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diff --git a/28443-h/28443-h.htm b/28443-h/28443-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..da62ea4 --- /dev/null +++ b/28443-h/28443-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8179 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> +<title> +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Readjustment, by Will Irwin. +</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + @media screen { + hr.pb {margin:30px 0; width:100%; border:none;border-top:thin dashed silver;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + .pncolor {color: silver;} + } + @media print { + hr.pb {border:none;page-break-after: always;} + .pagenum { display:none; } + } + p.tp {font-size:1em; margin-top:0em; margin-bottom:0em; text-align:center;} + hr.tb {border:none; margin-top: 2em;} + h1 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size:1.6em;} + hr.major {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; clear:both;} + h2 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size:1.4em;} +</style> + +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Readjustment, by Will Irwin + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Readjustment + +Author: Will Irwin + +Release Date: March 29, 2009 [EBook #28443] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE READJUSTMENT *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Canada Team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:2em;margin-top:1em;margin-bottom:4em;'>THE<br />READJUSTMENT</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:0.8em;'>BY</p> +<p class='tp'>WILL IRWIN</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:0.8em;margin-bottom:8em;'>AUTHOR OF “THE CITY THAT WAS,” ETC.</p> +<p class='tp'>NEW YORK</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;'>B. W. HUEBSCH</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:0.8em;'>1910</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:0.8em;margin-top:2em;'>Copyright, 1910, by<br /> +B. W. HUEBSCH</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-top:4em;margin-bottom:2em;font-size:0.8em;'>PRINTED IN U. S. A.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_1' name='page_1'></a>1</span></div> +<h1>THE READJUSTMENT</h1> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_I' id='CHAPTER_I'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> +</div> +<p>After luncheon they walked over from +the ranch-house—more indeed a country +villa, what with its ceiled redwood walls, +its prints, its library, than the working house +of a practical farm—and down the dusty, +sun-beaten lane to the apricot orchard. Picking +was on full blast, against the all too fast +ripening of that early summer.</p> +<p>Judge Tiffany, pattern of a vigorous age, +seemed to lean a little upon his wife as she +walked beside him, her arm tucked confidently +into his; but it was a leaning of the +spirit rather than of the flesh. She, younger +than he by fifteen years, was a tiny woman, +her hair white but her waist still slim. She +seemed to tinkle and twinkle. Her slight +hands,—the nail of the little finger was like +a grain of popcorn—moved with swift, accurate +bird-motions. As she chattered of the +ranch and the picking, her voice, still sweet +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_2' name='page_2'></a>2</span> +and controlled, came from her lips like the +pleasant music of a tea bell. He was mainly +silent; although he threw in a quiet, controlled +answer here and there. One could +read, in the shadowy solicitude with which +she regarded him now and then, the relation +between that welded old couple—she the entertainer, +the hoarder of trivial detail from +her days; he the fond, indulgent listener.</p> +<p>“I think Eleanor must be back from the +city,” Mrs. Tiffany was saying, “I notice +smoke from the big chimney; and I suppose +she’ll be over before noon with the sulphur +samples. It’s amusing and homey in her—her +habit of flying to her own little nest before +she comes to us. She’ll inspect the +house, have dinner ordered, and know every +blessed detail of the picking before we catch +a glimpse of her.” Mrs. Tiffany smiled +sadly, as though this industry were somewhat +tragic.</p> +<p>“I wonder how long Eleanor will be contented +with such a way of life?” put in Judge +Tiffany.</p> +<p>“I’ve worried over that,” answered his +wife. “Suppose she should settle down to it? +It isn’t as though Eleanor hadn’t her chance +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3' name='page_3'></a>3</span> +at travel and society and the things a girl of +her breeding should have. This is all her deliberate +choice, and I’ve done nothing to help +her choose. Perhaps I should have decided +for her. It’s curious the guard that girl +keeps over her deeper feelings. How unlike +she is to her mother—and yet how like—” +Her thought shifted suddenly with the direction +of her eyes. “Hasn’t Olsen overloaded +that little team?” she said.</p> +<p>The cutting-shed stood midway of their +course. Twenty women and girls, their lips +going as rapidly as their knives, sat on fruit +crates at long tables, slicing the red-and-gold +balls apart, flicking out the stones, laying the +halves to dry in wooden trays. A wagon had +just arrived from the orchard. Olsen, the +Swedish foreman, was heaving the boxes to +his Portuguese assistant, who passed them on +into the cutting shed. Further on stood the +bleaching kilns; still further, the bright green +trees with no artistic irregularities of outline—trees +born, like a coolie, to bear burdens. +Now the branches bent in arcs under loads +of summer-gilded fruit.</p> +<p>Long step-ladders straddling piles of boxes, +beside this row or that, showed where picking +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4' name='page_4'></a>4</span> +was going forward. Mrs. Tiffany halted +under one tree to call pleasantries up to a +Portuguese, friend of many a harvest before. +Judge Tiffany proceeded on down the row, +pausing to inspect the boxes for any fruit +gathered before it was ripe.</p> +<p>The first picker was a Chinese. His box, +of course, showed only perfection of workmanship. +The Judge called up familiarly:</p> +<p>“Hello, Charlie!”</p> +<p>A yellow face grinned through the +branches; the leaves rustled as though some +great bird were foraging, and the answer +came back:</p> +<p>“Hello you Judge!” The Judge picked +over the next two boxes without comment; at +the third, he stopped longer.</p> +<p>“Too much greenery, young man!” he cried +at length. The branches of this tree rustled, +and a pair of good, sturdy legs, clad in corduroys, +appeared on the ladder; then the owner +of the legs vaulted from four feet high in the +air, and hit the ground beside his box.</p> +<p>He was a stalwart boy of perhaps two and +twenty, broad, though a bit over-heavy, in the +shoulders. That approach to over-heaviness +characterized his face, otherwise clean-cut +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5' name='page_5'></a>5</span> +and fair. His eyes, long, brown and ingenuous, +rather went to redeem this quality of +face. Under his wide and flapping sombrero +peered the front lock of his straight, black +hair. Even before he smiled, Judge Tiffany +marked him as a pleasing youth withal; and +when he did smile, eyes and mouth so softened +with good humor that stern authority +went from the face of Judge Tiffany. He +stood in that embarrassment which an old +man feels sometimes in the presence of a +younger one, struggled for a word to cover +his slight confusion, and said:</p> +<p>“You are one of the college outfit camped +down by the arroyo, aren’t you?”</p> +<p>“I am,” said the youth. “I also picked the +fruit too green. I am here to take my beating.”</p> +<p>Judge Tiffany, who held (he thought) an +old-fashioned distaste for impudence, smiled +back in spite of himself.</p> +<p>“If you don’t attend to business in small +matters, how can you hope to succeed when +you go out into life?” he asked with some +pomposity. He had intended, when he opened +his mouth, to say something very different. +His pomposity, he felt, grew out of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6' name='page_6'></a>6</span> +his embarrassment; he had a dim feeling that +he was making himself ridiculous.</p> +<p>“I can’t,” said the youth with mock meekness; +and he smiled again. At that moment, +while the Judge struggled for a reply and +while the youth was turning back to the ladder +as though to mount it and be done with +the conversation, two things happened. Up +from one side came Mrs. Tiffany; and from +the other, where ran a road dividing the Tiffany +orchard from the next, approached a +buckboard driven by a lolling Portuguese. +Beside him sat a girl all in brown, dust-resistant +khaki, who curtained her face with a parasol. +Mrs. Tiffany ran, light as an elderly +fairy, down the rows.</p> +<p>“Eleanor!” she called.</p> +<p>“Dear, dear Aunt Mattie!” cried the girl. +Judge Tiffany, too, was hurrying forward to +the road. The youth had his hand on the +ladder, prepared to mount, when the parasol +dropped. He stopped short with some nervous +interruption in his breathing—which +might have been a catch in his throat—at the +sight of her great, grey eyes; stood still, +watching. Mrs. Tiffany was greeting the +girl with the pats and caresses of aged fondness. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7' name='page_7'></a>7</span> +Out of their chatter, presently, this +came in the girl’s voice:</p> +<p>“And I was so excited about getting back +that when Antonio left the corral gate open +I never thought to speak to him. And Ruggles’s +Dynamo—they’ve let him run away +again—just walked in and butted open the +orchard bars and he’s loose now eating the +prune trees!”</p> +<p>“Edward, you must go right over!” cried +Mrs. Tiffany; and then stopped on the +thought of an old man trying to subdue a +Jersey bull, good-natured though that bull +might be. The same thought struck Judge +Tiffany. Antonio, the Portuguese, lolling +half-asleep against the dashboard, was worse +than useless; the nearest visible help was a +Chinaman, incompetent against horned cattle, +and another Portuguese, and—</p> +<p>“Let me corral your bull,” said the easy, +thrilling voice of the boy who stood beside the +step-ladder. Judge Tiffany turned in reproof, +his wife in annoyance, the girl in +some surprise. The youth was already walking +toward the buckboard.</p> +<p>“I guess that lets you out, John,” he said +to the Portuguese. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span></p> +<p>Something in him, the same quality which +had made the Judge smile back through his +rebuke concerning the green apricots, held +them all. The Judge spoke first:</p> +<p>“Very well, Mr.—”</p> +<p>“Chester—Bertram Chester,” said the +youth, throwing his self-introduction straight +at the girl.</p> +<p>“Mr. Chester is one of the University boys +who are picking for us this summer,” said +Judge Tiffany.</p> +<p>“Yes?” replied the girl in a balanced, incurious +tone. Her eyes followed Mr. Chester, +while he took the reins from the deposed +Antonio and waited for her to mount the +buckboard. As she sprang up, after a final +caution from Mrs. Tiffany, she perceived +that he was going to “help her in.” With a +motion both quick and slight, she evaded his +hand and sprang to the seat unaided.</p> +<p>Mr. Chester slapped the reins, clucked to +the horse, and bent his gaze down upon the +girl. He had seated himself all too close. +She crowded herself against the iron seat-rail. +It annoyed her a little; it embarrassed her +still more. She was slightly relieved when he +made a beginning of conversation. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span></p> +<p>“So you’re Judge Tiffany’s niece, the girl +who runs her ranch herself. I’ve heard +heaps about you.”</p> +<p>“Yes?” Embarrassment came back with +the sound of her own voice. She could talk +to Judge Tiffany or to any man of Judge +Tiffany’s age, but with her male contemporaries +she felt always this same constraint. +And this young man was looking on her insistently, +as though demanding answers.</p> +<p>“They say you’re one of the smartest ranchers +in these parts,” he went on.</p> +<p>“Do they?” Her tone was even and inexpressive. +But Mr. Chester kept straight +along the path he was treading.</p> +<p>“And that you’re also the prettiest girl +around Santa Lucia.”</p> +<p>“That’s very kind of them.”</p> +<p>“I haven’t seen your ranch, but about the +rest of it they’re dead right.”</p> +<p>To this, she made no answer.</p> +<p>“I’m just down for a few weeks,” he went +on, changing the subject when he perceived +that he had drawn no reply. “I’m a Senior +next year at Berkeley. Ever been over to +Berkeley?”</p> +<p>“Yes.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span></p> +<p>“Ever go to any of the class dances?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Thought you might, being in the city winters. +I’m not much on dances myself. I’m +a barb.”</p> +<p>He peered, as though expecting that this +last statement would evoke some answer. +But her eyes were fixed on the little group +of buildings—a bungalow, a barn and a corral—which +had just come in sight around a +turn of the orchard road. For the first time, +she spoke with animation.</p> +<p>“There’s the house—and there he is, just +back of the stable!”</p> +<p>Dynamo, the bull, a black and tan patch +amidst the greenery, stood reaching with his +tongue at an overhanging prune branch, +bowed to the breaking point with green beads +of fruit. As they watched, he sucked its tip +between his blue lips, pulled at it with a twist +of his head; the branch cracked and broke. +Dynamo, his eyes closed in meditative enjoyment, +started to absorb it from end to end.</p> +<p>“Oh, dear, he’ll ruin it!” she cried. “Do +hurry! Hadn’t you better send for help?”</p> +<p>“I figure I can handle him,” said Bertram +Chester, bristling at the imputation. “Just +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span> +give me that halter and drive in back of the +corral, will you?”</p> +<p>“Please don’t let him trample any trees!” +she called after her champion as he vaulted +the fence.</p> +<p>Dynamo, seeing the end of his picnic at +hand, galloped awkwardly a few rods, the +branch trailing from his mouth. Then, with +the ponderous but sudden shift of bull psychology, +indignation rose in his bosom. He +stopped himself so short that his fore-hoofs +plowed two long furrows in the soft earth; +whirled, lifted his muzzle, and bellowed. +One fore-hoof tore up the dirt and showered +it over his back. He dropped to his knees +and rubbed the ground with his neck in sheer +abandonment to the joy of his own abandoned +wickedness. He rose up in the hollow which +he had dug, lowered his horns, and glowered +at the youth, who advanced with a kind of +awkward bull-strength of his own.</p> +<p>“Chase yourself!” cried Bertram Chester, +flicking the halter. For a second, Dynamo’s +eyelids fluttered; then, unaccountably, his +bull pride rose up in him. He stopped midway +of a bellow; his head went down, his tail +rose up—and he charged. The girl across +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span> +the fence gave a little scream. The youth, +stepping aside with a quickness marvelous +considering the size of his frame, avoided the +charge. As Dynamo tore past him, he struck +out—a mighty lash—with the halter. The +bull tore on until he smashed into a prune +tree. The green fruit flew like water splashing +from a stone; and Dynamo checked his +course, turned again, began to paw and challenge +as the preliminary to another charge.</p> +<p>“Oh, let him go—please!” cried Eleanor. +Whether he heard her or not made little difference +to the youth. Taking advantage of +Dynamo’s slight hesitation, he sprang in close, +caught him by the horn and the tender, black +nose; and back and forth, across the ruins of +the prune tree, which went flat at the first +rally, they fought and tugged and tossed. +Through the agonized half-bellows of Dynamo, +Eleanor caught a slighter sound. Her +champion was swearing! Raised a little +above her fears by the vicarious joy of fight, +she took no offence at this; it seemed part of +the picture.</p> +<p>No one can account for the emotional processes +of a bull. Just as suddenly as it rose, +Dynamo’s courage evaporated. Once more +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span> +was he brother to the driven ox. He ceased +to plant his fore feet; his bellow became a +moan; he gave backward; in one mighty toss, +he threw off his conqueror, turned, and galloped +down the orchard with his tail curved +like a pretzel across his back. Behind him +followed the youth, lashing him with the +halter as long as he could keep it up, pelting +him with rocks and clods as the retreat gained. +So, in a cloud of dust, they vanished into the +Santa Clara road.</p> +<p>When Bertram Chester came back panting, +to return the halter, Antonio had arrived and +was unhitching the bay mare from the buckboard. +Eleanor stood by the corral gate, her +Panama hat fallen back from her brown hair +and a little of the excitement left in her grey +eyes. Bertram approached, grinning; he +wore a swagger like that of a little boy who +has just turned a series of somersaults before +the little girls. Eleanor noticed this. +Faintly—and in spite of the gratitude she +owed him for turning a neighborly service +into a heroic deed—she resented it. Also, +Dynamo and Mr. Chester, between them, had +wholly ruined a good prune tree in the prime +of bearing. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span></p> +<p>“Say, we didn’t do a thing to that tree,” +said Bertram Chester, with the air of one who +deprecates himself that he may leave the road +wide open for praise.</p> +<p>“It doesn’t matter. It—it was very brave +of you. Thank you very much—are you +hurt?”</p> +<p>“Only mussed up a little.” He blinked +perceptibly at the coolness in her tone. +Then he leaned back against a fence-post +with the settled air of one who expects +to continue the conversation. She swayed +slightly away from him.</p> +<p>“Kind of nice place,” he said, sweeping +his eye over the shingled cottage whose rose-bushes +were making a brave fight against the +dry summer dust, over the tiny lawn, over +the Lombardy poplars.</p> +<p>“It’s nice of you to say so.”</p> +<p>Bertram turned his eye upon her again.</p> +<p>“Say,” said he, “I don’t believe the Judge +expects me back right away! Anything more +I can do around the place?”</p> +<p>Eleanor smiled through her slight resentment.</p> +<p>“I don’t think I care to take the responsibility.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span> +In that moment, the butcher-wagon, +making the rounds from farm-house to farm-house, +appeared quite suddenly at the bend of +the road. Maria, wife of Antonio and cook +for Eleanor’s haciendetta, ran out to meet it.</p> +<p>“Oh, Maria—tell Mr. Bowles I want to +see him!” cried Eleanor, and hurried toward +the house. Bertram Chester stood deserted +for a moment, and then;</p> +<p>“Good bye!” he called after her.</p> +<p>“Good bye and thank you so much!” she +answered over her shoulder.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Two minutes later, Mr. Bowles, driver of +the meat wagon, was saying to Eleanor:</p> +<p>“Which was it—rib or loin for Saturday, +Miss Gray?”</p> +<p>“Was it?” said Eleanor, absently; and she +fell to silence. Maria and Mr. Bowles, waiting +respectfully for her decision, followed her +eyes. She was looking at a dust cloud which +trailed down the lane. When she came out +of her revery and beheld them both watching, +silent and open-mouthed, she flushed violently.</p> +<p>Bertram Chester, swinging between the +green rows, was whistling blithely: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span></p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +“Say coons have you ebber ebber seen ma Angeline?<br /> +She am de swetes’ swetes’ coon you ebber seen.”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span></div> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_II' id='CHAPTER_II'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +</div> +<p>Every Sunday afternoon during the +picking season, Mrs. Tiffany served tea +on the lawn for the half-dozen familiar households +on the Santa Lucia tract. That was the +busy time of all the year, affording no leisure +for those dinners and whist parties which +came in the early season, when the country +families had just arrived from town, or in +the late season, when prune picking grew +slack. Night finds one weary in the country, +even when his day has brought only +supervision of labor. These town-bred folk, +living from the soil and still but half welded +to it, fell unconsciously into farmer habits in +this working period.</p> +<p>The Goodyears and the Morses, more formal +than their neighbors, did indeed give a +dinner once or twice a summer to this or that +visitor from San Francisco or San Jose. +Otherwise, the colony gathered only at this +Sunday afternoon tea of Mrs. Tiffany’s. Her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span> +place lay about midway of the colony, her +lawn, such as it was—no lawn flourishes +greatly in that land of dry summers—was the +oldest and best kept of all; further, they had +acquired the habit. Already, these Californians +were beginning a country life remotely +like that of England; a country life made gracious +by all the simple refinements, from bathtubs +to books. They had settled, too, into the +ways of a clique; small and informal as their +entertainments were, minor jealousies of leadership +had developed already.</p> +<p>By a kind of consent never yet made law +by any contest, the Goodyears were leaders +and dictators. He, Raleigh Goodyear, was +passably rich; his wife was by birth of that +old Southern set which dominated the society +of San Francisco from its very beginning. +Until their only daughter married into the +army and, by her money and connections, advanced +her husband to a staff position in +Washington, Mrs. Goodyear had figured +among the patrons to those cotillions and assemblies +by which the elect, under selection +of a wine agent, set themselves off from the +aspiring. Them the colony treated with familiar +deference. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span></p> +<p>Mrs. Tiffany, whose native desire to please +and accommodate had grown with her kind +of matrimony, held social leadership of a different +kind. Her summer house was the +boudoir of this colony, as her town house was +the centre for quiet and informal entertainment +just tinged with Bohemia. Hers was +the gate at which one stopped for a greeting +and a chat as one drove past on the road; she +was forever running to that gate. She knew +the troubles of all her neighbors, both the +town dwellers of her set and the humbler folk +who made fruit farming more of a business. +That rather silent husband of hers—a man +getting an uncomfortable peace from the end +of a turbulent and disappointing life which +had just escaped great success—told her that +she had one great fault of the head. She +must always make a martyr of herself by bearing +the burdens of her world.</p> +<p>The Judge and Mrs. Tiffany sat now, in +the early afternoon of a summer Sunday, +under the gigantic live-oak which shadowed +their piazza. She was crocheting a pink +scarf, through which her tiny fingers flew like +shuttles; he was reading. Out beyond their +hacienda, the American “hands,” fresh-shaved +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span> +for Sunday, lolled on the ground over +a lazy game of cards. From the creek bottom +further on, came a sound which, in the +distance, resembled the drumming of cicadas—a +Chinese workman was lulling his ease +with a moon-fiddle. Near at hand stood the +tea things, all prepared before Molly, the +maid, started for her Sunday afternoon visit +to the camp of the women cutters. Factory +girls from the city, these cutters, making a +vacation of the summer work.</p> +<p>Mrs. Tiffany glanced up from her yarns at +the leonine head of her husband, bent above +“The History of European Morals,” opened +her mouth as though to speak; thought better +of it, apparently. Twice she looked up like +this, her air showing that she was not quite +confident of his sympathy in that which she +meant to bring forward.</p> +<p>“Edward!” she said at length, quite loud. +He lowered the book and removed his reading +glasses, held them poised—a characteristic +gesture with him. He said no word; +between them, a glance was enough.</p> +<p>“You remember the young man who went +over with Eleanor to drive away the Ruggles +bull?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span></p> +<p>Judge Tiffany gave assent by a slight inclination +of his head.</p> +<p>“I went over to the camp of those University +boys yesterday,” she went on, running +loops with incredible speed, “and I don’t +quite like the way they are living there. +They associate too much with the cutting-women. +You know, Edward, that isn’t good +for boys of their age—and they must be nice +at bottom or they wouldn’t be trying to work +their way through college—”</p> +<p>She stopped as though to note the effect. +The ripple of a smile played under Judge +Tiffany’s beard. She caught at her next +words a little nervously.</p> +<p>“You know we have a responsibility for the +people about the place, Edward—I couldn’t +bear to think we’d let any nice college boy degenerate +because we employed him—and it is +so easy at their age.”</p> +<p>“Which means,” broke in the Judge, “that +you have asked this Mr. Chester up here to +tea.”</p> +<p>“If—if you wish it, Edward.”</p> +<p>“I can’t very well countermand your invitation +and tell him by the foreman not to +come. But I warn you that this social recognition +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span> +will serve as no excuse if I catch him +picking any more green apricots.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Tiffany, unturned by this breeze of +criticism, ran along on her own tack.</p> +<p>“His manners <i>are</i> a little forward, but he +has a nice way of speaking. I’m sure he is +a gentleman, at bottom. You can’t expect +such a young man, who has been obliged to +work his way, to have all the graces at once. +They’ve brought down their town clothes—I +saw them last Sunday—so you needn’t be +afraid of that. I’ve asked Mr. Heath, +too.”</p> +<p>“Is that by way of another introduction?” +asked Judge Tiffany. His eyes looked at her +severely, but his beard showed that he was +smiling gently again. Half his joy in a +welded marriage lay in his appreciation of +her humors, as though one should laugh at +himself.</p> +<p>“Oh, there’s no doubt that <i>he’s</i> a gentleman. +He is less loud, somehow, than Mr. Chester, +though he hasn’t his charm. It seems there +is the most wonderful boy friendship between +them.”</p> +<p>“Where did you get all this insight into the +social life of our employees?” asked Judge +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span> +Tiffany; and then, “Mattie, you’ve been exposing +yourself to the night air again.”</p> +<p>“Over at their camp last evening,” said +Mrs. Tiffany. “Well, and isn’t it my business +to look after—after that side of the +ranch?” she added.</p> +<p>The Judge had dropped the book now; his +senses were alert to the game which never +grew old to him—“Mattie-baiting” he had +named it.</p> +<p>“Mattie,” he said, “with a pretty and marriageable, +dowered and maiden niece on your +hands, a new era is opening in your life of +passionate self-sacrifice. It used to be orphan +children and neglected wives of farm hands. +Now it is presentable but neglected bachelors. +Your darling match for Eleanor, I suppose, +would be some young soul snatched from evil +courses, pruned, trimmed, and delivered at +the altar with ‘Made by Mattie Tiffany’ +branded on his wings. Spare, O spare your +innocent niece!”</p> +<p>“Edward, I never thought of it in that +light!” cried Mrs. Tiffany; and she bent herself +to furious crocheting. After a time, and +when the Judge had resumed his book, she +looked up and added: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span></p> +<p>“It might be worse, though, than a young +man who had made it all himself.”</p> +<p>Judge Tiffany burst into laughter. Then, +seeing her bend closer over her pink yarns, +he grew grave, reached for the hand which +held the needles, and kissed it.</p> +<p>That was her reward of childless matrimony, +as the appreciation of her humors was +his.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>While they sat thus, in one of their comfortable +hours, the guests were come. The +Morses appeared first. He was a pleasant, +hollow-chested little man; his delicacy of +lung gave him his excuse for playing gentleman +farmer. She, half-Spanish, carried +bulk for the family and carried it well. The +Andalusian showed in her coy yet open air, +in her small, broad hand and foot, in a languorous +liquidity of eye. Their son, a well-behaved +and pretty youth of twelve, and their +daughter, two years older, rode behind them +on the back seat. The daughter bore one of +those mosaic names with which the mixed +race has sprinkled California—Teresa del +Vinal Morse. A pretty, delicate tea-rose +thing, she stood at an age of divided appreciations. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span> +In the informal society of the Santa +Lucia colony, she was listening half the time +to her elders, taking a shadowy interest in +their sayings and opinions; for the rest, she +was turning on Theodore, that childish +brother, an illuminated understanding.</p> +<p>The Goodyears arrived with a little flourish. +Their trap, which she drove herself and +which was perhaps a little too English to be +useful or appropriate on a Californian road, +the straight, tailor lines of her suit—all displayed +that kind of quiet, refined ostentation +which, very possibly, shrieks as loud to God +as the diamond rings on a soiled finger. +Mrs. Tiffany, who had met the Morses on +the lawn, tripped clear across the rose-border +to meet the Goodyears; did it with entire unconsciousness +of drawing any distinction. +As by right, Mrs. Goodyear appropriated the +great green arm-chair under the oak tree, +from which throne she radiated a delicate +patronage upon the company.</p> +<p>The others followed by twos and threes. +Montgomery Lee, fresh-faced English University +man, raising prunes on his patrimony +of a younger son; the Roach girls, plump +Californian old maids, and their pleasant +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span> +little Yankee mother; the Ruggleses, a young +married couple. Careless farmers, Mr. and +Mrs. Ruggles; but they had the good nature +which is the virtue of that defect. This, and +the common interest in their three plump, +mischievous babies, gave them general popularity +in the colony.</p> +<p>Within five minutes, the company had followed +the law of such middle-aged groups of +familiars, and separated by sexes. The men +drifted over to the piazza, lit cigars, hoisted +their knees, and talked, first, of the prune +picking, their trouble with help, the rather +bootless effort of a group in San Jose to form +a Growers’ Association; then of that city +where lay their more vital interests.</p> +<p>Goodyear had just been to San Francisco +on a flying trip; he brought back fresh gossip: +The Bohemian Club had the “Jinks” in rehearsal; +a new-discovered poet had written +the book; it was to be (so the Sire declared) +the greatest in club history.</p> +<p>“As usual,” smiled Judge Tiffany.</p> +<p>They were saying about the Pacific Union +Club that the Southern Pacific had raised its +rates to Southern points. One might have +sensed that shadow which hangs always over +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span> +commercial California in the sombreness +which froze the group at this news. From +five minutes of pessimistic discussion, Goodyear +led them by a scattered fire of personalities. +Billy Darnton was going to give a +bull’s head breakfast at San Jacinto. Al +Hemphill was coming to it all the way from +New York. Charlie Bates had pulled out +for the new gold diggings in the Mojave +desert, rich again in anticipation, although +he had to leave San Francisco secretly to +escape the process servers.</p> +<p>“Tea, gentlemen!” called Mrs. Tiffany, +from her nasturtium bower in the shadow of +the great oak.</p> +<p>“Just when we are getting comfortable,” +her husband growled pleasantly; and he made +no move to rise. The women sat at ease +about the tea-table. Their talk, beginning +with the marvelous Ruggles babies, had run +lightly past clothes and help, and fallen into +the hands of Mrs. Goodyear. She, too, was +full of San Francisco. Apart, under the +grape arbor, Teresa Morse and her brother +were snaring lizards—playing like two well-behaved +babies miraculously grown tall.</p> +<p>“There’s Eleanor,” suddenly spoke Teresa. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span> +At the word, she dropped her lizard, started +forward; and stopped as she came out into +full view of the road.</p> +<p>Eleanor, in fresh white, bareheaded under +her parasol, was approaching between two +young men. The slighter of the two men +moved a little apart; the heavier, in whom +Mrs. Tiffany recognized with some apprehension +the new protegé, Mr. Bertram Chester, +walked very close up. He was peering +under the parasol, which Eleanor dropped in +his direction from time to time without visibly +effecting his removal. It seemed from +his wide gestures, from the smile which became +apparent as he drew nearer, that he was +talking ardently.</p> +<p>In the other man, Mrs. Tiffany recognized +that Mr. Heath who had the boy friendship +with Bertram Chester. He was putting in a +word now and then, it appeared. When he +spoke, Eleanor turned polite attention upon +him; and then resumed her guarded attitude +toward that dynamo buzzing at her left. Insensible +of the company on the lawn, they +passed behind the grape arbor which fringed +the gate and which hid them temporarily +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span> +from view; and the one-sided conversation +became audible.</p> +<p>“It wasn’t a <i>patch</i> on fights I’ve had with +’em. Down home, I used to fight steers right +along. That’s nothing to a nigger who used +to work for us in Tulare. He’d jump on +their backs and reach over and bite their +noses till they hollered quits. Sure thing he +did!” It died out as they turned in at the +gate and faced the group about the trees.</p> +<p>Mrs. Goodyear made a gesture of an imaginary +lorgnette toward her high-bridged nose. +Mrs. Tiffany gathered herself and ran over +to the gate. It was Mr. Heath—she noticed +as she advanced—who was blushing. Bertram +Chester stood square on his two feet +smiling genially. As for Eleanor, she maintained +that sweet inscrutability of face which +became, as years and trouble came on, her +great and unappreciated personal asset.</p> +<p>Young Chester spoke first:</p> +<p>“I knew Miss Gray was coming down this +afternoon—so I laid for her on the road—didn’t +I, Miss Gray?”</p> +<p>“Very nice of you, I’m sure,” murmured +Mrs. Tiffany, though she bit her lip before +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span> +she spoke—“won’t you come over to meet our +friends?” Eleanor had darted ahead, to the +pats of the women and the adoring hugs of +Teresa Morse.</p> +<p>Mrs. Tiffany saw with relief that her disgraced +protegé managed his end of the introduction +very well, although he did make a +slight advance to shake hands with the critical +Mrs. Goodyear. He gave no sign to show +that he perceived the men over on the piazza. +Mr. Heath, his Fidus Achates, cast a slight +glance in their direction; then, seeing Bertram +settle himself down in an arm-chair and +begin at once to address Mrs. Goodyear, he +sat down likewise, suffused with an air of +young embarrassment. Mrs. Ruggles, seated +next to him, began with visible tact the effort +to put him at his ease.</p> +<p>Mr. Chester, as he talked to Mrs. Goodyear, +looked always toward Eleanor. She, +helping Mrs. Tiffany with the tea things, +turning a caressing word now and then toward +Teresa Morse, might not have noticed, +for all her expression showed.</p> +<p>The men came over for tea, were introduced. +Mrs. Tiffany, in her foolish anxiety +for the manners and appearance of her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span> +protegé, noted that he was at home with men, +at least.</p> +<p>Mr. Goodyear, indeed, clutched with his +eye at the blue-and-gold button in the lapel of +Bertram’s coat, at the figure of him, and at +the name.</p> +<p>“You aren’t Chester who played tackle on +the Berkeley Varsity last season?” he asked. +An old Harvard oar, Goodyear kept up his +interest in athletics.</p> +<p>“Tackle and half,” said the youth. “Yes, +sir.”</p> +<p>“Well, well, I remember you in the game!” +said Goodyear.</p> +<p>Mrs. Tiffany, now that her protegé no +longer needed watching, had returned to her +tea things.</p> +<p>“Eleanor,” she called. “Will you run into +the house and get that box of chocolate wafers +that’s over the ice chest?”</p> +<p>“Let me carry ’em for you, Miss Gray,” +put in Chester, breaking through a college +reminiscence of Goodyear’s.</p> +<p>Eleanor never flicked an eyelash as she announced:</p> +<p>“I should be very glad.”</p> +<p>Tiffany, glancing over the group, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span> +noted with comparative relief that none but +she, Goodyear, and the young persons involved, +had heard this passage.</p> +<p>As they moved toward the house, Bertram +opened upon Miss Gray at once.</p> +<p>“This is the second chance I’ve had alone +at you,” he said.</p> +<p>“We are rather conspicuous,” she burst out.</p> +<p>“Oh, nobody’ll mind. A girl always +thinks everybody is looking at her. Besides, +I wouldn’t care if they were. I’ve wanted to +tell you something, and I couldn’t with Heath +trailing us. You’ve got awfully nice eyes.”</p> +<p>Eleanor seemed to see neither the necessity +nor the convenience of an answer.</p> +<p>“But you have!” he persisted. “They’re +better than pretty. They’re nice.”</p> +<p>Again Eleanor said nothing. It seemed to +her that there was nothing to say.</p> +<p>“I know why you’ve got it in for me,” he +burst out. “You have, you know. When I +speak to you, you never talk back, and yesterday +you wouldn’t let me stay after I had corralled +the bull. It’s because I’m working for +your uncle. It’s because I’m making a living, +not eating what someone else made for +me like—” he swept his hand backward toward +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span> +the company on the lawn—“like those +people out there.”</p> +<p>Stung, for a second, to a visible emotion, +Eleanor raised her grey eyes and regarded +him.</p> +<p>“You are assuming a little, aren’t you?” +said she.</p> +<p>“Then why can’t I come to see you sometime +in the evening if that isn’t so? I don’t +ask it of many nice girls.”</p> +<p>She caught at the delimiting phrase, “nice +girls,” and glanced up again. By this time, +they had passed through the living room; +and he had awkwardly opened the door into +the kitchen.</p> +<p>“I haven’t known you very long,” she said.</p> +<p>“There isn’t a lot to know about me,” he +grumbled. Then his face cleared like the +sunshine breaking through. “I could teach +you to savvey the whole works in an evening.”</p> +<p>“There are the chocolate wafers up over +the ice-chest—that brown tin box.” He +reached up and heaved the package down, +putting into that simple and easy operation +the energy of one lifting a trunk.</p> +<p>Annoyed, and a little amused, Eleanor +watched him. All at once, she felt a catch +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span> +in her throat, was aware of a vague, uncomprehended +fear—fear of him, of her loneliness +with him, of something further and +greater which she could not understand, did +not try to understand. She wanted air; +wanted to get away. When he turned about, +she stood holding open the kitchen door, her +eyes averted.</p> +<p>She felt that he was standing over her; she +felt his smile as he looked down.</p> +<p>“You needn’t be in such a terrible hurry,” +he said.</p> +<p>“They’ll be waiting for us on the lawn,” +she forced herself to answer. It required all +her energy to keep her voice clear and firm. +Then she hurried ahead into the open air. +Once in sight of the lawn party, she made herself +walk beside him, even smile up at him.</p> +<p>“It’s just as I said—” he had gone back to +his grumbling voice and his wholly presumptuous +manner—“Either you don’t like +me, or you’re sore on me because I’m working +for your uncle.”