Baby Mine
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Margaret Mayo >> Baby Mine
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11 BABY MINE
BY MARGARET MAYO
To my Helper and Husband
CHAPTER I
Even in college Alfred Hardy was a young man of fixed ideas and
high ideals and proud of it.
His friend, Jimmy Jinks, had few ideas and no ideals, and was
glad of it, and before half of their first college term had
passed, Jimmy had ridded himself of all such worries as making up
his own mind or directing his own morals. Alfred did all these
things so much better, argued Jimmy, furthermore, Alfred LIKED to
do them--Jimmy owed it to his friend to give him that pleasure.
The fact that Jimmy was several years Alfred's senior and twice
his size, in no way altered his opinion of Alfred's judgment, and
through their entire college course they agreed as one man in all
their discussions--or rather--in all Alfred's discussions.
But it was not until the close of their senior year that Alfred
favoured Jimmy with his views on matrimony.
Sitting alone in a secluded corner of the campus waiting for
Alfred to solve a problem in higher mathematics, Jimmy now
recalled fragments of Alfred's last conversation.
"No twelve dollar shoes and forty dollar hats for MY wife," his
young friend had raged and he condemned to Jimmy the wicked
extravagance of his own younger sisters. "The woman who gets me
must be a home-maker. I'll take her to the theatre occasionally,
and now and then we'll have a few friends in for the evening; but
the fireside must be her magnet, and I'll be right by her side
each night with my books and my day's worries. She shall be
taken into my confidence completely; and I'll take good care to
let her know, before I marry her, just what I expect in return."
"Alfred certainly has the right idea about marriage," mused
Jimmy, as the toe of his boot shoved the gravel up and down the
path. "There's just one impractical feature about it." He was
conscious of a slight feeling of heresy when he admitted even ONE
flaw in his friend's scheme of things. "Where is Alfred to find
such a wife?"
Jimmy ran through the list of unattached girls to whom Alfred had
thus far presented him. It was no doubt due to his lack of
imagination, but try as he would, he could not see any one of
these girls sitting by the fireside listening to Alfred's
"worries" for four or five nights each week. He recalled all the
married women whom he had been obliged, through no fault of his
own, to observe.
True, all of them did not boast twelve dollar shoes or forty
dollar hats--for the very simple reason that the incomes or the
tempers of their husbands did not permit of it. In any case,
Jimmy did not remember having seen them spend many evenings by
the fireside. Where then was Alfred to find the exceptional
creature who was to help "systematise his life"? Jimmy was not
above hoping that Alfred's search might be a long one. He was
content for his friend to go jogging along by his side,
theorising about marriage and taking no chances with facts.
Having come to this conclusion, he began to feel uneasy at
Alfred's non- appearance. Alfred had promised to meet him on
this spot at four-thirty, and Alfred had decided ideas about
punctuality. It was now five- thirty. Ought Jimmy to look for
him, or would he be wiser to remain comfortably seated and to try
to digest another of his friend's theories?
While Jimmy was trying to decide this vexed question, his ear
caught the sound of a girlish titter. Turning in embarrassment
toward a secluded path just behind him, whom did he see coming
toward him but Alfred, with what appeared to be a bunch of
daffodils; but as Alfred drew nearer, Jimmy began to perceive at
his elbow a large flower-trimmed hat, and--"horrors!"-- beneath
it, with a great deal of filmy white and yellow floating from it,
was a small pink and white face.
Barely had Jimmy reversed himself and rearranged his round,
astonished features, when Alfred, beaming and buoyant, brought
the bundle of fluff to a full stop before him.
"Sorry to be late, old chap," said Alfred. "I have brought my
excuse with me. I want you to know Miss Merton." Then turning
to the small creature, whose head peeped just above his elbow,
Alfred explained to her graciously that Jimmy Jinks was his very
best friend, present company excepted, of course, and added that
she and Jimmy would no doubt "see a great deal of each other in
the future."
In his embarrassment, Jimmy's eyes went straight to the young
lady's shoes. It was possible that there might be more expensive
shoes in this world, but Jimmy had certainly never seen daintier.
"I hope we didn't disturb you," a small voice was chirping; and
innocent and conventional as the remark surely was, Jimmy was
certain of an undercurrent of mischief in it. He glanced up to
protest, but two baby-blue eyes fixed upon him in apparent
wonderment, made him certain that anything he could say would
seem rude or ridiculous; so, as usual when in a plight, he looked
to Alfred for the answer.
Slapping Jimmy upon the shoulder in a condescending spirit,
Alfred suggested that they all sit down and have a chat.
