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diff --git a/31824-h/31824-h.htm b/31824-h/31824-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6b13593 --- /dev/null +++ b/31824-h/31824-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,36222 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The "Genius", by Theodore Dreiser. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + p.pg1 {text-align: center;} + + .padit {margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 4em;} + + .padit2 {text-align: center; margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 4em;} + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: x-small; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em; + float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;} + + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The "Genius", by Theodore Dreiser + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The "Genius" + +Author: Theodore Dreiser + +Release Date: March 30, 2010 [EBook #31824] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE "GENIUS" *** + + + + +Produced by Jim Adcock and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h1><a name="THE_GENIUS" id="THE_GENIUS"></a>THE "GENIUS"</h1> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2 class="padit">BY THEODORE DREISER</h2> + +<p class="pg1"> +<br /> +SISTER CARRIE<br /> +<br /> +JENNIE GERHARDT<br /> +<br /> +A TRAVELER AT FORTY<br /> +<br /> +</p> +<hr style='width: 25%;' /> + +<p class="pg1"> +<br /> +A TRILOGY OF DESIRE<br /> +<br /> +1. THE FINANCIER<br /> +<br /> +2. THE TITAN<br /> +<br /> +3. * * * * * * * *<br /> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p class="pg1"> +THE<br /> +<br /> +<big>"GENIUS"</big><br /> +<br /> +BY<br /> +<br /> +THEODORE DREISER<br /> +<br /> +NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY<br /> +<br /> +LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD<br /> +<br /> +TORONTO: S. B. GUNDY MCMXV<br /> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p class="pg1"> +<span class="smcap">1915.</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">By JOHN LANE COMPANY</span><br /> +</p> + +<p class="pg1"> +Press of<br /> +J. J. Little & Ives Company<br /> +New York, U. S. A.<br /> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p> +<br /><br /><br /> +Table of Contents<br /><br /> +<a href="#BOOK_I"><b>BOOK I</b></a><br /> +<br /> +<a href="#I_CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a><br /> +<a href="#I_CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a><br /> +<a href="#I_CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a><br /> +<a href="#I_CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a><br /> +<a href="#I_CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a><br /> +<a href="#I_CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a><br /> +<a href="#I_CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a><br /> +<a href="#I_CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a><br /> +<a href="#I_CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a><br /> +<a href="#I_CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a><br /> +<a href="#I_CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a><br /> +<a href="#I_CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a><br /> +<a href="#I_CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a><br /> +<a href="#I_CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a><br /> +<a href="#I_CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a><br /> +<a href="#I_CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a><br /> +<a href="#I_CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a><br /> +<a href="#I_CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a><br /> +<a href="#I_CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</a><br /> +<a href="#I_CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX</a><br /> +<a href="#I_CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI</a><br /> +<a href="#I_CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII</a><br /> +<a href="#I_CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII</a><br /> +<a href="#I_CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV</a><br /> +<a href="#I_CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV</a><br /> +<a href="#I_CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI</a><br /> +<a href="#I_CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII</a><br /> +<a href="#I_CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII</a><br /> +<br /> +<a href="#BOOK_II"><b>BOOK II</b></a><br /> +<br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER XXXV</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XXXVI">CHAPTER XXXVI</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XXXVII">CHAPTER XXXVII</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XXXVIII">CHAPTER XXXVIII</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XXXIX">CHAPTER XXXIX</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XL">CHAPTER XL</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XLI">CHAPTER XLI</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XLII">CHAPTER XLII</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XLIII">CHAPTER XLIII</a><br /> +<a href="#II_CHAPTER_XLIV">CHAPTER XLIV</a><br /> +<br /> +<a href="#BOOK_III"><b>BOOK III</b></a><br /> +<br /> +<a href="#III_CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a><br /> +<a href="#III_CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a><br /> +<a href="#III_CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a><br /> +<a href="#III_CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a><br /> +<a href="#III_CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a><br /> +<a href="#III_CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a><br /> +<a href="#III_CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a><br /> +<a href="#III_CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a><br /> +<a href="#III_CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a><br /> +<a href="#III_CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a><br /> +<a href="#III_CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a><br /> +<a href="#III_CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a><br /> +<a href="#III_CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a><br /> +<a href="#III_CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a><br /> +<a href="#III_CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a><br /> +<a href="#III_CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a><br /> +<a href="#III_CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a><br /> +<a href="#III_CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a><br /> +<a href="#III_CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</a><br /> +<a href="#III_CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX</a><br /> +<a href="#III_CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI</a><br /> +<a href="#III_CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII</a><br /> +<a href="#III_CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII</a><br /> +<a href="#III_CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV</a><br /> +<a href="#III_CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV</a><br /> +<a href="#III_CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI</a><br /> +<a href="#III_CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII</a><br /> +<a href="#III_CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII</a><br /> +<a href="#III_CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX</a><br /> +<a href="#LENVOI">L'ENVOI</a><br /> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>"Eugene Witla, wilt thou have this woman to thy +wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in +the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, +comfort her, honour her, and keep her in sickness +and in health; and forsaking all others, keep thee +only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"</p> + +<p>"I will."</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="BOOK_I" id="BOOK_I"></a>BOOK I</h2> +<hr style="width: 5%;" /> +<h2>YOUTH</h2> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h1><a name="THE_GENIUS2" id="THE_GENIUS2"></a>THE "GENIUS"</h1> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_I" id="I_CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> +This story has its beginnings in the town of Alexandria, Illinois, +between 1884 and 1889, at the time when the place had +a population of somewhere near ten thousand. There was about +it just enough of the air of a city to relieve it of the sense of rural +life. It had one street-car line, a theatre,—or rather, an opera +house, so-called (why no one might say, for no opera was ever +performed there)—two railroads, with their stations, and a business +district, composed of four brisk sides to a public square. +In the square were the county court-house and four newspapers. +These two morning and two evening papers made the population +fairly aware of the fact that life was full of issues, local and +national, and that there were many interesting and varied things +to do. On the edge of town, several lakes and a pretty stream—perhaps +Alexandria's most pleasant feature—gave it an atmosphere +not unakin to that of a moderate-priced summer resort. +Architecturally the town was not new. It was mostly built of +wood, as all American towns were at this time, but laid out +prettily in some sections, with houses that sat back in great yards, +far from the streets, with flower beds, brick walks, and green +trees as concomitants of a comfortable home life. Alexandria +was a city of young Americans. Its spirit was young. Life was +all before almost everybody. It was really good to be alive.</p> + +<p>In one part of this city there lived a family which in its character +and composition might well have been considered typically +American and middle western. It was not by any means poor—or, +at least, did not consider itself so; it was in no sense rich. +Thomas Jefferson Witla, the father, was a sewing machine agent +with the general agency in that county of one of the best known +and best selling machines made. From each twenty, thirty-five +or sixty-dollar machine which he sold, he took a profit of thirty-five +per cent. The sale of machines was not great, but it was +enough to yield him nearly two thousand dollars a year; and on +that he had managed to buy a house and lot, to furnish it comfortably, +to send his children to school, and to maintain a local +store on the public square where the latest styles of machines +were displayed. He also took old machines of other makes in +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> +exchange, allowing ten to fifteen dollars on the purchase price of +a new machine. He also repaired machines,—and with that +peculiar energy of the American mind, he tried to do a little +insurance business in addition. His first idea was that his son, +Eugene Tennyson Witla, might take charge of this latter work, +once he became old enough and the insurance trade had developed +sufficiently. He did not know what his son might turn out to be, +but it was always well to have an anchor to windward.</p> + +<p>He was a quick, wiry, active man of no great stature, sandy-haired, +with blue eyes with noticeable eye-brows, an eagle nose, +and a rather radiant and ingratiating smile. Service as a canvassing +salesman, endeavoring to persuade recalcitrant wives and +indifferent or conservative husbands to realize that they really +needed a new machine in their home, had taught him caution, +tact, savoir faire. He knew how to approach people pleasantly. +His wife thought too much so.</p> + +<p>Certainly he was honest, hard working, and thrifty. They had +been waiting a long time for the day when they could say they +owned their own home and had a little something laid away +for emergencies. That day had come, and life was not half bad. +Their house was neat,—white with green shutters, surrounded by +a yard with well kept flower beds, a smooth lawn, and some few +shapely and broad spreading trees. There was a front porch with +rockers, a swing under one tree, a hammock under another, a +buggy and several canvassing wagons in a nearby stable. Witla +liked dogs, so there were two collies. Mrs. Witla liked live +things, so there were a canary bird, a cat, some chickens, and a +bird house set aloft on a pole where a few blue-birds made +their home. It was a nice little place, and Mr. and Mrs. Witla +were rather proud of it.