?"
"Yes; we leave for Beacham's to-morrow, you know."
"No, I did not know;" an indefinable shadow over-clouded his face, but he said quickly, --
"That is an old hunting-ground of mine. The river teems with speckled treasures. Are you a disciple of old Walton, Mr. Arnold?" he added, turning with courtesy to the silent Frenchman.
"You mean fishing? No; life is too short to hang my humor of a whole day on the end of a line. I have never been at Beacham's."
"It is a fine spot. You will probably go down there this year."
"My business keeps me tied to the city just at present. A professional man has no such bond; his will is his master."
"Hardly, or I should have slipped cables long ago. A restful night is an unknown indulgence sometimes for weeks."
His gaze moved from Arnold's peachy cheek, and falling upon Ruth, surprised her dark eyes resting upon him in anxious questioning. He smiled.
"We shall have to be moving on," she said, holding out a gloved hand.
"Will you be gone long?" he asked, pressing it cordially.
"About a month."
"You will be missed--by the Flynns. Good-by." He raised his hat as he looked at her.
Arnold drew her arm within his, and they walked off.
They say that the first thing a Frenchman learns in studying the English language is the use of that highly expressive outlet of emotion, "Damn." Arnold was an old-timer, but he had not outgrown the charm of his first linguistic victory; and now as he replaced his hat in reply to Kemp, he distinctly though coolly said, "Damn him."
Ruth looked at him, startled; but the composed, non-committal expression of his face led her to believe that her ears had deceived her.
A few more blocks were passed, and they stopped at a pretentious, many-windowed, Queen Anne house. Ruth ran lightly up the steps, her cousin following her leisurely.
She had scarcely rung the bell when the door was opened by Mrs. Lewis herself.
"Good-evening, Ruth; why, Mr. Arnold doesn't mean to say that
As they approached nearer, Arnold knew of a certainty that there would be more speaking signs of the doctor's propinquity. His forecasting was not at fault.
Dr. Kemp's quaint, dark-red cottage, with its flower-edged lawn, was reached by a flight of low granite steps, at the top of which lounged the medical gentleman in person. He was not heaven-gazing, but seemed plunged in tobacco-inspired meditation of the flowers beneath him. Arnold's quick eye detected the pink flush that rose to the little ear of his cousin. The sound of their footsteps on the stone sidewalk came faintly to Kemp; he raised his eyes slowly and indifferently. The indifference vanished when he recognized them.
With a hasty movement he threw the cigar from him and ran down the steps.
"Good-evening," he called, raising his old slouch hat and arresting their evident intention of proceeding on their way. They came up, perforce, and met him at the foot of the steps.
"A beautiful evening," he said originally, holding out a cordial hand to Arnold and looking with happy eyes at Ruth. She noticed that there was a marked difference in his appearance from anything she had been used to. His figure looked particularly tall and easy in a loose dark velvet jacket, thrown open from his broad chest; the large sombrero-like hat which had settled on the back of his head left to view his dark hair brushed carelessly backward; an unusual color was on his cheek, and a warm glow in his gray eyes.
"I hope," he went on, frankly transferring his attention to Ruth, "this weather will continue. We shall have a magnificent autumn; the woods must be beginning to look gorgeous."
"I shall know better to-morrow."
"To-morrow?"
"Yes; we leave for Beacham's to-morrow, you know."
"No, I did not know;" an indefinable shadow over-clouded his face, but he said quickly, --
"That is an old hunting-ground of mine. The river teems with speckled treasures. Are you a disciple of old Walton, Mr. Arnold?" he added, turning with courtesy to the silent Frenchman.
"You mean fishing? No; life is too short to hang my humor of a whole day on the end of a line. I have never been at Beacham's."
"It is a fine spot. You will probably go down there this year."
"My business keeps me tied to the city just at present. A professional man has no such bond; his will is his master."
"Hardly, or I should have slipped cables long ago. A restful night is an unknown indulgence sometimes for weeks."
His gaze moved from Arnold's peachy cheek, and falling upon Ruth, surprised her dark eyes resting upon him in anxious questioning. He smiled.
"We shall have to be moving on," she said, holding out a gloved hand.
"Will you be gone long?" he asked, pressing it cordially.
"About a month."
"You will be missed--by the Flynns. Good-by." He raised his hat as he looked at her.
Arnold drew her arm within his, and they walked off.
They say that the first thing a Frenchman learns in studying the English language is the use of that highly expressive outlet of emotion, "Damn." Arnold was an old-timer, but he had not outgrown the charm of his first linguistic victory; and now as he replaced his hat in reply to Kemp, he distinctly though coolly said, "Damn him."
Ruth looked at him, startled; but the composed, non-committal expression of his face led her to believe that her ears had deceived her.
A few more blocks were passed, and they stopped at a pretentious, many-windowed, Queen Anne house. Ruth ran lightly up the steps, her cousin following her leisurely.
She had scarcely rung the bell when the door was opened by Mrs. Lewis herself.
"Good-evening, Ruth; why, Mr. Arnold doesn't mean to say that