TIGER SKINS
September passed and October came, bringing with it cool days and clear, crisp evenings royally ruled over by a gorgeous harvest moon. According to Billy everything was just perfect--except, of course, poor Bertram's arm; and even the fact that that gained so slowly was not without its advantage (again according to Billy), for it gave Bertram more time to be with her.
``You see, dear, as long as you _can't_ paint,'' she told him earnestly, one day, ``why, I'm not really hindering you by keeping you with me so much.''
``You certainly are not,'' he retorted, with a smile.
``Then I may be just as happy as I like over it,'' settled Billy, comfortably.
``As if you ever could hinder me,'' he ridiculed.
``Oh, yes, I could,'' nodded Billy, emphatically.
``You forget, sir. That was what worried me so. Everybody, even the newspapers and magazines, said I _would_ do it, too. They said I'd slay your Art, stifle your Ambition, destroy your Inspiration, and be a nuisance generally. And Kate said--''
``Yes. Well, never mind what Kate said,''
interrupted the man, savagely.
Billy laughed, and gave his ear a playful tweak.
``All right; but I'm not going to do it, you know--spoil your career, sir. You just wait,''
she continued dramatically. ``The minute your arm gets so you can paint, I myself shall conduct you to your studio, thrust the brushes into your hand, fill your palette with all the colors of the rainbow, and order you to paint, my lord, paint!
But--until then I'm going to have you all Ilike,'' she finished, with a complete change of manner, nestling into the ready curve of his good left arm.
``You witch!'' laughed the man, fondly.
``Why, Billy, you couldn't hinder me. You'll _be_my inspiration, dear, instead of slaying it. You'll see. _This_ time Marguerite Winthrop's portrait is going to be a success.''
Billy turned quickly.
``Then you are--that is, you haven't--I
mean, you're going to--paint it?''
``I just am,'' avowed the artist. ``And this time it'll be a success, too, with you to help.''
Billy drew in her breath tremulously.
``I didn't know but you'd already started it,''
she faltered.
He shook his head.
``No. After the other one failed, and Mr.
Winthrop asked me to try again, I couldn't _then_.
I was so troubled over you. That's the time you did hinder me,'' he smiled. ``Then came your note breaking the engagement. Of course I knew too much to attempt a thing like that portrait then. But now--_now_--!'' The pause and the emphasis were eloquent.
``Of course, _now_,'' nodded Billy, brightly, but a little feverishly. ``And when do you begin?''
``Not till January. Miss Winthrop won't be back till then. I saw J. G. last week, and I told him I'd accept his offer to try again.''
``What did he say?''
``He gave my left hand a big grip and said:
`Good!--and you'll win out this time.' ''
``Of course you will,'' nodded Billy, again, though still a little feverishly. ``And this time I sha'n't mind a bit if you do stay to luncheon, and break engagements with me, sir,'' she went on, tilting her chin archly, ``for I shall know it's the portrait and not the sitter that's really keeping you. Oh, you'll see what a fine artist's wife I'll make!''
``The very best,'' declared Bertram so ardently that Billy blushed, and shook her head in reproof.
``Nonsense! I wasn't fishing. I didn't mean it that way,'' she protested. Then, as he tried to catch her, she laughed and danced teasingly out of his reach.
Because Bertram could not paint, therefore, Billy had him quite to herself these October days;nor did she hesitate to appropriate him. Neither, on his part, was Bertram loath to be appropriated.
Like two lovers they read and walked and talked together, and like two children, sometimes, they romped through the stately old rooms with Spunkie, or with Tommy Dunn, who was a frequent guest. Spunkie, be it known, was renewing her kittenhood, so potent was the influence of the dangling strings and rolling balls that she encountered everywhere; and Tommy Dunn, with Billy's help, was learning that not even a pair of crutches need keep a lonely little lad from a frolic. Even William, roused from his after-dinner doze by peals of laughter, was sometimes inveigled into activities that left him breathless, but curiously aglow. While Pete, polishing silver in the dining-room down-stairs, smiled indulgently at the merry clatter above--and forgot the teasing pain in his side.
But it was not all nonsense with Billy, nor gay laughter. More often it was a tender glow in the eyes, a softness in the voice, a radiant something like an aura of joy all about her, that told how happy indeed were these days for her. There was proof by word of mouth, too--long talks with Bertram in the dancing firelight when they laid dear plans for the future, and when she tried so hard to make her husband understand what a good, good wife she intended to be, and how she meant never to let anything come between them.
It was so earnest and serious a Billy by this time that Bertram would turn startled, dismayed eyes on his young wife; whereupon, with a very Billy-like change of mood, she would give him one of her rare caresses, and perhaps sigh:
``Goosey--it's only because I'm so happy, happy, happy! Why, Bertram, if it weren't for that Overflow Annex I believe I--I just couldn't live!
It was Bertram who sighed then, and who prayed fervently in his heart that never might he see a real shadow cloud that dear face.
Thus far, certainly, the cares of matrimony had rested anything but heavily upon the shapely young shoulders of the new wife. Domestic affairs at the Strata moved like a piece of well-oiled machinery. Dong Ling, to be sure, was not there;but in his place reigned Pete's grandniece, a fresh-faced, capable young woman who (Bertram declared) cooked like an angel and minded her own business like a man. Pete, as of yore, had full charge of the house; and a casual eye would see few changes. Even the brothers themselves saw few, for that matter.
