Two troubles had arisen. The naval reserve lands had been under the control of the navy department, and it had been necessary to get them shifted to the control of Secretary Crisby. There had been question whether this could be done by executive decree, or did it require an act of Congress. The officials had made a lot of delay, but of course it was just a holdup; they wanted more money for this one and that. Old Pete had sent his son on to Washington to act as paymaster. The other difficulty was that some little oil company had got onto the Sunnyside tract—the one that Verne and Dad were to get—and had started drilling under an old lease. They would have to be ejected, and it must be done quietly, they must fix matters up with the newspapers somehow. Verne wanted Dad to go up there and look the ground over, and maybe he and Bunny might make a trip of it. Sunnyside was going to be the world’s wonder of an oil field—it would beat Paradise many times over, and when they had got it safely tucked away, Dad would take a good long rest.
VII
There was a telephone call for Bunny—he was to call long distance in a city a hundred miles up the state. When he did so, there was a nurse in a hospital, with a message from Bertie; she wanted him to come to her. She was not in any danger, and there was no use worrying the family, therefore she wished him to say nothing about the matter. Bunny of course jumped into his car and made all haste. His sister had been visiting the Normans, a long way from this hospital.
When he got there, the attendants told him that Bertie had had an operation for appendicitis, and was doing well. He was taken up to her room, and there she lay, pale, and strange-looking, because he had never seen her without her colors. Everything about her was spotlessly clean, a lacy white nightgown, and soft white pillows in which she lay sunken—nun-like, and pathetic in her gladness to see him. “Gee whiz, Bertie! How did this happen?”
“It came quite suddenly. It was pretty bad, but I’m all right now. Everybody’s been so good to me.” There was a nurse in the room, and Bertie waited until she had gone out and closed the door. Then she fixed her tired eyes on her brother, and said, “We call it appendicitis, because that’s the conventional thing, and what you’ll have to tell Dad and Aunt Emma. But you might as well know the truth—I was going to have a baby.”
“Oh, my God!” Bunny stared at her, aghast.
“You needn’t begin acting up—you’re no spring chicken, Bunny.”
“Who is the man?”
“Now, don’t start any melodrama. You know it might happen to anybody.”
“Yes—but who was it, Bertie?”
“I want you to get this straight at the beginning—it wasn’t his fault. I did it on purpose.”
Bunny didn’t know what to make of that. “You might as well tell me, Bertie.”
“Well, I want you to behave yourself. I’m my own boss, and I knew what I was doing. I wouldn’t marry him now for a million dollars—not for all his millions, because he’s a yellow pup, and I despise him.”
“You mean Charlie Norman!”
She nodded in assent; and as she saw Bunny’s hands clench, she said, “You don’t have to do any heroics. There can’t be a shotgun wedding when the bride refuses to attend.”
“Tell me about it, Bertie.”
“Well, we were in love quite desperately for a while, and I thought he was going to marry me. But then I saw he wouldn’t lay off other women, and I thought it over, and I decided, if I had a baby, he’d have to marry me, so I tried it.”
“Good God, Bertie!”
“You needn’t make faces. Thousands of women do it—it’s one of our tricks. But Charlie’s a yellow cur. When I told him about it, he behaved so disgustingly, I told him to go to hell. I got the name of a doctor that would fix me up, and Dad will have a thousand dollars to pay, and that’s all the damage.”
“Bertie,” he whispered, “why in the world do you have to do things like that?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll not do it again. I had to learn, like everybody else.”
“But why did you have to do it once? Trying to trap a rich man into marriage! Doesn’t Dad give you enough money?”
“That’s very easy for you to say, Bunny, you’re satisfied to get off in a corner and read some old book. But I’m not like that, I have to have a little life. Dad gives me pocket money, but that’s not what I want. I want a career—something of my own. And don’t start preaching at me, because I’m weak as a kitten and can’t stand anything just now. I wanted what every woman wants, a home of my own, and I didn’t want a bungalow, I wanted a place I could invite people to, and make some use of my talents as a hostess. Well, I fell down, and now I want somebody to be kind to me for a few minutes, if you’ve possibly got that in you.”
It looked as if the tears were coming into her eyes, so Bunny hastened to say, “All right, old girl, I’ll lay off. But naturally I was taken aback.”
“You needn’t be. The doctor says it’s done a million times a year