"Oh, how nice," chirped the small person.
Jimmy felt an irresistible desire to run, but the picture of
himself, in his very stout person, streaking across the campus to
the giggled delight of Miss Fluff, soon brought him submissively
to the seat, where he sat twiddling his straw hat between his
fingers, and glancing uncertainly at Alfred, who was thoughtful
enough to sit next him.
"Goodness, one could almost dance out here, couldn't one?" said
the small person, named Zoie, as her eyes roved over the bit of
level green before them.
"Would you like to try?" asked Alfred, apparently agreeable to
her every caprice.
"I'd love it!" cried Zoie. "Come along." She sprang up and held
out her hands to him.
"I'm going to be unselfish," answered Alfred, "and let Jimmy have
that fun."
By this time, Jimmy had been seized with an intuitive feeling
that his friend was in immediate danger.
"Was this the young woman who was to sit opposite the fireside
five nights a week and systematise Alfred's life?"
Jimmy stared at the intruder blankly. For answer, two small
hands were thrust out toward him and an impatient little voice
was commanding him to "Come, dance." He heard Alfred's laughter.
He had no intention of accommodating the small person in this or
any other matter, yet, before he realised quite how it had
happened, he was two-stepping up and down the grass to her piping
little voice; nor did she release him until the perspiration came
rolling from his forehead; and, horror of horrors, his one-time
friend, Alfred, seemed to find this amusing, and laughed louder
and louder when Jimmy sank by his side exhausted.
When Jimmy was again able to think consecutively, he concluded
that considerable conversation must have taken place between
Alfred and the small one, while he was recovering his breath and
re-adjusting his wilted neckwear. He was now thrown into a fresh
panic by an exclamation from the excitable Zoie.
"You must both meet my friend, Aggie Darling," she was saying.
"I am bringing her with me to the hop to-night. She is not at
all like me. You will like her dreadfully." She smiled at Jimmy
as though she were conferring a great favour upon him.
"Like her dreadfully," commented Jimmy to himself. "It was just
the kind of expression one might expect from a mind in such
disorder as hers. 'Systematise Alfred's life,' indeed!"
There was more nonsensical chatter, or so it seemed to Jimmy,
then Zoie and Alfred rose to go, and Jimmy was told by both of
them that he was to put in an appearance at the Fraternity "hop"
that night.
"I'll see you at dinner," called Alfred gaily over his shoulder
and Jimmy was left to grapple with his first disappointment at
his friend's lack of discrimination.
"It's her fault," concluded Jimmy, as he lifted himself heavily
off the bench and started down the campus, resolved to console
himself with food.
CHAPTER II
Now Jimmy had no intention of going to the "hop." He had tried
to tell Alfred so a dozen times during dinner, but each time he
had been interrupted by one of Alfred's enthusiastic rhapsodies
about Zoie.
"Most marvellous girl I have ever met!" exclaimed Alfred over his
soup. "So sensible; so modest. And did you see how simply she
dresses?" he asked. Jimmy recalled his first vision of billowy
fluff; but before he could answer, Alfred had continued
excitedly:
"I'll tell you what first attracted me toward her." He looked at
Jimmy as though he expected some especial mark of gratitude for
the favour about to be bestowed; then he explained with a serious
weighing of his words, "It was her love of children. I had
barely been introduced to her when she turned her back upon me
and gave her whole attention to Professor Peck's little boy
Willie. I said to myself, 'any girl of that age who prefers
children to young chaps of my age, is the girl for me.' "
"I see," assented Jimmy lamely. It was his first remark during
dinner.
"After that, I no longer hesitated. You know, Jimmy, I have
decision."
"Yes, I have noticed," admitted Jimmy, without conviction.
"In fifteen minutes," said Alfred, "I had learned all about the
young lady's antecedents."
Having finished his soup, and resisted a childish impulse to tip
the plate and scrape the bottom of it, Jimmy was now looking
anxiously toward the door through which the roast ought to come.
"I'll tell you all about her," volunteered Alfred. But Jimmy's
eyes were upon Alfred's plate; his friend had not yet devoured
more than two spoonfuls of soup; at that rate, argued Jimmy, the
roast would reach them about the time that he was usually trying
to make his dessert last as long as possible.
"She is here with her aunt," continued Alfred. "They are on a
short visit to Professor Peck."
Jimmy approved of the "short."
"That's good," he murmured, hopeful that a separation from the
minx might restore his friend's reason.
"And Jimmy," exclaimed Alfred with glistening eyes, "what do you
think?"