</p> + +<p>Miriam Witla was a good wife to her husband. A daughter +of a hay and grain dealer in Wooster, a small town near Alexandria +in McLean County, she had never been farther out into +the world than Springfield and Chicago. She had gone to Springfield +as a very young girl, to see Lincoln buried, and once with +her husband she had gone to the state fair or exposition which +was held annually in those days on the lake front in Chicago. +She was well preserved, good looking, poetic under a marked +outward reserve. It was she who had insisted upon naming her +only son Eugene Tennyson, a tribute at once to a brother +Eugene, and to the celebrated romanticist of verse, because she +had been so impressed with his "Idylls of the King."</p> + +<p>Eugene Tennyson seemed rather strong to Witla père, as the +name of a middle-western American boy, but he loved his wife +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> +and gave her her way in most things. He rather liked the +names of Sylvia and Myrtle with which she had christened the +two girls. All three of the children were good looking,—Sylvia, +a girl of twenty-one, with black hair, dark eyes, full blown like +a rose, healthy, active, smiling. Myrtle was of a less vigorous +constitution, small, pale, shy, but intensely sweet—like the flower +she was named after, her mother said. She was inclined to be +studious and reflective, to read verse and dream. The young +bloods of the high school were all crazy to talk to Myrtle and +to walk with her, but they could find no words. And she herself +did not know what to say to them.</p> + +<p>Eugene Witla was the apple of his family's eye, younger than +either of his two sisters by two years. He had straight smooth +black hair, dark almond-shaped eyes, a straight nose, a shapely +but not aggressive chin; his teeth were even and white, showing +with a curious delicacy when he smiled, as if he were proud of +them. He was not very strong to begin with, moody, and to a +notable extent artistic. Because of a weak stomach and a semi-anæmic +condition, he did not really appear as strong as he was. +He had emotion, fire, longings, that were concealed behind a +wall of reserve. He was shy, proud, sensitive, and very uncertain +of himself.</p> + +<p>When at home he lounged about the house, reading Dickens, +Thackeray, Scott and Poe. He browsed idly through one book +after another, wondering about life. The great cities appealed +to him. He thought of travel as a wonderful thing. In school +he read Taine and Gibbon between recitation hours, wondering +at the luxury and beauty of the great courts of the world. He +cared nothing for grammar, nothing for mathematics, nothing +for botany or physics, except odd bits here and there. Curious +facts would strike him—the composition of clouds, the composition +of water, the chemical elements of the earth. He liked to +lie in the hammock at home, spring, summer or fall, and look +at the blue sky showing through the trees. A soaring buzzard +poised in speculative flight held his attention fixedly. The wonder +of a snowy cloud, high piled like wool, and drifting as an +island, was like a song to him. He had wit, a keen sense of +humor, a sense of pathos. Sometimes he thought he would +draw; sometimes write. He had a little talent for both, he +thought, but did practically nothing with either. He would +sketch now and then, but only fragments—a small roof-top, with +smoke curling from a chimney and birds flying; a bit of water +with a willow bending over it and perhaps a boat anchored; +a mill pond with ducks afloat, and a boy or woman on the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +bank. He really had no great talent for interpretation at this +time, only an intense sense of beauty. The beauty of a bird in +flight, a rose in bloom, a tree swaying in the wind—these held +him. He would walk the streets of his native town at night, +admiring the brightness of the store windows, the sense of youth +and enthusiasm that went with a crowd; the sense of love and +comfort and home that spoke through the glowing windows of +houses set back among trees.</p> + +<p>He admired girls,—was mad about them,—but only about +those who were truly beautiful. There were two or three in his +school who reminded him of poetic phrases he had come across—"beauty +like a tightened bow," "thy hyacinth hair, thy classic +face," "a dancing shape, an image gay"—but he could not talk +to them with ease. They were beautiful but so distant. He +invested them with more beauty than they had; the beauty was +in his own soul. But he did not know that. One girl whose +yellow hair lay upon her neck in great yellow braids like ripe +corn, was constantly in his thoughts. He worshiped her from +afar but she never knew. She never knew what solemn black +eyes burned at her when she was not looking. She left Alexandria, +her family moving to another town, and in time he recovered, +for there is much of beauty. But the color of her hair and +the wonder of her neck stayed with him always.</p> + +<p>There was some plan on the part of Witla to send these children +to college, but none of them showed any great desire for +education. They were perhaps wiser than books, for they were +living in the realm of imagination and feeling. Sylvia longed +to be a mother, and was married at twenty-one to Henry Burgess, +the son of Benjamin C. Burgess, editor of the <i>Morning Appeal</i>. +There was a baby the first year. Myrtle was dreaming through +algebra and trigonometry, wondering whether she would teach or +get married, for the moderate prosperity of the family demanded +that she do something. Eugene mooned through his studies, +learning nothing practical. He wrote a little, but his efforts +at sixteen were puerile. He drew, but there was no one to tell +him whether there was any merit in the things he did or not. +Practical matters were generally without significance to him. +But he was overawed by the fact that the world demanded practical +service—buying and selling like his father, clerking in stores, +running big business. It was a confusing maze, and he wondered, +even at this age, what was to become of him. He did not +object to the kind of work his father was doing, but it did not +interest him. For himself he knew it would be a pointless, dreary +way of making a living, and as for insurance, that was equally +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +bad. He could hardly bring himself to read through the long +rigamarole of specifications which each insurance paper itemized. +There were times—evenings and Saturdays—when he clerked in +his father's store, but it was painful work. His mind was +not in it.</p> + +<p>As early as his twelfth year his father had begun to see that +Eugene was not cut out for business, and by the time he was +sixteen he was convinced of it. From the trend of his reading +and his percentage marks at school, he was equally convinced +that the boy was not interested in his studies. Myrtle, who +was two classes ahead of him but sometimes in the same room, +reported that he dreamed too much. He was always looking +out of the window.</p> + +<p>Eugene's experience with girls had not been very wide. There +were those very minor things that occur in early youth—girls +whom we furtively kiss, or who furtively kiss us—the latter had +been the case with Eugene. He had no particular interest in +any one girl. At fourteen he had been picked by a little girl +at a party as an affinity, for the evening at least, and in a game +of "post-office" had enjoyed the wonder of a girl's arms around +him in a dark room and a girl's lips against his; but since then +there had been no re-encounter of any kind. He had dreamed +of love, with this one experience as a basis, but always in a shy, +distant way. He was afraid of girls, and they, to tell the truth, +were afraid of him. They could not make him out.</p> + +<p>But in the fall of his seventeenth year Eugene came into contact +with one girl who made a profound impression on him. +Stella Appleton was a notably beautiful creature. She was very +fair, Eugene's own age, with very blue eyes and a slender sylph-like body. +She was gay and debonair in an enticing way, without +really realizing how dangerous she was to the average, susceptible +male heart. She liked to flirt with the boys because it amused +her, and not because she cared for anyone in particular. There +was no petty meanness about it, however, for she thought they +were all rather nice, the less clever appealing to her almost more +than the sophisticated. She may have liked Eugene originally +because of his shyness.</p> + +<p>He saw her first at the beginning of his last school year when +she came to the city and entered the second high school class. +Her father had come from Moline, Illinois, to take a position as +manager of a new pulley manufactory which was just starting. +She had quickly become friends with his sister Myrtle, being perhaps +attracted by her quiet ways, as Myrtle was by Stella's +gaiety.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> +One afternoon, as Myrtle and Stella were on Main Street, +walking home from the post office, they met Eugene, who was +on his way to visit a boy friend. He was really bashful; and +when he saw them approaching he wanted to escape, but there +was no way. They saw him, and Stella approached confidently +enough. Myrtle was anxious to intercept him, because she had +her pretty companion with her.</p> + +<p>"You haven't been home, have you?" she asked, stopping. +This was her chance to introduce Stella; Eugene couldn't escape. +"Miss Appleton, this is my brother Eugene."</p> + +<p>Stella gave him a sunny encouraging smile, and her hand, +which he took gingerly. He was plainly nervous.</p> + +<p>"I'm not very clean," he said apologetically. "I've been helping +father fix a buggy."</p> + +<p>"Oh, we don't mind," said Myrtle. "Where are you going?"</p> + +<p>"Over to Harry Morris's," he explained.</p> + +<p>"What for?"</p> + +<p>"We're going for hickory nuts."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I wish I had some," said Stella.</p> + +<p>"I'll bring you some," he volunteered gallantly.</p> + +<p>She smiled again. "I wish you would."</p> + +<p>She almost proposed that they should be taken along, but inexperience +hindered her.</p> + +<p>Eugene was struck with all her charm at once. She seemed +like one of those unattainable creatures who had swum into his +ken a little earlier and disappeared. There was something of +the girl with the corn-colored hair about her, only she had been +more human, less like a dream. This girl was fine, delicate, pink, +like porcelain. She was fragile and yet virile. He caught his +breath, but he was more or less afraid of her. He did not know +what she might be thinking of him.</p> + +<p>"Well, we're going on to the house," said Myrtle.</p> + +<p>"I'd go along if I hadn't promised Harry I'd come over."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's all right," replied Myrtle. "We don't mind."</p> + +<p>He withdrew, feeling that he had made a very poor impression. +Stella's eyes had been on him in a very inquiring way. She +looked after him when he had gone.</p> + +<p>"Isn't he nice?" she said to Myrtle frankly.</p> + +<p>"I think so," replied Myrtle; "kind o'. He's too moody, +though."</p> + +<p>"What makes him?"</p> + +<p>"He isn't very strong."</p> + +<p>"I think he has a nice smile."</p> + +<p>"I'll tell him!" +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, please don't! You won't, will you?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"But he <i>has</i> a nice smile."</p> + +<p>"I'll ask you round to the house some evening and you can +meet him again."</p> + +<p>"I'd like to," said Stella. "It would be a lot of fun."</p> + +<p>"Come out Saturday evening and stay all night. He's home +then."</p> + +<p>"I will," said Stella. "Won't that be fine!"</p> + +<p>"I believe you like him!" laughed Myrtle.</p> + +<p>"I think he's awfully nice," said Stella, simply.</p> + +<p>The second meeting happened on Saturday evening as arranged, +when he came home from his odd day at his father's +insurance office. Stella had come to supper. Eugene saw her +through the open sitting room door, as he bounded upstairs to +change his clothes, for he had a fire of youth which no sickness +of stomach or weakness of lungs could overcome at this age. A +thrill of anticipation ran over his body. He took especial pains +with his toilet, adjusting a red tie to a nicety, and parting his +hair carefully in the middle. He came down after a while, conscious +that he had to say something smart, worthy of himself, +or she would not see how attractive he was; and yet he was +fearful as to the result. When he entered the sitting room she +was sitting with his sister before an open fire-place, the glow of +a lamp with a red-flowered shade warmly illuminating the room. +It was a commonplace room, with its blue cloth-covered center +table, its chairs of stereotyped factory design, and its bookcase +of novels and histories, but it was homey, and the sense of hominess +was strong.