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None was more surprised than Hodder when Sally Grower informed him that the embroidery was really good; but it was thought best, for psychological reasons, to discard the old table-cover with its associations and begin a new one. On occasional evenings she brought her sewing over to Mr. Bentley's, while Sally read aloud to him and the young women in the library.
When our three friends appeared at table there were several naval officers in attendance. "I have been laughing a good deal to-day, Captain Benson, over the joke sprung on us last night," was Admiral Bentley's greeting. "It was cleverly carried out, and with a great deal of skill in seamanship as well."
"All right," Mr. Plimpton agreed, as though he had gained some shred of comfort from this thought. "I guess you're in worse than any of us." Looking backward, Hodder perceived that he had really come to the momentous decision of remaining at St. John's in the twilight of an evening when, on returning home from seeing Kate Marcy at Mr. Bentley's he had entered the darkening church.
The rector hung up the receiver, opened the door of the booth and mopped his brow, for the heat was stifling. "The doctor will go," he explained in answer to Mr. Bentley's inquiring look. "Now, sir," said the old gentleman, when they were out of the store, "we have done all that we can for the time being. I do not live far from here.
He had a good deal of business to do that day, involving calls at various places the store for molasses, the mill for flour, Jim Bentley's for seed grain, the doctor's for toothache drops for his housekeeper, the post office for mail and at each and every place he was joked about his approaching marriage.
"At first I used to be thankful there were no trolley cars on this street, but I believe the automobiles are worse." A figure flitted through the hall and into the room, which Hodder recognized as Miss Grower's. She reminded him of a flying shuttle across the warp of Mr. Bentley's threads, weaving them together; swift, sure, yet never hurried or flustered.
Bentley's watch, and who stole mine, too. So Mr. Fits must have hidden here all this stuff, which represents Mr. Fits's stealings." "Then all I have to say," observed Tom, "is that if our friend Fits would apply the same amount of industry to honest work he'd be a successful man." "Until the day before Christmas," Dick continued, "Fits had at least two confederates, whom we helped to put in jail.
And Sally Grover had even gone to see the woman in the hospital, whom Kate had befriended, in the hope of getting a possible clew. They sat close together before the fire in Mr. Bentley's comfortable library, debating upon the possibility of other methods of procedure, when a carriage was heard rattling over the pitted asphalt without. As it pulled up at the curb, a silence fell between them.
Her sense of fatality, another impression she gave of living in the deeper, instinctive currents of life, had never been stronger upon him than now.... She released his hands. "How strange," she said, "that the end should have come at Mr. Bentley's! He loved my mother she was the only woman he ever loved."
Bentley's old-fashioned mansion once had stood on its long green slope, framed by ancient trees; the Wilderness road, now paved with hot blocks of granite over which the carriage rattled; spread with car tracks, bordered by heterogeneous buildings of all characters and descriptions, bakeries and breweries, slaughter houses and markets, tumble-down shanties, weedy corner lots and "refreshment-houses" that announced "Lager Beer, Wines and Liquors."
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