Chapter 2 BETTY'S KNIGHT

The drawing room fire was soon crackling. "It is so nice to feel I have the privilege of lighting it; I have been dying to for the past hour, but didn't think I could afford it without company," Betty confided, blowing at the flames. "Do please get some chairs and let us draw up quite close. It is so much pleasanter to talk that way."

Yet Anthony Graham only stared without moving. To think of a Princess speaking of not being able to afford so inexpensive a luxury as a fire. Suddenly the young man longed to be able immediately to chop down an entire forest of trees and lay it as a thank offering before her. Of course his sister Nan had written him of Mr. Ashton's death and of the change in the family fortunes, but to associate real poverty with his conception of Betty was impossible. Glancing uneasily about the great room it was good to see how beautiful it still looked, how perfect a setting for its young mistress. So at least they were able to keep their handsome home.

To the young man Betty Ashton now appeared more beautiful than his former impression of her. For on the day of their original meeting she had worn a fur coat and a cap covering her hair and a portion of her face. But now the three Camp Fire candles were once more burning, forming a kind of shining background for the girl's figure. Her hair was a deep red brown, with bronze tones, the colors in the autumn woods. There was no longer any sign of pallor or weariness in her cheeks, for pleasure and excitement had reawakened the old Betty.

"Do sit down," she urged again. "I want to hear all about you."

Then, coming to his senses, Anthony managed to drag two comfortable chairs before the blaze.

"There isn't anything much to tell," he began shyly. "Only after you gave me that money I just started walking farther and farther away from Woodford. Why, it seemed to me that I didn't ever want to stop, for that would give me a chance to realize what I had done. And I didn't stop, either, until I was too dead tired to go on. But by that time I had come to another town and it must have been pretty late, because the main street was empty. I was passing along close to the wall of a building when I saw that an office door had been left open. It was pretty cold, so I peeped in. The room was dark and there was nobody about, so creeping inside I lay down on the floor and went to sleep." The boy stopped, but his listener was leaning forward with her hands clasped and her lips parted with eagerness.

"There isn't anything much to tell"

"Do go on and tell me every detail. It sounds just like a story," she entreated.

"When I woke up it was daylight and I found that I had landed in a dusty, untidy place, littered with old books and papers," he continued. "A small stove in the corner was choked up with ashes. I can't tell exactly why, but the first thing I did that morning was to scrape out those ashes, and then I found some sticks and coals and built a fresh fire." Anthony flashed a glance at Betty out of his shy, almost frightened blue eyes. "I guess I was feeling kind of well disposed toward fires just then, camp fires anyhow. Then I was thinking that I would like to pay for my night's lodging in some way. I fell to brushing out the room, so that when the young man came down later he would find his office cleaned up. Seemed like all of a sudden, after what had happened between you and me, that I wanted to work and pay my own way. I had never before been anything but a loafer."

"But you couldn't have known that the office belonged to a young man unless you waited there until after he came in!" Betty exclaimed.

Anthony laughed. "Oh, yes, I waited all right and I have been in that same office more or less ever since, until I came home to Woodford the day before yesterday. Of course I meant to clear out as soon as I had finished, but while I was working I heard a quiet chuckle behind me, and swinging around, there stood Mr. Andrews!"

"But who was or is this Mr. Andrews?" Betty asked impatiently, too interested to be particularly polite.

"My next best friend, after you," the young fellow answered. "Why, I think I can remember even now his very first words to me: 'Hello,' he said, 'why are you doing me such a good turn?' 'Because you have just done me one. I slept all night in your office,' I answered. He didn't seem surprised and I thought that rather funny. But afterwards I learned that he had been a poor boy himself and had slept in all sorts of queer places. He is still poor enough, goodness knows, but he has graduated in law and set up an office. He will succeed some day, sure as faith. You can bet on him."

Betty bit her lips, her eyes dancing with amusement and curiosity. Actually her visitor was becoming so much in earnest over his friend that he was forgetting to be afraid of her.

"But what about you and your success?" she demanded.

The young man flushed, moving uncomfortably in his chair, as though yearning to get away from his questioner, and yet not knowing exactly how.

"Success, my success? I haven't yet used that word in connection with myself. I have just managed to keep on working, that's about all. Mr. Andrews let me continue sleeping in his office after I told him my story and cleaning it to pay for my lodging. Then by getting up early enough I arranged to take care of a few others for money and to run errands now and then. I read in between times."

"Read? Read what?" Betty inquired inexorably, half smiling and half frowning at her own persistence. For somehow in their half hour's talk together she had seen something in Anthony Graham that made her guess that the young man had worked harder and dreamed better in this past year than he was willing to acknowledge to her.

But Anthony got up from his chair and began deliberately backing toward the door. He seemed suddenly to have became more awkward and self-conscious. "I read the law books, as there wasn't anything else to read. And I was determined to get more education so that in the future Nan need not be ashamed of me. Afterwards I went to night school and--"

"So you have made up your mind to be a lawyer yourself some day." Betty sighed with satisfaction. How very like a book his confession sounded! She wanted to get more information from her visitor and yet at the same time longed to rush upstairs and commence a letter to Polly O'Neill at once. Wouldn't Polly be interested? For she had predicted on the day of their first meeting that the young man would either turn out to be absolutely no good, or else (and here Betty blushed, recalling the prophecy) "Remain your faithful knight to the end of the chapter."