</p> +<p>To the great relief of Eleanor, Mrs. Tiffany +came out to meet them, took the box +from Bertram and accompanied them back to +the tea table. For the rest of the afternoon, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span> +Eleanor managed by one device or another +to save the situation. When, in the shifting +of group and group, she had no one else for +protection, Teresa Morse, following her like +a dog, ready to come to her side at a glance, +played the involuntary chaperone.</p> +<p>Judge Tiffany had no word alone with his +wife until the sun slanted low across the +orchard and the company broke up. When +he met her apart, he said:</p> +<p>“He ought to be a success, that protegé of +yours!”</p> +<p>“I have been dreadfully mortified!”</p> +<p>“Oh, not a social success, though that may +come too, if he ever perceives the necessity +for it. But a general success. Such simple +and unturned directness as his ought to win +out anywhere. It is more than enchanting. +It is magnificent. I’m willing to risk discipline +on the place just to study a specimen so +unusual. Mattie, this time I am going to +assist. I’m going to ask him to supper.”</p> +<p>“Edward, are you laughing at me again?”</p> +<p>“For once, my dear, no; not at least on the +main line. You’d better ask that Mr. Heath, +too.”</p> +<p>“And Eleanor?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span></p> +<p>The Judge looked across to the oak tree, +where Eleanor was ostentatiously tying up +the brown braids of Teresa Morse. Bertram, +talking athletics with Goodyear, had +her under fire of his eyes.</p> +<p>“If any young person was ever capable to +make that choice, it is your niece Eleanor,” +he said. “It might afford study. Yes, ask +her, too.”</p> +<p>Mr. Chester and Mr. Heath were delighted; +though Mr. Chester said that he had +an engagement for the evening. (“What engagement +except with the cutting-women?” +thought Mattie Tiffany.) But Eleanor declined. +Some of the chickens were sick; she +was afraid that it might be the pip; she +doubted if Antonio or Maria would attend +to it; she would sup at home. Mrs. Tiffany, +anticipating the intention which she saw in +Bertram’s eyes, made a quick draft on her +tact and asked:</p> +<p>“Mr. Chester, would you mind helping me +in with the chairs?”</p> +<p>Seated at the supper table, Bertram Chester +expanded. The Judge took him in hand at +once; led him on into twenty channels of introspective +talk. Presently, they were speaking +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span> +direct to one another, the gulf that +separates youth from age, employer from employed, +bridged by interest on one side and +supreme confidence on the other. This +grouping left Mrs. Tiffany free to study +Heath. It grew upon her that she had overlooked +him and his needs through her interest +in the more obvious Chester. She noticed +with approval his finished table manners. +Mr. Chester, though he understood the +proper use of knife and fork and napkin, paid +slight attention to “passing things”; Heath, +on the contrary, was alert always, and especially +to her needs. “He had a careful +mother,” she thought. Gently, and with a +concealed approach, she led him on to his +family and his worldly circumstances. He +spoke freely and simply, and with a curious +frank assumption that anything his people +chose to do was right, because they did it. +He had come down to the University from +Tacoma; his father kept a wagon repair shop. +His people had gone too heavily into the land +boom, and lost everything.</p> +<p>“I felt that I could work my way through +Berkeley or Stanford more easily than +through an Eastern college,” he said simply. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span></p> +<p>“And then I shouldn’t be so far away from +home. Mother likes to see me at least once +a year.”</p> +<p>He was going home after the apricot picking +was over; he felt that in vacation he +should earn at least his fare to Washington +and back.</p> +<p>“I’m sure she must be a very good mother +to deserve that devotion,” said Mrs. Tiffany, +warming to him.</p> +<p>“She deserves more,” he said, a kind of +inner glow rising to his white-and-pink boyish +face. That same glow,—Mrs. Tiffany +might have noticed this and did not—illuminated +him whenever, from across the +table, Chester’s laugh or his energetic crack +on a sentence called a forced attention. Mr. +Heath deferred always to this louder personality; +kept for him the anxious and eager interest +of a mother toward her young. Gradually, +this interest absorbed both Mr. Heath +and Mrs. Tiffany. The table talk became a +series of monologues by young Bertram Chester, +Judge Tiffany throwing in just enough +replies to spur and guide him.</p> +<p>“No, I don’t belong to any fraternity,” said +the confident youth, “don’t believe in them. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span> +They plenty beat me for football captain last +year too. When I came to college, they +didn’t want me. After I made the team and +got prominent, they began to rush me. Then +I didn’t want <i>them</i>.”</p> +<p>“It might have been easier for Bert if he +<i>had</i> joined them,” said Heath. “They don’t +like to have their members working at—with +their hands; they always find them snap jobs +if they are poor and prominent.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t know,” said Bertram. “The +barbs elected me business manager of the <i>Occident</i> +last season—I didn’t make the team +until I was a Sophomore, you know—and that +more than paid my way. This year I’ve got +a billiard hall with Sandy McCusick.</p> +<p>“He used to be a trainer for the track +team,” explained Bertram. “I steer him custom +and he runs it. Ought to get me through +next year over and above. That’s one reason +I’m picking fruit and resting my mind this +summer instead of hustling for money in the +city.”</p> +<p>“And then?” asked the Judge.</p> +<p>“Law, I guess.”</p> +<p>“I am an attorney myself.”</p> +<p>“I guess I know that!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span></p> +<p>“What school have you chosen?”</p> +<p>“None, I guess. I don’t want to afford +the time. Yes, I know you want good preparation, +but I’d rather be preparing in an office, +making a little and keeping my eye open +for chances. I may find, before my three +years are up, that it isn’t law I want, but business.”</p> +<p>“I’m not a college man myself,” said the +Judge, “I got my education by reading nights +on the farm, and pounded out what law I +knew in an office at Virginia City. One +didn’t need a great deal of law to practice in +Comstock days—more nerve and mining sense. +But I’ve regretted always that I didn’t have a +more thorough preparation. Still, every man +to his own way. This may be best for you.”</p> +<p>“That’s what I think,” said Bertram Chester. +“When I got through High School in +Tulare, Dad said, ‘Unless you want to stay +on the ranch, you’d better foot it for college.’ +I didn’t want to ranch it, and I saw that college +must be the best place for a start. Dad +put up for the first year. I might have +stretched it out to cover a little of my Sophomore +year if I’d been careful. I was a pretty +fresh Freshman,” he added. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span></p> +<p>“And your mother?” asked Mrs. Tiffany. +“I suppose she was crazy for you to go.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I suppose she would have been. +She’s been dead ten years. How hard is it +to get into a law office in San Francisco?” he +added, shifting.</p> +<p>Judge Tiffany met the direct hint with a +direct parry.</p> +<p>“We have five thousand attorneys in San +Francisco and only five hundred of them are +making a living.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I know it is overcrowded,” said Bertram +Chester, not a particle abashed.</p> +<p>After black coffee on the piazza, the two +college boys swung off down the lane, Bertram +smoking rapidly at one of the Judge’s +cigars.</p> +<p>“He can be almost anything,” said the +Judge, meditatively.</p> +<p>“Even a gentleman?” gently inquired Mrs. +Tiffany.</p> +<p>“Perhaps that isn’t necessary in our Western +way of life. Thank God, we haven’t come +yet to the point where the caste of Vere de +Vere is necessary to us.”</p> +<p>“I wish I had it,” he went on, a little wistfully. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span></p> +<p>“Gentility? why Edward, if anyone—”</p> +<p>“Oh no, my dear. I may say that was half +the trouble. So many considerations came up; +so many things I didn’t want to do, so many +it didn’t seem right to do. I was forever +turning aside to wrestle with my feelings on +those things, and forever hesitating. Half the +time, after the opportunity was gone by, I +discovered that my scruples had been foolish; +but I always discovered afterward. I don’t +believe that success lies that way in a new +world.”</p> +<p>He had risen; and now his wife rose and +stood beside him.</p> +<p>“You are forever talking as though you +were a failure. I know you’re not. Everyone +knows you’re not.”</p> +<p>“The parable of the ten talents, Mattie. +Not how much we’ve got, but how much interest +we’ve earned on our powers. However, +we had that out long ago, my dear. Yes, +I know. I promised not to talk and think +this way. But if I’d been like this boy! He’ll +seize the thing before him. No side considerations +in his mind!”</p> +<p>“It is a policy,” said Mrs. Tiffany in a tone +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span> +of injured partisanship, “that will land him +in jail.”</p> +<p>“No,” said the Judge, “success does not +lead towards jails. He’ll look out for that.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_III' id='CHAPTER_III'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +</div> +<p>In that immortal “middle period” of San-Francisco, +when the gay mining camp was +building toward a stable adjustment of society, +when the wild, the merry, the dissolute and +the brave who built the city were settling down +to found houses and cultivate respectability +in face of a constantly resurgent past—in +those days none who pretended to eminence +in the city but knew the sisters Sturtevant. +Members of that aristocracy which dwelt on +Rincon Hill, their names and fames quite +eclipsed those of their quiet, self-effacing +parents. Although they never called it that, +their establishment amounted to a salon. +Also, they never called their circle Bohemian, +yet it was tinged with an easy view on +the conventionalities, a leaning toward art and +the things of art, which meant Bohemia in +the time when that word was of good repute. +Spain, perpetual spring, the flare of adventure +in the blood, the impulse of men who packed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span> +Virgil with their bean-bags on the Overland +journey, conspired already to make San Francisco +a city of artists. She had developed her +two poets, singers whose notes had sounded +round the world; the painters had followed. +The stir of a new life in art, a life which was +never quite to reach fulfilment, blew in the +bay air.</p> +<p>Centre for those awakening young painters, +those minor poets who carried in weaker hands +the torches of the two giant pioneers, was the +house of the Sturtevant sisters, the one a wit, +the other a beauty. Heaven was not grudging +with gifts to these two. Alice, the wit, +had also a hidden kind of beauty which was +not to be taken in on first sight, but which, +perceived by the painters of that set, made +some of them swear that she was the real +beauty of the two. Matilda, the beauty, had +if not wit a sprightly feminine fancy. Then, +too, her gentleness of judgment, her sweetness +of intention, and her illogic of loyalty, gave +her point of view a humorous quality. Her +circle, confident in her good-nature, was forever +leading her on, by this device or that, to +exhibit what John Stallard, the novelist, called +her “comedy of charity.” O’Ryan, that great, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span> +glowing failure whose name will outlive the +fame of the successful in San Francisco, used +to play ingenious jokes upon it. O’Ryan was +possibly the only man of any time who could +draw the sting of a practical joke.</p> +<p>They dwelt, twin-regnant over this world +of theirs, in sisterly harmony. Stallard declared +always that a final gift of fate and the +gods preserved them to harmony: their tastes +in men differed. They had choice enough, +God wot—poets and novelists struggling on +the verge of fame; attractive, irresponsible, +magnetic journalists, destined never to arrive +anywhere, but following a flowery path along +which a woman might smile; sons of new-rich +millionaires who followed and backed and +corrupted the artists of that budding Paris +which never blossomed; two painters, among +many, who got both fame and wealth before +they were done.</p> +<p>In his later years, one asked Tyson the English +novelist, connoisseur of women if there +ever was one, whom he esteemed the prettiest +and whom the wittiest among the women he +had known and studied.</p> +<p>“For wit, Lady Vera Loudon,” he said, “and +after her, a quite remarkable woman I met +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span> +in San Francisco out on the West Coast of +America—of all places.” Tradition has enlarged +this reply to make Matilda Sturtevant +his prettiest as Alice was his wittiest.</p> +<p>Matilda’s fresh beauty of the devil, her full +yet delicate beauty of the twenties and early +thirties, live in the galleries of Europe. The +painters all had their try at her; she lived in +creation which ran the line between miniatures +and heroic canvases. Lars Wark, perhaps the +least considered of all her painter friends, is +the one that triumphed most of all. Who does +not know his Launcelot and Enid? The Enid, +of a beauty so intelligent, so wistful and so +good—she is Matilda Sturtevant, hardly idealized.</p> +<p>These twin graces married within two years +of each other. Of course, they chose strangely. +Matilda, whose beauty might have graced the +head of the table in any one of three gaudy +mansions on Nob Hill, chose Edward C. Tiffany, +attorney, politician in a small but honorable +way, man about town—and much older +than she. Alice, following quietly, accepted +Billy Gray, journalist—a clever reporter with +no possibilities beyond that; a gentleman, it is +true, and a man of likeable disposition, but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span> +on the whole the least desirable of all her followers.</p> +<p>Billy and Alice Gray lived out the three +years which were all they ever had of matrimony, +in a Latin quarter garret, transformed +into a studio. The intellectual centre of San +Francisco shifted to that garret; the gay, the +witty and the brilliant still followed wherever +Alice Gray might go. Billy, a type of the +journalist in the time when journalism meant +the careless life, left her a great deal alone +after the honeymoon. On his side, there was +no conscious neglect in this; on her side, there +was no reproach. It was just their way of +living. He adored her with a quiet, steady +flame of affection which was too fine to degenerate +into mere uxoriousness. Already, he was +a little too fond of his liquor—a peccadillo +which attracted little attention in that age of +the careless city. This troubled Alice Gray +less than it would have troubled her mother. +In the periods when she pulled herself up, she +worried to think how little she did care about +it. In fact, his remorseful recovery from his +debauches had become her occasion for pouring +out upon him the mother in her. She reveled +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span> +guiltily in this singular sacrament of her +singular love.</p> +<p>After three years Alice Gray gave birth to +a daughter—and died within a fortnight afterward. +In all truth, I may say that life, for +Billy Gray, ended that day. To lose this tenth +muse—I can think of nothing more complete +in tragedy except the loss of her father of +Marjorie Fleming. And he, like Marjorie +Fleming’s father, spoke her name no more—until +near the end. When after twenty years, +his own time came, Stallard, LeBrun the poet +and Lars Wark gathered to pay him their last +respects. LeBrun came all the way from New +Orleans, and Stallard delayed his journey to +the South Seas. They had drifted away from +him, such had become his ways and habits; +they came back in honor of the woman who +illuminated their youth. So long and so powerful +was the influence of her who never wrote +a line except in air and memory.</p> +<p>Billy Gray went on living for the sake of +his daughter; but he lived like a man driven +of the furies. He became one of those restless, +wandering journalists whose virtue to +their newspapers is their utter abandonment +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span> +of courage and enterprise, whose defect is their +love of drink.</p> +<p>Eleanor, they called the baby—Alice had +chosen that name “in case it is a girl.” Mrs. +Tiffany, childless herself, played second +mother during the first three years of Eleanor’s +healthy and contented little life. Perceiving +the growth of bad habits in that broken +brother-in-law, strong and generous enough to +face her perceptions, she called him back from +a desk in Los Angeles, where, gossip said, he +was drinking himself to death, and gave him +over his daughter to keep. From that time +on, during a succession of removes which took +him from Vancouver on the north to Los Angeles +on the south, Billy Gray had establishment +after establishment, housekeeper after +housekeeper for this daughter. Her face and +ways, the dim shadowing of her mother’s, were +the only hold on reality which he kept.</p> +<p>She grew up a rather grave little thing, +hardly pretty at all until she turned fifteen, +when she showed signs that the beauty of her +aunt, if not the wit of her mother, might live +again in her. Of wit, it seemed, she had +little; neither did she show any great talents +in her irregular schooling. Her longest term +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span> +at any one school was three years with the +Franciscan Sisters in Santa Barbara. They, +Spanish gentlewomen mainly, are the arbiters +and conservators of old fashioned manners on +the West Coast. Of them it is said, as it is said +of certain sisterhoods in France, that one may +know their graduates by the way they keep +their combs and brushes. In two years Eleanor +absorbed something of their grave gentility +from these Spanish women. Little +else she got from that education, seeing that +she was a Protestant and studied neither catechism +nor church doctrine. She did, indeed, +totter once on the brink of Rome—even dared +speak to her father about it. He accepted +the situation so carelessly and gave his assent +so easily that she was a little hurt. But the +next day, he quizzed her about the church and +its doctrines. Like a good lawyer, he slipped +in the crucial question of his cross-examination +between two blind ones.</p> +<p>“All who die outside of the church go to +Hell, don’t they?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Sister Sulpicia says so.”</p> +<p>“Then your grandmother” (Mrs. Sturtevant +had just died) “is in Hell?”</p> +<p>He pursued the line no further; he never +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span> +needed to; and after a time the storm of doctrine +died down in her. That phase of life +left another effect on her beside her manners—a +mark common enough among Protestant +women reared in the shadow of the Catholic +Church. Outside its pale by belief, she clung +to a few of its sacramentals for pet superstitions, +and to a few of its observances for her +consolation in trouble and her expression in +happiness.</p> +<p>She was sixteen, and about to graduate from +a Seminary in Oakland, when her call came +to her. In one moment, the secret of her father’s +long absence became plain; and her +whole way of life changed.</p> +<p>Billy Gray had drifted back to the city of +his beginnings and happiness; was writing +hack editorials and paragraphs for the little +weeklies which so infested San Francisco. She +knew that their fortunes were low, that only +her inheritance, left in trust by her grandparents, +kept them moving. Also, a dim suspicion +which she had held of her father for +years was taking shape in her mind—too young +that mind, yet, for any very strong belief in +human conduct not written in the tables of +the law or in the Etiquette Book. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span></p> +<p>The current which fused these amorphic +thoughts was generated in the most commonplace +manner. By custom, she went to the +seminary on Monday morning, staying there +until Friday evening. It happened that the +death of a teacher made Friday an unexpected +holiday. Returning on Thursday afternoon, +she found the house locked. She remembered +that this was “make-up day” at the weekly +which took most of her father’s work; he must +be in the office. She hesitated, wondering +whether to telephone for the key; decided to +walk down town, since it was a beaming, +windless afternoon.</p> +<p>She came about a corner of Montgomery +Street, turned in toward the office of <i>The +Whale</i>, and ran into the environs of a gathering +city crowd. The men were straining +over backs and shoulders to see; the women +were pressing their hands convulsively to +their faces with pity and disgust.</p> +<p>“What’s the answer?” some one called from +the fringe.</p> +<p>“A drunk,” came a voice from within, +“plain drunk.” The police arrived just then, +and cleared a way; through the rift they made, +she saw them lift—Billy Gray, her father. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span></p> +<p>In the limpness and horror of this, her first +crisis, she did nothing, said nothing; only stood +there. Presently, she was aware that a workman +in soiled overalls had joined the policemen.</p> +<p>“Now that’s all right,” he was saying, “he’s +only dead to the world, making no trouble for +nobody. He works for <i>The Whale</i> up above; +what’s the good to pinch him?” “<i>The +Whale</i>?” asked one of the policemen; and hesitated +on the word. In quick decision, then, he +whirled upon the crowd, pushed it back, +cleared a space. The other policeman and the +man in the soiled overalls—he was foreman of +<i>The Whale</i>—picked up Billy Gray, who was +turning and mumbling feebly, and started to +carry him upstairs. A sudden impulse of her +limbs, an instinct independent of her will, +drew her toward them. The policeman, clearing +away the crowd, laid hand upon her.</p> +<p>“You’ll have to get back little girl!” he said.</p> +<p>She looked him in the eye; the sudden +abandonment to her shame seemed to lift +and to exalt her; afterward, shuddering over +that day, she still remembered a certain perverse +pleasure in this moment. And she spoke +loud, so loud that all the crowd might hear. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span></p> +<p>“He is my father!”</p> +<p>The policeman gave way; she hurried up +the stairs. The bearers of Billy Gray were +resting on the top of the first flight. They +had braced him up against the banisters and +were trying to rub sense back into him. She +addressed herself straight to the foreman.</p> +<p>“Does this happen often?” she asked.</p> +<p>A good natured and communicative person, +he was also enough touched by his importance +as Good Samaritan to answer the question of +a stray little girl.</p> +<p>“Lord yes!” he replied. “Every pay day +nowadays. Used to be the brightest man in the +business, too.”</p> +<p>Then as she stood there, blown by all the +strong cross-winds of the world, Marshall the +editor, who knew Eleanor, came hurrying +down the stairs. He saw that wreckage, grown +familiar now to them all, saw the girl standing +white of face beside the balustrade; the situation +came over him at once. He opened the +door, drew in both the intoxicated Billy Gray +and his daughter. Half an hour later, when +Billy could walk a little—it was a dead, nerveless +intoxication with him nowadays—Eleanor +and the foreman took him home in a cab. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span></p> +<p>In that long day and night, Eleanor strung +together a thousand half-forgotten incidents, +neglects and irregularities of life, and perceived +the truth which her whole world had +been in conspiracy to keep from her. Out of +the cross-blowing impulses of an immaturity +which was still half childhood—self pity, +shame, heroic pride in her own tragedy, passionate +hatreds of a world which harbors such +things—she came to a resolve in whose very +completeness she was happy for a time. +When, before breakfast, she burst into Mattie +Tiffany’s boudoir, she had a saintly radiance +in her face. The elder woman, advised by the +first words that Eleanor knew, took the little, +cold body into bed with her, petted her back +to something like calm. Storm followed the +calm; Eleanor went all to pieces in a burst of +passionate crying.</p> +<p>After she had recovered a little, her purpose +came out of her. Considering her years, she +said it all quite simply and undramatically. It +was her business to be with her father. Her +mother would have wished it so. She was +going to leave school. That was her work.</p> +<p>Mattie Tiffany, with her passion for picturesque +philanthropies, knew right well that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span> +she had neglected somewhat the plain, unpicturesque +philanthropy which lay close to her +hand. She had neither the heart nor the conscience +to deny Eleanor this sacrifice. In that +hour, there grew up between the childless aunt +and the motherless niece an understanding +which those three years of first infancy, when +Eleanor had lain on her breast like a daughter, +had never brought at all.</p> +<p>In three months more, during which time +Billy Gray reformed, lapsed, reformed, lapsed +again, the wiser head of Judge Tiffany found +the way. The Sturtevant estate, nearly fifty +thousand dollars in all, lay in his hands as +trustee. Upon Eleanor’s majority, it was to be +divided, one third accruing to her, the surviving +grandchild, and two-thirds to Mattie Tiffany.</p> +<p>Of late, Judge Tiffany had been turning +his mind toward the Santa Clara Valley fruit +farms, and especially toward the Santa Lucia +tract. He had made the struggle with his own +world and lost; that is another story. At sixty-eight, +life held little for him except an easy +descent into the grave after a career in which +he had played only too little. That leisurely +style of farming, which would permit him to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span> +keep an eye on his dwindling law practice, attracted +him. And nothing, it seemed to him, +would better further the intention, now awakened +in all of them, to do something for Billy +Gray. He bought, therefore, two tracts, already +planted and bearing in diversified fruits; +one of forty acres, with a little cottage home, +for Eleanor; the other of eighty acres, with a +large bungalow, for himself.</p> +<p>So far as his intentions toward Billy Gray +went, Judge Tiffany made this venture with +little hope. Billy Gray had tried the Keeley +Cure twice. After each course of treatment, +he had “beaten it,” although he must gargle +whisky, through a deadly sickness, in order +to get back into the habit again. His was +that variety of drunkenness which is not only +an unnatural thirst, but also a mania to forget. +There on the Santa Lucia tract, Billy Gray, +sure of a living, might tilt at happiness +and success with that independent writing +which is the chimera of all newspaper men +until the end of their days; and Eleanor might +help him make the fight.</p> +<p>The next four years—they were a monotony +of variety. For her broken, incompetent father, +Eleanor learned the art and practice of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span> +growing apricots and prunes. Lady of her +small manor, she made a business of it; got it +to pay after the second year. Billy Gray never +reformed; no one but Eleanor ever expected +that he would. He smuggled whisky in; he +stole away to get it; once he led the Judge and +Eleanor a chase through his old haunts in San +Francisco until they found him, broken all to +pieces, in the county hospital.</p> +<p>That incident—it appeared that he had been +beaten by a squad of drunken soldiers from the +Presidio—was the breaking strain. His constitution +gone, his mind and body weakened. +For twenty years, no one had ever heard him +speak the name of that Saxon Alice whose +death was the death of his soul. Now, he began +suddenly to babble to his daughter of her +mother. In his last delirium, he called her +“Alice.”</p> +<p>When he was dead and buried, Eleanor went +on for a year through her accustomed routine +of the ranch, letting life flow in again. Tired +at twenty-two, she overstated the feeling to herself +after the manner of youth, and thought +that heart and sense and feeling were dead +in her.</p> +<p>In all the years of passage from girlhood to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span> +womanhood, she had lived alone with that dipsomaniac, +seeing only such society as frequented +her aunt’s lawn, and little of that. +Books, and such training in life as they give, +she had known; but she had never known a +flirtation, a follower or a lover. On the day +when Bertram Chester went with her to tame +the bull, she was as one who steps from the +door of a convent.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IV' id='CHAPTER_IV'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +</div> +<p>As she left the Tiffany gate and emerged +into the main road between Santa Clara +and Los Gatos, Eleanor raised her serviceable +khaki-brown parasol. She was walking directly +toward the setting sun, which poured +into her eyes; yet she dropped the sunshade +behind her head as though to shield herself +against an approach from the rear. No one +followed; she had walked to the next fence corner +before she assured herself of that, dared to +shift that feminine buckler against the eye of +the sun, to slacken her pace, and to muse on +an afternoon whose events, so quiet, so undramatic, +and yet so profoundly significant, +buzzed still in her head. As she thought on +them, other things came into her mind as momentous +and worthy of attention before the +jump of the great event—that moment alone +with Bertram Chester, that panic of unaccountable +fear. Slow to anger as much by a +native and hidden sweetness as by that surface +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span> +control which puzzled her demonstrative +Aunt Matilda, she surprised her cheeks +burning and her blood beating in her throat.</p> +<p>With this physical agitation came an army +of disagreeable and disturbing thoughts. At +first they were only recollections of irritations +past; the tiny maladjustments of her life; +things by which she owed vengeance of slight +wrongs. They came together at length, into +one great, sore grievance—the forwardness, +the utter, mortifying impudence, of Mr. Chester. +It was long before she admitted this as a +cause of irritation; once admitted, it overshadowed +all her other complaints against life.</p> +<p>Timidly, she approached stage by stage that +scene on the lawn, that unaccountable moment +in the kitchen. Again she saw his great +shoulders heave with unnecessary strength at +the ridiculous cracker box; again she caught +the sense of confinement with a machine of +crushing strength and power. It seemed to +her that her retina still danced with the impression +of him as he turned to face her, as he +flashed upon her like a drawn weapon. She +found herself looking down at the dusty road; +suddenly she grew so sick and faint that the +breath deserted her body and she had to lean +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span> +against the gate post for support. The touch +of it against her body revived her with a start, +and brought to her mind the extent and folly +of her own imaginings. She pulled herself +together and dropped her parasol to shield her +face from Maria, who was hurrying over from +the kitchen garden.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Life flowed in immediately. A hundred details +of a household, of a fruit farm in the picking +season, awaited her attention. Her orchard +and the Tiffany orchard were conducted +together on a kind of a loose co-operative system +devised by the Judge to give her the +greatest amount of freedom with just as much +responsibility as would be good for her. +Foreseeing that Alice Sturtevant’s daughter +would never live on a farm indefinitely, that +marriage or her own kind would claim her in +the end, he arranged everything so that her +oversight might pass on short notice to Olsen +or to himself. In this harvest season, for example, +he secured for both farms the cutters +and pickers—the hardest problem for the Californian +farmer. Also, the fruit went to his +own sheds and yards for cutting and drying. +He was among the sturdy minority who stood +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span> +out against the co-operative driers which had +absorbed most of the fruit crop in the Santa +Clara Valley. The detail work about her +place—such as setting out the fruit boxes, selecting +the moment when apricots or pears +were ripe for the picking, seeing that the trees, +her permanent investment, were not injured +by wagon or picker, keeping her own accounts +in balance with those of Judge Tiffany—these +and a hundred other little things she did herself +and did them well. Especially was the +up-keep of the orchard her special care; and +this she managed with such native mother-sense +that one learned in trees might have told +just when he crossed the unfenced line from the +Gray orchard to the Tiffany orchard.</p> +<p>To-night, Olsen was waiting to know +whether she thought that the ten rows of Moor +Parks were ready for picking; he had just +finished the first crop of the Judge’s Royals +and a small gang would be without pressing +work on Monday morning. So they walked +over the orchard together, pressing a golden +ball here and there, and decided that the fruit +was ripe and ready. Eleanor summoned Antonio +for directions about boxes and ladders. +The hen-house had to be inspected, for Eleanor +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span> +was fumigating against the pip, brought +into the Santa Lucia by an importation of +fancy Eastern chickens. To-morrow’s menu +of the housekeeper was to be looked after. +The things kept her busy until her solitary +Sunday evening supper.</p> +<p>Eleanor had dined alone so much that she +had quite recovered from any self-pity on that +score. Like the daughter of convent manners +that she was, she kept up her self-respect +by a little ceremony at this meal. She dressed +for it usually; at least she put on fresh ribbons +and flowers, gave a touch here and there to the +table, held Maria to the refinements of service.</p> +<p>However, as she opened her napkin that +evening the rush and emotional strain of the +day brought a certain flash of introspection. +It came first when she lifted her eyes and +caught sight of herself in the mirror—dewy +eyed, fresh, a pink rose in her hair, a pink ribbon +at her throat. What was she, so young, so +feminine, doing there, supping alone in state? +She remembered the invitation of Lars Wark +in Munich; he and his wife, living the life artistic +away over there, had sent to ask her that +she visit them and share their winter in the +studio or their summer on the coast of Brittany. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span> +Why, in the face of that alluring invitation, +did she suffer her soul to keep her in +such prisons as this? She could afford it; +there was no question of money. According to +the books she had read, that solitary state belonged +to old, disappointed bachelors, old +maids, faded people generally. Here she sat, +a picture unseen, playing at age—and she less +than twenty-two. There was a kind of delicate +incongruity about it all. And watching her +own grey eyes, as they faced her in the mirror, +she half comprehended why she continued to +live so, even after her father died and took +away the reason for her old solitude. She had +been under the hypnotic suggestion of an event, +an impression. That moment on Montgomery +street, when she found her father lying drunk, +when tragedy and responsibility came together—that +moment had stretched itself out +to six years. She had lived by it; was living +by it now.</p> +<p>In some unaccountable fashion, that picture +would intertwine itself with the impression, +so new and vivid, which she had received that +afternoon. Momentarily, both united to produce +one emotion—profound disgust and dislike +for the coarseness, the brutality, of male +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span> +humanity, which had laid her father out on +the pavement for the sport of a mob, which +had made this perturbing young man trample +on all considerations and delicacies.</p> +<p>“You need not mind about dessert, Maria,” +she called out suddenly. She rose, hurried out +of doors, tore into the inspection of fruit crates +for to-morrow’s picking.</p> +<p>Night, falling with little twilight, as always +in those climes, found her still ranging the +house and barnyard, the rose incongruously in +her hair, the ribbon at her throat. When it +was too dark to find employment out of doors, +she hurried back to the house, tried to read. +But a sense of confinement drove her forth. +She started out toward the road, stopped by the +hedge gate, sat down finally on a bench under +her grape arbor. The leaves and the bunches +of swelling fruit hid her from sight of the +highway, overshadowed at that point by a +great bay tree.</p> +<p>A confusion of voices, masculine and +feminine, sounded in the distance. She +caught a shrill, rowdy laugh. “The cutting-women +and their men,” she thought dimly. +That social phenomenon of the picking season, +grown accustomed by six years of passing summers +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span> +and winters, drew no special attention +from her. But the noise continued; it became +plain that these reveling laborers were making +in her direction. Doubtless, they came from +the women’s camp at Judge Tiffany’s. The +night was bringing her peace and sleep of the +soul after a disturbing day; alone, that raucous +noise marred the calm.</p> +<p>She peered idly through the leaves. A half +a dozen women, their white dresses making +them visible in the dusk, a few men whose +forms loomed indistinctly against the edge of +the sky, noised past her and were gone down +the road. One couple, she perceived, lingered +behind. They had reached the shade of the +bay tree, were so close that she might have +reached out and touched them, before she realized +the situation. She was about to call out, +to cough, when the man spoke.</p> +<p>“No, I won’t hurt you,” he said, “I’m as gentle +a little kisser as you ever saw.” The voice +was that of Bert Chester.</p> +<p>“Aw, you’re too fresh,” came the voice of +the girl. But as they drew into deeper +shadow, she was not pulling away from him.</p> +<p>“Fresh as a daisy!” said the voice of Bertram +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span> +Chester. Followed a struggle, a faint “stop, +stop!” in the voice of the girl, the sound of +gross and heavy kissing. In a moment, the +white form of the girl broke down the road, +the greater, darker form of the man lumbering +after. He caught her, held her for a +longer time and a lesser struggle. She came +out of this one laughing, and down the road +they went, his arm a black shadow about her +waist.</p> +<p>Eleanor’s deeper and higher self—the self +that lay like a filmy, impalpable wrapper +about her conscious mind, so that at times she +appeared to herself as two persons—that consciousness +stood aloof in expectation of disgust, +revulsion, horror. It came as a confused surprise +that she felt nothing of the kind. A +cloying sweetness, a sensation purely physical, +as though a syrup had been poured into all the +channels of her nerves, began in her throat, +rushed through body and limbs. The sweet +tide surged backward, beat in a wave of faintness +upon her heart. Shame, like air into a +vacuum, followed with a rush. She sank to +the ground, clinging to the bench.</p> +<p>When she had so far mastered herself that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span> +she could feel her own senses, she was praying +aloud—praying in the rite which held her +emotions while it failed with her reason.</p> +<p>“Ave Maria Sanctissima!” she was saying +over and over again.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_V' id='CHAPTER_V'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +</div> +<p>“Match you to see whether it’s good, +old fifteen cent feed at the Marseillaise +or a four bit bust at the Nevada,” said +Bertram Chester.</p> +<p>“I’ll take you,” responded Mark Heath, flipping +a silver dollar as he spoke. “Heads the +Nevada; tails the croutons and Dago red.”