Jimmy thought a great deal but he forebore to say it, and Alfred
continued very enthusiastically.
"She lives right in the same town with us."
"What!" ejaculated Jimmy, and he felt his appetite going.
"Within a stone's throw of my house--and yours," added Alfred
triumphantly. "Think of our never having met her before!"
"I am thinking," said Jimmy.
"Of course she has been away from home a great deal," went on
Alfred. "She's been in school in the East; but there were the
summers."
"So there were," assented Jimmy, thinking of his hitherto narrow
escapes.
"Her father is old John Merton," continued Alfred. "Merton the
stationer--you know him, Jimmy. Unfortunately, he has a great
deal of money; but that hasn't spoilt her. Oh no! She is just as
simple and considerate in her behaviour as if she were some poor
little struggling school teacher. She is the one for me, Jimmy.
There is no doubt about it, and I'll tell you a secret."
Jimmy looked at him blankly.
"I am going to propose to her this very night."
"Good Lord!" groaned Jimmy, as if his friend had been suddenly
struck down in the flower of his youth.
"That's why you simply must come with me to the hop," continued
Alfred. "I want you to take care of her friend Aggie, and leave
me alone with Zoie as much as possible."
"Zoie!" sniffed Jimmy. The name to him was as flippant as its
owner.
"True, strong name," commented Alfred. "So simple, so direct, so
like her. I'll have to leave you now," he said, rising. "I must
send her some flowers for the dance." He turned at the door.
Suppose I add a few from you for Aggie."
"What!" exploded Jimmy.
"Just by way of introduction," called Alfred gaily. "It's a good
idea."
Before Jimmy could protest further, he found himself alone for
the second time that day. He ate his roast in gloomy silence.
It seemed dry and tasteless. Even his favourite desert of plum
pudding failed to rouse him from his dark meditations, and he
rose from the table dejected and forlorn.
A few hours later, when Alfred led Jimmy into the ballroom, the
latter was depressed, not only by his friend's impending danger,
but he felt an uneasy foreboding as to his own future. With his
college course practically finished and Alfred attaching himself
to unforeseen entities, Jimmy had come to the ball with a curious
feeling of having been left suspended in mid-air.
Before he could voice his misgivings to Alfred, the young men
were surrounded by a circle of chattering females. And then it
was that Jimmy found himself looking into a pair of level brown
eyes, and felt himself growing hot and cold by turns. When the
little knot of youths and maidens disentangled itself into pairs
of dancers, it became clear to Jimmy that he had been introduced
to Aggie, and that he was expected to dance with her.
As a matter of fact, Jimmy had danced with many girls; true, it
was usually when there was no other man left to "do duty"; but
still he had done it. Why then should he feel such distressing
hesitation about placing his arm around the waist of this
brown-eyed Diana? Try as he would he could not find words to
break the silence that had fallen between them. She was so
imposing; so self-controlled. It really seemed to Jimmy that she
should be the one to ask him to dance. As a matter of fact, that
was just what happened; and after the dance she suggested that
they sit in the garden; and in the garden, with the moonlight
barely peeping through the friendly overhanging boughs of the
trees, Jimmy found Aggie capable of a courage that filled him
with amazement; and later that night, when he and Alfred
exchanged confidences, it became apparent to the latter that
Aggie had volunteered to undertake the responsibility of
outlining Jimmy's entire future.
He was to follow his father's wishes and take up a business
career in Chicago at once; and as soon as all the relatives
concerned on both sides had been duly consulted, he and Aggie
were to embark upon matrimony.
"Good!" cried Alfred, when Jimmy had managed to stammer his
shame-faced confession. "We'll make it a double wedding. I can
be ready to-morrow, so far as I'm concerned." And then followed
another rhapsody upon the fitness of Zoie as the keeper of his
future home and hearth, and the mother of his future sons and
daughters. In fact, it was far into the night when the two
friends separated--separated in more than one sense, as they
afterward learned.
While Alfred and Jimmy were saying "good- night" to each other,
Zoie and Aggie in one of the pretty chintz bedrooms of Professor
Peck's modest home, were still exchanging mutual confidences.
"The thing I like about Alfred," said Zoie, as she gazed at the
tip of her dainty satin slipper, and turned her head meditatively
to one side, "is his positive nature. I've never before met any
one like him. Do you know," she added with a sly twinkle in her
eye, "it was all I could do to keep from laughing at him. He's
so awfully serious." She giggled to herself at the recollection
of him; then she leaned forward to Aggie, her small hands clasped
across her knees and her face dimpling with mischief. "He hasn't
the remotest idea what I'm like."
