"He's got one of them red motorcycles," said Lise. "He was gay with it too--when we was waiting for the boulevard trolley he opened her up and went right between Charlie and me. I had to laugh. He's got a job over in Haverhill you can't hold that guy under water long."
Apparently Lise had no regrets. But her premonitions concerning Mr. Frear proved to be justified. He did not "make good." One morning the little office on Faber Street where the sprinklers were displayed was closed, Hampton knew him no more, and the police alone were sincerely regretful. It seemed that of late he had been keeping all the money for the sprinklers, and spending a good deal of it on Lise. At the time she accepted the affair with stoical pessimism, as one who has learned what to expect of the world, though her moral sense was not profoundly disturbed by the reflection that she had indulged in the delights of Slattery's and Gruber's and a Sunday at "the Beach" at the expense of the Cascade Sprinkler Company of Boston. Mr. Frear inconsiderately neglected to prepare her for his departure, the news of which was conveyed to her in a singular manner, and by none other than Mr. Johnny Tiernan of the tin shop,--their conversation throwing some light, not only on Lise's sophistication, but on the admirable and intricate operation of Hampton's city government. About five o'clock Lise was coming home along Fillmore Street after an uneventful, tedious and manless holiday spent in the company of Miss Schuler and other friends when she perceived Mr. Tiernan seated on his steps, grinning and waving a tattered palm-leaf fan.
"The mercury is sure on the jump," he observed. "You'd think it was July."
And Lise agreed.
"I suppose you'll be going to Tim Slattery's place tonight," he went on. "It's the coolest spot this side of the Atlantic Ocean."
There was, apparently, nothing cryptic in this remark, yet it is worth noting that Lise instantly became suspicious.
"Why would I be going out there?" she inquired innocently, darting at him a dark, coquettish glance.
Mr. Tiernan regarded her guilelessly, but there was admiration in his soul; not because of her unquestioned feminine attractions,--he being somewhat amazingly proof against such things,--but because it was conveyed to him in some unaccountable way that her suspicions were aroused. The brain beneath that corkscrew hair was worthy of a Richelieu. Mr. Tiernan's estimate of Miss Lise Bumpus, if he could have been induced to reveal it, would have been worth listening to.
"And why wouldn't you?" he replied heartily. "Don't I see all the pretty young ladies out there, including yourself, and you dancing with the Cascade man.
Why is it you'll never give me a dance?"
"Why is it you never ask me?" demanded Lise.
"What chance have I got, against him?"
"He don't own me," said Lise.
Mr. Tiernan threw back his head, and laughed.
"Well, if you're there to-night, tangoin' with him and I come up and says, `Miss Bumpus, the pleasure is mine,' I'm wondering what would happen."
"I'm not going to Slattery's to-night," she declared having that instant arrived at this conclusion.
"And where then? I'll come along, if there's a chance for me."
"Quit your kidding," Lise reproved him.
Mr. Tiernan suddenly looked very solemn:
"Kidding, is it? Me kiddin' you? Give me a chance, that's all I'm asking.
Where will you be, now?"
"Is Frear wanted?" she demanded.
Mr. Tiernan's expression changed. His nose seemed to become more pointed, his eyes to twinkle more merrily than ever. He didn't take the trouble, now, to conceal his admiration.
"Sure, Miss Bumpus," he said, "if you was a man, we'd have you on the force to-morrow."
"What's he wanted for?"
"Well," said Johnny, "a little matter of sprinklin'. He's been sprinklin' his company's water without a license."
She was silent a moment before she exclaimed:--"I ought to have been wise that he was a crook!"
"Well," said Johnny consolingly, "there's others that ought to have been wise, too. The Cascade people had no business takin' on a man that couldn't use but half of his mouth."
This seemed to Lise a reflection on her judgment. She proceeded to clear herself.
"He was nothing to me. He never gave me no rest. He used to come 'round and pester me to go out with him--"
"Sure!" interrupted Mr. Tiernan. "Don't I know how it is with the likes of him! A good time's a good time, and no harm in it. But the point is " and here he cocked his nose--"the point is, where is he? Where will he be tonight?"
All at once Lise grew vehement, almost tearful.
"I don't know--honest to God, I don't. If I did I'd tell you. Last night he said he might be out of town. He didn't say where he was going." She fumbled in her bag, drawing out an imitation lace handkerchief and pressing it to her eyes.
"There now!" exclaimed Mr. Tiernan, soothingly. "How would you know? And he deceivin' you like he did the company--"
"He didn't deceive me," cried Lise.
"Listen," said Mr. Tiernan, who had risen and laid his hand on her arm. "It's not young ladies like you that works and are self-respecting that any one would be troublin', and you the daughter of such a fine man as your father. Run along, now, I won't be detaining you, Miss Bumpus, and you'll accept my apology. I guess we'll never see him in Hampton again...."
Some twenty minutes later he sauntered down the street, saluting acquaintances, and threading his way across the Common entered a grimy brick building where a huge policeman with an insignia on his arm was seated behind a desk. Mr. Tiernan leaned on the desk, and reflectively lighted a Thomas-Jefferson-Five-Cent Cigar, Union Label, the excellencies of which were set forth on large signs above the "ten foot" buildings on Faber Street.
"She don't know nothing, Mike," he remarked. "I guess he got wise this morning."
The sergeant nodded....
