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diff --git a/29646-h/29646-h.htm b/29646-h/29646-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0142367 --- /dev/null +++ b/29646-h/29646-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9222 @@ +<!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 Once to Every Man, by Larry Evans.</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + @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; } + } + a {text-decoration: none;} + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + .figcenter {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center; width: auto;} + .figtag {height: 1px;} + .chsp {margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em;} + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + hr.toprule {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; clear:both;} + .caption {font-size: 90%; text-align:center;} + hr.tb {border: none; border-bottom:1px solid black; width: 33%; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + p.center {text-align: center !important;} + h3 {font-size:1.0em;} + h1,h2,h3 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal;} + p.tp {font-size:1em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:center;} + h2 {font-size:1.2em;} +</style> + +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Once to Every Man, by Larry Evans + +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: Once to Every Man + +Author: Larry Evans + +Illustrator: Anton Otto Fischer + +Release Date: August 9, 2009 [EBook #29646] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ONCE TO EVERY MAN *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_1' id='linki_1'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='' title='' width='462' height='651' /><br /> +<p class='caption'> +“IT WAS FOR ME––YOU WENT. DON’T YOU––DIDN’T YOU KNOW IT<br /> +WAS––JUST BECAUSE OF YOU––THAT I WANTED THEM––AT––ALL?”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:2.2em;margin-bottom:40px;'>ONCE TO<br />EVERY MAN</p> +<p class='tp' >BY</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;margin-bottom:40px;'>LARRY EVANS</p> +<p class='tp' >ILLUSTRATED BY</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;'>ANTON OTTO FISCHER</p> +<div style='margin:30px auto; text-align:center;'><img alt='emblem' src='images/illus-emb.jpg' /></div> +<p class='tp' style='letter-spacing:0.2em;font-size:1.2em;'>GROSSET & DUNLAP</p> +<p class='tp' >PUBLISHERS :: NEW YORK</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='center'>Copyright, 1913, by<br /> +The Metropolitan Magazine Company.<br /> +<br /> +Copyright, 1914, by<br /> +The Metropolitan Magazine Company.<br /> +<br /> +Copyright, 1914, by<br /> +The H. K. Fly Company.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp'>TO<br />MINE OWN PEOPLE</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h3>ILLUSTRATIONS</h3> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Illustrations' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<col style='width:75%;' /> +<col style='width:25%;' /> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>“It Was for Me––You Went. Don’t You––Didn’t You Know It Was––Just Because of You––That I Wanted Them––At––All?”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_1'><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>“Hold Me Tight––Oh! Hold Me Tighter! for They Forgot Me, Too, Denny; They Forgot Me Too!”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_2'>53</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>“Dryad, It’s All Right––It’s Always Been All Right––With Us! They Lied––They Lied and They Knew They Were Lying!”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_3'>85</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>“What You Need, Gentlemen, Is a Trifle Wider Readin’––Just a Trifle! for You Ain’t Bein’ Well Posted on Facts!”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_4'>149</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<a name='ONCE_TO_EVERY_MAN_CHAPTER_I' id='ONCE_TO_EVERY_MAN_CHAPTER_I'></a> +<h2>ONCE TO EVERY MAN</h2> +<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> +</div> +<p>The most remarkable thing about the boy was +his eyes––that is, if any man with his spread +of shoulder and masculine grace of flat muscled +hips could be spoken of any longer as a boy, merely +because his years happened to number twenty-four.</p> +<p>They, however––the eyes––were gray; not a too +light, off-color, gleaming gray, but more the tone of +slate, deep when one chanced to find oneself peering +deep into them. And they were old. Any spontaneity +of youth which might have flashed from them +at one time had faded entirely and left a sort of wistful +sophistry behind, an almost plaintive hunger which +made the pity of his shoulder-stoop––still mercifully +only a prophecy of what the next twenty years of toil +might leave it––an even more pitiful thing. His sheer +bigness should have been still unspoiled; instead it +was already beginning to lose its rebound; it was +growing imperceptibly slack, like the springy stride +of a colt put too soon to heavy harness.</p> +<p>Late afternoon was giving way to nightfall––a +long shadowed twilight that was heavy with the scent +of spring in spite of the scattered patches of wet +snow that still lurked in the swamp holes. As the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span> +boy stood, facing toward the east and the town that +sprawled in the hollow, his great, shoulder-heavy +body loomed almost like a painted figure against the +cool red background of the horizon. Even in spite +of the pike-pole which he grasped in one hand and +the vividly checkered blanket coat that wrapped him, +the illusion was undeniable. Stripped of them and +equipped instead with a high steeple-crowned hat and +wide buckled shoes, his long half-saddened face and +lean body might have been a composite of all the +Puritan fathers who had wrestled with the rock-strewn +acres behind him, two hundred years and +more before.</p> +<p>Denny Bolton was waiting––Young Denny, the +townsfolk preferred to call him, to distinguish him +from Old Denny of the former generation. Somehow, +although he had never mentioned it to anybody, +it seemed to him that he had always been waiting +for something––he hardly knew just what it was himself––just +something that was drearily slow in the +coming.</p> +<p>His home, the farmhouse of the Boltons, for which +the straggling village of Boltonwood below had been +named, was nearest of all the outlying places on the +post route, yet last of all to be served, for when the +rural delivery had been established they had begun +delivery at the other end of the circle. Young Denny +had never been able to understand quite why it was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span> +so––but it was, for all that. And with the minister, +too, it happened, although not so often, for the minister +of Boltonwood called at almost every door on +his rounds and stayed longer at each, so sometimes for +months at a time he never got around to the shabby +place on the hill at all. But the boy believed that he +did understand this and often he smiled to himself +over it, without any bitterness––just smiled half wistfully. +He lived alone in the tumble-down old house +and did his own cooking and––well, even a most +zealous man of the gospel might have beamed more +heartily upon better cooks than was Denny, without +any great qualms of conscience.</p> +<p>One other reason existed, or at least Young Denny +imagined that it did, but whenever he stopped to +think about it––a thing he had come to do more and +more often in the last few months––he never smiled. +Instead, his lips straightened until the wistful quirk +at the corners disappeared into a straight line and +his eyes smouldered ominously.</p> +<p>There was a select circle of white-haired old men––the +village old guard––which sat in nightly session +about the fat-bellied old wood-stove in the Boltonwood +Tavern. It convened with the first snowfall +of the winter and broke up long after the ice had +gone out in the spring; and this circle, when all other +topics had been whipped over at fever heat, until all +the zest of bitter contradiction was gone from them, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span> +always turned at last with a delightful sort of unanimity +to the story of the night when Old Denny had +died––the Bolton of the former generation.</p> +<p>An almost childish enthusiasm tinged their keen +relish for the tale. They squirmed and puckered +their wrinkled old faces and shivered convulsively, +just as a child might have shivered over a Bluebeard +horror, as they recalled how Old Denny had moaned +in agony one moment that night, and then screamed +horribly the next for the old stone demijohn that +always stood in the corner of the kitchen. They remembered, +with an almost astonishing wealth of +detail, that he had frothed at the mouth and blasphemed +terribly one instant, and then wept, in the +very same breath––wept hopelessly, like the uncouth, +overgrown, frightened boy who knelt at the +bedside.</p> +<p>The strangest part of the whole thing was that not +one of them had realized at the time, or ever recalled +since, that Old Denny’s eyes were sane when he wept +that night and blurred with madness when he cursed. +But then, too, that would have smashed the dramatic +element of the whole tale to flinters. They never +missed a scene or a sob, however, in the re-telling, +and they always ended it with an ominous tilt of the +head and a little insinuating crook of the neck toward +the battered, weather-torn old house where Young +Denny had lived on alone since that last bad night. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span> +It was very much as though they had said aloud, +“He’s the next––he’ll go just like the rest.”</p> +<p>Perhaps they never really thought of it, and perhaps +it was because Young Denny’s failure to fulfil +their prophecy had really embittered them, but the +whole village had given the boy plenty of solitude in +the last few years in which to become on terms of +thorough intimacy with the demijohn which still occupied +its place in the kitchen corner.</p> +<p>And yet that stone demijohn was almost the only +tangible reminder there was left of the Bolton who +had gone before. There were a few in the village +who wondered how, in the three intervening years, +the big silent, shambling boy had managed to tear +from his acres money enough to clear the place of +its debt––the biggest thing by far in his heritage. +Eight hundred dollars was a large sum in Boltonwood––and +Denny’s acres were mostly rocks. Old Denny +would have sold the last scythe and fork in the +dilapidated barn to fill the stone jug, save for the +fact that fork and scythe had themselves been too +dilapidated to find a purchaser.</p> +<p>But the same scythe had an edge now and a polish +where the boy’s hands had gripped and swung it, and +it took a flawlessly clear-grained piece of ash to +make a shaft that would stand the forkfuls of hay +which his shoulders heaved, without any apparent +effort, into the mow. The clapboards on the house, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span> +although still unpainted, no longer whined in the +wind; they were all nailed tight. And still the circle +around the stove in the Boltonwood Tavern tilted its +head––tilted it ominously––as if to say: “Just wait +a bit, he’ll come to it––wait now and see!” But the +prophecy’s fulfilment, long deferred, was making +them still more bitter––strangely bitter––toward the +boy, who stood alone at sundown watching the road +that wound up from the village.</p> +<p>All this Young Denny knew, not because he had +been told, but because the part of him that was still +boy sensed it intuitively. He was just as happy to +be let alone, or at least so he told himself, times +without end, for it gave him a chance to sleep. And +tonight as he stood at the crest of the hill before the +dark house, waiting for Old Jerry to come along +with the mail, he was glad, too, that his place was +the last on the route. It gave him something to +look forward to during the day––something to expect––for +although he rarely received a letter or, to be +more exact, never, the daily newspaper was, after +all, some company. And then there were the new +farm implement catalogues and seed books, with their +dyspeptic looking fruits and vegetables. They made +better reading than nothing at all.</p> +<p>But it was not the usual bundle of papers which +came at the end of each week for which Young +Denny was waiting. Old Jerry, who drove the post +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span> +route, and had driven it as long as Denny could +remember, was late tonight––he was even later than +usual for Saturday night––and Denny’s hand +tightened nervously upon the shaft of the pike-pole +as he realized the cause of the delay.</p> +<p>For many weeks he had heard but little else mentioned +on the village streets on his infrequent trips +after groceries and grain. The winter sledding was +over; the snow had gone off a month back with the +first warm rain; just that afternoon he had made the +last trip behind his heavy team down from the big +timber back on the ridges, but during that month the +other drivers with whom he had been hauling logs +since fall had talked of nothing but the coming event.</p> +<p>From where he stood, looking out across the valley, +Young Denny could see the huge bulk of the Maynard +homestead––Judge Maynard’s great box of a house––silhouetted +against the skyline, and back of it high +piles of timber––framing and sheathing for the new +barn that was going up. For Judge Maynard was +going to give a barn-raising––an old-fashioned barn-raising +such as the hill country had not seen in twenty +years.</p> +<p>Already Young Denny knew that there were to +be two team captains who would choose from among +the best men that the country boasted, the very pick +of strength and endurance and daring. And these, +when the word was given, would swarm up with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span> +mallet and lock-pin over their half of the allotted +work, in the race to drive home the last spike and +wedge into place the last scantling. For days now +with a grave sort of satisfaction which he hardly +understood himself, Young Denny had time after +time put all his strength against a reluctant log, skidding +timber back on the hillside, and watched the +lithe pike-pole bend half double under the steadily +increasing strain. Somehow he felt very sure that +one or the other of the captains would single him +out; they couldn’t afford to pass him by.</p> +<p>But in that one respect only was Judge Maynard’s +barn-raising to be like those that had passed down +into history a score of years back. Every other detail, +as befitted the hospitality of the wealthiest man +in the hill country, was planned on a scale of magnificence +before unheard of, and Denny Bolton stood +and touched furtively with the tip of his tongue lips +that were dry with the glamour of it all.</p> +<p>It was to be a masquerade––the dance which followed +on the wide, clean floors––not the kind of a +masquerade which the church societies gave from time +to time to eke out the minister’s salary and which, +while he had never attended, Young Denny had often +heard described as “poverty-parties,” because everybody +wore the oldest of his old clothes––but a marvelously +brilliant thing of hired costumes. It did not +mean so much to him, this last, and yet as he thought +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span> +of it his tight lips twisted into a slow smile and his +eyes swung from their hungry contemplation of the +great Maynard house to a little clump of brushwood +which made a darker blot against the black shadow +of the hill from the crest of which the Judge’s place +dominated the surrounding country. Little by little +Denny Bolton’s lean face lost its hint of hardness; +the lines that ran from his thin nose to the corners +of his lips disappeared as he smiled––smiled with +whimsical gentleness––at the light that glimmered +from a single window through the tangled bushes, +twinkling back at him unblinkingly.</p> +<p>There was a tiny cottage behind that light, a little +drab cottage of a half dozen rooms. It stood, unpainted +and unkempt, in a wedge-shaped acre of +neglected garden which, between high weeds and +uncut shrubbery, had long before gone to straggling +ruin. And that wedge-shaped acre which cut a deep +fissure in the edge of the immaculate pastures of +Boltonwood’s wealthiest citizen was like a barbed +thorn in Judge Maynard’s side.</p> +<p>The latter was not a judge in reality; partly the +size of the cash balance which rumor whispered he +carried at the county bank, partly the fact that he +was the only lawyer in that section, had earned him +the title. But every trick of his tricky trade which he +could invent he had brought against the owner of that +little, dilapidated cottage in a vain effort to force him +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span> +to sell. And yet the acre of neglect and ruin still +clung like an unsightly burr to the hem of his smooth-rolling +acres.</p> +<p>The people of Boltonwood were given to calling +John Anderson a fool, and not alone because he persisted +in his senseless antagonism of a man as great +in the township as was Judge Maynard. There was +at least one other reason. It was almost twenty +years now since the day when John Anderson had +first appeared in the stern old hill town, bringing with +him a frail slip of a woman with great, moist violet-blue +eyes and tumbled yellow hair, whose very white +and gold prettiness had seemed to their puritanical +eyes the flaunting of an ungodly thing. There was +a transparent pallor in her white skin and heavy +shadows beneath her big dark eyes that made them +seem even larger and duskier. A whispered rumor +went around that she was not too strong––that it +was the brisk keen air for which John Anderson had +brought her to the hills.</p> +<p>The little drab cottage had been white then and +there was scarcely a day but what the passers-by saw +the slender girl, in soft fluttering things that contrasted +painfully with their dingy calico, the thick +gleaming mass of hair that crowned her head wind-tossed +into her eyes, standing with her face buried +in an armful of crimson blossoms in the same garden +where the weeds were now breast high, or running +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span> +with mad, childish abandon between the high hedgerows. +And many a night after it was too dark to +see they heard the man’s heavier bass underrunning +the light treble of her laughter which, to their sensitive +ears, was never quite free from a tinge of +mockery.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_II' id='CHAPTER_II'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +</div> +<p>For a year or more it was like that, and then +the day came which, with dawn, found John +Anderson changed into a gray-haired, white-faced +man, whose eyes always seemed to be looking +beyond one, and who spoke but seldom, even when +he was spoken to. During the month that followed +that night hardly a person in the village heard a +word pass his lips, except, perhaps, those members +of the church societies who had volunteered to help +care for the baby.</p> +<p>He locked himself up in the small shop which occupied +the back room of the house and day after day +he worked there alone in a deadly quiet, strangely mechanical +fashion. Sometimes far into the night they +heard the tap-tap of his mallet as he chipped away, +bit by bit, on a slender shaft of white marble, until +more than one man in those days shook his head +dubiously and vouchsafed his neighbor the information +that John Anderson “wa’n’t quite right.”</p> +<p>A month passed during which the steady chip-chip +scarcely ever ceased; and yet, when the work was +finally finished and set up over the fresh little mound +in the grounds behind the church, and they came to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span> +stand before it, they found nothing ready for them +to say. For once the tongues of the hillsfolk were +sobered into silence.</p> +<p>It was like her––that slim little white statue––so +like her in its pallor and frailty of feature and limb +that they only gasped and then fell to whispering +behind their hands at the resemblance. And somehow, +too, as they stared, their faces failed to harden +as they had always hardened before, whenever they +rebuked her slim, elfish untidiness, for upon the face +of stone, which was the face of his wife, John Anderson’s +chisel had left a fleeting, poignantly wistful +smile that seemed touched with the glory of the Virgin +Mother herself.</p> +<p>They merely stood and stared––the townsfolk––and +yet they only half understood, for when it was +noised about the street a few days later that John +Anderson had given up forever his occupation of +chiseling tombstones for the bleak Boltonwood cemetery––an +occupation which at least had yielded him +a bare living––and had locked himself up in that +back room to “putter with lumps of clay,” he was +instantly convicted of being queer in the eyes of the +entire thrifty community, even without his senseless +antagonism of the Judge in the years that followed +to clinch the verdict.</p> +<p>After the first few weeks that followed that night +the village saw less and less of the man who went +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span> +on living alone in the small white cottage with only +the child to keep him company––the girl-child whom +he had named Dryad, perhaps in a blind, groping +hunger for beauty, perhaps in sheer revolt against +the myriad Janes and Anns and Marthas about him. +His hair was snow white before she was half grown; +he was an old man, wrinkled of face and vacant of +eye, who bent always over the bench in his back-room +shop too engrossed with his work even to note +that, day by day, her face and slim body and tumbled +yellow hair grew more and more like the face which +was always smiling up at him from the shaping clay +or marble.</p> +<p>Months passed before he opened his lips again +for speech. Then he began to talk; he began to +murmur little, disjointed intimate phrases of endearment +to the stone face growing under his fingers––phrases +that were more than half unintelligible to +strange ears––until as the habit grew there came long +periods, days at a time, when he carried on an uncannily +one-sided conversation with the empty air before +him, or, as the villagers often hinted, with some +one whom his eyes alone could see.</p> +<p>But as the years went by even this novelty lost its +spice with long familiarity. The cottage at the edge +of town went from straggling neglect to utter ruin, +but John Anderson still clung to it with a senseless +stubbornness over which they often shook their heads +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span> +in pity––in heartfelt commiseration for the Judge who +had to endure this eyesore at his very doors, in spite +of all his shrewdness or the reputed size of his balance +at the County National.</p> +<p>But if time had dimmed their interest in the father, +it had only served to whet their keen curiosity over +the girl, who, in the intervening eighteen years, had +changed from a half-starved, half-clad child that +flashed through the thickets like a wild thing, into a +long slender-limbed creature with wide, duskily violet +eyes and shimmering, tumbled hair––a creature of +swift, passionate moods who, if they could only have +known it, was startlingly like the wild things for +which he had named her.</p> +<p>They were not given to the reading of heathen +mythology, the people of Boltonwood, and so they +could not know. But with every passing day they +did realize that Dryad Anderson’s fiercely wistful +little face was growing more and more like that of +the little statue in the grounds behind the church––the +stone face of John Anderson’s frail bride of a +year––long since turned a dull, nondescript gray by +the sun and weather.</p> +<p>She had the same trick of smiling with her eyes +when there was no mirth lurking in the corners of +her full lips, the same full-throated little laugh that +carried the faintest hint of mockery in its thrill. Year +by year her slim body lost its unformed boyishness +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span> +in a new soft roundness which her long outgrown +skirt and too scant little waist failed completely +to conceal. And the hillsfolk were given to shaking +their heads over her now, just as the generation before +had done, for to cap it all––the last straw upon the +back of their toleration––Dryad Anderson had “took +up” with Denny Bolton, Young Denny, the last of +his name. Nothing more was needed to damn her +forever in the eyes of the hills people, although they +could not have explained just why, even if they had +tried.</p> +<p>And Young Denny, waiting there in the thickening +dusk before his own dark place, smiled gravely back +at that single blinking light in the window of the +cottage squatting under the hill––he smiled with +whimsical gentleness, a man’s smile that softened +somehow the hard lines of jaw and lip. It was more +than three years now since the first night when he +had stood and watched for it to flash out across the +valley before he had turned and gone to set a lamp in +the dark front windows behind him in answer to it.</p> +<p>He could never remember just how they had +agreed upon that signal––there had never been any +mutual agreement––but every Saturday night since +that first one, three years back, he had come in from +his week’s work, ploughing or planting or teaming +back in the timber and waited for it to call to him, +just at dusk, across the valley.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span></div> +<p>His hand went tentatively to his chin, absently caressing +his lean cheeks as he remembered that day. +Late in the afternoon he had found a rabbit caught +fast in a snare which he had set deep in the thicket, +and the little animal had squealed in terror, just as +rabbits always squeal, when he leaned and took it +from the trap. And when he had straightened to his +feet with it clutched fast in his arms, to look for a +club with which to end its struggles quickly, his eyes +had lifted to encounter the stormy eyes of the girl +who had flashed up before him as silently as a shadow +from the empty air.</p> +<p>Her two small brown fists were tight clenched +against her breast; she was breathing in short irregular +gasps as if she had been running hard.</p> +<p>At first Denny Bolton had been too amazed to do +more than stare blankly into her blazing eyes; then +before that burning glare his face began to redden +consciously and his gaze dropped, wavering from her +face to the little blouse so long outgrown that it +strained far open across the girl’s round throat, +doubly white by contrast below the brown line where +the clear tan ended.</p> +<p>His glance went down from the fierce little face to +the tight skirt, shiny from long wear and so short +that the hem hung high above her slim ankles; and +from there down to the cracked, broken shoes, string-laced +and sized too large for her fine drawn feet. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span> +They were old and patched––the stockings––so thickly +darned that there was little of the original fabric +left, but for all the patches there were still wide +gashes in them, fresh torn by the thorns, through +which the flesh beneath showed very white.</p> +<p>Her face colored, too, as Young Denny’s uncomfortable +scrutiny passed over her. It flamed painfully +from throat to hair and then went very white. +She tried vainly with one hand to close the gap at +her throat, while the other struggled to settle the +dingy old skirt a little lower on her childish hips. +But her hot eyes clung unwaveringly to the boy’s +face. Suddenly she lifted one hand and pointed a +quivering finger at the furry mass palpitating in his +arms.</p> +<p>“What are you going to do with it?” she demanded.</p> +<p>Young Denny started at the question. The uncompromising +directness of the words startled him +even more than had her first swift, silent coming. +Involuntarily, spasmodically his arms closed until the +rabbit squealed again in an ecstasy of terror.</p> +<p>“Why, I––I reckon to eat him!” he blurted at last, +and then his face grew hotter than ever at the baldness +of the answer.</p> +<p>It was hard to follow the change that flashed over +her face as she became conscious of his blundering, +clumsy embarrassment. It came too quickly for that, +but the angry light faded from her eyes and her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span> +lips began to curve in the faintest of quizzical smiles. +She even forgot the too short skirt and gaping blouse +to raise both hands toward him in coaxing coquetry.</p> +<p>“Please let him go,” she wheedled softly. “Please +let him go––for me!”</p> +<p>Young Denny backed away a step from her upturned +face and outstretched hands, grinning a little +as he slowly shook his head. It bewildered him––puzzled +him––this swift change to supplication.</p> +<p>“Can’t,” he refused laconically. “I––I got to have +him to eat.”</p> +<p>His voice was calmly final and for no other reason +than to learn what she would do next, because already +the boy knew that the soft creature throbbing against +him was to have its freedom again. No one, at +least since he could remember, had ever before smiled +and asked Denny Bolton to “do it––for me.” For one +flashing instant he saw her eyes flare at his candid +refusal; then they cleared again with that same miraculous +swiftness. Once more the corners of her lips +lifted pleadingly, arched with guileful, provocative +sweetness.</p> +<p>“Please,” she begged, even more softly, “please––because +I ask you to!”</p> +<p>Once more Young Denny shook his head.</p> +<p>Standing there before his dark house, still smiling +vaguely at the light across the valley his fingers tentatively +caressed his lean cheeks where her fingernails +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span> +had bit deep through the skin that day. He +never remembered how it had happened––it all came +too swiftly for recollection––but even before he had +finished shaking his head the tempting smile had been +wiped from her lips, her little face working convulsively +with rage, before she sprang at him––sprang +with lithe, lightning, tigerlike ferocity that sent him +staggering back before her.</p> +<p>Her hands found his face and tore deep through +the skin before he could lift his wide-flung arms to +protect it. And then, almost before he realized what +had happened, she stood back, groping blindly away +from him until her hands found a birch sapling. She +clung to it with a desperately tight clasp as if to hold +herself erect. A little spot of red flecked her own lip +where her locked teeth had cut through. She swayed +a moment, dizzily, the too-tight little waist gaping at +her throat as she struggled for breath.</p> +<p>“There––there!” she gasped at him voicelessly. +“There,” she whispered through her white lips, “now +will you let him go?”</p> +<p>And Denny Bolton had stood that afternoon in +wondering silence, gazing back into her twitching, +distorted face without a word while the blood oozed +from the deep cuts in his cheeks and dripped noisily +upon the dry leaves. Once he turned and followed +with his eyes the mad flight of the rabbit through +the underbrush; and then turned slowly back to her.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span></div> +<p>“Why, he’s gone already,” he stated with a gentle +gravity that was almost ponderous. And with a deliberation +which he meant more to comfort than to +conciliate: “I––I aimed to let him go, myself, right +from the first time you asked me––after a while!”</p> +<p>She cried over him that afternoon––cried not as +he had known other girls to cry, but with long noiseless +gasps that shook her thin shoulders terribly. Her +eyes swam with great drops that hung from her +lashes and went rolling silently down her small face +while she washed out the cuts with one sleeve ruthlessly +wrenched from her blouse and soaked in the +brook nearby.</p> +<p>But in almost the same breath while she crooned +pityingly over him she bade him––commanded him +with a swift, fierce passionate vehemence––to tell her +that it did not hurt––did not hurt very much! And +before she would let him go that day she made him +promise to come back––she promised herself to set +a light in the front window of the shabby little cottage +to tell him that she had found the plaster––that +there was enough left to close the cuts.</p> +<p>There had never been any spoken agreement between +them, but since that night, three years ago, +Denny Bolton had learned to watch each week end, +just at dusk, for the signal to appear. From the +first their very loneliness had drawn them together––a +childish, starved desire for companionship; and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span> +as time passed they only clung the closer, each to the +other, as jealously fearful as a marooned man and +woman might have been of any harm which might +come to the one and leave the other utterly, desolately +alone.</p> +<p>Winter and summer Denny Bolton went every Saturday +night, close to nightfall, and waited for her to +come, except that now, in the last few weeks since the +first rumor of the Judge’s big barn-raising and masquerade +had gone forth, no matter how early he +started or how much haste he made, he always found +Dryad Anderson there before him. For weeks no +other topic had passed the girl’s lips, and with each +recurring visit to the small clearing hidden back in +the thicket near the brook the boy’s wonder grew.</p> +<p>Almost from the first day she had decided upon +the costume which she would wear. Night after night +she sat and made plans in a tumultuous, bubbling flood +of anticipation which he could scarcely follow, for it +was only after long argument that he had sheepishly +surrendered and agreed to “dress up” at all; she +sat with a picture torn from an old magazine across +her knees––a color-plate of a dancing girl which she +meant to copy for herself––poring over it with shining +eyes, her breath coming and going softly between +childishly curved lips as she devoured every detail of +its construction.</p> +<p>It was a thing of brilliantly contrasting colors––the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span> +picture which she planned to copy––a sleeveless +waist of dullest crimson and a much bespangled skirt +of clinging, shimmering black. And that skirt hung +clear to the ankles, swinging just high enough to +disclose the gleam of silken stockings and satiny, +pointed slippers, with heels of absurdly small girth.</p> +<p>The boy only half understood the feverish hunger +which glowed in Dryad Anderson’s face, piquantly, +wistfully earnest in the dull yellow lantern light as +she leaned forward, ticking off each item and its +probable cost upon her fingers, and waited doubtfully +for him to mock at the expense; and yet, at that, he +understood far better than any one else could ever +have hoped to comprehend, for Young Denny knew +too what it was to wait––to wait for something that +was drearily slow in the coming.</p> +<p>One other thing marked Judge Maynard’s proffered +hospitality as totally different from all the other half-similar +affairs which Boltonwood had ever known. +There were to be invitations––written, mailed invitations––instead +of the usual placards tacked up in +the village post-office as they always were whenever +any public entertainment was imminent, or the haphazard +invitations which were passed along by word +of mouth and which somehow they always forgot to +pass on to the boy who lived alone in the dark house +on the hill. There were to be formal, mailed invitations, +and Young Denny found it hard waiting that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span> +night for Old Jerry, who had never been so late +before.</p> +<p>The cool red of the horizon behind him faded to +a dusky gray and the dusk thickened from twilight to +dark while he stood there waiting, leaning heavily +upon the pike-pole, shifting more and more uneasily +from one tired foot to the other. He had turned at +last to go and set a light in answer to the one which +was calling insistently to him from the blackness before +the Judge’s place when the shrill squeal of +complaining axles drifted up to him from far down +the long hill road.</p> +<p>Old Jerry came with exasperating slowness that +night. The plodding ascent of the fat white mare and +creaking buggy was nerve-rackingly deliberate. Young +Denny shifted the shaft of his pike-pole to the other +hand to wipe his damp palm against the checkered +coat as the rig loomed up ahead of him in the darkness. +Old Jerry was complaining to himself bitterly +in a whining, cracked falsetto.</p> +<p>“’Tain’t reg’lar,” the boy heard him whimpering. +“’Tain’t accordin’ to law––not the way I figger it, +it ain’t. The Gov’mint don’t expect nobody to work +’til this hour!”</p> +<p>The buggy came to a standstill, with the little, +weazened old man leaning far out from the torn +leather seat, shading his eyes with one unsteady +hand while he peered into the shadows searching for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span> +the big-shouldered figure that stepped hesitatingly +nearer the wheel. There was something birdlike in +the brilliancy of the beady little eyes; something of +sparrowlike pertness in the tilt of the old man’s head, +perked far over to one side.</p> +<p>“Still a-waitin’, be ye?” he exclaimed peevishly. +“Well, it’s lucky you ain’t been kept a-standin’ there +a whole sight longer––half the night, mebby! You +would a-been, only for my havin’ an orig’nal system +for peddlin’ them letters that’s all my own. It’s system +does it––but it ain’t right, just the same. The +Gov’mint don’t expect nobody to work more’n eight +hours to a stretch, and look at me, two hours late +and I ain’t home yet! I’d complain, too––I’d complain +to the authorities at Washington, only––only”––his +thin, high-pitched voice dropped suddenly to a +furtively conciliating whisper––“only a-course I don’t +want to make no trouble for the Judge.”</p> +<p>Denny Bolton cleared his throat and shuffled his +feet uneasily, but this hint for haste was utterly +wasted upon Old Jerry. The latter failed completely +to note the strained intensity of the face that was +upturned before him and went on grumbling as he +leaned over to fumble in the box beneath the seat. +And the tirade continued in an unbroken, half-muffled +stream until he straightened laboriously again, the +boy’s usual weekly packet of papers and catalogues +in one hand.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span></div> +<p>“No,” he emphasized deliberately, “I wouldn’t +really go so fur’s that––I ain’t figgerin’ on makin’ +no complaint––not this time. I got too much regard +for the Judge to try to get him into any hot water. +But there wa’n’t no real use nor reason in his postin’ +all them invitations to once. He could a-begun back +a stretch and kinda run ’em in easy, a little to a +time, instead of lumpin’ ’em this way, and that would +a-give me–––”</p> +<p>Young Denny reached out and took the bundle +from the extended, unsteady old hand. His own +hands were shaking a little as he broke the string +and fluttered swiftly through the half dozen papers +and pamphlets. Old Jerry never skipped a breath at +the interruption.</p> +<p>“But that finishes up the day––that’s about the +last of it.” The thin voice became heavily tinged +with pride. “There ain’t nobody in the township +but what’s got his card to that barn-raising by now––delivered +right on the nail! That’s my system.” +And then, judiciously: “I guess it’s a-goin’ to be a +real fancy affair, too, at that. Must be it’ll cost him +more’n a little mite before he gits done feedin’ ’em. +They was a powerful lot of them invitations.”</p> +<p>Slowly Denny Bolton’s head lifted. He stood +and stared into Old Jerry’s peaked, wrinkled face as +if he had only half heard the rambling complaint, +a strange, bewildered light growing in his eyes. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span> +Then his gaze dropped once more, and a second time, +far more slowly, his fingers went through the packet +of advertisements. Old Jerry was leaning over to +unwind the reins from the whipstock when the boy’s +hand reached out and stopped him.</p> +<p>“Ain’t there––wasn’t there anything more for me––tonight?” +Young Denny inquired gravely.</p> +<p>Jerry paused impatiently. No other question ever +caused him quite such keen irritation, for he felt that +it was a slur at his reliability.</p> +<p>“More!” he petulantly echoed the question. +“More? Why, you got your paper, ain’t you? Was +you expectin’ sunthin’ else? Wasn’t looking for a +letter, now was you?”</p> +<p>Denny backed slowly away from the wheel. +Dumbly he stood and licked his lips. He cleared his +throat again and swallowed hard before he answered.</p> +<p>“No,” he faltered at last, with the same level gravity. +“No, I wasn’t exactly expectin’ a letter. But +I kind of thought––I––I was just hopin’–––”</p> +<p>His grave voice trailed heavily off into silence. +Eyes still numbly bewildered he turned, leaning forward +a little, to gaze out across the valley at the +great square silhouette of Judge Maynard’s house +on the opposite ridge, while Old Jerry wheeled the +protesting buggy and started deliberately down the +hill. Just once more the latter paused; he drew the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span> +fat gray mare to a standstill and leaned a last time +far out from the seat.</p> +<p>“A-course I didn’t mean nothin’ when I spoke +about complainin’ against the Judge,” he called back. +“You know that, don’t you, Denny? You know I +was just jokin’, don’t you?” A vaguely worried, +appealing strain crept into the cracked accents. “An’ +a-course you wouldn’t say nothin’ about my speakin’ +like that. I think a whole heap too much of the +Judge to even try to git him into trouble––and––and +then the Judge––he might––you understand that +I was only jokin’, don’t you, Denny?”</p> +<p>Young Denny nodded his head silently in reply. +Long after the shrill falsetto grumbling had ceased to +drift back up the hill to him he stood there motionless. +After a while the fingers that still clutched the +bundle of circulars opened loosely and when he did +finally wheel to cross slowly to the kitchen door the +papers and catalogues lay unheeded, scattered on the +ground where they had fallen.</p> +<p>He stopped once at the threshold to prop his pike-pole +against the house corner before he passed aimlessly +inside, leaving the door wide open behind him. +And he stood a long time in the middle of the dark +room, staring dully at the cold, fireless stove. Never +before had he given it more than a passing thought––he +had accepted it silently as he accepted all other +conditions over which he had no control––but now +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span> +as he stood and stared, it came over him, bit by bit, +that he was tired––so utterly weary that the task of +cooking his own supper that night had suddenly become +a task greater than he could even attempt. +The very thought of the half-cooked food sickened +him––nauseated him. Motionless there in the dark +he dragged one big hand across his dry lips and +slowly shook his head.</p> +<p>“They didn’t want me,” he muttered hoarsely. +“It wasn’t because they forgot me before; they didn’t +want me––not even for the strength of my shoulders.”</p> +<p>With heavy, shuffling steps he crossed and dropped +loosely into a chair beside the bare board table that +stood in front of one dingy window. A long time he +sat silent, his lean chin propped in his rough palms, +eyes burning straight ahead of him into vacancy. +Then, little by little, his great shoulders in the vividly +checkered coat began to sag––they slumped downward-until +his head was bowed and his face lay hidden +in the long arms crooked limply asprawl across the +table-top.</p> +<p>Once more he spoke aloud, hours later.</p> +<p>“They didn’t want me,” he repeated dully. “Not +even for the work I could do!”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_III' id='CHAPTER_III'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +</div> +<p>It was very quiet in the front room of the little +cottage that squatted in the black shadow below +Judge Maynard’s huge house on the hill. No +sound broke the heavy silence save the staccato clip-clip +of the long shears in the fingers of the girl who +was leaning almost breathlessly over the work spread +out on the table beneath the feeble glow of the single +oil-lamp, unless the faint, monotonous murmur which +came in an endless sing-song from the lips of the +stooped, white-haired old figure in the small back +room beyond the door could be named anything so +definite.</p> +<p>John Anderson’s lips always moved when he +worked. His fingers, strong and clean-jointed and +almost womanishly smooth––the only part of the man +not pitifully seared with age––flew with a bewildering +nimbleness one moment, only to dwell the next +with a lingering caress upon the shaping features before +him; and for each caress of his finger tips +there was an accompanying, vacantly gentle smile +or an uncertainly emphatic nod of the silvered head +which gave the one-sided conversation a touch of uncanny +reality.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span></div> +<p>And yet, at regularly recurring intervals, even his +busy fingers faltered, while he sat head bent far over +to one side as though he were listening for something, +waiting for some reply. At every such pause the +vacant smile left his face and failed to return immediately. +The monotonously inflectionless conversation +was still, too, for the time, and he merely sat +and stared perplexedly about him, around the small +workshop, bare except for the single high-stool that +held him and the littered bench on which he leaned.</p> +<p>There was a foot-wide shelf against each wall of +that room, fastened waist high from the floor, and +upon it stood countless small white statues, all slim +and frail of limb, all upturned and smiling of lip. +They were miraculously alike, these delicate white +figures, each with a throat-tightening heartache in its +wistful face––so alike in form and expression that +they might have been cast in a single mold. Wherever +his eyes might fall, whenever he turned in one +of those endlessly repeated fits of faltering uncertainty, +that tiny face was always before him, uplifted +of lip, smiling back into John Anderson’s vacant +eyes until his own lips began to curve again and he +turned once more, nodding his head and murmuring +contentedly, to the clay upon his bench.</p> +<p>Out in the larger front room, as she hovered over +the work spread out before her, the girl, too, was +talking aloud to herself, not in the toneless, rambling +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span> +voice that came from John Anderson’s mumbling lips, +but in hushed, rapt, broken sentences which were softly +tinged with incredulous wonder.</p> +<p>The yellow glow of the single lamp, pushed far +across the table from her, where the most of its +radiance was swallowed up by the gloom of the uncurtained +window, flickered unsteadily across her +shining, tumbled hair, coloring the faintly blue, thinly +penciled lines beneath her tip-tilted eyes with a hint +of weariness totally at variance with the firm little +sloping shoulders and full lips, pursed in a childish +pout over a mouthful of pins.</p> +<p>The hours had passed swiftly that day for Dryad +Anderson; and the last one of all––the one since she +had lighted the single small lamp in the room and set +it in the window, so far across the table from her +that she had to strain more and more closely over +her swift flashing scissors in the thickening dusk––had +flown on winged feet, even faster than she knew.</p> +<p>Twice, early in the evening she had laid the long +shears aside and risen from the matter that engrossed +her almost to the exclusion of every other thought, +to peer intently out of the window across the valley +at the bleak old farmhouse on the crest of the opposite +ridge; and each time as she settled herself once +more in the chair, hunched boyishly over the table +edge, she only nodded her bright head in utter, undisturbed +unconsciousness of the passage of time.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span></div> +<p>“He’s late getting home tonight,” she told herself +aloud, after she had searched the outer darkness +in vain for any answering signal, but there was not +even the faintest trace of troubled worry in her words. +She merely smiled with mock severity.</p> +<p>“He’s later than he ought to be––even if it is his +last week back in the hills. Next week I’ll have to +make him wait–––”</p> +<p>Her vaguely murmured threat drifted away into +nothingness, left unfinished as she rose and stood, +hands lightly bracketed upon her hips, scrutinizing +the completed work.</p> +<p>“There,” she went on softly, sighing in deep relief, +“there––that’s done––if––if it will only fit.”</p> +<p>She removed the cluster of pins from her mouth +and unfastened the long strip of newspaper from +the section of the old black skirt which she had ripped +apart that afternoon for a pattern. It was far too +short––that old skirt––to duplicate the long free lines +of the brilliant red and black costume of the dancer +beside her elbow on the table, but Dryad Anderson’s +shears, coasting rapidly around the edge of the worn +cloth, had left a wide margin of safety at the hem.</p> +<p>The critical frown upon her forehead smoothed +little by little while she lifted cautiously that long strip +of paper pattern and turned with it dangling from one +hip to walk up and down before the tilted mirror at +the far end of the room, viewing her reflected +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span> +image from every possible angle. Even the +thoughtful pucker at the corners of her eyes disappeared +and she nodded her small head with its loosened +mass of hair in judicious satisfaction.</p> +<p>“I do believe that’s it,” the hushed voice mused +on, “or, if it isn’t, it is as near as I can ever hope to +get it. If––if only it doesn’t sag at the heels––and +if it does I’ll have to–––”</p> +<p>Again with a last approving glance flung over one +shoulder the murmured comment, whatever it might +have been, was finished wordlessly. Her fingers, in +spite of their very smallness as strong and straight +and clean-jointed as those of the old man bent double +over his bench in the back room, lingered absently +over the folding of that last paper pattern, and when +she finally added it to the top of the stack already +folded and piled beside the lamp her eyes had become +velvety blank with preoccupation.</p> +<p>From early afternoon, ever since the Judge himself +had whirled up to the sagging gate at the end of +their rotting boardwalk and clambered out of his +yellow-wheeled buckboard to knock with measured +solemnity at the front door, Dryad had been rushing +madly from task to task and pausing always in +just such fashion in the midst of each to stand dreamily +immobile, everything else forgotten for the moment +in an effort to visualize it––to understand that +it was real, after all, and not just a cobweb fabric +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span> +of her own fancy, like the dreams she was always +weaving to make the long week days pass more +quickly.</p> +<p>It was more than a few years since the last time +Judge Maynard had driven up to the gate of that +old, drab cottage; and now standing there with one +slim outstretched hand lovingly patting the bundle of +paper patterns which represented her afternoon’s +work, she smiled with gentle derision for the mental +picture she had carried all those years of the wealthiest +man in Boltonwood.</p> +<p>The paternal, almost bewildering familiar cordiality +with which he had greeted her and the pompously +jovial urgency of the invitation which he had come +to deliver in person, urging acceptance upon her because +she “saw entirely too little of the young folks +of the town,” was hardly in accord with the childish +recollection she had carried with her, year after +year, of a purple faced, cursing figure who leaned +over the rickety old fence that bounded the garden, +shook his fists in John Anderson’s mildly puzzled +face and roared threats until he had to cease from +very breathlessness.</p> +<p>A far different Judge had bowed low before her +that afternoon when she answered the measured summons +at the door––a sleek, twinkling, unctuously solicitous, +far more portly Judge Maynard––and Dryad +Anderson, who could not know that he had finally +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span> +come to agree with the rest of the village that he +might “catch more flies with molasses than with vinegar,” +and was ordering his campaign accordingly, +flushed in painful memory for the half-clad, half-starved +little creature that had clung to John Anderson’s +rusty coat-tails that other day and glared black, +bitter hate back at the man beyond the fence.</p> +<p>Leaning against the table there in the half light of +the room, a slow smile curled back the corners of her +lips, still childishly quizzical in contrast with that slim +roundness of body which was losing its boyish +litheness in a new slender fullness that throbbed on +the threshold of womanhood. She smiled deprecatingly +as she lifted one hand to search in the breast of +the blouse that was always just enough outgrown to +fail of closing across her throat, and drew out the +thing which the Judge had delivered with every possible +flourish, barely a few hours back.