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Witla was in and out occasionally, looking for things +which appertained to her functions as house-mother. The father +was not home yet; he would get there by supper-time, having +been to some outlying town of the county trying to sell a machine. +Eugene was indifferent to his presence or absence. Mr. Witla +had a fund of humor which extended to joking with his son and +daughters, when he was feeling good, to noting their budding +interest in the opposite sex; to predicting some commonplace +climax to their one grand passion when it should come. He was +fond of telling Myrtle that she would one day marry a horse-doctor. +As for Eugene, he predicted a certain Elsa Brown, who, +his wife said, had greasy curls. This did not irritate either +Myrtle or Eugene. It even brought a wry smile to Eugene's +face for he was fond of a jest; but he saw his father pretty clearly +even at this age. He saw the smallness of his business, the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> +ridiculousness of any such profession having any claim on him. +He never wanted to say anything, but there was in him a burning +opposition to the commonplace, a molten pit in a crater of +reserve, which smoked ominously now and then for anyone who +could have read. Neither his father nor his mother understood +him. To them he was a peculiar boy, dreamy, sickly, unwitting, +as yet, of what he really wanted.</p> + +<p>"Oh, here you are!" said Myrtle, when he came in. "Come +and sit down."</p> + +<p>Stella gave him an enticing smile.</p> + +<p>He walked to the mantel-piece and stood there, posing. He +wanted to impress this girl, and he did not quite know how. He +was almost lost for anything to say.</p> + +<p>"You can't guess what we've been doing!" his sister chirped +helpfully.</p> + +<p>"Well—what?" he replied blankly.</p> + +<p>"You ought to guess. Can't you be nice and guess?"</p> + +<p>"One guess, anyhow," put in Stella.</p> + +<p>"Toasting pop-corn," he ventured with a half smile.</p> + +<p>"You're warm." It was Myrtle speaking.</p> + +<p>Stella looked at him with round blue eyes. "One more guess," +she suggested.</p> + +<p>"Chestnuts!" he guessed.</p> + +<p>She nodded her head gaily. "What hair!" he thought. +Then—"Where are they?"</p> + +<p>"Here's one," laughed his new acquaintance, holding out a tiny +hand.</p> + +<p>Under her laughing encouragement he was finding his voice. +"Stingy!" he said.</p> + +<p>"Now isn't that mean," she exclaimed. "I gave him the only +one I had. Don't you give him any of yours, Myrtle."</p> + +<p>"I take it back," he pleaded. "I didn't know."</p> + +<p>"I won't!" exclaimed Myrtle. "Here, Stella," and she held +out the few nuts she had left, "take these, and don't you give +him any!" She put them in Stella's eager hands.</p> + +<p>He saw her meaning. It was an invitation to a contest. She +wanted him to try to make her give him some. He fell in with +her plan.</p> + +<p>"Here!" He stretched out his palm. "That's not right!"</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p> + +<p>"One, anyhow," he insisted.</p> + +<p>Her head moved negatively from side to side slowly.</p> + +<p>"One," he pleaded, drawing near.</p> + +<p>Again the golden negative. But her hand was at the side +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> +nearest him, where he could seize it. She started to pass its +contents behind her to the other hand but he jumped and +caught it.</p> + +<p>"Myrtle! Quick!" she called.</p> + +<p>Myrtle came. It was a three-handed struggle. In the midst +of the contest Stella twisted and rose to her feet. Her hair +brushed his face. He held her tiny hand firmly. For a moment +he looked into her eyes. What was it? He could not say. Only +he half let go and gave her the victory.</p> + +<p>"There," she smiled. "Now I'll give you one."</p> + +<p>He took it, laughing. What he wanted was to take her in +his arms.</p> + +<p>A little while before supper his father came in and sat down, +but presently took a Chicago paper and went into the dining +room to read. Then his mother called them to the table, and he +sat by Stella. He was intensely interested in what she did and +said. If her lips moved he noted just how. When her teeth +showed he thought they were lovely. A little ringlet on her forehead +beckoned him like a golden finger. He felt the wonder +of the poetic phrase, "the shining strands of her hair."</p> + +<p>After dinner he and Myrtle and Stella went back to the +sitting room. His father stayed behind to read, his mother to +wash dishes. Myrtle left the room after a bit to help her mother, +and then these two were left alone. He hadn't much to say, +now that they were together—he couldn't talk. Something about +her beauty kept him silent.</p> + +<p>"Do you like school?" she asked after a time. She felt as if +they must talk.</p> + +<p>"Only fairly well," he replied. "I'm not much interested. +I think I'll quit one of these days and go to work."</p> + +<p>"What do you expect to do?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know yet—I'd like to be an artist." He confessed his +ambition for the first time in his life—why, he could not have +said.</p> + +<p>Stella took no note of it.</p> + +<p>"I was afraid they wouldn't let me enter second year high +school, but they did," she remarked. "The superintendent at +Moline had to write the superintendent here."</p> + +<p>"They're mean about those things," he cogitated.</p> + +<p>She got up and went to the bookcase to look at the books. +He followed after a little.</p> + +<p>"Do you like Dickens?" she asked.</p> + +<p>He nodded his head solemnly in approval. "Pretty much," +he said.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +"I can't like him. He's too long drawn out. I like Scott +better."</p> + +<p>"I like Scott," he said.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you a lovely book that I like." She paused, her lips +parted trying to remember the name. She lifted her hand as +though to pick the title out of the air. "The Fair God," she +exclaimed at last.</p> + +<p>"Yes—it's fine," he approved. "I thought the scene in the old +Aztec temple where they were going to sacrifice Ahwahee was so +wonderful!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I liked that," she added. She pulled out "Ben Hur" +and turned its leaves idly. "And this was so good."</p> + +<p>"Wonderful!"</p> + +<p>They paused and she went to the window, standing under the +cheap lace curtains. It was a moonlight night. The rows of +trees that lined the street on either side were leafless; the grass +brown and dead. Through the thin, interlaced twigs that were +like silver filigree they could see the lamps of other houses shining +through half-drawn blinds. A man went by, a black shadow +in the half-light.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it lovely?" she said.</p> + +<p>Eugene came near. "It's fine," he answered.</p> + +<p>"I wish it were cold enough to skate. Do you skate?" She +turned to him.</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed," he replied.</p> + +<p>"My, it's so nice on a moonlit night. I used to skate a lot at +Moline."</p> + +<p>"We skate a lot here. There're two lakes, you know."</p> + +<p>He thought of the clear crystal nights when the ice of Green +Lake had split every so often with a great resounding rumble. +He thought of the crowds of boys and girls shouting, the distant +shadows, the stars. Up to now he had never found any girl to +skate with successfully. He had never felt just easy with anyone. +He had tried it, but once he had fallen with a girl, and it had +almost cured him of skating forever. He felt as though he could +skate with Stella. He felt that she might like to skate with +him.</p> + +<p>"When it gets colder we might go," he ventured. "Myrtle +skates."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that'll be fine!" she applauded.</p> + +<p>Still she looked out into the street.</p> + +<p>After a bit she came back to the fire and stood before him, +pensively looking down.</p> + +<p>"Do you think your father will stay here?" he asked.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +"He says so. He likes it very much."</p> + +<p>"Do you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—now."</p> + +<p>"Why <i>now</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I didn't like it at first."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I guess it was because I didn't know anybody. I like +it though, now." She lifted her eyes.</p> + +<p>He drew a little nearer.</p> + +<p>"It's a nice place," he said, "but there isn't much for me here. +I think I'll leave next year."</p> + +<p>"Where do you think you'll go?"</p> + +<p>"To Chicago. I don't want to stay here."</p> + +<p>She turned her body toward the fire and he moved to a chair +behind her, leaning on its back. She felt him there rather close, +but did not move. He was surprising himself.</p> + +<p>"Aren't you ever coming back?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Maybe. It all depends. I suppose so."</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't think you'd want to leave yet."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"You say it's so nice."</p> + +<p>He made no answer and she looked over her shoulder. He +was leaning very much toward her.</p> + +<p>"Will you skate with me this winter?" he asked meaningly.</p> + +<p>She nodded her head.</p> + +<p>Myrtle came in.</p> + +<p>"What are you two talking about?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"The fine skating we have here," he said.</p> + +<p>"I love to skate," she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"So do I," added Stella. "It's heavenly."</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_II" id="I_CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<p>Some of the incidents of this courtship that followed, +ephemeral as it was, left a profound impression on Eugene's +mind. They met to skate not long after, for the snow came +and the ice and there was wonderful skating on Green Lake. +The frost was so prolonged that men with horses and ice-saws +were cutting blocks a foot thick over at Miller's Point, where +the ice houses were. Almost every day after Thanksgiving there +were crowds of boys and girls from the schools scooting about +like water skippers. Eugene could not always go on week +evenings and Saturdays because he had to assist his father at the +store. But at regular intervals he could ask Myrtle to get Stella +and let them all go together at night. And at other times he +would ask her to go alone. Not infrequently she did.</p> + +<p>On one particular occasion they were below a group of houses +which crept near the lake on high ground. The moon was up, +its wooing rays reflected in the polished surfaces of the ice. +Through the black masses of trees that lined the shore could be +seen the glow of windows, yellow and homey. Eugene and Stella +had slowed up to turn about, having left the crowd of skaters +some distance back. Stella's golden curls were covered, except +for a few ringlets, with a French cap; her body, to below the +hips, encased in a white wool Jersey, close-fitting and shapely. +The skirt below was a grey mixture of thick wool and the +stockings were covered by white woolen leggings. She looked +tempting and knew it.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, as they turned, one of her skates came loose and +she hobbled and exclaimed about it. "Wait," said Eugene, "I'll +fix it."</p> + +<p>She stood before him and he fell to his knees, undoing the +twisted strap. When he had the skate off and ready for her foot +he looked up, and she looked down on him, smiling. He dropped +the skate and flung his arms around her hips, laying his head +against her waist.</p> + +<p>"You're a bad boy," she said.</p> + +<p>For a few minutes she kept silent, for as the center of this +lovely scene she was divine. While he held her she pulled off his +wool cap and laid her hand on his hair. It almost brought tears +to his eyes, he was so happy. At the same time it awakened a +tremendous passion. He clutched her significantly.