</p> +<p>“Tails it is—aw, let’s make it the Nevada +to show there’s nothing in luck.”</p> +<p>“You quitter!”</p> +<p>“All right; but I hate to look cabbage soup +in the face,” grumbled Bertram. He resumed, +then, his languid occupation which this parley +had interrupted, and continued to review, +from an angle of Moe’s cigar stand, the passing +matinee parade.</p> +<p>The time was late afternoon of a fog-scented +October day. Through the wet air, street +lamps and electric signs had begun to twinkle. +Under the cross-light of retreating day +and incandescent globes, the parade of women, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span> +all in bright-colored silks and gauds, moved +solid, unbroken. Opera bags marked off those +who had really attended the matinees; but +only one in five wore this badge of sincerity. +The rest had dressed and painted and gone +abroad to display themselves just because it +was the fashion in their circles so to dress and +paint and display. Women of Greek perfection +in body and feature, free-stepping Western +women who met the gaze of men directly +and fearlessly, their costumes ran through all +the exaggerations of Parisian mode and tint. +Toilettes whose brilliancy would cause heads +to turn and necks to crane on the streets of an +Eastern city, drew here no tribute of comment. +It had gone on all the afternoon. From the +Columbia Theatre corner, which formed one +boundary of “the line,” to the Sutler Street +corner of Kearney, five blocks away, certain +of these peacocks had been strutting back and +forth since two o’clock. The men who corresponded +in the social organization to these +paraders of vanity lined the sidewalks or lolled +in the open-air cigar stands, as did these two +young adventurers in life—Bertram Chester, +now a year and a half out of college, and Mark +Heath, cub reporter on the <i>Herald</i>. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span></p> +<p>When the homefarers from office and factory +had begun to tarnish the brilliance of this +show, when the women had begun to scatter—this +one to dinner with her man, that one back +to the hall-room supper by whose economies +she saved for her Saturday afternoon vanities—Bertram +and Mark drifted with the current +up Kearney street toward the Hotel Marseillaise. +In their blood, a little whipped already +by the two cocktails which they had felt able to +afford even while they debated over the price +of dinner, ran all the sparkling currents of +youth. They drew on past Sutler Street to +Adventurer’s Lane, the dingy section of that +street wherein walked the treasure-farers of all +the seven seas; and as they walked, Bertram began +to speak of the things which lay close to +his heart.</p> +<p>“I guess I’ll chuck the law,” he said. +“Maybe I’ll stay with Judge Tiffany a year or +so longer—until I get admitted anyway. A +bar admission might count if I wanted to go +into politics.”</p> +<p>“Politics is a pretty poor kind of business,” +responded Mark Heath. Old enough in journalism +to have recovered somewhat from his +first enchantment with the rush of life, he was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span> +only just beginning to acquire the cynical pose.</p> +<p>“Hell, it’s all according to how you play +it,” said Bertram. “When you get to be Lincoln, +nobody calls it poor business. Do they +think any the worse of my old man because +he played politics to be sheriff of Tulare? If +I should go into the game down there, his pull +would help me a lot. But it’s me for this.” +His sweeping gesture took in the whole city.</p> +<p>He had missed Mark’s point. The latter +felt within him a little recoil from that loyalty +for his greater, more ready, more popular +friend, which had carried him, a blind slave, +through college, and which had helped him +make him settle in San Francisco instead of +Tacoma. Through his four years at the University, +Mark had shared his crusts with Bertram +Chester, yelled for him from the +bleachers, played his fag at class elections. +Now Mark was out in the world, practising +the profession of lost illusions; and a new +vision had been growing within him for many +days. He turned a grave face toward his +chum, and his lips opened on the impulse of +a criticism. But he thought better of it. His +mouth closed without sound.</p> +<p>“The real chances for a lawyer, though, are +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span> +in business,” Bertram went on. “Judge Tiffany +never grabbed half his chances. Attwood +in the office, says so.”</p> +<p>“He surely didn’t keep out of politics, that +Judge,” said Mark, remembering the turns of +fate which had almost—and ever not quite—made +the old Judge a congressman, a mayor, +and a Justice of the California State Supreme +Court.</p> +<p>“Oh, he had no call to be in politics. He +hasn’t the sand. Attwood says so. And he +stuck at his desk and let his business chances +go by. Myself, I’m keeping my lamps open. +Just because the Judge doesn’t watch his +chances, that office is a great place to pick +things up. Look at those tidewater cases of +ours over in Richmond. I know, from the inside, +that we’re going to lose our case, and lots +will go whooping up. I’ve written to Bob for +a thousand dollars to invest. I’ll double that +in a year and have my first thousand ahead. +Say, why don’t you try something in business +instead of sticking to newspapers? Let’s go +in together. Reporting is a rotten kind of +business.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t know, I like it. I think I’ll +stay with it for a while.” Again Mark had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span> +put back the thought of his heart. Like so +many of the loyal and devoted, he could hardly +bring himself to speak of his own deeper motives +and ambitions. Least of all could he reveal +them in this moment of disillusion. He +had never told Bertram about the four-act +comedy hidden in the writing desk of their +common room, to be mulled over during the +mornings of his leisure. “I think I’ll stay +with it for a while, anyway,” he added simply.</p> +<p>They had turned out of Kearney Street and +were mounting the hill-rise toward the Hotel +Marseillaise. These fringes and environments +of Chinatown had been residences for the +newly affluent in the days when the Poodle +Dog flourished and flaunted in the hull of a +wreck, in the days when that Chinatown site +was Rialto and Market-place for the overgrown +mining camp. The wall moss which +blew in with the trade winds, and the semi-tropic +growth of old ivies and rose-bushes, had +given to these houses the seasoning of two centuries. +Unpretentious hovels beside the structures +of stone turrets and mill-work fronts by +which later millionaires shamed California +Street and Van Ness Avenue, they had the +simple dignity of a mission, a colonial farm-house, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span> +or any other structure wherein love of +craft has supplanted scanty materials. Innumerable +additions of sheds and boxes, the +increment of their fallen social condition, +broke their severe lines. A massive door, a +carriage entrance, the remains of a balcony +faced to catch wind and air of the great +bay, recalled what they had been; as though a +washerwoman should wear on her tattered +waist some jewel of a wealth long past.</p> +<p>The Hotel Marseillaise occupied one of +these houses. Where it stood, the hill rose +steep. One might enter a narrow alley, skirt +a board fence, dodge into a box hall, seasoned +with dinners long past, and mount by a steep +staircase to the dining room; or he might +enter that dining room directly from the street, +such was the slope of the hill. A row of +benches parked the front door. On the fine, +out-of-doors evenings which came too seldom +in the City of Fogs, French waiters out of +work, French deserters from merchantmen in +the harbor below, French cabmen waiting for +night and fares, lolled on these benches while +they smoked their black cigarettes and chattered +in their heavy, peasant accent.</p> +<p>Within, Madame Loisel ruled with her cash +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span> +register at the cigar counter. She, bursting +with sweet inner fatness like a California nectarine, +kept in her middle age the everlasting +charm and chic of the Frenchwoman. This +Madame Loisel was a dual personality. She +of the grave mouth, the considering eye, the +business manner, who rung up dinner fees on +the cash register and bargained with the +Chinamen for vegetables at the back door, +seemed hardly even sister to the Madame +Loisel of Saturday afternoon on “the line” +or Sunday morning at the French Church. +By what process man may not imagine, this +second Madame Loisel took six inches from +her girth, fifty pounds from her weight, fifteen +years from her age. Her step was like a +dancer’s; her figure was no more than comfortably +plump; her Sunday complexion +brought the best out of her alluring eyes and +her black, ungrizzled hair; her hands, in their +perfect gloves, bore no resemblance to the +hands which had scraped pots for Louis +Loisel in the time before he could flaunt the +luxury of a cashier.</p> +<p>In Madame Loisel’s background lay the +ramblings of a house built for comfort and +large hospitalities. Gone were the folding +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span> +doors, bare the niches, empty the window-seats. +The old drawing-rooms, music-room, +dining-room, had become one apartment of a +sanded floor and many long tables. Through +this background of his wife moved Louis Loisel, +grizzled, fat and gay; never too busy +at his serving to exchange flamboyant banter +with a patron.</p> +<p>Hither the peasant French of San Francisco, +menials most of them, came for luncheons +and dinners of thick, heavy vegetable +soup, coarse fish, boiled joint, third-class +fruit and home-made claret, vinted by Louis +himself in a hand press during those September +days when the Latin quarter ran purple—and +all for fifteen cents! Thither, too, +came young apprentices of the professions, +working at wages to shame a laborer, who had +learned how much more one got for his money +at Louis’s than at the white-tiled American +places further down town. It stood for ten +years, this Hotel Marseillaise, the hope of the +impecunious. How many careers did it preserve, +how many old failures from the wreckage +of Kearney Street did it console!</p> +<p>Madame Loisel stood at her cash register +as the two young men entered. A fresh waist, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span> +a ribbon at her throat, a slimness of her waist +and an artificial freshness in her complexion +showed that she had been parading that afternoon.</p> +<p>“Bonsoir Madame—la la la-la-la!” called +Bertram.</p> +<p>Her face blossomed with coquetry, her teeth +gleamed, and:</p> +<p>“Bonsoir—diable!” she smiled back at him. +Mark Heath had greeted her more soberly. +Her eyes followed Chester’s big, square +frame as he moved with lumbering grace to a +corner table.</p> +<p>There he sat at the beginning of his career, +such as it was, this Bertram Chester—a +completed piece of work, fresh, unused, from +the mills of the gods. His strong frame was +beginning to fill out, what with the abandonment +of training for a year. He was a pretty +figure of a man in his clothes; and those +clothes were so woven and cut as to be in contrast +with his surroundings. A tailor of San +Francisco, building toward fashionable patronage, +had made him suits free during his +last year in college. Varsity man and public +character about the campus, Chester paid him +back in advertising of mouth. Guided by +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span> +that instinct of vanity and personal display +which runs in those who have to do with the +cattle range, he had learned to dress well before +he was really sure-mouthed in English +grammar.</p> +<p>His face, still, as when we first saw him, a +little over-heavy, had lightened with the +growth of spirit within him. This increase +of spirit and expression manifested itself in +his rolling and merry eye, which travelled +over all humanity in his path with an air of +possession, in the mobility of his rather thick-lipped +mouth. For the rest, the face was +all solidity and strength. His neck rose big +and straight from his collar, a sign of the +power which infused the figure below; his +square chin, in repose, set itself at a most +aggressive angle; his nose was low-bridged +and straight and solid. From any company +which he frequented, an attraction deeper than +his obviously regular and animal beauty +brought him notice and attention.</p> +<p>The son of Louis, a small, cheerful imitation +of his father, slammed a bowl of cabbage +soup down before them. Bertram, sighing +his young, ravenous satisfaction, sank the +ladle deep and stopped, his hand poised, his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span> +eyes fixed. Mark followed the direction of +his glance. Louis Loisel, wearing his best +air of formal politeness, was bowing a party +of women to a table by the door.</p> +<p>“Slummers!” said Mark under his breath. +A habitué of the place, he had already developed +a resentment of outsiders.</p> +<p>Louis pulled out chairs, wiped the table +mightily; the French cabmen, the Barbary +Coast flotsam and jetsam, gazed over their +soup-spoons in silent, furtive interest.</p> +<p>“It’s her!” said Bertram, lapsing into his +native speech. Heath flashed a glance of +recognition at the same moment.</p> +<p>“Miss Gray—sure—Mrs. Tiffany’s niece. +I thought she was in Europe—didn’t she start +a week or two after we left the ranch?”</p> +<p>“Oh, I knew she was coming back. Mrs. +Tiffany told me. The Mrs. Boss isn’t so +sweet on me as she used to be, but I see her +in the office now and then.”</p> +<p>Bertram resumed his ladling. Both +watched furtively. It was a balanced party—three +men and three women. Among the +men, Mark Heath recognized him of the +pointed beard as Masters, the landscape +painter. The little, brown woman who sat +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span> +with her back to them must be his wife. The +other girl, a golden, full-blown Californian +thing—her, too, they marked and noted with +their eyes.</p> +<p>Recognition of a sort had come meanwhile +from the party at the guest table. Miss Waddington, +the full-blown golden girl, had +seated herself and cooed an appreciative word +or two about the quaintness and difference of +the Marseillaise, when her eyes clutched at the +two young men in the corner, whose dress made +them stand out so queerly among the lost and +soiled. As Bertram looked up with his glance +of recognition, her eyes caught his. She +glanced down at her plate.</p> +<p>“Eleanor,” she said, “is that a flirtation +starting, or do any of us know the two men +in the corner—there under that beer sign.”</p> +<p>Eleanor looked. Kate Waddington, her indirect +gaze still on that corner table, saw the +dark young man smile and bow effusively. +She slipped a sidling glance at Eleanor Gray. +Something curious, an intent look which +seemed drawn to conceal a tumult within, +had filmed itself over Eleanor’s grey eyes. +But she spoke steadily.</p> +<p>“Why, yes. I have met them both. They +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span> +used to do summer work on the ranch when +they were in college. I believe that the +darker one—Mr. Chester—is in Uncle Edward’s +law office now. I haven’t seen either +of them since I went abroad.”</p> +<p>“I should say that this Mr. Chester fancied +you, from his expression.”</p> +<p>“I suppose that he fancies every girl that +he sees—from his expression.”</p> +<p>Kate Waddington caught the shade of irritation, +uncommon with Eleanor, and noted +it in memory. Mrs. Masters, an eager little +woman who grasped at everything about her +like a child, broke in:</p> +<p>“If you know them, and they’re really frequenters +of the place, it would be fun to ask +them over. Sydney used to dine here a great +deal when he was young and poor, and he +has <i>such</i> stories of the people he used to know +then!”</p> +<p>Eleanor hesitated. Kate looked again toward +Bertram, who was talking rapidly +across his soup to Mark Heath, and:</p> +<p>“Do!” she murmured.</p> +<p>In that instant, Bertram himself cast the +die. This had been the debate across the +soup: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span></p> +<p>“I’m going over to speak to her,” said Bertram.</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t butt in,” said Mark. “It’s a +balanced party.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I shan’t try to stay—coming along?” +He did not wait to see whether or not Mark +was following.</p> +<p>Miss Gray greeted him more cordially, altogether +more sweetly, than she had ever done +in their meetings on the ranch, and passed him +about the circle for introductions. Noticing, +then, that Mark had not followed, Bertram +turned and beckoned with impatience. Mark +crossed the room in some embarrassment.</p> +<p>“Is this your first visit to the Hotel Marseillaise?” +asked Mrs. Masters. Mark hesitated; +but Bertram laughed and beamed down +on her from his brown eyes.</p> +<p>“Only about my two hundred and first,” he +said. “Mr. Heath and I dine here every +night we haven’t the price to dine anywhere +else.”</p> +<p>Masters, with that ready tact which he +needed in order to live with Mrs. Masters, +rushed into the breach.</p> +<p>“And I should call it about my four hundred +and first,” he said. “It’s back to the old +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span> +scenes for the night. I haven’t tasted real +cabbage soup since the last time—it has been +a canned imitation. For goodness’ sake join +us and tell us the news!”</p> +<p>“Do!” said Miss Waddington with animation, +and “Please,” said those two escorts who +do not figure in this story. Eleanor said nothing, +but her expression was an invitation.</p> +<p>“Sure!” responded Bertram.</p> +<p>The Hotel Marseillaise had familiar customs +of its own. For one thing, guests bothered +the waiters as little as possible. Masters +smiled when the two unconscious youths +went back to their table, picked up the big +soup tureen, their knives and forks, their +plates, and transported them to the larger +table.</p> +<p>They were dragging the lees of a rather +squalid Bohemia, these two boys; a Bohemia +the more real because they were unconscious +in it. Its components were a cheap furnished +room, restaurants like this, adventurous companionship +in the underworld which thrust +itself to the surface here and there in that +master-port of the Saxon advance. Not for +months had either of them been in the society +of such women as these—women who preferred +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span> +cleanliness to display, women who +were nice about their nails and hair. A kind +of pleasant shyness crept over Mark Heath; +the spirit came into the face of Bertram Chester. +Masters, tactician that he was, put the +conversation into their hands. Presently, +they were telling freely about the fare at Coffee +John’s, about their familiars and companions +in the little Eddy-Street lodging house, +about the drifters of the Latin quarter. They +quite eclipsed the pale youth who was playing +escort to Eleanor, and the substantial person +in the insurance business who seemed to +be responsible for Kate Waddington. Heath, +speaking with a little diffidence and lack of +assurance, had twice the wit, twice the eye for +things, twice the illumination of Bertram +Chester; yet it was the latter who brought +laughter and attention. His personality, +which surrounded him like an aroma, his +smile, his trick of the eyes—one listened to +Bertram Chester.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>When the son of Louis brought in the little +sweet oranges and arranged the goblets for +black coffee, talk shifted from monologue to +dialogue. Eleanor found herself talking to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span> +Bertram. A kind of pride had been rising +in her all the evening; a pride born in recoil +from her latest recollection of him. The episode +of that night under the bay tree had +gone with her clear across the Atlantic. Even +the influence of the wholly new environment, +in which she had grown from a girl recluse +to a woman, had not served for a long time to +erase that ugly stain on her memory. Here +and now was the man who served so to perturb +her once—and she could look on him, +with her more mature eyes, as an attractive, +unlicked young cub. She surprised herself +taking revenge upon the past by a hidden patronage. +At once, then, she fell to talking of +Europe and the splendors she had lived there.</p> +<p>“This reminds me of the places one slips +into abroad,” she said, “Mr. and Mrs. Wark—Lars +Wark you know—took me to just such +an old ruin in Paris. We dined for thirty +centimes, I remember, but it was no better +than this. I’ve had to go away to know my +native city. That is the thing which strikes +you when you come back—San Francisco is +so like the Latin cities of Europe, and yet so +unlike!”</p> +<p>Kate leaned across her insurance man. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span></p> +<p>“The Society for the Narration of European +Travel is in session, Mr. Chester,” she said. +“I know the joy that Eleanor is having. It +was the passion of my life after I first got +back from abroad.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I eat it alive,” said Bertram. “I’m +strong for seeing Paris.” He turned back to +Eleanor; and her double embarrassment drove +her on.</p> +<p>“Such a good time as I had with the Warks—their +studio in Munich, where I met all the +German long-haired artists—a run to Paris +in the season—the dearest little village on the +Coast of Brittany last summer—and three +weeks in incomparable London at the end. +I haven’t thought of the ranch for a year and +a half—Uncle Edward pays me the compliment +of saying that my profits fell off twenty +per cent. under Olsen’s management—oh, +isn’t she a dear!”</p> +<p>For Madame Loisel, wearing a beaming +and affable manner, had come through the +door and approached their table. Madame +made it a point of business honor to promote +personal relations with her regular guests, asking +Jean how he liked the fish, assuring +Jacques that the soup would be better to-morrow. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span> +This visit of hers to the slumming party +came after a storm in the kitchen, whose +French thunders had reached the dining room +now and then. Louis, the conservative, hated +slummers and dreaded being “discovered.” +He ran a restaurant as a social institution as +well as a business venture. Madame Loisel, +with her eye on the cash register, longed ardently +for slummers who would give large +tips to Louis the younger, order expensive +wines, and put the Marseillaise on the way +to a twenty-five cent table d’hote dinner. +From that kitchen squabble, recurrent whenever +slummers visited them, Madame Loisel +swept in haughty determination, leaving Louis +to take it out on the pots. As she approached +the table, all the charm of France illuminated +her smile.</p> +<p>She invariably paid slummers the compliment +of addressing them in French.</p> +<p>“<i>Bonsoir—le souper, plait-il vous</i>?” she +asked.</p> +<p>Eleanor took her up in fluent French, and +the talk sparkled back and forth between +them—reminiscences of this or that restaurant +on the boulevards which Madame Loisel had +known in her youth and which Eleanor had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span> +visited. Bertram, his mouth open, followed +that talk as though summoning all his Sophomore +French to match a word here and there. +Kate Waddington, leaning again across her insurance +man, was the first to break in.</p> +<p>“I myself used to be keen on French when +I came back from Europe, but I’m out of +practice. Please excuse me, Madame, if I +speak English. How can you do it at this +price?”</p> +<p>“It is kind of you to say so, Mademoiselle—economy +and honesty.”</p> +<p>Masters patted Mark Heath on the knee.</p> +<p>“We can’t let you fellows go away from +us now. One doesn’t get guides to the Latin +quarter for nothing. Take us somewhere, +Mr. Heath—unless you’re working to-night.”</p> +<p>“No, virtue has been rewarded,” said Mr. +Heath. “I’m off to-night as a testimonial of +esteem from the City Editor. What shall it +be?”</p> +<p>Bertram Chester, taking up the talk again, +laid out Kearney Street like a bill of fare. +Mrs. Masters, casting her vote as chaperone, +chose the Marionette Theatre tucked away +under the shadow of the Broadway Jail.</p> +<p>As Eleanor stepped out into California +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span> +Street, gathering her coat about her against a +night which had come up windy and raw, +Bertram took her side with a proprietary air. +She turned toward her appointed escort. It +happened that he was walking ahead with +Heath just then, holding an argument about +the drift of Montgomery Street when it was +the water front. For several blocks, then, +Bertram had her alone. It seemed to her +that he began just where he left off two years +or more ago.</p> +<p>“You’re even prettier than you used to be,” +he said caressingly; “you’ve bully eyes. I +think I told you that before.”</p> +<p>This time, she looked him full in the face +and smiled easily.</p> +<p>“Have I? Well I hope you don’t mind my +saying that they’re resting on a bonny sight!”</p> +<p>Somewhat taken aback by the directness of +this answer, so different from the artificial +coyness of the girls he knew best in that period +of his life, Bertram turned in his course.</p> +<p>“You’re joshing me,” he said.</p> +<p>“Truly I’m not. You are good to look at—eyes +and all.”</p> +<p>Although balked of his opening, Bertram +tried again. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span></p> +<p>“Well your mouth is just as good as your +eyes.”</p> +<p>The same quick look into his face, and the +same smile, as she answered:</p> +<p>“Yours is a little better if anything. It is +not only well formed, but it becomes delicious +when you smile, and it has most attractive +shadows in the corners.”</p> +<p>“Suppose we talk sense,” grumbled Bertram.</p> +<p>“Suppose we do; I know you can.” They +both laughed at this, and all the way up Kearney +Street she continued her chatter of +Europe. Lars Wark, who had known her +mother, had done everything for her. It had +been very different from the regular tour; she +came back ignorant of all the show places +from Cologne Cathedral to the Tower. But +it had been her privilege to see and meet wonderful +people. They would not do for regular +companionship, such people. They +struck one, in the end, as goblins and trolls; +but it had been an experience of a lifetime—while +it lasted. The Warks had taken her to +places which the tourist never sees—lost villages +in the Black Forest, undiscovered corners +of London, even. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span></p> +<p>After a little of this, she drew him on to +speak of himself. She had heard news of +him, she said, from her uncle, who said that +he was doing well and gave promise of a future +in the law. How long had he remained +on the ranch that summer? This reference +put him back into his presumptive mood.</p> +<p>“You went away without giving me a +chance to say good-bye,” he complained. “I +never saw you again after the party on the +lawn.”</p> +<p>Her tongue ran away with her.</p> +<p>“I saw you, though,” she said.</p> +<p>“Where?”</p> +<p>“Oh, at a distance.” He caught nothing +from her tone, yet a slight change did come into +her manner, as though something had been +drawn between them. Then her escort fell +in on the other side of Eleanor, appropriating +her by right and by consent of her attitude.</p> +<p>Now they were in Broadway, skirting the +small bake-shops, the dark alleys, all the picture +scenes of the Latin quarter. At that +very moment, Miss Waddington drew a little +apart from the group clustering about Masters +and Mark Heath. An Italian baby of three, +too late out of bed, stood by a cellar rail surveying +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span> +them with the liquid fire which was his +eyes. Kate Waddington stooped to pat his +head. As she raised herself, she was beside +Bertram. Nothing more natural than that +she should fall in, step by step, beside him. +He caught step with her, but he still looked +toward Eleanor.</p> +<p>“Wonderful girl, isn’t she?” asked Kate.</p> +<p>“She sure is.”</p> +<p>“Her mother,” said Kate, “had more wit +than any other woman in San Francisco—and +the men she had!”</p> +<p>“I think Eleanor has inherited <i>that</i> at any +rate,” she added after a pause.</p> +<p>They had reached the door of the Marionette +Theatre now. Afterward they drank +beer at Norman’s; and when they broke up, +Bertram Chester found himself with three invitations +to call.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Kate Waddington spent that night with +Eleanor Gray in the Tiffany House on Russian +Hill. While they sat before the fireplace, +in the half-hour of loosened hair and +confidences, Eleanor broke a minute of silence +with the inquiry:</p> +<p>“What did you think of him?” An instant +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span> +after she let slip this impersonal inquiry, +she would have given gold to recall it. +And if she had any hope that Kate Waddington +had missed the point, it died in her when +Kate answered in an indifferent tone:</p> +<p>“He? Oh, he seems to me to be a little promiscuous.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VI' id='CHAPTER_VI'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +</div> +<p>The Tiffany house—I spare you full description—rambled +with many a balcony +and addition over that hill which rose +like a citadel above San Francisco. From its +Southern windows, one looked clean over the +city, lying outspread below. Even the Call +building, highest eminence piled up by man in +that vista, presented its roof to the eye. I +can picture that site no better than by this; +Over Judge Tiffany’s front wall hung an apple +tree, gnarled, convoluted, by the buffets +of the sea wind. In autumn, when the fruit +was ripe, stray apples from this tree had been +seen to tumble from the wall and roll four +blocks down into the Latin quarter.</p> +<p>From the rear, the house looked out on a +hedged and sloping garden, quite old, as gardens +go in that land, for a pioneer planted it; +and from the rear gate of that garden it was +only a step to the hill mount. Thence one +came out suddenly to the panorama of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span> +Bay, stretching on three sides; a panorama +divided, as by the false panels of a mural +landscape, into three equal marvels. To left, +the narrow gate, a surge like the rush of a +river always in its teeth and the bright ocean, +colored like smelt-scales, beyond. In front +the Roads, where all strange crafts from the +mysterious Pacific anchored while they waited +their turns at the docks. Both in foreground +and background, this panel changed day by +day. It might be whalers from the Arctic +which lay there in the morning, their oils making +noisome the breeze; it might be a fleet +of beaten, battered tramp wind-jammers, panting +after their fight about the Horn; it might +be brigs from the South Seas; it might be +Pacific steamers, Benicia scow-schooners, +Italian fishing smacks, Chinese junks—it +might be any and all of these together. As for +the background, that changed not every day +but every hour what with the shifts of wind, +tide and mists. Now its tinge was a green-gold +betraying pollution of those mountain +placers which fed the San Joaquin and the +mighty Sacramento. Now it was blue and +ruffled, now black and calm, now slate-gray,—a +mysterious shade this last, so that when the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span> +fog began to shoot lances across the waters, +these fleets at anchor by Quarantine wharf +seemed argosies of fairy adventure. Even +Tamalpais, the gentle mountain which rose beyond +everything, changed ever with the change +in her veil of mist or fog or rain-rift. The +third panel, lying far to the right, showed +first dim mountain ranges and the mouths of +mighty rivers, and then, nearer by, masts, +stacks and shipping, fringing the city roofs.</p> +<p>North into this garden ran a small wing +of the Tiffany house. Upon the death of +Alice Gray, Mattie Tiffany had set it apart +for Eleanor the baby. When, after her years +with Billy Gray, Eleanor came back, Mattie +had refurnished it for the grown baby. The +upper story held her bedroom and her closets. +Below was her own particular living-room. +This opened by a vine-bordered door into the +garden, into that path which led up to the +bay view.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Judge Tiffany, sitting within the front window +to watch the shimmer of a pleasant Sunday +afternoon on the city roofs below, perceived +that his wife had walked three times +to that garden wall which looked down along +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span> +the drop of Broadway to the Spanish Church.</p> +<p>The second time that he perceived this +phenomenon, his eyes showed interest; the +third he smiled with inner satisfaction and +rose to meet her return as though by accident. +He was leaning upon a cane, getting ease of +the sciatica which plagued him.</p> +<p>The Judge had aged during the two years +since he opened these events. He had settled +now into the worldly state of a man who rests +content with the warming sun and the bright +air which feed life. But the inner soul, whose +depth was his philosophy, whose surface his +whimsical humor—that still burned in his +dark blue eyes. Those eyes glistened a little +as he went on to this, his daily sport.</p> +<p>He met her on the piazza. She had raked +the rise of Broadway, which one mounted by +two blocks of hen-coop sidewalks; and now +she was inspecting the cross street.</p> +<p>“All the Sherlock Holmes in me,” said +Judge Tiffany, “tells me that Miss Eleanor +Gray is going to have a caller, and that Mrs. +Edward C. Tiffany is in a state of vicarious +perturbation.</p> +<p>“Further,” continued Judge Tiffany, +dropping his hand upon her arm with that affectionate +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span> +gesture which drew all sting his +words might have carried, “this is no common +caller. For that young civil engineer and +Mr. Perham the painter and Ned Greene, +Mrs. Tiffany never blushes; but these new +attentions to her niece—well, I hope my +approach drew as much blood from her +heart to her countenance twenty-five years +ago!”</p> +<p>“I—I <i>am</i> perturbed,” said Mattie Tiffany. +Running rose-bushes, just leafing out into +their fall greenery, overgrew the pillars beside +her. These she fell to pruning with her +hands, so that she turned away her face.</p> +<p>“I see that discipline is relaxing in this +family,” said Judge Tiffany. “Dear, dear, +after managing a wife bravely and well for +a quarter century, to fail in one’s age! Mattie, +he works in my office, this blush-compelling +caller; and I told you when I gave him +the position not to take him up socially for +the present!”</p> +<p>“But what was I to do when he telephoned +to Eleanor and asked her?” Mrs. Tiffany +turned her head with a turn of her thought. +“Did you hear him telephone—was that how +you knew?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span></p> +<p>“I’d lose all hold on discipline if I revealed +my methods.”</p> +<p>Judge Tiffany settled himself in an armchair +as one prepared to make it a long session. +“Let’s begin at the start. How came +he to renew his acquaintance with Eleanor, +and when, and where—and how much had +Mattie Tiffany to do with bringing them together +again?”</p> +<p>“Not a thing—truly Edward! Some of +Eleanor’s slumming with Kate Waddington +and the Masters—they met by accident at a +restaurant—Eleanor asked him. You remember +he was taken with her that afternoon just +before she went to Europe—the time he mortified +me so dreadfully.”</p> +<p>“And the time he attracted my attention,” +said Judge Tiffany. “And now behold that +youth, who will always get what he wants by +frontal attack, reading my California cases +and wearing out my desk with his feet.”</p> +<p>“Do you think he will make a good lawyer?” +asked Mattie Tiffany. She turned full +around at this, and the glance she threw into +her husband’s face showed more than a casual +matchmaker’s interest.</p> +<p>“He’ll make a good something,” said the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span> +Judge. “So far as anyone can judge the race +from the start. But that isn’t why I have him +in the office. You know how little I care +in these days for such practice as I have left. +I tell myself, of course, that it is my lingering +interest in life as a general proposition +which made me do it—I am curious to see +before I die how this find of yours is coming +out. That is what I tell myself. Probably +in my very inside heart I know that it’s something +else.”</p> +<p>“What else?” asked Mattie.</p> +<p>“This is one of the hidden things which this +experiment is to discover,” said Judge Tiffany. +“What made me notice him in the first +place? What made you invite him to tea +on the lawn? What has made you and me +and Eleanor remember this chance meeting +so long—let me see—how long was it?”</p> +<p>“A year ago last June,” said Mattie. One +of her functions in their partnership was to +hold small details always ready to the hand +of the wide-thinking Judge.</p> +<p>“Will he go back on me—that’s the question,” +pursued the Judge. “Success is probably +at the end for him, but he has two ways +of success open. He may go slowly and well, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span> +or fast and ill. Road number one: he stays +with my moth-eaten old practice, he refurbishes +it, he earns a partnership; and so to conservative +clients and, probably, to genuine +success.” He hesitated.</p> +<p>“And the other road?” asked Mrs. Tiffany.</p> +<p>“Oh, that has many by-paths. He is trying +one of them already. The stealthy, invaluable +Attwood has told me about it. This Mr. +Chester has made an investment in Richmond +lots on information which he had no right to +use. Never mind the details. If he follows +that general direction, it will be a flashy success, +a pretty worm-eaten crown of laurels.”</p> +<p>“Like Northrup’s,” broke in Mrs. Tiffany. +That name always jarred on their ears. +Northrup, ex-congressman, flowery Western +orator, all Christian love on the surface, all +guile beneath—he had taken to himself that +success which Judge Tiffany might have had +but for his hesitations of conscience. Theirs +was a secret resentment. Judge Tiffany’s +pride would never have let him show the +world one glimmer of what he felt.</p> +<p>“Suppose he should follow that path—and +take up with Northrup,” went on Judge Tiffany. +“Mine honorable opponent has use for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span> +such young men as our Mr. Chester will prove +himself if he follows that path—magnetic +young men to coax the rabble, young men not +too nice on moral questions. Well, a boy +isn’t born with honor, any more than he’s born +with courage; he grows to it. And God only +knows just when the boy strikes the divide +which will turn his course one way or the +other.”</p> +<p>“But Edward, you ought to warn him!”</p> +<p>“In the first place, it would do no good +to warn one of his age and temperament. In +the second place, it would spoil the experiment—but +I had commanded you to talk, and +here I am doing it all. How looked she; +what said he?”</p> +<p>“To-day—just before church—I was hooking +up Kate and Eleanor, and he telephoned.”</p> +<p>“Instinct, of course, informing you that it +was none other than he at the other end of +the wire?” On another tongue and in another +fashion of speech, this sentence might have +been offensive; between them, it was a part of +his perpetual game with her amiable weaknesses.</p> +<p>“If I did listen, it was no more than right. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span> +It was what a mother would have done by +Eleanor. I heard her say, ‘Good morning +Mr. Chester,’ not at all as though she were +surprised to have him call up; and I was +really quite disturbed. You had told me not +to invite him here for the present; and I +hadn’t the slightest reason for knowing that +Eleanor had seen him since she came back +from abroad. Her speaking so familiarly—well, +I wondered. But Kate—”</p> +<p>“Oh, she was listening too?”</p> +<p>“Well, I know that she hadn’t the excuse for +listening that I had; but I had stopped hooking +her up, and it was only natural that she +should listen too. Eleanor said, ‘Certainly I +shall be in,’ and Kate said, ‘That’s the old +friend we met with Mr. Masters last night +in the Hotel Marseillaise. He is prompt!’ +Rather sharp in Kate, considering what Eleanor +has been doing for her!</p> +<p>“You’d have thought Eleanor had eaten the +canary bird when she came back. Of course, +she knew we had been listening. I wish she +hadn’t. I’d have liked to see whether she’d +have told us then, or waited for him to surprise +us. Kate was sharp again. I wonder +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span> +if she isn’t envious at bottom? After all +Eleanor is so much more a lady! Kate said +again, ‘The young man is prompt!’”</p> +<p>Judge Tiffany laughed.</p> +<p>“Oh, that women could dwell together in +peace and harmony! Can’t you grant my +playmate Miss Waddington a feminine jab or +two?”</p> +<p>“Well, she <i>is</i> nice to you!”</p> +<p>“Did it never occur to you as a virtue in her +that she puts herself out to entertain—even, +Madame, I flatter myself to fancy—a withered +old codger like me!”</p> +<p>Mrs. Tiffany’s first expression flooded her +eyes and said, “Is there anything strange in +liking you?” Her second expression set her +mouth hard and said, “What is her object?” +Her voice said nothing.</p> +<p>“And behold him now,” said Judge Tiffany.</p> +<p>There, indeed, came Bertram Chester, visible +over their garden wall as he toiled up the +hen-coop sidewalk. The Judge returned to +the house; Mattie Tiffany settled herself on +the piazza with the preen and flutter of a +female thing about to be wooed. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span></p> +<p>The Tiffany drawing-room, panelled simply +in woods, furnished with the old Sturtevant +mahogany, came upon Bertram Chester +like a stage setting as he entered with Mrs. +Tiffany. Upstage, burned a driftwood fire +in a low hearth of rough bricks; Judge Tiffany +sat there, in a spindle-backed chair, reading. +Across a space broken only by a painting, +a Japanese print or so, and more spindle-backed +chairs, Eleanor and Kate had grouped +themselves by the piano. Eleanor, turning +the leaves on the music-rack, looked over +her shoulder at him. She was in pink that +day; the tint of her gown, blending into the +tint of her fresh skin, contrasted magically +with the subdued background. Kate, all in +white, sat on a hassock pulling a volume from +the low book shelf. All this came upon Bertram +with a soothing sense which he did not +understand in that stage of his development, +did not even formulate.</p> +<p>Kate, tripping across the rugs with a lightness +which perfectly balanced her weight, +greeted him first; Eleanor and Judge Tiffany +shook hands with more reserve. And as +Bertram settled himself in an arm-chair before +the fire, it was the ready Kate who put +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span> +him at his ease by opening fire of conversation.</p> +<p>“Did I tell you, Mrs. Tiffany, about the +restaurant which Mr. Chester found for us +last night? such an evening he gave us! Mr. +Chester, who is Madame Loisel—you should +have seen her, Judge Tiffany—you’d never +dine at home again. When these young +charms fade, I’m going to marry a French +restaurant-keeper and play hostess to the multitude +and be just plump and precious like +her. How can you ever get past the counter +with her behind it, Mr. Chester?”</p> +<p>“I’m generally hungry—that’s how!” said +Bertram Chester.</p> +<p>“That’s man for you!” responded Kate. +“Judge beloved, if you were a young man and +Eleanor—I’m too modest to mention myself, +you see—were what she’ll be at forty, and she +were behind a counter, and you before it, +would hunger tear you away? Oh dear, it’s +such a bore to keep one’s grammar straight!”</p> +<p>“I ask my wife’s permission before giving +the answer which is in my heart,” said Judge +Tiffany.</p> +<p>Eleanor broke into the laugh which followed. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span></p> +<p>“But I would like to know about Madame +Loisel.”</p> +<p>“Well, she’s certainly a ripe pippin; you’ve +seen that,” answered Bertram, his smile on +Eleanor. “And I’d like to know what she’s +saying when she parleys French to the garçons. +She’s all right if she’s feeling right, +but I’ve seen her tear the place up when the +service went bad. I guess she’s a square and +a pretty good fellow!”</p> +<p>“Tell us more about her—” this from Eleanor.</p> +<p>“About her squareness? Well, there was +the time Gentle Willie Purdy got drunk. +We call him Gentle Willie because he isn’t, +you know. About three o’clock in the morning, +he took the notion it was dinner time and +climbed the side gate to the Hotel Marseillaise +and pounded at the door. He faded out +about then, he says. When he woke up, he +was laid out on a couch, with a towel on his +head, and Madame was bringing him black +coffee. He tried to thank her after he felt +better; and what do you think she said? +‘Meester Purdy, nevaire, nevaire come to eat +in thees place again.’ She stayed with it too!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span></p> +<p>“Good for her!” said Mrs. Tiffany, reaching +for her crewel work.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” responded Mr. Chester in the uncertain +tone of one who gives assent for politeness +without knowing exactly why.</p> +<p>“If I ever depart from the straight and narrow +paths and get drunk, may I have Madame +Loisel to hold my head,” cried Kate.</p> +<p>The talk ran, then, into conventional channels—the +news, the latest novel, and the +season’s picking at the ranch. Judge Tiffany +dropped out gradually, and resumed his book; +and more and more did Bertram direct his +talk, salted and seasoned with his magnetism, +toward Eleanor. Kate Waddington, left out +of the conversation through three or four exchanges, +crossed the room and draped herself +on a hassock at the feet of Judge Tiffany.</p> +<p>“Judge darling,” she said in an aside which +penetrated to the furthest corner of the +room, “I’m going back to my unsympathetic +home before tea. Don’t you think we’re well +enough chaperoned to go on with our flirtation +just where we left off?”</p> +<p>“Where was I when we were interrupted?” +asked Judge Tiffany, leaning forward. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span></p> +<p>“Twenty-fourth page, fifth chapter,” said +Kate. “I was just getting you jealous and you +were trying not to show it. Mr. Chester—oh +excuse me—well, I’ve broken in now, so I +might as well get the reward of my impoliteness—may +I use you to make Judge Tiffany +jealous?”</p> +<p>“Sure you can!” answered Bertram.</p> +<p>“Oh, he won’t do at all!” Kate was addressing +Judge Tiffany again. “He’s entirely too +eager. Who would be a good rival anyway, +Judge adored? Let’s create one, like the picture +of your future husband in a nickel vaudeville!”</p> +<p>“Eleanor,” spoke Mrs. Tiffany, “suppose +you show Mr. Chester your end of the house +and our garden—or would you like it, Mr. +Chester? We’re rather proud of the garden.”</p> +<p>“I’d like it,” answered Bertram; and he +rose instantly. Mrs. Tiffany made no move +to accompany them; she sat bent over her +yarns, her ears open. And she noticed, at the +moment when Bertram made that abrupt +movement from his chair, how Kate hesitated +in the middle of a sentence, as though confused. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span></p> +<p>The rehearsed flirtation between Kate and +Judge Tiffany faded into a game of jackstones +on the floor.</p> +<p>Mrs. Tiffany heard the double footsteps +fade down the hall, heard the garden door +open and close. After a short interval, she +heard the door again, and the dim footsteps +sounded for but a moment. They had turned, +evidently, into Eleanor’s own living room. +Would they stop there, these two, for a talk—yes, +her gentle treble, his booming bass, +drifted down the hall. Presently Mrs. Tiffany +heard Eleanor’s laugh, followed by his. +In that instant, she looked at the jackstone +players by the hearth. Kate, on the crackle +of that laugh, had arrested all motion. A +jack which she had tossed in the air, descended +with no hand to stop it. For a moment, Kate +held that intent pose; then,</p> +<p>“Judge wonderful, I’m a paralytic at times. +You for twosies.” She swept the jacks towards +him with one of her characteristic gestures, +free and yet deft.</p> +<p>A bell rang in the outer hall, and the maid +entered.</p> +<p>“Miss Waddington is wanted at the telephone,” +she announced. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span></p> +<p>Eleanor, when she saw that her visitor had +no intention of rejoining the party, commanded +him to smoke. He rolled a cigarette, +Western fashion, from powdered tobacco and +brown paper, and disposed himself in the +window-seat, one leg drawn up under him, +his big shoulders settled comfortably against +the wall. Eleanor began to talk fluently, +superficially, with animation. She felt from +the first that he was throwing himself against +her barriers, trying to reach at once the deeper +stages of acquaintance. His direct look +seemed both to plead and to command. She +outwitted two or three flanking movements +before he took advantage of a pause and +charged her entrenchments direct.</p> +<p>“I’ve said it before, but I’m going to keep +on. You are pretty.”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” she replied; and smiled—mainly +at the ingenuousness of this, although +partly at the contrast between her present view +of him and that old memory.</p> +<p>“Oh, it never seems to bother you when I +say that,” went on Bert Chester, bending his +rather large and compelling black-brown eyes +upon her. “Some girls would get sore, and +some would like it; you never pay any attention. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span> +That’s one of the ways you’re different.”</p> +<p>(“Heavens—is he making love already—he +is sudden!” thought Eleanor with amusement.)</p> +<p>“You are, you know. I picked you for different +the first time I saw you. I wondered +then if you were beautiful—I always knew +you had nice eyes—and it isn’t so much that +you’ve changed, as that the longer a man looks +at you the prettier you are.”</p> +<p>“Shall we discuss other things than me?” +asked Eleanor.</p> +<p>“Why shouldn’t we talk about you? I’ve +never had a chance before—just think, it’s the +first time ever I saw you alone—even that +time on the ranch a bull chaperoned us!” +This minor joke, like every play of his spirit, +gained a hundred times its own inherent effect +by sifting through his personality. She +smiled back to his smile at the boyish ripples +about his mouth and eyes.</p> +<p>“You see, it means a lot when a girl sticks +in a man’s mind that way,” he continued. +“Why, I’ve carried you around right through +my Senior year at college and my first year +out. So of course, it must mean something.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span></p> +<p>The open windows of Eleanor’s bower +looked out upon a bay tree, a little thing +awaiting its slaughter—for shade trees might +not grow too near the windows in San Francisco. +It was flopping its lance-leaves against +the panes; puffs of the breeze brought in a +suggestion of its pungency. That magic +sense, so closely united with memory—it +brought back a faint impression upon her. +Her very panic at this ghost of old imaginations +inspired the inquiry, barbed and shafted +with secret malice:</p> +<p>“How many really nice girls have you +known in that time?”</p> +<p>Bertram, sitting in considerable comfort on +the window seat, flashed his eyes across his +shoulder to her.</p> +<p>“Oh, a few in my Senior year, not many +this year. What’s a man going to do on +twelve a week?” She noticed the indelicacy +of this, since he spoke in the house of his employer. +But the next sentence from him was +even more startling:</p> +<p>“The last time I was in love was down in +High School at Tulare. She’s married a fellow +in the salt business now. I guess she was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span> +pretty: anyway, her hair was the color of +molasses candy. I wrote a poem to her the +first day I saw her.”</p> +<p>“A poem?” asked Eleanor.</p> +<p>“You do well to ask that,” said Bertram, +throwing on one of those literary phrases by +which, in the midst of his plain, Anglo-Saxon +speech, he was recalling that he was a university +man. “It rhymed, after a fashion.”</p> +<p>“You don’t know how to be in love until +you’re older,” he went on.</p> +<p>(“Even that bay scent brings up only wonder, +not emotion; and I can laugh at him all +the way,” she thought. Yet in this tiny triumph +Eleanor was not entirely happy. The +vision, a little disturbing, a little shameful, +but yet sweet, was quite gone.)</p> +<p>“Tell me about this girl with the molasses +hair. She interests me. And a lot about +yourself.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I’ve forgotten most about her long +ago. And I’ve something else to remember +now, I hope. I’d like to talk about myself, +though. I’d like some girl to hear about my +ambitions. I really think it would do me +good.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span></p> +<p>He stopped, as though expecting an answer. +None came. He bent his eyes closer +on her and repeated:</p> +<p>“It would!”</p> +<p>And at that moment, a pair of high heels +tapped in the doorway, a cheerful voice called +for admission through the portières, and enter +Kate Waddington. Mr. Chester, Eleanor +saw, rose to her entrance as one who has not +always risen for women; there was something +premeditated about the movement.</p> +<p>“Mrs. Tiffany said you two were in here,” +she began in her full, rich contralto, “and I +made so bold, Nell—Mrs. Masters is taking +a party over to their ranch next Sunday. One +of her men has disappointed her and she’s +just telephoned to give me the commission to +fill his place. Mr. Chester, you are an inspiration +sent straight from Heaven. Any +other man, positively any other, would be a +second choice—but she didn’t know you when +she made up the party, so how could she have +invited you?”</p> +<p>She paused and threw an arch look past +Eleanor.</p> +<p>“Sure I’ll come!” said Bertram, jarred into +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span> +the vernacular by his internal emotion of pleasant +surprise. “Sure—I’d be delighted.”</p> +<p>“I told Mrs. Masters you’d be the ready +accepter,” said Kate.</p> +<p>“You’re going too, aren’t you?” asked Bertram +of Eleanor.</p> +<p>“No; I had to decline, I’m sorry to say.”</p> +<p>“And I’m sorry; blame sorry.” He turned +back toward Kate Waddington, and she, the +lightning-minded, read his expression. He +had made a great <i>faux pas</i>; he had seemed +more eager toward Eleanor, to whom he owed +no gratitude for the invitation, than toward +her.</p> +<p>“Would you care to drop in on Mrs. Masters +as you go down town to let her know that +you are coming? Or if you wish I’ll tell +them—I’m going now—that way.” Her tone +gave the very slightest hint of pique; her attitude +put a suggestion. The game, plain as +day to Eleanor, raised up in her only a film +of resentment. Mainly, she was enjoying the +humor of it.</p> +<p>Bertram rose promptly.</p> +<p>“It is time I was going,” he said. “I’ve +enjoyed myself very much, Miss Gray. If +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span> +you don’t mind, I’d like to come to see you +again.”</p> +<p>“And I’ll get into my things,” said Kate.</p> +<p>They all moved toward the door.</p> +<p>Kate passed first; then Eleanor. There +hung beside the door-casing a hook, designed +to hold the portière cord. Eleanor brushed +too close; it caught in the lace at her throat. +She pulled up with a jerk, gave a little cry; +the lace held fast. She turned—in the wrong +direction.</p> +<p>Bertram saw this tiny accident; he sprang +forward, caught the lace, disentangled her. +And to do so, he must reach about her so +that his arms, never quite touching her, yet +surrounded her as a circle surrounds its centre. +She turned and looked up to thank him, surprised +him, surprised herself, in that position.</p> +<p>And a wave which was fear and loathing +and longing and agitation ran over her with +the speed of an electric current, and left her +weak.</p> +<p>Her face, with its own sweet inscrutability, +showed little change of expression; but he +caught a dullness and then a glitter of her +eye, a heave of her bosom, a catch of her +breath. As he stood there, his great frame +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span> +towering above her, something which she +feared might be comprehension came into +his eyes. And—</p> +<p>“You make a picture—you two there!” +called Kate Waddington from without. The +transitory expression in his eyes—Eleanor saw +it now with triumph—was that of one who +has thrown a pearl away. But he followed.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Dining with Mark Heath in the Hotel +Marseillaise that night, Bertram fell into a +spell of musing, a visible melancholy uncommon +in him; for his ill-humors, like his laughters, +burned short and violent. Mark Heath—by +this time he was growing into a point +of view on his chum and room mate—remarked +it with some amusement and more +curiosity.</p> +<p>Mark was casting about for an opening, +when Bertram anticipated him. Staring into +the dingy wall of the Hotel Marseillaise, past +the laborers, the outcasts, the French cabmen +purring over their cabbage soup, he said in a +tone of musings:</p> +<p>“When Bert Chester grows up and gets rich, +he’ll take unto himself a wife. We’ll live in +a big house in the Western Addition with a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span> +bay frontage. It will be furnished with +dinky old dull stuff, and those swell Japanese +prints and paintings. And I’ll have two +autos and a toy ranch in the country to play +with. We’ll give little dances in the big hall +downstairs. I’ll lead the opening dance with +the missus, and then I’ll just take a dance or +so with the best looking girls—the ones I take +a special cotton to. I’ll have my home sweet +home dance with the missus—” he fell again +to musing.</p> +<p>“A man up a tree,” said Mark Heath, +“would say you were in love.”</p> +<p>“I’ll be damned—I wonder if that ain’t the +matter?” said Bertram Chester.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VII' id='CHAPTER_VII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +</div> +<p>The Ferry, doorway to San Francisco, +wore its holiday Sunday aspect as Bertram +Chester approached it. A Schuetzen +Park picnic was gathering itself under the +arches, to the syncopated tune of a brass band. +The crowd blazed with bright color. The +young men, in white caps, yellow sashes of +their mysterious fraternity, and tinted neckties +like the flowers of spring, lolled and +larked and smoked about the pillars. Fat +mothers and stodgy fathers fussed over baskets +and progeny. Young girls, in white +dresses and much trimming of ribbons, coquetted +in groups as yet unbroken by the larking +young men. Over these ceremonial white +dresses of the Sunday picnic, they wore coats +and even furs against the damp, penetrating +morning—rather late in the season it was for +picnics. In the rests of the ragtime, rose the +aggressive crackle of that flat, hard accent, +with its curious stress on the “r,” which would +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span> +denote to a Californian in Tibet the native +of South of Market, San Francisco.</p> +<p>Bertram Chester, had he been accustomed +to spare any of his powers for introspective +imagination, might have beheld his crossroads, +his turning point, in this passage +through the South of Market picnic to the +little group waiting, by the Sausalito Ferry, +to take him to the Masters ranch. But a +month ago, he himself had whistled up that +infatuated little milliner’s apprentice who was +his temporary light of love, and had taken +her over to Schuetzen Park of a Sunday. He +had drunk his beer and shaken for his round +of drinks with the boys, had taken the girl +away from a young butcher, had fought and +conquered the bookmaker’s clerk who tried +to take away the milliner’s apprentice from +him, and had gone home, when the day was +done, with his head buried on that soft curve +of the feminine shoulder which was made to +receive tired male heads.</p> +<p>Now, without a backward look, he was +walking toward Sydney Masters, Mrs. Masters, +the sprightly and dainty Kate Waddington, +and those others, grouped about them, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span> +who might be guides and companions on his +new way.</p> +<p>Kate Waddington had acquainted him in +advance with the party, so that the introductions +brought no surprises. That young-old +man with the sharp little face was Harry +Banks, mine owner, millionaire, and figure +about town—every one in San Francisco knew +him or knew about him. That tall, swaying +girl with the repressed mouth, the abundant +hair coiled about her head, the rather dull +expression, was Marion Slater—“she paints +miniatures and hammers brass and does all +kinds of art stunts,” Kate had said. That tall +young man, who radiated good manners, was +Dr. Norman French; that little woman, all +girl, was Alice Needham, his fiancée. “They +play juvenile lead in this crowd,” had been +Kate’s phrase for them.</p> +<p>Kate, taking possession of Bertram at once, +gave him her bag to carry, and, as the gates +opened and the whistle blew, she walked beside +him. From the upper deck, this Masters +party watched that city panorama, spread +on the hills for all to see, roll away from +them, the wheeling flocks of gulls trailing the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span> +craft in the roads, the surge of golden waters +rolling in from the Gate. A morning mood +blew in upon the winds; the party became +gay.</p> +<p>Bertram, in the rise of his morning spirits, +performed certain cub-like gambols for the +benefit of Kate Waddington. The company +failed not to notice that he had assisted her +up the gangway by slipping his hand under +her elbow. On the deck, he cut her out immediately +from the rest, insisted on tucking +her veil into his pocket, made a pretence of +trying to take her hand. Even Kate found +it hard to parry these advances. Banks, +slouching back on a bench in his easy, indolent +attitude, looked over toward them, and +his mouth tightened and set. So much had +he been courted for his wealth and personality, +this Harry Banks, that among his familiars +he assumed the privilege of falling into +moods without reason or preliminary notice. +His present mood was a perverse one; and he +took it out on its reason for being—this presumptuous +outsider.</p> +<p>“Me Gawd, Jimmie, but me belt hurts!” +he called out suddenly in his richest imitation +of the South of Market dialect. With his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +light step of a dancer, he skipped over to Kate +Waddington, whirled her to her feet, and began +to waltz about the forward deck, imitating +the awkward, contorted, cheek-to-cheek +style of the Schuetzen Park picnic. +Kate, who fell in at once with every invitation, +had laughed as he began to whirl her, +but she flushed too. The whole upper deck +was craning necks to stare. Mrs. Masters +caught her breath and whispered, “Oh, +don’t!” Dr. French and Alice Needham fell +to talking apart, as though repudiating, in +their embarrassment, such company. Marion +Slater, sitting at ease on her bench, cast one +glance at Harry Banks as he whirled to face +her. His eyes fell; on the next turn, he +waltzed Kate back to her seat. The relationship +between these two was a puzzle to their +familiars. He, the uncaught bachelor, the +flaneur, the epicurean, he who lived for his +pleasures, taking them with a calculated moderation +that he might preserve the power to +enjoy; she, the etiolated, the subtle, the earnest +follower of art, she who seemed always +a little too earnest and conventional for that +group of the frivolous and unconventional +rich—people had wondered for years how +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span> +there could be anything between them. +These two alone understood that the bond +was of the mind, not of the flesh or the spirit. +She but thought, and he thought with her; +she but lifted her eyebrow or moved her hand, +and the motion translated itself to speech in +his mind. That glance of her had made his +mind say, “I am making them all ridiculous.”</p> +<p>And, like the spoiled child that he was, +he ceased from one naughtiness only to +plunge into another and worse one. As Kate +dropped to the bench, he looked at Bertram +and said:</p> +<p>“You try it; I am a little rusty.” One of +his rare embarrassments flamed into the face +of Bertram Chester. The shot had gone +more truly than Harry Banks could have +known.</p> +<p>“No, thank you,” Bertram said simply, and +flushed again.</p> +<p>Masters spoke up from his corner:</p> +<p>“Well, Chester, you ought to be a good +dancer if build counts—though I shouldn’t +like to have you showing off your accomplishment +right here—you might lack the public +finish of the Banks style. You big football +fellows always have the call on the little men +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span> +in dancing. It is a matter of bulk and base, +I think.” The ferry boat was passing Alcatraz +now, and the populace had turned its +attention away from Harry Banks and his +party. The spoiled child kept straight ahead.</p> +<p>“They make real, ball-room gents,” he said. +He turned toward Marion on this; turned +as though he could not keep his look away. +She lifted her eyebrow again, and he fell into +a sulky silence.</p> +<p>The others rushed to the first refuge of +tact—personalities. After a moment, Banks +joined the talk; and then appeared another +aspect of his perverse mood. He took the +conversation into his own hands, and he +talked of nothing which could by any chance +include Bertram Chester, the callow newcomer, +the outsider. It was all designed to +show, it did show, how intimate they were, +how many old things they had in common—never +a passage in which Bertram could join +by any excuse. Even so did Banks direct it +as to draw Kate Waddington into the talk. +Bertram sat apart, then, his face showing all +his displeasure. His straight brows set themselves +in a frown, which he bent sometimes at +the group volleying personalities at Harry +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span> +Banks, and sometimes on the terraced hills of +Sausalito.</p> +<p>When they trooped off with the crowd, +Kate fell in beside Bertram again. Lagging +deliberately, she let a group of picnickers +come in between them and the rest of their +party. He was still frowning.</p> +<p>“I’d like to soak that man,” he said. +“Maybe I will.”</p> +<p>“No you won’t!” said she.</p> +<p>“Won’t I?” he replied.</p> +<p>“Oh, don’t think I haven’t seen it all. He +was horrid. You see, we’ve got used to him. +You’re meeting him new, and you don’t quite +understand him yet.”</p> +<p>“Well, I’m going to spend no sleepless +nights trying!”</p> +<p>“He’s really very clever and kind, at bottom. +You’ll come to like him as we all do. +And he’s a man that it’s good for you to +know.”</p> +<p>Bertram seemed to be considering this.</p> +<p>“Well, what did he mean, anyway?” he +snapped.</p> +<p>“Nothing. It’s just his foolery. We all +had to take it from him at first—and then we +came to appreciate him.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span></p> +<p>Bertram answered with an impatient gesture. +Kate caught his arm, held it for just +a second.</p> +<p>“Now, you wouldn’t spoil my day, would +you?” she asked softly. “You know I’m responsible +for you—”</p> +<p>His frown melted into his smile.</p> +<p>“Sure, if you put it like that!”</p> +<p>“Now, you’re a sensible, accommodating, +self-restrained lad, and every other adjective +in Samuel Smiles. You could charm the buttons +off a policeman—and you’ll see how +really nice he can be.”</p> +<p>“You’ll take out time until I get over my +grouch?”</p> +<p>“Of course.” They were approaching +Masters and Dr. French, who stood waiting +by the train platform. “Late and happy!” +she called.</p> +<p>Harry Banks, walking ahead beside Marion +Slater, had taken his own wordless rebuke +from her. During the train passage, he made +the concession of keeping away from Bertram, +and grouped himself off in the other +double seat. Bertram, sitting with Kate and +the engaged couple, spoke but seldom and +then languidly. He did not come face to face +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span> +with Harry Banks again until the buckboards +had delivered them at the Masters ranch.</p> +<p>This estate bore the title of “ranch” only +by courtesy. Masters himself said that he +raised nothing but mild Hell on his forty +acres. He did have an olive orchard, a small +orange grove flourishing by luck of a warm +gorge in the hills, and a little fancy stock. +Kate and Masters took possession of the +new guest at the gate, and carried him over +the estate for inspection. Mainly, Bertram +took this entertainment sullenly. He +warmed a little at the sight of the cattle. +The house, built by Masters’s own design, +drew only the comment, “pretty nice.” After +that, Bertram was free to go to his room and +dispose his belongings. Returning in a marvelously +short time, he came out upon the +house-party, grouped all in the big, redwood +ceiled living-room.</p> +<p>A fire of driftwood snapped with metallic +crackling on the hearth. Alice Needham sat +with Dr. French beside it; Mrs. Masters, +pausing in a flight of supervision, had stopped +to speak with them; Alice was looking up +at her, presenting her fresh, full-faced view +to the gaze of the man on the staircase. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span> +Marion Slater stood with Masters by one of +the Dutch windows, criticizing the design +with a painter’s half-arm gestures. Banks, +by another window, sat dividing his time between +a book and the valley below.</p> +<p>It happened then, as Bertram stood there, +that Alice Needham looked in his direction. +It happened, also, that she was smiling. He +caught her smile and smiled back.</p> +<p>That smile was half the secret of his physical +charm. In the first place, it broke with +wholly unexpected force. His face, what +with its heaviness of feature, was a little forbidding +and severe. As he bent his unillumined +gaze, he appeared stern—even angry. +Then, with the sudden preliminary vibration +of an earthquake, that smile would begin to +quiver about his mouth, to start wrinkles +about his eyes. Next, as he bent his head +forward toward the target of his charms, it +drew back the corners of his mouth to show +his white teeth, it pulled eyelids and eyebrows +into a tiny slit, through which his pupils +twinkled like electric sparks. These movements—wholly +muscular at that—spiritualized +and transformed his face.</p> +<p>Mrs. Masters, looking up at the interruption, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span> +was caught in this flood of charm and +good will. Harry Banks, feeling a psychic +current running about the room, looked up +also; and that smile caught him. It carried +away the last trace of his perverse mood. +And Bertram heaved himself down the stairs +and crossed at once to seat himself beside +Alice Needham.</p> +<p>“I see at a glance I’m going to like this +party,” he said. On other lips there would +have been nothing to laugh at in this; but +they all did laugh. In a minute more, Harry +Banks had dropped his book and crossed over +to the fireplace. Bertram, leading the talk +now, took him in without a trace of apparent +resentment. Kate, emerging from the room, +dropped down beside Harry Banks on the +floor and joined her cheerful pipe to the symphony +of good fellowship. Before luncheon, +this find of hers was the centre of the party; +events were revolving about him.</p> +<p>In the lazy hour after meat, the engaged +couple found chance to slip out into the +orange grove. Masters, summoned by his +foreman, went to look after a sick cow, Harry +Banks went back to his reading, and Alice +Needham to a design for a window seat which +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span> +she was building for the Masters dining-room. +These pairings left Bertram and +Kate to each other; and presently they were +out-of-doors, drawing on into the woods. +Masters, from the barn, watched them and +noted what a goodly couple, what a faun and +dryad in clothes, they were. Kate Waddington +was turning over her shoulder her slow +and rather lazy smile, which began at her +lips and lit her green-grey eyes last of all. +That was her best attitude of head. Bertram +swung up the trail, making progress by main +force—not walking so much as lifting himself +on those sturdy, saddle-sprung legs of his. +He was making wide, sweeping gestures; and +Kate, as he talked, leaned a little toward him +now and then, like a woman absorbed.</p> +<p>Momentarily, she had him on the subject +of football. He was touching upon the subject +of one Bill Graham, Stanford tackle and +opponent in two varsity games, whom she +knew and whom he was teaching her to know +better. Bertram stooped and gathered a +handful of pebbles from the trail to show +how Bill Graham used to throw sand in his +eyes; he thrust his open hand against an +alder, bordering the trail, to show how he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span> +contravened these tactics by slamming Bill +Graham in the face. Even so far did loosen +his tongue and spirit that he boasted of his +victories and excused his defeats. He went +further; he touched upon the most frightful +disappointment of his career.</p> +<p>“It was in the ten to nothing game,” said +he. “You remember, don’t you, how they +had us down on our ten yard line early in the +second half? We got the ball away. Nobody +had scored yet. Well, Stuffy Halpin +he gave the signal for a delayed pass on end. +That was a freak play we were trying out +that year—delayed pass first and then the +back passed to me. I jogged Bill Graham +and he stumbled down the field just bull-headed—he +never did have much football +sense. I looked down toward the goal”—(Bertram +had been gesticulating wildly; now +he gave the outstretched fingers of his right +hand a sudden fillip to show the changed direction +of his glance) “and I saw a clear field +right straight to the fullback or glory—”</p> +<p>“Gracious! What happened?” asked Kate. +She was capable, wit and social strategist that +she was, of assuming all this interest by way +of leading an inept youth to make a fool and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span> +a braggart of himself for her amusement. +But she showed not a glimmer of irony, +neither in her mouth nor in her green-grey +eyes. She spoke with the straight, sincere interest +of a dairymaid listening to the self-told +heroisms of a stable boy.</p> +<p>“Stuffy tumbled all over himself and +dropped the ball!”</p> +<p>Bertram’s answer conveyed all the tragedy +in the world.</p> +<p>They were come now to a place where the +trail ran steep and the redwoods thickened to +make a Californian hillside. It was November, +but the season was late. The earth was +washed bright by the early rains and not yet +sodden with the later ones. The black, +shaded loam, bare of grass, oozed the moisture +it was saving for its evergreen redwoods +against a rainless summer. In the dark clefts +grew scentless things of a delicate, gnome +aspect—gold-back fern, maiden-hair overlying +dank, cold pools, sorrel, six-foot brake. +No blossoms blew among all this greenery; +only by that sign and by the wet, perspiring +earth might one know that it was autumn on +those hills.</p> +<p>The clean ooze and dew started a little +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span> +stream which ran, choked with maiden-hair, +to the trail, and formed a pool. Some philanthropic +camper had driven a nail into the +rock and hung there a tin cup. Kate (Bertram +still talking and gesticulating at her +left) threw a perceptive glance.</p> +<p>“How good the water looks!” she said. “I +believe I am thirsty!”</p> +<p>While he filled the cup, she seated herself +on the rock, disposed herself into a composition; +and after they had both drunk, she +showed no disposition to move from her +perch. In fact, she loosened her brown +student beri, shook her hair free, and sat there, +a wood-nymph framed by the ruddy brown +and dark green of redwood and laurel. He +crouched his big frame down beside her, so +that she leaned back against the rock. A +long silence, and:</p> +<p>“Nature is mighty nice!” he said.</p> +<p>Then, perceiving her as a part of the picture, +he added:</p> +<p>“And you’re the nicest thing about it.”</p> +<p>At this frontal attack, Kate waited to see +whether it meant further attack, skirmish, or +retreat. His general softness of expression, +showed that it meant attack. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span></p> +<p>Bertram, in fact, was in the mood for attack +on rose citadels. A year of life on +twelve dollars a week—cheap, crowded lodgings, +meals at the Hotel Marseillaise, the +landlady’s daughter and those of her kind for +companionship—and now, in a week, the refinements +of the Tiffany house, the refinement +plus entertainment of the Masters villa, and +these two lovely, fragrant women. It seemed +all to roll up in him as he sat there, the woods +about him and this golden creature at his side; +and it found half-unconscious expression on +his lips.</p> +<p>“I’m going to be rich some day,” he said.</p> +<p>“I hope so.”</p> +<p>“I am, sure. When I get rich I’m going +to have a place like this—I’ll have a long pull +by that time and be able to invite anybody +I want—this is the only way to live.” His +voice fell away.</p> +<p>Then he looked up and bent upon her that +smile.</p> +<p>“It’s great to have a girl like you to confide +in,” he said.</p> +<p>“Thank you; but you haven’t confided +much as yet,” responded Kate.</p> +<p>“I don’t suppose there is a whole lot to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span> +confide. At least, things you’d want to tell a +girl like you. Only one thing. I’m in love!”</p> +<p>The arrest of all motion in Kate which followed +this declaration was like one of those +sudden calms which fall over a field at the +approach of evening. It descended upon her +in the mid-course of a gesture; it wrapped +her about in such a stillness that neither +breath nor blood stirred. Then, though only +her lips moved, her vocal cords responded to +her will.</p> +<p>“And she is to be mistress of the villa when +you get rich?”</p> +<p>“If she’ll take me,” said Bertram. “You +see, it is a brand new case. I’ve just got it—just +realized it. She’s up and I’m still +down, so it wouldn’t be square to say anything +about it, now would it?”</p> +<p>“No,” answered Kate softly, “though we +women like bold lovers too.”</p> +<p>“Yes, that’s so. And I suppose if I keep too +still about it, somebody else will come riding +onto the ranch and carry her off. It’s my +game, I guess, to stay around and watch. +And if I find any gazebo getting too thick +with her, then up speaks little Bertie for the +word that makes her his. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span></p> +<p>“If she’ll have me,” he added. “But she’s +a good many pegs above me just now and I’ve +got more than a living to make. Of course, +that’ll come all right if I have fair luck. If +it was easy money plugging my way through +college, it will be easy plugging it through +the world. Don’t you size it up about that +way?”</p> +<p>Kate clasped her hands and leaned forward.</p> +<p>“If you’re playing the long game, I suppose +so. But wouldn’t you do better at least +to hint to the girl?”</p> +<p>“I guess you can advise me about that,” +said he. “Better than anybody I know. +Suppose I tell you all about it?” A little +panic ran through the nerves of Kate.</p> +<p>“Now?” she said, “are—are you ready?”</p> +<p>“Now-time is good-time,” he said. “Well, +I guess you’ve savveyed just who it is and +what’s the matter. It’s—it’s Miss Gray—Eleanor +Gray.”</p> +<p>To the end of her days, Kate Waddington +remembered to be thankful for a certain cotton-tail +rabbit. At that moment precisely, +this fearling of the woods streaked down the +trail, pursued by a dog whose heavy crashing +sounded in the distance; came out upon them, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span> +whirled with a loud roaring of fern and +leaves, screamed the heart-rending scream of +a frightened rabbit, and dashed off into the +wood. The sound, coming in this tender moment, +betrayed Bert Chester into a guilty start. +So, when he looked back, her face was as +smoothly beautiful as ever and she was even +smiling.</p> +<p>“You lucky boy!” she said. And then, “I +don’t blame you. I wouldn’t blame any +man.” Bertram fairly glowed.</p> +<p>“I knew you’d agree with me,” he said. +“Say, what chance do I stand—honest, what +do you believe she thinks of me?”