diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-8.txt | 4023 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-8.zip | bin | 0 -> 63799 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h.zip | bin | 0 -> 783736 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/24426-h.htm | 5135 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/bottom091.png | bin | 0 -> 9498 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/capA.gif | bin | 0 -> 3460 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/capB.gif | bin | 0 -> 2667 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/capD.gif | bin | 0 -> 2443 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/capH.gif | bin | 0 -> 2856 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/capI.gif | bin | 0 -> 2541 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/capM.gif | bin | 0 -> 3381 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/capN.gif | bin | 0 -> 3173 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/capS.gif | bin | 0 -> 3441 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/capT.gif | bin | 0 -> 2811 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/capW.gif | bin | 0 -> 3481 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 0 -> 23411 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/dots.gif | bin | 0 -> 110 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/frontis.jpg | bin | 0 -> 38847 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/ip03.png | bin | 0 -> 19289 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/ip04.png | bin | 0 -> 21467 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/ip05.png | bin | 0 -> 29174 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/ip10.png | bin | 0 -> 17849 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/ip11.png | bin | 0 -> 22846 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/ip12.png | bin | 0 -> 14864 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/ip15.png | bin | 0 -> 13629 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/ip16.png | bin | 0 -> 18213 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/ip17.png | bin | 0 -> 54391 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/ip18.png | bin | 0 -> 30983 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/ip19.png | bin | 0 -> 57918 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/ip20.png | bin | 0 -> 13297 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/pic012.png | bin | 0 -> 18695 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/pic032.png | bin | 0 -> 6788 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/pic085.png | bin | 0 -> 17993 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/pic092.png | bin | 0 -> 9071 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/pic104.png | bin | 0 -> 9969 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/pic119.png | bin | 0 -> 19830 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/pic133.png | bin | 0 -> 23148 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/plate1.jpg | bin | 0 -> 49507 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/plate2.jpg | bin | 0 -> 55229 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/plate3.jpg | bin | 0 -> 65318 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426-h/images/titlepage.png | bin | 0 -> 18250 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426.txt | 4023 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 24426.zip | bin | 0 -> 63598 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 |
46 files changed, 13197 insertions, 0 deletions
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/24426-8.txt b/24426-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4ceb0f7 --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4023 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Iole, by Robert W. Chambers + +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: Iole + +Author: Robert W. Chambers + +Illustrator: Arthur C. Becker + +Release Date: January 25, 2008 [EBook #24426] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IOLE *** + + + + +Produced by Louise Hope, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + + +WORKS OF ROBERT W. CHAMBERS + + Cardigan A King and a Few Dukes + The Maid-at-Arms The Conspirators + The Reckoning The Cambric Mask + Lorraine The Haunts of Men + Maids of Paradise Outsiders + Ashes of Empire A Young Man in a Hurry + The Red Republic In Search of the Unknown + The King in Yellow In the Quarter + The Maker of Moons The Mystery of Choice + Iole + + +FOR CHILDREN + + Outdoor-Land River-Land + Orchard-Land Forest-Land + + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration] + + + + +IOLE + + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration: + "The little things," he continued, delicately perforating + the atmosphere as though selecting a diatom.] + + + + +IOLE + +By + +ROBERT W. CHAMBERS + + + [Illustration] + + + D. APPLETON & CO. + New York MDCCCCV + + + [Illustration] + +Copyright, 1905, by + +ROBERT W. CHAMBERS + + +_Published May, 1905_ + + + + +TO + +GEORGE HORACE LORIMER + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration] + + + + +PREFACE + + +Does anybody remember the opera of _The Inca_, and that heartbreaking +episode where the Court Undertaker, in a morbid desire to increase his +professional skill, deliberately accomplishes the destruction of his +middle-aged relatives in order to inter them for the sake of practise? + +If I recollect, his dismal confession runs something like this: + + "It was in a bleak November + When I slew them, I remember, + As I caught them unawares + Drinking tea in rocking-chairs." + +And so he talked them to death, the subject being "What Really is Art?" +Afterward he was sorry-- + + "The squeak of a door, + The creak of the floor, + My horrors and fears enhance; + And I wake with a scream + As I hear in my dream + The shrieks of my maiden aunts!" + +Now it is a very dreadful thing to suggest that those highly respectable +pseudo-spinsters, the Sister Arts, supposedly cozily immune in their +polygamous chastity (for every suitor for favor is popularly expected to +be wedded to his particular art)--I repeat, it is very dreadful to +suggest that these impeccable old ladies are in danger of being talked +to death. + +But the talkers are talking and Art Nouveau rockers are rocking, and the +trousers of the prophet are patched with stained glass, and it is a day +of dinkiness and of thumbs. + +Let us find comfort in the ancient proverb: "Art talked to death shall +rise again." Let us also recollect that "Dinky is as dinky does"; that +"All is not Shaw that Bernards"; that "Better Yeates than Clever"; that +words are so inexpensive that there is no moral crime in robbing Henry +to pay James. + +Firmly believing all this, abjuring all atom-pickers, slab furniture, +and woodchuck literature--save only the immortal verse: + + "And there the wooden-chuck doth tread; + While from the oak trees' tops + The red, red squirrel on thy head + The frequent acorn drops." + +Abjuring, as I say, dinkiness in all its forms, we may still hope that +those cleanly and respectable spinsters, the Sister Arts, will continue +throughout the ages, rocking and drinking tea unterrified by the +million-tongued clamor in the back yard and below stairs, where thumb +and forefinger continue the question demanded by intellectual +exhaustion: "L'arr! Kesker say l'arr?" + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration] + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE + I 1 + II 12 + III 21 + IV 32 + V 41 + VI 48 + VII 52 + VIII 62 + IX 73 + X 85 + XI 92 + XII 100 + XIII 104 + XIV 111 + XV 119 + XVI 133 + XVII 138 + + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration] + + + + +FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS + + FACING PAGE + + "The little things," he continued, + delicately perforating the atmosphere + as though selecting a diatom. + _Frontispiece_ + From a drawing by J. C. Leyendecker. + + + "Simplicity," breathed Guilford--"a single + blossom against a background of nothing at all" + 22 + From a drawing by J. C. Leyendecker. + + + He paused; his six tall and blooming daughters, + two and two behind him + 54 + From a drawing by Karl Anderson. + + + Aphrodite's slender fingers, barely resting + on the harp-strings, suddenly contracted + in a nervous tremor + 106 + From a drawing by Karl Anderson. + + + _Decorative drawings by Arthur C. Becker._ + + + [Illustration] + + + + +IOLE + +I + + [Illustration] + + +"I ain't never knowed no one like him," continued the station-agent +reflectively. "He made us all look like monkeys, but he was good to us. +Ever see a ginuine poet, sir?" + +"Years ago one was pointed out to me," replied Briggs. + +"Was yours smooth shaved, with large, fat, white fingers?" inquired the +station-agent. + +"If I remember correctly, he was thin," said Briggs, sitting down on his +suit-case and gazing apprehensively around at the landscape. There was +nothing to see but low, forbidding mountains, and forests, and a +railroad track curving into a tunnel. + +The station-agent shoved his hairy hands into the pockets of his +overalls, jingled an unseen bunch of keys, and chewed a dry grass stem, +ruminating the while in an undertone: + +"This poet come here five years ago with all them kids, an' the fust +thing he done was to dress up his girls in boys' pants. Then he went an' +built a humpy sort o' house out of stones and boulders. Then he went to +work an' wrote pieces for the papers about jay-birds an' woodchucks an' +goddesses. He claimed the woods was full of goddesses. That was his way, +sir." + +The agent contemplated the railroad track, running his eye along the +perspective of polished rails: + +"Yes, sir; his name was--and is--Clarence Guilford, an' I fust seen it +signed to a piece in the Uticy Star. An' next I knowed, folks began to +stop off here inquirin' for Mr. Guilford. 'Is this here where Guilford, +the poet, lives?' sez they; an' they come thicker an' thicker in warm +weather. There wasn't no wagon to take 'em up to Guilford's, but they +didn't care, an' they called it a lit'r'y shrine, an' they hit the pike, +women, children, men--'speshil the women, an' I heard 'em tellin' how +Guilford dressed his kids in pants an' how Guilford was a famous new +lit'r'y poet, an' they said he was fixin' to lecture in Uticy." + +The agent gnawed off the chewed portion of the grass stem, readjusted +it, and fixed his eyes on vacancy. + +"Three year this went on. Mr. Guilford was makin' his pile, I guess. +He set up a shop an' hired art bookbinders from York. Then he set up +another shop an' hired some of us 'round here to go an' make them big, +slabby art-chairs. All his shops was called "At the sign of" somethin' +'r other. Bales of vellum arrived for to bind little dinky books; art +rocking-chairs was shipped out o' here by the carload. Meanwhile +Guilford he done poetry on the side an' run a magazine; an' hearin' the +boys was makin' big money up in that crank community, an' that the town +was boomin', I was plum fool enough to drop my job here an' be a +art-worker up to Rose-Cross--that's where the shops was; 'bout three +mile back of his house into the woods." + +The agent removed his hands from his overalls and folded his arms +grimly. + +"Well?" inquired Briggs, looking up from his perch on the suit-case. + +"Well, sir," continued the agent, "the hull thing bust. I guess the +public kinder sickened o' them art-rockers an' dinky books without much +printin' into them. Guilford he stuck to it noble, but the shops closed +one by one. My wages wasn't paid for three months; the boys that +remained got together that autumn an' fixed it up to quit in a bunch. + +"The poet was sad; he come out to the shops an' he says, 'Boys,' sez he, +'art is long an' life is dam brief. I ain't got the cash, but,' sez he, +'you can levy onto them art-rockers an' the dinky vellum books in stock, +an',' sez he, 'you can take the hand-presses an' the tools an' bales o' +vellum, which is very precious, an' all the wagons an' hosses, an' go +sell 'em in that proud world that refuses to receive my message. The +woodland fellowship is rent,' sez he, wavin' his plump fingers at us +with the rings sparklin' on 'em. + +"Then the boys looked glum, an' they nudged me an' kinder shoved me +front. So, bein' elected, I sez, 'Friend,' sez I, 'art is on the bum. It +ain't your fault; the boys is sad an' sorrerful, but they ain't never +knocked you to nobody, Mr. Guilford. You was good to us; you done your +damdest. You made up pieces for the magazines an' papers an' you +advertised how we was all cranks together here at Rose-Cross, a-lovin' +Nature an' dicky-birds, an' wanderin' about half nood for art's sake. + +"'Mr. Guilford,' sez I, 'that gilt brick went. But it has went as far as +it can travel an' is now reposin' into the soup. Git wise or eat hay, +sir. Art is on the blink.'" + +The agent jingled his keys with a melancholy wink at Briggs. + +"So I come back here, an' thankful to hold down this job. An' five mile +up the pike is that there noble poet an' his kids a-makin' up pieces for +to sell to the papers, an' a sorrerin' over the cold world what refuses +to buy his poems--an' a mortgage onto his house an' a threat to +foreclose." + +"Indeed," said Briggs dreamily, for it was his business to attend to the +foreclosure of the mortgage on the poet's house. + +"Was you fixin' to go up an' see the place?" inquired the agent. + +"Shall I be obliged to walk?" + +"I guess you will if you can't flutter," replied the agent. "I ain't got +no wagon an' no horse." + +"How far is it?" + +"Five mile, sir." + +With a groan Mr. Briggs arose, lifted his suit-case, and, walking to the +platform's edge, cast an agitated glance up the dusty road. + +Then he turned around and examined the single building in +sight--station, water-tower, post-office and telegraph-office all in +one, and incidentally the abode of the station-agent, whose duties +included that of postmaster and operator. + +"I'll write a letter first," said Briggs. And this is what he wrote: + + ROSE-CROSS P.O., + _June 25, 1904_. + + DEAR WAYNE: Do you remember that tract of land, adjoining your + preserve, which you attempted to buy four years ago? It was held by + a crank community, and they refused to sell, and made trouble for + your patrols by dumping dye-stuffs and sawdust into the Ashton Creek. + + Well, the community has broken up, the shops are in ruins, and there + is nobody there now except that bankrupt poet, Guilford. I bought + the mortgage for you, foreseeing a slump in that sort of art, and + I expect to begin foreclosure proceedings and buy in the tract, + which, as you will recollect, includes some fine game cover and the + Ashton stream, where you wanted to establish a hatchery. This is a + God-forsaken spot. I'm on my way to the poet's now. Shall I begin + foreclosure proceedings and fire him? Wire me what to do. + + Yours, + BRIGGS. + +Wayne received this letter two days later. Preoccupied as he was in +fitting out his yacht for commission, he wired briefly, "Fire poet," and +dismissed the matter from his mind. + +The next day, grappling with the problem of Japanese stewards and the +decadence of all sailormen, he received a telegram from Briggs: + +"Can't you manage to come up here?" + +Irritated, he telegraphed back: + +"Impossible. Why don't you arrange to fire poet?" And Briggs replied: +"Can't fire poet. There are extenuating circumstances." + +"Did you say exterminating or extenuating?" wired Wayne. "I said +extenuating," replied Briggs. + + +Then the following telegrams were exchanged in order: + + (1) + + What are the extenuating circumstances? + + WAYNE. + + (2) + + Eight innocent children. Come up at once. + + BRIGGS. + + (3) + + Boat in commission. Can't go. Why don't you fix things? + + WAYNE. + + (4) + + How? + + BRIGGS. + + (5) + + (Dated NEW LONDON.) + + What on earth is the matter with you? Are you going to fix things + and join me at Bar Harbor or are you not? + + WAYNE. + + (6) + + As I don't know how you want me to fix things, I can not join you. + + BRIGGS. + + (7) + + (Dated PORTLAND, MAINE.) + + Stuyvesant Briggs, what the devil is the matter with you? It's + absolutely necessary that I have the Ashton stream for a hatchery, + and you know it. What sort of a business man are you, anyhow? Of + course I don't propose to treat that poet inhumanly. Arrange to bid + in the tract, run up the price against your own bidding, and let + the poet have a few thousand if he is hard put. Don't worry me any + more; I'm busy with a fool crew, and you are spoiling my cruise by + not joining me. + + WAYNE. + + (8) + + He won't do it. + + BRIGGS. + + (9) + + _Who_ won't do _what_? + + WAYNE. + + (10) + + Poet refuses to discuss the matter. + + BRIGGS. + + (11) + + Fire that poet. You've spoiled my cruise with your telegrams. + + WAYNE. + + (12) + + (_Marked "Collect."_) + + Look here, George Wayne, don't drive me to desperation. You ought to + come up and face the situation yourself. I can't fire a poet with + eight helpless children, can I? And while I'm about it, let me + inform you that every time you telegraph me it costs me five dollars + for a carrier to bring the despatch over from the station; and every + time I telegraph you I am obliged to walk five miles to send it and + five miles back again. I'm mad all through, and my shoes are worn + out, and I'm tired. Besides, I'm too busy to telegraph. + + BRIGGS. + + (13) + + Do you expect me to stop my cruise and travel up to that hole on + account of eight extenuating kids? + + WAYNE. + + (14) + + I do. + + BRIGGS. + + (15) + + Are you mad? + + WAYNE. + + (16) + + Thoroughly. And extremely busy. + + BRIGGS. + + (17) + + For the last time, Stuyve Briggs, are you going to bounce one + defaulting poet and progeny, arrange to have survey and warnings + posted, order timber and troughs for hatchery, engage extra + patrol--or are you not? + + WAYNE. + + (18) + + No. + + BRIGGS. + + (19) + + (_Received a day later by Mr. Wayne._) + + Are you coming? + + BRIGGS. + + (20) + + I'm coming to punch your head. + + WAYNE. + + + + +II + + [Illustration] + + +When George Wayne arrived at Rose-Cross station, seaburnt, angry, and in +excellent athletic condition, Briggs locked himself in the waiting-room +and attempted to calm the newcomer from the window. + +"If you're going to pitch into me, George," he said, "I'm hanged if I +come out, and you can go to Guilford's alone." + +"Come out of there," said Wayne dangerously. + +"It isn't because I'm afraid of you," explained Briggs, "but it's merely +that I don't choose to present either you or myself to a lot of pretty +girls with the marks of conflict all over our eyes and noses." + +At the words "pretty girls" Wayne's battle-set features relaxed. He +motioned to the Pullman porter to deposit his luggage on the empty +platform; the melancholy bell-notes of the locomotive sounded, the train +moved slowly forward. + +"Pretty girls?" he repeated in a softer voice. "Where are they staying? +Of course, under the circumstances a personal encounter is superfluous. +Where are they staying?" + +"At Guilford's. I told you so in my telegrams, didn't I?" + +"No, you didn't. You spoke only of a poet and his eight helpless +children." + +"Well, those girls are the eight children," retorted Briggs sullenly, +emerging from the station. + +"Do you mean to tell me----" + +"Yes, I do. They're his children, aren't they--even if they are girls, +and pretty." He offered a mollifying hand; Wayne took it, shook it +uncertainly, and fell into step beside his friend. "Eight pretty girls," +he repeated under his breath. "What did you do, Stuyve?" + +"What was I to do?" inquired Briggs, nervously worrying his short blond +mustache. "When I arrived here I had made up my mind to fire the poet +and arrange for the hatchery and patrol. The farther I walked through +the dust of this accursed road, lugging my suit-case as you are doing +now, the surer I was that I'd get rid of the poet without mercy. +But----" + +"Well?" inquired Wayne, astonished. + +"But when I'd trudged some five miles up the stifling road I suddenly +emerged into a wonderful mountain meadow. I tell you, George, it looked +fresh and sweet as Heaven after that dusty, parching tramp--a mountain +meadow deep with mint and juicy green grasses, and all cut up by little +rushing streams as cold as ice. There were a lot of girls in pink +sunbonnets picking wild strawberries in the middle distance," he added +thoughtfully. "It was picturesque, wasn't it? Come, now, George, +wouldn't that give you pause?--eight girls in pink pajamas----" + +"What!!!" + +"And sunbonnets--a sort of dress reform of the poet's." + +"Well?" inquired Wayne coldly. + +"And there was the 'house beautiful,' mercifully screened by woods," +continued Briggs. "He calls it the house beautiful, you know." + +"Why not the beautiful house?" asked Wayne, still more coldly. + +"Oh, he gets everything upside down. Guilford is harmless, you'll see." +He began to whistle Fatinitza softly. There was a silence; then Wayne +said: + +"You interrupted your narrative." + +"Where was I?" + +"In the foreground with eight pink pajamas in the middle distance." + +"Oh, yes. So there I was, travel-worn, thirsty, weary, uncertain----" + +"Cut it," observed Wayne. + +"And a stranger," continued Briggs with dignity, "in a strange +country----" + +"Peculiarity of strangers." + +Briggs took no notice. "I drank from the cool springs; I lingered to +pluck a delicious berry or two, I bathed my hot face, I----" + +"Where," demanded Wayne, "were the eight pink 'uns?" + +"Still in the middle distance. Don't interrupt me, George; I'm slowly +drawing closer to them." + +"Well, get a move on," retorted Wayne sulkily. + +"I'm quite close to them now," explained Briggs; "close enough to remove +my hat and smile and inquire the way to Guilford's. One superb young +creature, with creamy skin and very red lips----" + +Wayne halted and set down his suit-case. + +"I'm not romancing; you'll see," said Briggs earnestly. "As I was +saying, this young goddess looked at me in the sweetest way and said +that Guilford was her father. And, Wayne, do you know what she did? +She--er--came straight up to me and took hold of my hand, and led me up +the path toward the high-art house, which is built of cobblestones! +Think! Built of cobble----" + +"Took you by the hand?" repeated Wayne incredulously. + +"Oh, it was all right, George! I found out all about that sort of +innocent thing later." + +"Did you?" + +"Certainly. These girls have been brought up like so many guileless +speckled fawns out here in the backwoods. You know all about Guilford, +the poet who's dead stuck on Nature and simplicity. Well, that's the man +and that's his pose. He hasn't any money, and he won't work. His +daughters raise vegetables, and he makes 'em wear bloomers, and he +writes about chippy-birds and the house beautiful, and tells people to +be natural, and wishes that everybody could go around without clothes +and pick daisies----" + +"Do _they_?" demanded Wayne in an awful voice. "You _said_ they wore +bloomers. Did you say that to break the news more gently? Did you!" + +"Of course they are clothed," explained his friend querulously; "though +sometimes they wade about without shoes and stockings and do the nymph +business. And, George, it's astonishing how modest that sort of dress +is. And it's amazing how much they know. Why, they can talk +Greek--_talk_ it, mind you. Every one of them can speak half a dozen +languages--Guilford is a corker on culture, you know--and they can play +harps and pianos and things, and give me thirty at tennis, even +Chlorippe, the twelve-year-old----" + +"Is that her name?" asked Wayne. + +"Chlorippe? Yes. That bat-headed poet named all his children after +butterflies. Let's see," he continued, telling off the names on his +fingers; "there's Chlorippe, twelve; Philodice, thirteen; Dione, +fourteen; Aphrodite, fifteen; Cybele, sixteen; Lissa, seventeen; Iole, +eighteen, and Vanessa, nineteen. And, Wayne, never have the Elysian +fields contained such a bunch of wholesome beauty as that mountain +meadow contains all day long." + +Wayne, trudging along, suit-case firmly gripped, turned a pair of +suspicious eyes upon his friend. + +"Of course," observed Briggs candidly, "I simply couldn't foreclose on +the father of such children, could I? Besides, he won't let me discuss +the subject." + +"I'll investigate the matter personally," said Wayne. + +"Nowhere to lay their heads! Think of it, George. And all because a +turtle-fed, claret-flushed, idle and rich young man wants their earthly +Paradise for a fish-hatchery. Think of it! A pampered, turtle-fed----" + +"You've said that before," snapped Wayne. "If you were half decent you'd +help me with this suit-case. Whew! It's hot as Yonkers on this +cattle-trail you call a road. How near are we to Guilford's?" + +An hour later Briggs said: "By the way, George, what are you going to do +about the matter?" + +Wayne, flushed, dusty, perspiring, scowled at him. + +"What matter?" + +"The foreclosure." + +"I don't know; how can I know until I see Guilford?" + +"But you need the hatchery----" + +"I know it." + +"But he won't let you discuss it----" + +"If," said Wayne angrily, "you had spent half the time talking business +with the poet that you spent picking strawberries with his helpless +children I should not now be lugging this suit-case up this mountain. +Decency requires few observations from _you_ just now." + +"Pooh!" said Briggs. "Wait till you see Iole." + +"Why Iole? Why not Vanessa?" + +"Don't--that's all," retorted Briggs, reddening. + +Wayne plumped his valise down in the dust, mopped his brow, folded his +arms, and regarded Briggs between the eyes. + +"You have the infernal cheek, after getting me up here, to intimate that +you have taken the pick?" + +"I do," replied Briggs firmly. The two young fellows faced each other. + +"By the way," observed Briggs casually, "the stock they come from is as +good if not better than ours. This is a straight game." + +"Do you mean to say that you--you are--seriously----" + +"Something like it. There! Now you know." + +"For Heaven's sake, Stuyve----" + +"Yes, for Heaven's sake and in Heaven's name don't get any wrong ideas +into your vicious head." + +"What?" + +"I tell you," said Briggs, "that I was never closer to falling in love +than I am to-day. And I've been here just two weeks." + +"Oh, Lord----" + +"Amen," muttered Briggs. "Here, give me your carpet-bag, you brute. +We're on the edge of Paradise." + + + + +III + + [Illustration] + + +"Before we discuss my financial difficulties," said the poet, lifting +his plump white hand and waving it in unctuous waves about the veranda, +"let me show you our home, Mr. Wayne. May I?" + +"Certainly," said Wayne politely, following Guilford into the house. + +They entered a hall; there was absolutely nothing in the hall except a +small table on which reposed a single daisy in a glass of water. + +"Simplicity," breathed Guilford--"a single blossom against a background +of nothing at all. You follow me, Mr. Wayne?" + +"Not--exactly----" + +The poet smiled a large, tender smile, and, with inverted thumb, +executed a gesture as though making several spots in the air. + +"The concentration of composition," he explained; "the elimination of +complexity; the isolation of the concrete in the center of the abstract; +something in the midst of nothing. It is a very precious thought, Mr. +Wayne." + +"Certainly," muttered Wayne; and they moved on. + +"This," said the poet, "is what I call my den." + +Wayne, not knowing what to say, sidled around the walls. It was almost +bare of furniture; what there was appeared to be of the slab variety. + +"I call my house the house beautiful," murmured Guilford with his large, +sweet smile. "Beauty is simplicity; beauty is unconsciousness; beauty is +the child of elimination. A single fly in an empty room is beautiful to +me, Mr. Wayne." + +"They carry germs," muttered Wayne, but the poet did not hear him and +led the way to another enormous room, bare of everything save for eight +thick and very beautiful Kazak rugs on the polished floor. + + [Illustration: + "Simplicity," breathed Guilford--"a single blossom against + a background of nothing at all."] + +"My children's bedroom," he whispered solemnly. + +"You don't mean to say they sleep on those Oriental rugs!" stammered +Wayne. + +"They do," murmured the poet. The tender sweetness of his ample smile +was overpowering--like too much bay rum after shaving. "Sparta, Mr. +Wayne, Sparta! And the result? My babes are perfect, physically, +spiritually. Elimination wrought the miracle; yonder they sleep, +innocent as the Graces, with all the windows open, clothed in moonlight +or starlight, as the astronomical conditions may be. At the break of +dawn they are afield, simply clothed, free limbed, unhampered by the +tawdry harness of degenerate civilization. And as they wander through +the verdure," he added with rapt enthusiasm, "plucking shy blossoms, +gathering simples and herbs and vegetables for our bountiful and natural +repast, they sing as they go, and every tremulous thrill of melody falls +like balm on a father's heart." The overpowering sweetness of his smile +drugged Wayne. Presently he edged toward the door, and the poet +followed, a dreamy radiance on his features as though emanating from +sacred inward meditation. + +They sat down on the veranda; Wayne fumbled for his cigar-case, but his +unnerved fingers fell away; he dared not smoke. + +"About--about that business matter," he ventured feebly; but the poet +raised his plump white hand. + +"You are my guest," he said graciously. "While you are my guest nothing +shall intrude to cloud our happiness." + +Perplexed, almost muddled, Wayne strove in vain to find a reason for the +elimination of the matter that had interrupted his cruise and brought +him to Rose-Cross, the maddest yachtsman on the Atlantic. Why should +Guilford forbid the topic as though its discussion were painful to +Wayne? + +"He always gets the wrong end foremost, as Briggs said," thought the +young man. "I wonder where the deuce Briggs can be? I'm no match for +this bunch." + +His thoughts halted; he became aware that the poet was speaking in a +rich, resonant voice, and he listened in an attitude of painful +politeness. + +"It's the little things that are most precious," the poet was saying, +and pinched the air with forefinger and thumb and pursed up his lips as +though to whistle some saccharine air. + +"The little things," he continued, delicately perforating the atmosphere +as though selecting a diatom. + +"Big things go, too," ventured Wayne. + +"No," said the poet; "no--or rather they _do_ go, in a certain sense, +for every little thing is precious, and therefore little things are +big!---big with portent, big in value. Do you follow me, Mr. Wayne?" + +Wayne's fascinated eyes were fixed on the poet. The latter picked out +another atom from the atmosphere and held it up for Mr. Wayne's +inspection; and while that young man's eyes protruded the poet rambled +on and on until the melody of his voice became a ceaseless sound, a +vague, sustained monotone, which seemed to bore into Wayne's brain until +his legs twitched with a furious desire for flight. + +When he obtained command of himself the poet was saying, "It is my hour +for withdrawal. It were insincere and artificial to ask your +indulgence----" + +He rose to his rotund height. + +"You are due to sit in your cage," stammered Wayne, comprehending. + +"My den," corrected the poet, saturating the air with the sweetness of +his smile. + +Wayne arose. "About that business--" he began desperately; but the +poet's soft, heavy hand hovered in mid-air, and Wayne sat down so +suddenly that when his eyes recovered their focus the poet had +disappeared. + +A benumbed resentment struggled within him for adequate expression; +he hitched his chair about to command a view of the meadow, then sat +motionless, hypnotized by the view. Eight girls, clad in pink blouses +and trousers, golden hair twisted up, decorated the landscape. Some were +kneeling, filling baskets of woven, scented grasses with wild +strawberries; some were wading the branches of the meadow brook, +searching for trout with grass-woven nets; some picked early peas; two +were playing a lightning set at tennis. And in the center of everything +that was going on was Briggs, perfectly at ease, making himself +agreeably at home. + +The spectacle of Briggs among the Hamadryads appeared to paralyze Wayne. + +Then an immense, intense resentment set every nerve in him tingling. +Briggs, his friend, his confidential business adviser, his indispensable +_alter ego_, had abandoned him to be tormented by this fat, saccharine +poet--abandoned him while he, Briggs, made himself popular with eight of +the most amazingly bewitching maidens mortal man might marvel on! The +meanness stung Wayne till he jumped to his feet and strode out into the +sunshine, menacing eyes fastened on Briggs. + +"Now wouldn't that sting you!" he breathed fiercely, turning up his +trousers and stepping gingerly across the brook. + +Whether or not Briggs saw him coming and kept sidling away he could not +determine; he did not wish to shout; he kept passing pretty girls and +taking off his hat, and following Briggs about, but he never seemed to +come any nearer to Briggs; Briggs always appeared in the middle +distance, flitting genially from girl to girl; and presently the +absurdity of his performance struck Wayne, and he sat down on the bank +of the brook, too mad to think. There was a pretty girl picking +strawberries near-by; he rose, took off his hat to her, and sat down +again. She was one of those graceful, clean-limbed, creamy-skinned +creatures described by Briggs; her hair was twisted up into a heavy, +glistening knot, showing the back of a white neck; her eyes matched the +sky and her lips the berries she occasionally bit into or dropped to the +bottom of her woven basket. + +Once or twice she looked up fearlessly at Wayne as her search for +berries brought her nearer; and Wayne forgot the perfidy of Briggs in +an effort to look politely amiable. + +Presently she straightened up where she was kneeling in the long grass +and stretched her arms. Then, still kneeling, she gazed curiously at +Wayne with all the charm of a friendly wild thing unafraid. + +"Shall we play tennis?" she asked. + +"Certainly," said Wayne, startled. + +"Come, then," she said, picking up her basket in one hand and extending +the other to Wayne. + +He took the fresh, cool fingers, and turned scarlet. Once his glance +sneaked toward Briggs, but that young man was absorbed in fishing for +brook trout with a net! Oh, ye little fishes! with a _net_! + +Wayne's brain seemed to be swarming with glittering pink-winged thoughts +all singing. He walked on air, holding tightly to the hand of his +goddess, seeing nothing but a blur of green and sunshine. Then a +clean-cut idea stabbed him like a stiletto: was this Vanessa or Iole? +And, to his own astonishment, he asked her quite naturally. + +"Iole," she said, laughing. "Why?" + +"Thank goodness," he said irrationally. + +"But why?" she persisted curiously. + +"Briggs--Briggs--" he stammered, and got no further. Perplexed, his +goddess walked on, thoughtful, pure-lidded eyes searching some +reasonable interpretation for the phrase, "Briggs--Briggs." But as Wayne +gave her no aid, she presently dismissed the problem, and bade him +select a tennis bat. + +"I do hope you play well," she said. Her hope was comparatively vain; +she batted Wayne around the court, drove him wildly from corner to +corner, stampeded him with volleys, lured him with lobs, and finally +left him reeling dizzily about, while she came around from behind the +net, saying, "It's all because you have no tennis shoes. Come; we'll +rest under the trees and console ourselves with chess." + +Under a group of huge silver beeches a stone chess-table was set +embedded in the moss; and Iole indolently stretched herself out on one +side, chin on hands, while Wayne sorted weather-beaten basalt and marble +chess-men which lay in a pile under the tree. + +She chatted on without the faintest trace of self-consciousness the +while he arranged the pieces; then she began to move. He took a long +time between each move; but no sooner did he move than, still talking, +she extended her hand and shoved her piece into place without a fraction +of a second's hesitation. + +When she had mated him twice, and he was still gazing blankly at the +mess into which she had driven his forces, she sat up sideways, +gathering her slim ankles into one hand, and cast about her for +something to do, eyes wandering over the sunny meadow. + +"We had horses," she mused; "we rode like demons, bareback, until +trouble came." + +"Trouble?" + +"Oh, not trouble--poverty. So our horses had to go. What shall we +do--you and I?" There was something so subtly sweet, so exquisitely +innocent in the coupling of the pronouns that a thrill passed completely +through Wayne, and probably came out on the other side. + +"I know what I'm going to do," he said, drawing a note-book and a pencil +from his pocket and beginning to write, holding it so she could see. + +"Do you want me to look over your shoulder?" she asked. + +"Please." + +She did; and it affected his penmanship so that the writing grew wabbly. +Still she could read: + + (_Telegram_) + + TO SAILING MASTER, YACHT THENDARA, BAR HARBOR: + + Put boat out of commission. I may be away all summer. + + WAYNE. + +"How far is it to the station?" asked Wayne, turning to look into her +eyes. + +"Only five miles," she said. "I'll walk with you if you like. Shall I?" + + + + +IV + + [Illustration] + + +"Wealth," observed the poet, waving his heavy white hand, "is a figure +of speech, Mr. Wayne. Only by the process of elimination can one arrive +at the exquisite simplicity of poverty--care-free poverty. Even a single +penny is a burden--the flaw in the marble, the fly in the amber of +perfection. Cast it away and enter Eden!" And joining thumb and +forefinger, he plucked a figurative copper from the atmosphere, tossed +it away, and wiped his fingers on his handkerchief. + +"But--" began Wayne uneasily. + +"Try it," smiled the poet, diffusing sweetness; "try it. Dismiss all +thoughts of money from your mind." + +"I do," said Wayne, somewhat relieved. "I thought you meant for me to +chuck my securities overboard and eat herbs." + +"Not in your case--no, not in your case. _I_ can do that; I have done +it. No, your sacred mission is simply to forget that you are wealthy. +That is a very precious thought, Mr. Wayne--remain a Croesus and forget +it! Not to eliminate your _wealth_, but eliminate all _thought_ of it. +Very, very precious." + +"Well, I never think about things like that except at a directors' +meeting," blurted out the young fellow. "Perhaps it's because I've never +had to think about it." + +The poet sighed so sweetly that the atmosphere seemed to drip with the +saccharine injection. + +"I wish," ventured Wayne, "that you would let me mention the subject of +business"--the poet shook his head indulgently--"just to say that I'm +not going to foreclose." He laid a packet of legal papers in the poet's +hand. + +"Hush," smiled Guilford, "this is not seemly in the house beautiful.... +_What_ was it you said, Mr. Wayne?" + +"I? I was going to say that I just wanted--wanted to stay here--be your +guest, if you'll let me," he said honestly. "I was cruising--I didn't +understand--Briggs--Briggs--" He stuck. + +"Yes, Briggs," softly suggested the poet, spraying the night air with +more sweetness. + +"Briggs has spoken to you about--about your daughter Vanessa. You see, +Briggs is my closest friend; his happiness is--er--important to me. +I want to see Briggs happy; that's why I want to stay here, just to see +Briggs happy. I--I love Briggs. You understand me, don't you, Mr. +Guilford?" + +The poet breathed a dulcet breath. "Perfectly," he murmured. "The +contemplation of Mr. Briggs' happiness eliminates all thoughts of self +within you. By this process of elimination you arrive at happiness +yourself. Ah, the thought is a very precious one, my young friend, for +by elimination only can we arrive at perfection. Thank you for the +thought; thank you. You have given me a very, very precious thought to +cherish." + +"I--I have been here a week," muttered Wayne. "I thought--perhaps--my +welcome might be outworn----" + +"In the house beautiful," murmured the poet, rising and waving his heavy +white hand at the open door, "welcome is eternal." He folded his arms +with difficulty, for he was stout, and one hand clutched the legal +papers; his head sank. In profound meditation he wandered away into the +shadowy house, leaving Wayne sitting on the veranda rail, eyes fixed on +a white shape dimly seen moving through the moonlit meadows below. +Briggs sauntered into sight presently, his arms full of flowers. + +"Get me a jug of water, will you? Vanessa has been picking these and she +sent me back to fix 'em. Hurry, man! She is waiting for me in the +garden." Wayne gazed earnestly at his friend. + +"So you have done it, have you, Stuyve?" + +"Done what?" demanded Briggs, blushing. + +"It." + +"If you mean," he said with dignity, "that I've asked the sweetest girl +on earth to marry me, I have. And I'm the happiest man on the footstool, +too. Good Heaven, George," he broke out, "if you knew the meaning of +love! if you could for one second catch a glimpse of the beauty of her +soul! Why, man of sordid clay that I was--creature of club and claret +and turtle--like you----" + +"Drop it!" said Wayne somberly. + +"I can't help it, George. We were beasts--and _you_ are yet. But my base +clay is transmuted, spiritualized; my soul is awake, traveling, toiling +toward the upward heights where hers sits enthroned. When I think of +what I was, and what you still are----" + +Wayne rose exasperated: + +"Do you think your soul is doing the only upward hustling?" he said +hotly. + +Briggs, clasping his flowers to his breast, gazed out over them at +Wayne. + +"You don't mean----" + +"Yes, I do," said Wayne. "I may be crazy, but I know something," with +which paradox he turned on his heel and walked into the moonlit meadow +toward that dim, white form moving through the dusk. + +"I wondered," she said, "whether you were coming," as he stepped through +the long, fragrant grass to her side. + +"You might have wondered if I had not come," he answered. + +"Yes, that is true. This moonlight is too wonderful to miss," she added +without a trace of self-consciousness. + +"It was for you I came." + +"Couldn't you find my sisters?" she asked innocently. + +He did not reply. Presently she stumbled over a hummock, recovered her +poise without comment, and slipped her hand into his with unconscious +confidence. + +"Do you know what I have been studying to-day?" she asked. + +"What?" + +"That curious phycomycetous fungus that produces resting-spores by the +conjugation of two similar club-shaped hyphæ, and in which conidia also +occur. It's fascinating." + +After a silence he said: + +"What would you think of me if I told you that I do not comprehend a +single word of what you have just told me?" + +"Don't you?" she asked, astonished. + +"No," he replied, dropping her hand. She wondered, vaguely distressed; +and he went on presently: "As a plain matter of fact, I don't know much. +It's an astonishing discovery for me, but it's a fact that I am not your +mental, physical, or spiritual equal. In sheer, brute strength perhaps I +am, and I am none too certain of that, either. But, and I say it to my +shame, I can not follow you; I am inferior in education, in culture, in +fine instinct, in mental development. You chatter in a dozen languages +to your sisters: my French appals a Paris cabman; you play any +instrument I ever heard of: the guitar is my limit, the fandango my +repertoire. As for alert intelligence, artistic comprehension, ability +to appreciate, I can not make the running with you; I am +outclassed--hopelessly. Now, if this is all true--and I have spoken the +wretched truth--_what_ can a man like me have to say for himself?" + +Her head was bent, her fair face was in shadow. She strayed on a little +way, then, finding herself alone, turned and looked back at him where he +stood. For a moment they remained motionless, looking at one another, +then, as on some sweet impulse, she came back hastily and looked into +his eyes. + +"I do not feel as you do," she said; "you are very--good--company. I am +not all you say; I know very little. Listen. It--it distresses me to +have you think I hold you--lightly. Truly we are _not_ apart." + +"There is but one thing that can join us." + +"What is that?" + +"Love." + +Her pure gaze did not falter nor her eyes droop. Curiously regarding +him, she seemed immersed in the solution of the problem as he had +solved it. + +"Do you love me?" she asked. + +"With all my soul--such as it is, with all my heart, with every thought, +every instinct, every breath I draw." + +She considered him with fearless eyes; the beauty of them was all he +could endure. + +"You love me?" she repeated. + +He bent his head, incapable of speech. + +"You wish me to love you?" + +He looked at her, utterly unable to move his lips. + +"_How_ do you wish me to love you?" + +He opened his arms; she stepped forward, close to him. + +Then their lips met. + +"Oh," she said faintly, "I did not know it--it was so sweet." + +And as her head fell back on his arm about her neck she looked up at him +full of wonder at this new knowledge he had taught her, marvelous, +unsuspected, divine in its simplicity. Then the first delicate blush +that ever mounted her face spread, tinting throat and forehead; she drew +his face down to her own. + + +The poet paced the dim veranda, arms folded, head bent. But his glance +was sideways and full of intelligence as it included two vague figures +coming slowly back through the moon-drenched meadow. + +"By elimination we arrive at perfection," he mused; "and perfection is +success. There remain six more," he added irrelevantly, "but they're +young yet. Patience, subtle patience--and attention to the little +things." He pinched a morsel of air out of the darkness, examined it and +released it. + +"The little things," he repeated; "that is a very precious thought.... +I believe the sea air may agree with me--now and then." + +And he wandered off into his "den" and unlocked a drawer in his desk, +and took out a bundle of legal papers, and tore them slowly, carefully, +into very small pieces. + + + + +V + + [Illustration] + + +The double wedding at the Church of Sainte Cicindella was pretty and +sufficiently fashionable to inconvenience traffic on Fifth Avenue. +Partly from loyalty, partly from curiosity, the clans of Wayne and +Briggs, with their offshoots and social adherents, attended; and they +saw Briggs and Wayne on their best behavior, attended by Sudbury Grey +and Winsted Forest; and they saw two bridal visions of loveliness, +attended by six additional sister visions as bridesmaids; and they saw +the poet, agitated with the holy emotions of a father, now almost +unmanned, now rallying, spraying the hushed air with sweetness. They saw +clergymen and a bishop, and the splendor of stained glass through which +ushers tiptoed. And they heard the subdued rustling of skirts and the +silken stir, and the great organ breathing over Eden, and a single +artistically-modulated sob from the poet. A good many other things they +heard and saw, especially those of the two clans who were bidden to the +breakfast at Wayne's big and splendid house on the southwest corner of +Seventy-ninth Street and Madison Avenue. + +For here they were piped to breakfast by the boatswain of Wayne's big +seagoing yacht, the _Thendara_--on which brides and grooms were +presently to embark for Cairo via the Azores--and speeches were said and +tears shed into goblets glimmering with vintages worth prayerful +consideration. + +And in due time two broughams, drawn by dancing horses, with the azure +ribbons aflutter from the head-stalls, bore away two very beautiful and +excited brides and two determined, but entirely rattled, grooms. And +after that several relays of parents fraternized with the poet and six +daughters, and the clans of Briggs and of Wayne said a number of +agreeable things to anybody who cared to listen; and as everybody did +listen, there was a great deal of talk--more talk in a minute than the +sisters of Iole had heard in all their several limited and innocently +natural existences. So it confused them, not with its quality, but its +profusion; and the champagne made their cheeks feel as though the soft +peachy skin fitted too tight, and a number of persistent musical +instruments were being tuned in their little ears; and, not yet +thoroughly habituated to any garments except pink sunbonnets and +pajamas, their straight fronts felt too tight, and the tops of their +stockings pulled, and they balanced badly on their high heels, and +Aphrodite and Cybele, being too snugly laced, retired to rid themselves +of their first corsets. + +The remaining four, Lissa, now eighteen; Dione, fifteen; Philodice, +fourteen, and Chlorippe, thirteen, found the missing Pleiads in the +great library, joyously donning their rose-silk lounging pajamas, while +two parlor maids brought ices from the wrecked feast below. + +So they, too, flung from them crinkling silk and diaphanous lace, +high-heel shoon and the delicate body-harness never fashioned for +free-limbed dryads of the Rose-Cross wilds; and they kept the electric +signals going for ices and fruits and pitchers brimming with clear cold +water; and they sat there in a circle like a thicket of fluttering +pale-pink roses, until below the last guest had sped out into the +unknown wastes of Gotham, and the poet's heavy step was on the stair. + +The poet was agitated--and like a humble bicolored quadruped of the +Rose-Cross wilds, which, when agitated, sprays the air--so the poet, +laboring obesely under his emotion, smiled with a sweetness so +intolerable that the air seemed to be squirted full of saccharinity to +the point of plethoric saturation. + +"My lambs," he murmured, fat hands clasped and dropped before him as +straight as his rounded abdomen would permit; "my babes!" + +"Do you think," suggested Aphrodite, busy with her ice, "that we are +going to enjoy this winter in Mr. Wayne's house?" + +"Enjoyment," breathed the poet in an overwhelming gush of sweetness, "is +not in houses; it is in one's soul. What is wealth? Everything! +Therefore it is of no value. What is poverty? Nothing! And, as it is the +little things that are the most precious, so nothing, which is less than +the very least, is precious beyond price. Thank you for listening; thank +you for understanding. Bless you." + +And he wandered away, almost asphyxiated with his emotions. + +"I mean to have a gay winter--if I can ever get used to being laced in +and pulled over by those dreadful garters," observed Aphrodite, +stretching her smooth young limbs in comfort. + +"I suppose there would be trouble if we wore our country clothes on +Broadway, wouldn't there?" asked Lissa wistfully. + +Chlorippe, aged thirteen, kicked off her sandals and stretched her +pretty snowy feet: "They were never in the world made to fit into +high-heeled shoes," she declared pensively, widening her little rosy +toes. + +"But we might as well get used to all these things," sighed Philodice, +rolling over among the cushions, a bunch of hothouse grapes suspended +above her pink mouth. She ate one, looked at Dione, and yawned. + +"I'm going to practise wearing 'em an hour a day," said Aphrodite, +"because I mean to go to the theater. It's worth the effort. Besides, if +we just sit here in the house all day asking each other Greek riddles, +we will never see anybody until Iole and Vanessa come back from their +honeymoon and give teas and dinners for all sorts of interesting young +men." + +"Oh, the attractive young men I have seen in these few days in New +York!" exclaimed Lissa. "Would you believe it, the first day I walked +out with George Wayne and Iole, I was perfectly bewildered and enchanted +to see so many delightful-looking men. And by and by Iole missed me, and +George came back and found me standing entranced on the corner of Fifth +Avenue; and I said, "Please don't disturb me, George, because I am only +standing here to enjoy the sight of so many agreeable-looking men." But +he acted so queerly about it." She ended with a little sigh. "However, +I love George, of course, even if he does bore me. I wonder where they +are now--the bridal pairs?" + +"I wonder," mused Philodice, "whether they have any children by this +time?" + +"Not yet," explained Aphrodite. "But they'll probably have some when +they return. I understand it takes a good many weeks--to----" + +"To find new children," nodded Chlorippe confidently. "I suppose they've +hidden the cunning little things somewhere on the yacht, and it's like +hunt the thimble and lots and lots of fun." And she distributed six +oranges. + +Lissa was not so certain of that, but, discussing the idea with Cybele, +and arriving at no conclusion, devoted herself to the large juicy orange +with more satisfaction, conscious that the winter's outlook was bright +for them all and full of the charming mystery of anticipations so +glittering yet so general that she could form not even the haziest ideas +of their wonderful promise. And so, sucking the sunlit pulp of their +oranges, they were content to live, dream, and await fulfilment under +the full favor of a Heaven which had never yet sent them aught but +happiness beneath the sun. + + [Illustration] + + + + +VI + + [Illustration] + + +Neither Lethbridge nor Harrow--lately exceedingly important +undergraduates at Harvard and now twin nobodies in the employment of the +great Occidental Fidelity and Trust Company--neither of these young men, +I say, had any particular business at the New Arts Theater that +afternoon. + +For the play was Barnard Haw's _Attitudes_, the performance was private +and intensely intellectual, the admission by invitation only, and +between the acts there was supposed to be a general _causerie_ among the +gifted individuals of the audience. + +Why Stanley West, president of the Occidental Trust, should have +presented to his two young kinsmen the tickets inscribed with his own +name was a problem, unless everybody else, including the elevator boys, +had politely declined the offer. + +"That's probably the case," observed Lethbridge. "Do we go?" + +"Art," said Harrow, "will be on the loose among that audience. And if +anybody can speak to anybody there, we'll get spoken to just as if we +were sitting for company, and first we know somebody will ask us what +Art really is." + +"I'd like to see a place full of atmosphere," suggested Lethbridge. +"I've seen almost everything--the Café Jaune, and Chinatown, and--you +remember that joint at Tangier? But I've never seen atmosphere. I don't +care how thin it is; I just want to say that I've seen it when the next +girl throws it all over me." And as Harrow remained timid, he added: "We +won't have to climb across the footlights and steal a curl from the +author, because he's already being sheared in England. There's nothing +to scare you." + +Normally, however, they were intensely afraid of Art except at their +barbers', and they had heard, in various ways as vague as Broad Street +rumors, something concerning these gatherings of the elect at the New +Arts Theater on Saturday afternoons, where unselfish reformers produced +plays for Art's sake as a rebuke to managers who declined to produce +that sort of play for anybody's sake. + +"I'll bet," said Harrow, "that some thrifty genius sent Stanley West +those tickets in a desperate endeavor to amalgamate the aristocracies of +wealth and intellect!--as though you could shake 'em up as you shake a +cocktail! As though you'd catch your Uncle Stanley wearing his richest +Burgundy flush, sitting in the orchestra and talking _Arr Noovo_ to a +young thing with cheek-bones who'd pinch him into a cocked hat for a +contribution between the acts!" + +"Still," said Lethbridge, "even Art requires a wad to pay its license. +Isn't West the foxy Freddie! Do you suppose, if we go, they'll sting us +for ten?" + +"They'll probably take up a collection for the professor," said Harrow +gloomily. "Better come to the club and give the tickets to the janitor." + +"Oh, that's putting it all over Art! If anybody with earnest eyes tries +to speak to us we can call a policeman." + +"Well," said Harrow, "on your promise to keep your mouth shut I'll go +with you. If you open it they'll discover you're an appraiser and I'm a +broker, and then they'll think we're wealthy, because there'd be no +other reason for our being there, and they'll touch us both for a brace +of come-ons, and----" + +"Perhaps," interrupted the other, "we'll be fortunate enough to sit next +to a peach! And as it's the proper thing there to talk to your neighbor, +the prospect--er--needn't jar you." + +There was a silence as they walked up-town, which lasted until they +entered their lodgings. And by that time they had concluded to go. + + [Illustration] + + + + +VII + + [Illustration] + + +So they went, having nothing better on hand, and at two o'clock they +sidled into the squatty little theater, shyly sought their reserved +seats and sat very still, abashed in the presence of the massed +intellects of Manhattan. + +When Clarence Guilford, the Poet of Simplicity, followed by six healthy, +vigorous young daughters, entered the middle aisle of the New Arts +Theater, a number of people whispered in reverent recognition: +"Guilford, the poet! Those are his daughters. They wear nothing but pink +pajamas at home. Sh-sh-h-h!" + +Perhaps the poet heard, for he heard a great deal when absent-minded. +He paused; his six tall and blooming daughters, two and two behind him, +very naturally paused also, because the poet was bulky and the aisle +narrow. + +Those of the elect who had recognized him had now an opportunity to view +him at close range; young women with expressive eyes leaned forward, +quivering; several earnest young men put up lorgnettes. + +It was as it should have been; and the poet stood motionless in dreamy +abstraction, until an usher took his coupons and turned down seven +seats. Then the six daughters filed in, and the poet, slowly turning to +survey the house, started slightly, as though surprised to find himself +under public scrutiny, passed a large, plump hand over his forehead, and +slowly subsided into the aisle-seat with a smile of whimsical +acquiescence in the knowledge of his own greatness. + +"Who," inquired young Harrow, turning toward Lethbridge--"who is that +duck?" + +"You can search me," replied Lethbridge in a low voice, "but for +Heaven's sake _look_ at those girls! Is it right to bunch such beauty +and turn down Senators from Utah?" + +Harrow's dazzled eyes wandered over the six golden heads and snowy +necks, lovely as six wholesome young goddesses fresh from a bath in the +Hellespont. + +"The--the one next to the one beside you," whispered Lethbridge, edging +around. "I want to run away with her. Would you mind getting me a +hansom?" + +"The one next to me has them all pinched to death," breathed Harrow +unsteadily. "Look!