25
T h e
K i n g ’ s
B u s i n e s s
January 1930
Somehow speeding began to lose its charm after that, and yet Althea kept it up out of sheer defiance. In fact her life was just a defiance, now. She did not realize, the disastrous effect upon herself of continually repelling the advances of God. Sometimes o f late she had won dered why certain worth-while people had ceased to find her attractive. * * * * * Uncle Alan was awake when the telephone rang. Lit tle Sister had already begun to explore her stocking and he had been enjoying the annual Christmas commotiop from afar. “ Is that you, Harold? What is wrong?” he asked in quick alarm. “ What! Althea Sumner?” ' “ What did you say? Buddy . . . ” : He left the telephone and, if an elderly gentleman of; some dignity may be said to fly, Uncle Alan flew. * * * * * Althea was racing along, with foot to the floor boards. The highway was clear and Christmas dawn was finding its consummation in a day of gold. Soon she would leave the highwayfeUiere was the turn now. Who was that in the narrow turn waving a distress signal? Uncle Alan! What in the world—Althea pulled to a stop. “ Can you give me a lift, Althea ?” “Why-—why—where to?” “ To Bodder Lake.” “ Why— surely! Are you going that way, too? Jump in.” H “ I thought I had enough gas in my car but it’s empty,” he explained. They were going over the rougher road at a good pace. “Where are you going in the Bodder Lake district?” asked Althea. “ To Buddy Lamb’s.” Althea turned so suddenly to look at him that her car struck on an obstacle and skidded dangerously. “ Look out!” he exclaimed. “ I came to shield you—to save you if possible.” | “ I won’ t be annoyed in this way and protected, against my will. It’s not your affair anyhow. If my family. . . .” “ If your family knew you were going, they would stop you, and you know it, Althea.” “ I was twenty-one last time.” “ Yes, but you are not self-supporting. There’s a duty . . . .” “ I owe nothing to anyone. What do I ever see of my father and mother? Away half of the time . . . .” Her voice trailed into silence. She was slackening her pace. “ Do you remember your grandfather, Althea?’ “ Somewhat.” “ He was my Sunday-school teacher when I was a college student. Once when you were a tiny girl he brought you to visit our class. I wish you could remember what he said then!” Althea brought her car to a stop and started to turn. When she spoke, her voice was cold and deliberate. “ I will take you back to the highway—no, I’ll do bet ter. I ’ll go down the highway to the bus line and you can take the bus to the nearest garage, about your car. As for me I shall go back to Buddy’s. I wish you and yours to know definitely that I will not be interfered with. My life is my own.” Suddenly it was clear to Althea. “ You came to stop me,” she cried.
not weakened and told Bill she missed Margaret, Doug and Laurie, the other day, they never would have come now. Silence reigned outside for a while. They were con sulting in whispers, in all probability. There! Bill was starting his engine! So was Lawrence! And that was Harold cranking his! They were gone! And a curious emptiness seemed to surround Althea. Something that had always been there—a part of her girlhood life—had been cut away. The innocent love and regard of those serious young friends, which she had done her best to wound and to tire out, was finally destroyed. The regret it occasioned gave her great dismay. She had not known it would hurt like that. No more should she see Harold or Elise bearing down upon her with the bright, beaming expression which had always irritated her, as it betokened an inner state of peace and joy, which she knew that she, herself, sadly lacked. No more would her den be invaded by Margaret and Doug, with their stories of the new happiness that was theirs in their Saviour. There was Djemileh too! Althea felt sure that the little Tartar scorned her for her lack of appreciation of the opportunities that were hers for Christian service. One set-to, with Djemileh, came to her as she started to dress. She, Althea, had endeavored to demonstrate to a group of students that Isaiah had not been writing about Jesus Christ when he penned that great fifty-third chapter. It was after Philosophy 10, out on the campus, and Dje mileh was present. She had been listening to Althea’s views in the discussion that arose during the class. And when Djemileh saw the head of Donald Donaldson go down she knew he was praying, while Althea’s crisp, clear-cut sentences smote the listening ears of fifty or sixty students, all of whom were sure to be influenced by her opinion. And thus it had come about that Djemileh corrected Althea after class, by stating that the New Testament set its seal on Isaiah 53. They turned to her in surprise and she further informed them that in the eighth chapter of Acts Philip found the Eunuch reading Isaiah 53, and when he had asked Philip, “ O f whom speaketh the prophet?” Philip “ opened his mouth and began at the same scripture, and preached unto him Jesus.” Althea disliked to be proved wrong, so she had hastily said, “ W e ll! Whatever those early fishermen or tanners may have thought, I am certain that Isaiah himself never meant to write of the Christ here.” “ Why are you so sure?” Djemileh had asked coolly. “ Were you there when he wrote it?” Althea had had to force herself to join in the laugh this created. Later, Althea had taken Djemileh to drive. Now Althea was known as “ the deadly demon driver,” and her car was powerful. Many a’ student had clutched her arm and begged for mercy, but this little Tartar sat glancing calmly at the objects by the road as they flew past. “ O f what are you thinking?” asked Althea, as she ignored the signal, placed there by an over-cautious traffic bureau, thereby causing an indignant elderly gentleman to skip hastily back onto the curb where he gave vent to incoherent ejaculations concerning modern youth. “ I was thinking how-JS-how foolish you are,” replied Djemileh in an almost meditative tone. “ Why so ?” asked Althea, biting her lip. “ Because^—if we are killed, I know where I shall go; but you—you have not even prepared to meet God and yet you take these risks.”
Made with FlippingBook - Online magazine maker