CHAPTER VIFLITTING
Once more they moved suddenly, and the second flitting came about inthis way:
Alora stood beside the easel one morning, watching her father work onhis picture. Not that she was especially interested in him or thepicture, but there was nothing else for her to do. She stood with herslim legs apart, her hands clasped behind her, staring rather vacantly,when he looked up and noted her presence.
"Well, what do you think of it?" he asked rather sharply.
"Of the picture?" said Lory.
"Of course."
"I don't like it," she asserted, with childish frankness.
"Eh? You don't like it? Why not, girl?"
"Well," she replied, her eyes narrowing critically, "that cow's hornisn't on straight--the red cow's left horn. And it's the same size, allthe way up."
He laid down his palette and brush and gazed at his picture for a longtime. The scowl came on his face again. Usually his face was stolid andexpressionless, but Alora had begun to observe that whenever anythingirritated or disturbed him he scowled, and the measure of the scowlindicated to what extent he was annoyed. When he scowled at his ownunfinished picture Lory decided he was honest enough to agree with hercriticism of it.
Finally the artist took a claspknife from his pocket, opened the bladeand deliberately slashed the picture from top to bottom, this way andthat, until it was a mere mass of shreds. Then he kicked the stretcherinto a corner and brought out another picture, which he placed on theeasel.
"Well, how about that?" he asked, looking hard at it himself.
Alora was somewhat frightened at having caused the destruction of thecow picture. So she hesitated before replying: "I--I'd rather not say."
"How funny!" he said musingly, "but until now I never realized howstiff and unreal the daub is. Shall I finish it, Alora?"
"I think so, sir," she answered.
Again the knife slashed through the canvas and the remains joined thescrap-heap in the corner.
Jason Jones was not scowling any more. Instead, there was a hint of ahumorous expression on his usually dull features. Only pausing to lighthis pipe, he brought out one after another of his canvases and after acritical look destroyed each and every one.
Lory was perplexed at the mad act, for although her judgment told herthey were not worth keeping, she realized that her father must havepassed many laborious hours on them. But now that it had dawned on himhow utterly inartistic his work was, in humiliation and disgust he hadwiped it out of existence. With this thought in mind, the girl washonestly sorry him.
But Jason Jones did not seem sorry. When the last ruined canvas hadbeen contemptuously flung into the corner he turned to the child andsaid to her in a voice so cheerful that it positively startled her:
"Get your hat and let's take a walk. An artist's studio is no place forus, Lory. Doesn't it seem deadly dull in here? And outside the sun isshining!"
The rest of the day he behaved much like a human being. He took thegirl to the park to see the zoo, and bought her popcorn and peanuts--awild extravagance, for him. Later in the day they went to a pictureshow and finally entered a down-town restaurant, quite different fromand altogether better than the one where they had always before eaten,and enjoyed a really good dinner. When they left the restaurant he wasstill in the restless and reckless mood that had dominated him andsaid:
"Suppose we go to a theatre? Won't you like that better than you wouldreturning to our poky rooms?"
"Yes, indeed," responded Alora.
They had seats in the gallery, but could see very well. Just before thecurtain rose Alora noticed a party being seated in one of the boxes.The lady nearest the rail, dressed in an elaborate evening gown, wasJanet Orme. There was another lady with her, conspicuous for blondehair and much jewelry, and the two gentlemen who accompanied them keptin the background, as if not too proud of their company.
Alora glanced at her father's face and saw the scowl there, for he,too, had noted the box-party. But neither of the two made any remarkand soon the child was fully absorbed in the play.
As they left the theatre Janet's party was entering an automobile,laughing and chatting gaily. Both father and daughter silently watchedthem depart, and then they took a street car and went home.
"Get to bed, girl," said Jason Jones, when they had mounted the stairs."I'll smoke another pipe, I guess."
When she came out of her room next morning she heard her fatherstirring in the studio. She went to him and was surprised to find himpacking his trunk, which he had drawn into the middle of the room.