--when she isn't looking. Did you ever see such eyes +and mouth--such a superb free poise----" + +"Sh-sh-h-h!" muttered Lethbridge, "the bell-mule is talking to them." + +"Art," said the poet, leaning over to look along the line of fragrant, +fresh young beauty, "Art is an art." With which epigram he slowly closed +his eyes. + +His daughters looked at him; a young woman expensively but not smartly +gowned bent forward from the row behind. Her attitude was almost +prayerful; her eyes burned. + + [Illustration: + He paused; his six tall and blooming daughters two and two + behind him.] + +"Art," continued the poet, opening his heavy lids with a large, sweet +smile, "Art is above Art, but Art is never below Art. Art, to be Art, +must be artless. That is a very precious thought--very, very precious. +Thank you for understanding me--thank you." And he included in his large +smile young Harrow, who had been unconsciously bending forward, +hypnotized by the monotonous resonance of the poet's deep, rich voice. + +Now that the spell was broken, he sank back in his chair, looking at +Lethbridge a little wildly. + +"Let me sit next--after the first act," began Lethbridge, coaxing; +"they'll be watching the stage all the first act and you can look at 'em +without being rude, and they'll do the same next act, and I can look at +'em, and perhaps they'll ask us what Art really is----" + +"Did you hear what that man said?" interrupted Harrow, recovering his +voice. "_Did_ you?" + +"No; what?" + +"Well, listen next time. And all I have to say is, if that firing-line, +with its battery of innocent blue eyes, understands him, you and I had +better apply to the nearest night-school for the rudiments of an +education." + +"Well, what did he say?" began the other uneasily, when again the poet +bent forward to address the firing-line; and the lovely blue battery +turned silently upon the author of their being. + +"Art is the result of a complex mental attitude capable of producing +concrete simplicity." + +"Help!" whispered Harrow, but the poet had caught his eye, and was +fixing the young man with a smile that held him as sirup holds a fly. + +"You ask me what is Art, young sir? Why should I not heed you? Why +should I not answer you? What artificial barriers, falsely called +convention, shall force me to ignore the mute eloquence of your +questioning eyes? You ask me what is Art. I will tell you; it is +_this_!" And the poet, inverting his thumb, pressed it into the air. +Then, carefully inspecting the dent he had made in the atmosphere, he +erased it with a gesture and folded his arms, looking gravely at Harrow, +whose fascinated eyes protruded. + +Behind him Lethbridge whispered hoarsely, "I told you how it would be in +the New Arts Theater. I told you a young man alone was likely to get +spoken to. Now those six girls know you're a broker!" + +"Don't say it so loud," muttered Harrow savagely. "I'm all right so far, +for I haven't said a word." + +"You'd better not," returned the other. "I wish that curtain would go up +and stay up. It will be my turn to sit next them after this act, you +know." + +Harrow ventured to glance at the superb young creature sitting beside +him, and at the same instant she looked up and, catching his eye, smiled +in the most innocently friendly fashion--the direct, clear-eyed advance +of a child utterly unconscious of self. + +"I have never before been in a theater," she said; "have you?" + +"I--I beg your pardon," stammered Harrow when he found his voice, "but +_were_ you good enough to speak to _me_?" + +"Why, yes!" she said, surprised but amiable; "shouldn't I have spoken to +you?" + +"Indeed--oh, indeed you should!" said Harrow hastily, with a quick +glance at the poet. The poet, however, appeared to be immersed in +thought, lids partially closed, a benignant smile imprinted on his heavy +features. + +"_What_ are you doing?" breathed Lethbridge in his ear. Harrow calmly +turned his back on his closest friend and gazed rapturously at his +goddess. And again her bewildering smile broke out and he fairly blinked +in its glory. + +"This is my first play," she said; "I'm a little excited. I hope I shall +care for it." + +"Haven't you ever seen a play?" asked Harrow, tenderly amazed. + +"Never. You see, we always lived in the country, and we have always been +poor until my sister Iole married. And now our father has come to live +with his new son-in-law. So that is how we came to be here in New York." + +"I am _so_ glad you _did_ come," said Harrow fervently. + +"So are we. We have never before seen anything like a large city. We +have never had enough money to see one. But now that Iole is married, +everything is possible. It is all so interesting for us--particularly +the clothing. Do you like my gown?" + +"It is a dream!" stammered the infatuated youth. + +"Do you think so? I think it is wonderful--but not very comfortable." + +"Doesn't it fit?" he inquired. + +"Perfectly; that's the trouble. It is not comfortable. We never before +were permitted to wear skirts and all sorts of pretty fluffy frills +under them, and _such_ high heels, and _such_ long stockings, and _such_ +tight lacing--" She hesitated, then calmly: "But I believe father told +us that we are not to mention our pretty underwear, though it's hard not +to, as it's the first we ever had." + +Harrow was past all speech. + +"I wish I had my lounging-suit on," she said with a sigh and a hitch of +her perfectly modeled shoulders. + +"W--what sort of things do you usually dress in?" he ventured. + +"Why, in dress-reform clothes!" she said, laughing. "We never have worn +anything else." + +"Bloomers!" + +"I don't know; we had trousers and blouses and sandals--something like +the pink pajamas we have for night-wear now. Formerly we wore nothing at +night. I am beginning to wonder, from the way people look at us when we +speak of this, whether we were odd. But all our lives we have never +thought about clothing. However, I am glad you like my new gown, and I +fancy I'll get used to this tight lacing in time.... What is your name?" + +"James Harrow," he managed to say, aware of an innocence and directness +of thought and speech which were awaking in him faintest responsive +echoes. They were the blessed echoes from the dim, fair land of +childhood, but he did not know it. + +"James Harrow," she repeated with a friendly nod. "My name is Lissa--my +first name; the other is Guilford. My father is the famous poet, +Clarence Guilford. He named us all after butterflies--all my +sisters"--counting them on her white fingers while her eyes rested on +him--"Chlorippe, twelve years old, that pretty one next to my father; +then Philodice, thirteen; Dione, fourteen; Aphrodite, fifteen; Cybele, +the one next to me, sixteen, and almost seventeen; and myself, +seventeen, almost eighteen. Besides, there is Iole, who married Mr. +Wayne, and Vanessa, married to Mr. Briggs. They have been off on Mr. +Wayne's yacht, the _Thendara_, on their wedding trip. Now you know all +about us. Do you think you would like to know us?" + +"_Like_ to! I'd simply love to! I----" + +"That is very nice," she said unembarrassed. + +"I thought I should like you when I saw you leaning over and listening +so reverently to father's epigrams. Then, besides, I had nobody but my +sisters to talk to. Oh, you can't imagine how many attractive men I see +every day in New York--and I should like to know them all--and many _do_ +look at me as though they would like it, too; but Mr. Wayne is so queer, +and so are father and Mr. Briggs--about my speaking to people in public +places. They have told me not to, but I--I--thought I would," she ended, +smiling. "What harm can it do for me to talk to you?" + +"It's perfectly heavenly of you----" + +"Oh, do you think so? I wonder what father thinks"--turning to look; +then, resuming: "He generally makes us stop, but I am quite sure he +expected me to talk to you." + +The lone note of a piano broke the thread of the sweetest, maddest +discourse Harrow had ever listened to; the girl's cheeks flushed and she +turned expectantly toward the curtained stage. Again the lone note, +thumped vigorously, sounded a staccato monotone. + +"Precious--very precious," breathed the poet, closing his eyes in a sort +of fatty ecstasy. + + + + +VIII + + [Illustration] + + +Harrow looked at his program, then, leaning toward Lissa, whispered: +"That is the overture to _Attitudes_--the program explains it: 'A series +of pale gray notes'--what the deuce!--'pale _gray_ notes giving the +value of the highest light in which the play is pitched'--" He paused, +aghast. + +"I understand," whispered the girl, resting her lovely arm on the chair +beside him. "Look! The curtain is rising! _How_ my heart beats! Does +yours?" + +He nodded, unable to articulate. + +The curtain rose very, very slowly, upon the first scene of Barnard +Haw's masterpiece of satire; and the lovely firing-line quivered, blue +batteries opening very wide, lips half parted in breathless +anticipation. And about that time Harrow almost expired as a soft, +impulsive hand closed nervously over his. + +And there, upon the stage, the human species was delicately vivisected +in one act; human frailty exposed, human motives detected, human desire +quenched in all the brilliancy of perverted epigram and the scalpel +analysis of the astigmatic. Life, love, and folly were portrayed with +the remorseless accuracy of an eye doubly sensitive through the stimulus +of an intellectual strabismus. Barnard Haw at his greatest! And how he +dissected attitudes; the attitude assumed by the lover, the father, the +wife, the daughter, the mother, the mistress--proving that virtue, _per +se_, is a pose. Attitudes! How he flayed those who assumed them. His +attitude toward attitudes was remorseless, uncompromising, inexorable. + +And the curtain fell on the first act, its gray and silver folds swaying +in the half-crazed whirlwind of applause. + +Lissa's silky hand trembled in Harrow's, her grasp relaxed. He dropped +his hand and, searching, encountered hers again. + +"_What_ do you think of it?" she asked. + +"I don't think there's any harm in it," he stammered guiltily, supposing +she meant the contact of their interlaced fingers. + +"Harm? I didn't mean harm," she said. "The play is perfectly harmless, +I think." + +"Oh--the play! Oh, that's just _that_ sort of play, you know. They're +all alike; a lot of people go about telling each other how black white +is and that white is always black--until somebody suddenly discovers +that black and white are a sort of greenish red. Then the audience +applauds frantically in spite of the fact that everybody in it had +concluded that black and white were really a shade of yellowish yellow!" + +She had begun to laugh; and as he proceeded, excited by her approval, +the most adorable gaiety possessed her. + +"I _never_ heard anything half so clever!" she said, leaning toward him. + +"I? Clever!" he faltered. "You--you don't really mean that!" + +"Why? Don't you know you are? Don't you know in your heart that you have +said the very thing that I in my heart found no words to explain?" + +"Did I, really?" + +"Yes. Isn't it delightful!" + +It was; Harrow, holding tightly to the soft little hand half hidden by +the folds of her gown, cast a sneaking look behind him, and encountered +the fixed and furious glare of his closest friend, who had pinched him. + +"Pig!" hissed Lethbridge, "do I sit next or not?" + +"I--I can't; I'll explain----" + +"_Do_ I?" + +"You don't understand----" + +"I understand _you_!" + +"No, you don't. Lissa and I----" + +"Lissa!" + +"Ya--as! We're talking very cleverly; _I_ am, too. Wha'd'you wan' to +butt in for?" with sudden venom. + +"Butt in! Do you think I want to sit here and look at tha' damfool play! +Fix it or I'll run about biting!" + +Harrow turned. "Lissa," he whispered in an exquisitely modulated voice, +"what would happen if I spoke to your sister Cybele?" + +"Why, she'd answer you, silly!" said the girl, laughing. "Wouldn't you, +Cybele?" + +"I'll tell you what I'd like to do," said Cybele, leaning forward: "I'd +like very much to talk to that attractive man who is trying to look at +me--only your head has been in the way." And she smiled innocently at +Lethbridge. + +So Lissa moved down one. Harrow took her seat, and Cybele dropped gaily +into Harrow's vacant place. + +"_Now_," she said to Lethbridge, "we can tell each other all sorts of +things. I was so glad that you looked at me all the while and so vexed +that I couldn't talk to you. _How_ do you like my new gown? And what is +your name? Have you ever before seen a play? I haven't, and my name is +Cybele." + +"It is per--perfectly heavenly to hear you talk," stammered Lethbridge. + +Harrow heard him, turned and looked him full in the eyes, then slowly +resumed his attitude of attention: for the poet was speaking: + +"The Art of Barnard Haw is the quintessence of simplicity. What is the +quintessence of simplicity?" He lifted one heavy pudgy hand, joined the +tips of his soft thumb and forefinger, and selecting an atom of air, +deftly captured it. "_That_ is the quintessence of simplicity; _that_ is +Art!" + +He smiled largely on Harrow, whose eyes had become wild again. + +"_That!_" he repeated, pinching out another molecule of atmosphere, "and +_that_!" punching dent after dent in the viewless void with inverted +thumb. + +On the hapless youth the overpowering sweetness of his smile acted like +an anesthetic; he saw things waver, even wabble; and his hidden clutch +on Lissa's fingers tightened spasmodically. + +"Thank you," said the poet, leaning forward to fix the young man with +his heavy-lidded eyes. "Thank you for the precious thoughts you inspire +in me. Bless you. Our mental and esthetic commune has been very precious +to me--very, very precious," he mooned bulkily, his rich voice dying to +a resonant, soothing drone. + +Lissa turned to the petrified young man. "Please be clever some more," +she whispered. "You were so perfectly delightful about this play." + +"Child!" he groaned, "I have scarcely sufficient intellect to keep me +overnight. You must know that I haven't understood one single thing your +father has been kind enough to say." + +"What didn't you understand?" she asked, surprised. + +"'_That!_'" He flourished his thumb. "What does '_That!_' mean?" + +"Oh, that is only a trick father has caught from painters who tell you +how they're going to use their brushes. But the truth is I've usually +noticed that they do most of their work in the air with their thumbs.... +What else did you not understand?" + +"Oh--Art!" he said wearily. "What is it? Or, as Barnard Haw, the higher +exponent of the Webberfield philosophy, might say: 'What it iss? Yess?'" + +"I don't know what the Webberfield philosophy is," said Lissa +innocently, "but Art is only things one believes. And it's awfully hard, +too, because nobody sees the same thing in the same way, or believes the +same things that others believe. So there are all kinds of Art. I think +the only way to be sure is when the artist makes himself and his +audience happier; then that is Art.... But one need not use one's thumb, +you know." + +"The--the way you make me happy? Is _that_ Art?" + +"Do I?" she laughed. "Perhaps; for I am happy, too--far, far happier +than when I read the works of Henry Haynes. And Henry Haynes _is_ Art. +Oh, dear!" + +But Harrow knew nothing of the intellectual obstetrics which produced +that great master's monotypes. + +"Have you read Double or Quits?" he ventured shyly. "It's a humming Wall +Street story showing up the entire bunch and exposing the trading-stamp +swindle of the great department stores. The heroine is a detective +and--" She was looking at him so intently that he feared he had said +something he shouldn't. "But I don't suppose that would interest you," +he muttered, ashamed. + +"It does! It is _new_! I--I never read that sort of a novel. Tell me!" + +"Are you serious?" + +"Of course. It is perfectly wonderful to think of a heroine being a +detective." + +"Oh, she's a dream!" he said with cautious enthusiasm. "She falls in +love with the worst stock-washer in Wall Street, and pushes him off a +ferry-boat when she finds he has cornered the trading-stamp market and +is bankrupting her father, who is president of the department store +trust----" + +"Go on!" she whispered breathlessly. + +"I will, but----" + +"What is it? Oh--is it my hand you are looking for? Here it is; I only +wanted to smooth my hair a moment. Now tell me; for I never, never knew +that such books were written. The books my father permits us to read are +not concerned with all those vital episodes of every-day life. Nobody +ever _does_ anything in the few novels I am allowed to read--except, +once, in _Cranford_, somebody gets up out of a chair in one chapter--but +sits down again in the next," she added wearily. + +"_I'll_ send you something to make anybody sit up and stay up," he said +indignantly. "Baffles, the Gent Burglar; Love Militant, by Nora Norris +Newman; The Crown-Snatcher, by Reginald Rodman Roony--oh, it's simply +ghastly to think of what you've missed! This is the Victorian era; you +have a right to be fully cognizant of the great literary movements of +the twentieth century!" + +"I love to hear you say such things," she said, her beautiful face +afire. "I desire to be modern--intensely, humanly modern. All my life I +have been nourished on the classics of ages dead; the literature of the +Orient, of Asia, of Europe I am familiar with; the literature of +England--as far as Andrew Bang's boyhood verses. I--all my +sisters--read, write, speak, even think, in ten languages. I long for +something to read which is vital, familiar, friendly--something of my +own time, my own day. I wish to know what young people do and dare; what +they really think, what they believe, strive for, desire!" + +"Well--well, I don't think people really do and say and think the things +that you read in interesting modern novels," he said doubtfully. "Fact +is, only the tiresome novels seem to tell a portion of the truth; but +they end by overdoing it and leave you yawning with a nasty taste in +your mouth. I--I think you'd better let your father pick out your +novels." + +"I don't want to," she said rebelliously. "I want _you_ to." + +He looked at the beautiful, rebellious face and took a closer hold on +the hidden hand. + +"I wish you--I wish I could choose--everything for you," he said +unsteadily. + +"I wish so, too. You are exactly the sort of man I like." + +"Do--do you mean it?" + +"Why, yes," she replied, opening her splendid eyes. "Don't I show the +pleasure I take in being with you?" + +"But--would you tire of me if--if we always--forever----" + +"Were friends? No." + +"Mo-m-m-more than friends?" Then he choked. + +The speculation in her wide eyes deepened. "What do you mean?" she asked +curiously. + +But again the lone note of the thumped piano signaled silence. In the +sudden hush the poet opened his lids with a sticky smile and folded his +hands over his abdomen, plump thumbs joined. + +"_What_ do you mean?" repeated Lissa hurriedly, tightening her slender +fingers around Harrow's. + +"I mean--I mean----" + +He turned in silence and their eyes met. A moment later her fingers +relaxed limply in his; their hands were still in contact--but scarcely +so; and so remained while the _Attitudes_ of Barnard Haw held the stage. + + + + +IX + + [Illustration] + + +There was a young wife behind the footlights explaining to a young man +who was not her husband that her marriage vows need not be too seriously +considered if he, the young man, found them too inconvenient. Which +scared the young man, who was plainly a purveyor of heated air and a +short sport. And, although she explained very clearly that if he needed +her in his business he had better say so quick, the author's invention +gave out just there and he called in the young wife's husband to help +him out. + +And all the while the battery of round blue eyes gazed on unwinking; the +poet's dewlaps quivered with stored emotion, and the spellbound audience +breathed as people breathe when the hostess at table attempts to smooth +over a bad break by her husband. + +"Is _that_ life?" whispered Cybele to Lethbridge, her sensitive mouth +aquiver. "Did the author actually know such people? Do _you_? Is +conscience really only an attitude? Is instinct the only guide? Am +_I_--really--bad----" + +"No, no," whispered Lethbridge; "all that is only a dramatist's +attitude. Don't--don't look grieved! Why, every now and then some man +discovers he can attract more attention by standing on his head. That is +all--really, that is all. Barnard Haw on his feet is not amusing; but +the same gentleman on his head is worth an orchestra-chair. When a man +wears his trousers where other men wear their coats, people are bound to +turn around. It is not a new trick. Mystes, the Argive comic poet, and +the White Queen, taught this author the value of substituting 'is' for +'is not,' until, from standing so long inverted, he himself forgets what +he means, and at this point the eminent brothers Rogers take up the +important work.... Please, please, Cybele, _don't_ take it seriously!... +If you look that way--if you are unhappy, I--I----" + +A gentle snore from the poet transfixed the firing-line, but the snore +woke up the poet and he mechanically pinched an atom out of the +atmosphere, blinking at the stage. + +"Precious--very, very precious," he murmured drowsily. "Thank you--thank +everybody--" And he sank into an obese and noiseless slumber as the gray +and silver curtain slowly fell. The applause, far from rousing him, +merely soothed him; a honeyed smile hovered on his lips which formed the +words "Thank you." That was all; the firing-line stirred, breathed +deeply, and folded twelve soft white hands. Chlorippe, twelve, and +Philodice, thirteen, yawned, pink-mouthed, sleepy-eyed; Dione, fourteen, +laid her golden head on the shoulder of Aphrodite, fifteen. + +The finger-tips of Lissa and Harrow still touched, scarcely clinging; +they had turned toward one another when the curtain fell. But the play, +to them, had been a pantomime of silhouettes, the stage, a void edged +with flame--the scene, the audience, the theater, the poet himself as +unreal and meaningless as the shadowy attitudes of the shapes that +vanished when the phantom curtain closed its folds. + +And through the subdued light, turning noiselessly, they peered at one +another, conscious that naught else was real in the misty, golden-tinted +gloom; that they were alone together there in a formless, soundless +chaos peopled by shapes impalpable as dreams. + +"_Now_ tell me," she said, her lips scarcely moving as the soft voice +stirred them like carmine petals stirring in a scented breeze. + +"Tell you that it is--love?" + +"Yes, tell me." + +"That I love you, Lissa?" + +"Yes; that!" + +He stooped nearer; his voice was steady and very low, and she leaned +with bent head to listen, clear-eyed, intelligent, absorbed. + +"So _that_ is love--what you tell me?" + +"Yes--partly." + +"And the other part?" + +"The other part is when you find you love me." + +"I--do. I think it must be love, because I can't bear to have you go +away. Besides, I wish you to tell me--things." + +"Ask me." + +"Well--when two--like you and me, begin to love--what happens?" + +"We confess it----" + +"I do; I'm not ashamed.... Should I be? And then?" + +"Then?" he faltered. + +"Yes; do we kiss?... For I am curious to have you do it--I am so certain +I shall adore you when you do.... I wish we could go away somewhere +together.... But we can't do that until I am a bride, can we? Oh--do you +really want me?" + +"Can you ask?" he breathed. + +"Ask? Yes--yes.... I love to ask! Your hand thrills me. We can't go away +now, can we? It took Iole so long to be permitted to go away with Mr. +Wayne--all that time lost in so many foolish ways--when a girl is so +impatient.... Is it not strange how my heart beats when I look into your +eyes? Oh, there can be no doubt about it, I am dreadfully in love.... +And so quickly, too. I suppose it's because I am in such splendid +health; don't you?" + +"I--I--well----" + +"Oh, I _do_ want to get up at once and go away with you! _Can't_ we? +I could explain to father." + +"Wait!" he gasped, "he--he's asleep. Don't speak--don't touch him." + +"How unselfish you are," she breathed. "No, you are not hurting my +fingers. Tell me more--about love and the blessed years awaiting us, and +about our children--oh, is it not wonderful!" + +"Ex--extremely," he managed to mutter, touching his suddenly dampened +forehead with his handkerchief, and attempting to set his thoughts in +some sort of order. He could not; the incoherence held him speechless, +dazed, under the magic of this superb young being instinct with the soft +fire of life. + +Her loveliness, her innocence, the beautiful, direct gaze, the childlike +fulness of mouth and contour of cheek and throat, left him spellbound. +The very air around them seemed suffused with the vital glow of her +youth and beauty; each breath they drew increased their wonder, till the +whole rosy universe seemed thrilling and singing at their feet, and they +two, love-crowned, alone, saw Time and Eternity flowing like a golden +tide under the spell of Paradise. + +"Jim!" + +The hoarse whisper of Lethbridge shook the vision from him; he turned a +flushed countenance to his friend; but Cybele spoke: + +"We are very tired sitting here. We would like to take some tea at +Sherry's," she whispered. "What do you think we had better do? It seems +so--so futile to sit here--when we wish to be alone together----" + +"You and Henry, too!" gasped Harrow. + +"Yes; do you wonder?" She leaned swiftly in front of him; a fragrant +breeze stirred his hair. "Lissa, I'm desperately infatuated with Mr. +Lethbridge. Do you see any use in our staying here when I'm simply dying +to have him all to myself somewhere?" + +"No, it is silly. I wish to go, too. Shall we?" + +"You need not go," began Cybele; then stopped, aware of the new magic in +her sister's eyes. "Lissa! Lissa!" she said softly. "_You_, too! Oh, my +dear--my dearest!" + +"Dear, is it not heavenly? I--I--was quite sure that if I ever had a +good chance to talk to a man I really liked something would happen. And +it has." + +"If Philodice might awaken father perhaps he would let us go now," +whispered Cybele. "Henry says it does not take more than an hour----" + +"To become a bride?" + +"Yes; he knows a clergyman very near----" + +"Do you?" inquired Lissa. Lethbridge nodded and gave a scared glance at +Harrow, who returned it as though stunned. + +"But--but," muttered the latter, "your father doesn't know who we +are----" + +"Oh, yes, he does," said Cybele calmly, "for he sent you the tickets and +placed us near you so that if we found that we liked you we might talk +to you----" + +"Only he made a mistake in your name," added Lissa to Harrow, "for he +wrote 'Stanley West, Esq.' on the envelope. I know because I mailed it." + +"Invited West--put _you_ where you could--good God!" + +"What is the matter?" whispered Lissa in consternation; "have--have I +said anything I should not?" And, as he was silent: "What is it? Have I +hurt you--I who----" + +There was a silence; she looked him through and through and, after a +while, deep, deep in his soul, she saw, awaking once again, all he had +deemed dead--the truth, the fearless reason, the sweet and faultless +instinct of the child whose childhood had become a memory. Then, once +more spiritually equal, they smiled at one another; and Lissa, pausing +to gather up her ermine stole, passed noiselessly out to the aisle, +where she stood, perfectly self-possessed, while her sister joined her, +smiling vaguely down at the firing-line and their lifted battery of +blue, inquiring eyes. + +The poet--and whether he had slumbered or not nobody but himself is +qualified to judge--the poet pensively opened one eye and peeped at +Harrow as that young man bent beside him with Lethbridge at his elbow. + +"In sending those two tickets you have taught us a new creed," whispered +Harrow; "you have taught us innocence and simplicity--you have taught us +to be ourselves, to scorn convention, to say and do what we believe. +Thank you." + +"Dear friend," said the poet in an artistically-modulated whisper, +"I have long, long followed you in the high course of your career. To me +the priceless simplicity of poverty: to you the responsibility for +millions. To me the daisy, the mountain stream, the woodchuck and my +Art! To you the busy mart, the haunts of men, the ship of finance laden +with a nation's wealth, the awful burden of millions for which you are +answerable to One higher!" He raised one soft, solemn finger. + +The young men gazed at one another, astounded. Lethbridge's startled +eyes said, "He still takes you for Stanley West!" + +"Let him!" flashed the grim answer back from the narrowing gaze of +Harrow. + +"Daughters," whispered the poet playfully, "are you so soon tired of the +brilliant gems of satire which our master dramatist scatters with a +lavish----" + +"No," said Cybele; "we are only very much in love." + +The poet sat up briskly and looked hard at Harrow. + +"Your--your friend?" he began--"doubtless associated with you in the +high----" + +"We are inseparable," said Harrow calmly, "in the busy marts." + +The sweetness of the poet's smile was almost overpowering. + +"To discuss this sudden--ah--condition which so--ah--abruptly confronts +a father, I can not welcome you to my little home in the wild--which I +call the House Beautiful," he said. "I would it were possible. There all +is quiet and simple and exquisitely humble--though now, through the +grace of my valued son, there is no mortgage hanging like the brand of +Damocles above our lowly roof. But I bid you welcome in the name of my +son-in-law, on whom--I should say, _with_ whom--I and my babes are +sojourning in this clamorous city. Come and let us talk, soul to soul, +heart to heart; come and partake of what simples we have. Set the day, +the hour. I thank you for understanding me." + +"The hour," replied Harrow, "will be about five P.M. on Monday +afternoon.... You see, we are going out now to--to----" + +"To marry each other," whispered Lissa with all her sweet fearlessness. +"Oh, dear! there goes that monotonous piano and we'll be blocking +people's view!" + +The poet tried to rise upon his great flat feet, but he was wedged too +tightly; he strove to speak, to call after them, but the loud thumping +notes of the piano drowned his voice. + +"Chlorippe! Dione! Philodice! Tell them to stop! Run after them and stay +them!" panted the poet. + +"_You_ go!" pouted Dione. + +"No, I don't want to," explained Chlorippe, "because the curtain is +rising." + +"I'll go," sighed Philodice, rising to her slender height and moving up +the aisle as the children of queens moved once upon a time. She came +back presently, saying: "Dear me, they're dreadfully in love, and they +have driven away in two hansoms." + +"Gone!" wheezed the poet. + +"Quite," said Philodice, staring at the stage and calmly folding her +smooth little hands. + + [Illustration] + + + + +X + + [Illustration] + + +When the curtain at last descended upon the parting attitudes of the +players the poet arose with an alacrity scarcely to be expected in a +gentleman of his proportions. Two and two his big, healthy +daughters--there remained but four now--followed him to the lobby. When +he was able to pack all four into a cab he did so and sent them home +without ceremony; then, summoning another vehicle, gave the driver the +directions and climbed in. + +Half an hour later he was deposited under the bronze shelter of the +porte-cochère belonging to an extremely expensive mansion overlooking +the park; and presently, admitted, he prowled ponderously and softly +about an over-gilded rococo reception-room. But all anxiety had now fled +from his face; he coyly nipped the atmosphere at intervals as various +portions of the furniture attracted his approval; he stood before a +splendid canvas of Goya and pushed his thumb at it; he moused and +prowled and peeped and snooped, and his smile grew larger and larger and +sweeter and sweeter, until--dare I say it!--a low smooth chuckle, all +but noiseless, rippled the heavy cheeks of the poet; and, raising his +eyes, he beheld a stocky, fashionably-dressed and red-faced man of forty +intently eying him. The man spoke decisively and at once: + +"Mr. Guilford? Quite so. I am Mr. West." + +"You are--" The poet's smile flickered like a sickly candle. "I--this +is--are you Mr. _Stanley_ West?" + +"I am." + +"It must--it probably was your son----" + +"I am unmarried," said the president of the Occidental tartly, "and the +only Stanley West in the directory." + +The poet swayed, then sat down rather suddenly on a Louis XIV chair +which crackled. Several times he passed an ample hand over his features. +A mechanical smile struggled to break out, but it was not _the_ smile, +any more than glucose is sugar. + +"Did--ah--_did_ you receive two tickets for the New Arts +Theater--ah--Mr. West?" he managed to say at last. + +"I did. Thank you very much, but I was not able to avail myself----" + +"Quite so. And--ah--do you happen to know who it was that--ah--presented +your tickets and occupied the seats this afternoon?" + +"Why, I suppose it was two young men in our employ--Mr. Lethbridge, who +appraises property for us, and Mr. Harrow, one of our brokers. May I ask +why?" + +For a long while the poet sat there, eyes squeezed tightly closed as +though in bodily anguish. Then he opened one of them: + +"They are--ah--quite penniless, I presume?" + +"They have prospects," said West briefly. "Why?" + +The poet rose; something of his old attitude returned; he feebly gazed +at a priceless Massero vase, made a half-hearted attempt to join thumb +and forefinger, then rambled toward the door, where two spotless +flunkies attended with his hat and overcoat. + +"Mr. Guilford," said West, following, a trifle perplexed and remorseful, +"I should be very--er--extremely happy to subscribe to the New Arts +Theater--if that is what you wished." + +"Thank you," said the poet absently as a footman invested him with a +seal-lined coat. + +"Is there anything more I could do for you, Mr. Guilford?" + +The poet's abstracted gaze rested on him, then shifted. + +"I--I don't feel very well," said the poet hoarsely, sitting down in a +hall-seat. Suddenly he began to cry, fatly. + +Nobody did anything; the stupefied footman gaped; West looked, walked +nervously the length of the hall, looked again, and paced the inlaid +floor to and fro, until the bell at the door sounded and a messenger-boy +appeared with a note scribbled on a yellow telegraph blank: + + "Lethbridge and I just married and madly happy. Will be on hand + Monday, sure. Can't you advance us three months' salary? + + "HARROW." + +"Idiots!" said West. Then, looking up: "What are you waiting for, boy?" + +"Me answer," replied the messenger calmly. + +"Oh, you were told to bring back an answer?" + +"Ya-as." + +"Then give me your pencil, my infant Chesterfield." And West scribbled +on the same yellow blank: + + "Checks for you on your desks Monday. Congratulations. I'll see you + through, you damfools. + + "WEST." + +"Here's a quarter for you," observed West, eying the messenger. + +"T'anks. Gimme the note." + +West glanced at the moist, fat poet; then suddenly that intuition which +is bred in men of his stamp set him thinking. And presently he +tentatively added two and two. + +"Mr. Guilford," he said, "I wonder whether this note--and my answer to +it--concerns you." + +The poet used his handkerchief, adjusted a pair of glasses, and blinked +at the penciled scrawl. Twice he read it; then, like the full sun +breaking through a drizzle--like the glory of a search-light dissolving +a sticky fog, _the_ smile of smiles illuminated everything: footmen, +messenger, financier. + +"Thank you," he said thickly; "thank you for your thought. Thought is +but a trifle to bestow--a little thing in itself. But it is the little +things that are most important--the smaller the thing the more vital its +importance, until"--he added in a genuine burst of his old +eloquence--"the thing becomes so small that it isn't anything at all, +and then the value of nothing becomes so enormous that it is past all +computation. That is a very precious thought! Thank you for it; thank +you for understanding. Bless you!" + +Exuding a rich sweetness from every feature the poet moved toward the +door at a slow fleshy waddle, head wagging, small eyes half closed, +thumbing the atmosphere, while his lips moved in wordless +self-communion: "The attainment of nothing at all--that is rarest, the +most precious, the most priceless of triumphs--very, very precious. +So"--and his glance was sideways and nimbly intelligent--"so if nothing +at all is of such inestimable value, those two young pups can live on +their expectations--_quod erat demonstrandum_." + +He shuddered and looked up at the façade of the gorgeous house which he +had just quitted. + +"So many sunny windows to sit in--to dream in. I--I should have found it +agreeable. Pups!" + +Crawling into his cab he sank into a pulpy mound, partially closing his +eyes. And upon his pursed-up lips, unuttered yet imminent, a word +trembled and wabbled as the cab bounced down the avenue. It may have +been "precious"; it was probably "pups!" + + [Illustration] + + + + +XI + + [Illustration] + + +But there were further poignant emotions in store for the poet, for, as +his cab swung out of the avenue and drew up before the great house on +the southwest corner of Seventy-ninth Street and Madison Avenue, he +caught a glimpse of his eldest daughter, Iole, vanishing into the house, +and, at the same moment, he perceived his son-in-law, Mr. Wayne, paying +the driver of a hansom-cab, while several liveried servants bore +houseward the luggage of the wedding journey. + +"George!" he cried dramatically, thrusting his head from the window of +his own cab as that vehicle drew up with a jolt that made his stomach +vibrate, "George! I am here!" + +Wayne looked around, paid the hansom-driver, and, advancing slowly, +offered his hand as the poet descended to the sidewalk. "How are you?" +he inquired without enthusiasm as the poet evinced a desire to paw him. +"All is well here, I hope." + +"George! Son!" The poet gulped till his dewlap contracted. He laid a +large plump hand on Wayne's shoulders. "Where are my lambs?" he +quavered; "where are they?" + +"Which lambs?" inquired the young man uneasily. "If you mean Iole and +Vanessa----" + +"No! My ravished lambs! Give me my stolen lambs. Trifle no longer with a +father's affections! Lissa!--Cybele! Great Heavens! Where are they?" he +sobbed hoarsely. + +"Well, _where_ are they?" retorted his son-in-law, horrified. "Come into +the house; people in the street are looking." + +In the broad hall the poet paused, staggered, strove to paw Wayne, then +attempted to fold his arms in an attitude of bitter scorn. + +"Two penniless wastrels," he muttered, "are wedded to my lambs. But +there are laws to invoke----" + +An avalanche of pretty girls in pink pajamas came tumbling down the +bronze and marble staircase, smothering poet and son-in-law in happy +embraces; and "Oh, George!" they cried, "how sunburned you are! So is +Iole, but she is too sweet! Did you have a perfectly lovely honeymoon? +When is Vanessa coming? And how is Mr. Briggs? And--oh, do you know the +news? Cybele and Lissa married two such extremely attractive young men +this afternoon----" + +"Married!" cried Wayne, releasing Dione's arms from his neck. "_Whom_ +did they marry?" + +"Pups!" sniveled the poet--"penniless, wastrel pups!" + +"Their names," said Aphrodite coolly, from the top of the staircase, +"are James Harrow and Henry Lethbridge. I wish there had been three----" + +"Harrow! Lethbridge!" gasped Wayne. "When"--he turned helplessly to the +poet--"when did they do this?" + +Through the gay babble of voices and amid cries and interruptions, Wayne +managed to comprehend the story. He tried to speak, but everybody except +the poet laughed and chatted, and the poet, suffused now with a sort of +sad sweetness, waved his hand in slow unctuous waves until even the +footmen's eyes protruded. + +"It's all right," said Wayne, raising his voice; "it's topsyturvy and +irregular, but it's all right. I've known Harrow and Leth--For Heaven's +sake, Dione, don't kiss me like that; I want to talk!--You're hugging me +too hard, Philodice. Oh, Lord! _will_ you stop chattering all together! +I--I--Do you want the house to be pinched?" + +He glanced up at Aphrodite, who sat astride the banisters lighting a +cigarette. "Who taught you to do that?" he cried. + +"I'm sixteen, now," she said coolly, "and I thought I'd try it." + +Her voice was drowned in the cries and laughter; Wayne, with his hands +to his ears, stared up at the piquant figure in its pink pajamas and +sandals, then his distracted gaze swept the groups of parlor maids and +footmen around the doors: "Great guns!" he thundered, "this is the limit +and they'll pull the house! Morton!"--to a footman--"ring up 7--00--9B +Murray Hill. My compliments and congratulations to Mr. Lethbridge and to +Mr. Harrow, and say that we usually dine at eight! Philodice! stop that +howling! Oh, just you wait until Iole has a talk with you all for +running about the house half-dressed----" + +"I _won't_ wear straight fronts indoors, and my garters hurt!" cried +Aphrodite defiantly, preparing to slide down the banisters. + +"Help!" said Wayne faintly, looking from Dione to Chlorippe, from +Chlorippe to Philodice, from Philodice to Aphrodite. "I won't have my +house turned into a confounded Art Nouveau music hall. I tell you----" + +"Let _me_ tell them," said Iole, laughing and kissing her hand to the +poet as she descended the stairs in her pretty bride's traveling gown. + +She checked Aphrodite, looked wisely around at her lovely sisters, then +turned to remount the stairs, summoning them with a gay little +confidential gesture. + +And when the breathless crew had trooped after her, and the pad of +little, eager, sandaled feet had died away on the thick rugs of the +landing above, the poet, clasping his fat white hands, thumbs joined, +across his rotund abdomen, stole a glance at his dazed son-in-law, which +was partly apprehensive and partly significant, almost cunning. "An +innocent saturnalia," he murmured. "The charming abandon of children." +He unclasped one hand and waved it. "Did you note the unstudied beauty +of the composition as my babes glided in and out following the natural +and archaic yet exquisitely balanced symmetry of the laws which govern +mass and line composition, all unconsciously, yet perhaps"--he reversed +his thumb and left his sign manual upon the atmosphere--"perhaps," he +mused, overflowing with sweetness--"perhaps the laws of Art Nouveau are +divine!--perhaps angels and cherubim, unseen, watch fondly o'er my +babes, lest all unaware they guiltlessly violate some subtle canon of +Art, marring the perfect symmetry of eternal preciousness." + +Wayne's mouth was partly open, his eyes hopeless yet fixed upon the poet +with a fearful fascination. + +"Art," breathed the poet, "is a solemn, a fearful responsibility. _You_ +are responsible, George, and some day you must answer for every +violation of Art, to the eternal outraged fitness of things. _You_ must +answer, _I_ must answer, every soul must answer!" + +"A-ans--answer! What, for God's sake?" stammered Wayne. + +The poet, deliberately joining thumb and forefinger, pinched out a +portion of the atmosphere. + +"That! _That_ George! For that is Art! And Art is justice! And justice, +affronted, demands an answer." + +He refolded his arms, mused for a space, then stealing a veiled glance +sideways: + +"You--you are--ah--convinced that my two lost lambs need dread no bodily +vicissitudes----" + +"Cybele and Lissa?" + +"Ah--yes----" + +"Lethbridge will have money to burn if he likes the aroma of the smoke. +Harrow has burnt several stacks already; but his father will continue to +fire the furnace. Is _that_ what you mean?" + +"No!" said the poet softly, "no, George, that is not what I mean. Wealth +is a great thing. Only the little things are precious to me. And the +most precious of all is absolutely nothing!" But, as he wandered away +into the great luxurious habitation of his son-in-law, his smile grew +sweeter and sweeter and his half-closed eyes swam, melting into a +saccharine reverie. + +"The little things," he murmured, thumbing the air absently--"the little +things are precious, but not as precious as absolutely nothing. For +nothing is perfection. Thank you," he said sweetly to a petrified +footman, "thank you for understanding. It is precious--very, very +precious to know that I am understood." + + [Illustration] + + + + +XII + + [Illustration] + + +By early springtide the poet had taken an old-fashioned house on the +south side of Washington Square; his sons-in-law standing for it--as +the poet was actually beginning to droop amid the civilized luxury of +Madison Avenue. He missed what he called his own "den." So he got it, +rent free, and furnished it sparingly with furniture of a slabby variety +until the effect produced might, profanely speaking, be described as +dinky. + +His friends, too, who haunted the house, bore curious conformity to the +furnishing, being individually in various degrees either squatty, slabby +or dinky; and twice a week they gathered for "Conferences" upon what he +and they described as "L'Arr Noovo." + +L'Arr Noovo, a pleasing variation of the slab style in Art, had +profoundly impressed the poet. Glass window-panes, designed with tulip +patterns, were cunningly inserted into all sorts of furniture where +window-glass didn't belong, and the effect appeared to be profitable; +for up-stairs in his "shop," workmen were very busy creating +extraordinary designs and setting tulip-patterned glass into everything +with, as the poet explained, "a loving care" and considerable glue. + +His four unmarried daughters came to see him, wandering unconcernedly +between the four handsome residences of their four brothers-in-law and +the "den" of the author of their being--Chlorippe, aged thirteen; +Philodice, fourteen; Dione, fifteen, and Aphrodite, sixteen--lovely, +fresh-skinned, free-limbed young girls with the delicate bloom of sun +and wind still creaming their cheeks--lingering effects of a life lived +ever in the open, until the poet's sons-in-law were able to support him +in town in the style to which he had been unaccustomed. + +To the Conferences of the poet came the mentally, morally, and +physically dinky--and a few badgered but normal husbands, hustled +thither by wives whose intellectual development was tending toward the +precious. + +People read poems, discussed Yeats, Shaw, Fiona, Mendes, and L'Arr +Noovo; sang, wandered about pinching or thumbing the atmosphere under +stimulus of a cunningly and unexpectedly set window-pane in the back of +a "mission" rocking-chair. And when the proper moment arrived the poet +would rise, exhaling sweetness from every pore of his bulky entity, to +interpret what he called a "Thought." Sometimes it was a demonstration +of the priceless value of "nothings"; sometimes it was a naive +suggestion that no house could afford to be without an "Art"-rocker with +Arr Noovo insertions. Such indispensable luxuries were on sale +up-stairs. Again, he performed a "necklace of precious sounds"--in other +words, some verses upon various topics, nature, woodchucks, and the +dinkified in Art. + +And it was upon one of these occasions that Aphrodite ran away. + +Aphrodite, the sweet, the reasonable, the self-possessed--Aphrodite ran +away, having without any apparent reason been stricken with an +overpowering aversion for civilization and Arr Noovo. + + [Illustration] + + + + +XIII + + + [Illustration] + +At the poet's third Franco-American Conference that afternoon the room +was still vibrating with the echoes of Aphrodite's harp accompaniment to +her own singing, and gushing approbation had scarcely ceased, when the +poet softly rose and stood with eyes half-closed as though concentrating +all the sweetness within him upon the surface of his pursed lips. + +A wan young man whose face figured only as a by-product of his hair +whispered "Hush!" and several people, who seemed to be more or less out +of drawing, assumed attitudes which emphasized the faulty draftsmanship. + +"La Poésie!" breathed the poet; "Kesker say la poésie?" + +"La poésie--say la vee!" murmured a young woman with profuse teeth. + +"Wee, wee, say la vee!" cried several people triumphantly. + +"Nong!" sighed the poet, spraying the hushed air with sweetness, "nong! +Say pas le vee; say l'Immortalitay!" + +After which the poet resumed his seat, and the by-product read, in +French verse, "An Appreciation" of the works of Wilhelmina Ganderbury +McNutt. + +And that was the limit of the Franco portion of the Conference; the +remainder being plain American. + +Aphrodite, resting on her tall gilded harp, looked sullenly straight +before her. Somebody lighted a Chinese joss-stick, perhaps to kill the +aroma of defunct cigarettes. + +"Verse," said the poet, opening his heavy lids and gazing around him +with the lambent-eyed wonder of a newly-wakened ram, "verse is a +necklace of tinted sounds strung idly, yet lovingly, upon stray tinseled +threads of thought.... Thank you for understanding; thank you." + +The by-product in the corner of the studio gathered arms and legs into a +series of acute angles, and writhed; a lady ornamented with cheek-bones +well sketched in, covered her eyes with one hand as though locked in +jiu-jitsu with Richard Strauss. + +Aphrodite's slender fingers, barely resting on the harp-strings, +suddenly contracted in a nervous tremor; a low twang echoed the +involuntary reflex with a discord. + +A young man, whose neck was swathed in a stock à la d'Orsay, bent close +to her shoulder. + +"I feel that our souls, blindfolded, are groping toward one another," +he whispered. + +"Don't--don't talk like that!" she breathed almost fiercely; "I am +tired--suffocated with sound, drugged with joss-sticks and sandal. +I can't stand much more, I warn you." + +"Are you not well, beloved." + +"Perfectly well--physically. I don't know what it is--it has come so +suddenly--this overwhelming revulsion--this exasperation with scents and +sounds.... I could rip out these harp-strings and--and kick that chair +over! I--I think I need something--sunlight and the wind blowing my hair +loose----" + + [Illustration: + Aphrodite's slender fingers, barely resting on the harp-strings, + suddenly contracted in a nervous tremor.] + +The young man with the stock nodded. "It is the exquisite pagan athirst +in you, scorched by the fire of spring. Quench that sweet thirst at the +fount beautiful----" + +"What fount did you say?" she asked dangerously. + +"The precious fount of verse, dear maid." + +"No!" she whispered violently. "I'm half drowned already. Words, smells, +sounds, attitudes, rocking-chairs--and candles profaning the sunshine--I +am suffocated, I need more air, more sense and less incense--less sound, +less art----" + +"Less--_what_?" he gasped. + +"Less art!--what you call 'l'arr'!