IGHTY strange, to put it mildly!” Newlove commented aloud. And, giving the button of the apparently noiseless door-bell a second vigorous but futile push, he leaned back against the door and stared out into the wet blackness of the spring night.
The world was pulsing with rising sap and bursting bud, rejoicing in the rain storm that was at once gentle and fierce. Thomas Newlove threw back his head and drew in the essence of it all in great breaths, filling his big chest and sighing. It was wonderful, wonderful, the unknown East—New England—so jubilant in its final yielding to spring, after the tense winter; so different from the first magical rain-time of California, which but piles luxury upon luxury; more compelling, somehow, more intense. For sheer joy of the season's contagion, he laughed aloud, find, as the rain swept into his shelter, barked out a good-humored oath and vainly tried the silent bell again. Then he shouted, but the storm swept the sound from his lips.
Newlove looked ruefully in the direction which the hack that brought him from the station had taken in departure. Ten miles away, that station was, over pitch-dark, utterly unknown roads! What neighbors there were, and how located, it was impossible to guess, for no light showed in any direction, and he had no recollection of having passed one for the last mile or two on the drive out. Confound it all, why couldn't he arouse the folks? What did they mean by going to sleep like this, instead of being up to welcome him?
The wind was shifting, and the rain now swept in from the south, drenching every corner of the porch. It was impossible to remain there much longer. The devil take Jack Williams, with his failure to meet trains and his broken door-bell! Newlove took out a little pocket searchlight and looked at his watch. Eleven forty-five! Outrageous! Then he spread open the telegram which had greeted him on his arrival in New York. Perhaps he had misread it. But no, there were the instructions he had followed, clear and unmistakable:
Nice and cordial in intent, this pressing invitation to his college roommate's home; but if this was an Easterner's notion of hospitality at a country estate—well, Jack and his menials would hear what a Westerner thought of it, when they discovered him asleep on the brocaded sofa of the pink drawing-room in the morning; for he, Thomas Newlove, refused to be daunted by a closed door. If the ranch didn't welcome the traveler, he'd invade it, by thunder, that's what he'd do! He'd get in out of this wet, one way or another! With which determination he set about reconnoitering.
The porch was laden with old vines, from which came the perfume of honeysuckle. It was heady and sweet and sleep-inducing. Newlove turned his attention to the lock of the door, trying each of his keys in vain. Then followed an examination of the window fastenings. At first they all seemed as secure as the legitimate modes of entrance. But at last his searching hands fell upon a startling discovery—an empty space where a window-pane should have been—one of the side lights to the front door was standing wide open!
Newlove gave a low whistle, and then contemplated the space with satisfaction. There would be just room enough to gain his large frame admission. Cautiously he first placed his damp suit-case and golf-bag within, and next, pulling his hat well down over his eyes, struggled through into the dense blackness of the hallway.
The house breathed a quiet charm and sense of homeliness, even in the dark. Instinctively he felt that the hall before him was a wide one, more living-room than passageway, and that there would be large, easy chairs about to bump into. A white-railed staircase glimmered vaguely some fifteen feet ahead of him. There must be an electric-light switch somewhere. He would find that!
To look for it he flashed on his lantern, and out of the darkness sprang a lovely thing—a great bowl of windflowers, delicate and frail, their stiff little heads closed in sleep. It was as if he had turned his light upon a bit of sheltered woodland. A woman's work, undoubtedly! Yet Jack was not a married man, nor did he possess any female relations who lived with him, so far as Newlove was aware.
“Humph!” thought he. “That's funny! What else?”