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +"Fix my skate, now," she said wisely.</p> + +<p>He got up to hug her but she would not let him.</p> + +<p>"No, no," she protested. "You mustn't do like that. I won't +come with you if you do."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Stella!" he pleaded.</p> + +<p>"I mean it," she insisted. "You mustn't do like that."</p> + +<p>He subsided, hurt, half angry. But he feared her will. She +was really not as ready for caresses as he had thought.</p> + +<p>Another time a sleighing party was given by some school girls, +and Stella, Eugene and Myrtle were invited. It was a night of +snow and stars, not too cold but bracing. A great box-wagon +had been dismantled of its body and the latter put on runners +and filled with straw and warm robes. Eugene and Myrtle, like +the others, had been picked up at their door after the sleigh had +gone the rounds of some ten peaceful little homes. Stella was +not in yet, but in a little while her house was reached.</p> + +<p>"Get in here," called Myrtle, though she was half the length +of the box away from Eugene. Her request made him angry. +"Sit by me," he called, fearful that she would not. She climbed +in by Myrtle but finding the space not to her liking moved farther +down. Eugene made a special effort to have room by him, and +she came there as though by accident. He drew a buffalo robe +around her and thrilled to think that she was really there. The +sleigh went jingling around the town for others, and finally +struck out into the country. It passed great patches of dark +woods silent in the snow, little white frame farmhouses snuggled +close to the ground, and with windows that gleamed in a vague +romantic way. The stars were countless and keen. The whole +scene made a tremendous impression on him, for he was in love, +and here beside him, in the shadow, her face palely outlined, was +this girl. He could make out the sweetness of her cheek, her +eyes, the softness of her hair.</p> + +<p>There was a good deal of chatter and singing, and in the midst +of these distractions he managed to slip an arm about her waist, +to get her hand in his, to look close into her eyes, trying to +divine their expression. She was always coy with him, not wholly +yielding. Three or four times he kissed her cheek furtively and +once her mouth. In a dark place he pulled her vigorously to him, +putting a long, sensuous kiss on her lips that frightened her.</p> + +<p>"No," she protested, nervously. "You mustn't."</p> + +<p>He ceased for a time, feeling that he had pressed his advantage +too closely. But the night in all its beauty, and she in hers made +a lasting impression.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> +"I think we ought to get Eugene into newspaper work or +something like that," Witla senior suggested to his wife.</p> + +<p>"It looks as though that's all he would be good for, at least +now," replied Mrs. Witla, who was satisfied that her boy had +not yet found himself. "I think he'll do something better later +on. His health isn't very good, you know."</p> + +<p>Witla half suspected that his boy was naturally lazy, but he +wasn't sure. He suggested that Benjamin C. Burgess, the +prospective father-in-law of Sylvia and the editor and proprietor +of the <i>Morning Appeal</i>, might give him a place as a reporter or +type-setter in order that he might learn the business from the +ground up. The <i>Appeal</i> carried few employees, but Mr. Burgess +might have no objections to starting Eugene as a reporter if he +could write, or as a student of type-setting, or both. He appealed +to Burgess one day on the street.</p> + +<p>"Say, Burgess," he said, "you wouldn't have a place over in +your shop for that boy of mine, would you? He likes to scribble +a little, I notice. I think he pretends to draw a little, too, though +I guess it doesn't amount to much. He ought to get into something. +He isn't doing anything at school. Maybe he could +learn type-setting. It wouldn't hurt him to begin at the bottom +if he's going to follow that line. It wouldn't matter what you +paid him to begin with."</p> + +<p>Burgess thought. He had seen Eugene around town, knew +no harm of him except that he was lackadaisical and rather +moody.</p> + +<p>"Send him in to see me some day," he replied noncommittally. +"I might do something for him."</p> + +<p>"I'd certainly be much obliged to you if you would," said +Witla. "He is not doing much good as it is now," and the two +men parted.</p> + +<p>He went home and told Eugene. "Burgess says he might give +you a position as a type-setter or a reporter on the <i>Appeal</i> if +you'd come in and see him some day," he explained, looking over +to where his son was reading by the lamp.</p> + +<p>"Does he?" replied Eugene calmly. "Well, I can't write. I +might set type. Did you ask him?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Witla. "You'd better go to him some day."</p> + +<p>Eugene bit his lip. He realized this was a commentary on +his loafing propensities. He wasn't doing very well, that was +certain. Still type-setting was no bright field for a person +of his temperament. "I will," he concluded, "when school's +over."</p> + +<p>"Better speak before school ends. Some of the other fellows +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +might ask for it around that time. It wouldn't hurt you to try +your hand at it."</p> + +<p>"I will," said Eugene obediently.</p> + +<p>He stopped in one sunny April afternoon at Mr. Burgess' +office. It was on the ground floor of the three-story <i>Appeal</i> +building in the public square. Mr. Burgess, a fat man, slightly +bald, looked at him quizzically over his steel rimmed spectacles. +What little hair he had was gray.</p> + +<p>"So you think you would like to go into the newspaper business, +do you?" queried Burgess.</p> + +<p>"I'd like to try my hand at it," replied the boy. "I'd like to +see whether I like it."</p> + +<p>"I can tell you right now there's very little in it. Your father +says you like to write."</p> + +<p>"I'd like to well enough, but I don't think I can. I wouldn't +mind learning type-setting. If I ever could write I'd be perfectly +willing to."</p> + +<p>"When do you think you'd like to start?"</p> + +<p>"At the end of school, if it's all the same to you."</p> + +<p>"It doesn't make much difference. I'm not really in need of +anybody, but I could use you. Would you be satisfied with +five a week?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Well, come in when you are ready. I'll see what I can do."</p> + +<p>He waved the prospective type-setter away with a movement +of his fat hand, and turned to his black walnut desk, dingy, +covered with newspapers, and lit by a green shaded electric +light. Eugene went out, the smell of fresh printing ink in his +nose, and the equally aggressive smell of damp newspapers. It +was going to be an interesting experience, he thought, but perhaps +a waste of time. He did not think so much of Alexandria. +Some time he was going to get out of it.</p> + +<p>The office of the <i>Appeal</i> was not different from that of any +other country newspaper office within the confines of our two +hemispheres. On the ground floor in front was the business +office, and in the rear the one large flat bed press and the job +presses. On the second floor was the composing room with its +rows of type cases on their high racks—for this newspaper was, +like most other country newspapers, still set by hand; and in front +was the one dingy office of the so-called editor, or managing +editor, or city editor—for all three were the same person, a Mr. +Caleb Williams whom Burgess had picked up in times past from +heaven knows where. Williams was a small, lean, wiry man, +with a black pointed beard and a glass eye which fixed you oddly +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +with its black pupil. He was talkative, skipped about from duty +to duty, wore most of the time a green shade pulled low over +his forehead, and smoked a brown briar pipe. He had a fund +of knowledge, piled up in metropolitan journalistic experience, +but he was anchored here with a wife and three children, after +sailing, no doubt, a chartless sea of troubles, and was glad to +talk life and experiences after office hours with almost anybody. +It took him from eight in the morning until two in the afternoon +to gather what local news there was, and either write it or edit +it. He seemed to have a number of correspondents who sent +him weekly batches of news from surrounding points. The +Associated Press furnished him with a few minor items by telegraph, +and there was a "patent insides," two pages of fiction, +household hints, medicine ads. and what not, which saved him +considerable time and stress. Most of the news which came +to him received short shrift in the matter of editing. "In Chicago +we used to give a lot of attention to this sort of thing," +Williams was wont to declare to anyone who was near, "but you +can't do it down here. The readers really don't expect it. +They're looking for local items. I always look after the local +items pretty sharp."</p> + +<p>Mr. Burgess took care of the advertising sections. In fact he +solicited advertising personally, saw that it was properly set up +as the advertiser wanted it, and properly placed according to the +convenience of the day and the rights and demands of others. +He was the politician of the concern, the handshaker, the guider +of its policy. He wrote editorials now and then, or, with +Williams, decided just what their sense must be, met the visitors +who came to the office to see the editor, and arbitrated all known +forms of difficulties. He was at the beck and call of certain +Republican party-leaders in the county; but that seemed natural, +for he was a Republican himself by temperament and disposition. +He was appointed postmaster once to pay him for some useful +services, but he declined because he was really making more out +of his paper than his postmastership would have brought. He +received whatever city or county advertising it was in the power +of the Republican leaders to give him, and so he did very well. +The complications of his political relationships Williams knew in +part, but they never troubled that industrious soul. He dispensed +with moralizing. "I have to make a living for myself, +my wife and three children. That's enough to keep me going +without bothering my head about other people." So this office +was really run very quietly, efficiently, and in most ways pleasantly. +It was a sunny place to work.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> +Witla, who came here at the end of his eleventh school year +and when he had just turned seventeen, was impressed with the +personality of Mr. Williams. He liked him. He came to like a +Jonas Lyle who worked at what might be called the head desk +of the composing room, and a certain John Summers who worked +at odd times—whenever there was an extra rush of job printing. +He learned very quickly that John Summers, who was fifty-five, +grey, and comparatively silent, was troubled with weak lungs and +drank. Summers would slip out of the office at various times in +the day and be gone from five to fifteen minutes. No one ever +said anything, for there was no pressure here. What work was +to be done was done. Jonas Lyle was of a more interesting +nature. He was younger by ten years, stronger, better built, but +still a character. He was semi-phlegmatic, philosophic, feebly +literary. He had worked, as Eugene found out in the course of +time, in nearly every part of the United States—Denver, Portland, +St. Paul, St. Louis, where not, and had a fund of recollections +of this proprietor and that. Whenever he saw a name of +particular distinction in the newspapers he was apt to bring the +paper to Williams—and later, when they became familiar, to +Eugene—and say, "I knew that fellow out in——. He +was postmaster (or what not) at X——. He's come up +considerably since I knew him." In most cases he did not know +these celebrities personally at all, but he knew of them, and the +echo of their fame sounding in this out-of-the-way corner of the +world impressed him. He was a careful reader of proof for +Williams in a rush, a quick type-setter, a man who stayed by his +tasks faithfully. But he hadn't got anywhere in the world, for, +after all, he was little more than a machine. Eugene could see +that at a glance.