Aggie studied her young friend with unmistakable reproach. "I
MADE Jimmy know what I'M like," she said. "I told him ALL my
ideas about everything."
"Good Heavens!" exclaimed Zoie in shocked surprise.
"He's sure to find out sooner or later," said Aggie sagely. "I
think that's the only sensible way to begin."
"If I'd told Alfred all MY ideas about things," smiled Zoie,
"there'd have BEEN no beginning."
"What do you mean?" asked Aggie, with a troubled look.
"Well, take our meeting," explained Zoie. "Just as we were
introduced, that horrid little Willie Peck caught his heel in a
flounce of my skirt. I turned round to slap him, but I saw
Alfred looking, so I patted his ugly little red curls instead.
And what do you think? Alfred told me to-night that it was my
devotion to Willie that first made him adore me."
"And you didn't explain to him?" asked Aggie in amazement.
"And lose him before I'd got him!" exclaimed Zoie.
"It might be better than losing him AFTER you've got him,"
concluded the elder girl.
"Oh, Aggie," pouted Zoie, "I think you are horrid. You're just
trying to spoil all the fun of my engagement."
"I am not," cried Aggie, and the next moment she was sitting on
the arm of Zoie's chair.
"Goose!" she said, "how dare you be cross with me?"
"I am NOT cross," declared Zoie, and after the customary
apologies from Aggie, confidence was fully restored on both sides
and Zoie continued gaily: "Don't you worry about Alfred and me,"
she said as she kicked off her tiny slippers and hopped into bed.
"Just you wait until I get him. I'll manage him all right."
"I dare say," answered Aggie; not without misgivings, as she
turned off the light.
CHAPTER III
The double wedding of four of Chicago's "Younger Set" had been
adequately noticed in the papers, the conventional "honeymoon"
journey had been made, and Alfred Hardy and Jimmy Jinks had now
settled down to the routine of their respective business
interests.
Having plunged into his office work with the same vigour with
which he had attacked higher mathematics, Alfred had quickly
gained the confidence of the elders of his firm, and they had
already begun to give way to him in many important decisions. In
fact, he was now practically at the head of his particular
department with one office doing well in Chicago and a second
office promising well in Detroit.
As for Jimmy, he had naturally started his business career with
fewer pyrotechnics; but he was none the less contented. He
seldom saw his old friend Alfred now, but Aggie kept more or less
in touch with Zoie; and over the luncheon table the affairs of
the two husbands were often discussed by their wives. It was
after one of these luncheons that Aggie upset Jimmy's evening
repose by the fireside by telling him that she was a wee bit
worried about Zoie and Alfred.
"Alfred is so unreasonable," said Aggie, "so peevish."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Jimmy shortly. "If he's peevish he has
some good reason. You can be sure of that."
"You needn't get cross with me, Jimmy," said Aggie in a hurt
voice.
"Why should I be cross with you?" snapped Jimmy. "It isn't YOUR
fault if Alfred's made a fool of himself by marrying the last
person on earth whom he should have married."
"I think he was very lucky to get her," argued Aggie in defence
of her friend.
"Oh, you do, do you?" answered Jimmy in a very aggrieved tone.
"She is one of the prettiest girls in Chicago," said Aggie.
"You're pretty too," answered Jimmy, "but it doesn't make an
idiot of you."
"It's TIME you said something nice to me," purred Aggie; and her
arm stole fondly around Jimmy's large neck.
"I don't know why it is," said Jimmy, shaking his head
dejectedly, "but every time Zoie Hardy's name is mentioned in
this house it seems to stir up some sort of a row between you and
me."
"That's because you're so prejudiced," answered Aggie with a
touch of irritation.
"There you go again," said Jimmy.
"I didn't mean it!" interposed Aggie contritely. "Oh, come now,
Jimmy," she pleaded, "let's trundle off to bed and forget all
about it." And they did.
But the next day, as Jimmy was heading for the La Salle
restaurant to get his luncheon, who should call to him airily
from a passing taxi but Zoie. It was apparent that she wished
him to wait until she could alight; and in spite of his
disinclination to do so, he not only waited but followed the taxi
to its stopping place and helped the young woman to the pavement.
"Oh, you darling!" exclaimed Zoie, all of a flutter, and looking
exactly like an animated doll. "You've just saved my life." She
called to the taxi driver to "wait."
"Are you in trouble?" asked the guileless Jimmy.