"Now that you're up," said he in quite a cheerful tone, "we'll go tobreakfast, and then I'll help you pack your own duds. Only one trunk,though, girl, for the other must go into storage and you may see itagain, some time, and you may not."
"Are we going away?" she inquired, hoping it might be true.
"We are. We're going a long way, my girl. Do you care?"
"Of course," said she, amazed at the question, for he had neverconsidered her in the least. "I'm glad. I don't like your studio."
He laughed, and the laugh shocked her. She could not remember ever tohave heard Jason Jones laugh before.
"I don't like the place, either, girl, and that's why I'm leaving it.For good, this time. I was a fool to return here. In trying toeconomise, I proved extravagant."
Alora did not reply to that. She was eager to begin packing and hurriedthrough her breakfast. All the things she might need on a journey sheput into one trunk. She was not quite sure what she ought to take, andher father was still more ignorant concerning a little girl's wardrobe,but finally both trunks were packed and locked and then Mr. Jonescalled a wagon and carted away the extra trunk of Alora's and severalboxes of his own to be deposited in a storage warehouse.
She sat in the bare studio and waited for his return. The monotony ofthe past weeks, which had grown oppressive, was about to end and forthis she was very grateful. For from a life of luxury the child hadbeen dumped into a gloomy studio in the heart of a big, bustling citythat was all unknown to her and where she had not a single friend oracquaintance. Her only companion had been a strange man who happened tobe her father but displayed no affection for her, no spark of interestin her happiness or even comforts. For the first time in her life shelacked a maid to dress her and keep her clothes in order; there was noone to attend to her education, no one to amuse her, no one with whomto counsel in any difficulty. She had been somewhat afraid of herpeculiar father and her natural reserve, derived from her mother, haddeepened in his society. Yesterday and this morning he had seemed morehuman, more companionable, yet Alora felt that it was due to a selfishelation and recognized a gulf between them that might never be bridged.Her father differed utterly from her mother in breeding, inintelligence, in sympathy. He was not of the same world; even the childcould realize that. And yet, he was her father--all she had left todepend upon, to cling to. She wondered if he really possessed the goodqualities her mother had attributed to him. If so, when she knew himbetter, she might learn to like him.
He was gone a long time, it seemed, but as soon as he returned theremaining baggage was loaded on the wagon and sent away and then theyleft the flat and boarded a street car for down town. On lower BroadwayMr. Jones entered a bank and seemed to transact considerable business.Lory saw him receive several papers and a lot of money. Then they wentto a steamship office near by, where her father purchased tickets.
Afterward they had lunch, and Jason Jones was still in high spirits andseemed more eager and excited than Alora had ever before known him.
"We're going across the big water--to Europe," he told her at luncheon,"so if there is anything you positively need for the trip, tell me whatit is and I'll buy it. No frivolities, though," qualifying hisgenerosity, "but just stern necessities. And you must think quick, forour boat leaves at four o'clock and we've no time to waste."
But Alora shook her head. Once she had been taken by her mother toLondon, Paris and Rome, but all her wants
had been attended to and itwas so long ago--four or five years--that that voyage was now but a dimremembrance.
No one noticed them when they went aboard. There was no one to see themoff or to wish them "bon voyage." It saddened the child to hear thefervent good-byes of others, for it emphasized her own loneliness.
Yes, quite friendless was little Alora. She was going to a foreign landwith no companion but a strange and uncongenial man whom fate hadimposed upon her in the guise of a parent. As they steamed out to seaand Alora sat on deck and watched the receding shores of America, sheturned to her father with the first question she had ventured to ask:
"Where are we going? To London?"
"Not now," he replied. "This ship is bound for the port of Naples. Ididn't pick Naples, you know, but took the first ship sailing to-day.Having made up my mind to travel, I couldn't wait," he added, with achuckle of glee. "You're not particular as to where we go, are you?"
"No," said Alora.
"That's lucky," he rejoined, "for it wouldn't have made any difference,anyhow."