Coming Through the Rye

Front matter

32 A Novel of Enduring Romance by

GRACE LIVINGSTON HILL

Can a girl bring herself to love the man who has sent her father and brother to prison?

Chapter I

Ee ROMAYNE RANSOM walked through the station and out to _ the street door looking for a taxi. There were usually three or four in sight: What had become of them all? She set down her shiny suit-case and tapped the little new _ suede slipper toe impatiently while she waited, thinking how vexatious the whole day had been. Not a thing the way she had planned it, the whole day spoiled. She had started off bright and early that morning in her _ pretty spring costume with the dearest new wardrobe any girl __had ever owned, expecting a wonderful week. Her first house _ party! And nothing short of a miracle that Father’s new __ business had materialized just in time for him to give her a substantial check wherewith to provide the wardrobe and the suit-case. She had thought when the invitation first came that of course she must decline it. She hadn’t a garment fit to wear at a great beautiful house party by the sea. = But the look in her father’s face had been wonderful when _ he handed her that check and asked her if it was enough. _ Enough! She had never dreamed of having half that much _ money for her own. And it had come so suddenly! Right out of the blue as it were!

What fun she had had spending it! _ She couldn’t remember the time when she hadn’t been _ poverty-stricken, never enough to get the bare necessities of _ life! Poor Mother, even up in heaven she must be glad to see Te _ them having it easier now. To know that her dear ones were iz actually going to be able to have luxuries as well as necessi- ‘ties. Father was talking about a car for her own driving! _ Wouldn’t that be wonderful! If only Mother had lived to see it all. Of course, heaven was better than anything down here, but Mother had so wanted to have things nice, and Father ; 1

Ryn hi ashy] ghinlay 4 Af si HOPPE EH ETT tHl:+) AH z Wilh, Us j PA tf yeu PY pees tial Ie Hib iin a A ati iat HEHE rea a [i eae aid iD

Coming Through the hye 4

«he turned her Mance toward the wide wrest where a group of children were playing noisily on the cur in front of a row A twowumy 164 brick houses, Such # contrast of Nile to the OHA nansion wt the neashore where the had lunched

* woming back to the oily, A wave of pity came over

her tor the poor \ittle ones who lived in that hot wren and YA 4 sight of ovenn excep Lor a Niky, nowy, CWowded , perhaps once a year, the, wanding on a wnall pinnacle prosperity, half way between the fortunnte wealthy and the untortunate lithe wrangers, cond pity them, suddeniy she remembered that it was down that very thal # little Sundayschool scholar of hers lived, and inister had asked her non long ago if the wouldn't call ohiid and try 16 brighten her up 4 bit, the had been et by a ruck and broken her hip and there was danger spine was involves, and the might never walk again, joy of her new tortunss Womayne had completay pion the requet, Now it widdenly came back to her, Tht wae awkward, he might meet Doctor Mephens almeonnt Gay and he wad be likely to ask her about the child, Cnian't she jut run back in the dation and Check her Mit-cave and make the call now) Of wurse, the was rather aie

S_ez3e Si world why the mouldn’t do it, Vather waen't likey to be home trom the Corporation meding belore vin, ond he dide’t know the was coming, the wold jus gA it done aw she checks her suit-case, bougn some oranges and a 6 lovey magazine full of pictures, and warted on her of cy with 2 heart 1ull of loving kindness,

She ake the group of children if they knew where Wilanfia Judson lived, and they pointed out 2 house half-way down the next vlock, But when the rang the WA) it was a long time belore anybody came to the door, w that Vomayne alin tondused tha nobody wes a home until the romembereA that Wilanne was not able to gt up. Then the Adbated Whether the should attempt w open the door and walk in, tor pothays the iid was wi alone,

But 2 faint step we finally heard, the dan was opened 4 é7\ fetes re ee.

4 Grace Livingston Hill ase crack and a tear-stained face peeked out and looked her over half belligerently from a dainty shoe to tip of hat.