"Yes, dreadful," answered Zoie, and she thrust a half-dozen small
parcels into Jimmy's arms. "I have to be at my dressmaker's in
half an hour; and I haven't had a bite of lunch. I'm miles and
miles from home; and I can't go into a restaurant and eat just by
myself without being stared at. Wasn't it lucky that I saw you
when I did?"
There was really very little left for Jimmy to say, so he said
it; and a few minutes later they were seated tete-a-tete in one
of Chicago's most fashionable restaurants, and Zoie the
unconscious flirt was looking up at Jimmy with apparently adoring
eyes, and suggesting all the eatables which he particularly
abominated.
No sooner had the unfortunate man acquiesced in one thing and
communicated Zoie's wish to the waiter, than the flighty young
person found something else on the menu that she considered more
tempting to her palate. Time and again the waiter had to be
recalled and the order had to be given over until Jimmy felt
himself laying up a store of nervous indigestion that would
doubtless last him for days.
When the coveted food at last arrived, Zoie had become completely
engrossed in the headgear of one of her neighbours, and it was
only after Jimmy had been induced to make himself ridiculous by
craning his neck to see things of no possible interest to him
that Zoie at last gave her attention to her plate.
In obeyance of Jimmy's order the waiter managed to rush the lunch
through within three- quarters of an hour; but when Jimmy and
Zoie at length rose to go he was so insanely irritated, that he
declared they had been in the place for hours; demanded that the
waiter hurry his bill; and then finally departed in high dudgeon
without leaving the customary "tip" behind him.
But all this was without its effect upon Zoie, who, a few moments
later rode away in her taxi, waving gaily to Jimmy who was now
late for business and thoroughly at odds with himself and the
world.
As a result of the time lost at luncheon Jimmy missed an
appointment that had to wait over until after office hours, and
as a result of this postponement, he missed Aggie, who went to a
friend's house for dinner, leaving word for him to follow. For
the first time in his life, Jimmy disobeyed Aggie's orders, and,
later on, when he "trundled off to bed" alone, he again recalled
that it was Zoie Hardy who was always causing hard feeling
between him and his spouse.
Some hours later, when Aggie reached home with misgivings because
Jimmy had not joined her, she was surprised to find him sleeping
as peacefully as a cherub. "Poor dear," she murmured, "I hope he
wasn't lonesome." And she stole away to her room.
The next morning when Aggie did not appear at the breakfast
table, Jimmy rushed to her room in genuine alarm. It was now
Aggie's turn to sleep peacefully; and he stole dejectedly back to
the dining-room and for the first time since their marriage, he
munched his cold toast and sipped his coffee alone.
So thoroughly was his life now disorganised, and so low were his
spirits that he determined to walk to his office, relying upon
the crisp morning air to brace him for the day's encounters. By
degrees, he regained his good cheer and as usual when in rising
spirits, his mind turned toward Aggie. The second anniversary of
their wedding was fast approaching--he began to take notice of
various window displays. By the time he had reached his office,
the weightiest decision on his mind lay in choosing between a
pearl pendant and a diamond bracelet for his now adorable spouse.
But a more difficult problem awaited him. Before he was fairly
in his chair, the telephone bell rang violently. Never guessing
who was at the other end of the wire, he picked up his receiver
and answered.
"What?" he exclaimed in surprise. "Mrs. Hardy?" Several times
he opened his lips to ask a question, but it was apparent that
the person at the other end of the line had a great deal to say
and very little time to say it, and it was only after repeated
attempts that he managed to get in a word or so edgewise.
"What's happened?" he asked.
"Say nothing to anybody," was Zoie's noncommittal answer, "not
even to Aggie. Jump in a taxi and come as quickly as you can."
"But what IS it?" persisted Jimmy. The dull sound of the wire
told him that the person at the other end had "hung up."
Jimmy gazed about the room in perplexity. What was he to do? Why
on earth should he leave his letters unanswered and his mail
topsy turvy to rush forth in the shank of the morning at the
bidding of a young woman whom he abhorred. Ridiculous! He would
do no such thing. He lit a cigar and began to open a few letters
marked "private." For the life of him he could not understand
one word that he read. A worried look crossed his face.
"Suppose Zoie were really in need of help, Aggie would certainly
never forgive him if he failed her." He rose and walked up and
down.
"Why was he not to tell Aggie?"
"Where was Alfred?" He stopped abruptly. His over excited
imagination had suggested a horrible but no doubt accurate
answer. "Wedded to an abomination like Zoie, Alfred had sought
the only escape possible to a man of his honourable ideals--he
had committed suicide."
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