</p> + +<p>It was Lyle who taught him the art of type-setting. He +demonstrated the first day the theory of the squares or pockets +in a case, how some letters were placed more conveniently to the +hand than others, why some letters were well represented as to +quantity, why capitals were used in certain offices for certain purposes, +in others not. "Now on the Chicago <i>Tribune</i> we used to +italicize the names of churches, boats, books, hotels, and things of +that sort. That's the only paper I ever knew to do that," he +remarked. What slugs, sticks, galleys, turnovers, meant, came +rapidly to the surface. That the fingers would come to recognize +weights of leads by the touch, that a letter would almost instinctively +find its way back to its proper pocket, even though you +were not thinking, once you became expert, were facts which he +cheerfully communicated. He wanted his knowledge taken seriously, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +and this serious attention, Eugene, because of his innate +respect for learning of any kind, was only too glad to give him. +He did not know what he wanted to do, but he knew quite well +that he wanted to see everything. This shop was interesting to +him for some little time for this reason, for though he soon found +that he did not want to be a type-setter or a reporter, or indeed +anything much in connection with a country newspaper, he was +learning about life. He worked at his desk cheerfully, smiling +out upon the world, which indicated its presence to him through +an open window, read the curious bits of news or opinion or +local advertisements as he set them up, and dreamed of what +the world might have in store for him. He was not vastly ambitious +as yet, but hopeful and, withal, a little melancholy. He +could see boys and girls whom he knew, idling in the streets or +on the corner squares; he could see where Ted Martinwood was +driving by in his father's buggy, or George Anderson was going +up the street with the air of someone who would never need to +work. George's father owned the one and only hotel. There +were thoughts in his mind of fishing, boating, lolling somewhere +with some pretty girl, but alas, girls did not apparently take to +him so very readily. He was too shy. He thought it must be +nice to be rich. So he dreamed.</p> + +<p>Eugene was at that age when he wished to express himself in +ardent phrases. He was also at the age when bashfulness held +him in reserve, even though he were in love and intensely emotional. +He could only say to Stella what seemed trivial things, +and look his intensity, whereas it was the trivial things that were +most pleasing to her, not the intensity. She was even then beginning +to think he was a little strange, a little too tense for her +disposition. Yet she liked him. It became generally understood +around town that Stella was <i>his</i> girl. School day mating usually +goes that way in a small city or village. He was seen to go out +with her. His father teased him. Her mother and father +deemed this a manifestation of calf love, not so much on her +part, for they were aware of her tendency to hold lightly any +manifestation of affection on the part of boys, but on his. They +thought his sentimentalism would soon be wearisome to Stella. +And they were not far wrong about her. On one occasion at a +party given by several high school girls, a "country post office" +was organized. That was one of those games which mean kissing +only. A system of guessing results in a series of forfeits. If you +miss you must be postmaster, and call someone for "mail." <i>Mail</i> +means to be kissed in a dark room (where the postmaster stands) +by someone whom you like or who likes you. You, as postmaster, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +have authority or compulsion—however you feel about it—to +call whom you please.</p> + +<p>In this particular instance Stella, who was caught before +Eugene, was under compulsion to call someone to kiss. Her first +thought was of him, but on account of the frankness of the +deed, and because there was a lurking fear in her of his eagerness, +the name she felt impelled to speak was Harvey Rutter. +Harvey was a handsome boy whom Stella had met after her first +encounter with Eugene. He was not as yet fascinating to her, +but pleasing. She had a coquettish desire to see what he was like. +This was her first direct chance.</p> + +<p>He stepped gaily in, and Eugene was at once insane with +jealousy. He could not understand why she should treat him in +that way. When it came to his turn he called for Bertha Shoemaker, +whom he admired, and who was sweet in a way, but who +was as nothing to Stella in his estimation. The pain of kissing +her when he really wanted the other girl was great. When he +came out Stella saw moodiness in his eyes, but chose to ignore it. +He was obviously half-hearted and downcast in his simulation +of joy.</p> + +<p>A second chance came to her and this time she called him. He +went, but was in a semi-defiant mood. He wanted to punish her. +When they met in the dark she expected him to put his arms +around her. Her own hands were up to about where his shoulders +should be. Instead he only took hold of one of her arms +with his hand and planted a chilly kiss on her lips. If he had +only asked, "Why did you?" or held her close and pleaded with +her not to treat him so badly, the relationship might have lasted +longer. Instead he said nothing, and she grew defiant and she +went out gaily. There was a strain of reserve running between +them until the party broke up and he took her home.</p> + +<p>"You must be melancholy tonight," she remarked, after they +had walked two blocks in complete silence. The streets were +dark, and their feet sounded hollowly on the brick pavement.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm feeling all right," he replied moodily.</p> + +<p>"I think it's awfully nice at the Weimers', we always have so +much fun there."</p> + +<p>"Yes, lots of fun," he echoed contemptuously.</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't be so cross!" she flared. "You haven't any reason +for fussing."</p> + +<p>"Haven't I?"</p> + +<p>"No, you haven't."</p> + +<p>"Well if that's the way you feel about it I suppose I haven't. +I don't see it that way."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +"Well, it doesn't make any difference to me how you see it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, doesn't it?"</p> + +<p>"No, it doesn't." Her head was up and she was angry.</p> + +<p>"Well I'm sure then it doesn't to me."</p> + +<p>There was another silence which endured until they were +almost home.</p> + +<p>"Are you coming to the sociable next Thursday?" he inquired. +He was referring to a Methodist evening entertainment which, +although he cared very little about it, was a convenience as it +enabled him to see her and take her home. He was prompted to +ask by the fear that an open rupture was impending.</p> + +<p>"No," she said. "I don't think I will."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"I don't care to."</p> + +<p>"I think you're mean," he said reprovingly.</p> + +<p>"I don't care," she replied. "I think you're too bossy. I +don't think I like you very much anyhow."</p> + +<p>His heart contracted ominously.</p> + +<p>"You can do as you please," he persisted.</p> + +<p>They reached her gate. It was his wont to kiss her in the +shadow—to hold her tight for a few minutes in spite of her +protests. Tonight, as they approached, he thought of doing it, +but she gave him no chance. When they reached the gate she +opened it quickly and slipped in. "Good-night," she called.</p> + +<p>"Good-night," he said, and then as she reached her door, +"Stella!"</p> + +<p>It was open, and she slipped in. He stood in the dark, hurt, +sore, oppressed. What should he do? He strolled home cudgelling +his brain whether never to speak to or look at her again until +she came to him, or to hunt her up and fight it all out with her. +She was in the wrong, he knew that. When he went to bed he +was grieving over it, and when he awoke it was with him all +day.</p> + +<p>He had been gaining rather rapidly as a student of type-setting, +and to a certain extent of the theory of reporting, and he worked +diligently and earnestly at his proposed trade. He loved to look +out of the window and draw, though of late, after knowing +Stella so well and coming to quarrel with her because of her indifference, +there was little heart in it. This getting to the office, +putting on an apron, and starting in on some local correspondence +left over from the day before, or some telegraph copy which had +been freshly filed on his hook, had its constructive value. Williams +endeavored to use him on some local items of news as a +reporter, but he was a slow worker and almost a failure at +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> +getting all the facts. He did not appear to know how to interview +anybody, and would come back with a story which needed +to be filled in from other sources. He really did not understand +the theory of news, and Williams could only make it partially +clear to him. Mostly he worked at his case, but he did learn +some things.</p> + +<p>For one thing, the theory of advertising began to dawn on him. +These local merchants put in the same ads. day after day, and +many of them did not change them noticeably. He saw Lyle and +Summers taking the same ads. which had appeared unchangingly +from month to month in so far as their main features were concerned, +and alter only a few words before returning them to the +forms. He wondered at the sameness of them, and when, at last, +they were given to him to revise he often wished he could +change them a little. The language seemed so dull.</p> + +<p>"Why don't they ever put little drawings in these ads?" he +asked Lyle one day. "Don't you think they'd look a little +better?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know," replied Jonas. "They look pretty good. +These people around here wouldn't want anything like that. +They'd think it was too fancy." Eugene had seen and in a way +studied the ads. in the magazines. They seemed so much more +fascinating to him. Why couldn't newspaper ads. be different?</p> + +<p>Still it was never given to him to trouble over this problem. +Mr. Burgess dealt with the advertisers. He settled how the ads +were to be. He never talked to Eugene or Summers about them, +not always to Lyle. He would sometimes have Williams explain +just what their character and layout was to be. Eugene was so +young that Williams at first did not pay very much attention to +him, but after a while he began to realize that there was a personality +here, and then he would explain things,—why space had +to be short for some items and long for others, why county +news, news of small towns around Alexandria, and about people, +was much more important financially to the paper than the correct +reporting of the death of the sultan of Turkey. The most +important thing was to get the local names right. "Don't ever +misspell them," he once cautioned him. "Don't ever leave out a +part of a name if you can help it. People are awfully sensitive +about that. They'll stop their subscription if you don't watch +out, and you won't know what's the matter."</p> + +<p>Eugene took all these things to heart. He wanted to see how +the thing was done, though basically it seemed to be a little small. +In fact people seemed a little small, mostly.</p> + +<p>One of the things that did interest him was to see the paper +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +put on the press and run off. He liked to help lock up the +forms, and to see how they were imposed and registered. He +liked to hear the press run, and to help carry the wet papers to +the mailing tables and the distributing counter out in front. The +paper hadn't a very large circulation but there was a slight hum +of life about that time and he liked it. He liked the sense of +getting his hands and face streaked and not caring, and of seeing +his hair tousled, in the mirror. He tried to be useful and the +various people on the paper came to like him, though he was +often a little awkward and slow. He was not strong at this +period and his stomach troubled him. He thought, too, that the +smell of the ink might affect his lungs, though he did not seriously +fear it. In the main it was interesting but small; there +was a much larger world outside, he knew that. He hoped to +go to it some day; he hoped to go to Chicago.