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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/19593-8.txt b/19593-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e044f93 --- /dev/null +++ b/19593-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5177 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Third Violet, by Stephen Crane + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Third Violet + + +Author: Stephen Crane + + + +Release Date: October 20, 2006 [eBook #19593] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE THIRD VIOLET*** + + +E-text prepared by Janet Blenkinship and the Project Gutenberg Online +Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net/) from page images +generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries +(http://www.archive.org/details/americana) + + + +Note: Images of the original pages are available through + Internet Archive/American Libraries. See + http://www.archive.org/details/thirdviolet00cranarch + + + + + +THE THIRD VIOLET + +by + +STEPHEN CRANE + +Author of The Red Badge of Courage, +The Little Regiment, and Maggie + + + + + + + +New York +D. Appleton and Company +1897 + +Copyright, 1897, +by D. Appleton and Company. +Copyright, 1896, by Stephen Crane. + + + + +THE THIRD VIOLET. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +The engine bellowed its way up the slanting, winding valley. Grey crags, +and trees with roots fastened cleverly to the steeps looked down at the +struggles of the black monster. + +When the train finally released its passengers they burst forth with the +enthusiasm of escaping convicts. A great bustle ensued on the platform +of the little mountain station. The idlers and philosophers from the +village were present to examine the consignment of people from the city. +These latter, loaded with bundles and children, thronged at the stage +drivers. The stage drivers thronged at the people from the city. + +Hawker, with his clothes case, his paint-box, his easel, climbed +awkwardly down the steps of the car. The easel swung uncontrolled and +knocked against the head of a little boy who was disembarking backward +with fine caution. "Hello, little man," said Hawker, "did it hurt?" The +child regarded him in silence and with sudden interest, as if Hawker had +called his attention to a phenomenon. The young painter was politely +waiting until the little boy should conclude his examination, but a +voice behind him cried, "Roger, go on down!" A nursemaid was conducting +a little girl where she would probably be struck by the other end of the +easel. The boy resumed his cautious descent. + +The stage drivers made such great noise as a collection that as +individuals their identities were lost. With a highly important air, as +a man proud of being so busy, the baggageman of the train was thundering +trunks at the other employees on the platform. Hawker, prowling through +the crowd, heard a voice near his shoulder say, "Do you know where is +the stage for Hemlock Inn?" Hawker turned and found a young woman +regarding him. A wave of astonishment whirled into his hair, and he +turned his eyes quickly for fear that she would think that he had +looked at her. He said, "Yes, certainly, I think I can find it." At the +same time he was crying to himself: "Wouldn't I like to paint her, +though! What a glance--oh, murder! The--the--the distance in her eyes!" + +He went fiercely from one driver to another. That obdurate stage for +Hemlock Inn must appear at once. Finally he perceived a man who grinned +expectantly at him. "Oh," said Hawker, "you drive the stage for Hemlock +Inn?" The man admitted it. Hawker said, "Here is the stage." The young +woman smiled. + +The driver inserted Hawker and his luggage far into the end of the +vehicle. He sat there, crooked forward so that his eyes should see the +first coming of the girl into the frame of light at the other end of the +stage. Presently she appeared there. She was bringing the little boy, +the little girl, the nursemaid, and another young woman, who was at once +to be known as the mother of the two children. The girl indicated the +stage with a small gesture of triumph. When they were all seated +uncomfortably in the huge covered vehicle the little boy gave Hawker a +glance of recognition. "It hurted then, but it's all right now," he +informed him cheerfully. + +"Did it?" replied Hawker. "I'm sorry." + +"Oh, I didn't mind it much," continued the little boy, swinging his +long, red-leather leggings bravely to and fro. "I don't cry when I'm +hurt, anyhow." He cast a meaning look at his tiny sister, whose soft +lips set defensively. + +The driver climbed into his seat, and after a scrutiny of the group in +the gloom of the stage he chirped to his horses. They began a slow and +thoughtful trotting. Dust streamed out behind the vehicle. In front, the +green hills were still and serene in the evening air. A beam of gold +struck them aslant, and on the sky was lemon and pink information of the +sun's sinking. The driver knew many people along the road, and from time +to time he conversed with them in yells. + +The two children were opposite Hawker. They sat very correctly mucilaged +to their seats, but their large eyes were always upon Hawker, calmly +valuing him. + +"Do you think it nice to be in the country? I do," said the boy. + +"I like it very well," answered Hawker. + +"I shall go fishing, and hunting, and everything. Maybe I shall shoot a +bears." + +"I hope you may." + +"Did you ever shoot a bears?" + +"No." + +"Well, I didn't, too, but maybe I will. Mister Hollanden, he said he'd +look around for one. Where I live----" + +"Roger," interrupted the mother from her seat at Hawker's side, "perhaps +every one is not interested in your conversation." The boy seemed +embarrassed at this interruption, for he leaned back in silence with an +apologetic look at Hawker. Presently the stage began to climb the hills, +and the two children were obliged to take grip upon the cushions for +fear of being precipitated upon the nursemaid. + +Fate had arranged it so that Hawker could not observe the girl with +the--the--the distance in her eyes without leaning forward and +discovering to her his interest. Secretly and impiously he wriggled in +his seat, and as the bumping stage swung its passengers this way and +that way, he obtained fleeting glances of a cheek, an arm, or a +shoulder. + +The driver's conversation tone to his passengers was also a yell. "Train +was an hour late t'night," he said, addressing the interior. "It'll be +nine o'clock before we git t' th' inn, an' it'll be perty dark +travellin'." + +Hawker waited decently, but at last he said, "Will it?" + +"Yes. No moon." He turned to face Hawker, and roared, "You're ol' Jim +Hawker's son, hain't yeh?" + +"Yes." + +"I thort I'd seen yeh b'fore. Live in the city now, don't yeh?" + +"Yes." + +"Want t' git off at th' cross-road?" + +"Yes." + +"Come up fer a little stay doorin' th' summer?" + +"Yes." + +"On'y charge yeh a quarter if yeh git off at cross-road. Useter charge +'em fifty cents, but I ses t' th' ol' man. 'Tain't no use. Goldern 'em, +they'll walk ruther'n put up fifty cents.' Yep. On'y a quarter." + +In the shadows Hawker's expression seemed assassinlike. He glanced +furtively down the stage. She was apparently deep in talk with the +mother of the children. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +When Hawker pushed at the old gate, it hesitated because of a broken +hinge. A dog barked with loud ferocity and came headlong over the grass. + +"Hello, Stanley, old man!" cried Hawker. The ardour for battle was +instantly smitten from the dog, and his barking swallowed in a gurgle of +delight. He was a large orange and white setter, and he partly expressed +his emotion by twisting his body into a fantastic curve and then dancing +over the ground with his head and his tail very near to each other. He +gave vent to little sobs in a wild attempt to vocally describe his +gladness. "Well, 'e was a dreat dod," said Hawker, and the setter, +overwhelmed, contorted himself wonderfully. + +There were lights in the kitchen, and at the first barking of the dog +the door had been thrown open. Hawker saw his two sisters shading their +eyes and peering down the yellow stream. Presently they shouted, "Here +he is!" They flung themselves out and upon him. "Why, Will! why, Will!" +they panted. + +"We're awful glad to see you!" In a whirlwind of ejaculation and +unanswerable interrogation they grappled the clothes case, the +paint-box, the easel, and dragged him toward the house. + +He saw his old mother seated in a rocking-chair by the table. She had +laid aside her paper and was adjusting her glasses as she scanned the +darkness. "Hello, mother!" cried Hawker, as he entered. His eyes were +bright. The old mother reached her arms to his neck. She murmured soft +and half-articulate words. Meanwhile the dog writhed from one to +another. He raised his muzzle high to express his delight. He was always +fully convinced that he was taking a principal part in this ceremony of +welcome and that everybody was heeding him. + +"Have you had your supper?" asked the old mother as soon as she +recovered herself. The girls clamoured sentences at him. "Pa's out in +the barn, Will. What made you so late? He said maybe he'd go up to the +cross-roads to see if he could see the stage. Maybe he's gone. What +made you so late? And, oh, we got a new buggy!" + +The old mother repeated anxiously, "Have you had your supper?" + +"No," said Hawker, "but----" + +The three women sprang to their feet. "Well, we'll git you something +right away." They bustled about the kitchen and dove from time to time +into the cellar. They called to each other in happy voices. + +Steps sounded on the line of stones that led from the door toward the +barn, and a shout came from the darkness. "Well, William, home again, +hey?" Hawker's grey father came stamping genially into the room. "I +thought maybe you got lost. I was comin' to hunt you," he said, +grinning, as they stood with gripped hands. "What made you so late?" + +While Hawker confronted the supper the family sat about and contemplated +him with shining eyes. His sisters noted his tie and propounded some +questions concerning it. His mother watched to make sure that he should +consume a notable quantity of the preserved cherries. "He used to be so +fond of 'em when he was little," she said. + +"Oh, Will," cried the younger sister, "do you remember Lil' Johnson? +Yeh? She's married. Married las' June." + +"Is the boy's room all ready, mother?" asked the father. + +"We fixed it this mornin'," she said. + +"And do you remember Jeff Decker?" shouted the elder sister. "Well, he's +dead. Yep. Drowned, pickerel fishin'--poor feller!" + +"Well, how are you gitting along, William?" asked the father. "Sell many +pictures?" + +"An occasional one." + +"Saw your illustrations in the May number of Perkinson's." The old man +paused for a moment, and then added, quite weakly, "Pretty good." + +"How's everything about the place?" + +"Oh, just about the same--'bout the same. The colt run away with me last +week, but didn't break nothin', though. I was scared, because I had out +the new buggy--we got a new buggy--but it didn't break nothin'. I'm +goin' to sell the oxen in the fall; I don't want to winter 'em. And then +in the spring I'll get a good hoss team. I rented th' back five-acre to +John Westfall. I had more'n I could handle with only one hired hand. +Times is pickin' up a little, but not much--not much." + +"And we got a new school-teacher," said one of the girls. + +"Will, you never noticed my new rocker," said the old mother, pointing. +"I set it right where I thought you'd see it, and you never took no +notice. Ain't it nice? Father bought it at Monticello for my birthday. I +thought you'd notice it first thing." + +When Hawker had retired for the night, he raised a sash and sat by the +window smoking. The odour of the woods and the fields came sweetly to +his nostrils. The crickets chanted their hymn of the night. On the black +brow of the mountain he could see two long rows of twinkling dots which +marked the position of Hemlock Inn. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +Hawker had a writing friend named Hollanden. In New York Hollanden had +announced his resolution to spend the summer at Hemlock Inn. "I don't +like to see the world progressing," he had said; "I shall go to Sullivan +County for a time." + +In the morning Hawker took his painting equipment, and after +manoeuvring in the fields until he had proved to himself that he had +no desire to go toward the inn, he went toward it. The time was only +nine o'clock, and he knew that he could not hope to see Hollanden before +eleven, as it was only through rumour that Hollanden was aware that +there was a sunrise and an early morning. + +Hawker encamped in front of some fields of vivid yellow stubble on which +trees made olive shadows, and which was overhung by a china-blue sky and +sundry little white clouds. He fiddled away perfunctorily at it. A +spectator would have believed, probably, that he was sketching the +pines on the hill where shone the red porches of Hemlock Inn. + +Finally, a white-flannel young man walked into the landscape. Hawker +waved a brush. "Hi, Hollie, get out of the colour-scheme!" + +At this cry the white-flannel young man looked down at his feet +apprehensively. Finally he came forward grinning. "Why, hello, Hawker, +old boy! Glad to find you here." He perched on a boulder and began to +study Hawker's canvas and the vivid yellow stubble with the olive +shadows. He wheeled his eyes from one to the other. "Say, Hawker," he +said suddenly, "why don't you marry Miss Fanhall?" + +Hawker had a brush in his mouth, but he took it quickly out, and said, +"Marry Miss Fanhall? Who the devil is Miss Fanhall?" + +Hollanden clasped both hands about his knee and looked thoughtfully +away. "Oh, she's a girl." + +"She is?" said Hawker. + +"Yes. She came to the inn last night with her sister-in-law and a small +tribe of young Fanhalls. There's six of them, I think." + +"Two," said Hawker, "a boy and a girl." + +"How do you--oh, you must have come up with them. Of course. Why, then +you saw her." + +"Was that her?" asked Hawker listlessly. + +"Was that her?" cried Hollanden, with indignation. "Was that her?" + +"Oh!" said Hawker. + +Hollanden mused again. "She's got lots of money," he said. "Loads of it. +And I think she would be fool enough to have sympathy for you in your +work. They are a tremendously wealthy crowd, although they treat it +simply. It would be a good thing for you. I believe--yes, I am sure she +could be fool enough to have sympathy for you in your work. And now, if +you weren't such a hopeless chump----" + +"Oh, shut up, Hollie," said the painter. + +For a time Hollanden did as he was bid, but at last he talked again. +"Can't think why they came up here. Must be her sister-in-law's health. +Something like that. She----" + +"Great heavens," said Hawker, "you speak of nothing else!" + +"Well, you saw her, didn't you?" demanded Hollanden. "What can you +expect, then, from a man of my sense? You--you old stick--you----" + +"It was quite dark," protested the painter. + +"Quite dark," repeated Hollanden, in a wrathful voice. "What if it was?" + +"Well, that is bound to make a difference in a man's opinion, you know." + +"No, it isn't. It was light down at the railroad station, anyhow. If you +had any sand--thunder, but I did get up early this morning! Say, do you +play tennis?" + +"After a fashion," said Hawker. "Why?" + +"Oh, nothing," replied Hollanden sadly. "Only they are wearing me out at +the game. I had to get up and play before breakfast this morning with +the Worcester girls, and there is a lot more mad players who will be +down on me before long. It's a terrible thing to be a tennis player." + +"Why, you used to put yourself out so little for people," remarked +Hawker. + +"Yes, but up there"--Hollanden jerked his thumb in the direction of the +inn--"they think I'm so amiable." + +"Well, I'll come up and help you out." + +"Do," Hollanden laughed; "you and Miss Fanhall can team it against the +littlest Worcester girl and me." He regarded the landscape and +meditated. Hawker struggled for a grip on the thought of the stubble. + +"That colour of hair and eyes always knocks me kerplunk," observed +Hollanden softly. + +Hawker looked up irascibly. "What colour hair and eyes?" he demanded. "I +believe you're crazy." + +"What colour hair and eyes?" repeated Hollanden, with a savage gesture. +"You've got no more appreciation than a post." + +"They are good enough for me," muttered Hawker, turning again to his +work. He scowled first at the canvas and then at the stubble. "Seems to +me you had best take care of yourself, instead of planning for me," he +said. + +"Me!" cried Hollanden. "Me! Take care of myself! My boy, I've got a past +of sorrow and gloom. I----" + +"You're nothing but a kid," said Hawker, glaring at the other man. + +"Oh, of course," said Hollanden, wagging his head with midnight wisdom. +"Oh, of course." + +"Well, Hollie," said Hawker, with sudden affability, "I didn't mean to +be unpleasant, but then you are rather ridiculous, you know, sitting up +there and howling about the colour of hair and eyes." + +"I'm not ridiculous." + +"Yes, you are, you know, Hollie." + +The writer waved his hand despairingly. "And you rode in the train with +her, and in the stage." + +"I didn't see her in the train," said Hawker. + +"Oh, then you saw her in the stage. Ha-ha, you old thief! I sat up here, +and you sat down there and lied." He jumped from his perch and +belaboured Hawker's shoulders. + +"Stop that!" said the painter. + +"Oh, you old thief, you lied to me! You lied---- Hold on--bless my life, +here she comes now!" + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +One day Hollanden said: "There are forty-two people at Hemlock Inn, I +think. Fifteen are middle-aged ladies of the most aggressive +respectability. They have come here for no discernible purpose save to +get where they can see people and be displeased at them. They sit in a +large group on that porch and take measurements of character as +importantly as if they constituted the jury of heaven. When I arrived at +Hemlock Inn I at once cast my eye searchingly about me. Perceiving this +assemblage, I cried, 'There they are!' Barely waiting to change my +clothes, I made for this formidable body and endeavoured to conciliate +it. Almost every day I sit down among them and lie like a machine. +Privately I believe they should be hanged, but publicly I glisten with +admiration. Do you know, there is one of 'em who I know has not moved +from the inn in eight days, and this morning I said to her, 'These long +walks in the clear mountain air are doing you a world of good.' And I +keep continually saying, 'Your frankness is so charming!' Because of the +great law of universal balance, I know that this illustrious corps will +believe good of themselves with exactly the same readiness that they +will believe ill of others. So I ply them with it. In consequence, the +worst they ever say of me is, 'Isn't that Mr. Hollanden a peculiar man?' +And you know, my boy, that's not so bad for a literary person." After +some thought he added: "Good people, too. Good wives, good mothers, and +everything of that kind, you know. But conservative, very conservative. +Hate anything radical. Can not endure it. Were that way themselves once, +you know. They hit the mark, too, sometimes. Such general volleyings +can't fail to hit everything. May the devil fly away with them!" + +Hawker regarded the group nervously, and at last propounded a great +question: "Say, I wonder where they all are recruited? When you come to +think that almost every summer hotel----" + +"Certainly," said Hollanden, "almost every summer hotel. I've studied +the question, and have nearly established the fact that almost every +summer hotel is furnished with a full corps of----" + +"To be sure," said Hawker; "and if you search for them in the winter, +you can find barely a sign of them, until you examine the boarding +houses, and then you observe----" + +"Certainly," said Hollanden, "of course. By the way," he added, "you +haven't got any obviously loose screws in your character, have you?" + +"No," said Hawker, after consideration, "only general poverty--that's +all." + +"Of course, of course," said Hollanden. "But that's bad. They'll get on +to you, sure. Particularly since you come up here to see Miss Fanhall so +much." + +Hawker glinted his eyes at his friend. "You've got a deuced open way of +speaking," he observed. + +"Deuced open, is it?" cried Hollanden. "It isn't near so open as your +devotion to Miss Fanhall, which is as plain as a red petticoat hung on a +hedge." + +Hawker's face gloomed, and he said, "Well, it might be plain to you, you +infernal cat, but that doesn't prove that all those old hens can see +it." + +"I tell you that if they look twice at you they can't fail to see it. +And it's bad, too. Very bad. What's the matter with you? Haven't you +ever been in love before?" + +"None of your business," replied Hawker. + +Hollanden thought upon this point for a time. "Well," he admitted +finally, "that's true in a general way, but I hate to see you managing +your affairs so stupidly." + +Rage flamed into Hawker's face, and he cried passionately, "I tell you +it is none of your business!" He suddenly confronted the other man. + +Hollanden surveyed this outburst with a critical eye, and then slapped +his knee with emphasis. "You certainly have got it--a million times +worse than I thought. Why, you--you--you're heels over head." + +"What if I am?" said Hawker, with a gesture of defiance and despair. + +Hollanden saw a dramatic situation in the distance, and with a bright +smile he studied it. "Say," he exclaimed, "suppose she should not go to +the picnic to-morrow? She said this morning she did not know if she +could go. Somebody was expected from New York, I think. Wouldn't it +break you up, though! Eh?" + +"You're so dev'lish clever!" said Hawker, with sullen irony. + +Hollanden was still regarding the distant dramatic situation. "And +rivals, too! The woods must be crowded with them. A girl like that, you +know. And then all that money! Say, your rivals must number enough to +make a brigade of militia. Imagine them swarming around! But then it +doesn't matter so much," he went on cheerfully; "you've got a good play +there. You must appreciate them to her--you understand?--appreciate them +kindly, like a man in a watch-tower. You must laugh at them only about +once a week, and then very tolerantly--you understand?--and kindly, +and--and appreciatively." + +"You're a colossal ass, Hollie!" said Hawker. "You----" + +"Yes, yes, I know," replied the other peacefully; "a colossal ass. Of +course." After looking into the distance again, he murmured: "I'm +worried about that picnic. I wish I knew she was going. By heavens, as a +matter of fact, she must be made to go!" + +"What have you got to do with it?" cried the painter, in another sudden +outburst. + +"There! there!" said Hollanden, waving his hand. "You fool! Only a +spectator, I assure you." + +Hawker seemed overcome then with a deep dislike of himself. "Oh, well, +you know, Hollie, this sort of thing----" He broke off and gazed at the +trees. "This sort of thing---- It----" + +"How?" asked Hollanden. + +"Confound you for a meddling, gabbling idiot!" cried Hawker suddenly. + +Hollanden replied, "What did you do with that violet she dropped at the +side of the tennis court yesterday?" + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +Mrs. Fanhall, with the two children, the Worcester girls, and Hollanden, +clambered down the rocky path. Miss Fanhall and Hawker had remained on +top of the ledge. Hollanden showed much zeal in conducting his +contingent to the foot of the falls. Through the trees they could see +the cataract, a great shimmering white thing, booming and thundering +until all the leaves gently shuddered. + +"I wonder where Miss Fanhall and Mr. Hawker have gone?" said the younger +Miss Worcester. "I wonder where they've gone?" + +"Millicent," said Hollander, looking at her fondly, "you always had such +great thought for others." + +"Well, I wonder where they've gone?" + +At the foot of the falls, where the mist arose in silver clouds and the +green water swept into the pool, Miss Worcester, the elder, seated on +the moss, exclaimed, "Oh, Mr. Hollanden, what makes all literary men so +peculiar?" + +"And all that just because I said that I could have made better +digestive organs than Providence, if it is true that he made mine," +replied Hollanden, with reproach. "Here, Roger," he cried, as he dragged +the child away from the brink, "don't fall in there, or you won't be the +full-back at Yale in 1907, as you have planned. I'm sure I don't know +how to answer you, Miss Worcester. I've inquired of innumerable literary +men, and none of 'em know. I may say I have chased that problem for +years. I might give you my personal history, and see if that would throw +any light on the subject." He looked about him with chin high until his +glance had noted the two vague figures at the top of the cliff. "I might +give you my personal history----" + +Mrs. Fanhall looked at him curiously, and the elder Worcester girl +cried, "Oh, do!" + +After another scanning of the figures at the top of the cliff, Hollanden +established himself in an oratorical pose on a great weather-beaten +stone. "Well--you must understand--I started my career--my career, you +understand--with a determination to be a prophet, and, although I have +ended in being an acrobat, a trained bear of the magazines, and a +juggler of comic paragraphs, there was once carved upon my lips a smile +which made many people detest me, for it hung before them like a banshee +whenever they tried to be satisfied with themselves. I was informed from +time to time that I was making no great holes in the universal plan, and +I came to know that one person in every two thousand of the people I saw +had heard of me, and that four out of five of these had forgotten it. +And then one in every two of those who remembered that they had heard of +me regarded the fact that I wrote as a great impertinence. I admitted +these things, and in defence merely builded a maxim that stated that +each wise man in this world is concealed amid some twenty thousand +fools. If you have eyes for mathematics, this conclusion should interest +you. Meanwhile I created a gigantic dignity, and when men saw this +dignity and heard that I was a literary man they respected me. I +concluded that the simple campaign of existence for me was to delude +the populace, or as much of it as would look at me. I did. I do. And now +I can make myself quite happy concocting sneers about it. Others may do +as they please, but as for me," he concluded ferociously, "I shall never +disclose to anybody that an acrobat, a trained bear of the magazines, a +juggler of comic paragraphs, is not a priceless pearl of art and +philosophy." + +"I don't believe a word of it is true," said Miss Worcester. + +"What do you expect of autobiography?" demanded Hollanden, with +asperity. + +"Well, anyhow, Hollie," exclaimed the younger sister, "you didn't +explain a thing about how literary men came to be so peculiar, and +that's what you started out to do, you know." + +"Well," said Hollanden crossly, "you must never expect a man to do what +he starts to do, Millicent. And besides," he went on, with the gleam of +a sudden idea in his eyes, "literary men are not peculiar, anyhow." + +The elder Worcester girl looked angrily at him. "Indeed? Not you, of +course, but the others." + +"They are all asses," said Hollanden genially. + +The elder Worcester girl reflected. "I believe you try to make us think +and then just tangle us up purposely!" + +The younger Worcester girl reflected. "You are an absurd old thing, you +know, Hollie!" + +Hollanden climbed offendedly from the great weather-beaten stone. "Well, +I shall go and see that the men have not spilled the luncheon while +breaking their necks over these rocks. Would you like to have it spread +here, Mrs. Fanhall? Never mind consulting the girls. I assure you I +shall spend a great deal of energy and temper in bullying them into +doing just as they please. Why, when I was in Brussels----" + +"Oh, come now, Hollie, you never were in Brussels, you know," said the +younger Worcester girl. + +"What of that, Millicent?" demanded Hollanden. "This is autobiography." + +"Well, I don't care, Hollie. You tell such whoppers." + +With a gesture of despair he again started away; whereupon the +Worcester girls shouted in chorus, "Oh, I say, Hollie, come back! Don't +be angry. We didn't mean to tease you, Hollie--really, we didn't!" + +"Well, if you didn't," said Hollanden, "why did you----" + +The elder Worcester girl was gazing fixedly at the top of the cliff. +"Oh, there they are! I wonder why they don't come down?" + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + +Stanley, the setter, walked to the edge of the precipice and, looking +over at the falls, wagged his tail in friendly greeting. He was braced +warily, so that if this howling white animal should reach up a hand for +him he could flee in time. + +The girl stared dreamily at the red-stained crags that projected from +the pines of the hill across the stream. Hawker lazily aimed bits of +moss at the oblivious dog and missed him. + +"It must be fine to have something to think of beyond just living," said +the girl to the crags. + +"I suppose you mean art?" said Hawker. + +"Yes, of course. It must be finer, at any rate, than the ordinary +thing." + +He mused for a time. "Yes. It is--it must be," he said. "But then--I'd +rather just lie here." + +The girl seemed aggrieved. "Oh, no, you wouldn't. You couldn't stop. +It's dreadful to talk like that, isn't it? I always thought that +painters were----" + +"Of course. They should be. Maybe they are. I don't know. Sometimes I +am. But not to-day." + +"Well, I should think you ought to be so much more contented than just +ordinary people. Now, I----" + +"You!" he cried--"you are not 'just ordinary people.'" + +"Well, but when I try to recall what I have thought about in my life, I +can't remember, you know. That's what I mean." + +"You shouldn't talk that way," he told her. + +"But why do you insist that life should be so highly absorbing for me?" + +"You have everything you wish for," he answered, in a voice of deep +gloom. + +"Certainly not. I am a woman." + +"But----" + +"A woman, to have everything she wishes for, would have to be +Providence. There are some things that are not in the world." + +"Well, what are they?" he asked of her. + +"That's just it," she said, nodding her head, "no one knows. That's +what makes the trouble." + +"Well, you are very unreasonable." + +"What?" + +"You are very unreasonable. If I were you--an heiress----" + +The girl flushed and turned upon him angrily. + +"Well!" he glowered back at her. "You are, you know. You can't deny it." + +She looked at the red-stained crags. At last she said, "You seemed +really contemptuous." + +"Well, I assure you that I do not feel contemptuous. On the contrary, I +am filled with admiration. Thank Heaven, I am a man of the world. +Whenever I meet heiresses I always have the deepest admiration." As he +said this he wore a brave hang-dog expression. The girl surveyed him +coldly from his chin to his eyebrows. "You have a handsome audacity, +too." + +He lay back in the long grass and contemplated the clouds. + +"You should have been a Chinese soldier of fortune," she said. + +He threw another little clod at Stanley and struck him on the head. + +"You are the most scientifically unbearable person in the world," she +said. + +Stanley came back to see his master and to assure himself that the clump +on the head was not intended as a sign of serious displeasure. Hawker +took the dog's long ears and tried to tie them into a knot. + +"And I don't see why you so delight in making people detest you," she +continued. + +Having failed to make a knot of the dog's ears, Hawker leaned back and +surveyed his failure admiringly. "Well, I don't," he said. + +"You do." + +"No, I don't." + +"Yes, you do. You just say the most terrible things as if you positively +enjoyed saying them." + +"Well, what did I say, now? What did I say?" + +"Why, you said that you always had the most extraordinary admiration for +heiresses whenever you met them." + +"Well, what's wrong with that sentiment?" he said. "You can't find +fault with that!" + +"It is utterly detestable." + +"Not at all," he answered sullenly. "I consider it a tribute--a graceful +tribute." + +Miss Fanhall arose and went forward to the edge of the cliff. She became +absorbed in the falls. Far below her a bough of a hemlock drooped to the +water, and each swirling, mad wave caught it and made it nod--nod--nod. +Her back was half turned toward Hawker. + +After a time Stanley, the dog, discovered some ants scurrying in the +moss, and he at once began to watch them and wag his tail. + +"Isn't it curious," observed Hawker, "how an animal as large as a dog +will sometimes be so entertained by the very smallest things?" + +Stanley pawed gently at the moss, and then thrust his head forward to +see what the ants did under the circumstances. + +"In the hunting season," continued Hawker, having waited a moment, "this +dog knows nothing on earth but his master and the partridges. He is lost +to all other sound and movement. He moves through the woods like a +steel machine. And when he scents the bird--ah, it is beautiful! +Shouldn't you like to see him then?" + +Some of the ants had perhaps made war-like motions, and Stanley was +pretending that this was a reason for excitement. He reared aback, and +made grumbling noises in his throat. + +After another pause Hawker went on: "And now see the precious old fool! +He is deeply interested in the movements of the little ants, and as +childish and ridiculous over them as if they were highly +important.--There, you old blockhead, let them alone!" + +Stanley could not be induced to end his investigations, and he told his +master that the ants were the most thrilling and dramatic animals of his +experience. + +"Oh, by the way," said Hawker at last, as his glance caught upon the +crags across the river, "did you ever hear the legend of those rocks +yonder? Over there where I am pointing? Where I'm pointing? Did you ever +hear it? What? Yes? No? Well, I shall tell it to you." He settled +comfortably in the long grass. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +"Once upon a time there was a beautiful Indian maiden, of course. And +she was, of course, beloved by a youth from another tribe who was very +handsome and stalwart and a mighty hunter, of course. But the maiden's +father was, of course, a stern old chief, and when the question of his +daughter's marriage came up, he, of course, declared that the maiden +should be wedded only to a warrior of her tribe. And, of course, when +the young man heard this he said that in such case he would, of course, +fling himself headlong from that crag. The old chief was, of course, +obdurate, and, of course, the youth did, of course, as he had said. And, +of course, the maiden wept." After Hawker had waited for some time, he +said with severity, "You seem to have no great appreciation of +folklore." + +The girl suddenly bent her head. "Listen," she said, "they're calling. +Don't you hear Hollie's voice?" + +They went to another place, and, looking down over the shimmering +tree-tops, they saw Hollanden waving his arms. "It's luncheon," said +Hawker. "Look how frantic he is!" + +The path required that Hawker should assist the girl very often. His +eyes shone at her whenever he held forth his hand to help her down a +blessed steep place. She seemed rather pensive. The route to luncheon +was very long. Suddenly he took a seat on an old tree, and said: "Oh, I +don't know why it is, whenever I'm with you, I--I have no wits, nor good +nature, nor anything. It's the worst luck!" + +He had left her standing on a boulder, where she was provisionally +helpless. "Hurry!" she said; "they're waiting for us." + +Stanley, the setter, had been sliding down cautiously behind them. He +now stood wagging his tail and waiting for the way to be cleared. + +Hawker leaned his head on his hand and pondered dejectedly. "It's the +worst luck!" + +"Hurry!" she said; "they're waiting for us." + +At luncheon the girl was for the most part silent. Hawker was +superhumanly amiable. Somehow he gained the impression that they all +quite fancied him, and it followed that being clever was very easy. +Hollanden listened, and approved him with a benign countenance. + +There was a little boat fastened to the willows at the edge of the black +pool. After the spread, Hollanden navigated various parties around to +where they could hear the great hollow roar of the falls beating against +the sheer rocks. Stanley swam after sticks at the request of little +Roger. + +Once Hollanden succeeded in making the others so engrossed in being +amused that Hawker and Miss Fanhall were left alone staring at the white +bubbles that floated solemnly on the black water. After Hawker had +stared at them a sufficient time, he said, "Well, you are an heiress, +you know." + +In return she chose to smile radiantly. Turning toward him, she said, +"If you will be good now--always--perhaps I'll forgive you." + +They drove home in the sombre shadows of the hills, with Stanley padding +along under the wagon. The Worcester girls tried to induce Hollanden to +sing, and in consequence there was quarrelling until the blinking lights +of the inn appeared above them as if a great lantern hung there. + +Hollanden conveyed his friend some distance on the way home from the inn +to the farm. "Good time at the picnic?" said the writer. + +"Yes." + +"Picnics are mainly places where the jam gets on the dead leaves, and +from thence to your trousers. But this was a good little picnic." He +glanced at Hawker. "But you don't look as if you had such a swell time." + +Hawker waved his hand tragically. "Yes--no--I don't know." + +"What's wrong with you?" asked Hollanden. + +"I tell you what it is, Hollie," said the painter darkly, "whenever I'm +with that girl I'm such a blockhead. I'm not so stupid, Hollie. You know +I'm not. But when I'm with her I can't be clever to save my life." + +Hollanden pulled contentedly at his pipe. "Maybe she don't notice it." + +"Notice it!" muttered Hawker, scornfully; "of course she notices it. In +conversation with her, I tell you, I am as interesting as an iron dog." +His voice changed as he cried, "I don't know why it is. I don't know why +it is." + +Blowing a huge cloud of smoke into the air, Hollanden studied it +thoughtfully. "Hits some fellows that way," he said. "And, of course, it +must be deuced annoying. Strange thing, but now, under those +circumstances, I'm very glib. Very glib, I assure you." + +"I don't care what you are," answered Hawker. "All those confounded +affairs of yours--they were not----" + +"No," said Hollanden, stolidly puffing, "of course not. I understand +that. But, look here, Billie," he added, with sudden brightness, "maybe +you are not a blockhead, after all. You are on the inside, you know, and +you can't see from there. Besides, you can't tell what a woman will +think. You can't tell what a woman will think." + +"No," said Hawker, grimly, "and you suppose that is my only chance?" + +"Oh, don't be such a chump!" said Hollanden, in a tone of vast +exasperation. + +They strode for some time in silence. The mystic pines swaying over the +narrow road made talk sibilantly to the wind. Stanley, the setter, took +it upon himself to discover some menacing presence in the woods. He +walked on his toes and with his eyes glinting sideways. He swore half +under his breath. + +"And work, too," burst out Hawker, at last. "I came up here this season +to work, and I haven't done a thing that ought not be shot at." + +"Don't you find that your love sets fire to your genius?" asked +Hollanden gravely. + +"No, I'm hanged if I do." + +Hollanden sighed then with an air of relief. "I was afraid that a +popular impression was true," he said, "but it's all right. You would +rather sit still and moon, wouldn't you?" + +"Moon--blast you! I couldn't moon to save my life." + +"Oh, well, I didn't mean moon exactly." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +The blue night of the lake was embroidered with black tree forms. Silver +drops sprinkled from the lifted oars. Somewhere in the gloom of the +shore there was a dog, who from time to time raised his sad voice to the +stars. + +"But still, the life of the studios----" began the girl. + +Hawker scoffed. "There were six of us. Mainly we smoked. Sometimes we +played hearts and at other times poker--on credit, you know--credit. And +when we had the materials and got something to do, we worked. Did you +ever see these beautiful red and green designs that surround the common +tomato can?" + +"Yes." + +"Well," he said proudly, "I have made them. Whenever you come upon +tomatoes, remember that they might once have been encompassed in my +design. When first I came back from Paris I began to paint, but nobody +wanted me to paint. Later, I got into green corn and asparagus----" + +"Truly?" + +"Yes, indeed. It is true." + +"But still, the life of the studios----" + +"There were six of us. Fate ordained that only one in the crowd could +have money at one time. The other five lived off him and despised +themselves. We despised ourselves five times as long as we had +admiration." + +"And was this just because you had no money?" + +"It was because we had no money in New York," said Hawker. + +"Well, after a while something happened----" + +"Oh, no, it didn't. Something impended always, but it never happened." + +"In a case like that one's own people must be such a blessing. The +sympathy----" + +"One's own people!" said Hawker. + +"Yes," she said, "one's own people and more intimate friends. The +appreciation----" + +"'The appreciation!'" said Hawker. "Yes, indeed!" + +He seemed so ill-tempered that she became silent. The boat floated +through the shadows of the trees and out to where the water was like a +blue crystal. The dog on the shore thrashed about in the reeds and waded +in the shallows, mourning his unhappy state in an occasional cry. Hawker +stood up and sternly shouted. Thereafter silence was among the reeds. +The moon slipped sharply through the little clouds. + +The girl said, "I liked that last picture of yours." + +"What?" + +"At the last exhibition, you know, you had that one with the cows--and +things--in the snow--and--and a haystack." + +"Yes," he said, "of course. Did you like it, really? I thought it about +my best. And you really remembered it? Oh," he cried, "Hollanden perhaps +recalled it to you." + +"Why, no," she said. "I remembered it, of course." + +"Well, what made you remember it?" he demanded, as if he had cause to be +indignant. + +"Why--I just remembered it because--I liked it, and because--well, the +people with me said--said it was about the best thing in the exhibit, +and they talked about it a good deal. And then I remember that Hollie +had spoken of you, and then I--I----" + +"Never mind," he said. After a moment, he added, "The confounded picture +was no good, anyhow!" + +The girl started. "What makes you speak so of it? It was good. Of +course, I don't know--I can't talk about pictures, but," she said in +distress, "everybody said it was fine." + +"It wasn't any good," he persisted, with dogged shakes of the head. + +From off in the darkness they heard the sound of Hollanden's oars +splashing in the water. Sometimes there was squealing by the Worcester +girls, and at other times loud arguments on points of navigation. + +"Oh," said the girl suddenly, "Mr. Oglethorpe is coming to-morrow!" + +"Mr. Oglethorpe?" said Hawker. "Is he?" + +"Yes." She gazed off at the water. + +"He's an old friend of ours. He is always so good, and Roger and little +Helen simply adore him. He was my brother's chum in college, and they +were quite inseparable until Herbert's death. He always brings me +violets. But I know you will like him." + +"I shall expect to," said Hawker. + +"I'm so glad he is coming. What time does that morning stage get here?" + +"About eleven," said Hawker. + +"He wrote that he would come then. I hope he won't disappoint us." + +"Undoubtedly he will be here," said Hawker. + +The wind swept from the ridge top, where some great bare pines stood in +the moonlight. A loon called in its strange, unearthly note from the +lakeshore. As Hawker turned the boat toward the dock, the flashing rays +from the boat fell upon the head of the girl in the rear seat, and he +rowed very slowly. + +The girl was looking away somewhere with a mystic, shining glance. She +leaned her chin in her hand. Hawker, facing her, merely paddled +subconsciously. He seemed greatly impressed and expectant. + +At last she spoke very slowly. "I wish I knew Mr. Oglethorpe was not +going to disappoint us." + +Hawker said, "Why, no, I imagine not." + +"Well, he is a trifle uncertain in matters of time. The children--and +all of us--shall be anxious. I know you will like him." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + +"Eh?" said Hollanden. "Oglethorpe? Oglethorpe? Why, he's that friend of +the Fanhalls! Yes, of course, I know him! Deuced good fellow, too! What +about him?" + +"Oh, nothing, only he's coming here to-morrow," answered Hawker. "What +kind of a fellow did you say he was?" + +"Deuced good fellow! What are you so---- Say, by the nine mad +blacksmiths of Donawhiroo, he's your rival! Why, of course! Glory, but I +must be thick-headed to-night!" + +Hawker said, "Where's your tobacco?" + +"Yonder, in that jar. Got a pipe?" + +"Yes. How do you know he's my rival?" + +"Know it? Why, hasn't he been---- Say, this is getting thrilling!" +Hollanden sprang to his feet and, filling a pipe, flung himself into the +chair and began to rock himself madly to and fro. He puffed clouds of +smoke. + +Hawker stood with his face in shadow. At last he said, in tones of deep +weariness, "Well, I think I'd better be going home and turning in." + +"Hold on!" Hollanden exclaimed, turning his eyes from a prolonged stare +at the ceiling, "don't go yet! Why, man, this is just the time when---- +Say, who would ever think of Jem Oglethorpe's turning up to harrie you! +Just at this time, too!" + +"Oh," cried Hawker suddenly, filled with rage, "you remind me of an +accursed duffer! Why can't you tell me something about the man, instead +of sitting there and gibbering those crazy things at the ceiling?" + +"By the piper----" + +"Oh, shut up! Tell me something about Oglethorpe, can't you? I want to +hear about him. Quit all that other business!" + +"Why, Jem Oglethorpe, he--why, say, he's one of the best fellows going. +If he were only an ass! If he were only an ass, now, you could feel easy +in your mind. But he isn't. No, indeed. Why, blast him, there isn't a +man that knows him who doesn't like Jem Oglethorpe! Excepting the +chumps!" + +The window of the little room was open, and the voices of the pines +could be heard as they sang of their long sorrow. Hawker pulled a chair +close and stared out into the darkness. The people on the porch of the +inn were frequently calling, "Good-night! Good-night!" + +Hawker said, "And of course he's got train loads of money?" + +"You bet he has! He can pave streets with it. Lordie, but this is a +situation!" + +A heavy scowl settled upon Hawker's brow, and he kicked at the dressing +case. "Say, Hollie, look here! Sometimes I think you regard me as a bug +and like to see me wriggle. But----" + +"Oh, don't be a fool!" said Hollanden, glaring through the smoke. "Under +the circumstances, you are privileged to rave and ramp around like a +wounded lunatic, but for heaven's sake don't swoop down on me like that! +Especially when I'm--when I'm doing all I can for you." + +"Doing all you can for me! Nobody asked you to. You talk as if I were an +infant." + +"There! That's right! Blaze up like a fire balloon just because I said +that, will you? A man in your condition--why, confound you, you are an +infant!" + +Hawker seemed again overwhelmed in a great dislike of himself. "Oh, +well, of course, Hollie, it----" He waved his hand. "A man feels +like--like----" + +"Certainly he does," said Hollanden. "That's all right, old man." + +"And look now, Hollie, here's this Oglethorpe----" + +"May the devil fly away with him!" + +"Well, here he is, coming along when I thought maybe--after a while, you +know--I might stand some show. And you are acquainted with him, so give +me a line on him." + +"Well, I should advise you to----" + +"Blow your advice! I want to hear about Oglethorpe." + +"Well, in the first place, he is a rattling good fellow, as I told you +before, and this is what makes it so----" + +"Oh, hang what it makes it! Go on." + +"He is a rattling good fellow and he has stacks of money. Of course, in +this case his having money doesn't affect the situation much. Miss +Fanhall----" + +"Say, can you keep to the thread of the story, you infernal literary +man!" + +"Well, he's popular. He don't talk money--ever. And if he's wicked, he's +not sufficiently proud of it to be perpetually describing his sins. And +then he is not so hideously brilliant, either. That's great credit to a +man in these days. And then he--well, take it altogether, I should say +Jem Oglethorpe was a smashing good fellow." + +"I wonder how long he is going to stay?" murmured Hawker. + +During this conversation his pipe had often died out. It was out at this +time. He lit another match. Hollanden had watched the fingers of his +friend as the match was scratched. "You're nervous, Billie," he said. + +Hawker straightened in his chair. "No, I'm not." + +"I saw your fingers tremble when you lit that match." + +"Oh, you lie!" + +Hollanden mused again. "He's popular with women, too," he said +ultimately; "and often a woman will like a man and hunt his scalp just +because she knows other women like him and want his scalp." + +"Yes, but not----" + +"Hold on! You were going to say that she was not like other women, +weren't you?" + +"Not exactly that, but----" + +"Well, we will have all that understood." + +After a period of silence Hawker said, "I must be going." + +As the painter walked toward the door Hollanden cried to him: "Heavens! +Of all pictures of a weary pilgrim!" His voice was very compassionate. + +Hawker wheeled, and an oath spun through the smoke clouds. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + +"Where's Mr. Hawker this morning?" asked the younger Miss Worcester. "I +thought he was coming up to play tennis?" + +"I don't know. Confound him! I don't see why he didn't come," said +Hollanden, looking across the shining valley. He frowned questioningly +at the landscape. "I wonder where in the mischief he is?" + +The Worcester girls began also to stare at the great gleaming stretch of +green and gold. "Didn't he tell you he was coming?" they demanded. + +"He didn't say a word about it," answered Hollanden. "I supposed, of +course, he was coming. We will have to postpone the _mêlée_." + +Later he met Miss Fanhall. "You look as if you were going for a walk?" + +"I am," she said, swinging her parasol. "To meet the stage. Have you +seen Mr. Hawker to-day?" + +"No," he said. "He is not coming up this morning. He is in a great fret +about that field of stubble, and I suppose he is down there sketching +the life out of it. These artists--they take such a fiendish interest in +their work. I dare say we won't see much of him until he has finished +it. Where did you say you were going to walk?" + +"To meet the stage." + +"Oh, well, I won't have to play tennis for an hour, and if you +insist----" + +"Of course." + +As they strolled slowly in the shade of the trees Hollanden began, +"Isn't that Hawker an ill-bred old thing?" + +"No, he is not." Then after a time she said, "Why?" + +"Oh, he gets so absorbed in a beastly smudge of paint that I really +suppose he cares nothing for anything else in the world. Men who are +really artists--I don't believe they are capable of deep human +affections. So much of them is occupied by art. There's not much left +over, you see." + +"I don't believe it at all," she exclaimed. + +"You don't, eh?" cried Hollanden scornfully. "Well, let me tell you, +young woman, there is a great deal of truth in it. Now, there's +Hawker--as good a fellow as ever lived, too, in a way, and yet he's an +artist. Why, look how he treats--look how he treats that poor setter +dog!" + +"Why, he's as kind to him as he can be," she declared. + +"And I tell you he is not!" cried Hollanden. + +"He is, Hollie. You--you are unspeakable when you get in these moods." + +"There--that's just you in an argument. I'm not in a mood at all. Now, +look--the dog loves him with simple, unquestioning devotion that fairly +brings tears to one's eyes----" + +"Yes," she said. + +"And he--why, he's as cold and stern----" + +"He isn't. He isn't, Holly. You are awf'ly unfair." + +"No, I'm not. I am simply a liberal observer. And Hawker, with his +people, too," he went on darkly; "you can't tell--you don't know +anything about it--but I tell you that what I have seen proves my +assertion that the artistic mind has no space left for the human +affections. And as for the dog----" + +"I thought you were his friend, Hollie?" + +"Whose?" + +"No, not the dog's. And yet you--really, Hollie, there is something +unnatural in you. You are so stupidly keen in looking at people that you +do not possess common loyalty to your friends. It is because you are a +writer, I suppose. That has to explain so many things. Some of your +traits are very disagreeable." + +"There! there!" plaintively cried Hollanden. "This is only about the +treatment of a dog, mind you. Goodness, what an oration!" + +"It wasn't about the treatment of a dog. It was about your treatment of +your friends." + +"Well," he said sagely, "it only goes to show that there is nothing +impersonal in the mind of a woman. I undertook to discuss broadly---- + +"Oh, Hollie!" + +"At any rate, it was rather below you to do such scoffing at me." + +"Well, I didn't mean--not all of it, Hollie." + +"Well, I didn't mean what I said about the dog and all that, either." + +"You didn't?" She turned toward him, large-eyed. + +"No. Not a single word of it." + +"Well, what did you say it for, then?" she demanded indignantly. + +"I said it," answered Hollanden placidly, "just to tease you." He looked +abstractedly up to the trees. + +Presently she said slowly, "Just to tease me?" + +At this time Hollanden wore an unmistakable air of having a desire to +turn up his coat collar. "Oh, come now----" he began nervously. + +"George Hollanden," said the voice at his shoulder, "you are not only +disagreeable, but you are hopelessly ridiculous. I--I wish you would +never speak to me again!" + +"Oh, come now, Grace, don't--don't---- Look! There's the stage coming, +isn't it?" + +"No, the stage is not coming. I wish--I wish you were at the bottom of +the sea, George Hollanden. And--and Mr. Hawker, too. There!" + +"Oh, bless my soul! And all about an infernal dog," wailed Hollanden. +"Look! Honest, now, there's the stage. See it? See it?" + +"It isn't there at all," she said. + +Gradually he seemed to recover his courage. "What made you so +tremendously angry? I don't see why." + +After consideration, she said decisively, "Well, because." + +"That's why I teased you," he rejoined. + +"Well, because--because----" + +"Go on," he told her finally. "You are doing very well." He waited +patiently. + +"Well," she said, "it is dreadful to defend somebody so--so excitedly, +and then have it turned out just a tease. I don't know what he would +think." + +"Who would think?" + +"Why--he." + +"What could he think? Now, what could he think? Why," said Hollanden, +waxing eloquent, "he couldn't under any circumstances think--think +anything at all. Now, could he?" + +She made no reply. + +"Could he?" + +She was apparently reflecting. + +"Under any circumstances," persisted Hollanden, "he couldn't think +anything at all. Now, could he?" + +"No," she said. + +"Well, why are you angry at me, then?" + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + +"John," said the old mother, from the profound mufflings of the pillow +and quilts. + +"What?" said the old man. He was tugging at his right boot, and his tone +was very irascible. + +"I think William's changed a good deal." + +"Well, what if he has?" replied the father, in another burst of +ill-temper. He was then tugging at his left boot. + +"Yes, I'm afraid he's changed a good deal," said the muffled voice from +the bed. "He's got a good many fine friends, now, John--folks what put +on a good many airs; and he don't care for his home like he did." + +"Oh, well, I don't guess he's changed very much," said the old man +cheerfully. He was now free of both boots. + +She raised herself on an elbow and looked out with a troubled face. +"John, I think he likes that girl." + +"What girl?" said he. + +"What girl? Why, that awful handsome girl you see around--of course." + +"Do you think he likes 'er?" + +"I'm afraid so--I'm afraid so," murmured the mother mournfully. + +"Oh, well," said the old man, without alarm, or grief, or pleasure in +his tone. + +He turned the lamp's wick very low and carried the lamp to the head of +the stairs, where he perched it on the step. When he returned he said, +"She's mighty good-look-in'!" + +"Well, that ain't everything," she snapped. "How do we know she ain't +proud, and selfish, and--everything?" + +"How do you know she is?" returned the old man. + +"And she may just be leading him on." + +"Do him good, then," said he, with impregnable serenity. "Next time +he'll know better." + +"Well, I'm worried about it," she said, as she sank back on the pillow +again. "I think William's changed a good deal. He don't seem to care +about--us--like he did." + +"Oh, go to sleep!" said the father drowsily. + +She was silent for a time, and then she said, "John?" + +"What?" + +"Do you think I better speak to him about that girl?" + +"No." + +She grew silent again, but at last she demanded, "Why not?" + +"'Cause it's none of your business. Go to sleep, will you?" And +presently he did, but the old mother lay blinking wild-eyed into the +darkness. + +In the morning Hawker did not appear at the early breakfast, eaten when +the blue glow of dawn shed its ghostly lights upon the valley. The old +mother placed various dishes on the back part of the stove. At ten +o'clock he came downstairs. His mother was sweeping busily in the +parlour at the time, but she saw him and ran to the back part of the +stove. She slid the various dishes on to the table. "Did you oversleep?" +she asked. + +"Yes. I don't feel very well this morning," he said. He pulled his chair +close to the table and sat there staring. + +She renewed her sweeping in the parlour. When she returned he sat still +staring undeviatingly at nothing. + +"Why don't you eat your breakfast?" she said anxiously. + +"I tell you, mother, I don't feel very well this morning," he answered +quite sharply. + +"Well," she said meekly, "drink some coffee and you'll feel better." + +Afterward he took his painting machinery and left the house. His younger +sister was at the well. She looked at him with a little smile and a +little sneer. "Going up to the inn this morning?" she said. + +"I don't see how that concerns you, Mary?" he rejoined, with dignity. + +"Oh, my!" she said airily. + +"But since you are so interested, I don't mind telling you that I'm not +going up to the inn this morning." + +His sister fixed him with her eye. "She ain't mad at you, is she, Will?" + +"I don't know what you mean, Mary." He glared hatefully at her and +strode away. + +Stanley saw him going through the fields and leaped a fence jubilantly +in pursuit. In a wood the light sifted through the foliage and burned +with a peculiar reddish lustre on the masses of dead leaves. He frowned +at it for a while from different points. Presently he erected his easel +and began to paint. After a a time he threw down his brush and swore. +Stanley, who had been solemnly staring at the scene as if he too was +sketching it, looked up in surprise. + +In wandering aimlessly through the fields and the forest Hawker once +found himself near the road to Hemlock Inn. He shied away from it +quickly as if it were a great snake. + +While most of the family were at supper, Mary, the younger sister, came +charging breathlessly into the kitchen. "Ma--sister," she cried, "I know +why--why Will didn't go to the inn to-day. There's another fellow come. +Another fellow." + +"Who? Where? What do you mean?" exclaimed her mother and her sister. + +"Why, another fellow up at the inn," she shouted, triumphant in her +information. "Another fellow come up on the stage this morning. And she +went out driving with him this afternoon." + +"Well," exclaimed her mother and her sister. + +"Yep. And he's an awful good-looking fellow, too. And she--oh, my--she +looked as if she thought the world and all of him." + +"Well," exclaimed her mother and her sister again. + +"Sho!" said the old man. "You wimen leave William alone and quit your +gabbling." + +The three women made a combined assault upon him. "Well, we ain't +a-hurting him, are we, pa? You needn't be so snifty. I guess we ain't +a-hurting him much." + +"Well," said the old man. And to this argument he added, "Sho!" + +They kept him out of the subsequent consultations. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + +The next day, as little Roger was going toward the tennis court, a large +orange and white setter ran effusively from around the corner of the inn +and greeted him. Miss Fanhall, the Worcester girls, Hollanden, and +Oglethorpe faced to the front like soldiers. Hollanden cried, "Why, +Billie Hawker must be coming!" Hawker at that moment appeared, coming +toward them with a smile which was not overconfident. + +Little Roger went off to perform some festivities of his own on the +brown carpet under a clump of pines. The dog, to join him, felt obliged +to circle widely about the tennis court. He was much afraid of this +tennis court, with its tiny round things that sometimes hit him. When +near it he usually slunk along at a little sheep trot and with an eye of +wariness upon it. + +At her first opportunity the younger Worcester girl said, "You didn't +come up yesterday, Mr. Hawker." + +Hollanden seemed to think that Miss Fanhall turned her head as if she +wished to hear the explanation of the painter's absence, so he engaged +her in swift and fierce conversation. + +"No," said Hawker. "I was resolved to finish a sketch of a stubble field +which I began a good many days ago. You see, I was going to do such a +great lot of work this summer, and I've done hardly a thing. I really +ought to compel myself to do some, you know." + +"There," said Hollanden, with a victorious nod, "just what I told you!" + +"You didn't tell us anything of the kind," retorted the Worcester girls +with one voice. + +A middle-aged woman came upon the porch of the inn, and after scanning +for a moment the group at the tennis court she hurriedly withdrew. +Presently she appeared again, accompanied by five more middle-aged +women. "You see," she said to the others, "it is as I said. He has come +back." + +The five surveyed the group at the tennis court, and then said: "So he +has. I knew he would. Well, I declare! Did you ever?" Their voices were +pitched at low keys and they moved with care, but their smiles were +broad and full of a strange glee. + +"I wonder how he feels," said one in subtle ecstasy. + +Another laughed. "You know how you would feel, my dear, if you were him +and saw yourself suddenly cut out by a man who was so hopelessly +superior to you. Why, Oglethorpe's a thousand times better looking. And +then think of his wealth and social position!" + +One whispered dramatically, "They say he never came up here at all +yesterday." + +Another replied: "No more he did. That's what we've been talking about. +Stayed down at the farm all day, poor fellow!" + +"Do you really think she cares for Oglethorpe?" + +"Care for him? Why, of course she does. Why, when they came up the path +yesterday morning I never saw a girl's face so bright. I asked my +husband how much of the Chambers Street Bank stock Oglethorpe owned, and +he said that if Oglethorpe took his money out there wouldn't be enough +left to buy a pie." + +The youngest woman in the corps said: "Well, I don't care. I think it is +too bad. I don't see anything so much in that Mr. Oglethorpe." + +The others at once patronized her. "Oh, you don't, my dear? Well, let me +tell you that bank stock waves in the air like a banner. You would see +it if you were her." + +"Well, she don't have to care for his money." + +"Oh, no, of course she don't have to. But they are just the ones that +do, my dear. They are just the ones that do." + +"Well, it's a shame." + +"Oh, of course it's a shame." + +The woman who had assembled the corps said to one at her side: "Oh, the +commonest kind of people, my dear, the commonest kind. The father is a +regular farmer, you know. He drives oxen. Such language! You can really +hear him miles away bellowing at those oxen. And the girls are shy, +half-wild things--oh, you have no idea! I saw one of them yesterday when +we were out driving. She dodged as we came along, for I suppose she was +ashamed of her frock, poor child! And the mother--well, I wish you +could see her! A little, old, dried-up thing. We saw her carrying a pail +of water from the well, and, oh, she bent and staggered dreadfully, poor +thing!" + +"And the gate to their front yard, it has a broken hinge, you know. Of +course, that's an awful bad sign. When people let their front gate hang +on one hinge you know what that means." + +After gazing again at the group at the court, the youngest member of the +corps said, "Well, he's a good tennis player anyhow." + +The others smiled indulgently. "Oh, yes, my dear, he's a good tennis +player." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + +One day Hollanden said, in greeting, to Hawker, "Well, he's gone." + +"Who?" asked Hawker. + +"Why, Oglethorpe, of course. Who did you think I meant?" + +"How did I know?" said Hawker angrily. + +"Well," retorted Hollanden, "your chief interest was in his movements, I +thought." + +"Why, of course not, hang you! Why should I be interested in his +movements?" + +"Well, you weren't, then. Does that suit you?" + +After a period of silence Hawker asked, "What did he--what made him go?" + +"Who?" + +"Why--Oglethorpe." + +"How was I to know you meant him? Well, he went because some important +business affairs in New York demanded it, he said; but he is coming +back again in a week. They had rather a late interview on the porch last +evening." + +"Indeed," said Hawker stiffly. + +"Yes, and he went away this morning looking particularly elated. Aren't +you glad?" + +"I don't see how it concerns me," said Hawker, with still greater +stiffness. + +In a walk to the lake that afternoon Hawker and Miss Fanhall found +themselves side by side and silent. The girl contemplated the distant +purple hills as if Hawker were not at her side and silent. Hawker +frowned at the roadway. Stanley, the setter, scouted the fields in a +genial gallop. + +At last the girl turned to him. "Seems to me," she said, "seems to me +you are dreadfully quiet this afternoon." + +"I am thinking about my wretched field of stubble," he answered, still +frowning. + +Her parasol swung about until the girl was looking up at his inscrutable +profile. "Is it, then, so important that you haven't time to talk to +me?" she asked with an air of what might have been timidity. + +A smile swept the scowl from his face. "No, indeed," he said, instantly; +"nothing is so important as that." + +She seemed aggrieved then. "Hum--you didn't look so," she told him. + +"Well, I didn't mean to look any other way," he said contritely. "You +know what a bear I am sometimes. Hollanden says it is a fixed scowl from +trying to see uproarious pinks, yellows, and blues." + +A little brook, a brawling, ruffianly little brook, swaggered from side +to side down the glade, swirling in white leaps over the great dark +rocks and shouting challenge to the hillsides. Hollanden and the +Worcester girls had halted in a place of ferns and wet moss. Their +voices could be heard quarrelling above the clamour of the stream. +Stanley, the setter, had sousled himself in a pool and then gone and +rolled in the dust of the road. He blissfully lolled there, with his +coat now resembling an old door mat. + +"Don't you think Jem is a wonderfully good fellow?" said the girl to the +painter. + +"Why, yes, of course," said Hawker. + +"Well, he is," she retorted, suddenly defensive. + +"Of course," he repeated loudly. + +She said, "Well, I don't think you like him as well as I like him." + +"Certainly not," said Hawker. + +"You don't?" She looked at him in a kind of astonishment. + +"Certainly not," said Hawker again, and very irritably. "How in the wide +world do you expect me to like him as well as you like him?" + +"I don't mean as well," she explained. + +"Oh!" said Hawker. + +"But I mean you don't like him the way I do at all--the way I expected +you to like him. I thought men of a certain pattern always fancied their +kind of men wherever they met them, don't you know? And I was so sure +you and Jem would be friends." + +"Oh!" cried Hawker. Presently he added, "But he isn't my kind of a man +at all." + +"He is. Jem is one of the best fellows in the world." + +Again Hawker cried "Oh!" + +They paused and looked down at the brook. Stanley sprawled panting in +the dust and watched them. Hawker leaned against a hemlock. He sighed +and frowned, and then finally coughed with great resolution. "I suppose, +of course, that I am unjust to him. I care for you myself, you +understand, and so it becomes----" + +He paused for a moment because he heard a rustling of her skirts as if +she had moved suddenly. Then he continued: "And so it becomes difficult +for me to be fair to him. I am not able to see him with a true eye." He +bitterly addressed the trees on the opposite side of the glen. "Oh, I +care for you, of course. You might have expected it." He turned from the +trees and strode toward the roadway. The uninformed and disreputable +Stanley arose and wagged his tail. + +As if the girl had cried out at a calamity, Hawker said again, "Well, +you might have expected it." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + +At the lake, Hollanden went pickerel fishing, lost his hook in a gaunt, +gray stump, and earned much distinction by his skill in discovering +words to express his emotion without resorting to the list ordinarily +used in such cases. The younger Miss Worcester ruined a new pair of +boots, and Stanley sat on the bank and howled the song of the forsaken. +At the conclusion of the festivities Hollanden said, "Billie, you ought +to take the boat back." + +"Why had I? You borrowed it." + +"Well, I borrowed it and it was a lot of trouble, and now you ought to +take it back." + +Ultimately Hawker said, "Oh, let's both go!" + +On this journey Hawker made a long speech to his friend, and at the end +of it he exclaimed: "And now do you think she cares so much for +Oglethorpe? Why, she as good as told me that he was only a very great +friend." + +Hollanden wagged his head dubiously. "What a woman says doesn't amount +to shucks. It's the way she says it--that's what counts. Besides," he +cried in a brilliant afterthought, "she wouldn't tell you, anyhow, you +fool!" + +"You're an encouraging brute," said Hawker, with a rueful grin. + +Later the Worcester girls seized upon Hollanden and piled him high with +ferns and mosses. They dragged the long gray lichens from the chins of +venerable pines, and ran with them to Hollanden, and dashed them into +his arms. "Oh, hurry up, Hollie!" they cried, because with his great +load he frequently fell behind them in the march. He once positively +refused to carry these things another step. Some distance farther on the +road he positively refused to carry this old truck another step. When +almost to the inn he positively refused to carry this senseless rubbish +another step. The Worcester girls had such vivid contempt for his +expressed unwillingness that they neglected to tell him of any +appreciation they might have had for his noble struggle. + +As Hawker and Miss Fanhall proceeded slowly they heard a voice ringing +through the foliage: "Whoa! Haw! Git-ap, blast you! Haw! Haw, drat your +hides! Will you haw? Git-ap! Gee! Whoa!" + +Hawker said, "The others are a good ways ahead. Hadn't we better hurry a +little?" + +The girl obediently mended her pace. + +"Whoa! haw! git-ap!" shouted the voice in the distance. "Git over there, +Red, git over! Gee! Git-ap!" And these cries pursued the man and the +maid. + +At last Hawker said, "That's my father." + +"Where?" she asked, looking bewildered. + +"Back there, driving those oxen." + +The voice shouted: "Whoa! Git-ap! Gee! Red, git over there now, will +you? I'll trim the shin off'n you in a minute. Whoa! Haw! Haw! Whoa! +Git-ap!" + +Hawker repeated, "Yes, that's my father." + +"Oh, is it?" she said. "Let's wait for him." + +"All right," said Hawker sullenly. + +Presently a team of oxen waddled into view around the curve of the road. +They swung their heads slowly from side to side, bent under the yoke, +and looked out at the world with their great eyes, in which was a mystic +note of their humble, submissive, toilsome lives. An old wagon creaked +after them, and erect upon it was the tall and tattered figure of the +farmer swinging his whip and yelling: "Whoa! Haw there! Git-ap!" The +lash flicked and flew over the broad backs of the animals. + +"Hello, father!" said Hawker. + +"Whoa! Back! Whoa! Why, hello, William, what you doing here?" + +"Oh, just taking a walk. Miss Fanhall, this is my father. Father----" + +"How d' you do?" The old man balanced himself with care and then raised +his straw hat from his head with a quick gesture and with what was +perhaps a slightly apologetic air, as if he feared that he was rather +over-doing the ceremonial part. + +The girl later became very intent upon the oxen. "Aren't they nice old +things?" she said, as she stood looking into the faces of the team. +"But what makes their eyes so very sad?" + +"I dunno," said the old man. + +She was apparently unable to resist a desire to pat the nose of the +nearest ox, and for that purpose she stretched forth a cautious hand. +But the ox moved restlessly at the moment and the girl put her hand +apprehensively behind herself and backed away. The old man on the wagon +grinned. "They won't hurt you," he told her. + +"They won't bite, will they?" she asked, casting a glance of inquiry at +the old man and then turning her eyes again upon the fascinating +animals. + +"No," said the old man, still grinning, "just as gentle as kittens." + +She approached them circuitously. "Sure?" she said. + +"Sure," replied the old man. He climbed from the wagon and came to the +heads of the oxen. With him as an ally, she finally succeeded in patting +the nose of the nearest ox. "Aren't they solemn, kind old fellows? Don't +you get to think a great deal of them?" + +"Well, they're kind of aggravating beasts sometimes," he said. "But +they're a good yoke--a good yoke. They can haul with anything in this +region." + +"It doesn't make them so terribly tired, does it?" she said hopefully. +"They are such strong animals." + +"No-o-o," he said. "I dunno. I never thought much about it." + +With their heads close together they became so absorbed in their +conversation that they seemed to forget the painter. He sat on a log and +watched them. + +Ultimately the girl said, "Won't you give us a ride?" + +"Sure," said the old man. "Come on, and I'll help you up." He assisted +her very painstakingly to the old board that usually served him as a +seat, and he clambered to a place beside her. "Come on, William," he +called. The painter climbed into the wagon and stood behind his father, +putting his hand on the old man's shoulder to preserve his balance. + +"Which is the near ox?" asked the girl with a serious frown. + +"Git-ap! Haw! That one there," said the old man. + +"And this one is the off ox?" + +"Yep." + +"Well, suppose you sat here where I do; would this one be the near ox +and that one the off ox, then?" + +"Nope. Be just same." + +"Then the near ox isn't always the nearest one to a person, at all? That +ox there is always the near ox?" + +"Yep, always. 'Cause when you drive 'em a-foot you always walk on the +left side." + +"Well, I never knew that before." + +After studying them in silence for a while, she said, "Do you think they +are happy?" + +"I dunno," said the old man. "I never thought." As the wagon creaked on +they gravely discussed this problem, contemplating profoundly the backs +of the animals. Hawker gazed in silence at the meditating two before +him. Under the wagon Stanley, the setter, walked slowly, wagging his +tail in placid contentment and ruminating upon his experiences. + +At last the old man said cheerfully, "Shall I take you around by the +inn?" + +Hawker started and seemed to wince at the question. Perhaps he was about +to interrupt, but the girl cried: "Oh, will you? Take us right to the +door? Oh, that will be awfully good of you!" + +"Why," began Hawker, "you don't want--you don't want to ride to the inn +on an--on an ox wagon, do you?" + +"Why, of course I do," she retorted, directing a withering glance at +him. + +"Well----" he protested. + +"Let 'er be, William," interrupted the old man. "Let 'er do what she +wants to. I guess everybody in th' world ain't even got an ox wagon to +ride in. Have they?" + +"No, indeed," she returned, while withering Hawker again. + +"Gee! Gee! Whoa! Haw! Git-ap! Haw! Whoa! Back!" + +After these two attacks Hawker became silent. + +"Gee! Gee! Gee there, blast--s'cuse me. Gee! Whoa! Git-ap!" + +All the boarders of the inn were upon its porches waiting for the dinner +gong. There was a surge toward the railing as a middle-aged woman passed +the word along her middle-aged friends that Miss Fanhall, accompanied +by Mr. Hawker, had arrived on the ox cart of Mr. Hawker's father. + +"Whoa! Ha! Git-ap!" said the old man in more subdued tones. "Whoa there, +Red! Whoa, now! Wh-o-a!" + +Hawker helped the girl to alight, and she paused for a moment conversing +with the old man about the oxen. Then she ran smiling up the steps to +meet the Worcester girls. + +"Oh, such a lovely time! Those dear old oxen--you should have been with +us!" + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + +"Oh, Miss Fanhall!" + +"What is it, Mrs. Truscot?" + +"That was a great prank of yours last night, my dear. We all enjoyed the +joke so much." + +"Prank?" + +"Yes, your riding on the ox cart with that old farmer and that young Mr. +What's-his-name, you know. We all thought it delicious. Ah, my dear, +after all--don't be offended--if we had your people's wealth and +position we might do that sort of unconventional thing, too; but, ah, my +dear, we can't, we can't! Isn't the young painter a charming man?" + +Out on the porch Hollanden was haranguing his friends. He heard a step +and glanced over his shoulder to see who was about to interrupt him. He +suddenly ceased his oration, and said, "Hello! what's the matter with +Grace?" The heads turned promptly. + +As the girl came toward them it could be seen that her cheeks were very +pink and her eyes were flashing general wrath and defiance. + +The Worcester girls burst into eager interrogation. "Oh, nothing!" she +replied at first, but later she added in an undertone, "That wretched +Mrs. Truscot----" + +"What did she say?" whispered the younger Worcester girl. + +"Why, she said--oh, nothing!" + +Both Hollanden and Hawker were industriously reflecting. + +Later in the morning Hawker said privately to the girl, "I know what +Mrs. Truscot talked to you about." + +She turned upon him belligerently. "You do?" + +"Yes," he answered with meekness. "It was undoubtedly some reference to +your ride upon the ox wagon." + +She hesitated a moment, and then said, "Well?" + +With still greater meekness he said, "I am very sorry." + +"Are you, indeed?" she inquired loftily. "Sorry for what? Sorry that I +rode upon your father's ox wagon, or sorry that Mrs. Truscot was rude +to me about it?" + +"Well, in some ways it was my fault." + +"Was it? I suppose you intend to apologize for your father's owning an +ox wagon, don't you?" + +"No, but----" + +"Well, I am going to ride in the ox wagon whenever I choose. Your +father, I know, will always be glad to have me. And if it so shocks you, +there is not the slightest necessity of your coming with us." + +They glowered at each other, and he said, "You have twisted the question +with the usual ability of your sex." + +She pondered as if seeking some particularly destructive retort. She +ended by saying bluntly, "Did you know that we were going home next +week?" + +A flush came suddenly to his face. "No. Going home? Who? You?" + +"Why, of course." And then with an indolent air she continued, "I meant +to have told you before this, but somehow it quite escaped me." + +He stammered, "Are--are you, honestly?" + +She nodded. "Why, of course. Can't stay here forever, you know." + +They were then silent for a long time. + +At last Hawker said, "Do you remember what I told you yesterday?" + +"No. What was it?" + +He cried indignantly, "You know very well what I told you!" + +"I do not." + +"No," he sneered, "of course not! You never take the trouble to remember +such things. Of course not! Of course not!" + +"You are a very ridiculous person," she vouchsafed, after eying him +coldly. + +He arose abruptly. "I believe I am. By heavens, I believe I am!" he +cried in a fury. + +She laughed. "You are more ridiculous now than I have yet seen you." + +After a pause he said magnificently, "Well, Miss Fanhall, you will +doubtless find Mr. Hollanden's conversation to have a much greater +interest than that of such a ridiculous person." + +Hollanden approached them with the blithesome step of an untroubled man. +"Hello, you two people, why don't you--oh--ahem! Hold on, Billie, where +are you going?" + +"I----" began Hawker. + +"Oh, Hollie," cried the girl impetuously, "do tell me how to do that +slam thing, you know. I've tried it so often, but I don't believe I hold +my racket right. And you do it so beautifully." + +"Oh, that," said Hollanden. "It's not so very difficult. I'll show it to +you. You don't want to know this minute, do you?" + +"Yes," she answered. + +"Well, come over to the court, then. Come ahead, Billie!" + +"No," said Hawker, without looking at his friend, "I can't this morning, +Hollie. I've got to go to work. Good-bye!" He comprehended them both in +a swift bow and stalked away. + +Hollanden turned quickly to the girl. "What was the matter with Billie? +What was he grinding his teeth for? What was the matter with him?" + +"Why, nothing--was there?" she asked in surprise. + +"Why, he was grinding his teeth until he sounded like a stone crusher," +said Hollanden in a severe tone. "What was the matter with him?" + +"How should I know?" she retorted. + +"You've been saying something to him." + +"I! I didn't say a thing." + +"Yes, you did." + +"Hollie, don't be absurd." + +Hollanden debated with himself for a time, and then observed, "Oh, well, +I always said he was an ugly-tempered fellow----" + +The girl flashed him a little glance. + +"And now I am sure of it--as ugly-tempered a fellow as ever lived." + +"I believe you," said the girl. Then she added: "All men are. I declare, +I think you to be the most incomprehensible creatures. One never knows +what to expect of you. And you explode and go into rages and make +yourselves utterly detestable over the most trivial matters and at the +most unexpected times. You are all mad, I think." + +"I!" cried Hollanden wildly. "What in the mischief have I done?" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + + +"Look here," said Hollanden, at length, "I thought you were so +wonderfully anxious to learn that stroke?" + +"Well, I am," she said. + +"Come on, then." As they walked toward the tennis court he seemed to be +plunged into mournful thought. In his eyes was a singular expression, +which perhaps denoted the woe of the optimist pushed suddenly from its +height. He sighed. "Oh, well, I suppose all women, even the best of +them, are that way." + +"What way?" she said. + +"My dear child," he answered, in a benevolent manner, "you have +disappointed me, because I have discovered that you resemble the rest of +your sex." + +"Ah!" she remarked, maintaining a noncommittal attitude. + +"Yes," continued Hollanden, with a sad but kindly smile, "even you, +Grace, were not above fooling with the affections of a poor country +swain, until he don't know his ear from the tooth he had pulled two +years ago." + +She laughed. "He would be furious if he heard you call him a country +swain." + +"Who would?" said Hollanden. + +"Why, the country swain, of course," she rejoined. + +Hollanden seemed plunged in mournful reflection again. "Well, it's a +shame, Grace, anyhow," he observed, wagging his head dolefully. "It's a +howling, wicked shame." + +"Hollie, you have no brains at all," she said, "despite your opinion." + +"No," he replied ironically, "not a bit." + +"Well, you haven't, you know, Hollie." + +"At any rate," he said in an angry voice, "I have some comprehension and +sympathy for the feelings of others." + +"Have you?" she asked. "How do you mean, Hollie? Do you mean you have +feeling for them in their various sorrows? Or do you mean that you +understand their minds?" + +Hollanden ponderously began, "There have been people who have not +questioned my ability to----" + +"Oh, then, you mean that you both feel for them in their sorrows and +comprehend the machinery of their minds. Well, let me tell you that in +regard to the last thing you are wrong. You know nothing of anyone's +mind. You know less about human nature than anybody I have met." + +Hollanden looked at her in artless astonishment. He said, "Now, I wonder +what made you say that?" This interrogation did not seem to be addressed +to her, but was evidently a statement to himself of a problem. He +meditated for some moments. Eventually he said, "I suppose you mean that +I do not understand you?" + +"Why do you suppose I mean that?" + +"That's what a person usually means when he--or she--charges another +with not understanding the entire world." + +"Well, at any rate, it is not what I mean at all," she said. "I mean +that you habitually blunder about other people's affairs, in the belief, +I imagine, that you are a great philanthropist, when you are only making +an extraordinary exhibition of yourself." + +"The dev----" began Hollanden. Afterward he said, "Now, I wonder what +in blue thunder you mean this time?" + +"Mean this time? My meaning is very plain, Hollie. I supposed the words +were clear enough." + +"Yes," he said thoughtfully, "your words were clear enough, but then you +were of course referring back to some event, or series of events, in +which I had the singular ill fortune to displease you. Maybe you don't +know yourself, and spoke only from the emotion generated by the event, +or series of events, in which, as I have said, I had the singular ill +fortune to displease you." + +"How awf'ly clever!" she said. + +"But I can't recall the event, or series of events, at all," he +continued, musing with a scholarly air and disregarding her mockery. "I +can't remember a thing about it. To be sure, it might have been that +time when----" + +"I think it very stupid of you to hunt for a meaning when I believe I +made everything so perfectly clear," she said wrathfully. + +"Well, you yourself might not be aware of what you really meant," he +answered sagely. "Women often do that sort of thing, you know. Women +often speak from motives which, if brought face to face with them, they +wouldn't be able to distinguish from any other thing which they had +never before seen." + +"Hollie, if there is a disgusting person in the world it is he who +pretends to know so much concerning a woman's mind." + +"Well, that's because they who know, or pretend to know, so much about a +woman's mind are invariably satirical, you understand," said Hollanden +cheerfully. + +A dog ran frantically across the lawn, his nose high in the air and his +countenance expressing vast perturbation and alarm. "Why, Billie forgot +to whistle for his dog when he started for home," said Hollanden. "Come +here, old man! Well, 'e was a nice dog!" The girl also gave invitation, +but the setter would not heed them. He spun wildly about the lawn until +he seemed to strike his master's trail, and then, with his nose near to +the ground, went down the road at an eager gallop. They stood and +watched him. + +"Stanley's a nice dog," said Hollanden. + +"Indeed he is!" replied the girl fervently. + +Presently Hollanden remarked: "Well, don't let's fight any more, +particularly since we can't decide what we're fighting about. I can't +discover the reason, and you don't know it, so----" + +"I do know it. I told you very plainly." + +"Well, all right. Now, this is the way to work that slam: You give the +ball a sort of a lift--see!--underhanded and with your arm crooked and +stiff. Here, you smash this other ball into the net. Hi! Look out! If +you hit it that way you'll knock it over the hotel. Let the ball drop +nearer to the ground. Oh, heavens, not on the ground! Well, it's hard to +do it from the serve, anyhow. I'll go over to the other court and bat +you some easy ones." + +Afterward, when they were going toward the inn, the girl suddenly began +to laugh. + +"What are you giggling at?" said Hollanden. + +"I was thinking how furious he would be if he heard you call him a +country swain," she rejoined. + +"Who?" asked Hollanden. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + + +Oglethorpe contended that the men who made the most money from books +were the best authors. Hollanden contended that they were the worst. +Oglethorpe said that such a question should be left to the people. +Hollanden said that the people habitually made wrong decisions on +questions that were left to them. "That is the most odiously +aristocratic belief," said Oglethorpe. + +"No," said Hollanden, "I like the people. But, considered generally, +they are a collection of ingenious blockheads." + +"But they read your books," said Oglethorpe, grinning. + +"That is through a mistake," replied Hollanden. + +As the discussion grew in size it incited the close attention of the +Worcester girls, but Miss Fanhall did not seem to hear it. Hawker, too, +was staring into the darkness with a gloomy and preoccupied air. + +"Are you sorry that this is your last evening at Hemlock Inn?" said the +painter at last, in a low tone. + +"Why, yes--certainly," said the girl. + +Under the sloping porch of the inn the vague orange light from the +parlours drifted to the black wall of the night. + +"I shall miss you," said the painter. + +"Oh, I dare say," said the girl. + +Hollanden was lecturing at length and wonderfully. In the mystic spaces +of the night the pines could be heard in their weird monotone, as they +softly smote branch and branch, as if moving in some solemn and +sorrowful dance. + +"This has been quite the most delightful summer of my experience," said +the painter. + +"I have found it very pleasant," said the girl. + +From time to time Hawker glanced furtively at Oglethorpe, Hollanden, and +the Worcester girl. This glance expressed no desire for their +well-being. + +"I shall miss you," he said to the girl again. His manner was rather +desperate. She made no reply, and, after leaning toward her, he subsided +with an air of defeat. + +Eventually he remarked: "It will be very lonely here again. I dare say I +shall return to New York myself in a few weeks." + +"I hope you will call," she said. + +"I shall be delighted," he answered stiffly, and with a dissatisfied +look at her. + +"Oh, Mr. Hawker," cried the younger Worcester girl, suddenly emerging +from the cloud of argument which Hollanden and Oglethorpe kept in the +air, "won't it be sad to lose Grace? Indeed, I don't know what we shall +do. Sha'n't we miss her dreadfully?" + +"Yes," said Hawker, "we shall of course miss her dreadfully." + +"Yes, won't it be frightful?" said the elder Worcester girl. "I can't +imagine what we will do without her. And Hollie is only going to spend +ten more days. Oh, dear! mamma, I believe, will insist on staying the +entire summer. It was papa's orders, you know, and I really think she is +going to obey them. He said he wanted her to have one period of rest at +any rate. She is such a busy woman in town, you know." + +"Here," said Hollanden, wheeling to them suddenly, "you all look as if +you were badgering Hawker, and he looks badgered. What are you saying to +him?" + +"Why," answered the younger Worcester girl, "we were only saying to him +how lonely it would be without Grace." + +"Oh!" said Hollanden. + +As the evening grew old, the mother of the Worcester girls joined the +group. This was a sign that the girls were not to long delay the +vanishing time. She sat almost upon the edge of her chair, as if she +expected to be called upon at any moment to arise and bow "Good-night," +and she repaid Hollanden's eloquent attention with the placid and +absent-minded smiles of the chaperon who waits. + +Once the younger Worcester girl shrugged her shoulders and turned to +say, "Mamma, you make me nervous!" Her mother merely smiled in a still +more placid and absent-minded manner. + +Oglethorpe arose to drag his chair nearer to the railing, and when he +stood the Worcester mother moved and looked around expectantly, but +Oglethorpe took seat again. Hawker kept an anxious eye upon her. + +Presently Miss Fanhall arose. + +"Why, you are not going in already, are you?" said Hawker and Hollanden +and Oglethorpe. The Worcester mother moved toward the door followed by +her daughters, who were protesting in muffled tones. Hollanden pitched +violently upon Oglethorpe. "Well, at any rate----" he said. He picked +the thread of a past argument with great agility. + +Hawker said to the girl, "I--I--I shall miss you dreadfully." + +She turned to look at him and smiled. "Shall you?" she said in a low +voice. + +"Yes," he said. Thereafter he stood before her awkwardly and in silence. +She scrutinized the boards of the floor. Suddenly she drew a violet from +a cluster of them upon her gown and thrust it out to him as she turned +toward the approaching Oglethorpe. + +"Good-night, Mr. Hawker," said the latter. "I am very glad to have met +you, I'm sure. Hope to see you in town. Good-night." + +He stood near when the girl said to Hawker: "Good-bye. You have given us +such a charming summer. We shall be delighted to see you in town. You +must come some time when the children can see you, too. Good-bye." + +"Good-bye," replied Hawker, eagerly and feverishly, trying to interpret +the inscrutable feminine face before him. "I shall come at my first +opportunity." + +"Good-bye." + +"Good-bye." + +Down at the farmhouse, in the black quiet of the night, a dog lay curled +on the door-mat. Of a sudden the tail of this dog began to thump, thump, +on the boards. It began as a lazy movement, but it passed into a state +of gentle enthusiasm, and then into one of curiously loud and joyful +celebration. At last the gate clicked. The dog uncurled, and went to the +edge of the steps to greet his master. He gave adoring, tremulous +welcome with his clear eyes shining in the darkness. "Well, Stan, old +boy," said Hawker, stooping to stroke the dog's head. After his master +had entered the house the dog went forward and sniffed at something +that lay on the top step. Apparently it did not interest him greatly, +for he returned in a moment to the door-mat. + +But he was again obliged to uncurl himself, for his master came out of +the house with a lighted lamp and made search of the door-mat, the +steps, and the walk, swearing meanwhile in an undertone. The dog wagged +his tail and sleepily watched this ceremony. When his master had again +entered the house the dog went forward and sniffed at the top step, but +the thing that had lain there was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + + +It was evident at breakfast that Hawker's sisters had achieved +information. "What's the matter with you this morning?" asked one. "You +look as if you hadn't slep' well." + +"There is nothing the matter with me," he rejoined, looking glumly at +his plate. + +"Well, you look kind of broke up." + +"How I look is of no consequence. I tell you there is nothing the matter +with me." + +"Oh!" said his sister. She exchanged meaning glances with the other +feminine members of the family. Presently the other sister observed, "I +heard she was going home to-day." + +"Who?" said Hawker, with a challenge in his tone. + +"Why, that New York girl--Miss What's-her-name," replied the sister, +with an undaunted smile. + +"Did you, indeed? Well, perhaps she is." + +"Oh, you don't know for sure, I s'pose." + +Hawker arose from the table, and, taking his hat, went away. + +"Mary!" said the mother, in the sepulchral tone of belated but +conscientious reproof. + +"Well, I don't care. He needn't be so grand. I didn't go to tease him. I +don't care." + +"Well, you ought to care," said the old man suddenly. "There's no sense +in you wimen folks pestering the boy all the time. Let him alone with +his own business, can't you?" + +"Well, ain't we leaving him alone?" + +"No, you ain't--'cept when he ain't here. I don't wonder the boy grabs +his hat and skips out when you git to going." + +"Well, what did we say to him now? Tell us what we said to him that was +so dreadful." + +"Aw, thunder an' lightnin'!" cried the old man with a sudden great +snarl. They seemed to know by this ejaculation that he had emerged in an +instant from that place where man endures, and they ended the +discussion. The old man continued his breakfast. + +During his walk that morning Hawker visited a certain cascade, a +certain lake, and some roads, paths, groves, nooks. Later in the day he +made a sketch, choosing an hour when the atmosphere was of a dark blue, +like powder smoke in the shade of trees, and the western sky was burning +in strips of red. He painted with a wild face, like a man who is +killing. + +After supper he and his father strolled under the apple boughs in the +orchard and smoked. Once he gestured wearily. "Oh, I guess I'll go back +to New York in a few days." + +"Um," replied his father calmly. "All right, William." + +Several days later Hawker accosted his father in the barnyard. "I +suppose you think sometimes I don't care so much about you and the folks +and the old place any more; but I do." + +"Um," said the old man. "When you goin'?" + +"Where?" asked Hawker, flushing. + +"Back to New York." + +"Why--I hadn't thought much about---- Oh, next week, I guess." + +"Well, do as you like, William. You know how glad me an' mother and the +girls are to have you come home with us whenever you can come. You know +that. But you must do as you think best, and if you ought to go back to +New York now, William, why--do as you think best." + +"Well, my work----" said Hawker. + +From time to time the mother made wondering speech to the sisters. "How +much nicer William is now! He's just as good as he can be. There for a +while he was so cross and out of sorts. I don't see what could have come +over him. But now he's just as good as he can be." + +Hollanden told him, "Come up to the inn more, you fool." + +"I was up there yesterday." + +"Yesterday! What of that? I've seen the time when the farm couldn't hold +you for two hours during the day." + +"Go to blazes!" + +"Millicent got a letter from Grace Fanhall the other day." + +"That so?" + +"Yes, she did. Grace wrote---- Say, does that shadow look pure purple +to you?" + +"Certainly it does, or I wouldn't paint it so, duffer. What did she +write?" + +"Well, if that shadow is pure purple my eyes are liars. It looks a kind +of slate colour to me. Lord! if what you fellows say in your pictures is +true, the whole earth must be blazing and burning and glowing and----" + +Hawker went into a rage. "Oh, you don't know anything about colour, +Hollie. For heaven's sake, shut up, or I'll smash you with the easel." + +"Well, I was going to tell you what Grace wrote in her letter. She +said----" + +"Go on." + +"Gimme time, can't you? She said that town was stupid, and that she +wished she was back at Hemlock Inn." + +"Oh! Is that all?" + +"Is that all? I wonder what you expected? Well, and she asked to be +recalled to you." + +"Yes? Thanks." + +"And that's all. 'Gad, for such a devoted man as you were, your +enthusiasm and interest is stupendous." + + * * * * * + +The father said to the mother, "Well, William's going back to New York +next week." + +"Is he? Why, he ain't said nothing to me about it." + +"Well, he is, anyhow." + +"I declare! What do you s'pose he's going back before September for, +John?" + +"How do I know?" + +"Well, it's funny, John. I bet--I bet he's going back so's he can see +that girl." + +"He says it's his work." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + + +Wrinkles had been peering into the little dry-goods box that acted as a +cupboard. "There are only two eggs and half a loaf of bread left," he +announced brutally. + +"Heavens!" said Warwickson from where he lay smoking on the bed. He +spoke in a dismal voice. This tone, it is said, had earned him his +popular name of Great Grief. + +From different points of the compass Wrinkles looked at the little +cupboard with a tremendous scowl, as if he intended thus to frighten the +eggs into becoming more than two, and the bread into becoming a loaf. +"Plague take it!" he exclaimed. + +"Oh, shut up, Wrinkles!" said Grief from the bed. + +Wrinkles sat down with an air austere and virtuous. "Well, what are we +going to do?" he demanded of the others. + +Grief, after swearing, said: "There, that's right! Now you're happy. +The holy office of the inquisition! Blast your buttons, Wrinkles, you +always try to keep us from starving peacefully! It is two hours before +dinner, anyhow, and----" + +"Well, but what are you going to do?" persisted Wrinkles. + +Pennoyer, with his head afar down, had been busily scratching at a +pen-and-ink drawing. He looked up from his board to utter a plaintive +optimism. "The Monthly Amazement will pay me to-morrow. They ought to. +I've waited over three months now. I'm going down there to-morrow, and +perhaps I'll get it." + +His friends listened with airs of tolerance. "Oh, no doubt, Penny, old +man." But at last Wrinkles giggled pityingly. Over on the bed Grief +croaked deep down in his throat. Nothing was said for a long time +thereafter. + +The crash of the New York streets came faintly to this room. + +Occasionally one could hear the tramp of feet in the intricate corridors +of the begrimed building which squatted, slumbering, and old, between +two exalted commercial structures which would have had to bend afar +down to perceive it. The northward march of the city's progress had +happened not to overturn this aged structure, and it huddled there, lost +and forgotten, while the cloud-veering towers strode on. + +Meanwhile the first shadows of dusk came in at the blurred windows of +the room. Pennoyer threw down his pen and tossed his drawing over on the +wonderful heap of stuff that hid the table. "It's too dark to work." He +lit a pipe and walked about, stretching his shoulders like a man whose +labour was valuable. + +When the dusk came fully the youths grew apparently sad. The solemnity +of the gloom seemed to make them ponder. "Light the gas, Wrinkles," said +Grief fretfully. + +The flood of orange light showed clearly the dull walls lined with +sketches, the tousled bed in one corner, the masses of boxes and trunks +in another, a little dead stove, and the wonderful table. Moreover, +there were wine-coloured draperies flung in some places, and on a shelf, +high up, there were plaster casts, with dust in the creases. A long +stove-pipe wandered off in the wrong direction and then turned +impulsively toward a hole in the wall. There were some elaborate cobwebs +on the ceiling. + +"Well, let's eat," said Grief. + +"Eat," said Wrinkles, with a jeer; "I told you there was only two eggs +and a little bread left. How are we going to eat?" + +Again brought face to face with this problem, and at the hour for +dinner, Pennoyer and Grief thought profoundly. "Thunder and turf!" Grief +finally announced as the result of his deliberations. + +"Well, if Billie Hawker was only home----" began Pennoyer. + +"But he isn't," objected Wrinkles, "and that settles that." + +Grief and Pennoyer thought more. Ultimately Grief said, "Oh, well, let's +eat what we've got." The others at once agreed to this suggestion, as if +it had been in their minds. + +Later there came a quick step in the passage and a confident little +thunder upon the door. Wrinkles arranging the tin pail on the gas stove, +Pennoyer engaged in slicing the bread, and Great Grief affixing the +rubber tube to the gas stove, yelled, "Come in!" + +The door opened, and Miss Florinda O'Connor, the model, dashed into the +room like a gale of obstreperous autumn leaves. + +"Why, hello, Splutter!" they cried. + +"Oh, boys, I've come to dine with you." + +It was like a squall striking a fleet of yachts. + +Grief spoke first. "Yes, you have?" he said incredulously. + +"Why, certainly I have. What's the matter?" + +They grinned. "Well, old lady," responded Grief, "you've hit us at the +wrong time. We are, in fact, all out of everything. No dinner, to +mention, and, what's more, we haven't got a sou." + +"What? Again?" cried Florinda. + +"Yes, again. You'd better dine home to-night." + +"But I'll--I'll stake you," said the girl eagerly. "Oh, you poor old +idiots! It's a shame! Say, I'll stake you." + +"Certainly not," said Pennoyer sternly. + +"What are you talking about, Splutter?" demanded Wrinkles in an angry +voice. + +"No, that won't go down," said Grief, in a resolute yet wistful tone. + +Florinda divested herself of her hat, jacket, and gloves, and put them +where she pleased. "Got coffee, haven't you? Well, I'm not going to stir +a step. You're a fine lot of birds!" she added bitterly, "You've all +pulled me out of a whole lot of scrape--oh, any number of times--and now +you're broke, you go acting like a set of dudes." + +Great Grief had fixed the coffee to boil on the gas stove, but he had to +watch it closely, for the rubber tube was short, and a chair was +balanced on a trunk, and two bundles of kindling was balanced on the +chair, and the gas stove was balanced on the kindling. Coffee-making was +here accounted a feat. + +Pennoyer dropped a piece of bread to the floor. "There! I'll have to go +shy one." + +Wrinkles sat playing serenades on his guitar and staring with a frown at +the table, as if he was applying some strange method of clearing it of +its litter. + +Florinda assaulted Great Grief. "Here, that's not the way to make +coffee!" + +"What ain't?" + +"Why, the way you're making it. You want to take----" She explained some +way to him which he couldn't understand. + +"For heaven's sake, Wrinkles, tackle that table! Don't sit there like a +music box," said Pennoyer, grappling the eggs and starting for the gas +stove. + +Later, as they sat around the board, Wrinkles said with satisfaction, +"Well, the coffee's good, anyhow." + +"'Tis good," said Florinda, "but it isn't made right. I'll show you how, +Penny. You first----" + +"Oh, dry up, Splutter," said Grief. "Here, take an egg." + +"I don't like eggs," said Florinda. + +"Take an egg," said the three hosts menacingly. + +"I tell you I don't like eggs." + +"Take--an--egg!" they said again. + +"Oh, well," said Florinda, "I'll take one, then; but you needn't act +like such a set of dudes--and, oh, maybe you didn't have much lunch. I +had such a daisy lunch! Up at Pontiac's studio. He's got a lovely +studio." + +The three looked to be oppressed. Grief said sullenly, "I saw some of +his things over in Stencil's gallery, and they're rotten." + +"Yes--rotten," said Pennoyer. + +"Rotten," said Grief. + +"Oh, well," retorted Florinda, "if a man has a swell studio and +dresses--oh, sort of like a Willie, you know, you fellows sit here like +owls in a cave and say rotten--rotten--rotten. You're away off. +Pontiac's landscapes----" + +"Landscapes be blowed! Put any of his work alongside of Billie Hawker's +and see how it looks." + +"Oh, well, Billie Hawker's," said Florinda. "Oh, well." + +At the mention of Hawker's name they had all turned to scan her face. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + + +"He wrote that he was coming home this week," said Pennoyer. + +"Did he?" asked Florinda indifferently. + +"Yes. Aren't you glad?" + +They were still watching her face. + +"Yes, of course I'm glad. Why shouldn't I be glad?" cried the girl with +defiance. + +They grinned. + +"Oh, certainly. Billie Hawker is a good fellow, Splutter. You have a +particular right to be glad." + +"You people make me tired," Florinda retorted. "Billie Hawker doesn't +give a rap about me, and he never tried to make out that he did." + +"No," said Grief. "But that isn't saying that you don't care a rap about +Billie Hawker. Ah, Florinda!" + +It seemed that the girl's throat suffered a slight contraction. "Well, +and what if I do?" she demanded finally. + +"Have a cigarette?" answered Grief. + +Florinda took a cigarette, lit it, and, perching herself on a divan, +which was secretly a coal box, she smoked fiercely. + +"What if I do?" she again demanded. "It's better than liking one of you +dubs, anyhow." + +"Oh, Splutter, you poor little outspoken kid!" said Wrinkle in a sad +voice. + +Grief searched among the pipes until he found the best one. "Yes, +Splutter, don't you know that when you are so frank you defy every law +of your sex, and wild eyes will take your trail?" + +"Oh, you talk through your hat," replied Florinda. "Billie don't care +whether I like him or whether I don't. And if he should hear me now, he +wouldn't be glad or give a hang, either way. I know that." The girl +paused and looked at the row of plaster casts. "Still, you needn't be +throwing it at me all the time." + +"We didn't," said Wrinkles indignantly. "You threw it at yourself." + +"Well," continued Florinda, "it's better than liking one of you dubs, +anyhow. He makes money and----" + +"There," said Grief, "now you've hit it! Bedad, you've reached a point +in eulogy where if you move again you will have to go backward." + +"Of course I don't care anything about a fellow's having money----" + +"No, indeed you don't, Splutter," said Pennoyer. + +"But then, you know what I mean. A fellow isn't a man and doesn't stand +up straight unless he has some money. And Billie Hawker makes enough so +that you feel that nobody could walk over him, don't you know? And there +isn't anything jay about him, either. He's a thoroughbred, don't you +know?" + +After reflection, Pennoyer said, "It's pretty hard on the rest of us, +Splutter." + +"Well, of course I like him, but--but----" + +"What?" said Pennoyer. + +"I don't know," said Florinda. + +Purple Sanderson lived in this room, but he usually dined out. At a +certain time in his life, before he came to be a great artist, he had +learned the gas-fitter's trade, and when his opinions were not identical +with the opinions of the art managers of the greater number of New York +publications he went to see a friend who was a plumber, and the opinions +of this man he was thereafter said to respect. He frequented a very neat +restaurant on Twenty-third Street. It was known that on Saturday nights +Wrinkles, Grief, and Pennoyer frequently quarreled with him. + +As Florinda ceased speaking Purple entered. "Hello, there, Splutter!" As +he was neatly hanging up his coat, he said to the others, "Well, the +rent will be due in four days." + +"Will it?" asked Pennoyer, astounded. + +"Certainly it will," responded Purple, with the air of a superior +financial man. + +"My soul!" said Wrinkles. + +"Oh, shut up, Purple!" said Grief. "You make me weary, coming around +here with your chin about rent. I was just getting happy." + +"Well, how are we going to pay it? That's the point," said Sanderson. + +Wrinkles sank deeper in his chair and played despondently on his +guitar. Grief cast a look of rage at Sanderson, and then stared at the +wall. Pennoyer said, "Well, we might borrow it from Billie Hawker." + +Florinda laughed then. + +"Oh," continued Pennoyer hastily, "if those Amazement people pay me when +they said they would I'll have the money." + +"So you will," said Grief. "You will have money to burn. Did the +Amazement people ever pay you when they said they would? You are +wonderfully important all of a sudden, it seems to me. You talk like an +artist." + +Wrinkles, too, smiled at Pennoyer. "The Eminent Magazine people wanted +Penny to hire models and make a try for them, too. It would only cost +him a stack of blues. By the time he has invested all his money he +hasn't got, and the rent is three weeks overdue, he will be able to tell +the landlord to wait seven months until the Monday morning after the day +of publication. Go ahead, Penny." + +After a period of silence, Sanderson, in an obstinate manner, said, +"Well, what's to be done? The rent has got to be paid." + +Wrinkles played more sad music. Grief frowned deeper. Pennoyer was +evidently searching his mind for a plan. + +Florinda took the cigarette from between her lips that she might grin +with greater freedom. + +"We might throw Purple out," said Grief, with an inspired air. "That +would stop all this discussion." + +"You!" said Sanderson furiously. "You can't keep serious a minute. If +you didn't have us to take care of you, you wouldn't even know when they +threw you out into the street." + +"Wouldn't I?" said Grief. + +"Well, look here," interposed Florinda, "I'm going home unless you can +be more interesting. I am dead sorry about the rent, but I can't help +it, and----" + +"Here! Sit down! Hold on, Splutter!" they shouted. Grief turned to +Sanderson: "Purple, you shut up!" + +Florinda curled again on the divan and lit another cigarette. The talk +waged about the names of other and more successful painters, whose work +they usually pronounced "rotten." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + + +Pennoyer, coming home one morning with two gigantic cakes to accompany +the coffee at the breakfast in the den, saw a young man bounce from a +horse car. He gave a shout. "Hello, there, Billie! Hello!" + +"Hello, Penny!" said Hawker. "What are you doing out so early?" It was +somewhat after nine o'clock. + +"Out to get breakfast," said Pennoyer, waving the cakes. "Have a good +time, old man?" + +"Great." + +"Do much work?" + +"No. Not so much. How are all the people?" + +"Oh, pretty good. Come in and see us eat breakfast," said Pennoyer, +throwing open the door of the den. Wrinkles, in his shirt, was making +coffee. Grief sat in a chair trying to loosen the grasp of sleep. "Why, +Billie Hawker, b'ginger!" they cried. + +"How's the wolf, boys? At the door yet?" + +"'At the door yet?' He's halfway up the back stairs, and coming fast. He +and the landlord will be here to-morrow. 'Mr. Landlord, allow me to +present Mr. F. Wolf, of Hunger, N. J. Mr. Wolf--Mr. Landlord.'" + +"Bad as that?" said Hawker. + +"You bet it is! Easy Street is somewhere in heaven, for all we know. +Have some breakfast?--coffee and cake, I mean." + +"No, thanks, boys. Had breakfast." + +Wrinkles added to the shirt, Grief aroused himself, and Pennoyer brought +the coffee. Cheerfully throwing some drawings from the table to the +floor, they thus made room for the breakfast, and grouped themselves +with beaming smiles at the board. + +"Well, Billie, come back to the old gang again, eh? How did the country +seem? Do much work?" + +"Not very much. A few things. How's everybody?" + +"Splutter was in last night. Looking out of sight. Seemed glad to hear +that you were coming back soon." + +"Did she? Penny, did anybody call wanting me to do a ten-thousand-dollar +portrait for them?" + +"No. That frame-maker, though, was here with a bill. I told him----" + +Afterward Hawker crossed the corridor and threw open the door of his own +large studio. The great skylight, far above his head, shed its clear +rays upon a scene which appeared to indicate that some one had very +recently ceased work here and started for the country. A distant closet +door was open, and the interior showed the effects of a sudden pillage. + +There was an unfinished "Girl in Apple Orchard" upon the tall Dutch +easel, and sketches and studies were thick upon the floor. Hawker took a +pipe and filled it from his friend the tan and gold jar. He cast himself +into a chair and, taking an envelope from his pocket, emptied two +violets from it to the palm of his hand and stared long at them. Upon +the walls of the studio various labours of his life, in heavy gilt +frames, contemplated him and the violets. + +At last Pennoyer burst impetuously in upon him. "Hi, Billie! come over +and---- What's the matter?" + +Hawker had hastily placed the violets in the envelope and hurried it to +his pocket. "Nothing," he answered. + +"Why, I thought--" said Pennoyer, "I thought you looked rather rattled. +Didn't you have--I thought I saw something in your hand." + +"Nothing, I tell you!" cried Hawker. + +"Er--oh, I beg your pardon," said Pennoyer. "Why, I was going to tell +you that Splutter is over in our place, and she wants to see you." + +"Wants to see me? What for?" demanded Hawker. "Why don't she come over +here, then?" + +"I'm sure I don't know," replied Pennoyer. "She sent me to call you." + +"Well, do you think I'm going to---- Oh, well, I suppose she wants to be +unpleasant, and knows she loses a certain mental position if she comes +over here, but if she meets me in your place she can be as infernally +disagreeable as she---- That's it, I'll bet." + +When they entered the den Florinda was gazing from the window. Her back +was toward the door. + +At last she turned to them, holding herself very straight. "Well, Billie +Hawker," she said grimly, "you don't seem very glad to see a fellow." + +"Why, heavens, did you think I was going to turn somersaults in the +air?" + +"Well, you didn't come out when you heard me pass your door," said +Florinda, with gloomy resentment. + +Hawker appeared to be ruffled and vexed. "Oh, great Scott!" he said, +making a gesture of despair. + +Florinda returned to the window. In the ensuing conversation she took no +part, save when there was an opportunity to harry some speech of +Hawker's, which she did in short contemptuous sentences. Hawker made no +reply save to glare in her direction. At last he said, "Well, I must go +over and do some work." Florinda did not turn from the window. "Well, +so-long, boys," said Hawker, "I'll see you later." + +As the door slammed Pennoyer apologetically said, "Billie is a trifle +off his feed this morning." + +"What about?" asked Grief. + +"I don't know; but when I went to call him he was sitting deep in his +chair staring at some----" He looked at Florinda and became silent. + +"Staring at what?" asked Florinda, turning then from the window. + +Pennoyer seemed embarrassed. "Why, I don't know--nothing, I guess--I +couldn't see very well. I was only fooling." + +Florinda scanned his face suspiciously. "Staring at what?" she demanded +imperatively. + +"Nothing, I tell you!" shouted Pennoyer. + +Florinda looked at him, and wavered and debated. Presently she said, +softly: "Ah, go on, Penny. Tell me." + +"It wasn't anything at all, I say!" cried Pennoyer stoutly. "I was only +giving you a jolly. Sit down, Splutter, and hit a cigarette." + +She obeyed, but she continued to cast the dubious eye at Pennoyer. Once +she said to him privately: "Go on, Penny, tell me. I know it was +something from the way you are acting." + +"Oh, let up, Splutter, for heaven's sake!" + +"Tell me," beseeched Florinda. + +"No." + +"Tell me." + +"No." + +"Pl-e-a-se tell me." + +"No." + +"Oh, go on." + +"No." + +"Ah, what makes you so mean, Penny? You know I'd tell you, if it was the +other way about." + +"But it's none of my business, Splutter. I can't tell you something +which is Billie Hawker's private affair. If I did I would be a chump." + +"But I'll never say you told me. Go on." + +"No." + +"Pl-e-a-se tell me." + +"No." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + + +When Florinda had gone, Grief said, "Well, what was it?" Wrinkles looked +curiously from his drawing-board. + +Pennoyer lit his pipe and held it at the side of his mouth in the manner +of a deliberate man. At last he said, "It was two violets." + +"You don't say!" ejaculated Wrinkles. + +"Well, I'm hanged!" cried Grief. "Holding them in his hand and moping +over them, eh?" + +"Yes," responded Pennoyer. "Rather that way." + +"Well, I'm hanged!" said both Grief and Wrinkles. They grinned in a +pleased, urchin-like manner. "Say, who do you suppose she is? Somebody +he met this summer, no doubt. Would you ever think old Billie would get +into that sort of a thing? Well, I'll be gol-durned!" + +Ultimately Wrinkles said, "Well, it's his own business." This was spoken +in a tone of duty. + +"Of course it's his own business," retorted Grief. "But who would ever +think----" Again they grinned. + +When Hawker entered the den some minutes later he might have noticed +something unusual in the general demeanour. "Say, Grief, will you loan +me your---- What's up?" he asked. + +For answer they grinned at each other, and then grinned at him. + +"You look like a lot of Chessy cats," he told them. + +They grinned on. + +Apparently feeling unable to deal with these phenomena, he went at last +to the door. "Well, this is a fine exhibition," he said, standing with +his hand on the knob and regarding them. "Won election bets? Some good +old auntie just died? Found something new to pawn? No? Well, I can't +stand this. You resemble those fish they discover at deep sea. +Good-bye!" + +As he opened the door they cried out: "Hold on, Billie! Billie, look +here! Say, who is she?" + +"What?" + +"Who is she?" + +"Who is who?" + +They laughed and nodded. "Why, you know. She. Don't you understand? +She." + +"You talk like a lot of crazy men," said Hawker. "I don't know what you +mean." + +"Oh, you don't, eh? You don't? Oh, no! How about those violets you were +moping over this morning? Eh, old man! Oh, no, you don't know what we +mean! Oh, no! How about those violets, eh? How about 'em?" + +Hawker, with flushed and wrathful face, looked at Pennoyer. "Penny----" +But Grief and Wrinkles roared an interruption. "Oh, ho, Mr. Hawker! so +it's true, is it? It's true. You are a nice bird, you are. Well, you old +rascal! Durn your picture!" + +Hawker, menacing them once with his eyes, went away. They sat cackling. + +At noon, when he met Wrinkles in the corridor, he said: "Hey, Wrinkles, +come here for a minute, will you? Say, old man, I--I----" + +"What?" said Wrinkles. + +"Well, you know, I--I--of course, every man is likely to make an +accursed idiot of himself once in a while, and I----" + +"And you what?" asked Wrinkles. + +"Well, we are a kind of a band of hoodlums, you know, and I'm just +enough idiot to feel that I don't care to hear--don't care to +hear--well, her name used, you know." + +"Bless your heart," replied Wrinkles, "we haven't used her name. We +don't know her name. How could we use it?" + +"Well, I know," said Hawker. "But you understand what I mean, Wrinkles." + +"Yes, I understand what you mean," said Wrinkles, with dignity. "I don't +suppose you are any worse of a stuff than common. Still, I didn't know +that we were such outlaws." + +"Of course, I have overdone the thing," responded Hawker hastily. +"But--you ought to understand how I mean it, Wrinkles." + +After Wrinkles had thought for a time, he said: "Well, I guess I do. +All right. That goes." + +Upon entering the den, Wrinkles said, "You fellows have got to quit +guying Billie, do you hear?" + +"We?" cried Grief. "We've got to quit? What do you do?" + +"Well, I quit too." + +Pennoyer said: "Ah, ha! Billie has been jumping on you." + +"No, he didn't," maintained Wrinkles; "but he let me know it was--well, +rather a--rather a--sacred subject." Wrinkles blushed when the others +snickered. + +In the afternoon, as Hawker was going slowly down the stairs, he was +almost impaled upon the feather of a hat which, upon the head of a lithe +and rather slight girl, charged up at him through the gloom. + +"Hello, Splutter!" he cried. "You are in a hurry." + +"That you, Billie?" said the girl, peering, for the hallways of this old +building remained always in a dungeonlike darkness. + +"Yes, it is. Where are you going at such a headlong gait?" + +"Up to see the boys. I've got a bottle of wine and some--some pickles, +you know. I'm going to make them let me dine with them to-night. Coming +back, Billie?" + +"Why, no, I don't expect to." + +He moved then accidentally in front of the light that sifted through the +dull, gray panes of a little window. + +"Oh, cracky!" cried the girl; "how fine you are, Billie! Going to a +coronation?" + +"No," said Hawker, looking seriously over his collar and down at his +clothes. "Fact is--er--well, I've got to make a call." + +"A call--bless us! And are you really going to wear those gray gloves +you're holding there, Billie? Say, wait until you get around the corner. +They won't stand 'em on this street." + +"Oh, well," said Hawker, depreciating the gloves--"oh, well." + +The girl looked up at him. "Who you going to call on?" + +"Oh," said Hawker, "a friend." + +"Must be somebody most extraordinary, you look so dreadfully correct. +Come back, Billie, won't you? Come back and dine with us." + +"Why, I--I don't believe I can." + +"Oh, come on! It's fun when we all dine together. Won't you, Billie?" + +"Well, I----" + +"Oh, don't be so stupid!" The girl stamped her foot and flashed her eyes +at him angrily. + +"Well, I'll see--I will if I can--I can't tell----" He left her rather +precipitately. + +Hawker eventually appeared at a certain austere house where he rang the +bell with quite nervous fingers. + +But she was not at home. As he went down the steps his eyes were as +those of a man whose fortunes have tumbled upon him. As he walked down +the street he wore in some subtle way the air of a man who has been +grievously wronged. When he rounded the corner, his lips were set +strangely, as if he were a man seeking revenge. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + + +"It's just right," said Grief. + +"It isn't quite cool enough," said Wrinkles. + +"Well, I guess I know the proper temperature for claret." + +"Well, I guess you don't. If it was buttermilk, now, you would know, but +you can't tell anything about claret." + +Florinda ultimately decided the question. "It isn't quite cool enough," +she said, laying her hand on the bottle. "Put it on the window ledge, +Grief." + +"Hum! Splutter, I thought you knew more than----" + +"Oh, shut up!" interposed the busy Pennoyer from a remote corner. "Who +is going after the potato salad? That's what I want to know. Who is +going?" + +"Wrinkles," said Grief. + +"Grief," said Wrinkles. + +"There," said Pennoyer, coming forward and scanning a late work with an +eye of satisfaction. "There's the three glasses and the little tumbler; +and then, Grief, you will have to drink out of a mug." + +"I'll be double-dyed black if I will!" cried Grief. "I wouldn't drink +claret out of a mug to save my soul from being pinched!" + +"You duffer, you talk like a bloomin' British chump on whom the sun +never sets! What do you want?" + +"Well, there's enough without that--what's the matter with you? Three +glasses and the little tumbler." + +"Yes, but if Billie Hawker comes----" + +"Well, let him drink out of the mug, then. He----" + +"No, he won't," said Florinda suddenly. "I'll take the mug myself." + +"All right, Splutter," rejoined Grief meekly. "I'll keep the mug. But, +still, I don't see why Billie Hawker----" + +"I shall take the mug," reiterated Florinda firmly. + +"But I don't see why----" + +"Let her alone, Grief," said Wrinkles. "She has decided that it is +heroic. You can't move her now." + +"Well, who is going for the potato salad?" cried Pennoyer again. "That's +what I want to know." + +"Wrinkles," said Grief. + +"Grief," said Wrinkles. + +"Do you know," remarked Florinda, raising her head from where she had +been toiling over the _spaghetti_, "I don't care so much for Billie +Hawker as I did once?" Her sleeves were rolled above the elbows of her +wonderful arms, and she turned from the stove and poised a fork as if +she had been smitten at her task with this inspiration. + +There was a short silence, and then Wrinkles said politely, "No." + +"No," continued Florinda, "I really don't believe I do." She suddenly +started. "Listen! Isn't that him coming now?" + +The dull trample of a step could be heard in some distant corridor, but +it died slowly to silence. + +"I thought that might be him," she said, turning to the _spaghetti_ +again. + +"I hope the old Indian comes," said Pennoyer, "but I don't believe he +will. Seems to me he must be going to see----" + +"Who?" asked Florinda. + +"Well, you know, Hollanden and he usually dine together when they are +both in town." + +Florinda looked at Pennoyer. "I know, Penny. You must have thought I was +remarkably clever not to understand all your blundering. But I don't +care so much. Really I don't." + +"Of course not," assented Pennoyer. + +"Really I don't." + +"Of course not." + +"Listen!" exclaimed Grief, who was near the door. "There he comes now." +Somebody approached, whistling an air from "Traviata," which rang loud +and clear, and low and muffled, as the whistler wound among the +intricate hallways. This air was as much a part of Hawker as his coat. +The _spaghetti_ had arrived at a critical stage. Florinda gave it her +complete attention. + +When Hawker opened the door he ceased whistling and said gruffly, +"Hello!" + +"Just the man!" said Grief. "Go after the potato salad, will you, +Billie? There's a good boy! Wrinkles has refused." + +"He can't carry the salad with those gloves," interrupted Florinda, +raising her eyes from her work and contemplating them with displeasure. + +"Hang the gloves!" cried Hawker, dragging them from his hands and +hurling them at the divan. "What's the matter with you, Splutter?" + +Pennoyer said, "My, what a temper you are in, Billie!" + +"I am," replied Hawker. "I feel like an Apache. Where do you get this +accursed potato salad?" + +"In Second Avenue. You know where. At the old place." + +"No, I don't!" snapped Hawker. + +"Why----" + +"Here," said Florinda, "I'll go." She had already rolled down her +sleeves and was arraying herself in her hat and jacket. + +"No, you won't," said Hawker, filled with wrath. "I'll go myself." + +"We can both go, Billie, if you are so bent," replied the girl in a +conciliatory voice. + +"Well, come on, then. What are you standing there for?" + +When these two had departed, Wrinkles said: "Lordie! What's wrong with +Billie?" + +"He's been discussing art with some pot-boiler," said Grief, speaking +as if this was the final condition of human misery. + +"No, sir," said Pennoyer. "It's something connected with the now +celebrated violets." + +Out in the corridor Florinda said, "What--what makes you so ugly, +Billie?" + +"Why, I am not ugly, am I?" + +"Yes, you are--ugly as anything." + +Probably he saw a grievance in her eyes, for he said, "Well, I don't +want to be ugly." His tone seemed tender. The halls were intensely dark, +and the girl placed her hand on his arm. As they rounded a turn in the +stairs a straying lock of her hair brushed against his temple. "Oh!" +said Florinda, in a low voice. + +"We'll get some more claret," observed Hawker musingly. "And some cognac +for the coffee. And some cigarettes. Do you think of anything more, +Splutter?" + +As they came from the shop of the illustrious purveyors of potato salad +in Second Avenue, Florinda cried anxiously, "Here, Billie, you let me +carry that!" + +"What infernal nonsense!" said Hawker, flushing. "Certainly not!" + +"Well," protested Florinda, "it might soil your gloves somehow." + +"In heaven's name, what if it does? Say, young woman, do you think I am +one of these cholly boys?" + +"No, Billie; but then, you know----" + +"Well, if you don't take me for some kind of a Willie, give us peace on +this blasted glove business!" + +"I didn't mean----" + +"Well, you've been intimating that I've got the only pair of gray gloves +in the universe, but you are wrong. There are several pairs, and these +need not be preserved as unique in history." + +"They're not gray. They're----" + +"They are gray! I suppose your distinguished ancestors in Ireland did +not educate their families in the matter of gloves, and so you are not +expected to----" + +"Billie!" + +"You are not expected to believe that people wear gloves only in cold +weather, and then you expect to see mittens." + +On the stairs, in the darkness, he suddenly exclaimed, "Here, look out, +or you'll fall!" He reached for her arm, but she evaded him. Later he +said again: "Look out, girl! What makes you stumble around so? Here, +give me the bottle of wine. I can carry it all right. There--now can you +manage?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + + +"Penny," said Grief, looking across the table at his friend, "if a man +thinks a heap of two violets, how much would he think of a thousand +violets?" + +"Two into a thousand goes five hundred times, you fool!" said Pennoyer. +"I would answer your question if it were not upon a forbidden subject." + +In the distance Wrinkles and Florinda were making Welsh rarebits. + +"Hold your tongues!" said Hawker. "Barbarians!" + +"Grief," said Pennoyer, "if a man loves a woman better than the whole +universe, how much does he love the whole universe?" + +"Gawd knows," said Grief piously. "Although it ill befits me to answer +your question." + +Wrinkles and Florinda came with the Welsh rarebits, very triumphant. +"There," said Florinda, "soon as these are finished I must go home. It +is after eleven o'clock.--Pour the ale, Grief." + +At a later time, Purple Sanderson entered from the world. He hung up his +hat and cast a look of proper financial dissatisfaction at the remnants +of the feast. "Who has been----" + +"Before you breathe, Purple, you graceless scum, let me tell you that we +will stand no reference to the two violets here," said Pennoyer. + +"What the----" + +"Oh, that's all right, Purple," said Grief, "but you were going to say +something about the two violets, right then. Weren't you, now, you old +bat?" + +Sanderson grinned expectantly. "What's the row?" said he. + +"No row at all," they told him. "Just an agreement to keep you from +chattering obstinately about the two violets." + +"What two violets?" + +"Have a rarebit, Purple," advised Wrinkles, "and never mind those +maniacs." + +"Well, what is this business about two violets?" + +"Oh, it's just some dream. They gibber at anything." + +"I think I know," said Florinda, nodding. "It is something that concerns +Billie Hawker." + +Grief and Pennoyer scoffed, and Wrinkles said: "You know nothing about +it, Splutter. It doesn't concern Billie Hawker at all." + +"Well, then, what is he looking sideways for?" cried Florinda. + +Wrinkles reached for his guitar, and played a serenade, "The silver moon +is shining----" + +"Dry up!" said Pennoyer. + +Then Florinda cried again, "What does he look sideways for?" + +Pennoyer and Grief giggled at the imperturbable Hawker, who destroyed +rarebit in silence. + +"It's you, is it, Billie?" said Sanderson. "You are in this two-violet +business?" + +"I don't know what they're talking about," replied Hawker. + +"Don't you, honestly?" asked Florinda. + +"Well, only a little." + +"There!" said Florinda, nodding again. "I knew he was in it." + +"He isn't in it at all," said Pennoyer and Grief. + +Later, when the cigarettes had become exhausted, Hawker volunteered to +go after a further supply, and as he arose, a question seemed to come to +the edge of Florinda's lips and pend there. The moment that the door was +closed upon him she demanded, "What is that about the two violets?" + +"Nothing at all," answered Pennoyer, apparently much aggrieved. He sat +back with an air of being a fortress of reticence. + +"Oh, go on--tell me! Penny, I think you are very mean.--Grief, you tell +me!" + + "The silver moon is shining; + Oh, come, my love, to me! + My heart----" + +"Be still, Wrinkles, will you?--What was it, Grief? Oh, go ahead and +tell me!" + +"What do you want to know for?" cried Grief, vastly exasperated. "You've +got more blamed curiosity---- It isn't anything at all, I keep saying to +you." + +"Well, I know it is," said Florinda sullenly, "or you would tell me." + +When Hawker brought the cigarettes, Florinda smoked one, and then +announced, "Well, I must go now." + +"Who is going to take you home, Splutter?" + +"Oh, anyone," replied Florinda. + +"I tell you what," said Grief, "we'll throw some poker hands, and the +one who wins will have the distinguished honour of conveying Miss +Splutter to her home and mother." + +Pennoyer and Wrinkles speedily routed the dishes to one end of the +table. Grief's fingers spun the halves of a pack of cards together with +the pleased eagerness of a good player. The faces grew solemn with the +gambling solemnity. "Now, you Indians," said Grief, dealing, "a draw, +you understand, and then a show-down." + +Florinda leaned forward in her chair until it was poised on two legs. +The cards of Purple Sanderson and of Hawker were faced toward her. +Sanderson was gravely regarding two pair--aces and queens. Hawker +scanned a little pair of sevens. "They draw, don't they?" she said to +Grief. + +"Certainly," said Grief. "How many, Wrink?" + +"Four," replied Wrinkles, plaintively. + +"Gimme three," said Pennoyer. + +"Gimme one," said Sanderson. + +"Gimme three," said Hawker. When he picked up his hand again Florinda's +chair was tilted perilously. She saw another seven added to the little +pair. Sanderson's draw had not assisted him. + +"Same to the dealer," said Grief. "What you got, Wrink?" + +"Nothing," said Wrinkles, exhibiting it face upward on the table. +"Good-bye, Florinda." + +"Well, I've got two small pair," ventured Pennoyer hopefully. "Beat +'em?" + +"No good," said Sanderson. "Two pair--aces up." + +"No good," said Hawker. "Three sevens." + +"Beats me," said Grief. "Billie, you are the fortunate man. Heaven guide +you in Third Avenue!" + +Florinda had gone to the window. "Who won?" she asked, wheeling about +carelessly. + +"Billie Hawker." + +"What! Did he?" she said in surprise. + +"Never mind, Splutter. I'll win sometime," said Pennoyer. "Me too," +cried Grief. "Good night, old girl!" said Wrinkles. They crowded in the +doorway. "Hold on to Billie. Remember the two steps going up," Pennoyer +called intelligently into the Stygian blackness. "Can you see all +right?" + + * * * * * + +Florinda lived in a flat with fire-escapes written all over the front of +it. The street in front was being repaired. It had been said by imbecile +residents of the vicinity that the paving was never allowed to remain +down for a sufficient time to be invalided by the tramping millions, but +that it was kept perpetually stacked in little mountains through the +unceasing vigilance of a virtuous and heroic city government, which +insisted that everything should be repaired. The alderman for the +district had sometimes asked indignantly of his fellow-members why this +street had not been repaired, and they, aroused, had at once ordered it +to be repaired. Moreover, shopkeepers, whose stables were adjacent, +placed trucks and other vehicles strategically in the darkness. Into +this tangled midnight Hawker conducted Florinda. The great avenue behind +them was no more than a level stream of yellow light, and the distant +merry bells might have been boats floating down it. Grim loneliness hung +over the uncouth shapes in the street which was being repaired. + +"Billie," said the girl suddenly, "what makes you so mean to me?" + +A peaceful citizen emerged from behind a pile of _débris_, but he might +not have been a peaceful citizen, so the girl clung to Hawker. + +"Why, I'm not mean to you, am I?" + +"Yes," she answered. As they stood on the steps of the flat of +innumerable fire-escapes she slowly turned and looked up at him. Her +face was of a strange pallour in this darkness, and her eyes were as +when the moon shines in a lake of the hills. + +He returned her glance. "Florinda!" he cried, as if enlightened, and +gulping suddenly at something in his throat. The girl studied the steps +and moved from side to side, as do the guilty ones in country +schoolhouses. Then she went slowly into the flat. + +There was a little red lamp hanging on a pile of stones to warn people +that the street was being repaired. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + + +"I'll get my check from the Gamin on Saturday," said Grief. "They bought +that string of comics." + +"Well, then, we'll arrange the present funds to last until Saturday +noon," said Wrinkles. "That gives us quite a lot. We can have a _table +d'hôte_ on Friday night." + +However, the cashier of the Gamin office looked under his respectable +brass wiring and said: "Very sorry, Mr.