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It was pretty quiet in the spring-house that day after the old
doctor left. It had started to snow and only the regulars came
out. What with the old doctor talking about dying, and Miss
Patty Jennings gone to Mexico, when I'd been looking forward to
her and her cantankerous old father coming to Hope Springs for
February, as they mostly did, I was depressed all day. I got to
the point where Mr. Moody feeding nickels into the slot-machine
with one hand and eating zwieback with the other made me
nervous. After a while he went to sleep over it, and when he had
slipped a nickel in his mouth and tried to put the zwieback in
the machine he muttered something and went up to the house.

I was glad to be alone. I drew a chair in front of the fire and
wondered what I would do if the old doctor died, and what a fool
I'd been not to be a school-teacher, which is what I studied for.

I was thinking to myself bitterly that all that my
experience in the spring fitted me for was to be a mermaid, when
I heard something running down the path, and it turned out to be
Tillie, the diet cook.

She slammed the door behind her and threw the Finleyville evening
paper at me.

"There!" she said, "I've won a cake of toilet soap from Bath-
house Mike. The emperor's consented."

"Nonsense!" I snapped, and snatched the paper. Tillie was right;
the emperor HAD! I sat down and read it through, and there
was Miss Patty's picture in an oval and the prince's in another,
with a turned-up mustache and his hand on the handle of his
sword, and between them both was the Austrian emperor. Tillie
came and looked over my shoulder.

"I'm not keen on the mustache," she said, "but the sword's
beautiful--and, oh, Minnie, isn't he aristocratic? Look at his

But I'm not one to make up my mind in a hurry, and I'd heard
enough talk about foreign marriages in the years I'd been dipping
out mineral water to make me a skeptic, so to speak.

"I'm not so sure," I said slowly. "You can't tell anything by
that kind of a picture. If he was even standing beside a
chair I could get a line on him. He may be only four feet high."

"Then Miss Jennings wouldn't love him," declared Tillie. "How do
you reckon he makes his mustache point up like that?"

"What's love got to do with it?" I demanded. "Don't be a fool,
Tillie. It takes more than two people's pictures in a newspaper
with a red heart around them and an overweight cupid above to
make a love-match. Love's a word that's used to cover a good
many sins and to excuse them all."

"She isn't that kind," said Tillie. "She's--she's as sweet as
she's beautiful, and you're as excited as I am, Minnie Waters,
and if you're not, what have you got the drinking glass she used
last winter put on the top shelf out of reach for?" She went to
the door and slammed it open. "Thank heaven I'm not a dried-up
old maid," she called back over her shoulder, "and when you're
through hugging that paper you can send it up to the house."

Well, I sat there and thought it over, Miss Patty, or Miss
Patricia, being, so to speak, a friend of mine. They'd come to
the Springs every winter for years. Many a time she'd slipped
away from her governess and come down to the spring-house for
a chat with me, and we'd make pop-corn together by my open fire,
and talk about love and clothes, and even the tariff, Miss Patty
being for protection, which was natural, seeing that was the way
her father made his money, and I for free trade, especially in
the winter when my tips fall off considerable.

And when she was younger she would sit back from the fire, with
the corn-popper on her lap and her cheeks as red as cranberries,
and say: "I DON'T know why I tell you all these things,
Minnie, but Aunt Honoria's funny, and I can't talk to Dorothy;
she's too young, you know. Well, HE said--" only every winter
it was a different "he."

In my wash-stand drawer I'd kept all the clippings about her
coming out and the winter she spent in Washington and was
supposed to be engaged to the president's son, and the magazine
article that told how Mr. Jennings had got his money by robbing
widows and orphans, and showed the little frame house where Miss
Patty was born--as if she's had anything to do with it. And so
now I was cutting out the picture of her and the prince and the
article underneath which told how many castles she'd have,
and I don't mind saying I was sniffling a little bit, for I
couldn't get used to the idea. And suddenly the door closed
softly and there was a rustle behind me. When I turned it was
Miss Patty herself. She saw the clipping immediately, and
stopped just inside the door.

"YOU, TOO," she said. "And we've come all this distance to
get away from just that."

"Well, I shan't talk about it," I replied, not holding out my
hand, for with her, so to speak, next door to being a princess--
but she leaned right over and kissed me. I could hardly believe

"Why won't you talk about it?" she insisted, catching me by the
shoulders and holding me off. "Minnie, your eyes are as red as
your hair!"

"I don't approve of it," I said. "You might as well know it now
as later, Miss Patty. I don't believe in mixed marriages. I had
a cousin that married a Jew, and what with him making the
children promise to be good on the Talmud and her trying to raise
them with the Bible, the poor things is that mixed up that it's

She got a little red at that, but she sat down and took up the

"He's much better looking than that, Minnie," she said soberly,
"and he's a good Catholic. But if that's the way you feel we'll
not talk about it. I've had enough trouble at home as it is."

"I guess from that your father isn't crazy about it," I remarked,
getting her a glass of spring water. The papers had been full of
how Mr. Jennings had forbidden the prince the house when he had
been in America the summer before.

"Certainly he's crazy about it--almost insane!" she said, and
smiled at me in her old way over the top of the glass. Then she
put down the glass and came over to me. "Minnie, Minnie," she
said, "if you only knew how I've wanted to get away from the
newspapers and the gossips and come to this smelly little spring-
house and talk things over with a red-haired, sharp-tongued,
mean-dispositioned spring-house girl--!"

And with that I began to blubber, and she came into my arms like
a baby.

"You're all I've got," I declared, over and over, "and you're
going to live in a country where they harness women with dogs,
and you'll never hear an English word from morning to night."

"Stuff!" She gave me a little shake. "He speaks as good English
as I do. And now we're going to stop talking about him--you're
worse than the newspapers." She took off her things and going
into my closet began to rummage for the pop-corn. "Oh, how glad
I am to get away," she sang out to me. "We're supposed to have
gone to Mexico; even Dorothy doesn't know. Where's the pop-
corner or the corn-popper or whatever you call it?"

She was as happy to have escaped the reporters and the people she
knew as a child, and she sat down on the floor in front of the
fire and began to shell the corn into the popper, as if she'd
done it only the day before.

"I guess you're safe enough here," I said. "It's always slack in
January--only a few chronics and the Saturday-to-Monday husbands,
except a drummer now and then who drives up from Finleyville.
It's too early for drooping society buds, and the chronic livers
don't get around until late March, after the banquet season
closes. It will be pretty quiet for a while."

And at that minute the door was flung open, and Bath-house Mike
staggered in.

"The old doctor!" he gasped. "He's dead, Miss Minnie--died just
now in the hot room in the bathhouse! One minute he was givin'
me the divil for something or other, and the next-- I thought he
was asleep."

Something that had been heavy in my breast all afternoon suddenly
seemed to burst and made me feel faint all over. But I didn't
lose my head.

"Does anybody know yet?" I asked quickly. He shook his head.

"Then he didn't die in the bath-house, Mike," I said firmly. "He
died in his bed, and you know it. If it gets out that he died in
the hot room I'll have the coroner on you."

Miss Patty was standing by the railing of the spring. I got my
shawl and started out after Mike, and she followed.

"If the guests ever get hold of this they'll stampede. Start any
excitement in a sanatorium," I said, "and one and all they'll dip
their thermometers in hot water and swear they've got fever!"

And we hurried to the house together.

Where There's A Will by Mary Roberts Rinehart
General Fiction

Mystery and detective stories
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