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_III" id="I_CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<p>Eugene grew more and more moody and rather restless +under Stella's increasing independence. She grew steadily +more indifferent because of his moods. The fact that other boys +were crazy for her consideration was a great factor; the fact +that one particular boy, Harvey Rutter, was persistently genial, +not insistent, really better looking than Eugene and much better +tempered, helped a great deal. Eugene saw her with him now +and then, saw her go skating with him, or at least with a crowd +of which he was a member. Eugene hated him heartily; he hated +her at times for not yielding to him wholly; but he was none +the less wild over her beauty. It stamped his brain with a type +or ideal. Thereafter he knew in a really definite way what +womanhood ought to be, to be really beautiful.</p> + +<p>Another thing it did was to bring home to him a sense of +his position in the world. So far he had always been dependent +on his parents for food, clothes and spending money, and his +parents were not very liberal. He knew other boys who had +money to run up to Chicago or down to Springfield—the latter +was nearer—to have a Saturday and Sunday lark. No such +gaieties were for him. His father would not allow it, or rather +would not pay for it. There were other boys who, in consequence +of amply provided spending money, were the town dandies. +He saw them kicking their heels outside the corner book store, +the principal loafing place of the elite, on Wednesdays and Saturdays +and sometimes on Sunday evenings preparatory to going +somewhere, dressed in a luxury of clothing which was beyond +his wildest dreams. Ted Martinwood, the son of the principal +drygoods man, had a frock coat in which he sometimes appeared +when he came down to the barber shop for a shave before he +went to call on his girl. George Anderson was possessed of a +dress suit, and wore dancing pumps at all dances. There was +Ed Waterbury, who was known to have a horse and runabout +of his own. These youths were slightly older, and were interested +in girls of a slightly older set, but the point was the same. +These things hurt him.</p> + +<p>He himself had no avenue of progress which, so far as he +could see, was going to bring him to any financial prosperity. His +father was never going to be rich, anybody could see that. He +himself had made no practical progress in schoolwork—he knew +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +that. He hated insurance—soliciting or writing, despised the +sewing machine business, and did not know where he would get +with anything which he might like to do in literature or art. +His drawing seemed a joke, his writing, or wish for writing, +pointless. He was broodingly unhappy.</p> + +<p>One day Williams, who had been watching him for a long +time, stopped at his desk.</p> + +<p>"I say, Witla, why don't you go to Chicago?" he said. +"There's a lot more up there for a boy like you than down here. +You'll never get anywhere working on a country newspaper."</p> + +<p>"I know it," said Eugene.</p> + +<p>"Now with me it's different," went on Williams. "I've had +my rounds. I've got a wife and three children and when a man's +got a family he can't afford to take chances. But you're young +yet. Why don't you go to Chicago and get on a paper? You +could get something."</p> + +<p>"What could I get?" asked Eugene.</p> + +<p>"Well, you might get a job as type-setter if you'd join the +union. I don't know how good you'd be as a reporter—I hardly +think that's your line. But you might study art and learn to +draw. Newspaper artists make good money."</p> + +<p>Eugene thought of his art. It wasn't much. He didn't do +much with it. Still he thought of Chicago; the world appealed +to him. If he could only get out of here—if he could only make +more than seven or eight dollars a week. He brooded about +this.</p> + +<p>One Sunday afternoon he and Stella went with Myrtle to +Sylvia's home, and after a brief stay Stella announced that she +would have to be going; her mother would be expecting her +back. Myrtle was for going with her, but altered her mind +when Sylvia asked her to stay to tea. "Let Eugene take her +home," Sylvia said. Eugene was delighted in his persistent, hopeless +way. He was not yet convinced that she could not be won +to love. When they walked out in the fresh sweet air—it was +nearing spring—he felt that now he should have a chance of +saying something which would be winning—which would lure +her to him.</p> + +<p>They went out on a street next to the one she lived on quite +to the confines of the town. She wanted to turn off at her +street, but he had urged her not to. "Do you have to go home +just yet?" he asked, pleadingly.</p> + +<p>"No, I can walk a little way," she replied.</p> + +<p>They reached a vacant place—the last house a little distance +back—talking idly. It was getting hard to make talk. In his +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +efforts to be entertaining he picked up three twigs to show her +how a certain trick in balancing was performed. It consisted in +laying two at right angles with each other and with a third, +using the latter as an upright. She could not do it, of course. +She was not really very much interested. He wanted her to +try and when she did, took hold of her right hand to steady her +efforts.</p> + +<p>"No, don't," she said, drawing her hand away. "I can do it."</p> + +<p>She trifled with the twigs unsuccessfully and was about to let +them fall, when he took hold of both her hands. It was so sudden +that she could not free herself, and so she looked him +straight in the eye.</p> + +<p>"Let go, Eugene, please let go."</p> + +<p>He shook his head, gazing at her.</p> + +<p>"Please let go," she went on. "You mustn't do this. I don't +want you to."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because."</p> + +<p>"Because why?"</p> + +<p>"Well, because I don't."</p> + +<p>"Don't you like me any more, Stella, really?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I don't think I do, not that way."</p> + +<p>"But you did."</p> + +<p>"I thought I did."</p> + +<p>"Have you changed your mind?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think I have."</p> + +<p>He dropped her hands and looked at her fixedly and dramatically. +The attitude did not appeal to her. They strolled back +to the street, and when they neared her door he said, "Well, I +suppose there's no use in my coming to see you any more."</p> + +<p>"I think you'd better not," she said simply.</p> + +<p>She walked in, never looking back, and instead of going back +to his sister's he went home. He was in a very gloomy mood, +and after sitting around for a while went to his room. The night +fell, and he sat there looking out at the trees and grieving about +what he had lost. Perhaps he was not good enough for her—he +could not make her love him. Was it that he was not handsome +enough—he did not really consider himself good looking—or +what was it, a lack of courage or strength?</p> + +<p>After a time he noticed that the moon was hanging over the +trees like a bright shield in the sky. Two layers of thin clouds +were moving in different directions on different levels. He +stopped in his cogitations to think where these clouds came from. +On sunny days when there were great argosies of them he had +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +seen them disappear before his eyes, and then, marvel of marvels, +reappear out of nothingness. The first time he ever saw this it +astonished him greatly, for he had never known up to then what +clouds were. Afterward he read about them in his physical geography. +Tonight he thought of that, and of the great plains over +which these winds swept, and of the grass and trees—great forests +of them—miles and miles. What a wonderful world! Poets +wrote about these things, Longfellow, and Bryant, and Tennyson. +He thought of "Thanatopsis," and of the "Elegy," both +of which he admired greatly. What was this thing, life?</p> + +<p>Then he came back to Stella with an ache. She was actually +gone, and she was so beautiful. She would never really talk to +him any more. He would never get to hold her hand or kiss her. +He clenched his hands with the hurt. Oh, that night on the +ice; that night in the sleigh! How wonderful they were! +Finally he undressed and went to bed. He wanted to be alone—to +be lonely. On his clean white pillow he lay and dreamed of +the things that might have been, kisses, caresses, a thousand +joys.</p> + +<p>One Sunday afternoon he was lying in his hammock thinking, +thinking of what a dreary place Alexandria was, anyhow, when +he opened a Chicago Saturday afternoon paper, which was something +like a Sunday one because it had no Sunday edition,—and +went gloomily through it. It was as he had always found, full +of a subtle wonder, the wonder of the city, which drew him like +a magnet. Here was the drawing of a big hotel someone was +going to build; there was a sketch of a great pianist who was +coming to play. An account of a new comedy drama; of a little +romantic section of Goose Island in the Chicago river, with its +old decayed boats turned into houses and geese waddling about; +an item of a man falling through a coal hole on South Halstead +street fascinated him. This last was at sixty-two hundred and +something and the idea of such a long street seized on his +imagination. What a tremendous city Chicago must be. The +thought of car lines, crowds, trains, came to him with almost a +yearning appeal.</p> + +<p>All at once the magnet got him. It gripped his very soul, +this wonder, this beauty, this life.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to Chicago," he thought, and got up.</p> + +<p>There was his nice, quiet little home laid out before him. +Inside were his mother, his father, Myrtle. Still he was going. +He could come back. "Sure I can come back," he thought. Propelled +by this magnetic power he went in and upstairs to his +room, and got a little grip or portmanteau he had. He put in +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +it the things he thought he would immediately need. In his +pocket were nine dollars, money he had been saving for some +time. Finally he came downstairs and stood in the door of the +sitting room.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" asked his mother, looking at his solemn +introspective face.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to Chicago," he said.</p> + +<p>"When?" she asked, astonished, a little uncertain of just +what he meant.</p> + +<p>"Today," he said.</p> + +<p>"No, you're joking." She smiled unbelievingly. This was a +boyish prank.</p> + +<p>"I'm going today," he said. "I'm going to catch that four +o'clock train."</p> + +<p>Her face saddened. "You're not?" she said.</p> + +<p>"I can come back," he replied, "if I want to. I want to get +something else to do."</p> + +<p>His father came in at this time. He had a little work room +out in the barn where he sometimes cleaned machines and repaired +vehicles. He was fresh from such a task now.</p> + +<p>"What's up?" he asked, seeing his wife close to her boy.</p> + +<p>"Eugene's going to Chicago."</p> + +<p>"Since when?" he inquired amusedly.</p> + +<p>"Today. He says he's going right now."</p> + +<p>"You don't mean it," said Witla, astonished. He really did +not believe it. "Why don't you take a little time and think it +over? What are you going to live on?"</p> + +<p>"I'll live," said Eugene. "I'm going. I've had enough of this +place. I'm going to get out."</p> + +<p>"All right," said his father, who, after all, believed in initiative. +Evidently after all he hadn't quite understood this boy. +"Got your trunk packed?"</p> + +<p>"No, but mother can send me that."</p> + +<p>"Don't go today," pleaded his mother. "Wait until you get +something ready, Eugene. Wait and do a little thinking about +it. Wait until tomorrow."</p> + +<p>"I want to go today, ma." He slipped his arm around her. +"Little ma." He was bigger than she by now, and still growing.</p> + +<p>"All right, Eugene," she said softly, "but I wish you wouldn't." +Her boy was leaving her—her heart was hurt.</p> + +<p>"I can come back, ma. It's only a hundred miles."</p> + +<p>"Well, all right," she said finally, trying to brighten. "I'll +pack your bag."</p> + +<p>"I have already."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> +She went to look.</p> + +<p>"Well, it'll soon be time," said Witla, who was thinking that +Eugene might back down. "I'm sorry. Still it may be a good +thing for you. You're always welcome here, you know."</p> + +<p>"I know," said Eugene.</p> + +<p>They went finally to the train together, he and his father and +Myrtle. His mother couldn't. She stayed to cry.</p> + +<p>On the way to the depot they stopped at Sylvia's.</p> + +<p>"Why, Eugene," she exclaimed, "how ridiculous! Don't go."