</p> +<p>Already the envelope was creased and worn with +much handling, but the square card within, thickly, +creamily white, was still unspotted. As if it were a +perishably precious thing her fingers drew it with +infinite care from its covering, and she leaned far +across the table to prop it up before her where the +light fell brightest. Pointed chin cupped in her palms, +she lay devouring with hungry eyes the words upon +its polished surface.</p> +<p>“––– requests the pleasure of,” she picked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span> +up the lines which she already knew by rote; and +then, “Miss Dryad Anderson’s company,” in the +heavy sprawling scrawl which she knew must have +come from the Judge’s own pen.</p> +<p>Suddenly her two hands flashed out and swept the +card up to crush it against her with passionate impetuosity.</p> +<p>“Oh, you wonderful thing!” she crooned over it, +a low laugh that was half a sob bubbling in her throat. +“You wonderful thing! And to think that I’ve had +you all the afternoon––almost all day––and he’s had +to wait all this time for his to come. He’s had to +wait for Jerry to bring his with the mail––and Jerry +is so dreadfully slow at times.”</p> +<p>Lingeringly, as though she hated to hide it, her +fingers thrust the card back inside its envelope. And +she was tucking it away in its warm hiding place +within the scant fullness of the white blouse when +the clock on the wall behind her began to beat out +the hour with a noisy whir of loosened cogs.</p> +<p>“Hours and hours,” she murmured, counting the +strokes subconsciously.</p> +<p>And then as the growing total of those gong +strokes beat in upon her brain, all the dreamy preoccupation +faded from her face. The little compassionate +smile which had accompanied the last words +disappeared before the swift, taut change that +straightened her lips. She whirled, peering from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span> +startled eyes up at the dim old dial, refusing to believe +her own count; and as she stood, body tensely +poised, gazing incredulously at the hands, she realized +for the first time how fast the hours had flown while +she bent, forgetful of all else, over her paper patterns.</p> +<p>The table rocked dangerously as she crowded her +body between it and the windowsill and, back to the +light, stood staring with her face cupped in her hands +out into the blackness. Far across the valley the +dilapidated farmhouse on the ridge showed only a +blurred blot against the skyline.</p> +<p>Minutes the girl stood and watched. The minutes +lengthened interminably while the light for +which she waited failed to show through the dark, +until a dead white, living fear began to creep across +her face––a fear that wiped the last trace of childishness +from her tightened features.</p> +<p>“He’s late,” she whispered hoarsely. “It’s the last +week, and it’s just kept him later than usual!”</p> +<p>But there was no assurance in the words that faltered +from her lips. They were lifelessly dull, as +though she were trying to convince herself of a thing +she already knew she could not believe.</p> +<p>As long as she could she stood there at the window, +doggedly fighting the rising terror that was +bleaching her face; fighting the dread which was +never quite asleep within her brain––the dread of that +old stone demijohn standing in the corner of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span> +kitchen, which for all her broken pleading Young +Denny Bolton had refused with a strange, unexplained +stubbornness to remove––until that rising terror drove +her away from the pane.</p> +<p>One wide-flung arm swept the stack of neatly folded +patterns in a rustling storm to the floor as she pushed +her way out from the narrow space between table +edge and sill. The girl did not heed them or the +lamp, that rocked drunkenly with the tottering table. +She had forgotten everything––the thick white square +of cardboard, even the stooped old man in the small +back room––in the face of the overwhelming fear that +reason could not fight down. Only the peculiarly absolute +silence that came with the sudden cessation of +his droning monotone checked the panic haste of her +first rush. With one hand clutching the knob of the +outer door she turned back.</p> +<p>John Anderson was sitting twisted about on his +high stool, gazing after her in infantile, perplexed +reproach, his long fingers clasped loosely about the +almost finished figure over which he had been toiling. +As the girl turned back toward him his eyes +wandered down to it and he began to shake his head +slowly, vacantly, hopelessly. A low moaning whimper +stirred her lips; then the hand tight-clenched over +the knob slackened. She ran swiftly across to +him.</p> +<p>“What is it, dear?” Her voice broke, husky with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span> +fright and pity. “Tell me––what is the matter? +Won’t it come right tonight?”</p> +<p>With shaking hands she leaned over him, smoothing +the shining hair. At the touch of her fingers he +looked up, staring with pleading uncertainty into her +quivering face before he shook his head.</p> +<p>“It––it don’t smile,” he complained querulously. +His fingers groped lightly over the small face of clay. +“I––I can’t make it smile––like the rest.”</p> +<p>Sudden terror contorted the thin features, a sheer +ecstacy of terror as white-lipped as that which marred +the face of the girl who bent above him.</p> +<p>“Maybe I’ve forgotten how she smiled!” he whispered +fearfully. “Maybe I’ll never be able to–––”</p> +<p>Dryad’s eyes flitted desperately around the room, +along the shelves laden with those countless figures––all +white and finely slender, all upturned of face. +Again a little impotent gasp choked her; then, eyes +filling hotly at that poignantly wistful smile which +edged the lips of each, she stooped and patted reassuringly +the trembling hands before she stepped a +pace away from him.</p> +<p>“You’ve not forgotten, dear. Why, you mustn’t +be frightened like that! We know, you and I, don’t +we, that you never could forget? You’re just tired. +Now, that’s better––that’s brave! And now––look! +Isn’t this the way––isn’t this the way it ought to be?”</p> +<p>Face uptilted, bloodless lips falling apart in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span> +faintest of pallid smiles, she swayed forward, both +arms outstretched toward him. And as she stood +the wide eyes and straight nose and delicately pointed +chin of her colorless face took line for line the lines +of all those, chalky white, against the wall.</p> +<p>For a moment John Anderson’s eyes clung to her––clung +vacant with hopeless doubt; then they glowed +again with dawning recollection. He, too, was smiling +once more as his fingers fluttered in nervous haste +above the lips of the clay face on the bench before +him, and almost before the girl had stepped back +beside him he had forgotten that she was there.</p> +<p>“Marie!” she heard him murmur. “Marie, why, +you mustn’t be afraid! We’ll never forget––you and +I––we never could forget!”</p> +<p>Even while she waited another instant those plastic +earthen lips began to curl––they began to curve +with hungry longing like all the rest. He was talking +steadily now, mumbling broken fragments of sentences +which it was hard to understand. Her hand +hovered a moment longer over his bowed head; once +at the door she paused and looked back at him.</p> +<p>“It’s only for a little while,” she promised unsteadily. +“I––I have to go––but it’s only for a little +while. I’ll be back soon––so soon! And you’ll be +safe until I come!”</p> +<p>He gave no sign that he had heard, not even so +much as a lifted glance. But as she drew the door +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span> +shut behind her she heard him pick up the words, +caressingly, after her.</p> +<p>“You’ll be safe, Marie,” he whispered. “It’ll be +only for a little while, now. You’ll be safe till I +come.” An ineffably peaceful smile flickered across +his face. “We couldn’t forget––why, of course, we +couldn’t forget––you and I!”</p> +<p>With the short black skirt lifted even higher above +her ankles that she might make still more speed, +Dryad turned into the dark path that twisted crookedly +through the brush to the open clearing beside +the brook and from there on to the black house on +the hill.</p> +<p>She ran swiftly, madly, through the darkness, with +the wild, panic-stricken, headlong abandon of a +hunted thing, finding the narrow trail ahead of her +by instinct alone. Only once she overran it, but +that once a low hanging branch, face high, caught her +full across the forehead and sent her crashing back +in the underbrush. Just once she put one narrow +foot in its loosely flapping shoe into the deep crevice +between two rocks and gasped aloud with the pain +of the fall that racked her knees. When she groped +out and steadied herself erect she was talking––stammering +half incoherent words that came bursting +jerkily from her lips as she tore on.</p> +<p>“Help me ... in time ... God,” she panted, +“Just this once ... get to him ... in time. Lord, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span> +forgive ... own vanity. Oh, God, please in time!”</p> +<p>Small feet drumming the harder ground, she flashed +up the last rise and across the yard to the door of +that unlighted kitchen. Her hands felt for the latch +and failed to find it; then she realized that it was +already open––the door––but her knees, all the +strength suddenly drained from them at the black quiet +in that room, refused to carry her over the threshold. +She rocked forward, reaching out with one hand for +the frame to steady herself, and in that same instant +the man who lay a huddled motionless heap across +the table top, moved a little and began to speak +aloud.</p> +<p>“They didn’t want me,” he muttered, and the +words came with muffled thickness. “Not even for +the strength of my shoulders.”</p> +<p>She took one faltering step forward––the girl who +stood there swaying in the doorway––and stopped +again. And the man lifted his head and laughed softly, +a short, ugly rasping laugh.</p> +<p>“Not even for the work I could do,” he finished.</p> +<p>And then she understood. She tried to call out +to him, and the words caught in her throat and choked +her. She tried again and this time her voice rang +clear through the room.</p> +<p>“Denny,” she cried, “Denny, I’ve come to you! +Strike a light! I’m here, Denny, and––oh, I’m afraid––afraid +of the dark!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span></div> +<p>Before he could rise, almost before his big-shouldered +body whirled in the chair toward her, her swift +rush carried her across to him. She knelt at his knees, +her thin arms clutching him with desperate strength. +Denny Bolton felt her body shudder violently as he +leaned over, dumb with bewilderment, and put his +hands on her bowed head.</p> +<p>“Thank God,” he heard her whispering, “thank +God––thank God!”</p> +<p>But far more swiftly than his half numbed brain +could follow she was on her feet the next instant, +tense and straight and lancelike in the gloom.</p> +<p>“Damn ’em,” she hissed. “Damn ’em––damn ’em––damn ’em!”</p> +<p>His fingers felt for and found a match and struck +it. Her face was working convulsively, twisted with +hate, both small fists lifted toward the huge house +that crowned the opposite hill. It made him remember +that first day when he had looked up, with the +rabbit struggling in his arms, and found her standing +there in the thicket before him, only now the fury that +blazed in her eyes was not for him. There was a +rough red welt across her forehead only half hidden +by the tumbled hair that cascaded to her waist, torn +loose from its scant fastenings by the whipping brush. +And as he stood with the flame of the flickering match +scorching his fingers, Denny Bolton remembered all +the rest––he remembered the light that still burned +unanswered in the window across the valley. He +bowed his head.</p> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_2' id='linki_2'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span> +<img src='images/illus-053.jpg' alt='' title='' width='462' height='644' /><br /> +<p class='caption'> +“HOLD ME TIGHT––OH! HOLD ME TIGHTER! FOR THEY<br /> +FORGOT ME, TOO, DENNY; THEY FORGOT ME TOO!”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<p>“I––I forgot,” he faltered at last. “I did not know +it was so late. I must have been––pretty tired.”</p> +<p>Slowly the girl’s clenched hands came away from +her throat while she stared up into his face, brown +and lean and very hard and bitter. The ashen terror +upon her own cheeks disappeared with a greater, +growing comprehension of all that lay behind that +dully colorless statement. For just a moment her +fingers hovered over the opening at the neck of her +too small blouse and felt the thick white card that lay +hidden within, before she lifted both arms to him in +impulsive compassion, trying to smile in spite of the +wearily childish droop at the corners of her lips.</p> +<p>“I know, Denny,” she quavered. “I––I understand.” +Her arms slipped up around his neck. “Hold +me tight––oh, hold me tighter! For they forgot me, +too, Denny; they forgot me, too!”</p> +<p>As his arms closed about her slim body she buried +her bright head against the vividly checkered coat and +sobbed silently––great noiseless gasps that shook her +small shoulders terribly. Once, after a long time, +when she held his face away to peer up at him through +brimming eyes, she saw that all the numb bitterness +was gone from it––that he had forgotten all else save +her own hurt.</p> +<p>“Why, you mustn’t feel so badly for me,” she told +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span> +him then, warmly tremulous of mouth. “I––I don’t +mind now, very much. Only”––her voice broke unsteadily––“only +I did want to go just once where all +the others go; I wanted them to see me just once in +a skirt that’s long enough for me––and––and to wear +stockings without any patches, and silk, Denny, silk––next +to my skin!”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IV' id='CHAPTER_IV'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +</div> +<p>At her first swift coming when she had cried +out to him there in the dark and run across +to kneel at his knees, a dull, shamed flush +had stained his lean cheeks with the realization +that, in his own great bitterness he had failed +even to wonder whether she had been forgotten, +too.</p> +<p>Now as his big hand hovered over the tumbled +brightness of her hair, loose upon his sleeve, that hot +shame in turn disappeared. After the quivering +gasps were all but stilled, he twice opened his lips +as if to speak, and each time closed them again without +a word. He was smiling a faint, gravely gentle +smile that barely lifted the corners of his lips when +she turned in his arms and lifted her face once more +to him.</p> +<p>“We don’t mind very much,” she repeated in a +half whisper. “Do we––either of us––now?”</p> +<p>Slowly he shook his head. With effortless ease he +stooped and swung her up on one arm, seating her +upon the bare table before the window. Another +match flared between his fingers and the whole room +sprang into brightness as he touched the point of flame +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span> +to the wick of the lamp bracketed to the wall beside +him.</p> +<p>She sat, leaning forward a little, both elbows resting +upon her slim knees, both feet swinging pendulum-like +high above the floor, watching with a small frown +of curiosity growing upon her forehead, while he +stooped without a word of explanation and dragged +a bulky package from the table and placed it beside +her. Then she sighed aloud, an audible sigh of sheer +surprise after he had broken the string and drawn +aside the paper wrapper.</p> +<p>Just as they had seemed in the picture they lay +there under her amazed eyes––the pointed, satiny +black slippers of the dancing girl, with their absurdly +slender heels and brilliant buckles, and filmy stockings +to match. And underneath lay two folded squares of +shimmering stuff, dull black and burnished scarlet, +scarce thicker than the silk of the stockings themselves.</p> +<p>The faint, vaguely self-conscious smile went from +Denny Bolton’s lips while he stood and watched her +bend and touch each article, one by one––the barest +ghost of contact. Damp eyes glowing, lips curled half +open, she lifted her head at last and gazed at him, +as he stood with hands balanced on his hips before +her.</p> +<p>A moment she sat immobile, her breath coming +and going in soft, fluttering gasps, and looked into +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span> +his sober, questioning face; then she turned again +and picked up one web-like stocking and held it +against her cheek, as hotly tinted now beneath its +smooth whiteness as the shining scarlet cloth beside +her.</p> +<p>He heard her murmur to herself little, broken, +incoherent phrases that he could not catch.</p> +<p>“Denny,” he heard her whisper, “Denny––Denny!”</p> +<p>And then, with the tiny slippers huddled in her +lap, her hands flashed out and caught his face and +drew it down against the too-small white blouse, open +at the throat.</p> +<p>“Man––man,” she said, and he felt her breast rise +and fall, rise and fall, against his cheek. “Man, you +didn’t understand! It––it wasn’t the clothes, Denny, +but––but I’m all the gladder, I think, because you’re +so much of a man that you couldn’t, not even if I +tried a hundred years to explain.”</p> +<p>He drew the chair at the side of the table around +in front of her and dropped into it. With a care +akin to reverence he lifted one slipper and held it outstretched +at arm’s length upon his broad palm.</p> +<p>“I––I hadn’t exactly forgotten, tonight,” he told +her. “I’d watched for the light, and I meant to +bring them––when I came.” His steady eyes dropped +to her slim, swinging feet. “They’re the smallest they had +in any shop at the county-seat,” he went on, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span> +the slow smile came creeping back across his face. “I +crossed over through the timber late last night, after +we had broken camp, and I––I had to guess the +size. Shall we––try them on?”</p> +<p>She reached out and snatched the small thing of +satin and leather away from him with mock jealous +impetuosity, a little reckless gurgle of utter delight +breaking from her lips.</p> +<p>“Over these,” she demanded, lifting one foot and +pointing at the thickly patched old stocking above the +dingy, string-tied shoe. “You––you are trying to +shame me, Denny––you want to make me confess they +are too small!”</p> +<p>Then, almost in the same breath, all the facetious +accusation left her face. Even the warm glow of +wonder which had lighted her wet eyes gave way to +a new seriousness.</p> +<p>“No one has ever told me,” she stated slowly, “but +I know it is so, just the same. Somehow, because it +was to be the first party I had ever attended––or––or +had a chance to attend, I thought it must be all right, +just once, for you to buy me these. There was no +one else to buy them, Denny, and maybe I wanted to +go so very much I made myself believe that it was all +right. But there isn’t any party now––for us. And––and +men don’t buy clothes for women, Denny––not +until they’re married!”</p> +<p>Her face was tensely earnest while she waited for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span> +the big man before her to answer. And Young Denny +turned his head, staring silently out of the opposite +window down toward the village, dark now, in the valley +below. He cleared his throat uncertainly.</p> +<p>“Do they?” She was leaning forward until her +hair brushed his own. “Do they, Denny?” A rising +inflection left the words hanging in midair.</p> +<p>“I don’t know just what the difference is,” he began +finally, his voice very deliberate. “I’ve often tried to +figure it out, and never been quite able to +get it straight”––he nodded his head again toward +the sleeping village––“but we––we’ve never been like +the rest, anyhow. And––and anyway,” he reached +out one hand and laid it upon her knees, “we’re to +be married, too––when––when–––”</p> +<p>With swift, caressing haste she lifted the slippers +that lay cradled in her lap and set them back inside +the open package. Lightly she swung herself down +and stood before him, both hands balanced upon his +shoulders. For just the fraction of a moment her eyes +lifted over his head, flickering toward the stone demijohn +that stood in the far, shadowy corner near the +door. Her voice was trembling a little when she +went on.</p> +<p>“Then let me come soon, Denny,” she begged. +“Can’t it be soon? Oh, I’m going to keep them!” +One hand searched behind her to fall lightly upon +the package upon the table. “They’re––they’re so +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span> +beautiful that I don’t believe I could ever give them +back. But do we have to wait any longer––do we? +I can take care of him, too.”</p> +<p>Vehemently she tilted her head toward the little +drab cottage across under the opposite hill.</p> +<p>“He hardly ever notices when I come or go. I––I +want to come, Denny. I’m lonesome, and––and––” +her eyes darkened and swam with fear as she stared +beyond him into the dusky corner near the door, +“why can’t I come now, before some time––when +it might be––too late?”</p> +<p>He reached up and took her hands from his shoulders +and held them in front of him, absently contemplating +their rounded smoothness. She bent closer, +trying to read his eyes, and found them inscrutable. +Then his fingers tightened.</p> +<p>“And be like them?” he demanded, and the words +leaped out so abruptly that they were almost harsh. +“And be like all the rest,” he reiterated, jerking his +head backward, “old and thin, and bent and worn-out +at thirty?” A hard, self-scathing note crept into +the words. “Why, it––it took me almost a month––even +to buy these!”</p> +<p>He in turn reached out and laid a hand upon the +bundle behind her. But she only laughed straight +back into his face––a short, unsteady laugh of utter +derision.</p> +<p>“Old?” she echoed. “Work! But I––I’d have +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span> +you, Denny, wouldn’t I?” Again she laughed in soft +disdain. “Clothes!” she scoffed. And then, more +serious even than before: “Denny, is––is that the +only reason, now?”</p> +<p>The gleam that always smoldered in Denny Bolton’s +eyes whenever he remembered the tales they told +around the Tavern stove of Old Denny’s last bad +night began to kindle. His lips were thin and straight +and as colorless as his suddenly weary face as he +stood and looked back at her. She lifted her hands +and put them back upon his shoulders.</p> +<p>“I’m not afraid––any more––to chance it,” she told +him, her lips trembling in spite of all she could do +to hold them steady. “I’m never afraid, when I’m with +you. It––it’s only when I’m alone that it grows to be +more than I can bear, sometimes. I’m not afraid. +Does it––does it have to stay there any longer, in +the corner, Denny? Aren’t we sure enough now––you +and I––aren’t we?”</p> +<p>He stopped back a pace––his big body huge above +her slenderness––stepped away from the very nearness +of her. But as she lifted her arms to him he +began to shake his head––the old stubborn refusal that +had answered her a countless number of times +before.</p> +<p>“Aren’t we?” she said again, but her voice sounded +very small and bodiless and forlorn in the half dark +room.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span></div> +<p>He swung one arm in a stiff gesture that embraced +the entire valley.</p> +<p>“They’re all sure, too,” his voice grated hoarsely, +“They’re all sure, too––just as sure as we could ever +be––and there’s a whole town of them!”</p> +<p>She was bending silently over the table, retying the +bundle, when he crossed back to her side, a lighted +lantern dangling in one hand.</p> +<p>“I don’t know why myself,” he tried to explain. “I +only know I’ve got to wait. And I don’t even know +what I’m waiting for––but I know it’s got to come!”</p> +<p>She would not lift her head when he slipped his +free arm about her shoulders and drew her against +him. When he reached out to take the package from +her she held it away from him, but her voice, half +muffled against his checkered coat, was anything but +hard.</p> +<p>“Let <i>you</i> carry them?” she murmured. “Why––I +wouldn’t trust them to any other hands in the world +but my own. You can’t even see them again––not +until I’ve finished them, and I wear them––for you.”</p> +<p>With head still bowed she walked before him to +the open door. But there on the threshold she stopped +and flashed up at him her whimsically provocating +smile.</p> +<p>“Tell me––why don’t you tell me, Denny,” she +commanded imperiously, “that I’m prettier than all +the others––even if I haven’t the pretty clothes!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span></div> +<p>When the ridges to the east were tinged with the +red of a rising sun, Denny Bolton was still sitting, +head propped in his hands, at the table before the +window, totally oblivious to the smoking lamp beside +him, or to anything else save the square card which +he had found lying there beneath the table after he +had taken her back across the valley to John Anderson’s +once-white cottage. He rose and extinguished +the smoking wick as the first light of day began to +creep through the room.</p> +<p>“––– requests the pleasure of Miss Dryad Anderson’s +company,” he repeated aloud. And then, as +he turned to the open door and the work that was +waiting for him, in a voice that even he himself had +never before heard pass his lips:</p> +<p>“And she could have gone––she could have, and +she didn’t––just because–––”</p> +<p>His grave voice drifted off into silence. As if it +were a perishably precious thing, he slipped the square +card within its envelope and buttoned the whole within +his coat.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_V' id='CHAPTER_V'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +</div> +<p>As far back as he could remember Denny +could not recall a single day when Old Jerry +had swung up the long hill road that led to +his lonesome farmhouse on the ridge at a pace any +faster than a crawling walk. Nor could he recollect, +either, a single instance when he had chanced to arrive +at that last stop upon the route much before dark.</p> +<p>And yet it was still a good two hours before sundown; +only a few minutes before he had driven his +heavy steaming team in from the fields and turned +toward the ladder that mounted to the hayloft, when +the familiar shrill complaint of ungreased axles +drifted up to him from the valley.</p> +<p>With a foot upon the first rung Young Denny +paused, scowling in mild perplexity. He had crossed +the next moment to the open double doors, as the +sound floated up to him in a steadily increasing volume, +and was standing, his big body huge in its flannel +shirt, open at the throat, and high boots laced to +the knees, leaning loosely at ease against the door +frame, when the dingy rig with its curtains flapping +crazily in the wind lurched around the bend in the +road and came bouncing wildly up the rutty grade.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span></div> +<p>The boy straightened and stiffened, his head going +forward a little, for the fat old mare was pounding +along at a lumbering gallop––a pace which, in all the +time he had watched for it, he had never before beheld. +Old Jerry was driving with a magnificent abandon, +his hands far outstretched over the dash, and +more than that, for even from where he stood Denny +could hear him shouting at her in his thin, cracked +falsetto––shouting for still more speed.</p> +<p>A rare, amused smile tugged at the corners of +Young Denny’s lips as he crossed the open yard to the +crest of the hill. But when the groaning buggy came +to a standstill and Old Jerry flung the reins across the +mare’s wide back, to dive and burrow in frantic haste +under the seat for the customary roll of advertisements, +without so much as a glance for the boy who +strode slowly up to the wheel, that shadow of a smile +which had touched his face faded into concerned gravity. +He hesitated a moment, as if not quite certain +of what he should do.</p> +<p>“Is there––there isn’t any one sick, is there?” he +asked at last, half diffidently.</p> +<p>The little, white-haired old man in the buggy +jerked erect with startling, automatonlike swiftness at +that slow question. For a moment he stood absolutely +motionless, his back toward the speaker, his head +perked far over to one side as though he refused to +believe he had heard correctly. Then, little by little, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span> +he wheeled until his strangely brilliant, birdlike eyes +were staring straight down into Denny’s upturned, +anxious face. And as he stared Old Jerry’s countenance +grew blankly incredulous.</p> +<p>“Sick!” he echoed the boy’s words scornfully. +“Sick!”</p> +<p>His grotesquely thin body seemed to swell as he +straightened himself, and his shrill squeak of a voice +took on a new note of pompous importance.</p> +<p>“I guess,” he stated impressively, “I reckon, Denny, +you ain’t heard the news, hev you?” He chuckled +pityingly, half contemptuously. “I reckon you +couldn’t’ve,” he concluded with utter finality.</p> +<p>The old, sullenly bewildered light crept back into +Young Denny’s gray eyes. He shifted his feet uneasily, +shaking his head.</p> +<p>“I––I just got back down from the timber, three +days ago,” he explained, and somehow, entirely unintentionally, +as he spoke the slow statement seemed +almost an apology for his lack of information. “I +guess I haven’t heard much of anything lately––up +here. Is it––is it something big?”</p> +<p>Old Jerry hesitated. He felt suddenly the hopeless, +overwhelming dearth of words against which he labored +in the attempt to carry the tidings worthily.</p> +<p>“Big!” He repeated the other’s question. “Big! +Why, Godfrey ’Lisha, boy, it’s the biggest thing that’s +ever happened to this town. It––it’s terrific! We’ll +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span> +be famous––that’s what we’ll be! In a week or two +Boltonwood’ll be as famous as––as––why, we’ll be +as famous as the Chicago Fair!”</p> +<p>He broke off with a gasp for breath and started +fluttering madly through the paper which he had +wrenched from Young Denny’s bundle of closely +wrapped mail, until he found the page he sought.</p> +<p>“There ’tis,” he cried, and pointed out a lurid headline +that ran half across the head of the sporting section. +“There ’tis––or leastwise that’s a part on it. +But they’s more a-comin’––more that that won’t be a +patch to! But you just take a look at that!”</p> +<p>Young Denny took the paper from his hand with a +sort of sober patience, and there across the first three +column heads, following the direction of Old Jerry’s +quivering forefinger, he found his first inkling of the +astounding news.</p> +<p>“Jed The Red wins by knockout over The Texan in +fourteenth round,” ran the red-inked caption.</p> +<p>Word by word he read it through, and a second +time his grave eyes went through it, even more painstakingly, +as though he had not caught at a single +reading all its sensational significance. Then he +looked up into the seamed old face above him, a-gleam +and a-quiver with excitement.</p> +<p>“Jed The Red,” the boy said in his steady voice. +“Jed The Red!” And then, levelly: “Who’s he?”</p> +<p>Old Jerry stared at him a moment before he shook +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span> +his head hopelessly and collapsed with a thud upon +the torn seat behind him, in an excess of disgust for +the boy’s stupidity which he made no effort to conceal.</p> +<p>“Jed who?” he mimicked, his voice shrill with sarcasm. +“Now what in time Jed would it be, if ’twa’n’t +Jeddy Conway––our own Jeddy Conway from this +very village? What other Jed is there? Ain’t you +got no memory at all, when you ought to be proud +to be able to say that you went to school with him +yourself, right in this town?”</p> +<p>Again Young Denny nodded a silent agreement, but +Old Jerry’s feverish enthusiasm had carried him far +beyond mere anger at his audience’s apparent lack of +appreciation.</p> +<p>“And that ain’t all,” he rushed on breathlessly, “not +by a lot, it ain’t! That ain’t nothin’ to compare with +what’s to come. Why, right this minute there’s a +newspaper writer down to the village––he’s from +New York and he’s been stayin’ to the Tavern ever +since he come in this morning and asked for a room +with a bath––and he’s goin’ to write up the town. +Yes sir-e-e––the whole dad-blamed town! Pictures of +the main street and the old place where Jeddy went +to school, like as not, and––and”––he hesitated for +an instant to recall the exact phrasing––“and interviews +with the older citizens who recognized his ability +and gave him a few pointers in the game when he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span> +was only a little tad. That’s what’s to follow, and it’s +comin’ out in the New York papers, too––Sunday +supplement, colors, maybe, and––and–––”</p> +<p>Sudden recollection checked him in the middle of +the tumbled flow of information. Leaning far out +over the dash, he put all his slight weight against the +reins and turned the fat white mare back into the road +with astonishing celerity.</p> +<p>“Godfrey, but that makes me think,” he gasped. +“I ain’t got no time to fritter away here! I got to +git down to the Tavern in a hurry. He’ll be waitin’ +to hear what I kin tell him.”</p> +<p>The thin, wrinkled old face twisted into a hopeful, +wheedling smile.</p> +<p>“You know that, don’t you, Denny? You could tell +him that there wa’n’t nobody in the hills knew little +Jeddy Conway better’n I did, couldn’t you? It––it’s +the last chance I’ll ever git, too, more’n likely.</p> +<p>“Twice I missed out––once when they found Mary +Hubbard’s husband a-hangin’ to his hay mow––a-hangin +by the very new clothes-line Mary’d just +bought the day before and ain’t ever been able to use +since on account of her feelin’ somehow queer about it––and +me laid up to home sick all the time! Everybody +else got their names mentioned in the article, +and Judge Maynard had his picture printed because +it was the Judge cut him down. ’Twa’n’t fair, didn’t +seem to me, and me older’n any of ’em.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span></div> +<p>“And ’twas just the same when they found Mrs. +Higgins’s Johnny, who had to go and git through the +ice into the crick just the one week in all the winter +when I was laid up with a bad foot from splittin’ +kindling. I begun to think I wasn’t ever goin’ to git +my chance––but it’s come. It’s come at last––and I +got to cut along and be there!”</p> +<p>Once more he leaned over the dash and slapped the +old mare’s back with the slack of the lines.</p> +<p>“Git there, you,” he urged, and the complaining +buggy went lurching down the rough road at the same +unheard of pace at which it had ascended. Halfway +down the hill, after he had lifted the mare from her +shuffling fox-trot to a lumbering gallop, Old Jerry +turned back for a last shouted word.</p> +<p>“He’ll be anxious to git all I can tell him, don’t +you think?” the shrill falsetto drifted back to the boy +who had not stirred in his tracks. “No article would +be complete without that, would it? And they’s +to be pictures––Sunday paper––and––maybe––in +colors!”</p> +<p>There was an odd light burning in Denny Bolton’s +eyes as he stood and watched the crazy conveyance +disappear from view. The half hungry, half sullen +bewilderment seemed to have given place to a new +confusion, as though all the questions which had always +been baffling him had become, all in one breath, +an astounding enigma which clamored for instant +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span> +solution. Not until the shrill scream of the ungreased +axles had died out altogether and his eyes fell once +more to the vivid streak of red that ran across the +top of the sheet still clutched in his hand did Young +Denny realize that Jerry had even failed to leave him +the rest of his mail––the bulky package of circulars.</p> +<p>He was smiling again as he turned and went slowly +toward the back door of the house, but somehow, as +he went, the stoop of his big shoulders seemed to have +even more than the usual vague hint of weariness in +their heavy droop. He even forgot that the hungry +team which he had stabled just a few minutes before +was still unfed, as he dropped upon the top step and +spread the paper out across his knees.</p> +<p>“Jed The Red wins by knockout over The Texan in +fourteenth round,” he read again and again.</p> +<p>And then, with a slow forefinger blazing the way, +he went on through the detailed account of the latest +big heavyweight match, from the first paragraph, +which stated that “Jed Conway, having disposed of +The Texan at the Arena last night, by the knockout +route in the fourteenth round, seems to loom up as +the logical claimant of the white heavyweight title,” +to the last one of all, which pithily advised the public +that “the winner’s share of the receipts amounted to +twelve thousand dollars.”</p> +<p>It was all couched in the choicest vocabulary of the +ringside, and more than once Young Denny, whose +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span> +literature had been confined chiefly to harvesters and +sulky plows, had to stop and decipher phrases which +he only half understood at first reading. But that +last paragraph he did not fail to grasp.</p> +<p>It grew too dark for him to make out the small +type any longer and the boy folded the paper and +laid it back across his knees. With his chin resting +upon one big palm he sat motionless, staring out beyond +his sprawling, unpainted sheds toward the dim +bulk of his hilly acres, with their jagged outcroppings +of rock.</p> +<p>“Twelve thousand dollars!” He muttered the +words aloud, under his breath. Eight hundred in +three years had seemed to him an almost miraculous +amount for him to have torn from that thin soil with +nothing but the strength of his two hands. Now, +with a bitterness that had been months in accumulating, +it beat in upon his brain with sledgelike blows +that he had paid too great a price––too great a price +in aching shoulders and numbed thighs.</p> +<p>Methodically, mechanically, his mind went back +over the days when he had gone to school with Jed +Conway––the same Jed The Red whom the whole +town was now welcoming as “our own Jeddy,” and +the longer he pondered the greater the problem became.</p> +<p>It was hard to understand. From his point of view +comprehension was impossible, at that instant. For +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span> +in those earlier days, when anybody had ever mentioned +Jed Conway at all, it had been only to describe +him as “good for nothing,” or something profanely +worse. Young Denny remembered him vividly as a +big, freckle-faced, bow-legged boy with red bristly +hair––the biggest boy in the school––who never +played but what he cheated, and always seemed able +to lie himself out of his thievery.</p> +<p>But most vividly of all, he recalled that day when +Jed Conway had disappeared from the village between +sundown and dawn and failed to return. That +was the same day they discovered the shortage in +the old wooden till at Benson’s corner store. And +now Jed Conway had come home, or at least his +fame had found its way back, and even Old Jerry, +whipping madly toward the village to share in his +reflected glory, had, for all the perfection of his +“system,” failed to leave the very bundle of mail +which he had come to deliver.</p> +<p>For a long time Young Denny sat and tried to +straighten it out in his brain––and failed entirely. It +had grown very dark––too dark for him to make out +the words upon it––when he reached into the pocket +of his gray flannel shirt and drew out the card which +he had found lying upon the kitchen floor that previous +Saturday night, after he had lighted Dryad Anderson +on her way home through the thickets. But +he did not need, or even attempt, to read it.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span></div> +<p>“And it took me a month,” he said aloud to the +empty air before him, “almost a month to save fifteen +dollars.”</p> +<p>He rose at the words, stiffly, for the chill air had +tightened his muscles, and stood a moment indecisively +contemplating the lights which were beginning to +glimmer through the dusk in the hollow, before he, +too, took the long road to the village down which Old +Jerry had rattled a scant hour or two before.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VI' id='CHAPTER_VI'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +</div> +<p>The Tavern “office” was crowded and hazy +with acrid blue smoke. Behind the chairs of +the favored members of the old circle, who +always sat in nightly conclave about the stove, a long +row of men lounged against the wall, but the bitter +controversies of other nights were still. Instead, the +entire room was leaning forward, hanging breathlessly +upon the words of the short fat man who was +perched alone upon the worn desk, too engrossed even +to notice Young Denny’s entrance that night.</p> +<p>The boy stood for a moment, his hand still clasping +the knob behind him, while his eyes flickered curiously +over the heads of the crowd. Even before he +drew the door shut behind him he saw that Judge +Maynard’s chair was a good foot in advance of all +the others, directly in front of the stranger on the +desk, and that the rest of the room was furtively taking +its cue from him––pounding its knee and laughing +immoderately whenever he laughed, or settling back +luxuriously whenever the Judge relaxed in his chair.</p> +<p>Subconsciously Young Denny realized that such +had always been the recognized order of arrangement, +ever since he could remember. The Judge +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span> +always rode in front in the parades and invariably delivered +the Fourth of July oration. Undisputed he +held the one vantage point in the room, but over his +amply broad back, as near as he dared lean, bent Old +Jerry, his thin face working with alternate hope and +half fearful uncertainty.</p> +<p>Denny Bolton would have recognized the man on +the desk as the “newspaper writer” from New York +from his clothes alone, even without the huge notebook +that was propped up on his knees for corroborative +evidence. From the soft felt hat, pushed carelessly +back from his round, good-natured face, to the +tips of his gleaming low shoes, the newcomer was a +symphony in many-toned browns. And as Young +Denny closed the door behind him he went on talking––addressing +the entire throng before him with an +easy good-fellowship that bordered on intimate +<i>camaraderie</i>.</p> +<p>“Just the good old-fashioned stuff,” he was saying; +“the sort of thing that has always been the backbone +of the country. That is what I want it to be. +For, you see, it’s like this: We haven’t had a champion +who came from our own real old Puritan stock +in years and years like Conway has, and it’ll stir up +a whole lot of enthusiasm––a whole lot! I want to +play that part of it up big. Now, you’re the only ones +who can give me that––you’re the only men who knew +him when he was a boy––and right there let’s make +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span> +that a starter! What sort of a youngster was he? +Quite a handful, I should imagine––now wasn’t he?”</p> +<p>The man on the desk crossed one fat knee over the +other, tapping a flat-heeled shoe with his pencil. He +tilted the brown felt hat a little farther back from his +forehead and winked one eye at the Judge in jovial +understanding. And Judge Maynard also crossed his +knees, tucked his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets, +and winked back with equal joviality.</p> +<p>“Well, ye-e-s,” he agreed, and the agreement was +weightily deliberate. “Ye-e-s, quite a handful was +Jeddy.”</p> +<p>One pudgy hand was uplifted in sudden, deprecatory +haste, as though he would not be misunderstood.</p> +<p>“Nothing really wrong, of course,” he hurried to +add with oratorical emphasis. “Nothing like that! +There never was anything mean or sneaking about +Jeddy, s’far as I can recollect. Just mischievous––mischievous +and up and coming all the time. But +there were folks,” Judge Maynard’s voice became +heavy with righteous accusation––“it’s always that +way, you understand––and there were folks, even +right here in Jeddy’s own village, who used to call +him a bad egg. But I––I knew better! Nothing but +mischievousness and high spirits––that’s what I always +thought. And I said it, too––many’s the time +I said–––”</p> +<p>The big shouldered boy near the door shifted his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span> +position a little. He leaned forward until he could +see Judge Maynard’s round, red face a little more +distinctly. There was an odd expression upon Denny +Bolton’s features when the fat man in brown lifted his +eyes from his notebook, eyes that twinkled with sympathetic +comprehension.</p> +<p>“–––That it was better a bad egg than an omelette, +eh?” he interrupted knowingly.</p> +<p>The Judge pounded his knee and rocked with +mirth.</p> +<p>“Well, that’s just about it––that’s just about as +near as words could come to it,” he managed to gasp, +and the circle behind him rocked, too, and pounded +its knee as one man.</p> +<p>The man on the desk went on working industriously +with his pencil, even while he was speaking.</p> +<p>“And then I suppose he was pretty good with his +hands, too, even when he was a little shaver?” he +suggested tentatively. “But then I don’t suppose that +any one of you ever dreamed that you had a world’s +champion, right here at home, in the making, did +you?”</p> +<p>The whole room leaned nearer. Even the late +comer near the door forgot himself entirely and took +one step forward, his narrowing gray eyes straining +upon the Judge’s face.</p> +<p>Judge Maynard again weighed his reply, word for +word.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span></div> +<p>“We-e-ll, no,” he admitted. “I don’t believe I +can say that I downright believed that he’d make a +world’s champion. Don’t believe’s I could truthfully +state that I thought that. But I guess there isn’t anybody +in this town that would ever deny but what I +did say more than once that he’d make the best of ’em +hustle––ye-e-s, sir, the very best of ’em, some day!”</p> +<p>The speaker turned to face the hushed room behind +him, as if to challenge contradiction, and Young +Denny, waiting for some one to speak, touched his +dry lips with the tip of his tongue. But no contradiction +came. Instead Old Jerry, leaning across the +Judge’s broad back, quavered breathlessly.</p> +<p>“That’s jest it––that’s jest as it was––right to a +hair. It was system done it––system right from the +very beginning. And many’s the time the Judge says +to me––says he–––”</p> +<p>Old Jerry never finished, for Judge Maynard lifted +one hand majestically and the little white-haired old +man’s eager corroboration died on his lips. He shrank +back into abashed silence, his lips working wordlessly.</p> +<p>“As I was saying,” the Judge then proceeded ponderously, +“I recognized he had what one could call––er–––”</p> +<p>“Class?” the man on the desk broke in again with +his engaging smile.</p> +<p>“Well, yes,” the other continued, “or, as I was +about to call it, talent. From the very first that was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span> +very apparent, but then, of course, a man in my position +in the community could scarcely have been the +one to encourage him openly. But he was pretty +good, even as a little shaver! Why, there was nothing +among the boys that he wouldn’t tackle––absolutely +nothing! Size, sir, never made any difference to +him––not a particle. Jeddy Conway fight–––!”</p> +<p>Again he turned to the close-packed circle behind +him as if mere words were too weak things to do the +question justice. And this time as he turned his eyes +met squarely those of the gray-shirted figure that was +staring straight back at him in a kind of fascination. +For one disconcerted instant Judge Maynard wavered; +he caught his breath before that level scrutiny; +then with a flourish of utter finality he threw up one +pudgy hand.</p> +<p>“There’s one of ’em right now,” he cried. “There’s +Young Denny Bolton, who went to school with him, +right here in this town. <i>Ask him</i> if Jed Conway was +pretty handy as a boy! Ask him,” he leered around +the room, an insinuating accent that was unmistakable +underrunning the words. Then a deep-throated +chuckle shook him. “But maybe he won’t tell––maybe +he’s still a little mite too sensitive to talk about it +yet. Eh, Denny––just a little mite too sensitive?”</p> +<p>Denny Bolton failed to realize it at that moment, +but there was a new quality in the Judge’s chuckling +statement––a certain hearty admission of equality +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span> +which he had only a second before denied to Old +Jerry’s eager endeavor to help. The eyes of the fat +man in brown lifted inquiringly from the notebook +upon his knees and followed the direction of the +Judge’s outstretched finger. He was still grinning +expansively––and then as he saw more clearly through +the thick smoke the face which Judge Maynard was +indicating, the grin disappeared.</p> +<p>Little by little Young Denny’s body straightened +until the slight shoulder stoop had entirely vanished, +and all the while that his gaze never wavered from +the Judge’s face his eyes narrowed and his lips grew +thinner and thinner. The confused lack of understanding +was gone, too, at last, from his eyes. He even +smiled once, a fleeting, mirthless smile that tugged +at the corners of his wide mouth. For the moment +he had forgotten the circle of peering faces. The +room was very still.</p> +<p>It was the man on the desk who finally broke that +quiet, but when he spoke his voice had lost its easily +intimate good-fellowship. He spoke instead in a low-toned +directness.</p> +<p>“So you went to school with Jed The Red, did +you?” he asked gravely. “Knew him when he was a +kid?”</p> +<p>Slowly Denny Bolton’s eyes traveled from the +Judge’s face. His lips opened with equal deliberation.</p> +<p>“I reckon I knew him––pretty well,” he admitted.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span></div> +<p>The eyes of the man in brown were a little narrower, +too, as he nodded thoughtfully.</p> +<p>“Er––had a few set-to’s with him, yourself, now +and then?”</p> +<p>He smiled, but even his smile was gravely direct. +Again there was a heavy silence before Young Denny +replied.</p> +<p>Then, “Maybe,” he said, noncommittally. “Maybe +I did.”</p> +<p>The throbbing silence in that room went all to bits. +Judge Maynard wheeled in his chair toward the man +on the desk and fell to pounding his knee again in +the excess of his appreciation.</p> +<p>“Maybe,” he chortled, “maybe he did! Well––I––reckon!”</p> +<p>And, following his lead, the whole room rocked +with laughter in which all but the man in brown +joined. He alone, from his place on the desk, saw +that there was a white circle about the boy’s tight +mouth as Young Denny turned and fumbled with the +latch before he opened the door and passed quietly out +into the night. He alone noticed, but there was the +faintest shadow of a queer smile upon his own lips +as he turned back to the big notebook open on his +knees––a vaguely unpleasant smile that was not in +keeping with the rotund jollity of his face.</p> +<p>For a moment Denny Bolton stood with his strained +white face turned upward, the roar in the room +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span> +behind him beating in his ears; then he turned and +went blindly up the road that wound toward the bleak +house on the hill––he went slowly and unsteadily, +stumbling now and again in the deep ruts which it +was too dark for him to see.</p> +<p>It was only when he reached the crest of the hill, +where Old Jerry had failed to remember to leave him +his mail that afternoon, that he recalled his own +failure to feed the team with which he had been +ploughing all day back in the fields. And in the same +blind, automatic fashion he crossed and threw open +the door of the barn.</p> +<p>The interior was dark, blacker even than the thick +darkness of the night outside. Young Denny, muttering +to himself, forgot to strike a light––he even +forgot to speak aloud to the nervous animals in the +stalls until his fingers, groping ahead of him, touched +something sleek and warm and brought him back to +himself. Then, instinctively, although it was too late, +he threw up one big shoulder to protect his face before +he was lifted and hurled crashing back against +the wall by the impact of the heavy hoofs that catapulted +out of the blackness. A moment the boy stood, +swayed sickeningly, and sank to his knees. Then he +began to think clearly again, and with one hand +clasped over the great, jagged gash which the glancing +iron shoe had laid open across his chin, he reached +up and found a cross beam and dragged himself erect.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span></div> +<p>“Whoa, Tommy, whoa boy!” he soothed the dancing +horse. “Steady, it’s only me, boy!” he stammered, +and supporting himself against the wall he groped +again until he found the feedbin and finished his +day’s work.