Nobody's Child

Things were working out well for Baird. At the Fair Field Club he had secured one man for his company, and when Edward Westmore came forward with his guarantee for Garvin he would present them both to Carter with the certainty of accrued interest in the company.

But Baird was not thinking of business when he rode away from Westmore that night. For the first time he was thinking really seriously of a woman. Until he met Judith Westmore, women had been merely incidents to him, and to-night he had been brought face to face with marriage, the thing he had not intended to consider for years to come.

He and Judith had seen each other frequently during the last weeks. They had ridden together, spent long evenings together, been bidden together to all the Ridge gatherings. And yet, throughout, Judith had maintained a certain distance, attracting him, and yet restraining him. He had struggled against her dominance, as he would always struggle to conquer anything that eluded him. Judith had hovered just beyond his reach, and he had been forced into an impassioned deference, been held to it so determinedly that his capturing instinct had been fully aroused. The eight years' difference in their ages had vanished from his consideration. Was she playing with him, or was she not? What he wanted was a more satisfying response to his love.

For Baird had decided that for the first time in his life he was in love. For the first time a woman had interested him completely, stirred all that was decentest in him, held him to deference while she showed herself supremely attractive. When he had come upon Ann that afternoon, he had been wondering what Judith would say or do if he should suddenly lift her from her horse and kiss her; tell her that he loved her? How much would he learn of the real Judith?

He had been on the very verge of some such avowal when he had looked up and seen Ann. Their little episode had long since been relegated to the background which was studded by such careless incidents; he felt no particular self-consciousness at the sight of Ann, but it did strike him as unnecessarily cruel of Judith to cut the girl. Ann was so appealingly pretty as she stood there, wide-eyed and startled, then so lovely when radiated by her eager smile. "Damn their stupid family quarrel!" had been Baird's inward comment.

The thing had chilled him, and they had ridden in silence until Judith asked brightly, "Who is that pretty girl we just passed? She gave you a brilliant smile, Mr. Baird."

Baird had been surprised into saying, "Ann Penniman – but it was you she was speaking to – she gave me only the tail of her eye," and his annoyance at Judith made him add, "I think she is the prettiest girl I've met on the Ridge."

"Ann Penniman? Why, I don't know her – I never spoke to a Penniman in my life," Judith had returned with a faintly questioning, half-amused, half-regretful note. "If she is the little girl who belongs to the farm beyond the woods there, she has grown up quickly. I'm sorry if I was really included in that smile and didn't realize it."

Judith had done her feminine best to nullify her act and at the same time convey to Baird the status of Ann Penniman. Baird had not fathomed her, or guessed the swift jealousy that had instantly struck at Ann. Ann's smile was certainly meant for Judith, but if Judith had not realized it, it was all right enough. Garvin had told him that no Penniman ever bowed to a Westmore. The odd thing was that Ann should have risked being cut. But why should he think twice about the thing – he had no interest either in their quarrels or their attempts at reconciliation.

Baird promptly forgot the incident, for, throughout the afternoon, Judith was so utterly charming to him. They had had the club to themselves; it was a little as if he were entertaining her at his own house, a new sensation to Baird – every step of his intimacy with Judith had been a new experience.

They had ridden slowly back to Westmore then, through the tender green of the woods, both the languor and the stir of spring having their way with him, his eyes saying to Judith the things his lips did not. Then Westmore had deepened, as it always did, the impression of unattainability that Judith gave. Their walk on the terrace after dinner had softened the impression. Judith had talked about herself, and one admission she made had impressed Baird more than anything she had ever said; she was speaking of Westmore and of Edward:

"I have been mistress of Westmore for a long time, but I realize that Edward will probably marry – he is only thirty-nine… In a way, it will be a relief to me, and yet I shall feel a little desolate."

"But you will marry," Baird had said.

"If I love a man enough, I will."

Baird did not know why he had not spoken, then and there. Why the thing had come suddenly and in the way in which it had – when his horse had been brought to the front door and Judith stood beside him as he was about to mount. He had tested the saddle, Judith was afraid that it might be loose, they stood together, their hands touching, and suddenly her nearness had pervaded him. He had caught her to him, held her for the instant of yielding, and then their lips had met.