“Could I see Wilanna Judson a few minutes?” she asked, half wishing she had not come. “I’m her Sunday-school teacher.”

“Oh, come in,” said the girl, opening the door grudgingly. “TI didn’t know it was you at first. Yes, she’ll be glad to see you. Nobody’s paid much attention to her to-day.”

Romayne stepped in and saw that the girl was one of those tawdrily dressed little flappers that sat in the girls’ Bible class next to her own, and sang a high clear soprano. The girl looked anything but a flapper now. Her stringy hair was out of curl and her nose was swollen with crying. Even now the tears were brimming over again.

“It’s awful good of you to come—” said the girl, “I ’spose _you’ve heard?”

“Heard?” asked Romayne. “Are you in trouble, dear?” It wasn't like shy Romayne to speak to a stranger that way, but there was something in the girl’s woebegone countenance that made her sorry.

“Oh!” said the girl, bursting into tears again, “I can’t never hold up my head again!”

“What is the matter?” asked Romayne in a soothing tone. “Can’t you sit down here and tell me about it? You look awfully tired. Is Wilanna worse?”

“No!” wailed the girl. “She’s doing all right. It’s papa. He’s in jail! I thought you’d seen it in the papers.”

“Why, no,” said Romayne, “I’ve been away—that is, I - didn’t see the paper yet. Who are you? Wilanna’s sister?”

“Yes; I’m Frances.”

at you tell me about it? Is there anything I could do for you 39

“I don’t know,” sobbed the girl. “I don’t guess there is! Mamma’s gone out to see a lawyer, but it all depends if the woman dies. You see he’d been drinking again, and he ran over a woman and just missed killing her baby, too. They took the woman to the hospital, but they think mebbe she won't live a

“You poor child!” soothed Romayne, trying to think what to say to one in a predicament like this. “You say he had been drinking? Why, where in the world could he get anything to drink?”

“Plenty of places!” shrugged Frances. “It’s all over. There’s a new one almost every week somewhere, and there’s devils around here always coaxing him to drink. You don’t know

4 “You poor little girl,” said Romayne, laying a gentle hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Tell me all about it. Pil tell my father a and brother, and we'll see if we can’t do something to get _ those places closed up. Did your father always drink?”

2 _ “No,” sighed the girl, “he don’t drink when they let him _ alone, but it’s always going around. He wouldn’t go get it __ hisself, but everybody he goes with has it or treats him.” ag _ It was half-past five when Romayne came away from the .: Judson house, her mind filled with the sorrows of little _ Wilanna and her sister Frances, and turning it over how she _ would ask her father to get his new friend J udge Freeman to

__ do something about the places where they were selling liquor. _ Of course, Frances had probably exaggerated it. There -couldn’t be as many places as she said there were, or people would hear more about it. Of course, there was bootlegging, but that was mainly people who stole automobiles and Tan away across the border of Canada, or made moonshine _ whiskey down in the South somewhere. It was all very vague _ to her. She had never taken much interest in such things. Her _ life had been so safe and guarded all these years, the com- _ panion of her mother during her lifetime, and now the _ companion of her father. But Father would be interested in this. After they had had dinner together she would tell him the whole story, and then perhaps he would take her out to _ call on Judge Freeman and she would tell him. She had _ always wanted to go with her father when he went to the __._ Freeman’s house, but there had always been some reason _ why it wasn’t convenient when he had to go on business. 4 _ Thinking these thoughts she reached the station, claimed _ her baggage and signalled the taxi that had finally appeared a

MOR US

Vs Sig abe Ale «a on the scene.

“J thought there were always taxis here by the station?” she said to the man. “I waited for fifteen minutes a little while ago.”

- “Well, there usually is,” said the man apologetically, “but

_ you see we al] ben down to the Commissioner’s office trying

to get our rights.”