</p> +<p>It was even darker in the bare kitchen when he +lurched dizzily through the door. Once as he was +feeling his way along the wall, searching for a light, +his feet stumbled on a hard rounded object against +the wainscoting, and as it toppled over its contents +ran with a slopping gurgle over the floor.</p> +<p>Then his fingers found the light. Holding himself +with one hand, he lifted the little lamp with its blackened +chimney from its bracket and raised it until it +illuminated his features reflected in the small square +mirror that hung against the wall. For a long time he +stood and looked. The blood that oozed from the +ugly bruise upon his chin was splashing in warm +drops to the floor; his face was paper white, and +strangely taut and twisted with pain, but the boy +noticed neither the one nor the other. Straight back +into his own eyes he stared––stared steadily for all +that his big shoulders were swaying drunkenly. And +for the first time that he could ever recollect Young +Denny Bolton laughed––laughed with real mirth.</p> +<p>He placed the smoking lamp upon the bare board +table and turned. As if they could still hear him––the +circle about the Tavern stove in the valley below––he +lifted both hard fists and tightened them until +the heavy muscles beneath his shirt bunched and quivered +like live things.</p> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_3' id='linki_3'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span> +<img src='images/illus-087.jpg' alt='' title='' width='462' height='650' /><br /> +<p class='caption'> +“DRYAD, IT’S ALL RIGHT––IT’S ALWAYS BEEN ALL RIGHT––WITH US!<br /> +THEY LIED––THEY LIED AND THEY KNEW THEY WERE LYING!”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<p>“Size never made any difference to him?” he repeated +the Judge’s word aloud, with a drawling interrogation. +“Size never made any difference to him?”</p> +<p>He laughed again, softly, as if there were a newly +discovered humor about it all which must be jealously +guarded.</p> +<p>“It never had to make any difference,” the drawling +voice went on, “it didn’t have to––because +Jed Conway was always the biggest boy in the +school!”</p> +<p>His nostrils were dilating, twitching with the thin, +sharp odor of the overturned demijohn which was +rising and thickening in the room. His eyes fell and +for the first time became conscious of it lying there at +his feet. And he stooped and picked it up, lifting it +between both hands until it was level with his face––until +it was held at arm’s length high above his head. +Then his whole body snapped forward and the glass +from the broken window pane jingled musically on +the floor as the jug crashed out into the night.</p> +<p>Young Denny stood and smiled, one side of his +chin a gash of crimson against the dead white of his +face. Again he lifted his fists.</p> +<p>“He never whipped me,” he challenged the lights +in the hollow, “he never whipped me––and he never +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span> +tried but once! I––I––ain’t never been––whipped––yet!”</p> +<p>There had been no sound to herald her coming as +she darted up to the door. Reeling giddily there in +the middle of the room, he had not even heard the +one low cry that she choked back as she stopped at +the threshold, but he half turned that moment and +met the benumbed horror of Dryad Anderson’s eyes. +Minute after minute he merely stood and stared back +at her stupidly, while bit by bit every detail of her +transformation began to penetrate his brain, still +foggy with the force of the blow that had laid his +chin wide open. Her tumbled hair was piled high +upon her head; she was almost tall with the added +height of the high-heeled satin slippers; more slender +than ever in the bespangled clinging black skirt and +sleeveless scarlet waist which the old cloak, slipping +unheeded from her shoulders, had disclosed.</p> +<p>As his brain began to clear Young Denny forgot +the dripping blood that made his white face ghastly, +he forgot the stinging odor of the broken demijohn, +thick in the room––forgot everything but Judge Maynard’s +face when the latter had looked up and found +him standing at the Tavern door. He knew now what +the light was that had lurked in their shifty depths; +it was fear––fear that he––Young Denny––might +speak up in that moment and disclose all the hypocrisy +of his suave lies. He even failed to see the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span> +horror in the eyes of the girl before him. Sudden, reckless +laughter rang from his lips.</p> +<p>“Dryad,” he cried out. “Dryad, it’s all right––it’s +always been all right––with us! They lied––they lied +and they knew they were lying!”</p> +<p>She shrank back, as if all the strength had been +drained from her knees, as he lurched unsteadily +across toward her and reached out his arms. But +at the touch of his hands upon her shoulders the +power of action came rushing back into her limbs. +She shuddered and whirled––and shook off his groping +fingers. Her own hands flashed out and held his +face away from her.</p> +<p>“Don’t you touch me!” she panted huskily. “Oh, +you––you––don’t you even dare to come near +me!”</p> +<p>He tried to explain––tried to follow her swift +flight as she leaped back, but his feet became entangled +in the cloak on the floor and brought him heavily to +his knees. He even tried to follow her after she had +been swallowed up in the shadows outside, until he +realized dully that his shuffling feet would not go +where his whirling head directed them. Once he +called out to her, before he staggered back to the +kitchen door, and received no answer.</p> +<p>With his hands gripping the door frame he eased +himself down to the top step and sat rocking gently +to and fro.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span></div> +<p>“S’all right,” he muttered once, his tongue thick +with pain. “S’always been all right!”</p> +<p>And he laughed aloud, a laugh of utter confidence +in spite of all its unsteadiness.</p> +<p>“Twelve thousand dollars,” he said, “and––and he +never whipped me! He never could––not the best +day he ever lived!”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VII' id='CHAPTER_VII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +</div> +<p>Denny Bolton never quite knew at what +hour of that long black night he reached the +final decision; there was no actual beginning +or ending or logical sequence to the argument in the +back of his brain which led up to it, to crystallize into +final resolve.</p> +<p>He merely sat there in the open door of his half-lighted +kitchen, swaying a little from side to side at +first, giddy with the pain of that crashing blow that +had laid open his chin; then balancing, motionless as +the thick shadows themselves, in a silence that was +unbroken save for the creaking night noises about +him and the rhythmic splash of the warm drops that +fell more and more slowly from the gaping, unheeded +wound, he groped back over the succession of events +of that afternoon and night, reconstructing with a sort +of dogged patience detail after detail which was +waveringly uncertain of outline, until with the clearing +of his numbed brain they stood out once again in sane, +well-ordered clarity. And as they gradually took +shape again each detail grew only more fantastically +unbelievable.</p> +<p>It seemed ages since he had stood against the closed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span> +door of the Tavern office and seen Judge Maynard +turn and falter before his unsuspected presence––days +and days since he had stood there and watched +that round moon-like face flush heavily with the first +shock of surprise, and realized that the startled light +in the shifty eyes of Boltonwood’s most prominent +citizen was part fear, part appeal, that he, Denny +Bolton, whose name in the estimation of that same +village stood for all that was at the other extreme, +would confirm and support his barefaced lying statement. +It was more than merely fantastic; and yet, +at that, sitting there in the dark, Young Denny still +found something in the recollection that was amusing––far +more amusing than he had imagined anything +so simple ever could be.</p> +<p>And already, although it was scarcely hours old, +the rest of it, too, was tinged with an uncanny unreality +that was not far removed from the bodiless fabric +of nightmare itself: Those great, catapulting hoofs +which had thundered against him from the darkness +and beaten him back, a half-senseless heap, against +the barn wall; the blind, mad rage, as much a wildly +hysterical abandonment of utter joy as anything else, +which had surged through him when, with the stinging +odor of the overturned jug in his nostrils, he had +stooped and straightened and sent the old stone demijohn, +that had stood sentinel for years in the corner +near the door, splintering its way through the window +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span> +into the night; and, last of all, the sick horror of the +girl’s face as she recoiled before him came vividly before +his eyes, and his own strange impotence of limb +and lip when he had tried to follow and found that +his feet would not obey the impulse of his brain, tried +to explain only to find that his tongue somehow refused +at that moment to voice the words he would +have spoken.</p> +<p>That was hardest of all to believe––most difficult +to visualize––and he would not give it full credence +until he had reached out behind him in the dark and +found the bit of a cloak which, slipping from her +shoulders, become entangled in his stumbling feet and +brought him crashing to his knees. The feel of that +rough cloth beneath his hand was more than enough +to convince him, and swiftly, unreasonably, the old +bitter tide of resentment began to creep back upon +him––bitter resentment of her quick judgment of him, +which like that of the village, had condemned in the +years that were past, even without a hearing.</p> +<p>“She thought,” he muttered slowly aloud to himself, +“she thought I had––” He left the sentence +unfinished to drift off into a long brooding silence; +and then, many minutes later: “She didn’t even wait +to ask––to see––to let me tell her–––”</p> +<p>One hand went tentatively to the point of his chin––his +old, vaguely preoccupied trick of a gesture––and +the wet touch of that open wound helped to bring +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span> +him back to himself. A moment longer he sat, trying +to make out the stained figures that were invisible +even though he held them a scant few inches from his +eyes, before he rose, stretching his legs in experimental +doubt at first, and passed inside. And once more +he stood before the square patch of mirror on the +wall, with the small black-chimneyed lamp lifted high +in one hand, just as he had stood earlier that same +night, and scanned his own face.</p> +<p>All trace of resentment left his eyes as he realized +the ghastly pallor of those features––all the ragged +horror of that oozing welt which he had only half +seen in that first moment when he was clinging to +consciousness with clenched teeth. It was not nice to +look at, and the light that replaced that sudden flare +of bitterness was so new that he did not even recognize +it himself at first.</p> +<p>It was a clearer, steadier, surer thing than he had +ever known them to reflect before; all hint of lost-dog +sophistication was gone; even the smile that touched +his thin, pain-straightened lips was different somehow. +It was just as whimsical as before, and just as half-mirthless––gentle +as it always had been whenever he +thought at all of her––but there was no wistful hunger +left in it, and little of boyishness, and nothing of +lurking self-doubt.</p> +<p>“Why, she couldn’t have known,” he went on then, +still murmuring aloud. “She couldn’t have been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span> +expected to believe anything else. I––I’m not much to +look at––just now.”</p> +<p>He even forgot that he had tried to follow her––forgot +that her cloak had thrown him sprawling in the +doorway.</p> +<p>“I ought to have told her,” he condemned himself. +“I shouldn’t have let her go––not like that.”</p> +<p>In the fullness of this new certainty of self that was +setting his pulses hammering, he even turned toward +the sleeping town, thickly blanketed by the shadows +in the valley, in a sudden boyish burst of generosity.</p> +<p>“Maybe they didn’t mean to lie, either,” he mused +thoughtfully. “Maybe they haven’t really meant to +lie––all this time. They could have been mistaken, +just as she was tonight––they certainly could have +been that.”</p> +<p>He found and filled a basin with cold water and +washed out the cut until the bleeding had stopped +entirely. And then, with the paper which that afternoon’s +mail had brought––the sheet with the astounding +news of Jed The Red, which Old Jerry prophesied +would put Boltonwood in black letters on the map of +publicity––spread out on the table before him, he sat +until daybreak poring over it with eyes that were +filmed with preoccupation one moment and keenly +strained the next to make out the close-set type.</p> +<p>Not long before dawn he reached inside his coat +and brought out a bit of burnished white card and set +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span> +it up in front of him against the lamp. There was +much in the plump, black capitals and knobby script +of Judge Maynard’s invitation which was very suggestive +of the man himself, but Young Denny failed +to catch the suggestion at that moment.</p> +<p>He never quite knew when that decision became +final, nor what the mental process was which brought +it about. Nor did he even dream of the connection +there might have been between it and that square of +cardboard lying in front of him. Just once, as the +first light came streaking in through the uncurtained +window beside him, he nodded his head in deliberate, +definite finality.</p> +<p>“Why, it’s the thing I’ve been waiting for,” he +stated, something close akin to wonder in his voice. +“It’s just a man’s size chance. I’d have to take it––I’d +have to do that, even if I didn’t want to––for +myself.”</p> +<p>And later, while he was kindling a fire in the stove +and methodically preparing his own breakfast, he +paused to add with what seemed to be absolute irrelevance:</p> +<p>“Silk––silk, next to her skin!”</p> +<p>There were only two trains a day over the single-track +spur road that connected Boltonwood with the +outer world beyond the hills; one which left at a +most unreasonably inconvenient hour in the early +morning and one which left just as inconveniently late +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span> +at night. Denny Bolton, who had viewed from a distinctly +unfavorable angle any possible enchantment +which the town might chance to offer, settled upon +the first as the entirely probable choice of the short, +fat, brown-clad newspaper man, even without a moment’s +hesitation to weigh the merits of either. And +the sight of the round bulk of the latter, huddled alone +upon a baggage truck before the deserted Boltonwood +station-shed, fully vindicated his judgment.</p> +<p>It was still only a scant hour since daybreak. Heavy, +low-hanging clouds in the east, gray with threatening +rain, cut off any warmth there might have been in +the rising sun and sharpened the raw wind to a knifelike +edge. The man on the truck was too engrossed +with the thoughts that shook his plump shoulders in +regularly recurring, silent chuckles, and a ludicrously +doleful effort to shut off with upturned collar the draft +from the back of his neck, to hear the boy’s approaching +footsteps. He started guiltily to his feet in the +very middle of a spasmodic upheaval, to stand and +stare questioningly at the big figure whose fingers had +plucked tentatively at his elbow, until a sudden, delighted +recognition flooded his face. Then he reached +out one pudgy hand with eager cordiality.</p> +<p>“Why, greetings––greetings!” he exclaimed. +“Didn’t quite recognize you with your––er––decoration.” +His eyes dwelt in frank inquisitiveness upon +the ragged red bruise across Young Denny’s chin. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span> +“You’re the member who stood near the door last +night, aren’t you––the one who didn’t join to any +marked degree in the general jubilee?”</p> +<p>Young Denny’s big, hard hand closed over the outstretched +pudgy white one. He grinned a little and +slowly nodded his head.</p> +<p>“Thought so,” the man in brown rambled blithely +on, “and glad to see you again. Glad of a chance to +speak to you! I wanted most mightily to ask you a +few pertinent questions last night, but it hardly seemed +a fitting occasion.”</p> +<p>He tapped Young Denny’s arm with a stubby forefinger, +one eyelid drooping quizzically.</p> +<p>“<i>Entre nous</i>––just ’twixt thee and me,” he went +on, “and not for publication, was this Jeddy Conway, +as you knew him, all that your eminent citizenry +would lead a poor gullible stranger to believe, or was +he just a small-sized edition of the full-blown crook +he happens to be at the present stage of developments? +Not that it makes any difference here,” he +tapped the big notebook under his arm, “but I’m just +curious, a little, because the Jed The Red whom I +happen to know is so crooked nowadays that his own +manager is afraid to place a bet on him half the time. +See?”</p> +<p>Denny smiled comprehendingly. He shifted his big +body to a more comfortable and far less awkward +position.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span></div> +<p>“I see,” he agreed.</p> +<p>Somehow, where it would have been an utter impossibility +to have spoken lightly to him the night +before, he found it very easy now to understand and +meet half way the frivolity of the fat, grinning man +before him.</p> +<p>“Well, when he left town about eight years ago, +his going was just a trifle hasty. He––he took about +everything there was in the cash-drawer of Benson’s +store with him––except maybe a lead slug or two––and +there are some who think he only overlooked +those.”</p> +<p>The gurgle of sheer delight that broke from the +lips of the man in brown was spontaneously contagious.</p> +<p>“Just about as your servant had it figured out last +night,” he fairly chirped. Then he slipped one hand +through the crook of Denny’s elbow. “I guess I’ll +have to take a chance on you. It’s too good to keep +all to myself.” He led the way back to the empty +truck. “And you ought to be safe, too, for judging +from the sentiments that were expressed after you +left last night, you––er––don’t run very strong with +this community, either.”</p> +<p>Again he paused, his eyelid cocked in comical suggestion. +Instead of narrowing ominously, as they +might have twelve hours before, Denny’s own eyes +lighted appreciatively at the statement. He even +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span> +waited an instant while he pondered with mock gravity.</p> +<p>“I reckon,” he drawled finally, “that I’ll have to +confess that I’ve never been what you might call a +general favorite.”</p> +<p>The newspaper man’s head lifted a little. He +flashed a covertly surprised glance at the boy’s sharp +profile. It was far from being the sort of an answer +that he had expected.</p> +<p>“No, you certainly are not,” he emphasized, and +then he opened the flat notebook with almost loving +care across his knees.</p> +<p>Young Denny, with the first glimpse he caught of +that very first page, comprehended in one illuminating +flash the cause of those muffled chuckles which +had convulsed that rounded back when he turned the +corner of the station-shed a moment before; he even +remembered that half-veiled mirth in the eyes of the +man who had sat balanced upon the desk in the Tavern office +the night before and understood that, too. +For the hurriedly penciled sketch, which completely +filled the first page of the notebook, needed no explanation––not +even that of the single line of writing +beneath it, which read:</p> +<p>“I always said he’d make the best of ’em hustle––yes, +sir, the very best of ’em!”</p> +<p>It was a picture of Judge Maynard––the Judge +Maynard whom Young Denny knew best of all––unctuous +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span> +of lip and furtively calculating of eye. For +all the haste of its creation it was marvelously perfect +in detail, and as he stared the corners of the +boy’s lips began to twitch until his teeth showed white +beneath. The fat man grinned with him.</p> +<p>“Get it, do you?” he chuckled. “Get it, eh?”</p> +<p>And with the big-shouldered figure leaning eagerly +nearer he turned through page after page to the end.</p> +<p>“Not bad––not bad at all,” he frankly admired his +own handiwork at the finish. “You see, it was like +this. I’ve been short on anything like this for a long +time––good Rube stuff––and so when Conway came +through in his match the other night it looked like +a providential opportunity––and it certainly has +panned up to expectations.”</p> +<p>Once more he turned to scan the lean face turned +toward him, far more openly, far more inquisitively, +this time. It perplexed him, bewildered him––this +easy certainty and consciousness of power which had +replaced the lost-dog light that had driven the smile +from his own lips the night before when he had followed +Judge Maynard’s beckoning finger.</p> +<p>Hours after the enthusiastic circle about the Tavern +stove had dissolved he had labored to reproduce +that white, bitter, quivering face at the door, only to +find that the very vividness of his memory somehow +baffled the cunning of his pencil. There had been more +than mere bitterness in those curveless, colorless +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span> +lips; something more than doubt of self behind +the white hot flare in the gray eyes. Now, in the +light of day, his eyes searched for it openly and failed +to find even a ghost of what it might have been.</p> +<p>“No,” he ruminated gently, and he spoke more to +himself than the other, “you don’t stand deuce high +with this community. You’re way down on the list.” +He hesitated, weighing his words, suddenly a little +doubtful as to how far he might safely venture. “I––I +guess you’ve––er––disappointed them too long, +haven’t you?”</p> +<p>The blood surged up under Young Denny’s dark +skin until it touched his crisp black hair, and the fat +man hastened to throw a touch of jocularity into the +statement.</p> +<p>“Yep, you’ve disappointed ’em sorely. But I’ve +been monopolizing all the conversation. I can’t convince +myself that you’ve come down here merely to +say me a touching farewell. Was there––was there +something you wanted to see me about in particular?”</p> +<p>It was the very opening for which Denny had been +waiting––the opening which he had not known how +to make himself, for his plan for procedure by which +he was to accomplish it was just as indistinct as his +resolution had been final. He nodded silently, uncertain +just how to begin, and then he plunged desperately +into the very middle of it.</p> +<p>“I thought maybe you could tell me if this was true +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span> +or not,” he said, and he drew from his pocket the +paper which bore the account of Jed The Red’s victory +over The Texan. A hint of a frown appeared upon +the forehead of the man in brown as he took the +folded sheet and read where Denny’s finger indicated––the +last paragraph of all.</p> +<p>“The winner’s share of the receipts amounted to +twelve thousand dollars,” was its succinct burden.</p> +<p>He read it through twice, as if searching for any +puzzling phrase it might contain.</p> +<p>“I certainly can,” he admitted at last. “I wrote it +myself, but it’s no doubt true, for all that. Not a very +big purse, of course, but then, you know, he isn’t really +championship calibre. He’s just a second-rate hopeful, +that’s all. It seems hard to find a real one these +days. But why the riddle?” he finished, as he handed +back the paper.</p> +<p>“Why, I thought if it was true maybe I’d ask you +to tell me if I––how I could get a chance at him.”</p> +<p>The boy’s explanation was even more flounderingly +abrupt than his former question had been, but his +eyes never wavered from the newspaper man’s face. +The latter laid his notebook upon the truck with exaggerated +care and rose and faced him.</p> +<p>“Another!” he lamented in simulated despair. But +the next moment all the bantering light went from his +face, while his eyes flashed in lightning-like appraisement +over Denny’s lean shoulder-heavy body, from his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span> +feet, small and narrow in spite of the clumsy high +boots, to his clean-cut head, and back again. There +was a hint of businesslike eagerness in that swift calculation +of possibilities. The boy shifted consciously +under the scrutiny.</p> +<p>“It isn’t that he never was able to whip me––even +when he was a kid,” he tried to explain. “It––it’s +because I don’t believe, somehow, that he ever could.”</p> +<p>All the strained eagerness disappeared from the +face of the pudgy man in brown. He laughed softly, +a short little laugh of amusement at his own momentary +folly.</p> +<p>“Whew!” he murmured. “I’m getting to be just +as bad as all the rest!”</p> +<p>He felt in a pocket for a card and scribbled an address +across its back. A trace of good-natured familiarity––the +first hint of superiority that had marked +his manner––accompanied his gesture when he extended +it in one hand. It savored of the harmless +humoring of a childish vagary.</p> +<p>“If you ever did chance to get as far from home as +that, there’s a man at that address who’d fall on your +neck and weep real tears if you happened to have the +stuff,” he said. “But just one additional word. Maybe +I’ve led you astray a bit. Just because I said that +Jed The Red is a second-rater, don’t think for a moment +that he fights like a schoolboy now. He doesn’t––nothing +like that!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span></div> +<p>He gazed for another second at the boy’s thin, +grave face, so like, in its very thinness and gravity, all +that a composite of its Puritan forbears might have +been. And as he became suddenly conscious of that +resemblance he reversed the card, a whimsical twist +touching his lips, and wrote above his own name, “Introducing +the Pilgrim,” and put it in the outstretched +hand.</p> +<p>“Any idea when you expect to make a start?” he +inquired with an elaborate negligence that brought +the hot color to the boy’s cheeks. But again, at the +words, he caught, too, a glimpse of the unshaken certainty +that backed their gray gravity.</p> +<p>“Tomorrow, I reckon. It’ll take me all of today +to get things fixed up so I can leave. I’ll take this +train in the morning. And they––they ought to have +told you at the hotel that it’s always a half-hour late.”</p> +<p>Young Denny rose.</p> +<p>“Surely––surely,” the chubby man agreed. “Nothing +like getting away with the bell. And––er––there’s +one other thing. Of course if it’s a little private affair, +I’ll bow myself gracefully out, but I do confess +to a lot of curiosity concerning that small souvenir.” +His eyes traveled to the red welt across the boy’s +chin. “May I inquire just how it happened?”</p> +<p>Denny failed to understand him at first; then his +finger lifted and touched the wound interrogatively.</p> +<p>“This?” he inquired.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span></div> +<p>The man in brown nodded.</p> +<p>“Last night,” the boy explained, “I––I kind of forgot +myself and walked in on the horses in the dark, +without speaking to them. I’d forgot to feed before +I went to the village. One of them’s young yet––and +nervous––and–––”</p> +<p>The other scowled comprehendingly.</p> +<p>“And so, just for that, they both went hungry till +you came to in the morning and found yourself +stretched out on the floor, eh?”</p> +<p>Again Young Denny puzzled a moment over the +words. He shook his head negatively.</p> +<p>“No-o-o,” he contradicted slowly. “No, it wasn’t +as bad as that. Knocked me across the floor and into +the wall and made me pretty dizzy and faint for a +little while. But I managed to feed them. I––I’d +worked them pretty hard in the timber last week.”</p> +<p>The man in brown puckered his lips sympathetically, +whistling softly while he considered the damage +which that flying hoof had done, and the utter simplicity +of the explanation.</p> +<p>“I wonder,” he said to himself, “I wonder––I wonder!” +And then, almost roughly: “Give me back +that card!”</p> +<p>Young Denny’s eyes widened with surprise, but he +complied without a word. The man in brown stood +a moment, tapping his lips with the pencil, before he +wrote hastily under the scribbled address, cocked his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span> +head while he read it through, and handed it back +again.</p> +<p>The belated train was whistling for the station +crossing when he thrust out his pudgy white hand in +farewell.</p> +<p>“My name’s Morehouse,” he said, “and I’ve been +called ‘Chub’ by my immediate friends, a title which +is neither dignified nor reverend, and yet I answer to +it with cheerful readiness. I tell you this because I +have a premonition that we are to meet again. And +don’t lose that card!”</p> +<p>Young Denny’s fingers closed over the outstretched +hand with a grip that brought the short, fat man in +brown up to his toes. Long after the train had crawled +out of sight the boy stood there motionless beside the +empty truck, reading over and over again the few +scrawled words that underran the line of address.</p> +<p>“Some of them may have science,” it read, “and +some of them may have speed, but, after all, it’s the +man that can take punishment who gets the final decision. +Call me up if this ever comes to hand.”</p> +<p>Which, after all, was not so cryptic as it might +have been.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VIII' id='CHAPTER_VIII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +</div> +<p>That drearily bleak day which was to witness +the temporary passing of the last of the line +of Boltons from the town which had borne +their name longer even than the oldest veteran in the +circle of regulars which nightly flanked the cracked +wood-stove in the Tavern office could recall, brought +with it a succession of thrills not second even to those +that had been occasioned by the advent of the plump +newspaper man from the metropolis, and all his promised +works.</p> +<p>And yet, so far as he himself was concerned, Young +Denny Bolton was totally oblivious, or at least apparently +so, to the very audible hum of astonishment +which ripped along behind them when they––he and +Judge Maynard of all men––whirled down the main +street of the village that morning through the gray +mist already heavy as fine rain, to stop with a great +flourish of glittering harness buckles and stamping of +hoofs before the post-office doors.</p> +<p>It was the busiest hour which the straggling one-story +shops along the unpaved thoroughfare knew, this +one directly following the unshuttering of the +specked, unwashed show-windows, known distinctly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span> +as “mail time”––a very certain instant when Old Jerry’s +measured passage from the office doors to his +dilapidated rig at the edge of the boardwalk heralded +the opening of the general delivery window within.</p> +<p>It was Old Jerry’s hour––the one hour of the day +in which his starved appetite for notoriety ever supped +of nourishment––that moment when the small knot of +loiterers upon the sidewalk, always, face for face, +composed of the same personnel as the unvarying +nightly circle about the Tavern stove, gave way before +him and the authority of the “Gov’mint” which he +personified.</p> +<p>Since that first morning, years back, which had +hailed his initial appearance with the mail bags slung +over one thin shoulder, he had made the most of +that daily entrance upon the stage of publicity. There +was always a haughty aloofness in his eyes that killed +any word of greeting upon the lips of these same beholders +with whom, a few hours later, he was to sit +and wrangle in bitterest intimacy; a certain brisk importance +of step which was a palpable rebuke to their +purposeless unemployment.</p> +<p>Just once this haughty reserve had been assailed. +It happened that same first morning when Old Dave +Shepard, white of head and womanishly mild of voice, +alike the circle’s patriarch and most timid member, +had stepped forward and laid one unsteady hand upon +his arm, some embarrassed word of congratulation +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span> +trembling on his lips. Old Jerry’s bearing upon +that one occasion had precluded for all time the +possibility of its recurrence. He had stepped back a +pace, out of reach of those detaining fingers, and +fastened the offender with a stare of such baleful resentment +that the latter drew off in pitiful haste for +self-effacement. And Jerry’s words on that one occasion +were still current history.</p> +<p>“I warn you, Mister Shepard,” he had shrilled, +“that it’s a state’s prison offense to interfere with a +Gov’mint official in the performance of his duty––and +if you’ve got any complaints to make they’ll have to +be set down reg’lar in writin’, so’s I can give ’em due +consideration!”</p> +<p>Dating from that day Old Jerry’s daily appearance +had taken on, at least in the eyes of the Tavern regulars, +a ceremonious importance that demanded their +personal attendance, and although it still lacked a few +moments of the hour for which they were waiting, a +roll-call would have found their number complete +when the yellow-wheeled buckboard of Boltonwood’s +most important citizen, with its strangely assorted pair +of passengers, flashed into view. Denny Bolton +was totally oblivious to the stir which their appearance +created, but if he was too engrossed with +other things to be aware of the breathless hush +which followed it, the huge, moon-faced man who +occupied the seat of the buckboard with him was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span> +conscious of it all to a degree sufficient for both.</p> +<p>From the moment when he had himself answered +the summons at the front door of his great, boxlike +house on the hill, and found Young Denny standing +there, Judge Maynard had sensed a sensation. With +unerring judgment he read it in the very carriage of +the big-shouldered boy before him, who for the first +time in his life failed to uncover his head, with a due +amount of reverence, in the presence of the town’s +great man.</p> +<p>Perhaps with his mind set upon other things that +morning Young Denny forgot it, perhaps there was +an even deeper reason for his remissness, but the +Judge, while he stood and listened to the boy’s tersely +short explanation of his errand, was himself too taken +up with other thoughts to note the omission. He was +already formulating the rounded sentences with which +he would introduce the subject that night to the circle +in the Tavern office.</p> +<p>There was much of the dramatic in the whole situation––much +that needed only proper staging and +elaboration to make of it a tremendous triumph, a +personal triumph, the extent of which he began to +foresee with Denny’s opening words. And the greater +became his consciousness of Denny Bolton’s strange +new bearing, the clearer he saw all the possibilities +of the situation.</p> +<p>To cap it all, the one big, irrefutable fact about +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span> +which he could build his climax was there all ready +before him, ripe for exploitation. It was with an +actual effort of the will that the Judge held his brain +sufficiently attentive to the boy’s words to grasp the +reason for his early morning visit, in the face of the +fascination which that great, ragged bruise across +Denny’s chin had for him. Properly displayed, properly +played up, the possibilities of that raw, unbandaged +wound were incalculable, and the Judge started +almost guiltily from his greedy scrutiny of it to a +sudden realization that the boy before him had paused +in his recital and was waiting in almost insulting self-possession +for a reply.</p> +<p>Many men and some few women had rung boldly at +the Judge’s front door or, more often, tapped timidly +at the entrance in the rear of the house, all bent upon +the same errand. For it was a country-wide secret +that no one had ever been turned away from those +doors with a refusal. If any of those same visitors +ever awakened to a realization that the terms of their +bargain were far harder to bear than a refusal might +have been, they nursed that knowledge in secret.</p> +<p>The Judge was a first mortgage financier, and he +scanned each new addition to his already extensive +collection with all the elaborate care which a matcher +of precious stones might have exercised in the assembling +of a fabulous priced string of pearls. It was +his practice to scrutinize each transaction from every +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span> +possible angle, in every degree of light and shade, +but in his eagerness that morning he forgot to don +for Denny the air of gracious understanding that was +half paternal, half deprecating, which he always wore +to set the others more at their ease. He even forgot +to clear his throat judicially when he asked the boy +before him if he had considered sufficiently the gravity +of such a step as the placing in pawn of the roof +that sheltered him and the ground that gave him food. +It may have been because Young Denny, as he stood +quietly waiting for his answer, came under neither +classification––he was neither pitifully timid nor more +pitifully bold––that the Judge omitted the usual pompous +formula, or merely that in his eager contemplation +of the boy’s hurt face he forgot for once his perfectly +rehearsed part.</p> +<p>No preoccupation, however, marred the businesslike +statement of his terms, but even while he named the +amount which he was willing to risk upon Young Denny’s +arid, rocky acres, and the rate of interest which +he felt compelled to demand, his brain was racing far +ahead of the matter in hand. It was the Judge himself +who engineered the half hour’s delay which resulted +in the fullest possible audience for their appearance +that morning. While he had never attended +it himself, except now and then by chance, he knew +too well the infallibility of that little knot of regulars +who watched Old Jerry’s daily departure to have any +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span> +fears that the first of that day’s many thrills would go +unseen or unsung. And he timed their arrival to a +second.</p> +<p>Old Jerry was in the doorway, ready for his +straight-backed descent of the worn steps, when Judge +Maynard pulled his smooth gaited pair to a restive +standstill before the office and gave the reins into +Young Denny’s keeping. The throng of old men upon +the sidewalk was at the point of opening ranks to +allow him to pass through to his tattered buggy, which +stood at the roadside, a bare half-length ahead of the +Judge’s polished equipage. And now those same ranks +broke in wild disorder and then closed tighter even +than before, while they shifted and struggled for a +better view.</p> +<p>They forgot the ceremonious solemnity of the moment +and the little, birdlike figure upon the top step +trying not to show too plainly upon his face a sense +of his own importance––they forgot everything but +the portend of the scene which the Judge was handling +in so masterful a fashion.</p> +<p>The latter’s descent from his seat to the ground +was deliberate, even for him; his silent nod to those +wide-eyed, loose-jawed old men upon the sidewalk +was the very quintessence of secretive dignity, and yet +had he taken up his position there on the corner of +the uneven boardwalk and cried aloud his sensation, +like a bally-hoo advertising the excellence of his own +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span> +particular side-show, he could not have equaled the +results which the very profundity of his silence +achieved.</p> +<p>There was a momentous promise in his gravity, a +hint of catastrophe in the tilt of his head. Like two +receding waves the tight ranks opened before him, +clearing a path for his heavy-footed advance to the +post-office doors––a lane of bulging eyes and clicking +tongues such as Old Jerry in all his days had never +provoked. And the latter stood there stock still in the +middle of the entrance, too dazed at first to grasp the +whole meaning of the situation, until he, too, was +swept aside, without so much as a glance or a word, +by one majestic sweep of the Judge’s hand.</p> +<p>Old Jerry’s sparrowlike, thinly, wistful face flamed +red, and then faded a ghastly white, but no one seemed +conscious at that moment of the ignominy of it all. +It was hours later that they recalled it and realized +that they had looked upon history in the making. +No one noticed the old man’s faltering descent of +the steps, or saw that he paused in his slow way to +the buggy to turn back and stand looking about him +in a kind of bewildered desperation. For the gaze +of all had swung from the Judge’s broad, disappearing +back to the face of the boy who was sitting in the +buckboard, totally unconscious of that battery of eyes, +smiling to himself.</p> +<p>He even chuckled aloud once––Young Denny +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span> +did––a muffled, reasonless sort of a chuckle, as if he did +not even know they were there. It was almost as +though he were playing straight into the Judge’s own +plan, for the effect of the mirth upon the group on +the walk was electrical. It sent a shiver of anticipation +through it from end to end. And then, like the +eyes of one man, their eyes swung back again from +the ragged bruise across the boy’s chin to meet the +Judge as he reappeared.</p> +<p>Yet not one of them so much as dared to whisper +the question that was quivering upon the lips of all +and burning hungrily in their faded eyes. Once more +the wide lane opened magically for him––but again +Judge Maynard’s measured progress was momentarily +barred. Curiosity may have prompted it, and then +again it may have been that he was betrayed by the +very fury of his desperate, eleventh hour effort to +assert his right to the center of that stage––the right +of long-established precedent––yet even those two +long files of old men gasped aloud their dismay at his +temerity when Old Jerry thrust his way forward and +planted himself for a second time squarely in the +great man’s path.</p> +<p>Half way from the office doors to the yellow-wheeled +buckboard, in the very middle of the walk, +he stood and stretched out a tentatively restraining +hand, just as mild-voiced, white-haired Dave had done +years before. And in his high, cracked falsetto, that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span> +was tremulously bitter for all that he struggled to lift +it to a plane of easy jocularity, he exclaimed:</p> +<p>“Now see here, Jedge; what’s the meanin’ of all +this? You ain’t turned kidnapper, hev you?”</p> +<p>There came a heavy hush, while the Judge stood +and stared down at the thin face trying to smile confidently +up at him––a hush that endured while Judge +Maynard swept him from head to foot with one +shriveling glare and then walked around him without +a word––walked around him just as he might +have walked around the hitching post at the roadside, +or any other object that chanced to bar his +way! And this time Old Jerry’s face twitched and +went whiter even than before.</p> +<p>Nobody laughed, not even after the yellow-wheeled +buckboard with its strangely assorted pair +of passengers had sped from sight toward the county +seat and a legal adjustment of still another mortgage +on the Bolton acres. Not a word was spoken +until Old Jerry, too, had clambered silently into his +own creaking buggy and crawled slowly off up the +hill, with a squealing accompaniment of ungreased +axles.</p> +<p>And even then, in the argument which began with +a swirl of conjecture and ended, hours later, in a +torrent of bitter personalities farthest of all from +the first question under consideration, they avoided +a mention of that regrettable incident just as for some +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span> +time after its occurrence they avoided each other’s +eyes, as if they felt somehow that theirs was, after +all, the real guilt.</p> +<p>Upon one point alone did they agree; they were +unanimous that if Young Denny Bolton’s bearing +that morning––the angle at which he held his chin, +and the huge cut that adorned it, and his causeless +mirth––was not entirely damning, it was at least suspicious +enough to require more than a little explanation. +But that verdict, too, was none other than the +very one which the Judge had already planned for +them.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IX' id='CHAPTER_IX'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> +</div> +<p>Old Jerry drove his route that morning in +a numbed, trancelike fashion; or, rather, he +sat there upon the worn-out leather seat +with the reins looped over the dash, staring straight +ahead of him, and allowed the fat old mare to +take her own pace. It was she who made the customary +stops; he merely dug absent-mindedly beneath +the seat whenever she fell to cropping grass at the +roadside, and searched mechanically for the proper +packet of mail. And twice he was called back to +correct mistakes which he admitted were his own +with an humbleness that was alarming to the complainant. +In all the days of his service he had never +before failed to plead extenuating circumstances for +any slip that might occur––and to plead with much +heat and staccato eloquence. But then, too, in all +those years no day had ever equalled the bitter awakening +of that morning.</p> +<p>As he reviewed it all, again and again, Old Jerry +began to understand that it was not the public rebuff +which had hurt so much; for there was that one of +the night previous, when the Judge had cut him off +in the middle of his eager corroboration of Jed The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span> +Red’s history, which had not left a trace of a sting +twelve hours later. It was more than wounded vanity, +although hurt pride was still struggling for a +place in his emotions against a shamed, overwhelming +realization of his own trifling importance, which +could not hold its own against the first interloper, +even after years of entrenchment. Judge Maynard’s +first thrill had been staged without a hitch; he had +paved the way for the personal triumph which he +meant to achieve that night, but he had accomplished +it only at a cost––the loyalty of him who had been, +after all, his stanchest supporter.</p> +<p>From that moment Old Jerry’s defection from the +ranks must be dated, for it was in those bitter hours +which followed the yellow-wheeled buckboard’s +early morning flight down the main street that the +old man woke to the fact that his admiration for the +Judge was made of anything but immortal stuff. +He weighed the Judge in the balance that morning, +and half forgot his own woe in marveling at the +discrepancies which he discovered.</p> +<p>Self-deceit may or may not be easy of accomplishment. +Maybe it is merely a matter of temperament +and circumstance, after all. But it is a certainty +that the first peep at one’s own soul is always the +most startling––the most illuminating, always hardest +of all to bear. And once stripped of that one +garment of grandeur, which he had conjured out of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span> +his own great hunger for attention, Old Jerry found +a ruthless, half-savage joy in tearing aside veil after +veil, until he found himself gazing straight back +into the eyes of his own spirit––until he saw the +pitiful old fraud he really was, naked there before +him.</p> +<p>Just as well as though he had been a party to it +he understood the Judge’s crafty exhibition of Young +Denny’s maimed face that morning; he knew without +a trace of doubt just what the Judge, in his +ominous silence, had meant to insinuate, and what +the verdict would be that night around the Tavern +stove. What he could not understand quite was +why all of them were so easy to convince––so ready +to believe––when only the night before they had +sat and heard the Judge’s recital of Jed The Red’s +intimate history for the benefit of the newspaper +man from the metropolis which, to name it charitably, +had been anything but a literal translation of +facts.</p> +<p>Groping back for one single peg upon which to +hang the fabric of their oft-reiterated prophesy was +alarmingly profitless. There had been nothing, not +even one little slip, since Old Denny Bolton’s passing +on that bad night, years before. And from that +realization he fell to pondering with less leadenness +of spirit upon what the real facts could be which +lay behind Young Denny’s sudden transformation. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span> +For that also was too real––too evident––for any +eyes to overlook.</p> +<p>It was not until long after the hour which witnessed +the return flight of the yellow-wheeled buckboard +through the village street, leaving behind an +even busier hum of conjecture than before, that he +awoke to a realization that his opportunity for a +solution of the riddle was at least better than that of +the wrangling group that had turned traitor before +the post-office steps.</p> +<p>Long before he reached the top of the grade +that ran up to the bleak house alone on the crest, +he was leaning out of his seat, trying to penetrate +the double gloom of rain and twilight; but not until +he had reined in his horse was he positive that there +was no shadowy figure standing there waiting for +his arrival.</p> +<p>He could not quite understand the sensation which +the boy’s absence waked in him at that instant. Days +afterward he knew it had been lonesomeness––a +rather bewildering loneliness––for no matter what +his reception chanced to be along the way, Young +Denny’s greeting had been infallibly regular.</p> +<p>And another emotion far less difficult to understand +began to stir within him as he sat motionless +for a time scanning the shapeless bulk of the place, +entirely dark save for a single light in the rear room. +For the first time he saw how utterly apart from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span> +the rest of the town those unpainted old farm buildings +were––how utterly isolated. The twinkling +lights of the village were mere pin-points in the +distance. Each thick shadow beneath the eaves of +the house was blacker than he had ever noticed before. +Even the soft swish of the rain as it seeped +from the sodden shingles, even the very familiar +complaint of loose nails lifted by the wind under the +clapboards, set his heart pumping faster. All in +an instant his sensation-hungry old brain seized upon +each detail that was as old as he himself and manufactured, +right there on the spot, a sinister something––a +something of unaccountable dread, which +sent a delightful shiver up and down his thin, bony, +old back.</p> +<p>For a while he waited and debated with himself, +not at all certain now that he was as keen for a +solution of the riddle of that cut which had adorned +Young Denny’s chin as he had been. And yet, even +while he hesitated, feeding his imagination upon the +choicest of premonitory tit-bits, he knew he meant +to go ahead. He was magnifying the unfathomed +peril that existed in his erratic, hair-trigger old brain +alone merely for the sake of the complacent pride +which resulted therefrom––pride in the contemplation +of his own intrepid dare-deviltry.</p> +<p>He could scarcely have put into words just what +reception he had imagined was awaiting him; but, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span> +whatever it might have been, Young Denny’s greeting +was full as startling. A worn, dusty, shapeless leather +bag stood agape upon the table before the window, +and Denny Bolton paused over the half-folded garment +in his hands to wheel sharply toward the newcomer +as the door creaked open.</p> +<p>For one uncomfortable moment the old adventurer +waited in vain for any light of welcome, or even +recognition, to flash up in the boy’s steady scrutiny. +Then the vaguest of smiles began to twitch at the +corners of Denny’s lips. He laid the coat back upon +the table and stepped forward a pace.</p> +<p>“Hello!––Here at last, are you?” he saluted. +“Aren’t you pretty late tonight?”</p> +<p>Old Jerry swallowed hard at the cheery ease of +the words, but his fluttery heart began to pump even +faster than when he had sat outside in the buggy debating +the advisability of his further advance. That +warning premonition had not been a footless thing, +after all, for this self-certain, vaguely amused person +who stood steadily contemplating him was not the +Denny Bolton he had known twenty-four hours before––not +from any angle or viewpoint.</p> +<p>Behind the simulated cheer of his greeting there +was something else which Old Jerry found disturbingly +new and hard to place. In his perplexity the +wordless accusation that morning had been correct at +that. And Young Denny was smiling widely at him +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span> +now––smiling openly. The old man shuffled his feet +and shifted his gaze from the open wound upon the +boy’s face as though he feared his suspicion might +be read in his eyes. Then he answered Denny’s question.</p> +<p>“I––I cal’late I be late––maybe a little,” he admitted.