--er--Warwickson, but our pay-day +is Monday. Come around any time after ten." + +"Oh, it doesn't matter," said Grief. + +When he plunged into the den his visage flamed with rage. "Don't get my +check until Monday morning, any time after ten!" he yelled, and flung a +portfolio of mottled green into the danger zone of the casts. + +"Thunder!" said Pennoyer, sinking at once into a profound despair + +"Monday morning, any time after ten," murmured Wrinkles, in astonishment +and sorrow. + +While Grief marched to and fro threatening the furniture, Pennoyer and +Wrinkles allowed their under jaws to fall, and remained as men smitten +between the eyes by the god of calamity. + +"Singular thing!" muttered Pennoyer at last. "You get so frightfully +hungry as soon as you learn that there are no more meals coming." + +"Oh, well----" said Wrinkles. He took up his guitar. + + Oh, some folks say dat a niggah won' steal, + 'Way down yondeh in d' cohn'-fiel'; + But Ah caught two in my cohn'-fiel', + Way down yondeh in d' cohn'-fiel'. + +"Oh, let up!" said Grief, as if unwilling to be moved from his despair. + +"Oh, let up!" said Pennoyer, as if he disliked the voice and the ballad. + +In his studio, Hawker sat braced nervously forward on a little stool +before his tall Dutch easel. Three sketches lay on the floor near him, +and he glared at them constantly while painting at the large canvas on +the easel. + +He seemed engaged in some kind of a duel. His hair dishevelled, his eyes +gleaming, he was in a deadly scuffle. In the sketches was the landscape +of heavy blue, as if seen through powder-smoke, and all the skies burned +red. There was in these notes a sinister quality of hopelessness, +eloquent of a defeat, as if the scene represented the last hour on a +field of disastrous battle. Hawker seemed attacking with this picture +something fair and beautiful of his own life, a possession of his mind, +and he did it fiercely, mercilessly, formidably. His arm moved with the +energy of a strange wrath. He might have been thrusting with a sword. + +There was a knock at the door. "Come in." Pennoyer entered sheepishly. +"Well?" cried Hawker, with an echo of savagery in his voice. He turned +from the canvas precisely as one might emerge from a fight. "Oh!" he +said, perceiving Pennoyer. The glow in his eyes slowly changed. "What is +it, Penny?" + +"Billie," said Pennoyer, "Grief was to get his check to-day, but they +put him off until Monday, and so, you know--er--well----" + +"Oh!" said Hawker again. + +When Pennoyer had gone Hawker sat motionless before his work. He stared +at the canvas in a meditation so profound that it was probably +unconscious of itself. + +The light from above his head slanted more and more toward the east. + +Once he arose and lighted a pipe. He returned to the easel and stood +staring with his hands in his pockets. He moved like one in a sleep. +Suddenly the gleam shot into his eyes again. He dropped to the stool and +grabbed a brush. At the end of a certain long, tumultuous period he +clinched his pipe more firmly in his teeth and puffed strongly. The +thought might have occurred to him that it was not alight, for he looked +at it with a vague, questioning glance. There came another knock at the +door. "Go to the devil!" he shouted, without turning his head. + +Hollanden crossed the corridor then to the den. + +"Hi, there, Hollie! Hello, boy! Just the fellow we want to see. Come +in--sit down--hit a pipe. Say, who was the girl Billie Hawker went mad +over this summer?" + +"Blazes!" said Hollanden, recovering slowly from this onslaught. +"Who--what--how did you Indians find it out?" + +"Oh, we tumbled!" they cried in delight, "we tumbled." + +"There!" said Hollanden, reproaching himself. "And I thought you were +such a lot of blockheads." + +"Oh, we tumbled!" they cried again in their ecstasy. "But who is she? +That's the point." + +"Well, she was a girl." + +"Yes, go on." + +"A New York girl." + +"Yes." + +"A perfectly stunning New York girl." + +"Yes. Go ahead." + +"A perfectly stunning New York girl of a very wealthy and rather +old-fashioned family." + +"Well, I'll be shot! You don't mean it! She is practically seated on top +of the Matterhorn. Poor old Billie!" + +"Not at all," said Hollanden composedly. + +It was a common habit of Purple Sanderson to call attention at night to +the resemblance of the den to some little ward in a hospital. Upon this +night, when Sanderson and Grief were buried in slumber, Pennoyer moved +restlessly. "Wrink!" he called softly into the darkness in the direction +of the divan which was secretly a coal-box. + +"What?" said Wrinkles in a surly voice. His mind had evidently been +caught at the threshold of sleep. + +"Do you think Florinda cares much for Billie Hawker?" + +Wrinkles fretted through some oaths. "How in thunder do I know?" The +divan creaked as he turned his face to the wall. + +"Well----" muttered Pennoyer. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + + +The harmony of summer sunlight on leaf and blade of green was not known +to the two windows, which looked forth at an obviously endless building +of brownstone about which there was the poetry of a prison. Inside, +great folds of lace swept down in orderly cascades, as water trained to +fall mathematically. The colossal chandelier, gleaming like a Siamese +headdress, caught the subtle flashes from unknown places. + +Hawker heard a step and the soft swishing of a woman's dress. He turned +toward the door swiftly, with a certain dramatic impulsiveness. But when +she entered the room he said, "How delighted I am to see you again!" + +She had said, "Why, Mr. Hawker, it was so charming in you to come!" + +It did not appear that Hawker's tongue could wag to his purpose. The +girl seemed in her mind to be frantically shuffling her pack of social +receipts and finding none of them made to meet this situation. Finally, +Hawker said that he thought Hearts at War was a very good play. + +"Did you?" she said in surprise. "I thought it much like the others." + +"Well, so did I," he cried hastily--"the same figures moving around in +the mud of modern confusion. I really didn't intend to say that I liked +it. Fact is, meeting you rather moved me out of my mental track." + +"Mental track?" she said. "I didn't know clever people had mental +tracks. I thought it was a privilege of the theologians." + +"Who told you I was clever?" he demanded. + +"Why," she said, opening her eyes wider, "nobody." + +Hawker smiled and looked upon her with gratitude. "Of course, nobody. +There couldn't be such an idiot. I am sure you should be astonished to +learn that I believed such an imbecile existed. But----" + +"Oh!" she said. + +"But I think you might have spoken less bluntly." + +"Well," she said, after wavering for a time, "you are clever, aren't +you?" + +"Certainly," he answered reassuringly. + +"Well, then?" she retorted, with triumph in her tone. And this +interrogation was apparently to her the final victorious argument. + +At his discomfiture Hawker grinned. + +"You haven't asked news of Stanley," he said. "Why don't you ask news of +Stanley?" + +"Oh! and how was he?" + +"The last I saw of him he stood down at the end of the pasture--the +pasture, you know--wagging his tail in blissful anticipation of an +invitation to come with me, and when it finally dawned upon him that he +was not to receive it, he turned and went back toward the house 'like a +man suddenly stricken with age,' as the story-tellers eloquently say. +Poor old dog!" + +"And you left him?" she said reproachfully. Then she asked, "Do you +remember how he amused you playing with the ants at the falls?" + +"No." + +"Why, he did. He pawed at the moss, and you sat there laughing. I +remember it distinctly." + +"You remember distinctly? Why, I thought--well, your back was turned, +you know. Your gaze was fixed upon something before you, and you were +utterly lost to the rest of the world. You could not have known if +Stanley pawed the moss and I laughed. So, you see, you are mistaken. As +a matter of fact, I utterly deny that Stanley pawed the moss or that I +laughed, or that any ants appeared at the falls at all." + +"I have always said that you should have been a Chinese soldier of +fortune," she observed musingly. "Your daring and ingenuity would be +prized by the Chinese." + +"There are innumerable tobacco jars in China," he said, measuring the +advantages. "Moreover, there is no perspective. You don't have to walk +two miles to see a friend. No. He is always there near you, so that you +can't move a chair without hitting your distant friend. You----" + +"Did Hollie remain as attentive as ever to the Worcester girls?" + +"Yes, of course, as attentive as ever. He dragged me into all manner of +tennis games----" + +"Why, I thought you loved to play tennis?" + +"Oh, well," said Hawker, "I did until you left." + +"My sister has gone to the park with the children. I know she will be +vexed when she finds that you have called." + +Ultimately Hawker said, "Do you remember our ride behind my father's +oxen?" + +"No," she answered; "I had forgotten it completely. Did we ride behind +your father's oxen?" + +After a moment he said: "That remark would be prized by the Chinese. We +did. And you most graciously professed to enjoy it, which earned my deep +gratitude and admiration. For no one knows better than I," he added +meekly, "that it is no great comfort or pleasure to ride behind my +father's oxen." + +She smiled retrospectively. "Do you remember how the people on the porch +hurried to the railing?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + + +Near the door the stout proprietress sat intrenched behind the cash-box +in a Parisian manner. She looked with practical amiability at her +guests, who dined noisily and with great fire, discussing momentous +problems furiously, making wide, maniacal gestures through the cigarette +smoke. Meanwhile the little handful of waiters ran to and fro wildly. +Imperious and importunate cries rang at them from all directions. +"Gustave! Adolphe!" Their faces expressed a settled despair. They +answered calls, commands, oaths in a semi-distraction, fleeting among +the tables as if pursued by some dodging animal. Their breaths came in +gasps. If they had been convict labourers they could not have surveyed +their positions with countenances of more unspeakable injury. Withal, +they carried incredible masses of dishes and threaded their ways with +skill. They served people with such speed and violence that it often +resembled a personal assault. They struck two blows at a table and left +there a knife and fork. Then came the viands in a volley. The clatter of +this business was loud and bewilderingly rapid, like the gallop of a +thousand horses. + +In a remote corner a band of mandolins and guitars played the long, +sweeping, mad melody of a Spanish waltz. It seemed to go tingling to the +hearts of many of the diners. Their eyes glittered with enthusiasm, with +abandon, with deviltry. They swung their heads from side to side in +rhythmic movement. High in air curled the smoke from the innumerable +cigarettes. The long, black claret bottles were in clusters upon the +tables. At an end of the hall two men with maudlin grins sang the waltz +uproariously, but always a trifle belated. + +An unsteady person, leaning back in his chair to murmur swift +compliments to a woman at another table, suddenly sprawled out upon the +floor. He scrambled to his feet, and, turning to the escort of the +woman, heatedly blamed him for the accident. They exchanged a series of +tense, bitter insults, which spatted back and forth between them like +pellets. People arose from their chairs and stretched their necks. The +musicians stood in a body, their faces turned with expressions of keen +excitement toward this quarrel, but their fingers still twinkling over +their instruments, sending into the middle of this turmoil the +passionate, mad, Spanish music. The proprietor of the place came in +agitation and plunged headlong into the argument, where he thereafter +appeared as a frantic creature harried to the point of insanity, for +they buried him at once in long, vociferous threats, explanations, +charges, every form of declamation known to their voices. The music, the +noise of the galloping horses, the voices of the brawlers, gave the +whole thing the quality of war. + +There were two men in the _café_ who seemed to be tranquil. Hollanden +carefully stacked one lump of sugar upon another in the middle of his +saucer and poured cognac over them. He touched a match to the cognac and +the blue and yellow flames eddied in the saucer. "I wonder what those +two fools are bellowing at?" he said, turning about irritably. + +"Hanged if I know!" muttered Hawker in reply. "This place makes me +weary, anyhow. Hear the blooming din!" + +"What's the matter?" said Hollanden. "You used to say this was the one +natural, the one truly Bohemian, resort in the city. You swore by it." + +"Well, I don't like it so much any more." + +"Ho!" cried Hollanden, "you're getting correct--that's it exactly. You +will become one of these intensely---- Look, Billie, the little one is +going to punch him!" + +"No, he isn't. They never do," said Hawker morosely. "Why did you bring +me here to-night, Hollie?" + +"I? I bring you? Good heavens, I came as a concession to you! What are +you talking about?--Hi! the little one is going to punch him, sure!" + +He gave the scene his undivided attention for a moment; then he turned +again: "You will become correct. I know you will. I have been watching. +You are about to achieve a respectability that will make a stone saint +blush for himself. What's the matter with you? You act as if you thought +falling in love with a girl was a most extraordinary circumstance.--I +wish they would put those people out.--Of course I know that you---- +There! The little one has swiped at him at last!" + +After a time he resumed his oration. "Of course, I know that you are not +reformed in the matter of this uproar and this remarkable consumption of +bad wine. It is not that. It is a fact that there are indications that +some other citizen was fortunate enough to possess your napkin before +you; and, moreover, you are sure that you would hate to be caught by +your correct friends with any such _consommé_ in front of you as we had +to-night. You have got an eye suddenly for all kinds of gilt. You are in +the way of becoming a most unbearable person.--Oh, look! the little one +and the proprietor are having it now.--You are in the way of becoming a +most unbearable person. Presently many of your friends will not be fine +enough.--In heaven's name, why don't they throw him out? Are you going +to howl and gesticulate there all night?" + +"Well," said Hawker, "a man would be a fool if he did like this dinner." + +"Certainly. But what an immaterial part in the glory of this joint is +the dinner! Who cares about dinner? No one comes here to eat; that's +what you always claimed.--Well, there, at last they are throwing him +out. I hope he lands on his head.--Really, you know, Billie, it is such +a fine thing being in love that one is sure to be detestable to the rest +of the world, and that is the reason they created a proverb to the other +effect. You want to look out." + +"You talk like a blasted old granny!" said Hawker. "Haven't changed at +all. This place is all right, only----" + +"You are gone," interrupted Hollanden in a sad voice. "It is very +plain--you are gone." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + + +The proprietor of the place, having pushed to the street the little man, +who may have been the most vehement, came again and resumed the +discussion with the remainder of the men of war. Many of these had +volunteered, and they were very enduring. + +"Yes, you are gone," said Hollanden, with the sobriety of graves in his +voice. "You are gone.--Hi!" he cried, "there is Lucian Pontiac.--Hi, +Pontiac! Sit down here." + +A man with a tangle of hair, and with that about his mouth which showed +that he had spent many years in manufacturing a proper modesty with +which to bear his greatness, came toward them, smiling. + +"Hello, Pontiac!" said Hollanden. "Here's another great painter. Do you +know Mr. Hawker?--Mr. William Hawker--Mr. Pontiac." + +"Mr. Hawker--delighted," said Pontiac. "Although I have not known you +personally, I can assure you that I have long been a great admirer of +your abilities." + +The proprietor of the place and the men of war had at length agreed to +come to an amicable understanding. They drank liquors, while each +firmly, but now silently, upheld his dignity. + +"Charming place," said Pontiac. "So thoroughly Parisian in spirit. And +from time to time, Mr. Hawker, I use one of your models. Must say she +has the best arm and wrist in the universe. Stunning figure--stunning!" + +"You mean Florinda?" said Hawker. + +"Yes, that's the name. Very fine girl. Lunches with me from time to time +and chatters so volubly. That's how I learned you posed her +occasionally. If the models didn't gossip we would never know what +painters were addicted to profanity. Now that old Thorndike--he told me +you swore like a drill-sergeant if the model winked a finger at the +critical time. Very fine girl, Florinda. And honest, too--honest as the +devil. Very curious thing. Of course honesty among the girl models is +very common, very common--quite universal thing, you know--but then it +always strikes me as being very curious, very curious. I've been much +attracted by your girl Florinda." + +"My girl?" said Hawker. + +"Well, she always speaks of you in a proprietary way, you know. And then +she considers that she owes you some kind of obedience and allegiance +and devotion. I remember last week I said to her: 'You can go now. Come +again Friday.' But she said: 'I don't think I can come on Friday. Billie +Hawker is home now, and he may want me then.' Said I: 'The devil take +Billie Hawker! He hasn't engaged you for Friday, has he? Well, then, I +engage you now.' But she shook her head. No, she couldn't come on +Friday. Billie Hawker was home, and he might want her any day. 'Well, +then,' said I, 'you have my permission to do as you please, since you +are resolved upon it anyway. Go to your Billie Hawker.' Did you need her +on Friday?" + +"No," said Hawker. + +"Well, then, the minx, I shall scold her. Stunning figure--stunning! It +was only last week that old Charley Master said to me mournfully: +'There are no more good models. Great Scott! not a one.' 'You're 'way +off, my boy,' I said; 'there is one good model,' and then I named your +girl. I mean the girl who claims to be yours." + +"Poor little beggar!" said Hollanden. + +"Who?" said Pontiac. + +"Florinda," answered Hollanden. "I suppose----" + +Pontiac interrupted. "Oh, of course, it is too bad. Everything is too +bad. My dear sir, nothing is so much to be regretted as the universe. +But this Florinda is such a sturdy young soul! The world is against her, +but, bless your heart, she is equal to the battle. She is strong in the +manner of a little child. Why, you don't know her. She----" + +"I know her very well." + +"Well, perhaps you do, but for my part I think you don't appreciate her +formidable character and stunning figure--stunning!" + +"Damn it!" said Hawker to his coffee cup, which he had accidentally +overturned. + +"Well," resumed Pontiac, "she is a stunning model, and I think, Mr. +Hawker, you are to be envied." + +"Eh?" said Hawker. + +"I wish I could inspire my models with such obedience and devotion. Then +I would not be obliged to rail at them for being late, and have to +badger them for not showing up at all. She has a beautiful +figure--beautiful." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + + +When Hawker went again to the house of the great window he looked first +at the colossal chandelier, and, perceiving that it had not moved, he +smiled in a certain friendly and familiar way. + +"It must be a fine thing," said the girl dreamily. "I always feel +envious of that sort of life." + +"What sort of life?" + +"Why--I don't know exactly; but there must be a great deal of freedom +about it. I went to a studio tea once, and----" + +"A studio tea! Merciful heavens---- Go on." + +"Yes, a studio tea. Don't you like them? To be sure, we didn't know +whether the man could paint very well, and I suppose you think it is an +imposition for anyone who is not a great painter to give a tea." + +"Go on." + +"Well, he had the dearest little Japanese servants, and some of the cups +came from Algiers, and some from Turkey, and some from---- What's the +matter?" + +"Go on. I'm not interrupting you." + +"Well, that's all; excepting that everything was charming in colour, and +I thought what a lazy, beautiful life the man must lead, lounging in +such a studio, smoking monogrammed cigarettes, and remarking how badly +all the other men painted." + +"Very fascinating. But----" + +"Oh! you are going to ask if he could draw. I'm sure I don't know, but +the tea that he gave was charming." + +"I was on the verge of telling you something about artist life, but if +you have seen a lot of draperies and drunk from a cup of Algiers, you +know all about it." + +"You, then, were going to make it something very terrible, and tell how +young painters struggled, and all that." + +"No, not exactly. But listen: I suppose there is an aristocracy who, +whether they paint well or paint ill, certainly do give charming teas, +as you say, and all other kinds of charming affairs too; but when I +hear people talk as if that was the whole life, it makes my hair rise, +you know, because I am sure that as they get to know me better and +better they will see how I fall short of that kind of an existence, and +I shall probably take a great tumble in their estimation. They might +even conclude that I can not paint, which would be very unfair, because +I can paint, you know." + +"Well, proceed to arrange my point of view, so that you sha'n't tumble +in my estimation when I discover that you don't lounge in a studio, +smoke monogrammed cigarettes, and remark how badly the other men paint." + +"That's it. That's precisely what I wish to do." + +"Begin." + +"Well, in the first place----" + +"In the first place--what?" + +"Well, I started to study when I was very poor, you understand. Look +here! I'm telling you these things because I want you to know, somehow. +It isn't that I'm not ashamed of it. Well, I began very poor, and I--as +a matter of fact--I--well, I earned myself over half the money for my +studying, and the other half I bullied and badgered and beat out of my +poor old dad. I worked pretty hard in Paris, and I returned here +expecting to become a great painter at once. I didn't, though. In fact, +I had my worst moments then. It lasted for some years. Of course, the +faith and endurance of my father were by this time worn to a +shadow--this time, when I needed him the most. However, things got a +little better and a little better, until I found that by working quite +hard I could make what was to me a fair income. That's where I am now, +too." + +"Why are you so ashamed of this story?" + +"The poverty." + +"Poverty isn't anything to be ashamed of." + +"Great heavens! Have you the temerity to get off that old nonsensical +remark? Poverty is everything to be ashamed of. Did you ever see a +person not ashamed of his poverty? Certainly not. Of course, when a man +gets very rich he will brag so loudly of the poverty of his youth that +one would never suppose that he was once ashamed of it. But he was." + +"Well, anyhow, you shouldn't be ashamed of the story you have just told +me." + +"Why not? Do you refuse to allow me the great right of being like other +men?" + +"I think it was--brave, you know." + +"Brave? Nonsense! Those things are not brave. Impression to that effect +created by the men who have been through the mill for the greater glory +of the men who have been through the mill." + +"I don't like to hear you talk that way. It sounds wicked, you know." + +"Well, it certainly wasn't heroic. I can remember distinctly that there +was not one heroic moment." + +"No, but it was--it was----" + +"It was what?" + +"Well, somehow I like it, you know." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + + +"There's three of them," said Grief in a hoarse whisper. + +"Four, I tell you!" said Wrinkles in a low, excited tone. + +"Four," breathed Pennoyer with decision. + +They held fierce pantomimic argument. From the corridor came sounds of +rustling dresses and rapid feminine conversation. + +Grief had kept his ear to the panel of the door. His hand was stretched +back, warning the others to silence. Presently he turned his head and +whispered, "Three." + +"Four," whispered Pennoyer and Wrinkles. + +"Hollie is there, too," whispered Grief. "Billie is unlocking the door. +Now they're going in. Hear them cry out, 'Oh, isn't it lovely!' Jinks!" +He began a noiseless dance about the room. "Jinks! Don't I wish I had a +big studio and a little reputation! Wouldn't I have my swell friends +come to see me, and wouldn't I entertain 'em!" He adopted a descriptive +manner, and with his forefinger indicated various spaces of the wall. +"Here is a little thing I did in Brittany. Peasant woman in sabots. This +brown spot here is the peasant woman, and those two white things are the +sabots. Peasant woman in sabots, don't you see? Women in Brittany, of +course, all wear sabots, you understand. Convenience of the painters. I +see you are looking at that little thing I did in Morocco. Ah, you +admire it? Well, not so bad--not so bad. Arab smoking pipe, squatting in +doorway. This long streak here is the pipe. Clever, you say? Oh, thanks! +You are too kind. Well, all Arabs do that, you know. Sole occupation. +Convenience of the painters. Now, this little thing here I did in +Venice. Grand Canal, you know. Gondolier leaning on his oar. Convenience +of the painters. Oh, yes, American subjects are well enough, but hard to +find, you know--hard to find. Morocco, Venice, Brittany, Holland--all +oblige with colour, you know--quaint form--all that. We are so hideously +modern over here; and, besides, nobody has painted us much. How the +devil can I paint America when nobody has done it before me? My dear +sir, are you aware that that would be originality? Good heavens! we are +not æsthetic, you understand. Oh, yes, some good mind comes along and +understands a thing and does it, and after that it is æsthetic. Yes, of +course, but then--well---- Now, here is a little Holland thing of mine; +it----" + +The others had evidently not been heeding him. "Shut up!" said Wrinkles +suddenly. "Listen!" Grief paused his harangue and they sat in silence, +their lips apart, their eyes from time to time exchanging eloquent +messages. A dulled melodious babble came from Hawker's studio. + +At length Pennoyer murmured wistfully, "I would like to see her." + +Wrinkles started noiselessly to his feet. "Well, I tell you she's a +peach. I was going up the steps, you know, with a loaf of bread under my +arm, when I chanced to look up the street and saw Billie and Hollanden +coming with four of them." + +"Three," said Grief. + +"Four; and I tell you I scattered. One of the two with Billie was a +peach--a peach." + +"O, Lord!" groaned the others enviously. "Billie's in luck." + +"How do you know?" said Wrinkles. "Billie is a blamed good fellow, but +that doesn't say she will care for him--more likely that she won't." + +They sat again in silence, grinning, and listening to the murmur of +voices. + +There came the sound of a step in the hallway. It ceased at a point +opposite the door of Hawker's studio. Presently it was heard again. +Florinda entered the den. "Hello!" she cried, "who is over in Billie's +place? I was just going to knock----" + +They motioned at her violently. "Sh!" they whispered. Their countenances +were very impressive. + +"What's the matter with you fellows?" asked Florinda in her ordinary +tone; whereupon they made gestures of still greater wildness. "S-s-sh!" + +Florinda lowered her voice properly. "Who is over there?" + +"Some swells," they whispered. + +Florinda bent her head. Presently she gave a little start. "Who is over +there?" Her voice became a tone of deep awe. "She?" + +Wrinkles and Grief exchanged a swift glance. Pennoyer said gruffly, "Who +do you mean?" + +"Why," said Florinda, "you know. She. The--the girl that Billie likes." + +Pennoyer hesitated for a moment and then said wrathfully: "Of course she +is! Who do you suppose?" + +"Oh!" said Florinda. She took a seat upon the divan, which was privately +a coal-box, and unbuttoned her jacket at the throat. "Is she--is +she--very handsome, Wrink?" + +Wrinkles replied stoutly, "No." + +Grief said: "Let's make a sneak down the hall to the little unoccupied +room at the front of the building and look from the window there. When +they go out we can pipe 'em off." + +"Come on!" they exclaimed, accepting this plan with glee. + +Wrinkles opened the door and seemed about to glide away, when he +suddenly turned and shook his head. "It's dead wrong," he said, +ashamed. + +"Oh, go on!" eagerly whispered the others. Presently they stole +pattering down the corridor, grinning, exclaiming, and cautioning each +other. + +At the window Pennoyer said: "Now, for heaven's sake, don't let them see +you!--Be careful, Grief, you'll tumble.--Don't lean on me that way, +Wrink; think I'm a barn door? Here they come. Keep back. Don't let them +see you." + +"O-o-oh!" said Grief. "Talk about a peach! Well, I should say so." + +Florinda's fingers tore at Wrinkle's coat sleeve. "Wrink, Wrink, is that +her? Is that her? On the left of Billie? Is that her, Wrink?" + +"What? Yes. Stop punching me! Yes, I tell you! That's her. Are you +deaf?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + + +In the evening Pennoyer conducted Florinda to the flat of many +fire-escapes. After a period of silent tramping through the great golden +avenue and the street that was being repaired, she said, "Penny, you are +very good to me." + +"Why?" said Pennoyer. + +"Oh, because you are. You--you are very good to me, Penny." + +"Well, I guess I'm not killing myself." + +"There isn't many fellows like you." + +"No?" + +"No. There isn't many fellows like you, Penny. I tell you 'most +everything, and you just listen, and don't argue with me and tell me I'm +a fool, because you know that it--because you know that it can't be +helped, anyhow." + +"Oh, nonsense, you kid! Almost anybody would be glad to----" + +"Penny, do you think she is very beautiful?" Florinda's voice had a +singular quality of awe in it. + +"Well," replied Pennoyer, "I don't know." + +"Yes, you do, Penny. Go ahead and tell me." + +"Well----" + +"Go ahead." + +"Well, she is rather handsome, you know." + +"Yes," said Florinda, dejectedly, "I suppose she is." After a time she +cleared her throat and remarked indifferently, "I suppose Billie cares a +lot for her?" + +"Oh, I imagine that he does--in a way." + +"Why, of course he does," insisted Florinda. "What do you mean by 'in a +way'? You know very well that Billie thinks his eyes of her." + +"No, I don't." + +"Yes, you do. You know you do. You are talking in that way just to brace +me up. You know you are." + +"No, I'm not." + +"Penny," said Florinda thankfully, "what makes you so good to me?" + +"Oh, I guess I'm not so astonishingly good to you. Don't be silly." + +"But you are good to me, Penny. You don't make fun of me the way--the +way the other boys would. You are just as good as you can be.--But you +do think she is beautiful, don't you?" + +"They wouldn't make fun of you," said Pennoyer. + +"But do you think she is beautiful?" + +"Look here, Splutter, let up on that, will you? You keep harping on one +string all the time. Don't bother me!" + +"But, honest now, Penny, you do think she is beautiful?" + +"Well, then, confound it--no! no! no!" + +"Oh, yes, you do, Penny. Go ahead now. Don't deny it just because you +are talking to me. Own up, now, Penny. You do think she is beautiful?" + +"Well," said Pennoyer, in a dull roar of irritation, "do you?" + +Florinda walked in silence, her eyes upon the yellow flashes which +lights sent to the pavement. In the end she said, "Yes." + +"Yes, what?" asked Pennoyer sharply. + +"Yes, she--yes, she is--beautiful." + +"Well, then?" cried Pennoyer, abruptly closing the discussion. + +Florinda announced something as a fact. "Billie thinks his eyes of her." + +"How do you know he does?" + +"Don't scold at me, Penny. You--you----" + +"I'm not scolding at you. There! What a goose you are, Splutter! Don't, +for heaven's sake, go to whimpering on the street! I didn't say anything +to make you feel that way. Come, pull yourself together." + +"I'm not whimpering." + +"No, of course not; but then you look as if you were on the edge of it. +What a little idiot!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + + +When the snow fell upon the clashing life of the city, the exiled +stones, beaten by myriad strange feet, were told of the dark, silent +forests where the flakes swept through the hemlocks and swished softly +against the boulders. + +In his studio Hawker smoked a pipe, clasping his knee with thoughtful, +interlocked fingers. He was gazing sourly at his finished picture. Once +he started to his feet with a cry of vexation. Looking back over his +shoulder, he swore an insult into the face of the picture. He paced to +and fro, smoking belligerently and from time to time eying it. The +helpless thing remained upon the easel, facing him. + +Hollanden entered and stopped abruptly at sight of the great scowl. +"What's wrong now?" he said. + +Hawker gestured at the picture. "That dunce of a thing. It makes me +tired. It isn't worth a hang. Blame it!" + +"What?" Hollanden strode forward and stood before the painting with legs +apart, in a properly critical manner. "What? Why, you said it was your +best thing." + +"Aw!" said Hawker, waving his arms, "it's no good! I abominate it! I +didn't get what I wanted, I tell you. I didn't get what I wanted. That?" +he shouted, pointing thrust-way at it--"that? It's vile! Aw! it makes me +weary." + +"You're in a nice state," said Hollanden, turning to take a critical +view of the painter. "What has got into you now? I swear, you are more +kinds of a chump!" + +Hawker crooned dismally: "I can't paint! I can't paint for a damn! I'm +no good. What in thunder was I invented for, anyhow, Hollie?" + +"You're a fool," said Hollanden. "I hope to die if I ever saw such a +complete idiot! You give me a pain. Just because she don't----" + +"It isn't that. She has nothing to do with it, although I know well +enough--I know well enough----" + +"What?" + +"I know well enough she doesn't care a hang for me. It isn't that. It is +because--it is because I can't paint. Look at that thing over there! +Remember the thought and energy I---- Damn the thing!" + +"Why, did you have a row with her?" asked Hollanden, perplexed. "I +didn't know----" + +"No, of course you didn't know," cried Hawker, sneering; "because I had +no row. It isn't that, I tell you. But I know well enough"--he shook his +fist vaguely--"that she don't care an old tomato can for me. Why should +she?" he demanded with a curious defiance. "In the name of Heaven, why +should she?" + +"I don't know," said Hollanden; "I don't know, I'm sure. But, then, +women have no social logic. This is the great blessing of the world. +There is only one thing which is superior to the multiplicity of social +forms, and that is a woman's mind--a young woman's mind. Oh, of course, +sometimes they are logical, but let a woman be so once, and she will +repent of it to the end of her days. The safety of the world's balance +lies in woman's illogical mind. I think----" + +"Go to blazes!" said Hawker. "I don't care what you think. I am sure of +one thing, and that is that she doesn't care a hang for me!" + +"I think," Hollanden continued, "that society is doing very well in its +work of bravely lawing away at Nature; but there is one immovable +thing--a woman's illogical mind. That is our safety. Thank Heaven, +it----" + +"Go to blazes!" said Hawker again. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + + +As Hawker again entered the room of the great windows he glanced in +sidelong bitterness at the chandelier. When he was seated he looked at +it in open defiance and hatred. + +Men in the street were shovelling at the snow. The noise of their +instruments scraping on the stones came plainly to Hawker's ears in a +harsh chorus, and this sound at this time was perhaps to him a +_miserere_. + +"I came to tell you," he began, "I came to tell you that perhaps I am +going away." + +"Going away!" she cried. "Where?" + +"Well, I don't know--quite. You see, I am rather indefinite as yet. I +thought of going for the winter somewhere in the Southern States. I am +decided merely this much, you know--I am going somewhere. But I don't +know where. 'Way off, anyhow." + +"We shall be very sorry to lose you," she remarked. "We----" + +"And I thought," he continued, "that I would come and say 'adios' now +for fear that I might leave very suddenly. I do that sometimes. I'm +afraid you will forget me very soon, but I want to tell you that----" + +"Why," said the girl in some surprise, "you speak as if you were going +away for all time. You surely do not mean to utterly desert New York?" + +"I think you misunderstand me," he said. "I give this important air to +my farewell to you because to me it is a very important event. Perhaps +you recollect that once I told you that I cared for you. Well, I still +care for you, and so I can only go away somewhere--some place 'way +off--where--where---- See?" + +"New York is a very large place," she observed. + +"Yes, New York is a very large---- How good of you to remind me! But +then you don't understand. You can't understand. I know I can find no +place where I will cease to remember you, but then I can find some place +where I can cease to remember in a way that I am myself. I shall never +try to forget you. Those two violets, you know--one I found near the +tennis court and the other you gave me, you remember--I shall take them +with me." + +"Here," said the girl, tugging at her gown for a moment--"Here! Here's a +third one." She thrust a violet toward him. + +"If you were not so serenely insolent," said Hawker, "I would think that +you felt sorry for me. I don't wish you to feel sorry for me. And I +don't wish to be melodramatic. I know it is all commonplace enough, and +I didn't mean to act like a tenor. Please don't pity me." + +"I don't," she replied. She gave the violet a little fling. + +Hawker lifted his head suddenly and glowered at her. "No, you don't," he +at last said slowly, "you don't. Moreover, there is no reason why you +should take the trouble. But----" + +He paused when the girl leaned and peered over the arm of her chair +precisely in the manner of a child at the brink of a fountain. "There's +my violet on the floor," she said. "You treated it quite +contemptuously, didn't you?" + +"Yes." + +Together they stared at the violet. Finally he stooped and took it in +his fingers. "I feel as if this third one was pelted at me, but I shall +keep it. You are rather a cruel person, but, Heaven guard us! that only +fastens a man's love the more upon a woman." + +She laughed. "That is not a very good thing to tell a woman." + +"No," he said gravely, "it is not, but then I fancy that somebody may +have told you previously." + +She stared at him, and then said, "I think you are revenged for my +serene insolence." + +"Great heavens, what an armour!" he cried. "I suppose, after all, I did +feel a trifle like a tenor when I first came here, but you have chilled +it all out of me. Let's talk upon indifferent topics." But he started +abruptly to his feet. "No," he said, "let us not talk upon indifferent +topics. I am not brave, I assure you, and it--it might be too much for +me." He held out his hand. "Good-bye." + +"You are going?" + +"Yes, I am going. Really I didn't think how it would bore you for me to +come around here and croak in this fashion." + +"And you are not coming back for a long, long time?" + +"Not for a long, long time." He mimicked her tone. "I have the three +violets now, you know, and you must remember that I took the third one +even when you flung it at my head. That will remind you how submissive I +was in my devotion. When you recall the two others it will remind you of +what a fool I was. Dare say you won't miss three violets." + +"No," she said. + +"Particularly the one you flung at my head. That violet was certainly +freely--given." + +"I didn't fling it at your head." She pondered for a time with her eyes +upon the floor. Then she murmured, "No more freely--given than the one I +gave you that night--that night at the inn." + +"So very good of you to tell me so!" + +Her eyes were still upon the floor. + +"Do you know," said Hawker, "it is very hard to go away and leave an +impression in your mind that I am a fool? That is very hard. Now, you +do think I am a fool, don't you?" + +She remained silent. Once she lifted her eyes and gave him a swift look +with much indignation in it. + +"Now you are enraged. Well, what have I done?" + +It seemed that some tumult was in her mind, for she cried out to him at +last in sudden tearfulness: "Oh, do go! Go! Please! I want you to go!" + +Under this swift change Hawker appeared as a man struck from the sky. He +sprang to his feet, took two steps forward, and spoke a word which was +an explosion of delight and amazement. He said, "What?" + +With heroic effort she slowly raised her eyes until, alight with anger, +defiance, unhappiness, they met his eyes. + +Later, she told him that he was perfectly ridiculous. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE THIRD VIOLET*** + + +******* This file should be named 19593-8.txt or 19593-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/9/5/9/19593 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: The Third Violet</p> +<p>Author: Stephen Crane</p> +<p>Release Date: October 20, 2006 [eBook #19593]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE THIRD VIOLET***</p> +<p> </p> +<h4>E-text prepared by Janet Blenkinship<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (<a href="http://www.pgdp.net/">http://www.pgdp.net/</a>)<br /> + from page images generously made available by<br /> + Internet Archive/American Libraries<br /> + (<a href="http://www.archive.org/details/americana">http://www.archive.org/details/americana</a>)</h4> +<p> </p> +<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;" cellpadding="10"> + <tr> + <td valign="top"> + Note: + </td> + <td> + Images of the original pages are available through + Internet Archive/American Libraries. See + <a href="http://www.archive.org/details/thirdviolet00cranarch"> + http://www.archive.org/details/thirdviolet00cranarch</a> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + + <h1>The Third Violet</h1> + + <h4>By</h4> + <h2>Stephen Crane</h2> + + <h4>Author of The Red Badge of Courage,<br /> + The Little Regiment, and Maggie<br /><br /></h4> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + + <p class='center'>New York<br /> + D. Appleton and Company<br /> + 1897<br /><br /> + + Copyright, 1897,<br /> + By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.<br /><br /> + + Copyright, 1896, by Stephen Crane.<br /><br /></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII.</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><br /><br /></p> +<h1>THE THIRD VIOLET</h1> +<p><br /><br /></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + + +<p>The engine bellowed its way up the slanting, winding valley. Grey crags, +and trees with roots fastened cleverly to the steeps looked down at the +struggles of the black monster.</p> + +<p>When the train finally released its passengers they burst forth with the +enthusiasm of escaping convicts. A great bustle ensued on the platform +of the little mountain station. The idlers and philosophers from the +village were present to examine the consignment of people from the city. +These latter, loaded with bundles and children, thronged at the stage +drivers. The stage drivers thronged at the people from the city.</p> + +<p>Hawker, with his clothes case, his paint-box, his easel, climbed +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span>awkwardly down the steps of the car. The easel swung uncontrolled and +knocked against the head of a little boy who was disembarking backward +with fine caution. "Hello, little man," said Hawker, "did it hurt?" The +child regarded him in silence and with sudden interest, as if Hawker had +called his attention to a phenomenon. The young painter was politely +waiting until the little boy should conclude his examination, but a +voice behind him cried, "Roger, go on down!" A nursemaid was conducting +a little girl where she would probably be struck by the other end of the +easel. The boy resumed his cautious descent.</p> + +<p>The stage drivers made such great noise as a collection that as +individuals their identities were lost. With a highly important air, as +a man proud of being so busy, the baggageman of the train was thundering +trunks at the other employees on the platform. Hawker, prowling through +the crowd, heard a voice near his shoulder say, "Do you know where is +the stage for Hemlock Inn?" Hawker turned and found a young woman +regarding him. A wave of astonishment whirled into his hair, and he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span>turned his eyes quickly for fear that she would think that he had +looked at her. He said, "Yes, certainly, I think I can find it." At the +same time he was crying to himself: "Wouldn't I like to paint her, +though! What a glance—oh, murder! The—the—the distance in her eyes!"</p> + +<p>He went fiercely from one driver to another. That obdurate stage for +Hemlock Inn must appear at once. Finally he perceived a man who grinned +expectantly at him. "Oh," said Hawker, "you drive the stage for Hemlock +Inn?" The man admitted it. Hawker said, "Here is the stage." The young +woman smiled.</p> + +<p>The driver inserted Hawker and his luggage far into the end of the +vehicle. He sat there, crooked forward so that his eyes should see the +first coming of the girl into the frame of light at the other end of the +stage. Presently she appeared there. She was bringing the little boy, +the little girl, the nursemaid, and another young woman, who was at once +to be known as the mother of the two children. The girl indicated the +stage with a small gesture of triumph. When they were all seated +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>uncomfortably in the huge covered vehicle the little boy gave Hawker a +glance of recognition. "It hurted then, but it's all right now," he +informed him cheerfully.</p> + +<p>"Did it?" replied Hawker. "I'm sorry."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I didn't mind it much," continued the little boy, swinging his +long, red-leather leggings bravely to and fro. "I don't cry when I'm +hurt, anyhow." He cast a meaning look at his tiny sister, whose soft +lips set defensively.</p> + +<p>The driver climbed into his seat, and after a scrutiny of the group in +the gloom of the stage he chirped to his horses. They began a slow and +thoughtful trotting. Dust streamed out behind the vehicle. In front, the +green hills were still and serene in the evening air. A beam of gold +struck them aslant, and on the sky was lemon and pink information of the +sun's sinking. The driver knew many people along the road, and from time +to time he conversed with them in yells.</p> + +<p>The two children were opposite Hawker. They sat very correctly mucilaged +to their seats, but their large eyes were always upon Hawker, calmly +valuing him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do you think it nice to be in the country? I do," said the boy.</p> + +<p>"I like it very well," answered Hawker.</p> + +<p>"I shall go fishing, and hunting, and everything. Maybe I shall shoot a +bears."</p> + +<p>"I hope you may."</p> + +<p>"Did you ever shoot a bears?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Well, I didn't, too, but maybe I will. Mister Hollanden, he said he'd +look around for one. Where I live——"</p> + +<p>"Roger," interrupted the mother from her seat at Hawker's side, "perhaps +every one is not interested in your conversation." The boy seemed +embarrassed at this interruption, for he leaned back in silence with an +apologetic look at Hawker. Presently the stage began to climb the hills, +and the two children were obliged to take grip upon the cushions for +fear of being precipitated upon the nursemaid.</p> + +<p>Fate had arranged it so that Hawker could not observe the girl with +the—the—the distance in her eyes without leaning forward and +discovering to her his interest. Secretly and impiously he wriggled in +his seat, and as the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> bumping stage swung its passengers this way and +that way, he obtained fleeting glances of a cheek, an arm, or a +shoulder.</p> + +<p>The driver's conversation tone to his passengers was also a yell. "Train +was an hour late t'night," he said, addressing the interior. "It'll be +nine o'clock before we git t' th' inn, an' it'll be perty dark +travellin'."</p> + +<p>Hawker waited decently, but at last he said, "Will it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. No moon." He turned to face Hawker, and roared, "You're ol' Jim +Hawker's son, hain't yeh?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I thort I'd seen yeh b'fore. Live in the city now, don't yeh?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Want t' git off at th' cross-road?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Come up fer a little stay doorin' th' summer?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"On'y charge yeh a quarter if yeh git off at cross-road. Useter charge +'em fifty cents, but I ses t' th' ol' man. 'Tain't no use. Gol<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>dern 'em, +they'll walk ruther'n put up fifty cents.' Yep. On'y a quarter."</p> + +<p>In the shadows Hawker's expression seemed assassinlike. He glanced +furtively down the stage. She was apparently deep in talk with the +mother of the children.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + + +<p>When Hawker pushed at the old gate, it hesitated because of a broken +hinge. A dog barked with loud ferocity and came headlong over the grass.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Stanley, old man!" cried Hawker. The ardour for battle was +instantly smitten from the dog, and his barking swallowed in a gurgle of +delight. He was a large orange and white setter, and he partly expressed +his emotion by twisting his body into a fantastic curve and then dancing +over the ground with his head and his tail very near to each other. He +gave vent to little sobs in a wild attempt to vocally describe his +gladness. "Well, 'e was a dreat dod," said Hawker, and the setter, +overwhelmed, contorted himself wonderfully.</p> + +<p>There were lights in the kitchen, and at the first barking of the dog +the door had been thrown open. Hawker saw his two sisters shading their +eyes and peering down the yel<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>low stream. Presently they shouted, "Here +he is!" They flung themselves out and upon him. "Why, Will! why, Will!" +they panted.</p> + +<p>"We're awful glad to see you!" In a whirlwind of ejaculation and +unanswerable interrogation they grappled the clothes case, the +paint-box, the easel, and dragged him toward the house.</p> + +<p>He saw his old mother seated in a rocking-chair by the table. She had +laid aside her paper and was adjusting her glasses as she scanned the +darkness. "Hello, mother!" cried Hawker, as he entered. His eyes were +bright. The old mother reached her arms to his neck. She murmured soft +and half-articulate words. Meanwhile the dog writhed from one to +another. He raised his muzzle high to express his delight. He was always +fully convinced that he was taking a principal part in this ceremony of +welcome and that everybody was heeding him.</p> + +<p>"Have you had your supper?" asked the old mother as soon as she +recovered herself. The girls clamoured sentences at him. "Pa's out in +the barn, Will. What made you so late? He said maybe he'd go up to the +cross-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>roads to see if he could see the stage. Maybe he's gone. What +made you so late? And, oh, we got a new buggy!"</p> + +<p>The old mother repeated anxiously, "Have you had your supper?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Hawker, "but——"</p> + +<p>The three women sprang to their feet. "Well, we'll git you something +right away." They bustled about the kitchen and dove from time to time +into the cellar. They called to each other in happy voices.</p> + +<p>Steps sounded on the line of stones that led from the door toward the +barn, and a shout came from the darkness. "Well, William, home again, +hey?" Hawker's grey father came stamping genially into the room. "I +thought maybe you got lost. I was comin' to hunt you," he said, +grinning, as they stood with gripped hands. "What made you so late?"</p> + +<p>While Hawker confronted the supper the family sat about and contemplated +him with shining eyes. His sisters noted his tie and propounded some +questions concerning it. His mother watched to make sure that he should +consume a notable quantity of the pre<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>served cherries. "He used to be so +fond of 'em when he was little," she said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Will," cried the younger sister, "do you remember Lil' Johnson? +Yeh? She's married. Married las' June."</p> + +<p>"Is the boy's room all ready, mother?" asked the father.</p> + +<p>"We fixed it this mornin'," she said.</p> + +<p>"And do you remember Jeff Decker?" shouted the elder sister. "Well, he's +dead. Yep. Drowned, pickerel fishin'—poor feller!"</p> + +<p>"Well, how are you gitting along, William?" asked the father. "Sell many +pictures?"</p> + +<p>"An occasional one."</p> + +<p>"Saw your illustrations in the May number of Perkinson's." The old man +paused for a moment, and then added, quite weakly, "Pretty good."</p> + +<p>"How's everything about the place?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, just about the same—'bout the same. The colt run away with me last +week, but didn't break nothin', though. I was scared, because I had out +the new buggy—we got a new buggy—but it didn't break nothin'. I'm<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +goin' to sell the oxen in the fall; I don't want to winter 'em. And then +in the spring I'll get a good hoss team. I rented th' back five-acre to +John Westfall. I had more'n I could handle with only one hired hand. +Times is pickin' up a little, but not much—not much."</p> + +<p>"And we got a new school-teacher," said one of the girls.</p> + +<p>"Will, you never noticed my new rocker," said the old mother, pointing. +"I set it right where I thought you'd see it, and you never took no +notice. Ain't it nice? Father bought it at Monticello for my birthday. I +thought you'd notice it first thing."</p> + +<p>When Hawker had retired for the night, he raised a sash and sat by the +window smoking. The odour of the woods and the fields came sweetly to +his nostrils. The crickets chanted their hymn of the night. On the black +brow of the mountain he could see two long rows of twinkling dots which +marked the position of Hemlock Inn.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + + +<p>Hawker had a writing friend named Hollanden. In New York Hollanden had +announced his resolution to spend the summer at Hemlock Inn. "I don't +like to see the world progressing," he had said; "I shall go to Sullivan +County for a time."</p> + +<p>In the morning Hawker took his painting equipment, and after +manœuvring in the fields until he had proved to himself that he had +no desire to go toward the inn, he went toward it. The time was only +nine o'clock, and he knew that he could not hope to see Hollanden before +eleven, as it was only through rumour that Hollanden was aware that +there was a sunrise and an early morning.</p> + +<p>Hawker encamped in front of some fields of vivid yellow stubble on which +trees made olive shadows, and which was overhung by a china-blue sky and +sundry little white clouds. He fiddled away perfunctorily at it. A +spec<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>tator would have believed, probably, that he was sketching the +pines on the hill where shone the red porches of Hemlock Inn.</p> + +<p>Finally, a white-flannel young man walked into the landscape. Hawker +waved a brush. "Hi, Hollie, get out of the colour-scheme!"</p> + +<p>At this cry the white-flannel young man looked down at his feet +apprehensively. Finally he came forward grinning. "Why, hello, Hawker, +old boy! Glad to find you here." He perched on a boulder and began to +study Hawker's canvas and the vivid yellow stubble with the olive +shadows. He wheeled his eyes from one to the other. "Say, Hawker," he +said suddenly, "why don't you marry Miss Fanhall?"</p> + +<p>Hawker had a brush in his mouth, but he took it quickly out, and said, +"Marry Miss Fanhall? Who the devil is Miss Fanhall?"</p> + +<p>Hollanden clasped both hands about his knee and looked thoughtfully +away. "Oh, she's a girl."</p> + +<p>"She is?" said Hawker.</p> + +<p>"Yes. She came to the inn last night with her sister-in-law and a small +tribe of young Fanhalls. There's six of them, I think."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Two," said Hawker, "a boy and a girl."</p> + +<p>"How do you—oh, you must have come up with them. Of course. Why, then +you saw her."</p> + +<p>"Was that her?" asked Hawker listlessly.</p> + +<p>"Was that her?" cried Hollanden, with indignation. "Was that her?"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Hawker.</p> + +<p>Hollanden mused again. "She's got lots of money," he said. "Loads of it. +And I think she would be fool enough to have sympathy for you in your +work. They are a tremendously wealthy crowd, although they treat it +simply. It would be a good thing for you. I believe—yes, I am sure she +could be fool enough to have sympathy for you in your work. And now, if +you weren't such a hopeless chump——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, shut up, Hollie," said the painter.</p> + +<p>For a time Hollanden did as he was bid, but at last he talked again. +"Can't think why they came up here. Must be her sister-in-law's health. +Something like that. She——"</p> + +<p>"Great heavens," said Hawker, "you speak of nothing else!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, you saw her, didn't you?" demanded Hollanden. "What can you +expect, then, from a man of my sense? You—you old stick—you——"</p> + +<p>"It was quite dark," protested the painter.</p> + +<p>"Quite dark," repeated Hollanden, in a wrathful voice. "What if it was?"</p> + +<p>"Well, that is bound to make a difference in a man's opinion, you know."</p> + +<p>"No, it isn't. It was light down at the railroad station, anyhow. If you +had any sand—thunder, but I did get up early this morning! Say, do you +play tennis?"</p> + +<p>"After a fashion," said Hawker. "Why?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing," replied Hollanden sadly. "Only they are wearing me out at +the game. I had to get up and play before breakfast this morning with +the Worcester girls, and there is a lot more mad players who will be +down on me before long. It's a terrible thing to be a tennis player."</p> + +<p>"Why, you used to put yourself out so little for people," remarked +Hawker.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but up there"—Hollanden jerked his thumb in the direction of the +inn—"they think I'm so amiable."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, I'll come up and help you out."</p> + +<p>"Do," Hollanden laughed; "you and Miss Fanhall can team it against the +littlest Worcester girl and me." He regarded the landscape and +meditated. Hawker struggled for a grip on the thought of the stubble.</p> + +<p>"That colour of hair and eyes always knocks me kerplunk," observed +Hollanden softly.</p> + +<p>Hawker looked up irascibly. "What colour hair and eyes?" he demanded. "I +believe you're crazy."</p> + +<p>"What colour hair and eyes?" repeated Hollanden, with a savage gesture. +"You've got no more appreciation than a post."</p> + +<p>"They are good enough for me," muttered Hawker, turning again to his +work. He scowled first at the canvas and then at the stubble. "Seems to +me you had best take care of yourself, instead of planning for me," he +said.</p> + +<p>"Me!" cried Hollanden. "Me! Take care of myself! My boy, I've got a past +of sorrow and gloom. I——"</p> + +<p>"You're nothing but a kid," said Hawker, glaring at the other man.</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course," said Hollanden, wagging<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> his head with midnight wisdom. +"Oh, of course."</p> + +<p>"Well, Hollie," said Hawker, with sudden affability, "I didn't mean to +be unpleasant, but then you are rather ridiculous, you know, sitting up +there and howling about the colour of hair and eyes."</p> + +<p>"I'm not ridiculous."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you are, you know, Hollie."</p> + +<p>The writer waved his hand despairingly. "And you rode in the train with +her, and in the stage."</p> + +<p>"I didn't see her in the train," said Hawker.</p> + +<p>"Oh, then you saw her in the stage. Ha-ha, you old thief! I sat up here, +and you sat down there and lied." He jumped from his perch and +belaboured Hawker's shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Stop that!" said the painter.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you old thief, you lied to me! You lied—— Hold on—bless my life, +here she comes now!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + + +<p>One day Hollanden said: "There are forty-two people at Hemlock Inn, I +think. Fifteen are middle-aged ladies of the most aggressive +respectability. They have come here for no discernible purpose save to +get where they can see people and be displeased at them. They sit in a +large group on that porch and take measurements of character as +importantly as if they constituted the jury of heaven. When I arrived at +Hemlock Inn I at once cast my eye searchingly about me. Perceiving this +assemblage, I cried, 'There they are!' Barely waiting to change my +clothes, I made for this formidable body and endeavoured to conciliate +it. Almost every day I sit down among them and lie like a machine. +Privately I believe they should be hanged, but publicly I glisten with +admiration. Do you know, there is one of 'em who I know has not moved +from the inn in eight<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> days, and this morning I said to her, 'These long +walks in the clear mountain air are doing you a world of good.' And I +keep continually saying, 'Your frankness is so charming!' Because of the +great law of universal balance, I know that this illustrious corps will +believe good of themselves with exactly the same readiness that they +will believe ill of others. So I ply them with it. In consequence, the +worst they ever say of me is, 'Isn't that Mr. Hollanden a peculiar man?' +And you know, my boy, that's not so bad for a literary person." After +some thought he added: "Good people, too. Good wives, good mothers, and +everything of that kind, you know. But conservative, very conservative. +Hate anything radical. Can not endure it. Were that way themselves once, +you know. They hit the mark, too, sometimes. Such general volleyings +can't fail to hit everything. May the devil fly away with them!"</p> + +<p>Hawker regarded the group nervously, and at last propounded a great +question: "Say, I wonder where they all are recruited? When you come to +think that almost every summer hotel——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Certainly," said Hollanden, "almost every summer hotel. I've studied +the question, and have nearly established the fact that almost every +summer hotel is furnished with a full corps of——"</p> + +<p>"To be sure," said Hawker; "and if you search for them in the winter, +you can find barely a sign of them, until you examine the boarding +houses, and then you observe——"</p> + +<p>"Certainly," said Hollanden, "of course. By the way," he added, "you +haven't got any obviously loose screws in your character, have you?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Hawker, after consideration, "only general poverty—that's +all."</p> + +<p>"Of course, of course," said Hollanden. "But that's bad. They'll get on +to you, sure. Particularly since you come up here to see Miss Fanhall so +much."</p> + +<p>Hawker glinted his eyes at his friend. "You've got a deuced open way of +speaking," he observed.</p> + +<p>"Deuced open, is it?" cried Hollanden. "It isn't near so open as your +devotion to Miss Fanhall, which is as plain as a red petticoat hung on a +hedge."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p> + +<p>Hawker's face gloomed, and he said, "Well, it might be plain to you, you +infernal cat, but that doesn't prove that all those old hens can see +it."</p> + +<p>"I tell you that if they look twice at you they can't fail to see it. +And it's bad, too. Very bad. What's the matter with you? Haven't you +ever been in love before?"</p> + +<p>"None of your business," replied Hawker.</p> + +<p>Hollanden thought upon this point for a time. "Well," he admitted +finally, "that's true in a general way, but I hate to see you managing +your affairs so stupidly."</p> + +<p>Rage flamed into Hawker's face, and he cried passionately, "I tell you +it is none of your business!" He suddenly confronted the other man.</p> + +<p>Hollanden surveyed this outburst with a critical eye, and then slapped +his knee with emphasis. "You certainly have got it—a million times +worse than I thought. Why, you—you—you're heels over head."</p> + +<p>"What if I am?" said Hawker, with a gesture of defiance and despair.</p> + +<p>Hollanden saw a dramatic situation in the distance, and with a bright +smile he studied it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> "Say," he exclaimed, "suppose she should not go to +the picnic to-morrow? She said this morning she did not know if she +could go. Somebody was expected from New York, I think. Wouldn't it +break you up, though! Eh?"</p> + +<p>"You're so dev'lish clever!" said Hawker, with sullen irony.</p> + +<p>Hollanden was still regarding the distant dramatic situation. "And +rivals, too! The woods must be crowded with them. A girl like that, you +know. And then all that money! Say, your rivals must number enough to +make a brigade of militia. Imagine them swarming around! But then it +doesn't matter so much," he went on cheerfully; "you've got a good play +there. You must appreciate them to her—you understand?—appreciate them +kindly, like a man in a watch-tower. You must laugh at them only about +once a week, and then very tolerantly—you understand?—and kindly, +and—and appreciatively."</p> + +<p>"You're a colossal ass, Hollie!" said Hawker. "You——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, I know," replied the other<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> peacefully; "a colossal ass. Of +course." After looking into the distance again, he murmured: "I'm +worried about that picnic. I wish I knew she was going. By heavens, as a +matter of fact, she must be made to go!"</p> + +<p>"What have you got to do with it?" cried the painter, in another sudden +outburst.</p> + +<p>"There! there!" said Hollanden, waving his hand. "You fool! Only a +spectator, I assure you."</p> + +<p>Hawker seemed overcome then with a deep dislike of himself. "Oh, well, +you know, Hollie, this sort of thing——" He broke off and gazed at the +trees. "This sort of thing—— It——"</p> + +<p>"How?" asked Hollanden.</p> + +<p>"Confound you for a meddling, gabbling idiot!" cried Hawker suddenly.</p> + +<p>Hollanden replied, "What did you do with that violet she dropped at the +side of the tennis court yesterday?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + + +<p>Mrs. Fanhall, with the two children, the Worcester girls, and Hollanden, +clambered down the rocky path. Miss Fanhall and Hawker had remained on +top of the ledge. Hollanden showed much zeal in conducting his +contingent to the foot of the falls. Through the trees they could see +the cataract, a great shimmering white thing, booming and thundering +until all the leaves gently shuddered.</p> + +<p>"I wonder where Miss Fanhall and Mr. Hawker have gone?" said the younger +Miss Worcester. "I wonder where they've gone?"</p> + +<p>"Millicent," said Hollander, looking at her fondly, "you always had such +great thought for others."</p> + +<p>"Well, I wonder where they've gone?"</p> + +<p>At the foot of the falls, where the mist arose in silver clouds and the +green water swept into the pool, Miss Worcester, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> elder, seated on +the moss, exclaimed, "Oh, Mr. Hollanden, what makes all literary men so +peculiar?"</p> + +<p>"And all that just because I said that I could have made better +digestive organs than Providence, if it is true that he made mine," +replied Hollanden, with reproach. "Here, Roger," he cried, as he dragged +the child away from the brink, "don't fall in there, or you won't be the +full-back at Yale in 1907, as you have planned. I'm sure I don't know +how to answer you, Miss Worcester. I've inquired of innumerable literary +men, and none of 'em know. I may say I have chased that problem for +years. I might give you my personal history, and see if that would throw +any light on the subject." He looked about him with chin high until his +glance had noted the two vague figures at the top of the cliff. "I might +give you my personal history——"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Fanhall looked at him curiously, and the elder Worcester girl +cried, "Oh, do!"</p> + +<p>After another scanning of the figures at the top of the cliff, Hollanden +established himself in an oratorical pose on a great weather-beaten +stone. "Well—you must understand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>—I started my career—my career, you +understand—with a determination to be a prophet, and, although I have +ended in being an acrobat, a trained bear of the magazines, and a +juggler of comic paragraphs, there was once carved upon my lips a smile +which made many people detest me, for it hung before them like a banshee +whenever they tried to be satisfied with themselves. I was informed from +time to time that I was making no great holes in the universal plan, and +I came to know that one person in every two thousand of the people I saw +had heard of me, and that four out of five of these had forgotten it. +And then one in every two of those who remembered that they had heard of +me regarded the fact that I wrote as a great impertinence. I admitted +these things, and in defence merely builded a maxim that stated that +each wise man in this world is concealed amid some twenty thousand +fools. If you have eyes for mathematics, this conclusion should interest +you. Meanwhile I created a gigantic dignity, and when men saw this +dignity and heard that I was a literary man they respected me. I +concluded that the simple campaign of exist<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>ence for me was to delude +the populace, or as much of it as would look at me. I did. I do. And now +I can make myself quite happy concocting sneers about it. Others may do +as they please, but as for me," he concluded ferociously, "I shall never +disclose to anybody that an acrobat, a trained bear of the magazines, a +juggler of comic paragraphs, is not a priceless pearl of art and +philosophy."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe a word of it is true," said Miss Worcester.</p> + +<p>"What do you expect of autobiography?" demanded Hollanden, with +asperity.</p> + +<p>"Well, anyhow, Hollie," exclaimed the younger sister, "you didn't +explain a thing about how literary men came to be so peculiar, and +that's what you started out to do, you know."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Hollanden crossly, "you must never expect a man to do what +he starts to do, Millicent. And besides," he went on, with the gleam of +a sudden idea in his eyes, "literary men are not peculiar, anyhow."</p> + +<p>The elder Worcester girl looked angrily at him. "Indeed? Not you, of +course, but the others."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> + +<p>"They are all asses," said Hollanden genially.</p> + +<p>The elder Worcester girl reflected. "I believe you try to make us think +and then just tangle us up purposely!"</p> + +<p>The younger Worcester girl reflected. "You are an absurd old thing, you +know, Hollie!"</p> + +<p>Hollanden climbed offendedly from the great weather-beaten stone. "Well, +I shall go and see that the men have not spilled the luncheon while +breaking their necks over these rocks. Would you like to have it spread +here, Mrs. Fanhall? Never mind consulting the girls. I assure you I +shall spend a great deal of energy and temper in bullying them into +doing just as they please. Why, when I was in Brussels——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, come now, Hollie, you never were in Brussels, you know," said the +younger Worcester girl.</p> + +<p>"What of that, Millicent?" demanded Hollanden. "This is autobiography."