Coming Through the Rye (Musaicum Romance Classics). Grace Livingston Hill

voice. "He’ll be like this for hours—days perhaps—before there’s any change. You better save your strength. You’ll need it. Did you have your dinner? You better go down and get it. I’ll sit right by him and call you the first sign of any change, but there won’t be any. The doctor was sure."

      Romayne looked about and saw that they had all gone but the nurse and a man who seemed to be on guard outside the door. She shuddered as she realized that her father, in what might be his last illness, was having to be watched by an officer of the law. Her father!

      She was glad the officer was not any of those who had been in the house when she first entered. She slid past him as if he had been something to fear and sped down the stairs. It had been slowly coming to her that she ought to do something to set Lawrence free at once. They ought to be consulting together about their father. If that terrible young man with the iron hand and the square jaw were downstairs, would he let her telephone to Judge Freeman? For, of course, if Judge Freeman was her father’s partner, he was responsible for things, and he ought to be able to do something about setting Lawrence free.

      It was humiliating to her to think of opening a conversation once more with her obnoxious young jailer, but she would have to do something at once. Perhaps it was not true after all. Perhaps Lawrence was not arrested. Perhaps he had only gone for friends and would soon be back.

      These thoughts all went through her mind as she glanced furtively in every corner for sight of the young man, Evan Sherwood.

      But he was not there. Not anywhere apparently.

      The little doors by the fireplace had been closed, and the chairs set straight, and everything looked normal again in her father’s office. Not until she searched twice in the dim light of the single shaded lamp that was lit did she discover the square shoulders of the boy Chris, standing half within the amber-colored curtains as if he shrank from being found.

      Very well. She would not find him. She would just go ahead and do her telephoning as if no one were there.

      So she turned her back on the shrinking Chris and sat down at the desk, drawing the telephone toward her.

      She called Judge Freeman’s home but, after waiting some time, was told that he had suddenly been called out of town, and they did not know when he would return. It might be a week or more.

      She hung up the receiver with a feeling that the props had been knocked from under her and she was slowly sinking.

      She grasped for the receiver once more and called another number, the home of another of her father’s friends, with the same result. A third time she tried for another friend of the family with a like failure, and it dawned upon her that this might not be a mere coincidence. Could it possibly be business had found it convenient to get away while her father bore the penalty of the law for them in their absence?

      After sitting for some minutes, silently turning over in her mind her list of friends who would be helpful now, she called one of her brother’s happy friends who had been much at the house during the past few weeks of their prosperity, and whose family were influential people.

      Carefully she explained the situation as she saw it. Lawrence was gone. They had told her he was arrested! Of course it was some mistake. The whole thing was—but never mind! Her father was terribly ill, suddenly, a stroke of paralysis the doctor said. Would George kindly hunt up Lawrence and do whatever was necessary to get him out and get him home at once? He was needed——

      But a lofty, ruthless voice at the other end of the wire answered her.

      "Awfully sorry, Romayne, but I don’t see how I can possibly do anything. I’ve got an awfully important engagement for this evening. I’m late now, and you know you can’t stand up a lady. S’pose you call up Cholly. He’s a good friend of Larry’s. I guess he’ll do something. He has more time than I. And I hope your father’ll be better in the morning, kid. I really do!"

      Romayne spent a precious ten minutes chasing over the wires from club to club after "Cholly" and finally found him. Cholly professed to have great concern for his old friend Larry but suggested that Albert Huston had more influence at court than he had and gave her Albert’s phone number.

      Romayne tried Albert and received a flat refusal.

      "Can’t do it, little girl. Sorry, but I’m in bad with the authorities now, ‘count of a little affair last week, and it simply wouldn’t do for me to come out in the open yet. Hope you find somebody to help—I surely do! And say, girlie, when you see Larry give him my best and say if there’s anything he wants brought to him, I’ll see’t he gets it. He’ll understand. Good luck, girlie. He’ll get out all right. Don’t you worry. Larry’s got lots of good friends."

      Romayne rattled the receiver tremblingly into place and let her head sink down on her arms on the desk, utterly forgetting the ambushed Chris.

      "Oh!" she moaned softly in despair. "Oh–h–h! Is there no one to help?"

      Chris wheeled from his window and marched over to her suddenly.

      "I’ll help, Romayne. I’ll do anything you want. But you can’t get your brother out now. I’ve been off trying for the last hour. They’ve refused him bail, and nothing anybody says will do any good. Evan Sherwood has gone off to try himself. He says he knows where he can find somebody that’ll go bail if he says so, but they won’t let him do it—I know. I heard ’em talk. They’re mad, and they think he’s the key to the whole situation. They say he’s slippery. I came back and told Sherwood, and he’s just gone. If anybody can do anything, that guy can, Romayne!"

      Romayne’s face was white and set.

      "I wish you would telephone him and tell him to do nothing," she said with a hard edge to her voice. "He is insufferable! I am sure my brother would rather remain where he is than have that man do anything about it. He is presuming. I told him I did not wish his help. A man who did what he has done is beyond the pale of helper."

      "You don’t understand, Romayne; he didn’t want to do all that, no more than I."

      "Then why did he do it? Why did you?" asked Romayne fiercely.

      "Because we belong to the League, and we were following out our orders. We didn’t know it was going to lead us in on friends or give trouble to women. Evan Sherwood is all for helping people. You don’t know that guy. You’d like him—I know. When it’s all over, I want you to meet him and be friends."

      "Chris Hollister! This will never again be over! And we shall never be friends! He is a terrible man, and I hate him!" She cried out the last words as if they were a pain. It was not like Romayne Ransom to say she hated people. Chris looked at her startled and realized he wasn’t being much of a help. He looked down awkwardly and then looked up.

      "I say, Romayne, if there’s anything I can do, I’d be all kinds of glad. I always liked you best of any of the girls——"

      "Have the mercy then to keep quiet!" cried the girl desperately. "There is nothing you nor anybody else can ever do! You have done it all and more. Get over there to your window, and watch the house as long as it’s your duty, but don’t try to talk to me again."

      Chris retreated, crestfallen, but was suddenly called into action again at the sound of the doorbell pealing through the house. It was a part of his duty to open that door.

      A telegram was handed in addressed to Romayne.

      He passed it on to her silently and went back to his window curtain again. The girl’s trembling fingers opened it nervously, and she read:

      For the love of mercy, kid, get into action and send some of my friends down after me if Dad can’t come. I’ve got to get out of here before seven tomorrow morning to look after something, or the mischief will be to pay!

      (Signed) Lawrence