</p> +<p>Denny nodded briskly.</p> +<p>“More than a little,” he corrected. “I expected +you to be along even earlier today! An hour or two, +at least.”</p> +<p>Even while he was speaking Young Denny turned +back to the packing of the big bag on the table. Old +Jerry stood there, still shifting from one foot to +the other, considering in growing wonder that silent +preparation, and waiting patiently for a further explanation +of what it meant. At last, when he could +no longer endure the suspense, he broke that silence +himself.</p> +<p>“Packin’ up for a little trip, be you?” he ventured +mildly.</p> +<p>There was no progress made or satisfaction gained +from Young Denny’s short nod. Again the little man +bore it as long as he was able.</p> +<p>“Figurin’ on bein’ gone quite a spell?” he ventured +again.</p> +<p>And again the big-shouldered figure nodded a silent +affirmative. Old Jerry drew himself up with an air +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span> +of injured dignity at that inhospitable slight; he even +took one step backward toward the door; but that +one step, in the face of his consuming curiosity, was +as far as he could force himself to go.</p> +<p>“I––I kinda thought you might be leavin’. Why, +I––kinda suspicioned it this morning when I seen +you ridin’ townward with the Jedge.”</p> +<p>The boy stuffed the last article into the bulging +bag and turned. Old Jerry almost believed that the +lack of comprehension in Young Denny’s eyes was +real until he caught again that hint of amusement +behind it. But when Denny started toward him suddenly, +without so much as a word, the old man retreated +just as suddenly, almost apprehensively, before +him.</p> +<p>“You say you was expectin’ me,” he faltered unsteadily, +“but––but if there wa’n’t anything special +you wanted to see me about, I––I reckon I better +be joggin’ along. I just kinda dropped in, late’s it +was, to tell you there wa’n’t no mail, and to say––to +tell you–––”</p> +<p>He stopped abruptly. He didn’t like the looks of +Denny Bolton’s eyes. They were different than he +had ever seen them before. If their inscrutability +was not actually terrifying, Old Jerry’s active imagination +at that moment made it so. And never before +had he noted how huge the boy’s body was in comparison +with his own weazened frame. He groped +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span> +stealthily behind him and found the door catch. The +cool touch of the metal helped him a little.</p> +<p>“I––I may be a trifle late––jest a trifle,” he hurried +on, “but I been hustlin’ to git here––that is, ever sense +about five o’clock, or thereabouts. There’s been something +I been wantin’ to tell you. I––I jest wanted to +say that I hoped it wa’n’t anything I might have said +or––or kinda hinted at, maybe, nights down to the +Tavern, that’s druv you out. That’s a mighty mean, +gossipy crowd down there, anyway, always kinda +leadin’ a man along till he gits to oversteppin’ hisself +a little.”</p> +<p>It was the first declaration of his own shortcomings +that he had ever voiced, an humble confession that +was more than half apology born of that afternoon’s +travail of spirit; but somehow it rang hopelessly inadequate +in his own ears at that minute. And yet +Young Denny’s head came swiftly forward at the +words; his eyes narrowed and he frowned as though +he were trying to believe he had heard correctly. +Then he laughed––laughed softly––and Old Jerry +knew what that laugh meant. The boy didn’t believe +even when he had heard; and his slow-drawled, half-satirical +question more than confirmed that suspicion.</p> +<p>“Wasn’t at all curious, then, about this?” he inquired, +with a whimsical twist to the words.</p> +<p>He touched his chin with the tips of his fingers. +Old Jerry’s treacherous lips flew open in his eagerness, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span> +and then closed barely in time upon the admission +that had almost betrayed him.</p> +<p>He was sorry now, too, that he had even lingered +to make his apology. That disturbing glint was flaring +brighter than ever in Young Denny’s eyes. Merely +because he was afraid to turn his back to pass out, +Old Jerry stood and watched with beadily attentive +eyes while the boy crossed and took a lantern from +its peg on the wall behind the stove and turned up +the wick and lighted it. That unexplained preparation +was as fascinating to watch as its purport was +veiled.</p> +<p>“You must be just a little curious about it––just +a little bit?” Denny insisted gravely. “I thought +you’d be––and all the others, too. That’s why I was +waiting for you––that and something in particular +that I did want to ask you, after I’d made you understand.”</p> +<p>If the first part of his statement was still tinged +with mirth, the second could not possibly have been +any more direct or earnest. Without further explanation, +one hand grasping his visitor’s thin shoulder, +he urged him outside and across the yard in the +direction of the black bulk of the barn. The rain +was still coming down steadily, but neither of them +noticed it at that moment. Old Jerry would have +balked at the yawning barn door but for that same +hand which was directing him and urging him on. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +His apprehension had now turned to actual fright +which bordered close on panic, and he heard the boy’s +voice as though it came from a great distance.</p> +<p>“–––two or three things I’d like to have you +understand and get straight,” Denny was repeating +slowly, “so that––so that if I asked you, you could +see that––someone else got them straight, too.”</p> +<p>Old Jerry was in no mental condition to realize +that that last statement was untinged by any lurking +sarcasm. He was able to think of but one +thing.</p> +<p>The hand upon his shoulder had loosened its grip. +Slowly the little man turned––turned with infinite +caution, and what he considered was a very capable +attitude of self-defense. And for a moment he refused +to believe his own eyes––refused to believe that, +in place of the threat of sudden death which he had +expected, Young Denny was merely standing there +before him, pointing with his free hand at a dark, +almost damp stain upon the dusty woodwork behind +the stalls. It flashed through his brain then that +Denny Bolton had not merely gone the way of the +other Boltons––it was not the jug alone that had stood +in the kitchen corner, but something far worse than +that.</p> +<p>“I got to humor him,” he told himself, although he +was shivering uncontrollably. “I got to keep a grip +on myself and kinda humor him.” And aloud, in a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span> +voice that was little more than a whisper, he murmured:</p> +<p>“What––what is it?”</p> +<p>“Couldn’t you guess––if you had to?”</p> +<p>Denny made the suggestion with appalling calm. +Old Jerry clenched his teeth to still their chattering.</p> +<p>“Maybe I could––maybe I could;” and his voice +was a little stronger. “I––I’d say it was blood, I +reckon, if anyone asked me.”</p> +<p>Without a word the boy set the lantern down and +walked across the barn to lay one hand upon the +flank of the nervous animal in the nearest stall.</p> +<p>“That’s what it is,” he stated slowly; and again he +touched the wound on his chin gingerly. “From this,” +he went on. “I came in last night to feed––and I––I +forgot to speak to Tom here, and it was dark. He––he +laced out and caught me––and that’s where I +landed, there against the wall.”</p> +<p>The servant of the “Gov’mint” nodded his comprehension––he +nodded it volubly, with deep bows +that would have done credit to a dancing master, lest +his comprehensions seem in the least bit veiled with +doubt. He even clicked his tongue sympathetically, +just as the plump newspaper man had done.</p> +<p>“Quite a tap––quite a tap!” he said as soothingly +as his uncertain tongue would permit; but he took care +to keep a safe distance between himself and his guide +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span> +when Denny stooped and lifted the lantern and led +the way outside.</p> +<p>Now that he was free from that detaining hand +upon his shoulder, he contemplated the advisability +of a sudden dash for the buggy and flight behind +the fat white mare. Nothing but the weakened condition +of his own knees and a lack of confidence in +her ability to carry him clear kept him from acting +instantly upon that impulse. And then the summoning +voice of the great blurred figure which had been +zigzagging across the grass before him checked him +at the very moment of decision.</p> +<p>Young Denny had stopped beside a sapling that +stood in a direct line with the kitchen window, and +was pointing down at a heap of broken crockery that +lay at its foot.</p> +<p>“And if anyone was to ask you,” he was deliberately +inquiring, “what do you suppose you would say +that had been?”</p> +<p>Old Jerry knew! He knew without one chance +for doubt; but never before had the truth seemed +more overwhelmingly dreadful or surcharged with +peril. A dozen diplomatic evasions flashed through +his mind, and were all condemned as inadequate for +that crisis. He knew that candor was his safest +course.</p> +<p>“Why, I––I’d say it looked mighty like a––a +broken jug,” he quavered, with elaborate interest. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span> +“Jest a common, ordinary jug that’s kinda got broke, +somehow. Yes, sir-e-e, all broke up, as you might +say!”</p> +<p>His shrill cackle of a voice caught in his throat, +and grew husky, and then broke entirely. Even +Young Denny, absorbed as he was in his methodical +exhibition of all the evidence, became suddenly aware +that the little figure beside him was swallowing hard––swallowing +with great, noisy gulps, and he lifted +the lantern until the yellow light fell full upon the +twitching face below him, illuminating every feature. +And he stared hard at all that the light revealed, for +Old Jerry’s face was very white.</p> +<p>“Jest a little, no-account jug that’s got busted,” +the shrill, bodiless voice went chattering on, while its +owner recoiled from the light. “Busted all to pieces +from hittin’ into a tree!” And then, reassuringly, on +a desperate impulse: “But don’t you go to worryin’ +over it––don’t you worry one mite! I’m goin’ to fix +it for you. Old Jerry’s a-goin’ to fix it for you in the +morning, so’s it’ll be just as good as new! You run +right along in now. It’s kinda wet out here––and––and +I got to be gittin’ along toward home.”</p> +<p>Absolute silence followed the promise. Young +Denny only lowered the lantern––and then lifted it +and stared, and lowered it once more.</p> +<p>“Fix it!” he echoed, his voice heavy with wonder. +“Fix it?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span></div> +<p>Then he noted, too, the chattering teeth and +meager, trembling body, and he thought he understood.</p> +<p>“You’d better come along in,” he ordered peremptorily. +“You come along inside. I’ll rake up the fire +and you can warm up a bit. I––I didn’t think, keeping +you out here in the rain. Why, you’ll feel better +after you’ve had a little rest. You ought not to be +out all day in weather like this, anyway. You’re +too––too–––”</p> +<p>He was going to say too old, but a quick thought +saved him. Old Jerry did not want to accompany +him; he would have done almost anything else with +a light heart; but that big hand had fallen again upon +his shoulder, and there was no choice left him.</p> +<p>Young Denny clicked the door shut before them +and pulled a chair up before the stove with businesslike +haste. After he had stuffed the fire-box full of fresh +fuel and the flame was roaring up the pipe, he turned +once more and stood, hands resting on his hips, staring +down at the small figure slumped deep in its seat.</p> +<p>“I didn’t understand,” he apologized again, his +voice very sober. “I––I ought to have remembered +that maybe you’d be tired out and wet, too. But I +didn’t––I was just thinking of how I could best +show you––these things––so’s you’d understand +them. You’re feeling better now?”</p> +<p>Furtively, from the corners of his eyes, Old Jerry +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span> +had been watching every move while the boy built up +the fire. And now, while Denny stood over him +talking so gravely, his head came slowly around until +his eyes were full upon that face; until he was able +to see clearly, there in the better light of that room, +all the solicitude that had softened the hard lines +of the lean jaw. It was hard to believe, after all that +he had passed through, and yet he knew that it could +not be possible––he knew that that voice could not +belong to any man who had been nursing a maniacal +vengeance behind a cunningly calm exterior.</p> +<p>There was no light of madness in those eyes which +were studying him so steadily––studying him with unconcealed +anxiety. Old Jerry could not have told +how it had come about; but there in the light, with +four good solid walls about him, he realized that a +miracle had taken place. Little by little his slack +body began to stiffen; little by little he raised himself. +Once he sighed, a sigh of deeper thankfulness than +Young Denny could ever comprehend, for Young +Denny did not know the awfulness of the peril +through which he had just passed.</p> +<p>“Godfrey” he thought, and the exclamation was +so poignantly real within him that it took audible +form without his knowledge. “Godfrey ’Lisha, but +that was a close call! That’s about as narrer a squeak +as I’ll ever hev, I reckon.”</p> +<p>And he wanted to laugh. An almost hysterical +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span> +fit of laughter straggled for utterance. Only because +the situation was too precious to squander, only because +he would have sacrificed both arms before +confessing the terror which had been shaking him +by the throat, was he able to stifle it. Instead, he +removed his drenched and battered hat and passed +one fluttering hand across his forehead, with just the +shade of unsteadiness for which the affair called.</p> +<p>“Yes, I’m a-feelin’ better now,” he sighed. “Godfrey, +yes, I’m a sight better already! Must ’a’ been +just a little touch of faintness, maybe. I’m kinda +subject to them spells when I’ve been overworked. +And I hev been a little mite druv up today––druv to +the limit, if the truth’s told. Things ain’t been goin’ +as smooth’s they might. Why––why, they ain’t nobody’d +believe what’s been crowded into this day, +even if I was to tell ’em!”</p> +<p>He filled his lungs again and shoved both feet +closer to the oven door.</p> +<p>“But that fire feels real nice,” he finished; “real +nice and comfortin’, somehow. And maybe I could +stop just a minute.” The old hungry light of curiosity +was kindling again, brighter than ever before, +in the beady little eyes. “As you was remarkin’, +back a stretch, you’d been a-waitin’ for me to come +along. Was they––was they something you wanted +to see me about?”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_X' id='CHAPTER_X'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +</div> +<p>The perplexed frown still furrowed Young +Denny’s forehead. He felt that the fire had +wrought a most remarkably swift cure of all +that he had feared, but the anxiety faded from his +eyes. White head perked forward, balanced a little +on one side, birdlike, Old Jerry was waiting for him +to pick up the thread which had been broken so long. +And now it was the big-shouldered boy who faltered +in his words, uncertain just how to begin.</p> +<p>“I––I don’t know just how to ask you,” he started +heavily. “I’m––I am going away. I’m figuring on +being gone quite a while, I think. First, just after +I had decided to go, some time last night, I made up +my mind to ask you to take care of the stock till I +came back. I thought maybe it wouldn’t be too hard +for you––with you coming by at night, anyhow. +There’s just the one cow and the team, and the hens +to feed. And then I––I got to thinkin’ that maybe, +too, you’d be able to do something else for me, if +I sort of explained how things were. There––there +wasn’t anyone else I could think of who’d be likely +to want to do me a favor.”</p> +<p>He paused and licked his lips. And Old Jerry, too, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span> +furtively touched his with the tip of his tongue. He +was waiting breathlessly, but he managed to nod his +head a little, encouragingly, as he leaned closer.</p> +<p>“And that was what I was really waiting for,” +the slow voice went on ponderously. “I saw this +morning––anybody could have seen––what the Judge +meant them all to believe along the street when we +drove through. Somehow things have changed in the +last twelve hours. I sort of look at some things +differently than I did, and so it was funny, just funny +to watch him, and I’m not so blind that I don’t know +what his story will be tonight down at the Tavern. +Not that I care what they say, either. But there is +some one who couldn’t help believin’ it––couldn’t believe +anything else––after what happened last night.” +He stopped, groping for words to finish. “And so +I––I waited for you to come,” he went on lamely. “I +took you outside and showed you how it really happened, +so that––so that you could tell <i>her</i>––the +truth.”</p> +<p>He nodded over his shoulder––nodded once out +across the valley in the direction of John Anderson’s +small drab cottage huddled in the shadow under the +hill. And now, once he had fairly begun, all the +diffidence, all the self-consciousness went from his +voice. It was only big and low and ponderous, as +always, as he went back and told the old man, who +sat drinking it in, every detail of that night before, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span> +when he had stooped and risen and sent the stone jug +crashing through the window––when he had turned, +with blood dripping from his chin, to find Dryad +Anderson there in the doorway, eyes wide with horror +and loathing. Not until he had reached that +point did Old Jerry move or hint at an interruption.</p> +<p>“But why in time didn’t you tell her yourself?” he +asked then. “Why didn’t you explain that old Tom +hit you a clip out there in the dark?”</p> +<p>Young Denny’s face burned.</p> +<p>“I––I tried to,” he explained simply. “I––I +started toward her, meaning to explain, but I tripped, +there on the threshold, and went down on my knees. +I must have been a little sick––a little giddy. And +when I got up again she––she was gone.”</p> +<p>Old Jerry nodded his head judicially. He sucked +in his lips from sheer delight in the thrill of it all, +and nodded his head in profound solemnity.</p> +<p>“Jest like a woman––jest like a woman, a-condemnin’ +of a man without a bit of mercy! Jest like +’em! I ain’t never been enticed yet into givin’ up +my freedom; but many’s the time I’ve said––says +I–––”</p> +<p>The boy’s set face checked him; made him remember. +This was no mimic thing. It was real; +too real to need play-acting. And with that thought +came recollection. All in a flash it dawned on him +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span> +that this was no man-created situation; it must have +something greater than that behind it.</p> +<p>That morning had seen his passing from the circle +to which he had belonged as long as the circle had +existed. All through that dreary day he had known +that he could never go back to it. Just why he could +not say, but he felt that that decision was irrevocable. +And for that whole day he had been alone––more +utterly, absolutely alone than he had ever been in his +whole life––yet here was a place awaiting him, needing +him. For some reason it was not quite so hard +to look straight back into the eyes of that soul which +he had discovered that day; it wasn’t so hard, even +though he knew it now for the pitiful old fraud it +really was.</p> +<p>His thin, leathery face was working spasmodically. +And it was alight––aglow with a light that came +entirely from within.</p> +<p>“Could you maybe explain,” he quavered hungrily; +“could you kinda tell me––just why it is––you’re +a-askin’ me? It––it ain’t jest because you hev to, +entirely; now, is it? It ain’t because there ain’t nothin’ +else left you to do?”</p> +<p>Denny Bolton sensed immediately more than half +of what was behind the question. He shook his +head.</p> +<p>“No,” he answered steadily. “No, because I’m +going to try to tell her again, myself, tonight. It’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span> +only partly because maybe I––I won’t be able to see +her before I go––and part because she––she’d believe +you, somehow, I think, when she wouldn’t believe +any of the rest.”</p> +<p>The white-haired old man sighed. His stiffened +body slackened as he shifted his feet against the +stove.</p> +<p>“Why––why, I kinda hoped it was something like +that,” he murmured; and he was talking more to +himself than to Denny. “I kinda hoped it was––but +I never had no reason to believe it.”</p> +<p>His voice lifted until it was its shriller, more natural +falsetto.</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t ’a’ believed myself today, at twelve +o’clock noon,” he stated flatly. “No, sir-e-e! After +takin’ stock of myself, as you might say, the way I +done this morning, I wouldn’t ’a’ believed myself on +oath!”</p> +<p>His feet dropped noisily to the floor, and he sat +bolt upright again.</p> +<p>“But she’s a-goin’ to believe me! Godfrey, yes, +she’ll believe me when I git through tellin’ her!”</p> +<p>His pale eyes clung to the boy’s face, tinged with +astonishment before so much vehemence.</p> +<p>“And ain’t it kinda struck you––ain’t it sorta come +to you that she wa’n’t quite fair, either, any more +than the rest of us, a-thinkin’––a-thinkin’ what she +did, without any real proof?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span></div> +<p>Young Denny did not have time to reply.</p> +<p>“No, I reckon it ain’t,” Old Jerry rushed on. +“And I don’t know’s I’ve got much right criticizing +either. Not very much! I’ve been a tidy hand at +jedgin’ other folks’ matters until jest lately. Some +way I ain’t quite so handy at it as I was. And I kinda +expect she’s goin’ to be sorry she even thought it, +soon enough, without my tryin’ to make her any more +so. She’s goin’ to be mighty uncomfortable sorry, +if she’s anything like me!”</p> +<p>He rose and shuffled across to the door, and +stopped there. Denny could not understand the new +thrill there was in his cracked voice, nor the light +in those pale eyes. But he knew that the old man +before him had been making something close akin +to an eleventh-hour confession; making it out of a +profound thankfulness for the opportunity. With +the same gesture with which he bade the old man +wait, his big hand went inside his shirt, and came +out again. And he reached out and pressed something +into Old Jerry’s knotty fingers.</p> +<p>“I––I was sure you’d do it,” he told him. “I +knew you would. And I want you to take this, too, +and keep it. I don’t want to go away like this, but +I have to. If I didn’t start right now I––I might +not go at all. I hate to leave her alone––in this town. +That’s half of what the Judge let me have today on +this place. It’s not much, but it’s something if she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span> +should need anything while I’m gone. I thought you +might––see that she was all right––till I got back?”</p> +<p>The servant of the “Gov’mint” stood and stared +down at the limp little roll of bills in his hand; he +stared until something caught in his throat and made +him gulp again noisily. But his face was shamelessly +defiant of the mist that smarted under his eyelids +when he looked up again.</p> +<p>“Take care of her?” he whispered. “Me take +care of her for you? Why––why, Godfrey––why, +man–––”</p> +<p>He dashed one hand across his eyes.</p> +<p>“I’m a old gossipy fool,” he exclaimed. “Nothin’ +but a old gossipy fool; but I reckon you don’t hev to +<i>count</i> them bills over before you leave ’em with me. +Not unless you want to. I’ve been just an ordinary, +common waggle-tongue. That’s what I really come +for in such a hurry tonight, once I’d thought of it. +Jest to see if I couldn’t nose around into business +that wa’n’t no concern of mine. But I’m gittin’ over +that––I’m gittin’ over that fast! Learning a little +dignity of bearin’, too, as you might say. And I +don’t deny I ain’t a little curious yet––more’n a little +curious. But I want to tell you this: There’s some +folks that lies mostly for profit, and some that lies +largely for their own amusement, and they both do +jest about as much damage in the long run, and I ain’t +no better, jest because I never made nothin’ outen +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span> +mine. But if you could kinda drop me a line, maybe +once in a while, and tell me how you’re gittin’ on, I’d +be mighty glad to hear. An’ it wouldn’t do no harm, +either.” He nodded his head, in turn, in the direction +of the drab cottage across the valley. “Because––because +she’s goin’ to be waitin’ to hear––she’s +goin’ to be sorry, and kinda wonderin’. I know––well, +jest because I know!”</p> +<p>Still he lingered, with his fingers on the door catch. +He shoved out his free hand.</p> +<p>“I––I suppose we’d ought to shake hands, hedn’t +we,” he faltered; “bein’ as it’s kinda considered the +reg’lar and customary thing to do on such occasions?”</p> +<p>Denny was smiling as his hand closed over those +clawlike fingers; he was smiling in a way that Old +Jerry had never seen before. Because the noise in +his throat was growing alarmingly louder every moment, +the latter went on talking almost wildly, to +cover that weakness which he could not control.</p> +<p>“I hope you git on,” he said. “And I reckon you +will. It’s funny––it’s more’n that––and I don’t know +where I got the idea. But it’s kinda come to me, +somehow, that maybe it was that account in the paper––that +story of Jeddy Conway––that’s set you to +leavin’. It ain’t none of my business, and I ain’t askin’ +no questions, but I do want to say that there never +was a time when you couldn’t lick the everlastin’ tar +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span> +outen him. And you’ve growed some since then. +Jest a trifle––jest a trifle!”</p> +<p>The boy’s smile widened and widened. Then he +laughed aloud softly and nodded his head.</p> +<p>“I’ll send you the papers,” he promised. “I’ll send +you all of them.”</p> +<p>Old Jerry stood with his outstretched hand poised +in midair while he realized that his chance shot had +gone home. And suddenly, unaccountably, he began +to chuckle; he began to cackle noisily.</p> +<p>“I might ’a’ knowed it,” he whispered. “I ought +to hev knowed it all along. Now, you don’t hev to +worry––they ain’t one mite of a thing I ain’t a-goin’ +to see to while you’re away. You don’t want nothin’ +on your mind, because you’re goin’ to hev a +considerable somethin’ on your hands. And I got +to git along now. Godfrey, but it’s late for me to +be up here, ain’t it? I got to hustle, if I ever did; +and there ain’t too much time to spare. For tonight––tonight, +before I git through, I aim to put a spoke +in the Jedge’s wheel, down to the Tavern, that’ll +make him think the axles of that yello’-wheeled gig +of his’n needs greasin’. Jest a trifle––jest a trifle!”</p> +<p>He opened the door and slammed it shut behind +him even before the boy could reply. Still smiling +whimsically, Young Denny stood and listened to the +grating of the wheels as the buggy was turned about +outside––heard the old rig groan once, and then +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span> +complain shrilly as it started on its way. But no +one witnessed Old Jerry’s wild descent to the village +that night; no one knew the mad speed he made, save +the old mare between the shafts; and she was kept +too busy with the lash that whistled over her fat +flanks to have given the matter any consistent +thought.</p> +<p>Old Jerry drove that scant mile or two this night +under the spur of his one greatest inspiration; and +while he drove he talked aloud to himself.</p> +<p>“And I was a-goin’ to fix it for him,” he muttered +once, “I was a-goin’ to fix that old busted jug in +the morning. Godfrey, I must ’a’ been flustered!” +He shrilled in uncontrollable glee at the recollection. +And then again, later and far more gravely:</p> +<p>“I’m a-gittin’ more religious every livin’ day. I’m +gittin’ more religious jest from standin’ around and +kinda watchin’ how things is made to work out right, +jest when you’ve about decided that the Lord ain’t +payin’ as much attention to details as he might.”</p> +<p>He knew that there had to be a light in the windows +of the Tavern office; he knew that he had to be +in time. That was the finger of a Something behind +the whole day’s developments which was directing +it all so masterfully. And because he was so certain +of it all––because he was positive that he was the +agent who had been selected to mete out justice at last––he +found himself possessed of a greater courage +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span> +than he had ever known before as he clambered +down from his seat and mounted the worn steps.</p> +<p>A rush of chill air swept the group about the +sprawling stove as he opened the door and made each +member lift his head, each after a fashion that was +startlingly indicative of the man himself. For Judge +Maynard wheeled sharply as the cold blast struck him––wheeled +with head flung back challengingly, and +a harsh rebuke in every feature––while old Dave +Shepard turned and merely shivered. He just shivered +and flinched a little from the draft, appealingly. The +rest registered an ascending scale of emotions betwixt +and between.</p> +<p>Just as he knew he would find them they sat. +Judge Maynard had the floor; and it was an easy +thing to read that he had all but reached the crisis +of his recital. Any man could have read that merely +from the protest in the faces of the rest. And yet +Old Jerry simply stood there and swept the group +with serene and dangerous geniality.</p> +<p>“Evenin’, folks,” he saluted them mildly.</p> +<p>His mildness was like a match to the fuse. Judge +Maynard pounded his fat knee with a fatter fist, and +exploded thunderously:</p> +<p>“Shut that door!” he roared. “Shut that door!”</p> +<p>Old Jerry complied with amazing alacrity. The +very panels shivered with the force of the swing that +slammed it close. The Judge should have known +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span> +right there––he should have read the writing on the +wall––and yet he failed to do that thing. Instead, +he turned back once more to his audience––back to +his interrupted tale, and left Old Jerry standing there +before the door, ignored.</p> +<p>“As I was sayin’.” He cleared his throat. “As +I was sayin’ when this unnecessary interruption occurred, +I realized right from the moment when I +opened the door and saw him standing there in front +of me, grinning, and his chin cut wide open, that +there was something wrong. I am a discerning man––and +I knew! And it didn’t take me long to convince +him––not very long!––that there were other +communities which would find him more welcome than +this one. Maybe I was harsh––maybe I was––but +harsh cases require harsh remedies. And because +he didn’t have the money, I offered to let him have +enough to carry him out of town, and something to +keep him about as long as he’ll last now, I’m thinking, +although that place of his isn’t worth as much as +the paper to write the mortgage on.</p> +<p>“I knew it had come at last––but, at that, I didn’t +get anything that I wanted to call real proof until +after we’d drawn up the papers and signed ’em, and +were about ready to start back. Then, when we were +coming down the steps of the clerk’s office, I got all +the proof I wanted, and a little more than that. He––he +stumbled just about then, and would have gone +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span> +down on his face if I hadn’t held him up. And he +was laughing out loud to himself, chuckling, with +one fist full of money fit to draw a crowd. And he +pulled away from me just when I was trying to force +him into the buggy––pulled away and sort of leered +up at me, waving that handful of bills right under my +nose.</p> +<p>“‘Oh, come now, Judge,’ he sort of hiccoughed, +‘this ain’t the way for two old friends to part. This +ain’t the way for me to treat an old friend who’s +given me this. I want to buy you something––I want +to buy you at least one drink––before I go. Come +on, now, Judge. What’ll you have?’ says he.”</p> +<p>They had all forgotten Old Jerry’s interruption; +they had forgotten everything else but the Judge’s +recital, that was climbing to its climax. That room +was very quiet when the speaker paused and waited +for his words to sink in––very quiet until a half-smothered +giggle broke the stillness.</p> +<p>There was an unholy glee in that mirth––a mocking, +lilting note of actual joy which rang almost profane +at such a moment. Man for man it brought +that circle erect in the chairs; man for man they sat +and stared at the grotesque figure which was rocking +now in a paroxysm of laughter too real for simulation. +In a breathless hush they turned from the +offender back to the judge, waiting, appalled, for the +storm to break.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span></div> +<p>Judge Maynard’s round moon-face went purple. +Twice he tried to speak before he sat silent, annihilation +in his eyes, until Jerry’s outbreak had subsided. +Then he lifted one forefinger and pointed, +with all the majesty such a gesture could ever convey, +to the empty chair––the chair which Old Jerry should +have been occupying in becoming silence at that moment.</p> +<p>“Have you gone crazy?” he thundered. “Have +you––or are you just naturally witless? Or was there +something you wanted to say? If there isn’t––if +you’ve no questions to ask––you get over to that +chair and sit down where you belong!”</p> +<p>It was then that the rest of the circle realized +that something had gone wrong––most mightily +wrong! According to all precedent, the little, white-haired +man should have shrunk back and cowered +beneath that verbal lash, and obeyed without a glance. +They all realized that there was imminent a climax +unforeseen by all––all but the Judge; and he was too +blind with rage to see.</p> +<p>Very meekly Old Jerry bore his thundered rebuke––too +meekly. But after the judge had finished he +failed to move; he merely stood there, facing the +town’s great man. And in his attitude there was +something of infantile, derisive, sparrowlike impudence +as he peered back into the Judge’s face––something +that was very like the attitude of an outraged, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span> +ruffled old reprobate of a parrot rearing himself erect.</p> +<p>Old Jerry made no haste. It was a thing which +required a nice deliberation. And so he waited––waited +and prolonged the moment to its last, sweetest +second. Once more he chuckled, to himself this +time––just once, before he began to speak. That +old Tavern office had never been so deathly still +before.</p> +<p>“A question?” he echoed at last, thoughtfully. “A +question? Well, Jedge, there was one thing I was +a-goin’ to ask you. Jest one triflin’ thing I was kinda +curious to know. Why, I was a-goin’ to ask you, +back a spell––What did you hev? It kinda interested +me, wonderin’ about it. But now––now that +I’ve heard your story in full, I reckon I’ll hev to +change that question a mite. I reckon they ain’t +nothin’ left but to ask you––How many did you hev? +How many, Jedge? For, Jedge, you’re talkin’ most +mighty wild tonight!”</p> +<p>And that silence endured––endured even after the +huge man had half-risen, purple features gone white, +and then dropped heavily back into his chair before +that rigid figure in its sodden garments which had +turned from him toward the rest of the circle of +regulars.</p> +<p>Old Jerry made his formal exit that night––he +knew that he was resigning his chair––but the thing +was very cheap at the price.</p> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_4' id='linki_4'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span> +<img src='images/illus-149.jpg' alt='' title='' width='464' height='639' /><br /> +<p class='caption'> +“WHAT YOU NEED, GENTLEMEN, IS A TRIFLE WIDER READIN’––JUST<br /> +A TRIFLE! FOR YOU AIN’T BEIN’ WELL POSTED ON FACTS!”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<p>“An’ I reckon, too,” he went on deliberately, and +there was a wicked fleer of sarcasm tinging the words, +“I reckon I’ll hev to kinda apologize to you gentlemen +for interruptin’ your evenin’s entertainment, as +you might say. I’m sorry I ain’t able to remain, for +it’s interestin’. I don’t know’s I’ve ever heard anything +that was jest as excitin’ an’ thrillin’, but I’ve got +something more important needin’ my attention this +evenin’––meanin’ that I ain’t got nothin’ in particular +that’s a-callin’ me! But it’s no more’n my plain duty +for me to tell you this: You’d ought to follow the +papers a mite closer from now on. It’s illuminatin’––it’s +broadenin’! What you need, gentlemen, is a +trifle wider readin’––jest a trifle––jest a trifle! For +you ain’t bein’ well posted on facts!”</p> +<p>Nobody moved. Nobody was capable of stirring +even. Old Jerry bowed to them from the doorway––he +bowed till the water trickled in a stream from the +brim of his battered hat.</p> +<p>And this time, as he passed out, he closed the +door very gently behind him.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XI' id='CHAPTER_XI'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> +</div> +<p>It would have been hard for her to have explained +just why it was so, but Dryad Anderson had been +sitting there in the unlighted front room of the +little once-white cottage before Judge Maynard’s boxlike +place on the hill, watching hour after hour for +that light to blink out at her from the dark window of +Denny Bolton’s house on the opposite slope. Ever +since it had grown dark enough for that signal to be +seen, which had called across to her so many nights, +she had been waiting before the table in front of the +window––waiting even while she told herself that it +could not appear. It was not Saturday night; there +was no real reason why she should be watching, unless––unless +it was hope that held her there.</p> +<p>Only in the last few hours since twilight had she +admitted to herself the possibility that such a hope +lurked behind her vigil. Before then, when the +thought had first come to her that Denny might cry +out to her through the night, with that half-shuttered +light, she had stifled it with a savageness that left +her shaking, panting and dizzy from its bewildering +intensity.</p> +<p>Time after time she told herself that it would go +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span> +unheeded by her, no matter how long or how insistently +it beckoned, if by the hundredth chance it should +flare up beyond the shadows, but as minutes dragged +interminably by into equally interminable hours, the +strained fierceness of that whispered promise grew +less and less knifelike in its hardness––less and less +assured.</p> +<p>Somehow, ever since the first light of that gray +day had discovered her sitting there in almost the +same position in which she now sat, eyes straining +out across the valley, pointed chin cupped in her +palms, that fearful, almost insane passion which had +held each nerve and fiber of her taut as tight-stretched +wire through the entire sleepless night, had begun +to give way to something even less easy to endure.</p> +<p>All the terror which had checked her that evening +when she swung the door open and stood poised +on the threshold, a low laugh of sheerest delight in +the costume she had worn across for him to see ready +to burst from parted lips––all the horror that had +held her incapable of motion until Denny had swung +around and found her there, and lifted his arms and +attempted to speak, had given way, in the first hours +that followed, to a flaming scorn, a searing contempt +for him and for his weakness that had lost him his +fight.</p> +<p>All through that night which followed her panic +flight from the huge, heavy-footed figure that had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span> +groped out for her, called to her, and dropped asprawl +her own small cloak in the doorway, Denny Bolton’s +blood-soiled face and drunkenly reckless laugh had +been with her, feeding that rage which scorched her +eyes beneath their lids––that burned her throat and +choked her.</p> +<p>Little drops of blood oozed out upon her lips––strangely +brilliant crimson drops against that colorless +background––where her teeth sank deep in the +agony of disillusionment that made each pulse-beat +a sledge-hammer blow within her brain. Her small +palms were etched blue under the clenched fingers +where the nails bit the flesh. And yet––and yet, for +all the agony of it which made her lift her blanched +face from time to time throughout the night––a face +so terribly strained that it was almost distorted––and +set her gasping chokingly that she hated him, hated +him for a man who couldn’t fight and keep on fighting, +even when the odds were great––when the light of +that new, dreary day had come streaking in across +her half-bowed head, something else began to take +the place of all that bitterness and scorn.</p> +<p>And throughout the day she had still been struggling +against it, struggling with all the tense fierceness +of which her spirit was capable––her spirit that +was far too big for the slim body that housed it. +Yet that thought could not be shaken off. She +couldn’t forget it, couldn’t wipe out the recollection +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span> +of that great, gaping wound that had dripped blood +from his chin. She tried to close her eyes and shut +it out as she went from task to task that day, and +it would not fade.</p> +<p>Somehow it wasn’t that man at all whom she remembered +as the afternoon dragged by to its close; it +wasn’t the big-shouldered body nervelessly asprawl +upon the floor that filled her memory. Instead a +picture of an awkward, half-grown boy flashed up +before her––a big, ungainly, terribly embarrassed boy +who turned from watching the mad flight of a rabbit +through the brush to smile at her reassuringly, even +though his face was torn raw from her own nails.</p> +<p>That was the point at which the tide of her chaotic +thoughts began to waver and turn. Long before +she realized what she was doing she had fallen to +wondering, with a solicitude that made moist and +misty once more her tip-tilted eyes and softened the +thin line of her lips, whether or not that bruise had +been washed out, cleansed and cleanly bandaged.</p> +<p>When she did realize what that thought meant, it +had been too long with her to be routed. She was +too tired to combat it, anyway, too tired with the +reaction of that long, throbbing night to do more +than wonder at herself. Twilight came and the gray +mist that had been over the hills for hours dissolved +into rain. With the first hint of darkness that the +storm brought with it she began to watch––to peer out +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span> +of the window whenever her busy footsteps carried +her past it, at the bleak place across the hollow. +Before it was fairly night she began to understand +that she was not merely watching for the light, but +hoping, praying wordlessly that it might shine. And +when her work was finished she had taken her place +there, her slim body in its scant black skirt and little +white blouse hunched boyishly forward as always +across the table.</p> +<p>Even that girl who, after the hours which had +been almost cataclysmic for her, could scarcely have +been expected to be able to comprehend it clearly yet––even +she read the meaning of the slackened cords +of her body, of her loosened lips and wet eyes. As +long as she could she had fed the flame within her +soul––fed it with every bitter thought and harsh +judgment which her brain could evolve––and yet that +flame had slackened and smouldered and finally died +out entirely. Self-shame, self-scorn even, could not +rekindle it.</p> +<p>Her lips were no longer white and straight and +feverish with contempt; they were damp and full +again, and curved and half-open with compassion. +The ache was still there in her breast––a great gnawing +pain which it seemed at that moment time could +never remove, but it was no longer the wild hatred +which made her pant with a desire to make him +suffer, too, just as she had suffered that night through. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span> +The pain was just as great, but it was pity now––only +pity and an unaccountable yearning to draw that +bruised face down against her and croon over it.</p> +<p>In spite of the numbness, in spite of the lassitude +which that burnt-out passion had left behind in brain +and body, she knew what it meant. She understood. +She had hated his weakness; she still hated his lack +of manhood which had made him fail her. That +hatred would be a long time dying now––if it ever +did perish. But she couldn’t hate <i>him</i>! She looked +that fact in the face, dumb at first at the awakening. +She couldn’t hate him––not the man he was! There +was a distinction––a difference very clear to her +woman-brain. She could despise his cowardice; she +could despise herself for caring still––but the caring +still went on. Half-vaguely she realized it, but she +knew the change had come. The girlishness was +gone from it forever. She had to care now as a +woman always cares––not for the thing he was, but +in spite of it.</p> +<p>“I ought to hate him,” she told herself once, aloud. +“I know I ought to hate him, and yet––and yet I +don’t believe I can. Why, I––I can’t even hate myself, +as I did a little while back, because I still care!”</p> +<p>It was a habit that had grown out of her long +loneliness––those half-whispered conversations with +herself. And now only one conviction remained. +Again and again she told herself that she could not go +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span> +to meet him that night––could not go, even if he +should call to her. And that, too, she put into whispered +words.</p> +<p>“Even if he lights the window, I can’t––I couldn’t! +Oh, not tonight! He won’t––he won’t think of it. +But I couldn’t let him touch me––until––until I’ve +had a little time to forget!”</p> +<p>But she was watching still––watching with small, +gold-crowned head nodding heavily, eyes half-veiled +with sinking lids––when that half-shaded window in +the dark house glowed suddenly yellow with the light +behind it. She was still hoping, praying dumbly +that it might be, when Young Denny lifted the black-chimneyed +lamp from its bracket on the kitchen wall +that night, after he had stood and listened with a +smile on his lips to Old Jerry’s hurried departure, and +carried it into the front room which he scarcely ever +entered except upon that errand.</p> +<p>At first she did not believe. She thought it was +only a trick of her brain, so tired now that it was +as little capable of connected thought as her worn-out +body was of motion. Hardly breathing she stared +until she saw the great blot of his body silhouetted +against the pane for a moment as he crowded between +the lamp, staring across at her, she knew.</p> +<p>She rose then, rose slowly and very cautiously as +though she feared her slightest move might make it +vanish. Young Denny’s bobbing lantern, swinging in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span> +one hand as he crossed before the house and plunged +into the thicket that lay between them, was all that +convinced her––made her believe that she had seen +aright.</p> +<p>“I can’t go––I can’t!” she breathed. And then, +lifting her head, vehemently, as if he could hear:</p> +<p>“I want to––oh, you know I want to! But I can’t +come to you tonight––not until I’ve had a little longer––to +think.”</p> +<p>Almost before she had finished speaking another +voice answered, a soft, dreamy voice that came so +abruptly in the quiet house that it made her wheel +like a startled wild thing. She had forgotten him +for the time––that little, stooped figure at its bench +in the back room workshop. For hours she had not +given him a thought, and he had made not so much +as a motion to make her remember his presence. She +could not even remember when his sing-song, unending +monologue had ceased, but she realized then that +he had been more silent that night than ever before.</p> +<p>Earlier in the evening when she had lighted his +lamp for him and set out his lump of moist clay, and +helped him to his place on the high stool, she had +thought to notice some difference in him.</p> +<p>Usually John Anderson was possessed of one or +two unvarying moods. Either he plunged contentedly +into his task of reproducing the multitude of small +white figures around the walls, or else he merely sat +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span> +and stared up at her hopelessly, vacantly, until she put +the clay herself into his hands. Tonight it had been +different, for when she had placed the damp mass +between his limp fingers he had laid it aside again, +raised astonishingly clear eyes to hers and shaken +his head.</p> +<p>“After a little––after a little while,” he had said. +“I––I want to think a little first.”</p> +<p>It had amazed her for a moment. At any other +time it would have frightened her, but tonight as +she stroked his bowed head, she told herself that it +was nothing more than a new vagary of his anchorless +mind.</p> +<p>But that same strangely clear, almost sane glow +which had puzzled her then was still there when she +turned. It was even brighter than before, and the +slow words which had startled her, for all their +dreamy softness, seemed very sane as well.</p> +<p>“You have to go,” John Anderson answered her +faltering, half-audible whisper. “You have to go––but +you’ll be back soon. Oh, so soon! And I’ll be +safe till you come!”</p> +<p>Dryad flashed forward a step, both hands half-raised +to her throat as he spoke, almost believing +that the miracle for which she had ceased even to +hope had come that night. And then she understood––she +knew that the bent figure which had +already turned back to its bench had only repeated +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span> +her words, parrotlike; she knew that he had only +pieced together a recollection of the absence which +her vigil before the window had meant on a former +occasion and repeated her own words of that other +night.</p> +<p>And yet her brain clamored that there was more +behind it all than mere witless repetition. John +Anderson was smiling at her, too, smiling like a +benevolent wraith. She saw that his pile of clay +was still untouched, but there was no hint of petulant +perplexity in his face, nothing of the terrified +impotence which the inactivity of his fingers had +always heralded before. He was just smiling––vaguely +to be sure and a little uncertainly––but +smiling in utter contentment and satisfaction, for all +that.</p> +<p>Very slowly––wonderingly, she crossed to him and +put both arms about his white head and drew it +against her.</p> +<p>“I think you knew,” she said to him, unsteadily. +“I think you are able to understand better than I +can myself. And I know, too, now. I do have to +go––I must go to him. But he need not even know, +until I tell him some day––that I was with him tonight.”</p> +<p>The old man pulled away from her clasp, gently +but very insistently. And he nodded––nodded as +though he had understood. She paused and looked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span> +back at him from the doorway, just as she had always +hesitated. He was following her with his eyes. +Again he shook his head, just as positively as he +might have, had he been the man he might have been.</p> +<p>“Some day,” he reiterated, serenely, “some day! +And she’ll know then––some day I’ll tell her––that +I was with her tonight.”</p> +<p>She had forgotten the rain. It was coming down +heavily, and it was dark, too––very, very dark. She +stopped a while, as long as she dared, and waited +with the rain beating cold upon her uncovered head +and bare throat until her eyes saw the path a little +more clearly. It took her a long time to feel her +way forward that night. And even when she came +within sight of Denny’s lantern, even when she was +near enough to see him through the thicket ahead +of her, in the little patch of light, she had not decided +what she meant to do.</p> +<p>But with that first glimpse of him squatting there +in the small cleared space it came to her what her +course should be. She realized that if it was an +impossibility for her to go to him, she could at least +let him know she had been there––let him know that +he had not been entirely alone while he waited. She +even smiled to herself––smiled with wistful, half-sad, +elfen tenderness as she, too, huddled down without +a sound, there in the wet bushes opposite him, and +decided how she would tell him.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span></div> +<p>Denny Bolton never quite knew how long he +waited in the rain before he was certain that +there was no use waiting longer. More than half +the night had dragged by when he reached finally +into the pockets of his coat and searched for a scrap +of paper. Watching from her place in the thicket +near him, she recognized the small white card which +he discovered––she even reached out one hand instinctively +for her invitation from the Judge, which +she had told him had never arrived and for which +she had hunted in vain throughout the following +days.