She slipped out of her chair; he pursued. "If you will say such things
and then run into the dark corners," he muttered. But when Solomon
appeared with a water-pitcher they were ready for him.
"Now what has kept you all this time?" glared Glover, insincerely.
"I couldn't find any ice-water."
"Ice-water!"
"Every pipe is froze solid, but I chopped up some ice and brought that."
"Ice-water, you double-dyed idiot! Go get your candle."
"Yes, sir."
"Don't be so cross," whispered Gertrude. "You were so short with that
poor fireman to-night, and he told me such a pitiful story about being
ordered out and having to go or lose his position----"
"Did Foley tell you that?"
"Yes."
"Surely, nerve runs in his family as well as his cousin's. The rascal
came because I hung up a little purse for a fireman at the roundhouse,
and he nearly had a fight with another fellow that wanted to cut him
out of the job."
"Such a cheat! How much did you offer him?"
"Not very much."
"But how much?"
"Twenty-five dollars, and, by heavens, he dunned me for it just after
we started."
"But his poor wife hung to his neck when he left----"
"No doubt. She has pulled all the hair out of his head twice that I
know of----"
"And I gave him my purse with all the money I had in it."
"How much?"
"About three hundred dollars."
"Three hundred dollars! Foley will lay off two months and take the
whole family back to Pittsburg. Now, here's your candle and chopped
ice and Mr. Battershawl."
Gertrude turned for a last whisper--"What should you say if papa came
down?"
"What should I say? He would probably say, 'Mr. Glover, I have your
room.' 'Don't mention it,' I should reply, 'I have your daughter.'"
But Mr. Brock did not come down.
Barely half an hour later, while Glover waited with anxiety at the foot
of the stairs, Gertrude reappeared, and with her loveliness all new,
walked shyly and haltingly down each step toward him.
Not a soul about the hotel office had stirred, and Glover led her to
the retired little parlor, which was warm and dim, to reassure himself
that the fluttering girl was all his own. Unable to credit the fulness
of their own happiness they sat confiding to each other all the sweet
trifles, now made doubly sweet, of their strange acquaintance. Before
six o'clock, and while their seclusion was still their own, a hot
breakfast was served to them where they sat, and day broke on storm
without and lovers within.