jar
ing loneliness of a crowded apartment
house to look across an empty
breakfast table to long for the
family they'd not been able to have
to live again. Bill would have his
pension, and with her small salary as
a filing clerk they could get by.
Laurie went past the car and walked
quickly up the gravel drive, rutted
and lined with weeds. The little house
with the old-fashioned gables was just
as beautiful to her eyes as ever
perhaps even more so now that
Charles Drummond was trying to buy
it out from under her.
As she got to the corner of the
porch, Pete Stinson's cracked voice
came to her. "I tell you I can't do any
different, Mr. Drummond," Peter was
saying. "Them young folks need the
Place and I already told her they could
nave it. It isn't the money with me
I'll have enough for what I need
but I want to live the years I got left
with a clear conscience, and I sure
couldn't if I turned around and sold
the place to you just because you
offered me more money!"
Drummond harrumphed in reply,
hen his deep rumble overrode the
;,rmbling voice of the old man.
You're being downright stubborn,
Stinson. Think of all the added com
forts the extra money will buy you,
and besides, those young people can
find a better place at substantially
the same price."
In her mind, as she unwillingly
eavesdropped, Laurie could picture
the shake of the shaggy white head.
"No use to argue with me, Mr.
Drummond. She's to be here this
morning to close the deal, and a deal
it is. I've always been a little man in
the affairs of the world, Mr. Drum
mond, but one thing I've prided my
self on is keeping my word. Maybe
this is the last time I'll have a chance
to be stubborn and lose something
by it, but by Harry I'll do it!"
Laurie saw a bulky figure bearing
down on her from the rickety porch,
then Drummond was past with a
snort and a glare in her direction, but
not a word. She raced up the steps
and into the house with the world all
alive around her again. That Peter
Stinson would do such a thing
Peter grinned self-consciously and
swiped at the moist, lipstick imprint
on his leathery cheek. "I saw you
coming and thought I'd say it loud
enough for you to hear. Some men
think all they've got to do is open
their pocketbooks and folks like me
will do anything. Now, Mrs. Harwood,
if you have the bank draft, here are
all the papers clean and clear . . ."
After peter stinson had gone,
Laurie stood in the middle of the
front room and gazed about her, at
the remnants of a once-fine interior.
Her head was filled with plans for
restoring it as fully as work and love
could manage. She leaned her head
against the mantel and closed her eyes
in a prayer of thankfulness for people
like Peter Stinson.
At that moment she heard the steps
crunch up the gravel drive and onto
the porch. It was Drummond, his
face sour and defeated. "Well, young
woman," he growled, "I suppose
you're quite satisfied with yourself!"
Laurie found it impossible to be
angry, happy as she was. "I am, Mr.
Drummond. I wanted this place more
than I've ever wanted anything in
my life, and now I have it. I'm truly
sorry if you wanted it as badly, but
you must remember I did see Peter
Stinson first and he had accepted my
offer before you came to see him."
"I know I know." Drummond
brushed past her into the front room,
then wheeled to stab a sausagelike
forefinger at her. "I wonder if you
could possibly understand why I
want it." He stopped, thought a
moment, then shook his head. "No
I don't think you could. Well, I might
as well tell you."
He turned and stumped to the far
wall, where he took a white handker
chief from his breast pocket, moistened
the coiner of it, and rubbed gently at
the dull oak paneling that covered
two walls of the room. "Come here,"
he ordered gruffly.
"Look at that," he said softly, with
something close to reverence in his
tone. "Only years can do that to wood.
I found out too late that this paneling
existed, and you beat me here."
Laurie looked at Drummond in
surprise: the harsh lines of his face
had softened and he was seemingly a
different person. Where he had rubbed
off the soot and grime, the wood grain
stood out in rich tones. He gently
passed his fingers over it as he shook
his head regretfully.
Laurie realized that she had com
pletely misjudged the man there was
something about The Little Place he
loved, too. Her hand went to his arm
impulsively.
"I didn't know it isn't that I
wanted to be mean about it, but Bill
and I " She stopped, unable to go on.
Drummond's other hand came over
to pat hers. "We do what we feel we
have to," he said, then added, "Don't
think I'm a collector of things like
this, or that I wanted it so I could
sell it to some millionaire and make
a profit on it."
His eyes went again to the glowing
spot of rubbed wood. "I wanted it for
myself, and still do."
He turned to her decisively, his
brusque self again. "Young woman, to
impress a man like Stinson so deeply,
you must really have something on
the ball. Don't mind telling you I'm a
bit impressed myself."
Laurie stood helpless and em
barrassed, not knowing what to say.
"Now I'll tell you what I'll do," he
said briskly. "Your main object is the
house as a whole, right?" When she
nodded, he went on. "Going to take a
lot of fixing up. So that's where I
come in, if you'll listen to reason. I
want the paneling for my own house
down on the Sound, and if you'll let
. me have it I'll have expert workmen
take it out, replace it with a reason
able imitation, and fix up the rest
of the place the way you want it.
What do you say?"
Laurie .could say nothing. The long
years of saving, the skimping, the
despair at the slowness with which the
house money piled up now by the
grace of God and the intense love of
an old man for something even older
to live with, there would be money
enough and to spare. As for the
paneling, there was still time for her
and Bill to have some cut from their
own oak trees and grow old with it.
"You can look for my workmen
tomorrow," Drummond said, then
rumbled a soft laugh. "Here Here,
now! Crying women always shrink
my lapels." Laurie hiccuped, nodded,
and went on crying against the rough
tweed of his coat.
Family Weekly, March S, 1959
21
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