</p> +<p>With an unaccountable gladness because he knew +straining at her throat, she watched him draw the +lantern nearer and read again the words it bore before +he turned it over and wrote, laboriously, with +the thick pencil that he used to check logs back in +the hills, some message across its back.</p> +<p>It was a message to her, she knew; and she knew, +too, that he was going now. Deliberately she reached +out then and found a rotten branch beside her. Young +Denny’s head shot up as it cracked between her +hands––shot swiftly erect while he stared hard at +that wall of darkness which hid her. And swiftly +as she fled, like some noiseless night creature of the +woods, his sudden, plunging rush almost discovered +her.</p> +<p>Back in the safety of the blackness she stood and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span> +saw him bend over the place where she had been +crouching; she saw him put his hand upon the patch +of dead ferns which her body had crushed flat, and +knew that he found it still warm. She even held up +her face, as though she were giving him her lips––she +reached out her arms to him––when she saw +him rise from an examination of her foot-prints in +the mold, smiling his slow, infinitely grave smile as +he nodded his head over what he had seen.</p> +<p>Back over the path she had come she followed +the dancing point of his lantern, sometimes almost +upon him, sometimes lagging far behind when he +stopped and strained his ears for her. All recollection +of the night before was gone from her mind, +wiped out as utterly as though it had never existed. +Nothing but a great gladness possessed her, a joy +that amounted almost to mischievous glee whenever +he stood still a moment and listened.</p> +<p>Not until she had waited many minutes after he +stooped and slipped the card beneath the door did +she come out from the cover of the woods. But she +raced forward madly then, and flung the door open, +and stooped for it where it lay white against the +floor.</p> +<p>All the mischievous glee went from her face in +that next moment. Bit by bit it faded before the +advance of that same strained whiteness that had +marred it, hours before. All the wistfulness that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span> +made her face so childlike, all the hunger that made +the hurt in her breast came back while she read, +over and over, the words which Denny had written +for her across the back of her card, until she could +repeat them without looking at it. And even then +she only half-understood what they meant. Once +she opened the door and peered out into the blackness, +searching for the lantern that had disappeared.</p> +<p>“Why––why he’s gone! He came to tell me that +he was going away,” she murmured, dully. And +then, still more dully:</p> +<p>“And I didn’t tell him I was sorry. I’ve let him +go without even telling him how sorry I was––for +the hurt upon his chin!”</p> +<p>Perhaps it was the silence that made her turn; +perhaps she simply turned with no thought or reason +at all, but she faced slowly about at that moment, +just in time to see John Anderson nod and +smile happily at something he alone could see––just +in time to hear him sigh softly once, before his arms +went slack upon his work-bench and his head drooped +forward above them.</p> +<p>The bit of a card fluttered to the floor as both her +tight-clenched fists lifted toward her throat. The +softest of pitying little moans came quavering from +her lips. She needed no explanation of what that +suddenly limp body meant! And she understood +better now, too, that untouched lump of clay upon +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span> +the boards beside his bowed head. John Anderson’s +long task was finished. He had known it was finished, +and had been merely resting tonight––resting +content before he started upon that long journey, +before he followed that face, tumbled of hair and +uplifted of lip, which seemed always to be calling +to him.</p> +<p>The slim-bodied girl whose face was so like what +that other woman’s face had been went slowly across +to him where he sat. After a while she slipped her +arm about his wasted shoulders, just as she had done +so often on other nights. A racking sob shook her +when she first tried to speak––and she tried again.</p> +<p>“You kept faith, didn’t you, dear?” she whispered +to him. “Oh, but you kept faith with her––right––right +up to the end. Please God––please God, I +may get my chance back again––to try to keep it, +too. You’ve gone to her––and––and I’m glad! You +waited a long time, dear, and you were very patient. +But, oh, you’ve left me––you’ve left me all +alone!”</p> +<p>The tears came then. Great, searing drops that +had been hopelessly dammed back the night before +rolled down her thin cheeks. She stooped +and touched the silvered head with her lips before +she groped her way into the other room and found +her chair at the table.</p> +<p>“He knew I was there with him,” she tried to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span> +whisper. “He knew I was, I know! But I wish I +could tell him I’m sorry. Oh, I wish I could!”</p> +<p>And Old Jerry found her so, head pillowed upon +her outstretched arms, her hair in a marvelous shimmering +mass across her little shoulders when he +came the next morning, almost before the day was +fairly begun, to tell her all the things there were +for him to tell.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XII' id='CHAPTER_XII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> +</div> +<p>Monday morning was always a busy morning +in Jesse Hogarty’s Fourteenth Street +gymnasium; busy, that is to say, along about +that hour when morning was almost ready to slip +into early afternoon. The reason for this late activity +was very easy to understand, too, once one realized +that Hogarty’s clientele––especially that of his +Monday mornings––was composed quite entirely of +that type of leisurely young man who rarely pointed +the nose of his tub-seated raceabout below Forty-second +Street, except for the benefits of a few rather +desultory rounds under Hogarty’s tutelage, a shocking +plunge beneath an icy shower, and the all pervading +sense of physical well-being resultant upon a +half hour’s kneading of none too firm muscles on +the marble slabs.</p> +<p>It was like Jesse Hogarty––or Flash Hogarty, as +he had been styled by the sporting reporters of the +saffron dailies ten years back, when it was said that +he could hit faster and harder out of a clinch than +any lightweight who ever stood in canvas shoes––to +refuse to transfer his place to some locality a bit +nearer Fifty-seventh Street, even when it chanced, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span> +as it did with every passing year, that he drew his +patrons––at an alarmingly high rate per patron––almost +entirely from far uptown.</p> +<p>“This isn’t a turkish bath,” Flash Hogarty was +accustomed to answer such importunities. “If you +are just looking for a place to boil out the poison, +hunt around a little––take a wide-eyed look or two! +There are lots and lots of them. This isn’t a turkish +bath; it’s a gymnasium––a <i>man’s</i> gymnasium!”</p> +<p>That was his invariable formula, alike to the objections +of the youthful, unlimited-of-allowance, more +or less hard-living sons that it “spoils the best part +of the week, you know, Flash, just running ’way +down here,” and the equally earnest and far more +peevish complaints of the ticker tired, just-a-minute-to-spare +fathers that it cost them about five thousand, +just to take an hour to work off a few pounds.</p> +<p>But they kept on coming, in spite of their lack of +time and Hogarty’s calm refusal to consider their +arguments––some of the younger men because they +really did appreciate the sensation of flexible muscles +sliding beneath a smooth skin, some of them merely +because they liked to hear Hogarty’s fluently picturesque +profanity, always couched in the most delightfully +modulated of English, when the activity +of a particularly giddy week-end brought them back +a little too shaky of hand, a little too brilliant of eye +and a trifle jumpy as to pulse. Hogarty had a way +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span> +of telling them just how little they actually amounted +to, which, no matter how wickedly it cut, never failed +to amuse them.</p> +<p>The older generation dared do nothing else, even +in the face of the ex-lightweight’s scathingly sarcastic +admiration of their constantly increasing waist-line––or +lack of one. For their lines were largely +a series of curves exactly opposite to those on which +Nature had originally designed them.</p> +<p>They continued to come; they ran down-town in +closed town cars, padded heavily across the sidewalk +like sad bovines going to the slaughter, to reappear +an hour or two later stepping like three-year-olds, +serenely, virtuously joyous at the tale of the scales +which indicated a five-pound loss. And the Saturday +and Sunday week-end out of town which presently +followed, with the astoundingly heavy dinners that +accompanied it, brought them back in a week, sadder +even than before.</p> +<p>Monday morning was always a very busy morning +in Hogarty’s––but never until along about noon. And +because he knew how infallible were the habits of +his patrons, Hogarty did not so much as lift his eyes +to the practically empty gymnasium floor when a clock +at the far side of the room tinkled the hour of eleven. +The two boys who were busily scrubbing with waxing-mops +the floor that already glistened like the +unruffled surface of some crystal pool were quite as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span> +unconcerned at the lack of activity as was their employer. +They merely paused long enough to draw +one shirt sleeve across the sweat-beaded foreheads––it +was a very early spring in Manhattan and the +first heat was hard to bear––and went at their task +harder than ever.</p> +<p>Hogarty had one other reason that morning which +accounted for his absolute serenity. From Third +Avenue to the waterfront any one who was well-informed +at all––and there was no one who had not +at least heard whispers of his fame––knew that the +thin-faced, hard-eyed, steel-sinewed ex-lightweight +who dressed in almost funeral black and white and +talked in the hushed, measured syllables of a professor +of English, loved one thing even more than he +loved to see his own man put over the winning punch +in––say the tenth. It was common gossip that a set +of ivory dominoes came first before all else.</p> +<p>No man had ever ventured to interrupt twice the +breathless interest with which Hogarty was accustomed +to play his game. It did not promise to be +safe––a second interruption. And Hogarty was +playing dominoes this particular Monday morning, +at a little round, green-topped table against the wall +opposite the door, peering stealthily at the upturning +face of each piece of a newly dealt hand, when +the clock struck off that hour. But if Hogarty was +oblivious to everything but the game, his opponent +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span> +was far from being in that much to be envied state. +Bobby Ogden yawned––yawned from sheer ennui––although +he tried to hide that indication of his boredom +behind a perfectly manicured hand, while he +scowled at the dial.</p> +<p>Ogden was one of the Monday morning regulars––one +of the crowd which usually arrived in a visibly +taut-nerved condition at an entirely irregular +and undependable hour. An attack of malignant malaria, +contracted on a prolonged ’gator hunt in the +Glades, coupled with the equally malignant orders of +his physician, alone accounted for his presence there +at that unheard of o’clock.</p> +<p>There were purplish semi-circles still painfully too +vivid beneath his eyes; his pallor was still tinged with +an ivory-like shade of yellow. And he fidgeted constantly +in the face of Hogarty’s happy deliberation, +stretching his heliotrope silk-clad arms and tapping +flat, heel-less rubber-soled shoes on the floor beneath +the table in a fashion that would have irritated any +but the blandly unconscious man across the table from +him to a state of violence.</p> +<p>Ogden’s quite perfectly lined features were smooth +with the smoothness of twenty years or so. His lack +of stability and poise belonged also to that age and +to a physique that managed to tilt the scale beam at +one hundred and eighteen––that is, unless he had +been forgetting rather more rashly than usual that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span> +liquids were less sustaining than solids, when one +hundred and ten was about the figure.</p> +<p>He was playing poorly that morning––playing inattentively––with +his eyes always waiting for the +hands to indicate that hour which was most likely +to herald the arrival of the advance guard of the +crowd of regulars. Hogarty himself, after a time, +began to feel, vaguely, his uneasiness and lack of +application to the matter in hand, and made evident +his irritation by even longer pauses before each play. +He liked a semblance of opposition at least, and he +lifted his head, scowling a little at Ogden’s last, +most flagrant blunder, to find that his antagonist +had moved without so much as looking at the piece +he had slipped into position.</p> +<p>The boy wasn’t looking at the table at all. He +sat twisted about in his chair, staring wide-eyed at +the figure that had pushed open the street door and +was now surveying the whole room with an astonishingly +calm attention to detail. Ogden was staring, +oblivious to everything else, and with real cause, +for the figure that had hesitated on the threshold +was like no other that had ever drifted into Hogarty’s +place before. His shoulders seemed fairly to fill +the door-frame, for all that bigger men than he was +had stood on that same spot and gone unnoticed because +of size alone. And his waist appeared almost +slender, and his hips very flat, merely from contrast +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span> +with all that weight which he carried high in his chest.</p> +<p>But it was not the possibilities of the newcomer’s +body that held Ogden’s fascinated attention. In +point of fact, he did not notice that at all, until some +time later. Denny Bolton’s long, tanned face was +entirely grave––even graver than usual. Just a hint +of wistfulness that would never quite leave them +showed in his eyes and lurked in the line of his lips––an +intangible, fleeting suggestion of expectation +that had waited patiently for something that had +been very long in the coming. And the black felt +hat and smooth black suit which he wore finished +the picture and made the illusion complete. His +face and figure, even there in the doorway of Hogarty’s +Fourteenth Street place, could have suggested +but one thing to an observant man. He might have +been a composite of all the New England Pilgrim +Fathers who had ever braved a rock-bound coast.</p> +<p>And Bobby Ogden was observing. Utterly unconscious +of Hogarty’s threatening storm of protest, he +sat and gazed and gazed, scarcely crediting his own +eyes. Domino poised in hand, Hogarty had turned +in preoccupied resignation back to a perplexed contemplation +of whether it would be better to play a +blank-six and block the game or a double-blank and +risk being caught with a handful of high counters, +when Ogden reached out and clutched him by the +wrist.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span></div> +<p>“Shades of Miles Standish!” that silk-shirted person +gasped. “In the name of the Mayflower and +John Alden, and hallowed Plymouth Rock, look, +Flash, look! For the love o’ Mike look, before he +moves and spoils the tableau!”</p> +<p>Hogarty lifted his head and looked.</p> +<p>Denny Bolton’s eyes had returned from their deliberate +excursion about the gymnasium just in time +to meet halfway that utterly impersonal scrutiny. +For a long moment or two that mutual inspection endured; +then the boy’s lips moved––open with a smile +that was far graver than his gravity had been––and +he started slowly across the floor toward the table. +Hogarty half rose, one hand outstretched as if to +halt him, but for some reason which the ex-lightweight +scarcely understood himself, he failed to utter +the protest that was at his tongue’s end. And Young +Denny continued to advance––continued, and left in +the rear a neatly defined trail where the heavy nails +of his shoes marred the sacred sheen of that floor.</p> +<p>Within arm’s reach of the table he stopped, his +eyes flitting questioningly from Hogarty’s totally inscrutable +face to the tense interest and enjoyment in +Bobby Ogden’s features, and back again. Hogarty’s +hard eyes could be very hard––hard and chilling as +chipped steel––and they were that now. He was +only just beginning to awake to a realization of that +profaned floor, but the smile upon Denny’s mouth +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span> +neither disappeared nor stiffened in embarrassment +before that forbidding countenance. Instead he held +out his hand––a big, long-fingered, hard-palmed hand––toward +the ex-lightweight proprietor. And when +he began to speak there was nothing but simple interrogation +in the almost ponderous voice.</p> +<p>“I––I reckon,” he said slowly, “that you must be +Jesse Hogarty––Mr. Jesse Hogarty?”</p> +<p>Flash Hogarty looked at him, looked at that outstretched +hand––looked back at his steady eyes and +the smile that parted his lips. And Hogarty did a +thing that made even Bobby Ogden gasp. He bowed +gracefully and reached out and silently shook hands. +When he spoke, instead of the perfectly enunciated, +picturesquely profane rebuke which the silk-shirted +boy was waiting to hear, his voice was even smoother +and softer, and choicer of intonation than usual.</p> +<p>“Quite so,” he stated. “Quite free from error or +embarrassing mistake, sir. I am Mr. Jesse Hogarty. +You, however, if I may be permitted that assertion, +have me rather at a disadvantage, sir.”</p> +<p>He bowed again, once more elaborately graceful. +Bobby Ogden hugged his knees beneath the table, +for he knew from the very suavity of that reply all +that was brewing. Hogarty’s silken voice went on.</p> +<p>“Regrettable, sir, and most awkward. You, no +doubt, have no objection, however, to making the introduction +complete?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span></div> +<p>The smile still hovered upon Denny’s lips. Ogden +noted, though, that it had changed. And he realized, +too, that it had not been a particularly mirthful +smile, even in the first place. Again Young Denny’s +eyes met those of the other boy for one moment.</p> +<p>“I’m Denny Bolton,” he replied just as deliberately. +“Denny Bolton, from Boltonwood––or––or I +reckon you’ve never heard of that place. I’m down +from the hill country, back in the north,” he supplemented.</p> +<p>Hogarty turned away––turned back to the green-topped +table and played the double-blank with delicate +precision.</p> +<p>“Of course,” he agreed softly. “Quite right––quite +right! And––er––may I inquire if it was something +of importance––something directly concerning +me––which has resulted in this neighborly call?”</p> +<p>He did not so much as lift his eyes from the dominoes +beneath his fingers. If he had he would have +seen, as Ogden saw, that Denny’s smile faded away––disappeared +entirely. But when he replied the +boy’s voice was unchanged.</p> +<p>“I don’t know’s it’s particularly important to you,” +he answered. “That’s what I came down for––to +see. I was directed––back a day or two I was told +that maybe if I looked you up you’d have some +opening for me, down here. I was told you were +looking for a––a good heavyweight fighter!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span></div> +<p>Bobby Ogden threw back his head to laugh. And +instead he just sat there with his mouth wide open, +waiting. He felt sure that there was a better moment +coming. Hogarty fiddled with the dominoes +and seemed to be considering that information with +due deliberation and from every angle.</p> +<p>“I see,” he murmured at last. “Surely. Quite +right––quite right! And I may, I believe, safely +assure you that I have several fine openings in the +establishment for young men––for just the right sort +of young men, of course. May I––er––inquire if +you wish employment by the––er––week, or just in +your spare time, to put it so?”</p> +<p>The question was icily sarcastic. Denny’s answer +came sharp upon its heels. His voice was just as +measured, just as inflectionless as Hogarty’s had +been.</p> +<p>“If you hire them here by the week,” he said, “or +for their spare time, I––I reckon I’ve come to the +wrong establishment. I was only asking you for a +chance to show you whether I was any good or not. +I was told you’d be just as interested to find out as +I was myself. Maybe––maybe I’ve made a bad mistake!”</p> +<p>Bobby Ogden was sorry he had waited to laugh. +There was a hardness in the big-shouldered figure’s +words that he did not like; a directly simple, unmistakable +rebuke for the sneer concealed in Hogarty’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span> +question that could not be misinterpreted. And +something utterly bad flared up in the lean-faced +black-clad proprietor’s eyes––something of enmity +that seemed to Ogden all out of proportion with the +provocation. All the smooth suavity disappeared +from his speech just as chalk marks are wiped out +by a wet sponge. And Hogarty came swiftly to his +feet.</p> +<p>“Maybe you were––maybe you did make a bad +mistake!” he rasped out in a dead, colorless monotone +that scarcely moved his lips. “But no man ever +came into this place yet, and went out again to say +he didn’t get his chance. I know a few specimens +who make a profession of pleading that. They’re +quitters––and they assay a streak of yellow that isn’t +pay dirt!”</p> +<p>His voice dropped in register. It just missed being +hoarse. With a rapidity that was almost bewildering +he began to give orders to the two boys who +were still phlegmatically waxing the floor. And the +English-professor intonation was gone entirely.</p> +<p>“You, Joe!” he called, “get out the rods; set ’em up +and rope her off! Legs, you chase out and find Sutton, +if he’s not in back. You’ll run into him at Sharp’s, +most likely. Tell him to come a-running. Tell him a +new one’s drifted in from the frontier––and thinks +he needs to be shown. Move, you shrimp!”</p> +<p>Before he had finished speaking he had started +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span> +toward the locker rooms at the rear. Denny he ignored +as though he did not exist. He went without +a sound in his rubber-soled shoes. Bobby Ogden, +waking suddenly from his trancelike condition, leaped +to his feet and ran after him. Hogarty halted at the +pressure of the boy’s pink-nailed fingers on his arm +and wheeled to show a face that was startlingly white +and strained.</p> +<p>“Why, you great big kid!” Bobby Ogden flung +at him. “You big infant! You’re really sore! Don’t +you know he didn’t mean anything. He’s only a kid +himself––and you egged him into it!”</p> +<p>“Is he?”</p> +<p>From that gently rising inflection alone Ogden +knew that interference was absolutely hopeless.</p> +<p>“Is he? Well, he’s old enough to seem to know +what he wants. And he’s going to get it––see? He’s +going to get it––and––get––it––good! No man +ever flung it into my face that I didn’t give him a +chance––not and got away with it.”</p> +<p>Hogarty glanced meaningly down at the restraining +hand upon his sleeve and Ogden removed it hastily. +He stood in dismayed indecision until the ex-lightweight +had disappeared before he turned toward +Young Denny, who had been watching in silence +his effort at intervention. Denny had not moved. +Ogden’s almost girlishly modeled face was more than +apprehensive as he stepped up to him.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span></div> +<p>“He’s mad,” he stated flatly. “You’ve got him +peeved for keeps. And I guess you’ve let yourself in +for quite a merry little session, too, unless––unless”––he +hesitated, peering curiously in Denny’s grave face, +“unless you want to make a nice quiet little exit before +he comes back with Sutton. You can, you know, +and––and it may save you quite a little––er––discomfort +in the long run. Sutton––well, the least I can +say of Sutton is that he’s inclined to be a trifle rough!”</p> +<p>Ogden saw that slow smile returning; he saw it +start far back in the steady eyes and spread until +it touched the corners of the other boy’s lips again.</p> +<p>“You mean––leave?” Young Denny asked.</p> +<p>Ogden nodded significantly.</p> +<p>“That’s just what I do mean––only a great deal +more so!”</p> +<p>“But I––I couldn’t very well do that now––could +I?”</p> +<p>The silk-shirted shoulders shrugged hopelessly.</p> +<p>“Well, since you ask me,” he said, “judging from +what I’ve already seen of your methods, I––I’d say +most emphatically no. I’ve done all I can when I +advise you that now is the one best hour to make +your getaway. It wouldn’t be exactly a glorious retreat +from the field, but it wouldn’t be so painful, +either. Just remember that, will you? I’m to fit +you out with some fighting togs, I suppose, if you’ll +just come along.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span></div> +<p>He turned to follow in the direction which Hogarty +had taken, and then paused once more.</p> +<p>“Beg pardon for the omission, Mr. Bolton,” he +added, and he smiled boyishly. “My name’s Ogden––Bobby +Ogden. Glad to become acquainted with +you, I’m sure. And now, if you will follow on, I’ll +do my best for you. Would you mind walking on +your toes? You see, there are just two things most +calculated to get Flash’s goat. One of ’em’s marring +up his floor with heavy boots, and the other is +butting in when he’s playing dominoes. You couldn’t +have known it, of course, but he can’t stand for either +of them. And together I am afraid they have got +you in pretty bad. You’re sure you can’t swallow +your pride, and just beat it quietly while the chance +is nice and handy? Maybe you ought to think of +your family––no?”</p> +<p>Denny’s smile widened. He shook his head in refusal. +He knew he was going to like Ogden––like +him for the same reason that he had liked the fat, +brown-clad newspaper man in Boltonwood––because +of the charming equality of his attitude and the frankness +in his eyes.</p> +<p>“No,” he decided, “I––I’m afraid I can’t. I didn’t +mean to stir him up so, either, only––only I thought, +just for a minute or two, that he was laughing at me. +I think I’d rather stay and see it out. But you mustn’t +worry about me––I wouldn’t if I were you.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span></div> +<p>Again Ogden shrugged resignedly. On tiptoe Denny +followed him to the locker-rooms in the rear, and +at a word of direction began to remove his clothes. +While he plunged head-foremost into a bin in search +for a pair of white trunks, Ogden kept up a steady +stream of advice calculated to save the other at +least a small percentage of punishment.</p> +<p>“Sutton’s big,” he exclaimed jerkily, head out of +sight, “but he isn’t fast on his feet. That’s why they +call him Boots. He steps around as though he had +on waders––hip-high ones. But he’s lightning hitting +from close in––in-fighting they call it––where +most big fighters don’t shine. That’s because he’s +had Flash’s coaching. You want to keep away from +him––keep him at arm’s length, and maybe he won’t +do too much harm. I––I’d let him do all the leading, +if I were you, and––and kind of run ahead of him.” +The voice came half-smothered from the cluttered bin +of equipment. “That isn’t running away from him +because you’re afraid, you understand. It’s just playing +him to tire him out, you know!”</p> +<p>It was silent for a moment while Bobby Ogden +burrowed for the necessary canvas shoes. Then a +hushed laugh broke that quiet and brought the +latter bolt upright. With the trunks in one hand +and the rubber-soled slippers in the other, Ogden +stood and stared, only half understanding that the +big boy before him was laughing at him for his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span> +solicitude and trying to reassure him with that +same mirth.</p> +<p>“Funny, is it?” he snorted aggrievedly. “So very––very––funny? +Well, I only hope you’ll be able +to laugh that way again––say even in a month or +two!”</p> +<p>“I wasn’t laughing at you,” Young Denny told him +soberly. “I––I was just thinking how strange it +seemed to have somebody worried over me––worried +because they were afraid I might get hurt. Most +little mix-ups I’ve gone into have worried folks––lest +I wouldn’t.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIII' id='CHAPTER_XIII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +</div> +<p>When he had first looked up from the green-topped +table and seen him standing there in +the entrance of the gymnasium Ogden had +only sensed the bigness of Denny Bolton’s body––only +vaguely felt the promise which his smooth black +suit concealed. It was the face that had interested +him most at that moment, and yet he had not even +noticed the half healed cut that ran almost to the point +of the chin. Young Denny’s grave explanation of his +quiet mirth caused him to look closer––made him +really wonder now what had been its cause. There +was a frankly inquisitive question half-formed behind +his lips, but when he turned to find Denny sitting +stripped to the waist, waiting for the garments which +he held in his hands, he merely stood and stared. +Bobby Ogden had seen many men stripped for the +ring. It took more than an ordinary man to make +him look even once––but he could not take his eyes off +this boy before him. Once he whistled softly between +his teeth in unconcealed amazement; once he walked +entirely around him, exclaiming softly to himself. +Then he remembered.</p> +<p>“Here, get into these,” he ordered abruptly, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span> +and thrust the things into Denny’s waiting hands.</p> +<p>While Denny was obeying he continued to circle +and to admire critically.</p> +<p>“Man––man!” he murmured. “But you’re sure +put together right!” He was silent for a moment +while he punched back and shoulders with a searching +thumb. “Silk and steel,” he went on to himself. +“And not a lump––not a single knot! Oh, if you only +knew how to use it; if you only knew the moves, +wouldn’t we give Flash the heart-break of his life! +Now wouldn’t we?”</p> +<p>Denny finished lacing his flat shoes and stood +erect, and even Ogden’s chattering tongue was silent. +It was very easy now to see why that big body had +seemed shoulder-heavy. From the shoulder points +the lines ran unbroken, almost wedgelike, to his ankles. +He was flat and slim in the waist as any stripling +might have been. All hint of bulkiness was +gone. He seemed almost slender, until one started to +analyze each dimension singly, such as the breadth +of his back, or the depth of his chest. Then one realized +that it was only the slimness of fine-drawn ankles, +the swelling smoothness of hidden sinews which +created that impression. And Ogden’s quick eye +caught that instantly.</p> +<p>“I’d have said one-ninety,” he stated judicially. +“At least as much as that, or a +shade better, before you undressed. Now I’d +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span> +put it under––what do you weigh, anyhow?”</p> +<p>He slid the weight over the bar after Young Denny +had stepped upon the white scales.</p> +<p>“One sixty-five––sixty-eight––seventy, and a trifle +over,” he finished. “Man, but you’re built for speed! +You ought to be lightning fast.”</p> +<p>At that instant the boy called Legs opened the +door and thrust in his head.</p> +<p>“The chief says if you’re coming at all,” he droned +apathetically, “you might just as well come +now.”</p> +<p>Ogden threw a long bathrobe over his charge’s +shoulders as the latter started forward. He wanted +to note the effect which the sudden display of that +pair of shoulders and set of back muscles would have +upon Flash Hogarty’s temper. As they crossed the +long room Denny’s grave lack of concern was made +to seem almost stolid in contrast with the heliotrope +silk-shirted boy’s excessive nervousness.</p> +<p>“Now remember what I told you,” he whispered +hoarsely. “Keep away from him––keep away and +let him do the rushing––for he’s got a punch that’s +sudden death! You can tire him out. He’s old and +his wind is gone.”</p> +<p>The brass rods had been set up in their sockets in +the floor and the space which they outlined in the +middle of the room roped off and carpeted with a +square of hard, brown canvas. The man called Boots +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span> +Sutton was already in his corner, waiting, and his attitude +toward the whole affair was very patently +that of sheer boredom. He barely lifted his eyes +as Young Denny crawled through the ropes at the +opposite corner, behind the officiously fluttering Ogden. +This was merely part of his every day’s work; +he spent hours each week either instructing frankly +confessed amateurs or discouraging too-confident, +would-be professionals. It was only because of the +strangely venomous harshness with which Hogarty +had given him his orders while he was himself dressing +that he vouchsafed Denny even that one glance.</p> +<p>“I want you to get him,” Hogarty snarled. “I +want you to get him right from the jump––and get +him!––and keep on getting him! Either make him +squeal––make him quit––or beat him to death!”</p> +<p>But if Sutton failed to note the play of those muscles +that bunched and quivered and ran like live +things beneath the skin of the boy’s back, when Bobby +Ogden threw off the enveloping wrap with an ostentatious +flourish and knelt to lace on his gloves, that +disclosure was not entirely lost upon Hogarty. +Watching from the corners of his eyes, Bobby saw +him scowl and chew his lip as his head came forward +a little. And immediately he turned to speak again +in a whisper to Boots, squatting nonchalantly in his +corner.</p> +<p>“There’s no need, mind, of being careless,” he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span> +cautioned. “He––he might have a punch, you know, +at that. Some of ’em do––a lucky one once in a +while. Just watch him a trifle––and hand it to him +good!”</p> +<p>Sutton nodded and rose to his feet. Watch in +hand, Hogarty vaulted the ropes, and Ogden, with +a last whispered admonition, bundled up the bathrobe +and scuttled from the ring.</p> +<p>At that moment Young Denny’s bulkily slender +body was even more deceptive. Sutton, even when +trained to his finest, would have outweighed him +twenty pounds. Now that margin was nearer thirty, +and added to that, he was inches less in height. He +was shorter of neck, blocky, built close to the ground. +And the span of his ankle was nearly as great as +that of Denny’s knee.</p> +<p>Comparing them with detail-hungry eyes, Bobby +Ogden saw, however, that from the waist up the boy’s +clean, swelling body totally shadowed the other’s +knotted bulk; he noted that, with arm outstretched, +heel of glove against Sutton’s chin, Denny’s reach +was more than great enough to hold the other away +from him. Hard on the heels of that thought came +the realization that that was a fine point of the game +utterly outside of the boy’s knowledge.</p> +<p>It was quiet––oddly, peacefully quiet for a second––in +that long room. Then in obedience to a nod +from Hogarty the lanky boy called Legs languidly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span> +touched a bell, and all that peaceful silence was shattered +to bits. Ogden shouted aloud, without knowing +it, a shrill, dismayed cry of warning, as Sutton +catapulted from his corner; he shouted and shut his +eyes and winced as if that rushing attack had been +launched at himself. But he opened them again––opened +them at the sound of a sickening smash of +glove against flesh––to see Denny blink both +eyes as his whole body rebounded from that +blow.</p> +<p>Ogden waited, forgetting to breathe, for the boy +to go down; he waited to see his knees weaken and +his shoulders slump forward. But instead of shriveling +before that pile-driver swing, he realized that +Denny somehow was weathering the storm of blows +that followed it; that somehow he had managed to +keep his feet and was backing away, trying to follow +faithfully his instructions.</p> +<p>Just as Ogden had pictured it would be, it all happened. +Foot by foot Sutton drove him around the +ring. There was no opening for Denny to return a +blow––nothing but a maze of battering fists to be +blocked and ducked and covered. Even the speed, +the natural speed of lithe muscles for which Bobby +had hoped, and hopelessly expected, was entirely +lacking in every motion. Heavy-footed, ponderous, +Young Denny gave way before that attack. Sutton, +always reputed slow, was terribly, brutally swift of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span> +movement in comparison with the boy’s faltering uncertainty.</p> +<p>Twice and a third time in the first minute of fighting +Boots feinted aside his guard with what seemed +childish ease and then drove his glove against the +other’s unprotected face. Time after time he repeated +the blow, and at each sickening smack that answered +the crash of leather against flesh Bobby Ogden +gasped aloud and marveled. For at each jolt Denny +merely blinked his eyes as he recoiled––blinked, and +retreated a little more slowly than before.</p> +<p>At the bell Ogden was through the ropes and +dragging him to his corner. A little trickle of blood +was gathering on the point of Denny’s chin where the +glove had opened afresh the half-healed cut on his +cheek; he was shaking his head as he waved aside +the wet towel in Ogden’s hands.</p> +<p>“Man, but you’re some bear for punishment!” Ogden +chattered, strangely weak himself beneath his +belt. “If you only had a little speed––just a little! +Why, he sent over a dozen to your chin that ought +to have laid you away. But you’re playing him right! +You’re working him, and if you can manage to hang +on you’ll get him in the end. Just keep away––keep +away and let him wear himself out. But––oh, if you +did have it. Just one real punch!”</p> +<p>Young Denny continued to shake his head––continued +to shake it doggedly.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span></div> +<p>“Do––do you mean that that is as hard as he is +likely to hit?” he queried slowly. “Do you mean––he +was really trying––hard?”</p> +<p>Ogden stopped urging the wet towel upon him and +stood and gazed at him with something close akin +to awe in his eyes.</p> +<p>“Hard!” he echoed in a small voice. “Hard! +How hard do you expect a man to hit?”</p> +<p>“Then your plan was wrong,” Young Denny told +him. “Of course,” he hastened to soften that abrupt +statement, “of course it would work all right, only––only +I’m not much good at that kind of fancy work. +I––I just have to wade right in, when I want to do +any damage, because I’m slow getting away from a +man. I can’t punch––not hard––when I’m backing +off. But now I aim to show you how hard I expect a +man to hit, just as soon as they ring that bell!”</p> +<p>Hogarty was leaning over Sutton in the opposite +corner, frowning and talking rapidly.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter, Boots?” he demanded anxiously. +“Haven’t lost your kick, have you?”</p> +<p>Sutton gazed contemplatively down at his gloved +hands and up again into his employer’s face.</p> +<p>“Who’d you say that guy was?” he countered. +“Where’s he blowed in from––again?”</p> +<p>“A rube––down from the hills he called it. Just +some come-on,” Hogarty repeated his former information, +“who thinks because he’s cleaned up main +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span> +street and licked the village blacksmith that he’s a +world-beater. Why, Boots? You aren’t worried, +are you?”</p> +<p>The contemplative gleam in Sutton’s eyes deepened.</p> +<p>“Because,” he stated thoughtfully, “just because +there’s some mistake––or––or he’s made of brass. +I––I hit him pretty hard, Flash––and do you know +what he done? Well, he blinked. He––blinked––at––me. +I never hit any man harder.”</p> +<p>Hogarty’s face had lost a little of its inscrutability. +He flashed one sharp glance across at Young Denny +in the other corner as he stepped back out of the +ring and his frown deepened a little after that brief +scrutiny. For the boy’s body, squatting there, crouched +waiting for the bell, was taut in every sinew, quivering +with eagerness.</p> +<p>“You just failed to place ’em right, I guess,” he +reassured Boots. “Take a little more time, and get +him flush on the bone. You can slow up a little. +He isn’t even fast enough to run away from you.”</p> +<p>Again Hogarty nodded to the boy called Legs, and +again the gong rang. Five minutes earlier it would +have been hard for Bobby Ogden to have explained +just what it was which he had half dreamed might +lurk in those rippling muscles that bunched and ran +beneath Denny’s white skin. For want of a better +name he had named it speed. And now, at the tap of +the bell, he watched and recognized.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span></div> +<p>Swift as was Sutton’s savage rush across the canvas, +he had hardly left his corner in the ropes before +Young Denny was upon him. The boy lifted and +sprang and dropped cat-footed in the middle of the +ring, hunched of shoulder and bent of knee to meet +the shocking impact. It was bewilderingly rapid––terrifyingly +effortless––this explosive, spontaneous +answer of every muscle to the call of the brain. Just +as before, Sutton feinted and saw his opening and +swung. Young Denny knew only one best way to +fight; he knew only that he had to take a blow in +order to give one, and Sutton’s fist shot home against +his unprotected chin. He blinked with the shock, +just as he had blinked before, and swayed back a +little. Sutton had swung hard––he had swung from +his heels––and he was still following that blow +through when Denny snapped forward again.</p> +<p>It wasn’t a long swing, but it was wickedly quick. +From the waist it started, a short, vicious jolt that +carried all the boy’s weight behind it, and the instant +that Denny whipped it over Sutton’s chin seemed to +come out to meet it––seemed almost to lift to receive +it. And then, as his head leaped back, even before +his body had lifted from the floor, the boy’s other +hand drove across and set him spinning in the air +as he fell. He went down sideways, a long, crashing +fall that dropped him limp in the corner which he +had just left.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span></div> +<p>For a moment Denny crouched waiting for him to +rise. Then he realized that Sutton would not rise +again––not for a time. He saw Hogarty leap over +the ropes and kneel––saw the boy Legs rush across +with ammonia and water––and he understood. Ogden +was at his side, pounding him upon the shoulder +and shrieking in his ear. His eyes lifted from the +face of the fallen man to that of the heliotrope silk-shirted +person beside him.</p> +<p>“He’s not really badly hurt, is he?” he inquired +slowly. “I––I didn’t hit him––too hard?”</p> +<p>Ogden ceased for a moment thumping him on the +back.</p> +<p>“Hurt!” he yelped. “Didn’t hit him too hard! +Why, man, he’s stiff, right now. He’s ready for the +coroner! Gad––and I was pitying you––I was–––”</p> +<p>Young Denny shook him off and crossed and knelt +beside the kneeling Hogarty. And at that moment +Sutton opened his eyes again and stared dully into +the ex-lightweight’s face. After a time recognition +began to dawn in that gaze––understanding––comprehension. +Once it shifted to Denny, and then came +back again. He made several futile efforts before he +could make his lips frame the words.</p> +<p>Then, “Amateur,” he muttered, and he managed +to rip one glove from a limp hand and hurl it from +him as he struggled to sit erect. “Amateur––hell! +A-a-a-h, Flash, what’re you tryin’ to hand me?”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIV' id='CHAPTER_XIV'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +</div> +<p>Denny had begun to get back into his clothes, +pausing now and then to dabble tentatively +at the freshly broken bruise with the wet +towel which Ogden had at last forced him to accept, +when the door of the dressing-room opened, and +Hogarty stepped briskly inside and closed the door +behind him.</p> +<p>The ex-lightweight ignored entirely the covertly +delighted grin that lit up Bobby Ogden’s features +at his appearance. His own too-pale, too-thin lips +were curved in a ghost of a smile; his face had lost +all its dangerous tautness, but the greatest change of +all lay there in his eyes. Their flaring antagonism +had burnt itself out. And when Hogarty spoke it +was once more in his smoothly perfect, delightfully +measured, best professor-of-English style, for all +that his opening remark was couched in the vernacular.</p> +<p>“Mr. Bolton,” he began to the boy sitting quiet +before him, “it looks as though we would have to +hand it to you––which I earnestly desire you to believe +I am now doing, with both hands. It may +eventually prove that I lost a most valuable assistant +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span> +through this morning’s little flurry. I am not +quite certain yet as to that as Boots is not sufficiently +himself to give the matter judicious consideration.</p> +<p>“He still thinks I crossed him for the entertainment’s +sake––which is of little immediate importance. +What I did come in for was to listen to anything at +all that you may have to tell me. You’ll admit, of +course, that while your explanation as to your errand +was strictly to the point, it was scarcely comprehensive. +My own unfortunate temper was, no doubt, +largely the cause of your brevity.”</p> +<p>He hesitated a moment, clearing his throat and +gazing blankly at the grinning Ogden.</p> +<p>“As Ogden here has of course told you, I’m––well, +rather touchy when interrupted at my favorite pastime, +and especially so when I am trying to get a +few minutes relaxation with a pin-headed person who +insists upon playing without watching the board.</p> +<p>“But you spoke of wanting an opportunity of––er––entering +the game professionally. I’m not admitting +you’re a world-beater, understand––or anything +like that! You’ve just succeeded in putting away a +man who was as formidable as the best of them, +five years ago. And five years isn’t today, by any +means. I’ve been looking for a real possibility to +appear for so long that I’ve grown exceedingly sensitive +at each fresh failure. And yet––and yet, if +you did have the stuff–––!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span></div> +<p>Again he stopped and Denny, watching, saw the +proprietor’s face glow suddenly with a savage sort +of exultation. His eyes, half-veiled behind drooping +lids that twitched a little, went unseeingly over the +boy’s head as though they were visualizing a triumph +so long anticipated that it had become almost a lost +hope. Again that promise of something ominous +blackened the pupils––something totally dangerous +that harmonized perfectly with the snarl upon his +lips.</p> +<p>Hogarty’s whole attitude was that of a man who +wanted to believe and yet who, because he knew +that the very measure of his eagerness made him +doubly easy to convince, had resolved not to let himself +accept one spurious proof. And all his skepticism +was shot through and through with hate––a +deadly, patient sort of hatred for someone which was +as easy to see as it was hard for the big-shouldered +boy to understand.</p> +<p>There was craft in the ex-lightweight’s bearing––a +gentleness almost stealthy when he leaned forward +a little, as if he feared that the first abrupt move or +word on his part would frighten away that timid +hope.</p> +<p>“I believe that you said some one sent you. You––you +did not mention the name?”</p> +<p>Denny leaned over and picked up his coat from a +chair beside the bench, searching the pockets until +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span> +he found the card which the plump, brown-clad newspaper +man had given him. Without a word he +reached out and put it in Hogarty’s hands.</p> +<p>It bore Jesse Hogarty’s Fourteenth Street address +across its face. Hogarty turned it over.</p> +<p>“Introducing the Pilgrim,” ran the caption in the +cramped handwriting of Chub Morehouse’s stubby +fingers. And, beneath, that succinct sentence which +was not so cryptic after all:</p> +<p>“Some of them may have science, and some of them +may have speed, but after all it’s the man who can +take punishment who gets the final decision. Call me +up, if this ever comes to hand.”</p> +<p>Very deliberately Hogarty deciphered the words, +lifted a vaguely puzzled face to Young Denny, who +waited immobile––and then returned again to the +card. He even nodded once in thorough appreciation +of the title which Morehouse had given the boy; +he smiled faintly as he remembered Denny as he had +stood there in the entrance of the big room, a short +while before, and realized how apt the phrase was. +Then he began to whistle, a shrill, faint, monotonous +measure, the calculating glitter in his eyes growing +more and more brilliant.</p> +<p>“So!” he murmured thoughtfully. “So-o-o!”</p> +<p>And then, to Denny:</p> +<p>“Was there––did he make any comment in particular, +when he gave you this?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span></div> +<p>The boy’s eyes twinkled.</p> +<p>“He––made several,” he answered. “He said +that there was a man at that address––meaning you––that +would fall on my neck and weep, if I happened +to have the stuff. And he warned me, too, not +to think that Jed The Red fought like a school boy, +just because he was a second-rater––because he didn’t, +nothing like that!”</p> +<p>Hogarty laughed aloud. That sudden, staccato +chuckle was almost startling coming from his pale +lips. It hushed just as quickly as it had begun.</p> +<p>“Jed The Red, eh?” he reiterated softly, and he +began tapping the card with his fingertips. “I see, +or at least I am commencing to get a glimmer of those +possibilities which Mr. Morehouse may have had +in mind. And now I think the one best thing to do +would be to call him up, as he has here requested. As +soon as you finish dressing Ogden here will show +you the rest of the works, if you’d care to look around +a little. It is entirely likely that we shall want to +talk with you directly.”</p> +<p>He wheeled abruptly toward Ogden who had been +listening without a word, the broad grin never leaving +his lips. It was the silk-shirted boy to whom Hogarty +addressed the rest of that sentence.</p> +<p>“And you,” he said, and his voice shed with +astounding completeness all its syllabled nicety. “You +try to make yourself useful as well as pestilential. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span> +Get him a bit of adhesive for that cut. It looks as +bad as though a horse had kicked him there.</p> +<p>“And the rest of your mob will be swarming in +here in a few minutes, too. You can tell them that +Sutton is––er––indisposed this morning, and that +they’ll have to play by themselves.”</p> +<p>He nodded briefly to Denny and opened the door. +But he stopped again before he passed out.</p> +<p>“There’s one other question, Mr. Bolton,” he said +over his shoulder. “And please believe that I am +not usually so inquisitive. But I’m more than a little +curious to know why you did not present this card +first––and go through the little informal examination +I arranged for you afterward? It would have insured +you a far different reception. Was there any +special reason, or did you just overlook it?”</p> +<p>Denny dabbed again at the red drop on his chin.</p> +<p>“No, I didn’t exactly forget it,” he stated ponderously. +“But, you see, I kind of thought if I just +told you first that I wanted to see if I had any chance, +you wouldn’t make any allowances for me because +I–––”</p> +<p>Hogarty’s second nod which cut him short was +the quintessence of crisp satisfaction.</p> +<p>“I understand,” he cut in. “Perfectly! And quite +right––quite right!”</p> +<p>The ex-lightweight proprietor was sitting with his +chin clasped in both palms, still staring at the half +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span> +facetious words of introduction which the plump newspaper +man had penciled across that card, when the +door of the small office in the front of the gymnasium +was pushed open a crack, some scant fifteen minutes +after his peremptory summons had gone out over the +wire, and made him lift his head.</p> +<p>His eyes were filmed with a preoccupation too profound +to be dispelled by the mock anxiety upon the +chubby round countenance which Morehouse thrust +through that small aperture between door and frame, +or his excessively overdone caution as he swung the +door wider and tiptoed over the threshold, to stand +and point a rigidly stubby finger behind him at the +trail of nail prints which Young Denny’s shoes had +left across the glistening wax an hour or so earlier.</p> +<p>“Jesse,” he whispered hoarsely, “some one has +perpetrated here upon the sacred sheen of your floor +a dastardly outrage! I merely want you to note, before +you start running the guilty one to earth, that +I am making my entrance entirely in accordance with +your oft-reiterated instructions. I am not he!”</p> +<p>For all the change which it brought about in Hogarty’s +face that greeting might have been left unspoken. +He vouchsafed the fat man’s elaborate pantomime +not so much as the shadow of a smile, nodded +once, thoughtfully, and let his eyes fall again to the +card between his elbows on the table-top.