--yes, I've said it; I'm sick! sick of +art! I know what I require now." And as he remained agape in shocked +silence: "I don't mean to be rude, Mr. Frawley, but I also require less +of you.... So much less that father will scarcely expect me to play any +more accompaniments to your 'necklaces of precious tones'--so much less +that the minimum of my interest in you vanishes to absolute negation.... +So I shall not marry you." + +"Aphrodite--are--are you mad?" + +Her sulky red mouth was mute. + +Meanwhile the poet's rich, resonant voice filled the studio with an +agreeable and rambling monotone: + +"Verse is a vehicle for expression; expression is a vehicle for verse; +sound, in itself, is so subtly saturated with meaning that it requires +nothing of added logic for its vindication. Sound, therefore, is sense, +modified by the mysterious portent of tone. Thank you for understanding, +thank you for a thought--very, very precious, a thought beautiful." + +He smeared the air with inverted thumb and smiled at Mr. Frawley, who +rose, somewhat agitated, and, crooking one lank arm behind his back, +made a mechanical pinch at an atmospheric atom. + +"If--if you do that again--if you dare to recite those verses about me, +I shall go! I tell you I can't stand any more," breathed Aphrodite +between her clenched teeth. + +The young man cast his large and rather sickly eyes upon her. For a +moment he was in doubt, but belief in the witchery of sound prevailed, +for he had yet to meet a being insensible to the "music of the soul," +and so with a fond and fatuous murmur he pinched the martyred atmosphere +once more, and began, mousily: + + ALL + + A tear a year + My pale desire requires, + And that is all. + Enlacements weary, passion tires, + Kisses are cinder-ghosts of fires + Smothered at birth with mortal earth; + And that is all. + + A year of fear + My pallid soul desires + And that is all-- + Terror of bliss and dread of happiness, + A subtle need of sorrow and distress + And you to weep one tear, no more, no less, + And that is all I ask-- + And that is all. + +People were breathing thickly; the poet unaffectedly distilled the +suggested tear; it was a fat tear; it ran smoothly down his nose, +twinkled, trembled, and fell. + +Aphrodite's features had become tense; she half rose, hesitated. Then, +as the young man in the stock turned his invalid's eyes in her direction +and began: + + Oh, sixteen tears + In sixteen years---- + +she transfixed her hat with one nervous gesture sprang to her feet, +turned, and vanished through the door. + +"She is too young to endure it," sobbed the by-product to her of the +sketchy face. And that was no idle epigram, either. + + [Illustration] + + + + +XIV + + [Illustration] + + +She had no definite idea; all she craved for was the open--or its +metropolitan substitute--sunshine, air, the glimpse of sanely +preoccupied faces, the dull, quickening tumult of traffic. The tumult +grew, increasing in her ears as she crossed Washington Square under the +sycamores and looked up through tender feathery foliage at the white +arch of marble through which the noble avenue flows away between its +splendid arid chasms of marble, bronze, and masonry to that blessed +leafy oasis in the north--the Park. + +She took an omnibus, impatient for the green rambles of the only +breathing-place she knew of, and settled back in her seat, rebellious of +eye, sullen of mouth, scarcely noticing the amused expression of the +young man opposite. + +Two passengers left at Twenty-third Street, three at Thirty-fourth +Street, and seven at Forty-second Street. + +Preoccupied, she glanced up at the only passenger remaining, caught the +fleeting shadow of interest on his face, regarded him with natural +indifference, and looked out of the window, forgetting him. A few +moments later, accidentally aware of him again, she carelessly noted his +superficially attractive qualities, and, approving, resumed her idle +inspection of the passing throng. But the next time her pretty head +swung round she found him looking rather fixedly at her, and +involuntarily she returned the gaze with a childlike directness--a gaze +which he sustained to the limit of good breeding, then evaded so amiably +that it left an impression rather agreeable than otherwise. + +"I don't see," thought Aphrodite, "why I never meet that sort of man. +He hasn't art nouveau legs, and his features are not by-products of his +hair.... I have told my brothers-in-law that I am old enough to go out +without coming out.... And I am." + +The lovely mouth grew sullen again: "I don't wish to wait two years and +be what dreadful newspapers call a 'bud'! I wish to go to dinners and +dances _now_!... Where I'll meet that sort of man.... The sort one feels +almost at liberty to talk to without anybody presenting anybody.... I've +a mind to look amiable the next time he----" + +He raised his eyes at that instant; but she did not smile. + +"I--I suppose that is the effect of civilization on me," she +reflected--"metropolitan civilization. I felt like saying, 'For +goodness' sake, let's say something'--even in spite of all my sisters +have told me. I can't see why it would be dangerous for me to _look_ +amiable. If he glances at me again--so agreeably----" + +He did; but she didn't smile. + +"You see!" she said, accusing herself discontentedly; "you don't dare +look human. Why? Because you've had it so drummed into you that you can +never, never again do anything natural. Why? Oh, because they all begin +to talk about mysterious dangers when you say you wish to be natural.... +I've made up my mind to look interested the next time he turns.... Why +shouldn't he see that I'm quite willing to talk to him?... And I'm so +tired of looking out of the window.... Before I came to this curious +city I was never afraid to speak to anybody who attracted me.... And I'm +not now.... So if he does look at me----" + +He did. + +The faintest glimmer of a smile troubled her lips. She thought: "I _do_ +wish he'd speak!" + +There was a very becoming color in his face, partly because he was +experienced enough not to mistake her; partly from a sudden and complete +realization of her beauty. + +"It's so odd," thought Aphrodite, "that attractive people consider it +dangerous to speak to one another. I don't see any danger.... I wonder +what he has in that square box beside him? It can't be a camera.... It +_can't_ be a folding easel! It simply _can't_ be that _he_ is an artist! +a man like that----" + +"_Are_ you?" she asked quite involuntarily. + +"What?" he replied, astonished, wheeling around. + +"An--an artist. I can't believe it, and I don't wish to! You don't look +it, you know!" + +For a moment he could scarcely realize that she had spoken; his keen +gaze dissected the face before him, the unembarrassed eyes, the oval +contour, the smooth, flawless loveliness of a child. + +"Yes, I am an artist," he said, considering her curiously. + +"I am sorry," she said, "no, not sorry--only unpleasantly surprised. You +see I am so tired of art--and I thought you looked so--so wholesome----" + +He began to laugh--a modulated laugh--rather infectious, too, for +Aphrodite bit her lip, then smiled, not exactly understanding it all. + +"Why do you laugh?" she asked, still smiling. "Have I said something I +should not have said?" + +But he replied with a question: "Have you found art unwholesome?" + +"I--I don't know," she answered with a little sigh; "I am so tired of it +all. Don't let us talk about it--will you?" + +"It isn't often I talk about it," he said, laughing again. + +"Oh! That is unusual. Why don't you talk about art?" + +"I'm much too busy." + +"D--doing what? If that is not _very_ impertinent." + +"Oh, making pictures of things," he said, intensely amused. + +"Pictures? You don't talk about art, and you paint pictures!" + +"Yes." + +"W--what kind? Do you mind my asking? You are so--so very unusual." + +"Well, to earn my living, I make full-page pictures for magazines; to +satisfy an absurd desire, I paint people--things--anything that might +satisfy my color senses." He shrugged his shoulders gaily. "You see, I'm +the sort you are so tired of----" + +"But you _paint_! The artists I know don't paint--except _that_ way--" +She raised her pretty gloved thumb and made a gesture in the air; and, +before she had achieved it, they were both convulsed with laughter. + +"You never do that, do you?" she asked at length. + +"No, I never do. I can't afford to decorate the atmosphere for nothing!" + +"Then--then you are not interested in art nouveau?" + +"No; and I never could see that beautiful music resembled frozen +architecture." + +They were laughing again, looking with confidence and delight upon one +another as though they had started life's journey together in that +ancient omnibus. + +"_What_ is a 'necklace of precious tones'?" she asked. + +"Precious stones?" + +"No, _tones_!" + +"Let me cite, as an example, those beautiful verses of Henry Haynes," +he replied gravely. + +TO BE OR NOT TO BE + + I'd rather be a Could Be, + If I can not be an Are; + For a Could Be is a May Be, + With a chance of touching par. + + I had rather be a Has Been + Than a Might Have Been, by far; + For a Might Be is a Hasn't Been + But a Has was _once_ an Are! + + Also an Are is Is and Am; + A Was _was_ all of these; + So I'd rather be a Has Been + Than a Hasn't, if you please. + +And they fell a-laughing so shamelessly that the 'bus driver turned and +squinted through his shutter at them, and the scandalized horses stopped +of their own accord. + +"Are you going to leave?" he asked as she rose. + +"Yes; this is the Park," she said. "Thank you, and good-by." + +He held the door for her; she nodded her thanks and descended, turning +frankly to smile again in acknowledgment of his quickly lifted hat. + +"He _was_ nice," she reflected a trifle guiltily, "and I had a good +time, and I really don't see any danger in it." + + [Illustration] + + + + +XV + + + [Illustration] + +She drew a deep, sweet breath as she entered the leafy shade and looked +up into the bluest of cloudless skies. Odors of syringa and lilac +freshened her, cleansing her of the last lingering taint of joss-sticks. +The cardinal birds were very busy in the scarlet masses of Japanese +quince; orioles fluttered among golden Forsythia; here and there an +exotic starling preened and peered at the burnished purple grackle, +stalking solemnly through the tender grass. + +For an hour she walked vigorously, enchanted with the sun and sky and +living green, through arbors heavy with wistaria, iris hued and scented, +through rambles under tall elms tufted with new leaves, past fountains +splashing over, past lakes where water-fowl floated or stretched +brilliant wings in the late afternoon sunlight. At times the summer wind +blew her hair, and she lifted her lips to it, caressing it with every +fiber of her; at times she walked pensively, wondering why she had been +forbidden the Park unless accompanied. + +"More danger, I suppose," she thought impatiently.... "Well, what is +this danger that seems to travel like one's shadow, dogging a girl +through the world? It seems to me that if all the pleasant things of +life are so full of danger I'd better find out what it is.... I might as +well look for it so that I'll recognize it when I encounter it.... And +learn to keep away." + +She scanned the flowery thickets attentively, looked behind her, then +walked on. + +"If it's robbers they mean," she reflected, "I'm a good wrestler, and I +can make any one of my four brothers-in-law look foolish.... Besides, +the Park is full of fat policemen.... And if they mean I'm likely to get +lost, or run over, or arrested, or poisoned with soda-water and +bonbons--" She laughed to herself, swinging on in her free-limbed, +wholesome beauty, scarcely noticing a man ahead, occupying a bench half +hidden under the maple's foliage. + +"So I'll just look about for this danger they are all afraid of, and +when I see it, I'll know what to do," she concluded, paying not the +slightest heed to the man on the bench until he rose, as she passed him, +and took off his hat. + +"You!" she exclaimed. + +She had stopped short, confronting him with the fearless and charming +directness natural to her. "What an amusing accident," she said frankly. + +"The truth is," he began, "it is not exactly an accident." + +"Isn't it?" + +"N--no.... Are you offended?" + +"Offended? No. Should I be? Why?... Besides, I suppose when we have +finished this conversation you are going the _other_ way." + +"I--no, I wasn't." + +"Oh! Then you are going to sit here?" + +"Y--yes--I suppose so.... But I don't want to." + +"Then why do you?" + +"Well, if I'm not going the _other_ way, and if I'm not going to remain +here--" He looked at her, half laughing. She laughed, too, not exactly +knowing why. + +"Don't you really mind my walking a little way with you?" he asked. + +"No, I don't. Why should I? Is there any reason? Am I not old enough to +know why we should not walk together? Is it because the sun is going +down? Is there what people call 'danger'?" + +He was so plainly taken aback that her fair young face became seriously +curious. + +"_Is_ there any reason why you should not walk with me?" she persisted. + +The clear, direct gaze challenged him. He hesitated. + +"Yes, there is," he said. + +"A--a reason why you should not walk with me?" + +"Yes." + +"What is it?" + +And, as he did not find words to answer, she studied him for a moment, +glanced up and down the woodland walk, then impulsively seated herself +and motioned him to a place beside her on the bench. + +"Now," she said, "I'm in a position to find out just what this danger is +that they all warn me about. _You_ know, don't you?" + +"Know what?" he answered. + +"About the danger that I seem to run every time I manage to enjoy +myself.... And you _do_ know; I see it by the way you look at me--and +your expression is just like their expression when they tell me not to +do things I find most natural." + +"But--I--you----" + +"You _must_ tell me! I shall be thoroughly vexed with you if you don't." + +Then he began to laugh, and she let him, leaning back to watch him with +uncertain and speculative blue eyes. After a moment he said: + +"You are absolutely unlike any girl I ever heard of. I am trying to get +used to it--to adjust things. Will you help me?" + +"How?" she asked innocently. + +"Well, by telling me"--he looked at her a moment--"your age. You look +about nineteen." + +"I am sixteen and a half. I and all my sisters have developed our bodies +so perfectly because, until we came to New York last autumn, we had +lived all our lives out-of-doors." She looked at him with a friendly +smile. "Would you really like to know about us?" + +"Intensely." + +"Well, there are eight of us: Chlorippe, thirteen; Philodice, fourteen; +Dione, fifteen; Aphrodite, sixteen--I am Aphrodite; Cybele, seventeen, +married; Lissa, eighteen, married; Iole, nineteen, married, and Vanessa, +twenty, married." She raised one small, gloved finger to emphasize the +narrative. "All our lives we were brought up to be perfectly natural, to +live, act, eat, sleep, play like primitive people. Our father dressed us +like youths--boys, you know. Why," she said earnestly, "until we came to +New York we had no idea that girls wore such lovely, fluffy +underwear--but I believe I am not to mention such things; at least they +have told me not to--but my straight front is still a novelty to me, and +so are my stockings, so you won't mind if I've said something I +shouldn't, will you?" + +"No," he said; his face was expressionless. + +"Then _that's_ all right. So you see how it is; we don't quite know what +we may do in this city. At first we were delighted to see so many +attractive men, and we wanted to speak to some of them who seemed to +want to speak to us, but my father put a stop to that--but it's absurd +to think all those men might be robbers, isn't it?" + +"Very." There was not an atom of intelligence left in his face. + +"So _that's_ all right, then. Let me see, what was I saying? Oh, yes, +I know! So four of my sisters were married, and we four remaining are +being civilized.... But, oh--I wish I could be in the country for a +little while! I'm so homesick for the meadows and brooks and my pajamas +and my bare feet in sandals again.... And people seem to know so little +in New York, and nobody understands us when we make little jests in +Greek, or Latin, or Arabic, and nobody seems to have been very well +educated and accomplished, so we feel strange at times." + +"D--d--do you _do_ all those things?" + +"What things?" + +"M--make jests in Arabic?" + +"Why, yes. Don't you?" + +"No. What else do you do?" + +"Why, not many things." + +"Music?" + +"Oh, of course." + +"Piano?" + +"Yes, piano, violin, harp, guitar, zither--all that sort of thing.... +Don't you?" + +"No. What else?" + +"Why--just various things, ride, swim, fence, box--I box pretty +well--all those things----" + +"Science, too?" + +"Rudiments. Of course I couldn't, for example, discourse with authority +upon the heteropterous mictidæ or tell you in what genus or genera the +prothorax and femora are digitate; or whether climatic and polymorphic +forms of certain diurnal lepidoptera occur within certain boreal limits. +I have only a vague and superficial knowledge of any science, you see." + +"I see," he said gravely. + +She leaned forward thoughtfully, her pretty hands loosely interlaced +upon her knee. + +"Now," she said, "tell me about this danger that such a girl as I must +guard against." + +"There is no danger," he said slowly. + +"But they told me----" + +"Let them tell you what it is, then." + +"No; you tell me?" + +"I can't." + +"Why?" + +"Because--I simply can't." + +"Are you ashamed to?" + +"Perhaps--" He lifted his boxed sketching-kit by the strap, swung it, +then set it carefully upon the ground: "Perhaps it is because I am +ashamed to admit that there could be any danger to any woman in this +world of men." + +She looked at him so seriously that he straightened up and began to +laugh. But she did not forget anything he had said, and she began her +questions at once: + +"Why should you not walk with me?" + +"I'll take that back," he said, still laughing; "there is every reason +why I should walk with you." + +"Oh!... But you said----" + +"All I meant was not for you, but for the ordinary sort of girl. Now, +the ordinary, every-day, garden girl does not concern you----" + +"Yes, she does! Why am I not like her?" + +"Don't attempt to be----" + +"_Am_ I different--very different?" + +"Superbly different!" The flush came to his face with the impulsive +words. + +She considered him in silence, then: "Should I have been offended +because you came into the Park to find me? And why did you? Do you find +me interesting?" + +"So interesting," he said, "that I don't know what I shall do when you +go away." + +Another pause; she was deeply absorbed with her own thoughts. He watched +her, the color still in his face, and in his eyes a growing fascination. + +"I'm not out," she said, resting her chin on one gloved hand, "so we're +not likely to meet at any of those jolly things you go to. What do you +think we'd better do?--because they've all warned me against doing just +what you and I have done." + +"Speaking without knowing each other?" he asked guiltily. + +"Yes.... But I did it first to you. Still, when I tell them about it, +they won't let you come to visit me. I tried it once. I was in a car, +and such an attractive man looked at me as though he wanted to speak, +and so when I got out of the car he got out, and I thought he seemed +rather timid, so I asked him where Tiffany's was. I really didn't know, +either. So we had such a jolly walk together up Fifth Avenue, and when I +said good-by he was so anxious to see me again, and I told him where I +lived. But--do you know?--when I explained about it at home they acted +so strangely, and they never would tell me whether or not he ever came." + +"Then you intend to tell them all about--_us_?" + +"Of course. I've disobeyed them." + +"And--and I am never to see you again?" + +"Oh, I'm very disobedient," she said innocently. "If I wanted to see you +I'd do it." + +"But _do_ you?" + +"I--I am not sure. Do you want to see me?" + +His answer was stammered and almost incoherent. That, and the color in +his face and the _something_ in his eyes, interested her. + +"Do you really find me so attractive?" she asked, looking him directly +in the eyes. "You must answer me quickly; see how dark it is growing! +I must go. Tell me, do you like me?" + +"I never cared so much for--for any woman----." + +She dimpled with delight and lay back regarding him under level, +unembarrassed brows. + +"That is very pleasant," she said. "I've often wished that a man--of +your kind--would say that to me. I do wish we could be together a great +deal, because you like me so much already and I truly do find you +agreeable.... Say it to me again--about how much you like me." + +"I--I--there is no woman--none I ever saw so--so interesting.... I mean +more than that." + +"Say it then." + +"Say what I mean?" + +"Yes." + +"I am afraid----" + +"Afraid? Of what?" + +"Of offending you----" + +"Is it an offense to me to tell me how much you like me? _How_ can it +offend me?" + +"But--it is incredible! You won't believe----" + +"Believe what?" + +"That in so short a time I--I could care for you so much----" + +"But I shall believe you. I know how I feel toward you. And every time +you speak to me I feel more so." + +"Feel more so?" he stammered. + +"Yes, I experience more delight in what you say. Do you think I am +insensible to the way you look at me?" + +"You--you mean--" He simply could not find words. + +She leaned back, watching him with sweet composure; then laughed a +little and said: "Do you suppose that you and I are going to fall in +love with one another?" + +In the purpling dusk the perfume of wistaria grew sweeter and sweeter. + +"I've done it already--" His voice shook and failed; a thrush, invisible +in shadowy depths, made soft, low sounds. + +"You _love_ me--already?" she exclaimed under her breath. + +"Love you! I--I--there are no words--" The thrush stirred the sprayed +foliage and called once, then again, restless for the moon. + +Her eyes wandered over him thoughtfully: "So _that_ is love.... I didn't +know.... I supposed it could be nothing pleasanter than friendship, +although they say it is.... But how could it be? There is nothing +pleasanter than friendship.... I am perfectly delighted that you love +me. Shall we marry some day, do you think?" + +He strove to speak, but her frankness stunned him. + +"I meant to tell you that I am engaged," she observed. "Does that +matter?" + +"Engaged!" He found his tongue quickly enough then; and she, surprised, +interested, and in nowise dissenting, listened to his eloquent views +upon the matter of Mr. Frawley, whom she, during the lucid intervals of +his silence, curtly described. + +"Do you know," she said with great relief, "that I always felt that way +about love, because I never knew anything about it except from the +symptoms of Mr. Frawley? So when they told me that love and friendship +were different, I supposed it must be so, and I had no high opinion of +love ... until you made it so agreeable. Now I--I prefer it to anything +else.... I could sit here with you all day, listening to you. Tell me +some more." + + + + +XVI + + [Illustration] + + +He did. She listened, sometimes intently interested, absorbed, sometimes +leaning back dreamily, her eyes partly veiled under silken lashes, her +mouth curved with the vaguest of smiles. + +He spoke as a man who awakes with a start--not very clearly at first, +then with feverish coherence, at times with recklessness almost +eloquent. Still only half awakened himself, still scarcely convinced, +scarcely credulous that this miracle of an hour had been wrought in him, +here under the sky and setting sun and new-born leaves, he spoke not +only to her but of her to himself, formulating in words the rhythm his +pulses were beating, interpreting this surging tide which thundered in +his heart, clamoring out the fact--the fact--the fact that he +loved!--that love was on him like the grip of Fate--on him so suddenly, +so surely, so inexorably, that, stricken as he was, the clutch only +amazed and numbed him. + +He spoke, striving to teach himself that the incredible was credible, +the impossible possible--that it was done! done! done! and that he loved +a woman in an hour because, in an hour, he had read her innocence as one +reads through crystal, and his eyes were opened for the first time upon +loveliness unspoiled, sweetness untainted, truth uncompromised. + +"Do you know," she said, "that, as you speak, you make me care for you +so much more than I supposed a girl could care for a man?" + +"Can you love me?" + +"Oh, I do already! I don't mean mere love. It is something--_something_ +that I never knew about before. _Every_thing about you is so--so exactly +what I care for--your voice, your head, the way you think, the way you +look at me. I never thought of men as I am thinking about you.... I want +you to belong to me--all alone.... I want to see how you look when you +are angry, or worried, or tired. I want you to think of me when you are +perplexed and unhappy and ill. Will you? You _must_! There is nobody +else, is there? If you do truly love me?" + +"Nobody but you." + +"That is what I desire.... I want to live with you--I promise I won't +talk about art--even _your_ art, which I might learn to care for. All I +want is to really live and have your troubles to meet and overcome them +because I will not permit anything to harm you.... I will love you +enough for that.... I--do you love other women?" + +"Good God, no!" + +"And you shall not!" She leaned closer, looking him through and through. +"I _will_ be what you love! I will be what you desire most in all the +world. I _will_ be to you everything you wish, in every way, always, +ever, and forever and ever.... Will you marry me?" + +"Will _you_?" + +"Yes." + +She suddenly stripped off her glove, wrenched a ring set with brilliants +from the third finger of her left hand, and, rising, threw it, straight +as a young boy throws, far out into deepening twilight. It was the end +of Mr. Frawley; he, too, had not only become a by-product but a good-by +product. Yet his modest demands had merely required a tear a year! +Perhaps he had not asked enough. Love pardons the selfish. + +She was laughing, a trifle excited, as she turned to face him where he +had risen. But, at the touch of his hand on hers, the laughter died at a +breath, and she stood, her limp hand clasped in his, silent, +expressionless, save for the tremor of her mouth. + +"I--I must go," she said, shrinking from him. + +He did not understand, thrilled as he was by the contact, but he let her +soft hand fall away from his. + +Then with a half sob she caught her own fingers to her lips and kissed +them where the pressure of his hand burned her white flesh--kissed them, +looking at him. + +"You--you find a child--you leave a woman," she said unsteadily. "Do you +understand how I love you--for that?" + +He caught her in his arms. + +"No--not yet--not my mouth!" she pleaded, holding him back; "I love you +too much--already _too_ much. Wait! Oh, _will_ you wait?... And let me +wait--_make_ me wait?... I--I begin to understand some things I did not +know an hour ago." + +In the dusk he could scarcely see her as she swayed, yielding, her arms +tightening about his neck in the first kiss she had ever given or +forgiven in all her life. + +And through the swimming tumult of their senses the thrush's song rang +like a cry. The moon had risen. + + [Illustration] + + + + +XVII + + [Illustration] + + +Mounting the deadened stairway noiselessly to her sister's room, groping +for the door in the dark of the landing, she called: "Iole!" And again: +"Iole! Come to me! It is I!" + +The door swung noiselessly; a dim form stole forward, wide-eyed and +white in the electric light. + +Then down at her sister's feet dropped Aphrodite, and laid a burning +face against her silken knees. And, "Oh, Iole, Iole," she whispered, +"Iole, Iole, Iole! There is danger, as you say--there is, and I +understand it ... now.... But I love him so--I--I have been so happy--so +happy! Tell me what I have done ... and how wrong it is! Oh, Iole, Iole! +What have I done!" + +"Done, child! What in the name of all the gods have you done?" + +"Loved him--in the names of all the gods! Oh, Iole! Iole! Iole!" + + +"----The thrush singing in darkness; the voice of spring calling, +calling me to his arms! Oh, Iole, Iole!--these, and my soul and his, +alone under the pagan moon! alone, save for the old gods whispering in +the dusk----" + + +"----And listening, I heard the feathery tattoo of wings close by--the +wings of Eros all aquiver like a soft moth trembling ere it flies! Peril +divine! I understood it then. And, stirring in darkness, sweet as the +melody of unseen streams, I heard the old gods laughing.... _Then_ I +knew." + + +"Is that all, little sister?" + +"Almost all." + +"What more?" + + +And when, at length, the trembling tale was told, Iole caught her in her +white arms, looked at her steadily, then kissed her again and again. + +"If he is all you say--this miracle--I--I think I can make them +understand," she whispered. "Where is he?" + +"D-down-stairs--at b-bay! Hark! You can hear George swearing! Oh, Iole, +don't let him!" + +In the silence from the drawing-room below came the solid sobs of the +poet: + +"P-pup! P-p-penniless pup!" + +"He _must_ not say that!" cried Aphrodite fiercely. "Can't you make +father and George understand that he has nearly six hundred dollars in +the bank?" + +"I will try," said Iole tenderly. "Come!" + +And with one arm around Aphrodite she descended the great stairway, +where, on the lower landing, immensely interested, sat Chlorippe, +Philodice and Dione, observant, fairly aquiver with intelligence. + +"Oh, that young man is catching it!" remarked Dione, looking up as Iole +passed, her arm close around her sister's waist. "George has said +'dammit' seven times and father is rocking--not in a rocking-chair--just +rocking and expressing his inmost thoughts. And Mr. Briggs pretends to +scowl and mutters: 'Hook him over the ropes, George. 'E ain't got no +friends!' Take a peep, Iole. You can just see them if you lean over and +hang on to the banisters----" + +But Iole brushed by her younger sisters, Aphrodite close beside her, +and, entering the great receiving-hall, stood still, her clear eyes +focused upon her husband's back. + +"George!" + +Mr. Wayne stiffened and wheeled; Mr. Briggs sidled hastily toward the +doorway, crabwise; the poet choked back the word, "Phup!" and gazed at +his tall daughter with apprehension and protruding lips. + +"Iole," began Wayne, "this is no place for you! Aphrodite! let that +fellow alone, I say!" + +Iole turned, following with calm eyes the progress of her sister toward +a tall young man who stood by the window, a red flush staining his +strained face. + +The tense muscles in jaw and cheek relaxed as Aphrodite laid one hand on +his arm; the poet, whose pursed lips were overloaded, expelled a +passionate "Phupp!" and the young man's eyes narrowed again at the shot. + +Then silence lengthened to a waiting menace, and even the three sisters +on the stairs succumbed to the oppressive stillness. And all the while +Iole stood like a white Greek goddess under the glory of her hair, +looking full into the eyes of the tall stranger. + +A minute passed; a glimmer dawned to a smile and trembled in the azure +of Iole's eyes; she slowly lifted her arms, white hands outstretched, +looking steadily at the stranger. + +He came, tense, erect; Iole's cool hands dropped in his. And, turning to +the others with a light on her face that almost blinded him, she said, +laughing: "Do you not understand? Aphrodite brings us the rarest gift in +the world in this tall young brother! Look! Touch him! We have never +seen his like before for all the wisdom of wise years. For he is one of +few--and men are many, and artists legion--this honorable miracle, this +sane and wholesome wonder! this trinity, Lover, Artist, and Man!" + +And, turning again, she looked him wistfully, wonderingly, in the eyes. + + + + +THE END + + + * * * * * + * * * * + +Errata (noted by transcriber) + +The variation between single and double quotes for nested quotations +is unchanged. + + so many agreeable-looking men." [_internal close quote missing_] + sounded a staccato monotone [stacatto] + for understanding me." [me.'"] + She leaned forward thoughtfully [foward] + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Iole, by Robert W. Chambers + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IOLE *** + +***** This file should be named 24426-8.txt or 24426-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/4/2/24426/ + +Produced by Louise Hope, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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 + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/24426-8.zip b/24426-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9c1afce --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-8.zip diff --git a/24426-h.zip b/24426-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..1e1ad6e --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h.zip diff --git a/24426-h/24426-h.htm b/24426-h/24426-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e391a83 --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/24426-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5135 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<title>Iole</title> +<meta http-equiv = "Content-Type" content = "text/html; charset=UTF-8"> + +<style type = "text/css"> + +body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} +div.page {margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 3em;} + +table.toc a {text-decoration: none;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +hr.mid {width: 40%;} +hr.tiny {width: 20%;} + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5, h6 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; +font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; +margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 200%;} +h2 {font-size: 175%;} +h3 {font-size: 150%;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h4.chapter {margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;} +table h4 {margin-bottom: 0;} +h5 {font-size: 100%;} +h6 {font-size: 85%;} + +p {margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: 0em; line-height: 1.2;} +p.right {text-align: right;} +p.center {text-align: center;} +p.righthalf {margin-left: 50%; text-align: center;} +p.lefthalf {margin-right: 50%; text-align: center;} + +p.illustration {text-align: center; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +p.illustration.left {text-align: left;} +p.illustration.right {text-align: right;} +p.illustration.chapter {margin-top: 4em;} + +p.caption {text-align: center; font-size: 92%; margin-bottom: 1em;} + +p.dots {background-position: bottom; background-repeat: repeat-x; background-image: url("images/dots.gif");} + + +div.verse {margin: .5em 2em 0 2em;} + +div.verse p {margin-top: 0em; margin-left: 4em; text-indent: -4em;} +div.verse p.in1 {text-indent: -2.75em;} +div.verse p.in2 {text-indent: -1.5em;} +div.verse p.in3 {text-indent: -.25em;} +div.verse p.quote {text-indent: -4.33em;} +div.verse p.stanza {margin-top: .5em;} + +/* tables */ + +table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 1em; +margin-bottom: 1em;} +table.outline {border-collapse: collapse; border: 2px solid #333;} + +td {vertical-align: top; text-align: left; padding: .1em;} +td.outline {border-bottom: 2px solid #333;} + +table.outline td {padding: 1em; font-size: 92%; font-weight: bold;} +table.outline td.nopad {padding: .1em;} + +td.number {text-align: right;} +td.center {text-align: center;} + +table.toc {border-collapse: collapse;} +table.toc td {padding: 0em;} + +table.contents {background-position: top left; +background-repeat: no-repeat; background-image: url("images/ip17.png"); +width: 463px; height: 719px;} +table.illustrations {background-position: top right; +background-repeat: no-repeat; background-image: url("images/ip19.png"); +width: 477px; height: 712px;} +table.illustrations td.number {vertical-align: bottom;} + +/* conditional */ +table.toc p {margin-top: 0em; margin-left: 1em; +text-indent: -1em; line-height: normal;} + + +/* text formatting */ + +span.dropcap {float: left; margin: 0 1em 0 0;} +span.firstword {text-transform: uppercase; margin-left: -.75em;} +span.dash {letter-spacing: -.2em;} + +.smallroman {text-transform: uppercase; font-variant: small-caps;} +.smallcaps {font-variant: small-caps;} +.smaller {font-size: .8em;} +.extended {letter-spacing: 0.2em;} + + +/* my additions */ + +/* correction popup */ + +ins.correction {text-decoration: none; border-bottom: thin dotted red;} + +/* page number */ + +.pagenum {position: absolute; right: 2%; font-size: 95%; +font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; text-align: right; +text-indent: 0em;} + +/* Transcriber's Note */ + +div.mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; margin: 1em 5% 3em; +font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 90%; padding: .5em 1em 1em;} +div.mynote a {text-decoration: none;} + +</style> +</head> + +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Iole, by Robert W. Chambers + +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: Iole + +Author: Robert W. Chambers + +Illustrator: Arthur C. Becker + +Release Date: January 25, 2008 [EBook #24426] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IOLE *** + + + + +Produced by Louise Hope, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<div class = "mynote"> +<p> +This text uses utf-8 (unicode) file encoding. If the apostrophes and +quotation marks in this paragraph appear as garbage, you may have an +incompatible browser or unavailable fonts. First, make sure that the +browser’s “character set†or “file encoding†is set to Unicode (UTF-8). +You may also need to change your browser’s default font.</p> + +<p>A few typographical errors have been corrected. They are marked with +mouse-hover <ins class = "correction" title = "like this">popups</ins>. +The variation between single and double quotes for nested quotations is +unchanged.</p> + +<p class = "center"><a href = "#preface"> +Preface</a></p> + +<p class = "center"><a href = "#contents"> +Table of Contents</a></p> + +<p class = "center"><a href = "#iole_text"> +Iole</a></p> + +</div> +<!-- png 001 --> + +<p class = "illustration"> +<img src = "images/cover.jpg" width = "319" height = "496" +alt = "Iole cover" title = "Iole cover"> +</p> + +<div class = "page"> + +<!-- png 002 --> + +<table class = "outline" summary = "text in two columns"> +<tr> +<td class = "outline center" colspan = "2"> +<a name = "works" id = "works"> +WORKS OF ROBERT W. CHAMBERS</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width = "50%"> +Cardigan<br> +The Maid-at-Arms<br> +The Reckoning<br> +Lorraine<br> +Maids of Paradise<br> +Ashes of Empire<br> +The Red Republic<br> +The King in Yellow<br> +The Maker of Moons<br> +</td> +<td> +A King and a Few Dukes<br> +The Conspirators<br> +The Cambric Mask<br> +The Haunts of Men<br> +Outsiders<br> +A Young Man in a Hurry<br> +In Search of the Unknown<br> +In the Quarter<br> +The Mystery of Choice +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class = "center nopad" colspan = "2"> +Iole +<hr class = "tiny"> +FOR CHILDREN +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class = "center"> +Outdoor-Land<br> +Orchard-Land +</td> +<td class = "center"> +River-Land<br> +Forest-Land +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +</div> + +<div class = "page"> + +<!-- png 003 --> +<p class = "illustration right"> +<img src = "images/ip03.png" width = "218" height = "402" +alt = "Iole standing"> +</p> + +</div> + +<div class = "page"> + +<!-- png 004 --> +<p class = "illustration left"> +<img src = "images/ip04.png" width = "221" height = "427" +alt = "playing tennis"> +</p> + +</div> + +<div class = "page"> + +<!-- png 005 --> +<p class = "illustration"> +<a name = "halftitle" id = "halftitle"> +<img src = "images/ip05.png" width = "277" height = "402" +alt = "IOLE" title = "IOLE"></a> +</p> + +<!-- png 006 --> + +<!-- png 007 --> + +</div> + +<div class = "page"> + +<!-- png 008 --> +<p class = "illustration"> +<a name = "frontis" id = "frontis"> +<img src = "images/frontis.jpg" width = "349" height = "400" +alt = "See caption"></a> +</p> + +<p class = "caption"> +“The little things,†he continued, delicately perforating the<br> +atmosphere as though selecting a diatom.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class = "mid"> + +<div class = "page"> + +<!-- png 009 --> +<p class = "illustration"> +<a name = "titlepage" id = "titlepage"> +<img src = "images/titlepage.png" width = "305" height = "542" +alt = "IOLE / By / Robert W. Chambers" +title = "IOLE / By / Robert W. Chambers"></a> +</p> + +</div> + +<hr class = "mid"> + +<div class = "page"> + +<!-- png 010 --> + +<p class = "illustration left"> +<img src = "images/ip10.png" width = "269" height = "284" +alt = "reading"> +</p> + +<h5><span class = "smallcaps">Copyright, 1905, by</span><br> +ROBERT W. CHAMBERS</h5> + + +<p><i>Published May, 1905</i></p> + +</div> + +<hr class = "mid"> + +<div class = "page"> + +<!-- png 011 --> +<h5>TO<br> +GEORGE HORACE LORIMER</h5> + +<p class = "illustration right"> +<img src = "images/ip11.png" width = "353" height = "306" +alt = "resting by a tree"> +</p> + +</div> + +<div class = "page"> + +<!-- png 012 --> +<p class = "illustration left"> +<img src = "images/ip12.png" width = "168" height = "398" +alt = "standing with bow"> +</p> + +</div> + +<span class = "pagenum">xi</span> +<!-- png 013 --> + +<p class = "illustration chapter"> +<a name = "preface" id = "preface"> +<img src = "images/pic092.png" width = "381" height = "129" +alt = "decoration"> +</a></p> + +<h4>PREFACE</h4> + + +<p><span class = "dropcap"> +<img src = "images/capD.gif" width = "86" height = "82" +alt = "D" title = "D"></span><span class = "firstword">oes</span> +anybody remember the opera of <i>The Inca</i>, and that heartbreaking +episode where the Court Undertaker, in a morbid desire to increase his +professional skill, deliberately accomplishes the destruction of his +middle-aged relatives in order to inter them for the sake of +practise?</p> + +<p>If I recollect, his dismal confession runs something like this:</p> + +<div class = "verse"> +<p class = "quote"> +“It was in a bleak November</p> +<p>When I slew them, I remember,</p> +<p>As I caught them unawares</p> +<p>Drinking tea in rocking-chairs.â€</p> +</div> + +<p>And so he talked them to death, the subject being “What Really is +Art?†Afterward he was sorry—</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">xii</span> +<!-- png 014 --> + +<div class = "verse"> +<p class = "in2">“The squeak of a door,</p> +<p class = "in2">The creak of the floor,</p> +<p>My horrors and fears enhance;</p> +<p class = "in2">And I wake with a scream</p> +<p class = "in2">As I hear in my dream</p> +<p>The shrieks of my maiden aunts!â€</p> +</div> + +<p>Now it is a very dreadful thing to suggest that those highly +respectable pseudo-spinsters, the Sister Arts, supposedly cozily immune +in their polygamous chastity (for every suitor for favor is popularly +expected to be wedded to his particular art)—I repeat, it is very +dreadful to suggest that these impeccable old ladies are in danger of +being talked to death.</p> + +<p>But the talkers are talking and Art Nouveau rockers are rocking, and +the trousers of the prophet are patched with stained glass, and it is a +day of dinkiness and of thumbs.</p> + +<p>Let us find comfort in the ancient proverb: “Art talked to death +shall rise again.†Let us also recollect that “Dinky is as dinky doesâ€; +that “All is not Shaw that Bernardsâ€; that “Better Yeates than Cleverâ€; +that words are so inexpensive that there is no moral crime in robbing +Henry to pay James.</p> + +<p>Firmly believing all this, abjuring all atom-pickers, +<span class = "pagenum">xiii</span> +<!-- png 015 --> +slab furniture, and woodchuck literature—save only the immortal +verse:</p> + +<div class = "verse"> +<p>“And there the wooden-chuck doth tread;</p> +<p class = "in1">While from the oak trees’ tops</p> +<p>The red, red squirrel on thy head</p> +<p class = "in1">The frequent acorn drops.â€</p> +</div> + +<p>Abjuring, as I say, dinkiness in all its forms, we may still hope +that those cleanly and respectable spinsters, the Sister Arts, will +continue throughout the ages, rocking and drinking tea unterrified by +the million-tongued clamor in the back yard and below stairs, where +thumb and forefinger continue the question demanded by intellectual +exhaustion: “L’arr! Kesker say l’arr?â€</p> + +<p class = "illustration"> +<img src = "images/ip15.png" width = "332" height = "205" +alt = "decoration"> +</p> + +<div class = "page"> + +<span class = "pagenum">xiv</span> +<!-- png 016 --> +<p class = "illustration left"> +<img src = "images/ip16.png" width = "248" height = "291" +alt = "sitting"> +</p> + +</div> + +<div class = "page"> + +<span class = "pagenum">xv</span> +<!-- png 017 --> + +<table class = "toc contents" summary = "contents"> +<tr> +<td style = "width: 110px; height: 162px;"> +<a name = "contents" id = "contents"> </a></td> +<td> </td> +<td> </td> +<td style = "width: 40px;"> </td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td></td> +<td colspan = "2"> +<h4>CONTENTS</h4> +</td> +<td></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td></td> +<td></td> +<td class = "number smaller">PAGE</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td></td> +<td> <a href = "#chapI">I</a></td> +<td class = "number">1</td> +<td></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td> <a href = "#chapII">II</a></td> +<td class = "number">12</td> +<td></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td> <a href = "#chapIII">III</a></td> +<td class = "number">21</td> +<td></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td> <a href = "#chapIV">IV</a></td> +<td class = "number">32</td> +<td></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td> <a href = "#chapV">V</a></td> +<td class = "number">41</td> +<td></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td> <a href = "#chapVI">VI</a></td> +<td class = "number">48</td> +<td></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td> <a href = "#chapVII">VII</a></td> +<td class = "number">52</td> +<td></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td> <a href = "#chapVIII">VIII</a></td> +<td class = "number">62</td> +<td></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td> <a href = "#chapIX">IX</a></td> +<td class = "number">73</td> +<td></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td> <a href = "#chapX">X</a></td> +<td class = "number">85</td> +<td></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td> <a href = "#chapXI">XI</a></td> +<td class = "number">92</td> +<td></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td> <a href = "#chapXII">XII</a></td> +<td class = "number">100</td> +<td></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td> <a href = "#chapXIII">XIII</a></td> +<td class = "number">104</td> +<td></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td> <a href = "#chapXIV">XIV</a></td> +<td class = "number">111</td> +<td></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td> <a href = "#chapXV">XV</a></td> +<td class = "number">119</td> +<td></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td> <a href = "#chapXVI">XVI</a></td> +<td class = "number">133</td> +<td></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td><a href = "#chapXVII">XVII</a></td> +<td class = "number">138</td> +<td></td> +</tr> +</table> + +</div> + +<div class = "page"> + +<span class = "pagenum">xvi</span> +<!-- png 018 --> + +<p class = "illustration left"> +<img src = "images/ip18.png" width = "281" height = "416" +alt = "paddling a boat"> +</p> + +</div> + +<div class = "page"> + +<span class = "pagenum">xvii</span> +<!-- png 019 --> + +<table class = "toc illustrations" summary = "illustrations"> +<tr> +<td><a name = "illustrations" id = "illustrations"> </a></td> +<td> </td> +<td> </td> +<td style = "width: 112px; height: 182px;"> </td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td colspan = "3"> +<h4>FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS</h4> +<td></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td><td></td> +<td class = "smaller"> +FACING<br> +PAGE</td> +<td></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td colspan = "2"> +<p>“The little things,†he continued, delicately perforating the +atmosphere as though selecting a diatom.</p> +<p class = "right smaller"><a href = "#frontis"> +<i>Frontispiece</i></a></p> +<p class = "smaller">From a drawing by J. C. Leyendecker.</p> +</td> +<td></td> +<td></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td colspan = "2"> +<p>“Simplicity,†breathed Guilford—“a single blossom against a +background of nothing at allâ€</p> +<p class = "smaller">From a drawing by J. C. Leyendecker.</p> +</td> +<td class = "number"><a href = "#plate1">22</a></td> +<td></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td colspan = "2"> +<p>He paused; his six tall and blooming daughters, two and two behind +him</p> +<p class = "smaller">From a drawing by Karl Anderson.</p> +</td> +<td class = "number"><a href = "#plate2">54</a></td> +<td></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td colspan = "2"> +<p>Aphrodite’s slender fingers, barely resting on the harp-strings, +suddenly contracted in a nervous tremor</p> +<p class = "smaller">From a drawing by Karl Anderson.</p> +</td> +<td class = "number"><a href = "#plate3">106</a></td> +<td></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td colspan = "3"> +<p><i>Decorative drawings by Arthur C. Becker.</i></p> +</td> +<td></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td></td> +<td></td> +<td></td> +<td></td> +</tr> +</table> + +</div> + +<div class = "page"> + +<span class = "pagenum">xx</span> +<!-- png 020 --> +<p class = "illustration left"> +<img src = "images/ip20.png" width = "213" height = "320" +alt = "decoration"> +</p> + +</div> + + +<span class = "pagenum">1</span> +<!-- png 021 --> + +<h2 class = "extended"><a name = "iole_text" id = "iole_text"> +IOLE</a></h2> + +<hr class = "tiny"> + +<h4><a name = "chapI" id = "chapI">I</a></h4> + +<p class = "illustration"> +<img src = "images/pic085.png" width = "392" height = "159" +alt = "decoration"> +</p> + + +<p><span class = "dropcap"> +<img src = "images/capI.gif" width = "81" height = "83" +alt = "I" title = "I"></span> +<span class = "firstword"> ain’t</span> never knowed no one like +him,†continued the station-agent reflectively. “He made us all look +like monkeys, but he was good to us. Ever see a ginuine poet, sir?â€</p> + +<p>“Years ago one was pointed out to me,†replied Briggs.</p> + +<p>“Was yours smooth shaved, with large, fat, white fingers?†inquired +the station-agent.</p> + +<p>“If I remember correctly, he was thin,†said Briggs, sitting down on +his suit-case and gazing apprehensively around at the landscape. +<span class = "pagenum">2</span> +<!-- png 022 --> +There was nothing to see but low, forbidding mountains, and forests, and +a railroad track curving into a tunnel.</p> + +<p>The station-agent shoved his hairy hands into the pockets of his +overalls, jingled an unseen bunch of keys, and chewed a dry grass stem, +ruminating the while in an undertone:</p> + +<p>“This poet come here five years ago with all them kids, an’ the fust +thing he done was to dress up his girls in boys’ pants. Then he went an’ +built a humpy sort o’ house out of stones and boulders. Then he went to +work an’ wrote pieces for the papers about jay-birds an’ woodchucks an’ +goddesses. He claimed the woods was full of goddesses. That was his way, +sir.â€</p> + +<p>The agent contemplated the railroad track, running his eye along the +perspective of polished rails:</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir; his name was—and is—Clarence Guilford, an’ +I fust seen it signed to a piece in the Uticy Star. An’ next I +knowed, folks began to stop off here inquirin’ for Mr. Guilford. ‘Is +this here where Guilford, the poet, lives?’ sez they; an’ they come +thicker an’ thicker in warm weather. There wasn’t no wagon to take ’em +up to Guilford’s, but they +<span class = "pagenum">3</span> +<!-- png 023 --> +didn’t care, an’ they called it a lit’r’y shrine, an’ they hit the pike, +women, children, men—’speshil the women, an’ I heard ’em +tellin’ how Guilford dressed his kids in pants an’ how Guilford was a +famous new lit’r’y poet, an’ they said he was fixin’ to lecture in +Uticy.â€</p> + +<p>The agent gnawed off the chewed portion of the grass stem, readjusted +it, and fixed his eyes on vacancy.</p> + +<p>“Three year this went on. Mr. Guilford was makin’ his pile, +I guess. He set up a shop an’ hired art bookbinders from York. Then +he set up another shop an’ hired some of us ’round here to go an’ make +them big, slabby art-chairs. All his shops was called “At the sign of†+somethin’ ’r other. Bales of vellum arrived for to bind little dinky +books; art rocking-chairs was shipped out o’ here by the carload. +Meanwhile Guilford he done poetry on the side an’ run a magazine; an’ +hearin’ the boys was makin’ big money up in that crank community, an’ +that the town was boomin’, I was plum fool enough to drop my job +here an’ be a art-worker up to Rose-Cross—that’s where the shops +was; ’bout three mile back of his house into the woods.â€</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">4</span> +<!-- png 024 --> +<p>The agent removed his hands from his overalls and folded his arms +grimly.</p> + +<p>“Well?†inquired Briggs, looking up from his perch on the +suit-case.</p> + +<p>“Well, sir,†continued the agent, “the hull thing bust. I guess +the public kinder sickened o’ them art-rockers an’ dinky books without +much printin’ into them. Guilford he stuck to it noble, but the shops +closed one by one. My wages wasn’t paid for three months; the boys that +remained got together that autumn an’ fixed it up to quit in a +bunch.</p> + +<p>“The poet was sad; he come out to the shops an’ he says, ‘Boys,’ sez +he, ‘art is long an’ life is dam brief. I ain’t got the cash, but,’ +sez he, ‘you can levy onto them art-rockers an’ the dinky vellum books +in stock, an’,’ sez he, ‘you can take the hand-presses an’ the tools an’ +bales o’ vellum, which is very precious, an’ all the wagons an’ hosses, +an’ go sell ’em in that proud world that refuses to receive my message. +The woodland fellowship is rent,’ sez he, wavin’ his plump fingers at us +with the rings sparklin’ on ’em.</p> + +<p>“Then the boys looked glum, an’ they nudged me an’ kinder shoved me +front. So, bein’ elected, I sez, ‘Friend,’ sez I, ‘art is on +<span class = "pagenum">5</span> +<!-- png 025 --> +the bum. It ain’t your fault; the boys is sad an’ sorrerful, but they +ain’t never knocked you to nobody, Mr. Guilford. You was good to us; you +done your damdest. You made up pieces for the magazines an’ papers an’ +you advertised how we was all cranks together here at Rose-Cross, +a-lovin’ Nature an’ dicky-birds, an’ wanderin’ about half nood for art’s +sake.</p> + +<p>“‘Mr. Guilford,’ sez I, ‘that gilt brick went. But it has went as far +as it can travel an’ is now reposin’ into the soup. Git wise or eat hay, +sir. Art is on the blink.’â€</p> + +<p>The agent jingled his keys with a melancholy wink at Briggs.</p> + +<p>“So I come back here, an’ thankful to hold down this job. An’ five +mile up the pike is that there noble poet an’ his kids a-makin’ up +pieces for to sell to the papers, an’ a sorrerin’ over the cold world +what refuses to buy his poems—an’ a mortgage onto his house an’ a +threat to foreclose.â€</p> + +<p>“Indeed,†said Briggs dreamily, for it was his business to attend to +the foreclosure of the mortgage on the poet’s house.</p> + +<p>“Was you fixin’ to go up an’ see the place?†inquired the agent.</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">6</span> +<!-- png 026 --> +<p>“Shall I be obliged to walk?â€</p> + +<p>“I guess you will if you can’t flutter,†replied the agent. +“I ain’t got no wagon an’ no horse.â€</p> + +<p>“How far is it?â€</p> + +<p>“Five mile, sir.â€</p> + +<p>With a groan Mr. Briggs arose, lifted his suit-case, and, walking to +the platform’s edge, cast an agitated glance up the dusty road.</p> + +<p>Then he turned around and examined the single building in +sight—station, water-tower, post-office and telegraph-office all +in one, and incidentally the abode of the station-agent, whose duties +included that of postmaster and operator.</p> + +<p>“I’ll write a letter first,†said Briggs. And this is what he +wrote:</p> + +<p class = "right"> +<span class = "smallcaps">Rose-Cross P.O.</span>,<br> +<i>June 25, 1904</i>.</p> + +<p><span class = "smallcaps">Dear Wayne</span>: Do you remember that +tract of land, adjoining your preserve, which you attempted to buy four +years ago? It was held by a crank community, and they refused to sell, +and made trouble for your patrols by dumping dye-stuffs and sawdust into +the Ashton Creek.</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">7</span> +<!-- png 027 --> +<p>Well, the community has broken up, the shops are in ruins, and there +is nobody there now except that bankrupt poet, Guilford. I bought +the mortgage for you, foreseeing a slump in that sort of art, and I +expect to begin foreclosure proceedings and buy in the tract, which, as +you will recollect, includes some fine game cover and the Ashton stream, +where you wanted to establish a hatchery. This is a God-forsaken spot. +I’m on my way to the poet’s now. Shall I begin foreclosure proceedings +and fire him? Wire me what to do.</p> + +<p class = "center">Yours,</p> + +<p class = "righthalf smallcaps">Briggs.</p> + +<p>Wayne received this letter two days later. Preoccupied as he was in +fitting out his yacht for commission, he wired briefly, “Fire poet,†and +dismissed the matter from his mind.</p> + +<p>The next day, grappling with the problem of Japanese stewards and the +decadence of all sailormen, he received a telegram from Briggs:</p> + +<p>“Can’t you manage to come up here?â€</p> + +<p>Irritated, he telegraphed back:</p> + +<p>“Impossible. Why don’t you arrange to +<span class = "pagenum">8</span> +<!-- png 028 --> +fire poet?†And Briggs replied: “Can’t fire poet. There are extenuating +circumstances.â€</p> + +<p>“Did you say exterminating or extenuating?†wired Wayne. “I said +extenuating,†replied Briggs.</p> + + +<p class = "space"> +Then the following telegrams were exchanged in order:</p> + +<p class = "lefthalf space">(1)</p> + +<p>What are the extenuating circumstances?</p> + +<p class = "righthalf smallcaps">Wayne.</p> + +<p class = "lefthalf space">(2)</p> + +<p>Eight innocent children. Come up at once.</p> + +<p class = "righthalf smallcaps">Briggs.</p> + +<p class = "lefthalf space">(3)</p> + +<p>Boat in commission. Can’t go. Why don’t you fix things?</p> + +<p class = "righthalf smallcaps">Wayne.</p> + +<p class = "lefthalf space">(4)</p> + +<p>How?</p> + +<p class = "righthalf smallcaps">Briggs.</p> + +<p class = "lefthalf space">(5)</p> + +<p class = "right smaller"> +(Dated <span class = "smallcaps">New London</span>.)</p> + +<p>What on earth is the matter with you? Are you going to fix things and +join me at Bar Harbor or are you not?</p> + +<p class = "righthalf smallcaps">Wayne.</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">9</span> +<!-- png 029 --> +<p class = "lefthalf space">(6)</p> + +<p>As I don’t know how you want me to fix things, I can not join +you.</p> + +<p class = "righthalf smallcaps">Briggs.</p> + +<p class = "lefthalf space">(7)</p> + +<p class = "right smaller"> +(Dated <span class = "smallcaps">Portland, Maine</span>.)</p> + +<p>Stuyvesant Briggs, what the devil is the matter with you? It’s +absolutely necessary that I have the Ashton stream for a hatchery, and +you know it. What sort of a business man are you, anyhow? Of course I +don’t propose to treat that poet inhumanly. Arrange to bid in the tract, +run up the price against your own bidding, and let the poet have a few +thousand if he is hard put. Don’t worry me any more; I’m busy with a +fool crew, and you are spoiling my cruise by not joining me.</p> + +<p class = "righthalf smallcaps">Wayne.</p> + +<p class = "lefthalf space">(8)</p> + +<p>He won’t do it.</p> + +<p class = "righthalf smallcaps">Briggs.</p> + +<p class = "lefthalf space">(9)</p> + +<p><i>Who</i> won’t do <i>what</i>?</p> + +<p class = "righthalf smallcaps">Wayne.</p> + +<p class = "lefthalf space">(10)</p> + +<p>Poet refuses to discuss the matter.</p> + +<p class = "righthalf smallcaps">Briggs.</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">10</span> +<!-- png 030 --> +<p class = "lefthalf space">(11)</p> + +<p>Fire that poet. You’ve spoiled my cruise with your telegrams.</p> + +<p class = "righthalf smallcaps">Wayne.</p> + +<p class = "lefthalf space">(12)</p> + +<p>(<i>Marked “Collect.â€</i>)</p> + +<p>Look here, George Wayne, don’t drive me to desperation. You ought to +come up and face the situation yourself. I can’t fire a poet with +eight helpless children, can I? And while I’m about it, let me +inform you that every time you telegraph me it costs me five dollars for +a carrier to bring the despatch over from the station; and every time I +telegraph you I am obliged to walk five miles to send it and five miles +back again. I’m mad all through, and my shoes are worn out, and I’m +tired. Besides, I’m too busy to telegraph.</p> + +<p class = "righthalf smallcaps">Briggs.</p> + +<p class = "lefthalf space">(13)</p> + +<p>Do you expect me to stop my cruise and travel up to that hole on +account of eight extenuating kids?</p> + +<p class = "righthalf smallcaps">Wayne.</p> + +<p class = "lefthalf space">(14)</p> + +<p>I do.</p> + +<p class = "righthalf smallcaps">Briggs.</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">11</span> +<!-- png 031 --> +<p class = "lefthalf space">(15)</p> + +<p>Are you mad?</p> + +<p class = "righthalf smallcaps">Wayne.</p> + +<p class = "lefthalf space">(16)</p> + +<p>Thoroughly. And extremely busy.</p> + +<p class = "righthalf smallcaps">Briggs.</p> + +<p class = "lefthalf space">(17)</p> + +<p>For the last time, Stuyve Briggs, are you going to bounce one +defaulting poet and progeny, arrange to have survey and warnings posted, +order timber and troughs for hatchery, engage extra patrol—or are +you not?</p> + +<p class = "righthalf smallcaps">Wayne.</p> + +<p class = "lefthalf space">(18)</p> + +<p>No.</p> + +<p class = "righthalf smallcaps">Briggs.</p> + +<p class = "lefthalf space">(19)</p> + +<p>(<i>Received a day later by Mr. Wayne.</i>)</p> + +<p>Are you coming?</p> + +<p class = "righthalf smallcaps">Briggs.</p> + +<p class = "lefthalf space">(20)</p> + +<p>I’m coming to punch your head.</p> + +<p class = "righthalf smallcaps">Wayne.</p> + + + + +<span class = "pagenum">12</span> +<!-- png 032 --> +<h4 class = "chapter"><a name = "chapII" id = "chapII"> +II</a></h4> + +<p class = "illustration"> +<img src = "images/pic012.png" width = "386" height = "154" +alt = "decoration"> +</p> + + +<p> +<span class = "dropcap"> +<img src = "images/capW.gif" width = "109" height = "83" +alt = "W" title = "W"></span><span class = "firstword">hen</span> +George Wayne arrived at Rose-Cross station, seaburnt, angry, and in +excellent athletic condition, Briggs locked himself in the waiting-room +and attempted to calm the newcomer from the window.</p> + +<p>“If you’re going to pitch into me, George,†he said, “I’m hanged if I +come out, and you can go to Guilford’s alone.â€</p> + +<p>“Come out of there,†said Wayne dangerously.</p> + +<p>“It isn’t because I’m afraid of you,†explained Briggs, “but it’s +merely that I don’t choose to present either you or myself to a lot +<span class = "pagenum">13</span> +<!-- png 033 --> +of pretty girls with the marks of conflict all over our eyes and +noses.â€</p> + +<p>At the words “pretty girls†Wayne’s battle-set features relaxed. He +motioned to the Pullman porter to deposit his luggage on the empty +platform; the melancholy bell-notes of the locomotive sounded, the train +moved slowly forward.</p> + +<p>“Pretty girls?†he repeated in a softer voice. “Where are they +staying? Of course, under the circumstances a personal encounter is +superfluous. Where are they staying?â€</p> + +<p>“At Guilford’s. I told you so in my telegrams, didn’t I?â€</p> + +<p>“No, you didn’t. You spoke only of a poet and his eight helpless +children.â€</p> + +<p>“Well, those girls are the eight children,†retorted Briggs sullenly, +emerging from the station.</p> + +<p>“Do you mean to tell me<span class = +"dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do. They’re his children, aren’t they—even if they are +girls, and pretty.†He offered a mollifying hand; Wayne took it, shook +it uncertainly, and fell into step beside his friend. “Eight pretty +girls,†he repeated under his breath. “What did you do, Stuyve?â€</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">14</span> +<!-- png 034 --> +<p>“What was I to do?†inquired Briggs, nervously worrying his short +blond mustache. “When I arrived here I had made up my mind to fire the +poet and arrange for the hatchery and patrol. The farther I walked +through the dust of this accursed road, lugging my suit-case as you are +doing now, the surer I was that I’d get rid of the poet without mercy. +But<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Well?†inquired Wayne, astonished.</p> + +<p>“But when I’d trudged some five miles up the stifling road I suddenly +emerged into a wonderful mountain meadow. I tell you, George, it +looked fresh and sweet as Heaven after that dusty, parching +tramp—a mountain meadow deep with mint and juicy green grasses, +and all cut up by little rushing streams as cold as ice. There were a +lot of girls in pink sunbonnets picking wild strawberries in the middle +distance,†he added thoughtfully. “It was picturesque, wasn’t it? Come, +now, George, wouldn’t that give you pause?