</p> +<p>“Honest, I never heard her say. It is +likely she hasn’t begun to think of it at all. +Women are slower than men about such +things. How long have you been—in love +with her?”</p> +<p>“Of course, I’ve been that way ever since +I saw her first—ever since I was a student, +picking prunes for her uncle, and went down +and helped her run a bull off her place. I +thought then that I never saw nicer eyes or +a more ladylike girl. She’s always given me +the glassy eye. I think she hates me—no, it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span> +isn’t that, either. She just feels superior to +me.”</p> +<p>“Oh, perhaps not that!”</p> +<p>“Well, anyhow, I was in college and any +one girl looked about the same to me as any +other—” Bertram wrinkled his brows in +contempt for his utter, undeveloped youngness +of two years before—“but I remembered +her always. When I saw her sitting in the +Hotel Marseillaise that evening, I felt queer; +and after I called on her I just knew I had +it. Funny, you coming in that afternoon. +You and I have hit it off so well, and here +I’m confiding in you! It was a regular luck +sign, I think.”</p> +<p>Kate’s voice, when she spoke, fell to its +deeper, richer tones.</p> +<p>“And I’m sure I feel flattered—any girl +would. I really thank you—you don’t know +how much.”</p> +<p>“And you’ll help me, won’t you?”</p> +<p>“With my advice—yes.”</p> +<p>“Well, that’s all I want. If I win this +game, I want to win it square.</p> +<p>“Say, you are sure the goods. You’re as +pretty—it wouldn’t be natural for a man to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span> +say you’re as pretty as she is, but a man can +just look at you and wonder—” and here he +dropped one of his hands gently upon hers. +She let it rest there a moment before she drew +away.</p> +<p>“We’d better be going back,” she said. +“They’ll think it’s I and not Eleanor, if we +stay so long.”</p> +<p>As they started, he stooped to get her another +drink. Standing above him, her hand +lifted toward her student beri, she bent her +gaze on his back. A peculiar look it was, +as though an effort against pain. It faded +into an expression like hunger.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VIII' id='CHAPTER_VIII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +</div> +<p>It seemed afterward to Bertram Chester, +reviewing the early events of a life in +which he was well pleased, that his real attack +on things, his virtual beginning, came +with that house-party of the Masters’s. The +victory of his smile on the staircase he followed +up that evening to a general conquest. +For Masters, when dinner was over, brewed +a hot punch. They drank it about the driftwood +fire, and even the severe Marion Slater +relaxed and made merry. The essence of the +gods strips self-control and delicacy first, so +that the finer wit goes by without tribute of +a laugh and the wit of poked fingers—especially +if it be sauced by personality—rules at +the board. After the punch had worked sunshine +in them, the poked finger of this young +barbarian was more compelling than the sallies +of Masters or the mimicry of Harry +Banks.</p> +<p>When the party dispersed at the Sausalito +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span> +Ferry and scattered for a workaday Monday, +he found himself accepting invitations left +and right. Dr. French asked him to motor +out to the Cliff House that very night; Mrs. +Masters wanted him to dinner; Harry Banks +must have him over to his ranch under Tamalpais. +Kate Waddington, mounting the steps +to Banks’s automobile, slipped him a farewell +word.</p> +<p>“You were a success,” she said. “That’s +the reward of naughty little boys when they +reform!”</p> +<p>“Well, I’d have liked to smash his face +just the same—then.”</p> +<p>“You’ve done better than that—you’ve +quite conquered him. I’ll see you Wednesday +at the Masters? Good bye!”</p> +<p>Bertram Chester sold forthwith the Richmond +lots, his first venture in business, to get +ready money for the wisest or the most foolish +investment which a young man of affairs +can make in the beginning of his career—general +society. With all his youth, his energy +and his eager attack on things, he plunged +into the life of San Francisco. Only in that +city of easy companionships and careless social +scrutinies would such a sudden rise have +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span> +been possible. His furnished room, where +he used to read and study of evenings in his +years of beginnings, knew him no more before +midnight. He dropped away from those +comrades of the lower sort with whom he +had found his recreation; abandoned and forgotten +were his old lights of love. The milliner’s +apprentice, a coarsely pretty little +thing, used to wait for him sometimes on the +doorstep. Mark Heath, coming home one +night earlier than usual, found her there, took +her for a walk about the block, and conveyed +to her the unpleasant news that Bertram was +now flying higher than her covey. After +that, she came no more; and the first phase of +his life in San Francisco drifted definitely +back of Bertram Chester.</p> +<p>We shall stop with him only three or four +times in the course of that winter wherein he +made his beginnings. Before it was over, he +had entered, by the special privilege accorded +such characters, the club about which man-society +in San Francisco revolved; he had +broken into a half a dozen circles of women +society; he had become hail-fellow-well-met +with the younger sons of the cocktail route, +the loud characters of flashy Latin quarter +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span> +studios, the returned Arctic millionaires of +the hour and day who kept the Palace Hotel +prosperous, the patrons and heroes of the +prize-fight games, the small theatrical sets of +that small metropolis. Sometimes he flashed +in a night through four or five such circles.</p> +<p>He hung of late afternoons over bars, exchanging +that brainless but well-willed talk +by which men of his sort come to know men. +He sat beside roped rings to witness the best +muscle of the world—and not the worst brain—revive +in ten thousand men the primeval +brute. He frolicked with trifling painters, +bookless poets, apprentice journalists, and the +girls who accrued to all these, through wild +studio parties in Latin quarter attics. He +sat before the lace, mahogany, crimson lights +and cut glass of formal dinners, whereat, +after the wine had gone round, his seat became +head of the table.</p> +<p>From these meetings and revels, whereby +he made his way along the path of dalliance +in the easiest, most childish, most accepting +city of the Western world, two or three kaleidoscopic +flashes remained in his maturer +memory. The night of the football game, +for example, he strayed into the annual +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span> +pitched battle of noise and reproach at the +Yellowstone between the California partisans +and the Stanford fanatics. A California +graduate, his companion along the cocktail +route, recognized him; immediately, he was +riding shoulder high. His bearers broke for +the sidewalk, and down Market Street he +went, a blue-and-gold serpentine dancing behind +him. There was his first Jinks at the +Bohemian club—an impromptu affair, thrown +in between the revelling Christmas Jinks in +the clubhouse and the formally artistic Midsummer +High Jinks in the Russian River +Grove. The Sire, noting his smile and figure, +impressed him into service for a small +part. This brought a fortnight of rehearsal +which was all play and expression of young +animal spirits, a night of revel refined by art, +an after-jinks dinner of the cast, whereat +Bertram, as usual, spoke only to conquer. +Memory held also one perfectly-blended +winter house-party at the Banks ranch, with +the rain swaying the eucalyptus trees outside +and a dozen people chosen from San Francisco +for their power to entertain, making two +nights and a day cheerful within.</p> +<p>Later in life, he, the unreflective, thought +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span> +that times had changed in his city; that men +were not so brilliant nor circles so convivial +as when he was very young. It was not in +him to know that neither times nor men had +changed; that he thought so only because he +looked on them no longer through the rose +glasses of youth.</p> +<p>He himself would have called it a season +of great change, and he would have missed, at +that, the greatest change of all—the transformation +in himself. The face on which we +saw so little written when he had that meeting +in the Hotel Marseillaise, the new sheet +straight from the mills of the gods, had now +a faint scratching upon it. The mouth was +looser in repose, firmer in action; the roving +and merry eye was more certain, more accurate +as it were, in its glances. His youthful +assurance had changed in him to something +like mature self-certainty. In those external +city manners which he had set about from the +beginning to acquire, he showed more ease. +Although he had lost the fragrance of an untouched +youth, he had become altogether a +prettier figure of a man.</p> +<p>He needed all the prodigal youth and the +cowboy strength in him to keep up his social +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span> +pace and still do his work, but he managed +it. Indeed, he became of distinct value to +the office through the business which he +brought in from his wandering and his revelling. +It seemed that he might refurbish that +old law practice and find his way to the partnership +which Judge Tiffany foresaw at the +end of one path.</p> +<p>Through this consideration and through +the partisan friendship of Mrs. Tiffany, he +became gradually a pet and familiar of the +Tiffany household, taking pot-luck dinners +with them, joining them once or twice on +their out-of-doors excursions. His big, +bounding presence, his good-natured gambols +of the Newfoundland pup order, transformed +that somewhat serious and faded +ménage, gave it light and interest, as from a +baby in the house. Although Mrs. Tiffany +mothered him, gave him her errands to do, +she made no mistake about the centre of attraction +for him. He was “after” Eleanor. +That young woman took him soberly and +naturally, laughing at his gambols, accepting +his attentions, but giving no sign to Mrs. Tiffany’s +attentive eyes that her interest was +more than indifferent friendship. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span></p> +<p>His wooing, in fact, went on in a desultory +fashion, as though he were following the +policy which he had expounded to Kate Waddington—“hang +around and watch.” He +paid no more compliments to grey eyes; he +paid no compliments at all. When they were +alone, he entertained her with those new tales +of his associations in the city, which pleased +her less, had he only known it, than his tales +of the ranch and gridiron. If he showed the +state of his feeling, it was no more than by +an occasional long and hungry look.</p> +<p>In one way or another, he saw nearly as +much of Kate Waddington, that winter, as he +did of Eleanor. Kate, too, was a ray of light. +She—“the little sister of the clever” her enemies +called her—made the Tiffany house a +bourne between her stops at her home in the +Mission and her rangings about Russian Hill. +Bertram noticed with sentimental pleasure +that the two girls were a great deal together. +He found them exchanging the coin of feminine +friendship in Eleanor’s living-room, he +met them on shopping excursions in Post +street. When the three met so, Kate always +sparkled with her best wit, her most cheerful +manner; but she showed, too, a kind of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span> +deference toward Eleanor, an attitude which +said, “He is yours; I am intruding only by +accident.” The meaning in this attitude bore +itself in, at length, even upon Bertram Chester; +and he did not fail to glow with gratitude. +He expressed that gratitude once or +twice when he was alone with Kate. Somehow, +it was easy for him to talk to her about +such things.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IX' id='CHAPTER_IX'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> +</div> +<p>“Are you off the job to-night?” came +the resonant voice of Bertram Chester +over the telephone.</p> +<p>“Yes!” Eleanor laughed. “Are you coming +to play with us?”</p> +<p>“No. You’re coming to play with me. +One of our best little playmates leans over +my elbow as I indite these few lines—little +Katie. Mark Heath is reporting great doings +in Chinatown to-night, and he wants +assistance. Do you suppose your Aunt Mattie +will object to Chinatown?”</p> +<p>“Aunt Matilda never dictates—”</p> +<p>“Then it’s Chinatown! We’ll be along +for you in half an hour. We’re dining with +the Masters, who have inconsiderately refused +to come along. What’s happened to you?”</p> +<p>“Nothing—why?”</p> +<p>“Your voice sounds so chipper!”</p> +<p>“That shows I’m in a mood to play!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span></p> +<p>“Then we’ll be along in a <i>quarter</i> of an +hour.”</p> +<p>“And I’ll be waiting at the garden gate!”</p> +<p>The swish and murmur of night, the rustle +of a steady sea breeze, the composite rumble +of the city far below, tuned with the song in +Eleanor’s blood as she stood waiting by the +front gate. She looked down on the pattern +of light and heavy shadow that was the city, +and a curious mood of exultation came over +her. Light foreshadowings of this mood had +touched her now and again during the past +two months; never before had these transitory +feelings piled themselves up into such a definite +emotion.</p> +<p>She could not trace its shy beginning, but +she was aware of it first as a sense of the +humanity in the cells of that luminous honeycomb +below, the struggling, hoping, fighting, +aspiring mass, each unit a thing to love, did +one but know the best. The wave of love +universal beat so strong on her heart that she +turned her eyes away for surfeit of rapture, +and looked up to the stars. They, the bright +angels of judgment whose infinite spaces she +could not contemplate without fear, united +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span> +themselves in some mysterious bond with the +little human things below; the sight of them +brought the same wave of rapture. Too +mighty long to be endured, the wave broke +into ripples of happy contemplation. Sounding +lines of forgotten poems ran through her +mind, movements of old symphonies, memories +of her vicarious raptures before the altar +in the convent, glimpses of hillsides and valleys +and woods in the winter rain which she +had seen unseeing that she might reserve their +deeper meaning for this deeper sight of the +spirit. “I wonder if this is not happiness; +if Heaven will not be so?” she thought. It +came, too, that if this exaltation lasted a moment +longer, she should know with God the +meaning of all things, the Reason which +united stars and space and men and the works +of men.</p> +<p>The resonant bass of Bertram Chester, +beating down Kate’s cheerful treble, floated +up from the sidewalk. The sound came almost +as a relief; yet on second thought she +was a little sorry for their intrusion into this +lonely rapture of the spirit. She looked over +the wall. Kate, revealed in the light of their +gate-lamp, walked between the two men, who +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span> +were bending toward her; now they were all +laughing together. She was radiant, this +firm-fleshed, golden flower of the West. +Eleanor dipped from her clouds of glory to +notice that she wore a new tailor gown, that +every touch of her costume showed how she +had got herself up for that special occasion. +And now the spiritual fluid in Eleanor transmuted +itself into a reckless gaiety. She +slipped down the steps and confronted them +on the sidewalk.</p> +<p>“Hello,” said Kate, looking her over. +“Well, who’s given you a present?”</p> +<p>Eleanor hugged her. “That’s just what’s +happened, Katie. Somebody <i>has</i> given me a +present—I believe it must have been the +stars.” She extended her hands, right and +left, to the men; holding them so, she rattled +on; “Boys and girls, there’s so much ego in +my cosmos to-night that it’s running out at +every pore. I’m sure there’s going to be a +party to-night, and I’m sure it’s got up for +my benefit. I’m going to play so hard—so +hard that they’ll put me to bed crying! Mr. +Heath, bring on your Chinese and let them +gambol and frisk. It’s my birthday. This +isn’t the date in the family Bible, as Kate +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span> +could tell you if she weren’t a lady, but I’m +sure my parents made a mistake. I just know +that some menial is coming in a minute with +a birthday cake—and the ring and the thimble +and the coin and everything will be in my +slice—Hello, Bert Chester!”</p> +<p>“Where do I come in?” enquired Kate.</p> +<p>“You? You come in as my dearest little +playmate, to whom I sent the first invitation.”</p> +<p>“I see at a glance,” rejoined Mark Heath, +“that we’ve got our work cut out for us. I +will now announce to the Little Girl who is +Having a Party the program of games and +sports. The festival of the women is on in +Chinatown.”</p> +<p>“I saw it from the car as I passed Dupont +Street,” chimed in Kate. “And the Quarter +is blazing like a fire in a tar barrel.”</p> +<p>In the most natural manner, Kate linked +herself to Mark Heath. She always yielded +the place beside Bertram when Eleanor was +present; quite as naturally, she herself took +that place when Eleanor was away. Bertram +cast a long look on his companion; and he +ventured for the first time in weeks, on something +like a compliment.</p> +<p>“What <i>has</i> happened to you? You look—hanged +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span> +if I can just tell you how you look, +but it’s great!”</p> +<p>“Oh, compliment me! I love compliments! +That’s my birthday present from +you. I wonder if the Chinese babies will be +out on the street—the little, golden babies. +Why haven’t they a legend about those babies? +Mr. Heath, do you know Chinese mythology? +Kate, aren’t you sure those children are primroses +transformed by the fairies to hide them +from the goblins?”</p> +<p>Bertram frowned a little as she drew the +other couple into their private conversation. +But he continued to study her. This lightness +and brightness which she had developed +so suddenly, seemed quite to dim the radiance +of his own personality. He fell into a quiet +which lasted far into the evening. She, on +her side, moved like one intoxicated by some +divine liquor. Never had she seemed so gay, +so young; and—though he did not wholly +formulate this—never had she seemed to him +so inaccessible.</p> +<p>They approached a dark alley beside an +Italian tenement. Eleanor, dancing around +the corner, came upon it suddenly. She drew +up. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span></p> +<p>“There’s an ogre in this dark den—I know +there is. I must see him! Just think, I’m +ten years old going onto eleven, and I never +yet saw a real ogre. Come on—we’re going +ogre hunting!” She plunged into the shadows. +Mark, laughing, followed.</p> +<p>Eleanor peeped into the door of a wine-house, +peeped over a board fence, and came +back to announce:</p> +<p>“He’s not in. I left my card—oh, there he +is—he’s visiting the goblin in that garden +across the street!” She skipped across to an +old stone wall which held its half-acre of +earth suspended over the hill-fall. Mark +skipped with her; Bertram followed at a distance +as one who plays a game of which he is +not sure. Eleanor brought up against the +wall.</p> +<p>“There he is—by the kitchen door. Of +course you see him! Good, Kind ogre, you +don’t eat little girls on their birthdays do +you?”</p> +<p>“Aren’t his red eyes beautiful and hasn’t he +a classy set of teeth?” rejoined Mark Heath. +“Be good, Fido, and you shall have a plumber +for breakfast.”</p> +<p>“But he’ll spare me! He says I’m too beautiful +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span> +to eat!” Eleanor was dancing back. “Oh +Kate, I’ve seen an ogre!”</p> +<p>Kate did not answer. She fell in with +Mark Heath, and as they drew ahead she murmured:</p> +<p>“I wonder what’s got into her?”</p> +<p>“Nothing I guess. I should rather say +she’d got out. I think it’s bully.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” said Kate, drawing out the last +word.</p> +<p>They turned into the Quarter at Washington +Street, and at once they were in the midst +of the festival. From a doorway burst a +group of little, immobile-featured Cantonese +women, all in soft greens, deep blues, reds and +golds that glimmered in the gas-lights. +Banded combs in jade and gold held their +smooth, glossy black hair; their slender hands, +peeping from their sleeves, shone with rings. +The foremost among them, a doll-girl of sixteen +or so, tottered and swayed on the lily feet +of a lady. The rest walked upon clattering +pattens, like a French heel set by the cobbler’s +mistake at the instep.</p> +<p>Mark Heath, the young reporter, proud in +his knowledge of “the inside,” took up the +reins of conversation. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span></p> +<p>“A fairy story for you right at the start, +birthday lady! That little-foot girl is the +daughter of Hom Kip. You remember the +story, don’t you? The old plug tried to sell +this daughter of his for wife to a merchant in +Portland. She had her own ideas—she +eloped with the second tragedian from the +theatre over there. Hom Kip put detectives +on them, and caught her at Fresno. But she’d +already married her actor American fashion; +and the Portland bridegroom is waiting until +father makes his little blossom a widow.”</p> +<p>“As temporary Empress of Chinatown, I +order that he shall do nothing of the kind,” +said Eleanor.</p> +<p>“As your grand vizier, I shall put the +machinery in motion that will free the beautiful +young bride,” rejoined Mark Heath.</p> +<p>Kate broke in.</p> +<p>“What became of the actor? I’m one of +those dull persons who always wants the rest +of the story!”</p> +<p>“I told you, didn’t I, that father is going to +make her a widow? At least he was until the +Empress ordered otherwise. The actor has +probably abandoned his art, which gives him +undesirable publicity. And some day, if +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span> +father dares disobey the Empress, there’ll be a +mysterious murder in a backwoods laundry—police +baffled.”</p> +<p>Eleanor contemplated the lily-foot girl, +swaying about the corner into Dupont, her little +handkerchief in one hand, her proper fan +in the other.</p> +<p>“Poor little blossom—I wonder if she’ll +mourn for him? Faithful Grand Vizier, +don’t tell me sad facts on my birthday night. +I want only pretty things.”</p> +<p>“Whether she’ll mourn or not won’t make +much difference to father—or to the Highbinders. +Je-hoshaphat—look!”</p> +<p>For they had turned the corner into Dupont +Street, main avenue of the Quarter. Its narrow +vista came upon them at first as a smothered +flame. Innumerable paper lanterns, +from scarlet globes as big as a barrel to parti-colored +cones that one might hold in his palm, +blazed everywhere, making strange combinations, +incredible shades, in the flaring Chinese +signs, the bright dresses of the women. The +sidewalks quivered with life—soberly dressed +coolies, making green background for the +gauds of their women, bespangled babies late +out of bed that they might gain good luck +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span> +and blessing from those rites, priests in white +robes, dignitaries in long tunics, incongruous +Caucasian tourists and spectators.</p> +<p>A moment Eleanor drank it all in; then she +addressed her Grand Vizier.</p> +<p>“Inform my people, through your invaluable +publication, that their demonstration in +my honor is perfect.”</p> +<p>“It shall be done, liege lady—three column +spread on the front page. Oh, you’ve got to +have a shoe.” For a vendor was bearing down +on them, carrying a tray of pink paper shoes +like valentines. “That’s the symbol of this +festival—the goddess lost her shoe before she +died. How much, Charlie? Two bits two? +All light! Empress, permit me to present this +souvenir of a grateful people. Miss Waddington, +have a shoe on me!”</p> +<p>Eleanor hung the pink trifle to the pin at +her throat.</p> +<p>“I shall add it to the royal treasure trove,” +she said. It came across her then, as one of +the unrelated thoughts and fancies which +were coursing in such swarms through her +mind, that Bertram Chester, though he stuck +close to her side, had been unusually silent. +She drew him in at once. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span></p> +<p>“Does it become me?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Everything becomes you.”</p> +<p>“You don’t say anything about <i>my</i> shoes!” +said Kate.</p> +<p>Now the crowd began to eddy and to whirl +toward the next corner. There rose the clang +of gongs, the shrilling of a Chinese pipe +playing a mournful air in that five-toned scale +Whose combinations suggest always the mystery +of the East. About that corner swept the +procession of the Good Lady, priests before, +women worshippers behind. The priests set +up a falsetto chant, the banner-bearers lifted +their staves, and the parti-colored mass moved +down on them.</p> +<p>“It’s like a flower-bed on a landslide!” exclaimed +Eleanor.</p> +<p>Mark Heath gravely pulled out his left cuff +and took rapid notes with a pencil.</p> +<p>“That goes into the story—anything more +up your sleeve like that?”</p> +<p>“Wasn’t it good? Eleanor is always thinking +up clever things to say,” Kate came in. +Her voice was rather flat.</p> +<p>At the edge of the gutter where they stood, +a Chinese shoemaker had set out on a lacquer +tray his offering to the gods. Red candles +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span> +bordered it, surrounding little bowls of rice +and sweetmeats, a slice of roast pig, a Chinese +lily. As the banners approached, certain devout +coolies found room on the sidewalk to +prostrate themselves. Eleanor, absorbed now +in a poetic appreciation of all this glory of +color and spirit, felt a movement beside her. +She looked down. The shoemaker was flat +on his forehead beside his offering.</p> +<p>“Would you per-ceive that Chink grovel,” +spoke the voice of Bertram Chester.</p> +<p>Before Eleanor could turn on him, he was +addressing the shoemaker.</p> +<p>“Feel a heap better, Charlie? Say, who-somalla +you? Brush off your knees!” The +Chinese, if he understood, paid no more attention +than he paid to the lamp post in his +path. Gathering up his offering, he pushed +his way back through the crowd.</p> +<p>For the first time that evening, Eleanor became +somewhat like her normal self as she +said:</p> +<p>“Why, this is a religious ceremony, isn’t it—all +this light and color!”</p> +<p>“Yes,” responded the personal conductor of +the party, “but you have to pinch yourself to +remember it. For instance, you’ll be charmed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span> +to know that I saw one of those priests, up in +front there, arrested last week in a raid on a +gambling joint. Morals haven’t an awful lot +to do with this religion. Maybe that fellow +on the pavement was praying that he’d have +a chance to murder his dearest enemy, and +maybe he was applying for luck in a lottery. +Empress of Chinatown, up yon frazzled flight +of stairs lurks the New York Daytime Lottery. +The agents of said lottery are playing +ducks and drakes right now with the pay of +the printers on the imperial bulletin which I +have the honor to represent. Some day, your +grand vizier and most humble servant is going +to do a Sunday story on a drawing in a +Chinese lottery.”</p> +<p>Eleanor showed no inclination to go on with +the game.</p> +<p>“Have another shoe—one shoe, Charlie, for +the little princess!” continued Mark Heath. +This one, displayed amid the cone-sticks and +New Years nuts of a sweetmeat stand, was +bright blue. Mark hung it on Eleanor’s +shoulder; then, as a kind of afterthought, he +bought a crimson tassel for Kate.</p> +<p>The procession was past, was breaking up. +The women, in knots of three or four, were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span> +scattering to the night’s festivities. Mark, as +guide, let business go as he led them on his +grand tour of Chinatown. They stopped to +survey sidewalk altars of rice paper and jade, +where priests tapped their little gongs and +sang all night the glory of the Good Lady; +they visited the prayer store, emporium for +red candles, “devil-go-ways,” punks, votive +tassels, and all other Chinese devices to win +favor of the gods and surcease from demons; +they explored the cavernous underground +dwellings beneath the Jackson Street Theatre; +they climbed a narrow, reeking passage to +marvel at the revel of color and riot of +strange scent which was the big joss house. +Bertram’s spirits were rising by this time; he +expressed them by certain cub-like gambols +which showed both his failure to appreciate +the beauty in all this strangeness and his old-time +Californian contempt for the Chinese as +a people. Once he tweaked a cue in passing +and laughed in the face of the insulted Chinaman; +and once he made pretence of stealing +nuts from a sweetmeat stall.</p> +<p>Wherever Mark found a new design in toy +shoes, he bought one for Eleanor, until she +wore a string of them, like a necklace, across +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span> +her bodice. Yet had the illumination gone a +little out of her; she replied with diminishing +vivacity to Mark’s advances as he played the +birthday game.</p> +<p>When they mounted the joss house stairs she +lagged behind; and Bertram lagged with +her.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter?” he asked. “I never +saw you so bright and chipper as we were +awhile ago, and now—say, what’s the matter?”</p> +<p>“Nothing. Oh, Mr. Heath—” she raised +her voice, “are the actors allowed in the joss +house—and if not will you have it fixed for +me?”</p> +<p>After they had presented their votive punks +to the great high god, Kate announced that +she was footweary.</p> +<p>“Can’t we find a place to sit down?” she +asked. Mark took her up.</p> +<p>“That’s the signal for tea at the Man Far +Low restaurant. Ever been there? Tea +store below, fantan next floor, restaurant top +side all the way through the block. Come on, +Empress of Chinatown. The royal board +awaits.”</p> +<p>The Man Far Low was in the throes of +large preparation for the Chinese all-night +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span> +banquets which would close the festival. +The cashier wore his dress tunic, his cap with +the red button. The kitchen door, open on +the second landing, gave forth a cloud of steam +which bore odors of peanut oil, duck, bamboo +sprouts and Chinese garlic; through the +cloud they could see cooks working mightily +over their brass pots. Every compartment of +the big dining hall upstairs held its prepared +table; waiters in new-starched white coats +were setting forth a thousand toy devices in +porcelain. Though the Chinese feasting had +not yet commenced, it was plain, from the attitude +of the waiters, that slummers and tourists +were not wanted on that night. But still +the head waiter, when he came slipping +over on his felt shoes, led them to a table in +the Eastern dining room, from whose balconies +one overlooked Portsmouth Square. +His aspect, however, was anything but +cheerful.</p> +<p>“Say, you Chink, smile!” said Bertram as he +seated himself.</p> +<p>By a slight turn of the head, the very slightest +in the world, the Chinese showed that he +caught this in all its force. But he went +gravely on, setting out porcelain bowls. Eleanor’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span> +hand moved a little, as though in restraint.</p> +<p>“Cheer up, Charlie, crops is ripe!” resumed +Bertram.</p> +<p>“Don’t—please,” cried Eleanor. The first +word came short, sharp and peremptory; the +“please” was appealing.</p> +<p>The color rose under Bertram’s brown skin. +Kate, an outside party to this passage, smiled +a quiet smile; but she spoke to Mark Heath.</p> +<p>“What <i>are</i> those paintings on that screen—come +and tell me about them!”</p> +<p>Now Bertram and Eleanor stood alone with +the table between them.</p> +<p>“I was jollying him!” burst out Bertram. +Eleanor glanced at Kate, who stood profile-on +listening to the ready Heath.</p> +<p>“Shall we go out on the balcony?” She +stepped through the open French window.</p> +<p>As they stood in the shadow, the city at +their feet, neither spoke for a moment. Finally,</p> +<p>“It’s a call-down, I suppose?” began Bertram, +tentatively.</p> +<p>“Not necessarily.”</p> +<p>With a slam, he brought his hand down on +the balcony rail. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span></p> +<p>“You don’t give—you don’t give a damn—that’s +the trouble with you—you don’t care +what I do!”</p> +<p>Eleanor drew a little away from him before +she answered:</p> +<p>“I care if anyone is uncivil.”</p> +<p>“What is it but a Chink? They expect it! +Why, down in Tulare—” His voice fell +away as though he recognized the futility of an +attack in this form. She spoke:</p> +<p>“It is you who should not expect it.” And +then, “I am sorry I said what I did. It was +an impulse. We are all imperfect. I’ve +often been unkind myself.”</p> +<p>Bertram stood gripping the rail before him +as one caught and held by a new emotion. +When he spoke, his voice was low and rather +hard. At the first tone of it, she shrank from +the daimon in him.</p> +<p>“If you only cared enough to call me down! +That’s the trouble with you. Am I—am I +the dirt under your feet?”</p> +<p>“Oh, don’t please!” But he was going on, +too fast to be stopped.</p> +<p>“I’m afraid of you—that’s what’s the matter. +What have you got in you that I can’t +seem to melt? You kept away from me the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span> +first time ever I saw you. You’ve kept away +ever since. You don’t think I’m as good as +you—and I’m not. But it’s aggravating—it’s +damned aggravating—to have you rub it in. +You’ve got something about you that I can’t +touch anywhere.” And he paused, as though +expecting her to deny it.</p> +<p>“I don’t know what right you have to say +this,” she exclaimed.</p> +<p>In her swift rush to her own defence, she +had dropped her guard. She realized it on +the moment, heard his inevitable reply before +he opened his mouth to the swift-flashing answer +which, that outer self told her, was the +only possible answer for him to make.</p> +<p>“Only this right. I’m in love with you. +I’ve been in love with you ever since I saw you +down at the Judge’s ranch, only I didn’t know +it then. I love you.” Silence for a moment, +and then, “I love you!”</p> +<p>For just one instant, it seemed to her that +she was swaying toward him in spite of herself. +He made, curiously, no active motion +toward her. That outer self of Eleanor’s, +reigning as always over her conscious self, +commenting, criticising, seeing—that outer +self remembered, above her mental turmoil, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span> +that never in all their later acquaintance had +he tried even to touch her finger.</p> +<p>“Oh, don’t!” she cried, “please don’t!”</p> +<p>He made a growl in his throat, the adult +counterpart to a baby’s cry of disappointment.</p> +<p>“Didn’t I tell you?” he said, “and now I’ve +laid myself wide open for a throw-down.”</p> +<p>“If you call it that. Oh Bertram—” he +and she both noticed the shift to his familiar +name—“I’m afraid I haven’t been fair to you. +Oh, have I been fair?”</p> +<p>He paused as though considering a whole +new range of ideas.</p> +<p>“Yes, I guess you have,” he responded at +length.</p> +<p>“You’re a man,” she said, “and a big man. +I suppose I ought—to love you. To have the +power of loving you in me. And oh, there +have been moments when I thought I could.” +She stopped as though appalled by the lengths +to which she had gone. “You see, I’m trying +to be fair now. I’m telling you everything.”</p> +<p>And then, with the thought which succeeded, +it was as though she felt the physical +tingle of bay leaves in her nostrils, “or nearly +everything.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span></p> +<p>Through the open French windows came +the cheery voice of Kate Waddington.</p> +<p>“Tea is served, ladies and gentlemen!”</p> +<p>“All right—be along presently!” called +Bertram. And then to Eleanor:</p> +<p>“You must tell me—you can’t keep me hanging +by the toes until I see you again.”</p> +<p>“The rest means—since I am being perfectly +fair to you—that I can’t tell.” Now something +like strong emotion touched her voice—“Don’t +think I am coquetting with you—don’t +believe that it is anything but my effort +to be fair.” She turned on this, and stepped +through the open window.</p> +<p>Bertram struggling to compose his face, +Eleanor wearing her old air of sweet inscrutability, +they faced the quick, perceiving +glance of Kate Waddington who sat pouring +tea from the crack between two shell bowls.</p> +<p>Eleanor settled herself on the teak-wood +stool.</p> +<p>“You <i>must</i> come out on the balcony before +we go,” she cried. “I never saw the city +lights so wonderful.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said Kate, “it all depends on the +company!”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_X' id='CHAPTER_X'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +</div> +<p>Kate’s plump and inert mother, who always +regarded this daughter of hers +somewhat as a cuckoo in the nest, was in a +complaining mood this morning. She sat in +her dressing-gown embroidering peonies on +a lambrequin and aired her grievances. Kate, +writing notes at the old-fashioned black walnut +writing desk, looked up at the climaxes of +her mother’s address, bit her pen and frowned +over her shoulder. For the greater part of +the time, however, Mrs. Waddington spoke +to empty air.</p> +<p>“I never did see such a daughter,” said Mrs. +Waddington, jabbing with her scissors at a +loose end of pink silk. “As if it isn’t enough, +gallivanting around the way you do, fairly +living in other people’s houses, never bringing +any company home, but you can’t even +be decently civil when you <i>are</i> at home. We +might just as well be a hotel for all the respect +you pay us. What are you doing when you’re +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span> +away, I’d like to know? It’s all well enough, +the stories you tell—” Kate, resting between +notes, saw fit to parry this last thrust.</p> +<p>“I’ve always supposed I was capable of taking +care of myself,” she said. “At any rate, +you’ve let me proceed on that theory.”</p> +<p>It needed only the slightest flutter of an opponent’s +rapier to throw Mrs. Waddington on +the defensive.</p> +<p>“You never let me,” she mourned. “Goodness +knows, I gave you every chance to take +me along. When first you began going with +those painter people, you might have counted +me in.”</p> +<p>“You didn’t seem eager, perceptibly, until +I had made my own way,” Kate vouchsafed. +At that moment the telephone rang.</p> +<p>While Kate was in the house, no one else +thought of answering the telephone. Mrs. +Waddington would have been the last to +usurp the prerogative. For that instrument +was the tap root of her spy system over her +daughter. By it, she picked up things; +learned what this irresponsible responsibility +of hers was doing. Mrs. Waddington had +her mental lists of Kate’s telephonic friends. +She imagined that she could tell, by the tone +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span> +of her daughter’s voice, just who was on the +other end of the line.</p> +<p>“Oh, Bert Chester!” came Kate’s voice from +the hall. Mrs. Waddington made note number +one. This mention of the name was significant. +The discreet Kate, who knew her +mother’s habits, hardly ever called names over +the wire.</p> +<p>A pause for a very short reply, and then:</p> +<p>“Certainly. Zinkand at one. I’m beginning +to think it’s time I worked at my job +as confidant. What is the use of a confidant +if you don’t confide?”</p> +<p>Mrs. Waddington leaned forward while +Kate got her reply. The mother in her, unsensitized +though as it was, noted the sparkle +in Kate’s voice. But for the intervening door, +she might have seen a great deal more sparkle +in Kate’s face, down-turned to listen.</p> +<p>“Oh yes, I was aware of that!” Kate’s +voice went on. “Dolt! Did I catch it? +You’re a poor dissembler. You’re too honest. +You might tell the verdict before I tell you—”</p> +<p>Mrs. Waddington could stand it no longer. +It was so uncommon for her daughter to speak +thus freely and emotionally at the telephone, +that she must have a look. She rose, therefore, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span> +and crossed past the open hall door. +She noticed a certain tension in her daughter’s +face as she bent her head to await the reply.