The Dark Star

The men scowled at her in silence, then the one addressed as Eddie

rolled his cigar grimly into the left corner of his jaw.

"Damn little skirt," he observed briefly. "It seems to worry her a lot

what she's done to us."

"I wonder does she know she wrecked us," suggested the other. He was a

stunted, wiry little man of thirty-five. His head seemed slightly too

large; he had a pasty face with the sloe-black eyes, button nose, and

the widely chiselled mouth of a circus clown.

The eyes of the short, thickset man were narrow and greyish green in a

round, smoothly shaven face. They narrowed still more as the thunder

broke louder from the west.

Ruhannah, dragging her fish over the grass, was coming toward them;

and the man called Eddie stepped forward to bar her progress.

"Say, girlie," he began, the cigar still tightly screwed into his

cheek, "is there a juice mill anywhere near us, d'y'know?"

"What?" said Rue.

"A garage."

"Yes; there is one at Gayfield."

"How far, girlie?"

Rue flushed, but answered: "It is half a mile to Gayfield."

The other man, noticing the colour in Ruhannah's face, took off his

pearl-grey hat. His language was less grammatical than his friend's,

but his instincts were better.

"Thank you," he said--his companion staring all the while at the girl

without the slightest expression. "Is there a telephone in any of them

houses, miss?"--glancing around behind him at the three edifices which

composed the crossroads called Brookhollow.

"No," said Rue.

It thundered again; the world around had become very dusky and silent

and the flash veined a rapidly blackening west.

"It's going to rain buckets," said the man called Eddie. "If you live

around here, can you let us come into your house till it's over,

gir--er--miss?"

"Yes."

"I'm Mr. Brandes--Ed Brandes of New York----" speaking through

cigar-clutching teeth. "This is Mr. Ben Stull, of the same.... It's

raining already. Is that your house?"

"I live there," said Rue, nodding across the bridge. "You may go

in."

She walked ahead, dragging the fish; Stull went to the car, took two

suitcases from the boot; Brandes threw both overcoats over his arm,

and followed in the wake of Ruhannah and her fish.

"No Saratoga and no races today, Eddie," remarked Stull. But Brandes'

narrow, grey-green eyes were following Ruhannah.

"It's a pity," continued Stull, "somebody didn't learn you to drive a

car before you ask your friends joy-riding."