The Place of Honeymoons - Page 77/123

"I have not avoided any of my obligations." Courtlandt shifted his stick

behind his back. "I was speaking of the church and the open field, as they

impressed me."

"You believe in the tenets of Christianity?"

"Surely! A man must pin his faith and hope to something more stable than

humanity."

"I should like to convert you to my way of thinking," simply.

"Nothing is impossible. Who knows?"

The padre, as they continued onward, offered many openings, but the young

man at his side refused to be drawn into any confidence. So the padre gave

up, for the futility of his efforts became irksome. His own lips were

sealed, so he could not ask point-blank the question that clamored at the

tip of his tongue.

"So you are Miss Harrigan's confessor?"

"Does it strike you strangely?"

"Merely the coincidence."

"If I were not her confessor I should take the liberty of asking you some

questions."

"It is quite possible that I should decline to answer them."

The padre shrugged. "It is patent to me that you will go about this affair

in your own way. I wish you well."

"Thank you. As Miss Harrigan's confessor you doubtless know everything but

the truth."

The padre laughed this time. The shops were closed. The open restaurants

by the water-front held but few idlers. The padre admired the young man's

independence. Most men would have hesitated not a second to pour the tale

into his ears in hope of material assistance. The padre's admiration was

equally proportioned with respect.

"I leave you here," he said. "You will see me frequently at the villa."

"I certainly shall be there frequently. Good night."

Courtlandt quickened his pace which soon brought him alongside the others.

They stopped in front of Abbott's pension, and he tried to persuade them

to come up for a nightcap.

"Nothing to it, my boy," said Harrigan. "I need no nightcap on top of

cognac forty-eight years old. For me that's a whole suit of pajamas."

"You come, Ted."

"Abbey, I wouldn't climb those stairs for a bottle of Horace's Falernian,

served on Seneca's famous citron table."

"Not a friend in the world," Abbott lamented.

Laughingly they hustled him into the hallway and fled. Then Courtlandt

went his way alone. He slept with the dubious satisfaction that the first

day had not gone badly. The wedge had been entered. It remained to be seen

if it could be dislodged.

Harrigan was in a happy temper. He kissed his wife and chucked Nora under

the chin. And then Mrs. Harrigan launched the thunderbolt which, having

been held on the leash for several hours, had, for all of that, lost none

of its ability to blight and scorch.

"James, you are about as hopeless a man as ever was born. You all but

disgraced us this afternoon."