</p> + +<p>"He's set," said Witla.</p> + +<p>Eugene finally got loose. He seemed to be fighting love, home +ties, everything, every step of the way. Finally he reached the +depot. The train came. Witla grabbed his hand affectionately. +"Be a good boy," he said, swallowing a gulp.</p> + +<p>Myrtle kissed him. "You're so funny, Eugene. Write me."</p> + +<p>"I will."</p> + +<p>He stepped on the train. The bell rang. Out the cars rolled—out +and on. He looked out on the familiar scenes and then +a real ache came to him—Stella, his mother, his father, Myrtle, +the little home. They were all going out of his life.</p> + +<p>"Hm," he half groaned, clearing his throat. "Gee!"</p> + +<p>And then he sank back and tried, as usual, not to think. He +must succeed. That's what the world was made for. That was +what he was made for. That was what he would have to do....</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_IV" id="I_CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + + +<p>The city of Chicago—who shall portray it! This vast ruck +of life that had sprung suddenly into existence upon the +dank marshes of a lake shore. Miles and miles of dreary little +houses; miles and miles of wooden block-paved streets, with gas +lamps placed and water mains laid, and empty wooden walks set +for pedestrians; the beat of a hundred thousand hammers; the +ring of a hundred thousand trowels! Long, converging lines of +telegraph poles; thousands upon thousands of sentinel cottages, +factory plants, towering smoke stacks, and here and there a lone, +shabby church steeple, sitting out pathetically upon vacant land. +The raw prairie stretch was covered with yellow grass; the great +broad highways of the tracks of railroads, ten, fifteen, twenty, +thirty, laid side by side and strung with thousands upon thousands +of shabby cars, like beads upon a string. Engines clanging, +trains moving, people waiting at street crossings—pedestrians, +wagon drivers, street car drivers, drays of beer, trucks of +coal, brick, stone, sand—a spectacle of new, raw, necessary life!</p> + +<p>As Eugene began to draw near it he caught for the first time +the sense and significance of a great city. What were these +newspaper shadows he had been dealing with in his reading +compared to this vivid, articulate, eager thing? Here was the +substance of a new world, substantial, fascinating, different. +The handsome suburban station at South Chicago, the first of +its kind he had ever seen, took his eye, as the train rolled cityward. +He had never before seen a crowd of foreigners—working +men—and here were Lithuanians, Poles, Czechs, waiting +for a local train. He had never seen a really large factory plant, +and here was one, and another, and another—steel works, potteries, +soap-factories, foundries, all gaunt and hard in the Sunday +evening air. There seemed to be, for all it was Sunday, +something youthful, energetic and alive about the streets. He +noted the streetcars waiting; at one place a small river was +crossed on a draw,—dirty, gloomy, but crowded with boats and +lined with great warehouses, grain elevators, coal pockets—that +architecture of necessity and utility. His imagination was fired +by this for here was something that could be done brilliantly +in black—a spot of red or green for ship and bridge lights. +There were some men on the magazines who did things like this, +only not so vivid.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +The train threaded its way through long lines of cars coming +finally into an immense train shed where arc lights were spluttering—a +score under a great curved steel and glass roof, where +people were hurrying to and fro. Engines were hissing; bells +clanging raucously. He had no relatives, no soul to turn to, +but somehow he did not feel lonely. This picture of life, this +newness, fascinated him. He stepped down and started leisurely +to the gate, wondering which way he should go. He came to +a corner where a lamp post already lit blazoned the name Madison. +He looked out on this street and saw, as far as the eye could +reach, two lines of stores, jingling horse cars, people walking. +What a sight, he thought, and turned west. For three miles he +walked, musing, and then as it was dark, and he had arranged +for no bed, he wondered where he should eat and sleep. A fat +man sitting outside a livery stable door in a tilted, cane-seated +chair offered a possibility of information.</p> + +<p>"Do you know where I can get a room around here?" asked +Eugene.</p> + +<p>The lounger looked him over. He was the proprietor of the +place.</p> + +<p>"There's an old lady living over there at seven-thirty-two," +he said, "who has a room, I think. She might take you in." +He liked Eugene's looks.</p> + +<p>Eugene crossed over and rang a downstairs bell. The door +was opened shortly by a tall, kindly woman, of a rather matriarchal +turn. Her hair was gray.</p> + +<p>"Yes?" she inquired.</p> + +<p>"The gentleman at the livery stable over there said I might +get a room here. I'm looking for one."</p> + +<p>She smiled pleasantly. This boy looked his strangeness, his +wide-eyed interest, his freshness from the country. "Come in," +she said. "I have a room. You can look at it."</p> + +<p>It was a front room—a little bed-room off the one main living +room, clean, simple, convenient. "This looks all right," he +said.</p> + +<p>She smiled.</p> + +<p>"You can have it for two dollars a week," she proffered.</p> + +<p>"That's all right," he said, putting down his grip. "I'll take +it."</p> + +<p>"Have you had supper?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"No, but I'm going out soon. I want to see the streets. I'll +find some place."</p> + +<p>"I'll give you something," she said.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> +Eugene thanked her, and she smiled. This was what Chicago +did to the country. It took the boys.</p> + +<p>He opened the closed shutters of his window and knelt before +it, leaning on the sill. He looked out idly, for it was all so wonderful. +Bright lights were burning in store windows. These +people hurrying—how their feet sounded—clap, clap, clap. And +away east and away west it was all like this. It was all like +this everywhere, a great big, wonderful city. It was nice to be +here. He felt that now. It was all worth while. How could he +have stayed in Alexandria so long! He would get along here. +Certainly he would. He was perfectly sure of that. He knew.</p> + +<p>Chicago at this time certainly offered a world of hope and +opportunity to the beginner. It was so new, so raw; everything +was in the making. The long lines of houses and stores were +mostly temporary make-shifts—one and two story frame affairs—with +here and there a three and four story brick building which +spoke of better days to come. Down in the business heart which +lay between the lake and the river, the North Side and the South +Side, was a region which spoke of a tremendous future, for here +were stores which served the buying public, not only of Chicago, +but of the Middle West. There were great banks, great office +buildings, great retail stores, great hotels. The section was +running with a tide of people which represented the youth, the +illusions, the untrained aspirations, of millions of souls. When +you walked into this area you could feel what Chicago meant—eagerness, +hope, desire. It was a city that put vitality into almost +every wavering heart: it made the beginner dream dreams; +the aged to feel that misfortune was never so grim that it might +not change.</p> + +<p>Underneath, of course, was struggle. Youth and hope and +energy were setting a terrific pace. You had to work here, to +move, to step lively. You had to have ideas. This city demanded +of you your very best, or it would have little to do with you. +Youth in its search for something—and age—were quickly to +feel this. It was no fool's paradise.</p> + +<p>Eugene, once he was settled, realized this. He had the notion, +somehow, that the printer's trade was all over for him. He +wanted no more of that. He wanted to be an artist or something +like that, although he hardly knew how to begin. The papers +offered one way, but he was not sure that they took on beginners. +He had had no training whatever. His sister Myrtle had +once said that some of his little thumb-nail sketches were pretty, +but what did she know? If he could study somewhere, find +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +someone who would teach him.... Meanwhile he would have +to work.</p> + +<p>He tried the newspapers first of course, for those great institutions +seemed the ideal resort for anyone who wanted to get +up in the world, but the teeming offices with frowning art directors +and critical newspaper workers frightened him. One art +director did see something in the three or four little sketches he +showed, but he happened to be in a crusty mood, and did not +want anybody anyway. He simply said no, there was nothing. +Eugene thought that perhaps as an artist also, he was destined +to be a failure.</p> + +<p>The trouble with this boy was really that he was not half +awake yet. The beauty of life, its wonder, had cast a spell over +him, but he could not yet interpret it in line and color. He +walked about these wonderful streets, gazing in the windows, +looking at the boats on the river, looking at the ships on the +lake. One day, while he was standing on the lake shore, there +came a ship in full sail in the offing—the first he had ever seen. +It gripped his sense of beauty. He clasped his hands nervously +and thrilled to it. Then he sat down on the lake wall and looked +and looked and looked until it gradually sank below the horizon. +So this was how the great lakes were; and how the great seas +must be—the Atlantic and the Pacific and the Indian Ocean. +Ah, the sea! Some day, perhaps he would go to New York. +That was where the sea was. But here it was also, in miniature, +and it was wonderful.</p> + +<p>One cannot moon by lake shores and before store windows +and at bridge draws and live, unless one is provided with the +means of living, and this Eugene was not. He had determined +when he left home that he would be independent. He wanted +to get a salary in some way that he could at least live on. He +wanted to write back and be able to say that he was getting +along nicely. His trunk came, and a loving letter from his +mother, and some money, but he sent that back. It was only +ten dollars, but he objected to beginning that way. He thought +he ought to earn his own way, and he wanted to try, anyhow.</p> + +<p>After ten days his funds were very low, a dollar and seventy-five +cents, and he decided that any job would have to do. Never +mind about art or type-setting now. He could not get the last +without a union card, he must take anything, and so he applied +from store to store. The cheap little shops in which he asked +were so ugly they hurt, but he tried to put his artistic sensibilities +aside. He asked for anything, to be made a clerk in a bakery, +in a dry goods store, in a candy store. After a time a hardware +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> +store loomed up, and he asked there. The man looked at him +curiously. "I might give you a place at storing stoves."</p> + +<p>Eugene did not understand, but he accepted gladly. It only +paid six dollars a week, but he could live on that. He was +shown to a loft in charge of two rough men, stove fitters, polishers, +and repairers, who gruffly explained to him that his work +was to brush the rust off the decayed stoves, to help piece and +screw them together, to polish and lift things, for this was a +second hand stove business which bought and repaired stoves +from junk dealers all over the city. Eugene had a low bench +near a window where he was supposed to do his polishing, but +he very frequently wasted his time here looking out into the +green yards of some houses in a side street. The city was full +of wonder to him—its every detail fascinating. When a rag-picker +would go by calling "rags, old iron," or a vegetable vender +crying "tomatoes, potatoes, green corn, peas," he would stop and +listen, the musical pathos of the cries appealing to him. Alexandria +had never had anything like this. It was all so strange. +He saw himself making pen and ink sketches of things, of the +clothes lines in the back yards and of the maids with baskets.</p> + +<p>On one of the days when he thought he was working fairly +well (he had been there two weeks), one of the two repairers +said, "Hey, get a move on you. You're not paid to look out the +window." Eugene stopped. He had not realized that he was +loafing.