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't care, Hollie. You tell such whoppers."</p> + +<p>With a gesture of despair he again start<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>ed away; whereupon the +Worcester girls shouted in chorus, "Oh, I say, Hollie, come back! Don't +be angry. We didn't mean to tease you, Hollie—really, we didn't!"</p> + +<p>"Well, if you didn't," said Hollanden, "why did you——"</p> + +<p>The elder Worcester girl was gazing fixedly at the top of the cliff. +"Oh, there they are! I wonder why they don't come down?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + + +<p>Stanley, the setter, walked to the edge of the precipice and, looking +over at the falls, wagged his tail in friendly greeting. He was braced +warily, so that if this howling white animal should reach up a hand for +him he could flee in time.</p> + +<p>The girl stared dreamily at the red-stained crags that projected from +the pines of the hill across the stream. Hawker lazily aimed bits of +moss at the oblivious dog and missed him.</p> + +<p>"It must be fine to have something to think of beyond just living," said +the girl to the crags.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you mean art?" said Hawker.</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course. It must be finer, at any rate, than the ordinary +thing."</p> + +<p>He mused for a time. "Yes. It is—it must be," he said. "But then—I'd +rather just lie here."</p> + +<p>The girl seemed aggrieved. "Oh, no, you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> wouldn't. You couldn't stop. +It's dreadful to talk like that, isn't it? I always thought that +painters were——"</p> + +<p>"Of course. They should be. Maybe they are. I don't know. Sometimes I +am. But not to-day."</p> + +<p>"Well, I should think you ought to be so much more contented than just +ordinary people. Now, I——"</p> + +<p>"You!" he cried—"you are not 'just ordinary people.'"</p> + +<p>"Well, but when I try to recall what I have thought about in my life, I +can't remember, you know. That's what I mean."</p> + +<p>"You shouldn't talk that way," he told her.</p> + +<p>"But why do you insist that life should be so highly absorbing for me?"</p> + +<p>"You have everything you wish for," he answered, in a voice of deep +gloom.</p> + +<p>"Certainly not. I am a woman."</p> + +<p>"But——"</p> + +<p>"A woman, to have everything she wishes for, would have to be +Providence. There are some things that are not in the world."</p> + +<p>"Well, what are they?" he asked of her.</p> + +<p>"That's just it," she said, nodding her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> head, "no one knows. That's +what makes the trouble."</p> + +<p>"Well, you are very unreasonable."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"You are very unreasonable. If I were you—an heiress——"</p> + +<p>The girl flushed and turned upon him angrily.</p> + +<p>"Well!" he glowered back at her. "You are, you know. You can't deny it."</p> + +<p>She looked at the red-stained crags. At last she said, "You seemed +really contemptuous."</p> + +<p>"Well, I assure you that I do not feel contemptuous. On the contrary, I +am filled with admiration. Thank Heaven, I am a man of the world. +Whenever I meet heiresses I always have the deepest admiration." As he +said this he wore a brave hang-dog expression. The girl surveyed him +coldly from his chin to his eyebrows. "You have a handsome audacity, +too."</p> + +<p>He lay back in the long grass and contemplated the clouds.</p> + +<p>"You should have been a Chinese soldier of fortune," she said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p> + +<p>He threw another little clod at Stanley and struck him on the head.</p> + +<p>"You are the most scientifically unbearable person in the world," she +said.</p> + +<p>Stanley came back to see his master and to assure himself that the clump +on the head was not intended as a sign of serious displeasure. Hawker +took the dog's long ears and tried to tie them into a knot.</p> + +<p>"And I don't see why you so delight in making people detest you," she +continued.</p> + +<p>Having failed to make a knot of the dog's ears, Hawker leaned back and +surveyed his failure admiringly. "Well, I don't," he said.</p> + +<p>"You do."</p> + +<p>"No, I don't."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you do. You just say the most terrible things as if you positively +enjoyed saying them."</p> + +<p>"Well, what did I say, now? What did I say?"</p> + +<p>"Why, you said that you always had the most extraordinary admiration for +heiresses whenever you met them."</p> + +<p>"Well, what's wrong with that senti<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>ment?" he said. "You can't find +fault with that!"</p> + +<p>"It is utterly detestable."</p> + +<p>"Not at all," he answered sullenly. "I consider it a tribute—a graceful +tribute."</p> + +<p>Miss Fanhall arose and went forward to the edge of the cliff. She became +absorbed in the falls. Far below her a bough of a hemlock drooped to the +water, and each swirling, mad wave caught it and made it nod—nod—nod. +Her back was half turned toward Hawker.</p> + +<p>After a time Stanley, the dog, discovered some ants scurrying in the +moss, and he at once began to watch them and wag his tail.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it curious," observed Hawker, "how an animal as large as a dog +will sometimes be so entertained by the very smallest things?"</p> + +<p>Stanley pawed gently at the moss, and then thrust his head forward to +see what the ants did under the circumstances.</p> + +<p>"In the hunting season," continued Hawker, having waited a moment, "this +dog knows nothing on earth but his master and the partridges. He is lost +to all other sound and movement. He moves through the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> woods like a +steel machine. And when he scents the bird—ah, it is beautiful! +Shouldn't you like to see him then?"</p> + +<p>Some of the ants had perhaps made war-like motions, and Stanley was +pretending that this was a reason for excitement. He reared aback, and +made grumbling noises in his throat.</p> + +<p>After another pause Hawker went on: "And now see the precious old fool! +He is deeply interested in the movements of the little ants, and as +childish and ridiculous over them as if they were highly +important.—There, you old blockhead, let them alone!"</p> + +<p>Stanley could not be induced to end his investigations, and he told his +master that the ants were the most thrilling and dramatic animals of his +experience.</p> + +<p>"Oh, by the way," said Hawker at last, as his glance caught upon the +crags across the river, "did you ever hear the legend of those rocks +yonder? Over there where I am pointing? Where I'm pointing? Did you ever +hear it? What? Yes? No? Well, I shall tell it to you." He settled +comfortably in the long grass.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + + +<p>"Once upon a time there was a beautiful Indian maiden, of course. And +she was, of course, beloved by a youth from another tribe who was very +handsome and stalwart and a mighty hunter, of course. But the maiden's +father was, of course, a stern old chief, and when the question of his +daughter's marriage came up, he, of course, declared that the maiden +should be wedded only to a warrior of her tribe. And, of course, when +the young man heard this he said that in such case he would, of course, +fling himself headlong from that crag. The old chief was, of course, +obdurate, and, of course, the youth did, of course, as he had said. And, +of course, the maiden wept." After Hawker had waited for some time, he +said with severity, "You seem to have no great appreciation of +folklore."</p> + +<p>The girl suddenly bent her head. "Lis<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>ten," she said, "they're calling. +Don't you hear Hollie's voice?"</p> + +<p>They went to another place, and, looking down over the shimmering +tree-tops, they saw Hollanden waving his arms. "It's luncheon," said +Hawker. "Look how frantic he is!"</p> + +<p>The path required that Hawker should assist the girl very often. His +eyes shone at her whenever he held forth his hand to help her down a +blessed steep place. She seemed rather pensive. The route to luncheon +was very long. Suddenly he took a seat on an old tree, and said: "Oh, I +don't know why it is, whenever I'm with you, I—I have no wits, nor good +nature, nor anything. It's the worst luck!"</p> + +<p>He had left her standing on a boulder, where she was provisionally +helpless. "Hurry!" she said; "they're waiting for us."</p> + +<p>Stanley, the setter, had been sliding down cautiously behind them. He +now stood wagging his tail and waiting for the way to be cleared.</p> + +<p>Hawker leaned his head on his hand and pondered dejectedly. "It's the +worst luck!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Hurry!" she said; "they're waiting for us."</p> + +<p>At luncheon the girl was for the most part silent. Hawker was +superhumanly amiable. Somehow he gained the impression that they all +quite fancied him, and it followed that being clever was very easy. +Hollanden listened, and approved him with a benign countenance.</p> + +<p>There was a little boat fastened to the willows at the edge of the black +pool. After the spread, Hollanden navigated various parties around to +where they could hear the great hollow roar of the falls beating against +the sheer rocks. Stanley swam after sticks at the request of little +Roger.</p> + +<p>Once Hollanden succeeded in making the others so engrossed in being +amused that Hawker and Miss Fanhall were left alone staring at the white +bubbles that floated solemnly on the black water. After Hawker had +stared at them a sufficient time, he said, "Well, you are an heiress, +you know."</p> + +<p>In return she chose to smile radiantly. Turning toward him, she said, +"If you will be good now—always—perhaps I'll forgive you."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p> + +<p>They drove home in the sombre shadows of the hills, with Stanley padding +along under the wagon. The Worcester girls tried to induce Hollanden to +sing, and in consequence there was quarrelling until the blinking lights +of the inn appeared above them as if a great lantern hung there.</p> + +<p>Hollanden conveyed his friend some distance on the way home from the inn +to the farm. "Good time at the picnic?" said the writer.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Picnics are mainly places where the jam gets on the dead leaves, and +from thence to your trousers. But this was a good little picnic." He +glanced at Hawker. "But you don't look as if you had such a swell time."</p> + +<p>Hawker waved his hand tragically. "Yes—no—I don't know."</p> + +<p>"What's wrong with you?" asked Hollanden.</p> + +<p>"I tell you what it is, Hollie," said the painter darkly, "whenever I'm +with that girl I'm such a blockhead. I'm not so stupid, Hollie. You know +I'm not. But when I'm with her I can't be clever to save my life."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> + +<p>Hollanden pulled contentedly at his pipe. "Maybe she don't notice it."</p> + +<p>"Notice it!" muttered Hawker, scornfully; "of course she notices it. In +conversation with her, I tell you, I am as interesting as an iron dog." +His voice changed as he cried, "I don't know why it is. I don't know why +it is."</p> + +<p>Blowing a huge cloud of smoke into the air, Hollanden studied it +thoughtfully. "Hits some fellows that way," he said. "And, of course, it +must be deuced annoying. Strange thing, but now, under those +circumstances, I'm very glib. Very glib, I assure you."</p> + +<p>"I don't care what you are," answered Hawker. "All those confounded +affairs of yours—they were not——"</p> + +<p>"No," said Hollanden, stolidly puffing, "of course not. I understand +that. But, look here, Billie," he added, with sudden brightness, "maybe +you are not a blockhead, after all. You are on the inside, you know, and +you can't see from there. Besides, you can't tell what a woman will +think. You can't tell what a woman will think."</p> + +<p>"No," said Hawker, grimly, "and you suppose that is my only chance?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, don't be such a chump!" said Hollanden, in a tone of vast +exasperation.</p> + +<p>They strode for some time in silence. The mystic pines swaying over the +narrow road made talk sibilantly to the wind. Stanley, the setter, took +it upon himself to discover some menacing presence in the woods. He +walked on his toes and with his eyes glinting sideways. He swore half +under his breath.</p> + +<p>"And work, too," burst out Hawker, at last. "I came up here this season +to work, and I haven't done a thing that ought not be shot at."</p> + +<p>"Don't you find that your love sets fire to your genius?" asked +Hollanden gravely.</p> + +<p>"No, I'm hanged if I do."</p> + +<p>Hollanden sighed then with an air of relief. "I was afraid that a +popular impression was true," he said, "but it's all right. You would +rather sit still and moon, wouldn't you?"</p> + +<p>"Moon—blast you! I couldn't moon to save my life."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, I didn't mean moon exactly."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + + +<p>The blue night of the lake was embroidered with black tree forms. Silver +drops sprinkled from the lifted oars. Somewhere in the gloom of the +shore there was a dog, who from time to time raised his sad voice to the +stars.</p> + +<p>"But still, the life of the studios——" began the girl.</p> + +<p>Hawker scoffed. "There were six of us. Mainly we smoked. Sometimes we +played hearts and at other times poker—on credit, you know—credit. And +when we had the materials and got something to do, we worked. Did you +ever see these beautiful red and green designs that surround the common +tomato can?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Well," he said proudly, "I have made them. Whenever you come upon +tomatoes, remember that they might once have been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> encompassed in my +design. When first I came back from Paris I began to paint, but nobody +wanted me to paint. Later, I got into green corn and asparagus——"</p> + +<p>"Truly?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed. It is true."</p> + +<p>"But still, the life of the studios——"</p> + +<p>"There were six of us. Fate ordained that only one in the crowd could +have money at one time. The other five lived off him and despised +themselves. We despised ourselves five times as long as we had +admiration."</p> + +<p>"And was this just because you had no money?"</p> + +<p>"It was because we had no money in New York," said Hawker.</p> + +<p>"Well, after a while something happened——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, it didn't. Something impended always, but it never happened."</p> + +<p>"In a case like that one's own people must be such a blessing. The +sympathy——"</p> + +<p>"One's own people!" said Hawker.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, "one's own people and more intimate friends. The +appreciation——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'The appreciation!'" said Hawker. "Yes, indeed!"</p> + +<p>He seemed so ill-tempered that she became silent. The boat floated +through the shadows of the trees and out to where the water was like a +blue crystal. The dog on the shore thrashed about in the reeds and waded +in the shallows, mourning his unhappy state in an occasional cry. Hawker +stood up and sternly shouted. Thereafter silence was among the reeds. +The moon slipped sharply through the little clouds.</p> + +<p>The girl said, "I liked that last picture of yours."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"At the last exhibition, you know, you had that one with the cows—and +things—in the snow—and—and a haystack."</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "of course. Did you like it, really? I thought it about +my best. And you really remembered it? Oh," he cried, "Hollanden perhaps +recalled it to you."</p> + +<p>"Why, no," she said. "I remembered it, of course."</p> + +<p>"Well, what made you remember it?" he demanded, as if he had cause to be +indignant.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why—I just remembered it because—I liked it, and because—well, the +people with me said—said it was about the best thing in the exhibit, +and they talked about it a good deal. And then I remember that Hollie +had spoken of you, and then I—I——"</p> + +<p>"Never mind," he said. After a moment, he added, "The confounded picture +was no good, anyhow!"</p> + +<p>The girl started. "What makes you speak so of it? It was good. Of +course, I don't know—I can't talk about pictures, but," she said in +distress, "everybody said it was fine."</p> + +<p>"It wasn't any good," he persisted, with dogged shakes of the head.</p> + +<p>From off in the darkness they heard the sound of Hollanden's oars +splashing in the water. Sometimes there was squealing by the Worcester +girls, and at other times loud arguments on points of navigation.</p> + +<p>"Oh," said the girl suddenly, "Mr. Oglethorpe is coming to-morrow!"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Oglethorpe?" said Hawker. "Is he?"</p> + +<p>"Yes." She gazed off at the water.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He's an old friend of ours. He is always so good, and Roger and little +Helen simply adore him. He was my brother's chum in college, and they +were quite inseparable until Herbert's death. He always brings me +violets. But I know you will like him."</p> + +<p>"I shall expect to," said Hawker.</p> + +<p>"I'm so glad he is coming. What time does that morning stage get here?"</p> + +<p>"About eleven," said Hawker.</p> + +<p>"He wrote that he would come then. I hope he won't disappoint us."</p> + +<p>"Undoubtedly he will be here," said Hawker.</p> + +<p>The wind swept from the ridge top, where some great bare pines stood in +the moonlight. A loon called in its strange, unearthly note from the +lakeshore. As Hawker turned the boat toward the dock, the flashing rays +from the boat fell upon the head of the girl in the rear seat, and he +rowed very slowly.</p> + +<p>The girl was looking away somewhere with a mystic, shining glance. She +leaned her chin in her hand. Hawker, facing her, merely paddled +subconsciously. He seemed greatly impressed and expectant.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p> + +<p>At last she spoke very slowly. "I wish I knew Mr. Oglethorpe was not +going to disappoint us."</p> + +<p>Hawker said, "Why, no, I imagine not."</p> + +<p>"Well, he is a trifle uncertain in matters of time. The children—and +all of us—shall be anxious. I know you will like him."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + + +<p>"Eh?" said Hollanden. "Oglethorpe? Oglethorpe? Why, he's that friend of +the Fanhalls! Yes, of course, I know him! Deuced good fellow, too! What +about him?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing, only he's coming here to-morrow," answered Hawker. "What +kind of a fellow did you say he was?"</p> + +<p>"Deuced good fellow! What are you so—— Say, by the nine mad +blacksmiths of Donawhiroo, he's your rival! Why, of course! Glory, but I +must be thick-headed to-night!"</p> + +<p>Hawker said, "Where's your tobacco?"</p> + +<p>"Yonder, in that jar. Got a pipe?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. How do you know he's my rival?"</p> + +<p>"Know it? Why, hasn't he been—— Say, this is getting thrilling!" +Hollanden sprang to his feet and, filling a pipe, flung himself into the +chair and began to rock himself madly to and fro. He puffed clouds of +smoke.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p> + +<p>Hawker stood with his face in shadow. At last he said, in tones of deep +weariness, "Well, I think I'd better be going home and turning in."</p> + +<p>"Hold on!" Hollanden exclaimed, turning his eyes from a prolonged stare +at the ceiling, "don't go yet! Why, man, this is just the time when—— +Say, who would ever think of Jem Oglethorpe's turning up to harrie you! +Just at this time, too!"</p> + +<p>"Oh," cried Hawker suddenly, filled with rage, "you remind me of an +accursed duffer! Why can't you tell me something about the man, instead +of sitting there and gibbering those crazy things at the ceiling?"</p> + +<p>"By the piper——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, shut up! Tell me something about Oglethorpe, can't you? I want to +hear about him. Quit all that other business!"</p> + +<p>"Why, Jem Oglethorpe, he—why, say, he's one of the best fellows going. +If he were only an ass! If he were only an ass, now, you could feel easy +in your mind. But he isn't. No, indeed. Why, blast him, there isn't a +man that knows him who doesn't like Jem Oglethorpe! Excepting the +chumps!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> + +<p>The window of the little room was open, and the voices of the pines +could be heard as they sang of their long sorrow. Hawker pulled a chair +close and stared out into the darkness. The people on the porch of the +inn were frequently calling, "Good-night! Good-night!"</p> + +<p>Hawker said, "And of course he's got train loads of money?"</p> + +<p>"You bet he has! He can pave streets with it. Lordie, but this is a +situation!"</p> + +<p>A heavy scowl settled upon Hawker's brow, and he kicked at the dressing +case. "Say, Hollie, look here! Sometimes I think you regard me as a bug +and like to see me wriggle. But——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't be a fool!" said Hollanden, glaring through the smoke. "Under +the circumstances, you are privileged to rave and ramp around like a +wounded lunatic, but for heaven's sake don't swoop down on me like that! +Especially when I'm—when I'm doing all I can for you."</p> + +<p>"Doing all you can for me! Nobody asked you to. You talk as if I were an +infant."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There! That's right! Blaze up like a fire balloon just because I said +that, will you? A man in your condition—why, confound you, you are an +infant!"</p> + +<p>Hawker seemed again overwhelmed in a great dislike of himself. "Oh, +well, of course, Hollie, it——" He waved his hand. "A man feels +like—like——"</p> + +<p>"Certainly he does," said Hollanden. "That's all right, old man."</p> + +<p>"And look now, Hollie, here's this Oglethorpe——"</p> + +<p>"May the devil fly away with him!"</p> + +<p>"Well, here he is, coming along when I thought maybe—after a while, you +know—I might stand some show. And you are acquainted with him, so give +me a line on him."</p> + +<p>"Well, I should advise you to——"</p> + +<p>"Blow your advice! I want to hear about Oglethorpe."</p> + +<p>"Well, in the first place, he is a rattling good fellow, as I told you +before, and this is what makes it so——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, hang what it makes it! Go on."</p> + +<p>"He is a rattling good fellow and he has stacks of money. Of course, in +this case his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> having money doesn't affect the situation much. Miss +Fanhall——"</p> + +<p>"Say, can you keep to the thread of the story, you infernal literary +man!"</p> + +<p>"Well, he's popular. He don't talk money—ever. And if he's wicked, he's +not sufficiently proud of it to be perpetually describing his sins. And +then he is not so hideously brilliant, either. That's great credit to a +man in these days. And then he—well, take it altogether, I should say +Jem Oglethorpe was a smashing good fellow."</p> + +<p>"I wonder how long he is going to stay?" murmured Hawker.</p> + +<p>During this conversation his pipe had often died out. It was out at this +time. He lit another match. Hollanden had watched the fingers of his +friend as the match was scratched. "You're nervous, Billie," he said.</p> + +<p>Hawker straightened in his chair. "No, I'm not."</p> + +<p>"I saw your fingers tremble when you lit that match."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you lie!"</p> + +<p>Hollanden mused again. "He's popular with women, too," he said +ultimately; "and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> often a woman will like a man and hunt his scalp just +because she knows other women like him and want his scalp."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but not——"</p> + +<p>"Hold on! You were going to say that she was not like other women, +weren't you?"</p> + +<p>"Not exactly that, but——"</p> + +<p>"Well, we will have all that understood."</p> + +<p>After a period of silence Hawker said, "I must be going."</p> + +<p>As the painter walked toward the door Hollanden cried to him: "Heavens! +Of all pictures of a weary pilgrim!" His voice was very compassionate.</p> + +<p>Hawker wheeled, and an oath spun through the smoke clouds.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + + +<p>"Where's Mr. Hawker this morning?" asked the younger Miss Worcester. "I +thought he was coming up to play tennis?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. Confound him! I don't see why he didn't come," said +Hollanden, looking across the shining valley. He frowned questioningly +at the landscape. "I wonder where in the mischief he is?"</p> + +<p>The Worcester girls began also to stare at the great gleaming stretch of +green and gold. "Didn't he tell you he was coming?" they demanded.</p> + +<p>"He didn't say a word about it," answered Hollanden. "I supposed, of +course, he was coming. We will have to postpone the <i>mêlée</i>."</p> + +<p>Later he met Miss Fanhall. "You look as if you were going for a walk?"</p> + +<p>"I am," she said, swinging her parasol. "To meet the stage. Have you +seen Mr. Hawker to-day?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No," he said. "He is not coming up this morning. He is in a great fret +about that field of stubble, and I suppose he is down there sketching +the life out of it. These artists—they take such a fiendish interest in +their work. I dare say we won't see much of him until he has finished +it. Where did you say you were going to walk?"</p> + +<p>"To meet the stage."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, I won't have to play tennis for an hour, and if you +insist——"</p> + +<p>"Of course."</p> + +<p>As they strolled slowly in the shade of the trees Hollanden began, +"Isn't that Hawker an ill-bred old thing?"</p> + +<p>"No, he is not." Then after a time she said, "Why?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he gets so absorbed in a beastly smudge of paint that I really +suppose he cares nothing for anything else in the world. Men who are +really artists—I don't believe they are capable of deep human +affections. So much of them is occupied by art. There's not much left +over, you see."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe it at all," she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"You don't, eh?" cried Hollanden scorn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>fully. "Well, let me tell you, +young woman, there is a great deal of truth in it. Now, there's +Hawker—as good a fellow as ever lived, too, in a way, and yet he's an +artist. Why, look how he treats—look how he treats that poor setter +dog!"</p> + +<p>"Why, he's as kind to him as he can be," she declared.</p> + +<p>"And I tell you he is not!" cried Hollanden.</p> + +<p>"He is, Hollie. You—you are unspeakable when you get in these moods."</p> + +<p>"There—that's just you in an argument. I'm not in a mood at all. Now, +look—the dog loves him with simple, unquestioning devotion that fairly +brings tears to one's eyes——"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said.</p> + +<p>"And he—why, he's as cold and stern——"</p> + +<p>"He isn't. He isn't, Holly. You are awf'ly unfair."</p> + +<p>"No, I'm not. I am simply a liberal observer. And Hawker, with his +people, too," he went on darkly; "you can't tell—you don't know +anything about it—but I tell you that what I have seen proves my +assertion<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> that the artistic mind has no space left for the human +affections. And as for the dog——"</p> + +<p>"I thought you were his friend, Hollie?"</p> + +<p>"Whose?"</p> + +<p>"No, not the dog's. And yet you—really, Hollie, there is something +unnatural in you. You are so stupidly keen in looking at people that you +do not possess common loyalty to your friends. It is because you are a +writer, I suppose. That has to explain so many things. Some of your +traits are very disagreeable."</p> + +<p>"There! there!" plaintively cried Hollanden. "This is only about the +treatment of a dog, mind you. Goodness, what an oration!"</p> + +<p>"It wasn't about the treatment of a dog. It was about your treatment of +your friends."</p> + +<p>"Well," he said sagely, "it only goes to show that there is nothing +impersonal in the mind of a woman. I undertook to discuss broadly——</p> + +<p>"Oh, Hollie!"</p> + +<p>"At any rate, it was rather below you to do such scoffing at me."</p> + +<p>"Well, I didn't mean—not all of it, Hollie."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, I didn't mean what I said about the dog and all that, either."</p> + +<p>"You didn't?" She turned toward him, large-eyed.</p> + +<p>"No. Not a single word of it."</p> + +<p>"Well, what did you say it for, then?" she demanded indignantly.</p> + +<p>"I said it," answered Hollanden placidly, "just to tease you." He looked +abstractedly up to the trees.</p> + +<p>Presently she said slowly, "Just to tease me?"</p> + +<p>At this time Hollanden wore an unmistakable air of having a desire to +turn up his coat collar. "Oh, come now——" he began nervously.</p> + +<p>"George Hollanden," said the voice at his shoulder, "you are not only +disagreeable, but you are hopelessly ridiculous. I—I wish you would +never speak to me again!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, come now, Grace, don't—don't—— Look! There's the stage coming, +isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"No, the stage is not coming. I wish—I wish you were at the bottom of +the sea, George Hollanden. And—and Mr. Hawker, too. There!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, bless my soul! And all about an infernal dog," wailed Hollanden. +"Look! Honest, now, there's the stage. See it? See it?"</p> + +<p>"It isn't there at all," she said.</p> + +<p>Gradually he seemed to recover his courage. "What made you so +tremendously angry? I don't see why."</p> + +<p>After consideration, she said decisively, "Well, because."</p> + +<p>"That's why I teased you," he rejoined.</p> + +<p>"Well, because—because——"</p> + +<p>"Go on," he told her finally. "You are doing very well." He waited +patiently.</p> + +<p>"Well," she said, "it is dreadful to defend somebody so—so excitedly, +and then have it turned out just a tease. I don't know what he would +think."</p> + +<p>"Who would think?"</p> + +<p>"Why—he."</p> + +<p>"What could he think? Now, what could he think? Why," said Hollanden, +waxing eloquent, "he couldn't under any circumstances think—think +anything at all. Now, could he?"</p> + +<p>She made no reply.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Could he?"</p> + +<p>She was apparently reflecting.</p> + +<p>"Under any circumstances," persisted Hollanden, "he couldn't think +anything at all. Now, could he?"</p> + +<p>"No," she said.</p> + +<p>"Well, why are you angry at me, then?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + + +<p>"John," said the old mother, from the profound mufflings of the pillow +and quilts.</p> + +<p>"What?" said the old man. He was tugging at his right boot, and his tone +was very irascible.</p> + +<p>"I think William's changed a good deal."</p> + +<p>"Well, what if he has?" replied the father, in another burst of +ill-temper. He was then tugging at his left boot.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'm afraid he's changed a good deal," said the muffled voice from +the bed. "He's got a good many fine friends, now, John—folks what put +on a good many airs; and he don't care for his home like he did."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, I don't guess he's changed very much," said the old man +cheerfully. He was now free of both boots.</p> + +<p>She raised herself on an elbow and looked out with a troubled face. +"John, I think he likes that girl."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What girl?" said he.</p> + +<p>"What girl? Why, that awful handsome girl you see around—of course."</p> + +<p>"Do you think he likes 'er?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid so—I'm afraid so," murmured the mother mournfully.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," said the old man, without alarm, or grief, or pleasure in +his tone.</p> + +<p>He turned the lamp's wick very low and carried the lamp to the head of +the stairs, where he perched it on the step. When he returned he said, +"She's mighty good-look-in'!"</p> + +<p>"Well, that ain't everything," she snapped. "How do we know she ain't +proud, and selfish, and—everything?"</p> + +<p>"How do you know she is?" returned the old man.</p> + +<p>"And she may just be leading him on."</p> + +<p>"Do him good, then," said he, with impregnable serenity. "Next time +he'll know better."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm worried about it," she said, as she sank back on the pillow +again. "I think William's changed a good deal. He don't seem to care +about—us—like he did."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, go to sleep!" said the father drowsily.</p> + +<p>She was silent for a time, and then she said, "John?"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Do you think I better speak to him about that girl?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>She grew silent again, but at last she demanded, "Why not?"</p> + +<p>"'Cause it's none of your business. Go to sleep, will you?" And +presently he did, but the old mother lay blinking wild-eyed into the +darkness.</p> + +<p>In the morning Hawker did not appear at the early breakfast, eaten when +the blue glow of dawn shed its ghostly lights upon the valley. The old +mother placed various dishes on the back part of the stove. At ten +o'clock he came downstairs. His mother was sweeping busily in the +parlour at the time, but she saw him and ran to the back part of the +stove. She slid the various dishes on to the table. "Did you oversleep?" +she asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I don't feel very well this morning," he said. He pulled his chair +close to the table and sat there staring.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> + +<p>She renewed her sweeping in the parlour. When she returned he sat still +staring undeviatingly at nothing.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you eat your breakfast?" she said anxiously.</p> + +<p>"I tell you, mother, I don't feel very well this morning," he answered +quite sharply.</p> + +<p>"Well," she said meekly, "drink some coffee and you'll feel better."</p> + +<p>Afterward he took his painting machinery and left the house. His younger +sister was at the well. She looked at him with a little smile and a +little sneer. "Going up to the inn this morning?" she said.</p> + +<p>"I don't see how that concerns you, Mary?" he rejoined, with dignity.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my!" she said airily.</p> + +<p>"But since you are so interested, I don't mind telling you that I'm not +going up to the inn this morning."</p> + +<p>His sister fixed him with her eye. "She ain't mad at you, is she, Will?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you mean, Mary." He glared hatefully at her and +strode away.</p> + +<p>Stanley saw him going through the fields<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> and leaped a fence jubilantly +in pursuit. In a wood the light sifted through the foliage and burned +with a peculiar reddish lustre on the masses of dead leaves. He frowned +at it for a while from different points. Presently he erected his easel +and began to paint. After a a time he threw down his brush and swore. +Stanley, who had been solemnly staring at the scene as if he too was +sketching it, looked up in surprise.</p> + +<p>In wandering aimlessly through the fields and the forest Hawker once +found himself near the road to Hemlock Inn. He shied away from it +quickly as if it were a great snake.</p> + +<p>While most of the family were at supper, Mary, the younger sister, came +charging breathlessly into the kitchen. "Ma—sister," she cried, "I know +why—why Will didn't go to the inn to-day. There's another fellow come. +Another fellow."</p> + +<p>"Who? Where? What do you mean?" exclaimed her mother and her sister.</p> + +<p>"Why, another fellow up at the inn," she shouted, triumphant in her +information. "Another fellow come up on the stage this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> morning. And she +went out driving with him this afternoon."</p> + +<p>"Well," exclaimed her mother and her sister.</p> + +<p>"Yep. And he's an awful good-looking fellow, too. And she—oh, my—she +looked as if she thought the world and all of him."</p> + +<p>"Well," exclaimed her mother and her sister again.</p> + +<p>"Sho!" said the old man. "You wimen leave William alone and quit your +gabbling."</p> + +<p>The three women made a combined assault upon him. "Well, we ain't +a-hurting him, are we, pa? You needn't be so snifty. I guess we ain't +a-hurting him much."</p> + +<p>"Well," said the old man. And to this argument he added, "Sho!"</p> + +<p>They kept him out of the subsequent consultations.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + + +<p>The next day, as little Roger was going toward the tennis court, a large +orange and white setter ran effusively from around the corner of the inn +and greeted him. Miss Fanhall, the Worcester girls, Hollanden, and +Oglethorpe faced to the front like soldiers. Hollanden cried, "Why, +Billie Hawker must be coming!" Hawker at that moment appeared, coming +toward them with a smile which was not overconfident.</p> + +<p>Little Roger went off to perform some festivities of his own on the +brown carpet under a clump of pines. The dog, to join him, felt obliged +to circle widely about the tennis court. He was much afraid of this +tennis court, with its tiny round things that sometimes hit him. When +near it he usually slunk along at a little sheep trot and with an eye of +wariness upon it.</p> + +<p>At her first opportunity the younger Wor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>cester girl said, "You didn't +come up yesterday, Mr. Hawker."</p> + +<p>Hollanden seemed to think that Miss Fanhall turned her head as if she +wished to hear the explanation of the painter's absence, so he engaged +her in swift and fierce conversation.</p> + +<p>"No," said Hawker. "I was resolved to finish a sketch of a stubble field +which I began a good many days ago. You see, I was going to do such a +great lot of work this summer, and I've done hardly a thing. I really +ought to compel myself to do some, you know."</p> + +<p>"There," said Hollanden, with a victorious nod, "just what I told you!"</p> + +<p>"You didn't tell us anything of the kind," retorted the Worcester girls +with one voice.</p> + +<p>A middle-aged woman came upon the porch of the inn, and after scanning +for a moment the group at the tennis court she hurriedly withdrew. +Presently she appeared again, accompanied by five more middle-aged +women. "You see," she said to the others, "it is as I said. He has come +back."</p> + +<p>The five surveyed the group at the tennis court, and then said: "So he +has. I knew he would. Well, I declare! Did you ever?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> Their voices were +pitched at low keys and they moved with care, but their smiles were +broad and full of a strange glee.</p> + +<p>"I wonder how he feels," said one in subtle ecstasy.</p> + +<p>Another laughed. "You know how you would feel, my dear, if you were him +and saw yourself suddenly cut out by a man who was so hopelessly +superior to you. Why, Oglethorpe's a thousand times better looking. And +then think of his wealth and social position!"</p> + +<p>One whispered dramatically, "They say he never came up here at all +yesterday."</p> + +<p>Another replied: "No more he did. That's what we've been talking about. +Stayed down at the farm all day, poor fellow!"</p> + +<p>"Do you really think she cares for Oglethorpe?"</p> + +<p>"Care for him? Why, of course she does. Why, when they came up the path +yesterday morning I never saw a girl's face so bright. I asked my +husband how much of the Chambers Street Bank stock Oglethorpe owned, and +he said that if Oglethorpe took his money out there wouldn't be enough +left to buy a pie."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p> + +<p>The youngest woman in the corps said: "Well, I don't care. I think it is +too bad. I don't see anything so much in that Mr. Oglethorpe."</p> + +<p>The others at once patronized her. "Oh, you don't, my dear? Well, let me +tell you that bank stock waves in the air like a banner. You would see +it if you were her."</p> + +<p>"Well, she don't have to care for his money."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, of course she don't have to. But they are just the ones that +do, my dear. They are just the ones that do."</p> + +<p>"Well, it's a shame."</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course it's a shame."</p> + +<p>The woman who had assembled the corps said to one at her side: "Oh, the +commonest kind of people, my dear, the commonest kind. The father is a +regular farmer, you know. He drives oxen. Such language! You can really +hear him miles away bellowing at those oxen. And the girls are shy, +half-wild things—oh, you have no idea! I saw one of them yesterday when +we were out driving. She dodged as we came along, for I suppose she was +ashamed of her frock, poor child! And<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> the mother—well, I wish you +could see her! A little, old, dried-up thing. We saw her carrying a pail +of water from the well, and, oh, she bent and staggered dreadfully, poor +thing!"</p> + +<p>"And the gate to their front yard, it has a broken hinge, you know. Of +course, that's an awful bad sign. When people let their front gate hang +on one hinge you know what that means."</p> + +<p>After gazing again at the group at the court, the youngest member of the +corps said, "Well, he's a good tennis player anyhow."</p> + +<p>The others smiled indulgently. "Oh, yes, my dear, he's a good tennis +player."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + + +<p>One day Hollanden said, in greeting, to Hawker, "Well, he's gone."</p> + +<p>"Who?" asked Hawker.</p> + +<p>"Why, Oglethorpe, of course. Who did you think I meant?"</p> + +<p>"How did I know?" said Hawker angrily.</p> + +<p>"Well," retorted Hollanden, "your chief interest was in his movements, I +thought."</p> + +<p>"Why, of course not, hang you! Why should I be interested in his +movements?"</p> + +<p>"Well, you weren't, then. Does that suit you?"</p> + +<p>After a period of silence Hawker asked, "What did he—what made him go?"</p> + +<p>"Who?"</p> + +<p>"Why—Oglethorpe."</p> + +<p>"How was I to know you meant him? Well, he went because some important +business affairs in New York demanded it, he said;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> but he is coming +back again in a week. They had rather a late interview on the porch last +evening."</p> + +<p>"Indeed," said Hawker stiffly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and he went away this morning looking particularly elated. Aren't +you glad?"</p> + +<p>"I don't see how it concerns me," said Hawker, with still greater +stiffness.</p> + +<p>In a walk to the lake that afternoon Hawker and Miss Fanhall found +themselves side by side and silent. The girl contemplated the distant +purple hills as if Hawker were not at her side and silent. Hawker +frowned at the roadway. Stanley, the setter, scouted the fields in a +genial gallop.</p> + +<p>At last the girl turned to him. "Seems to me," she said, "seems to me +you are dreadfully quiet this afternoon."</p> + +<p>"I am thinking about my wretched field of stubble," he answered, still +frowning.</p> + +<p>Her parasol swung about until the girl was looking up at his inscrutable +profile. "Is it, then, so important that you haven't time to talk to +me?" she asked with an air of what might have been timidity.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> + +<p>A smile swept the scowl from his face. "No, indeed," he said, instantly; +"nothing is so important as that."</p> + +<p>She seemed aggrieved then. "Hum—you didn't look so," she told him.</p> + +<p>"Well, I didn't mean to look any other way," he said contritely. "You +know what a bear I am sometimes. Hollanden says it is a fixed scowl from +trying to see uproarious pinks, yellows, and blues."</p> + +<p>A little brook, a brawling, ruffianly little brook, swaggered from side +to side down the glade, swirling in white leaps over the great dark +rocks and shouting challenge to the hillsides. Hollanden and the +Worcester girls had halted in a place of ferns and wet moss. Their +voices could be heard quarrelling above the clamour of the stream. +Stanley, the setter, had sousled himself in a pool and then gone and +rolled in the dust of the road. He blissfully lolled there, with his +coat now resembling an old door mat.</p> + +<p>"Don't you think Jem is a wonderfully good fellow?" said the girl to the +painter.</p> + +<p>"Why, yes, of course," said Hawker.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, he is," she retorted, suddenly defensive.</p> + +<p>"Of course," he repeated loudly.</p> + +<p>She said, "Well, I don't think you like him as well as I like him."</p> + +<p>"Certainly not," said Hawker.</p> + +<p>"You don't?" She looked at him in a kind of astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Certainly not," said Hawker again, and very irritably. "How in the wide +world do you expect me to like him as well as you like him?"</p> + +<p>"I don't mean as well," she explained.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Hawker.</p> + +<p>"But I mean you don't like him the way I do at all—the way I expected +you to like him. I thought men of a certain pattern always fancied their +kind of men wherever they met them, don't you know? And I was so sure +you and Jem would be friends."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" cried Hawker. Presently he added, "But he isn't my kind of a man +at all."</p> + +<p>"He is. Jem is one of the best fellows in the world."</p> + +<p>Again Hawker cried "Oh!"</p> + +<p>They paused and looked down at the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> brook. Stanley sprawled panting in +the dust and watched them. Hawker leaned against a hemlock. He sighed +and frowned, and then finally coughed with great resolution. "I suppose, +of course, that I am unjust to him. I care for you myself, you +understand, and so it becomes——"</p> + +<p>He paused for a moment because he heard a rustling of her skirts as if +she had moved suddenly. Then he continued: "And so it becomes difficult +for me to be fair to him. I am not able to see him with a true eye." He +bitterly addressed the trees on the opposite side of the glen. "Oh, I +care for you, of course. You might have expected it." He turned from the +trees and strode toward the roadway. The uninformed and disreputable +Stanley arose and wagged his tail.</p> + +<p>As if the girl had cried out at a calamity, Hawker said again, "Well, +you might have expected it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + + +<p>At the lake, Hollanden went pickerel fishing, lost his hook in a gaunt, +gray stump, and earned much distinction by his skill in discovering +words to express his emotion without resorting to the list ordinarily +used in such cases. The younger Miss Worcester ruined a new pair of +boots, and Stanley sat on the bank and howled the song of the forsaken. +At the conclusion of the festivities Hollanden said, "Billie, you ought +to take the boat back."</p> + +<p>"Why had I? You borrowed it."</p> + +<p>"Well, I borrowed it and it was a lot of trouble, and now you ought to +take it back."</p> + +<p>Ultimately Hawker said, "Oh, let's both go!"</p> + +<p>On this journey Hawker made a long speech to his friend, and at the end +of it he exclaimed: "And now do you think she cares so much for +Oglethorpe? Why, she as good<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> as told me that he was only a very great +friend."</p> + +<p>Hollanden wagged his head dubiously. "What a woman says doesn't amount +to shucks. It's the way she says it—that's what counts. Besides," he +cried in a brilliant afterthought, "she wouldn't tell you, anyhow, you +fool!"</p> + +<p>"You're an encouraging brute," said Hawker, with a rueful grin.</p> + +<p>Later the Worcester girls seized upon Hollanden and piled him high with +ferns and mosses. They dragged the long gray lichens from the chins of +venerable pines, and ran with them to Hollanden, and dashed them into +his arms. "Oh, hurry up, Hollie!" they cried, because with his great +load he frequently fell behind them in the march. He once positively +refused to carry these things another step. Some distance farther on the +road he positively refused to carry this old truck another step. When +almost to the inn he positively refused to carry this senseless rubbish +another step. The Worcester girls had such vivid contempt for his +expressed unwillingness that they neglected to tell him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> of any +appreciation they might have had for his noble struggle.</p> + +<p>As Hawker and Miss Fanhall proceeded slowly they heard a voice ringing +through the foliage: "Whoa! Haw! Git-ap, blast you! Haw! Haw, drat your +hides! Will you haw? Git-ap! Gee! Whoa!"</p> + +<p>Hawker said, "The others are a good ways ahead. Hadn't we better hurry a +little?"</p> + +<p>The girl obediently mended her pace.</p> + +<p>"Whoa! haw! git-ap!" shouted the voice in the distance. "Git over there, +Red, git over! Gee! Git-ap!" And these cries pursued the man and the +maid.</p> + +<p>At last Hawker said, "That's my father."</p> + +<p>"Where?" she asked, looking bewildered.</p> + +<p>"Back there, driving those oxen."</p> + +<p>The voice shouted: "Whoa! Git-ap! Gee! Red, git over there now, will +you? I'll trim the shin off'n you in a minute. Whoa! Haw! Haw! Whoa! +Git-ap!"</p> + +<p>Hawker repeated, "Yes, that's my father."</p> + +<p>"Oh, is it?" she said. "Let's wait for him."</p> + +<p>"All right," said Hawker sullenly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> + +<p>Presently a team of oxen waddled into view around the curve of the road. +They swung their heads slowly from side to side, bent under the yoke, +and looked out at the world with their great eyes, in which was a mystic +note of their humble, submissive, toilsome lives. An old wagon creaked +after them, and erect upon it was the tall and tattered figure of the +farmer swinging his whip and yelling: "Whoa! Haw there! Git-ap!" The +lash flicked and flew over the broad backs of the animals.</p> + +<p>"Hello, father!" said Hawker.</p> + +<p>"Whoa! Back! Whoa! Why, hello, William, what you doing here?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, just taking a walk. Miss Fanhall, this is my father. Father——"</p> + +<p>"How d' you do?" The old man balanced himself with care and then raised +his straw hat from his head with a quick gesture and with what was +perhaps a slightly apologetic air, as if he feared that he was rather +over-doing the ceremonial part.</p> + +<p>The girl later became very intent upon the oxen. "Aren't they nice old +things?" she said, as she stood looking into the faces of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> the team. +"But what makes their eyes so very sad?"</p> + +<p>"I dunno," said the old man.</p> + +<p>She was apparently unable to resist a desire to pat the nose of the +nearest ox, and for that purpose she stretched forth a cautious hand. +But the ox moved restlessly at the moment and the girl put her hand +apprehensively behind herself and backed away. The old man on the wagon +grinned. "They won't hurt you," he told her.</p> + +<p>"They won't bite, will they?" she asked, casting a glance of inquiry at +the old man and then turning her eyes again upon the fascinating +animals.</p> + +<p>"No," said the old man, still grinning, "just as gentle as kittens."</p> + +<p>She approached them circuitously. "Sure?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Sure," replied the old man. He climbed from the wagon and came to the +heads of the oxen. With him as an ally, she finally succeeded in patting +the nose of the nearest ox. "Aren't they solemn, kind old fellows? Don't +you get to think a great deal of them?"</p> + +<p>"Well, they're kind of aggravating beasts<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> sometimes," he said. "But +they're a good yoke—a good yoke. They can haul with anything in this +region."</p> + +<p>"It doesn't make them so terribly tired, does it?" she said hopefully. +"They are such strong animals."</p> + +<p>"No-o-o," he said. "I dunno. I never thought much about it."</p> + +<p>With their heads close together they became so absorbed in their +conversation that they seemed to forget the painter. He sat on a log and +watched them.</p> + +<p>Ultimately the girl said, "Won't you give us a ride?"</p> + +<p>"Sure," said the old man. "Come on, and I'll help you up." He assisted +her very painstakingly to the old board that usually served him as a +seat, and he clambered to a place beside her. "Come on, William," he +called. The painter climbed into the wagon and stood behind his father, +putting his hand on the old man's shoulder to preserve his balance.</p> + +<p>"Which is the near ox?" asked the girl with a serious frown.</p> + +<p>"Git-ap! Haw! That one there," said the old man.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And this one is the off ox?"</p> + +<p>"Yep."</p> + +<p>"Well, suppose you sat here where I do; would this one be the near ox +and that one the off ox, then?"</p> + +<p>"Nope. Be just same."</p> + +<p>"Then the near ox isn't always the nearest one to a person, at all? That +ox there is always the near ox?"</p> + +<p>"Yep, always. 'Cause when you drive 'em a-foot you always walk on the +left side."</p> + +<p>"Well, I never knew that before."</p> + +<p>After studying them in silence for a while, she said, "Do you think they +are happy?"</p> + +<p>"I dunno," said the old man. "I never thought." As the wagon creaked on +they gravely discussed this problem, contemplating profoundly the backs +of the animals. Hawker gazed in silence at the meditating two before +him. Under the wagon Stanley, the setter, walked slowly, wagging his +tail in placid contentment and ruminating upon his experiences.</p> + +<p>At last the old man said cheerfully, "Shall I take you around by the +inn?"</p> + +<p>Hawker started and seemed to wince at the question. Perhaps he was about +to inter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>rupt, but the girl cried: "Oh, will you? Take us right to the +door? Oh, that will be awfully good of you!"</p> + +<p>"Why," began Hawker, "you don't want—you don't want to ride to the inn +on an—on an ox wagon, do you?"</p> + +<p>"Why, of course I do," she retorted, directing a withering glance at +him.</p> + +<p>"Well——" he protested.</p> + +<p>"Let 'er be, William," interrupted the old man. "Let 'er do what she +wants to. I guess everybody in th' world ain't even got an ox wagon to +ride in. Have they?"</p> + +<p>"No, indeed," she returned, while withering Hawker again.</p> + +<p>"Gee! Gee! Whoa! Haw! Git-ap! Haw! Whoa! Back!"</p> + +<p>After these two attacks Hawker became silent.</p> + +<p>"Gee! Gee! Gee there, blast—s'cuse me. Gee! Whoa! Git-ap!"</p> + +<p>All the boarders of the inn were upon its porches waiting for the dinner +gong. There was a surge toward the railing as a middle-aged woman passed +the word along her middle-aged friends that Miss Fanhall, accom<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>panied +by Mr. Hawker, had arrived on the ox cart of Mr. Hawker's father.</p> + +<p>"Whoa! Ha! Git-ap!" said the old man in more subdued tones. "Whoa there, +Red! Whoa, now! Wh-o-a!"</p> + +<p>Hawker helped the girl to alight, and she paused for a moment conversing +with the old man about the oxen. Then she ran smiling up the steps to +meet the Worcester girls.</p> + +<p>"Oh, such a lovely time! Those dear old oxen—you should have been with +us!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + + +<p>"Oh, Miss Fanhall!"</p> + +<p>"What is it, Mrs. Truscot?"</p> + +<p>"That was a great prank of yours last night, my dear. We all enjoyed the +joke so much."</p> + +<p>"Prank?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, your riding on the ox cart with that old farmer and that young Mr. +What's-his-name, you know. We all thought it delicious. Ah, my dear, +after all—don't be offended—if we had your people's wealth and +position we might do that sort of unconventional thing, too; but, ah, my +dear, we can't, we can't! Isn't the young painter a charming man?"</p> + +<p>Out on the porch Hollanden was haranguing his friends. He heard a step +and glanced over his shoulder to see who was about to interrupt him. He +suddenly ceased his oration, and said, "Hello! what's the matter with +Grace?" The heads turned promptly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> + +<p>As the girl came toward them it could be seen that her cheeks were very +pink and her eyes were flashing general wrath and defiance.</p> + +<p>The Worcester girls burst into eager interrogation. "Oh, nothing!" she +replied at first, but later she added in an undertone, "That wretched +Mrs. Truscot——"</p> + +<p>"What did she say?" whispered the younger Worcester girl.</p> + +<p>"Why, she said—oh, nothing!"</p> + +<p>Both Hollanden and Hawker were industriously reflecting.</p> + +<p>Later in the morning Hawker said privately to the girl, "I know what +Mrs. Truscot talked to you about."</p> + +<p>She turned upon him belligerently. "You do?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he answered with meekness. "It was undoubtedly some reference to +your ride upon the ox wagon."</p> + +<p>She hesitated a moment, and then said, "Well?"</p> + +<p>With still greater meekness he said, "I am very sorry."</p> + +<p>"Are you, indeed?" she inquired loftily. "Sorry for what? Sorry that I +rode upon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> your father's ox wagon, or sorry that Mrs. Truscot was rude +to me about it?"</p> + +<p>"Well, in some ways it was my fault."</p> + +<p>"Was it? I suppose you intend to apologize for your father's owning an +ox wagon, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"No, but——"</p> + +<p>"Well, I am going to ride in the ox wagon whenever I choose. Your +father, I know, will always be glad to have me. And if it so shocks you, +there is not the slightest necessity of your coming with us."</p> + +<p>They glowered at each other, and he said, "You have twisted the question +with the usual ability of your sex."</p> + +<p>She pondered as if seeking some particularly destructive retort. She +ended by saying bluntly, "Did you know that we were going home next +week?"</p> + +<p>A flush came suddenly to his face. "No. Going home? Who? You?"</p> + +<p>"Why, of course." And then with an indolent air she continued, "I meant +to have told you before this, but somehow it quite escaped me."</p> + +<p>He stammered, "Are—are you, honestly?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> + +<p>She nodded. "Why, of course. Can't stay here forever, you know."</p> + +<p>They were then silent for a long time.</p> + +<p>At last Hawker said, "Do you remember what I told you yesterday?"</p> + +<p>"No. What was it?"</p> + +<p>He cried indignantly, "You know very well what I told you!"</p> + +<p>"I do not."</p> + +<p>"No," he sneered, "of course not! You never take the trouble to remember +such things. Of course not! Of course not!"</p> + +<p>"You are a very ridiculous person," she vouchsafed, after eying him +coldly.</p> + +<p>He arose abruptly. "I believe I am. By heavens, I believe I am!" he +cried in a fury.</p> + +<p>She laughed. "You are more ridiculous now than I have yet seen you."</p> + +<p>After a pause he said magnificently, "Well, Miss Fanhall, you will +doubtless find Mr. Hollanden's conversation to have a much greater +interest than that of such a ridiculous person."</p> + +<p>Hollanden approached them with the blithesome step of an untroubled man. +"Hello,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> you two people, why don't you—oh—ahem! Hold on, Billie, where +are you going?"</p> + +<p>"I——" began Hawker.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Hollie," cried the girl impetuously, "do tell me how to do that +slam thing, you know. I've tried it so often, but I don't believe I hold +my racket right. And you do it so beautifully."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that," said Hollanden. "It's not so very difficult. I'll show it to +you. You don't want to know this minute, do you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered.</p> + +<p>"Well, come over to the court, then. Come ahead, Billie!"</p> + +<p>"No," said Hawker, without looking at his friend, "I can't this morning, +Hollie. I've got to go to work. Good-bye!" He comprehended them both in +a swift bow and stalked away.</p> + +<p>Hollanden turned quickly to the girl. "What was the matter with Billie? +What was he grinding his teeth for? What was the matter with him?"</p> + +<p>"Why, nothing—was there?" she asked in surprise.</p> + +<p>"Why, he was grinding his teeth until he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> sounded like a stone crusher," +said Hollanden in a severe tone. "What was the matter with him?"</p> + +<p>"How should I know?" she retorted.</p> + +<p>"You've been saying something to him."</p> + +<p>"I! I didn't say a thing."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you did."</p> + +<p>"Hollie, don't be absurd."</p> + +<p>Hollanden debated with himself for a time, and then observed, "Oh, well, +I always said he was an ugly-tempered fellow——"</p> + +<p>The girl flashed him a little glance.</p> + +<p>"And now I am sure of it—as ugly-tempered a fellow as ever lived."</p> + +<p>"I believe you," said the girl. Then she added: "All men are. I declare, +I think you to be the most incomprehensible creatures. One never knows +what to expect of you. And you explode and go into rages and make +yourselves utterly detestable over the most trivial matters and at the +most unexpected times. You are all mad, I think."</p> + +<p>"I!" cried Hollanden wildly. "What in the mischief have I done?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + + +<p>"Look here," said Hollanden, at length, "I thought you were so +wonderfully anxious to learn that stroke?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I am," she said.</p> + +<p>"Come on, then." As they walked toward the tennis court he seemed to be +plunged into mournful thought. In his eyes was a singular expression, +which perhaps denoted the woe of the optimist pushed suddenly from its +height. He sighed. "Oh, well, I suppose all women, even the best of +them, are that way."</p> + +<p>"What way?" she said.</p> + +<p>"My dear child," he answered, in a benevolent manner, "you have +disappointed me, because I have discovered that you resemble the rest of +your sex."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" she remarked, maintaining a noncommittal attitude.</p> + +<p>"Yes," continued Hollanden, with a sad but kindly smile, "even you, +Grace, were not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> above fooling with the affections of a poor country +swain, until he don't know his ear from the tooth he had pulled two +years ago."</p> + +<p>She laughed. "He would be furious if he heard you call him a country +swain."</p> + +<p>"Who would?" said Hollanden.</p> + +<p>"Why, the country swain, of course," she rejoined.</p> + +<p>Hollanden seemed plunged in mournful reflection again. "Well, it's a +shame, Grace, anyhow," he observed, wagging his head dolefully. "It's a +howling, wicked shame."</p> + +<p>"Hollie, you have no brains at all," she said, "despite your opinion."</p> + +<p>"No," he replied ironically, "not a bit."</p> + +<p>"Well, you haven't, you know, Hollie."</p> + +<p>"At any rate," he said in an angry voice, "I have some comprehension and +sympathy for the feelings of others."</p> + +<p>"Have you?" she asked. "How do you mean, Hollie? Do you mean you have +feeling for them in their various sorrows? Or do you mean that you +understand their minds?"</p> + +<p>Hollanden ponderously began, "There have been people who have not +questioned my ability to——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, then, you mean that you both feel for them in their sorrows and +comprehend the machinery of their minds. Well, let me tell you that in +regard to the last thing you are wrong. You know nothing of anyone's +mind. You know less about human nature than anybody I have met."</p> + +<p>Hollanden looked at her in artless astonishment. He said, "Now, I wonder +what made you say that?" This interrogation did not seem to be addressed +to her, but was evidently a statement to himself of a problem. He +meditated for some moments. Eventually he said, "I suppose you mean that +I do not understand you?"</p> + +<p>"Why do you suppose I mean that?"</p> + +<p>"That's what a person usually means when he—or she—charges another +with not understanding the entire world."</p> + +<p>"Well, at any rate, it is not what I mean at all," she said. "I mean +that you habitually blunder about other people's affairs, in the belief, +I imagine, that you are a great philanthropist, when you are only making +an extraordinary exhibition of yourself."</p> + +<p>"The dev——" began Hollanden. After<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>ward he said, "Now, I wonder what +in blue thunder you mean this time?"</p> + +<p>"Mean this time? My meaning is very plain, Hollie. I supposed the words +were clear enough."</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said thoughtfully, "your words were clear enough, but then you +were of course referring back to some event, or series of events, in +which I had the singular ill fortune to displease you. Maybe you don't +know yourself, and spoke only from the emotion generated by the event, +or series of events, in which, as I have said, I had the singular ill +fortune to displease you."</p> + +<p>"How awf'ly clever!" she said.</p> + +<p>"But I can't recall the event, or series of events, at all," he +continued, musing with a scholarly air and disregarding her mockery. "I +can't remember a thing about it. To be sure, it might have been that +time when——"</p> + +<p>"I think it very stupid of you to hunt for a meaning when I believe I +made everything so perfectly clear," she said wrathfully.</p> + +<p>"Well, you yourself might not be aware of what you really meant," he +answered sagely. "Women often do that sort of thing, you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> know. Women +often speak from motives which, if brought face to face with them, they +wouldn't be able to distinguish from any other thing which they had +never before seen."</p> + +<p>"Hollie, if there is a disgusting person in the world it is he who +pretends to know so much concerning a woman's mind."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's because they who know, or pretend to know, so much about a +woman's mind are invariably satirical, you understand," said Hollanden +cheerfully.</p> + +<p>A dog ran frantically across the lawn, his nose high in the air and his +countenance expressing vast perturbation and alarm. "Why, Billie forgot +to whistle for his dog when he started for home," said Hollanden. "Come +here, old man! Well, 'e was a nice dog!" The girl also gave invitation, +but the setter would not heed them. He spun wildly about the lawn until +he seemed to strike his master's trail, and then, with his nose near to +the ground, went down the road at an eager gallop. They stood and +watched him.</p> + +<p>"Stanley's a nice dog," said Hollanden.</p> + +<p>"Indeed he is!" replied the girl fervently.</p> + +<p>Presently Hollanden remarked: "Well,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> don't let's fight any more, +particularly since we can't decide what we're fighting about. I can't +discover the reason, and you don't know it, so——"</p> + +<p>"I do know it. I told you very plainly."</p> + +<p>"Well, all right. Now, this is the way to work that slam: You give the +ball a sort of a lift—see!—underhanded and with your arm crooked and +stiff. Here, you smash this other ball into the net. Hi! Look out! If +you hit it that way you'll knock it over the hotel. Let the ball drop +nearer to the ground. Oh, heavens, not on the ground! Well, it's hard to +do it from the serve, anyhow. I'll go over to the other court and bat +you some easy ones."</p> + +<p>Afterward, when they were going toward the inn, the girl suddenly began +to laugh.</p> + +<p>"What are you giggling at?" said Hollanden.</p> + +<p>"I was thinking how furious he would be if he heard you call him a +country swain," she rejoined.</p> + +<p>"Who?" asked Hollanden.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + + +<p>Oglethorpe contended that the men who made the most money from books +were the best authors. Hollanden contended that they were the worst. +Oglethorpe said that such a question should be left to the people. +Hollanden said that the people habitually made wrong decisions on +questions that were left to them. "That is the most odiously +aristocratic belief," said Oglethorpe.</p> + +<p>"No," said Hollanden, "I like the people. But, considered generally, +they are a collection of ingenious blockheads."</p> + +<p>"But they read your books," said Oglethorpe, grinning.</p> + +<p>"That is through a mistake," replied Hollanden.</p> + +<p>As the discussion grew in size it incited the close attention of the +Worcester girls, but Miss Fanhall did not seem to hear it. Hawker, too,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> +was staring into the darkness with a gloomy and preoccupied air.</p> + +<p>"Are you sorry that this is your last evening at Hemlock Inn?" said the +painter at last, in a low tone.</p> + +<p>"Why, yes—certainly," said the girl.</p> + +<p>Under the sloping porch of the inn the vague orange light from the +parlours drifted to the black wall of the night.</p> + +<p>"I shall miss you," said the painter.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I dare say," said the girl.</p> + +<p>Hollanden was lecturing at length and wonderfully. In the mystic spaces +of the night the pines could be heard in their weird monotone, as they +softly smote branch and branch, as if moving in some solemn and +sorrowful dance.</p> + +<p>"This has been quite the most delightful summer of my experience," said +the painter.</p> + +<p>"I have found it very pleasant," said the girl.</p> + +<p>From time to time Hawker glanced furtively at Oglethorpe, Hollanden, and +the Worcester girl. This glance expressed no desire for their +well-being.</p> + +<p>"I shall miss you," he said to the girl<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> again. His manner was rather +desperate. She made no reply, and, after leaning toward her, he subsided +with an air of defeat.