CHAPTER XI
MYSTERY
Betty presently broke into the opening strains of "There's a long, longroad awinding," and the girlish voices took it up eagerly. They put intothe melody all the pathos and longing of their hearts. They forgot wherethey were, the pleasant room faded away, and they saw only a sinistergray line of trenches, trenches that were death traps for the floweringyouth of America. They were singing to the boys, their boys, and as shelistened Mrs. Ford's eyes filled with tears.
Nor was she the only one of that little audience who could not listen tothe song unmoved. Joe Barnes felt a great, unaccustomed lump rising inhis throat, and as the hot tears stung his eyes he rose hastily andstood staring at, though not seeing, a great picture of some illustriousancestor that hung over the mantel.
And Mrs. Barnes, looking at her son, pressed a hand over her heart, asthough to still a hurt, while in her eyes grew a look of yearning.
"My poor, poor boy!" she murmured over and over to herself.
And the girls, all unaware of the emotions they had awakened, drew thelast sweet note to a lingering close and stood quiet for a moment whileBetty's fingers rested on the keys. Then--
"That was very beautiful," said Mrs. Barnes, trying to speak in amatter-of-fact tone. "You girls sing wonderfully together."
"We ought to," said Betty, forcing a lightness she did not feel, for asusual she was the first to sense the tense quality in the atmosphere,"for we have certainly had practice enough. We used to sing for thesoldier boys at the Hostess House almost every night."
"Yes, but it was sometimes very hard to make _them_ sing," added Amy."Often they didn't want to at first. But they always joined in towardthe end, and the gloomiest of them went away with a smile on his lips."
"They could afford to laugh," said Joe Barnes bitterly. He had left thepicture of his illustrious ancestor and had dropped down in his oldposition on the edge of the table, leg swinging idly. But his expressionhad changed. It was grim and hard.
Betty, looking at him, suddenly remembered, and she could see by theexpressions on the faces of her chums that they also had awakened tothe situation.
With horrible lack of tact, they had offended their kind host andhostess. That they had not done so deliberately, helped theirself-condemnation not at all.
They had sung patriotic songs, they had spoken of their work at theHostess House and of the soldier boys, while Joe Barnes, of military ageand seemingly in perfect health, did not wear a uniform. Even though hewere a slacker, it was terribly bad taste to tell him so in his ownhome, while accepting his, or his mother's, hospitality.
And something deep down in their hearts, intuition, perhaps, perhaps asort of sixth sense born of their wide experience of boys of all ages,told them that he was not a slacker. There must be some reason, somereal excuse for his behavior.
"Won't you sing some more?" asked their hostess in an attempt to relievethe situation, while she kept one eye anxiously on her son. "Surely youhaven't finished."
"I'm afraid we have," said Betty, with a gay little laugh, "for the verygood reason that we don't know any more songs to sing."
"And we want to hear some more real music," added Mollie, gamelyfollowing her lead. "That is, if you are not tired."
"Oh, no, music never tires us," returned Mrs. Barnes, adding, with alittle entreating glance at her son: "Will you put on another record,dear--something light and merry this time?"
"How about some dance music?" queried Joe pleasantly. He was very muchashamed of his weakness and ill temper, and was determined to make upfor it. "That's about the lightest and merriest we have."
The girls assented eagerly, and in a few minutes the unpleasant episodewas forgotten--or apparently forgotten. At least, for the time being itwas relegated to the background, and it was not till some time laterthat Joe unexpectedly broached it to Betty.
The drenching downpour had changed to a sort of dismal drizzle and Mrs.Ford, upon remarking this fact had made the suggestion that they getinto the machines again and try to make Bensington. But Mrs. Barnes hadso promptly and emphatically negatived this that there was really noroom left for argument.
"Why, even with dry roads it would take you two hours or more to getthere, for at all times the road is bad between here and Bensington, butsuch a thing is simply out of the question with roads that are two feetdeep in mud. No, you must stay for the night. I have plenty of room andam more than delighted to have you. No, please don't object, for I willnot hear of your doing otherwise."
And so it had been settled, much to everybody's satisfaction.
However, Betty was very much surprised when, in the midst of a beautifuldance with Joe Barnes--for Joe was a rather wonderful dancer--the latterwhirled her off toward a window seat in one corner of the room andplaced her, a little breathless, upon it.