It was a woman's kiss he had received; a woman's clinging embrace, as passionate as the pressure of his own arms – for the long moment before withdrawal. He had tried to keep her. "Judith, we love each other – " he said, but the arms that held him off were like steel.

"It's – Edward – " she whispered breathlessly. "You must let me go – " When he loosed her, she gained the portico. She had heard when he had not Edward's approach around the side of the house.

When Edward came up, Baird stood back to his horse, his grasp already on a degree of composure. He had been conscious that Edward had spoken absently, that he stood absently beside Judith while Baird told Judith that he would see her the next day. He had lifted his cap and ridden away, with only the one very clear impression, that before he saw Judith again he would settle something that was a chaotic uncertainty in his mind.

He was trying to settle it when Garvin met him, and took it up again when they parted: was he ready to marry – even for love? There were minor considerations that occurred to Baird: he had gone far, and Judith was not a woman to be played with; she would be a superb wife; she loved him and he loved her, but did he love her enough to give up his beloved freedom? to settle down to home-building?.. He thought he did.

Baird shouldered the thing finally, with an all-pervading sense of responsibility; went soberly to bed with it.

XXI

A LOT OF PLANNING

Baird rose early the next morning in the same soberly responsible frame of mind, fully conscious that he was about to enter upon an entirely new phase. He had no joking word for Sam – and no shining half-dollar – he would have to be more careful of his half-dollars after this, a family man had to think of such things.

Though it was Saturday, he had to go into the city that morning, for Edward had promised that if, after considering Baird's proposition over night, he decided that he wanted to close with it, he would come to Carter's office, talk the matter over with him as well, and sign the necessary papers. Halstead, the Fair Field investor whose promise Baird had secured, was also coming. It would be a triumph for Baird, for the two were so exactly the sort of men his firm would welcome.

For the three morning hours Baird was too alertly busy to think of his matrimonial plans. Both Edward and Halstead appeared promptly, settled their business without hesitation, and, when Edward took leave of Baird at noon, Garvin's position was secure. There was already a city agency for the Dempster machines, and as soon as the present agent could be transferred to an agency elsewhere Garvin was to take his place. Carter thought that Garvin could take charge in about a month, and in the meantime he would receive commissions on any Dempsters he might be able to sell.

Baird had the satisfaction of knowing that Carter was well pleased; the extra interest in the company which he craved was certain to be his. Carter lunched him royally at his club when the morning's business was ended, and invited him for the afternoon and for Sunday to his palatial new home in Spring Valley, but Baird had other plans; he meant to go to Westmore that evening.

"An attraction on the Ridge, I suppose," Carter said, with a twinkle in his eye.

"Yes," Baird confessed, but with the air of the man who meant to say no more.

Carter turned to business. "Dempster says the first thing for us to do is to get out a new model that's something ahead of anything on the market yet."

"We have to compete with the French machines," Baird said. "If we can evolve a model that offers the qualities of the best French traveler, we'll have accomplished something. And there's a big future for the truck, too… I went into the Gaylord factories after I came back from South America, worked eight months there, on purpose to get ideas for a model car and truck I've had in mind ever since I first saw a motor chugging along in Chicago. It was the trial trip of the orneriest excuse for a car man ever invented. I bought my way on her second trip just to study her. Then I took up mechanical engineering, or, rather, I went on with it. Except for the two years I spent on a ranch in Wyoming, I was always knocking around machine shops; my father couldn't keep me out of them."

Carter was thinking. "You've had a course in engineering, then?" he asked.

"Four years in Chicago University. That's what took me out to South America. I saw a chance to make money there and I made it, fifty thousand in one year – the next year I dropped it, partly because I hadn't experience enough, and partly because I had the Brazilian government against me… But I've told you that story before."

Carter had followed his line of thought to a conclusion. "How would you like to go to France for a few months, go this autumn, and go the rounds of the factories there, while Dempster is enlarging the plant, and bring us back your ideas?"