—eight girls in pink +pajamas<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“What!!!â€</p> + +<p>“And sunbonnets—a sort of dress reform of the poet’s.â€</p> + +<p>“Well?†inquired Wayne coldly.</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">15</span> +<!-- png 035 --> +<p>“And there was the ‘house beautiful,’ mercifully screened by woods,†+continued Briggs. “He calls it the house beautiful, you know.â€</p> + +<p>“Why not the beautiful house?†asked Wayne, still more coldly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, he gets everything upside down. Guilford is harmless, you’ll +see.†He began to whistle Fatinitza softly. There was a silence; then +Wayne said:</p> + +<p>“You interrupted your narrative.â€</p> + +<p>“Where was I?â€</p> + +<p>“In the foreground with eight pink pajamas in the middle +distance.â€</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes. So there I was, travel-worn, thirsty, weary, uncertain<span +class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Cut it,†observed Wayne.</p> + +<p>“And a stranger,†continued Briggs with dignity, “in a strange +country<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Peculiarity of strangers.â€</p> + +<p>Briggs took no notice. “I drank from the cool springs; +I lingered to pluck a delicious berry or two, I bathed my hot +face, I<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Where,†demanded Wayne, “were the eight pink ’uns?â€</p> + +<p>“Still in the middle distance. Don’t interrupt me, George; I’m slowly +drawing closer to them.â€</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">16</span> +<!-- png 036 --> +<p>“Well, get a move on,†retorted Wayne sulkily.</p> + +<p>“I’m quite close to them now,†explained Briggs; “close enough to +remove my hat and smile and inquire the way to Guilford’s. One superb +young creature, with creamy skin and very red lips<span class = +"dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>Wayne halted and set down his suit-case.</p> + +<p>“I’m not romancing; you’ll see,†said Briggs earnestly. “As I was +saying, this young goddess looked at me in the sweetest way and said +that Guilford was her father. And, Wayne, do you know what she did? +She—er—came straight up to me and took hold of my hand, and +led me up the path toward the high-art house, which is built of +cobblestones! Think! Built of cobble<span class = +"dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Took you by the hand?†repeated Wayne incredulously.</p> + +<p>“Oh, it was all right, George! I found out all about that sort of +innocent thing later.â€</p> + +<p>“Did you?â€</p> + +<p>“Certainly. These girls have been brought up like so many guileless +speckled fawns out here in the backwoods. You know all about Guilford, +the poet who’s dead stuck on Nature and simplicity. Well, that’s the man +and +<span class = "pagenum">17</span> +<!-- png 037 --> +that’s his pose. He hasn’t any money, and he won’t work. His daughters +raise vegetables, and he makes ’em wear bloomers, and he writes about +chippy-birds and the house beautiful, and tells people to be natural, +and wishes that everybody could go around without clothes and pick +daisies<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Do <i>they</i>?†demanded Wayne in an awful voice. “You <i>said</i> +they wore bloomers. Did you say that to break the news more gently? Did +you!â€</p> + +<p>“Of course they are clothed,†explained his friend querulously; +“though sometimes they wade about without shoes and stockings and do the +nymph business. And, George, it’s astonishing how modest that sort of +dress is. And it’s amazing how much they know. Why, they can talk +Greek—<i>talk</i> it, mind you. Every one of them can speak half a +dozen languages—Guilford is a corker on culture, you +know—and they can play harps and pianos and things, and give me +thirty at tennis, even Chlorippe, the twelve-year-old<span class = +"dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Is that her name?†asked Wayne.</p> + +<p>“Chlorippe? Yes. That bat-headed poet named all his children after +butterflies. Let’s see,†he continued, telling off the names on +<span class = "pagenum">18</span> +<!-- png 038 --> +his fingers; “there’s Chlorippe, twelve; Philodice, thirteen; Dione, +fourteen; Aphrodite, fifteen; Cybele, sixteen; Lissa, seventeen; Iole, +eighteen, and Vanessa, nineteen. And, Wayne, never have the Elysian +fields contained such a bunch of wholesome beauty as that mountain +meadow contains all day long.â€</p> + +<p>Wayne, trudging along, suit-case firmly gripped, turned a pair of +suspicious eyes upon his friend.</p> + +<p>“Of course,†observed Briggs candidly, “I simply couldn’t +foreclose on the father of such children, could I? Besides, he +won’t let me discuss the subject.â€</p> + +<p>“I’ll investigate the matter personally,†said Wayne.</p> + +<p>“Nowhere to lay their heads! Think of it, George. And all because a +turtle-fed, claret-flushed, idle and rich young man wants their earthly +Paradise for a fish-hatchery. Think of it! A pampered, +turtle-fed<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“You’ve said that before,†snapped Wayne. “If you were half decent +you’d help me with this suit-case. Whew! It’s hot as Yonkers on this +cattle-trail you call a road. How near are we to Guilford’s?â€</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">19</span> +<!-- png 039 --> +<p>An hour later Briggs said: “By the way, George, what are you going to +do about the matter?â€</p> + +<p>Wayne, flushed, dusty, perspiring, scowled at him.</p> + +<p>“What matter?â€</p> + +<p>“The foreclosure.â€</p> + +<p>“I don’t know; how can I know until I see Guilford?â€</p> + +<p>“But you need the hatchery<span class = +"dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“I know it.â€</p> + +<p>“But he won’t let you discuss it<span class = +"dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“If,†said Wayne angrily, “you had spent half the time talking +business with the poet that you spent picking strawberries with his +helpless children I should not now be lugging this suit-case up this +mountain. Decency requires few observations from <i>you</i> just +now.â€</p> + +<p>“Pooh!†said Briggs. “Wait till you see Iole.â€</p> + +<p>“Why Iole? Why not Vanessa?â€</p> + +<p>“Don’t—that’s all,†retorted Briggs, reddening.</p> + +<p>Wayne plumped his valise down in the dust, mopped his brow, folded +his arms, and regarded Briggs between the eyes.</p> + +<p>“You have the infernal cheek, after getting +<span class = "pagenum">20</span> +<!-- png 040 --> +me up here, to intimate that you have taken the pick?â€</p> + +<p>“I do,†replied Briggs firmly. The two young fellows faced each +other.</p> + +<p>“By the way,†observed Briggs casually, “the stock they come from is +as good if not better than ours. This is a straight game.â€</p> + +<p>“Do you mean to say that you—you are—seriously<span class += "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Something like it. There! Now you know.â€</p> + +<p>“For Heaven’s sake, Stuyve<span class = +"dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Yes, for Heaven’s sake and in Heaven’s name don’t get any wrong +ideas into your vicious head.â€</p> + +<p>“What?â€</p> + +<p>“I tell you,†said Briggs, “that I was never closer to falling in +love than I am to-day. And I’ve been here just two weeks.â€</p> + +<p>“Oh, Lord<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Amen,†muttered Briggs. “Here, give me your carpet-bag, you brute. +We’re on the edge of Paradise.â€</p> + + + + +<span class = "pagenum">21</span> +<!-- png 041 --> +<h4 class = "chapter"><a name = "chapIII" id = "chapIII"> +III</a></h4> + +<p class = "illustration"> +<img src = "images/pic133.png" width = "388" height = "152" +alt = "decoration"> +</p> + + +<p><span class = "dropcap"> +<img src = "images/capB.gif" width = "82" height = "82" +alt = "B" title = "B"></span><span class = "firstword">efore</span> +we discuss my financial difficulties,†said the poet, lifting his plump +white hand and waving it in unctuous waves about the veranda, “let me +show you our home, Mr. Wayne. May I?â€</p> + +<p>“Certainly,†said Wayne politely, following Guilford into the +house.</p> + +<p>They entered a hall; there was absolutely nothing in the hall except +a small table on which reposed a single daisy in a glass of water.</p> + +<p>“Simplicity,†breathed Guilford—“a single blossom against a +background of nothing at all. You follow me, Mr. Wayne?â€</p> + +<!-- png 043 --> +<p class = "illustration"> +<a name = "plate1" id = "plate1"> +<img src = "images/plate1.jpg" width = "429" height = "351" +alt = "See caption"></a> +</p> + +<p class = "caption"> +“Simplicity,†breathed Guilford—“a single blossom against<br> +a background of nothing at all.â€</p> +<!-- png 044 --> + +<span class = "pagenum">22</span> +<!-- png 042 --> +<p>“Not—exactly<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>The poet smiled a large, tender smile, and, with inverted thumb, +executed a gesture as though making several spots in the air.</p> + +<p>“The concentration of composition,†he explained; “the elimination of +complexity; the isolation of the concrete in the center of the abstract; +something in the midst of nothing. It is a very precious thought, Mr. +Wayne.â€</p> + +<p>“Certainly,†muttered Wayne; and they moved on.</p> + +<p>“This,†said the poet, “is what I call my den.â€</p> + +<p>Wayne, not knowing what to say, sidled around the walls. It was +almost bare of furniture; what there was appeared to be of the slab +variety.</p> + +<p>“I call my house the house beautiful,†murmured Guilford with his +large, sweet smile. “Beauty is simplicity; beauty is unconsciousness; +beauty is the child of elimination. A single fly in an empty room +is beautiful to me, Mr. Wayne.â€</p> + +<p>“They carry germs,†muttered Wayne, but the poet did not hear him and +led the way to another enormous room, bare of everything +<span class = "pagenum">23</span> +<!-- png 045 --> +save for eight thick and very beautiful Kazak rugs on the polished +floor.</p> + +<p>“My children’s bedroom,†he whispered solemnly.</p> + +<p>“You don’t mean to say they sleep on those Oriental rugs!†stammered +Wayne.</p> + +<p>“They do,†murmured the poet. The tender sweetness of his ample smile +was overpowering—like too much bay rum after shaving. “Sparta, Mr. +Wayne, Sparta! And the result? My babes are perfect, physically, +spiritually. Elimination wrought the miracle; yonder they sleep, +innocent as the Graces, with all the windows open, clothed in moonlight +or starlight, as the astronomical conditions may be. At the break of +dawn they are afield, simply clothed, free limbed, unhampered by the +tawdry harness of degenerate civilization. And as they wander through +the verdure,†he added with rapt enthusiasm, “plucking shy blossoms, +gathering simples and herbs and vegetables for our bountiful and natural +repast, they sing as they go, and every tremulous thrill of melody falls +like balm on a father’s heart.†The overpowering sweetness of his smile +drugged Wayne. Presently he edged toward the door, and the poet +followed, a +<span class = "pagenum">24</span> +<!-- png 046 --> +dreamy radiance on his features as though emanating from sacred inward +meditation.</p> + +<p>They sat down on the veranda; Wayne fumbled for his cigar-case, but +his unnerved fingers fell away; he dared not smoke.</p> + +<p>“About—about that business matter,†he ventured feebly; but the +poet raised his plump white hand.</p> + +<p>“You are my guest,†he said graciously. “While you are my guest +nothing shall intrude to cloud our happiness.â€</p> + +<p>Perplexed, almost muddled, Wayne strove in vain to find a reason for +the elimination of the matter that had interrupted his cruise and +brought him to Rose-Cross, the maddest yachtsman on the Atlantic. Why +should Guilford forbid the topic as though its discussion were painful +to Wayne?</p> + +<p>“He always gets the wrong end foremost, as Briggs said,†thought the +young man. “I wonder where the deuce Briggs can be? I’m no match +for this bunch.â€</p> + +<p>His thoughts halted; he became aware that the poet was speaking in a +rich, resonant voice, and he listened in an attitude of painful +politeness.</p> + +<p>“It’s the little things that are most precious,†+<span class = "pagenum">25</span> +<!-- png 047 --> +the poet was saying, and pinched the air with forefinger and thumb and +pursed up his lips as though to whistle some saccharine air.</p> + +<p>“The little things,†he continued, delicately perforating the +atmosphere as though selecting a diatom.</p> + +<p>“Big things go, too,†ventured Wayne.</p> + +<p>“No,†said the poet; “no—or rather they <i>do</i> go, in a +certain sense, for every little thing is precious, and therefore little +things are big!—-big with portent, big in value. Do you follow me, +Mr. Wayne?â€</p> + +<p>Wayne’s fascinated eyes were fixed on the poet. The latter picked out +another atom from the atmosphere and held it up for Mr. Wayne’s +inspection; and while that young man’s eyes protruded the poet rambled +on and on until the melody of his voice became a ceaseless sound, a +vague, sustained monotone, which seemed to bore into Wayne’s brain until +his legs twitched with a furious desire for flight.</p> + +<p>When he obtained command of himself the poet was saying, “It is my +hour for withdrawal. It were insincere and artificial to ask your +indulgence<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>He rose to his rotund height.</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">26</span> +<!-- png 048 --> +<p>“You are due to sit in your cage,†stammered Wayne, +comprehending.</p> + +<p>“My den,†corrected the poet, saturating the air with the sweetness +of his smile.</p> + +<p>Wayne arose. “About that business—†he began desperately; but +the poet’s soft, heavy hand hovered in mid-air, and Wayne sat down so +suddenly that when his eyes recovered their focus the poet had +disappeared.</p> + +<p>A benumbed resentment struggled within him for adequate expression; +he hitched his chair about to command a view of the meadow, then sat +motionless, hypnotized by the view. Eight girls, clad in pink blouses +and trousers, golden hair twisted up, decorated the landscape. Some were +kneeling, filling baskets of woven, scented grasses with wild +strawberries; some were wading the branches of the meadow brook, +searching for trout with grass-woven nets; some picked early peas; two +were playing a lightning set at tennis. And in the center of everything +that was going on was Briggs, perfectly at ease, making himself +agreeably at home.</p> + +<p>The spectacle of Briggs among the Hamadryads appeared to paralyze +Wayne.</p> + +<p>Then an immense, intense resentment set +<span class = "pagenum">27</span> +<!-- png 049 --> +every nerve in him tingling. Briggs, his friend, his confidential +business adviser, his indispensable <i>alter ego</i>, had abandoned him +to be tormented by this fat, saccharine poet—abandoned him while +he, Briggs, made himself popular with eight of the most amazingly +bewitching maidens mortal man might marvel on! The meanness stung Wayne +till he jumped to his feet and strode out into the sunshine, menacing +eyes fastened on Briggs.</p> + +<p>“Now wouldn’t that sting you!†he breathed fiercely, turning up his +trousers and stepping gingerly across the brook.</p> + +<p>Whether or not Briggs saw him coming and kept sidling away he could +not determine; he did not wish to shout; he kept passing pretty girls +and taking off his hat, and following Briggs about, but he never seemed +to come any nearer to Briggs; Briggs always appeared in the middle +distance, flitting genially from girl to girl; and presently the +absurdity of his performance struck Wayne, and he sat down on the bank +of the brook, too mad to think. There was a pretty girl picking +strawberries near-by; he rose, took off his hat to her, and sat down +again. She was one of those graceful, clean-limbed, creamy-skinned +<span class = "pagenum">28</span> +<!-- png 050 --> +creatures described by Briggs; her hair was twisted up into a heavy, +glistening knot, showing the back of a white neck; her eyes matched the +sky and her lips the berries she occasionally bit into or dropped to the +bottom of her woven basket.</p> + +<p>Once or twice she looked up fearlessly at Wayne as her search for +berries brought her nearer; and Wayne forgot the perfidy of Briggs in an +effort to look politely amiable.</p> + +<p>Presently she straightened up where she was kneeling in the long +grass and stretched her arms. Then, still kneeling, she gazed curiously +at Wayne with all the charm of a friendly wild thing unafraid.</p> + +<p>“Shall we play tennis?†she asked.</p> + +<p>“Certainly,†said Wayne, startled.</p> + +<p>“Come, then,†she said, picking up her basket in one hand and +extending the other to Wayne.</p> + +<p>He took the fresh, cool fingers, and turned scarlet. Once his glance +sneaked toward Briggs, but that young man was absorbed in fishing for +brook trout with a net! Oh, ye little fishes! with a <i>net</i>!</p> + +<p>Wayne’s brain seemed to be swarming with glittering pink-winged +thoughts all singing. +<span class = "pagenum">29</span> +<!-- png 051 --> +He walked on air, holding tightly to the hand of his goddess, seeing +nothing but a blur of green and sunshine. Then a clean-cut idea stabbed +him like a stiletto: was this Vanessa or Iole? And, to his own +astonishment, he asked her quite naturally.</p> + +<p>“Iole,†she said, laughing. “Why?â€</p> + +<p>“Thank goodness,†he said irrationally.</p> + +<p>“But why?†she persisted curiously.</p> + +<p>“Briggs—Briggs—†he stammered, and got no further. +Perplexed, his goddess walked on, thoughtful, pure-lidded eyes searching +some reasonable interpretation for the phrase, “Briggs—Briggs.†+But as Wayne gave her no aid, she presently dismissed the problem, and +bade him select a tennis bat.</p> + +<p>“I do hope you play well,†she said. Her hope was comparatively vain; +she batted Wayne around the court, drove him wildly from corner to +corner, stampeded him with volleys, lured him with lobs, and finally +left him reeling dizzily about, while she came around from behind the +net, saying, “It’s all because you have no tennis shoes. Come; we’ll +rest under the trees and console ourselves with chess.â€</p> + +<p>Under a group of huge silver beeches a +<span class = "pagenum">30</span> +<!-- png 052 --> +stone chess-table was set embedded in the moss; and Iole indolently +stretched herself out on one side, chin on hands, while Wayne sorted +weather-beaten basalt and marble chess-men which lay in a pile under the +tree.</p> + +<p>She chatted on without the faintest trace of self-consciousness the +while he arranged the pieces; then she began to move. He took a long +time between each move; but no sooner did he move than, still talking, +she extended her hand and shoved her piece into place without a fraction +of a second’s hesitation.</p> + +<p>When she had mated him twice, and he was still gazing blankly at the +mess into which she had driven his forces, she sat up sideways, +gathering her slim ankles into one hand, and cast about her for +something to do, eyes wandering over the sunny meadow.</p> + +<p>“We had horses,†she mused; “we rode like demons, bareback, until +trouble came.â€</p> + +<p>“Trouble?â€</p> + +<p>“Oh, not trouble—poverty. So our horses had to go. What shall +we do—you and I?†There was something so subtly sweet, so +exquisitely innocent in the coupling of the pronouns that a thrill +passed completely through +<span class = "pagenum">31</span> +<!-- png 053 --> +Wayne, and probably came out on the other side.</p> + +<p>“I know what I’m going to do,†he said, drawing a note-book and a +pencil from his pocket and beginning to write, holding it so she could +see.</p> + +<p>“Do you want me to look over your shoulder?†she asked.</p> + +<p>“Please.â€</p> + +<p>She did; and it affected his penmanship so that the writing grew +wabbly. Still she could read:</p> + +<p class = "center">(<i>Telegram</i>)</p> + +<p><span class = "smallcaps">To Sailing Master, Yacht Thendara, Bar +Harbor</span>:</p> + +<p>Put boat out of commission. I may be away all summer.</p> + +<p class = "righthalf smallcaps">Wayne.</p> + +<p>“How far is it to the station?†asked Wayne, turning to look into her +eyes.</p> + +<p>“Only five miles,†she said. “I’ll walk with you if you like. +Shall I?â€</p> + + + + +<span class = "pagenum">32</span> +<!-- png 054 --> +<h4 class = "chapter"><a name = "chapIV" id = "chapIV"> +IV</a></h4> + +<p class = "illustration"> +<img src = "images/pic032.png" width = "383" height = "115" +alt = "decoration"> +</p> + + +<p><span class = "dropcap"> +<img src = "images/capW.gif" width = "109" height = "83" +alt = "W" title = "W"></span><span class = "firstword">ealth</span>,†+observed the poet, waving his heavy white hand, “is a figure of speech, +Mr. Wayne. Only by the process of elimination can one arrive at the +exquisite simplicity of poverty—care-free poverty. Even a single +penny is a burden—the flaw in the marble, the fly in the amber of +perfection. Cast it away and enter Eden!†And joining thumb and +forefinger, he plucked a figurative copper from the atmosphere, tossed +it away, and wiped his fingers on his handkerchief.</p> + +<p>“But—†began Wayne uneasily.</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">33</span> +<!-- png 055 --> +<p>“Try it,†smiled the poet, diffusing sweetness; “try it. Dismiss all +thoughts of money from your mind.â€</p> + +<p>“I do,†said Wayne, somewhat relieved. “I thought you meant for +me to chuck my securities overboard and eat herbs.â€</p> + +<p>“Not in your case—no, not in your case. <i>I</i> can do that; +I have done it. No, your sacred mission is simply to forget that +you are wealthy. That is a very precious thought, Mr. Wayne—remain +a CrÅ“sus and forget it! Not to eliminate your <i>wealth</i>, but +eliminate all <i>thought</i> of it. Very, very precious.â€</p> + +<p>“Well, I never think about things like that except at a directors’ +meeting,†blurted out the young fellow. “Perhaps it’s because I’ve never +had to think about it.â€</p> + +<p>The poet sighed so sweetly that the atmosphere seemed to drip with +the saccharine injection.</p> + +<p>“I wish,†ventured Wayne, “that you would let me mention the subject +of business‗the poet shook his head indulgently—“just to +say that I’m not going to foreclose.†He laid a packet of legal papers +in the poet’s hand.</p> + +<p>“Hush,†smiled Guilford, “this is not +<span class = "pagenum">34</span> +<!-- png 056 --> +seemly in the house beautiful.... <i>What</i> was it you said, Mr. +Wayne?â€</p> + +<p>“I? I was going to say that I just wanted—wanted to stay +here—be your guest, if you’ll let me,†he said honestly. +“I was cruising—I didn’t +understand—Briggs—Briggs—†He stuck.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Briggs,†softly suggested the poet, spraying the night air with +more sweetness.</p> + +<p>“Briggs has spoken to you about—about your daughter Vanessa. +You see, Briggs is my closest friend; his happiness +is—er—important to me. I want to see Briggs happy; +that’s why I want to stay here, just to see Briggs happy. I—I love +Briggs. You understand me, don’t you, Mr. Guilford?â€</p> + +<p>The poet breathed a dulcet breath. “Perfectly,†he murmured. “The +contemplation of Mr. Briggs’ happiness eliminates all thoughts of self +within you. By this process of elimination you arrive at happiness +yourself. Ah, the thought is a very precious one, my young friend, for +by elimination only can we arrive at perfection. Thank you for the +thought; thank you. You have given me a very, very precious thought to +cherish.â€</p> + +<p>“I—I have been here a week,†muttered +<span class = "pagenum">35</span> +<!-- png 057 --> +Wayne. “I thought—perhaps—my welcome might be +outworn<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“In the house beautiful,†murmured the poet, rising and waving his +heavy white hand at the open door, “welcome is eternal.†He folded his +arms with difficulty, for he was stout, and one hand clutched the legal +papers; his head sank. In profound meditation he wandered away into the +shadowy house, leaving Wayne sitting on the veranda rail, eyes fixed on +a white shape dimly seen moving through the moonlit meadows below. +Briggs sauntered into sight presently, his arms full of flowers.</p> + +<p>“Get me a jug of water, will you? Vanessa has been picking these and +she sent me back to fix ’em. Hurry, man! She is waiting for me in the +garden.†Wayne gazed earnestly at his friend.</p> + +<p>“So you have done it, have you, Stuyve?â€</p> + +<p>“Done what?†demanded Briggs, blushing.</p> + +<p>“It.â€</p> + +<p>“If you mean,†he said with dignity, “that I’ve asked the sweetest +girl on earth to marry me, I have. And I’m the happiest man on the +footstool, too. Good Heaven, George,†he broke out, “if you knew the +meaning of love! +<span class = "pagenum">36</span> +<!-- png 058 --> +if you could for one second catch a glimpse of the beauty of her soul! +Why, man of sordid clay that I was—creature of club and claret and +turtle—like you<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Drop it!†said Wayne somberly.</p> + +<p>“I can’t help it, George. We were beasts—and <i>you</i> are +yet. But my base clay is transmuted, spiritualized; my soul is awake, +traveling, toiling toward the upward heights where hers sits enthroned. +When I think of what I was, and what you still are<span class = +"dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>Wayne rose exasperated:</p> + +<p>“Do you think your soul is doing the only upward hustling?†he said +hotly.</p> + +<p>Briggs, clasping his flowers to his breast, gazed out over them at +Wayne.</p> + +<p>“You don’t mean<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do,†said Wayne. “I may be crazy, but I know something,†+with which paradox he turned on his heel and walked into the moonlit +meadow toward that dim, white form moving through the dusk.</p> + +<p>“I wondered,†she said, “whether you were coming,†as he stepped +through the long, fragrant grass to her side.</p> + +<p>“You might have wondered if I had not come,†he answered.</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">37</span> +<!-- png 059 --> +<p>“Yes, that is true. This moonlight is too wonderful to miss,†she +added without a trace of self-consciousness.</p> + +<p>“It was for you I came.â€</p> + +<p>“Couldn’t you find my sisters?†she asked innocently.</p> + +<p>He did not reply. Presently she stumbled over a hummock, recovered +her poise without comment, and slipped her hand into his with +unconscious confidence.</p> + +<p>“Do you know what I have been studying to-day?†she asked.</p> + +<p>“What?â€</p> + +<p>“That curious phycomycetous fungus that produces resting-spores by +the conjugation of two similar club-shaped hyphæ, and in which conidia +also occur. It’s fascinating.â€</p> + +<p>After a silence he said:</p> + +<p>“What would you think of me if I told you that I do not comprehend a +single word of what you have just told me?â€</p> + +<p>“Don’t you?†she asked, astonished.</p> + +<p>“No,†he replied, dropping her hand. She wondered, vaguely +distressed; and he went on presently: “As a plain matter of fact, +I don’t know much. It’s an astonishing discovery for me, but it’s a +fact that I am not +<span class = "pagenum">38</span> +<!-- png 060 --> +your mental, physical, or spiritual equal. In sheer, brute strength +perhaps I am, and I am none too certain of that, either. But, and I say +it to my shame, I can not follow you; I am inferior in +education, in culture, in fine instinct, in mental development. You +chatter in a dozen languages to your sisters: my French appals a Paris +cabman; you play any instrument I ever heard of: the guitar is my limit, +the fandango my repertoire. As for alert intelligence, artistic +comprehension, ability to appreciate, I can not make the running +with you; I am outclassed—hopelessly. Now, if this is all +true—and I have spoken the wretched truth—<i>what</i> can a +man like me have to say for himself?â€</p> + +<p>Her head was bent, her fair face was in shadow. She strayed on a +little way, then, finding herself alone, turned and looked back at him +where he stood. For a moment they remained motionless, looking at one +another, then, as on some sweet impulse, she came back hastily and +looked into his eyes.</p> + +<p>“I do not feel as you do,†she said; “you are +very—good—company. I am not all you say; I know +very little. Listen. It—it distresses +<span class = "pagenum">39</span> +<!-- png 061 --> +me to have you think I hold you—lightly. Truly we are <i>not</i> +apart.â€</p> + +<p>“There is but one thing that can join us.â€</p> + +<p>“What is that?â€</p> + +<p>“Love.â€</p> + +<p>Her pure gaze did not falter nor her eyes droop. Curiously regarding +him, she seemed immersed in the solution of the problem as he had +solved it.</p> + +<p>“Do you love me?†she asked.</p> + +<p>“With all my soul—such as it is, with all my heart, with every +thought, every instinct, every breath I draw.â€</p> + +<p>She considered him with fearless eyes; the beauty of them was all he +could endure.</p> + +<p>“You love me?†she repeated.</p> + +<p>He bent his head, incapable of speech.</p> + +<p>“You wish me to love you?â€</p> + +<p>He looked at her, utterly unable to move his lips.</p> + +<p>“<i>How</i> do you wish me to love you?â€</p> + +<p>He opened his arms; she stepped forward, close to him.</p> + +<p>Then their lips met.</p> + +<p>“Oh,†she said faintly, “I did not know it—it was so +sweet.â€</p> + +<p>And as her head fell back on his arm about +<span class = "pagenum">40</span> +<!-- png 062 --> +her neck she looked up at him full of wonder at this new knowledge he +had taught her, marvelous, unsuspected, divine in its simplicity. Then +the first delicate blush that ever mounted her face spread, tinting +throat and forehead; she drew his face down to her own.</p> + +<p class = "dots"> </p> + +<p>The poet paced the dim veranda, arms folded, head bent. But his +glance was sideways and full of intelligence as it included two vague +figures coming slowly back through the moon-drenched meadow.</p> + +<p>“By elimination we arrive at perfection,†he mused; “and perfection +is success. There remain six more,†he added irrelevantly, “but they’re +young yet. Patience, subtle patience—and attention to the little +things.†He pinched a morsel of air out of the darkness, examined it and +released it.</p> + +<p>“The little things,†he repeated; “that is a very precious +thought.... I believe the sea air may agree with me—now and +then.â€</p> + +<p>And he wandered off into his “den†and unlocked a drawer in his desk, +and took out a bundle of legal papers, and tore them slowly, carefully, +into very small pieces.</p> + + + + +<span class = "pagenum">41</span> +<!-- png 063 --> +<h4 class = "chapter"><a name = "chapV" id = "chapV"> +V</a></h4> + +<p class = "illustration"> +<img src = "images/pic085.png" width = "392" height = "159" +alt = "decoration"> +</p> + + +<p><span class = "dropcap"> +<img src = "images/capT.gif" width = "88" height = "82" +alt = "T" title = "T"></span><span class = "firstword">he</span> +double wedding at the Church of Sainte Cicindella was pretty and +sufficiently fashionable to inconvenience traffic on Fifth Avenue. +Partly from loyalty, partly from curiosity, the clans of Wayne and +Briggs, with their offshoots and social adherents, attended; and they +saw Briggs and Wayne on their best behavior, attended by Sudbury Grey +and Winsted Forest; and they saw two bridal visions of loveliness, +attended by six additional sister visions as bridesmaids; and they saw +the poet, agitated with the holy emotions of a father, now almost +unmanned, now rallying, spraying +<span class = "pagenum">42</span> +<!-- png 064 --> +the hushed air with sweetness. They saw clergymen and a bishop, and the +splendor of stained glass through which ushers tiptoed. And they heard +the subdued rustling of skirts and the silken stir, and the great organ +breathing over Eden, and a single artistically-modulated sob from the +poet. A good many other things they heard and saw, especially those +of the two clans who were bidden to the breakfast at Wayne’s big and +splendid house on the southwest corner of Seventy-ninth Street and +Madison Avenue.</p> + +<p>For here they were piped to breakfast by the boatswain of Wayne’s big +seagoing yacht, the <i>Thendara</i>—on which brides and grooms +were presently to embark for Cairo via the Azores—and speeches +were said and tears shed into goblets glimmering with vintages worth +prayerful consideration.</p> + +<p>And in due time two broughams, drawn by dancing horses, with the +azure ribbons aflutter from the head-stalls, bore away two very +beautiful and excited brides and two determined, but entirely rattled, +grooms. And after that several relays of parents fraternized with the +poet and six daughters, and the clans of Briggs and of Wayne said a +number of agreeable +<span class = "pagenum">43</span> +<!-- png 065 --> +things to anybody who cared to listen; and as everybody did listen, +there was a great deal of talk—more talk in a minute than the +sisters of Iole had heard in all their several limited and innocently +natural existences. So it confused them, not with its quality, but its +profusion; and the champagne made their cheeks feel as though the soft +peachy skin fitted too tight, and a number of persistent musical +instruments were being tuned in their little ears; and, not yet +thoroughly habituated to any garments except pink sunbonnets and +pajamas, their straight fronts felt too tight, and the tops of their +stockings pulled, and they balanced badly on their high heels, and +Aphrodite and Cybele, being too snugly laced, retired to rid themselves +of their first corsets.</p> + +<p>The remaining four, Lissa, now eighteen; Dione, fifteen; Philodice, +fourteen, and Chlorippe, thirteen, found the missing Pleiads in the +great library, joyously donning their rose-silk lounging pajamas, while +two parlor maids brought ices from the wrecked feast below.</p> + +<p>So they, too, flung from them crinkling silk and diaphanous lace, +high-heel shoon and the delicate body-harness never fashioned for +free-limbed dryads of the Rose-Cross wilds; +<span class = "pagenum">44</span> +<!-- png 066 --> +and they kept the electric signals going for ices and fruits and +pitchers brimming with clear cold water; and they sat there in a circle +like a thicket of fluttering pale-pink roses, until below the last guest +had sped out into the unknown wastes of Gotham, and the poet’s heavy +step was on the stair.</p> + +<p>The poet was agitated—and like a humble bicolored quadruped of +the Rose-Cross wilds, which, when agitated, sprays the air—so the +poet, laboring obesely under his emotion, smiled with a sweetness so +intolerable that the air seemed to be squirted full of saccharinity to +the point of plethoric saturation.</p> + +<p>“My lambs,†he murmured, fat hands clasped and dropped before him as +straight as his rounded abdomen would permit; “my babes!â€</p> + +<p>“Do you think,†suggested Aphrodite, busy with her ice, “that we are +going to enjoy this winter in Mr. Wayne’s house?â€</p> + +<p>“Enjoyment,†breathed the poet in an overwhelming gush of sweetness, +“is not in houses; it is in one’s soul. What is wealth? Everything! +Therefore it is of no value. What is poverty? Nothing! And, as it is the +little things that are the most precious, +<span class = "pagenum">45</span> +<!-- png 067 --> +so nothing, which is less than the very least, is precious beyond price. +Thank you for listening; thank you for understanding. Bless you.â€</p> + +<p>And he wandered away, almost asphyxiated with his emotions.</p> + +<p>“I mean to have a gay winter—if I can ever get used to being +laced in and pulled over by those dreadful garters,†observed Aphrodite, +stretching her smooth young limbs in comfort.</p> + +<p>“I suppose there would be trouble if we wore our country clothes on +Broadway, wouldn’t there?†asked Lissa wistfully.</p> + +<p>Chlorippe, aged thirteen, kicked off her sandals and stretched her +pretty snowy feet: “They were never in the world made to fit into +high-heeled shoes,†she declared pensively, widening her little rosy +toes.</p> + +<p>“But we might as well get used to all these things,†sighed +Philodice, rolling over among the cushions, a bunch of hothouse grapes +suspended above her pink mouth. She ate one, looked at Dione, and +yawned.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to practise wearing ’em an hour a day,†said Aphrodite, +“because I mean to go to the theater. It’s worth the effort. Besides, +<span class = "pagenum">46</span> +<!-- png 068 --> +if we just sit here in the house all day asking each other Greek +riddles, we will never see anybody until Iole and Vanessa come back from +their honeymoon and give teas and dinners for all sorts of interesting +young men.â€</p> + +<p>“Oh, the attractive young men I have seen in these few days in New +York!†exclaimed Lissa. “Would you believe it, the first day I walked +out with George Wayne and Iole, I was perfectly bewildered and +enchanted to see so many delightful-looking men. And by and by Iole +missed me, and George came back and found me standing entranced on the +corner of Fifth Avenue; and I said, “Please don’t disturb me, George, +because I am only standing here to enjoy the sight of so many +agreeable-looking men<ins class = "correction" title = "missing close quote">.†</ins>But he acted so queerly about it.†She ended with a +little sigh. “However, I love George, of course, even if he does +bore me. I wonder where they are now—the bridal pairs?â€</p> + +<p>“I wonder,†mused Philodice, “whether they have any children by this +time?â€</p> + +<p>“Not yet,†explained Aphrodite. “But they’ll probably have some when +they return. I understand it takes a good many weeks—to<span +class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">47</span> +<!-- png 069 --> +<p>“To find new children,†nodded Chlorippe confidently. “I suppose +they’ve hidden the cunning little things somewhere on the yacht, and +it’s like hunt the thimble and lots and lots of fun.†And she +distributed six oranges.</p> + +<p>Lissa was not so certain of that, but, discussing the idea with +Cybele, and arriving at no conclusion, devoted herself to the large +juicy orange with more satisfaction, conscious that the winter’s outlook +was bright for them all and full of the charming mystery of +anticipations so glittering yet so general that she could form not even +the haziest ideas of their wonderful promise. And so, sucking the sunlit +pulp of their oranges, they were content to live, dream, and await +fulfilment under the full favor of a Heaven which had never yet sent +them aught but happiness beneath the sun.</p> + +<p class = "illustration"> +<img src = "images/ip15.png" width = "332" height = "205" +alt = "decoration"> +</p> + + + + +<span class = "pagenum">48</span> +<!-- png 070 --> +<h4 class = "chapter"><a name = "chapVI" id = "chapVI"> +VI</a></h4> + +<p class = "illustration"> +<img src = "images/pic119.png" width = "383" height = "148" +alt = "decoration"> +</p> + + +<p><span class = "dropcap"> +<img src = "images/capN.gif" width = "92" height = "85" +alt = "N" title = "N"></span><span class = "firstword">either</span> +Lethbridge nor Harrow—lately exceedingly important undergraduates +at Harvard and now twin nobodies in the employment of the great +Occidental Fidelity and Trust Company—neither of these young men, +I say, had any particular business at the New Arts Theater that +afternoon.</p> + +<p>For the play was Barnard Haw’s <i>Attitudes</i>, the performance was +private and intensely intellectual, the admission by invitation only, +and between the acts there was supposed to be a general <i>causerie</i> +among the gifted individuals of the audience.</p> + +<p>Why Stanley West, president of the Occidental +<span class = "pagenum">49</span> +<!-- png 071 --> +Trust, should have presented to his two young kinsmen the tickets +inscribed with his own name was a problem, unless everybody else, +including the elevator boys, had politely declined the offer.</p> + +<p>“That’s probably the case,†observed Lethbridge. “Do we go?â€</p> + +<p>“Art,†said Harrow, “will be on the loose among that audience. And if +anybody can speak to anybody there, we’ll get spoken to just as if we +were sitting for company, and first we know somebody will ask us what +Art really is.â€</p> + +<p>“I’d like to see a place full of atmosphere,†suggested Lethbridge. +“I’ve seen almost everything—the Café Jaune, and Chinatown, +and—you remember that joint at Tangier? But I’ve never seen +atmosphere. I don’t care how thin it is; I just want to say +that I’ve seen it when the next girl throws it all over me.†And as +Harrow remained timid, he added: “We won’t have to climb across the +footlights and steal a curl from the author, because he’s already being +sheared in England. There’s nothing to scare you.â€</p> + +<p>Normally, however, they were intensely afraid of Art except at their +barbers’, and +<span class = "pagenum">50</span> +<!-- png 072 --> +they had heard, in various ways as vague as Broad Street rumors, +something concerning these gatherings of the elect at the New Arts +Theater on Saturday afternoons, where unselfish reformers produced plays +for Art’s sake as a rebuke to managers who declined to produce that sort +of play for anybody’s sake.</p> + +<p>“I’ll bet,†said Harrow, “that some thrifty genius sent Stanley West +those tickets in a desperate endeavor to amalgamate the aristocracies of +wealth and intellect!—as though you could shake ’em up as you +shake a cocktail! As though you’d catch your Uncle Stanley wearing his +richest Burgundy flush, sitting in the orchestra and talking <i>Arr +Noovo</i> to a young thing with cheek-bones who’d pinch him into a +cocked hat for a contribution between the acts!â€</p> + +<p>“Still,†said Lethbridge, “even Art requires a wad to pay its +license. Isn’t West the foxy Freddie! Do you suppose, if we go, they’ll +sting us for ten?â€</p> + +<p>“They’ll probably take up a collection for the professor,†said +Harrow gloomily. “Better come to the club and give the tickets to the +janitor.â€</p> + +<p>“Oh, that’s putting it all over Art! If anybody +<span class = "pagenum">51</span> +<!-- png 073 --> +with earnest eyes tries to speak to us we can call a policeman.â€</p> + +<p>“Well,†said Harrow, “on your promise to keep your mouth shut I’ll go +with you. If you open it they’ll discover you’re an appraiser and I’m a +broker, and then they’ll think we’re wealthy, because there’d be no +other reason for our being there, and they’ll touch us both for a brace +of come-ons, and<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Perhaps,†interrupted the other, “we’ll be fortunate enough to sit +next to a peach! And as it’s the proper thing there to talk to your +neighbor, the prospect—er—needn’t jar you.â€</p> + +<p>There was a silence as they walked up-town, which lasted until they +entered their lodgings. And by that time they had concluded +to go.</p> + +<p class = "illustration"> +<img src = "images/pic092.png" width = "381" height = "129" +alt = "decoration"> +</p> + + + + +<span class = "pagenum">52</span> +<!-- png 074 --> +<h4 class = "chapter"><a name = "chapVII" id = "chapVII"> +VII</a></h4> + +<p class = "illustration"> +<img src = "images/pic012.png" width = "386" height = "154" +alt = "decoration"> +</p> + + +<p><span class = "dropcap"> +<img src = "images/capS.gif" width = "104" height = "86" +alt = "S" title = "S"></span><span class = "firstword">o</span> +they went, having nothing better on hand, and at two o’clock they sidled +into the squatty little theater, shyly sought their reserved seats and +sat very still, abashed in the presence of the massed intellects of +Manhattan.</p> + +<p>When Clarence Guilford, the Poet of Simplicity, followed by six +healthy, vigorous young daughters, entered the middle aisle of the New +Arts Theater, a number of people whispered in reverent recognition: +“Guilford, the poet! Those are his daughters. They +<span class = "pagenum">53</span> +<!-- png 075 --> +wear nothing but pink pajamas at home. Sh-sh-h-h!â€</p> + +<p>Perhaps the poet heard, for he heard a great deal when absent-minded. +He paused; his six tall and blooming daughters, two and two behind him, +very naturally paused also, because the poet was bulky and the aisle +narrow.</p> + +<p>Those of the elect who had recognized him had now an opportunity to +view him at close range; young women with expressive eyes leaned +forward, quivering; several earnest young men put up lorgnettes.</p> + +<p>It was as it should have been; and the poet stood motionless in +dreamy abstraction, until an usher took his coupons and turned down +seven seats. Then the six daughters filed in, and the poet, slowly +turning to survey the house, started slightly, as though surprised to +find himself under public scrutiny, passed a large, plump hand over his +forehead, and slowly subsided into the aisle-seat with a smile of +whimsical acquiescence in the knowledge of his own greatness.</p> + +<p>“Who,†inquired young Harrow, turning toward Lethbridge—“who is +that duck?â€</p> + +<p>“You can search me,†replied Lethbridge in a low voice, “but for +Heaven’s sake <i>look</i> +<span class = "pagenum">54</span> +<!-- png 076 --> +at those girls! Is it right to bunch such beauty and turn down Senators +from Utah?â€</p> + +<p>Harrow’s dazzled eyes wandered over the six golden heads and snowy +necks, lovely as six wholesome young goddesses fresh from a bath in the +Hellespont.</p> + +<p>“The—the one next to the one beside you,†whispered Lethbridge, +edging around. “I want to run away with her. Would you mind getting +me a hansom?â€</p> + +<p>“The one next to me has them all pinched to death,†breathed Harrow +unsteadily. “Look!—when she isn’t looking. Did you ever see such +eyes and mouth—such a superb free poise<span class = +"dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Sh-sh-h-h!†muttered Lethbridge, “the bell-mule is talking to +them.â€</p> + +<p>“Art,†said the poet, leaning over to look along the line of +fragrant, fresh young beauty, “Art is an art.†With which epigram he +slowly closed his eyes.</p> + +<!-- png 077 --> +<p class = "illustration"> +<a name = "plate2" id = "plate2"> +<img src = "images/plate2.jpg" width = "354" height = "439" +alt = "See caption"></a> +</p> + +<p class = "caption"> +He paused; his six tall and blooming daughters<br> +two and two behind him.</p> +<!-- png 078 --> + +<p>His daughters looked at him; a young woman expensively but not +smartly gowned bent forward from the row behind. Her attitude was almost +prayerful; her eyes burned.</p> + +<p>“Art,†continued the poet, opening his heavy lids with a large, sweet +smile, “Art +<span class = "pagenum">55</span> +<!-- png 079 --> +is above Art, but Art is never below Art. Art, to be Art, must be +artless. That is a very precious thought—very, very precious. +Thank you for understanding me—thank you.†And he included in his +large smile young Harrow, who had been unconsciously bending forward, +hypnotized by the monotonous resonance of the poet’s deep, rich +voice.</p> + +<p>Now that the spell was broken, he sank back in his chair, looking at +Lethbridge a little wildly.</p> + +<p>“Let me sit next—after the first act,†began Lethbridge, +coaxing; “they’ll be watching the stage all the first act and you can +look at ’em without being rude, and they’ll do the same next act, and I +can look at ’em, and perhaps they’ll ask us what Art really is<span +class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Did you hear what that man said?†interrupted Harrow, recovering his +voice. “<i>Did</i> you?â€</p> + +<p>“No; what?â€</p> + +<p>“Well, listen next time. And all I have to say is, if that +firing-line, with its battery of innocent blue eyes, understands him, +you and I had better apply to the nearest night-school for the rudiments +of an education.â€</p> + +<p>“Well, what did he say?†began the other +<span class = "pagenum">56</span> +<!-- png 080 --> +uneasily, when again the poet bent forward to address the firing-line; +and the lovely blue battery turned silently upon the author of their +being.</p> + +<p>“Art is the result of a complex mental attitude capable of producing +concrete simplicity.â€</p> + +<p>“Help!†whispered Harrow, but the poet had caught his eye, and was +fixing the young man with a smile that held him as sirup holds a +fly.</p> + +<p>“You ask me what is Art, young sir? Why should I not heed you? Why +should I not answer you? What artificial barriers, falsely called +convention, shall force me to ignore the mute eloquence of your +questioning eyes? You ask me what is Art. I will tell you; it is +<i>this</i>!†And the poet, inverting his thumb, pressed it into the +air. Then, carefully inspecting the dent he had made in the atmosphere, +he erased it with a gesture and folded his arms, looking gravely at +Harrow, whose fascinated eyes protruded.</p> + +<p>Behind him Lethbridge whispered hoarsely, “I told you how it +would be in the New Arts Theater. I told you a young man alone was +likely to get spoken to. Now those six girls know you’re a broker!â€</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">57</span> +<!-- png 081 --> +<p>“Don’t say it so loud,†muttered Harrow savagely. “I’m all right so +far, for I haven’t said a word.â€</p> + +<p>“You’d better not,†returned the other. “I wish that curtain +would go up and stay up. It will be my turn to sit next them after this +act, you know.â€</p> + +<p>Harrow ventured to glance at the superb young creature sitting beside +him, and at the same instant she looked up and, catching his eye, smiled +in the most innocently friendly fashion—the direct, clear-eyed +advance of a child utterly unconscious of self.</p> + +<p>“I have never before been in a theater,†she said; “have you?â€</p> + +<p>“I—I beg your pardon,†stammered Harrow when he found his +voice, “but <i>were</i> you good enough to speak to <i>me</i>?â€</p> + +<p>“Why, yes!†she said, surprised but amiable; “shouldn’t I have spoken +to you?â€</p> + +<p>“Indeed—oh, indeed you should!†said Harrow hastily, with a +quick glance at the poet. The poet, however, appeared to be immersed in +thought, lids partially closed, a benignant smile imprinted on his heavy +features.</p> + +<p>“<i>What</i> are you doing?†breathed Lethbridge in his ear. Harrow +calmly turned his +<span class = "pagenum">58</span> +<!-- png 082 --> +back on his closest friend and gazed rapturously at his goddess. And +again her bewildering smile broke out and he fairly blinked in its +glory.</p> + +<p>“This is my first play,†she said; “I’m a little excited. I hope +I shall care for it.â€</p> + +<p>“Haven’t you ever seen a play?†asked Harrow, tenderly amazed.</p> + +<p>“Never. You see, we always lived in the country, and we have always +been poor until my sister Iole married. And now our father has come to +live with his new son-in-law. So that is how we came to be here in New +York.â€</p> + +<p>“I am <i>so</i> glad you <i>did</i> come,†said Harrow fervently.</p> + +<p>“So are we. We have never before seen anything like a large city. We +have never had enough money to see one. But now that Iole is married, +everything is possible. It is all so interesting for +us—particularly the clothing. Do you like my gown?â€</p> + +<p>“It is a dream!†stammered the infatuated youth.</p> + +<p>“Do you think so? I think it is wonderful—but not very +comfortable.â€</p> + +<p>“Doesn’t it fit?†he inquired.</p> + +<p>“Perfectly; that’s the trouble. It is not +<span class = "pagenum">59</span> +<!-- png 083 --> +comfortable. We never before were permitted to wear skirts and all sorts +of pretty fluffy frills under them, and <i>such</i> high heels, and +<i>such</i> long stockings, and <i>such</i> tight lacing—†She +hesitated, then calmly: “But I believe father told us that we are not to +mention our pretty underwear, though it’s hard not to, as it’s the first +we ever had.â€</p> + +<p>Harrow was past all speech.</p> + +<p>“I wish I had my lounging-suit on,†she said with a sigh and a hitch +of her perfectly modeled shoulders.</p> + +<p>“W—what sort of things do you usually dress in?†he +ventured.</p> + +<p>“Why, in dress-reform clothes!†she said, laughing. “We never have +worn anything else.â€</p> + +<p>“Bloomers!â€</p> + +<p>“I don’t know; we had trousers and blouses and +sandals—something like the pink pajamas we have for night-wear +now. Formerly we wore nothing at night. I am beginning to wonder, +from the way people look at us when we speak of this, whether we were +odd. But all our lives we have never thought about clothing. However, +I am glad you like my new gown, and I fancy I’ll get used to this +<span class = "pagenum">60</span> +<!-- png 084 --> +tight lacing in time.... What is your name?â€</p> + +<p>“James Harrow,†he managed to say, aware of an innocence and +directness of thought and speech which were awaking in him faintest +responsive echoes. They were the blessed echoes from the dim, fair land +of childhood, but he did not know it.</p> + +<p>“James Harrow,†she repeated with a friendly nod. “My name is +Lissa—my first name; the other is Guilford. My father is the +famous poet, Clarence Guilford. He named us all after +butterflies—all my sisters‗counting them on her white +fingers while her eyes rested on him—“Chlorippe, twelve years old, +that pretty one next to my father; then Philodice, thirteen; Dione, +fourteen; Aphrodite, fifteen; Cybele, the one next to me, sixteen, and +almost seventeen; and myself, seventeen, almost eighteen. Besides, there +is Iole, who married Mr. Wayne, and Vanessa, married to Mr. Briggs. They +have been off on Mr. Wayne’s yacht, the <i>Thendara</i>, on their +wedding trip. Now you know all about us. Do you think you would like to +know us?â€</p> + +<p>“<i>Like</i> to! I’d simply love to! I<span class = +"dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“That is very nice,†she said unembarrassed.</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">61</span> +<!-- png 085 --> +<p>“I thought I should like you when I saw you leaning over and +listening so reverently to father’s epigrams. Then, besides, I had +nobody but my sisters to talk to. Oh, you can’t imagine how many +attractive men I see every day in New York—and I should like to +know them all—and many <i>do</i> look at me as though they would +like it, too; but Mr. Wayne is so queer, and so are father and Mr. +Briggs—about my speaking to people in public places. They have +told me not to, but I—I—thought I would,†she ended, +smiling. “What harm can it do for me to talk to you?â€</p> + +<p>“It’s perfectly heavenly of you<span class = +"dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Oh, do you think so? I wonder what father thinks‗turning to +look; then, resuming: “He generally makes us stop, but I am quite sure +he expected me to talk to you.â€</p> + +<p>The lone note of a piano broke the thread of the sweetest, maddest +discourse Harrow had ever listened to; the girl’s cheeks flushed and she +turned expectantly toward the curtained stage. Again the lone note, +thumped vigorously, sounded a <ins class = "correction" title = "text reads ‘stacatto’">staccato</ins> monotone.</p> + +<p>“Precious—very precious,†breathed the poet, closing his eyes +in a sort of fatty ecstasy.</p> + + + + +<span class = "pagenum">62</span> +<!-- png 086 --> +<h4 class = "chapter"><a name = "chapVIII" id = "chapVIII"> +VIII</a></h4> + +<p class = "illustration"> +<img src = "images/pic092.png" width = "381" height = "129" +alt = "decoration"> +</p> + + +<p><span class = "dropcap"> +<img src = "images/capH.gif" width = "92" height = "83" +alt = "H" title = "H"></span><span class = "firstword">arrow</span> +looked at his program, then, leaning toward Lissa, whispered: “That is +the overture to <i>Attitudes</i>—the program explains it: ‘A +series of pale gray notes’—what the deuce!—‘pale <i>gray</i> +notes giving the value of the highest light in which the play is +pitched’—†He paused, aghast.</p> + +<p>“I understand,†whispered the girl, resting her lovely arm on the +chair beside him. “Look! The curtain is rising! <i>How</i> my heart +beats! Does yours?â€</p> + +<p>He nodded, unable to articulate.</p> + +<p>The curtain rose very, very slowly, upon the first scene of Barnard +Haw’s masterpiece of satire; and the lovely firing-line quivered, blue +<span class = "pagenum">63</span> +<!-- png 087 --> +batteries opening very wide, lips half parted in breathless +anticipation. And about that time Harrow almost expired as a soft, +impulsive hand closed nervously over his.</p> + +<p>And there, upon the stage, the human species was delicately +vivisected in one act; human frailty exposed, human motives detected, +human desire quenched in all the brilliancy of perverted epigram and the +scalpel analysis of the astigmatic. Life, love, and folly were portrayed +with the remorseless accuracy of an eye doubly sensitive through the +stimulus of an intellectual strabismus. Barnard Haw at his greatest! And +how he dissected attitudes; the attitude assumed by the lover, the +father, the wife, the daughter, the mother, the mistress—proving +that virtue, <i>per se</i>, is a pose. Attitudes! How he flayed those +who assumed them. His attitude toward attitudes was remorseless, +uncompromising, inexorable.</p> + +<p>And the curtain fell on the first act, its gray and silver folds +swaying in the half-crazed whirlwind of applause.</p> + +<p>Lissa’s silky hand trembled in Harrow’s, her grasp relaxed. He +dropped his hand and, searching, encountered hers again.</p> + +<p>“<i>What</i> do you think of it?†she asked.</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">64</span> +<!-- png 088 --> +<p>“I don’t think there’s any harm in it,†he stammered guiltily, +supposing she meant the contact of their interlaced fingers.</p> + +<p>“Harm? I didn’t mean harm,†she said. “The play is perfectly +harmless, I think.â€</p> + +<p>“Oh—the play! Oh, that’s just <i>that</i> sort of play, you +know. They’re all alike; a lot of people go about telling each other how +black white is and that white is always black—until somebody +suddenly discovers that black and white are a sort of greenish red. Then +the audience applauds frantically in spite of the fact that everybody in +it had concluded that black and white were really a shade of yellowish +yellow!â€</p> + +<p>She had begun to laugh; and as he proceeded, excited by her approval, +the most adorable gaiety possessed her.</p> + +<p>“I <i>never</i> heard anything half so clever!†she said, leaning +toward him.</p> + +<p>“I? Clever!†he faltered. “You—you don’t really mean that!â€</p> + +<p>“Why? Don’t you know you are? Don’t you know in your heart that you +have said the very thing that I in my heart found no words to +explain?â€</p> + +<p>“Did I, really?