Miss Billy by Eleanor Hodgman Porter (best ebook reader for surface pro TXT) 📖

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and not till then, did he draw a long breath of relief.

“There! I think everything’s ready,” he sighed to himself. “At last!”

He wore no pink in his buttonhole. There was no need that he should accede to that silly request, he told himself. He had only to look for a youth of perhaps eighteen years, who would be alone, a little frightened, possibly, and who would have a pink in his buttonhole, and probably a dog on a leash.

As he waited, the man was conscious of a curious warmth at his heart. It was his namesake, Walter Neilson’s boy, that he had come to meet; a homesick, lonely orphan who had appealed to him—to him, out of all the world. Long years ago in his own arms there had been laid a tiny bundle of flannel holding a precious little red, puckered face. But in a month’s time the little face had turned cold and waxen, and the hopes that the white flannel bundle had carried had died with the baby boy;—and that baby would have been a lad grown by this time, if he had lived—a lad not far from the age of this Billy who was coming to-day, reflected the man. And the warmth in his heart deepened and glowed the more as he stood waiting at the gate for Billy to arrive.

The train from Hampden Falls was late. Not until quite fifteen minutes past five did it roll into the train-shed. Then at once its long line of passengers began to sweep toward the iron gate.

William was just inside the gate now, anxiously scanning every face and form that passed. There were many half-grown lads, but there was not one with a pink in his buttonhole until very near the end. Then William saw him—a pleasant-faced, blue-eyed boy in a neat gray suit. With a low cry William started forward; but he saw at once that the gray-clad youth was unmistakably one of a merry family party. He looked to be anything but a lad that was lonely and forlorn.

William hesitated and fell back. This debonair, self-reliant fellow could not be Billy! But as a hasty glance down the line revealed only half a dozen straggling women, and beyond them, no one, William decided that it must be Billy; and taking brave hold of his courage, he hurried after the blue-eyed youth and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Er—aren’t you Billy?” he stammered.

The lad stopped and stared. He shook his head slowly.

“No, sir,” he said.

“But you must be! Are you sure?”

The boy laughed this time.

“Sorry, sir, but my name is ‘Frank’; isn’t it, mother?” he added merrily, turning to the lady at his side, who was regarding William very unfavorably through a pair of gold-bowed spectacles.

William did not wait for more. With a stammered apology and a flustered lifting of his hat he backed away.

But where was Billy?

William looked about him in helpless dismay. All around was a wide, empty space. The long aisle to the Hampden Falls train was deserted save for the baggage-men loading the trunks and bags on to their trucks. Nowhere was there any one who seemed forlorn or ill at ease except a pretty girl with a suit-case, and with a covered basket on her arm, who stood just outside the gate, gazing a little nervously about her.

William looked twice at this girl. First, because the splash of color against her brown coat had called his attention to the fact that she was wearing a pink; and secondly because she was very pretty, and her dark eyes carried a peculiarly wistful appeal.

“Too bad Bertram isn’t here,” thought William. “He’d be sketching that face in no time on his cuff.”

The pink had given William almost a pang. He had been so longing to see a pink—though in a different place. He wondered sympathetically if she, too, had come to meet some one who had not appeared. He noticed that she walked away from the gate once or twice, toward the waiting-room, and peered anxiously through the glass doors; but always she came back to the gate as if fearful to be long away from that place. He forgot all about her very soon, for her movements had given him a sudden idea: perhaps Billy was in the waiting-room. How stupid of him not to think of it before! Doubtless they had missed each other in the crowd, and Billy had gone straight to the waiting-room to look for him. And with this thought William hurried away at once, leaving the girl still standing by the gate alone.

He looked everywhere. Systematically he paced up and down between the long rows of seats, looking for a boy with a pink. He even went out upon the street, and gazed anxiously in all directions. It occurred to him after a time that possibly Billy, like himself, had changed his mind at the last moment, and not worn the pink. Perhaps he had forgotten it, or lost it, or even not been able to get it at all. Very bitterly William blamed himself then for disregarding his own part of the suggested plan. If only he had worn the pink himself!—but he had not; and it was useless to repine. In the meantime, where was Billy, he wondered frantically.

CHAPTER VI THE COMING OF BILLY

After another long search William came back to the train-shed, vaguely hoping that Billy might even then be there. The girl was still standing alone by the gate. There was another train on the track now, and the rush of many feet had swept her a little to one side. She looked frightened now, and almost ready to cry. Still, William noticed that her chin was lifted bravely, and that she was making a stern effort at self-control. He hesitated a moment, then went straight toward her.

“I beg your pardon,” he said kindly, lifting his hat, “but I notice that you have been waiting here some time. Perhaps there is something I can do for you.”

A rosy color swept to the girl’s face. Her eyes lost their frightened appeal, and smiled frankly into his.

“Oh, thank you, sir! There IS something you can do for me, if you will be so kind. You see, I can’t leave this place, I’m so afraid he’ll come and I’ll miss him. But—I think there’s some mistake. Could you telephone for me?” Billy Neilson was country-bred, and in Hampden Falls all men served all other men and women, whether they were strangers or not; so to Billy this was not an extraordinary request to make, in the least.

