CHAPTER XXXVI
ONE Sunday in early October, about five o'clock in the afternoon, there was an automobile drawn up to the side door of the Jerome house. It was David's automobile. He had bought it second hand, two years ago. It was a small car but very clean and very shining—not a scratch anywhere. David himself was seated behind the wheel. He was waiting to take Reba's "young man" to the station. He had been waiting for nearly ten minutes now. Twice he had taken out his big gold watch and looked at it. Why didn't he come? David didn't like to hurry his car. Again he took out his watch and looked at it, then slowly, clumsily crawled out from behind the wheel and walked up the steps to the front door. He went in.
He found the women hovering around the foot of the front stairs, all of them, but Augusta, and he caught a glimpse of her, too, in a moment. She was standing in the dining-room staring out of the window. David cleared his throat, and twitched his head toward the upper story.
"Why don't they come?" he asked.
"Why don't you go up and ask them?" snapped Eunice.
"Well, he'll miss his train," David grunted. He sat down on the edge of the hat-tree box, and looked at his watch again.
Suddenly a door was heard opening above and
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