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Page 29 text:
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The Eavesdropper A SHORE SLORY The telephone bell jangled shrilly. From force of habit I jumped up from the swing chair where I had been reading, and went to answer it. I had almost given my usual expectant, “Hello,” when I realized it was not our call. Although I had been coming with the family to our summer cottage for nearly everyone of the twenty years of my life, I had never become accustomed to the various rings of a party line. Now I realized that the call was not for me, but before I could hang up, a familiar voice attracted my attention. It was that of Horace Martin, the only son of a wealthy family who had recently purchased the old Winston home, and had settled there for the summer. Little was known about them, but since they made a good appearance, they were accepted. Though they had been reticent concerning their private affairs, we judged them to be very wealthy and certainly respectable. The conversation that now ensued led me to doubt seriously their respectability, however. Horace was slightly older than I, and had already been eagerly received by the younger sets and by aspiring mamas of eligible daughters. I thought him very pleasant, but my affections lay elsewhere. However, I prided myself that no one was aware of that fact. Now I heard Horace say, in a coarse voice very unlike his usual low, well- modulated tones, “Listen boss, I’ve got the line-up on the whole thing. The house stands on a hill, and it’s hidden by a bunch of trees. Them police couldn’t get us no matter how hard they tried. You can bet your sweet life I made sure about that.” The voice that I heard in reply was so familiar and dear that my heart almost stopped beating. It was that of Keith Holloway, another popular member of our set, and the person I secretly adored. But now, to find him in cooperation with Horace, whose plans I had just heard! Could it be possible that Keith—? I dared not think further, but listened intently. “—forget anything. If you do, well, you know what'll happen. I’m pro- gressing rapidly with all the wealthy crowds; they don’t suspect a thing. We'll sure make some hauls. I'll divvy up all right. See you later, Martin.” The telephone clicked, and I knew they had hung up.” For a moment I stood there, too dumfounded to think. That Keith of all persons be a party to such a conspiracy! I puzzled over a way to dissuade him from his folly. My mind fastened decisively on one subject. The people of our little summer colony must not learn of his part in the plans I had just heard. How to prevent that I did not know, but at last I decided to call Keith and ask him to come to see me. I intended to suggest to him that he leave town. I could not denounce him to the entire village without at least giving him a chance to clear himself. But why
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Page 30 text:
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had he done his planning over a party line? Didn’t he know that there would be eavesdroppers and casual listeners-in? And—horrible thought! What would he think of me when he knew that I was guilty of eavesdropping? My heart sank at this incriminating evidence, for I thought that now I could never find favor in his eyes. I tried to feel ashanYed for wanting his love and admiration, when | knew what sort of a person he was, but I was not able to succeed. However, I called him, and in an incredibly short time he was seated beside me in the swing. I did not know how to begin. I felt as though I could not tell him, but at last I blurted out, “Keith, how could you? I didn’t know you were a person who could stoop to that sort of thing.” “That sort of thing,’ he repeated vacantly. “What sort of thing?” “Keith Holloway, do you mean to sit there and pretend ignorance of such a thing? I—why—I—oh, how can you?” “Ruth dear, what are you talking about? What thing do you mean?” I looked at him strangely. He had called me dear. But he pretended ignorance, and I knew he was guilty. My indignation increased as I gazed at him. He must know I was aware of his part in the plans, and still he acted as if he were guiltless. Oh, I couldn’t understand it. This was the man I loved. Once again he said, “explain what you mean, dear, I can’t make head nor fail of at.’ “Very well, then,’ I replied wrathfully, “What about the telephone con- versation I heard between you and Horace?” As I said that, expecting to see a look of dismay spread over his face, an ex- pression of such complete surprise and relief appeared, mingled with amusement, that I felt an insane desire to laugh. “Ruth, you dear foolish child,” Keith said, taking my hand, “Horace and | were only rehearsing a play.” —Vivian Vaughn
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