</p> + +<p>Eventually he remarked: "It will be very lonely here again. I dare say I +shall return to New York myself in a few weeks."</p> + +<p>"I hope you will call," she said.</p> + +<p>"I shall be delighted," he answered stiffly, and with a dissatisfied +look at her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Hawker," cried the younger Worcester girl, suddenly emerging +from the cloud of argument which Hollanden and Oglethorpe kept in the +air, "won't it be sad to lose Grace? Indeed, I don't know what we shall +do. Sha'n't we miss her dreadfully?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Hawker, "we shall of course miss her dreadfully."</p> + +<p>"Yes, won't it be frightful?" said the elder Worcester girl. "I can't +imagine what we will do without her. And Hollie is only going to spend +ten more days. Oh, dear! mamma, I believe, will insist on staying the +entire summer. It was papa's orders, you know, and I really think she is +going to obey them. He said he wanted her to have one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> period of rest at +any rate. She is such a busy woman in town, you know."</p> + +<p>"Here," said Hollanden, wheeling to them suddenly, "you all look as if +you were badgering Hawker, and he looks badgered. What are you saying to +him?"</p> + +<p>"Why," answered the younger Worcester girl, "we were only saying to him +how lonely it would be without Grace."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Hollanden.</p> + +<p>As the evening grew old, the mother of the Worcester girls joined the +group. This was a sign that the girls were not to long delay the +vanishing time. She sat almost upon the edge of her chair, as if she +expected to be called upon at any moment to arise and bow "Good-night," +and she repaid Hollanden's eloquent attention with the placid and +absent-minded smiles of the chaperon who waits.</p> + +<p>Once the younger Worcester girl shrugged her shoulders and turned to +say, "Mamma, you make me nervous!" Her mother merely smiled in a still +more placid and absent-minded manner.</p> + +<p>Oglethorpe arose to drag his chair nearer to the railing, and when he +stood the Worces<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>ter mother moved and looked around expectantly, but +Oglethorpe took seat again. Hawker kept an anxious eye upon her.</p> + +<p>Presently Miss Fanhall arose.</p> + +<p>"Why, you are not going in already, are you?" said Hawker and Hollanden +and Oglethorpe. The Worcester mother moved toward the door followed by +her daughters, who were protesting in muffled tones. Hollanden pitched +violently upon Oglethorpe. "Well, at any rate——" he said. He picked +the thread of a past argument with great agility.</p> + +<p>Hawker said to the girl, "I—I—I shall miss you dreadfully."</p> + +<p>She turned to look at him and smiled. "Shall you?" she said in a low +voice.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said. Thereafter he stood before her awkwardly and in silence. +She scrutinized the boards of the floor. Suddenly she drew a violet from +a cluster of them upon her gown and thrust it out to him as she turned +toward the approaching Oglethorpe.</p> + +<p>"Good-night, Mr. Hawker," said the latter. "I am very glad to have met +you, I'm sure. Hope to see you in town. Good-night."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> + +<p>He stood near when the girl said to Hawker: "Good-bye. You have given us +such a charming summer. We shall be delighted to see you in town. You +must come some time when the children can see you, too. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," replied Hawker, eagerly and feverishly, trying to interpret +the inscrutable feminine face before him. "I shall come at my first +opportunity."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye."</p> + +<p>Down at the farmhouse, in the black quiet of the night, a dog lay curled +on the door-mat. Of a sudden the tail of this dog began to thump, thump, +on the boards. It began as a lazy movement, but it passed into a state +of gentle enthusiasm, and then into one of curiously loud and joyful +celebration. At last the gate clicked. The dog uncurled, and went to the +edge of the steps to greet his master. He gave adoring, tremulous +welcome with his clear eyes shining in the darkness. "Well, Stan, old +boy," said Hawker, stooping to stroke the dog's head. After his master +had entered the house the dog went forward and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> sniffed at something +that lay on the top step. Apparently it did not interest him greatly, +for he returned in a moment to the door-mat.</p> + +<p>But he was again obliged to uncurl himself, for his master came out of +the house with a lighted lamp and made search of the door-mat, the +steps, and the walk, swearing meanwhile in an undertone. The dog wagged +his tail and sleepily watched this ceremony. When his master had again +entered the house the dog went forward and sniffed at the top step, but +the thing that had lain there was gone.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> + + +<p>It was evident at breakfast that Hawker's sisters had achieved +information. "What's the matter with you this morning?" asked one. "You +look as if you hadn't slep' well."</p> + +<p>"There is nothing the matter with me," he rejoined, looking glumly at +his plate.</p> + +<p>"Well, you look kind of broke up."</p> + +<p>"How I look is of no consequence. I tell you there is nothing the matter +with me."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said his sister. She exchanged meaning glances with the other +feminine members of the family. Presently the other sister observed, "I +heard she was going home to-day."</p> + +<p>"Who?" said Hawker, with a challenge in his tone.</p> + +<p>"Why, that New York girl—Miss What's-her-name," replied the sister, +with an undaunted smile.</p> + +<p>"Did you, indeed? Well, perhaps she is."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, you don't know for sure, I s'pose."</p> + +<p>Hawker arose from the table, and, taking his hat, went away.</p> + +<p>"Mary!" said the mother, in the sepulchral tone of belated but +conscientious reproof.</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't care. He needn't be so grand. I didn't go to tease him. I +don't care."</p> + +<p>"Well, you ought to care," said the old man suddenly. "There's no sense +in you wimen folks pestering the boy all the time. Let him alone with +his own business, can't you?"</p> + +<p>"Well, ain't we leaving him alone?"</p> + +<p>"No, you ain't—'cept when he ain't here. I don't wonder the boy grabs +his hat and skips out when you git to going."</p> + +<p>"Well, what did we say to him now? Tell us what we said to him that was +so dreadful."</p> + +<p>"Aw, thunder an' lightnin'!" cried the old man with a sudden great +snarl. They seemed to know by this ejaculation that he had emerged in an +instant from that place where man endures, and they ended the +discussion. The old man continued his breakfast.</p> + +<p>During his walk that morning Hawker<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> visited a certain cascade, a +certain lake, and some roads, paths, groves, nooks. Later in the day he +made a sketch, choosing an hour when the atmosphere was of a dark blue, +like powder smoke in the shade of trees, and the western sky was burning +in strips of red. He painted with a wild face, like a man who is +killing.</p> + +<p>After supper he and his father strolled under the apple boughs in the +orchard and smoked. Once he gestured wearily. "Oh, I guess I'll go back +to New York in a few days."</p> + +<p>"Um," replied his father calmly. "All right, William."</p> + +<p>Several days later Hawker accosted his father in the barnyard. "I +suppose you think sometimes I don't care so much about you and the folks +and the old place any more; but I do."</p> + +<p>"Um," said the old man. "When you goin'?"</p> + +<p>"Where?" asked Hawker, flushing.</p> + +<p>"Back to New York."</p> + +<p>"Why—I hadn't thought much about—— Oh, next week, I guess."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, do as you like, William. You know how glad me an' mother and the +girls are to have you come home with us whenever you can come. You know +that. But you must do as you think best, and if you ought to go back to +New York now, William, why—do as you think best."</p> + +<p>"Well, my work——" said Hawker.</p> + +<p>From time to time the mother made wondering speech to the sisters. "How +much nicer William is now! He's just as good as he can be. There for a +while he was so cross and out of sorts. I don't see what could have come +over him. But now he's just as good as he can be."</p> + +<p>Hollanden told him, "Come up to the inn more, you fool."</p> + +<p>"I was up there yesterday."</p> + +<p>"Yesterday! What of that? I've seen the time when the farm couldn't hold +you for two hours during the day."</p> + +<p>"Go to blazes!"</p> + +<p>"Millicent got a letter from Grace Fanhall the other day."</p> + +<p>"That so?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, she did. Grace wrote—— Say,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> does that shadow look pure purple +to you?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly it does, or I wouldn't paint it so, duffer. What did she +write?"</p> + +<p>"Well, if that shadow is pure purple my eyes are liars. It looks a kind +of slate colour to me. Lord! if what you fellows say in your pictures is +true, the whole earth must be blazing and burning and glowing and——"</p> + +<p>Hawker went into a rage. "Oh, you don't know anything about colour, +Hollie. For heaven's sake, shut up, or I'll smash you with the easel."</p> + +<p>"Well, I was going to tell you what Grace wrote in her letter. She +said——"</p> + +<p>"Go on."</p> + +<p>"Gimme time, can't you? She said that town was stupid, and that she +wished she was back at Hemlock Inn."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Is that all?"</p> + +<p>"Is that all? I wonder what you expected? Well, and she asked to be +recalled to you."</p> + +<p>"Yes? Thanks."</p> + +<p>"And that's all. 'Gad, for such a devoted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> man as you were, your +enthusiasm and interest is stupendous."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The father said to the mother, "Well, William's going back to New York +next week."</p> + +<p>"Is he? Why, he ain't said nothing to me about it."</p> + +<p>"Well, he is, anyhow."</p> + +<p>"I declare! What do you s'pose he's going back before September for, +John?"</p> + +<p>"How do I know?"</p> + +<p>"Well, it's funny, John. I bet—I bet he's going back so's he can see +that girl."</p> + +<p>"He says it's his work."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> + + +<p>Wrinkles had been peering into the little dry-goods box that acted as a +cupboard. "There are only two eggs and half a loaf of bread left," he +announced brutally.</p> + +<p>"Heavens!" said Warwickson from where he lay smoking on the bed. He +spoke in a dismal voice. This tone, it is said, had earned him his +popular name of Great Grief.</p> + +<p>From different points of the compass Wrinkles looked at the little +cupboard with a tremendous scowl, as if he intended thus to frighten the +eggs into becoming more than two, and the bread into becoming a loaf. +"Plague take it!" he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, shut up, Wrinkles!" said Grief from the bed.</p> + +<p>Wrinkles sat down with an air austere and virtuous. "Well, what are we +going to do?" he demanded of the others.</p> + +<p>Grief, after swearing, said: "There,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> that's right! Now you're happy. +The holy office of the inquisition! Blast your buttons, Wrinkles, you +always try to keep us from starving peacefully! It is two hours before +dinner, anyhow, and——"</p> + +<p>"Well, but what are you going to do?" persisted Wrinkles.</p> + +<p>Pennoyer, with his head afar down, had been busily scratching at a +pen-and-ink drawing. He looked up from his board to utter a plaintive +optimism. "The Monthly Amazement will pay me to-morrow. They ought to. +I've waited over three months now. I'm going down there to-morrow, and +perhaps I'll get it."</p> + +<p>His friends listened with airs of tolerance. "Oh, no doubt, Penny, old +man." But at last Wrinkles giggled pityingly. Over on the bed Grief +croaked deep down in his throat. Nothing was said for a long time +thereafter.</p> + +<p>The crash of the New York streets came faintly to this room.</p> + +<p>Occasionally one could hear the tramp of feet in the intricate corridors +of the begrimed building which squatted, slumbering, and old, between +two exalted commercial structures<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> which would have had to bend afar +down to perceive it. The northward march of the city's progress had +happened not to overturn this aged structure, and it huddled there, lost +and forgotten, while the cloud-veering towers strode on.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the first shadows of dusk came in at the blurred windows of +the room. Pennoyer threw down his pen and tossed his drawing over on the +wonderful heap of stuff that hid the table. "It's too dark to work." He +lit a pipe and walked about, stretching his shoulders like a man whose +labour was valuable.</p> + +<p>When the dusk came fully the youths grew apparently sad. The solemnity +of the gloom seemed to make them ponder. "Light the gas, Wrinkles," said +Grief fretfully.</p> + +<p>The flood of orange light showed clearly the dull walls lined with +sketches, the tousled bed in one corner, the masses of boxes and trunks +in another, a little dead stove, and the wonderful table. Moreover, +there were wine-coloured draperies flung in some places, and on a shelf, +high up, there were plaster casts, with dust in the creases. A long +stove-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>pipe wandered off in the wrong direction and then turned +impulsively toward a hole in the wall. There were some elaborate cobwebs +on the ceiling.</p> + +<p>"Well, let's eat," said Grief.</p> + +<p>"Eat," said Wrinkles, with a jeer; "I told you there was only two eggs +and a little bread left. How are we going to eat?"</p> + +<p>Again brought face to face with this problem, and at the hour for +dinner, Pennoyer and Grief thought profoundly. "Thunder and turf!" Grief +finally announced as the result of his deliberations.</p> + +<p>"Well, if Billie Hawker was only home——" began Pennoyer.</p> + +<p>"But he isn't," objected Wrinkles, "and that settles that."</p> + +<p>Grief and Pennoyer thought more. Ultimately Grief said, "Oh, well, let's +eat what we've got." The others at once agreed to this suggestion, as if +it had been in their minds.</p> + +<p>Later there came a quick step in the passage and a confident little +thunder upon the door. Wrinkles arranging the tin pail on the gas stove, +Pennoyer engaged in slicing the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> bread, and Great Grief affixing the +rubber tube to the gas stove, yelled, "Come in!"</p> + +<p>The door opened, and Miss Florinda O'Connor, the model, dashed into the +room like a gale of obstreperous autumn leaves.</p> + +<p>"Why, hello, Splutter!" they cried.</p> + +<p>"Oh, boys, I've come to dine with you."</p> + +<p>It was like a squall striking a fleet of yachts.</p> + +<p>Grief spoke first. "Yes, you have?" he said incredulously.</p> + +<p>"Why, certainly I have. What's the matter?"</p> + +<p>They grinned. "Well, old lady," responded Grief, "you've hit us at the +wrong time. We are, in fact, all out of everything. No dinner, to +mention, and, what's more, we haven't got a sou."</p> + +<p>"What? Again?" cried Florinda.</p> + +<p>"Yes, again. You'd better dine home to-night."</p> + +<p>"But I'll—I'll stake you," said the girl eagerly. "Oh, you poor old +idiots! It's a shame! Say, I'll stake you."</p> + +<p>"Certainly not," said Pennoyer sternly.</p> + +<p>"What are you talking about, Splut<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>ter?" demanded Wrinkles in an angry +voice.</p> + +<p>"No, that won't go down," said Grief, in a resolute yet wistful tone.</p> + +<p>Florinda divested herself of her hat, jacket, and gloves, and put them +where she pleased. "Got coffee, haven't you? Well, I'm not going to stir +a step. You're a fine lot of birds!" she added bitterly, "You've all +pulled me out of a whole lot of scrape—oh, any number of times—and now +you're broke, you go acting like a set of dudes."</p> + +<p>Great Grief had fixed the coffee to boil on the gas stove, but he had to +watch it closely, for the rubber tube was short, and a chair was +balanced on a trunk, and two bundles of kindling was balanced on the +chair, and the gas stove was balanced on the kindling. Coffee-making was +here accounted a feat.</p> + +<p>Pennoyer dropped a piece of bread to the floor. "There! I'll have to go +shy one."</p> + +<p>Wrinkles sat playing serenades on his guitar and staring with a frown at +the table, as if he was applying some strange method of clearing it of +its litter.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p> + +<p>Florinda assaulted Great Grief. "Here, that's not the way to make +coffee!"</p> + +<p>"What ain't?"</p> + +<p>"Why, the way you're making it. You want to take——" She explained some +way to him which he couldn't understand.</p> + +<p>"For heaven's sake, Wrinkles, tackle that table! Don't sit there like a +music box," said Pennoyer, grappling the eggs and starting for the gas +stove.</p> + +<p>Later, as they sat around the board, Wrinkles said with satisfaction, +"Well, the coffee's good, anyhow."</p> + +<p>"'Tis good," said Florinda, "but it isn't made right. I'll show you how, +Penny. You first——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, dry up, Splutter," said Grief. "Here, take an egg."</p> + +<p>"I don't like eggs," said Florinda.</p> + +<p>"Take an egg," said the three hosts menacingly.</p> + +<p>"I tell you I don't like eggs."</p> + +<p>"Take—an—egg!" they said again.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," said Florinda, "I'll take one, then; but you needn't act +like such a set of dudes—and, oh, maybe you didn't have much<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> lunch. I +had such a daisy lunch! Up at Pontiac's studio. He's got a lovely +studio."</p> + +<p>The three looked to be oppressed. Grief said sullenly, "I saw some of +his things over in Stencil's gallery, and they're rotten."</p> + +<p>"Yes—rotten," said Pennoyer.</p> + +<p>"Rotten," said Grief.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," retorted Florinda, "if a man has a swell studio and +dresses—oh, sort of like a Willie, you know, you fellows sit here like +owls in a cave and say rotten—rotten—rotten. You're away off. +Pontiac's landscapes——"</p> + +<p>"Landscapes be blowed! Put any of his work alongside of Billie Hawker's +and see how it looks."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, Billie Hawker's," said Florinda. "Oh, well."</p> + +<p>At the mention of Hawker's name they had all turned to scan her face.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX.</h2> + + +<p>"He wrote that he was coming home this week," said Pennoyer.</p> + +<p>"Did he?" asked Florinda indifferently.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Aren't you glad?"</p> + +<p>They were still watching her face.</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course I'm glad. Why shouldn't I be glad?" cried the girl with +defiance.</p> + +<p>They grinned.</p> + +<p>"Oh, certainly. Billie Hawker is a good fellow, Splutter. You have a +particular right to be glad."</p> + +<p>"You people make me tired," Florinda retorted. "Billie Hawker doesn't +give a rap about me, and he never tried to make out that he did."</p> + +<p>"No," said Grief. "But that isn't saying that you don't care a rap about +Billie Hawker. Ah, Florinda!"</p> + +<p>It seemed that the girl's throat suffered a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> slight contraction. "Well, +and what if I do?" she demanded finally.</p> + +<p>"Have a cigarette?" answered Grief.</p> + +<p>Florinda took a cigarette, lit it, and, perching herself on a divan, +which was secretly a coal box, she smoked fiercely.</p> + +<p>"What if I do?" she again demanded. "It's better than liking one of you +dubs, anyhow."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Splutter, you poor little outspoken kid!" said Wrinkle in a sad +voice.</p> + +<p>Grief searched among the pipes until he found the best one. "Yes, +Splutter, don't you know that when you are so frank you defy every law +of your sex, and wild eyes will take your trail?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you talk through your hat," replied Florinda. "Billie don't care +whether I like him or whether I don't. And if he should hear me now, he +wouldn't be glad or give a hang, either way. I know that." The girl +paused and looked at the row of plaster casts. "Still, you needn't be +throwing it at me all the time."</p> + +<p>"We didn't," said Wrinkles indignantly. "You threw it at yourself."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well," continued Florinda, "it's better than liking one of you dubs, +anyhow. He makes money and——"</p> + +<p>"There," said Grief, "now you've hit it! Bedad, you've reached a point +in eulogy where if you move again you will have to go backward."</p> + +<p>"Of course I don't care anything about a fellow's having money——"</p> + +<p>"No, indeed you don't, Splutter," said Pennoyer.</p> + +<p>"But then, you know what I mean. A fellow isn't a man and doesn't stand +up straight unless he has some money. And Billie Hawker makes enough so +that you feel that nobody could walk over him, don't you know? And there +isn't anything jay about him, either. He's a thoroughbred, don't you +know?"</p> + +<p>After reflection, Pennoyer said, "It's pretty hard on the rest of us, +Splutter."</p> + +<p>"Well, of course I like him, but—but——"</p> + +<p>"What?" said Pennoyer.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Florinda.</p> + +<p>Purple Sanderson lived in this room, but he usually dined out. At a +certain time in his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> life, before he came to be a great artist, he had +learned the gas-fitter's trade, and when his opinions were not identical +with the opinions of the art managers of the greater number of New York +publications he went to see a friend who was a plumber, and the opinions +of this man he was thereafter said to respect. He frequented a very neat +restaurant on Twenty-third Street. It was known that on Saturday nights +Wrinkles, Grief, and Pennoyer frequently quarreled with him.</p> + +<p>As Florinda ceased speaking Purple entered. "Hello, there, Splutter!" As +he was neatly hanging up his coat, he said to the others, "Well, the +rent will be due in four days."</p> + +<p>"Will it?" asked Pennoyer, astounded.</p> + +<p>"Certainly it will," responded Purple, with the air of a superior +financial man.</p> + +<p>"My soul!" said Wrinkles.</p> + +<p>"Oh, shut up, Purple!" said Grief. "You make me weary, coming around +here with your chin about rent. I was just getting happy."</p> + +<p>"Well, how are we going to pay it? That's the point," said Sanderson.</p> + +<p>Wrinkles sank deeper in his chair and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> played despondently on his +guitar. Grief cast a look of rage at Sanderson, and then stared at the +wall. Pennoyer said, "Well, we might borrow it from Billie Hawker."</p> + +<p>Florinda laughed then.</p> + +<p>"Oh," continued Pennoyer hastily, "if those Amazement people pay me when +they said they would I'll have the money."</p> + +<p>"So you will," said Grief. "You will have money to burn. Did the +Amazement people ever pay you when they said they would? You are +wonderfully important all of a sudden, it seems to me. You talk like an +artist."</p> + +<p>Wrinkles, too, smiled at Pennoyer. "The Eminent Magazine people wanted +Penny to hire models and make a try for them, too. It would only cost +him a stack of blues. By the time he has invested all his money he +hasn't got, and the rent is three weeks overdue, he will be able to tell +the landlord to wait seven months until the Monday morning after the day +of publication. Go ahead, Penny."</p> + +<p>After a period of silence, Sanderson, in an obstinate manner, said, +"Well, what's to be done? The rent has got to be paid."</p> + +<p>Wrinkles played more sad music. Grief<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> frowned deeper. Pennoyer was +evidently searching his mind for a plan.</p> + +<p>Florinda took the cigarette from between her lips that she might grin +with greater freedom.</p> + +<p>"We might throw Purple out," said Grief, with an inspired air. "That +would stop all this discussion."</p> + +<p>"You!" said Sanderson furiously. "You can't keep serious a minute. If +you didn't have us to take care of you, you wouldn't even know when they +threw you out into the street."</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't I?" said Grief.</p> + +<p>"Well, look here," interposed Florinda, "I'm going home unless you can +be more interesting. I am dead sorry about the rent, but I can't help +it, and——"</p> + +<p>"Here! Sit down! Hold on, Splutter!" they shouted. Grief turned to +Sanderson: "Purple, you shut up!"</p> + +<p>Florinda curled again on the divan and lit another cigarette. The talk +waged about the names of other and more successful painters, whose work +they usually pronounced "rotten."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> + + +<p>Pennoyer, coming home one morning with two gigantic cakes to accompany +the coffee at the breakfast in the den, saw a young man bounce from a +horse car. He gave a shout. "Hello, there, Billie! Hello!"</p> + +<p>"Hello, Penny!" said Hawker. "What are you doing out so early?" It was +somewhat after nine o'clock.</p> + +<p>"Out to get breakfast," said Pennoyer, waving the cakes. "Have a good +time, old man?"</p> + +<p>"Great."</p> + +<p>"Do much work?"</p> + +<p>"No. Not so much. How are all the people?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, pretty good. Come in and see us eat breakfast," said Pennoyer, +throwing open the door of the den. Wrinkles, in his shirt, was making +coffee. Grief sat in a chair try<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>ing to loosen the grasp of sleep. "Why, +Billie Hawker, b'ginger!" they cried.</p> + +<p>"How's the wolf, boys? At the door yet?"</p> + +<p>"'At the door yet?' He's halfway up the back stairs, and coming fast. He +and the landlord will be here to-morrow. 'Mr. Landlord, allow me to +present Mr. F. Wolf, of Hunger, N. J. Mr. Wolf—Mr. Landlord.'"</p> + +<p>"Bad as that?" said Hawker.</p> + +<p>"You bet it is! Easy Street is somewhere in heaven, for all we know. +Have some breakfast?—coffee and cake, I mean."</p> + +<p>"No, thanks, boys. Had breakfast."</p> + +<p>Wrinkles added to the shirt, Grief aroused himself, and Pennoyer brought +the coffee. Cheerfully throwing some drawings from the table to the +floor, they thus made room for the breakfast, and grouped themselves +with beaming smiles at the board.</p> + +<p>"Well, Billie, come back to the old gang again, eh? How did the country +seem? Do much work?"</p> + +<p>"Not very much. A few things. How's everybody?"</p> + +<p>"Splutter was in last night. Looking out<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> of sight. Seemed glad to hear +that you were coming back soon."</p> + +<p>"Did she? Penny, did anybody call wanting me to do a ten-thousand-dollar +portrait for them?"</p> + +<p>"No. That frame-maker, though, was here with a bill. I told him——"</p> + +<p>Afterward Hawker crossed the corridor and threw open the door of his own +large studio. The great skylight, far above his head, shed its clear +rays upon a scene which appeared to indicate that some one had very +recently ceased work here and started for the country. A distant closet +door was open, and the interior showed the effects of a sudden pillage.</p> + +<p>There was an unfinished "Girl in Apple Orchard" upon the tall Dutch +easel, and sketches and studies were thick upon the floor. Hawker took a +pipe and filled it from his friend the tan and gold jar. He cast himself +into a chair and, taking an envelope from his pocket, emptied two +violets from it to the palm of his hand and stared long at them. Upon +the walls of the studio various labours of his life, in heavy gilt +frames, contemplated him and the violets.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> + +<p>At last Pennoyer burst impetuously in upon him. "Hi, Billie! come over +and—— What's the matter?"</p> + +<p>Hawker had hastily placed the violets in the envelope and hurried it to +his pocket. "Nothing," he answered.</p> + +<p>"Why, I thought—" said Pennoyer, "I thought you looked rather rattled. +Didn't you have—I thought I saw something in your hand."</p> + +<p>"Nothing, I tell you!" cried Hawker.</p> + +<p>"Er—oh, I beg your pardon," said Pennoyer. "Why, I was going to tell +you that Splutter is over in our place, and she wants to see you."</p> + +<p>"Wants to see me? What for?" demanded Hawker. "Why don't she come over +here, then?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I don't know," replied Pennoyer. "She sent me to call you."</p> + +<p>"Well, do you think I'm going to—— Oh, well, I suppose she wants to be +unpleasant, and knows she loses a certain mental position if she comes +over here, but if she meets me in your place she can be as infernally +disagreeable as she—— That's it, I'll bet."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p> + +<p>When they entered the den Florinda was gazing from the window. Her back +was toward the door.</p> + +<p>At last she turned to them, holding herself very straight. "Well, Billie +Hawker," she said grimly, "you don't seem very glad to see a fellow."</p> + +<p>"Why, heavens, did you think I was going to turn somersaults in the +air?"</p> + +<p>"Well, you didn't come out when you heard me pass your door," said +Florinda, with gloomy resentment.</p> + +<p>Hawker appeared to be ruffled and vexed. "Oh, great Scott!" he said, +making a gesture of despair.</p> + +<p>Florinda returned to the window. In the ensuing conversation she took no +part, save when there was an opportunity to harry some speech of +Hawker's, which she did in short contemptuous sentences. Hawker made no +reply save to glare in her direction. At last he said, "Well, I must go +over and do some work." Florinda did not turn from the window. "Well, +so-long, boys," said Hawker, "I'll see you later."</p> + +<p>As the door slammed Pennoyer apologet<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>ically said, "Billie is a trifle +off his feed this morning."</p> + +<p>"What about?" asked Grief.</p> + +<p>"I don't know; but when I went to call him he was sitting deep in his +chair staring at some——" He looked at Florinda and became silent.</p> + +<p>"Staring at what?" asked Florinda, turning then from the window.</p> + +<p>Pennoyer seemed embarrassed. "Why, I don't know—nothing, I guess—I +couldn't see very well. I was only fooling."</p> + +<p>Florinda scanned his face suspiciously. "Staring at what?" she demanded +imperatively.</p> + +<p>"Nothing, I tell you!" shouted Pennoyer.</p> + +<p>Florinda looked at him, and wavered and debated. Presently she said, +softly: "Ah, go on, Penny. Tell me."</p> + +<p>"It wasn't anything at all, I say!" cried Pennoyer stoutly. "I was only +giving you a jolly. Sit down, Splutter, and hit a cigarette."</p> + +<p>She obeyed, but she continued to cast the dubious eye at Pennoyer. Once +she said to him privately: "Go on, Penny, tell me. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> know it was +something from the way you are acting."</p> + +<p>"Oh, let up, Splutter, for heaven's sake!"</p> + +<p>"Tell me," beseeched Florinda.</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Tell me."</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Pl-e-a-se tell me."</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Oh, go on."</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Ah, what makes you so mean, Penny? You know I'd tell you, if it was the +other way about."</p> + +<p>"But it's none of my business, Splutter. I can't tell you something +which is Billie Hawker's private affair. If I did I would be a chump."</p> + +<p>"But I'll never say you told me. Go on."</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Pl-e-a-se tell me."</p> + +<p>"No."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII.</h2> + + +<p>When Florinda had gone, Grief said, "Well, what was it?" Wrinkles looked +curiously from his drawing-board.</p> + +<p>Pennoyer lit his pipe and held it at the side of his mouth in the manner +of a deliberate man. At last he said, "It was two violets."</p> + +<p>"You don't say!" ejaculated Wrinkles.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm hanged!" cried Grief. "Holding them in his hand and moping +over them, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," responded Pennoyer. "Rather that way."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm hanged!" said both Grief and Wrinkles. They grinned in a +pleased, urchin-like manner. "Say, who do you suppose she is? Somebody +he met this summer, no doubt. Would you ever think old Billie would get +into that sort of a thing? Well, I'll be gol-durned!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p> + +<p>Ultimately Wrinkles said, "Well, it's his own business." This was spoken +in a tone of duty.</p> + +<p>"Of course it's his own business," retorted Grief. "But who would ever +think——" Again they grinned.</p> + +<p>When Hawker entered the den some minutes later he might have noticed +something unusual in the general demeanour. "Say, Grief, will you loan +me your—— What's up?" he asked.</p> + +<p>For answer they grinned at each other, and then grinned at him.</p> + +<p>"You look like a lot of Chessy cats," he told them.</p> + +<p>They grinned on.</p> + +<p>Apparently feeling unable to deal with these phenomena, he went at last +to the door. "Well, this is a fine exhibition," he said, standing with +his hand on the knob and regarding them. "Won election bets? Some good +old auntie just died? Found something new to pawn? No? Well, I can't +stand this. You resemble those fish they discover at deep sea. +Good-bye!"</p> + +<p>As he opened the door they cried out:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> "Hold on, Billie! Billie, look +here! Say, who is she?"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Who is she?"</p> + +<p>"Who is who?"</p> + +<p>They laughed and nodded. "Why, you know. She. Don't you understand? +She."</p> + +<p>"You talk like a lot of crazy men," said Hawker. "I don't know what you +mean."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you don't, eh? You don't? Oh, no! How about those violets you were +moping over this morning? Eh, old man! Oh, no, you don't know what we +mean! Oh, no! How about those violets, eh? How about 'em?"</p> + +<p>Hawker, with flushed and wrathful face, looked at Pennoyer. "Penny——" +But Grief and Wrinkles roared an interruption. "Oh, ho, Mr. Hawker! so +it's true, is it? It's true. You are a nice bird, you are. Well, you old +rascal! Durn your picture!"</p> + +<p>Hawker, menacing them once with his eyes, went away. They sat cackling.</p> + +<p>At noon, when he met Wrinkles in the corridor, he said: "Hey, Wrinkles, +come here<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> for a minute, will you? Say, old man, I—I——"</p> + +<p>"What?" said Wrinkles.</p> + +<p>"Well, you know, I—I—of course, every man is likely to make an +accursed idiot of himself once in a while, and I——"</p> + +<p>"And you what?" asked Wrinkles.</p> + +<p>"Well, we are a kind of a band of hoodlums, you know, and I'm just +enough idiot to feel that I don't care to hear—don't care to +hear—well, her name used, you know."</p> + +<p>"Bless your heart," replied Wrinkles, "we haven't used her name. We +don't know her name. How could we use it?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I know," said Hawker. "But you understand what I mean, Wrinkles."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I understand what you mean," said Wrinkles, with dignity. "I don't +suppose you are any worse of a stuff than common. Still, I didn't know +that we were such outlaws."</p> + +<p>"Of course, I have overdone the thing," responded Hawker hastily. +"But—you ought to understand how I mean it, Wrinkles."</p> + +<p>After Wrinkles had thought for a time, he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> said: "Well, I guess I do. +All right. That goes."</p> + +<p>Upon entering the den, Wrinkles said, "You fellows have got to quit +guying Billie, do you hear?"</p> + +<p>"We?" cried Grief. "We've got to quit? What do you do?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I quit too."</p> + +<p>Pennoyer said: "Ah, ha! Billie has been jumping on you."</p> + +<p>"No, he didn't," maintained Wrinkles; "but he let me know it was—well, +rather a—rather a—sacred subject." Wrinkles blushed when the others +snickered.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon, as Hawker was going slowly down the stairs, he was +almost impaled upon the feather of a hat which, upon the head of a lithe +and rather slight girl, charged up at him through the gloom.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Splutter!" he cried. "You are in a hurry."</p> + +<p>"That you, Billie?" said the girl, peering, for the hallways of this old +building remained always in a dungeonlike darkness.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is. Where are you going at such a headlong gait?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Up to see the boys. I've got a bottle of wine and some—some pickles, +you know. I'm going to make them let me dine with them to-night. Coming +back, Billie?"</p> + +<p>"Why, no, I don't expect to."</p> + +<p>He moved then accidentally in front of the light that sifted through the +dull, gray panes of a little window.</p> + +<p>"Oh, cracky!" cried the girl; "how fine you are, Billie! Going to a +coronation?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Hawker, looking seriously over his collar and down at his +clothes. "Fact is—er—well, I've got to make a call."</p> + +<p>"A call—bless us! And are you really going to wear those gray gloves +you're holding there, Billie? Say, wait until you get around the corner. +They won't stand 'em on this street."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," said Hawker, depreciating the gloves—"oh, well."</p> + +<p>The girl looked up at him. "Who you going to call on?"</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Hawker, "a friend."</p> + +<p>"Must be somebody most extraordinary, you look so dreadfully correct. +Come back,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> Billie, won't you? Come back and dine with us."</p> + +<p>"Why, I—I don't believe I can."</p> + +<p>"Oh, come on! It's fun when we all dine together. Won't you, Billie?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't be so stupid!" The girl stamped her foot and flashed her eyes +at him angrily.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll see—I will if I can—I can't tell——" He left her rather +precipitately.</p> + +<p>Hawker eventually appeared at a certain austere house where he rang the +bell with quite nervous fingers.</p> + +<p>But she was not at home. As he went down the steps his eyes were as +those of a man whose fortunes have tumbled upon him. As he walked down +the street he wore in some subtle way the air of a man who has been +grievously wronged. When he rounded the corner, his lips were set +strangely, as if he were a man seeking revenge.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> + + +<p>"It's just right," said Grief.</p> + +<p>"It isn't quite cool enough," said Wrinkles.</p> + +<p>"Well, I guess I know the proper temperature for claret."</p> + +<p>"Well, I guess you don't. If it was buttermilk, now, you would know, but +you can't tell anything about claret."</p> + +<p>Florinda ultimately decided the question. "It isn't quite cool enough," +she said, laying her hand on the bottle. "Put it on the window ledge, +Grief."</p> + +<p>"Hum! Splutter, I thought you knew more than——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, shut up!" interposed the busy Pennoyer from a remote corner. "Who +is going after the potato salad? That's what I want to know. Who is +going?"</p> + +<p>"Wrinkles," said Grief.</p> + +<p>"Grief," said Wrinkles.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There," said Pennoyer, coming forward and scanning a late work with an +eye of satisfaction. "There's the three glasses and the little tumbler; +and then, Grief, you will have to drink out of a mug."</p> + +<p>"I'll be double-dyed black if I will!" cried Grief. "I wouldn't drink +claret out of a mug to save my soul from being pinched!"</p> + +<p>"You duffer, you talk like a bloomin' British chump on whom the sun +never sets! What do you want?"</p> + +<p>"Well, there's enough without that—what's the matter with you? Three +glasses and the little tumbler."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but if Billie Hawker comes——"</p> + +<p>"Well, let him drink out of the mug, then. He——"</p> + +<p>"No, he won't," said Florinda suddenly. "I'll take the mug myself."</p> + +<p>"All right, Splutter," rejoined Grief meekly. "I'll keep the mug. But, +still, I don't see why Billie Hawker——"</p> + +<p>"I shall take the mug," reiterated Florinda firmly.</p> + +<p>"But I don't see why——"</p> + +<p>"Let her alone, Grief," said Wrinkles.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> "She has decided that it is +heroic. You can't move her now."</p> + +<p>"Well, who is going for the potato salad?" cried Pennoyer again. "That's +what I want to know."</p> + +<p>"Wrinkles," said Grief.</p> + +<p>"Grief," said Wrinkles.</p> + +<p>"Do you know," remarked Florinda, raising her head from where she had +been toiling over the <i>spaghetti</i>, "I don't care so much for Billie +Hawker as I did once?" Her sleeves were rolled above the elbows of her +wonderful arms, and she turned from the stove and poised a fork as if +she had been smitten at her task with this inspiration.</p> + +<p>There was a short silence, and then Wrinkles said politely, "No."</p> + +<p>"No," continued Florinda, "I really don't believe I do." She suddenly +started. "Listen! Isn't that him coming now?"</p> + +<p>The dull trample of a step could be heard in some distant corridor, but +it died slowly to silence.</p> + +<p>"I thought that might be him," she said, turning to the <i>spaghetti</i> +again.</p> + +<p>"I hope the old Indian comes," said Pen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>noyer, "but I don't believe he +will. Seems to me he must be going to see——"</p> + +<p>"Who?" asked Florinda.</p> + +<p>"Well, you know, Hollanden and he usually dine together when they are +both in town."</p> + +<p>Florinda looked at Pennoyer. "I know, Penny. You must have thought I was +remarkably clever not to understand all your blundering. But I don't +care so much. Really I don't."</p> + +<p>"Of course not," assented Pennoyer.</p> + +<p>"Really I don't."</p> + +<p>"Of course not."</p> + +<p>"Listen!" exclaimed Grief, who was near the door. "There he comes now." +Somebody approached, whistling an air from "Traviata," which rang loud +and clear, and low and muffled, as the whistler wound among the +intricate hallways. This air was as much a part of Hawker as his coat. +The <i>spaghetti</i> had arrived at a critical stage. Florinda gave it her +complete attention.</p> + +<p>When Hawker opened the door he ceased whistling and said gruffly, +"Hello!"</p> + +<p>"Just the man!" said Grief. "Go after<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> the potato salad, will you, +Billie? There's a good boy! Wrinkles has refused."</p> + +<p>"He can't carry the salad with those gloves," interrupted Florinda, +raising her eyes from her work and contemplating them with displeasure.</p> + +<p>"Hang the gloves!" cried Hawker, dragging them from his hands and +hurling them at the divan. "What's the matter with you, Splutter?"</p> + +<p>Pennoyer said, "My, what a temper you are in, Billie!"</p> + +<p>"I am," replied Hawker. "I feel like an Apache. Where do you get this +accursed potato salad?"</p> + +<p>"In Second Avenue. You know where. At the old place."</p> + +<p>"No, I don't!" snapped Hawker.</p> + +<p>"Why——"</p> + +<p>"Here," said Florinda, "I'll go." She had already rolled down her +sleeves and was arraying herself in her hat and jacket.</p> + +<p>"No, you won't," said Hawker, filled with wrath. "I'll go myself."</p> + +<p>"We can both go, Billie, if you are so bent," replied the girl in a +conciliatory voice.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, come on, then. What are you standing there for?"</p> + +<p>When these two had departed, Wrinkles said: "Lordie! What's wrong with +Billie?"</p> + +<p>"He's been discussing art with some pot-boiler," said Grief, speaking +as if this was the final condition of human misery.</p> + +<p>"No, sir," said Pennoyer. "It's something connected with the now +celebrated violets."</p> + +<p>Out in the corridor Florinda said, "What—what makes you so ugly, +Billie?"</p> + +<p>"Why, I am not ugly, am I?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you are—ugly as anything."</p> + +<p>Probably he saw a grievance in her eyes, for he said, "Well, I don't +want to be ugly." His tone seemed tender. The halls were intensely dark, +and the girl placed her hand on his arm. As they rounded a turn in the +stairs a straying lock of her hair brushed against his temple. "Oh!" +said Florinda, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"We'll get some more claret," observed Hawker musingly. "And some cognac +for the coffee. And some cigarettes. Do you think of anything more, +Splutter?"</p> + +<p>As they came from the shop of the illus<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>trious purveyors of potato salad +in Second Avenue, Florinda cried anxiously, "Here, Billie, you let me +carry that!"</p> + +<p>"What infernal nonsense!" said Hawker, flushing. "Certainly not!"</p> + +<p>"Well," protested Florinda, "it might soil your gloves somehow."</p> + +<p>"In heaven's name, what if it does? Say, young woman, do you think I am +one of these cholly boys?"</p> + +<p>"No, Billie; but then, you know——"</p> + +<p>"Well, if you don't take me for some kind of a Willie, give us peace on +this blasted glove business!"</p> + +<p>"I didn't mean——"</p> + +<p>"Well, you've been intimating that I've got the only pair of gray gloves +in the universe, but you are wrong. There are several pairs, and these +need not be preserved as unique in history."</p> + +<p>"They're not gray. They're——"</p> + +<p>"They are gray! I suppose your distinguished ancestors in Ireland did +not educate their families in the matter of gloves, and so you are not +expected to——"</p> + +<p>"Billie!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You are not expected to believe that people wear gloves only in cold +weather, and then you expect to see mittens."</p> + +<p>On the stairs, in the darkness, he suddenly exclaimed, "Here, look out, +or you'll fall!" He reached for her arm, but she evaded him. Later he +said again: "Look out, girl! What makes you stumble around so? Here, +give me the bottle of wine. I can carry it all right. There—now can you +manage?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> + + +<p>"Penny," said Grief, looking across the table at his friend, "if a man +thinks a heap of two violets, how much would he think of a thousand +violets?"</p> + +<p>"Two into a thousand goes five hundred times, you fool!" said Pennoyer. +"I would answer your question if it were not upon a forbidden subject."</p> + +<p>In the distance Wrinkles and Florinda were making Welsh rarebits.</p> + +<p>"Hold your tongues!" said Hawker. "Barbarians!"</p> + +<p>"Grief," said Pennoyer, "if a man loves a woman better than the whole +universe, how much does he love the whole universe?"</p> + +<p>"Gawd knows," said Grief piously. "Although it ill befits me to answer +your question."</p> + +<p>Wrinkles and Florinda came with the Welsh rarebits, very triumphant. +"There,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> said Florinda, "soon as these are finished I must go home. It +is after eleven o'clock.—Pour the ale, Grief."</p> + +<p>At a later time, Purple Sanderson entered from the world. He hung up his +hat and cast a look of proper financial dissatisfaction at the remnants +of the feast. "Who has been——"</p> + +<p>"Before you breathe, Purple, you graceless scum, let me tell you that we +will stand no reference to the two violets here," said Pennoyer.</p> + +<p>"What the——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's all right, Purple," said Grief, "but you were going to say +something about the two violets, right then. Weren't you, now, you old +bat?"</p> + +<p>Sanderson grinned expectantly. "What's the row?" said he.</p> + +<p>"No row at all," they told him. "Just an agreement to keep you from +chattering obstinately about the two violets."</p> + +<p>"What two violets?"</p> + +<p>"Have a rarebit, Purple," advised Wrinkles, "and never mind those +maniacs."</p> + +<p>"Well, what is this business about two violets?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, it's just some dream. They gibber at anything."</p> + +<p>"I think I know," said Florinda, nodding. "It is something that concerns +Billie Hawker."</p> + +<p>Grief and Pennoyer scoffed, and Wrinkles said: "You know nothing about +it, Splutter. It doesn't concern Billie Hawker at all."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, what is he looking sideways for?" cried Florinda.</p> + +<p>Wrinkles reached for his guitar, and played a serenade, "The silver moon +is shining——"</p> + +<p>"Dry up!" said Pennoyer.</p> + +<p>Then Florinda cried again, "What does he look sideways for?"</p> + +<p>Pennoyer and Grief giggled at the imperturbable Hawker, who destroyed +rarebit in silence.</p> + +<p>"It's you, is it, Billie?" said Sanderson. "You are in this two-violet +business?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know what they're talking about," replied Hawker.</p> + +<p>"Don't you, honestly?" asked Florinda.</p> + +<p>"Well, only a little."</p> + +<p>"There!" said Florinda, nodding again. "I knew he was in it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He isn't in it at all," said Pennoyer and Grief.</p> + +<p>Later, when the cigarettes had become exhausted, Hawker volunteered to +go after a further supply, and as he arose, a question seemed to come to +the edge of Florinda's lips and pend there. The moment that the door was +closed upon him she demanded, "What is that about the two violets?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing at all," answered Pennoyer, apparently much aggrieved. He sat +back with an air of being a fortress of reticence.</p> + +<p>"Oh, go on—tell me! Penny, I think you are very mean.—Grief, you tell +me!"</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"The silver moon is shining;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Oh, come, my love, to me!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My heart——"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>"Be still, Wrinkles, will you?—What was it, Grief? Oh, go ahead and +tell me!"</p> + +<p>"What do you want to know for?" cried Grief, vastly exasperated. "You've +got more blamed curiosity—— It isn't anything at all, I keep saying to +you."</p> + +<p>"Well, I know it is," said Florinda sullenly, "or you would tell me."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p> + +<p>When Hawker brought the cigarettes, Florinda smoked one, and then +announced, "Well, I must go now."</p> + +<p>"Who is going to take you home, Splutter?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, anyone," replied Florinda.</p> + +<p>"I tell you what," said Grief, "we'll throw some poker hands, and the +one who wins will have the distinguished honour of conveying Miss +Splutter to her home and mother."</p> + +<p>Pennoyer and Wrinkles speedily routed the dishes to one end of the +table. Grief's fingers spun the halves of a pack of cards together with +the pleased eagerness of a good player. The faces grew solemn with the +gambling solemnity. "Now, you Indians," said Grief, dealing, "a draw, +you understand, and then a show-down."</p> + +<p>Florinda leaned forward in her chair until it was poised on two legs. +The cards of Purple Sanderson and of Hawker were faced toward her. +Sanderson was gravely regarding two pair—aces and queens. Hawker +scanned a little pair of sevens. "They draw, don't they?" she said to +Grief.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Certainly," said Grief. "How many, Wrink?"</p> + +<p>"Four," replied Wrinkles, plaintively.</p> + +<p>"Gimme three," said Pennoyer.</p> + +<p>"Gimme one," said Sanderson.</p> + +<p>"Gimme three," said Hawker. When he picked up his hand again Florinda's +chair was tilted perilously. She saw another seven added to the little +pair. Sanderson's draw had not assisted him.</p> + +<p>"Same to the dealer," said Grief. "What you got, Wrink?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing," said Wrinkles, exhibiting it face upward on the table. +"Good-bye, Florinda."</p> + +<p>"Well, I've got two small pair," ventured Pennoyer hopefully. "Beat +'em?"</p> + +<p>"No good," said Sanderson. "Two pair—aces up."</p> + +<p>"No good," said Hawker. "Three sevens."</p> + +<p>"Beats me," said Grief. "Billie, you are the fortunate man. Heaven guide +you in Third Avenue!"</p> + +<p>Florinda had gone to the window. "Who won?" she asked, wheeling about +carelessly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Billie Hawker."</p> + +<p>"What! Did he?" she said in surprise.</p> + +<p>"Never mind, Splutter. I'll win sometime," said Pennoyer. "Me too," +cried Grief. "Good night, old girl!" said Wrinkles. They crowded in the +doorway. "Hold on to Billie. Remember the two steps going up," Pennoyer +called intelligently into the Stygian blackness. "Can you see all +right?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Florinda lived in a flat with fire-escapes written all over the front of +it. The street in front was being repaired. It had been said by imbecile +residents of the vicinity that the paving was never allowed to remain +down for a sufficient time to be invalided by the tramping millions, but +that it was kept perpetually stacked in little mountains through the +unceasing vigilance of a virtuous and heroic city government, which +insisted that everything should be repaired. The alderman for the +district had sometimes asked indignantly of his fellow-members why this +street had not been repaired, and they, aroused, had at once ordered it +to be repaired. Moreover, shopkeepers, whose stables were adjacent, +placed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> trucks and other vehicles strategically in the darkness. Into +this tangled midnight Hawker conducted Florinda. The great avenue behind +them was no more than a level stream of yellow light, and the distant +merry bells might have been boats floating down it. Grim loneliness hung +over the uncouth shapes in the street which was being repaired.</p> + +<p>"Billie," said the girl suddenly, "what makes you so mean to me?"</p> + +<p>A peaceful citizen emerged from behind a pile of <i>débris</i>, but he might +not have been a peaceful citizen, so the girl clung to Hawker.</p> + +<p>"Why, I'm not mean to you, am I?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered. As they stood on the steps of the flat of +innumerable fire-escapes she slowly turned and looked up at him. Her +face was of a strange pallour in this darkness, and her eyes were as +when the moon shines in a lake of the hills.</p> + +<p>He returned her glance. "Florinda!" he cried, as if enlightened, and +gulping suddenly at something in his throat. The girl studied the steps +and moved from side to side, as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> do the guilty ones in country +schoolhouses. Then she went slowly into the flat.</p> + +<p>There was a little red lamp hanging on a pile of stones to warn people +that the street was being repaired.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV.</h2> + + +<p>"I'll get my check from the Gamin on Saturday," said Grief. "They bought +that string of comics."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, we'll arrange the present funds to last until Saturday +noon," said Wrinkles. "That gives us quite a lot. We can have a <i>table +d'hôte</i> on Friday night."</p> + +<p>However, the cashier of the Gamin office looked under his respectable +brass wiring and said: "Very sorry, Mr.—er—Warwickson, but our pay-day +is Monday. Come around any time after ten."</p> + +<p>"Oh, it doesn't matter," said Grief.</p> + +<p>When he plunged into the den his visage flamed with rage. "Don't get my +check until Monday morning, any time after ten!" he yelled, and flung a +portfolio of mottled green into the danger zone of the casts.</p> + +<p>"Thunder!" said Pennoyer, sinking at once into a profound despair<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Monday morning, any time after ten," murmured Wrinkles, in astonishment +and sorrow.</p> + +<p>While Grief marched to and fro threatening the furniture, Pennoyer and +Wrinkles allowed their under jaws to fall, and remained as men smitten +between the eyes by the god of calamity.</p> + +<p>"Singular thing!" muttered Pennoyer at last. "You get so frightfully +hungry as soon as you learn that there are no more meals coming."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well——" said Wrinkles. He took up his guitar.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, some folks say dat a niggah won' steal,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Way down yondeh in d' cohn'-fiel';</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But Ah caught two in my cohn'-fiel',</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Way down yondeh in d' cohn'-fiel'.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>"Oh, let up!" said Grief, as if unwilling to be moved from his despair.</p> + +<p>"Oh, let up!" said Pennoyer, as if he disliked the voice and the ballad.</p> + +<p>In his studio, Hawker sat braced nervously forward on a little stool +before his tall Dutch easel. Three sketches lay on the floor near<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> him, +and he glared at them constantly while painting at the large canvas on +the easel.</p> + +<p>He seemed engaged in some kind of a duel. His hair dishevelled, his eyes +gleaming, he was in a deadly scuffle. In the sketches was the landscape +of heavy blue, as if seen through powder-smoke, and all the skies burned +red. There was in these notes a sinister quality of hopelessness, +eloquent of a defeat, as if the scene represented the last hour on a +field of disastrous battle. Hawker seemed attacking with this picture +something fair and beautiful of his own life, a possession of his mind, +and he did it fiercely, mercilessly, formidably. His arm moved with the +energy of a strange wrath. He might have been thrusting with a sword.</p> + +<p>There was a knock at the door. "Come in." Pennoyer entered sheepishly. +"Well?" cried Hawker, with an echo of savagery in his voice. He turned +from the canvas precisely as one might emerge from a fight. "Oh!" he +said, perceiving Pennoyer. The glow in his eyes slowly changed. "What is +it, Penny?"</p> + +<p>"Billie," said Pennoyer, "Grief was to get<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> his check to-day, but they +put him off until Monday, and so, you know—er—well——"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Hawker again.</p> + +<p>When Pennoyer had gone Hawker sat motionless before his work. He stared +at the canvas in a meditation so profound that it was probably +unconscious of itself.</p> + +<p>The light from above his head slanted more and more toward the east.</p> + +<p>Once he arose and lighted a pipe. He returned to the easel and stood +staring with his hands in his pockets. He moved like one in a sleep. +Suddenly the gleam shot into his eyes again. He dropped to the stool and +grabbed a brush. At the end of a certain long, tumultuous period he +clinched his pipe more firmly in his teeth and puffed strongly. The +thought might have occurred to him that it was not alight, for he looked +at it with a vague, questioning glance. There came another knock at the +door. "Go to the devil!" he shouted, without turning his head.</p> + +<p>Hollanden crossed the corridor then to the den.</p> + +<p>"Hi, there, Hollie! Hello, boy! Just the fellow we want to see. Come +in—sit down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>—hit a pipe. Say, who was the girl Billie Hawker went mad +over this summer?"</p> + +<p>"Blazes!" said Hollanden, recovering slowly from this onslaught. +"Who—what—how did you Indians find it out?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, we tumbled!" they cried in delight, "we tumbled."</p> + +<p>"There!" said Hollanden, reproaching himself. "And I thought you were +such a lot of blockheads."</p> + +<p>"Oh, we tumbled!" they cried again in their ecstasy. "But who is she? +That's the point."</p> + +<p>"Well, she was a girl."</p> + +<p>"Yes, go on."</p> + +<p>"A New York girl."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"A perfectly stunning New York girl."</p> + +<p>"Yes. Go ahead."</p> + +<p>"A perfectly stunning New York girl of a very wealthy and rather +old-fashioned family."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll be shot! You don't mean it! She is practically seated on top +of the Matterhorn. Poor old Billie!"</p> + +<p>"Not at all," said Hollanden composedly.</p> + +<p>It was a common habit of Purple Sander<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span>son to call attention at night to +the resemblance of the den to some little ward in a hospital. Upon this +night, when Sanderson and Grief were buried in slumber, Pennoyer moved +restlessly. "Wrink!" he called softly into the darkness in the direction +of the divan which was secretly a coal-box.</p> + +<p>"What?" said Wrinkles in a surly voice. His mind had evidently been +caught at the threshold of sleep.</p> + +<p>"Do you think Florinda cares much for Billie Hawker?"</p> + +<p>Wrinkles fretted through some oaths. "How in thunder do I know?" The +divan creaked as he turned his face to the wall.</p> + +<p>"Well——" muttered Pennoyer.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> + + +<p>The harmony of summer sunlight on leaf and blade of green was not known +to the two windows, which looked forth at an obviously endless building +of brownstone about which there was the poetry of a prison. Inside, +great folds of lace swept down in orderly cascades, as water trained to +fall mathematically. The colossal chandelier, gleaming like a Siamese +headdress, caught the subtle flashes from unknown places.</p> + +<p>Hawker heard a step and the soft swishing of a woman's dress. He turned +toward the door swiftly, with a certain dramatic impulsiveness. But when +she entered the room he said, "How delighted I am to see you again!"</p> + +<p>She had said, "Why, Mr. Hawker, it was so charming in you to come!"</p> + +<p>It did not appear that Hawker's tongue could wag to his purpose. The +girl seemed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> in her mind to be frantically shuffling her pack of social +receipts and finding none of them made to meet this situation. Finally, +Hawker said that he thought Hearts at War was a very good play.</p> + +<p>"Did you?" she said in surprise. "I thought it much like the others."</p> + +<p>"Well, so did I," he cried hastily—"the same figures moving around in +the mud of modern confusion. I really didn't intend to say that I liked +it. Fact is, meeting you rather moved me out of my mental track."</p> + +<p>"Mental track?" she said. "I didn't know clever people had mental +tracks. I thought it was a privilege of the theologians."</p> + +<p>"Who told you I was clever?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"Why," she said, opening her eyes wider, "nobody."</p> + +<p>Hawker smiled and looked upon her with gratitude. "Of course, nobody. +There couldn't be such an idiot. I am sure you should be astonished to +learn that I believed such an imbecile existed. But——"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But I think you might have spoken less bluntly."</p> + +<p>"Well," she said, after wavering for a time, "you are clever, aren't +you?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly," he answered reassuringly.</p> + +<p>"Well, then?" she retorted, with triumph in her tone. And this +interrogation was apparently to her the final victorious argument.</p> + +<p>At his discomfiture Hawker grinned.</p> + +<p>"You haven't asked news of Stanley," he said. "Why don't you ask news of +Stanley?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! and how was he?"</p> + +<p>"The last I saw of him he stood down at the end of the pasture—the +pasture, you know—wagging his tail in blissful anticipation of an +invitation to come with me, and when it finally dawned upon him that he +was not to receive it, he turned and went back toward the house 'like a +man suddenly stricken with age,' as the story-tellers eloquently say. +Poor old dog!"</p> + +<p>"And you left him?" she said reproachfully. Then she asked, "Do you +remember how he amused you playing with the ants at the falls?"</p> + +<p>"No."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why, he did. He pawed at the moss, and you sat there laughing. I +remember it distinctly."</p> + +<p>"You remember distinctly? Why, I thought—well, your back was turned, +you know. Your gaze was fixed upon something before you, and you were +utterly lost to the rest of the world. You could not have known if +Stanley pawed the moss and I laughed. So, you see, you are mistaken. As +a matter of fact, I utterly deny that Stanley pawed the moss or that I +laughed, or that any ants appeared at the falls at all."</p> + +<p>"I have always said that you should have been a Chinese soldier of +fortune," she observed musingly. "Your daring and ingenuity would be +prized by the Chinese."</p> + +<p>"There are innumerable tobacco jars in China," he said, measuring the +advantages. "Moreover, there is no perspective. You don't have to walk +two miles to see a friend. No. He is always there near you, so that you +can't move a chair without hitting your distant friend. You——"</p> + +<p>"Did Hollie remain as attentive as ever to the Worcester girls?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, of course, as attentive as ever. He dragged me into all manner of +tennis games——"</p> + +<p>"Why, I thought you loved to play tennis?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," said Hawker, "I did until you left."</p> + +<p>"My sister has gone to the park with the children. I know she will be +vexed when she finds that you have called."</p> + +<p>Ultimately Hawker said, "Do you remember our ride behind my father's +oxen?"</p> + +<p>"No," she answered; "I had forgotten it completely. Did we ride behind +your father's oxen?"</p> + +<p>After a moment he said: "That remark would be prized by the Chinese. We +did. And you most graciously professed to enjoy it, which earned my deep +gratitude and admiration. For no one knows better than I," he added +meekly, "that it is no great comfort or pleasure to ride behind my +father's oxen."</p> + +<p>She smiled retrospectively. "Do you remember how the people on the porch +hurried to the railing?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> + + +<p>Near the door the stout proprietress sat intrenched behind the cash-box +in a Parisian manner. She looked with practical amiability at her +guests, who dined noisily and with great fire, discussing momentous +problems furiously, making wide, maniacal gestures through the cigarette +smoke. Meanwhile the little handful of waiters ran to and fro wildly. +Imperious and importunate cries rang at them from all directions. +"Gustave! Adolphe!" Their faces expressed a settled despair. They +answered calls, commands, oaths in a semi-distraction, fleeting among +the tables as if pursued by some dodging animal. Their breaths came in +gasps. If they had been convict labourers they could not have surveyed +their positions with countenances of more unspeakable injury. Withal, +they carried incredible masses of dishes and threaded their ways with +skill. They served people with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> such speed and violence that it often +resembled a personal assault. They struck two blows at a table and left +there a knife and fork. Then came the viands in a volley. The clatter of +this business was loud and bewilderingly rapid, like the gallop of a +thousand horses.</p> + +<p>In a remote corner a band of mandolins and guitars played the long, +sweeping, mad melody of a Spanish waltz. It seemed to go tingling to the +hearts of many of the diners. Their eyes glittered with enthusiasm, with +abandon, with deviltry. They swung their heads from side to side in +rhythmic movement. High in air curled the smoke from the innumerable +cigarettes. The long, black claret bottles were in clusters upon the +tables. At an end of the hall two men with maudlin grins sang the waltz +uproariously, but always a trifle belated.</p> + +<p>An unsteady person, leaning back in his chair to murmur swift +compliments to a woman at another table, suddenly sprawled out upon the +floor. He scrambled to his feet, and, turning to the escort of the +woman, heatedly blamed him for the accident. They ex<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>changed a series of +tense, bitter insults, which spatted back and forth between them like +pellets. People arose from their chairs and stretched their necks. The +musicians stood in a body, their faces turned with expressions of keen +excitement toward this quarrel, but their fingers still twinkling over +their instruments, sending into the middle of this turmoil the +passionate, mad, Spanish music. The proprietor of the place came in +agitation and plunged headlong into the argument, where he thereafter +appeared as a frantic creature harried to the point of insanity, for +they buried him at once in long, vociferous threats, explanations, +charges, every form of declamation known to their voices. The music, the +noise of the galloping horses, the voices of the brawlers, gave the +whole thing the quality of war.</p> + +<p>There were two men in the <i>café</i> who seemed to be tranquil. Hollanden +carefully stacked one lump of sugar upon another in the middle of his +saucer and poured cognac over them. He touched a match to the cognac and +the blue and yellow flames eddied in the saucer. "I wonder what those +two<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> fools are bellowing at?" he said, turning about irritably.</p> + +<p>"Hanged if I know!" muttered Hawker in reply. "This place makes me +weary, anyhow. Hear the blooming din!"</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" said Hollanden. "You used to say this was the one +natural, the one truly Bohemian, resort in the city. You swore by it."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't like it so much any more."