â€</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">65</span> +<!-- png 089 --> +<p>“Yes. Isn’t it delightful!â€</p> + +<p>It was; Harrow, holding tightly to the soft little hand half hidden +by the folds of her gown, cast a sneaking look behind him, and +encountered the fixed and furious glare of his closest friend, who had +pinched him.</p> + +<p>“Pig!†hissed Lethbridge, “do I sit next or not?â€</p> + +<p>“I—I can’t; I’ll explain<span class = +"dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“<i>Do</i> I?â€</p> + +<p>“You don’t understand<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“I understand <i>you</i>!â€</p> + +<p>“No, you don’t. Lissa and I<span class = +"dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Lissa!â€</p> + +<p>“Ya—as! We’re talking very cleverly; <i>I</i> am, too. +Wha’d’you wan’ to butt in for?†with sudden venom.</p> + +<p>“Butt in! Do you think I want to sit here and look at tha’ damfool +play! Fix it or I’ll run about biting!â€</p> + +<p>Harrow turned. “Lissa,†he whispered in an exquisitely modulated +voice, “what would happen if I spoke to your sister Cybele?â€</p> + +<p>“Why, she’d answer you, silly!†said the girl, laughing. “Wouldn’t +you, Cybele?â€</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you what I’d like to do,†said Cybele, +<span class = "pagenum">66</span> +<!-- png 090 --> +leaning forward: “I’d like very much to talk to that attractive man who +is trying to look at me—only your head has been in the way.†And +she smiled innocently at Lethbridge.</p> + +<p>So Lissa moved down one. Harrow took her seat, and Cybele dropped +gaily into Harrow’s vacant place.</p> + +<p>“<i>Now</i>,†she said to Lethbridge, “we can tell each other all +sorts of things. I was so glad that you looked at me all the while +and so vexed that I couldn’t talk to you. <i>How</i> do you like my new +gown? And what is your name? Have you ever before seen a play? +I haven’t, and my name is Cybele.â€</p> + +<p>“It is per—perfectly heavenly to hear you talk,†stammered +Lethbridge.</p> + +<p>Harrow heard him, turned and looked him full in the eyes, then slowly +resumed his attitude of attention: for the poet was speaking:</p> + +<p>“The Art of Barnard Haw is the quintessence of simplicity. What is +the quintessence of simplicity?†He lifted one heavy pudgy hand, joined +the tips of his soft thumb and forefinger, and selecting an atom of air, +deftly +<span class = "pagenum">67</span> +<!-- png 091 --> +captured it. “<i>That</i> is the quintessence of simplicity; <i>that</i> +is Art!â€</p> + +<p>He smiled largely on Harrow, whose eyes had become wild again.</p> + +<p>“<i>That!</i>†he repeated, pinching out another molecule of +atmosphere, “and <i>that</i>!†punching dent after dent in the viewless +void with inverted thumb.</p> + +<p>On the hapless youth the overpowering sweetness of his smile acted +like an anesthetic; he saw things waver, even wabble; and his hidden +clutch on Lissa’s fingers tightened spasmodically.</p> + +<p>“Thank you,†said the poet, leaning forward to fix the young man with +his heavy-lidded eyes. “Thank you for the precious thoughts you inspire +in me. Bless you. Our mental and esthetic commune has been very precious +to me—very, very precious,†he mooned bulkily, his rich voice +dying to a resonant, soothing drone.</p> + +<p>Lissa turned to the petrified young man. “Please be clever some +more,†she whispered. “You were so perfectly delightful about this +play.â€</p> + +<p>“Child!†he groaned, “I have scarcely sufficient intellect to keep me +overnight. You +<span class = "pagenum">68</span> +<!-- png 092 --> +must know that I haven’t understood one single thing your father has +been kind enough to say.â€</p> + +<p>“What didn’t you understand?†she asked, surprised.</p> + +<p>“’<i>That!</i>’†He flourished his thumb. “What does ’<i>That!</i>’ +mean?â€</p> + +<p>“Oh, that is only a trick father has caught from painters who tell +you how they’re going to use their brushes. But the truth is I’ve +usually noticed that they do most of their work in the air with their +thumbs.... What else did you not understand?â€</p> + +<p>“Oh—Art!†he said wearily. “What is it? Or, as Barnard Haw, the +higher exponent of the Webberfield philosophy, might say: ‘What it iss? +Yess?’â€</p> + +<p>“I don’t know what the Webberfield philosophy is,†said Lissa +innocently, “but Art is only things one believes. And it’s awfully hard, +too, because nobody sees the same thing in the same way, or believes the +same things that others believe. So there are all kinds of Art. +I think the only way to be sure is when the artist makes himself +and his audience happier; then that is Art.... But one need not use +one’s thumb, you know.â€</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">69</span> +<!-- png 093 --> +<p>“The—the way you make me happy? Is <i>that</i> Art?â€</p> + +<p>“Do I?†she laughed. “Perhaps; for I am happy, too—far, far +happier than when I read the works of Henry Haynes. And Henry Haynes +<i>is</i> Art. Oh, dear!â€</p> + +<p>But Harrow knew nothing of the intellectual obstetrics which produced +that great master’s monotypes.</p> + +<p>“Have you read Double or Quits?†he ventured shyly. “It’s a humming +Wall Street story showing up the entire bunch and exposing the +trading-stamp swindle of the great department stores. The heroine is a +detective and—†She was looking at him so intently that he feared +he had said something he shouldn’t. “But I don’t suppose that would +interest you,†he muttered, ashamed.</p> + +<p>“It does! It is <i>new</i>! I—I never read that sort of a +novel. Tell me!â€</p> + +<p>“Are you serious?â€</p> + +<p>“Of course. It is perfectly wonderful to think of a heroine being a +detective.â€</p> + +<p>“Oh, she’s a dream!†he said with cautious enthusiasm. “She falls in +love with the worst stock-washer in Wall Street, and pushes him off a +ferry-boat when she finds he has cornered +<span class = "pagenum">70</span> +<!-- png 094 --> +the trading-stamp market and is bankrupting her father, who is president +of the department store trust<span class = +"dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Go on!†she whispered breathlessly.</p> + +<p>“I will, but<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“What is it? Oh—is it my hand you are looking for? Here it is; +I only wanted to smooth my hair a moment. Now tell me; for I never, +never knew that such books were written. The books my father permits us +to read are not concerned with all those vital episodes of every-day +life. Nobody ever <i>does</i> anything in the few novels I am allowed to +read—except, once, in <i>Cranford</i>, somebody gets up out of a +chair in one chapter—but sits down again in the next,†she added +wearily.</p> + +<p>“<i>I’ll</i> send you something to make anybody sit up and stay up,†+he said indignantly. “Baffles, the Gent Burglar; Love Militant, by Nora +Norris Newman; The Crown-Snatcher, by Reginald Rodman Roony—oh, +it’s simply ghastly to think of what you’ve missed! This is the +Victorian era; you have a right to be fully cognizant of the great +literary movements of the twentieth century!â€</p> + +<p>“I love to hear you say such things,†she said, her beautiful face +afire. “I desire to be +<span class = "pagenum">71</span> +<!-- png 095 --> +modern—intensely, humanly modern. All my life I have been +nourished on the classics of ages dead; the literature of the Orient, of +Asia, of Europe I am familiar with; the literature of England—as +far as Andrew Bang’s boyhood verses. I—all my sisters—read, +write, speak, even think, in ten languages. I long for something to +read which is vital, familiar, friendly—something of my own time, +my own day. I wish to know what young people do and dare; what they +really think, what they believe, strive for, desire!â€</p> + +<p>“Well—well, I don’t think people really do and say and think +the things that you read in interesting modern novels,†he said +doubtfully. “Fact is, only the tiresome novels seem to tell a portion of +the truth; but they end by overdoing it and leave you yawning with a +nasty taste in your mouth. I—I think you’d better let your father +pick out your novels.â€</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to,†she said rebelliously. “I want +<i>you</i> to.â€</p> + +<p>He looked at the beautiful, rebellious face and took a closer hold on +the hidden hand.</p> + +<p>“I wish you—I wish I could choose—everything for you,†he +said unsteadily.</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">72</span> +<!-- png 096 --> +<p>“I wish so, too. You are exactly the sort of man I like.â€</p> + +<p>“Do—do you mean it?â€</p> + +<p>“Why, yes,†she replied, opening her splendid eyes. “Don’t I show the +pleasure I take in being with you?â€</p> + +<p>“But—would you tire of me if—if we +always—forever<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Were friends? No.â€</p> + +<p>“Mo-m-m-more than friends?†Then he choked.</p> + +<p>The speculation in her wide eyes deepened. “What do you mean?†she +asked curiously.</p> + +<p>But again the lone note of the thumped piano signaled silence. In the +sudden hush the poet opened his lids with a sticky smile and folded his +hands over his abdomen, plump thumbs joined.</p> + +<p>“<i>What</i> do you mean?†repeated Lissa hurriedly, tightening her +slender fingers around Harrow’s.</p> + +<p>“I mean—I mean<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>He turned in silence and their eyes met. A moment later her +fingers relaxed limply in his; their hands were still in +contact—but scarcely so; and so remained while the +<i>Attitudes</i> of Barnard Haw held the stage.</p> + + + + +<span class = "pagenum">73</span> +<!-- png 097 --> +<h4 class = "chapter"><a name = "chapIX" id = "chapIX"> +IX</a></h4> + +<p class = "illustration"> +<img src = "images/pic133.png" width = "388" height = "152" +alt = "decoration"> +</p> + + +<p><span class = "dropcap"> +<img src = "images/capT.gif" width = "88" height = "82" +alt = "T" title = "T"></span><span class = "firstword">here</span> +was a young wife behind the footlights explaining to a young man who was +not her husband that her marriage vows need not be too seriously +considered if he, the young man, found them too inconvenient. Which +scared the young man, who was plainly a purveyor of heated air and a +short sport. And, although she explained very clearly that if he needed +her in his business he had better say so quick, the author’s invention +gave out just there and he called in the young wife’s husband to help +him out.</p> + +<p>And all the while the battery of round blue +<span class = "pagenum">74</span> +<!-- png 098 --> +eyes gazed on unwinking; the poet’s dewlaps quivered with stored +emotion, and the spellbound audience breathed as people breathe when the +hostess at table attempts to smooth over a bad break by her husband.</p> + +<p>“Is <i>that</i> life?†whispered Cybele to Lethbridge, her sensitive +mouth aquiver. “Did the author actually know such people? Do <i>you</i>? +Is conscience really only an attitude? Is instinct the only guide? Am +<i>I</i>—really—bad<span class = +"dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“No, no,†whispered Lethbridge; “all that is only a dramatist’s +attitude. Don’t—don’t look grieved! Why, every now and then some +man discovers he can attract more attention by standing on his head. +That is all—really, that is all. Barnard Haw on his feet is not +amusing; but the same gentleman on his head is worth an orchestra-chair. +When a man wears his trousers where other men wear their coats, people +are bound to turn around. It is not a new trick. Mystes, the Argive +comic poet, and the White Queen, taught this author the value of +substituting ‘is’ for ‘is not,’ until, from standing so long inverted, +he himself forgets what he means, and at this point the eminent brothers +Rogers take up the important work.... +<span class = "pagenum">75</span> +<!-- png 099 --> +Please, please, Cybele, <i>don’t</i> take it seriously!... If you look +that way—if you are unhappy, I—I<span class = +"dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>A gentle snore from the poet transfixed the firing-line, but the +snore woke up the poet and he mechanically pinched an atom out of the +atmosphere, blinking at the stage.</p> + +<p>“Precious—very, very precious,†he murmured drowsily. “Thank +you—thank everybody—†And he sank into an obese and +noiseless slumber as the gray and silver curtain slowly fell. The +applause, far from rousing him, merely soothed him; a honeyed smile +hovered on his lips which formed the words “Thank you.†That was all; +the firing-line stirred, breathed deeply, and folded twelve soft white +hands. Chlorippe, twelve, and Philodice, thirteen, yawned, pink-mouthed, +sleepy-eyed; Dione, fourteen, laid her golden head on the shoulder of +Aphrodite, fifteen.</p> + +<p>The finger-tips of Lissa and Harrow still touched, scarcely clinging; +they had turned toward one another when the curtain fell. But the play, +to them, had been a pantomime of silhouettes, the stage, a void edged +with flame—the scene, the audience, the theater, the poet himself +as unreal and meaningless as the shadowy +<span class = "pagenum">76</span> +<!-- png 100 --> +attitudes of the shapes that vanished when the phantom curtain closed +its folds.</p> + +<p>And through the subdued light, turning noiselessly, they peered at +one another, conscious that naught else was real in the misty, +golden-tinted gloom; that they were alone together there in a formless, +soundless chaos peopled by shapes impalpable as dreams.</p> + +<p>“<i>Now</i> tell me,†she said, her lips scarcely moving as the soft +voice stirred them like carmine petals stirring in a scented breeze.</p> + +<p>“Tell you that it is—love?â€</p> + +<p>“Yes, tell me.â€</p> + +<p>“That I love you, Lissa?â€</p> + +<p>“Yes; that!â€</p> + +<p>He stooped nearer; his voice was steady and very low, and she leaned +with bent head to listen, clear-eyed, intelligent, absorbed.</p> + +<p>“So <i>that</i> is love—what you tell me?â€</p> + +<p>“Yes—partly.â€</p> + +<p>“And the other part?â€</p> + +<p>“The other part is when you find you love me.â€</p> + +<p>“I—do. I think it must be love, because I can’t bear to have +you go away. Besides, I wish you to tell me—things.â€</p> + +<p>“Ask me.â€</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">77</span> +<!-- png 101 --> +<p>“Well—when two—like you and me, begin to love—what +happens?â€</p> + +<p>“We confess it<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“I do; I’m not ashamed.... Should I be? And then?â€</p> + +<p>“Then?†he faltered.</p> + +<p>“Yes; do we kiss?... For I am curious to have you do it—I am so +certain I shall adore you when you do.... I wish we could go away +somewhere together.... But we can’t do that until I am a bride, can we? +Oh—do you really want me?â€</p> + +<p>“Can you ask?†he breathed.</p> + +<p>“Ask? Yes—yes.... I love to ask! Your hand thrills me. We can’t +go away now, can we? It took Iole so long to be permitted to go away +with Mr. Wayne—all that time lost in so many foolish +ways—when a girl is so impatient.... Is it not strange how my +heart beats when I look into your eyes? Oh, there can be no doubt about +it, I am dreadfully in love.... And so quickly, too. I suppose +it’s because I am in such splendid health; don’t you?â€</p> + +<p>“I—I—well<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Oh, I <i>do</i> want to get up at once and go +<span class = "pagenum">78</span> +<!-- png 102 --> +away with you! <i>Can’t</i> we? I could explain to father.â€</p> + +<p>“Wait!†he gasped, “he—he’s asleep. Don’t speak—don’t +touch him.â€</p> + +<p>“How unselfish you are,†she breathed. “No, you are not hurting my +fingers. Tell me more—about love and the blessed years awaiting +us, and about our children—oh, is it not wonderful!â€</p> + +<p>“Ex—extremely,†he managed to mutter, touching his suddenly +dampened forehead with his handkerchief, and attempting to set his +thoughts in some sort of order. He could not; the incoherence held him +speechless, dazed, under the magic of this superb young being instinct +with the soft fire of life.</p> + +<p>Her loveliness, her innocence, the beautiful, direct gaze, the +childlike fulness of mouth and contour of cheek and throat, left him +spellbound. The very air around them seemed suffused with the vital glow +of her youth and beauty; each breath they drew increased their wonder, +till the whole rosy universe seemed thrilling and singing at their feet, +and they two, love-crowned, alone, saw Time and Eternity flowing like a +golden tide under the spell of Paradise.</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">79</span> +<!-- png 103 --> +<p>“Jim!â€</p> + +<p>The hoarse whisper of Lethbridge shook the vision from him; he turned +a flushed countenance to his friend; but Cybele spoke:</p> + +<p>“We are very tired sitting here. We would like to take some tea at +Sherry’s,†she whispered. “What do you think we had better do? It seems +so—so futile to sit here—when we wish to be alone +together<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“You and Henry, too!†gasped Harrow.</p> + +<p>“Yes; do you wonder?†She leaned swiftly in front of him; a fragrant +breeze stirred his hair. “Lissa, I’m desperately infatuated with Mr. +Lethbridge. Do you see any use in our staying here when I’m simply dying +to have him all to myself somewhere?â€</p> + +<p>“No, it is silly. I wish to go, too. Shall we?â€</p> + +<p>“You need not go,†began Cybele; then stopped, aware of the new magic +in her sister’s eyes. “Lissa! Lissa!†she said softly. “<i>You</i>, too! +Oh, my dear—my dearest!â€</p> + +<p>“Dear, is it not heavenly? I—I—was quite sure that if I +ever had a good chance to talk to a man I really liked something would +happen. And it has.â€</p> + +<p>“If Philodice might awaken father perhaps he would let us go now,†+whispered Cybele. +<span class = "pagenum">80</span> +<!-- png 104 --> +“Henry says it does not take more than an hour<span class = +"dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“To become a bride?â€</p> + +<p>“Yes; he knows a clergyman very near<span class = +"dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Do you?†inquired Lissa. Lethbridge nodded and gave a scared glance +at Harrow, who returned it as though stunned.</p> + +<p>“But—but,†muttered the latter, “your father doesn’t know who +we are<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, he does,†said Cybele calmly, “for he sent you the tickets +and placed us near you so that if we found that we liked you we might +talk to you<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Only he made a mistake in your name,†added Lissa to Harrow, “for he +wrote ‘Stanley West, Esq.’ on the envelope. I know because I +mailed it.â€</p> + +<p>“Invited West—put <i>you</i> where you could—good +God!â€</p> + +<p>“What is the matter?†whispered Lissa in consternation; +“have—have I said anything I should not?†And, as he was silent: +“What is it? Have I hurt you—I who<span class = +"dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>There was a silence; she looked him through and through and, after a +while, deep, deep in his soul, she saw, awaking once again, all he +<span class = "pagenum">81</span> +<!-- png 105 --> +had deemed dead—the truth, the fearless reason, the sweet and +faultless instinct of the child whose childhood had become a memory. +Then, once more spiritually equal, they smiled at one another; and +Lissa, pausing to gather up her ermine stole, passed noiselessly out to +the aisle, where she stood, perfectly self-possessed, while her sister +joined her, smiling vaguely down at the firing-line and their lifted +battery of blue, inquiring eyes.</p> + +<p>The poet—and whether he had slumbered or not nobody but himself +is qualified to judge—the poet pensively opened one eye and peeped +at Harrow as that young man bent beside him with Lethbridge at his +elbow.</p> + +<p>“In sending those two tickets you have taught us a new creed,†+whispered Harrow; “you have taught us innocence and simplicity—you +have taught us to be ourselves, to scorn convention, to say and do what +we believe. Thank you.â€</p> + +<p>“Dear friend,†said the poet in an artistically-modulated whisper, +“I have long, long followed you in the high course of your career. +To me the priceless simplicity of poverty: to you the responsibility for +millions. To me the daisy, the mountain stream, the woodchuck +<span class = "pagenum">82</span> +<!-- png 106 --> +and my Art! To you the busy mart, the haunts of men, the ship of finance +laden with a nation’s wealth, the awful burden of millions for which you +are answerable to One higher!†He raised one soft, solemn finger.</p> + +<p>The young men gazed at one another, astounded. Lethbridge’s startled +eyes said, “He still takes you for Stanley West!â€</p> + +<p>“Let him!†flashed the grim answer back from the narrowing gaze of +Harrow.</p> + +<p>“Daughters,†whispered the poet playfully, “are you so soon tired of +the brilliant gems of satire which our master dramatist scatters with a +lavish<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“No,†said Cybele; “we are only very much in love.â€</p> + +<p>The poet sat up briskly and looked hard at Harrow.</p> + +<p>“Your—your friend?†he began—“doubtless associated with +you in the high<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“We are inseparable,†said Harrow calmly, “in the busy marts.â€</p> + +<p>The sweetness of the poet’s smile was almost overpowering.</p> + +<p>“To discuss this sudden—ah—condition which +so—ah—abruptly confronts a father, I can not welcome +you to my little home in the +<span class = "pagenum">83</span> +<!-- png 107 --> +wild—which I call the House Beautiful,†he said. “I would it +were possible. There all is quiet and simple and exquisitely +humble—though now, through the grace of my valued son, there is no +mortgage hanging like the brand of Damocles above our lowly roof. But I +bid you welcome in the name of my son-in-law, on whom—I should +say, <i>with</i> whom—I and my babes are sojourning in this +clamorous city. Come and let us talk, soul to soul, heart to heart; come +and partake of what simples we have. Set the day, the hour. I thank +you for understanding me<ins class = "correction" title = "text has extra single quote">.†</ins></p> + +<p>“The hour,†replied Harrow, “will be about five <span class = +"smallroman">P.M.</span> on Monday afternoon.... You see, we are going +out now to—to<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“To marry each other,†whispered Lissa with all her sweet +fearlessness. “Oh, dear! there goes that monotonous piano and we’ll be +blocking people’s view!â€</p> + +<p>The poet tried to rise upon his great flat feet, but he was wedged +too tightly; he strove to speak, to call after them, but the loud +thumping notes of the piano drowned his voice.</p> + +<p>“Chlorippe! Dione! Philodice! Tell them to stop! Run after them and +stay them!†panted the poet.</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">84</span> +<!-- png 108 --> +<p>“<i>You</i> go!†pouted Dione.</p> + +<p>“No, I don’t want to,†explained Chlorippe, “because the curtain is +rising.â€</p> + +<p>“I’ll go,†sighed Philodice, rising to her slender height and moving +up the aisle as the children of queens moved once upon a time. She came +back presently, saying: “Dear me, they’re dreadfully in love, and they +have driven away in two hansoms.â€</p> + +<p>“Gone!†wheezed the poet.</p> + +<p>“Quite,†said Philodice, staring at the stage and calmly folding her +smooth little hands.</p> + +<p class = "illustration"> +<img src = "images/ip20.png" width = "213" height = "320" +alt = "decoration"> +</p> + + + + +<span class = "pagenum">85</span> +<!-- png 109 --> +<h4 class = "chapter"><a name = "chapX" id = "chapX"> +X</a></h4> + +<p class = "illustration"> +<img src = "images/pic085.png" width = "392" height = "159" +alt = "decoration"> +</p> + + +<p><span class = "dropcap"> +<img src = "images/capW.gif" width = "109" height = "83" +alt = "W" title = "W"></span><span class = "firstword">hen</span> +the curtain at last descended upon the parting attitudes of the players +the poet arose with an alacrity scarcely to be expected in a gentleman +of his proportions. Two and two his big, healthy daughters—there +remained but four now—followed him to the lobby. When he was able +to pack all four into a cab he did so and sent them home without +ceremony; then, summoning another vehicle, gave the driver the +directions and climbed in.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later he was deposited under the bronze shelter of the +porte-cochère belonging +<span class = "pagenum">86</span> +<!-- png 110 --> +to an extremely expensive mansion overlooking the park; and presently, +admitted, he prowled ponderously and softly about an over-gilded rococo +reception-room. But all anxiety had now fled from his face; he coyly +nipped the atmosphere at intervals as various portions of the furniture +attracted his approval; he stood before a splendid canvas of Goya and +pushed his thumb at it; he moused and prowled and peeped and snooped, +and his smile grew larger and larger and sweeter and sweeter, +until—dare I say it!—a low smooth chuckle, all but +noiseless, rippled the heavy cheeks of the poet; and, raising his eyes, +he beheld a stocky, fashionably-dressed and red-faced man of forty +intently eying him. The man spoke decisively and at once:</p> + +<p>“Mr. Guilford? Quite so. I am Mr. West.â€</p> + +<p>“You are—†The poet’s smile flickered like a sickly candle. +“I—this is—are you Mr. <i>Stanley</i> West?â€</p> + +<p>“I am.â€</p> + +<p>“It must—it probably was your son<span class = +"dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“I am unmarried,†said the president of the Occidental tartly, “and +the only Stanley West in the directory.â€</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">87</span> +<!-- png 111 --> +<p>The poet swayed, then sat down rather suddenly on a Louis XIV chair +which crackled. Several times he passed an ample hand over his features. +A mechanical smile struggled to break out, but it was not +<i>the</i> smile, any more than glucose is sugar.</p> + +<p>“Did—ah—<i>did</i> you receive two tickets for the New +Arts Theater—ah—Mr. West?†he managed to say at last.</p> + +<p>“I did. Thank you very much, but I was not able to avail myself<span +class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Quite so. And—ah—do you happen to know who it was +that—ah—presented your tickets and occupied the seats this +afternoon?â€</p> + +<p>“Why, I suppose it was two young men in our employ—Mr. +Lethbridge, who appraises property for us, and Mr. Harrow, one of our +brokers. May I ask why?â€</p> + +<p>For a long while the poet sat there, eyes squeezed tightly closed as +though in bodily anguish. Then he opened one of them:</p> + +<p>“They are—ah—quite penniless, I presume?â€</p> + +<p>“They have prospects,†said West briefly. “Why?â€</p> + +<p>The poet rose; something of his old attitude +<span class = "pagenum">88</span> +<!-- png 112 --> +returned; he feebly gazed at a priceless Massero vase, made a +half-hearted attempt to join thumb and forefinger, then rambled toward +the door, where two spotless flunkies attended with his hat and +overcoat.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Guilford,†said West, following, a trifle perplexed and +remorseful, “I should be very—er—extremely happy to +subscribe to the New Arts Theater—if that is what you wished.â€</p> + +<p>“Thank you,†said the poet absently as a footman invested him with a +seal-lined coat.</p> + +<p>“Is there anything more I could do for you, Mr. Guilford?â€</p> + +<p>The poet’s abstracted gaze rested on him, then shifted.</p> + +<p>“I—I don’t feel very well,†said the poet hoarsely, sitting +down in a hall-seat. Suddenly he began to cry, fatly.</p> + +<p>Nobody did anything; the stupefied footman gaped; West looked, walked +nervously the length of the hall, looked again, and paced the inlaid +floor to and fro, until the bell at the door sounded and a messenger-boy +appeared with a note scribbled on a yellow telegraph blank:</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">89</span> +<!-- png 113 --> +<p class = "space"> +“Lethbridge and I just married and madly happy. Will be on hand Monday, +sure. Can’t you advance us three months’ salary?</p> + +<p class = "righthalf smallcaps">“Harrow.â€</p> + +<p>“Idiots!†said West. Then, looking up: “What are you waiting for, +boy?â€</p> + +<p>“Me answer,†replied the messenger calmly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, you were told to bring back an answer?â€</p> + +<p>“Ya-as.â€</p> + +<p>“Then give me your pencil, my infant Chesterfield.†And West +scribbled on the same yellow blank:</p> + +<p class = "space"> +“Checks for you on your desks Monday. Congratulations. I’ll see you +through, you damfools.</p> + +<p class = "righthalf smallcaps">“West.â€</p> + +<p>“Here’s a quarter for you,†observed West, eying the messenger.</p> + +<p>“T’anks. Gimme the note.â€</p> + +<p>West glanced at the moist, fat poet; then suddenly that intuition +which is bred in men of his stamp set him thinking. And presently he +tentatively added two and two.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Guilford,†he said, “I wonder +<span class = "pagenum">90</span> +<!-- png 114 --> +whether this note—and my answer to it—concerns you.â€</p> + +<p>The poet used his handkerchief, adjusted a pair of glasses, and +blinked at the penciled scrawl. Twice he read it; then, like the full +sun breaking through a drizzle—like the glory of a search-light +dissolving a sticky fog, <i>the</i> smile of smiles illuminated +everything: footmen, messenger, financier.</p> + +<p>“Thank you,†he said thickly; “thank you for your thought. Thought is +but a trifle to bestow—a little thing in itself. But it is the +little things that are most important—the smaller the thing the +more vital its importance, until‗he added in a genuine burst of +his old eloquence—“the thing becomes so small that it isn’t +anything at all, and then the value of nothing becomes so enormous that +it is past all computation. That is a very precious thought! Thank you +for it; thank you for understanding. Bless you!â€</p> + +<p>Exuding a rich sweetness from every feature the poet moved toward the +door at a slow fleshy waddle, head wagging, small eyes half closed, +thumbing the atmosphere, while his lips moved in wordless +self-communion: “The attainment of nothing at all—that is rarest, +<span class = "pagenum">91</span> +<!-- png 115 --> +the most precious, the most priceless of triumphs—very, very +precious. So‗and his glance was sideways and nimbly +intelligent—“so if nothing at all is of such inestimable value, +those two young pups can live on their expectations—<i>quod erat +demonstrandum</i>.â€</p> + +<p>He shuddered and looked up at the façade of the gorgeous house which +he had just quitted.</p> + +<p>“So many sunny windows to sit in—to dream in. I—I should +have found it agreeable. Pups!â€</p> + +<p>Crawling into his cab he sank into a pulpy mound, partially closing +his eyes. And upon his pursed-up lips, unuttered yet imminent, a word +trembled and wabbled as the cab bounced down the avenue. It may have +been “preciousâ€; it was probably “pups!â€</p> + +<p class = "illustration"> +<img src = "images/bottom091.png" width = "261" height = "248" +alt = "decoration"> +</p> + + + + +<span class = "pagenum">92</span> +<!-- png 116 --> +<h4 class = "chapter"><a name = "chapXI" id = "chapXI"> +XI</a></h4> + +<p class = "illustration"> +<img src = "images/pic092.png" width = "381" height = "129" +alt = "decoration"> +</p> + + +<p><span class = "dropcap"> +<img src = "images/capB.gif" width = "82" height = "82" +alt = "B" title = "B"></span><span class = "firstword">ut</span> +there were further poignant emotions in store for the poet, for, as his +cab swung out of the avenue and drew up before the great house on the +southwest corner of Seventy-ninth Street and Madison Avenue, he caught a +glimpse of his eldest daughter, Iole, vanishing into the house, and, at +the same moment, he perceived his son-in-law, Mr. Wayne, paying the +driver of a hansom-cab, while several liveried servants bore houseward +the luggage of the wedding journey.</p> + +<p>“George!†he cried dramatically, thrusting his head from the window +of his own cab as that vehicle drew up with a jolt that made his stomach +vibrate, “George! I am here!â€</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">93</span> +<!-- png 117 --> +<p>Wayne looked around, paid the hansom-driver, and, advancing slowly, +offered his hand as the poet descended to the sidewalk. “How are you?†+he inquired without enthusiasm as the poet evinced a desire to paw him. +“All is well here, I hope.â€</p> + +<p>“George! Son!†The poet gulped till his dewlap contracted. He laid a +large plump hand on Wayne’s shoulders. “Where are my lambs?†he +quavered; “where are they?â€</p> + +<p>“Which lambs?†inquired the young man uneasily. “If you mean Iole and +Vanessa<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“No! My ravished lambs! Give me my stolen lambs. Trifle no longer +with a father’s affections! Lissa!—Cybele! Great Heavens! Where +are they?†he sobbed hoarsely.</p> + +<p>“Well, <i>where</i> are they?†retorted his son-in-law, horrified. +“Come into the house; people in the street are looking.â€</p> + +<p>In the broad hall the poet paused, staggered, strove to paw Wayne, +then attempted to fold his arms in an attitude of bitter scorn.</p> + +<p>“Two penniless wastrels,†he muttered, “are wedded to my lambs. But +there are laws to invoke<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>An avalanche of pretty girls in pink pajamas +<span class = "pagenum">94</span> +<!-- png 118 --> +came tumbling down the bronze and marble staircase, smothering poet and +son-in-law in happy embraces; and “Oh, George!†they cried, “how +sunburned you are! So is Iole, but she is too sweet! Did you have a +perfectly lovely honeymoon? When is Vanessa coming? And how is Mr. +Briggs? And—oh, do you know the news? Cybele and Lissa married two +such extremely attractive young men this afternoon<span class = +"dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Married!†cried Wayne, releasing Dione’s arms from his neck. +“<i>Whom</i> did they marry?â€</p> + +<p>“Pups!†sniveled the poet—“penniless, wastrel pups!â€</p> + +<p>“Their names,†said Aphrodite coolly, from the top of the staircase, +“are James Harrow and Henry Lethbridge. I wish there had been +three<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Harrow! Lethbridge!†gasped Wayne. “When‗he turned helplessly +to the poet—“when did they do this?â€</p> + +<p>Through the gay babble of voices and amid cries and interruptions, +Wayne managed to comprehend the story. He tried to speak, but everybody +except the poet laughed and chatted, and the poet, suffused now with a +sort of sad sweetness, waved his hand in slow +<span class = "pagenum">95</span> +<!-- png 119 --> +unctuous waves until even the footmen’s eyes protruded.</p> + +<p>“It’s all right,†said Wayne, raising his voice; “it’s topsyturvy and +irregular, but it’s all right. I’ve known Harrow and Leth—For +Heaven’s sake, Dione, don’t kiss me like that; I want to +talk!—You’re hugging me too hard, Philodice. Oh, Lord! <i>will</i> +you stop chattering all together! I—I—Do you want the house +to be pinched?â€</p> + +<p>He glanced up at Aphrodite, who sat astride the banisters lighting a +cigarette. “Who taught you to do that?†he cried.</p> + +<p>“I’m sixteen, now,†she said coolly, “and I thought I’d +try it.â€</p> + +<p>Her voice was drowned in the cries and laughter; Wayne, with his +hands to his ears, stared up at the piquant figure in its pink pajamas +and sandals, then his distracted gaze swept the groups of parlor maids +and footmen around the doors: “Great guns!†he thundered, “this is the +limit and they’ll pull the house! Morton!‗to a +footman—“ring up 7—00—9B Murray Hill. My compliments +and congratulations to Mr. Lethbridge and to Mr. Harrow, and say that we +usually dine at eight! Philodice! stop that howling! Oh, +<span class = "pagenum">96</span> +<!-- png 120 --> +just you wait until Iole has a talk with you all for running about the +house half-dressed<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“I <i>won’t</i> wear straight fronts indoors, and my garters hurt!†+cried Aphrodite defiantly, preparing to slide down the banisters.</p> + +<p>“Help!†said Wayne faintly, looking from Dione to Chlorippe, from +Chlorippe to Philodice, from Philodice to Aphrodite. “I won’t have +my house turned into a confounded Art Nouveau music hall. I tell +you<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Let <i>me</i> tell them,†said Iole, laughing and kissing her hand +to the poet as she descended the stairs in her pretty bride’s traveling +gown.</p> + +<p>She checked Aphrodite, looked wisely around at her lovely sisters, +then turned to remount the stairs, summoning them with a gay little +confidential gesture.</p> + +<p>And when the breathless crew had trooped after her, and the pad of +little, eager, sandaled feet had died away on the thick rugs of the +landing above, the poet, clasping his fat white hands, thumbs joined, +across his rotund abdomen, stole a glance at his dazed son-in-law, which +was partly apprehensive and partly significant, almost cunning. “An +innocent saturnalia,†he murmured. “The charming abandon of children.†+He unclasped one +<span class = "pagenum">97</span> +<!-- png 121 --> +hand and waved it. “Did you note the unstudied beauty of the composition +as my babes glided in and out following the natural and archaic yet +exquisitely balanced symmetry of the laws which govern mass and line +composition, all unconsciously, yet perhaps‗he reversed his thumb +and left his sign manual upon the atmosphere—“perhaps,†he mused, +overflowing with sweetness—“perhaps the laws of Art Nouveau are +divine!—perhaps angels and cherubim, unseen, watch fondly o’er my +babes, lest all unaware they guiltlessly violate some subtle canon of +Art, marring the perfect symmetry of eternal preciousness.â€</p> + +<p>Wayne’s mouth was partly open, his eyes hopeless yet fixed upon the +poet with a fearful fascination.</p> + +<p>“Art,†breathed the poet, “is a solemn, a fearful responsibility. +<i>You</i> are responsible, George, and some day you must answer for +every violation of Art, to the eternal outraged fitness of things. +<i>You</i> must answer, <i>I</i> must answer, every soul must +answer!â€</p> + +<p>“A-ans—answer! What, for God’s sake?†stammered Wayne.</p> + +<p>The poet, deliberately joining thumb and +<span class = "pagenum">98</span> +<!-- png 122 --> +forefinger, pinched out a portion of the atmosphere.</p> + +<p>“That! <i>That</i> George! For that is Art! And Art is justice! And +justice, affronted, demands an answer.â€</p> + +<p>He refolded his arms, mused for a space, then stealing a veiled +glance sideways:</p> + +<p>“You—you are—ah—convinced that my two lost lambs +need dread no bodily vicissitudes<span class = +"dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Cybele and Lissa?â€</p> + +<p>“Ah—yes<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Lethbridge will have money to burn if he likes the aroma of the +smoke. Harrow has burnt several stacks already; but his father will +continue to fire the furnace. Is <i>that</i> what you mean?â€</p> + +<p>“No!†said the poet softly, “no, George, that is not what I mean. +Wealth is a great thing. Only the little things are precious to me. And +the most precious of all is absolutely nothing!†But, as he wandered +away into the great luxurious habitation of his son-in-law, his smile +grew sweeter and sweeter and his half-closed eyes swam, melting into a +saccharine reverie.</p> + +<p>“The little things,†he murmured, thumbing +<span class = "pagenum">99</span> +<!-- png 123 --> +the air absently—“the little things are precious, but not as +precious as absolutely nothing. For nothing is perfection. Thank you,†+he said sweetly to a petrified footman, “thank you for understanding. It +is precious—very, very precious to know that I am understood.â€</p> + +<p class = "illustration"> +<img src = "images/ip15.png" width = "332" height = "205" +alt = "decoration"> +</p> + + + + +<span class = "pagenum">100</span> +<!-- png 124 --> +<h4 class = "chapter"><a name = "chapXII" id = "chapXII"> +XII</a></h4> + +<p class = "illustration"> +<img src = "images/pic032.png" width = "383" height = "115" +alt = "decoration"> +</p> + + +<p><span class = "dropcap"> +<img src = "images/capB.gif" width = "82" height = "82" +alt = "B" title = "B"></span><span class = "firstword">y</span> +early springtide the poet had taken an old-fashioned house on the south +side of Washington Square; his sons-in-law standing for it—as the +poet was actually beginning to droop amid the civilized luxury of +Madison Avenue. He missed what he called his own “den.†So he got it, +rent free, and furnished it sparingly with furniture of a slabby variety +until the effect produced might, profanely speaking, be described as +dinky.</p> + +<p>His friends, too, who haunted the house, bore curious conformity to +the furnishing, being individually in various degrees either +<span class = "pagenum">101</span> +<!-- png 125 --> +squatty, slabby or dinky; and twice a week they gathered for +“Conferences†upon what he and they described as “L’Arr Noovo.â€</p> + +<p>L’Arr Noovo, a pleasing variation of the slab style in Art, had +profoundly impressed the poet. Glass window-panes, designed with tulip +patterns, were cunningly inserted into all sorts of furniture where +window-glass didn’t belong, and the effect appeared to be profitable; +for up-stairs in his “shop,†workmen were very busy creating +extraordinary designs and setting tulip-patterned glass into everything +with, as the poet explained, “a loving care†and considerable glue.</p> + +<p>His four unmarried daughters came to see him, wandering unconcernedly +between the four handsome residences of their four brothers-in-law and +the “den†of the author of their being—Chlorippe, aged thirteen; +Philodice, fourteen; Dione, fifteen, and Aphrodite, +sixteen—lovely, fresh-skinned, free-limbed young girls with the +delicate bloom of sun and wind still creaming their +cheeks—lingering effects of a life lived ever in the open, until +the poet’s sons-in-law were able to support him in town in the style to +which he had been unaccustomed.</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">102</span> +<!-- png 126 --> +<p>To the Conferences of the poet came the mentally, morally, and +physically dinky—and a few badgered but normal husbands, hustled +thither by wives whose intellectual development was tending toward the +precious.</p> + +<p>People read poems, discussed Yeats, Shaw, Fiona, Mendes, and L’Arr +Noovo; sang, wandered about pinching or thumbing the atmosphere under +stimulus of a cunningly and unexpectedly set window-pane in the back of +a “mission†rocking-chair. And when the proper moment arrived the poet +would rise, exhaling sweetness from every pore of his bulky entity, to +interpret what he called a “Thought.†Sometimes it was a demonstration +of the priceless value of “nothingsâ€; sometimes it was a naive +suggestion that no house could afford to be without an “Artâ€-rocker with +Arr Noovo insertions. Such indispensable luxuries were on sale +up-stairs. Again, he performed a “necklace of precious sounds‗in +other words, some verses upon various topics, nature, woodchucks, and +the dinkified in Art.</p> + +<p>And it was upon one of these occasions that Aphrodite ran away.</p> + +<p>Aphrodite, the sweet, the reasonable, the +<span class = "pagenum">103</span> +<!-- png 127 --> +self-possessed—Aphrodite ran away, having without any apparent +reason been stricken with an overpowering aversion for civilization and +Arr Noovo.</p> + +<p class = "illustration"> +<img src = "images/ip20.png" width = "213" height = "320" +alt = "decoration"> +</p> + + + + +<span class = "pagenum">104</span> +<!-- png 128 --> +<h4 class = "chapter"><a name = "chapXIII" id = "chapXIII"> +XIII</a></h4> + + +<p class = "illustration"> +<img src = "images/pic104.png" width = "384" height = "137" +alt = "decoration"> +</p> + +<p><span class = "dropcap"> +<img src = "images/capA.gif" width = "97" height = "85" +alt = "A" title = "A"></span><span class = "firstword">t</span> +the poet’s third Franco-American Conference that afternoon the room was +still vibrating with the echoes of Aphrodite’s harp accompaniment to her +own singing, and gushing approbation had scarcely ceased, when the poet +softly rose and stood with eyes half-closed as though concentrating all +the sweetness within him upon the surface of his pursed lips.</p> + +<p>A wan young man whose face figured only as a by-product of his hair +whispered “Hush!†and several people, who seemed to be more or less out +of drawing, assumed +<span class = "pagenum">105</span> +<!-- png 129 --> +attitudes which emphasized the faulty draftsmanship.</p> + +<p>“La Poésie!†breathed the poet; “Kesker say la poésie?â€</p> + +<p>“La poésie—say la vee!†murmured a young woman with profuse +teeth.</p> + +<p>“Wee, wee, say la vee!†cried several people triumphantly.</p> + +<p>“Nong!†sighed the poet, spraying the hushed air with sweetness, +“nong! Say pas le vee; say l’Immortalitay!â€</p> + +<p>After which the poet resumed his seat, and the by-product read, in +French verse, “An Appreciation†of the works of Wilhelmina Ganderbury +McNutt.</p> + +<p>And that was the limit of the Franco portion of the Conference; the +remainder being plain American.</p> + +<p>Aphrodite, resting on her tall gilded harp, looked sullenly straight +before her. Somebody lighted a Chinese joss-stick, perhaps to kill the +aroma of defunct cigarettes.</p> + +<p>“Verse,†said the poet, opening his heavy lids and gazing around him +with the lambent-eyed wonder of a newly-wakened ram, “verse is a +necklace of tinted sounds strung idly, yet lovingly, upon stray tinseled +threads of +<span class = "pagenum">106</span> +<!-- png 130 --> +thought.... Thank you for understanding; thank you.â€</p> + +<p>The by-product in the corner of the studio gathered arms and legs +into a series of acute angles, and writhed; a lady ornamented with +cheek-bones well sketched in, covered her eyes with one hand as though +locked in jiu-jitsu with Richard Strauss.</p> + +<p>Aphrodite’s slender fingers, barely resting on the harp-strings, +suddenly contracted in a nervous tremor; a low twang echoed the +involuntary reflex with a discord.</p> + +<!-- png 131 --> +<p class = "illustration"> +<a name = "plate3" id = "plate3"> +<img src = "images/plate3.jpg" width = "337" height = "458" +alt = "See caption"></a> +</p> + +<p class = "caption"> +Aphrodite’s slender fingers, barely resting on the harp-strings,<br> +suddenly contracted in a nervous tremor.</p> +<!-- png 132 --> + +<p>A young man, whose neck was swathed in a stock à la d’Orsay, bent +close to her shoulder.</p> + +<p>“I feel that our souls, blindfolded, are groping toward one another,†+he whispered.</p> + +<p>“Don’t—don’t talk like that!†she breathed almost fiercely; +“I am tired—suffocated with sound, drugged with joss-sticks +and sandal. I can’t stand much more, I warn you.â€</p> + +<p>“Are you not well, beloved.â€</p> + +<p>“Perfectly well—physically. I don’t know what it is—it +has come so suddenly—this overwhelming revulsion—this +exasperation with scents and sounds.... I could rip out these +harp-strings and—and kick that chair +<span class = "pagenum">107</span> +<!-- png 133 --> +over! I—I think I need something—sunlight and the wind +blowing my hair loose<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>The young man with the stock nodded. “It is the exquisite pagan +athirst in you, scorched by the fire of spring. Quench that sweet thirst +at the fount beautiful<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“What fount did you say?†she asked dangerously.</p> + +<p>“The precious fount of verse, dear maid.â€</p> + +<p>“No!†she whispered violently. “I’m half drowned already. Words, +smells, sounds, attitudes, rocking-chairs—and candles profaning +the sunshine—I am suffocated, I need more air, more sense and +less incense—less sound, less art<span class = +"dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Less—<i>what</i>?†he gasped.</p> + +<p>“Less art!—what you call ‘l’arr’!—yes, I’ve said it; I’m +sick! sick of art! I know what I require now.†And as he remained +agape in shocked silence: “I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Frawley, +but I also require less of you.... So much less that father will +scarcely expect me to play any more accompaniments to your ‘necklaces of +precious tones’—so much less that the minimum of my interest in +you vanishes to absolute negation.... So I shall not marry you.â€</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">108</span> +<!-- png 134 --> +<p>“Aphrodite—are—are you mad?â€</p> + +<p>Her sulky red mouth was mute.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the poet’s rich, resonant voice filled the studio with an +agreeable and rambling monotone:</p> + +<p>“Verse is a vehicle for expression; expression is a vehicle for +verse; sound, in itself, is so subtly saturated with meaning that it +requires nothing of added logic for its vindication. Sound, therefore, +is sense, modified by the mysterious portent of tone. Thank you for +understanding, thank you for a thought—very, very precious, a +thought beautiful.â€</p> + +<p>He smeared the air with inverted thumb and smiled at Mr. Frawley, who +rose, somewhat agitated, and, crooking one lank arm behind his back, +made a mechanical pinch at an atmospheric atom.</p> + +<p>“If—if you do that again—if you dare to recite those +verses about me, I shall go! I tell you I can’t stand any +more,†breathed Aphrodite between her clenched teeth.</p> + +<p>The young man cast his large and rather sickly eyes upon her. For a +moment he was in doubt, but belief in the witchery of sound prevailed, +for he had yet to meet a being insensible to the “music of the soul,†+and so +<span class = "pagenum">109</span> +<!-- png 135 --> +with a fond and fatuous murmur he pinched the martyred atmosphere once +more, and began, mousily:</p> + +<p class = "smallcaps lefthalf">All</p> + +<div class = "verse"> +<p class = "in3">A tear a year</p> +<p class = "in2">My pale desire requires,</p> +<p class = "in3">And that is all.</p> +<p>Enlacements weary, passion tires,</p> +<p>Kisses are cinder-ghosts of fires</p> +<p>Smothered at birth with mortal earth;</p> +<p class = "in3">And that is all.</p> + +<p class = "stanza in3"> +A year of fear</p> +<p class = "in2">My pallid soul desires</p> +<p class = "in3">And that is all—</p> +<p>Terror of bliss and dread of happiness,</p> +<p>A subtle need of sorrow and distress</p> +<p>And you to weep one tear, no more, no less,</p> +<p class = "in2">And that is all I ask—</p> +<p class = "in3">And that is all.</p> +</div> + +<p>People were breathing thickly; the poet unaffectedly distilled the +suggested tear; it was a fat tear; it ran smoothly down his nose, +twinkled, trembled, and fell.</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">110</span> +<!-- png 136 --> +<p>Aphrodite’s features had become tense; she half rose, hesitated. +Then, as the young man in the stock turned his invalid’s eyes in her +direction and began:</p> + +<p>Oh, sixteen tears</p> +<p>In sixteen years<span class = "dash">——</span></p> + +<p>she transfixed her hat with one nervous gesture sprang to her feet, +turned, and vanished through the door.</p> + +<p>“She is too young to endure it,†sobbed the by-product to her of the +sketchy face. And that was no idle epigram, either.</p> + +<p class = "illustration"> +<img src = "images/ip15.png" width = "332" height = "205" +alt = "decoration"> +</p> + + + + +<span class = "pagenum">111</span> +<!-- png 137 --> +<h4 class = "chapter"><a name = "chapXIV" id = "chapXIV"> +XIV</a></h4> + +<p class = "illustration"> +<img src = "images/pic012.png" width = "386" height = "154" +alt = "decoration"> +</p> + + +<p><span class = "dropcap"> +<img src = "images/capS.gif" width = "104" height = "86" +alt = "S" title = "S"></span><span class = "firstword">he</span> +had no definite idea; all she craved for was the open—or its +metropolitan substitute—sunshine, air, the glimpse of sanely +preoccupied faces, the dull, quickening tumult of traffic. The tumult +grew, increasing in her ears as she crossed Washington Square under the +sycamores and looked up through tender feathery foliage at the white +arch of marble through which the noble avenue flows away between its +splendid arid chasms of marble, bronze, and masonry to that blessed +leafy oasis in the north—the Park.</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">112</span> +<!-- png 138 --> +<p>She took an omnibus, impatient for the green rambles of the only +breathing-place she knew of, and settled back in her seat, rebellious of +eye, sullen of mouth, scarcely noticing the amused expression of the +young man opposite.</p> + +<p>Two passengers left at Twenty-third Street, three at Thirty-fourth +Street, and seven at Forty-second Street.</p> + +<p>Preoccupied, she glanced up at the only passenger remaining, caught +the fleeting shadow of interest on his face, regarded him with natural +indifference, and looked out of the window, forgetting him. A few +moments later, accidentally aware of him again, she carelessly noted his +superficially attractive qualities, and, approving, resumed her idle +inspection of the passing throng. But the next time her pretty head +swung round she found him looking rather fixedly at her, and +involuntarily she returned the gaze with a childlike directness—a +gaze which he sustained to the limit of good breeding, then evaded so +amiably that it left an impression rather agreeable than otherwise.</p> + +<p>“I don’t see,†thought Aphrodite, “why I never meet that sort of man. +He hasn’t art +<span class = "pagenum">113</span> +<!-- png 139 --> +nouveau legs, and his features are not by-products of his hair.... +I have told my brothers-in-law that I am old enough to go out +without coming out.... And I am.â€</p> + +<p>The lovely mouth grew sullen again: “I don’t wish to wait two years +and be what dreadful newspapers call a ‘bud’! I wish to go to +dinners and dances <i>now</i>!... Where I’ll meet that sort of man.... +The sort one feels almost at liberty to talk to without anybody +presenting anybody.... I’ve a mind to look amiable the next time he<span +class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>He raised his eyes at that instant; but she did not smile.</p> + +<p>“I—I suppose that is the effect of civilization on me,†she +reflected—“metropolitan civilization. I felt like saying, +‘For goodness’ sake, let’s say something’—even in spite of all my +sisters have told me. I can’t see why it would be dangerous for me +to <i>look</i> amiable. If he glances at me again—so +agreeably<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>He did; but she didn’t smile.</p> + +<p>“You see!†she said, accusing herself discontentedly; “you don’t dare +look human. Why? Because you’ve had it so drummed +<span class = "pagenum">114</span> +<!-- png 140 --> +into you that you can never, never again do anything natural. Why? Oh, +because they all begin to talk about mysterious dangers when you say you +wish to be natural.... I’ve made up my mind to look interested the next +time he turns.... Why shouldn’t he see that I’m quite willing to talk to +him?... And I’m so tired of looking out of the window.... Before I came +to this curious city I was never afraid to speak to anybody who +attracted me.... And I’m not now.... So if he does look at me<span class += "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>He did.</p> + +<p>The faintest glimmer of a smile troubled her lips. She thought: +“I <i>do</i> wish he’d speak!â€</p> + +<p>There was a very becoming color in his face, partly because he was +experienced enough not to mistake her; partly from a sudden and complete +realization of her beauty.</p> + +<p>“It’s so odd,†thought Aphrodite, “that attractive people consider it +dangerous to speak to one another. I don’t see any danger.... +I wonder what he has in that square box beside him? It can’t be a +camera.... It <i>can’t</i> be a folding easel! It simply <i>can’t</i> be +that <i>he</i> is an artist! a man like that<span class = +"dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">115</span> +<!-- png 141 --> +<p>“<i>Are</i> you?†she asked quite involuntarily.</p> + +<p>“What?†he replied, astonished, wheeling around.</p> + +<p>“An—an artist. I can’t believe it, and I don’t wish to! You +don’t look it, you know!â€</p> + +<p>For a moment he could scarcely realize that she had spoken; his keen +gaze dissected the face before him, the unembarrassed eyes, the oval +contour, the smooth, flawless loveliness of a child.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I am an artist,†he said, considering her curiously.</p> + +<p>“I am sorry,†she said, “no, not sorry—only unpleasantly +surprised. You see I am so tired of art—and I thought you looked +so—so wholesome<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>He began to laugh—a modulated laugh—rather infectious, +too, for Aphrodite bit her lip, then smiled, not exactly understanding +it all.</p> + +<p>“Why do you laugh?†she asked, still smiling. “Have I said something +I should not have said?â€</p> + +<p>But he replied with a question: “Have you found art unwholesome?â€</p> + +<p>“I—I don’t know,†she answered with a little sigh; “I am +so tired of it all. Don’t let us talk about it—will you?â€</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">116</span> +<!-- png 142 --> +<p>“It isn’t often I talk about it,†he said, laughing again.</p> + +<p>“Oh! That is unusual. Why don’t you talk about art?â€</p> + +<p>“I’m much too busy.â€</p> + +<p>“D—doing what? If that is not <i>very</i> impertinent.â€</p> + +<p>“Oh, making pictures of things,†he said, intensely amused.</p> + +<p>“Pictures? You don’t talk about art, and you paint pictures!â€</p> + +<p>“Yes.â€</p> + +<p>“W—what kind? Do you mind my asking? You are so—so very +unusual.â€</p> + +<p>“Well, to earn my living, I make full-page pictures for magazines; to +satisfy an absurd desire, I paint +people—things—anything that might satisfy my color senses.†+He shrugged his shoulders gaily. “You see, I’m the sort you are so tired +of<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“But you <i>paint</i>! The artists I know don’t paint—except +<i>that</i> way—†She raised her pretty gloved thumb and made a +gesture in the air; and, before she had achieved it, they were both +convulsed with laughter.</p> + +<p>“You never do that, do you?†she asked at length.</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">117</span> +<!-- png 143 --> +<p>“No, I never do. I can’t afford to decorate the atmosphere +for nothing!â€</p> + +<p>“Then—then you are not interested in art nouveau?