</p> +<p>“You poor, perplexed boy!” went on Kate’s +purring, caressing voice, “Then you need a +confidant. Zinkand’s at one—and I’ll look +my prettiest to draw you out!”</p> +<p>Mrs. Waddington, when her daughter was +come back into the room, renewed her plaint:</p> +<p>“I wish you’d save for your parents a little +of the graciousness you give your friends,” +she said. “I wouldn’t mind so much if you +were getting somewhere. But here you are, +nearly twenty-four years old and goodness +knows if you’ve had a young man, I don’t hear +about it. How can a respectable young man +want to marry a girl like you, I’d like to know? +Those they play with, they don’t marry.”</p> +<p>Kate’s mood had changed completely. +She advanced now with the prettiest caressing +gesture in the world, threw one arm across +the wrinkled skin and old lace of her mother’s +throat. Mrs. Waddington resisted for a moment, +her head turned away; then, gradually, +she let her being lap itself in this quieter air. +Her head settled down on Kate’s shoulder.</p> +<p>“Perhaps,” said Kate, “I may.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span></p> +<p>“Well I wish you’d hurry up about it,” said +Mrs. Waddington. “Girls will be girls, I +suppose, and they’ve got to learn for themselves. +There, there—you’re mussing my +work.”</p> +<p>Kate dropped a kiss on her mother’s forehead +and vanished up the stairs.</p> +<p>Bert Chester, waiting before Zinkand’s an +hour later, picked her a block away from the +nooning crowd. Before he recognized the +olive-green tailor suit which he had come to +know, he noticed the firm yet gracile move of +her. As she came nearer, he was aware of two +loungers waiting, like himself, to keep appointments. +He caught this exchange from +them:</p> +<p>“Who? The girl in a kind of brownish +green?”</p> +<p>“Yes. Isn’t she a peach?”</p> +<p>Just then, it seemed to him, did the purely +physical charm of her burst upon him for the +first time. Supple and swaying, yet plump +and round; her head set square with some of +a man’s strength, on exquisitely sloping shoulders: +and the taste—he would have called it +so—of her dress! A discriminating woman +might have noticed that her costume bordered +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span> +on ostentatious unostentation. For it was designed +in every detail to frame the picture, +to set off not only that figure but also the +cream of her skin, the tawny hair, even those +firm, plump hands.</p> +<p>He found himself remembering that he had +just proposed to another girl. The thought +flashed in, and flashed out as quickly.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The Café Zinkand formed, at the time, a +social nodule in the metropolitan parish that +San Francisco was. As the Palace Hotel was +its Rialto, gathering-place for prosperous adventure, +so the Zinkand was its bourne. In +this mahoganied and mirrored restaurant with +its generous fare, its atmosphere of comfortable +extravagance, those who made the city +go, who gave its peculiar Saxon-Latin move +and glitter, were accustomed to gather and +gossip. It blazed with special splendor on +the nights when this or that “Eastern attraction” +showed at the Columbia Theatre. To +stand on such evenings at the Powell Street +terminus, to watch those tripping, gaily-dressed, +laughing Californian women thronging +the belt of city light from the theatre +canopy to the restaurant canopy—ah, that was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span> +San Francisco! Not Paris, not Buenos Ayres—they +say who have travelled far—could +show such a procession of Dianaides, such a +Greek festival of joy in the smooth, vigorous +body and the things which feed and clothe +it. With that absence of public conventionality +which was another ear-mark of the old +city, all sorts and conditions of men and women +sat side by side at the tables. Harlots, or +those who might well pass as such, beside the +best morale there is in women; daughters of +washerwomen beside daughters of such proud +blood as we have; bookmakers’ wives, blazing +with the jewels which will be pawned to-morrow, +beside German housewives on a Saturday +night revel; jockies and touts from the race +tracks beside roistering students from Stanford +and Berkeley; soldiers of fortune blown +in by the Pacific winds, taking their first intoxicating +taste of civilization after their play +with death and wealth, beside stodgy burghers +grown rich in real estate; clerks beside magnates—all +united in the worship of the body.</p> +<p>At noon, however, its workaday aspect was +on; it was no more than a lunching place. +Chester and Kate found seats in a retired +corner. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span></p> +<p>She looked him over with cool mischief +while she drew off her gloves and let one white +hand, still creased in pink with the pressure +of the seams, drop toward him on the table.</p> +<p>“I am not exactly to congratulate you,” +she said, “but for a man who was turned +down last night you don’t seem exactly unhappy.”</p> +<p>Bertram let several expressions chase themselves +over his face before he blurted out:</p> +<p>“What’s the matter with me?”</p> +<p>“Not a great deal. Has she so refused you +as to make you conscious of sin?”</p> +<p>“It wasn’t a cold turn-down. I’d like it +better if it was. I’d have something to go on. +It’s—it’s like trying to bite into a billiard +ball. I—you know what I mean.”</p> +<p>“You mean that she holds herself above you—that +she feels superior to you?”</p> +<p>Bertram arrested all motion on that word, +sat with the menu card, which he had been +twirling, immovable between his hands.</p> +<p>“Yes. If you want to jolt it to me good +and hard that way. I guess that is what it +does mean.”</p> +<p>“I suppose then that the crisis—last night—came +about from your little passage with the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span> +Chinese waiter? It happened while you were +out on the balcony didn’t it?”</p> +<p>Bertram stared and glowed.</p> +<p>“Say, you’re a wonder. You reach out and +get things before they come to you at all. +That’s just what did happen.”</p> +<p>“And then? Or pardon me, I don’t want +you to tell me any more than it’s right for +you to tell—any more than you feel like telling.”</p> +<p>“Oh that’s all right. Well, when we got +outside it was the same old song. She didn’t +care enough even to call me down. And like +a fool I came out with it. What’s the use of +telling what she said or what I said? It was +just the same way. She kept me dancing. +She wouldn’t say yes and she wouldn’t say no. +She seemed anxious about only one thing. +She wanted to know if she’d been fair to me.”</p> +<p>“I suppose she has—!” Kate brought this +out as though he had put a question to her. +“And you want to know what I think?”</p> +<p>“I sure do.”</p> +<p>“I think she cares—at least a little—shall +I tell you all?”</p> +<p>Bertram, even in the hottest of this conversation, +did not forget the needs of his body. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span> +The waiter stood at his elbow. He rushed +through the order, and continued:</p> +<p>“I want to know everything.”</p> +<p>“Well, to begin with—Bert Chester, you’re +a man.”</p> +<p>“I didn’t ask for hot air.”</p> +<p>“That’s all of that. You’re an unfinished +man. You—haven’t had the chance to get all +the refinements which people like Eleanor +Gray have acquired. Do you see now? +You’ve made it—you’ve been making it—all +for yourself. You had no fortune. It’s +splendid the way you worked to get all these +things. I know the story of how you got +through college. Everyone who knows you is +proud of that. But—well Eleanor’s mother +was rich and proud before she married, and +her grandparents were richer and prouder. +Then she’s lived a great deal alone; and she +never really blossomed out until she went +abroad. So she learned her social ways from +Europeans. She’s got a lot of British and +Continental ideas.</p> +<p>“With the rest of us, you know, it doesn’t +make any difference. You could perceive +that by the way we’ve taken you in. Why, +it’s really a part of you. You’re only two +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span> +years out of college, hardly that; and you’re +still studying law; but think how people have +taken you up! It is simply that Eleanor looks +at it in a different way. It’s a pretty peculiarity +in one of the sweetest girls I know.”</p> +<p>Kate paused. Bert made no move to answer. +She went on:</p> +<p>“Now about the thing you can’t grasp in +Eleanor. It’s this way. You can’t see her +nature as another <i>girl</i> can. She’s just as +sweet and tender and delicate as she can be, +and she has high ideals—that’s one result of +her living away from the world. If she were +a little warmer in temperament, it might be +different, but—” Kate paused here as though +pondering whether to reveal or to conceal the +thought of her mind.</p> +<p>“But of course it is the coldness of a diamond +or a sapphire or something else very +pure and precious.”</p> +<p>Bertram Chester pulled himself up at this +point and plucked at a place away back in the +conversation.</p> +<p>“What are these things that I don’t know? +Where is it that I fall down?”</p> +<p>“They are some of the finer points.”</p> +<p>“Well tell me.” Kate noticed that the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span> +color had risen in his cheeks and that his eyes +drooped from hers.</p> +<p>“They must be corrected as we go on—provided +you’ll let me correct them.”</p> +<p>“That’s what I am asking for—but I’d +blame well like an example.”</p> +<p>“Well, now, we’ll take that waiter episode. +The kind of people she’d like to know treat +servants impersonally. Servants are just conveniences +to them, like dumb waiters. So of +course,—even if it was only a Chinaman—she +didn’t like your noticing him and she came +out of her shell for just a moment to say so. +Do you see now?”</p> +<p>Bertram’s dark complexion reddened with +the rush of his shame.</p> +<p>“Oh, that’s the idea is it? I thought from +something she said that she was afraid I’d +hurt his feelings. She wants me to put more +front on before ’em, does she?”</p> +<p>“Just about that. She doesn’t like to see +you put yourself on a level with them.”</p> +<p>“All right, that was straight over the plate +and I got it.”</p> +<p>Again Kate reached over to pat his hand.</p> +<p>“Now don’t take it seriously; I know—she +herself must know—how splendid and able +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span> +and promising you are—how much of a man!”</p> +<p>Bert spoke in some irritation.</p> +<p>“I always knew I wasn’t a gentleman,” he +said, “but this is the first time it was ever shot +straight at me that way.”</p> +<p>“Bert Chester, as long as I’m a friend of +yours don’t you ever dare say to me that you’re +not a gentleman. You’re one of the biggest +and strongest gentlemen I ever knew. Anyone +need only see you for five minutes to know +you’re that. But some people have certain +things which they attribute to a gentleman—notions, +as I’ve said. And Eleanor from her +European experiences has some of these notions. +Don’t you see?”</p> +<p>The smile, which always broke so suddenly, +came back to Bert Chester’s face.</p> +<p>“Well, of course that’s why I broke loose +from the ranch and went to college in the first +place. I wanted to be as good, every way, as +the best there is!”</p> +<p>“And you are already!”</p> +<p>He shook his head.</p> +<p>“No, or this wouldn’t have happened. I +want to be good enough to marry any girl, no +matter who. I’m going to amount to something. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span> +I’m going to be rich, too—and a darn +sight quicker than most people know. I don’t +know that we came here to talk about that, +though.”</p> +<p>“Please go on. We came here to talk about +you—anything about yourself.”</p> +<p>“That part of it has something to do with +the main issue. I’m going to pull out from +Judge Tiffany as soon as I go up against the +bar examinations next month. At least, I +want to pull out, and I’m only wondering how +the Judge will take it and how she will take +it. You see, I might just as well get admitted, +and then it is good-bye to law for me afterwards +unless I use it in politics. Law—” +Bertram rammed his finger on the table with +each word that followed “law is too blame +slow. Anyone could see that I couldn’t be +chasing about as I’m doing if I had to depend +on what Judge Tiffany is paying me as a clerk. +Why, I’ve made twice as much already whirling +at business. I’ll always have my admission +to the bar, too. If I want to settle down +on a law practice after I get rich, I can do +it.”</p> +<p>“That seems very promising to me.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span></p> +<p>“But here’s the question. Is the Judge going +to take it for a throw-down, and how is +Eleanor going to like the program?”</p> +<p>Kate appeared to be considering. In fact, +she was considering a great many more things +than Bertram knew.</p> +<p>“I’m pretty sure Eleanor wouldn’t care,” +she said at length. “Hers isn’t a very practical +mind. It’s impossible to say about Judge +Tiffany. He’s crotchety. The right’s on +your side, for a man has a right to change his +employment, hasn’t he? And I’m sure you +have more than returned your little salary. +On the whole, I don’t know but it would be +better for you with Eleanor if the Judge did +get angry with you. A girl with ideals like +hers rather likes to have a man persecuted. +And you can’t let it stand in the way of your +career.”</p> +<p>“But—”</p> +<p>“Oh, it isn’t as though it were a choice between +the girl and the career. It isn’t at +all. The best way to win her is to build yourself +up to the big, splendid man she’d like +you to be. If you stay a little law clerk for +five years or so, you won’t have much inducement +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span> +to offer her! When you consider marriage, +you have to remember that a girl like +Eleanor can’t live on a trifle. I’d follow my +own career. It isn’t, you see, as though there +were anyone else in the field. Other men +come to the house, of course—men she’s met +at the Masters, old friends of the family—but +I don’t consider any of them as rivals. +I did think for a time that Ned Greene was +attracted, but he’s crazy now over Katherine +Herbert. So it isn’t a case for immediate action.”</p> +<p>“Do you think—have you ever heard her +speak of me?”</p> +<p>Kate’s answer came readily.</p> +<p>“She has spoken to me of you—the way +women do, so that you see under what they say. +We women are devils”—she smiled—“no, I +can’t tell you what she said. I’m in a peculiar +position about it. You see, her talk, as +it happens, is all twisted up in a confidence +she made to me—something else in her life—nothing +to do with you—and I can’t break it. +But I can do something without breaking any +confidence. I can tell you what I think you +ought to do.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span></p> +<p>“Well, I guess that’s what I want—” with +the air of one who would have liked a great +deal more.</p> +<p>“The man who gets Eleanor Gray—and +especially if Bertram Chester is the man—cannot +take her by assault. If you reach out +to grasp her—you who are so strong—it will +only break something in that delicate nature +of hers. Don’t woo. Serve. Don’t even +see her too often. Don’t renew that scene on +the balcony—never make that mistake again. +When you are with her, show by your attitude +how you feel, and show her—well, that +you’re learning the things you’ve asked me to +teach you—the things I’m going to teach you.”</p> +<p>“It’s sure a pink tea program,” said Bertram. +Kate laughed.</p> +<p>“Bert Chester, when you make your dying +speech from the scaffold you’re going to say +something original and funny. You can’t +help it. Now can you?”</p> +<p>The smile broke again on Bertram’s face.</p> +<p>“Well, it has its funny side,” he admitted. +“All right. If refinement’s the game, me to +it.” His smile had caught Kate’s laugh, and +there came between them a kind of mental +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span> +click. Soft gratitude sprang into his heart +and quivered on his lips.</p> +<p>“You’re a bully girl! I don’t know what +I’d do if I didn’t have you to talk it over +with. And you really do understand lots +about women and those things—where did +you learn it?”</p> +<p>The smile went out of Kate. She drooped +her eyes and let her pink nails flutter on the +tablecloth.</p> +<p>“Suffering and experience, I suppose.”</p> +<p>“Could I—would you tell me about it?”</p> +<p>She looked up with an air of sweet sincerity.</p> +<p>“I should like very much to tell you. You +could help me as much as you say I’m helping +you. Some other time, we’ll have that all +out together. You see, when one has held a +thing in her heart for a long time—well, it’s +a struggle at first to get it out. But sometime +when I’m in the mood!”</p> +<p>And then he discovered that an appointment +at the office was overdue. While they +went through the formalities of checks and +wraps, she talked foolish nothings. He parted +with her hurriedly to run after a Market Street +cable car. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span></p> +<p>“We’re going to be the best chums in the +world,” he said as he shook hands.</p> +<p>“Indeed we are!”</p> +<p>She watched him as he ran after the car, +swung on the platform with the easy economy +of motion which belongs to the athlete. But +just before he set his foot on the platform and +looked back at her, she herself whirled and +started down the street, so that he saw only +her trim back-figure, the glint of her bronze +hair, the easy grace of her walk.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XI' id='CHAPTER_XI'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> +</div> +<p>So Bertram Chester went on, the easy familiar +of the Tiffany establishment, the +contriver of Mrs. Tiffany’s household assistances, +and the devoted follower of Eleanor. +He never referred in any way to the scene +on the restaurant balcony; he did nothing +formally to press his suit. Indeed, his occasional +air of gentle diffidence puzzled and +amused her. She had a queer sense, when she +beheld him so, that she liked it in him less +than some of his old uncouthness, and only a +trifle better than such roughness of the heart +as that passage with the Chinese waiter. This +new attitude was loose in the back, tight across +the shoulders, short in the seams—it was not +made to fit Bertram Chester. When he +launched out into rudimentary art criticism, +stringing together the stock slang which he +had picked up in the studios, when he tried +to impress her with his refined acquaintance, +his progress toward “society” of the conventional +kind, her amusement took another turn +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span> +in the circle of emotion, and became annoyance.</p> +<p>In general company, he reverted to type. +At their home dinners, when wine and good +fare had lit the fires of his animal spirits, he +still told his rambling, half-boastful stories +of the cow country and of College times, or +laid before these home-stayers the gossip of the +town. That manner of his, always more compelling +than either his substance or his words, +carried the plainest story; and he had at least +the art of brevity. One laughed when he +laughed, catching from his spirit the humorous +idea, even when its expression failed on +the tongue. Voice and gesture and an inner +appreciation which he could flash instantly to +his tongue contributed to these dazzling effects. +His new-made friends of the artistic +set used to tell him, “If you could only write +down your stories—what humor, what action!” +Mark Heath, with the information of +a room mate, the judging eye of a half-disillusionized +friend and the cynicism of a young +journalist, was first to perceive that a stenographer +concealed to transcribe his talk would +get only barren words.</p> +<p>In his fading and declining years, Judge +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span> +Tiffany leaned more and more upon Eleanor, +his business partner. Now it had come +spring. The trees were in bud along the +Santa Clara. They must begin preparing for +the season. The family did not move to the +ranch until apricot picking was afoot; but +from now on either Judge Tiffany or Eleanor +would run down every week to watch the +trees and to oversee the Olsen preparations for +harvest time. Purchase of supplies and the +business of selling last year’s stock, held over +for a rise in German prices, kept Eleanor +busy.</p> +<p>She dragged the Judge out of his library +one March afternoon, that he might inspect +with her a new set of sprayers which she was +considering. The Judge went to his office +all too seldom nowadays; Eleanor and Mrs. +Tiffany used continually all kinds of diplomacies +to keep him at his business, from which +he stubbornly refused to retire. When they +had driven their bargain, Eleanor guided and +wheedled him to the office. The methodical +Attwood, having his man there, thumped a +pile of papers down before the Judge, representing +that this demurrer must be in on +Tuesday, that case tried or continued next +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span> +week. The Judge sighed as he pulled the papers +toward him.</p> +<p>“They’ve nailed me, Nell,” he said. +“Here, I’ll appoint a substitute. Send for +Mr. Chester, Attwood—dining anywhere, +Chester? Then take pot luck with us and +pay me by escorting my business conscience +home. I’ll overwork myself if someone +doesn’t carry her away!”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The afternoon fog, forerunner of another +rain, floated in lances above Montgomery +Street. The interior valleys had felt their +first touch of baking summer, had issued their +first call on their cooling plant—the Golden +Gate, funnel for mist and rain-winds. The +moisture fell in sleety drops; yet only the +stranger and pilgrim took protection of raincoat +or umbrella. The native knew well +enough that it would go no further. On +these afternoons, neither cold nor hot, wet nor +wholly dry, the blood is champagne and the +heart a dancing-floor.</p> +<p>At the moment when Eleanor stepped out +into the home-going crowd, she, an instrument +tuned to catch delicate vibrations from earth +and sea and air, felt all this exhilaration. Life +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span> +was right; the future was right; the display +of a young female creature before the male—that +most of all was right. And Bertram +Chester, talking for the moment like his old, +natural self, was a main eddy in the currents +of joy-in-youth.</p> +<p>“You are bonny to-day!” she said quite naturally +as she looked him over.</p> +<p>He blushed happily. And the blush helped +restore him in her eyes as the natural Bertram +Chester.</p> +<p>“And you’re the bonniest of the bonny. I +never saw you look so full of ginger except—” +he hesitated there, and her words rushed +in to meet the emergency.</p> +<p>“Thank you! Though I wasn’t fishing, I +am grateful just the same.”</p> +<p>“Then you do find something now and then +that you can stand for in me?”</p> +<p>“I find a great deal—when you are Bert +Chester.” He seemed to puzzle over this, to +ponder it; so that she added:</p> +<p>“Let’s not talk conundrums in this air and +this crowd! We’re not blue-nosed, self-searching +New Englanders. Let’s keep away +from Market Street and walk through the +Quarter. They haven’t yet taken the Easter +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span> +things from the shop windows, and there’s +a darling atrocious group of statuary next +door to The Fior d’Italia which you must +see!” And then, as they turned the corner—</p> +<p>“What’s the crowd? I’m for disremembering +that I’m refined. I want to be curious!”</p> +<p>“Looks like a scrap—do you—”</p> +<p>“Nonsense! Come on. I divide women +into those who would like to see a prize fight +and admit it, and those who would like to +see a prize fight and deny it!”</p> +<p>“Gee whiz!” said Bertram. They had +reached the edge of the crowd, which circled +about some knot of violent struggle and gesture. +“Excuse me!” He had sprung from +her side and was breaking his way through. +By instinct, she followed into the hole back +of him, so that she found herself in the second +row of spectators to a curious struggle, the +details of which flashed in upon her all at +once.</p> +<p>Two laborers, gross, tanned, dirty, were +fighting. They had swung side-on as the +hole opened, and her glance focused itself +upon the smaller of the two. He was an old +man, quite gray; and down his scalp ran a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span> +stream of bright blood which trickled upon +his ear. The thing which puzzled her was +the action of the older man. He seemed to +be hanging to the arms of his younger and +sturdier opponent; also he was talking rapidly, +excitedly; and she caught only one +phrase.</p> +<p>“Hit me with a nail, will you?”</p> +<p>And just then the younger man got his arm +free, and dove for the pavement—dove at precisely +the same instant with Bertram Chester. +Apparently, the younger fighter arrived first; +he backed off from the scuffle brandishing a +piece of packing box. Then she saw what the +old man meant. Pointing the weapon was a +nail, stained red.</p> +<p>As this rough fury poised himself for the +stroke, she took in the whole picture—a +young, tall, brute man, one eye puffing from +a new blow, the other blood-shot, the mouth +open and dripping, the right arm raised for +the murderer’s blow.</p> +<p>Bertram Chester came between as though +he had risen out of the earth. His left hand, +with a trained aptitude which made the motion +seem the easiest thing in the world, +caught the upraised wrist. The laborer +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span> +ripped out an unconsidered oath and struck +with his free fist at Bertram’s face. Bertram +evaded the blow, slipped in close. And then—in +a lightning flash of speed, Bertram’s +right hand, which had been resting loosely by +his side, shot upward. His whole body +seemed to spring up behind it. The blow +struck under the point of the chin. The head +of the young bruiser dropped, then his shoulders, +then his arms; his body sagged down +upon Bertram. The champion of age shook +him off; he dropped to the sidewalk. All +this in a flash, in a wink.</p> +<p>The crowd, curiously inert, as all city +crowds are until the leader appears, now followed +this leader. A clamor of many +tongues arose—“Get a cop!” “He’s killed +him!” “Do him up!” A short rush of half +a dozen boys toward the fallen bully met the +resistance of Bertram, who had turned as +though anticipating such a movement. He +shoved them back and raised his hand. His +eyes were bright, his face flushed, and that +smile which won and commanded men had +broken out on his lips.</p> +<p>“Say,” he said, “you all saw me do this +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span> +man fair and square. He isn’t dead. He’s +only put out. He’ll be all right in five minutes. +You know it was coming to him. +Now, I’ve got a lady with me, and I don’t +want her dragged into the police station. +The cops will be here in a minute. I’d like +to show this thing up in court, but we don’t +want to trouble the lady, do we? If I beat it, +how many of you will witness to the cops just +what happened?”</p> +<p>“I!” and “I!” and “I!” from the crowd +and “Me! God bless ye!” from the elder +warrior, who stood wiping the blood from his +ear. Bertram gave them no chance for reconsideration. +“All right!” he said, “here I +go!” He pushed his way out as he pushed +it in, swept Eleanor along with him. The +spectators lifted a cheer; but only a mob of +small boys followed.</p> +<p>“Beat it, kids, or the bulls will pipe me!” +called Bertram over his shoulder. At this +magic formula, the boys fell out. A half a +block away, Eleanor dared look back. A policeman +had just arrived; he was clubbing his +way stupidly through the crowd. Bertram +looked back too. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span></p> +<p>“All right,” he announced, “now don’t appear +to hurry.” At Kearney Street, he swung +her aboard an electric car.</p> +<p>“Victory!” she cried as the conductor rang +his two bells and the car gathered headway. +“It was perfect!”</p> +<p>He stared down at her.</p> +<p>“Well, I just had to put it through once I +got started, but say—I thought you’d sure be +sore on me.” His voice took on an apologetic +tone. “It seems to me when I see a scrap, I +constitutionally can’t keep out of it.”</p> +<p>“No more should you—such fights as that.”</p> +<p>“Then you make distinctions?” he asked.</p> +<p>“If you mean that I distinguish between +fighting just for the lust of it and fighting to +protect the helpless, I may say that I do. +You did well.”</p> +<p>“Thank you!” he said, half-earnestly. “I’d +have thought you wouldn’t like to see me muss +things up, that way.” He was letting his +voice slip away from him, both in volume and +in manner, and the car was crowded. A +panic necessity for concealment took possession +of her.</p> +<p>“Surely we’ve evaded the police—let’s get +out and have our walk through the Quarter.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span></p> +<p>“I’m with you.” Kearney Street, that +thoroughfare which gathered into its two +miles every element in American life, here +struck its hill rise. Sheer above them hung +Telegraph Hill, attained by latticed sidewalks, +half stairs. The Latin quarter +thronged and played all about them in the +dusk and the fresh lamplight. And again, +mood and spirits rose in her. The event +whose swift, kaleidoscopic action still danced +on her retina, the very stimulus of brutal +youth in action, had conspired with the perfect +night to raise her above herself.</p> +<p>“Oh, talk to me about it!” she said. “How +did you do it—what do you call it—I want to +hear <i>you</i> tell about it.”</p> +<p>“I guess you saw it all—just a plain uppercut. +Those blame city crowds would see a +man killed before they’d think of anything +but the show. I’ve always said that, and now +I know it. I caught sight of the old man +side-on and I saw he was hurt by something +more than a punch. Far be it from me to +spoil a good scrap, but that wasn’t a fair shake. +So I dropped you and started in. And then +I saw that nail. I made a slip there,” he let +his voice fall in self-depreciation—“I should +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span> +have kicked that chunk of board away, instead +of diving for it. He beat me to it. The rest +was so easy it was a shame to take the money. +Up comes his head and up comes my +guard”—he stopped in the street to illustrate—“and +he couldn’t use his club any more +than a kitten. I’d have let him go, if he +hadn’t hit at me—and clipped me. For a +second, I could have bit nails in two. When +I pulled myself in close, there was his chin +just above me—a be-auty target. And an +uppercut was his medicine.” Bertram jerked +his right hand up from his hip to illustrate +the uppercut. Then he screwed up his face +and felt of his right shoulder. “He marked +me some,” he said in explanation.</p> +<p>“Did he hurt you?” she asked with real concern. +It ran into her mind that the conventional +hero of romance makes his wound a +scratch before his lady. If she expected that +from Bertram Chester, he disillusionized her.</p> +<p>“Well, you don’t take a punch like that, +even glancing on your shoulder, without +something getting loose,” he replied. “I +shouldn’t be surprised if I’d slipped a cog or +a tendon or something.”</p> +<p>“Why—let’s go home and see about it.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span></p> +<p>“Oh, it isn’t bad enough for that!” Then +he fell into reminiscences. In their toilsome +passage up the hen-coop sidewalks of Broadway, +he gesticulated—with constrained motions +of his right arm—loosed the sparkle of +his energetic, magnetic talk upon her. She +drew close to him. Gradually, as the steps +became steep, her hand slipped under his arm. +She was only half-conscious of this motion; +her consciousness was full of a softening toward +him, a leaning upon that strength which +she had seen in action. On his side, he did +not fail to notice it—this first movement in +her which had seemed like an advance. He +stopped his buzz of talk at one moment and +all the lines of his face relaxed as though he +were about to say something softer and +deeper. But he only caught his breath and +changed to another story. He had remembered—and +just in time, he thought—the advice +of Kate Waddington.</p> +<p>But in spite of that remembrance, he permitted +himself the luxury of being natural; +and he talked continually until they were +within the Tiffany doors.</p> +<p>Mrs. Tiffany must hear all about it from +both of them. When they came to the hero’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span> +injury, she dismissed Eleanor, made him strip +his massy shoulder, and got out her pet liniment. +The Judge, coming home in the midst +of these surgical cares, heard the story retold +with heroic additions by his wife. Dinner +that night was a merry, a happy, an intimate +party.</p> +<p>When Bertram left, Mrs. Tiffany did not +follow him to the door, as was her old-fashioned +custom. He waited a moment, as +though expecting something. His eyes were +on Eleanor. She did not move. She only +bade him a simple and easy good night over +her shoulder.</p> +<p>The old couple sat for a long time before +the fire. Eleanor was gone—not to bed, +could they but have known it, but to sit by her +window and breathe bay-fragrance and drink +the foggy night air off the Gate.</p> +<p>The Judge smiled down on that faded +daintiness at his feet.</p> +<p>“Are we now to consider him in the light +of a nephew-in-law?” he asked.</p> +<p>“It has bothered me a good deal,” said +Mattie Tiffany. “What do you think I ought +to do?”</p> +<p>“If that frightful social responsibility of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span> +yours drives you to anything,” responded the +Judge, “I should say you’d best leave it alone.”</p> +<p>“But Edward, dear, I’m just like a mother +to her—and goodness knows I haven’t always +been the best of mothers. There was her +father—you know how long I shirked that—”</p> +<p>“The sin of omission that you will carry to +your grave—”</p> +<p>“And somehow this is so like Billy Gray! +It was just this way in her mother’s case. +When Billy came around—you remember +how bonny a boy he was then, Edward—I, +her own sister, could never tell how she felt +toward him. I’ve always told you that Eleanor +has slipped a generation. She’s her +grandmother, not her mother, in mind. But +she’s just like her mother in one thing. You +can’t ever tell what she’s thinking about, and +the deeper her thoughts go the harder it is +to tell! That’s why I’m considering all this +so carefully—she doesn’t commit herself in +one way or the other. It’s a sign.”</p> +<p>“Knowing you, Mattie, I presume that +you’ve conducted researches into his desirability +as a nephew-in-law?”</p> +<p>“Well, shouldn’t I? Goodness knows, we +don’t lead a conventional life in this family, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span> +and I don’t chaperone her. I reproach myself +a little with that. When Mrs. Goodyear +wanted to take her up and put her into the +Fortnightly, it wasn’t so much Eleanor’s disinclination +as my own laziness about getting +up gowns and paddling about paying calls +which kept me back—and that’s God’s truth.”</p> +<p>“And these penitential exercises in detective +work—what have they brought forth?”</p> +<p>“He’s a little careless morally, I think. +He’s had too much conviviality about the +Club. I’m afraid he’s blossoming over +young. They can say all they want about +wild oats, but in this city it’s a mistake to +sow them all at once. That’s one reason why +I’ve been so good to him. I flatter myself +that a house like this is a moral influence on +him.”</p> +<p>“It’s all a concern for his soul with you, +then?”</p> +<p>“No. Frankly, I like him. Everyone +likes him. He’s a dear. But as to Eleanor—”</p> +<p>The Judge had risen and taken off his skull +cap.</p> +<p>“Well, she has run a ranch and she’s travelled +alone to Europe and back, and she’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span> +saved the soul if not the body of a father. +And I wonder whether a girl who’s all that +to her credit can’t be trusted to deal with the +problem of an undesirable though attractive +young man—”</p> +<p>“If I were only sure he was undesirable!”</p> +<p>“It is according,” responded the Judge, “to +your definition of undesirability. If you +mean worldly circumstances, you needn’t fear +for Bertram Chester. He resigns from my +firm this month.”</p> +<p>“What for?”</p> +<p>“Attwood brought me news of it. I don’t +know where he’s going. I’m not supposed to +know anything. But for to get rich, for one +thing.” He closed his book and restored it +to its place on the shelves. “He took the left-hand +road, you see. It was manifest destiny; +and you and I and Eleanor cannot move one +whit the career of that young man.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XII' id='CHAPTER_XII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> +</div> +<p>When Kate called him up over the telephone, +inviting him, second-hand, to +join a Masters party at Sanguinetti’s restaurant, +Bertram interrupted his banter to ask if +Eleanor were going.</p> +<p>“I’m sure I don’t know what her plans are,” +said Kate. “Why don’t you ask her?” The +tone was a little cold.</p> +<p>Remembering his duty, Bertram did ask +Eleanor over the telephone.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry,” answered Eleanor, “but I had +to decline.”</p> +<p>“Oh, duck your engagement if you have +any!” he said, pleading like a boy. “It’ll do +you good to jolly up!” But she was firm. +He matched the cool tone of Kate with the +equally cool tone of Eleanor, and wondered, +as he hung up the telephone, whether anything +had gone wrong between those girls. +He remembered now that he had not seen +Kate at the Tiffany’s since the expedition into +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span> +Chinatown. Had he but known it, he was +perceiving late a thing of which others were +making gossip already.</p> +<p>While Bertram freshened up his toilet in +his room and thought hard on this, Kate Waddington, +at home in the Mission, was making +certain special preparations of her own. +Mrs. Waddington could measure the importance +of her daughter’s engagements by the +care she took with her toilet. Fresh lace indicated +the first degree of importance, her +latest pair of shoes the second degree, and perfectly +fresh white gloves raised the engagement +to the highest degree of all. To-night, +all these omens served.</p> +<p>Further, Mrs. Waddington saw that Kate +was rummaging through the unanswered letters +in her writing desk, saw that she was +comparing two of them. Kate picked up the +larger one. She was wearing furs, since the +April night was chilly. This letter she +tucked carefully into her muff.</p> +<p>“Why in the name of common sense are you +taking that letter along to a dinner party?”</p> +<p>“Oh, something I want to show someone,” +answered Kate after a momentary pause. +Mrs. Waddington knew from old times the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span> +hidden meaning of that pause. Just so, when +at the age of seven they had caught her in +the sugar-bowl, Kate had paused before starting +her ready explanation. She had never +overcome it; and her mother was the last +person likely to acquaint her with that flaw +of method.</p> +<p>“It’s from Alice Johnstone, I judge by the +handwriting,” continued Mrs. Waddington.</p> +<p>“Oh, I guess so,” responded Kate. She +made rapidly for the door. “Good night, +mother. I’ll be home to-night, but rather +late.”</p> +<p>“Thank you for small favors—” but Kate +was gone.