</p> + +<p>"Ho!" cried Hollanden, "you're getting correct—that's it exactly. You +will become one of these intensely—— Look, Billie, the little one is +going to punch him!"</p> + +<p>"No, he isn't. They never do," said Hawker morosely. "Why did you bring +me here to-night, Hollie?"</p> + +<p>"I? I bring you? Good heavens, I came as a concession to you! What are +you talking about?—Hi! the little one is going to punch him, sure!"</p> + +<p>He gave the scene his undivided attention for a moment; then he turned +again: "You will become correct. I know you will. I have been watching. +You are about to achieve a respectability that will make a stone<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> saint +blush for himself. What's the matter with you? You act as if you thought +falling in love with a girl was a most extraordinary circumstance.—I +wish they would put those people out.—Of course I know that you—— +There! The little one has swiped at him at last!"</p> + +<p>After a time he resumed his oration. "Of course, I know that you are not +reformed in the matter of this uproar and this remarkable consumption of +bad wine. It is not that. It is a fact that there are indications that +some other citizen was fortunate enough to possess your napkin before +you; and, moreover, you are sure that you would hate to be caught by +your correct friends with any such <i>consommé</i> in front of you as we had +to-night. You have got an eye suddenly for all kinds of gilt. You are in +the way of becoming a most unbearable person.—Oh, look! the little one +and the proprietor are having it now.—You are in the way of becoming a +most unbearable person. Presently many of your friends will not be fine +enough.—In heaven's name, why don't they throw him out? Are you going +to howl and gesticulate there all night?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well," said Hawker, "a man would be a fool if he did like this dinner."</p> + +<p>"Certainly. But what an immaterial part in the glory of this joint is +the dinner! Who cares about dinner? No one comes here to eat; that's +what you always claimed.—Well, there, at last they are throwing him +out. I hope he lands on his head.—Really, you know, Billie, it is such +a fine thing being in love that one is sure to be detestable to the rest +of the world, and that is the reason they created a proverb to the other +effect. You want to look out."</p> + +<p>"You talk like a blasted old granny!" said Hawker. "Haven't changed at +all. This place is all right, only——"</p> + +<p>"You are gone," interrupted Hollanden in a sad voice. "It is very +plain—you are gone."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> + + +<p>The proprietor of the place, having pushed to the street the little man, +who may have been the most vehement, came again and resumed the +discussion with the remainder of the men of war. Many of these had +volunteered, and they were very enduring.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you are gone," said Hollanden, with the sobriety of graves in his +voice. "You are gone.—Hi!" he cried, "there is Lucian Pontiac.—Hi, +Pontiac! Sit down here."</p> + +<p>A man with a tangle of hair, and with that about his mouth which showed +that he had spent many years in manufacturing a proper modesty with +which to bear his greatness, came toward them, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Pontiac!" said Hollanden. "Here's another great painter. Do you +know Mr. Hawker?—Mr. William Hawker—Mr. Pontiac."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Hawker—delighted," said Pontiac.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> "Although I have not known you +personally, I can assure you that I have long been a great admirer of +your abilities."</p> + +<p>The proprietor of the place and the men of war had at length agreed to +come to an amicable understanding. They drank liquors, while each +firmly, but now silently, upheld his dignity.</p> + +<p>"Charming place," said Pontiac. "So thoroughly Parisian in spirit. And +from time to time, Mr. Hawker, I use one of your models. Must say she +has the best arm and wrist in the universe. Stunning figure—stunning!"</p> + +<p>"You mean Florinda?" said Hawker.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's the name. Very fine girl. Lunches with me from time to time +and chatters so volubly. That's how I learned you posed her +occasionally. If the models didn't gossip we would never know what +painters were addicted to profanity. Now that old Thorndike—he told me +you swore like a drill-sergeant if the model winked a finger at the +critical time. Very fine girl, Florinda. And honest, too—honest as the +devil. Very curious thing. Of course honesty among the girl models is +very common, very common—quite<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> universal thing, you know—but then it +always strikes me as being very curious, very curious. I've been much +attracted by your girl Florinda."</p> + +<p>"My girl?" said Hawker.</p> + +<p>"Well, she always speaks of you in a proprietary way, you know. And then +she considers that she owes you some kind of obedience and allegiance +and devotion. I remember last week I said to her: 'You can go now. Come +again Friday.' But she said: 'I don't think I can come on Friday. Billie +Hawker is home now, and he may want me then.' Said I: 'The devil take +Billie Hawker! He hasn't engaged you for Friday, has he? Well, then, I +engage you now.' But she shook her head. No, she couldn't come on +Friday. Billie Hawker was home, and he might want her any day. 'Well, +then,' said I, 'you have my permission to do as you please, since you +are resolved upon it anyway. Go to your Billie Hawker.' Did you need her +on Friday?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Hawker.</p> + +<p>"Well, then, the minx, I shall scold her. Stunning figure—stunning! It +was only last week that old Charley Master said to me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> mournfully: +'There are no more good models. Great Scott! not a one.' 'You're 'way +off, my boy,' I said; 'there is one good model,' and then I named your +girl. I mean the girl who claims to be yours."</p> + +<p>"Poor little beggar!" said Hollanden.</p> + +<p>"Who?" said Pontiac.</p> + +<p>"Florinda," answered Hollanden. "I suppose——"</p> + +<p>Pontiac interrupted. "Oh, of course, it is too bad. Everything is too +bad. My dear sir, nothing is so much to be regretted as the universe. +But this Florinda is such a sturdy young soul! The world is against her, +but, bless your heart, she is equal to the battle. She is strong in the +manner of a little child. Why, you don't know her. She——"</p> + +<p>"I know her very well."</p> + +<p>"Well, perhaps you do, but for my part I think you don't appreciate her +formidable character and stunning figure—stunning!"</p> + +<p>"Damn it!" said Hawker to his coffee cup, which he had accidentally +overturned.</p> + +<p>"Well," resumed Pontiac, "she is a stunning model, and I think, Mr. +Hawker, you are to be envied."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Eh?" said Hawker.</p> + +<p>"I wish I could inspire my models with such obedience and devotion. Then +I would not be obliged to rail at them for being late, and have to +badger them for not showing up at all. She has a beautiful +figure—beautiful."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> + + +<p>When Hawker went again to the house of the great window he looked first +at the colossal chandelier, and, perceiving that it had not moved, he +smiled in a certain friendly and familiar way.</p> + +<p>"It must be a fine thing," said the girl dreamily. "I always feel +envious of that sort of life."</p> + +<p>"What sort of life?"</p> + +<p>"Why—I don't know exactly; but there must be a great deal of freedom +about it. I went to a studio tea once, and——"</p> + +<p>"A studio tea! Merciful heavens—— Go on."</p> + +<p>"Yes, a studio tea. Don't you like them? To be sure, we didn't know +whether the man could paint very well, and I suppose you think it is an +imposition for anyone who is not a great painter to give a tea."</p> + +<p>"Go on."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, he had the dearest little Japanese servants, and some of the cups +came from Algiers, and some from Turkey, and some from—— What's the +matter?"</p> + +<p>"Go on. I'm not interrupting you."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's all; excepting that everything was charming in colour, and +I thought what a lazy, beautiful life the man must lead, lounging in +such a studio, smoking monogrammed cigarettes, and remarking how badly +all the other men painted."</p> + +<p>"Very fascinating. But——"</p> + +<p>"Oh! you are going to ask if he could draw. I'm sure I don't know, but +the tea that he gave was charming."</p> + +<p>"I was on the verge of telling you something about artist life, but if +you have seen a lot of draperies and drunk from a cup of Algiers, you +know all about it."</p> + +<p>"You, then, were going to make it something very terrible, and tell how +young painters struggled, and all that."</p> + +<p>"No, not exactly. But listen: I suppose there is an aristocracy who, +whether they paint well or paint ill, certainly do give charming teas, +as you say, and all other kinds<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> of charming affairs too; but when I +hear people talk as if that was the whole life, it makes my hair rise, +you know, because I am sure that as they get to know me better and +better they will see how I fall short of that kind of an existence, and +I shall probably take a great tumble in their estimation. They might +even conclude that I can not paint, which would be very unfair, because +I can paint, you know."</p> + +<p>"Well, proceed to arrange my point of view, so that you sha'n't tumble +in my estimation when I discover that you don't lounge in a studio, +smoke monogrammed cigarettes, and remark how badly the other men paint."</p> + +<p>"That's it. That's precisely what I wish to do."</p> + +<p>"Begin."</p> + +<p>"Well, in the first place——"</p> + +<p>"In the first place—what?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I started to study when I was very poor, you understand. Look +here! I'm telling you these things because I want you to know, somehow. +It isn't that I'm not ashamed of it. Well, I began very poor, and I—as +a matter of fact—I—well, I earned myself over half the money for my +studying, and the other half I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> bullied and badgered and beat out of my +poor old dad. I worked pretty hard in Paris, and I returned here +expecting to become a great painter at once. I didn't, though. In fact, +I had my worst moments then. It lasted for some years. Of course, the +faith and endurance of my father were by this time worn to a +shadow—this time, when I needed him the most. However, things got a +little better and a little better, until I found that by working quite +hard I could make what was to me a fair income. That's where I am now, +too."</p> + +<p>"Why are you so ashamed of this story?"</p> + +<p>"The poverty."</p> + +<p>"Poverty isn't anything to be ashamed of."</p> + +<p>"Great heavens! Have you the temerity to get off that old nonsensical +remark? Poverty is everything to be ashamed of. Did you ever see a +person not ashamed of his poverty? Certainly not. Of course, when a man +gets very rich he will brag so loudly of the poverty of his youth that +one would never suppose that he was once ashamed of it. But he was."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, anyhow, you shouldn't be ashamed of the story you have just told +me."</p> + +<p>"Why not? Do you refuse to allow me the great right of being like other +men?"</p> + +<p>"I think it was—brave, you know."</p> + +<p>"Brave? Nonsense! Those things are not brave. Impression to that effect +created by the men who have been through the mill for the greater glory +of the men who have been through the mill."</p> + +<p>"I don't like to hear you talk that way. It sounds wicked, you know."</p> + +<p>"Well, it certainly wasn't heroic. I can remember distinctly that there +was not one heroic moment."</p> + +<p>"No, but it was—it was——"</p> + +<p>"It was what?"</p> + +<p>"Well, somehow I like it, you know."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX.</h2> + + +<p>"There's three of them," said Grief in a hoarse whisper.</p> + +<p>"Four, I tell you!" said Wrinkles in a low, excited tone.</p> + +<p>"Four," breathed Pennoyer with decision.</p> + +<p>They held fierce pantomimic argument. From the corridor came sounds of +rustling dresses and rapid feminine conversation.</p> + +<p>Grief had kept his ear to the panel of the door. His hand was stretched +back, warning the others to silence. Presently he turned his head and +whispered, "Three."</p> + +<p>"Four," whispered Pennoyer and Wrinkles.</p> + +<p>"Hollie is there, too," whispered Grief. "Billie is unlocking the door. +Now they're going in. Hear them cry out, 'Oh, isn't it lovely!' Jinks!" +He began a noiseless dance about the room. "Jinks! Don't I wish I had a +big studio and a little reputation!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> Wouldn't I have my swell friends +come to see me, and wouldn't I entertain 'em!" He adopted a descriptive +manner, and with his forefinger indicated various spaces of the wall. +"Here is a little thing I did in Brittany. Peasant woman in sabots. This +brown spot here is the peasant woman, and those two white things are the +sabots. Peasant woman in sabots, don't you see? Women in Brittany, of +course, all wear sabots, you understand. Convenience of the painters. I +see you are looking at that little thing I did in Morocco. Ah, you +admire it? Well, not so bad—not so bad. Arab smoking pipe, squatting in +doorway. This long streak here is the pipe. Clever, you say? Oh, thanks! +You are too kind. Well, all Arabs do that, you know. Sole occupation. +Convenience of the painters. Now, this little thing here I did in +Venice. Grand Canal, you know. Gondolier leaning on his oar. Convenience +of the painters. Oh, yes, American subjects are well enough, but hard to +find, you know—hard to find. Morocco, Venice, Brittany, Holland—all +oblige with colour, you know—quaint form—all that. We are so hideously +modern over<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> here; and, besides, nobody has painted us much. How the +devil can I paint America when nobody has done it before me? My dear +sir, are you aware that that would be originality? Good heavens! we are +not æsthetic, you understand. Oh, yes, some good mind comes along and +understands a thing and does it, and after that it is æsthetic. Yes, of +course, but then—well—— Now, here is a little Holland thing of mine; +it——"</p> + +<p>The others had evidently not been heeding him. "Shut up!" said Wrinkles +suddenly. "Listen!" Grief paused his harangue and they sat in silence, +their lips apart, their eyes from time to time exchanging eloquent +messages. A dulled melodious babble came from Hawker's studio.</p> + +<p>At length Pennoyer murmured wistfully, "I would like to see her."</p> + +<p>Wrinkles started noiselessly to his feet. "Well, I tell you she's a +peach. I was going up the steps, you know, with a loaf of bread under my +arm, when I chanced to look up the street and saw Billie and Hollanden +coming with four of them."</p> + +<p>"Three," said Grief.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Four; and I tell you I scattered. One of the two with Billie was a +peach—a peach."</p> + +<p>"O, Lord!" groaned the others enviously. "Billie's in luck."</p> + +<p>"How do you know?" said Wrinkles. "Billie is a blamed good fellow, but +that doesn't say she will care for him—more likely that she won't."</p> + +<p>They sat again in silence, grinning, and listening to the murmur of +voices.</p> + +<p>There came the sound of a step in the hallway. It ceased at a point +opposite the door of Hawker's studio. Presently it was heard again. +Florinda entered the den. "Hello!" she cried, "who is over in Billie's +place? I was just going to knock——"</p> + +<p>They motioned at her violently. "Sh!" they whispered. Their countenances +were very impressive.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter with you fellows?" asked Florinda in her ordinary +tone; whereupon they made gestures of still greater wildness. "S-s-sh!"</p> + +<p>Florinda lowered her voice properly. "Who is over there?"</p> + +<p>"Some swells," they whispered.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p> + +<p>Florinda bent her head. Presently she gave a little start. "Who is over +there?" Her voice became a tone of deep awe. "She?"</p> + +<p>Wrinkles and Grief exchanged a swift glance. Pennoyer said gruffly, "Who +do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Why," said Florinda, "you know. She. The—the girl that Billie likes."</p> + +<p>Pennoyer hesitated for a moment and then said wrathfully: "Of course she +is! Who do you suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Florinda. She took a seat upon the divan, which was privately +a coal-box, and unbuttoned her jacket at the throat. "Is she—is +she—very handsome, Wrink?"</p> + +<p>Wrinkles replied stoutly, "No."</p> + +<p>Grief said: "Let's make a sneak down the hall to the little unoccupied +room at the front of the building and look from the window there. When +they go out we can pipe 'em off."</p> + +<p>"Come on!" they exclaimed, accepting this plan with glee.</p> + +<p>Wrinkles opened the door and seemed about to glide away, when he +suddenly turned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> and shook his head. "It's dead wrong," he said, +ashamed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, go on!" eagerly whispered the others. Presently they stole +pattering down the corridor, grinning, exclaiming, and cautioning each +other.</p> + +<p>At the window Pennoyer said: "Now, for heaven's sake, don't let them see +you!—Be careful, Grief, you'll tumble.—Don't lean on me that way, +Wrink; think I'm a barn door? Here they come. Keep back. Don't let them +see you."</p> + +<p>"O-o-oh!" said Grief. "Talk about a peach! Well, I should say so."</p> + +<p>Florinda's fingers tore at Wrinkle's coat sleeve. "Wrink, Wrink, is that +her? Is that her? On the left of Billie? Is that her, Wrink?"</p> + +<p>"What? Yes. Stop punching me! Yes, I tell you! That's her. Are you +deaf?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a>CHAPTER XXXI.</h2> + + +<p>In the evening Pennoyer conducted Florinda to the flat of many +fire-escapes. After a period of silent tramping through the great golden +avenue and the street that was being repaired, she said, "Penny, you are +very good to me."</p> + +<p>"Why?" said Pennoyer.</p> + +<p>"Oh, because you are. You—you are very good to me, Penny."</p> + +<p>"Well, I guess I'm not killing myself."</p> + +<p>"There isn't many fellows like you."</p> + +<p>"No?"</p> + +<p>"No. There isn't many fellows like you, Penny. I tell you 'most +everything, and you just listen, and don't argue with me and tell me I'm +a fool, because you know that it—because you know that it can't be +helped, anyhow."</p> + +<p>"Oh, nonsense, you kid! Almost anybody would be glad to——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Penny, do you think she is very beautiful?" Florinda's voice had a +singular quality of awe in it.</p> + +<p>"Well," replied Pennoyer, "I don't know."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you do, Penny. Go ahead and tell me."</p> + +<p>"Well——"</p> + +<p>"Go ahead."</p> + +<p>"Well, she is rather handsome, you know."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Florinda, dejectedly, "I suppose she is." After a time she +cleared her throat and remarked indifferently, "I suppose Billie cares a +lot for her?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I imagine that he does—in a way."</p> + +<p>"Why, of course he does," insisted Florinda. "What do you mean by 'in a +way'? You know very well that Billie thinks his eyes of her."</p> + +<p>"No, I don't."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you do. You know you do. You are talking in that way just to brace +me up. You know you are."</p> + +<p>"No, I'm not."</p> + +<p>"Penny," said Florinda thankfully, "what makes you so good to me?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, I guess I'm not so astonishingly good to you. Don't be silly."</p> + +<p>"But you are good to me, Penny. You don't make fun of me the way—the +way the other boys would. You are just as good as you can be.—But you +do think she is beautiful, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"They wouldn't make fun of you," said Pennoyer.</p> + +<p>"But do you think she is beautiful?"</p> + +<p>"Look here, Splutter, let up on that, will you? You keep harping on one +string all the time. Don't bother me!"</p> + +<p>"But, honest now, Penny, you do think she is beautiful?"</p> + +<p>"Well, then, confound it—no! no! no!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, you do, Penny. Go ahead now. Don't deny it just because you +are talking to me. Own up, now, Penny. You do think she is beautiful?"</p> + +<p>"Well," said Pennoyer, in a dull roar of irritation, "do you?"</p> + +<p>Florinda walked in silence, her eyes upon the yellow flashes which +lights sent to the pavement. In the end she said, "Yes."</p> + +<p>"Yes, what?" asked Pennoyer sharply.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, she—yes, she is—beautiful."</p> + +<p>"Well, then?" cried Pennoyer, abruptly closing the discussion.</p> + +<p>Florinda announced something as a fact. "Billie thinks his eyes of her."</p> + +<p>"How do you know he does?"</p> + +<p>"Don't scold at me, Penny. You—you——"</p> + +<p>"I'm not scolding at you. There! What a goose you are, Splutter! Don't, +for heaven's sake, go to whimpering on the street! I didn't say anything +to make you feel that way. Come, pull yourself together."</p> + +<p>"I'm not whimpering."</p> + +<p>"No, of course not; but then you look as if you were on the edge of it. +What a little idiot!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII.</h2> + + +<p>When the snow fell upon the clashing life of the city, the exiled +stones, beaten by myriad strange feet, were told of the dark, silent +forests where the flakes swept through the hemlocks and swished softly +against the boulders.</p> + +<p>In his studio Hawker smoked a pipe, clasping his knee with thoughtful, +interlocked fingers. He was gazing sourly at his finished picture. Once +he started to his feet with a cry of vexation. Looking back over his +shoulder, he swore an insult into the face of the picture. He paced to +and fro, smoking belligerently and from time to time eying it. The +helpless thing remained upon the easel, facing him.</p> + +<p>Hollanden entered and stopped abruptly at sight of the great scowl. +"What's wrong now?" he said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p> + +<p>Hawker gestured at the picture. "That dunce of a thing. It makes me +tired. It isn't worth a hang. Blame it!"</p> + +<p>"What?" Hollanden strode forward and stood before the painting with legs +apart, in a properly critical manner. "What? Why, you said it was your +best thing."</p> + +<p>"Aw!" said Hawker, waving his arms, "it's no good! I abominate it! I +didn't get what I wanted, I tell you. I didn't get what I wanted. That?" +he shouted, pointing thrust-way at it—"that? It's vile! Aw! it makes me +weary."</p> + +<p>"You're in a nice state," said Hollanden, turning to take a critical +view of the painter. "What has got into you now? I swear, you are more +kinds of a chump!"</p> + +<p>Hawker crooned dismally: "I can't paint! I can't paint for a damn! I'm +no good. What in thunder was I invented for, anyhow, Hollie?"</p> + +<p>"You're a fool," said Hollanden. "I hope to die if I ever saw such a +complete idiot! You give me a pain. Just because she don't——"</p> + +<p>"It isn't that. She has nothing to do with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> it, although I know well +enough—I know well enough——"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"I know well enough she doesn't care a hang for me. It isn't that. It is +because—it is because I can't paint. Look at that thing over there! +Remember the thought and energy I—— Damn the thing!"</p> + +<p>"Why, did you have a row with her?" asked Hollanden, perplexed. "I +didn't know——"</p> + +<p>"No, of course you didn't know," cried Hawker, sneering; "because I had +no row. It isn't that, I tell you. But I know well enough"—he shook his +fist vaguely—"that she don't care an old tomato can for me. Why should +she?" he demanded with a curious defiance. "In the name of Heaven, why +should she?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Hollanden; "I don't know, I'm sure. But, then, +women have no social logic. This is the great blessing of the world. +There is only one thing which is superior to the multiplicity of social +forms, and that is a woman's mind—a young woman's mind. Oh, of course, +sometimes they are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> logical, but let a woman be so once, and she will +repent of it to the end of her days. The safety of the world's balance +lies in woman's illogical mind. I think——"</p> + +<p>"Go to blazes!" said Hawker. "I don't care what you think. I am sure of +one thing, and that is that she doesn't care a hang for me!"</p> + +<p>"I think," Hollanden continued, "that society is doing very well in its +work of bravely lawing away at Nature; but there is one immovable +thing—a woman's illogical mind. That is our safety. Thank Heaven, +it——"</p> + +<p>"Go to blazes!" said Hawker again.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2> + + +<p>As Hawker again entered the room of the great windows he glanced in +sidelong bitterness at the chandelier. When he was seated he looked at +it in open defiance and hatred.</p> + +<p>Men in the street were shovelling at the snow. The noise of their +instruments scraping on the stones came plainly to Hawker's ears in a +harsh chorus, and this sound at this time was perhaps to him a +<i>miserere</i>.</p> + +<p>"I came to tell you," he began, "I came to tell you that perhaps I am +going away."</p> + +<p>"Going away!" she cried. "Where?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't know—quite. You see, I am rather indefinite as yet. I +thought of going for the winter somewhere in the Southern States. I am +decided merely this much, you know—I am going somewhere. But I don't +know where. 'Way off, anyhow."</p> + +<p>"We shall be very sorry to lose you," she remarked. "We——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And I thought," he continued, "that I would come and say 'adios' now +for fear that I might leave very suddenly. I do that sometimes. I'm +afraid you will forget me very soon, but I want to tell you that——"</p> + +<p>"Why," said the girl in some surprise, "you speak as if you were going +away for all time. You surely do not mean to utterly desert New York?"</p> + +<p>"I think you misunderstand me," he said. "I give this important air to +my farewell to you because to me it is a very important event. Perhaps +you recollect that once I told you that I cared for you. Well, I still +care for you, and so I can only go away somewhere—some place 'way +off—where—where—— See?"</p> + +<p>"New York is a very large place," she observed.</p> + +<p>"Yes, New York is a very large—— How good of you to remind me! But +then you don't understand. You can't understand. I know I can find no +place where I will cease to remember you, but then I can find some place +where I can cease to remember in a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> way that I am myself. I shall never +try to forget you. Those two violets, you know—one I found near the +tennis court and the other you gave me, you remember—I shall take them +with me."</p> + +<p>"Here," said the girl, tugging at her gown for a moment—"Here! Here's a +third one." She thrust a violet toward him.</p> + +<p>"If you were not so serenely insolent," said Hawker, "I would think that +you felt sorry for me. I don't wish you to feel sorry for me. And I +don't wish to be melodramatic. I know it is all commonplace enough, and +I didn't mean to act like a tenor. Please don't pity me."</p> + +<p>"I don't," she replied. She gave the violet a little fling.</p> + +<p>Hawker lifted his head suddenly and glowered at her. "No, you don't," he +at last said slowly, "you don't. Moreover, there is no reason why you +should take the trouble. But——"</p> + +<p>He paused when the girl leaned and peered over the arm of her chair +precisely in the manner of a child at the brink of a fountain. "There's +my violet on the floor," she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> said. "You treated it quite +contemptuously, didn't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>Together they stared at the violet. Finally he stooped and took it in +his fingers. "I feel as if this third one was pelted at me, but I shall +keep it. You are rather a cruel person, but, Heaven guard us! that only +fastens a man's love the more upon a woman."</p> + +<p>She laughed. "That is not a very good thing to tell a woman."</p> + +<p>"No," he said gravely, "it is not, but then I fancy that somebody may +have told you previously."</p> + +<p>She stared at him, and then said, "I think you are revenged for my +serene insolence."</p> + +<p>"Great heavens, what an armour!" he cried. "I suppose, after all, I did +feel a trifle like a tenor when I first came here, but you have chilled +it all out of me. Let's talk upon indifferent topics." But he started +abruptly to his feet. "No," he said, "let us not talk upon indifferent +topics. I am not brave, I assure you, and it—it might be too much for +me." He held out his hand. "Good-bye."</p> + +<p>"You are going?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, I am going. Really I didn't think how it would bore you for me to +come around here and croak in this fashion."</p> + +<p>"And you are not coming back for a long, long time?"</p> + +<p>"Not for a long, long time." He mimicked her tone. "I have the three +violets now, you know, and you must remember that I took the third one +even when you flung it at my head. That will remind you how submissive I +was in my devotion. When you recall the two others it will remind you of +what a fool I was. Dare say you won't miss three violets."</p> + +<p>"No," she said.</p> + +<p>"Particularly the one you flung at my head. That violet was certainly +freely—given."</p> + +<p>"I didn't fling it at your head." She pondered for a time with her eyes +upon the floor. Then she murmured, "No more freely—given than the one I +gave you that night—that night at the inn."</p> + +<p>"So very good of you to tell me so!"</p> + +<p>Her eyes were still upon the floor.</p> + +<p>"Do you know," said Hawker, "it is very hard to go away and leave an +impression in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> your mind that I am a fool? That is very hard. Now, you +do think I am a fool, don't you?"</p> + +<p>She remained silent. Once she lifted her eyes and gave him a swift look +with much indignation in it.</p> + +<p>"Now you are enraged. Well, what have I done?"</p> + +<p>It seemed that some tumult was in her mind, for she cried out to him at +last in sudden tearfulness: "Oh, do go! Go! Please! I want you to go!"</p> + +<p>Under this swift change Hawker appeared as a man struck from the sky. He +sprang to his feet, took two steps forward, and spoke a word which was +an explosion of delight and amazement. He said, "What?"</p> + +<p>With heroic effort she slowly raised her eyes until, alight with anger, +defiance, unhappiness, they met his eyes.</p> + +<p>Later, she told him that he was perfectly ridiculous.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE THIRD VIOLET***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 19593-h.txt or 19593-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/9/5/9/19593">http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/5/9/19593</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Third Violet + + +Author: Stephen Crane + + + +Release Date: October 20, 2006 [eBook #19593] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE THIRD VIOLET*** + + +E-text prepared by Janet Blenkinship and the Project Gutenberg Online +Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net/) from page images +generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries +(http://www.archive.org/details/americana) + + + +Note: Images of the original pages are available through + Internet Archive/American Libraries. See + http://www.archive.org/details/thirdviolet00cranarch + + + + + +THE THIRD VIOLET + +by + +STEPHEN CRANE + +Author of The Red Badge of Courage, +The Little Regiment, and Maggie + + + + + + + +New York +D. Appleton and Company +1897 + +Copyright, 1897, +by D. Appleton and Company. +Copyright, 1896, by Stephen Crane. + + + + +THE THIRD VIOLET. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +The engine bellowed its way up the slanting, winding valley. Grey crags, +and trees with roots fastened cleverly to the steeps looked down at the +struggles of the black monster. + +When the train finally released its passengers they burst forth with the +enthusiasm of escaping convicts. A great bustle ensued on the platform +of the little mountain station. The idlers and philosophers from the +village were present to examine the consignment of people from the city. +These latter, loaded with bundles and children, thronged at the stage +drivers. The stage drivers thronged at the people from the city. + +Hawker, with his clothes case, his paint-box, his easel, climbed +awkwardly down the steps of the car. The easel swung uncontrolled and +knocked against the head of a little boy who was disembarking backward +with fine caution. "Hello, little man," said Hawker, "did it hurt?" The +child regarded him in silence and with sudden interest, as if Hawker had +called his attention to a phenomenon. The young painter was politely +waiting until the little boy should conclude his examination, but a +voice behind him cried, "Roger, go on down!" A nursemaid was conducting +a little girl where she would probably be struck by the other end of the +easel. The boy resumed his cautious descent. + +The stage drivers made such great noise as a collection that as +individuals their identities were lost. With a highly important air, as +a man proud of being so busy, the baggageman of the train was thundering +trunks at the other employees on the platform. Hawker, prowling through +the crowd, heard a voice near his shoulder say, "Do you know where is +the stage for Hemlock Inn?" Hawker turned and found a young woman +regarding him. A wave of astonishment whirled into his hair, and he +turned his eyes quickly for fear that she would think that he had +looked at her. He said, "Yes, certainly, I think I can find it." At the +same time he was crying to himself: "Wouldn't I like to paint her, +though! What a glance--oh, murder! The--the--the distance in her eyes!" + +He went fiercely from one driver to another. That obdurate stage for +Hemlock Inn must appear at once. Finally he perceived a man who grinned +expectantly at him. "Oh," said Hawker, "you drive the stage for Hemlock +Inn?" The man admitted it. Hawker said, "Here is the stage." The young +woman smiled. + +The driver inserted Hawker and his luggage far into the end of the +vehicle. He sat there, crooked forward so that his eyes should see the +first coming of the girl into the frame of light at the other end of the +stage. Presently she appeared there. She was bringing the little boy, +the little girl, the nursemaid, and another young woman, who was at once +to be known as the mother of the two children. The girl indicated the +stage with a small gesture of triumph. When they were all seated +uncomfortably in the huge covered vehicle the little boy gave Hawker a +glance of recognition. "It hurted then, but it's all right now," he +informed him cheerfully. + +"Did it?" replied Hawker. "I'm sorry." + +"Oh, I didn't mind it much," continued the little boy, swinging his +long, red-leather leggings bravely to and fro. "I don't cry when I'm +hurt, anyhow." He cast a meaning look at his tiny sister, whose soft +lips set defensively. + +The driver climbed into his seat, and after a scrutiny of the group in +the gloom of the stage he chirped to his horses. They began a slow and +thoughtful trotting. Dust streamed out behind the vehicle. In front, the +green hills were still and serene in the evening air. A beam of gold +struck them aslant, and on the sky was lemon and pink information of the +sun's sinking. The driver knew many people along the road, and from time +to time he conversed with them in yells. + +The two children were opposite Hawker. They sat very correctly mucilaged +to their seats, but their large eyes were always upon Hawker, calmly +valuing him. + +"Do you think it nice to be in the country? I do," said the boy. + +"I like it very well," answered Hawker. + +"I shall go fishing, and hunting, and everything. Maybe I shall shoot a +bears." + +"I hope you may." + +"Did you ever shoot a bears?" + +"No." + +"Well, I didn't, too, but maybe I will. Mister Hollanden, he said he'd +look around for one. Where I live----" + +"Roger," interrupted the mother from her seat at Hawker's side, "perhaps +every one is not interested in your conversation." The boy seemed +embarrassed at this interruption, for he leaned back in silence with an +apologetic look at Hawker. Presently the stage began to climb the hills, +and the two children were obliged to take grip upon the cushions for +fear of being precipitated upon the nursemaid. + +Fate had arranged it so that Hawker could not observe the girl with +the--the--the distance in her eyes without leaning forward and +discovering to her his interest. Secretly and impiously he wriggled in +his seat, and as the bumping stage swung its passengers this way and +that way, he obtained fleeting glances of a cheek, an arm, or a +shoulder. + +The driver's conversation tone to his passengers was also a yell. "Train +was an hour late t'night," he said, addressing the interior. "It'll be +nine o'clock before we git t' th' inn, an' it'll be perty dark +travellin'." + +Hawker waited decently, but at last he said, "Will it?" + +"Yes. No moon." He turned to face Hawker, and roared, "You're ol' Jim +Hawker's son, hain't yeh?" + +"Yes." + +"I thort I'd seen yeh b'fore. Live in the city now, don't yeh?" + +"Yes." + +"Want t' git off at th' cross-road?" + +"Yes." + +"Come up fer a little stay doorin' th' summer?" + +"Yes." + +"On'y charge yeh a quarter if yeh git off at cross-road. Useter charge +'em fifty cents, but I ses t' th' ol' man. 'Tain't no use. Goldern 'em, +they'll walk ruther'n put up fifty cents.' Yep. On'y a quarter." + +In the shadows Hawker's expression seemed assassinlike. He glanced +furtively down the stage. She was apparently deep in talk with the +mother of the children. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +When Hawker pushed at the old gate, it hesitated because of a broken +hinge. A dog barked with loud ferocity and came headlong over the grass. + +"Hello, Stanley, old man!" cried Hawker. The ardour for battle was +instantly smitten from the dog, and his barking swallowed in a gurgle of +delight. He was a large orange and white setter, and he partly expressed +his emotion by twisting his body into a fantastic curve and then dancing +over the ground with his head and his tail very near to each other. He +gave vent to little sobs in a wild attempt to vocally describe his +gladness. "Well, 'e was a dreat dod," said Hawker, and the setter, +overwhelmed, contorted himself wonderfully. + +There were lights in the kitchen, and at the first barking of the dog +the door had been thrown open. Hawker saw his two sisters shading their +eyes and peering down the yellow stream. Presently they shouted, "Here +he is!" They flung themselves out and upon him. "Why, Will! why, Will!" +they panted. + +"We're awful glad to see you!" In a whirlwind of ejaculation and +unanswerable interrogation they grappled the clothes case, the +paint-box, the easel, and dragged him toward the house. + +He saw his old mother seated in a rocking-chair by the table. She had +laid aside her paper and was adjusting her glasses as she scanned the +darkness. "Hello, mother!" cried Hawker, as he entered. His eyes were +bright. The old mother reached her arms to his neck. She murmured soft +and half-articulate words. Meanwhile the dog writhed from one to +another. He raised his muzzle high to express his delight. He was always +fully convinced that he was taking a principal part in this ceremony of +welcome and that everybody was heeding him. + +"Have you had your supper?" asked the old mother as soon as she +recovered herself. The girls clamoured sentences at him. "Pa's out in +the barn, Will. What made you so late? He said maybe he'd go up to the +cross-roads to see if he could see the stage. Maybe he's gone. What +made you so late? And, oh, we got a new buggy!" + +The old mother repeated anxiously, "Have you had your supper?" + +"No," said Hawker, "but----" + +The three women sprang to their feet. "Well, we'll git you something +right away." They bustled about the kitchen and dove from time to time +into the cellar. They called to each other in happy voices. + +Steps sounded on the line of stones that led from the door toward the +barn, and a shout came from the darkness. "Well, William, home again, +hey?" Hawker's grey father came stamping genially into the room. "I +thought maybe you got lost. I was comin' to hunt you," he said, +grinning, as they stood with gripped hands. "What made you so late?" + +While Hawker confronted the supper the family sat about and contemplated +him with shining eyes. His sisters noted his tie and propounded some +questions concerning it. His mother watched to make sure that he should +consume a notable quantity of the preserved cherries. "He used to be so +fond of 'em when he was little," she said. + +"Oh, Will," cried the younger sister, "do you remember Lil' Johnson? +Yeh? She's married. Married las' June." + +"Is the boy's room all ready, mother?" asked the father. + +"We fixed it this mornin'," she said. + +"And do you remember Jeff Decker?" shouted the elder sister. "Well, he's +dead. Yep. Drowned, pickerel fishin'--poor feller!" + +"Well, how are you gitting along, William?" asked the father. "Sell many +pictures?" + +"An occasional one." + +"Saw your illustrations in the May number of Perkinson's." The old man +paused for a moment, and then added, quite weakly, "Pretty good." + +"How's everything about the place?" + +"Oh, just about the same--'bout the same. The colt run away with me last +week, but didn't break nothin', though. I was scared, because I had out +the new buggy--we got a new buggy--but it didn't break nothin'. I'm +goin' to sell the oxen in the fall; I don't want to winter 'em. And then +in the spring I'll get a good hoss team. I rented th' back five-acre to +John Westfall. I had more'n I could handle with only one hired hand. +Times is pickin' up a little, but not much--not much." + +"And we got a new school-teacher," said one of the girls. + +"Will, you never noticed my new rocker," said the old mother, pointing. +"I set it right where I thought you'd see it, and you never took no +notice. Ain't it nice? Father bought it at Monticello for my birthday. I +thought you'd notice it first thing." + +When Hawker had retired for the night, he raised a sash and sat by the +window smoking. The odour of the woods and the fields came sweetly to +his nostrils. The crickets chanted their hymn of the night. On the black +brow of the mountain he could see two long rows of twinkling dots which +marked the position of Hemlock Inn. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +Hawker had a writing friend named Hollanden. In New York Hollanden had +announced his resolution to spend the summer at Hemlock Inn. "I don't +like to see the world progressing," he had said; "I shall go to Sullivan +County for a time." + +In the morning Hawker took his painting equipment, and after +manoeuvring in the fields until he had proved to himself that he had +no desire to go toward the inn, he went toward it. The time was only +nine o'clock, and he knew that he could not hope to see Hollanden before +eleven, as it was only through rumour that Hollanden was aware that +there was a sunrise and an early morning. + +Hawker encamped in front of some fields of vivid yellow stubble on which +trees made olive shadows, and which was overhung by a china-blue sky and +sundry little white clouds. He fiddled away perfunctorily at it. A +spectator would have believed, probably, that he was sketching the +pines on the hill where shone the red porches of Hemlock Inn. + +Finally, a white-flannel young man walked into the landscape. Hawker +waved a brush. "Hi, Hollie, get out of the colour-scheme!" + +At this cry the white-flannel young man looked down at his feet +apprehensively. Finally he came forward grinning. "Why, hello, Hawker, +old boy! Glad to find you here." He perched on a boulder and began to +study Hawker's canvas and the vivid yellow stubble with the olive +shadows. He wheeled his eyes from one to the other. "Say, Hawker," he +said suddenly, "why don't you marry Miss Fanhall?" + +Hawker had a brush in his mouth, but he took it quickly out, and said, +"Marry Miss Fanhall? Who the devil is Miss Fanhall?" + +Hollanden clasped both hands about his knee and looked thoughtfully +away. "Oh, she's a girl." + +"She is?" said Hawker. + +"Yes. She came to the inn last night with her sister-in-law and a small +tribe of young Fanhalls. There's six of them, I think." + +"Two," said Hawker, "a boy and a girl." + +"How do you--oh, you must have come up with them. Of course. Why, then +you saw her." + +"Was that her?" asked Hawker listlessly. + +"Was that her?" cried Hollanden, with indignation. "Was that her?" + +"Oh!" said Hawker. + +Hollanden mused again. "She's got lots of money," he said. "Loads of it. +And I think she would be fool enough to have sympathy for you in your +work. They are a tremendously wealthy crowd, although they treat it +simply. It would be a good thing for you. I believe--yes, I am sure she +could be fool enough to have sympathy for you in your work. And now, if +you weren't such a hopeless chump----" + +"Oh, shut up, Hollie," said the painter. + +For a time Hollanden did as he was bid, but at last he talked again. +"Can't think why they came up here. Must be her sister-in-law's health. +Something like that. She----" + +"Great heavens," said Hawker, "you speak of nothing else!" + +"Well, you saw her, didn't you?" demanded Hollanden. "What can you +expect, then, from a man of my sense? You--you old stick--you----" + +"It was quite dark," protested the painter. + +"Quite dark," repeated Hollanden, in a wrathful voice. "What if it was?" + +"Well, that is bound to make a difference in a man's opinion, you know." + +"No, it isn't. It was light down at the railroad station, anyhow. If you +had any sand--thunder, but I did get up early this morning! Say, do you +play tennis?" + +"After a fashion," said Hawker. "Why?" + +"Oh, nothing," replied Hollanden sadly. "Only they are wearing me out at +the game. I had to get up and play before breakfast this morning with +the Worcester girls, and there is a lot more mad players who will be +down on me before long. It's a terrible thing to be a tennis player." + +"Why, you used to put yourself out so little for people," remarked +Hawker. + +"Yes, but up there"--Hollanden jerked his thumb in the direction of the +inn--"they think I'm so amiable." + +"Well, I'll come up and help you out." + +"Do," Hollanden laughed; "you and Miss Fanhall can team it against the +littlest Worcester girl and me." He regarded the landscape and +meditated. Hawker struggled for a grip on the thought of the stubble. + +"That colour of hair and eyes always knocks me kerplunk," observed +Hollanden softly. + +Hawker looked up irascibly. "What colour hair and eyes?" he demanded. "I +believe you're crazy." + +"What colour hair and eyes?" repeated Hollanden, with a savage gesture. +"You've got no more appreciation than a post." + +"They are good enough for me," muttered Hawker, turning again to his +work. He scowled first at the canvas and then at the stubble. "Seems to +me you had best take care of yourself, instead of planning for me," he +said. + +"Me!" cried Hollanden. "Me! Take care of myself! My boy, I've got a past +of sorrow and gloom. I----" + +"You're nothing but a kid," said Hawker, glaring at the other man. + +"Oh, of course," said Hollanden, wagging his head with midnight wisdom. +"Oh, of course." + +"Well, Hollie," said Hawker, with sudden affability, "I didn't mean to +be unpleasant, but then you are rather ridiculous, you know, sitting up +there and howling about the colour of hair and eyes." + +"I'm not ridiculous." + +"Yes, you are, you know, Hollie." + +The writer waved his hand despairingly. "And you rode in the train with +her, and in the stage." + +"I didn't see her in the train," said Hawker. + +"Oh, then you saw her in the stage. Ha-ha, you old thief! I sat up here, +and you sat down there and lied." He jumped from his perch and +belaboured Hawker's shoulders. + +"Stop that!" said the painter. + +"Oh, you old thief, you lied to me! You lied---- Hold on--bless my life, +here she comes now!" + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +One day Hollanden said: "There are forty-two people at Hemlock Inn, I +think. Fifteen are middle-aged ladies of the most aggressive +respectability. They have come here for no discernible purpose save to +get where they can see people and be displeased at them. They sit in a +large group on that porch and take measurements of character as +importantly as if they constituted the jury of heaven. When I arrived at +Hemlock Inn I at once cast my eye searchingly about me. Perceiving this +assemblage, I cried, 'There they are!' Barely waiting to change my +clothes, I made for this formidable body and endeavoured to conciliate +it. Almost every day I sit down among them and lie like a machine. +Privately I believe they should be hanged, but publicly I glisten with +admiration. Do you know, there is one of 'em who I know has not moved +from the inn in eight days, and this morning I said to her, 'These long +walks in the clear mountain air are doing you a world of good.' And I +keep continually saying, 'Your frankness is so charming!' Because of the +great law of universal balance, I know that this illustrious corps will +believe good of themselves with exactly the same readiness that they +will believe ill of others. So I ply them with it. In consequence, the +worst they ever say of me is, 'Isn't that Mr. Hollanden a peculiar man?' +And you know, my boy, that's not so bad for a literary person." After +some thought he added: "Good people, too. Good wives, good mothers, and +everything of that kind, you know. But conservative, very conservative. +Hate anything radical. Can not endure it. Were that way themselves once, +you know. They hit the mark, too, sometimes. Such general volleyings +can't fail to hit everything. May the devil fly away with them!" + +Hawker regarded the group nervously, and at last propounded a great +question: "Say, I wonder where they all are recruited? When you come to +think that almost every summer hotel----" + +"Certainly," said Hollanden, "almost every summer hotel. I've studied +the question, and have nearly established the fact that almost every +summer hotel is furnished with a full corps of----" + +"To be sure," said Hawker; "and if you search for them in the winter, +you can find barely a sign of them, until you examine the boarding +houses, and then you observe----" + +"Certainly," said Hollanden, "of course. By the way," he added, "you +haven't got any obviously loose screws in your character, have you?" + +"No," said Hawker, after consideration, "only general poverty--that's +all." + +"Of course, of course," said Hollanden. "But that's bad. They'll get on +to you, sure. Particularly since you come up here to see Miss Fanhall so +much." + +Hawker glinted his eyes at his friend. "You've got a deuced open way of +speaking," he observed. + +"Deuced open, is it?" cried Hollanden. "It isn't near so open as your +devotion to Miss Fanhall, which is as plain as a red petticoat hung on a +hedge." + +Hawker's face gloomed, and he said, "Well, it might be plain to you, you +infernal cat, but that doesn't prove that all those old hens can see +it." + +"I tell you that if they look twice at you they can't fail to see it. +And it's bad, too. Very bad. What's the matter with you? Haven't you +ever been in love before?" + +"None of your business," replied Hawker. + +Hollanden thought upon this point for a time. "Well," he admitted +finally, "that's true in a general way, but I hate to see you managing +your affairs so stupidly." + +Rage flamed into Hawker's face, and he cried passionately, "I tell you +it is none of your business!" He suddenly confronted the other man. + +Hollanden surveyed this outburst with a critical eye, and then slapped +his knee with emphasis. "You certainly have got it--a million times +worse than I thought. Why, you--you--you're heels over head." + +"What if I am?" said Hawker, with a gesture of defiance and despair. + +Hollanden saw a dramatic situation in the distance, and with a bright +smile he studied it. "Say," he exclaimed, "suppose she should not go to +the picnic to-morrow? She said this morning she did not know if she +could go. Somebody was expected from New York, I think. Wouldn't it +break you up, though! Eh?" + +"You're so dev'lish clever!" said Hawker, with sullen irony. + +Hollanden was still regarding the distant dramatic situation. "And +rivals, too! The woods must be crowded with them. A girl like that, you +know. And then all that money! Say, your rivals must number enough to +make a brigade of militia. Imagine them swarming around! But then it +doesn't matter so much," he went on cheerfully; "you've got a good play +there. You must appreciate them to her--you understand?--appreciate them +kindly, like a man in a watch-tower. You must laugh at them only about +once a week, and then very tolerantly--you understand?--and kindly, +and--and appreciatively." + +"You're a colossal ass, Hollie!" said Hawker. "You----" + +"Yes, yes, I know," replied the other peacefully; "a colossal ass. Of +course." After looking into the distance again, he murmured: "I'm +worried about that picnic. I wish I knew she was going. By heavens, as a +matter of fact, she must be made to go!" + +"What have you got to do with it?" cried the painter, in another sudden +outburst. + +"There! there!" said Hollanden, waving his hand. "You fool! Only a +spectator, I assure you." + +Hawker seemed overcome then with a deep dislike of himself. "Oh, well, +you know, Hollie, this sort of thing----" He broke off and gazed at the +trees. "This sort of thing---- It----" + +"How?" asked Hollanden. + +"Confound you for a meddling, gabbling idiot!" cried Hawker suddenly. + +Hollanden replied, "What did you do with that violet she dropped at the +side of the tennis court yesterday?" + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +Mrs. Fanhall, with the two children, the Worcester girls, and Hollanden, +clambered down the rocky path. Miss Fanhall and Hawker had remained on +top of the ledge. Hollanden showed much zeal in conducting his +contingent to the foot of the falls. Through the trees they could see +the cataract, a great shimmering white thing, booming and thundering +until all the leaves gently shuddered. + +"I wonder where Miss Fanhall and Mr. Hawker have gone?" said the younger +Miss Worcester. "I wonder where they've gone?" + +"Millicent," said Hollander, looking at her fondly, "you always had such +great thought for others." + +"Well, I wonder where they've gone?" + +At the foot of the falls, where the mist arose in silver clouds and the +green water swept into the pool, Miss Worcester, the elder, seated on +the moss, exclaimed, "Oh, Mr. Hollanden, what makes all literary men so +peculiar?" + +"And all that just because I said that I could have made better +digestive organs than Providence, if it is true that he made mine," +replied Hollanden, with reproach. "Here, Roger," he cried, as he dragged +the child away from the brink, "don't fall in there, or you won't be the +full-back at Yale in 1907, as you have planned. I'm sure I don't know +how to answer you, Miss Worcester. I've inquired of innumerable literary +men, and none of 'em know. I may say I have chased that problem for +years. I might give you my personal history, and see if that would throw +any light on the subject." He looked about him with chin high until his +glance had noted the two vague figures at the top of the cliff. "I might +give you my personal history----" + +Mrs. Fanhall looked at him curiously, and the elder Worcester girl +cried, "Oh, do!" + +After another scanning of the figures at the top of the cliff, Hollanden +established himself in an oratorical pose on a great weather-beaten +stone. "Well--you must understand--I started my career--my career, you +understand--with a determination to be a prophet, and, although I have +ended in being an acrobat, a trained bear of the magazines, and a +juggler of comic paragraphs, there was once carved upon my lips a smile +which made many people detest me, for it hung before them like a banshee +whenever they tried to be satisfied with themselves. I was informed from +time to time that I was making no great holes in the universal plan, and +I came to know that one person in every two thousand of the people I saw +had heard of me, and that four out of five of these had forgotten it. +And then one in every two of those who remembered that they had heard of +me regarded the fact that I wrote as a great impertinence. I admitted +these things, and in defence merely builded a maxim that stated that +each wise man in this world is concealed amid some twenty thousand +fools. If you have eyes for mathematics, this conclusion should interest +you. Meanwhile I created a gigantic dignity, and when men saw this +dignity and heard that I was a literary man they respected me. I +concluded that the simple campaign of existence for me was to delude +the populace, or as much of it as would look at me. I did. I do. And now +I can make myself quite happy concocting sneers about it. Others may do +as they please, but as for me," he concluded ferociously, "I shall never +disclose to anybody that an acrobat, a trained bear of the magazines, a +juggler of comic paragraphs, is not a priceless pearl of art and +philosophy." + +"I don't believe a word of it is true," said Miss Worcester. + +"What do you expect of autobiography?" demanded Hollanden, with +asperity. + +"Well, anyhow, Hollie," exclaimed the younger sister, "you didn't +explain a thing about how literary men came to be so peculiar, and +that's what you started out to do, you know." + +"Well," said Hollanden crossly, "you must never expect a man to do what +he starts to do, Millicent. And besides," he went on, with the gleam of +a sudden idea in his eyes, "literary men are not peculiar, anyhow." + +The elder Worcester girl looked angrily at him. "Indeed? Not you, of +course, but the others." + +"They are all asses," said Hollanden genially. + +The elder Worcester girl reflected. "I believe you try to make us think +and then just tangle us up purposely!" + +The younger Worcester girl reflected. "You are an absurd old thing, you +know, Hollie!" + +Hollanden climbed offendedly from the great weather-beaten stone. "Well, +I shall go and see that the men have not spilled the luncheon while +breaking their necks over these rocks. Would you like to have it spread +here, Mrs. Fanhall? Never mind consulting the girls. I assure you I +shall spend a great deal of energy and temper in bullying them into +doing just as they please. Why, when I was in Brussels----" + +"Oh, come now, Hollie, you never were in Brussels, you know," said the +younger Worcester girl. + +"What of that, Millicent?" demanded Hollanden. "This is autobiography." + +"Well, I don't care, Hollie. You tell such whoppers." + +With a gesture of despair he again started away; whereupon the +Worcester girls shouted in chorus, "Oh, I say, Hollie, come back! Don't +be angry. We didn't mean to tease you, Hollie--really, we didn't!" + +"Well, if you didn't," said Hollanden, "why did you----" + +The elder Worcester girl was gazing fixedly at the top of the cliff. +"Oh, there they are! I wonder why they don't come down?" + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + +Stanley, the setter, walked to the edge of the precipice and, looking +over at the falls, wagged his tail in friendly greeting. He was braced +warily, so that if this howling white animal should reach up a hand for +him he could flee in time. + +The girl stared dreamily at the red-stained crags that projected from +the pines of the hill across the stream. Hawker lazily aimed bits of +moss at the oblivious dog and missed him. + +"It must be fine to have something to think of beyond just living," said +the girl to the crags. + +"I suppose you mean art?" said Hawker. + +"Yes, of course. It must be finer, at any rate, than the ordinary +thing." + +He mused for a time. "Yes. It is--it must be," he said. "But then--I'd +rather just lie here." + +The girl seemed aggrieved. "Oh, no, you wouldn't. You couldn't stop. +It's dreadful to talk like that, isn't it? I always thought that +painters were----" + +"Of course. They should be. Maybe they are. I don't know. Sometimes I +am. But not to-day." + +"Well, I should think you ought to be so much more contented than just +ordinary people. Now, I----" + +"You!" he cried--"you are not 'just ordinary people.'" + +"Well, but when I try to recall what I have thought about in my life, I +can't remember, you know. That's what I mean." + +"You shouldn't talk that way," he told her. + +"But why do you insist that life should be so highly absorbing for me?" + +"You have everything you wish for," he answered, in a voice of deep +gloom. + +"Certainly not. I am a woman." + +"But----" + +"A woman, to have everything she wishes for, would have to be +Providence. There are some things that are not in the world." + +"Well, what are they?" he asked of her. + +"That's just it," she said, nodding her head, "no one knows. That's +what makes the trouble." + +"Well, you are very unreasonable." + +"What?" + +"You are very unreasonable. If I were you--an heiress----" + +The girl flushed and turned upon him angrily. + +"Well!" he glowered back at her. "You are, you know. You can't deny it." + +She looked at the red-stained crags. At last she said, "You seemed +really contemptuous." + +"Well, I assure you that I do not feel contemptuous. On the contrary, I +am filled with admiration. Thank Heaven, I am a man of the world. +Whenever I meet heiresses I always have the deepest admiration." As he +said this he wore a brave hang-dog expression. The girl surveyed him +coldly from his chin to his eyebrows. "You have a handsome audacity, +too." + +He lay back in the long grass and contemplated the clouds. + +"You should have been a Chinese soldier of fortune," she said. + +He threw another little clod at Stanley and struck him on the head. + +"You are the most scientifically unbearable person in the world," she +said. + +Stanley came back to see his master and to assure himself that the clump +on the head was not intended as a sign of serious displeasure. Hawker +took the dog's long ears and tried to tie them into a knot. + +"And I don't see why you so delight in making people detest you," she +continued. + +Having failed to make a knot of the dog's ears, Hawker leaned back and +surveyed his failure admiringly. "Well, I don't," he said. + +"You do." + +"No, I don't." + +"Yes, you do. You just say the most terrible things as if you positively +enjoyed saying them." + +"Well, what did I say, now? What did I say?" + +"Why, you said that you always had the most extraordinary admiration for +heiresses whenever you met them." + +"Well, what's wrong with that sentiment?" he said. "You can't find +fault with that!" + +"It is utterly detestable." + +"Not at all," he answered sullenly. "I consider it a tribute--a graceful +tribute." + +Miss Fanhall arose and went forward to the edge of the cliff. She became +absorbed in the falls. Far below her a bough of a hemlock drooped to the +water, and each swirling, mad wave caught it and made it nod--nod--nod. +Her back was half turned toward Hawker. + +After a time Stanley, the dog, discovered some ants scurrying in the +moss, and he at once began to watch them and wag his tail. + +"Isn't it curious," observed Hawker, "how an animal as large as a dog +will sometimes be so entertained by the very smallest things?" + +Stanley pawed gently at the moss, and then thrust his head forward to +see what the ants did under the circumstances. + +"In the hunting season," continued Hawker, having waited a moment, "this +dog knows nothing on earth but his master and the partridges. He is lost +to all other sound and movement. He moves through the woods like a +steel machine. And when he scents the bird--ah, it is beautiful! +Shouldn't you like to see him then?" + +Some of the ants had perhaps made war-like motions, and Stanley was +pretending that this was a reason for excitement. He reared aback, and +made grumbling noises in his throat. + +After another pause Hawker went on: "And now see the precious old fool! +He is deeply interested in the movements of the little ants, and as +childish and ridiculous over them as if they were highly +important.--There, you old blockhead, let them alone!" + +Stanley could not be induced to end his investigations, and he told his +master that the ants were the most thrilling and dramatic animals of his +experience. + +"Oh, by the way," said Hawker at last, as his glance caught upon the +crags across the river, "did you ever hear the legend of those rocks +yonder? Over there where I am pointing? Where I'm pointing? Did you ever +hear it? What? Yes? No? Well, I shall tell it to you." He settled +comfortably in the long grass. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +"Once upon a time there was a beautiful Indian maiden, of course. And +she was, of course, beloved by a youth from another tribe who was very +handsome and stalwart and a mighty hunter, of course. But the maiden's +father was, of course, a stern old chief, and when the question of his +daughter's marriage came up, he, of course, declared that the maiden +should be wedded only to a warrior of her tribe. And, of course, when +the young man heard this he said that in such case he would, of course, +fling himself headlong from that crag. The old chief was, of course, +obdurate, and, of course, the youth did, of course, as he had said. And, +of course, the maiden wept." After Hawker had waited for some time, he +said with severity, "You seem to have no great appreciation of +folklore." + +The girl suddenly bent her head. "Listen," she said, "they're calling. +Don't you hear Hollie's voice?" + +They went to another place, and, looking down over the shimmering +tree-tops, they saw Hollanden waving his arms. "It's luncheon," said +Hawker. "Look how frantic he is!" + +The path required that Hawker should assist the girl very often. His +eyes shone at her whenever he held forth his hand to help her down a +blessed steep place. She seemed rather pensive. The route to luncheon +was very long. Suddenly he took a seat on an old tree, and said: "Oh, I +don't know why it is, whenever I'm with you, I--I have no wits, nor good +nature, nor anything. It's the worst luck!" + +He had left her standing on a boulder, where she was provisionally +helpless. "Hurry!" she said; "they're waiting for us." + +Stanley, the setter, had been sliding down cautiously behind them. He +now stood wagging his tail and waiting for the way to be cleared. + +Hawker leaned his head on his hand and pondered dejectedly. "It's the +worst luck!" + +"Hurry!" she said; "they're waiting for us." + +At luncheon the girl was for the most part silent. Hawker was +superhumanly amiable. Somehow he gained the impression that they all +quite fancied him, and it followed that being clever was very easy. +Hollanden listened, and approved him with a benign countenance. + +There was a little boat fastened to the willows at the edge of the black +pool. After the spread, Hollanden navigated various parties around to +where they could hear the great hollow roar of the falls beating against +the sheer rocks. Stanley swam after sticks at the request of little +Roger. + +Once Hollanden succeeded in making the others so engrossed in being +amused that Hawker and Miss Fanhall were left alone staring at the white +bubbles that floated solemnly on the black water. After Hawker had +stared at them a sufficient time, he said, "Well, you are an heiress, +you know." + +In return she chose to smile radiantly. Turning toward him, she said, +"If you will be good now--always--perhaps I'll forgive you." + +They drove home in the sombre shadows of the hills, with Stanley padding +along under the wagon. The Worcester girls tried to induce Hollanden to +sing, and in consequence there was quarrelling until the blinking lights +of the inn appeared above them as if a great lantern hung there. + +Hollanden conveyed his friend some distance on the way home from the inn +to the farm. "Good time at the picnic?" said the writer. + +"Yes." + +"Picnics are mainly places where the jam gets on the dead leaves, and +from thence to your trousers. But this was a good little picnic." He +glanced at Hawker. "But you don't look as if you had such a swell time." + +Hawker waved his hand tragically. "Yes--no--I don't know." + +"What's wrong with you?" asked Hollanden. + +"I tell you what it is, Hollie," said the painter darkly, "whenever I'm +with that girl I'm such a blockhead. I'm not so stupid, Hollie. You know +I'm not. But when I'm with her I can't be clever to save my life." + +Hollanden pulled contentedly at his pipe. "Maybe she don't notice it." + +"Notice it!" muttered Hawker, scornfully; "of course she notices it. In +conversation with her, I tell you, I am as interesting as an iron dog." +His voice changed as he cried, "I don't know why it is. I don't know why +it is." + +Blowing a huge cloud of smoke into the air, Hollanden studied it +thoughtfully. "Hits some fellows that way," he said. "And, of course, it +must be deuced annoying. Strange thing, but now, under those +circumstances, I'm very glib. Very glib, I assure you." + +"I don't care what you are," answered Hawker. "All those confounded +affairs of yours--they were not----" + +"No," said Hollanden, stolidly puffing, "of course not. I understand +that. But, look here, Billie," he added, with sudden brightness, "maybe +you are not a blockhead, after all. You are on the inside, you know, and +you can't see from there. Besides, you can't tell what a woman will +think. You can't tell what a woman will think." + +"No," said Hawker, grimly, "and you suppose that is my only chance?" + +"Oh, don't be such a chump!" said Hollanden, in a tone of vast +exasperation. + +They strode for some time in silence. The mystic pines swaying over the +narrow road made talk sibilantly to the wind. Stanley, the setter, took +it upon himself to discover some menacing presence in the woods. He +walked on his toes and with his eyes glinting sideways. He swore half +under his breath. + +"And work, too," burst out Hawker, at last. "I came up here this season +to work, and I haven't done a thing that ought not be shot at." + +"Don't you find that your love sets fire to your genius?" asked +Hollanden gravely. + +"No, I'm hanged if I do." + +Hollanden sighed then with an air of relief. "I was afraid that a +popular impression was true," he said, "but it's all right. You would +rather sit still and moon, wouldn't you?" + +"Moon--blast you! I couldn't moon to save my life." + +"Oh, well, I didn't mean moon exactly." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +The blue night of the lake was embroidered with black tree forms. Silver +drops sprinkled from the lifted oars. Somewhere in the gloom of the +shore there was a dog, who from time to time raised his sad voice to the +stars. + +"But still, the life of the studios----" began the girl. + +Hawker scoffed. "There were six of us. Mainly we smoked. Sometimes we +played hearts and at other times poker--on credit, you know--credit. And +when we had the materials and got something to do, we worked. Did you +ever see these beautiful red and green designs that surround the common +tomato can?" + +"Yes." + +"Well," he said proudly, "I have made them. Whenever you come upon +tomatoes, remember that they might once have been encompassed in my +design. When first I came back from Paris I began to paint, but nobody +wanted me to paint. Later, I got into green corn and asparagus----" + +"Truly?" + +"Yes, indeed. It is true." + +"But still, the life of the studios----" + +"There were six of us. Fate ordained that only one in the crowd could +have money at one time. The other five lived off him and despised +themselves. We despised ourselves five times as long as we had +admiration." + +"And was this just because you had no money?" + +"It was because we had no money in New York," said Hawker. + +"Well, after a while something happened----" + +"Oh, no, it didn't. Something impended always, but it never happened." + +"In a case like that one's own people must be such a blessing. The +sympathy----" + +"One's own people!" said Hawker. + +"Yes," she said, "one's own people and more intimate friends. The +appreciation----" + +"'The appreciation!'" said Hawker. "Yes, indeed!" + +He seemed so ill-tempered that she became silent. The boat floated +through the shadows of the trees and out to where the water was like a +blue crystal. The dog on the shore thrashed about in the reeds and waded +in the shallows, mourning his unhappy state in an occasional cry. Hawker +stood up and sternly shouted. Thereafter silence was among the reeds. +The moon slipped sharply through the little clouds. + +The girl said, "I liked that last picture of yours." + +"What?" + +"At the last exhibition, you know, you had that one with the cows--and +things--in the snow--and--and a haystack." + +"Yes," he said, "of course. Did you like it, really? I thought it about +my best. And you really remembered it? Oh," he cried, "Hollanden perhaps +recalled it to you." + +"Why, no," she said. "I remembered it, of course." + +"Well, what made you remember it?" he demanded, as if he had cause to be +indignant. + +"Why--I just remembered it because--I liked it, and because--well, the +people with me said--said it was about the best thing in the exhibit, +and they talked about it a good deal. And then I remember that Hollie +had spoken of you, and then I--I----" + +"Never mind," he said. After a moment, he added, "The confounded picture +was no good, anyhow!" + +The girl started. "What makes you speak so of it? It was good. Of +course, I don't know--I can't talk about pictures, but," she said in +distress, "everybody said it was fine." + +"It wasn't any good," he persisted, with dogged shakes of the head. + +From off in the darkness they heard the sound of Hollanden's oars +splashing in the water. Sometimes there was squealing by the Worcester +girls, and at other times loud arguments on points of navigation. + +"Oh," said the girl suddenly, "Mr. Oglethorpe is coming to-morrow!" + +"Mr. Oglethorpe?" said Hawker. "Is he?" + +"Yes." She gazed off at the water. + +"He's an old friend of ours. He is always so good, and Roger and little +Helen simply adore him. He was my brother's chum in college, and they +were quite inseparable until Herbert's death. He always brings me +violets. But I know you will like him." + +"I shall expect to," said Hawker. + +"I'm so glad he is coming. What time does that morning stage get here?" + +"About eleven," said Hawker. + +"He wrote that he would come then. I hope he won't disappoint us." + +"Undoubtedly he will be here," said Hawker. + +The wind swept from the ridge top, where some great bare pines stood in +the moonlight. A loon called in its strange, unearthly note from the +lakeshore. As Hawker turned the boat toward the dock, the flashing rays +from the boat fell upon the head of the girl in the rear seat, and he +rowed very slowly. + +The girl was looking away somewhere with a mystic, shining glance. She +leaned her chin in her hand. Hawker, facing her, merely paddled +subconsciously. He seemed greatly impressed and expectant. + +At last she spoke very slowly. "I wish I knew Mr. Oglethorpe was not +going to disappoint us." + +Hawker said, "Why, no, I imagine not." + +"Well, he is a trifle uncertain in matters of time. The children--and +all of us--shall be anxious. I know you will like him." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + +"Eh?" said Hollanden. "Oglethorpe? Oglethorpe? Why, he's that friend of +the Fanhalls! Yes, of course, I know him! Deuced good fellow, too! What +about him?" + +"Oh, nothing, only he's coming here to-morrow," answered Hawker. "What +kind of a fellow did you say he was?" + +"Deuced good fellow! What are you so---- Say, by the nine mad +blacksmiths of Donawhiroo, he's your rival! Why, of course! Glory, but I +must be thick-headed to-night!" + +Hawker said, "Where's your tobacco?" + +"Yonder, in that jar. Got a pipe?" + +"Yes. How do you know he's my rival?" + +"Know it? Why, hasn't he been---- Say, this is getting thrilling!" +Hollanden sprang to his feet and, filling a pipe, flung himself into the +chair and began to rock himself madly to and fro. He puffed clouds of +smoke. + +Hawker stood with his face in shadow. At last he said, in tones of deep +weariness, "Well, I think I'd better be going home and turning in." + +"Hold on!" Hollanden exclaimed, turning his eyes from a prolonged stare +at the ceiling, "don't go yet! Why, man, this is just the time when---- +Say, who would ever think of Jem Oglethorpe's turning up to harrie you! +Just at this time, too!" + +"Oh," cried Hawker suddenly, filled with rage, "you remind me of an +accursed duffer! Why can't you tell me something about the man, instead +of sitting there and gibbering those crazy things at the ceiling?" + +"By the piper----" + +"Oh, shut up! Tell me something about Oglethorpe, can't you? I want to +hear about him. Quit all that other business!" + +"Why, Jem Oglethorpe, he--why, say, he's one of the best fellows going. +If he were only an ass! If he were only an ass, now, you could feel easy +in your mind. But he isn't. No, indeed. Why, blast him, there isn't a +man that knows him who doesn't like Jem Oglethorpe! Excepting the +chumps!" + +The window of the little room was open, and the voices of the pines +could be heard as they sang of their long sorrow. Hawker pulled a chair +close and stared out into the darkness. The people on the porch of the +inn were frequently calling, "Good-night! Good-night!" + +Hawker said, "And of course he's got train loads of money?" + +"You bet he has! He can pave streets with it. Lordie, but this is a +situation!" + +A heavy scowl settled upon Hawker's brow, and he kicked at the dressing +case. "Say, Hollie, look here! Sometimes I think you regard me as a bug +and like to see me wriggle. But----" + +"Oh, don't be a fool!" said Hollanden, glaring through the smoke. "Under +the circumstances, you are privileged to rave and ramp around like a +wounded lunatic, but for heaven's sake don't swoop down on me like that! +Especially when I'm--when I'm doing all I can for you." + +"Doing all you can for me! Nobody asked you to. You talk as if I were an +infant." + +"There! That's right! Blaze up like a fire balloon just because I said +that, will you? A man in your condition--why, confound you, you are an +infant!" + +Hawker seemed again overwhelmed in a great dislike of himself. "Oh, +well, of course, Hollie, it----" He waved his hand. "A man feels +like--like----" + +"Certainly he does," said Hollanden. "That's all right, old man." + +"And look now, Hollie, here's this Oglethorpe----" + +"May the devil fly away with him!" + +"Well, here he is, coming along when I thought maybe--after a while, you +know--I might stand some show. And you are acquainted with him, so give +me a line on him." + +"Well, I should advise you to----" + +"Blow your advice! I want to hear about Oglethorpe." + +"Well, in the first place, he is a rattling good fellow, as I told you +before, and this is what makes it so----" + +"Oh, hang what it makes it! Go on." + +"He is a rattling good fellow and he has stacks of money. Of course, in +this case his having money doesn't affect the situation much. Miss +Fanhall----" + +"Say, can you keep to the thread of the story, you infernal literary +man!" + +"Well, he's popular. He don't talk money--ever. And if he's wicked, he's +not sufficiently proud of it to be perpetually describing his sins. And +then he is not so hideously brilliant, either. That's great credit to a +man in these days. And then he--well, take it altogether, I should say +Jem Oglethorpe was a smashing good fellow." + +"I wonder how long he is going to stay?" murmured Hawker. + +During this conversation his pipe had often died out. It was out at this +time. He lit another match. Hollanden had watched the fingers of his +friend as the match was scratched. "You're nervous, Billie," he said. + +Hawker straightened in his chair. "No, I'm not." + +"I saw your fingers tremble when you lit that match." + +"Oh, you lie!" + +Hollanden mused again. "He's popular with women, too," he said +ultimately; "and often a woman will like a man and hunt his scalp just +because she knows other women like him and want his scalp." + +"Yes, but not----" + +"Hold on! You were going to say that she was not like other women, +weren't you?" + +"Not exactly that, but----" + +"Well, we will have all that understood." + +After a period of silence Hawker said, "I must be going." + +As the painter walked toward the door Hollanden cried to him: "Heavens! +Of all pictures of a weary pilgrim!" His voice was very compassionate. + +Hawker wheeled, and an oath spun through the smoke clouds. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + +"Where's Mr. Hawker this morning?" asked the younger Miss Worcester. "I +thought he was coming up to play tennis?" + +"I don't know. Confound him! I don't see why he didn't come," said +Hollanden, looking across the shining valley. He frowned questioningly +at the landscape. "I wonder where in the mischief he is?" + +The Worcester girls began also to stare at the great gleaming stretch of +green and gold. "Didn't he tell you he was coming?" they demanded. + +"He didn't say a word about it," answered Hollanden. "I supposed, of +course, he was coming. We will have to postpone the _melee_." + +Later he met Miss Fanhall. "You look as if you were going for a walk?" + +"I am," she said, swinging her parasol. "To meet the stage. Have you +seen Mr. Hawker to-day?" + +"No," he said. "He is not coming up this morning. He is in a great fret +about that field of stubble, and I suppose he is down there sketching +the life out of it. These artists--they take such a fiendish interest in +their work. I dare say we won't see much of him until he has finished +it. Where did you say you were going to walk?" + +"To meet the stage." + +"Oh, well, I won't have to play tennis for an hour, and if you +insist----" + +"Of course." + +As they strolled slowly in the shade of the trees Hollanden began, +"Isn't that Hawker an ill-bred old thing?" + +"No, he is not." Then after a time she said, "Why?" + +"Oh, he gets so absorbed in a beastly smudge of paint that I really +suppose he cares nothing for anything else in the world. Men who are +really artists--I don't believe they are capable of deep human +affections. So much of them is occupied by art. There's not much left +over, you see." + +"I don't believe it at all," she exclaimed. + +"You don't, eh?" cried Hollanden scornfully. "Well, let me tell you, +young woman, there is a great deal of truth in it. Now, there's +Hawker--as good a fellow as ever lived, too, in a way, and yet he's an +artist. Why, look how he treats--look how he treats that poor setter +dog!" + +"Why, he's as kind to him as he can be," she declared. + +"And I tell you he is not!" cried Hollanden. + +"He is, Hollie. You--you are unspeakable when you get in these moods." + +"There--that's just you in an argument. I'm not in a mood at all. Now, +look--the dog loves him with simple, unquestioning devotion that fairly +brings tears to one's eyes----" + +"Yes," she said. + +"And he--why, he's as cold and stern----" + +"He isn't. He isn't, Holly. You are awf'ly unfair." + +"No, I'm not. I am simply a liberal observer. And Hawker, with his +people, too," he went on darkly; "you can't tell--you don't know +anything about it--but I tell you that what I have seen proves my +assertion that the artistic mind has no space left for the human +affections. And as for the dog----" + +"I thought you were his friend, Hollie?" + +"Whose?" + +"No, not the dog's. And yet you--really, Hollie, there is something +unnatural in you. You are so stupidly keen in looking at people that you +do not possess common loyalty to your friends. It is because you are a +writer, I suppose. That has to explain so many things. Some of your +traits are very disagreeable." + +"There! there!" plaintively cried Hollanden. "This is only about the +treatment of a dog, mind you. Goodness, what an oration!" + +"It wasn't about the treatment of a dog. It was about your treatment of +your friends." + +"Well," he said sagely, "it only goes to show that there is nothing +impersonal in the mind of a woman. I undertook to discuss broadly---- + +"Oh, Hollie!" + +"At any rate, it was rather below you to do such scoffing at me." + +"Well, I didn't mean--not all of it, Hollie." + +"Well, I didn't mean what I said about the dog and all that, either." + +"You didn't?" She turned toward him, large-eyed. + +"No. Not a single word of it." + +"Well, what did you say it for, then?" she demanded indignantly. + +"I said it," answered Hollanden placidly, "just to tease you." He looked +abstractedly up to the trees. + +Presently she said slowly, "Just to tease me?" + +At this time Hollanden wore an unmistakable air of having a desire to +turn up his coat collar. "Oh, come now----" he began nervously. + +"George Hollanden," said the voice at his shoulder, "you are not only +disagreeable, but you are hopelessly ridiculous. I--I wish you would +never speak to me again!" + +"Oh, come now, Grace, don't--don't---- Look! There's the stage coming, +isn't it?" + +"No, the stage is not coming. I wish--I wish you were at the bottom of +the sea, George Hollanden. And--and Mr. Hawker, too. There!" + +"Oh, bless my soul! And all about an infernal dog," wailed Hollanden. +"Look! Honest, now, there's the stage. See it? See it?" + +"It isn't there at all," she said. + +Gradually he seemed to recover his courage. "What made you so +tremendously angry? I don't see why." + +After consideration, she said decisively, "Well, because." + +"That's why I teased you," he rejoined. + +"Well, because--because----" + +"Go on," he told her finally. "You are doing very well." He waited +patiently. + +"Well," she said, "it is dreadful to defend somebody so--so excitedly, +and then have it turned out just a tease. I don't know what he would +think." + +"Who would think?" + +"Why--he." + +"What could he think? Now, what could he think? Why," said Hollanden, +waxing eloquent, "he couldn't under any circumstances think--think +anything at all. Now, could he?" + +She made no reply. + +"Could he?" + +She was apparently reflecting. + +"Under any circumstances," persisted Hollanden, "he couldn't think +anything at all. Now, could he?" + +"No," she said. + +"Well, why are you angry at me, then?" + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + +"John," said the old mother, from the profound mufflings of the pillow +and quilts. + +"What?" said the old man. He was tugging at his right boot, and his tone +was very irascible. + +"I think William's changed a good deal." + +"Well, what if he has?" replied the father, in another burst of +ill-temper. He was then tugging at his left boot. + +"Yes, I'm afraid he's changed a good deal," said the muffled voice from +the bed. "He's got a good many fine friends, now, John--folks what put +on a good many airs; and he don't care for his home like he did." + +"Oh, well, I don't guess he's changed very much," said the old man +cheerfully. He was now free of both boots. + +She raised herself on an elbow and looked out with a troubled face. +"John, I think he likes that girl." + +"What girl?" said he. + +"What girl? Why, that awful handsome girl you see around--of course." + +"Do you think he likes 'er?" + +"I'm afraid so--I'm afraid so," murmured the mother mournfully. + +"Oh, well," said the old man, without alarm, or grief, or pleasure in +his tone. + +He turned the lamp's wick very low and carried the lamp to the head of +the stairs, where he perched it on the step. When he returned he said, +"She's mighty good-look-in'!" + +"Well, that ain't everything," she snapped. "How do we know she ain't +proud, and selfish, and--everything?" + +"How do you know she is?" returned the old man. + +"And she may just be leading him on." + +"Do him good, then," said he, with impregnable serenity. "Next time +he'll know better." + +"Well, I'm worried about it," she said, as she sank back on the pillow +again. "I think William's changed a good deal. He don't seem to care +about--us--like he did." + +"Oh, go to sleep!" said the father drowsily. + +She was silent for a time, and then she said, "John?" + +"What?" + +"Do you think I better speak to him about that girl?" + +"No." + +She grew silent again, but at last she demanded, "Why not?" + +"'Cause it's none of your business. Go to sleep, will you?" And +presently he did, but the old mother lay blinking wild-eyed into the +darkness. + +In the morning Hawker did not appear at the early breakfast, eaten when +the blue glow of dawn shed its ghostly lights upon the valley. The old +mother placed various dishes on the back part of the stove. At ten +o'clock he came downstairs. His mother was sweeping busily in the +parlour at the time, but she saw him and ran to the back part of the +stove. She slid the various dishes on to the table. "Did you oversleep?" +she asked. + +"Yes. I don't feel very well this morning," he said. He pulled his chair +close to the table and sat there staring. + +She renewed her sweeping in the parlour. When she returned he sat still +staring undeviatingly at nothing. + +"Why don't you eat your breakfast?" she said anxiously. + +"I tell you, mother, I don't feel very well this morning," he answered +quite sharply. + +"Well," she said meekly, "drink some coffee and you'll feel better." + +Afterward he took his painting machinery and left the house. His younger +sister was at the well. She looked at him with a little smile and a +little sneer. "Going up to the inn this morning?" she said. + +"I don't see how that concerns you, Mary?" he rejoined, with dignity. + +"Oh, my!" she said airily. + +"But since you are so interested, I don't mind telling you that I'm not +going up to the inn this morning." + +His sister fixed him with her eye. "She ain't mad at you, is she, Will?" + +"I don't know what you mean, Mary." He glared hatefully at her and +strode away. + +Stanley saw him going through the fields and leaped a fence jubilantly +in pursuit. In a wood the light sifted through the foliage and burned +with a peculiar reddish lustre on the masses of dead leaves. He frowned +at it for a while from different points. Presently he erected his easel +and began to paint. After a a time he threw down his brush and swore. +Stanley, who had been solemnly staring at the scene as if he too was +sketching it, looked up in surprise. + +In wandering aimlessly through the fields and the forest Hawker once +found himself near the road to Hemlock Inn. He shied away from it +quickly as if it were a great snake. + +While most of the family were at supper, Mary, the younger sister, came +charging breathlessly into the kitchen. "Ma--sister," she cried, "I know +why--why Will didn't go to the inn to-day. There's another fellow come. +Another fellow." + +"Who? Where? What do you mean?" exclaimed her mother and her sister. + +"Why, another fellow up at the inn," she shouted, triumphant in her +information. "Another fellow come up on the stage this morning. And she +went out driving with him this afternoon." + +"Well," exclaimed her mother and her sister. + +"Yep. And he's an awful good-looking fellow, too. And she--oh, my--she +looked as if she thought the world and all of him." + +"Well," exclaimed her mother and her sister again. + +"Sho!" said the old man. "You wimen leave William alone and quit your +gabbling." + +The three women made a combined assault upon him. "Well, we ain't +a-hurting him, are we, pa? You needn't be so snifty. I guess we ain't +a-hurting him much." + +"Well," said the old man. And to this argument he added, "Sho!" + +They kept him out of the subsequent consultations. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + +The next day, as little Roger was going toward the tennis court, a large +orange and white setter ran effusively from around the corner of the inn +and greeted him. Miss Fanhall, the Worcester girls, Hollanden, and +Oglethorpe faced to the front like soldiers. Hollanden cried, "Why, +Billie Hawker must be coming!" Hawker at that moment appeared, coming +toward them with a smile which was not overconfident. + +Little Roger went off to perform some festivities of his own on the +brown carpet under a clump of pines. The dog, to join him, felt obliged +to circle widely about the tennis court. He was much afraid of this +tennis court, with its tiny round things that sometimes hit him. When +near it he usually slunk along at a little sheep trot and with an eye of +wariness upon it. + +At her first opportunity the younger Worcester girl said, "You didn't +come up yesterday, Mr. Hawker." + +Hollanden seemed to think that Miss Fanhall turned her head as if she +wished to hear the explanation of the painter's absence, so he engaged +her in swift and fierce conversation. + +"No," said Hawker. "I was resolved to finish a sketch of a stubble field +which I began a good many days ago. You see, I was going to do such a +great lot of work this summer, and I've done hardly a thing. I really +ought to compel myself to do some, you know." + +"There," said Hollanden, with a victorious nod, "just what I told you!" + +"You didn't tell us anything of the kind," retorted the Worcester girls +with one voice. + +A middle-aged woman came upon the porch of the inn, and after scanning +for a moment the group at the tennis court she hurriedly withdrew. +Presently she appeared again, accompanied by five more middle-aged +women. "You see," she said to the others, "it is as I said. He has come +back." + +The five surveyed the group at the tennis court, and then said: "So he +has. I knew he would. Well, I declare! Did you ever?" Their voices were +pitched at low keys and they moved with care, but their smiles were +broad and full of a strange glee. + +"I wonder how he feels," said one in subtle ecstasy. + +Another laughed. "You know how you would feel, my dear, if you were him +and saw yourself suddenly cut out by a man who was so hopelessly +superior to you. Why, Oglethorpe's a thousand times better looking. And +then think of his wealth and social position!" + +One whispered dramatically, "They say he never came up here at all +yesterday." + +Another replied: "No more he did. That's what we've been talking about. +Stayed down at the farm all day, poor fellow!" + +"Do you really think she cares for Oglethorpe?" + +"Care for him? Why, of course she does. Why, when they came up the path +yesterday morning I never saw a girl's face so bright. I asked my +husband how much of the Chambers Street Bank stock Oglethorpe owned, and +he said that if Oglethorpe took his money out there wouldn't be enough +left to buy a pie." + +The youngest woman in the corps said: "Well, I don't care. I think it is +too bad. I don't see anything so much in that Mr. Oglethorpe." + +The others at once patronized her. "Oh, you don't, my dear? Well, let me +tell you that bank stock waves in the air like a banner. You would see +it if you were her." + +"Well, she don't have to care for his money." + +"Oh, no, of course she don't have to. But they are just the ones that +do, my dear. They are just the ones that do." + +"Well, it's a shame." + +"Oh, of course it's a shame." + +The woman who had assembled the corps said to one at her side: "Oh, the +commonest kind of people, my dear, the commonest kind. The father is a +regular farmer, you know. He drives oxen. Such language! You can really +hear him miles away bellowing at those oxen. And the girls are shy, +half-wild things--oh, you have no idea! I saw one of them yesterday when +we were out driving. She dodged as we came along, for I suppose she was +ashamed of her frock, poor child! And the mother--well, I wish you +could see her! A little, old, dried-up thing. We saw her carrying a pail +of water from the well, and, oh, she bent and staggered dreadfully, poor +thing!" + +"And the gate to their front yard, it has a broken hinge, you know. Of +course, that's an awful bad sign. When people let their front gate hang +on one hinge you know what that means." + +After gazing again at the group at the court, the youngest member of the +corps said, "Well, he's a good tennis player anyhow." + +The others smiled indulgently. "Oh, yes, my dear, he's a good tennis +player." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + +One day Hollanden said, in greeting, to Hawker, "Well, he's gone." + +"Who?" asked Hawker. + +"Why, Oglethorpe, of course. Who did you think I meant?" + +"How did I know?" said Hawker angrily. + +"Well," retorted Hollanden, "your chief interest was in his movements, I +thought." + +"Why, of course not, hang you! Why should I be interested in his +movements?" + +"Well, you weren't, then. Does that suit you?" + +After a period of silence Hawker asked, "What did he--what made him go?" + +"Who?" + +"Why--Oglethorpe." + +"How was I to know you meant him? Well, he went because some important +business affairs in New York demanded it, he said; but he is coming +back again in a week. They had rather a late interview on the porch last +evening." + +"Indeed," said Hawker stiffly. + +"Yes, and he went away this morning looking particularly elated. Aren't +you glad?" + +"I don't see how it concerns me," said Hawker, with still greater +stiffness. + +In a walk to the lake that afternoon Hawker and Miss Fanhall found +themselves side by side and silent. The girl contemplated the distant +purple hills as if Hawker were not at her side and silent. Hawker +frowned at the roadway. Stanley, the setter, scouted the fields in a +genial gallop. + +At last the girl turned to him. "Seems to me," she said, "seems to me +you are dreadfully quiet this afternoon." + +"I am thinking about my wretched field of stubble," he answered, still +frowning. + +Her parasol swung about until the girl was looking up at his inscrutable +profile. "Is it, then, so important that you haven't time to talk to +me?" she asked with an air of what might have been timidity. + +A smile swept the scowl from his face. "No, indeed," he said, instantly; +"nothing is so important as that." + +She seemed aggrieved then. "Hum--you didn't look so," she told him. + +"Well, I didn't mean to look any other way," he said contritely. "You +know what a bear I am sometimes. Hollanden says it is a fixed scowl from +trying to see uproarious pinks, yellows, and blues." + +A little brook, a brawling, ruffianly little brook, swaggered from side +to side down the glade, swirling in white leaps over the great dark +rocks and shouting challenge to the hillsides. Hollanden and the +Worcester girls had halted in a place of ferns and wet moss. Their +voices could be heard quarrelling above the clamour of the stream. +Stanley, the setter, had sousled himself in a pool and then gone and +rolled in the dust of the road. He blissfully lolled there, with his +coat now resembling an old door mat. + +"Don't you think Jem is a wonderfully good fellow?" said the girl to the +painter. + +"Why, yes, of course," said Hawker. + +"Well, he is," she retorted, suddenly defensive. + +"Of course," he repeated loudly. + +She said, "Well, I don't think you like him as well as I like him." + +"Certainly not," said Hawker. + +"You don't?" She looked at him in a kind of astonishment. + +"Certainly not," said Hawker again, and very irritably. "How in the wide +world do you expect me to like him as well as you like him?" + +"I don't mean as well," she explained. + +"Oh!" said Hawker. + +"But I mean you don't like him the way I do at all--the way I expected +you to like him. I thought men of a certain pattern always fancied their +kind of men wherever they met them, don't you know? And I was so sure +you and Jem would be friends." + +"Oh!" cried Hawker. Presently he added, "But he isn't my kind of a man +at all." + +"He is. Jem is one of the best fellows in the world." + +Again Hawker cried "Oh!" + +They paused and looked down at the brook. Stanley sprawled panting in +the dust and watched them. Hawker leaned against a hemlock. He sighed +and frowned, and then finally coughed with great resolution. "I suppose, +of course, that I am unjust to him. I care for you myself, you +understand, and so it becomes----" + +He paused for a moment because he heard a rustling of her skirts as if +she had moved suddenly. Then he continued: "And so it becomes difficult +for me to be fair to him. I am not able to see him with a true eye." He +bitterly addressed the trees on the opposite side of the glen. "Oh, I +care for you, of course. You might have expected it." He turned from the +trees and strode toward the roadway. The uninformed and disreputable +Stanley arose and wagged his tail. + +As if the girl had cried out at a calamity, Hawker said again, "Well, +you might have expected it." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + +At the lake, Hollanden went pickerel fishing, lost his hook in a gaunt, +gray stump, and earned much distinction by his skill in discovering +words to express his emotion without resorting to the list ordinarily +used in such cases. The younger Miss Worcester ruined a new pair of +boots, and Stanley sat on the bank and howled the song of the forsaken. +At the conclusion of the festivities Hollanden said, "Billie, you ought +to take the boat back." + +"Why had I? You borrowed it." + +"Well, I borrowed it and it was a lot of trouble, and now you ought to +take it back." + +Ultimately Hawker said, "Oh, let's both go!" + +On this journey Hawker made a long speech to his friend, and at the end +of it he exclaimed: "And now do you think she cares so much for +Oglethorpe? Why, she as good as told me that he was only a very great +friend." + +Hollanden wagged his head dubiously. "What a woman says doesn't amount +to shucks. It's the way she says it--that's what counts. Besides," he +cried in a brilliant afterthought, "she wouldn't tell you, anyhow, you +fool!" + +"You're an encouraging brute," said Hawker, with a rueful grin. + +Later the Worcester girls seized upon Hollanden and piled him high with +ferns and mosses. They dragged the long gray lichens from the chins of +venerable pines, and ran with them to Hollanden, and dashed them into +his arms. "Oh, hurry up, Hollie!" they cried, because with his great +load he frequently fell behind them in the march. He once positively +refused to carry these things another step. Some distance farther on the +road he positively refused to carry this old truck another step. When +almost to the inn he positively refused to carry this senseless rubbish +another step. The Worcester girls had such vivid contempt for his +expressed unwillingness that they neglected to tell him of any +appreciation they might have had for his noble struggle. + +As Hawker and Miss Fanhall proceeded slowly they heard a voice ringing +through the foliage: "Whoa! Haw! Git-ap, blast you! Haw! Haw, drat your +hides! Will you haw? Git-ap! Gee! Whoa!" + +Hawker said, "The others are a good ways ahead. Hadn't we better hurry a +little?" + +The girl obediently mended her pace. + +"Whoa! haw! git-ap!" shouted the voice in the distance. "Git over there, +Red, git over! Gee! Git-ap!" And these cries pursued the man and the +maid. + +At last Hawker said, "That's my father." + +"Where?" she asked, looking bewildered. + +"Back there, driving those oxen." + +The voice shouted: "Whoa! Git-ap! Gee! Red, git over there now, will +you? I'll trim the shin off'n you in a minute. Whoa! Haw! Haw! Whoa! +Git-ap!" + +Hawker repeated, "Yes, that's my father." + +"Oh, is it?" she said. "Let's wait for him." + +"All right," said Hawker sullenly. + +Presently a team of oxen waddled into view around the curve of the road. +They swung their heads slowly from side to side, bent under the yoke, +and looked out at the world with their great eyes, in which was a mystic +note of their humble, submissive, toilsome lives. An old wagon creaked +after them, and erect upon it was the tall and tattered figure of the +farmer swinging his whip and yelling: "Whoa! Haw there! Git-ap!" The +lash flicked and flew over the broad backs of the animals. + +"Hello, father!" said Hawker. + +"Whoa! Back! Whoa! Why, hello, William, what you doing here?" + +"Oh, just taking a walk. Miss Fanhall, this is my father. Father----" + +"How d' you do?" The old man balanced himself with care and then raised +his straw hat from his head with a quick gesture and with what was +perhaps a slightly apologetic air, as if he feared that he was rather +over-doing the ceremonial part. + +The girl later became very intent upon the oxen. "Aren't they nice old +things?" she said, as she stood looking into the faces of the team. +"But what makes their eyes so very sad?" + +"I dunno," said the old man. + +She was apparently unable to resist a desire to pat the nose of the +nearest ox, and for that purpose she stretched forth a cautious hand. +But the ox moved restlessly at the moment and the girl put her hand +apprehensively behind herself and backed away. The old man on the wagon +grinned. "They won't hurt you," he told her. + +"They won't bite, will they?" she asked, casting a glance of inquiry at +the old man and then turning her eyes again upon the fascinating +animals. + +"No," said the old man, still grinning, "just as gentle as kittens." + +She approached them circuitously. "Sure?" she said. + +"Sure," replied the old man. He climbed from the wagon and came to the +heads of the oxen. With him as an ally, she finally succeeded in patting +the nose of the nearest ox. "Aren't they solemn, kind old fellows? Don't +you get to think a great deal of them?" + +"Well, they're kind of aggravating beasts sometimes," he said. "But +they're a good yoke--a good yoke. They can haul with anything in this +region." + +"It doesn't make them so terribly tired, does it?" she said hopefully. +"They are such strong animals." + +"No-o-o," he said. "I dunno. I never thought much about it." + +With their heads close together they became so absorbed in their +conversation that they seemed to forget the painter. He sat on a log and +watched them. + +Ultimately the girl said, "Won't you give us a ride?" + +"Sure," said the old man. "Come on, and I'll help you up." He assisted +her very painstakingly to the old board that usually served him as a +seat, and he clambered to a place beside her. "Come on, William," he +called. The painter climbed into the wagon and stood behind his father, +putting his hand on the old man's shoulder to preserve his balance. + +"Which is the near ox?" asked the girl with a serious frown. + +"Git-ap! Haw! That one there," said the old man. + +"And this one is the off ox?" + +"Yep." + +"Well, suppose you sat here where I do; would this one be the near ox +and that one the off ox, then?" + +"Nope. Be just same." + +"Then the near ox isn't always the nearest one to a person, at all? That +ox there is always the near ox?" + +"Yep, always. 'Cause when you drive 'em a-foot you always walk on the +left side." + +"Well, I never knew that before." + +After studying them in silence for a while, she said, "Do you think they +are happy?" + +"I dunno," said the old man. "I never thought." As the wagon creaked on +they gravely discussed this problem, contemplating profoundly the backs +of the animals. Hawker gazed in silence at the meditating two before +him. Under the wagon Stanley, the setter, walked slowly, wagging his +tail in placid contentment and ruminating upon his experiences. + +At last the old man said cheerfully, "Shall I take you around by the +inn?" + +Hawker started and seemed to wince at the question. Perhaps he was about +to interrupt, but the girl cried: "Oh, will you? Take us right to the +door? Oh, that will be awfully good of you!" + +"Why," began Hawker, "you don't want--you don't want to ride to the inn +on an--on an ox wagon, do you?" + +"Why, of course I do," she retorted, directing a withering glance at +him. + +"Well----" he protested. + +"Let 'er be, William," interrupted the old man. "Let 'er do what she +wants to. I guess everybody in th' world ain't even got an ox wagon to +ride in. Have they?" + +"No, indeed," she returned, while withering Hawker again. + +"Gee! Gee! Whoa! Haw! Git-ap! Haw! Whoa! Back!" + +After these two attacks Hawker became silent. + +"Gee! Gee! Gee there, blast--s'cuse me. Gee! Whoa! Git-ap!" + +All the boarders of the inn were upon its porches waiting for the dinner +gong. There was a surge toward the railing as a middle-aged woman passed +the word along her middle-aged friends that Miss Fanhall, accompanied +by Mr. Hawker, had arrived on the ox cart of Mr. Hawker's father. + +"Whoa! Ha! Git-ap!" said the old man in more subdued tones. "Whoa there, +Red! Whoa, now! Wh-o-a!" + +Hawker helped the girl to alight, and she paused for a moment conversing +with the old man about the oxen. Then she ran smiling up the steps to +meet the Worcester girls. + +"Oh, such a lovely time! Those dear old oxen--you should have been with +us!" + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + +"Oh, Miss Fanhall!" + +"What is it, Mrs. Truscot?" + +"That was a great prank of yours last night, my dear. We all enjoyed the +joke so much." + +"Prank?" + +"Yes, your riding on the ox cart with that old farmer and that young Mr. +What's-his-name, you know. We all thought it delicious. Ah, my dear, +after all--don't be offended--if we had your people's wealth and +position we might do that sort of unconventional thing, too; but, ah, my +dear, we can't, we can't! Isn't the young painter a charming man?" + +Out on the porch Hollanden was haranguing his friends. He heard a step +and glanced over his shoulder to see who was about to interrupt him. He +suddenly ceased his oration, and said, "Hello! what's the matter with +Grace?" The heads turned promptly. + +As the girl came toward them it could be seen that her cheeks were very +pink and her eyes were flashing general wrath and defiance. + +The Worcester girls burst into eager interrogation. "Oh, nothing!" she +replied at first, but later she added in an undertone, "That wretched +Mrs. Truscot----" + +"What did she say?" whispered the younger Worcester girl. + +"Why, she said--oh, nothing!" + +Both Hollanden and Hawker were industriously reflecting. + +Later in the morning Hawker said privately to the girl, "I know what +Mrs. Truscot talked to you about." + +She turned upon him belligerently. "You do?" + +"Yes," he answered with meekness. "It was undoubtedly some reference to +your ride upon the ox wagon." + +She hesitated a moment, and then said, "Well?" + +With still greater meekness he said, "I am very sorry." + +"Are you, indeed?" she inquired loftily. "Sorry for what? Sorry that I +rode upon your father's ox wagon, or sorry that Mrs. Truscot was rude +to me about it?" + +"Well, in some ways it was my fault." + +"Was it? I suppose you intend to apologize for your father's owning an +ox wagon, don't you?" + +"No, but----" + +"Well, I am going to ride in the ox wagon whenever I choose. Your +father, I know, will always be glad to have me. And if it so shocks you, +there is not the slightest necessity of your coming with us." + +They glowered at each other, and he said, "You have twisted the question +with the usual ability of your sex." + +She pondered as if seeking some particularly destructive retort. She +ended by saying bluntly, "Did you know that we were going home next +week?" + +A flush came suddenly to his face. "No. Going home? Who? You?" + +"Why, of course." And then with an indolent air she continued, "I meant +to have told you before this, but somehow it quite escaped me." + +He stammered, "Are--are you, honestly?" + +She nodded. "Why, of course. Can't stay here forever, you know." + +They were then silent for a long time. + +At last Hawker said, "Do you remember what I told you yesterday?" + +"No. What was it?" + +He cried indignantly, "You know very well what I told you!" + +"I do not." + +"No," he sneered, "of course not! You never take the trouble to remember +such things. Of course not! Of course not!" + +"You are a very ridiculous person," she vouchsafed, after eying him +coldly. + +He arose abruptly. "I believe I am. By heavens, I believe I am!" he +cried in a fury. + +She laughed. "You are more ridiculous now than I have yet seen you." + +After a pause he said magnificently, "Well, Miss Fanhall, you will +doubtless find Mr. Hollanden's conversation to have a much greater +interest than that of such a ridiculous person." + +Hollanden approached them with the blithesome step of an untroubled man. +"Hello, you two people, why don't you--oh--ahem! Hold on, Billie, where +are you going?" + +"I----" began Hawker. + +"Oh, Hollie," cried the girl impetuously, "do tell me how to do that +slam thing, you know. I've tried it so often, but I don't believe I hold +my racket right. And you do it so beautifully." + +"Oh, that," said Hollanden. "It's not so very difficult. I'll show it to +you. You don't want to know this minute, do you?" + +"Yes," she answered. + +"Well, come over to the court, then. Come ahead, Billie!" + +"No," said Hawker, without looking at his friend, "I can't this morning, +Hollie. I've got to go to work. Good-bye!" He comprehended them both in +a swift bow and stalked away. + +Hollanden turned quickly to the girl. "What was the matter with Billie? +What was he grinding his teeth for? What was the matter with him?" + +"Why, nothing--was there?" she asked in surprise. + +"Why, he was grinding his teeth until he sounded like a stone crusher," +said Hollanden in a severe tone. "What was the matter with him?" + +"How should I know?" she retorted. + +"You've been saying something to him." + +"I! I didn't say a thing." + +"Yes, you did." + +"Hollie, don't be absurd." + +Hollanden debated with himself for a time, and then observed, "Oh, well, +I always said he was an ugly-tempered fellow----" + +The girl flashed him a little glance. + +"And now I am sure of it--as ugly-tempered a fellow as ever lived." + +"I believe you," said the girl. Then she added: "All men are. I declare, +I think you to be the most incomprehensible creatures. One never knows +what to expect of you. And you explode and go into rages and make +yourselves utterly detestable over the most trivial matters and at the +most unexpected times. You are all mad, I think." + +"I!" cried Hollanden wildly. "What in the mischief have I done?" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + + +"Look here," said Hollanden, at length, "I thought you were so +wonderfully anxious to learn that stroke?" + +"Well, I am," she said. + +"Come on, then." As they walked toward the tennis court he seemed to be +plunged into mournful thought. In his eyes was a singular expression, +which perhaps denoted the woe of the optimist pushed suddenly from its +height. He sighed. "Oh, well, I suppose all women, even the best of +them, are that way." + +"What way?" she said. + +"My dear child," he answered, in a benevolent manner, "you have +disappointed me, because I have discovered that you resemble the rest of +your sex." + +"Ah!" she remarked, maintaining a noncommittal attitude. + +"Yes," continued Hollanden, with a sad but kindly smile, "even you, +Grace, were not above fooling with the affections of a poor country +swain, until he don't know his ear from the tooth he had pulled two +years ago." + +She laughed. "He would be furious if he heard you call him a country +swain." + +"Who would?" said Hollanden. + +"Why, the country swain, of course," she rejoined. + +Hollanden seemed plunged in mournful reflection again. "Well, it's a +shame, Grace, anyhow," he observed, wagging his head dolefully. "It's a +howling, wicked shame." + +"Hollie, you have no brains at all," she said, "despite your opinion." + +"No," he replied ironically, "not a bit." + +"Well, you haven't, you know, Hollie." + +"At any rate," he said in an angry voice, "I have some comprehension and +sympathy for the feelings of others." + +"Have you?" she asked. "How do you mean, Hollie? Do you mean you have +feeling for them in their various sorrows? Or do you mean that you +understand their minds?" + +Hollanden ponderously began, "There have been people who have not +questioned my ability to----" + +"Oh, then, you mean that you both feel for them in their sorrows and +comprehend the machinery of their minds. Well, let me tell you that in +regard to the last thing you are wrong. You know nothing of anyone's +mind. You know less about human nature than anybody I have met." + +Hollanden looked at her in artless astonishment. He said, "Now, I wonder +what made you say that?" This interrogation did not seem to be addressed +to her, but was evidently a statement to himself of a problem. He +meditated for some moments. Eventually he said, "I suppose you mean that +I do not understand you?" + +"Why do you suppose I mean that?" + +"That's what a person usually means when he--or she--charges another +with not understanding the entire world." + +"Well, at any rate, it is not what I mean at all," she said. "I mean +that you habitually blunder about other people's affairs, in the belief, +I imagine, that you are a great philanthropist, when you are only making +an extraordinary exhibition of yourself." + +"The dev----" began Hollanden. Afterward he said, "Now, I wonder what +in blue thunder you mean this time?" + +"Mean this time? My meaning is very plain, Hollie. I supposed the words +were clear enough." + +"Yes," he said thoughtfully, "your words were clear enough, but then you +were of course referring back to some event, or series of events, in +which I had the singular ill fortune to displease you. Maybe you don't +know yourself, and spoke only from the emotion generated by the event, +or series of events, in which, as I have said, I had the singular ill +fortune to displease you." + +"How awf'ly clever!" she said. + +"But I can't recall the event, or series of events, at all," he +continued, musing with a scholarly air and disregarding her mockery. "I +can't remember a thing about it. To be sure, it might have been that +time when----" + +"I think it very stupid of you to hunt for a meaning when I believe I +made everything so perfectly clear," she said wrathfully. + +"Well, you yourself might not be aware of what you really meant," he +answered sagely. "Women often do that sort of thing, you know. Women +often speak from motives which, if brought face to face with them, they +wouldn't be able to distinguish from any other thing which they had +never before seen." + +"Hollie, if there is a disgusting person in the world it is he who +pretends to know so much concerning a woman's mind." + +"Well, that's because they who know, or pretend to know, so much about a +woman's mind are invariably satirical, you understand," said Hollanden +cheerfully. + +A dog ran frantically across the lawn, his nose high in the air and his +countenance expressing vast perturbation and alarm. "Why, Billie forgot +to whistle for his dog when he started for home," said Hollanden. "Come +here, old man! Well, 'e was a nice dog!" The girl also gave invitation, +but the setter would not heed them. He spun wildly about the lawn until +he seemed to strike his master's trail, and then, with his nose near to +the ground, went down the road at an eager gallop. They stood and +watched him. + +"Stanley's a nice dog," said Hollanden. + +"Indeed he is!" replied the girl fervently. + +Presently Hollanden remarked: "Well, don't let's fight any more, +particularly since we can't decide what we're fighting about. I can't +discover the reason, and you don't know it, so----" + +"I do know it. I told you very plainly." + +"Well, all right. Now, this is the way to work that slam: You give the +ball a sort of a lift--see!--underhanded and with your arm crooked and +stiff. Here, you smash this other ball into the net. Hi! Look out! If +you hit it that way you'll knock it over the hotel. Let the ball drop +nearer to the ground. Oh, heavens, not on the ground! Well, it's hard to +do it from the serve, anyhow. I'll go over to the other court and bat +you some easy ones." + +Afterward, when they were going toward the inn, the girl suddenly began +to laugh. + +"What are you giggling at?" said Hollanden. + +"I was thinking how furious he would be if he heard you call him a +country swain," she rejoined. + +"Who?" asked Hollanden. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + + +Oglethorpe contended that the men who made the most money from books +were the best authors. Hollanden contended that they were the worst. +Oglethorpe said that such a question should be left to the people. +Hollanden said that the people habitually made wrong decisions on +questions that were left to them. "That is the most odiously +aristocratic belief," said Oglethorpe. + +"No," said Hollanden, "I like the people. But, considered generally, +they are a collection of ingenious blockheads." + +"But they read your books," said Oglethorpe, grinning. + +"That is through a mistake," replied Hollanden. + +As the discussion grew in size it incited the close attention of the +Worcester girls, but Miss Fanhall did not seem to hear it. Hawker, too, +was staring into the darkness with a gloomy and preoccupied air. + +"Are you sorry that this is your last evening at Hemlock Inn?" said the +painter at last, in a low tone. + +"Why, yes--certainly," said the girl. + +Under the sloping porch of the inn the vague orange light from the +parlours drifted to the black wall of the night. + +"I shall miss you," said the painter. + +"Oh, I dare say," said the girl. + +Hollanden was lecturing at length and wonderfully. In the mystic spaces +of the night the pines could be heard in their weird monotone, as they +softly smote branch and branch, as if moving in some solemn and +sorrowful dance. + +"This has been quite the most delightful summer of my experience," said +the painter. + +"I have found it very pleasant," said the girl. + +From time to time Hawker glanced furtively at Oglethorpe, Hollanden, and +the Worcester girl. This glance expressed no desire for their +well-being. + +"I shall miss you," he said to the girl again. His manner was rather +desperate. She made no reply, and, after leaning toward her, he subsided +with an air of defeat. + +Eventually he remarked: "It will be very lonely here again. I dare say I +shall return to New York myself in a few weeks." + +"I hope you will call," she said. + +"I shall be delighted," he answered stiffly, and with a dissatisfied +look at her. + +"Oh, Mr. Hawker," cried the younger Worcester girl, suddenly emerging +from the cloud of argument which Hollanden and Oglethorpe kept in the +air, "won't it be sad to lose Grace? Indeed, I don't know what we shall +do. Sha'n't we miss her dreadfully?" + +"Yes," said Hawker, "we shall of course miss her dreadfully." + +"Yes, won't it be frightful?" said the elder Worcester girl. "I can't +imagine what we will do without her. And Hollie is only going to spend +ten more days. Oh, dear! mamma, I believe, will insist on staying the +entire summer. It was papa's orders, you know, and I really think she is +going to obey them. He said he wanted her to have one period of rest at +any rate. She is such a busy woman in town, you know." + +"Here," said Hollanden, wheeling to them suddenly, "you all look as if +you were badgering Hawker, and he looks badgered. What are you saying to +him?" + +"Why," answered the younger Worcester girl, "we were only saying to him +how lonely it would be without Grace." + +"Oh!" said Hollanden. + +As the evening grew old, the mother of the Worcester girls joined the +group. This was a sign that the girls were not to long delay the +vanishing time. She sat almost upon the edge of her chair, as if she +expected to be called upon at any moment to arise and bow "Good-night," +and she repaid Hollanden's eloquent attention with the placid and +absent-minded smiles of the chaperon who waits. + +Once the younger Worcester girl shrugged her shoulders and turned to +say, "Mamma, you make me nervous!" Her mother merely smiled in a still +more placid and absent-minded manner. + +Oglethorpe arose to drag his chair nearer to the railing, and when he +stood the Worcester mother moved and looked around expectantly, but +Oglethorpe took seat again. Hawker kept an anxious eye upon her. + +Presently Miss Fanhall arose. + +"Why, you are not going in already, are you?" said Hawker and Hollanden +and Oglethorpe. The Worcester mother moved toward the door followed by +her daughters, who were protesting in muffled tones. Hollanden pitched +violently upon Oglethorpe. "Well, at any rate----" he said. He picked +the thread of a past argument with great agility. + +Hawker said to the girl, "I--I--I shall miss you dreadfully." + +She turned to look at him and smiled. "Shall you?" she said in a low +voice. + +"Yes," he said. Thereafter he stood before her awkwardly and in silence. +She scrutinized the boards of the floor. Suddenly she drew a violet from +a cluster of them upon her gown and thrust it out to him as she turned +toward the approaching Oglethorpe. + +"Good-night, Mr. Hawker," said the latter. "I am very glad to have met +you, I'm sure. Hope to see you in town. Good-night." + +He stood near when the girl said to Hawker: "Good-bye. You have given us +such a charming summer. We shall be delighted to see you in town. You +must come some time when the children can see you, too. Good-bye." + +"Good-bye," replied Hawker, eagerly and feverishly, trying to interpret +the inscrutable feminine face before him. "I shall come at my first +opportunity." + +"Good-bye." + +"Good-bye." + +Down at the farmhouse, in the black quiet of the night, a dog lay curled +on the door-mat. Of a sudden the tail of this dog began to thump, thump, +on the boards. It began as a lazy movement, but it passed into a state +of gentle enthusiasm, and then into one of curiously loud and joyful +celebration. At last the gate clicked. The dog uncurled, and went to the +edge of the steps to greet his master. He gave adoring, tremulous +welcome with his clear eyes shining in the darkness. "Well, Stan, old +boy," said Hawker, stooping to stroke the dog's head. After his master +had entered the house the dog went forward and sniffed at something +that lay on the top step. Apparently it did not interest him greatly, +for he returned in a moment to the door-mat. + +But he was again obliged to uncurl himself, for his master came out of +the house with a lighted lamp and made search of the door-mat, the +steps, and the walk, swearing meanwhile in an undertone. The dog wagged +his tail and sleepily watched this ceremony. When his master had again +entered the house the dog went forward and sniffed at the top step, but +the thing that had lain there was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + + +It was evident at breakfast that Hawker's sisters had achieved +information. "What's the matter with you this morning?" asked one. "You +look as if you hadn't slep' well." + +"There is nothing the matter with me," he rejoined, looking glumly at +his plate. + +"Well, you look kind of broke up." + +"How I look is of no consequence. I tell you there is nothing the matter +with me." + +"Oh!" said his sister. She exchanged meaning glances with the other +feminine members of the family. Presently the other sister observed, "I +heard she was going home to-day." + +"Who?" said Hawker, with a challenge in his tone. + +"Why, that New York girl--Miss What's-her-name," replied the sister, +with an undaunted smile. + +"Did you, indeed? Well, perhaps she is." + +"Oh, you don't know for sure, I s'pose." + +Hawker arose from the table, and, taking his hat, went away. + +"Mary!" said the mother, in the sepulchral tone of belated but +conscientious reproof. + +"Well, I don't care. He needn't be so grand. I didn't go to tease him. I +don't care." + +"Well, you ought to care," said the old man suddenly. "There's no sense +in you wimen folks pestering the boy all the time. Let him alone with +his own business, can't you?" + +"Well, ain't we leaving him alone?" + +"No, you ain't--'cept when he ain't here. I don't wonder the boy grabs +his hat and skips out when you git to going." + +"Well, what did we say to him now? Tell us what we said to him that was +so dreadful." + +"Aw, thunder an' lightnin'!" cried the old man with a sudden great +snarl. They seemed to know by this ejaculation that he had emerged in an +instant from that place where man endures, and they ended the +discussion. The old man continued his breakfast. + +During his walk that morning Hawker visited a certain cascade, a +certain lake, and some roads, paths, groves, nooks. Later in the day he +made a sketch, choosing an hour when the atmosphere was of a dark blue, +like powder smoke in the shade of trees, and the western sky was burning +in strips of red. He painted with a wild face, like a man who is +killing. + +After supper he and his father strolled under the apple boughs in the +orchard and smoked. Once he gestured wearily. "Oh, I guess I'll go back +to New York in a few days." + +"Um," replied his father calmly. "All right, William." + +Several days later Hawker accosted his father in the barnyard. "I +suppose you think sometimes I don't care so much about you and the folks +and the old place any more; but I do." + +"Um," said the old man. "When you goin'?" + +"Where?" asked Hawker, flushing. + +"Back to New York." + +"Why--I hadn't thought much about---- Oh, next week, I guess." + +"Well, do as you like, William. You know how glad me an' mother and the +girls are to have you come home with us whenever you can come. You know +that. But you must do as you think best, and if you ought to go back to +New York now, William, why--do as you think best." + +"Well, my work----" said Hawker. + +From time to time the mother made wondering speech to the sisters. "How +much nicer William is now! He's just as good as he can be. There for a +while he was so cross and out of sorts. I don't see what could have come +over him. But now he's just as good as he can be." + +Hollanden told him, "Come up to the inn more, you fool." + +"I was up there yesterday." + +"Yesterday! What of that? I've seen the time when the farm couldn't hold +you for two hours during the day." + +"Go to blazes!" + +"Millicent got a letter from Grace Fanhall the other day." + +"That so?" + +"Yes, she did. Grace wrote---- Say, does that shadow look pure purple +to you?" + +"Certainly it does, or I wouldn't paint it so, duffer. What did she +write?" + +"Well, if that shadow is pure purple my eyes are liars. It looks a kind +of slate colour to me. Lord! if what you fellows say in your pictures is +true, the whole earth must be blazing and burning and glowing and----" + +Hawker went into a rage. "Oh, you don't know anything about colour, +Hollie. For heaven's sake, shut up, or I'll smash you with the easel." + +"Well, I was going to tell you what Grace wrote in her letter. She +said----" + +"Go on." + +"Gimme time, can't you? She said that town was stupid, and that she +wished she was back at Hemlock Inn." + +"Oh! Is that all?" + +"Is that all? I wonder what you expected? Well, and she asked to be +recalled to you." + +"Yes? Thanks." + +"And that's all. 'Gad, for such a devoted man as you were, your +enthusiasm and interest is stupendous." + + * * * * * + +The father said to the mother, "Well, William's going back to New York +next week." + +"Is he? Why, he ain't said nothing to me about it." + +"Well, he is, anyhow." + +"I declare! What do you s'pose he's going back before September for, +John?" + +"How do I know?" + +"Well, it's funny, John. I bet--I bet he's going back so's he can see +that girl." + +"He says it's his work." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + + +Wrinkles had been peering into the little dry-goods box that acted as a +cupboard. "There are only two eggs and half a loaf of bread left," he +announced brutally. + +"Heavens!" said Warwickson from where he lay smoking on the bed. He +spoke in a dismal voice. This tone, it is said, had earned him his +popular name of Great Grief. + +From different points of the compass Wrinkles looked at the little +cupboard with a tremendous scowl, as if he intended thus to frighten the +eggs into becoming more than two, and the bread into becoming a loaf. +"Plague take it!" he exclaimed. + +"Oh, shut up, Wrinkles!" said Grief from the bed. + +Wrinkles sat down with an air austere and virtuous. "Well, what are we +going to do?" he demanded of the others. + +Grief, after swearing, said: "There, that's right! Now you're happy. +The holy office of the inquisition! Blast your buttons, Wrinkles, you +always try to keep us from starving peacefully! It is two hours before +dinner, anyhow, and----" + +"Well, but what are you going to do?" persisted Wrinkles. + +Pennoyer, with his head afar down, had been busily scratching at a +pen-and-ink drawing. He looked up from his board to utter a plaintive +optimism. "The Monthly Amazement will pay me to-morrow. They ought to. +I've waited over three months now. I'm going down there to-morrow, and +perhaps I'll get it." + +His friends listened with airs of tolerance. "Oh, no doubt, Penny, old +man." But at last Wrinkles giggled pityingly. Over on the bed Grief +croaked deep down in his throat. Nothing was said for a long time +thereafter. + +The crash of the New York streets came faintly to this room. + +Occasionally one could hear the tramp of feet in the intricate corridors +of the begrimed building which squatted, slumbering, and old, between +two exalted commercial structures which would have had to bend afar +down to perceive it. The northward march of the city's progress had +happened not to overturn this aged structure, and it huddled there, lost +and forgotten, while the cloud-veering towers strode on. + +Meanwhile the first shadows of dusk came in at the blurred windows of +the room. Pennoyer threw down his pen and tossed his drawing over on the +wonderful heap of stuff that hid the table. "It's too dark to work." He +lit a pipe and walked about, stretching his shoulders like a man whose +labour was valuable. + +When the dusk came fully the youths grew apparently sad. The solemnity +of the gloom seemed to make them ponder. "Light the gas, Wrinkles," said +Grief fretfully. + +The flood of orange light showed clearly the dull walls lined with +sketches, the tousled bed in one corner, the masses of boxes and trunks +in another, a little dead stove, and the wonderful table. Moreover, +there were wine-coloured draperies flung in some places, and on a shelf, +high up, there were plaster casts, with dust in the creases. A long +stove-pipe wandered off in the wrong direction and then turned +impulsively toward a hole in the wall. There were some elaborate cobwebs +on the ceiling. + +"Well, let's eat," said Grief. + +"Eat," said Wrinkles, with a jeer; "I told you there was only two eggs +and a little bread left. How are we going to eat?" + +Again brought face to face with this problem, and at the hour for +dinner, Pennoyer and Grief thought profoundly. "Thunder and turf!" Grief +finally announced as the result of his deliberations. + +"Well, if Billie Hawker was only home----" began Pennoyer. + +"But he isn't," objected Wrinkles, "and that settles that." + +Grief and Pennoyer thought more. Ultimately Grief said, "Oh, well, let's +eat what we've got." The others at once agreed to this suggestion, as if +it had been in their minds. + +Later there came a quick step in the passage and a confident little +thunder upon the door. Wrinkles arranging the tin pail on the gas stove, +Pennoyer engaged in slicing the bread, and Great Grief affixing the +rubber tube to the gas stove, yelled, "Come in!" + +The door opened, and Miss Florinda O'Connor, the model, dashed into the +room like a gale of obstreperous autumn leaves. + +"Why, hello, Splutter!" they cried. + +"Oh, boys, I've come to dine with you." + +It was like a squall striking a fleet of yachts. + +Grief spoke first. "Yes, you have?" he said incredulously. + +"Why, certainly I have. What's the matter?" + +They grinned. "Well, old lady," responded Grief, "you've hit us at the +wrong time. We are, in fact, all out of everything. No dinner, to +mention, and, what's more, we haven't got a sou." + +"What? Again?" cried Florinda. + +"Yes, again. You'd better dine home to-night." + +"But I'll--I'll stake you," said the girl eagerly. "Oh, you poor old +idiots! It's a shame! Say, I'll stake you." + +"Certainly not," said Pennoyer sternly. + +"What are you talking about, Splutter?" demanded Wrinkles in an angry +voice. + +"No, that won't go down," said Grief, in a resolute yet wistful tone. + +Florinda divested herself of her hat, jacket, and gloves, and put them +where she pleased. "Got coffee, haven't you? Well, I'm not going to stir +a step. You're a fine lot of birds!" she added bitterly, "You've all +pulled me out of a whole lot of scrape--oh, any number of times--and now +you're broke, you go acting like a set of dudes." + +Great Grief had fixed the coffee to boil on the gas stove, but he had to +watch it closely, for the rubber tube was short, and a chair was +balanced on a trunk, and two bundles of kindling was balanced on the +chair, and the gas stove was balanced on the kindling. Coffee-making was +here accounted a feat. + +Pennoyer dropped a piece of bread to the floor. "There! I'll have to go +shy one." + +Wrinkles sat playing serenades on his guitar and staring with a frown at +the table, as if he was applying some strange method of clearing it of +its litter. + +Florinda assaulted Great Grief. "Here, that's not the way to make +coffee!" + +"What ain't?" + +"Why, the way you're making it. You want to take----" She explained some +way to him which he couldn't understand. + +"For heaven's sake, Wrinkles, tackle that table! Don't sit there like a +music box," said Pennoyer, grappling the eggs and starting for the gas +stove. + +Later, as they sat around the board, Wrinkles said with satisfaction, +"Well, the coffee's good, anyhow." + +"'Tis good," said Florinda, "but it isn't made right. I'll show you how, +Penny. You first----" + +"Oh, dry up, Splutter," said Grief. "Here, take an egg." + +"I don't like eggs," said Florinda. + +"Take an egg," said the three hosts menacingly. + +"I tell you I don't like eggs." + +"Take--an--egg!" they said again. + +"Oh, well," said Florinda, "I'll take one, then; but you needn't act +like such a set of dudes--and, oh, maybe you didn't have much lunch. I +had such a daisy lunch! Up at Pontiac's studio. He's got a lovely +studio." + +The three looked to be oppressed. Grief said sullenly, "I saw some of +his things over in Stencil's gallery, and they're rotten." + +"Yes--rotten," said Pennoyer. + +"Rotten," said Grief. + +"Oh, well," retorted Florinda, "if a man has a swell studio and +dresses--oh, sort of like a Willie, you know, you fellows sit here like +owls in a cave and say rotten--rotten--rotten. You're away off. +Pontiac's landscapes----" + +"Landscapes be blowed! Put any of his work alongside of Billie Hawker's +and see how it looks." + +"Oh, well, Billie Hawker's," said Florinda. "Oh, well." + +At the mention of Hawker's name they had all turned to scan her face. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + + +"He wrote that he was coming home this week," said Pennoyer. + +"Did he?" asked Florinda indifferently. + +"Yes. Aren't you glad?" + +They were still watching her face. + +"Yes, of course I'm glad. Why shouldn't I be glad?" cried the girl with +defiance. + +They grinned. + +"Oh, certainly. Billie Hawker is a good fellow, Splutter. You have a +particular right to be glad." + +"You people make me tired," Florinda retorted. "Billie Hawker doesn't +give a rap about me, and he never tried to make out that he did." + +"No," said Grief. "But that isn't saying that you don't care a rap about +Billie Hawker. Ah, Florinda!" + +It seemed that the girl's throat suffered a slight contraction. "Well, +and what if I do?" she demanded finally. + +"Have a cigarette?" answered Grief. + +Florinda took a cigarette, lit it, and, perching herself on a divan, +which was secretly a coal box, she smoked fiercely. + +"What if I do?" she again demanded. "It's better than liking one of you +dubs, anyhow." + +"Oh, Splutter, you poor little outspoken kid!" said Wrinkle in a sad +voice. + +Grief searched among the pipes until he found the best one. "Yes, +Splutter, don't you know that when you are so frank you defy every law +of your sex, and wild eyes will take your trail?" + +"Oh, you talk through your hat," replied Florinda. "Billie don't care +whether I like him or whether I don't. And if he should hear me now, he +wouldn't be glad or give a hang, either way. I know that." The girl +paused and looked at the row of plaster casts. "Still, you needn't be +throwing it at me all the time." + +"We didn't," said Wrinkles indignantly. "You threw it at yourself." + +"Well," continued Florinda, "it's better than liking one of you dubs, +anyhow. He makes money and----" + +"There," said Grief, "now you've hit it! Bedad, you've reached a point +in eulogy where if you move again you will have to go backward." + +"Of course I don't care anything about a fellow's having money----" + +"No, indeed you don't, Splutter," said Pennoyer. + +"But then, you know what I mean. A fellow isn't a man and doesn't stand +up straight unless he has some money. And Billie Hawker makes enough so +that you feel that nobody could walk over him, don't you know? And there +isn't anything jay about him, either. He's a thoroughbred, don't you +know?" + +After reflection, Pennoyer said, "It's pretty hard on the rest of us, +Splutter." + +"Well, of course I like him, but--but----" + +"What?" said Pennoyer. + +"I don't know," said Florinda. + +Purple Sanderson lived in this room, but he usually dined out. At a +certain time in his life, before he came to be a great artist, he had +learned the gas-fitter's trade, and when his opinions were not identical +with the opinions of the art managers of the greater number of New York +publications he went to see a friend who was a plumber, and the opinions +of this man he was thereafter said to respect. He frequented a very neat +restaurant on Twenty-third Street. It was known that on Saturday nights +Wrinkles, Grief, and Pennoyer frequently quarreled with him. + +As Florinda ceased speaking Purple entered. "Hello, there, Splutter!" As +he was neatly hanging up his coat, he said to the others, "Well, the +rent will be due in four days." + +"Will it?" asked Pennoyer, astounded. + +"Certainly it will," responded Purple, with the air of a superior +financial man. + +"My soul!" said Wrinkles. + +"Oh, shut up, Purple!" said Grief. "You make me weary, coming around +here with your chin about rent. I was just getting happy." + +"Well, how are we going to pay it? That's the point," said Sanderson. + +Wrinkles sank deeper in his chair and played despondently on his +guitar. Grief cast a look of rage at Sanderson, and then stared at the +wall. Pennoyer said, "Well, we might borrow it from Billie Hawker." + +Florinda laughed then. + +"Oh," continued Pennoyer hastily, "if those Amazement people pay me when +they said they would I'll have the money." + +"So you will," said Grief. "You will have money to burn. Did the +Amazement people ever pay you when they said they would? You are +wonderfully important all of a sudden, it seems to me. You talk like an +artist." + +Wrinkles, too, smiled at Pennoyer. "The Eminent Magazine people wanted +Penny to hire models and make a try for them, too. It would only cost +him a stack of blues. By the time he has invested all his money he +hasn't got, and the rent is three weeks overdue, he will be able to tell +the landlord to wait seven months until the Monday morning after the day +of publication. Go ahead, Penny." + +After a period of silence, Sanderson, in an obstinate manner, said, +"Well, what's to be done? The rent has got to be paid." + +Wrinkles played more sad music. Grief frowned deeper. Pennoyer was +evidently searching his mind for a plan. + +Florinda took the cigarette from between her lips that she might grin +with greater freedom. + +"We might throw Purple out," said Grief, with an inspired air. "That +would stop all this discussion." + +"You!" said Sanderson furiously. "You can't keep serious a minute. If +you didn't have us to take care of you, you wouldn't even know when they +threw you out into the street." + +"Wouldn't I?" said Grief. + +"Well, look here," interposed Florinda, "I'm going home unless you can +be more interesting. I am dead sorry about the rent, but I can't help +it, and----" + +"Here! Sit down! Hold on, Splutter!" they shouted. Grief turned to +Sanderson: "Purple, you shut up!" + +Florinda curled again on the divan and lit another cigarette. The talk +waged about the names of other and more successful painters, whose work +they usually pronounced "rotten." