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Witness

<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> <div class="blockquot"> My dear Mr. Courtland: </div> The very first line translated Courtland into another world from the one in which he had been living during the past three days. Its perfumed breath struck harshly on his soul. <div class="blockquot">I am writing to report on the case of the poor girl whom you asked me to help. I was very anxious to please you and did my best; but you remember that I warned you that persons of that sort were likely to be most difficult and ungrateful—indeed, quite impossible sometimes. And so, perhaps, you will be somewhat prepared for the disappointing report I have to give. I went to the hospital this afternoon, putting off several engagements to do so. I was quite surprised to find the girl in a private room, but of course your kindness made that possible for her, which makes her utter ingratitude all the more unpardonable. I took with me several very pretty frocks of my own, quite good, some of them scarcely worn at all, for I know girls of that sort care more for clothes than anything else. But I found her quite sullen and disagreeable. She wouldn't look at the things I had brought, although I suggested several ways in which I intended to help her and make it possible for her to have a few friends of her own class who would make her forget her troubles. She just lay and stared at me and said, quite impertinently, that she didn't remember ever having met me. And when I mentioned your name she denied ever having seen you. She even dared to ask me to leave the room. And the nurse was most insulting. But don't worry about it in the least, for papa has promised to have the nurse removed at once from her position, and blacklisted, so that she can't ever get another place in a decent hospital. I am afraid you will be disappointed in your protegée, and I am awfully sorry, for I would have enjoyed doing her good; but you see how impossible it was. You are not to feel put out that I was treated that way, for I really enjoyed doing something for you; and you know it is good for one to suffer sometimes. I'll be delighted to go slumming for you any time again that you say, and please don't mind asking me. It's much better for me to look after any girls that need help than it is for you, because girls of that sort are so likely to impose upon a young man's sympathies. My cousin has been telling me how you have been looking after some of the work of a student who is majoring in sociology, so I'm beginning to understand why you took this girl up. I do hope you'll let me help. Suppose you run over this evening and we can talk it over. I'm giving up two whole engagements to stay at home for you, so I hope you will properly appreciate it, and if anything hinders your coming, would you mind calling up and letting me know? Hoping to see you this evening, </div> <div> Your true friend and fellow-worker, GGila Dare. </div> The letter struck a false note in the harmony of the day. It annoyed Courtland beyond expression that he had made such a blunder as to send Gila after Bonnie. He could not understand why Gila had not had better discernment than to think Bonnie an object of charity. His indignation was still burning over the trouble and peril her action had brought to Bonnie. Yet he hated to have his opinion of Gila shaken. He had arranged it in his mind that she was a sweet and lovely girl, one in every way similar to Solveig the innocent, and he did not care to change it. He tried to remember Gila's conventional upbringing, and realize that she had no conception of a girl out of her own social circle other than as a menial to whom to condescend. The vision of her loveliness in rose and silver, with her prayer-book "in her 'kerchief" was still dimly forcing him to be at least polite and accept her letter of apology for her failure, as he could but suppose it was sincerely meant. Then all at once a new fact dawned upon him. The invitation had been for Saturday evening! This was Sunday evening! And now what was he to do? He might call her up and apologize, but what could he say. Bill Ward might have told her by this time that he knew the letter had been received. A blunt confession that he had forgotten to read it might offend, yet what else could he do? It was most annoying! He went to the telephone as soon as he reached the college. The fellows had already gone down to the evening meal. He could hear the clink of china and silver in the distant dining-room. It was a good time to 'phone. A moment, and Gila's cool contralto answered: "Hel-lo-oo!" There was something about the way that Gila said that word that conveyed a whole lot of things, instantly putting the caller at his distance, but placing the lady on a pedestal before which it became most desirable to bow. "This is Paul Courtland!" "Oh! Mr. Courtland!" Her voice was freezing. But Courtland was not used to being frozen out. "I owe you an apology, Miss Dare," he said, with dignity. He didn't care how blunt he sounded now. It always angered him to be frozen! "Your letter reached me just as I was leaving here last evening on a very important errand. I put it in my pocket, but I have been so occupied that it escaped my mind utterly until just now. I hope I did not cause you much inconvenience." "Oh, it really didn't mattah in the least!" answered Gila, indifferently. Nothing could be colder or more distant than her voice, and yet there was something in it this time, a subtle lure, that exasperated. A teasing little something at his spirit demanded to be set right in her eyes—to have her the suppliant rather than himself. "I really am awfully ashamed," he said, in quite a boyish, humble tone, and then gasped at himself. What was there about Gila that always "got a fellow's goat"? After that Gila had the conversation quite where she wanted it, and finally she told him sweetly that he might come over this evening if he chose. She