It was the thing Baird desired most. He had puzzled over some means of getting to Europe and still keeping in close touch with the company. Here was his opportunity, nevertheless his instant thought was, "If I do you'll pay me well for it – and you won't get my best ideas, either, not unless I get a lion's share of the profits." To Carter he said, "It wouldn't be a bad scheme – it would pay the company in the end, I think."

"I'll suggest it to Dempster when he comes in." Carter relaxed into chuckles then. "I've got a word to say to him about the present Dempster car, too. Spring Valley is duly impressed by the shining thing, which was my object in having it sent on, and I've gladly spent a hundred dollars or so on coats and bonnets and veils for Mrs. Carter and Christine, but, lord, Baird, every damned thing that could go wrong with an engine and four wheels has happened to that thing! I meant to run it myself and take a little quiet joy in doctoring its ills, but no, thank you! I'm done! I've advertised for a first-class chauffeur who'll take charge of it and swear to all the neighbors that the beast is an angel. It probably will sell Dempster cars, but I'll own to you that I'm sorry for the man who buys one."

"They're no good," Baird agreed, "but no make on the market is satisfactory, for that matter. We've simply got to get out a better machine." Then he laughed. "Garvin Westmore is having his trials, too, and keeping quiet about it. Every man will keep as quiet as possible about his engine troubles, keep a debit and credit sheet – debit, temper and money – credit, the envy of his neighbors and the possession of a high-priced convenience. And the credit sheet will win out every time. The craze is on and will go the lengths – until we begin to travel the air."

"I suppose you'll be advocating a flying-machine annex to the factory next," Carter said.

Baird did not say that he had given a great deal of thought to aerial navigation. He bid Carter a laughing good-by and took the first train to the Ridge.

He settled quickly into the gravity that had held him ever since he had parted from Judith… Judith would enjoy Europe. She had never been to Europe; neither had he… And when they returned they would have to go west to live; he would have to be near the factory. He thought, with something of a glow, that Judith would be a queen anywhere, beautiful and capable – and a passionately loving woman – her kiss had told him that.

He pondered Judith a little. She was no longer a mystery to him; just a splendid sort of woman who had plenty of will, will enough to have devoted herself to Westmore through the hard years, but, throughout, a woman desirous of love. He had wanted to discover her, and it had led to this. He couldn't ask for a better helpmate than Judith; she was a deal too fine for him, in fact; he would have to live up to Westmore ideals… There was a lot of planning to do for the future… It was almost four o'clock – he would fill in the time till evening, then go to Judith.

XXII

IMPRESSIONS

So Baird had decided when he alighted from the train and went down into the village for his horse which he always left at one of the village stables while he was in the city. He stopped at the little store-post-office for his mail, then rode up the Post-Road, across the railroad track and past the station. A short distance away he noticed a shining new buggy drawn close to the edge of the road, and his next glance told him that the girl in the buggy was Ann Penniman. He had not recognized her at first, in her red coat and big white hat; he had not immediately connected her with the new buggy and capable horse, either.

Baird was in a mood to be regretful for past misdemeanors; never in his life had he felt so solemnly retrospective for so many consecutive hours. He rode directly up to Ann, undeterred by the way in which she looked through him, much as Judith had looked through her on the day before.

Baird brought his horse to a stop beside her. "How do you do?" he said gravely.

Ann's beautiful brows lifted. "I am well, thank you." Baird could not have imagined a more icy greeting.

"Will you endure my presence long enough for me to say something?" he asked with unabated gravity.

"Why – certainly – " Ann's brows were still raised.

"I want to apologize humbly, for the way in which I repaid your kindness the other day. I behaved abominably."

Ann paused an instant for a choice of words. "I reckon I was too – pleasant to a stranger – an' you behaved the way that's natural to you. I haven't thought much about it, so it doesn't matter at all."

"I guess you're right about my being an ill-mannered brute – it's about time I reformed," Baird returned with perfect sincerity. "I'm very sorry I did what I did… You see, Miss Ann, you're very sweet and pretty, the prettiest girl I've ever seen, I think, and I clean forgot myself – was just abominably natural, as you say."