</p> +<p>“Come in, Chub,” he invited shortly. “Come in.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span> +And as a clamor of many voices in the outer entrance +heralded the arrival of the rest of Ogden’s crowd: +“Here comes the mob now. Come in and close the +door.”</p> +<p>Morehouse, still from head to toe a symphony in +many-toned browns, shed every shred of his facetiousness +at Hogarty’s crisply repeated invitation. He +closed the door and snapped the catch that made it +fast before he crossed, without a word, and drew a +chair up to the opposite side of the desk.</p> +<p>“Your hurry call just caught me as I was leaving +for lunch,” he explained then. “And I made pretty +fair time getting down here, too. What’s the dark +secret?”</p> +<p>The black-clad proprietor lifted his lean jaw from +his hands and gazed long and steadily into the newspaper +man’s eyes, picked up the bit of pasteboard +which bore the latter’s own name across its front and +flipped it silently across the table to him. Morehouse +took it up gingerly and read it––reversed it and read +again.</p> +<p>“Nice little touch, that,” he averred finally. “Rather +neat and tasty, if I do say it myself. ‘Introducing +The Pilgrim!’ Hum-m-m. You can’t quite appreciate +it of course, but––oh, Flash, I wish you could +have seen that big boy standing there in the door +of that little backwoods tavern, just as I saw him, +about a week ago! Why, he––he was–––”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span></div> +<p>“He’s come!” Hogarty cut in briefly.</p> +<p>Morehouse’s chin dropped. He sat with mouth +agape.</p> +<p>“Huh?” he grunted. “He’s––he’s come where?”</p> +<p>Where his facetiousness had failed him Morehouse’s +round-eyed astonishment, a little tinged with +panic, was more than successful. Hogarty permitted +himself to smile a trifle––his queer, strained smile.</p> +<p>“He is here,” he repeated gravely, and the words +were couched in his choicest accents. “He came in, +perhaps, an hour ago. That is his monogramed +trail across the floor which caught your eye. Oh, he’s +here––don’t doubt that! I’ll give you a little review +of the manner of his coming, after you tell me +how you ever happened to send him––why you gave +him that card? What’s the answer to it, Chub?”</p> +<p>That same light of savage hope and cruelly calculating +enmity, all so strangely mixed with a persistent +doubt, which Young Denny had seen flare up +in the ex-lightweight’s eyes a little while before, back +in the dressing-room, began to creep once more across +Hogarty’s face.</p> +<p>“You know how long I’ve been waiting for one +to come along, Chub,” he went on, almost hoarsely. +“You know how I’ve looked for the man who could +do what none of the others have done yet, even though +he is only a second-rater. Twice I thought I had a +newcomer who could put The Red away––and put +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span> +him away for keeps––and I just fooled myself because +I was so anxious to believe. I’ve grown a trifle +wary, Chub, just a trifle! Now, I’d like to hear you +talk!”</p> +<p>Morehouse sat and fingered that card for a long +time in absolute silence––a silence that was heavy +with embarrassment on his part. He understood, +without need of explanation, for whom that chill +hatred glowed in the spare ex-lightweight’s eyes––knew +the full reason for it. And because he knew +Hogarty, too, as few men had ever come to know +him, he had often assured himself that he was thankful +not to be the man who had earned it.</p> +<p>That knowledge had been very vividly present +when, a few days before, on the platform of the +Boltonwood station, he had requested Denny Bolton +to give him back his card for a moment, after listening +to the boy’s grave explanation of the raw wound +across his cheek, and on a quite momentary impulse +written across its back that short sentence which was +so meaty with meaning. Every detail of Hogarty’s +country-wide search for a man who could whip Jed +The Red was an open secret, so far as he was concerned; +he was familiar with all the bitterness of +every fresh disappointment, but he had never seen +Hogarty’s face so alive with exultant hope as it was +at that moment.</p> +<p>And Morehouse was embarrassed and sorry, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span> +ashamed, too, of what seemed now must have been +a weak surrender to an impulse which, after all, could +have been born of nothing but a too keen sense of +humor. Hogarty’s face was more than eager. It +was white and strained.</p> +<p>“Flash,” he began at last, ludicrously uncomfortable, +“Flash, I’m sorry I wrote this, for I always told +you that if I ever did send any one to you he’d be a +live one and worth your trouble. Right this minute +I can’t tell why I did it, either, unless I am one of +those naturally dangerous idiots with a perverted +sense of what is really funny. Or maybe I didn’t +believe he’d ever get any farther from home than +he was that morning when I gave him this card. That +must have been it, I suppose. Because I never saw +him in action. Why, I never so much as saw him +kick a dog!</p> +<p>“I’m telling you because I don’t want you to be +disappointed again––and yet I have to tell you, too, +that right at the time I wrote this stuff, Flash, just +for a minute or two, I believe I did almost think he +might be an answer to your riddle. Maybe that was +because he had already licked Jed The Red once, and +I should judge, made a very thorough job of it at that. +That must have influenced me some. But let me tell +you all the story and maybe you’ll understand a little +better––something that I can’t say for myself right +at this very instant.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span></div> +<p>Morehouse began at the very beginning, looking +oftener at the card between his fingers than at Hogarty’s +too brilliant eyes, which were fairly burning +his face.</p> +<p>“In the first place, Flash,” he went on, “you know +as well as I do that The Red isn’t a real champion +and never will be. He has the build and the punch, +and he’s game, too––you’ll have to hand him that. +But stacked up against the men who held the title +ten years ago he’d last about five rounds––if he was +lucky. I don’t know why that is, either, unless he is +so crooked at heart that he loses confidence even in +himself when he has to face a real man. But the +public at this minute thinks he is as great as the +greatest. The way he polished off The Texan had +convinced them of that––and we––well, the paper always +tries to give them what they want, you know.</p> +<p>“Now that was the reason I ran up north last +week, after I’d got a tip that Conway hailed originally +from a little New England village back in the hills––one +of those towns that are almost as up-to-date +today as they were fifty years ago. It looked like +a nice catchy little story, which I will, of course, admit +I could have faked just as well as not. But it +was the cartoons I wanted. You can’t really fake +them––not after you’ve once known the real thing. +And as it happens I have known it, for I came from +a village up that way myself.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span></div> +<p>“And, then, I was curious, too. I’ve always had +a private opinion that if chance hadn’t pitchforked +Conway into the prize-ring he’d have made a grand +success as a blackjack artist or a second-story man. +But I wanted the pictures, and it wasn’t a very difficult +matter either to get them. You see I knew just +where I’d find what I wanted, and things panned out +pretty much as I thought they would.</p> +<p>“It didn’t take more than a half hour to spread the +report that Conway was practically the only really +famous man in the country today, and in a fair way +to make his own home town just as celebrated. It +may sound funny to you, for you don’t know the +back-country as I do, but just that short article in +the daily, coupled with a few helpful hints from me +that I was looking for all the nice, touching incidents +of his boyhood days, with the opinions of the oldest +inhabitants, and maybe a few of their pictures to be +used in a big Sunday feature, brought them all out: +the old circle of regulars which always sits around +the tavern stove nights, straightening out the country’s +politics and attending strictly to everybody’s affairs +but their own.</p> +<p>“Eager? Man, it was a stampede! I reckon that +every male inhabitant within a radius of five miles +was there when I opened the meeting with a few +choice words––every man but one, and he comes in +just a little later in this tale. They surely did turn +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span> +out. It was as perfect a mass meeting as any I’ve +ever seen, but the crowd itself didn’t get much of a +chance to talk––not individually anyhow. They were +simply the chorus of ‘ayes’ which the town’s big man +paused now and then for them to voice.</p> +<p>“He did the talking, Flash. They called him +‘Judge’––they most always do in those towns. He +most certainly monopolized the conversation, and +while he gave his monologue, I sat and got the best +of them down on paper. They thought I was taking +notes. I’ll show you his picture some day. He’s +the meanest man I ever met yet––and I’ve met a few! +Puffy-faced and red, and too close between the eyes. +Fat, too! Somehow I’m ashamed of being plump +myself, since meeting him.</p> +<p>“He did all the talking, and from the very first +time he opened his mouth I knew he was lying. You +can always tell a professional liar; he lies too smoothly, +somehow. Well, to judge from his story Conway +was the only unspotted cherub child that had +ever been born and bred in that section. Oh, yes, <i>he’d</i> +seen the promise in Conway; <i>he</i> knew that Conway +was to be the pride and joy of the community, right +from the first. <i>He’d</i> always said so! Why, <i>he</i> was +the very man who had given him his first pointers +in the game, when he was cleaning up all the rest of +the boys in town, just by way of recreation. If I’d +never had a suspicion before I’d have known just +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span> +from those slick sentences of his that Conway had +never been anything in that village but a small-sized +edition of the full-blown crook he is today.</p> +<p>“But I didn’t have any reason to contradict him, +did I? He was doing all that I could ask, and more. +For there wasn’t a man in that whole crowd who +dared to sneeze until he got his cue from the Judge. +But that fat man got his jolt finally, just the same, +and got it good, too.</p> +<p>“He had just finished telling how Conway had +cleaned up the village kids, irrespective of size, whenever +he felt the need of exercise, and was looking +around at the circle behind him to give them a chance +to back him up, when it happened. I told you a minute +ago that I wished you could have seen that boy, +as I saw him that night, standing there in that tavern +doorway. You see, he’d come in so quietly that nobody +had heard him––come in just in time to hear the +Judge’s last words. And when the Judge turned +around he looked full into that boy’s eyes.</p> +<p>“Oh, he got his, good and plenty! I didn’t watch +him very closely because it was hard for me to take +my eyes off the white face of that boy at the door. +But I did see that he went pretty nearly purple for +a minute, and I heard him gurgle, too, he was that +surprised, before he caught his breath. Then he +stuck out one hand and tried to bluff it out.</p> +<p>“‘There’s one of ’em, right now,’ he sang out; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span> +but he should have known that a man who’s sure of +his ground doesn’t have to shout to make his point. +‘There’s Young Denny Bolton,’ he said, ‘who went +to school with him, right here in this town. <i>Ask him</i> +if Jeddy Conway was pretty handy as a boy!’ And +he laughed, Flash––commenced to chuckle! Oh, +there was no misunderstanding what he meant to +insinuate. ‘Ask him––but maybe he’s still a little +mite too sensitive to talk about it yet––eh, Denny?’</p> +<p>“He thought he could bluff it––bluff me, with that +boy standing there in the doorway calling him a liar +as if I didn’t know it all, yet at that minute I +couldn’t help but ask that boy a question. I think +it was mostly because I wanted to hear what the +voice of a man with a face like his would sound like, +for he hadn’t opened his lips to answer that fat hypocrite’s +insinuation.</p> +<p>“So I asked him if he had known Conway well––asked +him if he had had a few set-to’s with him +himself. I’m not going to forget how he looked +when he turned toward me, either. I’m not going +to forget the look on his face as he swung around. +And I’m remembering his voice pretty fairly well, +too, right now!</p> +<p>“‘Maybe,’ he answered me, and he almost drawled +the words. ‘Maybe I did,’ he said.</p> +<p>“Why, Flash, he couldn’t have said more if he +had talked for a week. He’d said all there was to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span> +say, now, hadn’t he? But it let the Judge out, just +the same, for he just gave the circle behind him the +the high sign and set the crowd to laughing for a +minute or two, until the tension was relieved. I +didn’t laugh myself. There didn’t seem to be much +of a joke about it after seeing that boy’s eyes. It +was Bolton––Young Denny, they called him––and I +got his story, their side of it at least, after he shut +the door behind him.</p> +<p>“It’s another thing I’d be more likely to understand +than you would, Flash, because you’ve never +lived in a village like that, and I have. Back a hundred +years or so the first settlement had been named +for his family––Boltonwood, they’d called it––but I +guess the strain must have petered out. From all I +could gather the Boltons had been drinking themselves +to death with unfailing regularity and dispatch +for several generations back, and I heard a choice +detailed description, too, of the way the boy’s own +father had made his final exit––heard it from that +moon-faced leading citizen who did all the talking––that +made me want to kick him in the face. I don’t +know yet why I didn’t. I was sitting on the tavern +desk with my feet on a level with his face. I should +have bashed him a good one. It’s one of the lost opportunities +which I’ll always regret, unless maybe I +take a Saturday off some day and run up and beat +him up proper!</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span></div> +<p>“He gave me a nice little account of how the boy’s +dad had gone over, screaming mad, with the town’s +elite standing around saying, ‘I told you so,’ and that +big scared kid kneeling beside his bed, trying to pray––trying +to make it easier for him.</p> +<p>“Did you ever see a flock of buzzards circling, +Flash, waiting for some wounded thing beneath them +to die? No? Well, I have, and it isn’t a pretty +sight either. That was what they made me think of +that night. And I learned, too, how they’d been +waiting ever since for that boy to go the way his +father had traveled before him; they even told me +that the same old jug still stood in the kitchen corner, +and would have pointed out his tumble-down old +place on the hill, where they had let him go on living +alone, only it was too dark for any one to see.</p> +<p>“Odd, now wasn’t it? But it didn’t come to me +at that moment. I never gave it a thought that there +was a man who had licked Conway once and might +do it again. But I didn’t forget him; I wanted to, +that night, but I couldn’t. And I guess I was still +thinking about him when some one touched my arm +the next morning, while I was waiting for the train, +and I turned around and found him standing there +beside me.</p> +<p>“Flash, have you noticed how grave he is––kind of +sober-quiet? Have you? That comes from living +too much alone. And he’s only a kid, after all––that’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span> +all, just a kid. He startled me for a moment, +but the minute I looked at him that morning I knew +he had something on his mind, and after I’d tried +to make it a little easier for him I gave him a chance +to talk.</p> +<p>“He had a big raw welt across one cheek––a wicked +thing to look at! You’ve noticed it, I see. Well, he +stood there fingering it a little, trying to think of a +way to begin gracefully. Then he got out the paper +with the account of Jed The Red’s last go in it and +jumped right into the middle of all that was bothering +him. He hunted out the statement of Conway’s +share of the purse and asked me if it was true. I +told him it was––that I’d written it myself. And +then he asked me, point blank, how <i>he</i> could get a +chance at Conway. He––he said Conway had never +been able to whip him, Flash––said he didn’t believe +he ever could!</p> +<p>“Now, I’m sentimental––I know that. But I manage +to keep my feet on the ground now and then just +the same. And so I want to say right here that it +wasn’t his words that counted with me. Why, I’d +have laughed in his face only for the way he said +them! As it was, I said too much. But I thought +of you then––I couldn’t help it, could I? It hit me +smash between the eyes! His face had been reminding +me of something––something I couldn’t place until +that minute. Flash, do you know what he made +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span> +me think of? Do you? Well, he looked like a halftone +print of the Pilgrim Fathers––the kind that they +hang on the walls in the district schools. And it got +me––got me!––maybe you know why. I don’t. But +I wrote it on this card, under your address, and gave +it to him.</p> +<p>“I would have laughed at him only he was so mighty +grave and quiet. One doesn’t make a practice of +laughing at men who are as big as he is––not when +they carry themselves like that. I kept my funny +feelings to myself, if I had any, while I spent a minute +or two sizing him up. And that brought me back +to his chin––back to that big, oozing cut. I had been +waiting for an opportunity to ask him about it, and +didn’t know myself how to go about it. Just from that +you can realize how he had me guessing, for it takes +quite some jolt to make me coy. So I followed his +own lead finally and blurted the question right out, +without any fancy conversational trimmings, and he +told me how it had happened.</p> +<p>“One of his horses had kicked him. You look as +though you could have guessed it yourself! He didn’t +tell you, did he, Flash? No-o-o? Well, that was it. +He said he had gone blundering in on them the +night before, to feed, without speaking to them in the +darkness. It isn’t hard to guess what had made him +absent-minded that night. You can’t know, just from +seeing it now, how bad that fresh cut was, either. It +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span> +looked bad enough to lay any man out, and I told +him so. But he said he had managed to feed his +horses just the same––he’d worked them pretty hard +that week in the timber!</p> +<p>“It wasn’t merely what he said, you see; it was +the way he said it. I’ve made more fuss before now +over pounding my finger with a tack hammer. And I +did a lot of talking myself in that next minute or +two. A man can say a whole lot that is almost worth +while when he talks strictly to himself. It wasn’t +alone the fact that he had been able to get back on +his feet and keep on traveling after a blow that would +have caved in most men’s skulls that hit me so hard. +The recollection of what his eyes had been like that +night before, when he had handed the Judge the lie +without even opening his lips, helped too––and the +way he shut his mouth, there on the station platform, +when I gave him an opening to say his little say concerning +the village in general. He just smiled, Flash, +a slow sort of a smile, and never said a word.</p> +<p>“Man, he knew how to take punishment! Oh, +don’t doubt that! I realized right then that he had +been taking it for years, ever since they had +counted his father out, with the whole house yelling +for the stuff to get him, too. He’d been hanging on, +hoping for a fluke to save him. He’d been hanging +on, and he didn’t squeal, either, while he was doing +it. Not––one––yip––out––of––him!</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span></div> +<p>“So I made him give me back the card and I wrote +the rest of this stuff across the back of it. And again +I’ll tell you, Flash, right now, I’m not sure why I +did it. But I’ll tell you, too, just as I told myself a +few mornings ago, back there on that village station +platform, that if I were Jed The Red and I had my +choice, I wouldn’t choose to go up against a man who +had been waiting five years for an opening to swing. +No––I would not! For he’s quite likely to do more +or less damage. I never thought he’d turn up, and I +don’t know whether I am sorry or not. But now +that he’s here, what are you going to do about it?</p> +<p>“It’s my fault, but whatever you do I want to ask +you not to do one thing. I want you to promise not +to try to make a fool of the boy, Flash? You’re, +well––a little bit merciless on some of ’em, you know. +It’s not his fault, and I––why, damn it, I haven’t met +a man in years I like as I do that big, quiet, lonesome +kid! Now, there’s your story. It explains the whole +thing, and my apologies go with it. What are you +going to do?”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XV' id='CHAPTER_XV'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> +</div> +<p>Jesse Hogarty had been listening without +moving a muscle––without once taking his two +brilliant eyes from Morehouse’s warm face––even +when Morehouse refused to look back at him +as he talked.</p> +<p>“‘Introducing The Pilgrim,’” he murmured to +himself, after a moment of silence, and the professor +of English accent could not have been more perfect, +“The Pilgrim! Hum-m-m, surely! And a really +excellent name for publicity purposes, too. It––it +fits the man.”</p> +<p>Then he threw back his head––he came suddenly +to his feet, to pace twice the length of the room and +back, before he remembered. When he reseated himself +he was gnawing his lip as if vexed that he had +showed even that much lack of self-control. And +once more he buried the point of his chin in his +hands.</p> +<p>“Do, Chub?” he picked up the other’s question +silkily. “What am I going to do? Well, I believe +I am going to pay my debts at last. I think I am +going to settle a little score that has stood so long +against me that it had nearly cost me my self-respect.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span></div> +<p>That lightning-like change swept his face again, +twisting his lips nastily, stamping all his features with +something totally bad. The man who had never been +whipped by any man, from the day he won his first +brawl in the gutter, showed through the veneer that +was no thicker than the funereal black and white garb +he wore, no deeper than his superficially polished utterance +which he had acquired from long contact with +those who had been born to it.</p> +<p>“I’m going to pay my debts,” he slurred the words +dangerously, “pay them with the same coin that Dennison +slipped to me two years ago!”</p> +<p>Little by little Morehouse’s head came forward at +the mention of that name. It was of Dennison that +the plump newspaper man had been subconsciously +thinking ever since he had entered Hogarty’s immaculate +little office; it was of Dennison that he always +thought whenever he saw that bad light kindling +in the ex-lightweight’s eyes. Dennison was the promoter +who had backed Jed The Red from the day +when the latter had fought his first fight.</p> +<p>And, “You don’t mean,” he faltered, “Flash, you +don’t mean that you think that boy can stop–––”</p> +<p>Hogarty’s thin voice bit in and cut him short.</p> +<p>“Think?” he demanded. “Think? I don’t have +to think any more! I know!”</p> +<p>For a second he seemed to be pondering something; +then he threw up his head again. And his startlingly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span> +sudden burst of laughter made Morehouse wince a +little.</p> +<p>“Don’t make a fool of him, Chub?” he croaked. +“Be merciful with the boy! Man, you’re half an hour +late! I did my best. Oh, I’m bad––I know just +how bad I can be, when I try. But he called me! +Yes, that’s what he did––he as much as told me that +I wasn’t giving him a chance to get his cards on the +table. So I ran him up against Sutton. And I did +more than that. I told Boots to get him––told him +to beat him to death––and I meant it, too! And do +you know what happened? Could you guess? Well, +I’ll tell you and save you time.</p> +<p>“He went in and took enough punishment from +Boots in that first round to make any man stop and +think. He put up the worst exhibition I ever saw, +just because he was trying to fight the way Ogden +had coached him, instead of his own style. That was +the first round; but it didn’t take him very long to +see where he had been wrong. There wasn’t any second +round––that is, not so that you could really +notice it.</p> +<p>“He was waiting for the bell, and the gong just +seemed to pick him up and drop him in the middle +of the ring. And Sutton went to him––and he caught +Boots coming in! Why, he just snapped his right +over and straightened him up, and then stepped in +and whipped across his left, and Boots went back into +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span> +the ropes. He went back––and he stayed back!”</p> +<p>Swiftly, almost gutturally, Hogarty sketched it all +out: Young Denny’s calm statement of his errand, +his own groundless burst of spleen, and the outcome +of the try-out which had sent him hurrying back to +Denny’s dressing-room with many questions on his +tongue’s tip and a living hope in his brain which he +hardly dared to nurse.</p> +<p>Hogarty even recalled and related the late delivery +of the card of introduction which Morehouse +was now nervously twisting into misshapen shreds +and, word for word, repeated the boy’s grave explanation +of his reason for that tardiness.</p> +<p>“He bothered you, did he?” he asked. “Well, he +had me guessing, too, right from the first word he +spoke. There was something about him that left +me wondering––thinking a little. But I’m understanding +a whole lot better since you finished talking. +You’re right, too, Chub––you’re all of that! Five +years is a long time to wait for a chance to swing. +I ought to know––I’ve waited half that long myself. +That was the way he started for Boots, that second +round. Oh, it was deadly––it was mighty, mighty +wicked. And now, to top it all, it’s The Red for +whom he was looking, too. I wish it wasn’t so easy; +I sure do! It’s so simple I almost don’t enjoy it. Almost––but +not quite!”</p> +<p>Once more he shot to his feet and began pacing up +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span> +and down the room. Morehouse sat following him +to and fro with his eyes, trying to comprehend each +step of this bewildering development which was furthest +of all from what he had expected. He had +listened with his face fairly glowing with appreciation +to the ex-lightweight’s account of Denny’s coming. +It was all so entirely in keeping with what he +had already known of him. But the glint died out +of his eyes after a time; even his nervously active +fingers stopped worrying the bit of cardboard on the +table.</p> +<p>“Granted that he could turn the trick, Flash,” he +suggested at last, “even admitting that he might be +able to stop Conway after a few months of training +to help him out, do you suppose he’d be willing to +hang around and fight his way up through the ranks, +until he forced ’em to let him have his match? It’s +usually a two year’s job, you know, at the very +least.</p> +<p>“I don’t know why, Flash, but somehow the more +I think of it, the surer I grow that there is something +more behind his wanting that fight than we +know anything about. It isn’t just a grudge; it isn’t +just because of the dirty deal which that village has +been giving him, either. I’ve been wondering––I’m +wondering right now why he asked me if that account +of the purse was true or not. Because men +don’t fight the way you say he fought, Flash, just +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span> +for money. They fight hard, I’ll admit, but not that +way!”</p> +<p>There was a living menace in Hogarty’s steady +tread up and down the room. He wheeled and +crossed, turned and retraced his steps noiselessly, cat-footed +in his low rubbed-shod shoes. And he turned +a gaze that was almost pitying upon the plump man’s +objection.</p> +<p>“Two years––to get ready?” he asked softly. +“Chub, do you think I’d wait two years––now? Why, +two months is too long, and that is the outside limit +which I’m allowing myself in this affair. You’re a little +slow, Chub––just a bit slow in grasping the possibilities, +aren’t you? Think a minute! Put your +mind upon it, man! I’ve told you I am going to pay +Dennison off––and pay him with the same coin that +he handed me. Doesn’t that mean anything at all?”</p> +<p>He stopped short, crossed to the table and stood +with his fingertips bracketed upon its surface. Morehouse +knew Hogarty––knew him as did few other +men, unless, perhaps, it was those who, years before, +had faced him in the ring. And at that moment Hogarty’s +eyes were mere slits in his face as he stood and +peered down into the newspaper man’s upturned features, +his mouth like nothing so much as a livid scar +above his chin. There was nothing of mirth in those +eyes, nothing of merriment in that tight mouth, and +yet as he sat and gazed back up at them, Morehouse’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span> +own lips began to twitch. They began to relax. That +wide grin spread to the very corners of his eyelids +and half hid his delighted comprehension behind a +thousand tiny wrinkles.</p> +<p>“I wonder,” he breathed, “I wonder now, Flash, +if you are thinking about the same thing I am? For +if you are––well, you’re too sober faced. You are +that! It’s time to indulge in a little hysterics.”</p> +<p>And he began to chuckle; he sat and shook with +muffled spasms of absolute joy as the thing became +more and more vivid with each new thought. Even +Hogarty’s answering smile, coming from reluctant +lips, had in it something of sympathetic mirth.</p> +<p>“That’s just what I am thinking,” he said. “Just +that! It’s what I meant when I said I was going to +pay him––with his own coin. When a man plays another +man crooked, he expects that other man to +come back at him some day; he is looking for him +to do that. But there is one thing he doesn’t expect––not +usually. He isn’t looking for him to work the +same old game. It is something new he’s looking to +guard against.</p> +<p>“And that is where Dennison is weak––in that spot +and one other. He doesn’t know even yet that when I +fell for his game I fell hard enough to wake me up. +He thinks I haven’t a suspicion but what it was just +an accident that laid Sutton out, two years back––just +a lucky punch of The Red’s that went across and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span> +spoiled our perfect frame-up. And he hasn’t a suspicion +that I know he was sure The Red was going +to clean up Sutton, just as surely as they went to the +ring together.</p> +<p>“That is where he is weak. When a man is a crook +he wants to be a real crook––and a real one is suspicious +of everybody, even of himself.”</p> +<p>He lifted one hand and pounded gently upon the +polished surface of the table.</p> +<p>“The old days are done––dead––when a man got +his reputation, and a chance at the big ones simply +by fighting his way up from the bottom. I can give +a man a bigger reputation in a week, with five thousand +dollars’ worth of real advertising, than he’d be +able to get in a lifetime the old way. And training?–––”</p> +<p>He jerked his head over one shoulder toward the +dressing-rooms beyond the closed door.</p> +<p>“Right now he is just where I want him. Why, +he looks like a pitiful dub if you hold him back. Order +him to wait––and it’s heart-breaking to watch him +suffer. In one month I can teach him all he’ll ever +need to know about blocking and getting away. And +the rest? Well, you’ll get a chance to see just what +happens when he really goes into action. I tell you +it makes you stop and think.</p> +<p>“And I don’t care what <i>he</i> is fighting for; I don’t +care what he wants. Pleasure or profit, it’s all one to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span> +me. It’s you I need most right now, Chub. I know +you have always been a little particular about soiling +your hands. A shady deal never appealed to me +so much, either, but I’m not exactly bashful about +this one. That part of it will be my own private +affair. You handle the publicity end––merely hail +Bolton as a comer, when the time is ripe. Are you––are +you in on it?”</p> +<p>Morehouse thoughtfully scratched his head.</p> +<p>“I have been a trifle fastidious, haven’t I?” he +murmured, and unconsciously he mimicked Hogarty’s +measured accents. “But I hardly believe that any +sensitive scruples of mine would annoy me much in +this matter. I don’t know but what I’d just as soon +squash a snake with a brick, even if I knew it was +somebody’s beloved performing pet.</p> +<p>“That, as you say, is your side of the question. +As for me––well, every time I remember that popeyed +unctuous fat party they called the ‘Judge’ chanting +Conway’s innocent childhood, with that big, lonesome +kid standing there in the doorway listening and +trying to understand, I begin to sizzle. It is time +that Conway was licked––and licked right!</p> +<p>“Oh, I’m in on it––I want to be there! But,” he +stopped and made a painstaking effort to fit the torn +card together again, “but I have an idea that Bolton +may be the one to hold out. There are some honest +people, you know, who are honest all the time. He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span> +might not understand the necessity of––er––a little +professional fixing, so to speak.”</p> +<p>“Will he have to be in on it?” Hogarty countered +instantly. “Will he? Not to any great extent, he +won’t. According to my plan he fights straight. Don’t +you suppose I know a straight man when I see one, +just as well as you do?</p> +<p>“Here’s the whole thing––just as I’ll put it up to +Dennison before it’s dark tonight. It’s Dennison’s +own plan, too, in the first place, so he hasn’t any kick +coming. We’ll match Bolton against one of the fairly +good ones––Lancing, say––in about two weeks. +Lancing gets his orders to open up in the sixth round +and go down with the punch––and stay down! That’s +plain enough, isn’t it? Well, Bolton is fighting under +the name of ‘The Pilgrim,’ and you step up the next +morning and give him two columns––you hail him as +a real one, at last.</p> +<p>“We’ll match him with The Texan then. Conway +whipped him back a week or two, but he had his hands +full doing it. The Texan––and I ought to know––is +open to reason if the figure is big enough to be persuasive. +We’ll see to that.</p> +<p>“He gets his orders, too––just as if they were really +necessary! About the twelfth he lies down to sleep. +Why, it’s so simple it’s real art! I’ll just hold Bolton +back until those rounds. I’ll make him take it +slow––and then send him in to clean up! Dennison +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span> +is shy a match right this minute for The Red; they’re +all a little doubtful about him. The Pilgrim will be +the only logical man in the world to send against him––that +is, according to your sporting columns. And +Dennison, of course, being on the inside, knows he is +really nothing but a dub––knows it is simply a plain +open and shut proposition. That is to say––he <i>thinks</i> +he knows!”</p> +<p>Jesse Hogarty paused and the corners of his lips +twitched back to show his teeth, but not in laughter.</p> +<p>“It’s the same little frame-up that he sent against +Boots and me,” he finished. “He ought to be satisfied, +hadn’t he? And I’ll have him on the street the +next morning––I’ll put him where he’ll be glad to +borrow a dollar to buy his breakfast with!”</p> +<p>For a long time they stared back into each other’s +face: Hogarty taut at the table side, Morehouse +slouched deep in his chair. The latter was the first +to break that pregnant silence. He was nodding his +head in thoughtful finality when he lifted himself to +his feet.</p> +<p>“You’ve got me,” he stated. “You’ve got me +snared! Not that I give two hoots about what happens +to Dennison, mind! I don’t––although I must +admit that the prospect of his starving to death is a +lovely one to contemplate. And I’d die happy, I +think, if I could see The Red trimmed, and trimmed +with conscientious thoroughness. But those aren’t +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span> +my reasons for going hands with you in this assassination.</p> +<p>“I know a hunch when I see one. I ought to, for +I’ve spent the contents of my little yellow envelope +often enough trying to make one come true. And +I’m in with you, Flash, till the returns are all in from +the last district, but it’s because I know that there is +something more than either of us dream of behind +that boy’s wanting to meet Conway. He has something +on his mind; he wants something, and wants it +real bad. And I like him––I liked him right from +the beginning––so I’ll stick around and help. Maybe +I’ll find out what it is that’s been bothering him, too, +before I get through. But I wish I wasn’t of such +an inquiring turn of mind. It keeps one too stirred +up.”</p> +<p>He stopped to grin comically.</p> +<p>“Any objection, now that I’ve sworn allegiance, +Flash, if I go out and present myself?”</p> +<p>Hogarty’s whole tense body began to relax, his +lean face softened and his eyes lost much of their +hardness and glitter as he shook his head in negation.</p> +<p>“That’s a little detail of the campaign which I had +already assigned to you,” he replied, and the inflection +of his voice was perfect. “Not that I have any fears +of his going the way of his forefathers, however, because +I haven’t. And if my assurance on that point +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span> +perplexes you, you might ask him to have one drink +and watch his eyes when he refuses you.</p> +<p>“But I would like to have you look out for him +for a while. If you don’t Ogden will––Ogden likes +him, too––and he is too frivolous to be trusted.”</p> +<p>Hogarty reached out one long arm and dropped a +hand heavily upon Morehouse’s shoulder. He was +smiling openly now––smiling with a barefaced enjoyment +which the plump newspaper man had never before +known him to exhibit. And he continued to +smile, while he stood there in the open door and +watched Morehouse mince on tiptoe across the polished +floor to the corner where Ogden was officiously +presenting each member of the Monday morning +squad of regulars, as they returned from the dressing-rooms, +to the big-shouldered boy in black, whose face +was so very grave.</p> +<p>Hogarty smiled as he closed his office door, after +he had seen Morehouse slip his hand through the +crook of Young Denny’s arm, in spite of Bobby Ogden’s +yelp of protest, and clear a way to the outer entrance +with one haughty flip of his free hand.</p> +<p>Hours later that same day, when the tumult in +the long main room of the gymnasium had hushed +and the apathetic Legs and his helper had turned +again to their endless task of grooming the waxed +floor, Dennison, the manager of Jed The Red, sitting +in that same chair which Morehouse had occupied, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span> +cuddling one knee in his hands, fairly basked in that +same smile. The purring perfection of Hogarty’s +discourse was enticing. The absurd simplicity of +his plan, which he admitted must, after all, be credited +to the astuteness of Dennison himself, was more +than alluring. But that smile was the quintessence +of hypnotic flattery.</p> +<p>It savored of a delightful intimacy which Jesse +Hogarty accorded to few men.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVI' id='CHAPTER_XVI'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> +</div> +<p>In all that hill town’s history no period had +ever before been so filled with sensation as +was that one which opened with the flight of +Judge Maynard’s yellow-wheeled buckboard along +the main street of Boltonwood to herald the passing +of the last of the line of men who had given the +village its name.</p> +<p>One by one, in bewildering succession, climax after +climax had piled itself upon those which already had +left the white-haired circle of regulars about the +Tavern stove breathless with fruitless argument and +footless conjecture.</p> +<p>Old Jerry’s desertion from the ranks of the old +guard over which the Judge had ruled with a more +than despotic tongue, bursting with bomblike suddenness +in their midst that very same night which +had seen Young Denny’s dramatic departure, had +complicated matters to an inconceivable degree. For, +after all, he was the one member of the circle to +whom they had all been unconsciously looking for +a comprehensive answer to the question which the +Judge’s crafty exhibition of the boy’s bruised face +had created.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span></div> +<p>He enjoyed what none of the others could claim +an absolutely incontestable excuse for visiting the +old, weatherbeaten farmhouse on the hill above town––and +in his official capacity they felt, too, that he +might venture a few tentative inquiries at least, +which, coming from any one else, might have savored +of indelicacy.</p> +<p>Not but what the circle had enjoyed Judge Maynard’s +masterly recital, for it had held them as one +man. But they were hungry also for facts––facts +which could convince as well as entertain. Even the +Judge himself had planned upon Old Jerry’s co-operation; +he had had it in mind to be patronizingly +lenient that night; that is, after that first rebuke +which was to leave him the undisputed master of +the situation.</p> +<p>To reach the really great heights of which the +evening’s triumph was capable the old mail carrier’s +collaboration had been almost indispensable. They +had been waiting with hungry impatience for him. +And then Old Jerry had appeared––he made his +entrance and his exit––and departing had left them +gasping for breath.</p> +<p>Old Jerry had not waited to view the effect of +his mad defiance of the town’s great man. It is +doubtful if he had given that side of the issue one +passing thought, but his triumphant withdrawal from +the field had robbed the situation of not one bit of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span> +its decisiveness. Quiet followed his going, a stillness +so profound that they heard him cackling to himself +in insane glee as he went down the steps. And +that hush had endured while they waited in a delicious +state of tingling suspense for the first furious +sentences which should preface his lifelong banishment +from the circle itself.</p> +<p>For years they had whispered, “Just wait, he’ll +come to it––he’ll go just like the rest.” And so +Young Denny’s final weakening had not been so unexpected +as it might have been. And more than +once, too, when the Judge’s harsh censure of him +who had always been his stanchest supporter had +left Old Jerry cringing in his place beside the +stove, they had all felt the justice if not a premonition +of final retribution to come. It was the debonaire +dare-deviltry of Old Jerry’s defiance rather +than its unexpectedness which had proved its greatest +sensation. That day’s one supreme moment––the +only one which had not suffered from too +acute anticipation––came while they waited for +the Judge’s denial, that denial which was never +spoken.</p> +<p>The town’s great man had slumped back in his +chair in a kind of stunned trance while the apoplectic +purple of his earlier wrath faded from his face. +He did open his mouth, but not in any effort to +speak. It was only to lick his thick lips and gurgle +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span> +noisily in his fat throat. He tried to rise, too, and +failed in his first attempt––and tried again.</p> +<p>They had all realized what it was that made his +knees wabble as he crossed to the door; they understood +what had drained his face of all its color. +Every man of them knew why the latch rattled under +his shaking figure. The Judge had been afraid, not +merely morally frightened, but abjectly, utterly terrified +in the flesh––afraid of the threat in the insolent +bearing of the little, shriveled man who had +passed out into the night a moment before.</p> +<p>It could have been funny. It might have been +sublimest farce-comedy, had they not lacked the +perspective necessary for its appreciation. But it +was enough that they realized that the demagogue +had come crashing down––enough that, watching his +furtive disappearance that night, they learned how +pitiful a coward a blusterer really can be.</p> +<p>Old Jerry’s own actions in those days which followed +had furnished rich food for conjecture. The +fact that it had been the little mail-carrier himself +who had ridden in the carriage beside the slim girl +with the tumbled hair, at the head of the dreary +procession that toiled slowly up to the bleak cemetery +behind the church, had, indeed, been worthy +of some discussion. The spendthrift prodigality of +the white roses which rumor whispered he had gone +to place the next day over the new mound of raw +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span> +earth had not gone unspoken. Even the resemblance +of the girl who John Anderson had named Dryad +in his hunger for the beautiful––even the likeness +of her face with its straight little nose and wistfully +curved lips, to the features of that small, rain-stained +statue of the white and gold slip of a woman who +had been his wife, came in for its share of the discussion, +too.</p> +<p>But all those topics which were touched upon in +the nights that followed were, at best, of only secondary +importance. Inevitably the circle about the +stove swung back to a consideration of that first +day’s major climax, until the very discord of opinion +which hitherto had been the chief joy of those nightly +sessions bade fair to prove their total disruption.</p> +<p>For the circle of regulars were leaderless now; +there was no longer a master mind to hold in check +the flood of argument and rebuttal, or preserve a +unity of disagreement. Where before they had been +accustomed to take up each new development and +pursue it until it reached a state either too lucid for +further consideration or an insolvable problem that +dead-locked conversation, a half dozen different +arguments sprang up each night, splitting the circle +into wrangling factions which trebled the din of +voices and multiplied ten-fold the new note of bitter +personalities which had taken the place of former +incontrovertible logic.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span></div> +<p>Judge Maynard’s iron discipline was gone, and the +old guard faced a quite probable dissolution in the +first week or two which followed his going. More +from habit than anything else they had waited that +next night for him to come and clear his throat pompously +and open the evening’s activities. And the +Judge failed to appear, failed just as signally as had +Old Jerry.</p> +<p>And yet it was not the absence of the former which +had left them leaderless. Not one of them had realized +it the night before––but that second night they +knew!</p> +<p>By his very rebellion Old Jerry had won the thing +which years of faithful service had failed to bring. +He had dethroned the despot, and the honors were +his by right of conquest.</p> +<p>The circle knew that the Judge would never return; +after one hour of fruitless waiting that was +a certainty. But night after night they continued to +gather, stubbornly, persistently hopeful that Old +Jerry would come back. And in the meantime they +almost forgot, at times, Young Denny who had gone +the way of his fathers as they had so truly prophesied; +they only touched a little uncomfortably upon +the problem of the slim, yellow-haired girl alone in +the battered cottage at the edge of the town, while +they reviewed with startlingly fertile detail and a +lingering relish that came very close to being hero-worship, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span> +his last brief remarks which had left the +Judge a wreck of his former magnificence.</p> +<p>If Old Jerry realized all this that had come to +pass he gave no outward sign of such knowledge. +He even forgot to pause impressively upon the top +step of the post-office those days, as he always had +formerly, before he made his straight-backed descent +with the pouches slung over one shoulder. There +were mornings when he came perilously near to ignoring +altogether the double line which, with a new deference, +greeted his daily passage to the waiting buggy, +and yet there was not one who dared so much as to +whisper that there was anything in his air of preoccupation +that savored of studiously planned forethought. +But it is doubtful if he did realize the +change that had taken place, at least in that first +week or two, for Old Jerry had much of a strictly +private nature to occupy his mind.</p> +<p>He was never quite able to remember the things +he had said that morning to the girl with the too-white +face and tumbled hair, huddled in the half-light +at the table before the window, or to recall +in any sort of a connected, coherent sequence his own +actions in those first few days which followed it.</p> +<p>It aggravated him for a day or two, this inability +to piece out the details; it brought a peevish frown +to his thin face and a higher, even more querulous +note to his shrill falsetto voice, which, while they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span> +hardly understood it, nevertheless resulted in an even +profounder hush in those respectful ranks. He +couldn’t even revisualize it clearly enough for his +own private edification––for the joy of seeing himself +as others had seen him.</p> +<p>Nothing remained but a picture of Dryad Anderson’s +face––the face that had tried so hard to smile––which +she had lifted to him that first morning +when he entered the front room of the little drab +cottage at the edge of town. That was limned upon +his brain in startlingly perfect detail still––that and +one other thing. The memory of John Anderson’s +pitifully wasted form huddled slack upon the high +stool, arms outstretched and silvered head bowed in +a posture of utter weariness, remained with him, too, +clinging in spite of every effort to dislodge it.</p> +<p>That whole week had not served to wipe it out. +Day after day, as Old Jerry drove his route with the +reins taut in his nervous hands, it floated up before +him. And even when he wound the lines about the +whipstock, letting the old mare take her own pace, +and leaned back, eyes closed, against the worn cushions, +the interior of that back-room shop with its +simple, terribly inert occupant and countless rows of +tiny white statues, all so white and strangely alike, +crept in under the lids.</p> +<p>Old Jerry’s mail route suffered that week; his original +“system” of mail distribution, of which he had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span> +always been so jealously proud, went from bad to +very, very bad, and from that to an impossible worse; +and yet, while it became a veritable lottery for the +hillsfolk who were dependent upon him whether they +would receive the packet of mail which really belonged +to a two-mile distant neighbor or none at all, +in one respect the rural service improved immensely, +and the improvement––and strangely enough, too––was +as directly a result of that stubborn image of +John Anderson’s bowed head which persisted in +haunting the mind of the servant of the Gov’mint as +was the alarming growth of his lack of dependability.</p> +<p>Day by day Old Jerry grew less and less prone to +let the leisurely white mare take her own pace. Instead, +he sat stiffly erect a great portion of the time, +driving with one eye cocked calculatingly upon the +course of the sun, and his mind running far ahead +of him, to the end of the day’s route, when he would +have to turn in at the cross-road that toiled up the +grade to the wind-racked old Bolton place on the hill +north of town.</p> +<p>They had always had a forbidding aspect––Young +Denny’s black, unpainted farmhouse and dilapidated +outbuildings––even when he had been certain that just +as surely as he reached the crest he would find the +boy’s big body silhouetted against the skyline, waiting +for him, they had not been any too prepossessing. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span> +Now they never served to awake in him anything +but actual dread and distrust.</p> +<p>Old Jerry laid it to the lonesomeness of the place––to +the bleak blindness of the shaded windows and +the untenanted silence––but he took good care that no +loitering on his part would be to blame for his arrival +at the house after dusk.</p> +<p>No one, not even he himself, knew how strong the +temptation was that week to make tentative advances +of peace to the members of the circle of Tavern +regulars, for the more he dwelt upon it the finer the +dramatic possibilities of the thing seemed. But he +had misread in the hushed respect of his former intimates +a chill and uncompromising disapproval, and +he had to fall back upon a one-sided conversation with +himself as the next best thing.