; _ “Your rights?” said Romayne faintly, wishing she had said

_ nothing to the man, and reproaching herself for giving him opportunity to talk with her. Isabel Worrell would never have

» eT in taxis.

“Yes, Miss,” said the man, as if he had just been looking — for someone to whom he could tell his troubles. “You see us fellers has to pay fifteen dollars a week to the Commissioner to get our licenses, and we ben hearin’ there’s a guy in the city ben makin’ it hot fer everybody what’s in this here graft game, so we jest kinda got together and decided we'd tell the Commissioner we was going to give evidence ’gainst him ef he didn’t do somepin about it. So we went together, a gang of us, an’ we give him a line of talk, and waddaya think? He give us our money back! Yes, sir! Every last man of us, we got our money back! Sorry to keep ya waitin’, Miss, but you see how ’twas. I jest had to have that money. I got a sick kid and she has to go to the hospital fer a noperation, an’ I needed that money.” :

Romayne was all sympathy now. She asked questions about the child and promised to send her a doll and a picture-book. How much trouble there was in the world, and she had been fretting for years just because she had to make over her dresses and they couldn’t ride in taxis. And now money had come to the Ransoms, but here were the Judsons, and the taxi-drivers. and a lot of other poor people who were still in trouble. It really spoiled much of her own pleasure in ~ her good fortune to know that there were so many people in such deep trouble. And it all seemed to be the fault of a few rich politicians who were trying to get richer than anybody else without doing anything. At least that was the way it looked. Or, perhaps, it was the fault of the people who voted to put men who would do such things into these offices of trust. Fancy a Commissioner trying to live off a poor taxidriver whose little girl was having to wait for a much-needed operation until her father could scrape the money together to pay the doctor and the hospital! Something ought to be done about it. She meant to ask Lawrence and Father to start at once organizing some kind of a society to look into these things. They could do it. Now that they were going to have a little money they would have a real chance to do good in the world.

She gave the driver a generous tip, took down his address, and promised not to forget the doll. Then the car drew up in front of the old respectable brown stone house into which they had moved but the month before.

done that. It was because she was not accustomed to riding j

Fi ey Fa ee Zs se se . Coming Through the Rye 5 7 ss She glanced up at the house with a thrill of pride and_ q pleasure. To think that was their home after all these years in _ a little tucked-up apartment! And she was presently to have a _ good sum of money put into her hands wherewith to furnish __ it with fine old furniture such as belonged in a respectable old _ family mansion. Of course, it wasn’t one of the newer houses. _ But it had an air of ancient grandeur about it that pleased _ her. She liked the high ceilings and the big rooms. __ As she looked toward the front windows where now her _ father had his office she saw the curtain stir and a hand draw back. It must be her father had come home and he would be coming to the door to meet her! _ She paid the taxi fare and hurried up the steps, wondering what Father would say when he heard her story, and - wouldn’t he be glad after all that she had come back? She _ knew he had been going to be lonesome without her in spite Of all his joy in her holiday.

Inside that stately old front parlor thick rough silk cur-

_ tained the windows, in a deep amber shade. A great walnut _ Toll-top desk occupied the centre of the room. In the wall _ opposite the hall archway was set an old mantel with cup- _ boards on each side and two tall graceful urns of alabaster stood upon the mantel-shelf. A large old Kerminshah rug, worn but still beautiful, in rose and amber covered the floor. A few walnut chairs and a desk chair completed the furnishings. On the desk were several specimens of ore and some _ tubes of oil in various stages of refinement. “Oh, gee!” said a thick-set youth in knickerbockers and golf stockings, peering from between the curtains. “That girl’s _ come back! I thought you said she was safe in Jersey for a _ week! Now what are we going to do? She’ll be in here in a fa 5 tninute.”