"Well," she said, that unconquerable imp of mischief dancing in hereyes, "have you any adequate excuse to offer for the spoiling of anexceptionally good dance?"
"Is it spoiled?" he asked reproachfully, as he sank down beside her. "Ithought perhaps I was improving--the occasion."
She made a little face at him, incidentally showing all her dimples.
"I suppose, if I were a coquette," she said, flushing a little under thevery open admiration of his eyes, "which I am not--"
"I'm not so sure," he murmured but she pretended not to hear theinterruption.
"I should deny that you had spoiled the dance. As it is," she flashedhim a pretty smile that robbed her words of all sting, "I'm telling youthe truth."
"And I," he countered, "am telling you the truth when I say that if itwere possible to talk with you and dance at the same time, I should nothave brought you here. As it is, I choose the greater of the twoblessings."
"It must be very important--this that you have to say to me," repliedBetty, adding demurely: "Perhaps if you would tell me all about it, wecould dance again."
"In other words, 'get the agony over'," said Joe, with a grimace. Hewaited a moment, while the girls, who had danced to the end of therecord, turned it over, put in a new needle and started off all overagain.
"I don't know whether it will seem important to you or not," he said atlast, turning slowly toward her. "But what I have to tell you is justabout the most important thing in life to me."
The tone as well as the words sobered Betty, and she turned to himearnestly.
"I shall be very glad to hear it then," she said simply.
"I--you--it's rather hard to begin," he stammered, then straightened upand faced her frankly.
"The truth is, I can't help knowing that you wondered when you firstsaw me and am wondering now--as any one has a right to wonder these dayswhen they see a fellow like me in civilian clothes--"
Betty started and the color rushed to her face.
"No, I haven't--" she began, then stopped confused, remembering that shehad been wondering just that thing only a few minutes, yes, only aminute before. "I mean I thought--"
"Yes, it's easy to guess what you thought," he interrupted,misinterpreting her sentence while the bitter look crept once more intohis eyes. "It's easy enough to guess what everybody thinks. But," hestraightened his shoulders and threw back his head, "I don't thinkanybody will have a right to think that very much longer. You see," headded, turning to her again and speaking more calmly, "I tried to enlistat the beginning of the war, but they told me there was something wronghere," he touched his chest, "with my lungs."
Betty gave an involuntary exclamation of pity.
"The doctor said it was just beginning," he went on slowly, "and hesaid--he was a good old scout, that doctor--that if I got out of thecity where I could get fresh air, eggs, and milk--you know, the same oldstuff--that I might succeed in curing myself up in a hurry and get inthe game in time to bring in my share of helmets after all."
"Oh, so that's why you and your mother are away out here!" cried Bettyeagerly, laying an impulsive little hand on his. "And you are well,aren't you? Why, you must be
! You look the very picture of health."
Joe gulped a little, looked at the friendly little hand on his, tried tospeak once or twice and failed, then--
"I feel just fine," he said, striving to make his voice sound natural."I never cough any more, and I've got the appetite of a wolf--you sawhow I ate to-night--" a faint smile lighted his eyes and found ananswering one in Betty's. "Yet, I've been holding off for more thanthree weeks for fear--just for fear--everything isn't all right. Yousee, they've made a coward of me. I'm afraid of being refused twice."
"Oh, but you won't be!" cried Betty, with honest conviction in hervoice. "I'm not much of a doctor, although I've met so many of them atCamp Liberty and heard them talk so much about different diseases that Ifeel I ought at least to qualify as an assistant," she paused to smileat herself and he thought he had never seen anything so pretty in hislife, "and I would say that whatever your trouble has been, it is curednow. I'm sure of it."
"Hold on, hold on," he entreated a little huskily. "If I could onlybelieve that--"
"Say, you two over there," Mollie's voice broke in upon them gayly,"we've been trying hard to be polite and not interrupt, but the clockhas just struck twelve and we have a long ride before us to-morrow--orrather, to-day!"
Betty replied laughingly, but before she could rejoin the others, Joehad whispered another question.
"You really meant what you said?" he asked.
"With all my heart," she answered earnestly.