North of Fifty-Three | Page 7

do under the circumstances."
"Give me a chance to show you that I can make you happy," he pleaded.
"Don't leave. Stay here where I can at least see you and speak to you. I
won't annoy you. And you can't tell. After you get over this surprise
you might find yourself liking me better."
"That's just the trouble," Hazel pointed out. "If I were here you would

be bringing this subject up in spite of yourself. And that can only cause
pain. I can't stay."
"I think you had better reconsider that," he said; and a peculiar--an
ugly--light crept into his eyes, "unless you desire to lay yourself open
to being the most-talked-of young woman in this town, where you were
born, where all your friends live. Many disagreeable things might
result."
"That sounds like a threat, Mr. Bush. What do you mean?"
"I mean just what I say. I will admit that mine is, perhaps, a selfish
passion. If you insist on making me suffer, I shall do as much for you. I
believe in paying all debts in full, even with high interest. There are
two characteristics of mine which may not have come to your attention:
I never stop struggling for what I want. And I never forgive or forget an
injury or an insult."
"Well?" Hazel was beginning to see a side of Mr. Andrew Bush
hitherto unsuspected.
"Well?" he repeated. "If you drive me to it, you will find yourself
drawing the finger of gossip. Also, you will find yourself unable to
secure a position in Granville. Also, you may find yourself losing
the--er--regard of this--ah--fortunate individual upon whom you have
bestowed your affections; but you'll never lose mine," he burst out
wildly. "When you get done butting your head against the wall that will
mysteriously rise in your way, I'll be waiting for you. That's how I love.
I've never failed in anything I ever undertook, and I don't care how I
fight, fair or foul, so that I win."
"This isn't the fifteenth century," Hazel let her indignation flare, "and
I'm not at all afraid of any of the things you mention. Even if you could
possibly bring these things about, it would only make me despise you,
which I'm in a fair way to do now. Even if I weren't engaged, I'd never
think of marrying a man old enough to be my father--a man whose
years haven't given him a sense of either dignity or decency. Wealth
and social position don't modify gray hairs and advancing age. Your

threats are an insult. This isn't the stone age. Even if it were," she
concluded cuttingly, "you'd stand a poor chance of winning a woman
against a man like--well--" She shrugged her shoulders, but she was
thinking of Jack Barrow's broad shoulders, and the easy way he went
up a flight of stairs, three steps at a time. "Well, any young man."
With that thrust, Miss Hazel Weir turned to the rack where hung her hat
and coat. She was thoroughly angry, and her employment in that office
ended then and there so far as she was concerned.
Bush caught her by the shoulders before she took a second step.
"Gray hairs and advancing age!" he said. "So I strike you as
approaching senility, do I? I'll show you whether I'm the worn-out
specimen you seem to think I am. Do you think I'll give you up just
because I've made you angry? Why, I love you the more for it; it only
makes me the more determined to win you."
"You can't. I dislike you more every second. Take your hands off me,
please. Be a gentleman--if you can."
For answer he caught her up close to him, and there was no sign of
decadent force in the grip of his arms. He kissed her; and Hazel, in
blind rage, freed one arm, and struck at him man fashion, her hand
doubled into a small fist. By the grace of chance, the blow landed on
his nose. There was force enough behind it to draw blood. He stood
back and fumbled for his handkerchief. Something that sounded like an
oath escaped him.
Hazel stared, aghast, astounded. She was not at all sorry; she was
perhaps a trifle ashamed. It seemed unwomanly to strike. But the
humor of the thing appealed to her most strongly of all. In spite of
herself, she smiled as she reached once more for her hat. And this time
Mr. Bush did not attempt to restrain her.
She breathed a sigh of relief when she had gained the street, and she did
not in the least care if her departure during business hours excited any
curiosity in the main office. Moreover, she was doubly glad to be away

from Bush.