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + + +Pennoyer, coming home one morning with two gigantic cakes to accompany +the coffee at the breakfast in the den, saw a young man bounce from a +horse car. He gave a shout. "Hello, there, Billie! Hello!" + +"Hello, Penny!" said Hawker. "What are you doing out so early?" It was +somewhat after nine o'clock. + +"Out to get breakfast," said Pennoyer, waving the cakes. "Have a good +time, old man?" + +"Great." + +"Do much work?" + +"No. Not so much. How are all the people?" + +"Oh, pretty good. Come in and see us eat breakfast," said Pennoyer, +throwing open the door of the den. Wrinkles, in his shirt, was making +coffee. Grief sat in a chair trying to loosen the grasp of sleep. "Why, +Billie Hawker, b'ginger!" they cried. + +"How's the wolf, boys? At the door yet?" + +"'At the door yet?' He's halfway up the back stairs, and coming fast. He +and the landlord will be here to-morrow. 'Mr. Landlord, allow me to +present Mr. F. Wolf, of Hunger, N. J. Mr. Wolf--Mr. Landlord.'" + +"Bad as that?" said Hawker. + +"You bet it is! Easy Street is somewhere in heaven, for all we know. +Have some breakfast?--coffee and cake, I mean." + +"No, thanks, boys. Had breakfast." + +Wrinkles added to the shirt, Grief aroused himself, and Pennoyer brought +the coffee. Cheerfully throwing some drawings from the table to the +floor, they thus made room for the breakfast, and grouped themselves +with beaming smiles at the board. + +"Well, Billie, come back to the old gang again, eh? How did the country +seem? Do much work?" + +"Not very much. A few things. How's everybody?" + +"Splutter was in last night. Looking out of sight. Seemed glad to hear +that you were coming back soon." + +"Did she? Penny, did anybody call wanting me to do a ten-thousand-dollar +portrait for them?" + +"No. That frame-maker, though, was here with a bill. I told him----" + +Afterward Hawker crossed the corridor and threw open the door of his own +large studio. The great skylight, far above his head, shed its clear +rays upon a scene which appeared to indicate that some one had very +recently ceased work here and started for the country. A distant closet +door was open, and the interior showed the effects of a sudden pillage. + +There was an unfinished "Girl in Apple Orchard" upon the tall Dutch +easel, and sketches and studies were thick upon the floor. Hawker took a +pipe and filled it from his friend the tan and gold jar. He cast himself +into a chair and, taking an envelope from his pocket, emptied two +violets from it to the palm of his hand and stared long at them. Upon +the walls of the studio various labours of his life, in heavy gilt +frames, contemplated him and the violets. + +At last Pennoyer burst impetuously in upon him. "Hi, Billie! come over +and---- What's the matter?" + +Hawker had hastily placed the violets in the envelope and hurried it to +his pocket. "Nothing," he answered. + +"Why, I thought--" said Pennoyer, "I thought you looked rather rattled. +Didn't you have--I thought I saw something in your hand." + +"Nothing, I tell you!" cried Hawker. + +"Er--oh, I beg your pardon," said Pennoyer. "Why, I was going to tell +you that Splutter is over in our place, and she wants to see you." + +"Wants to see me? What for?" demanded Hawker. "Why don't she come over +here, then?" + +"I'm sure I don't know," replied Pennoyer. "She sent me to call you." + +"Well, do you think I'm going to---- Oh, well, I suppose she wants to be +unpleasant, and knows she loses a certain mental position if she comes +over here, but if she meets me in your place she can be as infernally +disagreeable as she---- That's it, I'll bet." + +When they entered the den Florinda was gazing from the window. Her back +was toward the door. + +At last she turned to them, holding herself very straight. "Well, Billie +Hawker," she said grimly, "you don't seem very glad to see a fellow." + +"Why, heavens, did you think I was going to turn somersaults in the +air?" + +"Well, you didn't come out when you heard me pass your door," said +Florinda, with gloomy resentment. + +Hawker appeared to be ruffled and vexed. "Oh, great Scott!" he said, +making a gesture of despair. + +Florinda returned to the window. In the ensuing conversation she took no +part, save when there was an opportunity to harry some speech of +Hawker's, which she did in short contemptuous sentences. Hawker made no +reply save to glare in her direction. At last he said, "Well, I must go +over and do some work." Florinda did not turn from the window. "Well, +so-long, boys," said Hawker, "I'll see you later." + +As the door slammed Pennoyer apologetically said, "Billie is a trifle +off his feed this morning." + +"What about?" asked Grief. + +"I don't know; but when I went to call him he was sitting deep in his +chair staring at some----" He looked at Florinda and became silent. + +"Staring at what?" asked Florinda, turning then from the window. + +Pennoyer seemed embarrassed. "Why, I don't know--nothing, I guess--I +couldn't see very well. I was only fooling." + +Florinda scanned his face suspiciously. "Staring at what?" she demanded +imperatively. + +"Nothing, I tell you!" shouted Pennoyer. + +Florinda looked at him, and wavered and debated. Presently she said, +softly: "Ah, go on, Penny. Tell me." + +"It wasn't anything at all, I say!" cried Pennoyer stoutly. "I was only +giving you a jolly. Sit down, Splutter, and hit a cigarette." + +She obeyed, but she continued to cast the dubious eye at Pennoyer. Once +she said to him privately: "Go on, Penny, tell me. I know it was +something from the way you are acting." + +"Oh, let up, Splutter, for heaven's sake!" + +"Tell me," beseeched Florinda. + +"No." + +"Tell me." + +"No." + +"Pl-e-a-se tell me." + +"No." + +"Oh, go on." + +"No." + +"Ah, what makes you so mean, Penny? You know I'd tell you, if it was the +other way about." + +"But it's none of my business, Splutter. I can't tell you something +which is Billie Hawker's private affair. If I did I would be a chump." + +"But I'll never say you told me. Go on." + +"No." + +"Pl-e-a-se tell me." + +"No." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + + +When Florinda had gone, Grief said, "Well, what was it?" Wrinkles looked +curiously from his drawing-board. + +Pennoyer lit his pipe and held it at the side of his mouth in the manner +of a deliberate man. At last he said, "It was two violets." + +"You don't say!" ejaculated Wrinkles. + +"Well, I'm hanged!" cried Grief. "Holding them in his hand and moping +over them, eh?" + +"Yes," responded Pennoyer. "Rather that way." + +"Well, I'm hanged!" said both Grief and Wrinkles. They grinned in a +pleased, urchin-like manner. "Say, who do you suppose she is? Somebody +he met this summer, no doubt. Would you ever think old Billie would get +into that sort of a thing? Well, I'll be gol-durned!" + +Ultimately Wrinkles said, "Well, it's his own business." This was spoken +in a tone of duty. + +"Of course it's his own business," retorted Grief. "But who would ever +think----" Again they grinned. + +When Hawker entered the den some minutes later he might have noticed +something unusual in the general demeanour. "Say, Grief, will you loan +me your---- What's up?" he asked. + +For answer they grinned at each other, and then grinned at him. + +"You look like a lot of Chessy cats," he told them. + +They grinned on. + +Apparently feeling unable to deal with these phenomena, he went at last +to the door. "Well, this is a fine exhibition," he said, standing with +his hand on the knob and regarding them. "Won election bets? Some good +old auntie just died? Found something new to pawn? No? Well, I can't +stand this. You resemble those fish they discover at deep sea. +Good-bye!" + +As he opened the door they cried out: "Hold on, Billie! Billie, look +here! Say, who is she?" + +"What?" + +"Who is she?" + +"Who is who?" + +They laughed and nodded. "Why, you know. She. Don't you understand? +She." + +"You talk like a lot of crazy men," said Hawker. "I don't know what you +mean." + +"Oh, you don't, eh? You don't? Oh, no! How about those violets you were +moping over this morning? Eh, old man! Oh, no, you don't know what we +mean! Oh, no! How about those violets, eh? How about 'em?" + +Hawker, with flushed and wrathful face, looked at Pennoyer. "Penny----" +But Grief and Wrinkles roared an interruption. "Oh, ho, Mr. Hawker! so +it's true, is it? It's true. You are a nice bird, you are. Well, you old +rascal! Durn your picture!" + +Hawker, menacing them once with his eyes, went away. They sat cackling. + +At noon, when he met Wrinkles in the corridor, he said: "Hey, Wrinkles, +come here for a minute, will you? Say, old man, I--I----" + +"What?" said Wrinkles. + +"Well, you know, I--I--of course, every man is likely to make an +accursed idiot of himself once in a while, and I----" + +"And you what?" asked Wrinkles. + +"Well, we are a kind of a band of hoodlums, you know, and I'm just +enough idiot to feel that I don't care to hear--don't care to +hear--well, her name used, you know." + +"Bless your heart," replied Wrinkles, "we haven't used her name. We +don't know her name. How could we use it?" + +"Well, I know," said Hawker. "But you understand what I mean, Wrinkles." + +"Yes, I understand what you mean," said Wrinkles, with dignity. "I don't +suppose you are any worse of a stuff than common. Still, I didn't know +that we were such outlaws." + +"Of course, I have overdone the thing," responded Hawker hastily. +"But--you ought to understand how I mean it, Wrinkles." + +After Wrinkles had thought for a time, he said: "Well, I guess I do. +All right. That goes." + +Upon entering the den, Wrinkles said, "You fellows have got to quit +guying Billie, do you hear?" + +"We?" cried Grief. "We've got to quit? What do you do?" + +"Well, I quit too." + +Pennoyer said: "Ah, ha! Billie has been jumping on you." + +"No, he didn't," maintained Wrinkles; "but he let me know it was--well, +rather a--rather a--sacred subject." Wrinkles blushed when the others +snickered. + +In the afternoon, as Hawker was going slowly down the stairs, he was +almost impaled upon the feather of a hat which, upon the head of a lithe +and rather slight girl, charged up at him through the gloom. + +"Hello, Splutter!" he cried. "You are in a hurry." + +"That you, Billie?" said the girl, peering, for the hallways of this old +building remained always in a dungeonlike darkness. + +"Yes, it is. Where are you going at such a headlong gait?" + +"Up to see the boys. I've got a bottle of wine and some--some pickles, +you know. I'm going to make them let me dine with them to-night. Coming +back, Billie?" + +"Why, no, I don't expect to." + +He moved then accidentally in front of the light that sifted through the +dull, gray panes of a little window. + +"Oh, cracky!" cried the girl; "how fine you are, Billie! Going to a +coronation?" + +"No," said Hawker, looking seriously over his collar and down at his +clothes. "Fact is--er--well, I've got to make a call." + +"A call--bless us! And are you really going to wear those gray gloves +you're holding there, Billie? Say, wait until you get around the corner. +They won't stand 'em on this street." + +"Oh, well," said Hawker, depreciating the gloves--"oh, well." + +The girl looked up at him. "Who you going to call on?" + +"Oh," said Hawker, "a friend." + +"Must be somebody most extraordinary, you look so dreadfully correct. +Come back, Billie, won't you? Come back and dine with us." + +"Why, I--I don't believe I can." + +"Oh, come on! It's fun when we all dine together. Won't you, Billie?" + +"Well, I----" + +"Oh, don't be so stupid!" The girl stamped her foot and flashed her eyes +at him angrily. + +"Well, I'll see--I will if I can--I can't tell----" He left her rather +precipitately. + +Hawker eventually appeared at a certain austere house where he rang the +bell with quite nervous fingers. + +But she was not at home. As he went down the steps his eyes were as +those of a man whose fortunes have tumbled upon him. As he walked down +the street he wore in some subtle way the air of a man who has been +grievously wronged. When he rounded the corner, his lips were set +strangely, as if he were a man seeking revenge. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + + +"It's just right," said Grief. + +"It isn't quite cool enough," said Wrinkles. + +"Well, I guess I know the proper temperature for claret." + +"Well, I guess you don't. If it was buttermilk, now, you would know, but +you can't tell anything about claret." + +Florinda ultimately decided the question. "It isn't quite cool enough," +she said, laying her hand on the bottle. "Put it on the window ledge, +Grief." + +"Hum! Splutter, I thought you knew more than----" + +"Oh, shut up!" interposed the busy Pennoyer from a remote corner. "Who +is going after the potato salad? That's what I want to know. Who is +going?" + +"Wrinkles," said Grief. + +"Grief," said Wrinkles. + +"There," said Pennoyer, coming forward and scanning a late work with an +eye of satisfaction. "There's the three glasses and the little tumbler; +and then, Grief, you will have to drink out of a mug." + +"I'll be double-dyed black if I will!" cried Grief. "I wouldn't drink +claret out of a mug to save my soul from being pinched!" + +"You duffer, you talk like a bloomin' British chump on whom the sun +never sets! What do you want?" + +"Well, there's enough without that--what's the matter with you? Three +glasses and the little tumbler." + +"Yes, but if Billie Hawker comes----" + +"Well, let him drink out of the mug, then. He----" + +"No, he won't," said Florinda suddenly. "I'll take the mug myself." + +"All right, Splutter," rejoined Grief meekly. "I'll keep the mug. But, +still, I don't see why Billie Hawker----" + +"I shall take the mug," reiterated Florinda firmly. + +"But I don't see why----" + +"Let her alone, Grief," said Wrinkles. "She has decided that it is +heroic. You can't move her now." + +"Well, who is going for the potato salad?" cried Pennoyer again. "That's +what I want to know." + +"Wrinkles," said Grief. + +"Grief," said Wrinkles. + +"Do you know," remarked Florinda, raising her head from where she had +been toiling over the _spaghetti_, "I don't care so much for Billie +Hawker as I did once?" Her sleeves were rolled above the elbows of her +wonderful arms, and she turned from the stove and poised a fork as if +she had been smitten at her task with this inspiration. + +There was a short silence, and then Wrinkles said politely, "No." + +"No," continued Florinda, "I really don't believe I do." She suddenly +started. "Listen! Isn't that him coming now?" + +The dull trample of a step could be heard in some distant corridor, but +it died slowly to silence. + +"I thought that might be him," she said, turning to the _spaghetti_ +again. + +"I hope the old Indian comes," said Pennoyer, "but I don't believe he +will. Seems to me he must be going to see----" + +"Who?" asked Florinda. + +"Well, you know, Hollanden and he usually dine together when they are +both in town." + +Florinda looked at Pennoyer. "I know, Penny. You must have thought I was +remarkably clever not to understand all your blundering. But I don't +care so much. Really I don't." + +"Of course not," assented Pennoyer. + +"Really I don't." + +"Of course not." + +"Listen!" exclaimed Grief, who was near the door. "There he comes now." +Somebody approached, whistling an air from "Traviata," which rang loud +and clear, and low and muffled, as the whistler wound among the +intricate hallways. This air was as much a part of Hawker as his coat. +The _spaghetti_ had arrived at a critical stage. Florinda gave it her +complete attention. + +When Hawker opened the door he ceased whistling and said gruffly, +"Hello!" + +"Just the man!" said Grief. "Go after the potato salad, will you, +Billie? There's a good boy! Wrinkles has refused." + +"He can't carry the salad with those gloves," interrupted Florinda, +raising her eyes from her work and contemplating them with displeasure. + +"Hang the gloves!" cried Hawker, dragging them from his hands and +hurling them at the divan. "What's the matter with you, Splutter?" + +Pennoyer said, "My, what a temper you are in, Billie!" + +"I am," replied Hawker. "I feel like an Apache. Where do you get this +accursed potato salad?" + +"In Second Avenue. You know where. At the old place." + +"No, I don't!" snapped Hawker. + +"Why----" + +"Here," said Florinda, "I'll go." She had already rolled down her +sleeves and was arraying herself in her hat and jacket. + +"No, you won't," said Hawker, filled with wrath. "I'll go myself." + +"We can both go, Billie, if you are so bent," replied the girl in a +conciliatory voice. + +"Well, come on, then. What are you standing there for?" + +When these two had departed, Wrinkles said: "Lordie! What's wrong with +Billie?" + +"He's been discussing art with some pot-boiler," said Grief, speaking +as if this was the final condition of human misery. + +"No, sir," said Pennoyer. "It's something connected with the now +celebrated violets." + +Out in the corridor Florinda said, "What--what makes you so ugly, +Billie?" + +"Why, I am not ugly, am I?" + +"Yes, you are--ugly as anything." + +Probably he saw a grievance in her eyes, for he said, "Well, I don't +want to be ugly." His tone seemed tender. The halls were intensely dark, +and the girl placed her hand on his arm. As they rounded a turn in the +stairs a straying lock of her hair brushed against his temple. "Oh!" +said Florinda, in a low voice. + +"We'll get some more claret," observed Hawker musingly. "And some cognac +for the coffee. And some cigarettes. Do you think of anything more, +Splutter?" + +As they came from the shop of the illustrious purveyors of potato salad +in Second Avenue, Florinda cried anxiously, "Here, Billie, you let me +carry that!" + +"What infernal nonsense!" said Hawker, flushing. "Certainly not!" + +"Well," protested Florinda, "it might soil your gloves somehow." + +"In heaven's name, what if it does? Say, young woman, do you think I am +one of these cholly boys?" + +"No, Billie; but then, you know----" + +"Well, if you don't take me for some kind of a Willie, give us peace on +this blasted glove business!" + +"I didn't mean----" + +"Well, you've been intimating that I've got the only pair of gray gloves +in the universe, but you are wrong. There are several pairs, and these +need not be preserved as unique in history." + +"They're not gray. They're----" + +"They are gray! I suppose your distinguished ancestors in Ireland did +not educate their families in the matter of gloves, and so you are not +expected to----" + +"Billie!" + +"You are not expected to believe that people wear gloves only in cold +weather, and then you expect to see mittens." + +On the stairs, in the darkness, he suddenly exclaimed, "Here, look out, +or you'll fall!" He reached for her arm, but she evaded him. Later he +said again: "Look out, girl! What makes you stumble around so? Here, +give me the bottle of wine. I can carry it all right. There--now can you +manage?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + + +"Penny," said Grief, looking across the table at his friend, "if a man +thinks a heap of two violets, how much would he think of a thousand +violets?" + +"Two into a thousand goes five hundred times, you fool!" said Pennoyer. +"I would answer your question if it were not upon a forbidden subject." + +In the distance Wrinkles and Florinda were making Welsh rarebits. + +"Hold your tongues!" said Hawker. "Barbarians!" + +"Grief," said Pennoyer, "if a man loves a woman better than the whole +universe, how much does he love the whole universe?" + +"Gawd knows," said Grief piously. "Although it ill befits me to answer +your question." + +Wrinkles and Florinda came with the Welsh rarebits, very triumphant. +"There," said Florinda, "soon as these are finished I must go home. It +is after eleven o'clock.--Pour the ale, Grief." + +At a later time, Purple Sanderson entered from the world. He hung up his +hat and cast a look of proper financial dissatisfaction at the remnants +of the feast. "Who has been----" + +"Before you breathe, Purple, you graceless scum, let me tell you that we +will stand no reference to the two violets here," said Pennoyer. + +"What the----" + +"Oh, that's all right, Purple," said Grief, "but you were going to say +something about the two violets, right then. Weren't you, now, you old +bat?" + +Sanderson grinned expectantly. "What's the row?" said he. + +"No row at all," they told him. "Just an agreement to keep you from +chattering obstinately about the two violets." + +"What two violets?" + +"Have a rarebit, Purple," advised Wrinkles, "and never mind those +maniacs." + +"Well, what is this business about two violets?" + +"Oh, it's just some dream. They gibber at anything." + +"I think I know," said Florinda, nodding. "It is something that concerns +Billie Hawker." + +Grief and Pennoyer scoffed, and Wrinkles said: "You know nothing about +it, Splutter. It doesn't concern Billie Hawker at all." + +"Well, then, what is he looking sideways for?" cried Florinda. + +Wrinkles reached for his guitar, and played a serenade, "The silver moon +is shining----" + +"Dry up!" said Pennoyer. + +Then Florinda cried again, "What does he look sideways for?" + +Pennoyer and Grief giggled at the imperturbable Hawker, who destroyed +rarebit in silence. + +"It's you, is it, Billie?" said Sanderson. "You are in this two-violet +business?" + +"I don't know what they're talking about," replied Hawker. + +"Don't you, honestly?" asked Florinda. + +"Well, only a little." + +"There!" said Florinda, nodding again. "I knew he was in it." + +"He isn't in it at all," said Pennoyer and Grief. + +Later, when the cigarettes had become exhausted, Hawker volunteered to +go after a further supply, and as he arose, a question seemed to come to +the edge of Florinda's lips and pend there. The moment that the door was +closed upon him she demanded, "What is that about the two violets?" + +"Nothing at all," answered Pennoyer, apparently much aggrieved. He sat +back with an air of being a fortress of reticence. + +"Oh, go on--tell me! Penny, I think you are very mean.--Grief, you tell +me!" + + "The silver moon is shining; + Oh, come, my love, to me! + My heart----" + +"Be still, Wrinkles, will you?--What was it, Grief? Oh, go ahead and +tell me!" + +"What do you want to know for?" cried Grief, vastly exasperated. "You've +got more blamed curiosity---- It isn't anything at all, I keep saying to +you." + +"Well, I know it is," said Florinda sullenly, "or you would tell me." + +When Hawker brought the cigarettes, Florinda smoked one, and then +announced, "Well, I must go now." + +"Who is going to take you home, Splutter?" + +"Oh, anyone," replied Florinda. + +"I tell you what," said Grief, "we'll throw some poker hands, and the +one who wins will have the distinguished honour of conveying Miss +Splutter to her home and mother." + +Pennoyer and Wrinkles speedily routed the dishes to one end of the +table. Grief's fingers spun the halves of a pack of cards together with +the pleased eagerness of a good player. The faces grew solemn with the +gambling solemnity. "Now, you Indians," said Grief, dealing, "a draw, +you understand, and then a show-down." + +Florinda leaned forward in her chair until it was poised on two legs. +The cards of Purple Sanderson and of Hawker were faced toward her. +Sanderson was gravely regarding two pair--aces and queens. Hawker +scanned a little pair of sevens. "They draw, don't they?" she said to +Grief. + +"Certainly," said Grief. "How many, Wrink?" + +"Four," replied Wrinkles, plaintively. + +"Gimme three," said Pennoyer. + +"Gimme one," said Sanderson. + +"Gimme three," said Hawker. When he picked up his hand again Florinda's +chair was tilted perilously. She saw another seven added to the little +pair. Sanderson's draw had not assisted him. + +"Same to the dealer," said Grief. "What you got, Wrink?" + +"Nothing," said Wrinkles, exhibiting it face upward on the table. +"Good-bye, Florinda." + +"Well, I've got two small pair," ventured Pennoyer hopefully. "Beat +'em?" + +"No good," said Sanderson. "Two pair--aces up." + +"No good," said Hawker. "Three sevens." + +"Beats me," said Grief. "Billie, you are the fortunate man. Heaven guide +you in Third Avenue!" + +Florinda had gone to the window. "Who won?" she asked, wheeling about +carelessly. + +"Billie Hawker." + +"What! Did he?" she said in surprise. + +"Never mind, Splutter. I'll win sometime," said Pennoyer. "Me too," +cried Grief. "Good night, old girl!" said Wrinkles. They crowded in the +doorway. "Hold on to Billie. Remember the two steps going up," Pennoyer +called intelligently into the Stygian blackness. "Can you see all +right?" + + * * * * * + +Florinda lived in a flat with fire-escapes written all over the front of +it. The street in front was being repaired. It had been said by imbecile +residents of the vicinity that the paving was never allowed to remain +down for a sufficient time to be invalided by the tramping millions, but +that it was kept perpetually stacked in little mountains through the +unceasing vigilance of a virtuous and heroic city government, which +insisted that everything should be repaired. The alderman for the +district had sometimes asked indignantly of his fellow-members why this +street had not been repaired, and they, aroused, had at once ordered it +to be repaired. Moreover, shopkeepers, whose stables were adjacent, +placed trucks and other vehicles strategically in the darkness. Into +this tangled midnight Hawker conducted Florinda. The great avenue behind +them was no more than a level stream of yellow light, and the distant +merry bells might have been boats floating down it. Grim loneliness hung +over the uncouth shapes in the street which was being repaired. + +"Billie," said the girl suddenly, "what makes you so mean to me?" + +A peaceful citizen emerged from behind a pile of _debris_, but he might +not have been a peaceful citizen, so the girl clung to Hawker. + +"Why, I'm not mean to you, am I?" + +"Yes," she answered. As they stood on the steps of the flat of +innumerable fire-escapes she slowly turned and looked up at him. Her +face was of a strange pallour in this darkness, and her eyes were as +when the moon shines in a lake of the hills. + +He returned her glance. "Florinda!" he cried, as if enlightened, and +gulping suddenly at something in his throat. The girl studied the steps +and moved from side to side, as do the guilty ones in country +schoolhouses. Then she went slowly into the flat. + +There was a little red lamp hanging on a pile of stones to warn people +that the street was being repaired. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + + +"I'll get my check from the Gamin on Saturday," said Grief. "They bought +that string of comics." + +"Well, then, we'll arrange the present funds to last until Saturday +noon," said Wrinkles. "That gives us quite a lot. We can have a _table +d'hote_ on Friday night." + +However, the cashier of the Gamin office looked under his respectable +brass wiring and said: "Very sorry, Mr.--er--Warwickson, but our pay-day +is Monday. Come around any time after ten." + +"Oh, it doesn't matter," said Grief. + +When he plunged into the den his visage flamed with rage. "Don't get my +check until Monday morning, any time after ten!" he yelled, and flung a +portfolio of mottled green into the danger zone of the casts. + +"Thunder!" said Pennoyer, sinking at once into a profound despair + +"Monday morning, any time after ten," murmured Wrinkles, in astonishment +and sorrow. + +While Grief marched to and fro threatening the furniture, Pennoyer and +Wrinkles allowed their under jaws to fall, and remained as men smitten +between the eyes by the god of calamity. + +"Singular thing!" muttered Pennoyer at last. "You get so frightfully +hungry as soon as you learn that there are no more meals coming." + +"Oh, well----" said Wrinkles. He took up his guitar. + + Oh, some folks say dat a niggah won' steal, + 'Way down yondeh in d' cohn'-fiel'; + But Ah caught two in my cohn'-fiel', + Way down yondeh in d' cohn'-fiel'. + +"Oh, let up!" said Grief, as if unwilling to be moved from his despair. + +"Oh, let up!" said Pennoyer, as if he disliked the voice and the ballad. + +In his studio, Hawker sat braced nervously forward on a little stool +before his tall Dutch easel. Three sketches lay on the floor near him, +and he glared at them constantly while painting at the large canvas on +the easel. + +He seemed engaged in some kind of a duel. His hair dishevelled, his eyes +gleaming, he was in a deadly scuffle. In the sketches was the landscape +of heavy blue, as if seen through powder-smoke, and all the skies burned +red. There was in these notes a sinister quality of hopelessness, +eloquent of a defeat, as if the scene represented the last hour on a +field of disastrous battle. Hawker seemed attacking with this picture +something fair and beautiful of his own life, a possession of his mind, +and he did it fiercely, mercilessly, formidably. His arm moved with the +energy of a strange wrath. He might have been thrusting with a sword. + +There was a knock at the door. "Come in." Pennoyer entered sheepishly. +"Well?" cried Hawker, with an echo of savagery in his voice. He turned +from the canvas precisely as one might emerge from a fight. "Oh!" he +said, perceiving Pennoyer. The glow in his eyes slowly changed. "What is +it, Penny?" + +"Billie," said Pennoyer, "Grief was to get his check to-day, but they +put him off until Monday, and so, you know--er--well----" + +"Oh!" said Hawker again. + +When Pennoyer had gone Hawker sat motionless before his work. He stared +at the canvas in a meditation so profound that it was probably +unconscious of itself. + +The light from above his head slanted more and more toward the east. + +Once he arose and lighted a pipe. He returned to the easel and stood +staring with his hands in his pockets. He moved like one in a sleep. +Suddenly the gleam shot into his eyes again. He dropped to the stool and +grabbed a brush. At the end of a certain long, tumultuous period he +clinched his pipe more firmly in his teeth and puffed strongly. The +thought might have occurred to him that it was not alight, for he looked +at it with a vague, questioning glance. There came another knock at the +door. "Go to the devil!" he shouted, without turning his head. + +Hollanden crossed the corridor then to the den. + +"Hi, there, Hollie! Hello, boy! Just the fellow we want to see. Come +in--sit down--hit a pipe. Say, who was the girl Billie Hawker went mad +over this summer?" + +"Blazes!" said Hollanden, recovering slowly from this onslaught. +"Who--what--how did you Indians find it out?" + +"Oh, we tumbled!" they cried in delight, "we tumbled." + +"There!" said Hollanden, reproaching himself. "And I thought you were +such a lot of blockheads." + +"Oh, we tumbled!" they cried again in their ecstasy. "But who is she? +That's the point." + +"Well, she was a girl." + +"Yes, go on." + +"A New York girl." + +"Yes." + +"A perfectly stunning New York girl." + +"Yes. Go ahead." + +"A perfectly stunning New York girl of a very wealthy and rather +old-fashioned family." + +"Well, I'll be shot! You don't mean it! She is practically seated on top +of the Matterhorn. Poor old Billie!" + +"Not at all," said Hollanden composedly. + +It was a common habit of Purple Sanderson to call attention at night to +the resemblance of the den to some little ward in a hospital. Upon this +night, when Sanderson and Grief were buried in slumber, Pennoyer moved +restlessly. "Wrink!" he called softly into the darkness in the direction +of the divan which was secretly a coal-box. + +"What?" said Wrinkles in a surly voice. His mind had evidently been +caught at the threshold of sleep. + +"Do you think Florinda cares much for Billie Hawker?" + +Wrinkles fretted through some oaths. "How in thunder do I know?" The +divan creaked as he turned his face to the wall. + +"Well----" muttered Pennoyer. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + + +The harmony of summer sunlight on leaf and blade of green was not known +to the two windows, which looked forth at an obviously endless building +of brownstone about which there was the poetry of a prison. Inside, +great folds of lace swept down in orderly cascades, as water trained to +fall mathematically. The colossal chandelier, gleaming like a Siamese +headdress, caught the subtle flashes from unknown places. + +Hawker heard a step and the soft swishing of a woman's dress. He turned +toward the door swiftly, with a certain dramatic impulsiveness. But when +she entered the room he said, "How delighted I am to see you again!" + +She had said, "Why, Mr. Hawker, it was so charming in you to come!" + +It did not appear that Hawker's tongue could wag to his purpose. The +girl seemed in her mind to be frantically shuffling her pack of social +receipts and finding none of them made to meet this situation. Finally, +Hawker said that he thought Hearts at War was a very good play. + +"Did you?" she said in surprise. "I thought it much like the others." + +"Well, so did I," he cried hastily--"the same figures moving around in +the mud of modern confusion. I really didn't intend to say that I liked +it. Fact is, meeting you rather moved me out of my mental track." + +"Mental track?" she said. "I didn't know clever people had mental +tracks. I thought it was a privilege of the theologians." + +"Who told you I was clever?" he demanded. + +"Why," she said, opening her eyes wider, "nobody." + +Hawker smiled and looked upon her with gratitude. "Of course, nobody. +There couldn't be such an idiot. I am sure you should be astonished to +learn that I believed such an imbecile existed. But----" + +"Oh!" she said. + +"But I think you might have spoken less bluntly." + +"Well," she said, after wavering for a time, "you are clever, aren't +you?" + +"Certainly," he answered reassuringly. + +"Well, then?" she retorted, with triumph in her tone. And this +interrogation was apparently to her the final victorious argument. + +At his discomfiture Hawker grinned. + +"You haven't asked news of Stanley," he said. "Why don't you ask news of +Stanley?" + +"Oh! and how was he?" + +"The last I saw of him he stood down at the end of the pasture--the +pasture, you know--wagging his tail in blissful anticipation of an +invitation to come with me, and when it finally dawned upon him that he +was not to receive it, he turned and went back toward the house 'like a +man suddenly stricken with age,' as the story-tellers eloquently say. +Poor old dog!" + +"And you left him?" she said reproachfully. Then she asked, "Do you +remember how he amused you playing with the ants at the falls?" + +"No." + +"Why, he did. He pawed at the moss, and you sat there laughing. I +remember it distinctly." + +"You remember distinctly? Why, I thought--well, your back was turned, +you know. Your gaze was fixed upon something before you, and you were +utterly lost to the rest of the world. You could not have known if +Stanley pawed the moss and I laughed. So, you see, you are mistaken. As +a matter of fact, I utterly deny that Stanley pawed the moss or that I +laughed, or that any ants appeared at the falls at all." + +"I have always said that you should have been a Chinese soldier of +fortune," she observed musingly. "Your daring and ingenuity would be +prized by the Chinese." + +"There are innumerable tobacco jars in China," he said, measuring the +advantages. "Moreover, there is no perspective. You don't have to walk +two miles to see a friend. No. He is always there near you, so that you +can't move a chair without hitting your distant friend. You----" + +"Did Hollie remain as attentive as ever to the Worcester girls?" + +"Yes, of course, as attentive as ever. He dragged me into all manner of +tennis games----" + +"Why, I thought you loved to play tennis?" + +"Oh, well," said Hawker, "I did until you left." + +"My sister has gone to the park with the children. I know she will be +vexed when she finds that you have called." + +Ultimately Hawker said, "Do you remember our ride behind my father's +oxen?" + +"No," she answered; "I had forgotten it completely. Did we ride behind +your father's oxen?" + +After a moment he said: "That remark would be prized by the Chinese. We +did. And you most graciously professed to enjoy it, which earned my deep +gratitude and admiration. For no one knows better than I," he added +meekly, "that it is no great comfort or pleasure to ride behind my +father's oxen." + +She smiled retrospectively. "Do you remember how the people on the porch +hurried to the railing?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + + +Near the door the stout proprietress sat intrenched behind the cash-box +in a Parisian manner. She looked with practical amiability at her +guests, who dined noisily and with great fire, discussing momentous +problems furiously, making wide, maniacal gestures through the cigarette +smoke. Meanwhile the little handful of waiters ran to and fro wildly. +Imperious and importunate cries rang at them from all directions. +"Gustave! Adolphe!" Their faces expressed a settled despair. They +answered calls, commands, oaths in a semi-distraction, fleeting among +the tables as if pursued by some dodging animal. Their breaths came in +gasps. If they had been convict labourers they could not have surveyed +their positions with countenances of more unspeakable injury. Withal, +they carried incredible masses of dishes and threaded their ways with +skill. They served people with such speed and violence that it often +resembled a personal assault. They struck two blows at a table and left +there a knife and fork. Then came the viands in a volley. The clatter of +this business was loud and bewilderingly rapid, like the gallop of a +thousand horses. + +In a remote corner a band of mandolins and guitars played the long, +sweeping, mad melody of a Spanish waltz. It seemed to go tingling to the +hearts of many of the diners. Their eyes glittered with enthusiasm, with +abandon, with deviltry. They swung their heads from side to side in +rhythmic movement. High in air curled the smoke from the innumerable +cigarettes. The long, black claret bottles were in clusters upon the +tables. At an end of the hall two men with maudlin grins sang the waltz +uproariously, but always a trifle belated. + +An unsteady person, leaning back in his chair to murmur swift +compliments to a woman at another table, suddenly sprawled out upon the +floor. He scrambled to his feet, and, turning to the escort of the +woman, heatedly blamed him for the accident. They exchanged a series of +tense, bitter insults, which spatted back and forth between them like +pellets. People arose from their chairs and stretched their necks. The +musicians stood in a body, their faces turned with expressions of keen +excitement toward this quarrel, but their fingers still twinkling over +their instruments, sending into the middle of this turmoil the +passionate, mad, Spanish music. The proprietor of the place came in +agitation and plunged headlong into the argument, where he thereafter +appeared as a frantic creature harried to the point of insanity, for +they buried him at once in long, vociferous threats, explanations, +charges, every form of declamation known to their voices. The music, the +noise of the galloping horses, the voices of the brawlers, gave the +whole thing the quality of war. + +There were two men in the _cafe_ who seemed to be tranquil. Hollanden +carefully stacked one lump of sugar upon another in the middle of his +saucer and poured cognac over them. He touched a match to the cognac and +the blue and yellow flames eddied in the saucer. "I wonder what those +two fools are bellowing at?" he said, turning about irritably. + +"Hanged if I know!" muttered Hawker in reply. "This place makes me +weary, anyhow. Hear the blooming din!" + +"What's the matter?" said Hollanden. "You used to say this was the one +natural, the one truly Bohemian, resort in the city. You swore by it." + +"Well, I don't like it so much any more." + +"Ho!" cried Hollanden, "you're getting correct--that's it exactly. You +will become one of these intensely---- Look, Billie, the little one is +going to punch him!" + +"No, he isn't. They never do," said Hawker morosely. "Why did you bring +me here to-night, Hollie?" + +"I? I bring you? Good heavens, I came as a concession to you! What are +you talking about?--Hi! the little one is going to punch him, sure!" + +He gave the scene his undivided attention for a moment; then he turned +again: "You will become correct. I know you will. I have been watching. +You are about to achieve a respectability that will make a stone saint +blush for himself. What's the matter with you? You act as if you thought +falling in love with a girl was a most extraordinary circumstance.--I +wish they would put those people out.--Of course I know that you---- +There! The little one has swiped at him at last!" + +After a time he resumed his oration. "Of course, I know that you are not +reformed in the matter of this uproar and this remarkable consumption of +bad wine. It is not that. It is a fact that there are indications that +some other citizen was fortunate enough to possess your napkin before +you; and, moreover, you are sure that you would hate to be caught by +your correct friends with any such _consomme_ in front of you as we had +to-night. You have got an eye suddenly for all kinds of gilt. You are in +the way of becoming a most unbearable person.--Oh, look! the little one +and the proprietor are having it now.--You are in the way of becoming a +most unbearable person. Presently many of your friends will not be fine +enough.--In heaven's name, why don't they throw him out? Are you going +to howl and gesticulate there all night?" + +"Well," said Hawker, "a man would be a fool if he did like this dinner." + +"Certainly. But what an immaterial part in the glory of this joint is +the dinner! Who cares about dinner? No one comes here to eat; that's +what you always claimed.--Well, there, at last they are throwing him +out. I hope he lands on his head.--Really, you know, Billie, it is such +a fine thing being in love that one is sure to be detestable to the rest +of the world, and that is the reason they created a proverb to the other +effect. You want to look out." + +"You talk like a blasted old granny!" said Hawker. "Haven't changed at +all. This place is all right, only----" + +"You are gone," interrupted Hollanden in a sad voice. "It is very +plain--you are gone." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + + +The proprietor of the place, having pushed to the street the little man, +who may have been the most vehement, came again and resumed the +discussion with the remainder of the men of war. Many of these had +volunteered, and they were very enduring. + +"Yes, you are gone," said Hollanden, with the sobriety of graves in his +voice. "You are gone.--Hi!" he cried, "there is Lucian Pontiac.--Hi, +Pontiac! Sit down here." + +A man with a tangle of hair, and with that about his mouth which showed +that he had spent many years in manufacturing a proper modesty with +which to bear his greatness, came toward them, smiling. + +"Hello, Pontiac!" said Hollanden. "Here's another great painter. Do you +know Mr. Hawker?--Mr. William Hawker--Mr. Pontiac." + +"Mr. Hawker--delighted," said Pontiac. "Although I have not known you +personally, I can assure you that I have long been a great admirer of +your abilities." + +The proprietor of the place and the men of war had at length agreed to +come to an amicable understanding. They drank liquors, while each +firmly, but now silently, upheld his dignity. + +"Charming place," said Pontiac. "So thoroughly Parisian in spirit. And +from time to time, Mr. Hawker, I use one of your models. Must say she +has the best arm and wrist in the universe. Stunning figure--stunning!" + +"You mean Florinda?" said Hawker. + +"Yes, that's the name. Very fine girl. Lunches with me from time to time +and chatters so volubly. That's how I learned you posed her +occasionally. If the models didn't gossip we would never know what +painters were addicted to profanity. Now that old Thorndike--he told me +you swore like a drill-sergeant if the model winked a finger at the +critical time. Very fine girl, Florinda. And honest, too--honest as the +devil. Very curious thing. Of course honesty among the girl models is +very common, very common--quite universal thing, you know--but then it +always strikes me as being very curious, very curious. I've been much +attracted by your girl Florinda." + +"My girl?" said Hawker. + +"Well, she always speaks of you in a proprietary way, you know. And then +she considers that she owes you some kind of obedience and allegiance +and devotion. I remember last week I said to her: 'You can go now. Come +again Friday.' But she said: 'I don't think I can come on Friday. Billie +Hawker is home now, and he may want me then.' Said I: 'The devil take +Billie Hawker! He hasn't engaged you for Friday, has he? Well, then, I +engage you now.' But she shook her head. No, she couldn't come on +Friday. Billie Hawker was home, and he might want her any day. 'Well, +then,' said I, 'you have my permission to do as you please, since you +are resolved upon it anyway. Go to your Billie Hawker.' Did you need her +on Friday?" + +"No," said Hawker. + +"Well, then, the minx, I shall scold her. Stunning figure--stunning! It +was only last week that old Charley Master said to me mournfully: +'There are no more good models. Great Scott! not a one.' 'You're 'way +off, my boy,' I said; 'there is one good model,' and then I named your +girl. I mean the girl who claims to be yours." + +"Poor little beggar!" said Hollanden. + +"Who?" said Pontiac. + +"Florinda," answered Hollanden. "I suppose----" + +Pontiac interrupted. "Oh, of course, it is too bad. Everything is too +bad. My dear sir, nothing is so much to be regretted as the universe. +But this Florinda is such a sturdy young soul! The world is against her, +but, bless your heart, she is equal to the battle. She is strong in the +manner of a little child. Why, you don't know her. She----" + +"I know her very well." + +"Well, perhaps you do, but for my part I think you don't appreciate her +formidable character and stunning figure--stunning!" + +"Damn it!" said Hawker to his coffee cup, which he had accidentally +overturned. + +"Well," resumed Pontiac, "she is a stunning model, and I think, Mr. +Hawker, you are to be envied." + +"Eh?" said Hawker. + +"I wish I could inspire my models with such obedience and devotion. Then +I would not be obliged to rail at them for being late, and have to +badger them for not showing up at all. She has a beautiful +figure--beautiful." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + + +When Hawker went again to the house of the great window he looked first +at the colossal chandelier, and, perceiving that it had not moved, he +smiled in a certain friendly and familiar way. + +"It must be a fine thing," said the girl dreamily. "I always feel +envious of that sort of life." + +"What sort of life?" + +"Why--I don't know exactly; but there must be a great deal of freedom +about it. I went to a studio tea once, and----" + +"A studio tea! Merciful heavens---- Go on." + +"Yes, a studio tea. Don't you like them? To be sure, we didn't know +whether the man could paint very well, and I suppose you think it is an +imposition for anyone who is not a great painter to give a tea." + +"Go on." + +"Well, he had the dearest little Japanese servants, and some of the cups +came from Algiers, and some from Turkey, and some from---- What's the +matter?" + +"Go on. I'm not interrupting you." + +"Well, that's all; excepting that everything was charming in colour, and +I thought what a lazy, beautiful life the man must lead, lounging in +such a studio, smoking monogrammed cigarettes, and remarking how badly +all the other men painted." + +"Very fascinating. But----" + +"Oh! you are going to ask if he could draw. I'm sure I don't know, but +the tea that he gave was charming." + +"I was on the verge of telling you something about artist life, but if +you have seen a lot of draperies and drunk from a cup of Algiers, you +know all about it." + +"You, then, were going to make it something very terrible, and tell how +young painters struggled, and all that." + +"No, not exactly. But listen: I suppose there is an aristocracy who, +whether they paint well or paint ill, certainly do give charming teas, +as you say, and all other kinds of charming affairs too; but when I +hear people talk as if that was the whole life, it makes my hair rise, +you know, because I am sure that as they get to know me better and +better they will see how I fall short of that kind of an existence, and +I shall probably take a great tumble in their estimation. They might +even conclude that I can not paint, which would be very unfair, because +I can paint, you know." + +"Well, proceed to arrange my point of view, so that you sha'n't tumble +in my estimation when I discover that you don't lounge in a studio, +smoke monogrammed cigarettes, and remark how badly the other men paint." + +"That's it. That's precisely what I wish to do." + +"Begin." + +"Well, in the first place----" + +"In the first place--what?" + +"Well, I started to study when I was very poor, you understand. Look +here! I'm telling you these things because I want you to know, somehow. +It isn't that I'm not ashamed of it. Well, I began very poor, and I--as +a matter of fact--I--well, I earned myself over half the money for my +studying, and the other half I bullied and badgered and beat out of my +poor old dad. I worked pretty hard in Paris, and I returned here +expecting to become a great painter at once. I didn't, though. In fact, +I had my worst moments then. It lasted for some years. Of course, the +faith and endurance of my father were by this time worn to a +shadow--this time, when I needed him the most. However, things got a +little better and a little better, until I found that by working quite +hard I could make what was to me a fair income. That's where I am now, +too." + +"Why are you so ashamed of this story?" + +"The poverty." + +"Poverty isn't anything to be ashamed of." + +"Great heavens! Have you the temerity to get off that old nonsensical +remark? Poverty is everything to be ashamed of. Did you ever see a +person not ashamed of his poverty? Certainly not. Of course, when a man +gets very rich he will brag so loudly of the poverty of his youth that +one would never suppose that he was once ashamed of it. But he was." + +"Well, anyhow, you shouldn't be ashamed of the story you have just told +me." + +"Why not? Do you refuse to allow me the great right of being like other +men?" + +"I think it was--brave, you know." + +"Brave? Nonsense! Those things are not brave. Impression to that effect +created by the men who have been through the mill for the greater glory +of the men who have been through the mill." + +"I don't like to hear you talk that way. It sounds wicked, you know." + +"Well, it certainly wasn't heroic. I can remember distinctly that there +was not one heroic moment." + +"No, but it was--it was----" + +"It was what?" + +"Well, somehow I like it, you know." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + + +"There's three of them," said Grief in a hoarse whisper. + +"Four, I tell you!" said Wrinkles in a low, excited tone. + +"Four," breathed Pennoyer with decision. + +They held fierce pantomimic argument. From the corridor came sounds of +rustling dresses and rapid feminine conversation. + +Grief had kept his ear to the panel of the door. His hand was stretched +back, warning the others to silence. Presently he turned his head and +whispered, "Three." + +"Four," whispered Pennoyer and Wrinkles. + +"Hollie is there, too," whispered Grief. "Billie is unlocking the door. +Now they're going in. Hear them cry out, 'Oh, isn't it lovely!' Jinks!" +He began a noiseless dance about the room. "Jinks! Don't I wish I had a +big studio and a little reputation! Wouldn't I have my swell friends +come to see me, and wouldn't I entertain 'em!" He adopted a descriptive +manner, and with his forefinger indicated various spaces of the wall. +"Here is a little thing I did in Brittany. Peasant woman in sabots. This +brown spot here is the peasant woman, and those two white things are the +sabots. Peasant woman in sabots, don't you see? Women in Brittany, of +course, all wear sabots, you understand. Convenience of the painters. I +see you are looking at that little thing I did in Morocco. Ah, you +admire it? Well, not so bad--not so bad. Arab smoking pipe, squatting in +doorway. This long streak here is the pipe. Clever, you say? Oh, thanks! +You are too kind. Well, all Arabs do that, you know. Sole occupation. +Convenience of the painters. Now, this little thing here I did in +Venice. Grand Canal, you know. Gondolier leaning on his oar. Convenience +of the painters. Oh, yes, American subjects are well enough, but hard to +find, you know--hard to find. Morocco, Venice, Brittany, Holland--all +oblige with colour, you know--quaint form--all that. We are so hideously +modern over here; and, besides, nobody has painted us much. How the +devil can I paint America when nobody has done it before me? My dear +sir, are you aware that that would be originality? Good heavens! we are +not aesthetic, you understand. Oh, yes, some good mind comes along and +understands a thing and does it, and after that it is aesthetic. Yes, of +course, but then--well---- Now, here is a little Holland thing of mine; +it----" + +The others had evidently not been heeding him. "Shut up!" said Wrinkles +suddenly. "Listen!" Grief paused his harangue and they sat in silence, +their lips apart, their eyes from time to time exchanging eloquent +messages. A dulled melodious babble came from Hawker's studio. + +At length Pennoyer murmured wistfully, "I would like to see her." + +Wrinkles started noiselessly to his feet. "Well, I tell you she's a +peach. I was going up the steps, you know, with a loaf of bread under my +arm, when I chanced to look up the street and saw Billie and Hollanden +coming with four of them." + +"Three," said Grief. + +"Four; and I tell you I scattered. One of the two with Billie was a +peach--a peach." + +"O, Lord!" groaned the others enviously. "Billie's in luck." + +"How do you know?" said Wrinkles. "Billie is a blamed good fellow, but +that doesn't say she will care for him--more likely that she won't." + +They sat again in silence, grinning, and listening to the murmur of +voices. + +There came the sound of a step in the hallway. It ceased at a point +opposite the door of Hawker's studio. Presently it was heard again. +Florinda entered the den. "Hello!" she cried, "who is over in Billie's +place? I was just going to knock----" + +They motioned at her violently. "Sh!" they whispered. Their countenances +were very impressive. + +"What's the matter with you fellows?" asked Florinda in her ordinary +tone; whereupon they made gestures of still greater wildness. "S-s-sh!" + +Florinda lowered her voice properly. "Who is over there?" + +"Some swells," they whispered. + +Florinda bent her head. Presently she gave a little start. "Who is over +there?" Her voice became a tone of deep awe. "She?" + +Wrinkles and Grief exchanged a swift glance. Pennoyer said gruffly, "Who +do you mean?" + +"Why," said Florinda, "you know. She. The--the girl that Billie likes." + +Pennoyer hesitated for a moment and then said wrathfully: "Of course she +is! Who do you suppose?" + +"Oh!" said Florinda. She took a seat upon the divan, which was privately +a coal-box, and unbuttoned her jacket at the throat. "Is she--is +she--very handsome, Wrink?" + +Wrinkles replied stoutly, "No." + +Grief said: "Let's make a sneak down the hall to the little unoccupied +room at the front of the building and look from the window there. When +they go out we can pipe 'em off." + +"Come on!" they exclaimed, accepting this plan with glee. + +Wrinkles opened the door and seemed about to glide away, when he +suddenly turned and shook his head. "It's dead wrong," he said, +ashamed. + +"Oh, go on!" eagerly whispered the others. Presently they stole +pattering down the corridor, grinning, exclaiming, and cautioning each +other. + +At the window Pennoyer said: "Now, for heaven's sake, don't let them see +you!--Be careful, Grief, you'll tumble.--Don't lean on me that way, +Wrink; think I'm a barn door? Here they come. Keep back. Don't let them +see you." + +"O-o-oh!" said Grief. "Talk about a peach! Well, I should say so." + +Florinda's fingers tore at Wrinkle's coat sleeve. "Wrink, Wrink, is that +her? Is that her? On the left of Billie? Is that her, Wrink?" + +"What? Yes. Stop punching me! Yes, I tell you! That's her. Are you +deaf?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + + +In the evening Pennoyer conducted Florinda to the flat of many +fire-escapes. After a period of silent tramping through the great golden +avenue and the street that was being repaired, she said, "Penny, you are +very good to me." + +"Why?" said Pennoyer. + +"Oh, because you are. You--you are very good to me, Penny." + +"Well, I guess I'm not killing myself." + +"There isn't many fellows like you." + +"No?" + +"No. There isn't many fellows like you, Penny. I tell you 'most +everything, and you just listen, and don't argue with me and tell me I'm +a fool, because you know that it--because you know that it can't be +helped, anyhow." + +"Oh, nonsense, you kid! Almost anybody would be glad to----" + +"Penny, do you think she is very beautiful?" Florinda's voice had a +singular quality of awe in it. + +"Well," replied Pennoyer, "I don't know." + +"Yes, you do, Penny. Go ahead and tell me." + +"Well----" + +"Go ahead." + +"Well, she is rather handsome, you know." + +"Yes," said Florinda, dejectedly, "I suppose she is." After a time she +cleared her throat and remarked indifferently, "I suppose Billie cares a +lot for her?" + +"Oh, I imagine that he does--in a way." + +"Why, of course he does," insisted Florinda. "What do you mean by 'in a +way'? You know very well that Billie thinks his eyes of her." + +"No, I don't." + +"Yes, you do. You know you do. You are talking in that way just to brace +me up. You know you are." + +"No, I'm not." + +"Penny," said Florinda thankfully, "what makes you so good to me?" + +"Oh, I guess I'm not so astonishingly good to you. Don't be silly." + +"But you are good to me, Penny. You don't make fun of me the way--the +way the other boys would. You are just as good as you can be.--But you +do think she is beautiful, don't you?" + +"They wouldn't make fun of you," said Pennoyer. + +"But do you think she is beautiful?" + +"Look here, Splutter, let up on that, will you? You keep harping on one +string all the time. Don't bother me!" + +"But, honest now, Penny, you do think she is beautiful?" + +"Well, then, confound it--no! no! no!" + +"Oh, yes, you do, Penny. Go ahead now. Don't deny it just because you +are talking to me. Own up, now, Penny. You do think she is beautiful?" + +"Well," said Pennoyer, in a dull roar of irritation, "do you?" + +Florinda walked in silence, her eyes upon the yellow flashes which +lights sent to the pavement. In the end she said, "Yes." + +"Yes, what?" asked Pennoyer sharply. + +"Yes, she--yes, she is--beautiful." + +"Well, then?" cried Pennoyer, abruptly closing the discussion. + +Florinda announced something as a fact. "Billie thinks his eyes of her." + +"How do you know he does?" + +"Don't scold at me, Penny. You--you----" + +"I'm not scolding at you. There! What a goose you are, Splutter! Don't, +for heaven's sake, go to whimpering on the street! I didn't say anything +to make you feel that way. Come, pull yourself together." + +"I'm not whimpering." + +"No, of course not; but then you look as if you were on the edge of it. +What a little idiot!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + + +When the snow fell upon the clashing life of the city, the exiled +stones, beaten by myriad strange feet, were told of the dark, silent +forests where the flakes swept through the hemlocks and swished softly +against the boulders. + +In his studio Hawker smoked a pipe, clasping his knee with thoughtful, +interlocked fingers. He was gazing sourly at his finished picture. Once +he started to his feet with a cry of vexation. Looking back over his +shoulder, he swore an insult into the face of the picture. He paced to +and fro, smoking belligerently and from time to time eying it. The +helpless thing remained upon the easel, facing him. + +Hollanden entered and stopped abruptly at sight of the great scowl. +"What's wrong now?" he said. + +Hawker gestured at the picture. "That dunce of a thing. It makes me +tired. It isn't worth a hang. Blame it!" + +"What?" Hollanden strode forward and stood before the painting with legs +apart, in a properly critical manner. "What? Why, you said it was your +best thing." + +"Aw!" said Hawker, waving his arms, "it's no good! I abominate it! I +didn't get what I wanted, I tell you. I didn't get what I wanted. That?" +he shouted, pointing thrust-way at it--"that? It's vile! Aw! it makes me +weary." + +"You're in a nice state," said Hollanden, turning to take a critical +view of the painter. "What has got into you now? I swear, you are more +kinds of a chump!" + +Hawker crooned dismally: "I can't paint! I can't paint for a damn! I'm +no good. What in thunder was I invented for, anyhow, Hollie?" + +"You're a fool," said Hollanden. "I hope to die if I ever saw such a +complete idiot! You give me a pain. Just because she don't----" + +"It isn't that. She has nothing to do with it, although I know well +enough--I know well enough----" + +"What?" + +"I know well enough she doesn't care a hang for me. It isn't that. It is +because--it is because I can't paint. Look at that thing over there! +Remember the thought and energy I---- Damn the thing!" + +"Why, did you have a row with her?" asked Hollanden, perplexed. "I +didn't know----" + +"No, of course you didn't know," cried Hawker, sneering; "because I had +no row. It isn't that, I tell you. But I know well enough"--he shook his +fist vaguely--"that she don't care an old tomato can for me. Why should +she?" he demanded with a curious defiance. "In the name of Heaven, why +should she?" + +"I don't know," said Hollanden; "I don't know, I'm sure. But, then, +women have no social logic. This is the great blessing of the world. +There is only one thing which is superior to the multiplicity of social +forms, and that is a woman's mind--a young woman's mind. Oh, of course, +sometimes they are logical, but let a woman be so once, and she will +repent of it to the end of her days. The safety of the world's balance +lies in woman's illogical mind. I think----" + +"Go to blazes!" said Hawker. "I don't care what you think. I am sure of +one thing, and that is that she doesn't care a hang for me!" + +"I think," Hollanden continued, "that society is doing very well in its +work of bravely lawing away at Nature; but there is one immovable +thing--a woman's illogical mind. That is our safety. Thank Heaven, +it----" + +"Go to blazes!" said Hawker again. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + + +As Hawker again entered the room of the great windows he glanced in +sidelong bitterness at the chandelier. When he was seated he looked at +it in open defiance and hatred. + +Men in the street were shovelling at the snow. The noise of their +instruments scraping on the stones came plainly to Hawker's ears in a +harsh chorus, and this sound at this time was perhaps to him a +_miserere_. + +"I came to tell you," he began, "I came to tell you that perhaps I am +going away." + +"Going away!" she cried. "Where?" + +"Well, I don't know--quite. You see, I am rather indefinite as yet. I +thought of going for the winter somewhere in the Southern States. I am +decided merely this much, you know--I am going somewhere. But I don't +know where. 'Way off, anyhow." + +"We shall be very sorry to lose you," she remarked. "We----" + +"And I thought," he continued, "that I would come and say 'adios' now +for fear that I might leave very suddenly. I do that sometimes. I'm +afraid you will forget me very soon, but I want to tell you that----" + +"Why," said the girl in some surprise, "you speak as if you were going +away for all time. You surely do not mean to utterly desert New York?" + +"I think you misunderstand me," he said. "I give this important air to +my farewell to you because to me it is a very important event. Perhaps +you recollect that once I told you that I cared for you. Well, I still +care for you, and so I can only go away somewhere--some place 'way +off--where--where---- See?" + +"New York is a very large place," she observed. + +"Yes, New York is a very large---- How good of you to remind me! But +then you don't understand. You can't understand. I know I can find no +place where I will cease to remember you, but then I can find some place +where I can cease to remember in a way that I am myself. I shall never +try to forget you. Those two violets, you know--one I found near the +tennis court and the other you gave me, you remember--I shall take them +with me." + +"Here," said the girl, tugging at her gown for a moment--"Here! Here's a +third one." She thrust a violet toward him. + +"If you were not so serenely insolent," said Hawker, "I would think that +you felt sorry for me. I don't wish you to feel sorry for me. And I +don't wish to be melodramatic. I know it is all commonplace enough, and +I didn't mean to act like a tenor. Please don't pity me." + +"I don't," she replied. She gave the violet a little fling. + +Hawker lifted his head suddenly and glowered at her. "No, you don't," he +at last said slowly, "you don't. Moreover, there is no reason why you +should take the trouble. But----" + +He paused when the girl leaned and peered over the arm of her chair +precisely in the manner of a child at the brink of a fountain. "There's +my violet on the floor," she said. "You treated it quite +contemptuously, didn't you?" + +"Yes." + +Together they stared at the violet. Finally he stooped and took it in +his fingers. "I feel as if this third one was pelted at me, but I shall +keep it. You are rather a cruel person, but, Heaven guard us! that only +fastens a man's love the more upon a woman." + +She laughed. "That is not a very good thing to tell a woman." + +"No," he said gravely, "it is not, but then I fancy that somebody may +have told you previously." + +She stared at him, and then said, "I think you are revenged for my +serene insolence." + +"Great heavens, what an armour!" he cried. "I suppose, after all, I did +feel a trifle like a tenor when I first came here, but you have chilled +it all out of me. Let's talk upon indifferent topics." But he started +abruptly to his feet. "No," he said, "let us not talk upon indifferent +topics. I am not brave, I assure you, and it--it might be too much for +me." He held out his hand. "Good-bye." + +"You are going?" + +"Yes, I am going. Really I didn't think how it would bore you for me to +come around here and croak in this fashion." + +"And you are not coming back for a long, long time?" + +"Not for a long, long time." He mimicked her tone. "I have the three +violets now, you know, and you must remember that I took the third one +even when you flung it at my head. That will remind you how submissive I +was in my devotion. When you recall the two others it will remind you of +what a fool I was. Dare say you won't miss three violets." + +"No," she said. + +"Particularly the one you flung at my head. That violet was certainly +freely--given." + +"I didn't fling it at your head." She pondered for a time with her eyes +upon the floor. Then she murmured, "No more freely--given than the one I +gave you that night--that night at the inn." + +"So very good of you to tell me so!" + +Her eyes were still upon the floor. + +"Do you know," said Hawker, "it is very hard to go away and leave an +impression in your mind that I am a fool? That is very hard. Now, you +do think I am a fool, don't you?" + +She remained silent. Once she lifted her eyes and gave him a swift look +with much indignation in it. + +"Now you are enraged. Well, what have I done?" + +It seemed that some tumult was in her mind, for she cried out to him at +last in sudden tearfulness: "Oh, do go! Go! Please! I want you to go!" + +Under this swift change Hawker appeared as a man struck from the sky. He +sprang to his feet, took two steps forward, and spoke a word which was +an explosion of delight and amazement. He said, "What?" + +With heroic effort she slowly raised her eyes until, alight with anger, +defiance, unhappiness, they met his eyes. + +Later, she told him that he was perfectly ridiculous. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE THIRD VIOLET*** + + +******* This file should be named 19593.txt or 19593.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/9/5/9/19593 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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