</p> +<p>“I wa’n’t brought up to believe in ghosts,” he +averred to himself more than once. “Ghosts naturally +is superstition––and that ain’t accordin’ to religion, +not any way you look at it. But allowing that there +could be ghosts––just for the sake of argument allowing +that there is––now what would there be to +hinder him from just kinda settlin’ down up there, as +you might say? It’s nice and quiet, ain’t it? Sort +of out of the way––and more or less comfortable, +too?”</p> +<p>At that point in the mumbled monologue the white-haired +driver of the buggy usually paused for a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span> +moment, tilting his head, birdlike, to one side, +wrapped in thought. There were those shelves lined +with countless white figures which also had to be considered.</p> +<p>“He must’ve worked mighty steady,” he told himself +time and again in a voice that was small with +awe. “He must hev almost enjoyed workin’ at ’em, +to hev finished so many! And he kept at it nearly all +the time, I reckon. And now, that’s what I’m a-gettin’ +at! Now I want to ask how do we know he’s a-goin’ +to quit now––how do we know that? We don’t know +it! And Godfrey ’Lisha, what better place would +he want than that back kitchen up there? Ain’t there +a table right there by the window, all a-waitin’ for +him––an’––an’–––”</p> +<p>Invariably he broke off there, to peer furtively at +the sun, before he whipped up his horse.</p> +<p>“Git along!” he admonished her earnestly, then, +“Git along––you! Nobody believes in ghosts––leastwise, +I don’t. But they ain’t no sense nor reason in +just a-killin’ time on the road, neither. And I ain’t +one to tempt Providence––not to any great nor damagin’ +extent, I ain’t!”</p> +<p>And yet in spite of all the uneasiness which the +combination of the dark house and the persistent +image of the little, worn-out stone-cutter kept alive in +him, in so far as Young Denny’s team of horses was +concerned, and the scanty rest of the stock which the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span> +boy had left in his care, Old Jerry kept strictly to the +letter of his agreement. At the most it meant no +more than a little readjustment of his daily schedule, +which he high-handedly rearranged to suit his better +convenience.</p> +<p>But all the rest which he had promised so fervidly +to carry out––the message which he had meant to deliver +the very next morning after the boy’s departure +and the explanation of Young Denny’s bruised face, +even a diplomatic tender of the damp wad of bills +which Denny had pushed in his hand––had somehow +been allowed to wait. For it had proved to be anything +but the admirably simple thing it had seemed +to the old man when he had volubly acquiesced to the +plan.</p> +<p>He had forgotten it that first morning. With the +well-planned opening sentence fairly trembling upon +his tongue-tip when he opened the door, the whole +thing had been swept utterly from his mind. And in +the press of events that followed he never so much +as thought of it again for days. When the memory +of it did return, a week later, somehow he found it +almost impossible to introduce the subject––at least +impossible to introduce it gracefully.</p> +<p>That was one of the reasons for his failure to execute +the mission entrusted to him. The other reason, +which was far weightier, so far as Old Jerry was +concerned, was even harder to define. He blamed it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span> +directly to the attitude of the girl with the tumbled +yellow hair and blue eyes, which were never quite +the same shade of purple. More than a small proportion +of the remarks which he had prepared beforehand +to deliver to her had consisted of reproof––not +too harsh, but for all that a trifle severe, maybe––of +her hasty and utterly unfair judgment of Young +Denny. That, he had assured himself, was only just +and merited, and could only prove, eventually, to +have been for the best. But she never gave him +a chance to deliver it. One moment of sadness on +her part would have been sufficient excuse. If he +could have surprised her just once gazing at him +from moist, questioning eyes, he felt that that would +have been enough proof of contrition and humble +meekness of spirit on her part. But he never +did.</p> +<p>Instead Old Jerry had never seen so astounding a +change take place in any human being as that which +came over her day by day. By the end of that first +week the pallor had gone entirely from her cheeks. +The deep dark circles which had rimmed the wet +eyes which she had lifted to him that first morning +disappeared so entirely that it was hard to remember +that they had ever been there at all. Even the lithely +slender body seemed fuller, rounder. To every outward +appearance at least Old Jerry had to confess +to himself that he had never seen a more supremely +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span> +contented, thoroughly happy creature than Dryad +Anderson was at that week’s end.</p> +<p>And it irritated him; it almost angered him at +times. Remembering his own travail of spirit, the +self-inflicted agony of mind which he had undergone +that day when he had first looked square into the +eyes of his own soul and acknowledge his years of +guilty unfairness to the lonely boy on the hill, he shut +his lips tight upon the message he might have delivered +and waited, stubbornly, for her to show some +sign of repentance.</p> +<p>For a day or two a mental contemplation of this +necessarily severe course brought him moments of +comparative peace of mind. It justified in a measure, +at least, his own remissness, and yet even that +mind-state at times was rudely shaken. At each day’s +end, after he had made his reluctant ascent of the +hill which led up to Young Denny’s unlighted house, +and a far speedier, none too dignified return, the +little driver of the squealing buggy made it a point to +turn off and stop for a moment or two before the +gate of John Anderson’s cottage. At first the girl’s +real need of him prompted this daily detour; then, +when the actual need no longer existed, he excused +the visit on the plea of her lonesomeness and his +promise to Denny to look after her.</p> +<p>His own loneliness––for he had never been so +lonely before in all his lonely life––and the other and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span> +real reason for this habit, he never allowed himself +to scrutinize too closely. But each day he sat a little +forward on the buggy seat as soon as he had turned +the last sharp curve in the road and stared eagerly +ahead through the afternoon dusk until he made out +her slim figure leaning against the fence waiting for +him. And every afternoon, after he had pulled the +shuffling horse to a standstill, he bent down from +his vantage point on the high seat to scan her upturned +face minutely, almost craftily at times, for +some tell-tale trace of tears on her long lashes, or a +possible quiver of her lips, or a suspicious droop in +her boyish shoulders. And he never discovered either +the one or the other.</p> +<p>It was at such moments that his peace of mind +suffered, for no sane man could ever have read, by +any stretching of the imagination, anything akin to +sorrow or sadness in the low laugh with which she +invariably met his scrutiny. It fairly bubbled joy. +Each day Old Jerry found her only happy––offensively +happy––and where he had been secretly watching +her for one betraying sign he became uneasily +conscious after a time that very often she, too, seemed +to be scanning his own face as if she were trying to +penetrate into the inner tumult of perplexities behind +his seamed forehead. Some days he was almost certain +that there was a calculating light in her steady +eyes––a hint of half-hidden delight in something he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span> +couldn’t understand––and it worried him. It bothered +him almost as much as did the unvaried formula with +which she greeted him every afternoon.</p> +<p>“Have you any news for me today?” she always +asked him. “Surely you’ve something new to tell me +this afternoon––now, haven’t you?”</p> +<p>The tone in which she made the query was never +anything but disarming; it was quite childishly wheedling +and innocently eager, he thought. But reiterated +from day to day it wore on his nerves after a while. +Added to the something he sometimes thought he +caught glimmering in her tip-tilted eyes, it made him +more than a little uncomfortable. He fell back upon +a quibble to dodge the issue.</p> +<p>“Was you expectin’ a letter?” he always countered.</p> +<p>This daily veiled tilt of wits might have gone on +indefinitely had not a new development presented itself +which threw an entirely different aspect upon the +whole affair.</p> +<p>A fortnight had elapsed since Denny Bolton’s mysterious +departure from the village when it happened. +As usual, after the day’s duties were completed with +his hurried return from the Bolton homestead, Old +Jerry turned off at the crossroads to stop for a moment +before the cottage squatting in its acre of desolate +garden. He didn’t even straighten up in his seat +that afternoon to gaze ahead of him, so certain he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span> +had grown that she would be waiting for him, a hint +of laughter in her eyes and the same disturbing question +on her lips, and not until the fat animal between +the shafts had stopped of her own accord before the +straggling fence did he realize that the girl was not +there. Then her absence smote him full.</p> +<p>It frightened him. Right from the first he was +conscious of impending disaster born quite entirely +of the knowledge of his own guilt. The front door +of the house was open and after fruitless minutes of +panicky pondering he clambered down and advanced +uncertainly toward it. His shadow across the threshold +heralded his reluctant coming, and Dryad turned +from the half-filled box upon the table over which she +had been bending and nodded to him almost before +he caught sight of her.</p> +<p>That little, intimately brief inclination of the head +was her only greeting. With hands grasping each +side of the door-frame Old Jerry stood there and +gazed about the room. It had never been anything +but bare and empty looking––now with the few larger +pieces of furniture which it had contained all stacked +in one corner and the smaller articles already stored +away in a half-dozen boxes, the last of which was +holding the girl’s absorbed attention, it would have +been barnlike had it not been so small. From where +he stood Old Jerry could see through into the smaller +back-room workshop. Even its shelves were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span> +empty,––entirely stripped of their rows of tiny white woman-figures.</p> +<p>He paled as he grasped the ominous import of it; +he tried to speak unconcernedly, but his voice was +none too steady.</p> +<p>“So you’re a-house-cleanin’, be you?” he asked +jauntily. “Ain’t you commencin’ a little early?”</p> +<p>He was uncomfortably conscious of that interrogative +gleam in Dryad’s glance––that amused glimmer +which he couldn’t quite fathom––when she turned +her head. She was smiling, too, a little––smiling with +her lips as well as with her eyes.</p> +<p>“No-o-o,” she stated with preoccupied lack of emphasis, +as she bent again over the box. “No––I’m +packing up.”</p> +<p>Old Jerry had known that that would be her answer. +He had been certain of it. The other interpretation––the +only other possible one which could +be put upon the dismantled room––had been nothing +more or less than a momentary and desperate grasping +at a straw.</p> +<p>For a while he was very, very quiet, wondering +just what it was in her mind which made her so cheerfully +indifferent to his presence. She filled that last +box while he stood there in the doorway, stood off +to survey her work critically, and then picked up a +hammer that lay on the table and prepared to nail +down the lid.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span></div> +<p>“I’ve hit my finger four times today,” she apprised +him between strokes as she drove the first nail home. +“Four times this afternoon––and always the same +finger, too!”</p> +<p>The very irrelevancy of the statement, coupled with +her calm serenity, was appalling to the old man. She +didn’t so much as lift her eyes when she told him, +but when the lid was fastened she whirled suddenly +with that impetuosity which always startled him more +than a little, her hands tightly clasped in front of +her, and fairly beamed at him.</p> +<p>“There, that finishes everything––everything but +the pots and pans,” she cried. “And I’ll need them +a little longer, anyway, won’t I? But maybe I won’t +take them with me, either––they’re pretty old and +worn out. What do you think?”</p> +<p>Old Jerry cleared his throat. He ignored her question.</p> +<p>“Ain’t––ain’t this a trifle sudden,” he faltered––“jest +a trifle?”</p> +<p>She shook her head again and laughed softly, as +if from sheer joyous excitement.</p> +<p>“No,” she said. “No, I’ve been planning it for +days and days––oh, for more than a week!”</p> +<p>Then she seemed to catch for the first time the +dreariness of his whole attitude––the dejection of +his spare angular body and sparrowlike, anxious face.</p> +<p>“You’re sorry I’m going,” she accused him then, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span> +and she leaned toward him a little, eyes quizzically +half closed. “I knew you’d be sorry!” And then, +swiftly, “Aren’t you?”</p> +<p>Old Jerry scraped first one foot and then the other.</p> +<p>“I reckon I be,” he admitted faintly. “Kinda surprised, +too. I––I wa’n’t exactly calculating on anything +like this. It––it’s kinda thrown me off my +reckonin’! Are you––are you figurin’ on goin’ right +away?”</p> +<p>Dryad spun about and threw her head far on one +side to scan the whole bare room.</p> +<p>“Tomorrow, maybe,” she decided, when she +turned back to him. “Or the next day at the very +latest. You see, everything is about ready now, and +there isn’t any reason for me to stay, on and on, +here––is there?”</p> +<p>A little tired note crept into the last words, edging +the question with a suggestion of wistfulness. It +was something not so very different from that for +which Old Jerry had been stubbornly waiting throughout +those entire two weeks, but he failed to catch +it at that moment. He had heard nothing but her +statement that she meant to remain at least another +day. It made it possible for him to breathe deeply +once again.</p> +<p>Much could happen in twenty-four hours. She +might even change her mind, he desperately assured +himself––women were always doing something like +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span> +that, wern’t they? But even if she did go it was +a reprieve; it gave him one last opportunity. Now, +for the present, all he wanted was to get away––to +get away by himself and think! On heavily dragging +feet he turned to go back down the rotting +boardwalk.</p> +<p>“I––I’ll drop in on you tomorrow,” he suggested, +pausing at the steps. “I’ll stop in on my way ’round––to––to +say good-by.”</p> +<p>The girl stood in the doorway smiling down at +him. He couldn’t meet her eyes. As it was he felt +that their gaze went through and through him. And +so he did not see her half lift her arms to him in a +sudden quite wonderful gesture of contrite and remorseful +reassurance. He did not hear the first +of the impulsive torrent of words which she barely +smothered behind lips that trembled a little. His +head was bowed so that he did not see her eyes, and +if he could but have seen them and nothing else, he +would have understood, without the words or the +gesture.</p> +<p>Instead he stood there, plucking undecidedly at +his sleeve.</p> +<p>“Because I––I wouldn’t like to hev you go––without +seein’ you again,” he went on slowly––“without +a chance to tell you something––er––to tell you good-by.”</p> +<p>He didn’t wait for her answer. At the far bend +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span> +in the road, when he looked back, she was still there +in the doorway watching him.</p> +<p>He was not quite certain, but he thought she threw +up one thin white arm to him as he passed out of +sight.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVII' id='CHAPTER_XVII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> +</div> +<p>It rained that next day––a dull, steady downpour +that slanted in upon a warm, south wind. Old +Jerry was glad of the storm. The leaden grayness +of the low-hanging clouds matched perfectly his +own frame of mind, and the cold touch of the rain +soothed his hot head, too, as it swept in under the +buggy hood, and helped him to think a little better. +There was much that needed readjusting.</p> +<p>Throughout the early hours of that morning he +drove with a newspaper spread flat upon his knees––the +afternoon edition of the previous day, which, in +the face of other matters, he had had neither the +necessary time nor enthusiasm to examine until it +was an entire twelve hours old. At any other time +the contents of that red-headlined sheet would have +set his pulses throbbing in a veritable ecstasy of +excitement.</p> +<p>For two whole weeks he had been watching for +it, scanning every inch of type for the news it brought, +but now that account of Young Denny’s first match, +with a little, square picture of him inset at the column +head, fell woefully flat so far as he was concerned.</p> +<p>Not that the plump newspaperman who had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span> +written the account of that first victorious bout had +achieved anything but a masterpiece of sensationalism. +Every line was alive with action, every phrase +seemed to thud with the actual shock of contest. And +there was that last paragraph, too, which hailed +Denny––“The Pilgrim,” they called him in the paper, +but that couldn’t deceive Old Jerry––as the newcomer +for whom the public had been waiting so long, +and, toward the end, so hopelessly.</p> +<p>It was really a perfect thing of its kind––but Old +Jerry could not enjoy it that morning, even though +it was Denny Bolton’s first triumph, to be shared +by him alone in equal proportion. Instead of sending +creepy thrills chasing up and down his spine it merely +intensified his doleful bitterness of spirit. Long before +noon he breathed a leaden heavy sigh, refolded +the sodden sheet and put it away in the box beneath +the seat.</p> +<p>The old mare took her own pace that day. In a +brain that was already burdened until it fairly ached +there was no room for the image of the silver-haired +stone-cutter which had made for speed on other occasions. +He had plenty to occupy his mind which +was of a strictly immediate nature.</p> +<p>A dozen times that morning Old Jerry asked himself +what he would tell Dryad Anderson that night, +when he stopped at the little drab cottage at the +route’s end, ostensibly to bid her good-by. He asked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span> +himself, in desperate reiteration, <i>how</i> he would tell, +for he knew that the long delay in the delivery of +Denny’s message was going to need more than a little +explanation. And when he had wrestled with the +question until his eyes stung and his temples throbbed, +and still could find no solution for it, he turned helplessly +to the consideration of another phase of the +problem.</p> +<p>He fell to tormenting himself with the possibility +of her having gone already. Everything in those bare +rooms had been packed––there was no real reason +for the girl to remain another hour. Perhaps she +had reconsidered, changed her mind, and departed +even earlier than she had planned, and if she had––if +she had–––</p> +<p>Whenever he reached that point, dumbly he bowed +his head.</p> +<p>It was dark when he turned off the main road and +started up the long hill toward the Bolton place––not +just dark, but a blackness so profound that the +mare between the shafts was only a half formless +splotch of gray as she plodded along ahead. Even +his dread of the place, which formerly had been so +acute, did not penetrate the mental misery that +wrapped him; he did not vouchsafe so much as one +uneasy glance ahead until a glimmer of light which +seemed to flash out from the rear of the house fairly +shocked him into conscious recollection of it all.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span></div> +<p>He sprang erect then, spilling a cataract of water +from his hat brim in a chill trickle down the back +of his neck, and barked a shrilly staccato command +at the placid horse. The creaking buggy came to a +standstill.</p> +<p>He tried to persuade himself it was a reflection +of the village lights upon the window panes which +had startled him, but it was only a half-hearted effort. +No one could mistake the glow that filtered out of +the black bulk of the rear of the house for anything +save the thing it was. Half way up the hill he sat +there, hunched forward in a hopeless huddle, his eyes +protected by cupped palms, and stared and stared.</p> +<p>Once before, the evening of that day when the +Judge’s exhibition of Young Denny’s bruised face had +been more than his curiosity could endure, he had +approached that bleak farmhouse in fear and trembling, +but the trepidation of that night, half real, half +a child of his own erratic imagination, bulked small +beside the throat-tightening terror of this moment.</p> +<p>And yet he did not turn back. The thought that +he had only to wheel his buggy and beat as silent a +retreat as his ungreased axles would permit never +occurred to him. It was much as if his harrowed +spirit, driven hither and yon without mercy throughout +the whole day long, had at last backed into a +corner, in a mood of last-ditch, crazy desperation, and +bared its teeth.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span></div> +<p>“If he is up there,” he stated doggedly, “if he +is up there, a-putterin’ with his everlasting lump o’ +clay, he ain’t got no more right up there than I hev! +He’s just a-trespassin’, that’s what he’s a-doin’. I’m +the legal custodian of the place––it was put into +my hands––and I’ll tell him so. I’ll give him a +chance to git out––or––or I’ll hev the law on +him!”</p> +<p>The plump mare went forward again. There was +something terribly uncanny, even in her relentless advance, +but the old man clung to the reins and let +her go without a word. When she reached the top +she slumped lazily to a standstill and fell contentedly +to nibbling grass.</p> +<p>The light in the window was much brighter, viewed +from that lessened distance––thin, yellow streaks +of brightness that quivered a little from the edges +of a drawn shade. An uneven wick might easily have +accounted for the unsteadiness, but in that flickering +pallor Old Jerry found something ominously unhealthy––almost +uncanny.</p> +<p>But he went on. He clambered down from his +high seat and went doggedly across––steadily––until +his hand found the door-latch. And he gave himself +no time for reconsideration or retreat. The metal +catch yielded all too readily under the pressure of +his fingers, and when the door swung in he followed +it over the threshold.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span></div> +<p>The light blinded him for a moment––dazzled him––yet +not so completely but that he saw, too clearly +for any mistake, the figure that had turned from the +stove to greet him. Dryad Anderson’s face was pink-tinted +from forehead to chin by the heat of the glowing +lids––her lips parted a little until the small teeth +showed white beyond their red fullness.</p> +<p>In her too-tight, boyish blouse, gaping at the throat, +she stood there in the middle of the room, hands +bracketed on delicate hips, and smiled at him. And +behind her the lamp in its socket on the wall smoked +a trifle from a too-high wick.</p> +<p>Old Jerry stood and gazed at her, one hand still +clutching the door latch. In one great illuminating +flash he saw it all––understood just what it meant––and +with that understanding a hot wave of rage +began to well up within him––a fierce and righteous +wrath, borne of all that day’s unnecessary agony and +those last few minutes of fear.</p> +<p>It was a hoax on her part. She had been trifling +with him the day before, just as she had been playing +fast and loose with his peace of mind for days. An +ejaculation bordering close upon actual profanity +trembled upon his lips, but a draft of cold air sweeping +in at the open doorway set the lamp flickering +wildly and brought him back a little to himself. His +eyes went again to the girl in the middle of the floor. +She was rocking to and fro upon the balls of her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span> +feet, every inch of her fairly pulsing with mocking, +malicious delight.</p> +<p>She waited for him to speak, and he, stiff of back +and grim of face, stood stonily silent. She seemed +all innocently unaware of his unconcealed disgust. +The quizzical smile only widened before the chilly +threat of his beady eyes and ruffled forehead. And +then, all in one breath, her little pouted chin went up +and she burst into a low gurgle of utter enjoyment +of the tableau.</p> +<p>“Well,” she demanded, “aren’t you ever going to +say anything? Here I am! I––I decided to move +today––there really wasn’t any use of waiting. +Aren’t you surprised––just a little?”</p> +<p>The meekness of her voice, so wholly belied by +her eyes and lips and swaying boy-like body, only +tightened the old man’s mouth. He was still reviewing +all that long day’s mental torment, counting the +wasted hours which might have been applied to a +soul-satisfying feast upon Morehouse’s red-headlined +account in the paper. No veteran had ever marched +more hopelessly into a cannon’s mouth than he had +approached the door of that kitchen.</p> +<p>And yet a flood of thankfulness, the direct reflex +of his first impotent rage, threatened to sweep up +and drown the fires of his wrath. Already he wanted +to slump down into a chair and rest weary body and +wearier, relieved brain; he wanted a minute or two +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span> +in which to realize that she was there––that his unfulfilled +promise was still far from being actual catastrophe––and +he would not let himself. Not yet!</p> +<p>She had been playing with him––playing with him +cat-and-mouse fashion. The birdlike features which +had begun to relax hardened once more.</p> +<p>“Maybe I be,” he answered her question with noncommittal +grimness. “Maybe I be––and maybe I +ain’t!” And then, almost belligerently: “Your +lamp’s a-smokin’!”</p> +<p>She turned and strained on tiptoe and lowered it.</p> +<p>“I thought you would be,” she agreed, too gravely +for his complete comfort, when she had accomplished +the readjustment of the wick to her entire satisfaction. +“For, you know, you seemed a little worried +and––well, not just happy, yesterday, when I told you +I was going to move I––I felt sure you would be +glad to find that I hadn’t gone far!”</p> +<p>Old Jerry remembered at that moment and he +removed his soaked hat. He turned, too, and drew +up a chair. It gave him an opportunity to avoid +those moistly mirthful eyes for a moment. Seated +and comfortably tilted back against the wall he felt +less ill at ease––felt better able to deal with the +situation as it should be dealt with.</p> +<p>For a moment her presence there had only confounded +him––that was when the wave of righteous +wrath had swept him––but at the worst he had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span> +counted it nothing more than a too far-fetched bit of +fantastic mischief conceived to tantalize him.</p> +<p>Her last statement awakened in him a preposterously +impossible suspicion which, now that he had a +chance to glance about the room, was confirmed instantly––absolutely. +It was astounding––utterly unbelievable––and +yet on all the walls, in every corner, +there were the indisputable evidences of her intention +to remain indefinitely––permanently.</p> +<p>At least it gave him an opening.</p> +<p>“You don’t mean to say,” he began challengingly, +“you don’t mean to tell me that you’re a-figurin’ on +stayin’ here––for good?”</p> +<p>She pursed her lips and nodded vigorously at him +until the loosened wisps of hair half hid her eyes. It +was quite as though she were pleased beyond belief +that he had got at the gist of it all so speedily.</p> +<p>“Yes, for good,” she explained ecstatically, “or,” +more slowly, “or at least for quite a while. You +see I like it here! It’s just like home already––just +like I always imagined home would be when I really +had one, anyway. There’s so much room––and it’s +warm, too. And then, the floors don’t squeak, either. +I don’t think I care for squeaky floors––do you?”</p> +<p>A quick widening of those almost purple eyes accompanied +the last question.</p> +<p>The little white-haired figure in the back-tilted chair +snorted. He tried to disguise it behind a belated +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span> +cough, but it was quite palpably a snort of outraged +patience and dignity. She couldn’t fool him +any longer––not even with that wide-eyed appealingly +infantile stare. He knew, without looking closer, +that there was a flare of mirth hidden within its +velvet duskiness. And there was only one way to +deal with such shallowness––that was with firm and +unmistakable severity. He leaned forward and +pounded one meager knee for emphasis as Judge +Maynard had often done.</p> +<p>“You can’t do it!” he emphasized flatly, his thin +voice almost gloatingly triumphant. “Whatever put +it into your head I don’t know––but don’t you realize +what you’re a-doin’, comin’ up here like this and +movin’ in, high-handed, without speaking to nobody? +Well, you’ve made yourself liable to trespass––that’s +what you’ve done! Trespass and house-breaking, +too, I guess, without interviewin’ me first!”</p> +<p>The violet eyes flew wider. Old Jerry was certain +that he caught a gleam of apprehension in them. +She took one faltering step toward him and then +stopped, irresolute, apparently. Somehow the mute +appeal in that whole poise was too much, even for +his outraged dignity. Maybe he had gone a little +too far. He attempted to temper the harshness of +it.</p> +<p>“Not a-course,” he added deprecatingly, “meanin’ +that anything like that would be likely to happen to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span> +you. Seein’ as you didn’t exactly understand, I +wouldn’t take no steps against you.” And, even more +encouragingly, “I doubt if I’d hev any legal right to +proceed against anybody without seeing Den––without +seeing the rightful owner first.”</p> +<p>He bit his tongue painfully in covering that slip, +but Dryad had not seemed to notice it. She crossed +back to the stove and in an absolute silence fell to +prodding with a fork beneath steaming lids.</p> +<p>“I really should have thought of that myself,” +she murmured pensively. “After seeing you return +from here every afternoon, I should have known he––the +place had been left in your care.”</p> +<p>It rather startled him––that half absent-minded +statement of hers––it disturbed his confidence in his +command of the situation. Sitting there he told himself +that he should have realized long ago that she +could easily watch the hill road from the door of the +little drab cottage huddled at the end of Judge Maynard’s +acres.</p> +<p>He began to feel guilty again––began to wonder +just how much his daily visits to Denny’s place had +led her to suspect. But Dryad did not wait for +any reply. She had turned once more until she was +facing him, her lips beginning to curl again, petal-like, +at the corners.</p> +<p>“But you would have to interview the real owner +first?” she inquired insistently. “You do think that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span> +would be necessary before you could make me leave, +don’t you?”</p> +<p>He nodded––nodded warily. Something in her +bearing put him on his guard. And then, before he +knew how it had happened, a little rush had carried +her across the room and she was kneeling at his feet, +her face upflung to him.</p> +<p>“Then you’ll have to interview me,”––the words +trembled madly, breathlessly, from her lips. “You’ll +have to interview me––because––because I own it all––all––every +bit of it!”</p> +<p>And she laughed up at him––laughed with a queer, +choking, strained note catching in her throat up into +his blankly incredulous face. He felt her thin young +arms tighten about him; he even half caught her +next hysterical words in spite of his amazement, and +for all that they were quite meaningless to him.</p> +<p>“You dear,” she rushed on. “O, you dear, dear +stubborn old fraud! I punished you, didn’t I? You +were frightened––afraid I’d go! You know you +were! As if I’d ever leave until––until––” She +failed to finish that sentence. “But I’ll never, never +tease you so again!”</p> +<p>Then there came that lightning-like change of mood +which always left him breathless in his inability to +follow it. The mirth went out of her eyes––her lips +drooped and began to work strangely as she knelt and +gazed up at him.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span></div> +<p>“I bought his mortgage,” she told him slowly. “I +bought it from Judge Maynard a week ago with part +of the money he gave me for our place there below +his. He was very generous. Somehow I feel that +he paid me––much more than it was worth. He’s +always wanted it and––and I––there wasn’t any need +for me to stay there any more, was there?”</p> +<p>Old Jerry had never seen a face so terribly earnest +before––so hungrily wistful––but it was the light that +glowed in that kneeling girl’s eyes that held him +dumb. It left him completely incapable of coherent +thought, yet mechanically his mind leaped back to that +night, two weeks before, when Young Denny had +stumbled and gone floundering to his knees before +her, there on that very threshold. The boy’s own +words had painted that picture for him too vividly +for him to forget. And he knew, without reasoning +it out, just from the world of pain there in her eyes, +that she, too, at that moment was thinking of that +limp figure––of the great red gash across its chin.</p> +<p>“I didn’t help him,” she went on, and now her +voice was little more than a whisper. “I went and +left him here alone––and hurt––when I should have +stayed, that night when he went away. And so I +bought it––I bought it because I thought some day +he might come back––and need me even more. I +thought if he did come––he’d feel as though he had +just––come back home! And––and just to be here +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span> +waiting, I thought, too, might somehow help me to +have faith that he would come, some day––safe!”</p> +<p>The old man felt the fiercely tense little arms go +slack then. Her head went forward and lay heavy, +pillowed in her hands upon his knees. But he sat +there for a full minute, staring down at the thick, +shimmering mass of her hair, swallowing an unaccountable +lump that bothered his breathing preparatory +to telling her all that he had kept waiting for +just that opportunity, before he realized that she was +crying. And for an equally long period he cast desperately +about for the right thing to say. It came +to him finally––a veritable inspiration.</p> +<p>“Why, you don’t want to cry,” he told her slowly. +“They––they ain’t nothing to worry about now! For +if that’s the case––if you’ve gone to work and bought +it, why, I ain’t got no more jurisdiction over it––none +whatever!”</p> +<p>Immediately she lifted her head and gazed long +and questioningly at him, but Old Jerry’s face was +only guilelessly grave. It was more than that––benevolent +reassurance lit up every feature, and little by +little her brimming eyes began to clear; they began +to glisten with that baffling delight that had irritated +him so before. She slipped slowly to her feet and +stood and gazed down at him. Old Jerry knew then +that he would never again see so radiant a face as hers +was at that moment.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span></div> +<p>“I wasn’t crying because I was worried,” she said, +and she managed not to laugh. “I’ve been doing +that every night, all night long, for two weeks. That +was before I understood––things! But today––this +afternoon I found something––read something––that +made me understand better. I––I’m just crying a +little tonight because I am so glad.”</p> +<p>Old Jerry couldn’t quite fathom the whole meaning +of those last words of hers. They surprised +him so that all the things he had meant to tell her +right then of Young Denny’s departure once more +went totally out of mind. He wondered if it was +the red-headlined account of his first battle that +she had seen. No matter how doubtful it was +he felt it was very, very possible, for at each +day’s end he had been leaving Denny’s roll of +papers there just as he had when the boy was at +home.</p> +<p>But the rest of it he understood in spite of the +wonder of it all. Whenever he remembered Young +Denny asprawl upon the floor it seemed to him a +thing too marvelous for belief, and yet, recalling the +light that had glowed radiant in that girl’s eyes, he +knew it was the only thing left to believe.</p> +<p>He talked it over with himself that night on the +way home.</p> +<p>“She bought it so’s if he ever did want to come +back, he’d feel as if he had come back home,” he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span> +repeated her words, and he pondered long upon them. +There was only one possible deduction.</p> +<p>“She thought he wouldn’t have nothing left to buy +it back when he did come––that he’d be started on +the road all the rest of ’em traveled and pretty well––shot––to––pieces! +That’s what she thought,” he +decided.</p> +<p>He shook his head over it.</p> +<p>“And she didn’t know,” he marveled. “She didn’t +know how that old jug really got broke––because I +ain’t told her yet! But she’s waitin’ for him just the +same––just a-waitin’ for him, no matter how he +comes. Figurin’ on takin’ care of him, too––that’s +what she was doin’––her that ain’t no bigger’n his +little finger!”</p> +<p>The storm had blown over long before his buggy +went rattling down that long hill, and he sat with the +reins dangling neglected between his knees and +squinted up at the stars.</p> +<p>“I always did consider I’d been pretty lucky,” he +confided after a time to the plump mare’s lazily flopping +ears, “never gettin’ mixed up in any matrimonial +tangle, so to speak. But now––now I ain’t quite so +sure.” A lonesome note crept into the querulous +voice. “Maybe I’d hev kept my eyes open a little +mite wider’n I did if I’d ever a-dreamed anybody +could care like that.... Don’t happen very +often though, I reckon. Just about once in a lifetime, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span> +maybe. Maybe, if he ain’t too blind to see +it when it does come ... maybe once to every +man!”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>That next week marked the beginning of an intimacy +unlike anything which Old Jerry had ever +before known in all his life, for in spite of the girl’s +absolute proprietorship he continued his daily trips +up the long hill, not only for the purpose of leaving +Young Denny’s bundle of papers and seed catalogues, +but to attend to the stock which the boy had left in +his care as well. It never occurred to him that that +duty was only optional with him now.</p> +<p>He never again attempted either, after that night, +to explain his delinquency and deliver Young Denny’s +message to her. There seemed to him absolutely no +need now to open a subject which was bound to be +embarrassing to him. And then, too, a sort of tacit +understanding appeared to have sprung up between +them that needed no further explanation.</p> +<p>Only once was the temptation to confess to her the +real reason for Denny’s sudden going almost stronger +than he could resist. That was quite a month later, +when the news of the boy’s second battle was flaunted +broadcast by the same red-headlined sheet. Then +for days he considered the advisability of such a +move.</p> +<p>It was not some one to share his hot pride that he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span> +wanted; he had lived his whole life almost entirely +within himself, and so his elation was no less keen +because he had no second person with whom to discuss +the victory. He wanted her opinion on a quite +different question––a question which he felt utterly +incapable of deciding for himself. It was no less a +plan than that he should be present at the match +which was already hinted at between “The Pilgrim” +and Jed The Red––Jeddy Conway, from that very +village.</p> +<p>There were days when he almost felt that she +knew of this new perplexity of his, felt that she really +had seen that account of Young Denny’s first fight and +had been watching for the second, and at such times +only a mumbled excuse and a hasty retreat saved him +from baring his secret desire.</p> +<p>“She’d think I’d gone stark crazy,” he excused his +lack of courage. “She’d say I was a-goin’ into my +second childhood!”</p> +<p>Yet in the end it was the girl with the tip-tilted +eyes who decided it for him.</p> +<p>Spring had slipped into early summer when the +day came which made the gossip of “The Pilgrim’s” +possible bid for the championship a certainty. It was +harder than ever for Old Jerry after that. Each fresh +day’s issue brought forth a long and exhaustive comparison +of the two men’s chances––of their strength +and weaknesses. The technical discussion the old +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span> +man skipped; it was undecipherable to him and +enough that Young Denny was hailed as a certain +winner.</p> +<p>And then as the day set for the match crept nearer +and nearer, he began to notice a new and alarming +change in the tone of that daily column. At first +it was only fleeting––too intangible for one to place +one’s finger upon it. But by the end of another week +it was openly inquiring whether “The Pilgrim” had +as much as an even chance of winning after all.</p> +<p>It bewildered Old Jerry; it was beyond his comprehension, +and had he not been so depressed himself +he would have noted the change that came over +the girl, too, these days. He never entered the big +back kitchen now to hear her humming softly to +herself, and sometimes he had to speak several times +before she even heard him.</p> +<p>That continued for almost a week, and then there +came a day, a scant three days before the date which +he had hungrily underlined in red upon a mental calendar, +which brought the whole vexing indecision to a +precipitate head.</p> +<p>Old Jerry read that day’s column in the sporting +extra with weazened face going red with anger––read +it with fists knotted. Those others had been +merely skeptical––doubtful of “The Pilgrim’s” willingness +to meet the champion––and now it openly +scoffed at him; it laughed at his ability, lashed him +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span> +with ridicule. And, to cap it all, it accused him openly +of having already “sold out” to his opponent.</p> +<p>When the little white-haired driver of the buggy +reached the house on the hill that night he was as +pale as he had been red, hours before, and he pleaded +fatigue to excuse his too hasty departure. He did +not see that she was almost as openly eager to have +him go or that she almost ran across to the table under +the light with the packet of papers as he turned +away.</p> +<p>Had he noticed he would have been better prepared +the next night for the scene that met him when +he opened her door at dusk. One step was all he +took, and then he stopped, wide-eyed, aghast. Dryad +was standing in the middle of the room, her hair +loose about her shoulders, lips drawn dangerously +back from tight little teeth, fists clenched at her throat, +and her eyes flaming.</p> +<p>Old Jerry had never before seen her in a rage; he +had never before seen anybody so terribly, pallidly +violent. As he entered her eyes shot up to his. He +heard her breath come and go, come and go, between +dry lips. And suddenly she lifted her feet and +stamped upon the newspaper strewn about her on the +floor––infinitesimal shreds which she had torn and +flung from her.</p> +<p>“It’s a lie!” she gasped. “It’s a lie––a lie! They +said he couldn’t win anyway; they said he had sold––sold +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span> +his chance to win––and they lie! He’s never +been whipped. He’s never––been––whipped––yet!”</p> +<p>It frightened him. The very straining of her +throat and the mad rise and fall of her breast made +him afraid for her. In his effort to quiet her he +hardly reckoned what he was saying.</p> +<p>“Why, it––it don’t mean nothin’,” he stated mildly. +“That newspaper trash ain’t no account, anyway you +look at it.”</p> +<p>“Then why do they print it?” she stormed. “How +do they dare to print it? They’ve been doing it for +days––weeks!”</p> +<p>He felt more equal to that question. The answer +fairly popped into his brain.</p> +<p>“They hev to, I reckon,” he said with a fine semblance +of cheerfulness. “If they didn’t maybe everybody’d +be so sure he’d win that they wouldn’t even +bother to go to see it.” And then, very carelessly, as +though it was of little importance: “Don’t know’s +I would hev thought of goin’ myself if it hadn’t been +for that. It’s advertisin’ I reckon––just advertisin’!”</p> +<p>Her fists came down from her chin; her whole body +relaxed. It was that bewildering change of mood +which he could never hope to follow. She even started +toward him.</p> +<p>“Wouldn’t have thought of it!” she repeated. +“Why––why, you don’t mean that you <i>aren’t</i> going?”</p> +<p>It was quite as though she had never considered +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span> +the possibility of such a contingency. Old Jerry’s +mouth dropped open while he stared at her.</p> +<p>“Go,” he stammered, “me go! Why, it’s goin’ to +happen tomorrow night!”</p> +<p>She nodded her head in apparent unconsciousness +of his astonishment.</p> +<p>“You’ll have to leave on the early train,” she +agreed, “and––and so I won’t see you again.”</p> +<p>She turned her back upon him for a moment. He +realized that she was fumbling inside the throat of +the little, too-tight blouse. When she faced him again +there was something in the palm of her outstretched +hand.</p> +<p>“I’ve been waiting for you to come tonight,” she +went on, “and it was hard waiting. That’s why I +tore the paper up, I think. And now, will you––will +you give him this for me––give it to him when he has +won? You won’t have to say anything.” She hesitated. +“I––I think he’ll understand!”</p> +<p>Old Jerry reached out and took it from her––a +bit of a red silk bow, dotted with silver spangles. He +gazed at it a moment before he tucked it away in +an inside pocket, and in that moment of respite his +brain raced madly.</p> +<p>“Of course I figured on goin’,” he said, when +his breath returned, “but I been a little undecided––jest +a trifle! But I ought to be there; he might be +a mite anxious if they wasn’t somebody from home. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span> +And I’ll give it to him then––I’ll give it to him when +he’s won!”</p> +<p>He went a bit unsteadily back to his waiting buggy.</p> +<p>“She had that all ready to give me,” he said to +himself as he climbed up to the high seat. Tentatively +his fingers touched the little lump that the spangly +bow of red made inside his coat. “She’s had it all +ready for me––mebby for days! But how’d she +know I was a-goin’?” he asked himself. “How’d +<i>she</i> know, when I didn’t know myself?”</p> +<p>He gave it up as a feminine whimsicality too deep +for mere male wisdom. Once on the way back he +thought of the route that would go mailless the next +day.</p> +<p>“’Twon’t hurt ’em none to wait a day or so,” he +stated, and his voice was just a little tinged with +importance. “Maybe it’ll do ’em good. And there +ain’t no way out of it, anyhow––for I surely got to +be there!”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVIII' id='CHAPTER_XVIII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +</div> +<p>Morehouse did not hear the door in the +opaque glass partition that walled his desk +off from the outer editorial offices open and +close, for all that it was very quiet. Ever since the +hour which followed the going to press of the afternoon +edition of the paper the huge room, with its +littered floor and flat-topped tables, had been deserted, +so still that the buzzing of a blue-bottle fly against +the window pane at Morehouse’s side seemed irritatingly +loud by contrast.</p> +<p>The plump newspaperman in brown was too deeply +preoccupied to hear anything so timidly unobtrusive +as was that interruption, and only after the intruder +had plucked nervously at the elbow that supported +his chin did he realize that he was not alone. His +head came up then, slowly, until he was gazing back +into the eyes of the little, attenuated old man who, +head tilted birdlike to one side, was standing beside +him in uncomfortable, apologetic silence.</p> +<p>It surprised Morehouse more than a little. For +the life of him he couldn’t have told just whom he +had expected to see when he looked up, but nothing +could have startled him more than the presence of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span> +that white-haired wisp of a man with the beady eyes +who fitted almost uncannily into the perplexing puzzle +which had held him there at his desk until dusk. He +forgot to greet the newcomer. Instead he sat gazing +at him, wide-mouthed, and after Old Jerry had borne +the scrutiny as long as he could he took the initiative +himself.</p> +<p>“Well, I got here,” he quavered. “I been a-tryin’ +to get upstairs to see you ever since about three +o’clock, and they wouldn’t let me in. Said you was +too busy to be bothered, even when I told ’em I belonged +to the Gov’mint service. But I managed to +slip by ’em at last!”</p> +<p>He paused and waited for some word of commendation. +Morehouse merely nodded. He was +thinking––thinking hard! The voice was almost as +familiar to him as was his own, and yet it persisted +in tantalizing his memory. He couldn’t quite place +it. Old Jerry sensed something of his difficulty.</p> +<p>“I’m from Boltonwood,” he introduced himself, +not quite so uncertainly. “I’m Old Jerry. Maybe +you remember me––I sat just next the stove that +night you was in town a-huntin’ news.”</p> +<p>Then Morehouse remembered. Old Jerry had not +had much to say that night, but his face and his shrill +eagerness to snatch a little of the spotlight was unforgettable. +And it was of that very night Morehouse +had been thinking––that and the face of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span> +big boy silent there on the threshold––when the interruption +came. But still he uttered no welcome; instead +there was something close akin to distinct aversion +in his manner as he drew up a chair for the old +man.</p> +<p>Old Jerry felt the chill lack of cordiality, but he +sat down. And after a long period of silence, in which +Morehouse made no move to put him more at ease, +he swallowed hard and went on with his explanation.</p> +<p>“I come down to––to see Denny fight,” he stated. +“It kinda seemed to us––to me––that he’d think it +strange if somebody from his home town wa’n’t there. +So I come along. And I wouldn’t a bothered you at +all today––it’s gettin’ late and I ain’t got my ticket +to get in yet––only––only I was worried a mite––jest +a trifle––and I thought I’d better see you if I could.”</p> +<p>Morehouse tilted his head again.</p> +<p>Old Jerry gave up any attempt of further excusing +his intrusion and went straight to the heart of the +matter. He unfolded a paper that bulged from the +side pocket of his coat and spread it out on the desk.</p> +<p>“It’s this,” he said, indicating the column that had +scoffed so openly at Young Denny’s chances. “You––you +wrote it, I suppose, didn’t you?”</p> +<p>Again that impersonal nod.</p> +<p>“Well, I just wanted to ask you if––if you really +thought it was––if you think he ain’t got no chance +at all?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span></div> +<p>The eagerness of that trembling old voice was +not to be ignored any longer. But Morehouse couldn’t +help but recollect the eager circle of “Ayes” which +had flanked the Judge that other night.</p> +<p>“What of it?” he inquired coolly. “What if he +hasn’t? I though Jed Conway was the particular +pride of your locality!”</p> +<p>Old Jerry’s beady eyes widened. There was no +mistaking the positive dislike in that round face, +any more than one could misunderstand the antagonism +of that round-faced man’s words.</p> +<p>For weeks Morehouse had been puzzling over a +question which he could not answer––something +which, for all the intimacy that had sprung up between +himself and Denny Bolton, he had never felt able to +ask of the boy with the grave eyes and graver lips. +Even since the conference in Hogarty’s little office, +when he had agreed to the ex-lightweight’s plan, it +had been vexing him, no nearer solution than it had +been that day when he assured Hogarty that there was +more behind young Denny’s eagerness to meet Jed Conway +than the prize-money could account for.</p> +<p>Now, that afternoon, on the very eve of that battle, +he sat there in the thickening dusk, unconscious of +the passage of time, and listened to the explanation +that came pouring from Old Jerry’s lips, haltingly at +first, and then in a steady falsetto stream, and learned +the answer to it.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span></div> +<p>The old mail carrier didn’t know what he was +doing. His one desire was to vindicate himself in +the cold eyes of the man before him. But he told it +well and he did not spare himself.