Monday morning he had abruptly decided that he must seek her in New Orleans. He had the Brinkleys’ address written on a sheet of paper, and he had wired a friend to find him a room and meet him at the station. The train was due to arrive at ten o’clock.
He moved restlessly and looked at his watch. Half an hour yet. Hattie’s voice came to him again. Barbara’s name impinged upon his ears and drew his attention:
“... what I say is that you’re a fool to come chasing after Barbara like this. She’s a minx, and she insulted me to my very face. Then, upping and running off all alone to the Lord knows what follies in this lustful madness of a foolish festival that they try to atone for by calling it religious. Religious indeed! Humph! Shameful show of sex and sin, I’d say.” She rolled the words on her tongue as though they were sweet morsels and she was loath to let them go.
“But what do you really know about it?” Robert asked her angrily. “That’s just your idea.”
“Well, I guess I know a thing or two.” Hattie sniffed haughtily. “Like I’ve been telling you, if this is a fair sample you can see what a whole cityful will be like.” Her glance swept the offensive spectacle of a coach crowded with artisans and laborers who had gleefully thrown off the cares of their workaday lives to disport themselves in the manner of children on an outing.
“I wish you’d quit griping,” Robert muttered under his breath. “It’s bad enough to have you along without having to listen to you all the time.”
“What’s that? What’s that you say, young man?”
“Oh, I just said I wish you’d wait till you can see for yourself before you condemn the whole festival,” Robert said aloud. “It’s not fair to judge before you know.”
“Humph! Well, I know about that young lady I’m judging,” Hattie said sternly. “It’s the evil call of the flesh that’s taken her from you. The voice of the tempter whispering in her ear of pleasures of lust and wickedness.”
“Now, that’s enough!” Robert turned toward her firmly. His eyes flashed angrily and his lips were tightly set. “Don’t say one more word against Babs,” he said savagely. “I love her. You don’t know what love is. She’s sweet and good and pure. I’ll simply get up and leave you and not come back if you persist in maligning her.” He turned back to the window and his shoulders were defiantly rigid.
“Well, I never,” Hattie began angrily; Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips. She glared at Robert’s back, and her lips moved but no words came out.
“I never in all my born days...” she began again.
Robert interrupted her without turning. “You didn’t have to come, and I didn’t ask you to come, and you pushed in anyway just as you’re always doing,” he said bitterly. “I think I’ve lived with you so long and listened to you so much that I’ve lost my youth. Babs was right. I’ve had the wrong slant on life. Youth is lovely and it’s worth fighting to hold onto it. I glory in her spunk for coming here in the face of all the opposition just to try and find what we’re missing in life. And if she’ll take me back and let me try to find my youth with her I’ll be the happiest man in Louisiana.”
Hattie shrank back in the seat with an expression of ludicrously blank amazement on her face. Her nose twitched and she attempted to sniff. But it was a very poor attempt. She was so bewildered by Robert’s outbreak that her sniffer failed her for the first time in her life.
The rest of the trip was made in utter silence between them. Robert was too unhappy to care how deeply he had hurt Hattie. And she was so taken aback by his sudden attack that she didn’t know how badly she was hurt.
Chapter Nine
Jim Marston was the friend whom Robert had wired to request a hotel reservation be made. They had been classmates at agricultural college, and had maintained their friendship by correspondence since graduation. Jim was several years older than Robert, stoop-shouldered and sad-faced.
He had gone into a cotton broker’s office after college, and settled down to an existence of placid celibacy in New Orleans. He liked Robert very much, and the younger man’s abrupt telegram had sent him scurrying over the city in search of accommodations for Robert and his cousin.
It was simply a matter of taking what he could find, this seeking for rooms on the eve of Mardi Gras. He had finally succeeded in finding two dingy rooms in a small hotel a few blocks from Canal Street. They were uncomfortable and ill-furnished, but the great influx of visitors from neighboring cities and states had literally gobbled up every available room in the entire city.
Jim gulped nervously as he stood on the platform awaiting the arrival of Robert’s train. Two years since he had seen Robert. He wondered if the boy had changed much. And this cousin whom Robert was bringing! What would she be like? He ran a lean finger about the inside of a too-large collar as the train pulled into the station with a great groaning of steel brakes and hissing of steam. Jim Marston was not one for social amenities. He was always at his worst when meeting strangers.
Then he saw Robert. A smile lit up his face as he hurried toward him.
“You’ve not changed a mite!” were his first words of greeting.
Robert seized his hand in a mighty grip and held it wordlessly. The sight of Jim’s homely friendliness made him happier than he cared to admit. In his condition of mental turmoil and soul-sickness, Jim seemed to him the only friend he had in the world.
“Well, you might have the courtesy to introduce your cousin,” an acid voice commented in his ear.
“Oh yes.” Robert turned to Hattie with a strained smile. “Let me introduce Mr. Marston,” he said formally. “And this is Cousin Hattie, Jim. She’s braved the terrors of the Mardi Gras to protect me from its madness.” He laughed shakily as he sought to inject a lighter note into the meeting.
“I’m... very pleased to meet you,” Jim stammered. He looked at Hattie in helpless awe. So this was Robert’s cousin? He had envisioned a slim little country girl with golden hair and rosy cheeks.
“Howdy do, Mr. Marston,” Hattie simpered. She thought vaguely that he looked very sensible. He wasn’t dressed up in any outlandish costume. She supposed, after all, there might be one or two sensible persons in New Orleans.
“Did you find rooms for us, Jim?” Robert broke the awkward silence following the introduction.
“Oh yes.” Jim turned to him with relief. “Absolutely the best I could do on such short notice,” he said earnestly. “They’re rather terrible, but they’ll have to do. It’s a small hotel not far from here. Two rooms with an adjoining bath. Shall we go look at them?” he asked eagerly.
“Yes. Let’s do that,” Robert said quickly. “And I want to try and call Babs as soon as I can get to a telephone.”
“Let me help you with your bags,” Jim offered. He leaned down to help Robert with his suitcase.
“I’ll take mine,” Robert said. “Suppose you carry Cousin Hattie’s valise? And be tender with it. She insisted on bringing that old thing, and packing it full of three times as much junk as she needed to carry. You’d have thought she was going on a world tour if you’d seen her packing.”
“All right.” Jim gazed in dismay at the bulging canvas valise, whose aged sides seemed to groan at the weight within. It was tied tightly about the middle with twine, and there were two wearied handles, worn smooth with much use. But he bent manfully to pick it up.
“That’s all right, young man,” Hattie snapped. “I’ll attend to it myself.” She leaned forward at the same moment, her head colliding with Jim’s, and her hand grasping the other handle at the same moment that Jim secured a firm grip on his handle.