“We're going to do just what we planned to do, Chris,” g said a quiet grave young man in a plain business suit, with a face that had a rugged look of determined strength about it. “But—why say—Sherwood,—she’s a peach of a girl! I

went to school with her.” __ “Sorry for the girl, Chris, but it can’t be helped! This is the _ only time this could be done, and the stage is set. We can’t afford to let the opportunity slip. We may never get it again. _ We're not fighting for one person’s feelings, kid! This is _ fighteousness! You get into your corner, Chris, and let me manage this thing.”

Oe alkanes. \y ilih oe Sai

“But, Sherrey, you can’t id

There was the sound of a key turning in the lock, and a lifted hand of caution silenced the youth at the window.

The other three men, two of them in policeman’s garb, and one a plain-clothes man, showed no interest in the incident save by quick alert gleams of the eye. They maintained a grave aloof bearing and seemed to study to obliterate themselves as far as possible from the scene. Their time of action was not yet come.

The man they called Sherwood was seated just inside the arch from the hallway.

Romayne flung open the door and stepped inside, closing it — after her before she saw him. Then she took a step forward — and all the others were visible to her view, not excepting her old school mate, who had turned his back to the room and was earnestly peering through a crack between the curtains

-in the hope of not being recognized.

The girl stood still for a moment, eyeing each of the five — men questioningly, then turned toward the young man who > obviously dominated the scene.

“Where is my father?” she asked coldly, as if she felt he were somehow to blame for the presence of these uniformed — men.

“That is what we hoped you might be able to tell us, Miss —

Ransom,” said Sherwood courteously. He had risen as she entered the doorway.

She.looked around at them keenly once more.

“Then if my father has not been here,” she asked crisply, “how did you get in here?”

For just an instant she stood facing the five men, then she stepped quickly over to the desk and laid her hand on the telephone.

Just as quickly another hand, firm and strong and determined, was laid upon hers, and the man called Sherwood looked sternly down at her.

“Ym sorry, Miss Ransom, but we can’t let you do that— not now.”

ns

Coming Through the Rye Ce Ee

CHAPTER Il

ROMAYNE cast a frightened glance from one stern face to _ the other, her eyes lingering with sudden recognition on the _ broad shoulders of the boy.

“Chris Hollister!” she said sharply, “what are you doing here? Why don’t you tell these men that they have no right to _ come in here and tell me what I can do and what I cannot * do?” _. The boy turned shamefacedly.

_ “’m sorry, Romayne, I didn’t know you would be here—I - understood you were to be away _ “Oh!” said Romayne haughtily. “So you knew what my ‘movements were, did you? And you were in some plot against my father in his absence, it seems. Well, I thought _ better of you than that. I’ve always supposed you were a very nice boy—that is, in the days when we used to go to school - together.”

__ Her tone was as if she had finished with him forever. Then _ she turned toward Sherwood.

: “J don’t know who you are, but I’m sure you look as if _ you might have been a gentleman once. Will you please let --go of my hand?”

“Not until you give me your word of honor that you will _ go over and sit down in that chair and not go near this - telephone again,” said Sherwood gently but firmly. “I’m in - command here, and I can’t run the risk of your messing things.” :

- “You're not in command of me!” said Romayne, giving her lithe hand a quick twist and jerking it from his hold. It hurt _ her cruelly, but she did not wince. With a quick motion she - turned toward the front door, but to her dismay she was _ suddenly confronted by the two men in uniform, standing like an impassable wall before her.

_ With a dazed look she stopped, gave each a frightened | my Bee te eg

‘glance, and turning back to Sherwood she drew hérself up» proudly.

“What does this mean?” she asked iisdaenaartlye “Do Il! understand that I am a prisoner in my father’s house?” “I’m afraid you are, Miss Ransom” answered Sherwood || gravely. “I hope it will not be for long. You need not be: troubled. No harm will come to you. If you will sit down I|/ will see that no harm comes to you.”

“Thank you. I prefer to stand,” she said frigidly.

“Just as you please,” answered her captor, “only I advise! you to stand right where you are if you do not wish to be interfered with again.”