â€</p> + +<p>“No; and I never could see that beautiful music resembled frozen +architecture.â€</p> + +<p>They were laughing again, looking with confidence and delight upon +one another as though they had started life’s journey together in that +ancient omnibus.</p> + +<p>“<i>What</i> is a ‘necklace of precious tones’?†she asked.</p> + +<p>“Precious stones?â€</p> + +<p>“No, <i>tones</i>!â€</p> + +<p>“Let me cite, as an example, those beautiful verses of Henry Haynes,†+he replied gravely.</p> + +<p class = "lefthalf">TO BE OR NOT TO BE</p> + +<div class = "verse"> +<p>I’d rather be a Could Be,</p> +<p class = "in1">If I can not be an Are;</p> +<p>For a Could Be is a May Be,</p> +<p class = "in1">With a chance of touching par.</p> + +<p class = "stanza"> +I had rather be a Has Been</p> +<p class = "in1">Than a Might Have Been, by far;</p> +<p>For a Might Be is a Hasn’t Been</p> +<p class = "in1">But a Has was <i>once</i> an Are!</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">118</span> +<!-- png 144 --> +<p class = "stanza"> +Also an Are is Is and Am;</p> +<p class = "in1">A Was <i>was</i> all of these;</p> +<p>So I’d rather be a Has Been</p> +<p class = "in1">Than a Hasn’t, if you please.</p> +</div> + +<p>And they fell a-laughing so shamelessly that the ’bus driver turned +and squinted through his shutter at them, and the scandalized horses +stopped of their own accord.</p> + +<p>“Are you going to leave?†he asked as she rose.</p> + +<p>“Yes; this is the Park,†she said. “Thank you, and good-by.â€</p> + +<p>He held the door for her; she nodded her thanks and descended, +turning frankly to smile again in acknowledgment of his quickly lifted +hat.</p> + +<p>“He <i>was</i> nice,†she reflected a trifle guiltily, “and I had a +good time, and I really don’t see any danger in it.â€</p> + +<p class = "illustration"> +<img src = "images/bottom091.png" width = "261" height = "248" +alt = "decoration"> +</p> + + + + +<span class = "pagenum">119</span> +<!-- png 145 --> +<h4 class = "chapter"><a name = "chapXV" id = "chapXV"> +XV</a></h4> + + +<p class = "illustration"> +<img src = "images/pic119.png" width = "383" height = "148" +alt = "decoration"> +</p> + +<p><span class = "dropcap"> +<img src = "images/capS.gif" width = "104" height = "86" +alt = "S" title = "S"></span><span class = "firstword">he</span> +drew a deep, sweet breath as she entered the leafy shade and looked up +into the bluest of cloudless skies. Odors of syringa and lilac freshened +her, cleansing her of the last lingering taint of joss-sticks. The +cardinal birds were very busy in the scarlet masses of Japanese quince; +orioles fluttered among golden Forsythia; here and there an exotic +starling preened and peered at the burnished purple grackle, stalking +solemnly through the tender grass.</p> + +<p>For an hour she walked vigorously, enchanted with the sun and sky and +living green, through arbors heavy with wistaria, iris hued +<span class = "pagenum">120</span> +<!-- png 146 --> +and scented, through rambles under tall elms tufted with new leaves, +past fountains splashing over, past lakes where water-fowl floated or +stretched brilliant wings in the late afternoon sunlight. At times the +summer wind blew her hair, and she lifted her lips to it, caressing it +with every fiber of her; at times she walked pensively, wondering why +she had been forbidden the Park unless accompanied.</p> + +<p>“More danger, I suppose,†she thought impatiently.... “Well, what is +this danger that seems to travel like one’s shadow, dogging a girl +through the world? It seems to me that if all the pleasant things of +life are so full of danger I’d better find out what it is.... +I might as well look for it so that I’ll recognize it when I +encounter it.... And learn to keep away.â€</p> + +<p>She scanned the flowery thickets attentively, looked behind her, then +walked on.</p> + +<p>“If it’s robbers they mean,†she reflected, “I’m a good wrestler, and +I can make any one of my four brothers-in-law look foolish.... Besides, +the Park is full of fat policemen.... And if they mean I’m likely to get +lost, or run over, or arrested, or poisoned with soda-water and +bonbons—†She +<span class = "pagenum">121</span> +<!-- png 147 --> +laughed to herself, swinging on in her free-limbed, wholesome beauty, +scarcely noticing a man ahead, occupying a bench half hidden under the +maple’s foliage.</p> + +<p>“So I’ll just look about for this danger they are all afraid of, and +when I see it, I’ll know what to do,†she concluded, paying not the +slightest heed to the man on the bench until he rose, as she passed him, +and took off his hat.</p> + +<p>“You!†she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>She had stopped short, confronting him with the fearless and charming +directness natural to her. “What an amusing accident,†she said +frankly.</p> + +<p>“The truth is,†he began, “it is not exactly an accident.â€</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it?â€</p> + +<p>“N—no.... Are you offended?â€</p> + +<p>“Offended? No. Should I be? Why?... Besides, I suppose when we +have finished this conversation you are going the <i>other</i> way.â€</p> + +<p>“I—no, I wasn’t.â€</p> + +<p>“Oh! Then you are going to sit here?â€</p> + +<p>“Y—yes—I suppose so.... But I don’t want to.â€</p> + +<p>“Then why do you?â€</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">122</span> +<!-- png 148 --> +<p>“Well, if I’m not going the <i>other</i> way, and if I’m not going to +remain here—†He looked at her, half laughing. She laughed, too, +not exactly knowing why.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you really mind my walking a little way with you?†he +asked.</p> + +<p>“No, I don’t. Why should I? Is there any reason? Am I not old +enough to know why we should not walk together? Is it because the sun is +going down? Is there what people call ‘danger’?â€</p> + +<p>He was so plainly taken aback that her fair young face became +seriously curious.</p> + +<p>“<i>Is</i> there any reason why you should not walk with me?†she +persisted.</p> + +<p>The clear, direct gaze challenged him. He hesitated.</p> + +<p>“Yes, there is,†he said.</p> + +<p>“A—a reason why you should not walk with me?â€</p> + +<p>“Yes.â€</p> + +<p>“What is it?â€</p> + +<p>And, as he did not find words to answer, she studied him for a +moment, glanced up and down the woodland walk, then impulsively seated +herself and motioned him to a place beside her on the bench.</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">123</span> +<!-- png 149 --> +<p>“Now,†she said, “I’m in a position to find out just what this danger +is that they all warn me about. <i>You</i> know, don’t you?â€</p> + +<p>“Know what?†he answered.</p> + +<p>“About the danger that I seem to run every time I manage to enjoy +myself.... And you <i>do</i> know; I see it by the way you look at +me—and your expression is just like their expression when they +tell me not to do things I find most natural.â€</p> + +<p>“But—I—you<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“You <i>must</i> tell me! I shall be thoroughly vexed with you if you +don’t.â€</p> + +<p>Then he began to laugh, and she let him, leaning back to watch him +with uncertain and speculative blue eyes. After a moment he said:</p> + +<p>“You are absolutely unlike any girl I ever heard of. I am trying +to get used to it—to adjust things. Will you help me?â€</p> + +<p>“How?†she asked innocently.</p> + +<p>“Well, by telling me‗he looked at her a moment—“your +age. You look about nineteen.â€</p> + +<p>“I am sixteen and a half. I and all my sisters have developed our +bodies so perfectly because, until we came to New York last autumn, +<span class = "pagenum">124</span> +<!-- png 150 --> +we had lived all our lives out-of-doors.†She looked at him with a +friendly smile. “Would you really like to know about us?â€</p> + +<p>“Intensely.â€</p> + +<p>“Well, there are eight of us: Chlorippe, thirteen; Philodice, +fourteen; Dione, fifteen; Aphrodite, sixteen—I am Aphrodite; +Cybele, seventeen, married; Lissa, eighteen, married; Iole, nineteen, +married, and Vanessa, twenty, married.†She raised one small, gloved +finger to emphasize the narrative. “All our lives we were brought up to +be perfectly natural, to live, act, eat, sleep, play like primitive +people. Our father dressed us like youths—boys, you know. Why,†+she said earnestly, “until we came to New York we had no idea that girls +wore such lovely, fluffy underwear—but I believe I am not to +mention such things; at least they have told me not to—but my +straight front is still a novelty to me, and so are my stockings, so you +won’t mind if I’ve said something I shouldn’t, will you?â€</p> + +<p>“No,†he said; his face was expressionless.</p> + +<p>“Then <i>that’s</i> all right. So you see how it is; we don’t quite +know what we may do in this city. At first we were delighted to see so +many attractive men, and we wanted to speak +<span class = "pagenum">125</span> +<!-- png 151 --> +to some of them who seemed to want to speak to us, but my father put a +stop to that—but it’s absurd to think all those men might be +robbers, isn’t it?â€</p> + +<p>“Very.†There was not an atom of intelligence left in his face.</p> + +<p>“So <i>that’s</i> all right, then. Let me see, what was I saying? Oh, +yes, I know! So four of my sisters were married, and we four +remaining are being civilized.... But, oh—I wish I could be in the +country for a little while! I’m so homesick for the meadows and brooks +and my pajamas and my bare feet in sandals again.... And people seem to +know so little in New York, and nobody understands us when we make +little jests in Greek, or Latin, or Arabic, and nobody seems to have +been very well educated and accomplished, so we feel strange at +times.â€</p> + +<p>“D—d—do you <i>do</i> all those things?â€</p> + +<p>“What things?â€</p> + +<p>“M—make jests in Arabic?â€</p> + +<p>“Why, yes. Don’t you?â€</p> + +<p>“No. What else do you do?â€</p> + +<p>“Why, not many things.â€</p> + +<p>“Music?â€</p> + +<p>“Oh, of course.â€</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">126</span> +<!-- png 152 --> +<p>“Piano?â€</p> + +<p>“Yes, piano, violin, harp, guitar, zither—all that sort of +thing.... Don’t you?â€</p> + +<p>“No. What else?â€</p> + +<p>“Why—just various things, ride, swim, fence, box—I box +pretty well—all those things<span class = +"dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Science, too?â€</p> + +<p>“Rudiments. Of course I couldn’t, for example, discourse with +authority upon the heteropterous mictidæ or tell you in what genus or +genera the prothorax and femora are digitate; or whether climatic and +polymorphic forms of certain diurnal lepidoptera occur within certain +boreal limits. I have only a vague and superficial knowledge of any +science, you see.â€</p> + +<p>“I see,†he said gravely.</p> + +<p>She leaned <ins class = "correction" title = "text reads ‘foward’">forward</ins> thoughtfully, her pretty hands loosely +interlaced upon her knee.</p> + +<p>“Now,†she said, “tell me about this danger that such a girl as I +must guard against.â€</p> + +<p>“There is no danger,†he said slowly.</p> + +<p>“But they told me<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Let them tell you what it is, then.â€</p> + +<p>“No; you tell me?â€</p> + +<p>“I can’t.â€</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">127</span> +<!-- png 153 --> +<p>“Why?â€</p> + +<p>“Because—I simply can’t.â€</p> + +<p>“Are you ashamed to?â€</p> + +<p>“Perhaps—†He lifted his boxed sketching-kit by the strap, +swung it, then set it carefully upon the ground: “Perhaps it is because +I am ashamed to admit that there could be any danger to any woman in +this world of men.â€</p> + +<p>She looked at him so seriously that he straightened up and began to +laugh. But she did not forget anything he had said, and she began her +questions at once:</p> + +<p>“Why should you not walk with me?â€</p> + +<p>“I’ll take that back,†he said, still laughing; “there is every +reason why I should walk with you.â€</p> + +<p>“Oh!... But you said<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“All I meant was not for you, but for the ordinary sort of girl. Now, +the ordinary, every-day, garden girl does not concern you<span class = +"dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Yes, she does! Why am I not like her?â€</p> + +<p>“Don’t attempt to be<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“<i>Am</i> I different—very different?â€</p> + +<p>“Superbly different!†The flush came to his face with the impulsive +words.</p> + +<p>She considered him in silence, then: +<span class = "pagenum">128</span> +<!-- png 154 --> +“Should I have been offended because you came into the Park to find me? +And why did you? Do you find me interesting?â€</p> + +<p>“So interesting,†he said, “that I don’t know what I shall do when +you go away.â€</p> + +<p>Another pause; she was deeply absorbed with her own thoughts. He +watched her, the color still in his face, and in his eyes a growing +fascination.</p> + +<p>“I’m not out,†she said, resting her chin on one gloved hand, “so +we’re not likely to meet at any of those jolly things you go to. What do +you think we’d better do?—because they’ve all warned me against +doing just what you and I have done.â€</p> + +<p>“Speaking without knowing each other?†he asked guiltily.</p> + +<p>“Yes.... But I did it first to you. Still, when I tell them about it, +they won’t let you come to visit me. I tried it once. I was in +a car, and such an attractive man looked at me as though he wanted to +speak, and so when I got out of the car he got out, and I thought he +seemed rather timid, so I asked him where Tiffany’s was. I really +didn’t know, either. So we had such a jolly walk together up Fifth +Avenue, and when I +<span class = "pagenum">129</span> +<!-- png 155 --> +said good-by he was so anxious to see me again, and I told him where I +lived. But—do you know?—when I explained about it at home +they acted so strangely, and they never would tell me whether or not he +ever came.â€</p> + +<p>“Then you intend to tell them all about—<i>us</i>?â€</p> + +<p>“Of course. I’ve disobeyed them.â€</p> + +<p>“And—and I am never to see you again?â€</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m very disobedient,†she said innocently. “If I wanted to see +you I’d do it.â€</p> + +<p>“But <i>do</i> you?â€</p> + +<p>“I—I am not sure. Do you want to see me?â€</p> + +<p>His answer was stammered and almost incoherent. That, and the color +in his face and the <i>something</i> in his eyes, interested her.</p> + +<p>“Do you really find me so attractive?†she asked, looking him +directly in the eyes. “You must answer me quickly; see how dark it is +growing! I must go. Tell me, do you like me?â€</p> + +<p>“I never cared so much for—for any woman<span class = +"dash">——</span>.â€</p> + +<p>She dimpled with delight and lay back regarding him under level, +unembarrassed brows.</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">130</span> +<!-- png 156 --> +<p>“That is very pleasant,†she said. “I’ve often wished that a +man—of your kind—would say that to me. I do wish we +could be together a great deal, because you like me so much already and +I truly do find you agreeable.... Say it to me again—about how +much you like me.â€</p> + +<p>“I—I—there is no woman—none I ever saw so—so +interesting.... I mean more than that.â€</p> + +<p>“Say it then.â€</p> + +<p>“Say what I mean?â€</p> + +<p>“Yes.â€</p> + +<p>“I am afraid<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Afraid? Of what?â€</p> + +<p>“Of offending you<span class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Is it an offense to me to tell me how much you like me? <i>How</i> +can it offend me?â€</p> + +<p>“But—it is incredible! You won’t believe<span class = +"dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“Believe what?â€</p> + +<p>“That in so short a time I—I could care for you so much<span +class = "dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>“But I shall believe you. I know how I feel toward you. And every +time you speak to me I feel more so.â€</p> + +<p>“Feel more so?†he stammered.</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">131</span> +<!-- png 157 --> +<p>“Yes, I experience more delight in what you say. Do you think I +am insensible to the way you look at me?â€</p> + +<p>“You—you mean—†He simply could not find words.</p> + +<p>She leaned back, watching him with sweet composure; then laughed a +little and said: “Do you suppose that you and I are going to fall in +love with one another?â€</p> + +<p>In the purpling dusk the perfume of wistaria grew sweeter and +sweeter.</p> + +<p>“I’ve done it already—†His voice shook and failed; a thrush, +invisible in shadowy depths, made soft, low sounds.</p> + +<p>“You <i>love</i> me—already?†she exclaimed under her +breath.</p> + +<p>“Love you! I—I—there are no words—†The thrush +stirred the sprayed foliage and called once, then again, restless for +the moon.</p> + +<p>Her eyes wandered over him thoughtfully: “So <i>that</i> is love.... +I didn’t know.... I supposed it could be nothing pleasanter +than friendship, although they say it is.... But how could it be? There +is nothing pleasanter than friendship.... I am perfectly delighted +that you love me. Shall we marry some day, do you think?â€</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">132</span> +<!-- png 158 --> +<p>He strove to speak, but her frankness stunned him.</p> + +<p>“I meant to tell you that I am engaged,†she observed. “Does that +matter?â€</p> + +<p>“Engaged!†He found his tongue quickly enough then; and she, +surprised, interested, and in nowise dissenting, listened to his +eloquent views upon the matter of Mr. Frawley, whom she, during the +lucid intervals of his silence, curtly described.</p> + +<p>“Do you know,†she said with great relief, “that I always felt that +way about love, because I never knew anything about it except from the +symptoms of Mr. Frawley? So when they told me that love and friendship +were different, I supposed it must be so, and I had no high opinion +of love ... until you made it so agreeable. Now I—I prefer it to +anything else.... I could sit here with you all day, listening to +you. Tell me some more.â€</p> + + + + +<span class = "pagenum">133</span> +<!-- png 159 --> +<h4 class = "chapter"><a name = "chapXVI" id = "chapXVI"> +XVI</a></h4> + +<p class = "illustration"> +<img src = "images/pic133.png" width = "388" height = "152" +alt = "decoration"> +</p> + + +<p><span class = "dropcap"> +<img src = "images/capH.gif" width = "92" height = "83" +alt = "H" title = "H"></span><span class = "firstword">e</span> +did. She listened, sometimes intently interested, absorbed, sometimes +leaning back dreamily, her eyes partly veiled under silken lashes, her +mouth curved with the vaguest of smiles.</p> + +<p>He spoke as a man who awakes with a start—not very clearly at +first, then with feverish coherence, at times with recklessness almost +eloquent. Still only half awakened himself, still scarcely convinced, +scarcely credulous that this miracle of an hour had been wrought in him, +here under the sky and setting sun and new-born leaves, he spoke not +only to her +<span class = "pagenum">134</span> +<!-- png 160 --> +but of her to himself, formulating in words the rhythm his pulses were +beating, interpreting this surging tide which thundered in his heart, +clamoring out the fact—the fact—the fact that he +loved!—that love was on him like the grip of Fate—on him so +suddenly, so surely, so inexorably, that, stricken as he was, the clutch +only amazed and numbed him.</p> + +<p>He spoke, striving to teach himself that the incredible was credible, +the impossible possible—that it was done! done! done! and that he +loved a woman in an hour because, in an hour, he had read her innocence +as one reads through crystal, and his eyes were opened for the first +time upon loveliness unspoiled, sweetness untainted, truth +uncompromised.</p> + +<p>“Do you know,†she said, “that, as you speak, you make me care for +you so much more than I supposed a girl could care for a man?â€</p> + +<p>“Can you love me?â€</p> + +<p>“Oh, I do already! I don’t mean mere love. It is +something—<i>something</i> that I never knew about before. +<i>Every</i>thing about you is so—so exactly what I care +for—your voice, your head, the way you think, the way you look at +me. I never thought of men as I am +<span class = "pagenum">135</span> +<!-- png 161 --> +thinking about you.... I want you to belong to me—all +alone.... I want to see how you look when you are angry, or +worried, or tired. I want you to think of me when you are perplexed +and unhappy and ill. Will you? You <i>must</i>! There is nobody else, is +there? If you do truly love me?â€</p> + +<p>“Nobody but you.â€</p> + +<p>“That is what I desire.... I want to live with you—I promise I +won’t talk about art—even <i>your</i> art, which I might learn to +care for. All I want is to really live and have your troubles to meet +and overcome them because I will not permit anything to harm you.... +I will love you enough for that.... I—do you love other +women?â€</p> + +<p>“Good God, no!â€</p> + +<p>“And you shall not!†She leaned closer, looking him through and +through. “I <i>will</i> be what you love! I will be what you +desire most in all the world. I <i>will</i> be to you everything +you wish, in every way, always, ever, and forever and ever.... Will you +marry me?â€</p> + +<p>“Will <i>you</i>?â€</p> + +<p>“Yes.â€</p> + +<p>She suddenly stripped off her glove, +<span class = "pagenum">136</span> +<!-- png 162 --> +wrenched a ring set with brilliants from the third finger of her left +hand, and, rising, threw it, straight as a young boy throws, far out +into deepening twilight. It was the end of Mr. Frawley; he, too, had not +only become a by-product but a good-by product. Yet his modest demands +had merely required a tear a year! Perhaps he had not asked enough. Love +pardons the selfish.</p> + +<p>She was laughing, a trifle excited, as she turned to face him where +he had risen. But, at the touch of his hand on hers, the laughter died +at a breath, and she stood, her limp hand clasped in his, silent, +expressionless, save for the tremor of her mouth.</p> + +<p>“I—I must go,†she said, shrinking from him.</p> + +<p>He did not understand, thrilled as he was by the contact, but he let +her soft hand fall away from his.</p> + +<p>Then with a half sob she caught her own fingers to her lips and +kissed them where the pressure of his hand burned her white +flesh—kissed them, looking at him.</p> + +<p>“You—you find a child—you leave a woman,†she said +unsteadily. “Do you understand how I love you—for that?â€</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">137</span> +<!-- png 163 --> +<p>He caught her in his arms.</p> + +<p>“No—not yet—not my mouth!†she pleaded, holding him back; +“I love you too much—already <i>too</i> much. Wait! Oh, +<i>will</i> you wait?... And let me wait—<i>make</i> me wait?... +I—I begin to understand some things I did not know an hour +ago.â€</p> + +<p>In the dusk he could scarcely see her as she swayed, yielding, her +arms tightening about his neck in the first kiss she had ever given or +forgiven in all her life.</p> + +<p>And through the swimming tumult of their senses the thrush’s song +rang like a cry. The moon had risen.</p> + +<p class = "illustration"> +<img src = "images/ip15.png" width = "332" height = "205" +alt = "decoration"> +</p> + + + + +<span class = "pagenum">138</span> +<!-- png 164 --> +<h4 class = "chapter"><a name = "chapXVII" id = "chapXVII"> +XVII</a></h4> + +<p class = "illustration"> +<img src = "images/pic092.png" width = "381" height = "129" +alt = "decoration"> +</p> + + +<p><span class = "dropcap"> +<img src = "images/capM.gif" width = "96" height = "84" +alt = "M" title = "M"></span><span class = "firstword">ounting</span> +the deadened stairway noiselessly to her sister’s room, groping for the +door in the dark of the landing, she called: “Iole!†And again: “Iole! +Come to me! It is I!â€</p> + +<p>The door swung noiselessly; a dim form stole forward, wide-eyed and +white in the electric light.</p> + +<p>Then down at her sister’s feet dropped Aphrodite, and laid a burning +face against her silken knees. And, “Oh, Iole, Iole,†she whispered, +“Iole, Iole, Iole! There is danger, as you say—there is, and I +understand it ... now.... But I love him so—I—I have been so +happy—so happy! Tell me what I +<span class = "pagenum">139</span> +<!-- png 165 --> +have done ... and how wrong it is! Oh, Iole, Iole! What have I +done!â€</p> + +<p>“Done, child! What in the name of all the gods have you done?â€</p> + +<p>“Loved him—in the names of all the gods! Oh, Iole! Iole! +Iole!â€</p> + +<p class = "dots"> </p> + +<p>“<span class = "dash">——</span>The thrush singing in +darkness; the voice of spring calling, calling me to his arms! Oh, Iole, +Iole!—these, and my soul and his, alone under the pagan moon! +alone, save for the old gods whispering in the dusk<span class = +"dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p class = "dots"> </p> + +<p>“<span class = "dash">——</span>And listening, I heard the +feathery tattoo of wings close by—the wings of Eros all aquiver +like a soft moth trembling ere it flies! Peril divine! I understood +it then. And, stirring in darkness, sweet as the melody of unseen +streams, I heard the old gods laughing.... <i>Then</i> I knew.â€</p> + +<p class = "dots"> </p> + +<p>“Is that all, little sister?â€</p> + +<p>“Almost all.â€</p> + +<p>“What more?â€</p> + +<p class = "dots"> </p> + +<p>And when, at length, the trembling tale was told, Iole caught her in +her white arms, looked +<span class = "pagenum">140</span> +<!-- png 166 --> +at her steadily, then kissed her again and again.</p> + +<p>“If he is all you say—this miracle—I—I think I can +make them understand,†she whispered. “Where is he?â€</p> + +<p>“D-down-stairs—at b-bay! Hark! You can hear George swearing! +Oh, Iole, don’t let him!â€</p> + +<p>In the silence from the drawing-room below came the solid sobs of the +poet:</p> + +<p>“P-pup! P-p-penniless pup!â€</p> + +<p>“He <i>must</i> not say that!†cried Aphrodite fiercely. “Can’t you +make father and George understand that he has nearly six hundred dollars +in the bank?â€</p> + +<p>“I will try,†said Iole tenderly. “Come!â€</p> + +<p>And with one arm around Aphrodite she descended the great stairway, +where, on the lower landing, immensely interested, sat Chlorippe, +Philodice and Dione, observant, fairly aquiver with intelligence.</p> + +<p>“Oh, that young man is catching it!†remarked Dione, looking up as +Iole passed, her arm close around her sister’s waist. “George has said +‘dammit’ seven times and father is rocking—not in a +rocking-chair—just rocking and expressing his inmost thoughts. +And Mr. +<span class = "pagenum">141</span> +<!-- png 167 --> +Briggs pretends to scowl and mutters: ‘Hook him over the ropes, George. +’E ain’t got no friends!’ Take a peep, Iole. You can just see them if +you lean over and hang on to the banisters<span class = +"dash">——</span>â€</p> + +<p>But Iole brushed by her younger sisters, Aphrodite close beside her, +and, entering the great receiving-hall, stood still, her clear eyes +focused upon her husband’s back.</p> + +<p>“George!â€</p> + +<p>Mr. Wayne stiffened and wheeled; Mr. Briggs sidled hastily toward the +doorway, crabwise; the poet choked back the word, “Phup!†and gazed at +his tall daughter with apprehension and protruding lips.</p> + +<p>“Iole,†began Wayne, “this is no place for you! Aphrodite! let that +fellow alone, I say!â€</p> + +<p>Iole turned, following with calm eyes the progress of her sister +toward a tall young man who stood by the window, a red flush staining +his strained face.</p> + +<p>The tense muscles in jaw and cheek relaxed as Aphrodite laid one hand +on his arm; the poet, whose pursed lips were overloaded, expelled a +passionate “Phupp!†and the young man’s eyes narrowed again at the +shot.</p> + +<span class = "pagenum">142</span> +<!-- png 168 --> +<p>Then silence lengthened to a waiting menace, and even the three +sisters on the stairs succumbed to the oppressive stillness. And all the +while Iole stood like a white Greek goddess under the glory of her hair, +looking full into the eyes of the tall stranger.</p> + +<p>A minute passed; a glimmer dawned to a smile and trembled in the +azure of Iole’s eyes; she slowly lifted her arms, white hands +outstretched, looking steadily at the stranger.</p> + +<p>He came, tense, erect; Iole’s cool hands dropped in his. And, turning +to the others with a light on her face that almost blinded him, she +said, laughing: “Do you not understand? Aphrodite brings us the rarest +gift in the world in this tall young brother! Look! Touch him! We have +never seen his like before for all the wisdom of wise years. For he is +one of few—and men are many, and artists legion—this +honorable miracle, this sane and wholesome wonder! this trinity, Lover, +Artist, and Man!â€</p> + +<p>And, turning again, she looked him wistfully, wonderingly, in the +eyes.</p> + +<p> <br> </p> + +<h5>THE END</h5> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Iole, by Robert W. Chambers + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IOLE *** + +***** This file should be named 24426-h.htm or 24426-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/4/2/24426/ + +Produced by Louise Hope, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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 + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + +</body> +</html> diff --git a/24426-h/images/bottom091.png b/24426-h/images/bottom091.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0605b5d --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/bottom091.png diff --git a/24426-h/images/capA.gif b/24426-h/images/capA.gif Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..af7147c --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/capA.gif diff --git a/24426-h/images/capB.gif b/24426-h/images/capB.gif Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c101bb5 --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/capB.gif diff --git a/24426-h/images/capD.gif b/24426-h/images/capD.gif Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6e957b4 --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/capD.gif diff --git a/24426-h/images/capH.gif b/24426-h/images/capH.gif Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9cac2cb --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/capH.gif diff --git a/24426-h/images/capI.gif b/24426-h/images/capI.gif Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d32dccd --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/capI.gif diff --git a/24426-h/images/capM.gif b/24426-h/images/capM.gif Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ea80434 --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/capM.gif diff --git a/24426-h/images/capN.gif b/24426-h/images/capN.gif Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..042e9ba --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/capN.gif diff --git a/24426-h/images/capS.gif b/24426-h/images/capS.gif Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..703a7eb --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/capS.gif diff --git a/24426-h/images/capT.gif b/24426-h/images/capT.gif Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7f56484 --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/capT.gif diff --git a/24426-h/images/capW.gif b/24426-h/images/capW.gif Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6a0de62 --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/capW.gif diff --git a/24426-h/images/cover.jpg b/24426-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5f3613d --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/24426-h/images/dots.gif b/24426-h/images/dots.gif Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..52ec283 --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/dots.gif diff --git a/24426-h/images/frontis.jpg b/24426-h/images/frontis.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c9d7261 --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/frontis.jpg diff --git a/24426-h/images/ip03.png b/24426-h/images/ip03.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9e76d52 --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/ip03.png diff --git a/24426-h/images/ip04.png b/24426-h/images/ip04.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5a61fd2 --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/ip04.png diff --git a/24426-h/images/ip05.png b/24426-h/images/ip05.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..1e3bfd7 --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/ip05.png diff --git a/24426-h/images/ip10.png b/24426-h/images/ip10.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..cf1495e --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/ip10.png diff --git a/24426-h/images/ip11.png b/24426-h/images/ip11.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..81afcd2 --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/ip11.png diff --git a/24426-h/images/ip12.png b/24426-h/images/ip12.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7d85f00 --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/ip12.png diff --git a/24426-h/images/ip15.png b/24426-h/images/ip15.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..97a61ef --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/ip15.png diff --git a/24426-h/images/ip16.png b/24426-h/images/ip16.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5ceb444 --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/ip16.png diff --git a/24426-h/images/ip17.png b/24426-h/images/ip17.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..276d49a --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/ip17.png diff --git a/24426-h/images/ip18.png b/24426-h/images/ip18.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..1ca3b34 --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/ip18.png diff --git a/24426-h/images/ip19.png b/24426-h/images/ip19.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b9bbc6f --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/ip19.png diff --git a/24426-h/images/ip20.png b/24426-h/images/ip20.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..917c7da --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/ip20.png diff --git a/24426-h/images/pic012.png b/24426-h/images/pic012.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..627539f --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/pic012.png diff --git a/24426-h/images/pic032.png b/24426-h/images/pic032.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2af1376 --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/pic032.png diff --git a/24426-h/images/pic085.png b/24426-h/images/pic085.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c39215e --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/pic085.png diff --git a/24426-h/images/pic092.png b/24426-h/images/pic092.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..867b989 --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/pic092.png diff --git a/24426-h/images/pic104.png b/24426-h/images/pic104.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e09f493 --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/pic104.png diff --git a/24426-h/images/pic119.png b/24426-h/images/pic119.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..1fc84c7 --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/pic119.png diff --git a/24426-h/images/pic133.png b/24426-h/images/pic133.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..fd127b0 --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/pic133.png diff --git a/24426-h/images/plate1.jpg b/24426-h/images/plate1.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..339e2bf --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/plate1.jpg diff --git a/24426-h/images/plate2.jpg b/24426-h/images/plate2.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..17aba1c --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/plate2.jpg diff --git a/24426-h/images/plate3.jpg b/24426-h/images/plate3.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..173caa4 --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/plate3.jpg diff --git a/24426-h/images/titlepage.png b/24426-h/images/titlepage.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f4ad8ac --- /dev/null +++ b/24426-h/images/titlepage.png diff --git a/24426.txt b/24426.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8c0bf8f --- /dev/null +++ b/24426.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4023 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Iole, by Robert W. Chambers + +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: Iole + +Author: Robert W. Chambers + +Illustrator: Arthur C. Becker + +Release Date: January 25, 2008 [EBook #24426] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IOLE *** + + + + +Produced by Louise Hope, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + + +WORKS OF ROBERT W. CHAMBERS + + Cardigan A King and a Few Dukes + The Maid-at-Arms The Conspirators + The Reckoning The Cambric Mask + Lorraine The Haunts of Men + Maids of Paradise Outsiders + Ashes of Empire A Young Man in a Hurry + The Red Republic In Search of the Unknown + The King in Yellow In the Quarter + The Maker of Moons The Mystery of Choice + Iole + + +FOR CHILDREN + + Outdoor-Land River-Land + Orchard-Land Forest-Land + + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration] + + + + +IOLE + + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration: + "The little things," he continued, delicately perforating + the atmosphere as though selecting a diatom.] + + + + +IOLE + +By + +ROBERT W. CHAMBERS + + + [Illustration] + + + D. APPLETON & CO. + New York MDCCCCV + + + [Illustration] + +Copyright, 1905, by + +ROBERT W. CHAMBERS + + +_Published May, 1905_ + + + + +TO + +GEORGE HORACE LORIMER + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration] + + + + +PREFACE + + +Does anybody remember the opera of _The Inca_, and that heartbreaking +episode where the Court Undertaker, in a morbid desire to increase his +professional skill, deliberately accomplishes the destruction of his +middle-aged relatives in order to inter them for the sake of practise? + +If I recollect, his dismal confession runs something like this: + + "It was in a bleak November + When I slew them, I remember, + As I caught them unawares + Drinking tea in rocking-chairs." + +And so he talked them to death, the subject being "What Really is Art?" +Afterward he was sorry-- + + "The squeak of a door, + The creak of the floor, + My horrors and fears enhance; + And I wake with a scream + As I hear in my dream + The shrieks of my maiden aunts!" + +Now it is a very dreadful thing to suggest that those highly respectable +pseudo-spinsters, the Sister Arts, supposedly cozily immune in their +polygamous chastity (for every suitor for favor is popularly expected to +be wedded to his particular art)--I repeat, it is very dreadful to +suggest that these impeccable old ladies are in danger of being talked +to death. + +But the talkers are talking and Art Nouveau rockers are rocking, and the +trousers of the prophet are patched with stained glass, and it is a day +of dinkiness and of thumbs. + +Let us find comfort in the ancient proverb: "Art talked to death shall +rise again." Let us also recollect that "Dinky is as dinky does"; that +"All is not Shaw that Bernards"; that "Better Yeates than Clever"; that +words are so inexpensive that there is no moral crime in robbing Henry +to pay James. + +Firmly believing all this, abjuring all atom-pickers, slab furniture, +and woodchuck literature--save only the immortal verse: + + "And there the wooden-chuck doth tread; + While from the oak trees' tops + The red, red squirrel on thy head + The frequent acorn drops." + +Abjuring, as I say, dinkiness in all its forms, we may still hope that +those cleanly and respectable spinsters, the Sister Arts, will continue +throughout the ages, rocking and drinking tea unterrified by the +million-tongued clamor in the back yard and below stairs, where thumb +and forefinger continue the question demanded by intellectual +exhaustion: "L'arr! Kesker say l'arr?" + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration] + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE + I 1 + II 12 + III 21 + IV 32 + V 41 + VI 48 + VII 52 + VIII 62 + IX 73 + X 85 + XI 92 + XII 100 + XIII 104 + XIV 111 + XV 119 + XVI 133 + XVII 138 + + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration] + + + + +FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS + + FACING PAGE + + "The little things," he continued, + delicately perforating the atmosphere + as though selecting a diatom. + _Frontispiece_ + From a drawing by J. C. Leyendecker. + + + "Simplicity," breathed Guilford--"a single + blossom against a background of nothing at all" + 22 + From a drawing by J. C. Leyendecker. + + + He paused; his six tall and blooming daughters, + two and two behind him + 54 + From a drawing by Karl Anderson. + + + Aphrodite's slender fingers, barely resting + on the harp-strings, suddenly contracted + in a nervous tremor + 106 + From a drawing by Karl Anderson. + + + _Decorative drawings by Arthur C. Becker._ + + + [Illustration] + + + + +IOLE + +I + + [Illustration] + + +"I ain't never knowed no one like him," continued the station-agent +reflectively. "He made us all look like monkeys, but he was good to us. +Ever see a ginuine poet, sir?" + +"Years ago one was pointed out to me," replied Briggs. + +"Was yours smooth shaved, with large, fat, white fingers?" inquired the +station-agent. + +"If I remember correctly, he was thin," said Briggs, sitting down on his +suit-case and gazing apprehensively around at the landscape. There was +nothing to see but low, forbidding mountains, and forests, and a +railroad track curving into a tunnel. + +The station-agent shoved his hairy hands into the pockets of his +overalls, jingled an unseen bunch of keys, and chewed a dry grass stem, +ruminating the while in an undertone: + +"This poet come here five years ago with all them kids, an' the fust +thing he done was to dress up his girls in boys' pants. Then he went an' +built a humpy sort o' house out of stones and boulders. Then he went to +work an' wrote pieces for the papers about jay-birds an' woodchucks an' +goddesses. He claimed the woods was full of goddesses. That was his way, +sir." + +The agent contemplated the railroad track, running his eye along the +perspective of polished rails: + +"Yes, sir; his name was--and is--Clarence Guilford, an' I fust seen it +signed to a piece in the Uticy Star. An' next I knowed, folks began to +stop off here inquirin' for Mr. Guilford. 'Is this here where Guilford, +the poet, lives?' sez they; an' they come thicker an' thicker in warm +weather. There wasn't no wagon to take 'em up to Guilford's, but they +didn't care, an' they called it a lit'r'y shrine, an' they hit the pike, +women, children, men--'speshil the women, an' I heard 'em tellin' how +Guilford dressed his kids in pants an' how Guilford was a famous new +lit'r'y poet, an' they said he was fixin' to lecture in Uticy." + +The agent gnawed off the chewed portion of the grass stem, readjusted +it, and fixed his eyes on vacancy. + +"Three year this went on. Mr. Guilford was makin' his pile, I guess. +He set up a shop an' hired art bookbinders from York. Then he set up +another shop an' hired some of us 'round here to go an' make them big, +slabby art-chairs. All his shops was called "At the sign of" somethin' +'r other. Bales of vellum arrived for to bind little dinky books; art +rocking-chairs was shipped out o' here by the carload. Meanwhile +Guilford he done poetry on the side an' run a magazine; an' hearin' the +boys was makin' big money up in that crank community, an' that the town +was boomin', I was plum fool enough to drop my job here an' be a +art-worker up to Rose-Cross--that's where the shops was; 'bout three +mile back of his house into the woods." + +The agent removed his hands from his overalls and folded his arms +grimly. + +"Well?" inquired Briggs, looking up from his perch on the suit-case. + +"Well, sir," continued the agent, "the hull thing bust. I guess the +public kinder sickened o' them art-rockers an' dinky books without much +printin' into them. Guilford he stuck to it noble, but the shops closed +one by one. My wages wasn't paid for three months; the boys that +remained got together that autumn an' fixed it up to quit in a bunch. + +"The poet was sad; he come out to the shops an' he says, 'Boys,' sez he, +'art is long an' life is dam brief. I ain't got the cash, but,' sez he, +'you can levy onto them art-rockers an' the dinky vellum books in stock, +an',' sez he, 'you can take the hand-presses an' the tools an' bales o' +vellum, which is very precious, an' all the wagons an' hosses, an' go +sell 'em in that proud world that refuses to receive my message. The +woodland fellowship is rent,' sez he, wavin' his plump fingers at us +with the rings sparklin' on 'em. + +"Then the boys looked glum, an' they nudged me an' kinder shoved me +front. So, bein' elected, I sez, 'Friend,' sez I, 'art is on the bum. It +ain't your fault; the boys is sad an' sorrerful, but they ain't never +knocked you to nobody, Mr. Guilford. You was good to us; you done your +damdest. You made up pieces for the magazines an' papers an' you +advertised how we was all cranks together here at Rose-Cross, a-lovin' +Nature an' dicky-birds, an' wanderin' about half nood for art's sake. + +"'Mr. Guilford,' sez I, 'that gilt brick went. But it has went as far as +it can travel an' is now reposin' into the soup. Git wise or eat hay, +sir. Art is on the blink.'" + +The agent jingled his keys with a melancholy wink at Briggs. + +"So I come back here, an' thankful to hold down this job. An' five mile +up the pike is that there noble poet an' his kids a-makin' up pieces for +to sell to the papers, an' a sorrerin' over the cold world what refuses +to buy his poems--an' a mortgage onto his house an' a threat to +foreclose." + +"Indeed," said Briggs dreamily, for it was his business to attend to the +foreclosure of the mortgage on the poet's house. + +"Was you fixin' to go up an' see the place?" inquired the agent. + +"Shall I be obliged to walk?" + +"I guess you will if you can't flutter," replied the agent. "I ain't got +no wagon an' no horse." + +"How far is it?" + +"Five mile, sir." + +With a groan Mr. Briggs arose, lifted his suit-case, and, walking to the +platform's edge, cast an agitated glance up the dusty road. + +Then he turned around and examined the single building in +sight--station, water-tower, post-office and telegraph-office all in +one, and incidentally the abode of the station-agent, whose duties +included that of postmaster and operator. + +"I'll write a letter first," said Briggs. And this is what he wrote: + + ROSE-CROSS P.O., + _June 25, 1904_. + + DEAR WAYNE: Do you remember that tract of land, adjoining your + preserve, which you attempted to buy four years ago? It was held by + a crank community, and they refused to sell, and made trouble for + your patrols by dumping dye-stuffs and sawdust into the Ashton Creek. + + Well, the community has broken up, the shops are in ruins, and there + is nobody there now except that bankrupt poet, Guilford. I bought + the mortgage for you, foreseeing a slump in that sort of art, and + I expect to begin foreclosure proceedings and buy in the tract, + which, as you will recollect, includes some fine game cover and the + Ashton stream, where you wanted to establish a hatchery. This is a + God-forsaken spot. I'm on my way to the poet's now. Shall I begin + foreclosure proceedings and fire him? Wire me what to do. + + Yours, + BRIGGS. + +Wayne received this letter two days later. Preoccupied as he was in +fitting out his yacht for commission, he wired briefly, "Fire poet," and +dismissed the matter from his mind. + +The next day, grappling with the problem of Japanese stewards and the +decadence of all sailormen, he received a telegram from Briggs: + +"Can't you manage to come up here?" + +Irritated, he telegraphed back: + +"Impossible. Why don't you arrange to fire poet?" And Briggs replied: +"Can't fire poet. There are extenuating circumstances." + +"Did you say exterminating or extenuating?" wired Wayne. "I said +extenuating," replied Briggs. + + +Then the following telegrams were exchanged in order: + + (1) + + What are the extenuating circumstances? + + WAYNE. + + (2) + + Eight innocent children. Come up at once. + + BRIGGS. + + (3) + + Boat in commission. Can't go. Why don't you fix things? + + WAYNE. + + (4) + + How? + + BRIGGS. + + (5) + + (Dated NEW LONDON.) + + What on earth is the matter with you? Are you going to fix things + and join me at Bar Harbor or are you not? + + WAYNE. + + (6) + + As I don't know how you want me to fix things, I can not join you. + + BRIGGS. + + (7) + + (Dated PORTLAND, MAINE.) + + Stuyvesant Briggs, what the devil is the matter with you? It's + absolutely necessary that I have the Ashton stream for a hatchery, + and you know it. What sort of a business man are you, anyhow? Of + course I don't propose to treat that poet inhumanly. Arrange to bid + in the tract, run up the price against your own bidding, and let + the poet have a few thousand if he is hard put. Don't worry me any + more; I'm busy with a fool crew, and you are spoiling my cruise by + not joining me. + + WAYNE. + + (8) + + He won't do it. + + BRIGGS. + + (9) + + _Who_ won't do _what_? + + WAYNE. + + (10) + + Poet refuses to discuss the matter. + + BRIGGS. + + (11) + + Fire that poet. You've spoiled my cruise with your telegrams. + + WAYNE. + + (12) + + (_Marked "Collect."_) + + Look here, George Wayne, don't drive me to desperation. You ought to + come up and face the situation yourself. I can't fire a poet with + eight helpless children, can I? And while I'm about it, let me + inform you that every time you telegraph me it costs me five dollars + for a carrier to bring the despatch over from the station; and every + time I telegraph you I am obliged to walk five miles to send it and + five miles back again. I'm mad all through, and my shoes are worn + out, and I'm tired. Besides, I'm too busy to telegraph. + + BRIGGS. + + (13) + + Do you expect me to stop my cruise and travel up to that hole on + account of eight extenuating kids? + + WAYNE. + + (14) + + I do. + + BRIGGS. + + (15) + + Are you mad? + + WAYNE. + + (16) + + Thoroughly. And extremely busy. + + BRIGGS. + + (17) + + For the last time, Stuyve Briggs, are you going to bounce one + defaulting poet and progeny, arrange to have survey and warnings + posted, order timber and troughs for hatchery, engage extra + patrol--or are you not? + + WAYNE. + + (18) + + No. + + BRIGGS. + + (19) + + (_Received a day later by Mr. Wayne._) + + Are you coming? + + BRIGGS. + + (20) + + I'm coming to punch your head. + + WAYNE. + + + + +II + + [Illustration] + + +When George Wayne arrived at Rose-Cross station, seaburnt, angry, and in +excellent athletic condition, Briggs locked himself in the waiting-room +and attempted to calm the newcomer from the window. + +"If you're going to pitch into me, George," he said, "I'm hanged if I +come out, and you can go to Guilford's alone." + +"Come out of there," said Wayne dangerously. + +"It isn't because I'm afraid of you," explained Briggs, "but it's merely +that I don't choose to present either you or myself to a lot of pretty +girls with the marks of conflict all over our eyes and noses." + +At the words "pretty girls" Wayne's battle-set features relaxed. He +motioned to the Pullman porter to deposit his luggage on the empty +platform; the melancholy bell-notes of the locomotive sounded, the train +moved slowly forward. + +"Pretty girls?" he repeated in a softer voice. "Where are they staying? +Of course, under the circumstances a personal encounter is superfluous. +Where are they staying?" + +"At Guilford's. I told you so in my telegrams, didn't I?" + +"No, you didn't. You spoke only of a poet and his eight helpless +children." + +"Well, those girls are the eight children," retorted Briggs sullenly, +emerging from the station. + +"Do you mean to tell me----" + +"Yes, I do. They're his children, aren't they--even if they are girls, +and pretty." He offered a mollifying hand; Wayne took it, shook it +uncertainly, and fell into step beside his friend. "Eight pretty girls," +he repeated under his breath. "What did you do, Stuyve?" + +"What was I to do?" inquired Briggs, nervously worrying his short blond +mustache. "When I arrived here I had made up my mind to fire the poet +and arrange for the hatchery and patrol. The farther I walked through +the dust of this accursed road, lugging my suit-case as you are doing +now, the surer I was that I'd get rid of the poet without mercy. +But----" + +"Well?" inquired Wayne, astonished. + +"But when I'd trudged some five miles up the stifling road I suddenly +emerged into a wonderful mountain meadow. I tell you, George, it looked +fresh and sweet as Heaven after that dusty, parching tramp--a mountain +meadow deep with mint and juicy green grasses, and all cut up by little +rushing streams as cold as ice. There were a lot of girls in pink +sunbonnets picking wild strawberries in the middle distance," he added +thoughtfully. "It was picturesque, wasn't it? Come, now, George, +wouldn't that give you pause?--eight girls in pink pajamas----" + +"What!!!" + +"And sunbonnets--a sort of dress reform of the poet's." + +"Well?" inquired Wayne coldly. + +"And there was the 'house beautiful,' mercifully screened by woods," +continued Briggs. "He calls it the house beautiful, you know." + +"Why not the beautiful house?" asked Wayne, still more coldly. + +"Oh, he gets everything upside down. Guilford is harmless, you'll see." +He began to whistle Fatinitza softly. There was a silence; then Wayne +said: + +"You interrupted your narrative." + +"Where was I?" + +"In the foreground with eight pink pajamas in the middle distance." + +"Oh, yes. So there I was, travel-worn, thirsty, weary, uncertain----" + +"Cut it," observed Wayne. + +"And a stranger," continued Briggs with dignity, "in a strange +country----" + +"Peculiarity of strangers." + +Briggs took no notice. "I drank from the cool springs; I lingered to +pluck a delicious berry or two, I bathed my hot face, I----" + +"Where," demanded Wayne, "were the eight pink 'uns?" + +"Still in the middle distance. Don't interrupt me, George; I'm slowly +drawing closer to them." + +"Well, get a move on," retorted Wayne sulkily. + +"I'm quite close to them now," explained Briggs; "close enough to remove +my hat and smile and inquire the way to Guilford's. One superb young +creature, with creamy skin and very red lips----" + +Wayne halted and set down his suit-case. + +"I'm not romancing; you'll see," said Briggs earnestly. "As I was +saying, this young goddess looked at me in the sweetest way and said +that Guilford was her father. And, Wayne, do you know what she did? +She--er--came straight up to me and took hold of my hand, and led me up +the path toward the high-art house, which is built of cobblestones! +Think! Built of cobble----" + +"Took you by the hand?" repeated Wayne incredulously. + +"Oh, it was all right, George! I found out all about that sort of +innocent thing later." + +"Did you?" + +"Certainly. These girls have been brought up like so many guileless +speckled fawns out here in the backwoods. You know all about Guilford, +the poet who's dead stuck on Nature and simplicity. Well, that's the man +and that's his pose. He hasn't any money, and he won't work. His +daughters raise vegetables, and he makes 'em wear bloomers, and he +writes about chippy-birds and the house beautiful, and tells people to +be natural, and wishes that everybody could go around without clothes +and pick daisies----" + +"Do _they_?" demanded Wayne in an awful voice. "You _said_ they wore +bloomers. Did you say that to break the news more gently? Did you!" + +"Of course they are clothed," explained his friend querulously; "though +sometimes they wade about without shoes and stockings and do the nymph +business. And, George, it's astonishing how modest that sort of dress +is. And it's amazing how much they know. Why, they can talk +Greek--_talk_ it, mind you. Every one of them can speak half a dozen +languages--Guilford is a corker on culture, you know--and they can play +harps and pianos and things, and give me thirty at tennis, even +Chlorippe, the twelve-year-old----" + +"Is that her name?" asked Wayne. + +"Chlorippe? Yes. That bat-headed poet named all his children after +butterflies. Let's see," he continued, telling off the names on his +fingers; "there's Chlorippe, twelve; Philodice, thirteen; Dione, +fourteen; Aphrodite, fifteen; Cybele, sixteen; Lissa, seventeen; Iole, +eighteen, and Vanessa, nineteen. And, Wayne, never have the Elysian +fields contained such a bunch of wholesome beauty as that mountain +meadow contains all day long." + +Wayne, trudging along, suit-case firmly gripped, turned a pair of +suspicious eyes upon his friend. + +"Of course," observed Briggs candidly, "I simply couldn't foreclose on +the father of such children, could I? Besides, he won't let me discuss +the subject." + +"I'll investigate the matter personally," said Wayne. + +"Nowhere to lay their heads! Think of it, George. And all because a +turtle-fed, claret-flushed, idle and rich young man wants their earthly +Paradise for a fish-hatchery. Think of it! A pampered, turtle-fed----" + +"You've said that before," snapped Wayne. "If you were half decent you'd +help me with this suit-case. Whew! It's hot as Yonkers on this +cattle-trail you call a road. How near are we to Guilford's?" + +An hour later Briggs said: "By the way, George, what are you going to do +about the matter?" + +Wayne, flushed, dusty, perspiring, scowled at him. + +"What matter?" + +"The foreclosure." + +"I don't know; how can I know until I see Guilford?" + +"But you need the hatchery----" + +"I know it." + +"But he won't let you discuss it----" + +"If," said Wayne angrily, "you had spent half the time talking business +with the poet that you spent picking strawberries with his helpless +children I should not now be lugging this suit-case up this mountain. +Decency requires few observations from _you_ just now." + +"Pooh!" said Briggs. "Wait till you see Iole." + +"Why Iole? Why not Vanessa?" + +"Don't--that's all," retorted Briggs, reddening. + +Wayne plumped his valise down in the dust, mopped his brow, folded his +arms, and regarded Briggs between the eyes. + +"You have the infernal cheek, after getting me up here, to intimate that +you have taken the pick?" + +"I do," replied Briggs firmly. The two young fellows faced each other. + +"By the way," observed Briggs casually, "the stock they come from is as +good if not better than ours. This is a straight game." + +"Do you mean to say that you--you are--seriously----" + +"Something like it. There! Now you know." + +"For Heaven's sake, Stuyve----" + +"Yes, for Heaven's sake and in Heaven's name don't get any wrong ideas +into your vicious head." + +"What?" + +"I tell you," said Briggs, "that I was never closer to falling in love +than I am to-day. And I've been here just two weeks." + +"Oh, Lord----" + +"Amen," muttered Briggs. "Here, give me your carpet-bag, you brute. +We're on the edge of Paradise." + + + + +III + + [Illustration] + + +"Before we discuss my financial difficulties," said the poet, lifting +his plump white hand and waving it in unctuous waves about the veranda, +"let me show you our home, Mr. Wayne. May I?" + +"Certainly," said Wayne politely, following Guilford into the house. + +They entered a hall; there was absolutely nothing in the hall except a +small table on which reposed a single daisy in a glass of water. + +"Simplicity," breathed Guilford--"a single blossom against a background +of nothing at all. You follow me, Mr. Wayne?" + +"Not--exactly----" + +The poet smiled a large, tender smile, and, with inverted thumb, +executed a gesture as though making several spots in the air. + +"The concentration of composition," he explained; "the elimination of +complexity; the isolation of the concrete in the center of the abstract; +something in the midst of nothing. It is a very precious thought, Mr. +Wayne." + +"Certainly," muttered Wayne; and they moved on. + +"This," said the poet, "is what I call my den." + +Wayne, not knowing what to say, sidled around the walls. It was almost +bare of furniture; what there was appeared to be of the slab variety. + +"I call my house the house beautiful," murmured Guilford with his large, +sweet smile. "Beauty is simplicity; beauty is unconsciousness; beauty is +the child of elimination. A single fly in an empty room is beautiful to +me, Mr. Wayne." + +"They carry germs," muttered Wayne, but the poet did not hear him and +led the way to another enormous room, bare of everything save for eight +thick and very beautiful Kazak rugs on the polished floor. + + [Illustration: + "Simplicity," breathed Guilford--"a single blossom against + a background of nothing at all."] + +"My children's bedroom," he whispered solemnly. + +"You don't mean to say they sleep on those Oriental rugs!" stammered +Wayne. + +"They do," murmured the poet. The tender sweetness of his ample smile +was overpowering--like too much bay rum after shaving. "Sparta, Mr. +Wayne, Sparta! And the result? My babes are perfect, physically, +spiritually. Elimination wrought the miracle; yonder they sleep, +innocent as the Graces, with all the windows open, clothed in moonlight +or starlight, as the astronomical conditions may be. At the break of +dawn they are afield, simply clothed, free limbed, unhampered by the +tawdry harness of degenerate civilization. And as they wander through +the verdure," he added with rapt enthusiasm, "plucking shy blossoms, +gathering simples and herbs and vegetables for our bountiful and natural +repast, they sing as they go, and every tremulous thrill of melody falls +like balm on a father's heart." The overpowering sweetness of his smile +drugged Wayne. Presently he edged toward the door, and the poet +followed, a dreamy radiance on his features as though emanating from +sacred inward meditation. + +They sat down on the veranda; Wayne fumbled for his cigar-case, but his +unnerved fingers fell away; he dared not smoke. + +"About--about that business matter," he ventured feebly; but the poet +raised his plump white hand. + +"You are my guest," he said graciously. "While you are my guest nothing +shall intrude to cloud our happiness." + +Perplexed, almost muddled, Wayne strove in vain to find a reason for the +elimination of the matter that had interrupted his cruise and brought +him to Rose-Cross, the maddest yachtsman on the Atlantic. Why should +Guilford forbid the topic as though its discussion were painful to +Wayne? + +"He always gets the wrong end foremost, as Briggs said," thought the +young man. "I wonder where the deuce Briggs can be? I'm no match for +this bunch." + +His thoughts halted; he became aware that the poet was speaking in a +rich, resonant voice, and he listened in an attitude of painful +politeness. + +"It's the little things that are most precious," the poet was saying, +and pinched the air with forefinger and thumb and pursed up his lips as +though to whistle some saccharine air. + +"The little things," he continued, delicately perforating the atmosphere +as though selecting a diatom. + +"Big things go, too," ventured Wayne. + +"No," said the poet; "no--or rather they _do_ go, in a certain sense, +for every little thing is precious, and therefore little things are +big!