William Henshaw smiled.

“Certainly; I shall be very glad to telephone for you. Just tell me whom you want, and what you want to say.”

“Thank you. If you’ll call up Mr. William Henshaw, then, of Beacon Street, please, and tell him Billy’s come. I’ll wait here.”

“Oh, then Billy did come!” cried the man in glad surprise, his face alight. “But where is he? Do YOU know Billy?”

“I should say I did,” laughed Billy, with the lightness of a long-lost child who has found a friend. “Why, I am Billy, myself!”

To William Henshaw the world swam dizzily, and went suddenly mad. The floor rose, and the roof fell, while cars and people performed impossible acrobatic feats above, below, and around him. Then, from afar off, he heard his own voice stammer:

“You—are—B-Billy!”

“Yes; and I’ll wait here, if you’ll just tell him, please. He’s expecting me, you know, so it’s all right, only perhaps he made a mistake in the time. Maybe you know him, anyhow.”

With one mighty effort William Henshaw pulled himself sharply together. He even laughed, and tossed his head in a valiant imitation of Billy herself; but his voice shook.

“Know him!—I should say I did!” he cried. “Why, I am William Henshaw, myself.”

“You!—Uncle William! Why, where’s your pink?”

The man’s face was already so red it could not get any redder—but it tried to do so.

“Why, er—I—it—er—if you’ll just come into the waiting-room a minute, my dear,” he stuttered miserably, “I—I’ll explain—about that. I shall have to leave you—for a minute,” he plunged on frenziedly, as he led the way to a seat; “A—matter of business that I must attend to. I’ll be—right back. Wait here, please!” And he almost pushed the girl into a seat and hurried away.

At a safe distance William Henshaw turned and looked back. His knees were shaking, and his fingers had grown cold at their tips. He could see her plainly, as she bent over the basket in her lap. He could see even the pretty curve of her cheek, and of her slender throat when she lifted her head.

And that was Billy—a GIRL!

People near him at that moment saw a flushed-faced, nervous-appearing man throw up his hands with a despairing gesture, roll his eyes heavenward, and then plunge into the nearest telephone booth.

In due time William Henshaw had his brother Bertram at the other end of the wire.

“Bertram!” he called shakily.

“Hullo, Will; that you? What’s the matter? You’re late! Didn’t he come?”

“Come!” groaned William. “Good Lord! Bertram—Billy’s a GIRL!”

“A wh-what?”

“A girl.”

“A GIRL!”

“Yes, yes! Don’t stand there repeating what I say in that idiotic fashion, Bertram. Do something—do something!”

“‘Do something’!” gasped Bertram. “Great Scott, Will! If you want me to do something, don’t knock me silly with a blow like that. Now what did you say?”

“I said that Billy is—a—girl. Can’t you get that?” demanded William, despairingly.

“Well, by Jove!” breathed Bertram.

“Come, come, think! What shall we do?”

“Why, bring her home, of course.”

“Home—home!” chattered William. “Do you think we five men can bring up a distractingly pretty eighteen-year-old girl with curly cheeks and pink hair?”

“With wha-at?”

“No, no. I mean curly hair and pink cheeks. Bertram, do be sensible,” begged the man. “This is serious!”

“Serious! I should say it was! Only fancy what Cy will say! A girl! Holy smoke! Tote her along—I want to see her!”

“But I say we can’t keep her there with us, Bertram. Don’t you see we can’t?”

“Then take her to Kate’s, or to—to one of those Young Women’s Christian Union things.”

“No, no, I can’t do that. That’s impossible. Don’t you understand? She’s expecting to go home with me—HOME! I’m her Uncle William.”

“Lucky Uncle William!”

“Be still, Bertram!”

“Well, doesn’t she know your—mistake?—that you thought she was a boy?”

“Heaven forbid!—I hope not,” cried the man, fervently. “I ‘most let it out once, but I think she didn’t notice it. You see, we—we were both surprised.”

“Well, I should say!”

“And, Bertram, I can’t turn her out—I can’t, I tell you. Only fancy my going to her now and saying: ‘If you please, Billy, you can’t live at my house, after all. I thought you were a boy, you know!’ Great Scott! Bert, if she’d once turned those big brown eyes of hers on you as she has on me, you’d see!”

“I’d be delighted, I’m sure,” sung a merry voice across the wires. “Sounds real interesting!”

“Bertram, can’t you be serious and help me out?”

“But what CAN we do?”

“I don’t know. We’ll have to think; but for now, get Kate. Telephone her. Tell her to come right straight over, and that she’s got to stay all night.”

“All night!”

“Of course! Billy’s got to have a chaperon; hasn’t she? Now hurry. We shall be up right away.”

“Kate’s got company.”

“Never mind—leave ‘em. Tell her she’s got to leave ‘em. And tell Cyril, of course, what to expect. And, look a-here, you two behave, now. None of your nonsense! Now mind. I’m not going to have this child tormented.”

“I won’t bat an eyelid—on my word, I won’t,” chuckled Bertram. “But,