Romayne caught her underlip between her white teeth to) steady its trembling. She could feel the tears smarting in her: eyes. Slim and straight she stood in her pretty spring costume?) looking like a frightened child. Chris Hollister could not! stand it and turned his back, pretending to be looking out!) - from between the curtains again.

The girl had wonderful self-control. She was trying to} think what she should do. It was unthinkable that she should} submit to such a situation.

“What is the meaning of all this anyway? What right have; you to order me about in this way in my own house?” she: H | said, trying to hold her temper and see if she could find out?| what it was all about. “There certainly must be some expla--|

nation. You don’t look like a bandit!” __ There was just the least tang of contempt in her voice.

“Aw, gee!” breathed the boy, Chris, under his breath.

“I can explain,” said the young man gravely, “but I would | _ father not. I hoped perhaps that you might be spared the :| pain: ”

“Oh!” interrupted Romayne. “Don’t trouble yourself about :| that. You haven’t seemed to care how much pain you inflict-- ed. I beg you will inform me at once what all this means! It: isn’t necessary to use any oratory or false friendliness. I want: the facts. I'll bear the pain!” |

Her face was haughtiness itself. Her tone stung the young ' man and brought a flush of indignation to his cheek, but he} kept his quiet voice.

“Very well, then. I will tell you. This house is under: | suspicion and we have been ordered to investigate. I am sorry our duty brought us here while you were at home, but : if you will consent to be seated quietly in that chair where | xe Xe

Coming Through the Rye i

_ the guard can watch every movement I give you my word _ you shall not be personally disturbed.”

q x Romayne stared wide-eyed.

é

“This house! Under suspicion? But for what?” she demanded angrily.

“For illicit dealing in intoxicating liquor.” : _ “Oh!” unexpectedly laughed out the girl with a relieved _ hysterical giggle, “is that all? Isn’t that funny!”

She dropped into a chair still laughing, her eyes dancing merrily. :

“But,” she said, looking into the young man’s face, “you surely didn’t mean that seriously?”

: “TI surely do,” said the young man sadly. “I’m sorry, but we have all evidence——”

Romayne turned toward the boy.

“Chris, why in the world don’t you tell him we're not that Kind of people? What do you get out of this farce that you os let it go on? You surely know how absurd this charge is 99

Chris turned earnestly toward the girl.

“I did, Romayne; I told them all about you. I said you _ Were a peach of a girl! I wanted to put this off when I found

you were home i : “Put it off!” said Romayne, scornfully turning back to _ Sherwood. “If you would allow me to call up my father’s __ friend, Judge Freeman,” she said with an edge of haughtiness _ in her voice again, “he will be able to explain how impossible

this all is,” she said loftily.

A quick meaningful look passed from one man to another _ around the group. __ “JT have no doubt he would,” said Sherwood meaningfully, “but we will not call the Judge at present.”

“Or if you will call my brother,” she went on more soberly, trying to realize that it was not going to be as easy to convince these determined men as she had expected. “He is probably still in the office—I can give you his number. He

-hever gets out till a quarter past six.”

____ Another lightning glance went round the circle. She could _ not tell what it was about, that quick motionless look. It seemed to be more of a light coming out of the eye, like a signal flash in the night, than anything tangible; but it gave her a chill of foreboding.

_ She suddenly turned to Sherwood quite gravely, as one

42 Grace Livingston Hill would speak to a naughty child in a tantrum who needed! quieting, speaking slowly and distinctly as if to bring him to) Teason.

“I should think it would be easy enough to prove that your | suspicions are absurd,” she said. “Why don’t you look around and see that this is nothing but a plain everyday home?”

“Are you willing to take me over the house, Miss Ransom?”

“Certainly, if you insist on being so absurd,” she said | freezingly. )

“Very well. We will begin in this room.” .