---big with portent, big in value. Do you follow me, Mr. Wayne?" + +Wayne's fascinated eyes were fixed on the poet. The latter picked out +another atom from the atmosphere and held it up for Mr. Wayne's +inspection; and while that young man's eyes protruded the poet rambled +on and on until the melody of his voice became a ceaseless sound, a +vague, sustained monotone, which seemed to bore into Wayne's brain until +his legs twitched with a furious desire for flight. + +When he obtained command of himself the poet was saying, "It is my hour +for withdrawal. It were insincere and artificial to ask your +indulgence----" + +He rose to his rotund height. + +"You are due to sit in your cage," stammered Wayne, comprehending. + +"My den," corrected the poet, saturating the air with the sweetness of +his smile. + +Wayne arose. "About that business--" he began desperately; but the +poet's soft, heavy hand hovered in mid-air, and Wayne sat down so +suddenly that when his eyes recovered their focus the poet had +disappeared. + +A benumbed resentment struggled within him for adequate expression; +he hitched his chair about to command a view of the meadow, then sat +motionless, hypnotized by the view. Eight girls, clad in pink blouses +and trousers, golden hair twisted up, decorated the landscape. Some were +kneeling, filling baskets of woven, scented grasses with wild +strawberries; some were wading the branches of the meadow brook, +searching for trout with grass-woven nets; some picked early peas; two +were playing a lightning set at tennis. And in the center of everything +that was going on was Briggs, perfectly at ease, making himself +agreeably at home. + +The spectacle of Briggs among the Hamadryads appeared to paralyze Wayne. + +Then an immense, intense resentment set every nerve in him tingling. +Briggs, his friend, his confidential business adviser, his indispensable +_alter ego_, had abandoned him to be tormented by this fat, saccharine +poet--abandoned him while he, Briggs, made himself popular with eight of +the most amazingly bewitching maidens mortal man might marvel on! The +meanness stung Wayne till he jumped to his feet and strode out into the +sunshine, menacing eyes fastened on Briggs. + +"Now wouldn't that sting you!" he breathed fiercely, turning up his +trousers and stepping gingerly across the brook. + +Whether or not Briggs saw him coming and kept sidling away he could not +determine; he did not wish to shout; he kept passing pretty girls and +taking off his hat, and following Briggs about, but he never seemed to +come any nearer to Briggs; Briggs always appeared in the middle +distance, flitting genially from girl to girl; and presently the +absurdity of his performance struck Wayne, and he sat down on the bank +of the brook, too mad to think. There was a pretty girl picking +strawberries near-by; he rose, took off his hat to her, and sat down +again. She was one of those graceful, clean-limbed, creamy-skinned +creatures described by Briggs; her hair was twisted up into a heavy, +glistening knot, showing the back of a white neck; her eyes matched the +sky and her lips the berries she occasionally bit into or dropped to the +bottom of her woven basket. + +Once or twice she looked up fearlessly at Wayne as her search for +berries brought her nearer; and Wayne forgot the perfidy of Briggs in +an effort to look politely amiable. + +Presently she straightened up where she was kneeling in the long grass +and stretched her arms. Then, still kneeling, she gazed curiously at +Wayne with all the charm of a friendly wild thing unafraid. + +"Shall we play tennis?" she asked. + +"Certainly," said Wayne, startled. + +"Come, then," she said, picking up her basket in one hand and extending +the other to Wayne. + +He took the fresh, cool fingers, and turned scarlet. Once his glance +sneaked toward Briggs, but that young man was absorbed in fishing for +brook trout with a net! Oh, ye little fishes! with a _net_! + +Wayne's brain seemed to be swarming with glittering pink-winged thoughts +all singing. He walked on air, holding tightly to the hand of his +goddess, seeing nothing but a blur of green and sunshine. Then a +clean-cut idea stabbed him like a stiletto: was this Vanessa or Iole? +And, to his own astonishment, he asked her quite naturally. + +"Iole," she said, laughing. "Why?" + +"Thank goodness," he said irrationally. + +"But why?" she persisted curiously. + +"Briggs--Briggs--" he stammered, and got no further. Perplexed, his +goddess walked on, thoughtful, pure-lidded eyes searching some +reasonable interpretation for the phrase, "Briggs--Briggs." But as Wayne +gave her no aid, she presently dismissed the problem, and bade him +select a tennis bat. + +"I do hope you play well," she said. Her hope was comparatively vain; +she batted Wayne around the court, drove him wildly from corner to +corner, stampeded him with volleys, lured him with lobs, and finally +left him reeling dizzily about, while she came around from behind the +net, saying, "It's all because you have no tennis shoes. Come; we'll +rest under the trees and console ourselves with chess." + +Under a group of huge silver beeches a stone chess-table was set +embedded in the moss; and Iole indolently stretched herself out on one +side, chin on hands, while Wayne sorted weather-beaten basalt and marble +chess-men which lay in a pile under the tree. + +She chatted on without the faintest trace of self-consciousness the +while he arranged the pieces; then she began to move. He took a long +time between each move; but no sooner did he move than, still talking, +she extended her hand and shoved her piece into place without a fraction +of a second's hesitation. + +When she had mated him twice, and he was still gazing blankly at the +mess into which she had driven his forces, she sat up sideways, +gathering her slim ankles into one hand, and cast about her for +something to do, eyes wandering over the sunny meadow. + +"We had horses," she mused; "we rode like demons, bareback, until +trouble came." + +"Trouble?" + +"Oh, not trouble--poverty. So our horses had to go. What shall we +do--you and I?" There was something so subtly sweet, so exquisitely +innocent in the coupling of the pronouns that a thrill passed completely +through Wayne, and probably came out on the other side. + +"I know what I'm going to do," he said, drawing a note-book and a pencil +from his pocket and beginning to write, holding it so she could see. + +"Do you want me to look over your shoulder?" she asked. + +"Please." + +She did; and it affected his penmanship so that the writing grew wabbly. +Still she could read: + + (_Telegram_) + + TO SAILING MASTER, YACHT THENDARA, BAR HARBOR: + + Put boat out of commission. I may be away all summer. + + WAYNE. + +"How far is it to the station?" asked Wayne, turning to look into her +eyes. + +"Only five miles," she said. "I'll walk with you if you like. Shall I?" + + + + +IV + + [Illustration] + + +"Wealth," observed the poet, waving his heavy white hand, "is a figure +of speech, Mr. Wayne. Only by the process of elimination can one arrive +at the exquisite simplicity of poverty--care-free poverty. Even a single +penny is a burden--the flaw in the marble, the fly in the amber of +perfection. Cast it away and enter Eden!" And joining thumb and +forefinger, he plucked a figurative copper from the atmosphere, tossed +it away, and wiped his fingers on his handkerchief. + +"But--" began Wayne uneasily. + +"Try it," smiled the poet, diffusing sweetness; "try it. Dismiss all +thoughts of money from your mind." + +"I do," said Wayne, somewhat relieved. "I thought you meant for me to +chuck my securities overboard and eat herbs." + +"Not in your case--no, not in your case. _I_ can do that; I have done +it. No, your sacred mission is simply to forget that you are wealthy. +That is a very precious thought, Mr. Wayne--remain a Croesus and forget +it! Not to eliminate your _wealth_, but eliminate all _thought_ of it. +Very, very precious." + +"Well, I never think about things like that except at a directors' +meeting," blurted out the young fellow. "Perhaps it's because I've never +had to think about it." + +The poet sighed so sweetly that the atmosphere seemed to drip with the +saccharine injection. + +"I wish," ventured Wayne, "that you would let me mention the subject of +business"--the poet shook his head indulgently--"just to say that I'm +not going to foreclose." He laid a packet of legal papers in the poet's +hand. + +"Hush," smiled Guilford, "this is not seemly in the house beautiful.... +_What_ was it you said, Mr. Wayne?" + +"I? I was going to say that I just wanted--wanted to stay here--be your +guest, if you'll let me," he said honestly. "I was cruising--I didn't +understand--Briggs--Briggs--" He stuck. + +"Yes, Briggs," softly suggested the poet, spraying the night air with +more sweetness. + +"Briggs has spoken to you about--about your daughter Vanessa. You see, +Briggs is my closest friend; his happiness is--er--important to me. +I want to see Briggs happy; that's why I want to stay here, just to see +Briggs happy. I--I love Briggs. You understand me, don't you, Mr. +Guilford?" + +The poet breathed a dulcet breath. "Perfectly," he murmured. "The +contemplation of Mr. Briggs' happiness eliminates all thoughts of self +within you. By this process of elimination you arrive at happiness +yourself. Ah, the thought is a very precious one, my young friend, for +by elimination only can we arrive at perfection. Thank you for the +thought; thank you. You have given me a very, very precious thought to +cherish." + +"I--I have been here a week," muttered Wayne. "I thought--perhaps--my +welcome might be outworn----" + +"In the house beautiful," murmured the poet, rising and waving his heavy +white hand at the open door, "welcome is eternal." He folded his arms +with difficulty, for he was stout, and one hand clutched the legal +papers; his head sank. In profound meditation he wandered away into the +shadowy house, leaving Wayne sitting on the veranda rail, eyes fixed on +a white shape dimly seen moving through the moonlit meadows below. +Briggs sauntered into sight presently, his arms full of flowers. + +"Get me a jug of water, will you? Vanessa has been picking these and she +sent me back to fix 'em. Hurry, man! She is waiting for me in the +garden." Wayne gazed earnestly at his friend. + +"So you have done it, have you, Stuyve?" + +"Done what?" demanded Briggs, blushing. + +"It." + +"If you mean," he said with dignity, "that I've asked the sweetest girl +on earth to marry me, I have. And I'm the happiest man on the footstool, +too. Good Heaven, George," he broke out, "if you knew the meaning of +love! if you could for one second catch a glimpse of the beauty of her +soul! Why, man of sordid clay that I was--creature of club and claret +and turtle--like you----" + +"Drop it!" said Wayne somberly. + +"I can't help it, George. We were beasts--and _you_ are yet. But my base +clay is transmuted, spiritualized; my soul is awake, traveling, toiling +toward the upward heights where hers sits enthroned. When I think of +what I was, and what you still are----" + +Wayne rose exasperated: + +"Do you think your soul is doing the only upward hustling?" he said +hotly. + +Briggs, clasping his flowers to his breast, gazed out over them at +Wayne. + +"You don't mean----" + +"Yes, I do," said Wayne. "I may be crazy, but I know something," with +which paradox he turned on his heel and walked into the moonlit meadow +toward that dim, white form moving through the dusk. + +"I wondered," she said, "whether you were coming," as he stepped through +the long, fragrant grass to her side. + +"You might have wondered if I had not come," he answered. + +"Yes, that is true. This moonlight is too wonderful to miss," she added +without a trace of self-consciousness. + +"It was for you I came." + +"Couldn't you find my sisters?" she asked innocently. + +He did not reply. Presently she stumbled over a hummock, recovered her +poise without comment, and slipped her hand into his with unconscious +confidence. + +"Do you know what I have been studying to-day?" she asked. + +"What?" + +"That curious phycomycetous fungus that produces resting-spores by the +conjugation of two similar club-shaped hyphae, and in which conidia also +occur. It's fascinating." + +After a silence he said: + +"What would you think of me if I told you that I do not comprehend a +single word of what you have just told me?" + +"Don't you?" she asked, astonished. + +"No," he replied, dropping her hand. She wondered, vaguely distressed; +and he went on presently: "As a plain matter of fact, I don't know much. +It's an astonishing discovery for me, but it's a fact that I am not your +mental, physical, or spiritual equal. In sheer, brute strength perhaps I +am, and I am none too certain of that, either. But, and I say it to my +shame, I can not follow you; I am inferior in education, in culture, in +fine instinct, in mental development. You chatter in a dozen languages +to your sisters: my French appals a Paris cabman; you play any +instrument I ever heard of: the guitar is my limit, the fandango my +repertoire. As for alert intelligence, artistic comprehension, ability +to appreciate, I can not make the running with you; I am +outclassed--hopelessly. Now, if this is all true--and I have spoken the +wretched truth--_what_ can a man like me have to say for himself?" + +Her head was bent, her fair face was in shadow. She strayed on a little +way, then, finding herself alone, turned and looked back at him where he +stood. For a moment they remained motionless, looking at one another, +then, as on some sweet impulse, she came back hastily and looked into +his eyes. + +"I do not feel as you do," she said; "you are very--good--company. I am +not all you say; I know very little. Listen. It--it distresses me to +have you think I hold you--lightly. Truly we are _not_ apart." + +"There is but one thing that can join us." + +"What is that?" + +"Love." + +Her pure gaze did not falter nor her eyes droop. Curiously regarding +him, she seemed immersed in the solution of the problem as he had +solved it. + +"Do you love me?" she asked. + +"With all my soul--such as it is, with all my heart, with every thought, +every instinct, every breath I draw." + +She considered him with fearless eyes; the beauty of them was all he +could endure. + +"You love me?" she repeated. + +He bent his head, incapable of speech. + +"You wish me to love you?" + +He looked at her, utterly unable to move his lips. + +"_How_ do you wish me to love you?" + +He opened his arms; she stepped forward, close to him. + +Then their lips met. + +"Oh," she said faintly, "I did not know it--it was so sweet." + +And as her head fell back on his arm about her neck she looked up at him +full of wonder at this new knowledge he had taught her, marvelous, +unsuspected, divine in its simplicity. Then the first delicate blush +that ever mounted her face spread, tinting throat and forehead; she drew +his face down to her own. + + +The poet paced the dim veranda, arms folded, head bent. But his glance +was sideways and full of intelligence as it included two vague figures +coming slowly back through the moon-drenched meadow. + +"By elimination we arrive at perfection," he mused; "and perfection is +success. There remain six more," he added irrelevantly, "but they're +young yet. Patience, subtle patience--and attention to the little +things." He pinched a morsel of air out of the darkness, examined it and +released it. + +"The little things," he repeated; "that is a very precious thought.... +I believe the sea air may agree with me--now and then." + +And he wandered off into his "den" and unlocked a drawer in his desk, +and took out a bundle of legal papers, and tore them slowly, carefully, +into very small pieces. + + + + +V + + [Illustration] + + +The double wedding at the Church of Sainte Cicindella was pretty and +sufficiently fashionable to inconvenience traffic on Fifth Avenue. +Partly from loyalty, partly from curiosity, the clans of Wayne and +Briggs, with their offshoots and social adherents, attended; and they +saw Briggs and Wayne on their best behavior, attended by Sudbury Grey +and Winsted Forest; and they saw two bridal visions of loveliness, +attended by six additional sister visions as bridesmaids; and they saw +the poet, agitated with the holy emotions of a father, now almost +unmanned, now rallying, spraying the hushed air with sweetness. They saw +clergymen and a bishop, and the splendor of stained glass through which +ushers tiptoed. And they heard the subdued rustling of skirts and the +silken stir, and the great organ breathing over Eden, and a single +artistically-modulated sob from the poet. A good many other things they +heard and saw, especially those of the two clans who were bidden to the +breakfast at Wayne's big and splendid house on the southwest corner of +Seventy-ninth Street and Madison Avenue. + +For here they were piped to breakfast by the boatswain of Wayne's big +seagoing yacht, the _Thendara_--on which brides and grooms were +presently to embark for Cairo via the Azores--and speeches were said and +tears shed into goblets glimmering with vintages worth prayerful +consideration. + +And in due time two broughams, drawn by dancing horses, with the azure +ribbons aflutter from the head-stalls, bore away two very beautiful and +excited brides and two determined, but entirely rattled, grooms. And +after that several relays of parents fraternized with the poet and six +daughters, and the clans of Briggs and of Wayne said a number of +agreeable things to anybody who cared to listen; and as everybody did +listen, there was a great deal of talk--more talk in a minute than the +sisters of Iole had heard in all their several limited and innocently +natural existences. So it confused them, not with its quality, but its +profusion; and the champagne made their cheeks feel as though the soft +peachy skin fitted too tight, and a number of persistent musical +instruments were being tuned in their little ears; and, not yet +thoroughly habituated to any garments except pink sunbonnets and +pajamas, their straight fronts felt too tight, and the tops of their +stockings pulled, and they balanced badly on their high heels, and +Aphrodite and Cybele, being too snugly laced, retired to rid themselves +of their first corsets. + +The remaining four, Lissa, now eighteen; Dione, fifteen; Philodice, +fourteen, and Chlorippe, thirteen, found the missing Pleiads in the +great library, joyously donning their rose-silk lounging pajamas, while +two parlor maids brought ices from the wrecked feast below. + +So they, too, flung from them crinkling silk and diaphanous lace, +high-heel shoon and the delicate body-harness never fashioned for +free-limbed dryads of the Rose-Cross wilds; and they kept the electric +signals going for ices and fruits and pitchers brimming with clear cold +water; and they sat there in a circle like a thicket of fluttering +pale-pink roses, until below the last guest had sped out into the +unknown wastes of Gotham, and the poet's heavy step was on the stair. + +The poet was agitated--and like a humble bicolored quadruped of the +Rose-Cross wilds, which, when agitated, sprays the air--so the poet, +laboring obesely under his emotion, smiled with a sweetness so +intolerable that the air seemed to be squirted full of saccharinity to +the point of plethoric saturation. + +"My lambs," he murmured, fat hands clasped and dropped before him as +straight as his rounded abdomen would permit; "my babes!" + +"Do you think," suggested Aphrodite, busy with her ice, "that we are +going to enjoy this winter in Mr. Wayne's house?" + +"Enjoyment," breathed the poet in an overwhelming gush of sweetness, "is +not in houses; it is in one's soul. What is wealth? Everything! +Therefore it is of no value. What is poverty? Nothing! And, as it is the +little things that are the most precious, so nothing, which is less than +the very least, is precious beyond price. Thank you for listening; thank +you for understanding. Bless you." + +And he wandered away, almost asphyxiated with his emotions. + +"I mean to have a gay winter--if I can ever get used to being laced in +and pulled over by those dreadful garters," observed Aphrodite, +stretching her smooth young limbs in comfort. + +"I suppose there would be trouble if we wore our country clothes on +Broadway, wouldn't there?" asked Lissa wistfully. + +Chlorippe, aged thirteen, kicked off her sandals and stretched her +pretty snowy feet: "They were never in the world made to fit into +high-heeled shoes," she declared pensively, widening her little rosy +toes. + +"But we might as well get used to all these things," sighed Philodice, +rolling over among the cushions, a bunch of hothouse grapes suspended +above her pink mouth. She ate one, looked at Dione, and yawned. + +"I'm going to practise wearing 'em an hour a day," said Aphrodite, +"because I mean to go to the theater. It's worth the effort. Besides, if +we just sit here in the house all day asking each other Greek riddles, +we will never see anybody until Iole and Vanessa come back from their +honeymoon and give teas and dinners for all sorts of interesting young +men." + +"Oh, the attractive young men I have seen in these few days in New +York!" exclaimed Lissa. "Would you believe it, the first day I walked +out with George Wayne and Iole, I was perfectly bewildered and enchanted +to see so many delightful-looking men. And by and by Iole missed me, and +George came back and found me standing entranced on the corner of Fifth +Avenue; and I said, "Please don't disturb me, George, because I am only +standing here to enjoy the sight of so many agreeable-looking men." But +he acted so queerly about it." She ended with a little sigh. "However, +I love George, of course, even if he does bore me. I wonder where they +are now--the bridal pairs?" + +"I wonder," mused Philodice, "whether they have any children by this +time?" + +"Not yet," explained Aphrodite. "But they'll probably have some when +they return. I understand it takes a good many weeks--to----" + +"To find new children," nodded Chlorippe confidently. "I suppose they've +hidden the cunning little things somewhere on the yacht, and it's like +hunt the thimble and lots and lots of fun." And she distributed six +oranges. + +Lissa was not so certain of that, but, discussing the idea with Cybele, +and arriving at no conclusion, devoted herself to the large juicy orange +with more satisfaction, conscious that the winter's outlook was bright +for them all and full of the charming mystery of anticipations so +glittering yet so general that she could form not even the haziest ideas +of their wonderful promise. And so, sucking the sunlit pulp of their +oranges, they were content to live, dream, and await fulfilment under +the full favor of a Heaven which had never yet sent them aught but +happiness beneath the sun. + + [Illustration] + + + + +VI + + [Illustration] + + +Neither Lethbridge nor Harrow--lately exceedingly important +undergraduates at Harvard and now twin nobodies in the employment of the +great Occidental Fidelity and Trust Company--neither of these young men, +I say, had any particular business at the New Arts Theater that +afternoon. + +For the play was Barnard Haw's _Attitudes_, the performance was private +and intensely intellectual, the admission by invitation only, and +between the acts there was supposed to be a general _causerie_ among the +gifted individuals of the audience. + +Why Stanley West, president of the Occidental Trust, should have +presented to his two young kinsmen the tickets inscribed with his own +name was a problem, unless everybody else, including the elevator boys, +had politely declined the offer. + +"That's probably the case," observed Lethbridge. "Do we go?" + +"Art," said Harrow, "will be on the loose among that audience. And if +anybody can speak to anybody there, we'll get spoken to just as if we +were sitting for company, and first we know somebody will ask us what +Art really is." + +"I'd like to see a place full of atmosphere," suggested Lethbridge. +"I've seen almost everything--the Cafe Jaune, and Chinatown, and--you +remember that joint at Tangier? But I've never seen atmosphere. I don't +care how thin it is; I just want to say that I've seen it when the next +girl throws it all over me." And as Harrow remained timid, he added: "We +won't have to climb across the footlights and steal a curl from the +author, because he's already being sheared in England. There's nothing +to scare you." + +Normally, however, they were intensely afraid of Art except at their +barbers', and they had heard, in various ways as vague as Broad Street +rumors, something concerning these gatherings of the elect at the New +Arts Theater on Saturday afternoons, where unselfish reformers produced +plays for Art's sake as a rebuke to managers who declined to produce +that sort of play for anybody's sake. + +"I'll bet," said Harrow, "that some thrifty genius sent Stanley West +those tickets in a desperate endeavor to amalgamate the aristocracies of +wealth and intellect!--as though you could shake 'em up as you shake a +cocktail! As though you'd catch your Uncle Stanley wearing his richest +Burgundy flush, sitting in the orchestra and talking _Arr Noovo_ to a +young thing with cheek-bones who'd pinch him into a cocked hat for a +contribution between the acts!" + +"Still," said Lethbridge, "even Art requires a wad to pay its license. +Isn't West the foxy Freddie! Do you suppose, if we go, they'll sting us +for ten?" + +"They'll probably take up a collection for the professor," said Harrow +gloomily. "Better come to the club and give the tickets to the janitor." + +"Oh, that's putting it all over Art! If anybody with earnest eyes tries +to speak to us we can call a policeman." + +"Well," said Harrow, "on your promise to keep your mouth shut I'll go +with you. If you open it they'll discover you're an appraiser and I'm a +broker, and then they'll think we're wealthy, because there'd be no +other reason for our being there, and they'll touch us both for a brace +of come-ons, and----" + +"Perhaps," interrupted the other, "we'll be fortunate enough to sit next +to a peach! And as it's the proper thing there to talk to your neighbor, +the prospect--er--needn't jar you." + +There was a silence as they walked up-town, which lasted until they +entered their lodgings. And by that time they had concluded to go. + + [Illustration] + + + + +VII + + [Illustration] + + +So they went, having nothing better on hand, and at two o'clock they +sidled into the squatty little theater, shyly sought their reserved +seats and sat very still, abashed in the presence of the massed +intellects of Manhattan. + +When Clarence Guilford, the Poet of Simplicity, followed by six healthy, +vigorous young daughters, entered the middle aisle of the New Arts +Theater, a number of people whispered in reverent recognition: +"Guilford, the poet! Those are his daughters. They wear nothing but pink +pajamas at home. Sh-sh-h-h!" + +Perhaps the poet heard, for he heard a great deal when absent-minded. +He paused; his six tall and blooming daughters, two and two behind him, +very naturally paused also, because the poet was bulky and the aisle +narrow. + +Those of the elect who had recognized him had now an opportunity to view +him at close range; young women with expressive eyes leaned forward, +quivering; several earnest young men put up lorgnettes. + +It was as it should have been; and the poet stood motionless in dreamy +abstraction, until an usher took his coupons and turned down seven +seats. Then the six daughters filed in, and the poet, slowly turning to +survey the house, started slightly, as though surprised to find himself +under public scrutiny, passed a large, plump hand over his forehead, and +slowly subsided into the aisle-seat with a smile of whimsical +acquiescence in the knowledge of his own greatness. + +"Who," inquired young Harrow, turning toward Lethbridge--"who is that +duck?" + +"You can search me," replied Lethbridge in a low voice, "but for +Heaven's sake _look_ at those girls! Is it right to bunch such beauty +and turn down Senators from Utah?" + +Harrow's dazzled eyes wandered over the six golden heads and snowy +necks, lovely as six wholesome young goddesses fresh from a bath in the +Hellespont. + +"The--the one next to the one beside you," whispered Lethbridge, edging +around. "I want to run away with her. Would you mind getting me a +hansom?" + +"The one next to me has them all pinched to death," breathed Harrow +unsteadily. "Look!--when she isn't looking. Did you ever see such eyes +and mouth--such a superb free poise----" + +"Sh-sh-h-h!" muttered Lethbridge, "the bell-mule is talking to them." + +"Art," said the poet, leaning over to look along the line of fragrant, +fresh young beauty, "Art is an art." With which epigram he slowly closed +his eyes. + +His daughters looked at him; a young woman expensively but not smartly +gowned bent forward from the row behind. Her attitude was almost +prayerful; her eyes burned. + + [Illustration: + He paused; his six tall and blooming daughters two and two + behind him.] + +"Art," continued the poet, opening his heavy lids with a large, sweet +smile, "Art is above Art, but Art is never below Art. Art, to be Art, +must be artless. That is a very precious thought--very, very precious. +Thank you for understanding me--thank you." And he included in his large +smile young Harrow, who had been unconsciously bending forward, +hypnotized by the monotonous resonance of the poet's deep, rich voice. + +Now that the spell was broken, he sank back in his chair, looking at +Lethbridge a little wildly. + +"Let me sit next--after the first act," began Lethbridge, coaxing; +"they'll be watching the stage all the first act and you can look at 'em +without being rude, and they'll do the same next act, and I can look at +'em, and perhaps they'll ask us what Art really is----" + +"Did you hear what that man said?" interrupted Harrow, recovering his +voice. "_Did_ you?" + +"No; what?" + +"Well, listen next time. And all I have to say is, if that firing-line, +with its battery of innocent blue eyes, understands him, you and I had +better apply to the nearest night-school for the rudiments of an +education." + +"Well, what did he say?" began the other uneasily, when again the poet +bent forward to address the firing-line; and the lovely blue battery +turned silently upon the author of their being. + +"Art is the result of a complex mental attitude capable of producing +concrete simplicity." + +"Help!" whispered Harrow, but the poet had caught his eye, and was +fixing the young man with a smile that held him as sirup holds a fly. + +"You ask me what is Art, young sir? Why should I not heed you? Why +should I not answer you? What artificial barriers, falsely called +convention, shall force me to ignore the mute eloquence of your +questioning eyes? You ask me what is Art. I will tell you; it is +_this_!" And the poet, inverting his thumb, pressed it into the air. +Then, carefully inspecting the dent he had made in the atmosphere, he +erased it with a gesture and folded his arms, looking gravely at Harrow, +whose fascinated eyes protruded. + +Behind him Lethbridge whispered hoarsely, "I told you how it would be in +the New Arts Theater. I told you a young man alone was likely to get +spoken to. Now those six girls know you're a broker!" + +"Don't say it so loud," muttered Harrow savagely. "I'm all right so far, +for I haven't said a word." + +"You'd better not," returned the other. "I wish that curtain would go up +and stay up. It will be my turn to sit next them after this act, you +know." + +Harrow ventured to glance at the superb young creature sitting beside +him, and at the same instant she looked up and, catching his eye, smiled +in the most innocently friendly fashion--the direct, clear-eyed advance +of a child utterly unconscious of self. + +"I have never before been in a theater," she said; "have you?" + +"I--I beg your pardon," stammered Harrow when he found his voice, "but +_were_ you good enough to speak to _me_?" + +"Why, yes!" she said, surprised but amiable; "shouldn't I have spoken to +you?" + +"Indeed--oh, indeed you should!" said Harrow hastily, with a quick +glance at the poet. The poet, however, appeared to be immersed in +thought, lids partially closed, a benignant smile imprinted on his heavy +features. + +"_What_ are you doing?" breathed Lethbridge in his ear. Harrow calmly +turned his back on his closest friend and gazed rapturously at his +goddess. And again her bewildering smile broke out and he fairly blinked +in its glory. + +"This is my first play," she said; "I'm a little excited. I hope I shall +care for it." + +"Haven't you ever seen a play?" asked Harrow, tenderly amazed. + +"Never. You see, we always lived in the country, and we have always been +poor until my sister Iole married. And now our father has come to live +with his new son-in-law. So that is how we came to be here in New York." + +"I am _so_ glad you _did_ come," said Harrow fervently. + +"So are we. We have never before seen anything like a large city. We +have never had enough money to see one. But now that Iole is married, +everything is possible. It is all so interesting for us--particularly +the clothing. Do you like my gown?" + +"It is a dream!" stammered the infatuated youth. + +"Do you think so? I think it is wonderful--but not very comfortable." + +"Doesn't it fit?" he inquired. + +"Perfectly; that's the trouble. It is not comfortable. We never before +were permitted to wear skirts and all sorts of pretty fluffy frills +under them, and _such_ high heels, and _such_ long stockings, and _such_ +tight lacing--" She hesitated, then calmly: "But I believe father told +us that we are not to mention our pretty underwear, though it's hard not +to, as it's the first we ever had." + +Harrow was past all speech. + +"I wish I had my lounging-suit on," she said with a sigh and a hitch of +her perfectly modeled shoulders. + +"W--what sort of things do you usually dress in?" he ventured. + +"Why, in dress-reform clothes!" she said, laughing. "We never have worn +anything else." + +"Bloomers!" + +"I don't know; we had trousers and blouses and sandals--something like +the pink pajamas we have for night-wear now. Formerly we wore nothing at +night. I am beginning to wonder, from the way people look at us when we +speak of this, whether we were odd. But all our lives we have never +thought about clothing. However, I am glad you like my new gown, and I +fancy I'll get used to this tight lacing in time.... What is your name?" + +"James Harrow," he managed to say, aware of an innocence and directness +of thought and speech which were awaking in him faintest responsive +echoes. They were the blessed echoes from the dim, fair land of +childhood, but he did not know it. + +"James Harrow," she repeated with a friendly nod. "My name is Lissa--my +first name; the other is Guilford. My father is the famous poet, +Clarence Guilford. He named us all after butterflies--all my +sisters"--counting them on her white fingers while her eyes rested on +him--"Chlorippe, twelve years old, that pretty one next to my father; +then Philodice, thirteen; Dione, fourteen; Aphrodite, fifteen; Cybele, +the one next to me, sixteen, and almost seventeen; and myself, +seventeen, almost eighteen. Besides, there is Iole, who married Mr. +Wayne, and Vanessa, married to Mr. Briggs. They have been off on Mr. +Wayne's yacht, the _Thendara_, on their wedding trip. Now you know all +about us. Do you think you would like to know us?" + +"_Like_ to! I'd simply love to! I----" + +"That is very nice," she said unembarrassed. + +"I thought I should like you when I saw you leaning over and listening +so reverently to father's epigrams. Then, besides, I had nobody but my +sisters to talk to. Oh, you can't imagine how many attractive men I see +every day in New York--and I should like to know them all--and many _do_ +look at me as though they would like it, too; but Mr. Wayne is so queer, +and so are father and Mr. Briggs--about my speaking to people in public +places. They have told me not to, but I--I--thought I would," she ended, +smiling. "What harm can it do for me to talk to you?" + +"It's perfectly heavenly of you----" + +"Oh, do you think so? I wonder what father thinks"--turning to look; +then, resuming: "He generally makes us stop, but I am quite sure he +expected me to talk to you." + +The lone note of a piano broke the thread of the sweetest, maddest +discourse Harrow had ever listened to; the girl's cheeks flushed and she +turned expectantly toward the curtained stage. Again the lone note, +thumped vigorously, sounded a staccato monotone. + +"Precious--very precious," breathed the poet, closing his eyes in a sort +of fatty ecstasy. + + + + +VIII + + [Illustration] + + +Harrow looked at his program, then, leaning toward Lissa, whispered: +"That is the overture to _Attitudes_--the program explains it: 'A series +of pale gray notes'--what the deuce!--'pale _gray_ notes giving the +value of the highest light in which the play is pitched'--" He paused, +aghast. + +"I understand," whispered the girl, resting her lovely arm on the chair +beside him. "Look! The curtain is rising! _How_ my heart beats! Does +yours?" + +He nodded, unable to articulate. + +The curtain rose very, very slowly, upon the first scene of Barnard +Haw's masterpiece of satire; and the lovely firing-line quivered, blue +batteries opening very wide, lips half parted in breathless +anticipation. And about that time Harrow almost expired as a soft, +impulsive hand closed nervously over his. + +And there, upon the stage, the human species was delicately vivisected +in one act; human frailty exposed, human motives detected, human desire +quenched in all the brilliancy of perverted epigram and the scalpel +analysis of the astigmatic. Life, love, and folly were portrayed with +the remorseless accuracy of an eye doubly sensitive through the stimulus +of an intellectual strabismus. Barnard Haw at his greatest! And how he +dissected attitudes; the attitude assumed by the lover, the father, the +wife, the daughter, the mother, the mistress--proving that virtue, _per +se_, is a pose. Attitudes! How he flayed those who assumed them. His +attitude toward attitudes was remorseless, uncompromising, inexorable. + +And the curtain fell on the first act, its gray and silver folds swaying +in the half-crazed whirlwind of applause. + +Lissa's silky hand trembled in Harrow's, her grasp relaxed. He dropped +his hand and, searching, encountered hers again. + +"_What_ do you think of it?" she asked. + +"I don't think there's any harm in it," he stammered guiltily, supposing +she meant the contact of their interlaced fingers. + +"Harm? I didn't mean harm," she said. "The play is perfectly harmless, +I think." + +"Oh--the play! Oh, that's just _that_ sort of play, you know. They're +all alike; a lot of people go about telling each other how black white +is and that white is always black--until somebody suddenly discovers +that black and white are a sort of greenish red. Then the audience +applauds frantically in spite of the fact that everybody in it had +concluded that black and white were really a shade of yellowish yellow!" + +She had begun to laugh; and as he proceeded, excited by her approval, +the most adorable gaiety possessed her. + +"I _never_ heard anything half so clever!" she said, leaning toward him. + +"I? Clever!" he faltered. "You--you don't really mean that!" + +"Why? Don't you know you are? Don't you know in your heart that you have +said the very thing that I in my heart found no words to explain?" + +"Did I, really?" + +"Yes. Isn't it delightful!" + +It was; Harrow, holding tightly to the soft little hand half hidden by +the folds of her gown, cast a sneaking look behind him, and encountered +the fixed and furious glare of his closest friend, who had pinched him. + +"Pig!" hissed Lethbridge, "do I sit next or not?" + +"I--I can't; I'll explain----" + +"_Do_ I?" + +"You don't understand----" + +"I understand _you_!" + +"No, you don't. Lissa and I----" + +"Lissa!" + +"Ya--as! We're talking very cleverly; _I_ am, too. Wha'd'you wan' to +butt in for?" with sudden venom. + +"Butt in! Do you think I want to sit here and look at tha' damfool play! +Fix it or I'll run about biting!" + +Harrow turned. "Lissa," he whispered in an exquisitely modulated voice, +"what would happen if I spoke to your sister Cybele?" + +"Why, she'd answer you, silly!" said the girl, laughing. "Wouldn't you, +Cybele?" + +"I'll tell you what I'd like to do," said Cybele, leaning forward: "I'd +like very much to talk to that attractive man who is trying to look at +me--only your head has been in the way." And she smiled innocently at +Lethbridge. + +So Lissa moved down one. Harrow took her seat, and Cybele dropped gaily +into Harrow's vacant place. + +"_Now_," she said to Lethbridge, "we can tell each other all sorts of +things. I was so glad that you looked at me all the while and so vexed +that I couldn't talk to you. _How_ do you like my new gown? And what is +your name? Have you ever before seen a play? I haven't, and my name is +Cybele." + +"It is per--perfectly heavenly to hear you talk," stammered Lethbridge. + +Harrow heard him, turned and looked him full in the eyes, then slowly +resumed his attitude of attention: for the poet was speaking: + +"The Art of Barnard Haw is the quintessence of simplicity. What is the +quintessence of simplicity?" He lifted one heavy pudgy hand, joined the +tips of his soft thumb and forefinger, and selecting an atom of air, +deftly captured it. "_That_ is the quintessence of simplicity; _that_ is +Art!" + +He smiled largely on Harrow, whose eyes had become wild again. + +"_That!_" he repeated, pinching out another molecule of atmosphere, "and +_that_!" punching dent after dent in the viewless void with inverted +thumb. + +On the hapless youth the overpowering sweetness of his smile acted like +an anesthetic; he saw things waver, even wabble; and his hidden clutch +on Lissa's fingers tightened spasmodically. + +"Thank you," said the poet, leaning forward to fix the young man with +his heavy-lidded eyes. "Thank you for the precious thoughts you inspire +in me. Bless you. Our mental and esthetic commune has been very precious +to me--very, very precious," he mooned bulkily, his rich voice dying to +a resonant, soothing drone. + +Lissa turned to the petrified young man. "Please be clever some more," +she whispered. "You were so perfectly delightful about this play." + +"Child!" he groaned, "I have scarcely sufficient intellect to keep me +overnight. You must know that I haven't understood one single thing your +father has been kind enough to say." + +"What didn't you understand?" she asked, surprised. + +"'_That!_'" He flourished his thumb. "What does '_That!_' mean?" + +"Oh, that is only a trick father has caught from painters who tell you +how they're going to use their brushes. But the truth is I've usually +noticed that they do most of their work in the air with their thumbs.... +What else did you not understand?" + +"Oh--Art!" he said wearily. "What is it? Or, as Barnard Haw, the higher +exponent of the Webberfield philosophy, might say: 'What it iss? Yess?'" + +"I don't know what the Webberfield philosophy is," said Lissa +innocently, "but Art is only things one believes. And it's awfully hard, +too, because nobody sees the same thing in the same way, or believes the +same things that others believe. So there are all kinds of Art. I think +the only way to be sure is when the artist makes himself and his +audience happier; then that is Art.... But one need not use one's thumb, +you know." + +"The--the way you make me happy? Is _that_ Art?" + +"Do I?" she laughed. "Perhaps; for I am happy, too--far, far happier +than when I read the works of Henry Haynes. And Henry Haynes _is_ Art. +Oh, dear!" + +But Harrow knew nothing of the intellectual obstetrics which produced +that great master's monotypes. + +"Have you read Double or Quits?" he ventured shyly. "It's a humming Wall +Street story showing up the entire bunch and exposing the trading-stamp +swindle of the great department stores. The heroine is a detective +and--" She was looking at him so intently that he feared he had said +something he shouldn't. "But I don't suppose that would interest you," +he muttered, ashamed. + +"It does! It is _new_! I--I never read that sort of a novel. Tell me!" + +"Are you serious?" + +"Of course. It is perfectly wonderful to think of a heroine being a +detective." + +"Oh, she's a dream!" he said with cautious enthusiasm. "She falls in +love with the worst stock-washer in Wall Street, and pushes him off a +ferry-boat when she finds he has cornered the trading-stamp market and +is bankrupting her father, who is president of the department store +trust----" + +"Go on!" she whispered breathlessly. + +"I will, but----" + +"What is it? Oh--is it my hand you are looking for? Here it is; I only +wanted to smooth my hair a moment. Now tell me; for I never, never knew +that such books were written. The books my father permits us to read are +not concerned with all those vital episodes of every-day life. Nobody +ever _does_ anything in the few novels I am allowed to read--except, +once, in _Cranford_, somebody gets up out of a chair in one chapter--but +sits down again in the next," she added wearily. + +"_I'll_ send you something to make anybody sit up and stay up," he said +indignantly. "Baffles, the Gent Burglar; Love Militant, by Nora Norris +Newman; The Crown-Snatcher, by Reginald Rodman Roony--oh, it's simply +ghastly to think of what you've missed! This is the Victorian era; you +have a right to be fully cognizant of the great literary movements of +the twentieth century!" + +"I love to hear you say such things," she said, her beautiful face +afire. "I desire to be modern--intensely, humanly modern. All my life I +have been nourished on the classics of ages dead; the literature of the +Orient, of Asia, of Europe I am familiar with; the literature of +England--as far as Andrew Bang's boyhood verses. I--all my +sisters--read, write, speak, even think, in ten languages. I long for +something to read which is vital, familiar, friendly--something of my +own time, my own day. I wish to know what young people do and dare; what +they really think, what they believe, strive for, desire!" + +"Well--well, I don't think people really do and say and think the things +that you read in interesting modern novels," he said doubtfully. "Fact +is, only the tiresome novels seem to tell a portion of the truth; but +they end by overdoing it and leave you yawning with a nasty taste in +your mouth. I--I think you'd better let your father pick out your +novels." + +"I don't want to," she said rebelliously. "I want _you_ to." + +He looked at the beautiful, rebellious face and took a closer hold on +the hidden hand. + +"I wish you--I wish I could choose--everything for you," he said +unsteadily. + +"I wish so, too. You are exactly the sort of man I like." + +"Do--do you mean it?" + +"Why, yes," she replied, opening her splendid eyes. "Don't I show the +pleasure I take in being with you?" + +"But--would you tire of me if--if we always--forever----" + +"Were friends? No." + +"Mo-m-m-more than friends?" Then he choked. + +The speculation in her wide eyes deepened. "What do you mean?" she asked +curiously. + +But again the lone note of the thumped piano signaled silence. In the +sudden hush the poet opened his lids with a sticky smile and folded his +hands over his abdomen, plump thumbs joined. + +"_What_ do you mean?" repeated Lissa hurriedly, tightening her slender +fingers around Harrow's. + +"I mean--I mean----" + +He turned in silence and their eyes met. A moment later her fingers +relaxed limply in his; their hands were still in contact--but scarcely +so; and so remained while the _Attitudes_ of Barnard Haw held the stage. + + + + +IX + + [Illustration] + + +There was a young wife behind the footlights explaining to a young man +who was not her husband that her marriage vows need not be too seriously +considered if he, the young man, found them too inconvenient. Which +scared the young man, who was plainly a purveyor of heated air and a +short sport. And, although she explained very clearly that if he needed +her in his business he had better say so quick, the author's invention +gave out just there and he called in the young wife's husband to help +him out. + +And all the while the battery of round blue eyes gazed on unwinking; the +poet's dewlaps quivered with stored emotion, and the spellbound audience +breathed as people breathe when the hostess at table attempts to smooth +over a bad break by her husband. + +"Is _that_ life?" whispered Cybele to Lethbridge, her sensitive mouth +aquiver. "Did the author actually know such people? Do _you_? Is +conscience really only an attitude? Is instinct the only guide? Am +_I_--really--bad----" + +"No, no," whispered Lethbridge; "all that is only a dramatist's +attitude. Don't--don't look grieved! Why, every now and then some man +discovers he can attract more attention by standing on his head. That is +all--really, that is all. Barnard Haw on his feet is not amusing; but +the same gentleman on his head is worth an orchestra-chair. When a man +wears his trousers where other men wear their coats, people are bound to +turn around. It is not a new trick. Mystes, the Argive comic poet, and +the White Queen, taught this author the value of substituting 'is' for +'is not,' until, from standing so long inverted, he himself forgets what +he means, and at this point the eminent brothers Rogers take up the +important work.... Please, please, Cybele, _don't_ take it seriously!... +If you look that way--if you are unhappy, I--I----" + +A gentle snore from the poet transfixed the firing-line, but the snore +woke up the poet and he mechanically pinched an atom out of the +atmosphere, blinking at the stage. + +"Precious--very, very precious," he murmured drowsily. "Thank you--thank +everybody--" And he sank into an obese and noiseless slumber as the gray +and silver curtain slowly fell. The applause, far from rousing him, +merely soothed him; a honeyed smile hovered on his lips which formed the +words "Thank you." That was all; the firing-line stirred, breathed +deeply, and folded twelve soft white hands. Chlorippe, twelve, and +Philodice, thirteen, yawned, pink-mouthed, sleepy-eyed; Dione, fourteen, +laid her golden head on the shoulder of Aphrodite, fifteen. + +The finger-tips of Lissa and Harrow still touched, scarcely clinging; +they had turned toward one another when the curtain fell. But the play, +to them, had been a pantomime of silhouettes, the stage, a void edged +with flame--the scene, the audience, the theater, the poet himself as +unreal and meaningless as the shadowy attitudes of the shapes that +vanished when the phantom curtain closed its folds. + +And through the subdued light, turning noiselessly, they peered at one +another, conscious that naught else was real in the misty, golden-tinted +gloom; that they were alone together there in a formless, soundless +chaos peopled by shapes impalpable as dreams. + +"_Now_ tell me," she said, her lips scarcely moving as the soft voice +stirred them like carmine petals stirring in a scented breeze. + +"Tell you that it is--love?" + +"Yes, tell me." + +"That I love you, Lissa?" + +"Yes; that!" + +He stooped nearer; his voice was steady and very low, and she leaned +with bent head to listen, clear-eyed, intelligent, absorbed. + +"So _that_ is love--what you tell me?" + +"Yes--partly." + +"And the other part?" + +"The other part is when you find you love me." + +"I--do. I think it must be love, because I can't bear to have you go +away. Besides, I wish you to tell me--things." + +"Ask me." + +"Well--when two--like you and me, begin to love--what happens?" + +"We confess it----" + +"I do; I'm not ashamed.... Should I be? And then?" + +"Then?" he faltered. + +"Yes; do we kiss?... For I am curious to have you do it--I am so certain +I shall adore you when you do.... I wish we could go away somewhere +together.... But we can't do that until I am a bride, can we? Oh--do you +really want me?" + +"Can you ask?" he breathed. + +"Ask? Yes--yes.... I love to ask! Your hand thrills me. We can't go away +now, can we? It took Iole so long to be permitted to go away with Mr. +Wayne--all that time lost in so many foolish ways--when a girl is so +impatient.... Is it not strange how my heart beats when I look into your +eyes? Oh, there can be no doubt about it, I am dreadfully in love.... +And so quickly, too. I suppose it's because I am in such splendid +health; don't you?" + +"I--I--well----" + +"Oh, I _do_ want to get up at once and go away with you! _Can't_ we? +I could explain to father." + +"Wait!" he gasped, "he--he's asleep. Don't speak--don't touch him." + +"How unselfish you are," she breathed. "No, you are not hurting my +fingers. Tell me more--about love and the blessed years awaiting us, and +about our children--oh, is it not wonderful!" + +"Ex--extremely," he managed to mutter, touching his suddenly dampened +forehead with his handkerchief, and attempting to set his thoughts in +some sort of order. He could not; the incoherence held him speechless, +dazed, under the magic of this superb young being instinct with the soft +fire of life. + +Her loveliness, her innocence, the beautiful, direct gaze, the childlike +fulness of mouth and contour of cheek and throat, left him spellbound. +The very air around them seemed suffused with the vital glow of her +youth and beauty; each breath they drew increased their wonder, till the +whole rosy universe seemed thrilling and singing at their feet, and they +two, love-crowned, alone, saw Time and Eternity flowing like a golden +tide under the spell of Paradise. + +"Jim!" + +The hoarse whisper of Lethbridge shook the vision from him; he turned a +flushed countenance to his friend; but Cybele spoke: + +"We are very tired sitting here. We would like to take some tea at +Sherry's," she whispered. "What do you think we had better do? It seems +so--so futile to sit here--when we wish to be alone together----" + +"You and Henry, too!" gasped Harrow. + +"Yes; do you wonder?" She leaned swiftly in front of him; a fragrant +breeze stirred his hair. "Lissa, I'm desperately infatuated with Mr. +Lethbridge. Do you see any use in our staying here when I'm simply dying +to have him all to myself somewhere?" + +"No, it is silly. I wish to go, too. Shall we?" + +"You need not go," began Cybele; then stopped, aware of the new magic in +her sister's eyes. "Lissa! Lissa!" she said softly. "_You_, too! Oh, my +dear--my dearest!" + +"Dear, is it not heavenly? I--I--was quite sure that if I ever had a +good chance to talk to a man I really liked something would happen. And +it has." + +"If Philodice might awaken father perhaps he would let us go now," +whispered Cybele. "Henry says it does not take more than an hour----" + +"To become a bride?" + +"Yes; he knows a clergyman very near----" + +"Do you?" inquired Lissa. Lethbridge nodded and gave a scared glance at +Harrow, who returned it as though stunned. + +"But--but," muttered the latter, "your father doesn't know who we +are----" + +"Oh, yes, he does," said Cybele calmly, "for he sent you the tickets and +placed us near you so that if we found that we liked you we might talk +to you----" + +"Only he made a mistake in your name," added Lissa to Harrow, "for he +wrote 'Stanley West, Esq.' on the envelope. I know because I mailed it." + +"Invited West--put _you_ where you could--good God!" + +"What is the matter?" whispered Lissa in consternation; "have--have I +said anything I should not?" And, as he was silent: "What is it? Have I +hurt you--I who----" + +There was a silence; she looked him through and through and, after a +while, deep, deep in his soul, she saw, awaking once again, all he had +deemed dead--the truth, the fearless reason, the sweet and faultless +instinct of the child whose childhood had become a memory. Then, once +more spiritually equal, they smiled at one another; and Lissa, pausing +to gather up her ermine stole, passed noiselessly out to the aisle, +where she stood, perfectly self-possessed, while her sister joined her, +smiling vaguely down at the firing-line and their lifted battery of +blue, inquiring eyes. + +The poet--and whether he had slumbered or not nobody but himself is +qualified to judge--the poet pensively opened one eye and peeped at +Harrow as that young man bent beside him with Lethbridge at his elbow. + +"In sending those two tickets you have taught us a new creed," whispered +Harrow; "you have taught us innocence and simplicity--you have taught us +to be ourselves, to scorn convention, to say and do what we believe. +Thank you." + +"Dear friend," said the poet in an artistically-modulated whisper, +"I have long, long followed you in the high course of your career. To me +the priceless simplicity of poverty: to you the responsibility for +millions. To me the daisy, the mountain stream, the woodchuck and my +Art! To you the busy mart, the haunts of men, the ship of finance laden +with a nation's wealth, the awful burden of millions for which you are +answerable to One higher!" He raised one soft, solemn finger. + +The young men gazed at one another, astounded. Lethbridge's startled +eyes said, "He still takes you for Stanley West!" + +"Let him!" flashed the grim answer back from the narrowing gaze of +Harrow. + +"Daughters," whispered the poet playfully, "are you so soon tired of the +brilliant gems of satire which our master dramatist scatters with a +lavish----" + +"No," said Cybele; "we are only very much in love." + +The poet sat up briskly and looked hard at Harrow. + +"Your--your friend?" he began--"doubtless associated with you in the +high----" + +"We are inseparable," said Harrow calmly, "in the busy marts." + +The sweetness of the poet's smile was almost overpowering. + +"To discuss this sudden--ah--condition which so--ah--abruptly confronts +a father, I can not welcome you to my little home in the wild--which I +call the House Beautiful," he said. "I would it were possible. There all +is quiet and simple and exquisitely humble--though now, through the +grace of my valued son, there is no mortgage hanging like the brand of +Damocles above our lowly roof. But I bid you welcome in the name of my +son-in-law, on whom--I should say, _with_ whom--I and my babes are +sojourning in this clamorous city. Come and let us talk, soul to soul, +heart to heart; come and partake of what simples we have. Set the day, +the hour. I thank you for understanding me." + +"The hour," replied Harrow, "will be about five P.M. on Monday +afternoon.... You see, we are going out now to--to----" + +"To marry each other," whispered Lissa with all her sweet fearlessness. +"Oh, dear! there goes that monotonous piano and we'll be blocking +people's view!" + +The poet tried to rise upon his great flat feet, but he was wedged too +tightly; he strove to speak, to call after them, but the loud thumping +notes of the piano drowned his voice. + +"Chlorippe! Dione! Philodice! Tell them to stop! Run after them and stay +them!" panted the poet. + +"_You_ go!" pouted Dione. + +"No, I don't want to," explained Chlorippe, "because the curtain is +rising." + +"I'll go," sighed Philodice, rising to her slender height and moving up +the aisle as the children of queens moved once upon a time. She came +back presently, saying: "Dear me, they're dreadfully in love, and they +have driven away in two hansoms." + +"Gone!" wheezed the poet. + +"Quite," said Philodice, staring at the stage and calmly folding her +smooth little hands. + + [Illustration] + + + + +X + + [Illustration] + + +When the curtain at last descended upon the parting attitudes of the +players the poet arose with an alacrity scarcely to be expected in a +gentleman of his proportions. Two and two his big, healthy +daughters--there remained but four now--followed him to the lobby. When +he was able to pack all four into a cab he did so and sent them home +without ceremony; then, summoning another vehicle, gave the driver the +directions and climbed in. + +Half an hour later he was deposited under the bronze shelter of the +porte-cochere belonging to an extremely expensive mansion overlooking +the park; and presently, admitted, he prowled ponderously and softly +about an over-gilded rococo reception-room. But all anxiety had now fled +from his face; he coyly nipped the atmosphere at intervals as various +portions of the furniture attracted his approval; he stood before a +splendid canvas of Goya and pushed his thumb at it; he moused and +prowled and peeped and snooped, and his smile grew larger and larger and +sweeter and sweeter, until--dare I say it!