</p> +<p>Sanguinetti’s held a place in the old city +no less definite than that of Zinkand’s or the +Poodle Dog. In the beginning a plain Italian +restaurant, frequented by the Italian fishermen +whose sashes made so bright the water +front and whose lateen sails, shaped by the +swelling wind like a horse’s ear, gave delight +to the bay, it had existed since the Neapolitans +came to drag the Pacific with their nets. +Painters and art students from the attics of +the Quarter “discovered” it. When they +made a kind of Bohemia about it, “the gang” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span> +of tawdry imitators and posing professional +Bohemians followed as a matter of course. +That invasion put it on the fair way toward +failure. But Sanguinetti’s saved itself by +dropping one degree lower. “South of +Market” discovered it. That district is +somewhat to San Francisco as the East Side +to New York, though with an indescribable +difference. Then came the milliner’s apprentice +who slaved all the week that she +might brighten the “line” on Saturday afternoon, +with the small clerk, her companion or +the butcher-boy her beau. There came also +the little people of the race track, as jockies +out of a job, touts, bookmakers’ apprentices—tawdry +people mainly, but ever good-humored +and ready to loosen restraint of custom +after the second quart of Steve Sanguinetti’s +red wine. So this place came to have +an air of loose, easy, half-drunken camaraderie, +which seldom fell into roughness. It +was the home of noise and song and easy +flirtations which died at the door. When this +transformation was fully accomplished, the +painters and art students and seekers after +“life” came back again. This time, they did +not spoil its flavor. The fishermen had been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span> +shy folk who fled from the alien invasion; no +shyness about South-of-Market people on a +holiday!</p> +<p>This Sanguinetti dinner party of Sydney +Masters’s differed but slightly, after all, from +other slumming parties in the hostelry of +touch-and-go familiarities. Amused outsiders, +they watched the growth of swift flirtations, +passed comments on the overdressed +women, joined in the latest Orpheum songs +which started when the cheap wine made +music in the throat, chucked quarters into the +banjoes of the two negro minstrels who came +in at eight o’clock to stimulate merriment. +Bertram, in his position as jester to King +Masters, went a little further than the others. +It was he who bought out the stock of a small +Italian flower-vendor, that he might present +a bouquet “to every lady in the place.” His +attention brought from the ladies varying degrees +of gratitude, and from their escorts +degrees of resentment which varied still more. +Running out of flowers before he had gone +clear around the room, he built up on toothpicks +bouquets of celery and radishes, which +he fastened to the corks of empty claret bottles +and gave, with elaborate presentation +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span> +speeches, to the merrier and prettier of the +neglected ladies.</p> +<p>From this expedition, he returned leading +a little, sad man, who had the look of a boy +grown old by troubles. A bleached-blonde +woman followed them half-way across, but +centre room she turned back with a stamp of +her foot and a flourish of her shoulders.</p> +<p>“Ladies and gentlemen,” Bertram announced, +“I desire the privilege of introducing +Teddy Murphy, California’s premier +jockey, lately set down on an outrageously +false charge of pulling a horse. He is here, +ladies and gentlemen, to tell you his +troubles!”</p> +<p>A moment of silent embarrassment on both +sides.</p> +<p>“Here—take my chair, Mr. Murphy!” +spoke Kate from the foot of the table. The +next table, set <i>a deux</i>, had just become vacant. +Kate slipped into its nearest chair. Bertram’s +seat was back by the wall; to reach it, he +must step over feet and so interrupt Mr. +Murphy’s tale of wrong. Nothing was more +natural than that he should take the seat opposite +Kate. And instantly—he having heard +the story already—Bertram lost interest. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span></p> +<p>“Would you mind getting my muff?” asked +Kate. “I think my handkerchief is in it.”</p> +<p>As Bertram handed over the muff, she was +smiling up at him. She did not look down +until she had taken out her handkerchief, +flirted out its folds. Then a little, disconcerted +“oh!” escaped her.</p> +<p>“What is it?”</p> +<p>Kate was shaking out her skirt, was glancing +rapidly to right and left. “Goodness!” +she cried.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter?”</p> +<p>“A letter. Have you seen it?”</p> +<p>Bertram looked under the table. There it +lay, by his chair. He picked it up and passed +it over.</p> +<p>“Oh!” she cried again, this time in a tone +balanced between relief and embarrassment. +She tucked it back into her muff, and her eyes +avoided his. He noted all this pantomime, +and he was about to speak, when Mrs. Masters +touched Kate on the shoulder. “My +dear, you’re missing this!” she whispered.</p> +<p>Kate put all her attention upon Mr. Murphy +and his burning story about the pulling +of Candlestick. Mr. Murphy grew a little +too broad; Mrs. Masters, as the easiest way +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span> +rid of him, rose and asked for her wraps. As +Bertram assisted Kate, he saw her reach an +anxious hand into her muff.</p> +<p>Outside, she contrived a loose shoe lace, so +that she and Bertram fell behind. She did +not approach the subject of the letter; that +came up later and, of course, quite incidentally.</p> +<p>“Anything to confide in me to-night?” she +began.</p> +<p>“Oh, nothing much. Gee, you can’t tell +about her, can you? Say, are you sure about +your system? She was with me last Tuesday +when I punched the jaw off a man, and she +hasn’t treated me so well since I knew her +as she did after that. I was blame near opening +on her again. Blame near. What’s the +answer?”</p> +<p>“A passing mood, perhaps.”</p> +<p>“Well, I’d like to get her in that mood +often.”</p> +<p>“And you’ll find that she’s furthest from +you in those moods—it’s in them that she’s +least herself.”</p> +<p>“This general girl proposition is a tough +one,” commented Bertram. “All right. +You know the dope.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span></p> +<p>“You poor, perplexed boy!”</p> +<p>“Say, isn’t it time you began confiding?”</p> +<p>“Oh, you caught it—the letter I mean—There +are few things those eyes of yours don’t +see!”</p> +<p>“Man?” he continued, ignoring the compliment.</p> +<p>“Yes. It’s a dreadful perplexity.”</p> +<p>“Tell your old uncle!”</p> +<p>“Perhaps.”</p> +<p>“You’re in love?”</p> +<p>“I—I was. You see—ah, it’s gone past the +place where it should have ended!”</p> +<p>“Then why don’t you break it off?”</p> +<p>“That’s all very well to say, but he’s a good +man, and he says he’s crazy about me. Do +I seem happy to you?”</p> +<p>“Middling.”</p> +<p>“I am—sometimes. Then something like +to-day comes, and it puts me clear down in +the heart. I have to keep up laughing and +being gay when I’m all torn to pieces. I feel +that I oughtn’t to keep him in suspense this +way. He’s young, he’s fairly rich—if that +counted. When he’s here, I often think I do—love +him. When he writes, I know I +don’t.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span></p> +<p>“Poor little girl!” said Bert, catching sympathetically +at the half-sob in her voice.</p> +<p>“Thank you,” answered Kate on an indrawn +breath. And then, “What would you +do? I’m only a girl after all, am I not? +Here I’m leaning on you, asking for advice.”</p> +<p>Bertram did not answer for a time. Then:</p> +<p>“Sure you don’t love him?”</p> +<p>“Not—not entirely. I might if he made +me.”</p> +<p>Bertram was looking straight down on her. +His mouth was pursed up.</p> +<p>“Suppose he made you—and after you’d +married him you got to feeling again as you +do now. That wouldn’t be square to him, +would it?”</p> +<p>“I—perhaps not. But oh, it would hurt +him so!”</p> +<p>“I guess he could live through it. They +usually do, and don’t lose many meals at that. +I think he’s running a bluff, myself.”</p> +<p>Kate drew slightly away from him.</p> +<p>“That’s a poor compliment.”</p> +<p>Bertram studied her meaning.</p> +<p>“What?”</p> +<p>“To say that a man <i>couldn’t</i> get crazy over +me.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span></p> +<p>“Oh! Not on your life. Sure thing no. +I don’t know a girl anywhere that a man has +more license to get crazy over. You’re a +beauty and you’re just about the best fellow +I know.”</p> +<p>“I suppose you <i>had</i> to say that!”</p> +<p>“I figure that I wanted to. If I haven’t +said it before, it’s because—” he stopped; +Kate, as though it were an actual presence, +could see the figure of Eleanor rising between +them.</p> +<p>“Yes, I know—” she said quickly. “You +do think I’m attractive then—cross your +heart.”</p> +<p>“Cross my heart, you’re a beaut.”</p> +<p>“But that doesn’t get me any further with +my troubles.”</p> +<p>“What are his bad points that make you +hold off?”</p> +<p>“Nothing more than a feeling, I suppose. +No, it’s more than that—something definite. +It’s—I find this thing hard to say. Not exactly +weakness in him—more a lack of proved +strength. He inherited his money; he’s had +the regular Eastern education. He’s at work, +managing his properties. But I’d feel so +much more secure of his strength if he had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span> +made it for himself. That is the thing I +could admire most in a man; more even than +kindness. To have him succeed from nothing +because his strength was in it. I don’t +care how unfinished he might be—that would +show he was a man!”</p> +<p>Bertram was still pausing on this, when +Kate touched his arm.</p> +<p>“I’m afraid,” she said, “that we must join +the others. They’ll be talking about us if we +don’t, and we mustn’t have that—for Eleanor’s +sake if for no other!” They hurried +ahead, therefore, and walked beside Mr. and +Mrs. Masters all the way in.</p> +<p>At the studio door, Kate declined a half-accepted +invitation to remain for the night.</p> +<p>“Mother isn’t wholly well,” she said, “and +I can be fearfully domestic in emergency! +It’s only a step to the Valencia Street cars, +and Mr. Bertram will get me home.”</p> +<p>It was still too early for the theatre crowd; +they found themselves alone on the outer seat +of a “dummy” car, one of those rapid transit +conveyances by which San Francisco of old +let the passenger decide whether that amorphic +climate was summer or winter.</p> +<p>He had, it seemed, to shake her back into +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span> +the story of her love-affair. Three times he +approached the subject, and each time she +fended it off. They had passed clear into the +Mission, were more than three-quarters of the +way home, before he launched one of his +frontal assaults.</p> +<p>“You might give me some more work at +my job of confidant,” he said.</p> +<p>She began again, then; a story without detail; +more a sentimental exposure of her feelings. +The thing was growing like a canker; +she fought it, but the decision, the feeling of +his unhappiness should she give him final rejection, +roosted on her pillow. It had never +come to an engagement; it had been only an +understanding; but she thought of dreadful +things, even of his possible suicide, whenever +she contemplated giving him the final blow.</p> +<p>The old-fashioned Waddington house stood +on a big Spanish lot far out in the Mission. +There was ground to spare; enough so that +its original owners had room to plant trees +without shading light from the windows. As +they walked into the deep shadows, her voice +took on an intonation like a suppressed sob.</p> +<p>“It is a comfort now to have said it, and +it’s a new life to have you for support. Oh, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span> +Bertram, what a big, strong friend you are! +Be good to me, won’t you?”</p> +<p>She had stopped; in the shadows the +clouded moon of her face looked up into his.</p> +<p>“Oh, won’t you be good to me?”</p> +<p>He slipped his arm about her; and suddenly +he kissed her.</p> +<p>She suffered his kiss for only a moment; +then she moved away. He let her go, and +she rushed ahead to the door. When he +reached the step, she had faced about.</p> +<p>“Consider my <i>feelings</i>, Bert Chester,” she +said; and the screen door slammed.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIII' id='CHAPTER_XIII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +</div> +<p>Just where the Santa Eliza trail commanded +sight of the main travelled road, +Eleanor sat on a rock watching the hill-shadows +lengthen on the valley below, watching +a mauve haze deepen on the dark-green tops +of redwood trees. The time was approaching +when she must hurry back to Mrs. Goodyear’s +bungalow for a dinner which she +dreaded. Three weeks of perplexity had +bred in her a shrinking from people. She +had found excuse to wander away alone.</p> +<p>That lazy spring of the North woods, so +like to early fall in other climates, had given +her at first the healing of spirit which she +needed. She wandered hither and yon as her +fancy led her, following this trail, pushing +into that opening in the chapparal. She had +come out upon the Santa Eliza trail and +gained sight of the road before she realized +with a kind of inner shame the way in which +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span> +her feet of flesh had been tending, the direction +in which she had been turning her eyes +of the spirit.</p> +<p>Three miles away on the summit of the +next ridge was the Masters ranch, and there +rested the centre of her soul-storm. Bertram +Chester, she knew by chance, was spending +the week-end with the Masters.</p> +<p>She stopped by the rock, then; and immediately +nature went out of her heart and the +world entered. For three intolerable weeks, +this heaviness had been descending upon her +as by a whimsy of its own. Like the water +of those cupped wheels in her little irrigation +plant at the ranch, this black liquid, when it +had filled its vessel to the brim, would empty +automatically without touch on the spring of +her will. When this came, she would feel +rested, healed, in a state of dull peace. Now +the struggle of thought was on her again. +As always before, it began with an arraignment +of the facts in the case, a search of memory +for any forgotten data which might lead +to a conclusion.</p> +<p>The first crisis arrived on the evening when +Judge Tiffany came home in a plain mood +of disgust, and announced baldly: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span></p> +<p>“Well, Mattie; our young friend did everything +I expected of him.”</p> +<p>He went on quite simply with the news. +Bertram Chester had left him almost without +notice. But that was to be expected. +The rest was the worst. Bertram had gone +to Senator Northrup—as manager of his real +estate interests. The name Northrup was as +the name of the devil in that household. +Northrup’s operations included not only law +and politics but latterly speculative and unprincipled +ventures in business. A dying +flash of his old fire woke in Judge Tiffany +when he spoke as he felt about this young cub +who had bitten his caressing hand.</p> +<p>Eleanor left the dinner table as soon as she +had a fair excuse. She found herself unable +to bear it. Had she remained, she must have +defended him. But alone in her living room +she look counsel of this treason and agreed in +her heart with her uncle. The very manner +in which he had done it—never a hint, never +a preliminary mention of Northrup—appealed +to her as the deepest treason of all.</p> +<p>The next evening, Bertram Chester had the +superb impudence to call. Eleanor was alone +in the house that night. She hesitated when +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span> +the maid brought in his name, then shook +herself together and went out to face him.</p> +<p>He met her with an imitation of his old +manner, an assumption that his change in +employment would make no difference in his +social relations with the Tiffanys. What +words had she used to let him know her feelings? +She could not remember now. But it +had come hard; for the unmoral half of her +perceptions was noting how big and beautiful +he looked, how his blush, as of a stripling +facing reproof, became him.</p> +<p>He pleaded, he stormed, he presumed, he +passed in and out of sulky moods, he began +to defend himself against the silent attack of +her look. Why hadn’t he a right to do it? +A man should look out for himself. But +he’d have stayed and rotted with the old law +office if he’d felt that she would take it that +way.</p> +<p>“You mean more to me than success!” he +said.</p> +<p>“No more of that, please!” she cried. +After that cry, she fell into dignified silence +as the only defence against the double attack +from him and from the half of her that +yearned for him. From her silence he himself +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span> +grew silent until, with a boyish shake of +his shoulders—lovable but comically inadequate—he +bade her good night.</p> +<p>“You’ll cool off!” he said at the door.</p> +<p>“Good bye,” she responded simply.</p> +<p>“No, it’s good night,” he answered.</p> +<p>She woke next morning with a sense of +vacancy in heart and mind. Something was +gone. She did nothing for a week but justify +herself for calling that something back, or +nerve herself to let it go.</p> +<p>On the one hand, her mind told her that he +had done the ungrateful, the treasonable +thing. It did not matter that he might have +done it through mere lack of finer perception. +That was part of his intolerability. On the +other hand, her heart ran like a shuttle +through a web of his smiles, his illuminations, +the shiver, as from a weapon suddenly drawn, +of his unexpected presence, even his look +when he stood at the door to receive her final +good bye. The woof of that web was the +sense of vacancy in her—the unconquerable +feeling that a thing by which she had lived +was utterly lost.</p> +<p>And where would he go if she let him go? +Ah, the inn was ready, the room was swept. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span> +He would go inevitably to Kate Waddington. +That would be hard to bear. Sense of justice +was strong in Eleanor; she realized the +ungenerosity of this emotion while she continued +to harbor it. But was there not justice in +it after all? Kate Waddington could grasp, +could guide, only the worst part of him. +Kate Waddington had in her no guidance for +the better Bertram Chester, who must be in +him somewhere. She hugged this justification +to herself. Perhaps it was not right to +let him go; perhaps her heart and her duty +were as one.</p> +<p>A cock quail came out from the chapparal, +saw her, and bobbed back; the feet of his +flock rustled the twigs. Now he was raising +his spring call—“muchacho!” “muchacho!” +Clearer and slighter came the call of his +mate—“muchacho!” “muchacho!” A ground +squirrel shook the laurel-bush at her side, so +that its buds brushed her shoulder. The cock +quail came back into the pathway, slanted his +wise head, plumed in splendor, to find whether +she were friend or enemy, saw that she made +no move, and fell to foraging among the +leaves. She had sat so long and so quietly +that the little people of the ground were accepting +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span> +her as part of the landscape. She +began dimly to perceive these things, to take +joy in them. And then they colored her +mood.</p> +<p>What was she but a young, female thing, a +vessel of life universal? What was her attraction +toward Bertram Chester but a part of +the great, holy force which made and moved +hills, trees, the little people of hills and trees? +What was she, to have resisted the impulse in +her because of a few imperfections, a little +lack of development in civilized morals?</p> +<p>Her perception of nature died away, but +the slant which it had given her thoughts +persisted.</p> +<p>When she felt and spoke as she had done +that night in the Man Far Low, she was unwholesome, +super-refined, super-civilized—she +was proceeding by the hothouse morals +which she had learned in books and in European +studios. When she felt as she did on +that first night under the bay tree, she was +wholesome and eternally right.</p> +<p>How much greater in her, after all, if she +had followed the call, had taken him for the +man in him, to develop, to guide as a woman +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span> +may guide! Ah, by what token could she call +him back?</p> +<p>Her gaze of meditation had been fixed on +the road below. She had been half-consciously +aware for some time of a figure which +lost itself behind one of the hill-turns, reappeared +again, became wholly visible in a band +of late afternoon sunshine.</p> +<p>It was Bertram Chester. The vision came +without any shock of first surprise. He had +been so much part of her thoughts that it +seemed the most natural presence in the +world. He was swinging along the road in +her direction, heaving his massive shoulders +with every stride; he stopped, took off his +cap, wiped his forehead with a motion which, +seen even at that distance, conveyed all his +masculinity, and strode on again.</p> +<p>Would he keep on along the road, or would +he turn toward her up the Santa Eliza trail? +And if he did keep on, would those roving +eyes of his perceive her sitting there? Why +not leave everything to that chance? If he +looked up and saw her there on her rock, if +he turned into the trail and passed her—that +was a sign. She found herself, nevertheless, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span> +humanly striving to cheat fortune and the +gods by fixing all her mind and eyes upon +him, as though she would hypnotize him into +looking up.</p> +<p>But her mind and eyes had no power over +him. He kept on with his even gait until he +was lost behind the clump of trees which +marked the branching of the trail. One +chance was gone; she might not know the +issue of the other until time and waiting informed +her. How long before she should +know? She crouched low on the rock and +tried not to think.</p> +<p>The twigs and pebbles crunched under +heavy feet; the branches shook and rustled; +a blue sweater became visible in the shadows. +She looked away.</p> +<p>“Well, I’ll be—eternally blowed!” His +voice came out like an explosion. Much as +she expected it, she started. When, after a +moment, she dared look up, he stood over her.</p> +<p>“Are you going to run away?” he asked. +His voice, with its ripple like laughter, +showed that he expected nothing of the kind.</p> +<p>“No,” she answered, superfluously.</p> +<p>He seemed, then, to feel the necessity for +explanation. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span></p> +<p>“I hadn’t an idea—”</p> +<p>“Neither had I.” She broke in to anticipate +his thought. Each was lying a little; +and both knew it. She rushed to commonplaces.</p> +<p>“Uncle Edward and I are at Mrs. Goodyear’s +bungalow over Sunday. It’s our last +expedition out of town before we go down to +the ranch.”</p> +<p>“Well, I must have had a hunch! I’m at +the Masters ranch over Sunday. I got a +freak idea to take a walk alone. It sure was +a hunch!” Soft sentiment tinged his voice. +She answered nothing.</p> +<p>“A hunch that you were alone here, nobody +to interrupt—say, are you still sore on +me?”</p> +<p>“I—I didn’t run away—”</p> +<p>“Oh, I knew you’d get over it. I think +even the Judge will get over it. I don’t believe +he’d care anyhow, if it wasn’t for his +old grouch on Senator Northrup.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps. He’s said nothing—to me—”</p> +<p>“But it’s you I care about. Only you. I +told you that and I mean it. I don’t want +you to be sore—I’d go back and bury myself +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span> +in the old office for life if I thought it would +make it different with you.”</p> +<p>“Would you, Bertram?”</p> +<p>He leaned close to her; she could feel his +compelling eyes burning into her averted face. +With one part of her, she was conscious that +here was a crisis too great for her fully to +feel; with the other part, she was aware that +an ant, dragging a ridiculously heavy straw, +was toiling up her rock.</p> +<p>Now he had her hand, which lay inert in +his; now his arm was about her shoulder; and +now he was speaking again:</p> +<p>“Can’t you? Can’t you stop looking down +on me and believe I’m going to be good +enough for you?”</p> +<p>She found power of speech.</p> +<p>“I never—I don’t think that I’m too good +for you!” Her Rubicon was crossed. It +was a strangely long time before he kissed her, +but the silent interval after the kiss was +stranger and longer still.</p> +<p>“Tell me what you plan for our future, +Bertram, for I am afraid!” she whispered at +length.</p> +<p>“It’s got to be a wait—that’s the risk you +take with a comer. I’ll go on twice as fast +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span> +for you. What do you want—shall we tell +about it, girlikins?”</p> +<p>“As you wish, Bertram.”</p> +<p>“I guess we’d better not, then—not until +the old Judge gets his back down. Let’s have +it just between me and my little girl.</p> +<p>“Say!” he added, the sentiment blowing +out of his tone, “what was the matter, anyhow, +that night on the restaurant balcony? +Why did you turn me down then, and what +made you so sore? I’ve never quite got to +your thoughts, you know. But I’m going +to!” He drew her closer. “Every one of +them!”</p> +<p>She dropped her face on his shoulder.</p> +<p>“Ah, we’ve so many things to talk about, +Bertram, and there’s so much time! I’ve +been a girl that didn’t know her mind. +Shan’t we let that rest now? Shan’t we be +contented with what to-day has brought you +and me?”</p> +<p>A film clouded his face.</p> +<p>“Yes—if you want it that way.”</p> +<p>“Hoo-ooo-ooo!” Clear and high, but +quavering, a masculine voice was calling +across the ridge. Eleanor sprang up.</p> +<p>“That’s Uncle Edward—it’s dinner-time—do +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span> +you want him to find you—you’d better +go!”</p> +<p>He stood as though considering.</p> +<p>“All right. When are you going back?”</p> +<p>“We catch the seven train to-morrow afternoon +at Santa Eliza.”</p> +<p>“Darn! I’d engaged to take on the five-ten +at Las Olivas. I’ve half a notion to +change and join you and see what the old +man says—”</p> +<p>“No, Bertram, it’s better not. We’ll find +a way. Go now!”</p> +<p>“You bet we will—good bye, girlikins!” +He made no move to kiss her again; he turned +and crashed down the trail.</p> +<p>Eleanor sped up the trail. Safe on the +summit of the ridge, her secret hidden behind +her, she answered the call. Then she +dared look back at the figure vanishing in +deep shadow below. Her expression and attitude, +soft-eyed and drooping though they +were, showed other emotions than unmixed +happiness.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIV' id='CHAPTER_XIV'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +</div> +<p>Judge Tiffany turned from a consideration +of the hillside to a closer consideration +of Eleanor, who rode beside him +in the Goodyear trap. She sat very straight, +her hands folded in her lap, her grave, grey +eyes staring not at hillsides nor spring skies, +but into the far horizons.</p> +<p>Since he recovered from that purely human +rage against this youth who had betrayed him +to his dearest enemy, the Judge had been +watching, with all his old interest, the surface +indications of Eleanor’s moods. Last night, +it had been a kind of gaiety; to-day the mood +was quiet, but not at all despondent; there +was life in it. Judge Tiffany held his own +views on the relations between his niece and +Bertram Chester, and on the right or convenience +of interfering. Twice he had been on +the point of telling her that his feeling toward +Bertram Chester should not color hers; +that his house was still open to the young +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span> +man. But the curiosity of philosophical age +to see how things will turn out had prevented +him.</p> +<p>It was just as well. They were on the eve +of their summer flight to the ranch, where +she would have other things to think about +than young men. That was his half-expressed +theme when he spoke:</p> +<p>“Well, girl, will you be glad to get back +to work again? You missed last summer.”</p> +<p>Eleanor started as out of sleep.</p> +<p>“I think I am glad of everything!” she said +cryptically. As though to turn the subject, +she indicated a buckboard which was coming +down an intersecting by-road at crazy speed.</p> +<p>“Why are they driving so fast?”</p> +<p>The Goodyear driver turned with the familiarity +of a country henchman.</p> +<p>“That’s the doctor’s rig from Las Olivas,” +he said, “and he’s sure going some!” Followed +a monologue on the doctor and his +habits.</p> +<p>About the next bend of the road, a little +boy rushed from a wayside camp which +looked strangely deserted for supper-time of +Sunday afternoon. He waved both arms before +his face. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span></p> +<p>“Hey, mister, take me to the wreck!”</p> +<p>“What wreck, kid?”</p> +<p>“The five-ten is over the trestle, and they +went off and left me!”</p> +<p>Judge Tiffany took the information calmly, +even selfishly. “I wonder if we’d better turn +back and give it up to-night, or go on?”</p> +<p>Eleanor spoke with a catch of the breath, +a drawn-in tone.</p> +<p>“Go on! Oh, tell him to go on!”</p> +<p>The Judge peered at her. She was pale, +but, as always in her crises, the curtain of inscrutability +made her face a mask. “Oh, do +go on!” she repeated. Then, as though it all +needed explanation, she added:</p> +<p>“We might be able to help!”</p> +<p>“Drive on, then—fast!”</p> +<p>Absolutely passive, Eleanor swayed a little +with the trap, but made no motion of her own. +Indeed, there was little motion within. The +train had gone over the trestle, that was all. +Bertram Chester was on that train. She must +not try to think it out—must only hold tight +to herself until she found how God had decided +for her. Once it did occur that she had +fretted her heart away over shadowy ills, toy +troubles, while Bertram walked the earth +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span> +free and healthy. How trivial those troubles +seemed beside this real apprehension! Once +again, she wondered how she had been cruel +enough to hold him at arm’s length so long. +Was this to be the punishment for her folly?</p> +<p>A buckboard, driven furiously, came over +the hill-rise before them—the doctor’s rig.</p> +<p>“Ask him—ask him!” she called to her +driver. As they drew up alongside, the doctor’s +driver began talking without need for +inquiries.</p> +<p>“Spread rail! The rear car just bucked +over the trestle—”</p> +<p>“Anybody dead?”</p> +<p>“Two that I saw—and everybody in the +rear car hurt. They’re loading ’em on the +front car to take ’em to town. Good bye—I’ve +got to bring back medicine before they +start!”</p> +<p>The chances were even—the chances were +even. If he had been in the front car—relief. +If he had been in the rear car—</p> +<p>The thing opened before them like a panorama +as they topped the hill. The engine +puffing regularly, normally, the baggage car +and one coach on the rails behind it; a little +crowd buzzing and rushing up and down the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span> +trestle; a black, distorted mass of iron and +splinters at the edge of the water below. +Three or four heads appeared above the +trestle, and the people swarmed in that direction. +The heads grew to four men, carrying +between them a bundle covered by a red +blanket.</p> +<p>Judge Tiffany spoke for the first time.</p> +<p>“You’d better not see it, Nell!”</p> +<p>His words seemed to draw the curtain away +from her self-control.</p> +<p>“Oh, go on—for God’s sake, go on!”</p> +<p>As they drew up beside the undamaged +coach, the bearers had just arrived with another +body. Eleanor jumped down, rushed +to the platform. The thing under the blanket +was a woman. She turned into the coach, +apprehension growing into certainty. She +had not seen him in the crowd. If he were +unhurt, he must be first and foremost among +the workers.</p> +<p>The coach was a hospital—limp, bandaged +people propped up on every seat; in a little +space by the further door, a row of quiet figures +which lay as though sleeping. Above +them bent two men. Their business-like +calm showed that they were physicians. The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span> +half of her which stood aloof, observing all +things, wondering at all things, the half whose +influence kept her now so calm and sane, +marvelled that she heard no moaning, tormented +sounds. They were in the second +stage of injury; the blessed anæsthesia of +nature was upon them. For human speech, +she heard only the low, quick voices of those +who healed and nursed.</p> +<p>She saw a bare arm lifted from the press of +huddled forms, saw that a physician had +pressed a black bulb to it. The hand—the +inevitable configuration of that arm which she +had never seen bare—and she knew him.</p> +<p>Bertram lay on his side. His eyes were +closed, his whole figure huddled; yet something +more than the quiver of his body at +the prick of the syringe told her that he was +alive. His color had changed but little; hovering +death showed mainly by a sharpening of +all the lines of his face. Yet it did not seem +to be Bertram, but rather some statue, some +ghastly replica of him.</p> +<p>The physician stood up and stretched his +back. She came close.</p> +<p>“Will he live?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span></p> +<p>He turned impatiently, but he caught her +eyes.</p> +<p>“He has a chance. He’s young and strong—Is +he—yours?”</p> +<p>“Yes—yes! What shall I do for him?”</p> +<p>“Are you sure you’re strong enough—you +won’t faint nor carry on?”</p> +<p>“No—no! I’m sure of that. What may +I do?” Judge Tiffany was beside her +now. He looked, understood, and said nothing.</p> +<p>“Thank God for you, then! With all the +crowd we haven’t sane people enough to +nurse one baby! Everything’s the matter +with him—broken arm, broken collar-bone, +shock, and maybe he’s injured internally. +We can’t be sure about that yet. I’m trying +to make him comfortable, but”—here the agitated +man broke through the calm physician +for a moment—“No braces, no slings, no anything! +We’re going to town as soon as this +company will let us. And he must be held. +It’s the only way to keep him comfortable. +Come!”</p> +<p>Judge Tiffany touched the doctor’s arm, +but he spoke to Eleanor. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span></p> +<p>“Nell—you’d better let a man do that.”</p> +<p>“No. You may help. How shall I hold +him?”</p> +<p>All her will concentrated on obedience to +direction, she followed the doctor while he +drew Bertram’s bare arm over her shoulder, +set a cushion at his back, showed her how she +must support his neck with her right hand.</p> +<p>“Hold him as long as you can, then have +your friend relieve you. But change no +more often than you find necessary. He’ll +get jostled enough before we reach town.”</p> +<p>The Judge seated himself calmly. She was +alone with the care of her dying. The necessity +for comforting and reassuring him came +into her mind.</p> +<p>“It’s all right, Bertram; it’s all right!” she +whispered. He returned no answer, even of +a flickering eyelash. He lay still, inert, a +great bulk that tugged at the muscles of her +arms.</p> +<p>After a time, her frame adjusted itself to +the position. Her perceptions, still keenly +alive, told her that her doctor was working +over a woman in the corner. Just as the +train started, she saw him rise, wipe his hands +on his handkerchief, and motion calmly to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span> +two of the men. They lifted the woman. +Eleanor realized all at once what the motion +signified. They had taken her to join the +dead in the baggage car.</p> +<p>Next to Bertram lay an old man, his head +so wrapped in bandages that she could see +only the tip of his grey beard. A middle-aged +woman—Eleanor recognized her as a +camper whom they had passed on the road +but yesterday—knelt beside him, talking into +his ear about his soul. “Do you lean on your +Savior?” she whispered. A kind of passing +impatience touched Eleanor. So much had +her sympathetic spirit absorbed the feelings +of these dying ones, that she resented this as +an intrusion, an unwelcome distraction from +the business of sloughing off the flesh.</p> +<p>A little sag of Bertram’s body, which +alarmed her for a moment until she saw that +the movement came from relaxation of her +own arms, called her back to responsibility. +The realization that it <i>had</i> called her back +brought with it the amazing, shameful realization +that it had ever wandered away.</p> +<p>Why—</p> +<p>From the moment when she took him into +her arms, she had never thought of him as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span> +her dying lover—never as her lover at all!</p> +<p>A man in extremis, a thing so beaten and +suffering that she called for it on her Christ—he +was all that, in common with the other +beaten and battered and senseless wrecks +about them. But the feeling that he was her +own, about to go from her, had never entered +her heart. She was ashamed while she +thought of it; but it persisted. Not hers? +Why, she had suffered him to kiss her only +yesterday! Must she think of such things +with a life to save?</p> +<p>Now, her body was giving way with weariness; +it seemed that she could hold him no +longer. She nodded to Judge Tiffany, therefore; +the old man rose and gently took her +burden from her. She sank back on the +empty seat. When the faintness of fatigue +had passed, she fixed her eyes on the still face +of him who had been her lover.</p> +<p>Why was it? The clear-cut profile, so refined +and beautiful since suffering gave it the +final touch, had thrilled her only yesterday +and through a succession of yesterdays. It +had no power to thrill her now. She tried +to put back this unworthy thought, but it persisted. +In spite of pity and all decency of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span> +the heart, that outer self of hers kept saying +it to her like an audible voice. Were he to +die now, in her arms, she should work and +weep and pray over his passing—but only as +she would work and weep and pray over that +alien old man who lay beside him, that woman +whom they had just carried away.</p> +<p>The Judge was flagging. He glanced +wearily over his shoulder, as though he hesitated +to ask for relief. She rose; and without +a word she took his place. And now, as she +knelt with Bertram’s slight yet heavy breathing +in her ear, her thoughts became uncontrollable +nightmare—scattered visions and +memories of old horrors, as when she saw her +father drunk on the pavement; a multitude of +those little shames which linger so long. One +incident which was not quite a shame thrust +itself forward most insistently of all. It was +that episode under the bay tree, when she was +only a little girl. Why did that memory +start to the surface those tears which had been +falling so long within? Her weeping seemed +to lift her to a tremendous height of perception, +as though that outer self had flowed in +upon her.</p> +<p>That which had lured her and dragged her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span> +to him in the end, was the life in him, the +strong, vigorous body, the gestures, the smiles. +That which had held her away from him was +the soul within him—high and clean enough +as souls go, but not one which she could ever +know, and not one which could ever know +hers. In this struggle of passing, he was all +soul; the body was not in it.</p> +<p>She held the plan of her puzzle; it was +necessary only to set the scattered blocks into +place.</p> +<p>She found herself whispering to him; she +checked herself until she remembered that he +could not hear:</p> +<p>“O Bertram, you are not mine! O Bertram, +you could never be mine!”</p> +<p>Now she could look straight at the possibility +of his death or recovery. And she +could weigh and choose, in case it was life, +between telling him what she felt, or going +on with him to the end—walking with a soul +apart, yet choosing paths for it, too. That +last might be the road of honor. That fine +and heroic course, indeed, came to her with +a high appeal. She had made her one resolve +of duty. Perhaps it was her destiny to +immolate herself for duty to the end. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span></p> +<p>The train bowled on, stopping for no stations. +The old man in the corner was unconscious +or asleep; the woman who tended +him had stopped her spiritual ministrations. +A child, propped up in one of the rear seats, +had awakened to cry, fallen asleep, awakened +and wept again. She had in her voice a +thick, mucous note, which became to Eleanor +the motif in that symphony of misery. +Otherwise, no one seemed to be making +sound except the two physicians. Her own +doctor came up once, pressed a syringe again +into the bare arm, whispered that it was all +going well.