“In this room?” She lifted her eyebrows amusedly. “I. should say everything was perfectly obvious here.” |

. “What is behind those doors, for instance? Can you open | them for me?” .

Romayne laughed. : |

“Some old dusty papers. Files of sales of Father’s business. ~ It’s nothing but a shallow cupboard. Father had to have a carpenter come here and make it deeper to get his papers in. | Did you think it was a wine closet?”

Another of those quick lightning glances went round the | circle of men, though when she looked again no one seemed | to have paid the least attention to her words. Their eyes were thoughtfully on space. |

The steady eyes of Sherwood did not waver nor show. special interest. His voice was just as quiet as he said: | ~ “Yes? Well, can you open them for me?”

“Why, certainly!” said Romayne, walking briskly over to. the fireplace and touching the little spring knob. .

But the door did not open as she expected.

She looked at it puzzled.

“Oh, I remember! Father had a lock put on. He said there | were valuable papers here and he did not want them dis- — turbed. Perhaps I can find the key. Of course Father wouldn’t object to my opening it for you to see.” )

She searched in the drawers of the desk, the men meanwhile noting every movement, and taking in at a glance the contents of every drawer, without seeming at all to be looking.

Romayne came upon a bunch of keys and tried several but without success. She lifted somewhat mortified eyes to the — é >» AEE ws Ae Soe ase | i }

_ young man at last.

; Pe. Sede Conites Through the Rye gf 1B

“Well, we'll have to wait till Father comes, I suppose. But thers really is nothing in there but papers.”

“I see,” said Sherwood gravely, as if the matter were dismissed. “Now, this house, it’s a double house, is it not? Do you happen to know what is on the other side of this mantel? Have you ever been in the other house?”

“J have not,” said Romayne haughtily. “The house is ;

vacant, of course, you know.”

“Yes?” Sherwood lifted his eyebrows in that maddening ‘way he had done before, as if he doubted her word. “Is the house for rent?”

“I believe it is,’ said Romayne, vexed. She felt somehow that he was making game of her, yet his tone and manner were entirely respectful. There was about him an air of knowing more than she did about the things she told him. If he knew things why did he ask? Was he trying to get her tangled up? Oh, if Father or Lawrence would only come home. It was outrageous! But perhaps she ought to play the game and keep them here till one of them did walk in, so

._ that these intruders might be brought to justice.

“Do many people come to look at the house?”

“TI really don’t know,” haughtily again. “I’ve noticed an agent once or twice. It may be rented now for aught I know.”

“Yes?” and then quite irrelevantly it seemed to her, “And your father’s business is?”

“He is Manager of a Corporation. It has to do with ore and oil products.” She waved her hand toward the bits of tock and oil tubes on the desk. She had the air of endeavoring to graciously satisfy an insatiable curiosity on his part, ~ endeavoring to show him how contemptible he was. But his quiet grave manner did not alter. ; “Miss Ransom, have you ever been down cellar in your

-. own house?”

i Sad ‘

“Really!” she shrugged. “How absurd! Of course.”

“Can you tell me what it contains?”

“Why certainly. A furnace, and a coal-bin, and a wood-

ile.”

. “Where is the furnace located?”

‘What possible interest could that be to these strangers? “Why, almost directly under this room, I think.”

“Yes? And the coal-bin? Is it located on the right wall or the left?”

Romayne stopped to think. This was rather interesting, like ce Grace Livingston Hill ee na a game. What-could the man possibly be driving at? Or was he merely trying to kill time and asking any question that came into his head?

“It is on the right wall, just in front of the fireplace, I believe. Yes, I know it is. They fill it from the basement window on the sidewalk, just under that window over there, I think. We haven’t been here long, and haven’t needed to get coal yet.”

“Did you ever examine the coal-bin?”

“Well, no. I couldn’t possibly take any interest in a coal-bin. Father always looks after those things.”

“Then you have no knowledge of a door or passageway leading from that coal-bin into the cellar of the next house?”