had other engagements, but she would break them all for him. "Suppose you go to church with me this evening," he temporized. "I've found a minister I'd like to have you hear. He's quite original!" There was a distinct pause at the other end of the 'phone, while Gila's little white teeth came cruelly into her red under lip, and her pearly forehead drew the straight, black, penciled brows naughtily. Then she answered, in sweetly honeyed tones: "Why, that would be lovely! Perhaps I will. What time do we start?" Something in her tone annoyed him, despite his satisfaction at having induced her to be friends again. Almost it sounded like a false note in the day again. He hadn't expected her to go. Now she was going, he was very sure he didn't want her. "I warn you that it is among very common people in the lower part of the city," he said, almost severely. "Oh, that's all right!" she declared, graciously. "I'm sure it will be dandy! I certainly do enjoy new experiences!" He hung up the 'phone with far greater misgivings than he had felt when he asked her to call on Bonnie. Bill Ward was called out of the dining-room to the telephone almost as soon as Courtland got down to the table. It was Gila on the phone: "Is that you Bill? Well, Bill, this is Gila. Say, what in the name of peace have you let me in for now? I hope to goodness mamma won't find it out. She'd have a pink fit! Say! is this a joke, or what? I believe you're putting one over on me!" "Search me, Gila! I'm all in the dark! Give me a line on it and I'll tell you." "Well, what do you think that crazy nut has pulled off now? Wants me to go to church with him! Of all things! And down in some queer slum place, too! If I get into a scrape you'll have to promise to help me out, or mamma'll never let me free from a chaperon again. And I had to make Artley Guelpin, and Turner Bailey sore, too, by telling them I was sick and they couldn't come and try over those new dance-steps to-night as I'd promised. If I get into the papers or anything I'll have a long score to settle with you." "Oh, cut that out, Gila! You'll not get into any scrape with Court. He's all right. He's only nuts about religion just now, and seems to be set on sampling all kinds of churches. Say! that's a good one, though, for you to go to church with him! I must tell the fellows. Keep it up, Guile, old girl! You'll pull the fat out of the fire yet. You're just the one to go along and counteract the pious line. You should worry about Artley Guelpin and Turner Bailey! You can't keep either of them sore; they haven't got back bone enough to stay so. If it's the same dump Court took Tennelly to this morning you'll get your money's worth, all right. Nelly said it was a scream." Bill Ward came back, grinning from ear to ear. Every few minutes during the rest of the meal he broke out in a broad grin and looked at Courtland, who was absorbed in his own thoughts; and then he would slap Tennelly on the shoulder and say: "Ho! boy! It's a rare one!" But it was not until Courtland had hurried away after his lady that Bill gave forth his information. "Oh, Nelly!" he burst forth. "Court's going to take Gila to church! You don't suppose he'll take her to that dump where he led you this morning, do you? I can see her nose go up now. I thought I'd croak when she told me! Wait till you hear her call me up on the 'phone when she gets home! She'll give me the worst balling out I ever had! And Aunt Nina would have apoplexy if she knew her 'darlin' pet' was going into that part of town! Oh, boy! Set me on my feet or I'll die laughing!" Tennelly regarded Bill Ward with solemn consternation. "Do you mean to tell me that Court has asked your cousin to go to that camp-meeting hole where he took me this morning? Cut out the kidding and tell me straight! Well, then, Bill, it's serious, and we've got to do something! We can't have a fellow like Court spoiled for life. He's gone stale, that's what's the matter; he's gone stale! He's got to have strenuous measures to pull him up." "He sure has!" said Bill Ward, soberly, getting up from the couch where he had been rolling in his mirth. "What can we do? What about these business ambitions of his? Couldn't we work him that way? For Court's got a great head on him, you know! I thought Gila would do the business, but if he's rung in religion on her it's all up, I'm afraid. But business is a different thing. Not even Court could mix business and religion, for they won't fit together!" "That's the trouble," said Tennelly, thoughtfully. "If it gets out what's the matter with Court he won't stand half a chance. I was thinking of my uncle Ramsey, out in Chicago. He has large financial interests in the West; he often wants promising men to take charge of some big thing, and it means a dandy opening; big money and no end of social and political pull to get into one of his berths. He's promised me one when I'm done college, and I was going to talk to him about Court. He's twice the man I am and just what Uncle Ramsey wants. He's coming on East next week, and likely to stop over. I might see what I can do." "That's just the thing, Nelly. Go to it, old man! Write unc. a letter to-night. Nothing like giving a lot of dope beforehand." "That's an idea! I will!" and Tennelly went to his desk and began to write. Meantime Gila awaited Courtland's coming, attired in a most startling costume of blue velvet and ermine, with high laced white kid boots, and a hat that resembled a fresh, white setting-hen, tied down to her pert little face with a veil whose large-meshed surface was broken by a single design, a large black butterfly anchored just across her dainty little nose. A most astonishing costume in which to appear in the Rev. John Burns's unpretentious little church crowded with the canaille of the city! It was the first time that Courtland had ever felt that Gila was a little loud in her dress! <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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