</p> +<p>Once he though he caught a glimpse of thawing +mirth in that face when he had finished relating how +Denny had led him, reluctant and fearful, from the +kitchen of the farmhouse to the spot of blood on the +stable wall, and from there to the jug in a heap of +fragments against the tree-butt. And that fleeting +mirth became a warm, all-enveloping grin when he +had detailed the climax of the Judge’s prearranged +sensation that same night.</p> +<p>He knew then that he had set himself right, and +he did not mean to go into it any more fully. It +was the changed attitude of Morehouse that led him +on and on. So he told, too, of Dryad Anderson’s +purchase of the bleak old place on the hill and her +reason. But when it came to her wild fury against +the paper that had dared to scoff at the boy he paused. +For a second he calculated the wisdom of exhibiting +the bit of a red bow that had been entrusted him. It, +without a doubt, would be the only passport he could +hope for to a share of the glory, when it was all +over. For the time being he jealously decided to let +it wait, and he turned back to the rumpled sheet +upon the desk.</p> +<p>“She––she’d be mighty disappointed,” he finished +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span> +a little lamely. “She’s so sure, somehow, it kinda +worries me. You––you do think he’s got a little +chance, don’t you––jest a trifle?”</p> +<p>It took a long time––Old Jerry’s confession. It +was dark before he finished, but Morehouse did not +interrupt him by so much as the lifting of a finger. +And he sat silent, gazing straight ahead of him, +after the old man had finished. Old Jerry, watching +him, wondered vaguely what made his eyes so bright +now.</p> +<p>“So that’s it, is it?” the plump man murmured at +last. “So that’s it. And I never dreamed of it once. +I must be going stale.”</p> +<p>He wheeled in his chair until he faced Old Jerry +full.</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” he said. “A half-hour before you +came in I didn’t like even to think of it. But now––chance? +Well, this deadly waiting is over anyhow, +and we’ll soon know. And I wonder––now––I wonder!”</p> +<p>With his watch flat in the palm of his hand Morehouse +sat and whistled softly. And then he shot hastily +to his feet. Old Jerry understood that whistle, +but he hung back.</p> +<p>“I––I ain’t got my ticket yet,” he protested.</p> +<p>Morehouse merely reached in and hustled him over +the threshold.</p> +<p>“Your unabridged edition, while it has no doubt +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span> +saved my sanity, has robbed us both of food and +drink,” he stated. “There’s no time left, even for +friendly argument, if you want to be there when it +happens. You won’t need any ticket this time––you’ll +be with me.”</p> +<p>Even at that they were late, for when they paused +a moment in the entrance of the huge, bowl-shaped +amphitheater, a sharp gust of hand-clapping, broken +by shrill whistling and shriller cat-calls, met them. +Far out across that room Old Jerry saw two figures, +glistening damp under the lights, crawl through the +ropes that penned in a high-raised platform in the +very center of the building, and disappear up an +aisle.</p> +<p>He turned a dismayed face to Morehouse who, with +one hand clutching his arm, was deeply engrossed in +a whispered conversation with a man at the entrance––too +engrossed to see. But when the newspaperman +turned at last to lead the way down into +the body of the house he explained in one brief word:</p> +<p>“Preliminary,” he said.</p> +<p>Old Jerry did not understand. But half dragged, +half led, he followed blindly after his guide, until he +found himself wedged into a seat at the very edge of +that roped-off, canvas-padded area. It was a single +long bench with a narrow board desk, set elbow high, +running the entire length in front of it. Peering half +fearfully from the corner of his eye Old Jerry realized +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span> +that there were at least a full dozen men beside +themselves wedged in before it, and that, like Morehouse, +there was a block of paper before each man.</p> +<p>The awe with which the immensity of the place had +stunned him began to lessen a little and allowed him +to look around. Wherever he turned a sea of faces +met him––faces strangely set and strained. Even +under the joviality of those closest to him he saw the +tightened sinews of their jaws. Those further away +were blurred by the smoke that rose in a never-thinning +cloud, blurred until there was nothing but indistinct +blotches of white in the outer circles of seats.</p> +<p>And when he lifted his head and looked above him, +he gasped. They were there, too, tiny, featureless +dots of white, like nothing so much as holes in a black +wall, in the smoke-drift that alternately hid and revealed +them.</p> +<p>Faces of men––faces of men, wherever he turned +his head! Faces strained and tense as they waited. +That terrible tensity got under his skin after a while; +it crept in upon him until his spine crawled a little, +as if from cold. It was quiet, too; oddly quiet in +spite of the dull mumble that rose from thousands of +throats.</p> +<p>Twice that hush was broken––twice when men +laden with pails of water, and bottles and sponges, and +thick white towels crowded through the ropes in +front of him. Then the whole house was swept by +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span> +a premature storm of hand-clapping for the men who, +stripped save for the flat shoes upon their feet and +the trunks about their hips, followed them into the +ring.</p> +<p>“Preliminary!” Morehouse had said, and there had +been something of disinterested contempt in his voice. +Old Jerry felt, too, the entire great crowd’s disinterested, +good-natured tolerance. They were waiting +for something else.</p> +<p>Twice Morehouse left his place at the long board +desk and wended his way off through the maze of +aisles. The second time he returned, after the third +match had been finished, Old Jerry caught sight of +his face while he was a long way off––and Old Jerry’s +breath caught in his throat. His plump cheeks were +pale when he crowded back into his place. The old +man leaned nearer and tried to ask a question and his +dry tongue refused. The plump reporter nodded his +head.</p> +<p>Again the men came with their bottles of water––their +pails––their towels and sponges. There was +a third man who slipped agilely into the nearest +corner. Old Jerry saw him turn once and nod reassuringly, +he thought, at Morehouse. The little mail +carrier did not know him; everybody else within a +radius of yards had apparently recognized him, but +he could not take his eyes off that lean, hard face. +There was a kind of satanic, methodical deadliness +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span> +in Hogarty’s directions to the other two men inside +the ropes.</p> +<p>Even while he was staring at him, fascinated, that +hand-clapping stormed up again, and then swelled +to a hoarse roar that went hammering to the roof. +A figure passed Old Jerry, so close that the long robe +which wrapped him brushed his knee. When Hogarty +had stripped the robe away and the figure went +on––on up through the ropes––he recognized him.</p> +<p>As Young Denny seated himself in the corner just +above them Morehouse threw out his arm and forced +Old Jerry back into his seat. Then the little man +remembered and shrank back, but his eyes glowed. +He forgot to watch for the coming of the other +in dumb amaze at the wide expanse of the boy’s +shoulders that rose white as the narrow cloth that +encircled his hips. Dazed, he listened to them shouting +the name by which they knew him––“The Pilgrim”––and +he did not turn away until Jed Conway +was in the ring.</p> +<p>He heard first the cheers that greeted the newcomer––broken +reiterations of “Oh, you Red!” But +the same heartiness was not there, nor the volume. +When Old Jerry’s eyes crept furtively across the ring +he understood the reason.</p> +<p>It was the same face that he had known before, +older and heavier, but the same. And there was no +appeal in that face. It was scant of brow, brutish, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span> +supercunning, and the swarthy body that rose above +the black hip-cloth matched the face. Old Jerry’s +eyes clung to the thick neck that ran from his ears +straight down into his shoulders until a nameless dread +took him by the throat and made him turn away.</p> +<p>Back in Denny’s corner Hogarty was lacing on the +gloves, talking softly in the meantime to the big boy +before him.</p> +<p>“From the tap of the gong,” he was droning. +“From the tap of the gong––from the tap of the +gong.”</p> +<p>Young Denny nodded, smiled faintly as he rose to +his feet to meet the announcer, who crossed and placed +one hand on his shoulder and introduced him. Again +the applause went throbbing to the roof; and again +the echo of it after Jed The Red had in turn stood +up in his corner.</p> +<p>The referee called them to the middle of the ring. +It was quiet in an instant––so quiet that Old Jerry’s +throat ached with it. The announcer lifted his hand.</p> +<p>“Jed The Red fights at one hundred and ninety-six,” +he said, “‘The Pilgrim’ at one hundred and +seventy-two.”</p> +<p>Immediately he turned and dropped through the +ropes. His going was accompanied by a flurry in +each corner as the seconds scuttled after him with +stools and buckets.</p> +<p>They faced each other, alone in the ring save for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span> +the referee––The Pilgrim and Jed The Red. Then +a gong struck. They reached out and each touched +the glove of the other.</p> +<p>Old Jerry could not follow it––it came too terribly +swift for that––but he heard the thudding impact of +gloves as Denny hurtled forward in that first savage +rush.</p> +<p>“From the gong,” Hogarty had ordered, “from +the gong!” The Red, covering and ducking, blocking +and swaying beneath the whirlwind of that attack, +broke and staggered and set himself, only to break +again, and retreat, foot by foot, around the ring. +The whole house had come to its feet with the first +rush, screaming to a man. Old Jerry, too, was +standing up, giddy, dizzy, as he watched Conway +weather that first minute.</p> +<p>He had no chance to swing; with both hands covering +he fought wildly to stay on his feet; to live through +it; to block that right hand that lashed out again and +again and found his face.</p> +<p>Each time that blow went across it shook him to +the soles of his feet; it lifted the cheering of the +crowd to a higher, madder key; but even Old Jerry, +eyes a little quicker already, saw that none of those +blows landed flush upon the side of the jaw.</p> +<p>Conway called to his aid all the ring-generalship +of which he was capable in that opening round. Once +that lightening-like fist reached out and found his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span> +mouth. A trickle of blood oozed red from the lips +that puffed up, almost before the glove came away; +once when he had seen an opening and led for The +Pilgrim’s own face, that wicked jolt caught him wide +open. He ducked his head between his shoulders +then. The shock sent him to his knees, but that upraised +shoulder saved him. The force of that glancing +smash had spent itself before it reached his unprotected +neck.</p> +<p>There was no let-up––no lull in the relentless advance. +He was on his feet again, grim, grasping, +reeling, hanging on! And again that avalanche of +destruction enveloped him.</p> +<p>He fought to drop into a clinch, for one breath’s +respite, his huge hairy arms slipping hungrily out +about Denny’s white body, but even as he snuggled +his body close in, that fist lashed up between them +and found his chin again. It straightened him, flung +him back. And once more, before the certain annihilation +of that blow, he ducked his head in between +his shoulders.</p> +<p>Old Jerry heard the crash of the glove against +the top of his head; he saw Conway hurled back +into the ropes. But not until seconds later, when +he realized that the roar of the crowd had hushed, +did he see that a change had come over the fight.</p> +<p>Conway was no longer giving ground; he was +himself driving in more and more viciously, for that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span> +deadly right hand no longer leaped out to check him. +Twice just as Denny had rocked him he now jolted +his own right over to The Pilgrim’s face. At each +blow the boy lashed out with his left hand. Both +blows he missed, and the second time the force of his +swing whirled him against the barrier. Right and +left Conway sent his gloves crashing into his unprotected +stomach––right and left!</p> +<p>And then the tap of the gong!</p> +<p>Hogarty was through the ropes with the bell. As +Denny dropped upon the stool he stripped the glove +from the boy’s right hand and examined it with anxious +fingers. The other two were sponging his chest +with water––pumping fresh air into his lungs; but Old +Jerry’s eyes clung to the calamity written upon Hogarty’s +gray features.</p> +<p>Everybody else seemed to understand what had +happened––everybody but himself. He turned again +to the man next him on the bench. Morehouse, too, +had been watching the ex-lightweight’s deft fingers.</p> +<p>“Broken,” he groaned. “His right hand is gone.” +And after what seemed hours Old Jerry realized that +Morehouse was cursing hoarsely.</p> +<p>In Conway’s corner the activity was doubly feverish. +The Red lay sprawled back against the ropes +while they kneaded knotty legs, and shoulders. There +was blood on his chin, his lips were cut and misshapen, +but he had weathered that round without +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span> +serious damage. Watching him Old Jerry saw that +he was smiling––snarling confidently.</p> +<p>Back in Denny’s corner they were still working +over him, but the whole house had sensed the dismay +in that little knot of men. Hogarty, gnawing +his lip, stopped and whispered once to the boy on the +stool, but Young Denny shook his head and held out +his hand. He laced the gloves back on them, over +the purple, puffy knuckles.</p> +<p>And then again that cataclysmic bell.</p> +<p>Just as the first round had started, that second one +opened with a rush, but this time it was Conway who +forced the fighting. Like some gigantic projectile +he drove in and caught Denny in his own corner, and +beat him back against the standard. Again that thudding +right and left, right and left, into the stomach. +And again Old Jerry saw that left hand flash out––and +miss.</p> +<p>Just as The Pilgrim had driven him Conway +forced Denny around the ring, except that the boy +was heart-breaking slow in getting away. The Red +stayed with him, beat him back and back, smothered +him! With that deadly right no longer hunting for +his jaw, he fought with nothing to fear, for Young +Denny could not find his face even once with that +flashing left swing.</p> +<p>Before the round was half over The Pilgrim had +gone down twice––body blows that did little harm; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span> +but they were shouting for The Red––shouting as if +from a great distance, from the balconies.</p> +<p>Again Conway drove him into a corner of the +ropes, feinted for the stomach. Then there came +that first blow that found his chin. Old Jerry saw +Denny’s body go limp as he crashed his length upon +the padded canvas; he saw him try to rise and heard +the house screaming for him to take the count.</p> +<p>He rested there for a precious instant, swaying +on one knee. But his eyes were still glazed when he +rose, and again Conway, rushing, beat down that +guarding right, and, swinging with all his shoulder +weight behind it, found that same spot and dropped +him again.</p> +<p>Pandemonium broke loose in the upper reaches +of the seats, but the silence of the body of the house +was deathlike as he lay without stirring. Old Jerry +gulped and waited––choked back a sobbing breath +as he saw him start to lift himself once more. Upon +his hands and knees first, then upon his knees alone. +And then, with eyes shut, he struggled up, at the count +of ten, and shaped up again.</p> +<p>And Conway beat him down.</p> +<p>Even the gallery was quiet now. The thud of that +stiff-armed jolt went to every corner of that vast room. +And the referee was droning out the count again.</p> +<p>“––Five––six––seven–––”</p> +<p>Head sagging between his arms, eyes staring and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span> +sightless, The Pilgrim groped out and found the +ropes. Once more at the end of the toll he lifted +himself––lifted himself by the strength of his shoulders +to his legs that tottered beneath him, and then +stepped free of the ropes.</p> +<p>That time, before Conway could swing, the gong +saved him.</p> +<p>Again it was Hogarty who was first through the +ropes. Effortlessly he stooped and lifted that limp +body and carried it across to the stool. They tried to +stretch him back against the ropes behind him, and +each time his head slumped forward over his knees.</p> +<p>Old Jerry turned toward Morehouse and choked––licked +his lips and choked again. And Morehouse +nodded his head dumbly.</p> +<p>“He––he’s gone!” he said.</p> +<p>Old Jerry sat and stared back at him as though he +couldn’t understand. He remembered the bit of a red +bow in his pocket then; he fumbled inside and found +it. He remembered the eyes of the girl who had given +it to him, too, that night when she had knelt at his +knees. His old fingers closed, viselike, upon the fat +man’s arm.</p> +<p>“But she told me to give him this,” he mumbled +dully. “Why, she––she said for me to give him this, +when he had <i>Won</i>.”</p> +<p>Morehouse stared at the bit of tinseled silk––stared +up at Old Jerry’s face and back again. And +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span> +then he leaned over suddenly and picked it up. The +next moment he was crowding out from behind the +desk––was climbing into the ring.</p> +<p>Old Jerry saw him fling fiercely tense words into +Hogarty’s face, and Hogarty stood back. He knelt +before the slack body on the stool and tried to raise +the head; he held the bit of bright web before him, +but there was no recognition in Denny’s eyes. And +the old man heard the plump reporter’s words, sob-like +with excitement:</p> +<p>“She sent it,” he hammered at those deaf ears. +“She sent it––she sent it––silk––a little bow of red +silk!”</p> +<p>Then the whole vast house saw the change that +came over that limp form. They saw the slack shoulders +begin to go back; saw the dead-white face come +up; they saw those sick eyes beginning to clear. And +The Pilgrim smiled a little––smiled into Morehouse’s +face.</p> +<p>“Silk,” he repeated softly. “Silk!” and then, as +if it had all come back at once: “Silk––next to her +skin!”</p> +<p>And they called it a miracle––that recovery. They +called it a miracle of the mind over a body already +beaten beyond endurance. For in the scant thirty +seconds which were left, while the boy lay back +with them working desperately above him, it was almost +possible to see the strength ebbing back into his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span> +veins. They dashed water upon his head, inverted +bottles of it into his face, and emptied it from his +eyes, but during that long half minute the vague smile +never left his lips––nor his eyes the face of Conway +across from him.</p> +<p>And he went to meet The Red when the gong called +to them again. He went to meet him––smiling!</p> +<p>The bell seemed to pick him up and drop him in the +middle of the ring. Set for the shock he stopped +Conway’s hurtling attack. And when The Red swung +he tightened, took the blow flush on the side of the +face, and only rocked a little.</p> +<p>Conway’s chin seemed to lift to receive the blow +which he started then from the waist. That right +hand, flashing up, found it and straightened The Red +back––lifted him to his toes. And while he was still +in the air The Pilgrim measured and swung. The +left glove caught him flush below the ear; it picked +him up and drove him crashing back into the corner +from which he had just come.</p> +<p>Old Jerry saw them bend over him––saw them +pick him up at last and slip him through the ropes. +Then he realized that the referee was holding Young +Denny’s right hand aloft; that Hogarty, with arms +about him, was holding the boy erect.</p> +<p>The little mail-carrier heard the ex-lightweight’s +words, as he edged in beside Morehouse, against the +ropes.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span></div> +<p>“A world-beater,” he was screaming above the tumult. +“I’ll make a world-beater of you in a year!”</p> +<p>And The Pilgrim, still smiling vaguely, shook his +head a little.</p> +<p>“Maybe,” he answered faintly. “Maybe I’ll come +back. I don’t know––yet. But now––now I reckon +I’d better be going along home!”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIX' id='CHAPTER_XIX'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> +</div> +<p>It was a white night––a night so brilliant that the +village lights far below in the hollow all but lost +their own identity in the radiance of that huge, +pale moon; so white that the yellow flare of the single +lamp in its bracket, in the back kitchen of the old +Bolton place on the hill seemed shabbily dull by contrast.</p> +<p>Standing at the window in the dark front room of +the house, peering out from under cupped palms that +hid her eyes, Dryad could almost pick out each separate +picket of the straggling old fence that bounded +the garden of the little drab cottage across from her. +In that searching light she could even make out great +patches where the rotting sheathing of the house had +been torn away, leaving the framework beneath naked +and gaunt and bare.</p> +<p>It was scarcely two months since the day when she +had gone herself to Judge Maynard with her offer to +sell that unkempt acre or so which he had fought so +long and bitterly to force into the market. And it +had been a strange one, too––that interview. His +acceptance had been quick––instantaneously eager––but +the girl was still marvelling a little over his attitude +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span> +throughout that transaction, whenever her mind +turned back to it.</p> +<p>When she mentioned the mortgage which Young +Denny had secured only a few days before, he had +seemed to understand almost immediately why she +had spoken of it, without the explanation which she +meant to give.</p> +<p>Once again she found him a different Judge Maynard +from all the others she had known, and he had +in the years since she could remember, been many +different men to her imagination. It puzzled her +almost as much as did his opinion upon the value of +the old place, which, somehow, she could not bring +herself to believe was worth all that he insisted upon +paying. But then, too, she did not know either that +the town’s great man had been riding a-tilt at his own +soul, for several days on end, and just as Old Jerry +had done, was seizing upon the first opportunity to +salve the wounds resultant.</p> +<p>And yet this was the first day that the girl had seen +him so much as inspect his long-coveted property; +the first time she had known him to set foot within +the sagging gate since he had placed in her hands that +sum of money which was greater than any she had +ever seen before. Under his directions men had commenced +clearing away the rank shrubbery that afternoon––commenced +to tear down the house itself.</p> +<p>Time after time since morning she had entered +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span> +the front room to stand and peer out across the valley +at this new activity which the Judge himself was +directing with an oddly suppressed lack of his usual +violent gestures. There was something akin to apology +in his every move.</p> +<p>It brought a little homesick ache into the girl’s +throat; it set her lips to curving––made her eyes go +damp with pity and tenderness for the little white-haired +figure bending over his bench. He had clung +so bravely, so stubbornly, to that battered bit of a +house; to his garden which he had never realized had +long since ceased to be anything but a plot of waist-high +bushes and weeds. Once when she recollected +those countless rows of poignantly wistful faces on +the shelves of that back-room workshop she wondered +if she had not been disloyal, after all. And she had +argued it out with herself aloud as she went from +task to task in that afternoon’s gathering twilight.</p> +<p>“But it was because of her that he stayed,” she +reassured herself. “It was because of her that he kept +it, all these years. And––and so he couldn’t mind––not +very much, I think, now that they don’t need it +any longer, if I sold it so that I could keep this place––for +him!”</p> +<p>They had been long, those hours of waiting. Not +a minute of those entire two days since Old Jerry’s +departure but had dragged by on laggard feet. And +yet now, with nightfall of that third day she became +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span> +jealous of every passing minute. She hated to have +them pass; dreaded to watch the creeping hands of the +clock on the kitchen wall as they drew up, little by +little, upon that hour which meant the arrival of the +night train in the village.</p> +<p>One moment she wondered if he would come––wondered +and touched dry lips with the tip of her tongue. +And the very next, when somehow she was so very, +very sure that there was no room for doubt, she even +wondered whether or not he would be glad––glad to +find her there. The gaunt skeleton of a framework +showing through the torn sides of John Anderson’s +cottage almost unnerved her whenever that thought +came, and sent her out again into the lighted back +room.</p> +<p>“What if he isn’t?” she whispered, over and over +again. “Why, I––I never thought of that before, did +I? I just thought I had to be here when he came. +But what if he––isn’t glad?”</p> +<p>An hour earlier, when the thought had first come +to her, she had carried a big, square package out to +the table before the kitchen window and untied with +fluttering fingers the string that bound it. The little +scarlet blouse and shimmering skirt, alive with tinsel +that glinted under the light, still lay there beside the +thin-heeled slippers and filmy silk stockings. She +bent over them, patting them lovingly with a slim +hand, her eyes velvety dark while she considered.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span></div> +<p>“Oh, you’re pretty––pretty––pretty!” she said in +a childishly hushed voice, “the prettiest things in the +world!”</p> +<p>The next instant she straightened to scan soberly +the old shiny black skirt she was wearing, and the +darned stockings and cracked shoes.</p> +<p>“And––and you would help, I think,” she went on +musing. “I know you would, but then––then it +wouldn’t be <i>me</i>. It would be easy for any one to care +for you––almost too easy. I––I think I’ll wear them +for him––some other time, maybe––if he wants me +to.”</p> +<p>But she turned the very next moment and crossed +to the mirror on the wall––that square bit of glass +before which Young Denny had stood and stared back +into his own eyes and laughed. Oblivious to everything +else she was critically scanning her own small +reflection––great, tip-tilted eyes, violet in the shadow, +and then cheeks and pointed chin––until, even in spite +of her preoccupation, she became aware of the hungry +tremulousness of the mouth of that reflected image––until +the hoarse shriek of an engine’s whistle leaped +across the valley and brought her up sharp, her breath +going in one long, quavering gasp between wide lips.</p> +<p>It was that moment toward which she had been +straining every hour of those two days; the one from +which she had been shrinking every minute of those +last two hours since dark. She hesitated a second, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span> +head thrown to one side, listening; she darted into +that dark front room and pressed her face to the cold +pane, and again that warning note came shrilling +across the quiet from the far side of town.</p> +<p>There in the darkness, a hand on either side of the +frame holding her leaning weight, she stood and +waited. Below her the house roofs lay like patches +of jet against the moon-brightness. She stood and +watched its whole length, and no darker figure crept +into relief against its lighter streak of background. +Minutes after she knew that he had had time to come, +and more, she still clung there, staring wide-eyed, +villageward.</p> +<p>It wasn’t a recollection of that half dismantled +wreck of a house under the opposite ridge that finally +drew her dry-lipped gaze from the road; she did not +even think of it that moment. It was simply because +she couldn’t watch any longer––not even for a minute +or two––that her eyes finally fluttered that way. +But when she did turn there was a bigger, darker blot +there against the leaning picket fence––a big-shouldered +figure that had moved slowly forward until it +stood full in front of the sagging gate.</p> +<p>And even as she watched Denny Bolton swung +around from a long contemplation of that half-torn-down +building to peer up at his own dark place on +the hill––to peer straight back into the eyes of the girl +whom he could not even see.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301' name='page_301'></a>301</span></div> +<p>She saw the bewilderment in that big body’s poise; +even at that distance she sensed his dumb, numbed +uncomprehension. From bare white throat to the +mass of tumbled hair that clustered across her forehead +the blood came storming up into her face; and +with the coming of that which set the pulses pounding +in her temples and brought an unaccountable ache to +her throat, all the doubt which had squired her that +day slipped away.</p> +<p>Before he had had time to turn back again she had +flown on mad feet into the kitchen, swept the lamp +from its bracket on the wall with heedless haste and +raced back to that front window. And she placed it +there behind a half-drawn shade––that old signal +which they had agreed upon without one spoken word, +years back.</p> +<p>Crouching in the semi-gloom behind the lamp she +watched.</p> +<p>He stepped forward a pace and stopped; lifted +one hand slowly, as though he did not believe what +he saw. Bareheaded he waited an instant after that +arm went back to his side. When he swung around +and disappeared into the head of the path that led +from the gate into the black shadow of the thicket +in the valley’s pit she lifted both arms, too, and stood +poised there a moment, slender and straight and +vividly unwavering as the lamp-flame itself, before +she wheeled and ran.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302' name='page_302'></a>302</span></div> +<p>It was dark in the thick of the underbrush; dark +and velvety quiet, save for the little moon-lit patch +of a clearing where he waited. He stood there in the +middle of that spot of light and heard her coming +long before she reached him––long before he could +see her he heard her scurrying feet and the whip of +bushes against her skirt.</p> +<p>But when she burst through the fringe of brush he +had no time to move or speak, or more than lift his +arms before her swift rush carried her to him. When +her hands flashed up about his neck and her damp +mouth went searching softly across his face and he +strained her nearer and even nearer to him, he felt +her slim body quivering just as it had trembled that +other night when she had raced across the valley to +him––the night when Judge Maynard’s invitation had +failed to come. After a time he made out the words +that were tumbling from her lips, all incoherent with +half hysterical bits of sobs, and he realized, too, that +her words were like that of that other night.</p> +<p>“Denny––Denny,” she murmured, her small, gold-crowned +head buried in his shoulder. “I’m here––I’ve +come––just as soon as I could; Oh, I’ve been afraid! +I knew you’d come, too––I knew you would tonight! +I was sure of it––even when I was sure that you +wouldn’t.”</p> +<p>For a long time he was silent, because dry lips refused +to frame the words he would have spoken. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span> +Minutes he stood and held her against him until the +rise and fall of her narrow shoulders grew quieter, +before he lifted one hand and held her damp face +away, that he might look into it. And gazing back +at him, in spite of all the wordless wonder of her +which she saw glowing in his eyes, she read, too, the +grave perplexity of him.</p> +<p>“Why––you––you must have known I’d come,” he +said, his voice ponderously grave. “I––I told you so. +I left word for you that I would be back––as soon +as I could come.”</p> +<p>He felt her slim body slacken––saw the lightning +change flash over her face which always heralded that +bewildering swift change of mood. It wiped out all +the tenseness of lip and line.</p> +<p>There in the white light in spite of the shadows +of her lashes which turned violet eyes to great pools +of satin shadow, he caught the flare of mischief behind +half-closed lids, before she tilted her head back +and laughed softly, with utter joyous abandon +straight up into his face.</p> +<p>“He––he didn’t deliver it,” she stated naively. +“It wasn’t his fault entirely, though, Denny––although +I did give him lots of chances, at first anyway. +I almost made him tell––but he––he’s stubborn.”</p> +<p>She stopped and laughed again––giggled shamelessly +as she remembered. But her eyes grew grave +once more.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span></div> +<p>“I think he didn’t quite approve of my attitude,” +she explained to him as he bent over her. “He +thought I wasn’t––sorry enough––to deserve it at +first. And then––and then I never gave him any +opportunity to speak. I would have stopped him if +he had tried. You––you see, I just wanted to––wait.”</p> +<p>Head bowed she paused a moment before she +continued.</p> +<p>“But––but I sent him to you––two days ago, +Denny. I sent something that I asked him to give +you––when––when it was over. Didn’t you––get +it?”</p> +<p>He fumbled in the pocket of his smooth black +suit after she had disengaged herself and dropped to +the ground at his feet. With her ankles curled up +under her she sat in a boyish heap watching him, +until he drew out the bit of a spangled crimson bow +and held it out before him in the palm of one big +hand. Then he swung down to the ground beside her.</p> +<p>“I thought it must have been Old Jerry who +brought it. I didn’t see him, and no one could remember +his name or knew where he had gone when +they thought to look for him. They––they just +described him to me.”</p> +<p>He turned the bow of silk over, touching it almost +reverently.</p> +<p>“Some one gave it to me,” he continued slowly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span> +“I don’t know exactly how or when. It––it was just +put into my hand––when I needed it most. I wasn’t +sure Old Jerry had brought it, but I knew it came +from you, knew it when I didn’t––know––much––else!”</p> +<p>She was very, very quiet, content merely in his +nearness. Even then she didn’t understand it––the +reason for his going that night, weeks before––for +the papers which had told her a little had told her +nothing of his brain’s own reason. The question +was on her lips when her narrow fingers, searching +the shadow for his, found that bandaged wrist and +knuckles. Almost fiercely she drew that hand up +into the light. From the white cloth her gaze went +to the discolored, bruised patches on face and chin––the +same place where that long, ugly cut had been +which dripped blood on the floor the night she had +run from him in the dark––went to his face, and back +again, limpid with pity. And she lifted it impulsively +and tucked it under her chin, and held it there with +small hands that trembled a little.</p> +<p>“Then––then if you haven’t seen Old Jerry––why––why +you––he couldn’t have told you anything +at all yet, about me.”</p> +<p>The words trailed off softly and left the statement +hanging interrogatively in midair.</p> +<p>Denny nodded his head in the direction of John +Anderson’s house that had been.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306' name='page_306'></a>306</span></div> +<p>“About that?” he asked.</p> +<p>She nodded her head. And then she told him; she +began at the very beginning and told him everything +from that night when she had watched him there +under cover of the thicket. Once she tried to laugh +when she related Old Jerry’s panic, a week or two +later, when he had come to find her packing in preparation +to leave. But her mirth was waveringly unsteady. +And when she tried to explain, too, how she +had chanced to buy up the mortgage on his own bleak +house on the hill, her voice again became suddenly, +diffidently small.</p> +<p>There was a new, sweet confusion in her refusal +to meet his eyes and Denny, reaching out with his +bandaged hand, half lifted her and swung her around +until she needs must face him.</p> +<p>“You––you mean you––bought it, yourself?” he +marvelled.</p> +<p>Then, face uplifted, brave-eyed, she went on a little +breathlessly.</p> +<p>“I bought it, myself,” she said, “the week you went +away.” And, in a muffled whisper: “Denny, I didn’t +have faith––not much, at first. But I meant to be +here when you did come, just––just because I thought +you might need me––mighty badly. And waiting is +hard, too, when one hasn’t faith. And I did wait! +That was something, wasn’t it, Denny? Only––only +now, today, I––I think I realized that my own need +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span> +of you is greater than yours could ever be for +me!”</p> +<p>She sat, lips apart, quiet for his answer.</p> +<p>An odd smile edged the boy’s lips at her wistful +earnestness. It was a twisted little smile which might +have been born of the pain of stinging lids and dryer, +aching throat. He could not have spoken at that moment +had he tried. Instead he lifted her bodily and +drew her huddled little figure into his arms. It was +his first face to face glimpse of the wonder of woman.</p> +<p>But he knew now something which she had only +sensed; he knew that the big, lonesome, bewildered +boy whom she had tried to comfort in his bitterness +that other night when she had hidden her own hurt +disappointment with the white square card within her +breast, had come back all man.</p> +<p>He looked down at her––marvelled at her very +littleness as though it were a thing he had never +known before.</p> +<p>“And––and you still––would stay?” he managed to +ask, at last. “You’d stay––even if it did mean being +like them,” he inclined his head toward the distant +village, “like them, old and wrinkled and worn-out, +before they have half lived their lives?”</p> +<p>She nodded her head vehemently against his coat. +He felt her thin arms tighten and tighten about him.</p> +<p>“I’ll stay,” she repeated after him in a childishly +small voice. “You––you see, I <i>know</i> what it is now +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span> +to be alone, even just for a week or two. I think +I’ll stay, please!”</p> +<p>There had been a bit of a teasing lilt in her half +smothered words. It disappeared now.</p> +<p>“I––I’d be pretty lonesome, all the rest of my life––man––if +I didn’t!”</p> +<p>And long afterward she lifted her head from his +arm and blinked at him from sleepy, heavy-lidded +eyes.</p> +<p>“Why, Denny?” she asked in drowsy curiosity. +“Why did you go––why, really? Don’t you realize +that you haven’t told me even yet?”</p> +<p>He rose and lifted her to her feet, but that did not +cover the slow flush that stained his face––the old, +vaguely embarrassed flush that she knew so well. +He groped awkwardly for words while he stared +again at the bit of silk in his hand, before his searching +fingers found the thick, crisp packet that had lain +with it in his pocket.</p> +<p>“The Pilgrim’s share of the receipts amounted +to $12,000,” had been the tale of Morehouse’s succinct +last paragraph.</p> +<p>Then, “It––took me almost two months to save +fifteen dollars,” Young Denny explained in painful +self-consciousness.</p> +<p>She understood. She remembered the scarlet +blouse and shimmering skirt with its dots of tinsel, +and the stockings and slim-heeled slippers. Her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span> +fingers touched his chin––the barest ghost of a caressing +contact.</p> +<p>“Denny––Denny,” she murmured, “I told you that +night that you didn’t understand. And yet––and yet +I’m glad that you couldn’t. It was for me––you +went. Don’t you––didn’t you know it was––just because +of you––that I wanted them––at––all?”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The circle in the Boltonwood tavern convened early +that night, and long after hope had all but died a +death of stagnation the regulars stuck stubbornly to +their places about the cheerlessly cold, fat-bellied +stove.</p> +<p>It was a session extraordinary, for even Dave Shepard, +the patriarch of the circle itself, could not recall +an occasion when they had foregathered there in such +fashion so long after the last spring snow had surrendered +to summer. Yet it was largely mild-voiced +Dave’s doing––this silent, sober gathering.</p> +<p>For he alone of all of them had heeded Old Jerry’s +parting admonition that night, weeks before, when +the servant of the Gov’mint had turned from his shrill +defiance of the Judge to whip their whole ranks with +scorn. Since then Dave had been following the +papers with faithful and painstaking care––not merely +the political news of the day which invariably furnished +the key for each night’s debate––but searching +every inch of type, down to the last inconsequential +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310' name='page_310'></a>310</span> +advertisement. And he had been rewarded; he had +penetrated, with the aid of that small picture inset +at the column-head, the disguise of the colorful sobriquet +which Morehouse had fastened upon Young +Denny Bolton. More than that, he had been reading +for weeks each step in that campaign of publicity +which had so harrowed Old Jerry’s peace of mind––and +somehow he had kept it religiously to himself.</p> +<p>Not until two days before, when Old Jerry’s desertion +from duty had become a town-wide sensation +had he opened his mouth. The route back in the +hills went mailless that day, and for that reason +there were more than enough papers to go around +when he finally gave the old guard which was waiting +in vain for Old Jerry’s appearance upon the top step +of the post-office, the benefits of his wider reading.</p> +<p>There had been a fierce factional debate raging +when he came up late to take his unobtrusive place +upon the sidewalk, but even before he added his +voice to the din those who argued that the old mail-carrier’s +disappearance could be in no way connected +with that of Young Denny Bolton, who had gone the +way of all the others of his line, were in a hopeless +minority.</p> +<p>Their timidest member’s announcement stunned +them all to silence––left them hushed and speechless––not +for an hour or two, but for the days that +followed as well. Even the red-headlined account +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311' name='page_311'></a>311</span> +which had come with that morning’s batch of news +of Young Denny’s victory and the fall of Jed The +Red, whom they had championed under the Judge’s +able leadership, failed to stir up any really bitter +wrangle.</p> +<p>They sat in an apathetic circle, waiting for Old +Jerry to come.</p> +<p>But no one, not even Morehouse, knew when Old +Jerry disappeared that night after Jed Conway had +come hurtling from his corner, only to lift and whirl +and go crashing back before the impact of The +Pilgrim’s leaping gloves. At first the plump newspaper +man believed that the surging, shouting wave +of humanity which had broken comber-like over the +ropes to hail a newer favorite had separated the +little, bird-faced man from him. Only a recollection +of those vice-like fingers clinging to his arm a moment +before made that probability seem unbelievable.</p> +<p>It was a long time before The Pilgrim’s brain +had again become clear enough to grasp the meaning +of the questions which Morehouse put to him, +but Denny did not know even as much as did the +round-faced reporter himself. He only recognized +the description of the shrill voiced, beady-eyed mail +carrier.</p> +<p>To Old Jerry belonged the only comprehensive +explanation for his sudden withdrawal from the +scene, just at that moment when his own share in it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312' name='page_312'></a>312</span> +might have been not inconsequential. And more +than that, his resolution to keep it strictly and privately +his own grew firmer and firmer, the more +thought he gave to it.</p> +<p>In those hours which intervened between the impulse +which had resulted in his modest retreat from +Morehouse’s side, under cover of the crowd’s wild +demonstration, and the next morning when he +boarded the train which was to carry him back to +the hills, after a cautious reconnaissance that finally +located Denny in the coach ahead of him, he once +or twice sought to analyze his actions for an explanation +less derogatory to his own self-respect.</p> +<p>“They wan’t no real sense ner reason in my hangin’ +around, jest gittin’ under foot,” he stated thoughtfully. +“I done about all I was called on to do, didn’t +I? Why, I reckon when all’s said and done, I jest +about won that fight myself! For if I hadn’t a-come +he wouldn’t never a-got that ribbon. And Godfrey, +but didn’t that wake him!”</p> +<p>There was more than a little satisfaction to be +gained in viewing himself in that light. With less +to occupy his mind and unlimited leisure for elaboration +it could have served as the entire day’s theme +for thought. But so far as explaining his almost +panic haste to get away the reasoning was palpably +unsatisfactory––so unsatisfactory that he cringed +guiltily behind the back of the seat in front of him +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313' name='page_313'></a>313</span> +whenever anyone entered the front door of the car.</p> +<p>He gave quite the entire day to the problem and +long before night hid the flying fences outside his +window he decided that eventually there could be +only one way out of it. Sooner or later he had to +face the issue: he had to tell Young Denny that he +had betrayed his trust. Even that damp wad of bills +which the boy had pressed into his hand, that night +before he left, still burned within his coat.</p> +<p>Once or twice he rose, during the return journey +and advanced with forced jauntiness as far as the +door of the car ahead. But he always stopped there, +after a moment’s uneasy contemplation of Denny’s +back, turned a little sadly to the water-cooler, and +returned slowly and unenthusiastically to his seat. +Twice when it was necessary to change trains he +made the transfer with a lightning precision that +would have done honor to any prestidigitator. And +when, hours after nightfall, the train came to a +groaning standstill before Boltonwood’s deserted +station shed he waited his opportunity and dropped +off in the dark––on the wrong side of the track!</p> +<p>Denny had already become a dark blur ahead of +him when he, too, turned in and took the long road +toward town.</p> +<p>Old Jerry followed the big-shouldered figure that +night with heavily lagging feet––he followed heavy +in spirit and bereft of hope. He was still behind him +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314' name='page_314'></a>314</span> +when Denny finally paused before the sagging gate +of John Anderson’s half-stripped house. Then, +watching the boy’s dumb lack of understanding, the +enormity of the whole horrible complication dawned +upon him for the first time. He had forgotten Dryad +Anderson’s going––forgotten that the house upon the +ridge was no longer the property of the man who had +entrusted it to him.</p> +<p>When the light behind that half-drawn shade flared +up, far across on the crest of the opposite hill, and +Young Denny wheeled to plunge into the black mouth +of the path that led deeper into the valley, he too +started swiftly forward. He swept off in desperate +haste up the long hill road that led to the Bolton +homestead.</p> +<p>The light was still there in that front room when +he poked a tentatively inquiring head in at the open +door; he paused in a dull-eyed examination of the +silken garments draped over the table top in the +kitchen after he had roamed vaguely through the +silent house. But he was too tired in mind to give +them much attention just then.</p> +<p>Outside, buried in the shadow of Young Denny’s +squat, unpainted barn, he still waited doggedly––he +waited ages and ages, a lifetime of apprehension. +And then he saw them coming toward him, up out +of the shadow of the valley into the moonlight that +bathed the hill in silver.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315' name='page_315'></a>315</span></div> +<p>They paused and stood there––stood and stared +out across the valley at Judge Maynard’s great box +of a house on the hill and that bit of a wedge-shaped +acre of ruin that clung like an unsightly burr to the +hem of his immaculate pastures.</p> +<p>Slender and boy-like in her little blouse and tight, +short skirt the girl was half-hidden in the hollow of +his shoulder. Once, watching with his head cocked +pertly, sparrowlike, on one side, the old man’s eyes +went to the white-bandaged knuckles of Denny’s right +hand; once while he waited Old Jerry saw her lift +her face––saw the big, shoulder-heavy figure fold her +in his arms and bend and touch the glory of her hair +with his lips while she clung to him, before she turned +and went slowly toward the open kitchen door.</p> +<p>Then he started. He shrank farther back into the +shadow and edged a noiseless way around the building. +But with the tavern lights beckoning to him he +waited an introspective moment or two.</p> +<p>“Godfrey ’Lisha,” he sighed thunderously, “but +that takes a load offen my mind!”</p> +<p>And he ruminated.</p> +<p>“But what’s the use of my tryin’ to explain now? +What’s the use––when they ain’t nothing to explain! +It’s all come out all right, ain’t it? Well, then, +hedn’t I jest as well save my breath?”</p> +<p>He straightened his thin shoulders and stretched +his arms.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316' name='page_316'></a>316</span></div> +<p>“It couldn’t a-been handled much neater, either,” +that one-sided conversation went on, “not anyway you +look at it. I always did think that the best thing to +do in them matters was to kinda let ’em take their +own course. And now––now I guess I’ll be gittin’ +along down!”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Before he opened the door of the Tavern office +a scant half hour later, Denny Bolton stopped there +on the steps a moment and, his hand on the latch, +listened to the thin, falsetto voice that came from +within. A slow smile crept up and wrinkled the +corners of the boy’s eyes after a while when he had +caught the drift of those strident words.</p> +<p>They had been waiting for him––the regulars. +They had been waiting for him longer than Old +Jerry knew. In the chair that had been the throne-seat +of the town’s great man the servant of the +Gov’mint sat and faced his loyal circle.</p> +<p>He had reached his climax––had hammered it +home. Now he was rounding out his conclusion for +those who hung, hungry-eyed, upon his eloquence.</p> +<p>“I ain’t begun to do it jestice yet,” he apologized. +“I ain’t more’n jest teched on a good many things +that needs to be gone into a trifle. Jest a trifle! It’ll +take weeks and weeks to do that. But as I was +a-sayin’––I got there! I got there just when I was +needed almighty bad. I ain’t done that part of it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317' name='page_317'></a>317</span> +jestice––but you’ll see it all in the papers in a day +or two––Sunday supplement, maybe––and pictures––and +colors, too, I reckon!”</p> +<p style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;margin-bottom:1em'>THE END</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div style='margin:10px auto; text-align:center;'> +<img alt='ad page' src='images/illus-ad1.png' /> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div style='margin:10px auto; text-align:center;'> +<img alt='ad page' src='images/illus-ad2.png' /> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div style='margin:10px auto; text-align:center;'> +<img alt='ad page' src='images/illus-ad3.png' /> +</div> +<div style='margin:10px auto; text-align:center;'> +<img alt='ad page' src='images/illus-ad1.png' /> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div style='margin:10px auto; text-align:center;'> +<img alt='ad page' src='images/illus-ad4.png' /> +</div> + +<!-- generated by ppg.rb version: ppg0804 --> +<!-- timestamp: Sat Aug 08 18:49:31 -0600 2009 --> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Once to Every Man, by Larry Evans + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ONCE TO EVERY MAN *** + +***** This file should be named 29646-h.htm or 29646-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/6/4/29646/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.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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