"But why did you come back to Woodford if this Mr. Andrews was befriending you and giving you a chance?" she inquired, fearing that her illusion might now be shattered.

The young man did not reply at once.

And he scowled until Betty had an uncomfortable recollection of the expression which she had seen on his face the day of his attack upon Polly and her.

Then after moving a few steps nearer the fire so that he and the girl were once more facing each other, Betty could see that his scowl had been due to embarrassment and not anger.

"You are awfully good to be willing to listen to so long a tale of a ne'er-do-well," he returned. "I came back to Woodford because I was determined to make good in my own town. A fellow that can't trust himself in the face of temptations isn't worth being trusted. I'm going back to Mr. Andrews later, perhaps, but this winter I am to stick right here in Woodford and live down my bad name if I can. Judge Maynard says he will give me the same kind of a chance that Mr. Andrews did, if I am worth it. And I shall be able to see Nan and the others now and then. It didn't seem fair for me to be leaving all the family troubles to a girl."

Involuntarily Betty clapped her hands. She had not intended to express her emotion openly, but so pleased was she with Anthony's reply that she couldn't help it. The next moment she felt a little ashamed of her enthusiasm.

"Oh, Nan is equal to almost anything; we consider her the greatest success in our Camp Fire club," Betty protested. "Nan is studying domestic science at the High School and intends teaching it some day, so she will make you awfully comfortable at home."

The young man put out his hand. "Good-bye," he said. "I never dreamed I would be brave enough to ask you to shake hands with me for a good many years yet. But since you have been kind enough--"

"To ask you ten thousand questions," Betty laughed, rising and putting out both hands with a friendly gesture, and then moving toward the door with her caller.

"I am not going to be able to live at home, however," Anthony concluded. "It is too far to our little place to get into town early enough for my work and to be here in the evenings for the night school. I've got to find a room somewhere. I oughtn't to kick because nobody seems crazy to let me stay in their house. I did leave a pretty poor reputation behind me around here and I've got to show people first that I mean to behave differently. I guess I'll strike better luck later."

Although Betty was extremely sympathetic, she did not answer at once. For a sudden surprising understanding had come to her. How difficult it must be for any one to have to go about telling his acquaintances of his reformation before having the chance to prove it. Then an almost appealing expression crept into her face, making her cheeks flush hotly and her lashes droop. Her old friends would have recognized the look. For it was the one that she most often wore when she desired to do another person a kindness and feared she might not be allowed.

"Couldn't you, won't you come here and have a room with us?" she asked unexpectedly. "We have such heaps of rooms in this old house and now mother and I are here alone, we really would like to have you for protection. And if you don't like to accept with just my invitation, will you come in again tomorrow or next day? I am sure mother will wish to ask you too."

Anthony Graham had had rather a rough time always. He had a peculiar disposition, and all his life probably liked only a few people very deeply. His wasted youth-nearly twenty years of idling rather than study or work-and his mixed parentage-the Italian peasant mother and his New England father-would make his struggle in the world a long and an uphill one even if he should finally succeed. Among the first things he meant to learn was not to show his emotions too easily, to hide his feelings whenever he could, so that he might learn to take without apparent flinching the hard knocks that life was sure to send. He had been preparing himself for the unkindnesses. Now at Betty's words he felt a lump forming in his throat and had a terrified moment of believing that he was about to cry like a girl. For could it be possible that any human being could so forgive one's sins as almost to forget them? Yet here was Betty Ashton asking him to stay in her home to protect her mother and herself when his only other meeting had been his effort to rob her.

Anthony set his teeth. "I can't live in so grand a house as this. I couldn't afford it," he replied huskily.

It was on the tip of Betty's tongue to protest that she had never dreamed of Anthony's paying anything. For Betty Ashton, whatever the degree of her poverty, could never fail in generosity, since generosity is a matter not of the pocketbook but of the spirit. However, all of a sudden she appreciated that the young man had quite as much right to his self-respect as she had to hers.

"Even the little will be a help to mother and me," she returned more humbly than any one else had ever before heard her speak.

"But perhaps I could be useful. Maybe you haven't so many servants as you once had--"

Anthony stopped, for Betty's expression had changed so completely. Of course she had already repented of her offer.

"We have no servants and you could help a great deal," she answered. And then without any pretense of concealing them, she let two tears slide down her face. "It is only that I had forgotten for the moment that we are not going to be able to stay in our house much longer. We can't afford to keep it for ourselves and I haven't been a success with having boarders. Still it may be some time before we can rent or sell it, and if you will stay here until then--"

Betty winced, for her visitor had this time clasped her hand until the pressure of its hard surface hurt.

"You know it would be the greatest thing that ever happened for me to be allowed to stay here a week," he added.

And Betty laughed. "Then stay."

As she opened the front door another visitor stood waiting on the outside. He was almost as unexpected as Anthony Graham. For it was Herr Crippen, the German music professor and Esther's father.

"What on earth could he want?" Betty thought irritably. She was beginning to feel anxious to get upstairs to her mother again. For in spite of the fact that she now believed that she had a real affection for Esther, she had never been able to recover from her first prejudice for this shabby, hesitating man. Then his manner toward her was always so apologetic. Why on earth should it be? She was always perfectly polite to him. What a queer combination of Thanksgiving visitors she was having!

"Gn?diges Fr?ulein," he began. And Betty ushered him into the drawing room. For perhaps he was bringing her news of Esther.