--a low smooth chuckle, all +but noiseless, rippled the heavy cheeks of the poet; and, raising his +eyes, he beheld a stocky, fashionably-dressed and red-faced man of forty +intently eying him. The man spoke decisively and at once: + +"Mr. Guilford? Quite so. I am Mr. West." + +"You are--" The poet's smile flickered like a sickly candle. "I--this +is--are you Mr. _Stanley_ West?" + +"I am." + +"It must--it probably was your son----" + +"I am unmarried," said the president of the Occidental tartly, "and the +only Stanley West in the directory." + +The poet swayed, then sat down rather suddenly on a Louis XIV chair +which crackled. Several times he passed an ample hand over his features. +A mechanical smile struggled to break out, but it was not _the_ smile, +any more than glucose is sugar. + +"Did--ah--_did_ you receive two tickets for the New Arts +Theater--ah--Mr. West?" he managed to say at last. + +"I did. Thank you very much, but I was not able to avail myself----" + +"Quite so. And--ah--do you happen to know who it was that--ah--presented +your tickets and occupied the seats this afternoon?" + +"Why, I suppose it was two young men in our employ--Mr. Lethbridge, who +appraises property for us, and Mr. Harrow, one of our brokers. May I ask +why?" + +For a long while the poet sat there, eyes squeezed tightly closed as +though in bodily anguish. Then he opened one of them: + +"They are--ah--quite penniless, I presume?" + +"They have prospects," said West briefly. "Why?" + +The poet rose; something of his old attitude returned; he feebly gazed +at a priceless Massero vase, made a half-hearted attempt to join thumb +and forefinger, then rambled toward the door, where two spotless +flunkies attended with his hat and overcoat. + +"Mr. Guilford," said West, following, a trifle perplexed and remorseful, +"I should be very--er--extremely happy to subscribe to the New Arts +Theater--if that is what you wished." + +"Thank you," said the poet absently as a footman invested him with a +seal-lined coat. + +"Is there anything more I could do for you, Mr. Guilford?" + +The poet's abstracted gaze rested on him, then shifted. + +"I--I don't feel very well," said the poet hoarsely, sitting down in a +hall-seat. Suddenly he began to cry, fatly. + +Nobody did anything; the stupefied footman gaped; West looked, walked +nervously the length of the hall, looked again, and paced the inlaid +floor to and fro, until the bell at the door sounded and a messenger-boy +appeared with a note scribbled on a yellow telegraph blank: + + "Lethbridge and I just married and madly happy. Will be on hand + Monday, sure. Can't you advance us three months' salary? + + "HARROW." + +"Idiots!" said West. Then, looking up: "What are you waiting for, boy?" + +"Me answer," replied the messenger calmly. + +"Oh, you were told to bring back an answer?" + +"Ya-as." + +"Then give me your pencil, my infant Chesterfield." And West scribbled +on the same yellow blank: + + "Checks for you on your desks Monday. Congratulations. I'll see you + through, you damfools. + + "WEST." + +"Here's a quarter for you," observed West, eying the messenger. + +"T'anks. Gimme the note." + +West glanced at the moist, fat poet; then suddenly that intuition which +is bred in men of his stamp set him thinking. And presently he +tentatively added two and two. + +"Mr. Guilford," he said, "I wonder whether this note--and my answer to +it--concerns you." + +The poet used his handkerchief, adjusted a pair of glasses, and blinked +at the penciled scrawl. Twice he read it; then, like the full sun +breaking through a drizzle--like the glory of a search-light dissolving +a sticky fog, _the_ smile of smiles illuminated everything: footmen, +messenger, financier. + +"Thank you," he said thickly; "thank you for your thought. Thought is +but a trifle to bestow--a little thing in itself. But it is the little +things that are most important--the smaller the thing the more vital its +importance, until"--he added in a genuine burst of his old +eloquence--"the thing becomes so small that it isn't anything at all, +and then the value of nothing becomes so enormous that it is past all +computation. That is a very precious thought! Thank you for it; thank +you for understanding. Bless you!" + +Exuding a rich sweetness from every feature the poet moved toward the +door at a slow fleshy waddle, head wagging, small eyes half closed, +thumbing the atmosphere, while his lips moved in wordless +self-communion: "The attainment of nothing at all--that is rarest, the +most precious, the most priceless of triumphs--very, very precious. +So"--and his glance was sideways and nimbly intelligent--"so if nothing +at all is of such inestimable value, those two young pups can live on +their expectations--_quod erat demonstrandum_." + +He shuddered and looked up at the facade of the gorgeous house which he +had just quitted. + +"So many sunny windows to sit in--to dream in. I--I should have found it +agreeable. Pups!" + +Crawling into his cab he sank into a pulpy mound, partially closing his +eyes. And upon his pursed-up lips, unuttered yet imminent, a word +trembled and wabbled as the cab bounced down the avenue. It may have +been "precious"; it was probably "pups!" + + [Illustration] + + + + +XI + + [Illustration] + + +But there were further poignant emotions in store for the poet, for, as +his cab swung out of the avenue and drew up before the great house on +the southwest corner of Seventy-ninth Street and Madison Avenue, he +caught a glimpse of his eldest daughter, Iole, vanishing into the house, +and, at the same moment, he perceived his son-in-law, Mr. Wayne, paying +the driver of a hansom-cab, while several liveried servants bore +houseward the luggage of the wedding journey. + +"George!" he cried dramatically, thrusting his head from the window of +his own cab as that vehicle drew up with a jolt that made his stomach +vibrate, "George! I am here!" + +Wayne looked around, paid the hansom-driver, and, advancing slowly, +offered his hand as the poet descended to the sidewalk. "How are you?" +he inquired without enthusiasm as the poet evinced a desire to paw him. +"All is well here, I hope." + +"George! Son!" The poet gulped till his dewlap contracted. He laid a +large plump hand on Wayne's shoulders. "Where are my lambs?" he +quavered; "where are they?" + +"Which lambs?" inquired the young man uneasily. "If you mean Iole and +Vanessa----" + +"No! My ravished lambs! Give me my stolen lambs. Trifle no longer with a +father's affections! Lissa!--Cybele! Great Heavens! Where are they?" he +sobbed hoarsely. + +"Well, _where_ are they?" retorted his son-in-law, horrified. "Come into +the house; people in the street are looking." + +In the broad hall the poet paused, staggered, strove to paw Wayne, then +attempted to fold his arms in an attitude of bitter scorn. + +"Two penniless wastrels," he muttered, "are wedded to my lambs. But +there are laws to invoke----" + +An avalanche of pretty girls in pink pajamas came tumbling down the +bronze and marble staircase, smothering poet and son-in-law in happy +embraces; and "Oh, George!" they cried, "how sunburned you are! So is +Iole, but she is too sweet! Did you have a perfectly lovely honeymoon? +When is Vanessa coming? And how is Mr. Briggs? And--oh, do you know the +news? Cybele and Lissa married two such extremely attractive young men +this afternoon----" + +"Married!" cried Wayne, releasing Dione's arms from his neck. "_Whom_ +did they marry?" + +"Pups!" sniveled the poet--"penniless, wastrel pups!" + +"Their names," said Aphrodite coolly, from the top of the staircase, +"are James Harrow and Henry Lethbridge. I wish there had been three----" + +"Harrow! Lethbridge!" gasped Wayne. "When"--he turned helplessly to the +poet--"when did they do this?" + +Through the gay babble of voices and amid cries and interruptions, Wayne +managed to comprehend the story. He tried to speak, but everybody except +the poet laughed and chatted, and the poet, suffused now with a sort of +sad sweetness, waved his hand in slow unctuous waves until even the +footmen's eyes protruded. + +"It's all right," said Wayne, raising his voice; "it's topsyturvy and +irregular, but it's all right. I've known Harrow and Leth--For Heaven's +sake, Dione, don't kiss me like that; I want to talk!--You're hugging me +too hard, Philodice. Oh, Lord! _will_ you stop chattering all together! +I--I--Do you want the house to be pinched?" + +He glanced up at Aphrodite, who sat astride the banisters lighting a +cigarette. "Who taught you to do that?" he cried. + +"I'm sixteen, now," she said coolly, "and I thought I'd try it." + +Her voice was drowned in the cries and laughter; Wayne, with his hands +to his ears, stared up at the piquant figure in its pink pajamas and +sandals, then his distracted gaze swept the groups of parlor maids and +footmen around the doors: "Great guns!" he thundered, "this is the limit +and they'll pull the house! Morton!"--to a footman--"ring up 7--00--9B +Murray Hill. My compliments and congratulations to Mr. Lethbridge and to +Mr. Harrow, and say that we usually dine at eight! Philodice! stop that +howling! Oh, just you wait until Iole has a talk with you all for +running about the house half-dressed----" + +"I _won't_ wear straight fronts indoors, and my garters hurt!" cried +Aphrodite defiantly, preparing to slide down the banisters. + +"Help!" said Wayne faintly, looking from Dione to Chlorippe, from +Chlorippe to Philodice, from Philodice to Aphrodite. "I won't have my +house turned into a confounded Art Nouveau music hall. I tell you----" + +"Let _me_ tell them," said Iole, laughing and kissing her hand to the +poet as she descended the stairs in her pretty bride's traveling gown. + +She checked Aphrodite, looked wisely around at her lovely sisters, then +turned to remount the stairs, summoning them with a gay little +confidential gesture. + +And when the breathless crew had trooped after her, and the pad of +little, eager, sandaled feet had died away on the thick rugs of the +landing above, the poet, clasping his fat white hands, thumbs joined, +across his rotund abdomen, stole a glance at his dazed son-in-law, which +was partly apprehensive and partly significant, almost cunning. "An +innocent saturnalia," he murmured. "The charming abandon of children." +He unclasped one hand and waved it. "Did you note the unstudied beauty +of the composition as my babes glided in and out following the natural +and archaic yet exquisitely balanced symmetry of the laws which govern +mass and line composition, all unconsciously, yet perhaps"--he reversed +his thumb and left his sign manual upon the atmosphere--"perhaps," he +mused, overflowing with sweetness--"perhaps the laws of Art Nouveau are +divine!--perhaps angels and cherubim, unseen, watch fondly o'er my +babes, lest all unaware they guiltlessly violate some subtle canon of +Art, marring the perfect symmetry of eternal preciousness." + +Wayne's mouth was partly open, his eyes hopeless yet fixed upon the poet +with a fearful fascination. + +"Art," breathed the poet, "is a solemn, a fearful responsibility. _You_ +are responsible, George, and some day you must answer for every +violation of Art, to the eternal outraged fitness of things. _You_ must +answer, _I_ must answer, every soul must answer!" + +"A-ans--answer! What, for God's sake?" stammered Wayne. + +The poet, deliberately joining thumb and forefinger, pinched out a +portion of the atmosphere. + +"That! _That_ George! For that is Art! And Art is justice! And justice, +affronted, demands an answer." + +He refolded his arms, mused for a space, then stealing a veiled glance +sideways: + +"You--you are--ah--convinced that my two lost lambs need dread no bodily +vicissitudes----" + +"Cybele and Lissa?" + +"Ah--yes----" + +"Lethbridge will have money to burn if he likes the aroma of the smoke. +Harrow has burnt several stacks already; but his father will continue to +fire the furnace. Is _that_ what you mean?" + +"No!" said the poet softly, "no, George, that is not what I mean. Wealth +is a great thing. Only the little things are precious to me. And the +most precious of all is absolutely nothing!" But, as he wandered away +into the great luxurious habitation of his son-in-law, his smile grew +sweeter and sweeter and his half-closed eyes swam, melting into a +saccharine reverie. + +"The little things," he murmured, thumbing the air absently--"the little +things are precious, but not as precious as absolutely nothing. For +nothing is perfection. Thank you," he said sweetly to a petrified +footman, "thank you for understanding. It is precious--very, very +precious to know that I am understood." + + [Illustration] + + + + +XII + + [Illustration] + + +By early springtide the poet had taken an old-fashioned house on the +south side of Washington Square; his sons-in-law standing for it--as +the poet was actually beginning to droop amid the civilized luxury of +Madison Avenue. He missed what he called his own "den." So he got it, +rent free, and furnished it sparingly with furniture of a slabby variety +until the effect produced might, profanely speaking, be described as +dinky. + +His friends, too, who haunted the house, bore curious conformity to the +furnishing, being individually in various degrees either squatty, slabby +or dinky; and twice a week they gathered for "Conferences" upon what he +and they described as "L'Arr Noovo." + +L'Arr Noovo, a pleasing variation of the slab style in Art, had +profoundly impressed the poet. Glass window-panes, designed with tulip +patterns, were cunningly inserted into all sorts of furniture where +window-glass didn't belong, and the effect appeared to be profitable; +for up-stairs in his "shop," workmen were very busy creating +extraordinary designs and setting tulip-patterned glass into everything +with, as the poet explained, "a loving care" and considerable glue. + +His four unmarried daughters came to see him, wandering unconcernedly +between the four handsome residences of their four brothers-in-law and +the "den" of the author of their being--Chlorippe, aged thirteen; +Philodice, fourteen; Dione, fifteen, and Aphrodite, sixteen--lovely, +fresh-skinned, free-limbed young girls with the delicate bloom of sun +and wind still creaming their cheeks--lingering effects of a life lived +ever in the open, until the poet's sons-in-law were able to support him +in town in the style to which he had been unaccustomed. + +To the Conferences of the poet came the mentally, morally, and +physically dinky--and a few badgered but normal husbands, hustled +thither by wives whose intellectual development was tending toward the +precious. + +People read poems, discussed Yeats, Shaw, Fiona, Mendes, and L'Arr +Noovo; sang, wandered about pinching or thumbing the atmosphere under +stimulus of a cunningly and unexpectedly set window-pane in the back of +a "mission" rocking-chair. And when the proper moment arrived the poet +would rise, exhaling sweetness from every pore of his bulky entity, to +interpret what he called a "Thought." Sometimes it was a demonstration +of the priceless value of "nothings"; sometimes it was a naive +suggestion that no house could afford to be without an "Art"-rocker with +Arr Noovo insertions. Such indispensable luxuries were on sale +up-stairs. Again, he performed a "necklace of precious sounds"--in other +words, some verses upon various topics, nature, woodchucks, and the +dinkified in Art. + +And it was upon one of these occasions that Aphrodite ran away. + +Aphrodite, the sweet, the reasonable, the self-possessed--Aphrodite ran +away, having without any apparent reason been stricken with an +overpowering aversion for civilization and Arr Noovo. + + [Illustration] + + + + +XIII + + + [Illustration] + +At the poet's third Franco-American Conference that afternoon the room +was still vibrating with the echoes of Aphrodite's harp accompaniment to +her own singing, and gushing approbation had scarcely ceased, when the +poet softly rose and stood with eyes half-closed as though concentrating +all the sweetness within him upon the surface of his pursed lips. + +A wan young man whose face figured only as a by-product of his hair +whispered "Hush!" and several people, who seemed to be more or less out +of drawing, assumed attitudes which emphasized the faulty draftsmanship. + +"La Poesie!" breathed the poet; "Kesker say la poesie?" + +"La poesie--say la vee!" murmured a young woman with profuse teeth. + +"Wee, wee, say la vee!" cried several people triumphantly. + +"Nong!" sighed the poet, spraying the hushed air with sweetness, "nong! +Say pas le vee; say l'Immortalitay!" + +After which the poet resumed his seat, and the by-product read, in +French verse, "An Appreciation" of the works of Wilhelmina Ganderbury +McNutt. + +And that was the limit of the Franco portion of the Conference; the +remainder being plain American. + +Aphrodite, resting on her tall gilded harp, looked sullenly straight +before her. Somebody lighted a Chinese joss-stick, perhaps to kill the +aroma of defunct cigarettes. + +"Verse," said the poet, opening his heavy lids and gazing around him +with the lambent-eyed wonder of a newly-wakened ram, "verse is a +necklace of tinted sounds strung idly, yet lovingly, upon stray tinseled +threads of thought.... Thank you for understanding; thank you." + +The by-product in the corner of the studio gathered arms and legs into a +series of acute angles, and writhed; a lady ornamented with cheek-bones +well sketched in, covered her eyes with one hand as though locked in +jiu-jitsu with Richard Strauss. + +Aphrodite's slender fingers, barely resting on the harp-strings, +suddenly contracted in a nervous tremor; a low twang echoed the +involuntary reflex with a discord. + +A young man, whose neck was swathed in a stock a la d'Orsay, bent close +to her shoulder. + +"I feel that our souls, blindfolded, are groping toward one another," +he whispered. + +"Don't--don't talk like that!" she breathed almost fiercely; "I am +tired--suffocated with sound, drugged with joss-sticks and sandal. +I can't stand much more, I warn you." + +"Are you not well, beloved." + +"Perfectly well--physically. I don't know what it is--it has come so +suddenly--this overwhelming revulsion--this exasperation with scents and +sounds.... I could rip out these harp-strings and--and kick that chair +over! I--I think I need something--sunlight and the wind blowing my hair +loose----" + + [Illustration: + Aphrodite's slender fingers, barely resting on the harp-strings, + suddenly contracted in a nervous tremor.] + +The young man with the stock nodded. "It is the exquisite pagan athirst +in you, scorched by the fire of spring. Quench that sweet thirst at the +fount beautiful----" + +"What fount did you say?" she asked dangerously. + +"The precious fount of verse, dear maid." + +"No!" she whispered violently. "I'm half drowned already. Words, smells, +sounds, attitudes, rocking-chairs--and candles profaning the sunshine--I +am suffocated, I need more air, more sense and less incense--less sound, +less art----" + +"Less--_what_?" he gasped. + +"Less art!--what you call 'l'arr'!--yes, I've said it; I'm sick! sick of +art! I know what I require now." And as he remained agape in shocked +silence: "I don't mean to be rude, Mr. Frawley, but I also require less +of you.... So much less that father will scarcely expect me to play any +more accompaniments to your 'necklaces of precious tones'--so much less +that the minimum of my interest in you vanishes to absolute negation.... +So I shall not marry you." + +"Aphrodite--are--are you mad?" + +Her sulky red mouth was mute. + +Meanwhile the poet's rich, resonant voice filled the studio with an +agreeable and rambling monotone: + +"Verse is a vehicle for expression; expression is a vehicle for verse; +sound, in itself, is so subtly saturated with meaning that it requires +nothing of added logic for its vindication. Sound, therefore, is sense, +modified by the mysterious portent of tone. Thank you for understanding, +thank you for a thought--very, very precious, a thought beautiful." + +He smeared the air with inverted thumb and smiled at Mr. Frawley, who +rose, somewhat agitated, and, crooking one lank arm behind his back, +made a mechanical pinch at an atmospheric atom. + +"If--if you do that again--if you dare to recite those verses about me, +I shall go! I tell you I can't stand any more," breathed Aphrodite +between her clenched teeth. + +The young man cast his large and rather sickly eyes upon her. For a +moment he was in doubt, but belief in the witchery of sound prevailed, +for he had yet to meet a being insensible to the "music of the soul," +and so with a fond and fatuous murmur he pinched the martyred atmosphere +once more, and began, mousily: + + ALL + + A tear a year + My pale desire requires, + And that is all. + Enlacements weary, passion tires, + Kisses are cinder-ghosts of fires + Smothered at birth with mortal earth; + And that is all. + + A year of fear + My pallid soul desires + And that is all-- + Terror of bliss and dread of happiness, + A subtle need of sorrow and distress + And you to weep one tear, no more, no less, + And that is all I ask-- + And that is all. + +People were breathing thickly; the poet unaffectedly distilled the +suggested tear; it was a fat tear; it ran smoothly down his nose, +twinkled, trembled, and fell. + +Aphrodite's features had become tense; she half rose, hesitated. Then, +as the young man in the stock turned his invalid's eyes in her direction +and began: + + Oh, sixteen tears + In sixteen years---- + +she transfixed her hat with one nervous gesture sprang to her feet, +turned, and vanished through the door. + +"She is too young to endure it," sobbed the by-product to her of the +sketchy face. And that was no idle epigram, either. + + [Illustration] + + + + +XIV + + [Illustration] + + +She had no definite idea; all she craved for was the open--or its +metropolitan substitute--sunshine, air, the glimpse of sanely +preoccupied faces, the dull, quickening tumult of traffic. The tumult +grew, increasing in her ears as she crossed Washington Square under the +sycamores and looked up through tender feathery foliage at the white +arch of marble through which the noble avenue flows away between its +splendid arid chasms of marble, bronze, and masonry to that blessed +leafy oasis in the north--the Park. + +She took an omnibus, impatient for the green rambles of the only +breathing-place she knew of, and settled back in her seat, rebellious of +eye, sullen of mouth, scarcely noticing the amused expression of the +young man opposite. + +Two passengers left at Twenty-third Street, three at Thirty-fourth +Street, and seven at Forty-second Street. + +Preoccupied, she glanced up at the only passenger remaining, caught the +fleeting shadow of interest on his face, regarded him with natural +indifference, and looked out of the window, forgetting him. A few +moments later, accidentally aware of him again, she carelessly noted his +superficially attractive qualities, and, approving, resumed her idle +inspection of the passing throng. But the next time her pretty head +swung round she found him looking rather fixedly at her, and +involuntarily she returned the gaze with a childlike directness--a gaze +which he sustained to the limit of good breeding, then evaded so amiably +that it left an impression rather agreeable than otherwise. + +"I don't see," thought Aphrodite, "why I never meet that sort of man. +He hasn't art nouveau legs, and his features are not by-products of his +hair.... I have told my brothers-in-law that I am old enough to go out +without coming out.... And I am." + +The lovely mouth grew sullen again: "I don't wish to wait two years and +be what dreadful newspapers call a 'bud'! I wish to go to dinners and +dances _now_!... Where I'll meet that sort of man.... The sort one feels +almost at liberty to talk to without anybody presenting anybody.... I've +a mind to look amiable the next time he----" + +He raised his eyes at that instant; but she did not smile. + +"I--I suppose that is the effect of civilization on me," she +reflected--"metropolitan civilization. I felt like saying, 'For +goodness' sake, let's say something'--even in spite of all my sisters +have told me. I can't see why it would be dangerous for me to _look_ +amiable. If he glances at me again--so agreeably----" + +He did; but she didn't smile. + +"You see!" she said, accusing herself discontentedly; "you don't dare +look human. Why? Because you've had it so drummed into you that you can +never, never again do anything natural. Why? Oh, because they all begin +to talk about mysterious dangers when you say you wish to be natural.... +I've made up my mind to look interested the next time he turns.... Why +shouldn't he see that I'm quite willing to talk to him?... And I'm so +tired of looking out of the window.... Before I came to this curious +city I was never afraid to speak to anybody who attracted me.... And I'm +not now.... So if he does look at me----" + +He did. + +The faintest glimmer of a smile troubled her lips. She thought: "I _do_ +wish he'd speak!" + +There was a very becoming color in his face, partly because he was +experienced enough not to mistake her; partly from a sudden and complete +realization of her beauty. + +"It's so odd," thought Aphrodite, "that attractive people consider it +dangerous to speak to one another. I don't see any danger.... I wonder +what he has in that square box beside him? It can't be a camera.... It +_can't_ be a folding easel! It simply _can't_ be that _he_ is an artist! +a man like that----" + +"_Are_ you?" she asked quite involuntarily. + +"What?" he replied, astonished, wheeling around. + +"An--an artist. I can't believe it, and I don't wish to! You don't look +it, you know!" + +For a moment he could scarcely realize that she had spoken; his keen +gaze dissected the face before him, the unembarrassed eyes, the oval +contour, the smooth, flawless loveliness of a child. + +"Yes, I am an artist," he said, considering her curiously. + +"I am sorry," she said, "no, not sorry--only unpleasantly surprised. You +see I am so tired of art--and I thought you looked so--so wholesome----" + +He began to laugh--a modulated laugh--rather infectious, too, for +Aphrodite bit her lip, then smiled, not exactly understanding it all. + +"Why do you laugh?" she asked, still smiling. "Have I said something I +should not have said?" + +But he replied with a question: "Have you found art unwholesome?" + +"I--I don't know," she answered with a little sigh; "I am so tired of it +all. Don't let us talk about it--will you?" + +"It isn't often I talk about it," he said, laughing again. + +"Oh! That is unusual. Why don't you talk about art?" + +"I'm much too busy." + +"D--doing what? If that is not _very_ impertinent." + +"Oh, making pictures of things," he said, intensely amused. + +"Pictures? You don't talk about art, and you paint pictures!" + +"Yes." + +"W--what kind? Do you mind my asking? You are so--so very unusual." + +"Well, to earn my living, I make full-page pictures for magazines; to +satisfy an absurd desire, I paint people--things--anything that might +satisfy my color senses." He shrugged his shoulders gaily. "You see, I'm +the sort you are so tired of----" + +"But you _paint_! The artists I know don't paint--except _that_ way--" +She raised her pretty gloved thumb and made a gesture in the air; and, +before she had achieved it, they were both convulsed with laughter. + +"You never do that, do you?" she asked at length. + +"No, I never do. I can't afford to decorate the atmosphere for nothing!" + +"Then--then you are not interested in art nouveau?" + +"No; and I never could see that beautiful music resembled frozen +architecture." + +They were laughing again, looking with confidence and delight upon one +another as though they had started life's journey together in that +ancient omnibus. + +"_What_ is a 'necklace of precious tones'?" she asked. + +"Precious stones?" + +"No, _tones_!" + +"Let me cite, as an example, those beautiful verses of Henry Haynes," +he replied gravely. + +TO BE OR NOT TO BE + + I'd rather be a Could Be, + If I can not be an Are; + For a Could Be is a May Be, + With a chance of touching par. + + I had rather be a Has Been + Than a Might Have Been, by far; + For a Might Be is a Hasn't Been + But a Has was _once_ an Are! + + Also an Are is Is and Am; + A Was _was_ all of these; + So I'd rather be a Has Been + Than a Hasn't, if you please. + +And they fell a-laughing so shamelessly that the 'bus driver turned and +squinted through his shutter at them, and the scandalized horses stopped +of their own accord. + +"Are you going to leave?" he asked as she rose. + +"Yes; this is the Park," she said. "Thank you, and good-by." + +He held the door for her; she nodded her thanks and descended, turning +frankly to smile again in acknowledgment of his quickly lifted hat. + +"He _was_ nice," she reflected a trifle guiltily, "and I had a good +time, and I really don't see any danger in it." + + [Illustration] + + + + +XV + + + [Illustration] + +She drew a deep, sweet breath as she entered the leafy shade and looked +up into the bluest of cloudless skies. Odors of syringa and lilac +freshened her, cleansing her of the last lingering taint of joss-sticks. +The cardinal birds were very busy in the scarlet masses of Japanese +quince; orioles fluttered among golden Forsythia; here and there an +exotic starling preened and peered at the burnished purple grackle, +stalking solemnly through the tender grass. + +For an hour she walked vigorously, enchanted with the sun and sky and +living green, through arbors heavy with wistaria, iris hued and scented, +through rambles under tall elms tufted with new leaves, past fountains +splashing over, past lakes where water-fowl floated or stretched +brilliant wings in the late afternoon sunlight. At times the summer wind +blew her hair, and she lifted her lips to it, caressing it with every +fiber of her; at times she walked pensively, wondering why she had been +forbidden the Park unless accompanied. + +"More danger, I suppose," she thought impatiently.... "Well, what is +this danger that seems to travel like one's shadow, dogging a girl +through the world? It seems to me that if all the pleasant things of +life are so full of danger I'd better find out what it is.... I might as +well look for it so that I'll recognize it when I encounter it.... And +learn to keep away." + +She scanned the flowery thickets attentively, looked behind her, then +walked on. + +"If it's robbers they mean," she reflected, "I'm a good wrestler, and I +can make any one of my four brothers-in-law look foolish.... Besides, +the Park is full of fat policemen.... And if they mean I'm likely to get +lost, or run over, or arrested, or poisoned with soda-water and +bonbons--" She laughed to herself, swinging on in her free-limbed, +wholesome beauty, scarcely noticing a man ahead, occupying a bench half +hidden under the maple's foliage. + +"So I'll just look about for this danger they are all afraid of, and +when I see it, I'll know what to do," she concluded, paying not the +slightest heed to the man on the bench until he rose, as she passed him, +and took off his hat. + +"You!" she exclaimed. + +She had stopped short, confronting him with the fearless and charming +directness natural to her. "What an amusing accident," she said frankly. + +"The truth is," he began, "it is not exactly an accident." + +"Isn't it?" + +"N--no.... Are you offended?" + +"Offended? No. Should I be? Why?... Besides, I suppose when we have +finished this conversation you are going the _other_ way." + +"I--no, I wasn't." + +"Oh! Then you are going to sit here?" + +"Y--yes--I suppose so.... But I don't want to." + +"Then why do you?" + +"Well, if I'm not going the _other_ way, and if I'm not going to remain +here--" He looked at her, half laughing. She laughed, too, not exactly +knowing why. + +"Don't you really mind my walking a little way with you?" he asked. + +"No, I don't. Why should I? Is there any reason? Am I not old enough to +know why we should not walk together? Is it because the sun is going +down? Is there what people call 'danger'?" + +He was so plainly taken aback that her fair young face became seriously +curious. + +"_Is_ there any reason why you should not walk with me?" she persisted. + +The clear, direct gaze challenged him. He hesitated. + +"Yes, there is," he said. + +"A--a reason why you should not walk with me?" + +"Yes." + +"What is it?" + +And, as he did not find words to answer, she studied him for a moment, +glanced up and down the woodland walk, then impulsively seated herself +and motioned him to a place beside her on the bench. + +"Now," she said, "I'm in a position to find out just what this danger is +that they all warn me about. _You_ know, don't you?" + +"Know what?" he answered. + +"About the danger that I seem to run every time I manage to enjoy +myself.... And you _do_ know; I see it by the way you look at me--and +your expression is just like their expression when they tell me not to +do things I find most natural." + +"But--I--you----" + +"You _must_ tell me! I shall be thoroughly vexed with you if you don't." + +Then he began to laugh, and she let him, leaning back to watch him with +uncertain and speculative blue eyes. After a moment he said: + +"You are absolutely unlike any girl I ever heard of. I am trying to get +used to it--to adjust things. Will you help me?" + +"How?" she asked innocently. + +"Well, by telling me"--he looked at her a moment--"your age. You look +about nineteen." + +"I am sixteen and a half. I and all my sisters have developed our bodies +so perfectly because, until we came to New York last autumn, we had +lived all our lives out-of-doors." She looked at him with a friendly +smile. "Would you really like to know about us?" + +"Intensely." + +"Well, there are eight of us: Chlorippe, thirteen; Philodice, fourteen; +Dione, fifteen; Aphrodite, sixteen--I am Aphrodite; Cybele, seventeen, +married; Lissa, eighteen, married; Iole, nineteen, married, and Vanessa, +twenty, married." She raised one small, gloved finger to emphasize the +narrative. "All our lives we were brought up to be perfectly natural, to +live, act, eat, sleep, play like primitive people. Our father dressed us +like youths--boys, you know. Why," she said earnestly, "until we came to +New York we had no idea that girls wore such lovely, fluffy +underwear--but I believe I am not to mention such things; at least they +have told me not to--but my straight front is still a novelty to me, and +so are my stockings, so you won't mind if I've said something I +shouldn't, will you?" + +"No," he said; his face was expressionless. + +"Then _that's_ all right. So you see how it is; we don't quite know what +we may do in this city. At first we were delighted to see so many +attractive men, and we wanted to speak to some of them who seemed to +want to speak to us, but my father put a stop to that--but it's absurd +to think all those men might be robbers, isn't it?" + +"Very." There was not an atom of intelligence left in his face. + +"So _that's_ all right, then. Let me see, what was I saying? Oh, yes, +I know! So four of my sisters were married, and we four remaining are +being civilized.... But, oh--I wish I could be in the country for a +little while! I'm so homesick for the meadows and brooks and my pajamas +and my bare feet in sandals again.... And people seem to know so little +in New York, and nobody understands us when we make little jests in +Greek, or Latin, or Arabic, and nobody seems to have been very well +educated and accomplished, so we feel strange at times." + +"D--d--do you _do_ all those things?" + +"What things?" + +"M--make jests in Arabic?" + +"Why, yes. Don't you?" + +"No. What else do you do?" + +"Why, not many things." + +"Music?" + +"Oh, of course." + +"Piano?" + +"Yes, piano, violin, harp, guitar, zither--all that sort of thing.... +Don't you?" + +"No. What else?" + +"Why--just various things, ride, swim, fence, box--I box pretty +well--all those things----" + +"Science, too?" + +"Rudiments. Of course I couldn't, for example, discourse with authority +upon the heteropterous mictidae or tell you in what genus or genera the +prothorax and femora are digitate; or whether climatic and polymorphic +forms of certain diurnal lepidoptera occur within certain boreal limits. +I have only a vague and superficial knowledge of any science, you see." + +"I see," he said gravely. + +She leaned forward thoughtfully, her pretty hands loosely interlaced +upon her knee. + +"Now," she said, "tell me about this danger that such a girl as I must +guard against." + +"There is no danger," he said slowly. + +"But they told me----" + +"Let them tell you what it is, then." + +"No; you tell me?" + +"I can't." + +"Why?" + +"Because--I simply can't." + +"Are you ashamed to?" + +"Perhaps--" He lifted his boxed sketching-kit by the strap, swung it, +then set it carefully upon the ground: "Perhaps it is because I am +ashamed to admit that there could be any danger to any woman in this +world of men." + +She looked at him so seriously that he straightened up and began to +laugh. But she did not forget anything he had said, and she began her +questions at once: + +"Why should you not walk with me?" + +"I'll take that back," he said, still laughing; "there is every reason +why I should walk with you." + +"Oh!... But you said----" + +"All I meant was not for you, but for the ordinary sort of girl. Now, +the ordinary, every-day, garden girl does not concern you----" + +"Yes, she does! Why am I not like her?" + +"Don't attempt to be----" + +"_Am_ I different--very different?" + +"Superbly different!" The flush came to his face with the impulsive +words. + +She considered him in silence, then: "Should I have been offended +because you came into the Park to find me? And why did you? Do you find +me interesting?" + +"So interesting," he said, "that I don't know what I shall do when you +go away." + +Another pause; she was deeply absorbed with her own thoughts. He watched +her, the color still in his face, and in his eyes a growing fascination. + +"I'm not out," she said, resting her chin on one gloved hand, "so we're +not likely to meet at any of those jolly things you go to. What do you +think we'd better do?--because they've all warned me against doing just +what you and I have done." + +"Speaking without knowing each other?" he asked guiltily. + +"Yes.... But I did it first to you. Still, when I tell them about it, +they won't let you come to visit me. I tried it once. I was in a car, +and such an attractive man looked at me as though he wanted to speak, +and so when I got out of the car he got out, and I thought he seemed +rather timid, so I asked him where Tiffany's was. I really didn't know, +either. So we had such a jolly walk together up Fifth Avenue, and when I +said good-by he was so anxious to see me again, and I told him where I +lived. But--do you know?--when I explained about it at home they acted +so strangely, and they never would tell me whether or not he ever came." + +"Then you intend to tell them all about--_us_?" + +"Of course. I've disobeyed them." + +"And--and I am never to see you again?" + +"Oh, I'm very disobedient," she said innocently. "If I wanted to see you +I'd do it." + +"But _do_ you?" + +"I--I am not sure. Do you want to see me?" + +His answer was stammered and almost incoherent. That, and the color in +his face and the _something_ in his eyes, interested her. + +"Do you really find me so attractive?" she asked, looking him directly +in the eyes. "You must answer me quickly; see how dark it is growing! +I must go. Tell me, do you like me?" + +"I never cared so much for--for any woman----." + +She dimpled with delight and lay back regarding him under level, +unembarrassed brows. + +"That is very pleasant," she said. "I've often wished that a man--of +your kind--would say that to me. I do wish we could be together a great +deal, because you like me so much already and I truly do find you +agreeable.... Say it to me again--about how much you like me." + +"I--I--there is no woman--none I ever saw so--so interesting.... I mean +more than that." + +"Say it then." + +"Say what I mean?" + +"Yes." + +"I am afraid----" + +"Afraid? Of what?" + +"Of offending you----" + +"Is it an offense to me to tell me how much you like me? _How_ can it +offend me?" + +"But--it is incredible! You won't believe----" + +"Believe what?" + +"That in so short a time I--I could care for you so much----" + +"But I shall believe you. I know how I feel toward you. And every time +you speak to me I feel more so." + +"Feel more so?" he stammered. + +"Yes, I experience more delight in what you say. Do you think I am +insensible to the way you look at me?" + +"You--you mean--" He simply could not find words. + +She leaned back, watching him with sweet composure; then laughed a +little and said: "Do you suppose that you and I are going to fall in +love with one another?" + +In the purpling dusk the perfume of wistaria grew sweeter and sweeter. + +"I've done it already--" His voice shook and failed; a thrush, invisible +in shadowy depths, made soft, low sounds. + +"You _love_ me--already?" she exclaimed under her breath. + +"Love you! I--I--there are no words--" The thrush stirred the sprayed +foliage and called once, then again, restless for the moon. + +Her eyes wandered over him thoughtfully: "So _that_ is love.... I didn't +know.... I supposed it could be nothing pleasanter than friendship, +although they say it is.... But how could it be? There is nothing +pleasanter than friendship.... I am perfectly delighted that you love +me. Shall we marry some day, do you think?" + +He strove to speak, but her frankness stunned him. + +"I meant to tell you that I am engaged," she observed. "Does that +matter?" + +"Engaged!" He found his tongue quickly enough then; and she, surprised, +interested, and in nowise dissenting, listened to his eloquent views +upon the matter of Mr. Frawley, whom she, during the lucid intervals of +his silence, curtly described. + +"Do you know," she said with great relief, "that I always felt that way +about love, because I never knew anything about it except from the +symptoms of Mr. Frawley? So when they told me that love and friendship +were different, I supposed it must be so, and I had no high opinion of +love ... until you made it so agreeable. Now I--I prefer it to anything +else.... I could sit here with you all day, listening to you. Tell me +some more." + + + + +XVI + + [Illustration] + + +He did. She listened, sometimes intently interested, absorbed, sometimes +leaning back dreamily, her eyes partly veiled under silken lashes, her +mouth curved with the vaguest of smiles. + +He spoke as a man who awakes with a start--not very clearly at first, +then with feverish coherence, at times with recklessness almost +eloquent. Still only half awakened himself, still scarcely convinced, +scarcely credulous that this miracle of an hour had been wrought in him, +here under the sky and setting sun and new-born leaves, he spoke not +only to her but of her to himself, formulating in words the rhythm his +pulses were beating, interpreting this surging tide which thundered in +his heart, clamoring out the fact--the fact--the fact that he +loved!--that love was on him like the grip of Fate--on him so suddenly, +so surely, so inexorably, that, stricken as he was, the clutch only +amazed and numbed him. + +He spoke, striving to teach himself that the incredible was credible, +the impossible possible--that it was done! done! done! and that he loved +a woman in an hour because, in an hour, he had read her innocence as one +reads through crystal, and his eyes were opened for the first time upon +loveliness unspoiled, sweetness untainted, truth uncompromised. + +"Do you know," she said, "that, as you speak, you make me care for you +so much more than I supposed a girl could care for a man?" + +"Can you love me?" + +"Oh, I do already! I don't mean mere love. It is something--_something_ +that I never knew about before. _Every_thing about you is so--so exactly +what I care for--your voice, your head, the way you think, the way you +look at me. I never thought of men as I am thinking about you.... I want +you to belong to me--all alone.... I want to see how you look when you +are angry, or worried, or tired. I want you to think of me when you are +perplexed and unhappy and ill. Will you? You _must_! There is nobody +else, is there? If you do truly love me?" + +"Nobody but you." + +"That is what I desire.... I want to live with you--I promise I won't +talk about art--even _your_ art, which I might learn to care for. All I +want is to really live and have your troubles to meet and overcome them +because I will not permit anything to harm you.... I will love you +enough for that.... I--do you love other women?" + +"Good God, no!" + +"And you shall not!" She leaned closer, looking him through and through. +"I _will_ be what you love! I will be what you desire most in all the +world. I _will_ be to you everything you wish, in every way, always, +ever, and forever and ever.... Will you marry me?" + +"Will _you_?" + +"Yes." + +She suddenly stripped off her glove, wrenched a ring set with brilliants +from the third finger of her left hand, and, rising, threw it, straight +as a young boy throws, far out into deepening twilight. It was the end +of Mr. Frawley; he, too, had not only become a by-product but a good-by +product. Yet his modest demands had merely required a tear a year! +Perhaps he had not asked enough. Love pardons the selfish. + +She was laughing, a trifle excited, as she turned to face him where he +had risen. But, at the touch of his hand on hers, the laughter died at a +breath, and she stood, her limp hand clasped in his, silent, +expressionless, save for the tremor of her mouth. + +"I--I must go," she said, shrinking from him. + +He did not understand, thrilled as he was by the contact, but he let her +soft hand fall away from his. + +Then with a half sob she caught her own fingers to her lips and kissed +them where the pressure of his hand burned her white flesh--kissed them, +looking at him. + +"You--you find a child--you leave a woman," she said unsteadily. "Do you +understand how I love you--for that?" + +He caught her in his arms. + +"No--not yet--not my mouth!" she pleaded, holding him back; "I love you +too much--already _too_ much. Wait! Oh, _will_ you wait?... And let me +wait--_make_ me wait?... I--I begin to understand some things I did not +know an hour ago." + +In the dusk he could scarcely see her as she swayed, yielding, her arms +tightening about his neck in the first kiss she had ever given or +forgiven in all her life. + +And through the swimming tumult of their senses the thrush's song rang +like a cry. The moon had risen. + + [Illustration] + + + + +XVII + + [Illustration] + + +Mounting the deadened stairway noiselessly to her sister's room, groping +for the door in the dark of the landing, she called: "Iole!" And again: +"Iole! Come to me! It is I!" + +The door swung noiselessly; a dim form stole forward, wide-eyed and +white in the electric light. + +Then down at her sister's feet dropped Aphrodite, and laid a burning +face against her silken knees. And, "Oh, Iole, Iole," she whispered, +"Iole, Iole, Iole! There is danger, as you say--there is, and I +understand it ... now.... But I love him so--I--I have been so happy--so +happy! Tell me what I have done ... and how wrong it is! Oh, Iole, Iole! +What have I done!" + +"Done, child! What in the name of all the gods have you done?" + +"Loved him--in the names of all the gods! Oh, Iole! Iole! Iole!" + + +"----The thrush singing in darkness; the voice of spring calling, +calling me to his arms! Oh, Iole, Iole!--these, and my soul and his, +alone under the pagan moon! alone, save for the old gods whispering in +the dusk----" + + +"----And listening, I heard the feathery tattoo of wings close by--the +wings of Eros all aquiver like a soft moth trembling ere it flies! Peril +divine! I understood it then. And, stirring in darkness, sweet as the +melody of unseen streams, I heard the old gods laughing.... _Then_ I +knew." + + +"Is that all, little sister?" + +"Almost all." + +"What more?" + + +And when, at length, the trembling tale was told, Iole caught her in her +white arms, looked at her steadily, then kissed her again and again. + +"If he is all you say--this miracle--I--I think I can make them +understand," she whispered. "Where is he?" + +"D-down-stairs--at b-bay! Hark! You can hear George swearing! Oh, Iole, +don't let him!" + +In the silence from the drawing-room below came the solid sobs of the +poet: + +"P-pup! P-p-penniless pup!" + +"He _must_ not say that!" cried Aphrodite fiercely. "Can't you make +father and George understand that he has nearly six hundred dollars in +the bank?" + +"I will try," said Iole tenderly. "Come!" + +And with one arm around Aphrodite she descended the great stairway, +where, on the lower landing, immensely interested, sat Chlorippe, +Philodice and Dione, observant, fairly aquiver with intelligence. + +"Oh, that young man is catching it!" remarked Dione, looking up as Iole +passed, her arm close around her sister's waist. "George has said +'dammit' seven times and father is rocking--not in a rocking-chair--just +rocking and expressing his inmost thoughts. And Mr. Briggs pretends to +scowl and mutters: 'Hook him over the ropes, George. 'E ain't got no +friends!' Take a peep, Iole. You can just see them if you lean over and +hang on to the banisters----" + +But Iole brushed by her younger sisters, Aphrodite close beside her, +and, entering the great receiving-hall, stood still, her clear eyes +focused upon her husband's back. + +"George!" + +Mr. Wayne stiffened and wheeled; Mr. Briggs sidled hastily toward the +doorway, crabwise; the poet choked back the word, "Phup!" and gazed at +his tall daughter with apprehension and protruding lips. + +"Iole," began Wayne, "this is no place for you! Aphrodite! let that +fellow alone, I say!" + +Iole turned, following with calm eyes the progress of her sister toward +a tall young man who stood by the window, a red flush staining his +strained face. + +The tense muscles in jaw and cheek relaxed as Aphrodite laid one hand on +his arm; the poet, whose pursed lips were overloaded, expelled a +passionate "Phupp!" and the young man's eyes narrowed again at the shot. + +Then silence lengthened to a waiting menace, and even the three sisters +on the stairs succumbed to the oppressive stillness. And all the while +Iole stood like a white Greek goddess under the glory of her hair, +looking full into the eyes of the tall stranger. + +A minute passed; a glimmer dawned to a smile and trembled in the azure +of Iole's eyes; she slowly lifted her arms, white hands outstretched, +looking steadily at the stranger. + +He came, tense, erect; Iole's cool hands dropped in his. And, turning to +the others with a light on her face that almost blinded him, she said, +laughing: "Do you not understand? Aphrodite brings us the rarest gift in +the world in this tall young brother! Look! Touch him! We have never +seen his like before for all the wisdom of wise years. For he is one of +few--and men are many, and artists legion--this honorable miracle, this +sane and wholesome wonder! this trinity, Lover, Artist, and Man!" + +And, turning again, she looked him wistfully, wonderingly, in the eyes. + + + + +THE END + + + * * * * * + * * * * + +Errata (noted by transcriber) + +The variation between single and double quotes for nested quotations +is unchanged. + + so many agreeable-looking men." [_internal close quote missing_] + sounded a staccato monotone [stacatto] + for understanding me." [me.'"] + She leaned forward thoughtfully [foward] + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Iole, by Robert W. Chambers + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IOLE *** + +***** This file should be named 24426.txt or 24426.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/4/2/24426/ + +Produced by Louise Hope, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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 + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/24426.zip b/24426.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..74b4089 --- /dev/null +++ b/24426.zip diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fd120ad --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #24426 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/24426) |