Baird would not have been Baird had he not added this codicil to his apology and signed it by the look he gave Ann, an appreciative study of the water-lily hat and the flower-like face it framed. Her red coat became her wonderfully, made her clear skin still more white, intensified the gray in her hazel eyes, deepened the black in her hair. She was a study in contrasts, and really very beautiful. And it struck Baird that she looked much more mature. There were shadows beneath her eyes, and her mouth looked firmer, like that of a girl grown rather suddenly into womanhood.

Ann increased the impression by the way in which she disposed of his speech. She shrugged slightly, shelving both his apology and his admiration with utter indifference. "I am waiting for my father – I reckon he must have missed the last train. Do you know what time it is?"

Baird looked at his watch. "The next train will be along in ten minutes."

"As soon as that? I'm glad… I don't like to go any nearer the station, for we don't know yet whether this horse is train-broke."

Baird repeated his stock phrase. "You ought to have an automobile – it wouldn't take fright."

Ann smiled involuntarily at the thought of a Penniman's investing in an automobile, and also at Baird's business alertness; she had heard much of Baird from Garvin. "You ought to talk to father," she said. When she smiled she looked more like the mischievous child Baird had seen playing in the barn; her eyelids drooped and the corners of her mouth lifted.

"I will," Baird returned promptly. "I'll wait here and meet him, if you don't mind."

Ann decided to offer no objection. She had brought it on herself, but she felt quite capable of enduring his presence with equanimity. And if her father treated him with scant courtesy, so much the better. She settled back in the buggy, and Baird also chose a more negligent attitude. He sat sidewise and surveyed Ann.

She was certainly worth looking at as she sat there, relaxed and with eyes down, an air of self-absorption that was tantalizing. Apparently, she was quite indifferent whether there was any conversation or not.

"Have you seen Garvin Westmore driving his new machine?" he asked at random.

"No," Ann answered, without raising her eyes. She was thinking of Garvin and the night before; she had thought of little else all day.

Baird noted her manner, and launched into an account of Garvin's trial trip down the Post-Road. He exaggerated the dangers they encountered, and Ann woke to new interest, even to terror, when he assured her that it was all a man's life was worth to drive a car over some of the Ridge roads.

"An' Garvin's so reckless – about drivin'," she said, wide-eyed, and added severely, "You ought to tell him to be careful – you sold him the horrid thing."

"He'd pay more attention if you told him, don't you think?" Baird suggested tentatively.

Ann flushed deeply enough, but not so deeply as she did a moment later, when she saw Edward Westmore within a few yards of them. He was riding up from the village, and neither of them had noticed until he was almost upon them, for the soft dirt road had dulled sound. He had seen them as soon as he had crossed the railroad track; looked at them closely and observantly as he came on.

The change in Ann was instantaneous. She grew crimson and sat up abruptly, her whole aspect, for the brief moment until Edward smiled, uncertain and appealing. Then, as if she had won pardon for some fault, the smile that vivified her was sweeter than the May sunshine. Baird thought she was the loveliest thing he had ever seen, with her lips a little apart, her eyes shining. No wonder Edward looked at her as if he were absorbing her. Baird felt a sudden envy of Edward; no girl had ever looked at him like that!.. But there were not many girls who could look like Ann.

Baird also had straightened, for the look Edward had given him was somewhat coolly level; Baird felt that Edward's smile was entirely for Ann. But it was to him Edward spoke: "Just out from town, Baird?"

"Yes. I'm waiting now to talk Dempsters to Mr. Penniman – Miss Ann thinks I can sell him one." Baird did not know why he explained his presence so promptly; perhaps because Edward's manner made him uncomfortable.

"I thought I would like to see you try," Ann said with an indifference that had nothing to do with the way in which she was looking at Edward. "I'm waiting for father to come on the next train," she explained, and told Edward about the horse. "Ben Brokaw says he's afraid Billy's a runaway horse."

"You ought not to be driving him, then," Edward said with concern.

It struck Baird that Edward's entire manner was anxious and concerned. That he had looked keenly and anxiously at Ann as he had approached. He had been brief enough over their business transaction that morning, as if he had far more important matters on his mind.