</p> +<p>A whistle came muffled through the fog; +they were slowing down. It was a station; +the lights, the clamor of human voices, proved +it. Eleanor looked out of the window. A +knot of young men had broken for the platform; +and she could distinguish the black +boxes of cameras. There arose a sharp parley +at the rear door; her doctor muttered +“reporters—damn!” and hurried back. +Judge Tiffany rose and followed him. Over +her shoulder Eleanor caught the white, intent +face of Mark Heath. “He knows; they have +told him,” she thought. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span></p> +<p>Judge Tiffany, his mind on the practical +necessities of the case, still had it in him to +admire the control of that good soldier, the +modern reporter. When he told simply what +had happened, how the issue lay balanced between +life and death, Mark only said:</p> +<p>“My God!—and me with the story to do!” +Then his eye caught Eleanor.</p> +<p>“Did she—has she been nursing him?”</p> +<p>Judge Tiffany glanced at the other reporters, +clustered about the conductor, at the photographers, +holding animated wrangle with +the physicians about flashlights.</p> +<p>“Keep her out of your story—you can do +that. Say I found him on the train—put me +in—that’s a good story enough. Keep my +niece out. Keep the others off. Keep those +flashlights muffled!”</p> +<p>Mark hurried forward. One look, a look +which contorted his face, he bent on Bertram. +Then he spoke puzzles to Eleanor.</p> +<p>“You’re Miss Brown, a camper at Santa +Eliza, if anyone asks you—and when we leave +this train you stay by me and do everything +I tell you.”</p> +<p>“Very well.”</p> +<p>Mark touched Bertram’s face with a tenderness +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span> +almost feminine. “Poor old man!” +he whispered; and he hurried back.</p> +<p>A shock-headed youth accosted him.</p> +<p>“What’s up there?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Good story,” answered Mark. “I’ve got +it all—don’t you fellows bother. Bertram +Chester, old California Varsity tackle, real +estate manager for Northrup and Co., seriously +injured, may not recover. Get his injuries +from the doctor. His late employer, +Judge Edward C. Tiffany, reached this train +at Santa Eliza and has been taking care of +him.”</p> +<p>A voice came from the group of reporters:</p> +<p>“Why, he’s your roommate!”</p> +<p>“I know it—damn it! Keep on. Judge +Tiffany has been caring for him, holding him +up so he could bear it, assisted by Miss Sadie +Brown, a camper at Santa Eliza. She’s the +one I was talking to.”</p> +<p>“Who is she? Any chance for a photograph?”</p> +<p>“I braced her for a picture. She wouldn’t +stand for it.”</p> +<p>“Let me try! I’ll get it.”</p> +<p>“See here, you fellows, I’ll attend to that. +I’ll let you all in if she gives up. I’ll play +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span> +you square. He’s my roommate—can’t you +trust me to handle it? Keep on. Miss Sadie +Brown, works at the Emporium, lives 2196 +Valencia—” Mark was reading from a perfectly +blank sheet of copy paper—“Judge +Tiffany will take him home. He wired +ahead for a private ambulance from Havens. +That’s all of that. Now what have you fellows +got? Help me out; it’s none too easy +for me.”</p> +<p>As he took notes, asked questions, formed +his “story” in his mind, Mark never took his +eyes off that group in the corner.</p> +<p>Now they were racing down the last stage +of the trip, with full freeway. Now they +were drawing into the ferry station. Under +the lights stood a buzzing crowd, its blacks +shot with the white coats of hospital orderlies. +A dozen ambulances, their doors open, stood +backed to the platform. Eleanor sagged +down on the floor with a sigh as two orderlies +lifted Bertram’s arms from her shoulders, +made shift to get him upon their stretcher.</p> +<p>But the doctor stopped them.</p> +<p>“Get this old man first,” he said, “and be +careful. That young fellow ought to pull +through.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XV' id='CHAPTER_XV'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> +</div> +<p>Toward morning, Eleanor managed to +get a little sleep. When full daylight +wakened her to the dull realization of her +situation and burdens, she hurried into clothes, +crept to the solid, old-fashioned best bedroom +where they had put Bertram, and took counsel +of the nurse. Everything was hopeful; +she got that from the professional patter of +temperatures and reactions. It seemed that +there might be no internal hurt. He had +roused from his shock in the night; had +seemed to know where he was and what had +happened. He lay now in a natural sleep, +but he must be kept very quiet.</p> +<p>On the way downstairs, Eleanor met face to +face with her aunt. Mrs. Tiffany had been +awake since the ambulance brought responsibility; +but her eyes showed more than want +of sleep. The two women stopped, looked +long at each other; then Mrs. Tiffany took +Eleanor tenderly in her arms and kissed her. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span></p> +<p>“Don’t you worry, dear,” she whispered, +“he will get well, and everything will be all +right with Edward and me.”</p> +<p>Eleanor did not answer at first. She drew +a little away from her aunt’s embrace, before +she found tongue to say:</p> +<p>“Please don’t speak of that, Aunt Mattie—oh, +not of that now!”</p> +<p>As she made her way out to the piazza, in +an instinctive search for air and room, she +was crying.</p> +<p>In the limpness of reaction, she sank into +a chair. Every joint and muscle, she realized +now, ached and creaked. She could lift her +arms only after taking long thought with herself; +and the soul within was as burned paper.</p> +<p>The front gate clicked. The first, doubtless, +of those inquiring visitors who would +read a meaning into the adventures of last +night. That, too, was to be faced this day! +The pattering, hurrying footsteps sounded +near to her before she looked up and recognized +Kate Waddington.</p> +<p>If Kate had been crying, the only evidence +was a hasty powdering which left streaks of +white and pink before her ears. On first +glance, Eleanor marvelled at her appearance +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span> +of control, at the lack of emotion in her face. +But insight rather than conscious vision told +Eleanor of the currents which were running +under that mask. At the bottom Eleanor detected +a fear which was not only apprehension +of the news from Bertram Chester, but also a +cowardly shrinking from the situation. She +fancied that she could even trace Kate’s +consideration of the proper shade of acting +in the circumstances. All this in the moment +before Kate sprang up the steps and +asked:</p> +<p>“Oh, will he live?”</p> +<p>A baser nerve in Eleanor quivered with the +desire to be cruel. She had to put it down +before she could tell the simple truth. One +little corner of Kate’s mouth quivered and +jerked for a second under her teeth before she +caught herself and resumed the impersonation +of a solicitous friend.</p> +<p>“Tell me all about it,” she said.</p> +<p>“Ah, I am too tired!” Nevertheless, Eleanor +did manage a plain tale, ending with the +nurse’s report and with her own conviction +that he would live.</p> +<p>“Oh, of course he will live!” And then—“Who +is nursing him?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span></p> +<p>She looked up on this question, which was +also an appeal, a begging.</p> +<p>“We have a nurse,” answered Eleanor +shortly. It gratified her a little, in her low +state of consciousness, to be thus abrupt. The +better part of her realized this; saw how she +was wreaking the revenge of an old emotion. +A reaction of generosity prompted her next +words; but she spoke with an effort.</p> +<p>“You may help if you want to. Uncle +Edward must go to the ranch this week—unless—don’t +you want to come here and stay in +my spare room?” It seemed to Eleanor that +she had never made a harder sacrifice than +the one which she sealed with that invitation.</p> +<p>This, too, brought Kate out of her impersonation. +Her whole figure straightened for +a second, and—</p> +<p>“Oh, might I?” she said.</p> +<p>“I should be very glad. Will you come up +to see him—one may look in at the door. He +is in Uncle Edward’s spare chamber.”</p> +<p>As they threaded the involved halls of that +rambling dwelling, Kate hurried on ahead. +Eleanor, from the rear, threw out a word or +two by way of direction. At the door, +opened to get air of a dull and heavy morning, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span> +they peered into the grim order of the +sick room. The nurse had already stripped +it to hospital equipment. His face, refined +almost into beauty by pain and low-running +blood, lay tilted to one side as he slept. The +nurse touched her lips. Eleanor nodded. +The nurse turned back toward her patient. +Eleanor dared look at Kate.</p> +<p>Her color had changed from pale, back to +the pink of life; now it was turning pale +again. She noticed neither Eleanor nor the +nurse; she stood as one in a universe unpeopled +save by herself and another. Once, her +two arms quivered with an involuntary outward +motion, and once she swayed against the +lintel.</p> +<p>And Eleanor, watching her through this +wordless passage, gathered all the currents +that had been running through her will into +an indeterminate determination. In that moment +she realized the full bitterness of a renunciation +that does not mean renouncing a +wholly dear and desired thing, but does mean +renouncing the beloved thing which one is +better without.</p> +<p>Kate turned at length. Eleanor, as their +eyes met, could read in her face and body the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span> +change as the actress took command once +more. Kate flew at once to her hollow conventional +phrases.</p> +<p>“The poor, poor boy!” she said. “Oh, we +must all help!”</p> +<p>Eleanor turned away with the feeling that +this made it harder for her to perform her +renunciation—if real renunciation it were.</p> +<p>The day brought too much work, activity, +purely material anxiety, for a great deal of +thought. They had cut off the telephone in +the main wing of the Tiffany house and +switched the current to the instrument in +Eleanor’s living-room. Most of the day she +spent answering that telephone. People of +whom she had never even heard, made anxious +inquiries about the condition of Mr. Chester. +Before night the newspapers became a plague. +For in the afternoon, winged reporters, shot +out in volleys for a “second day story,” had +called at 2196 Valencia and found there no +Sadie Brown. Hurrying down the back trail +to the Emporium, they did discover an indignant +little shop-girl of that name. Those reporters +who had been with the wreck the +night before found no resemblance in her to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span> +the mysterious lady. Then came a bombardment, +in person and by telephone, of the Tiffany +house. The Judge, meeting all callers +at the front door, lied tactfully. The city +editors gave up sending reporters and took to +bullying over the telephone; so that the burden +of an unaccustomed lying fell upon Eleanor. +At eleven o’clock, and after one voice +had declared that the <i>Journal</i> had the whole +account and would make it pretty peppery if +the Tiffanys did not confirm it, Eleanor took +the telephone off the hook and went to bed.</p> +<p>The morning papers did pretty well with +what they had. “Mysterious Woman Nurses +Prominent Varsity Athlete”—“Who Is The +Pretty Girl that Nursed Society Man in Las +Olivas Horror?”—“Modest Heroine of Las +Olivas Holocaust.” But the secret, thanks to +Mark Heath, was safe.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>She slept that night. Far along in the +morning she awoke to the delicious sense of +physical renewal. The situation crept into +her mind stage by stage, as such things do +arrive in the awakening consciousness. She +was calm now, what with her rest of body, her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span> +decision of soul. She could think it out; her +course of action and how she might accomplish +it.</p> +<p>A knock at her door roused her from half-sleep +and meditation to full wakening. Kate +Waddington had entered—Kate, transformed +into a picturesque imitation of a nurse. She +was all in grass linen, the collar rolled away +to show her round, golden throat. Her flowing +tie was blue, and a blue bow completed +the knot of her hair. She looked cool, efficient, +domestically business-like.</p> +<p>“He’s better!” Kate burst out with the +news as Eleanor turned her head. “There’s +really no danger now. The nurse says that he +roused this morning and showed a positively +vicious temper because they would not let him +see anyone.”</p> +<p>“That’s pleasant news. I was sure that he +would recover.” Eleanor caught an unconsidered +expression, no more than a glint and a +drooping, in Kate’s eyes. This answer, so +calm, so entirely unemotional, had touched +curiosity if nothing more. But Kate chirped +on:</p> +<p>“I’m playing Mama’s little household fairy—how +do you like the way I dress the part? +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span> +I sent for these clothes last night. Now +you’re to lie abed and let me bring you your +breakfast. Are you rested, dear? It was +enough to kill two women!”</p> +<p>“Quite rested, I think.”</p> +<p>Kate opened the window, bustled about +putting the room to rights.</p> +<p>“Shall I bring your coffee now?” she asked +at last.</p> +<p>“Yes, thank you.”</p> +<p>Kate was back in ten minutes with table +and tray. Whatever she did had an individuality, +a touch. That tray, for example—nothing +could have been better conceived to +tempt the appetite. She set out the breakfast +and remained to pour coffee and to talk.</p> +<p>“And isn’t it good—mustn’t you be thankful—that +it won’t leave him lame or disfigured +or anything like that! His shoulder +may be weak, but what does a man need of +shoulders after he’s quit football?”</p> +<p>Eleanor just glanced over her coffee-cup, +but she made no answer. Kate turned her +course.</p> +<p>“Won’t you let me open your egg for you?”</p> +<p>“No, thank you.” Then, “You’re very +kind, Kate.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span></p> +<p>“I am the original ray of light. Do let +me fix those pillows. You’re going to lie in +bed all the morning, you know. Shall I +bring you the papers? You should see them! +They’ve got you a heroine.”</p> +<p>“Me!” Now Eleanor showed animation.</p> +<p>“Oh, not you. We’ve all kept the secret +well. You’re a mystery, a pretty shop-girl +to the rescue. I hope the weeklies don’t find +the real story.”</p> +<p>“I hope so.”</p> +<p>Kate rose, made another pretense at setting +things right in the room, and moved toward +the door. A relief, a lowering of tension, +came over Eleanor. But at the threshold, +Kate turned.</p> +<p>“Oh, I nearly forgot! They sent up from +Mr. Northrup’s office this morning for some +documents or deeds or something which they +thought Mr. Chester might have in his pockets. +The nurse brought out his clothes so +that Mrs. Tiffany and I might go through +them—I felt like a pickpocket. And we +came across a package of proofs—photographs +of him. We opened it to see if the +old deeds might be in there. And they’re +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span> +such stunning likenesses—Muller, you know—that +I thought it would do you good to see +them.”</p> +<p>“Thank you, I should like to.”</p> +<p>Kate drew the photographs from her bosom +and handed them over. As Eleanor took +them and began mechanically to inspect them, +she caught an unconsidered trifle. Kate was +not leaving the room. She had stepped over +to the cheval-mirror, which faced the bed, and +was adjusting the ribbon in her hair. Looking +across the photographs through her lashes, +Eleanor saw that the counterfeit eyes of Kate +in the mirror were trained dead upon her.</p> +<p>She examined them, therefore, with indifference; +she stopped in the middle of her inspection +to ask if Judge Tiffany were up yet.</p> +<p>“They’re excellent likenesses,” she went on +indifferently. “That’s a good composition. +I don’t care so much for this one. That’s a +poor pose.” She had come now to the bottom +of the pile. This last print was one of +those spirited profiles by which Muller, master-photographer, +so illuminates character.</p> +<p>“Oh, that’s a wonder,” cried Eleanor. +“Such a profile!” Then, at the thought how +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span> +Kate might misinterpret this purely artistic +enthusiasm, she dropped her voice to indifference +again.</p> +<p>“Won’t you please tell Aunt Mattie that +I will get up if I can be of any use?” And +she held out the package.</p> +<p>Kate packed up the tray and withdrew. +Eleanor heard the muffled tap of her heels in +the hall. The sound stopped abruptly. It +was fully a minute before they went on again.</p> +<p>Kate, in fact, had rested the tray on a hall +table, drawn out the photographs, and run +over them, looking at them with all her eyes. +The profile was at the bottom of the package. +When she reached that, she hesitated a moment; +then, with a quivering motion that ran +from her fingers over her whole body, she tore +it in two. Short as this explosion was, her +recovery was quicker. She glanced with apprehension +over her shoulder at the door of +Eleanor’s room, tucked the photographs back +in her bosom, and took up the tray again.</p> +<p>Eleanor, when the sound of the tapping +heels had quite died away, turned her face toward +the wall and gave herself to thought. +She had gathered up the last strand of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span> +tangled web. Nothing was left but the unweaving.</p> +<p>First, his soul was not hers, as her soul was +not his. That impression, received in a crisis +which, she felt, was to be the crisis of her +life, had grown to be an axiom. His youth, +his vigor, the pull of a stalwart vitality which +made his coarseness almost beauty—that had +been the attraction. His spirit, so blazing +but so full of flaws—that had been the repulsion.</p> +<p>Did not her own spirit have its flaws? +Doubtless. Who was she, then, to judge +him? Ah, but they did not fit into her flaws!</p> +<p>Kate Waddington now—Eleanor turned +her thoughts in that direction with difficulty—her +flaws were akin to his. Kate could +tolerate and admire the whole of him. His +lapses in finer standards, such as that desertion +to Northrup—did they not fit like the +segments of a broken coin with Kate’s diplomacies +of that very day, her subtle reaching +to discover if Eleanor were really a rival? +Kate would weigh his compromises with +honor as lightly as he would weigh those +pretty treacheries. He would be successful; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span> +everyone had felt that in him from his very +first flash on the horizon. Kate would help +him to the kind of success he wanted. Her +tact, her diplomacies, her <i>flair</i> for engrafting +herself, would be the very best support +to his direct methods of assault. They belonged +to each other; and since now Kate’s +desires in the matter had become manifest, +only one thing remained.</p> +<p>All this allowed, what should her own line +of conduct be? How should she bear herself +in the days and weeks when pure human kindness +must inhibit her from delivering a shock? +Would it be necessary to commit the inner +treason of posing to him as a secret fiancée? +Well, that must be lived out, step by step. +She could at least take all possible means, +within the bounds of kindness, of withdrawing +herself gradually from him, of paving the +way for the ultimate confession. Kate Waddington +would help in that. There, her own +game and Kate’s ran parallel.</p> +<p>This discovery of Kate at the end of the +tangled strings brought a tug at her heart, +a black cloud to her spirit. She hated Kate +Waddington. It made her grip the pillows +to think how much she hated. Her mood descending +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span> +into a bitter, morbid jealousy which +had no reason for being, but which momentarily +swept all her resolutions away, sent her +mind and body whirling back toward Bertram +Chester.</p> +<p>That passed. The last trace of her wild +animal hatred for Kate Waddington was +borne away on a prayer of the old faith which +held her instincts. She rose from her bed in +a state of fixed determination that never +faltered again.</p> +<p>When Eleanor was dressed, she turned not +to the front of the house where the business of +drawing back a life was afoot, but to the fresh +silences of her garden. She walked to the lattice +whose view commanded the bay and the +distant Gate. It was a quiet, dull-gold morning +on the Roads. A tug fussed about the +quarantine wharf; the lateen fisher-boats +were slipping out towards the Sacramento. +And white and stately, between the pillars of +the Gate, a full-rigged ship was making out +to sea on a favoring breeze.</p> +<p>Eleanor watched the sea-birds bending toward +it, the mists creeping down to cover it. +The soul within her leaped toward it and +seized it as a symbol. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span></p> +<p>“O ship,” she whispered, “take this too +away with you! I give it to the pure seas. +Take this little love away with you!”</p> +<p>That rite, with its poetry and its self-pity, +brought exaltation into her resolution. The +sacrifice was complete.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVI' id='CHAPTER_XVI'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> +</div> +<p>Life and spirit came back to Bertram +Chester with a sudden bound. By the +fourth day, he was so much alive, so insistent +for company, that it became a medical necessity +to break the conventional regulations for +invalids, and let him see people. As it happened, +his father was the first visitor. Judge +Tiffany, who thought of everything, had telegraphed +on the night of the accident, and had +followed this dispatch, as Bertram improved, +with reassuring messages. Bert Chester the +elder, it appeared, was off on a long drive +into Modoc; two days elapsed before his +vaqueros, left on the ranch, could reach him.</p> +<p>He arrived with his valise on the morning +of that fourth day when Bertram roared for +company. He was a tall, calm man, with a +sea-lion mustache, a weather-beaten complexion +and the Chester smile in grave duplicate. +He was obviously uncomfortable in his town +clothes; and, even at the moment when they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span> +were leading him solemnly to the sick room, +he stepped in awe through the Tiffany splendors. +When Mrs. Tiffany told him that Bert +was doing well, would doubtless recover and +without disability, he said “That’s good!” and +never changed expression. Mrs. Tiffany, +lingering at the door, saw and heard their +greeting.</p> +<p>“How are you, Bert?” said Chester senior.</p> +<p>“Pretty well, Dad,” said Bertram. Then +awkwardly, with embarrassed self-consciousness +of the rite which he was performing, Mr. +Chester shook his son’s hand.</p> +<p>After their short interview, Mr. Chester, +a cat—or a bear rather—in a strange garret, +roamed the Tiffany home and entertained her +who would listen. He warmed to Kate especially, +and that household fairy, in her +flights between errands of mercy, played him +with all the prettiness of her coquetry. At +luncheon he quite lost his embarrassment and +responded to the advances of three friendly +humans. Yes ma-am, he had been glad to +learn that Bertram was doing well in the +city. He had five sons, all doing well. He’d +risked letting Bert try college, and it had +turned out all right. There wasn’t much +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span> +more left in the cattle business; but he was an +old dog to learn new tricks. If he had it to +do over again, he’d try fruit in the Santa +Clara Valley, just like they had done.</p> +<p>As the afternoon wore away bringing its +callers, its telephone messages and its consultations +of doctors, his mood shifted to uneasiness. +He spent an hour walking back and +forth in the garden. Just before dinner-time +he approached Mrs. Tiffany and Kate, who +were sewing in the living-room, and said +simply:</p> +<p>“Well, I guess I’ve got to be going.”</p> +<p>“Why, we’re just getting acquainted!” cried +Kate.</p> +<p>Mrs. Tiffany merely flickered an eyelash +at the assumption of privilege which this implied. +But she answered, after a moment, +“We should like to have you stay. Even at +that, don’t consider us when it is a case of being +near your son.”</p> +<p>“Well,” answered the older Chester, ponderously, +“you see it ain’t like I had only this +one son and hadn’t been through trouble. +There’s Bob now. I worried quite a lot more +than was necessary when the Artiguez outfit +shot him up, but he pulled through. And +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span> +after Pete got scrambled by a riata, and a few +more things of that kind happened, I stopped +worrying any more than was necessary. +He’ll get well, and you’re handling him fine. +You’ve been blame good to the boy,” he said; +and the touch of sentimental softness in his +voice showed how genuine was his hardly expressed +gratitude. He began talking rapidly, +as though ashamed of it. He hoped they all +could come to see him on the ranch some time, +though there wasn’t much there to attract a +lady. Still, the boys had pretty good times +now and then. If the Tiffanys liked fresh +venison, the boys always got some deer in the +season.</p> +<p>“It’s lovely down there, I know. Bertram—your +son—has told me so much about it!” +broke in Kate.</p> +<p>“We’d like to see you, too,” said Mr. +Chester. Then, catching the implication, +embarrassed by it, he retreated to his room +and came back in an incredibly short time +with his valise. He had turned toward the +door when Mrs. Tiffany said:</p> +<p>“I think Bertram is well enough so that +you might see him again.”</p> +<p>“Oh, sure,” replied Mr. Chester, as recalling +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span> +a neglected trifle. He dropped his valise +and strode back to the sick-room for a short +stay.</p> +<p>All that day, Eleanor harbored a dread, +which turned toward night to a relief—dread +of the first interview, relief that Bertram had +not sent for her. Kate, waiting her chance, +slipped secretly into the room after Mr. +Chester had gone. Bertram was awake. He +smiled in a measured imitation of his old +smile when she entered, and extended his uninjured +hand. She did not take it; instead, +she patted it with her cool, long fingers, made +to soothe. And considering that the nurse +was watching, she looked a long time into +his eyes.</p> +<p>“They sure smashed me up some,” he said. +“But I’m a-knitting. How did it happen that +they swore you in?”</p> +<p>“I wanted to help!”</p> +<p>“That was being pretty good to little Bertie!” +He withdrew his hand to drop it above +hers, and he looked long into her face. +“Pretty good to little Bertie,” he repeated, +“and now I want you to be better, and not +ask any questions about it. Is Miss Gray—Eleanor—about +the house?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span></p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“I thought she might have gone to the +ranch. Well, just about to-morrow, will you +get her in here—alone?”</p> +<p>“Are you ready—to be agitated?”</p> +<p>“Now you don’t know what I want—or +you wouldn’t be asking questions. Will +you?”</p> +<p>“Yes, Bertram.”</p> +<p>“You mustn’t talk any more,” spoke the +nurse from the corner. And Kate withdrew.</p> +<p>When, next morning, the two girls met in +the hall before breakfast, Kate repeated the +message simply, carelessly. Eleanor found +herself struggling to keep face and color. In +spite of her long inner preparation, the emergency +came to her with a sense of surprise. +How should she carry off this interview? +Though her respite had been long, though she +had thought much, she had no prepared plan +of campaign. Must she lie for the sake of his +bodily health, assume the part which she had +been playing when he went out of life? Even +the question how to get rid of the nurse was +a tiny embarrassment.</p> +<p>She mustered her voice to say: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span></p> +<p>“I think I’ll look in now. Invalids are +likely to be awake at this hour of the day.”</p> +<p>“Yes, you must be eager!” dabbed Kate.</p> +<p>The nurse was no obstacle. She looked up +toward the figure in the door, said: “A young +lady to see you, Mr. Chester,” and withdrew. +Eleanor stood alone by the foot of the bed, +looking into the eyes of her problem.</p> +<p>He made no motion. He did not even put +out his hand. He regarded her with the +frown which usually broke into a smile. +Now, it continued a frown.</p> +<p>“Well, things happened, didn’t they?” he +said. His voice burst out of him with almost +its normal force.</p> +<p>“Yes, Bertram. A great deal.”</p> +<p>“And I thank you. It was bully work. I +don’t see how you stood it, holding me up the +way you did—it ought to have killed off a +man, let alone a girl. Didn’t hurt you anywhere, +did it?”</p> +<p>“No—who told you?” Her voice was +hard and constrained.</p> +<p>Now Bertram smiled. It was different, +this smile, from the old illumination of his +features. She could not tell, in the moment +she had to think, whether it was his illness +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span> +that changed it so, or whether it really held +a bitterness which, superficially, she read into +it.</p> +<p>“That’s the answer,” he said enigmatically. +“You didn’t know I was onto everything, did +you? I never went out but once—just after +the crash when the car turned over. I began +to know things while they were carrying me +up the bank. From that time, I was just like +a man with his wind knocked out. It didn’t +hurt much, but I couldn’t move a finger or a +toe. I didn’t want to move if I could. I was +too busy just keeping alive. I couldn’t open +my eyes, but I heard everything. You just +bet I heard everything!”</p> +<p>This descent of the conversation into reminiscence +and apparent commonplace gave +Eleanor an opening into which she leaped. +It was wonderful; she had read of such cases. +Had he heard that child crying in the corner, +and had it bothered him? Had he been conscious +that it was Mark Heath and none other +who was asking so many questions? Mark +Heath had done so much for them—she +would tell him about it some other time. But +Bertram still lay there with his frown of a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span> +petulant boy on his face, and her voice ran +down into nothing for lack of sympathy in her +listener.</p> +<p>“Do you remember all you said?” he asked +when she was quite silent.</p> +<p>“I think so—why?” The question had +brought a little, warm jump of her nerves.</p> +<p>“Everything? Something you said to +me?”</p> +<p>“I think so, Bertram.”</p> +<p>“Did I dream it, then?”</p> +<p>She made no answer to this, but her knees +failed under her so that she sat down on the +bed. Had she—had she said it aloud?</p> +<p>“Something like this: ‘Bertram, we don’t +belong to each other’?” He laughed a little +on this; even a certain blitheness came into +his laugh, as though he should say, “the joke +is on you.”</p> +<p>A sense of the shock she might give him +moved her to temporize.</p> +<p>“Let us not talk of it now, Bertram. Let +it be as it was until you’re better.”</p> +<p>“I’ll be a blame sight better after I get +this off my system. You see—well I couldn’t +think just then, but now, when my think tank +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span> +has resumed business, I savvey a heap of +things. One is that you weren’t telling me +any news.”</p> +<p>“What makes you say that?” Eleanor bent +her grave grey eyes on him.</p> +<p>“I had the signal already. I mightn’t have +seen it fully if this smash hadn’t come, but +just the same I caught it away ahead of you. +That afternoon up on the Las Olivas trail +when we came together. When I kissed +you.”</p> +<p>Had she ever let him kiss her?</p> +<p>He made an incurved gesture of his free +hand, as though joining two wires.</p> +<p>“It didn’t connect. That’s all. I was acting +on a hunch when I told you to keep it +dark. Told anyone?”</p> +<p>Not until afterward did she think to be +offended by this question. At the time, she +answered with a simple negative.</p> +<p>“That’s good. It is just between us now. +I suppose the matter with me was that I +wanted to fly high, and you were about the +highest thing in sight—”</p> +<p>“Don’t, Bertram. I’m not high. Am I +hurting you? Oh, am I unkind when you are +ill?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span></p> +<p>“Oh, if you think it’s hurting me, you’re +off. This is a swell way to talk, isn’t it, considering +that I’m here—” his eyes swept the +aristocratic comforts of the Tiffany spare +room.</p> +<p>“We mustn’t think of that. It’s too big to +think of that!”</p> +<p>“I guess you’re right. Now that is finished, +going to forgive me because I walked over to +Northrup?”</p> +<p>“I’ve nothing of any kind to forgive. It’s +you, I think, that must forgive.”</p> +<p>“Oh, it’s all square, everything’s all +square. I want to be good friends with you +if you’ll let me. I hope,” his voice was almost +tender, “you connect with the right man. +He won’t have any too much blood in his +neck, but he’ll have a lot of general culture +in his system.”</p> +<p>Here she realized that she had something +to forgive. She repeated, mentally, her act +of renunciation as she said:</p> +<p>“You’re a great, strong, generous man. I +can’t tell you how much I thank you for the +course you’ve taken to-day. You’re going to +succeed and—some woman—is going to be +proud of you.” She had avoided by a thread +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span> +naming the woman. “I shall be glad I knew +you, and I shall be your friend as long as +you’ll let me.”</p> +<p>He smiled his old smile and his uninjured +hand went out.</p> +<p>“Shake!” he said.</p> +<p>Yet it was a relief that the nurse came back +and said quietly, “You’ve talked enough.” +As she walked to the door, Eleanor found that +her will was focused on the operation of her +feet, commanding them to move with decent +slowness. Had she obeyed her impulse, she +should have run. She forced herself to turn +at the door and smile back, forced herself to +bridle her emotions and go quietly to breakfast +and to her ordeal with the lightning +thrusts of Kate Waddington.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Two days later, Eleanor followed Judge +Tiffany to the ranch. A perplexing fruit +season brought her fair excuse. The year before, +the Japanese, adventurers in minor +labors, had begun to flood the Santa Lucia +tract. They drove out the Chinese; when +that spring brought picking contracts, no +Oriental was to be had save a Japanese. In +the first rush of that season, the Japanese +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span> +pickers on the Tiffany ranch, in concert with +all the other Japanese of Santa Lucia, had +thrown down their baskets, repudiated their +agreements, and struck. It needed more than +Judge Tiffany’s failing strength, more than +Olsen’s methodical plodding, to conquer this +situation.</p> +<p>She must be a post now, not a rail, Eleanor +told Mrs. Tiffany. And Kate would help until +Mr. Chester could be moved. At further +acceptance of Kate, Mrs. Tiffany rebelled. +Kate had foisted herself on them. Goodness +knew, Mrs. Tiffany couldn’t tell why they had +ever accepted that situation. It didn’t seem +to her even decent.</p> +<p>“You’ll perplex me greatly, dear Aunt +Mattie, if you don’t let her remain now!” said +Eleanor, looking up from her packing.</p> +<p>This remark, cryptic though it was, came +as a fresh shower to Mrs. Tiffany’s curiosity. +Never before had Eleanor so nearly +committed herself on the subject which lay +like lead on her aunt’s responsibilities. It +prompted Mrs. Tiffany to try for a wider +opening.</p> +<p>“Would you like it, dear, if we brought +Mr. Chester down to the ranch to recuperate +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span> +when he is better? I’m sure Edward +wouldn’t object. After all, he’s ready to forgive +the Northrup affair.”</p> +<p>Eleanor looked up significantly.</p> +<p>“If you’re consulting my wishes, certainly +not!” she said.</p> +<p>The sigh which Mrs. Tiffany drew expressed +deep relief. Thereafter, they proceeded +straight ahead with the arrangement. +Eleanor went on to the ranch. Kate, remaining, +made herself so useful in a hundred ways +that Mrs. Tiffany’s irritation wore itself +away.</p> +<p>The old combination of Eleanor and an attractive +though undesirable young man had +moved her to a perilous sympathy. Now +that it was over, now that she had no more responsibility +in the matter, she transferred +some of that vivid and friendly interest to the +new arrangement. She caught herself resisting +a temptation to spy on their conversations; +she watched Kate’s face for tell-tale expression +whenever Bertram’s name came up in +their luncheon-time chats.</p> +<p>Kate usurped all the finer prerogatives of +the nurse. Hers it was to arrange the sick-room, +to put finishing touches on bed and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span> +table, to feed him at his meals. Her tawny +hair made sunshine in the chamber, her cool +hands, in their ministration, had the caress of +breezes. He was getting to be an impatient +invalid; he bore the confinement +harder than he did the ache of knitting bones. +Kate’s part it was to laugh away these irritations, +so that she always left him smiling.</p> +<p>He went on mending until they could get +him out of bed; until, on an afternoon when +the sun was bright and the wind was low, they +could take him into the garden for a breath of +air and view. He made the journey out-of-doors +with Kate supporting him unnecessarily +by the armpit. She set out a Morris chair +for him by the lattice, so that he could overlook +the Bay, she tucked the robes about him, +she parted the vines that he might have better +view.</p> +<p>For a moment he swept the bay with his +eyes and opened his lungs to the out-door +room and air. Then his gaze returned to +Kate’s strong, vigorous yet feminine back, as +she stood, arms outstretched, hooking vines +on the trellis. The misty sunshine was making +jewels in her hair.</p> +<p>“Say!” He spoke so suddenly and with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span> +such meaning in the monosyllable that Kate +blushed as she turned. “Say! is that fellow +still writing to you—the one with the Eastern +education and the money?”</p> +<p>Kate dropped her eyes.</p> +<p>“No,” she said softly. “I told him—I +have broken it off—lately.”</p> +<p>Bertram laughed—his old, fresh laugh of a +boy.</p> +<p>“You saved me trouble then. I was just +about to serve notice on him that henceforth +no one but little Bertie was going to be allowed +on this ranch.”</p> +<p>Kate did not speak. She continued to look +down at the gravel walk.</p> +<p>“Now don’t you go pretending you don’t +know what I mean,” Bertram went on. “Just +for that, I won’t tell you what I mean. But +you know.”</p> +<p>“What about Eleanor?” murmured Kate.</p> +<p>“You little devil!” answered Bertram. +“Come over here.”</p> +<p>Kate sank down on the edge of his chair, +and dropped one arm about his neck.</p> +<p>Mrs. Tiffany, viewing the morning from +the window of her room, saw them so. At +first, she smiled; then a heavier expression +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span> +drew down all the lines of her face. She +crossed to her dresser, where a long frame +of many divisions held the photographs of +all whom she had loved. The first in order +was of a woman who had a face like +Eleanor’s; a more beautiful Eleanor, perhaps, +but with no such grave light of the spirit in +her eyes. This she touched with her finger +tips. But her look was bent upon the second, +the portrait of a young man whose attitude, +defying the conventional pose of old-fashioned +photography, showed how blithe and +merry and full of life he must have been.</p> +<p>“Ah, Billy Gray!” she whispered, “Billy +Gray, you know, <i>you</i>, how sincerely Eleanor +and I ought to thank God!”</p> +<p style='text-align:center; margin-top:1.5em; margin-bottom:2em;'>THE END</p> + +<!-- generated by ppg.rb version: 0.21 --> +<!-- timestamp: Sat Mar 28 20:51:23 -0600 2009 --> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Readjustment, by Will Irwin + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE READJUSTMENT *** + +***** This file should be named 28443-h.htm or 28443-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/4/4/28443/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Canada Team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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