"I reckon I shouldn't," Ann agreed. "I'll see how he behaves when the train comes."

"That's reckless. I wish you wouldn't do such things."

Baird was surprised at the intimacy the remark implied. Were both brothers in love with her? If one judged from appearances, Ann favored Edward… Or was she simply a born coquette? She was certainly enough to turn any man's head, and an infatuation on Garvin's part was natural, he was that sort; but Edward Westmore?

"I won't any more," Ann promised with pretty submission.

Though he looked at Ann, Edward's next speech was directed to Baird. "I was at the club about an hour ago – I went by the Back Road and left some papers for you, Baird. You can look them over and bring them to Westmore this evening – that is if you thought of coming over."

It was a reminder of Judith, though Baird knew Edward did not intend it as such; that would be too unlike him. "Yes, I am coming after dinner," Baird said gravely.

Ann knew just what Edward intended; she saw it in his eyes – that he had left a book for her – and she answered his look.

"There is the train," Edward said warningly. "Be careful, Ann." He brought his horse closer to her. "Keep your eye on the horse, Baird."

Ann sat taut, reins well held, and her eyes watchful. The train had whistled at the junction, and the next moment it roared along below them, making the usual racket as it slowed up, and it was quite plain that Ann's horse was not trustworthy. He quivered, backed and plunged and showed all the signs of fright.

"Don't touch him!" Ann said resolutely. "I can manage him." And to the horse, "You idiot, you! Sho, now, Billy – quiet, suh – quiet – "

She handled him well, and without a particle of nervousness, though for a few moments it seemed likely that the buggy would be overturned; the animal backed perilously near the edge of the road. Edward kept near enough to draw Ann from danger if that should happen, and Baird watched for the runaway that was certain to follow if the buggy overturned. They were tense moments – until the train snorted its onward way around the curve and the horse gradually quieted.

"All right, now," Baird said, "but the brute's not safe, Miss Ann – he's particularly stupid."

Ann looked at Edward, her eyes blazing. "He needed the whip! I'd have given it to him —hard– but I was afraid I'd frighten you." Baird thought she looked rather like Garvin with that flame in her eyes; both her cool handling of the horse and her lift into excitement surprised him; it altered his opinion of Ann Penniman somewhat.

Edward was a little gray about the lips. "Ann, promise me you will never drive that horse again."

"I'm not afraid of him!"

"Promise me," Edward repeated.

Ann drew a long breath, then smiled. "Yes, I promise. I promised before."

Edward gave her a long look, and her eyes dropped under it. He looked then at Baird, who had been silently observant. "Perhaps you'll watch over this reckless young person until Mr. Penniman comes," he said more lightly. "Having scolded, I'll depart… Good-by, Ann." But there was nothing chiding in the parting look he gave her, Baird noticed.

There was good reason for his somewhat hasty departure, for the man who had just separated from the group on the station platform was Coats Penniman. When he started toward them, Edward had ridden on. As he approached, Coats eyed Baird quite as gravely and observantly as Edward had done. He had a stern face, heavy black brows that lowered easily over blue-gray eyes.

Baird gave him look for look, coolly, returning his nod in like fashion, and Coats transferred his attention to Ann. "Well, Ann?"

"I stopped up here on account of the horse," Ann explained. "He was ugly when the train came – if I'd been nearer, I reckon he'd have run away… This is Mr. Baird, father – he wanted to meet you – he wants to sell you an automobile." Ann was very certain that her father would promptly dispose of Baird. He knew who Baird was, the whole Ridge knew Baird now – an enterprising young fellow who had been put forward by the Westmores.

Both to her surprise and Baird's, Coats offered his hand. "I'm glad to meet you. I've heard about you – you're a western man, aren't you?"

"Chicago… Some one was telling me you'd lived out there – long enough to be interested in automobiles, I hope." Baird had rather a taking smile, particularly when it was whimsical.

To Ann's greater surprise, Coats said, "I have been thinking of getting one – if for no other reason than to get some decent roads about here. From what I know of your Dempsters they can be guaranteed to furnish an accident or two that would stir up our county supervisors. The roads they give us are an outrage."