</p> + +<p>"What have you got to do with it?" he asked, hurt and half +defiant. He was under the impression that he was working +with these men, not under them.</p> + +<p>"I'll show you, you fresh kid," said the older of the two, who +was an individual built on the order of "Bill Sykes." "You're +under me. You get a move on you, and don't give me any more +of your lip."</p> + +<p>Eugene was startled. It was a flash of brutality out of a clear +sky. The animal, whom he had been scanning as an artist would, +as a type, out of the corner of his eye, was revealing himself.</p> + +<p>"You go to the devil," said Eugene, only half awake to the +grim reality of the situation.</p> + +<p>"What's that!" exclaimed the man, making for him. He +gave him a shove toward the wall, and attempted to kick him +with his big, hob-nailed boot. Eugene picked up a stove leg. His +face was wax white.</p> + +<p>"Don't you try that again," he said darkly. He fixed the leg +in his hand firmly.</p> + +<p>"Call it off, Jim," said the other man, who saw the uselessness +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +of so much temper. "Don't hit him. Send him down stairs +if you don't like him."</p> + +<p>"You get to hell out of here, then," said Eugene's noble superior.</p> + +<p>Eugene walked to a nail where his hat and coat were, carrying +the stove leg. He edged past his assailant cautiously, fearing +a second attack. The man was inclined to kick at him again +because of his stubbornness, but forebore.</p> + +<p>"You're too fresh, Willie. You want to wake up, you dough +face," he said as Eugene went.</p> + +<p>Eugene slipped out quietly. His spirit was hurt and torn. +What a scene! He, Eugene Witla, kicked at, and almost kicked +out, and that in a job that paid six dollars a week. A great +lump came up in his throat, but it went down again. He wanted +to cry but he could not. He went downstairs, stovepolish on his +hands and face and slipped up to the desk.</p> + +<p>"I want to quit," he said to the man who had hired him.</p> + +<p>"All right, what's the matter?"</p> + +<p>"That big brute up there tried to kick me," he explained.</p> + +<p>"They're pretty rough men," answered the employer. "I +was afraid you wouldn't get along. I guess you're not strong +enough. Here you are." He laid out three dollars and a half. +Eugene wondered at this queer interpretation of his complaint. +He must get along with these men? They musn't get along +with him? So the city had that sort of brutality in it.</p> + +<p>He went home and washed up, and then struck out again, for +it was no time now to be without a job. After a week he found +one,—as a house runner for a real estate concern, a young man +to bring in the numbers of empty houses and post up the "For +Rent" signs in the windows. It paid eight dollars and seemed +to offer opportunities of advancement. Eugene might have stayed +there indefinitely had it not failed after three months. He had +reached the season of fall clothes then, and the need of a winter +overcoat, but he made no complaint to his family. He wanted +to appear to be getting along well, whether he was or not.</p> + +<p>One of the things which tended to harden and sharpen his impressions +of life at this time was the show of luxury seen in +some directions. On Michigan Avenue and Prairie Avenue, +on Ashland Avenue and Washington Boulevard, were sections +which were crowded with splendid houses such as Eugene had +never seen before. He was astonished at the magnificence of their +appointments, the beauty of the lawns, the show of the windows, +the distinction of the equipages which accompanied them and +served them. For the first time in his life he saw liveried footmen +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +at doors: he saw at a distance girls and women grown who +seemed marvels of beauty to him—they were so distinguished in +their dress; he saw young men carrying themselves with an air +of distinction which he had never seen before. These must be +the society people the newspapers were always talking about. +His mind made no distinctions as yet. If there were fine clothes, +fine trappings, of course social prestige went with them. It made +him see for the first time what far reaches lay between the conditions +of a beginner from the country and what the world really +had to offer—or rather what it showered on some at the top. It +subdued and saddened him a little. Life was unfair.</p> + +<p>These fall days, too, with their brown leaves, sharp winds, +scudding smoke and whirls of dust showed him that the city +could be cruel. He met shabby men, sunken eyed, gloomy, haggard, +who looked at him, apparently out of a deep despair. These +creatures all seemed to be brought where they were by difficult +circumstances. If they begged at all,—and they rarely did of +him, for he did not look prosperous enough, it was with the +statement that unfortunate circumstances had brought them +where they were. You could fail so easily. You could really +starve if you didn't look sharp,—the city quickly taught him that.</p> + +<p>During these days he got immensely lonely. He was not very +sociable, and too introspective. He had no means of making +friends, or thought he had none. So he wandered about the +streets at night, marveling at the sights he saw, or staying at +home in his little room. Mrs. Woodruff, the landlady, was nice +and motherly enough, but she was not young and did not fit into +his fancies. He was thinking about girls and how sad it was not +to have one to say a word to him. Stella was gone—that dream +was over. When would he find another like her?</p> + +<p>After wandering around for nearly a month, during which +time he was compelled to use some money his mother sent him +to buy a suit of clothes on an instalment plan, he got a place as +driver of a laundry, which, because it paid ten dollars a week, +seemed very good. He sketched now and then when he was not +tired, but what he did seemed pointless. So he worked here, +driving a wagon, when he should have been applying for an art +opening, or taking art lessons.</p> + +<p>During this winter Myrtle wrote him that Stella Appleton had +moved to Kansas, whither her father had gone; and that his +mother's health was bad, and that she did so want him to come +home and stay awhile. It was about this time that he became acquainted +with a little Scotch girl named Margaret Duff, who +worked in the laundry, and became quickly involved in a relationship +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +which established a precedent in his experiences with +women. Before this he had never physically known a girl. Now, +and of a sudden, he was plunged into something which awakened +a new, and if not evil, at least disrupting and disorganizing propensity +of his character. He loved women, the beauty of the +curves of their bodies. He loved beauty of feature and after a +while was to love beauty of mind,—he did now, in a vague, unformed +way,—but his ideal was as yet not clear to him. Margaret +Duff represented some simplicity of attitude, some generosity +of spirit, some shapeliness of form, some comeliness of +feature,—it was not more. But, growing by what it fed on, +his sex appetite became powerful. In a few weeks it had almost +mastered him. He burned to be with this girl daily—and she +was perfectly willing that he should, so long as the relationship +did not become too conspicuous. She was a little afraid of her +parents, although those two, being working people, retired early +and slept soundly. They did not seem to mind her early philanderings +with boys. This latest one was no novelty. It burned +fiercely for three months—Eugene was eager, insatiable: the girl +not so much so, but complaisant. She liked this evidence of +fire in him,—the hard, burning flame she had aroused, and yet +after a time she got a little tired. Then little personal differences +arose,—differences of taste, differences of judgment, +differences of interest. He really could not talk to her of anything +serious, could not get a response to his more delicate emotions. +For her part she could not find in him any ready appreciation +of the little things she liked—theater jests, and the bright +remarks of other boys and girls. She had some conception of +what was tasteful in dress, but as for anything else, art, literature, +public affairs, she knew nothing at all, while Eugene, +for all his youth, was intensely alive to what was going on in +the great world. The sound of great names and great fames +was in his ears,—Carlyle, Emerson, Thoreau, Whitman. He +read of great philosophers, painters, musicians, meteors that sped +across the intellectual sky of the western world, and he wondered. +He felt as though some day he would be called to do +something—in his youthful enthusiasm he half-thought it might +be soon. He knew that this girl he was trifling with could not +hold him. She had lured him, but once lured he was master, +judge, critic. He was beginning to feel that he could get along +without her,—that he could find someone better.</p> + +<p>Naturally such an attitude would make for the death of passion, +as the satiation of passion would make for the development +of such an attitude. Margaret became indifferent. She resented +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +his superior airs, his top-lofty tone at times. They quarreled +over little things. One night he suggested something that +she ought to do in the haughty manner customary with him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't be so smart!" she said. "You always talk as +though you owned me."</p> + +<p>"I do," he said jestingly.</p> + +<p>"Do you?" she flared. "There are others."</p> + +<p>"Well, whenever you're ready you can have them. I'm willing."</p> + +<p>The tone cut her, though actually it was only an ill-timed +bit of teasing, more kindly meant than it sounded.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm ready now. You needn't come to see me unless +you want to. I can get along."</p> + +<p>She tossed her head.</p> + +<p>"Don't be foolish, Margy," he said, seeing the ill wind he had +aroused. "You don't mean that."</p> + +<p>"Don't I? Well, we'll see." She walked away from him to +another corner of the room. He followed her, but her anger +re-aroused his opposition. "Oh, all right," he said after a time. +"I guess I'd better be going."</p> + +<p>She made no response, neither pleas nor suggestions. He went +and secured his hat and coat and came back. "Want to kiss me +good-bye?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"No," she said simply.</p> + +<p>"Good-night," he called.</p> + +<p>"Good-night," she replied indifferently.</p> + +<p>The relationship was never amicably readjusted after this, +although it did endure for some time.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_V" id="I_CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<p>For the time being this encounter stirred to an almost unbridled +degree Eugene's interest in women. Most men are +secretly proud of their triumph with woman—their ability to +triumph—and any evidence of their ability to attract, entertain, +hold, is one of those things which tends to give them an air of +superiority and self-sufficiency which is sometimes lacking in +those who are not so victorious. This was, in its way, his first +victory of the sort, and it pleased him mightily. He felt much +more sure of himself instead of in any way ashamed. What, he +thought, did the silly boys back in Alexandria know of life compared +to this? Nothing. He was in Chicago now. The world +was different. He was finding himself to be a man, free, individual, +of interest to other personalities. Margaret Duff had +told him many pretty things about himself. She had complimented +his looks, his total appearance, his taste in the selection +of particular things. He had felt what it is to own a woman. +He strutted about for a time, the fact that he had been dismissed +rather arbitrarily having little weight with him because he was +so very ready to be dismissed, sudden dissatisfaction with his job +now stirred up in him, for ten dollars a week was no sum wherewith +any self-respecting youth could maintain himself,—particularly +with a view to sustaining any such relationship as that +which had just ended. He felt that he ought to get a better +place.</p> + +<p>Then one day a woman to whom he was delivering a parcel +at her home in Warren Avenue, stopped him long enough to ask: +"What do you drivers get a week for your work?"</p> + +<p>"I get ten dollars," said Eugene. "I think some get more."</p> + +<p>"You ought to make a good collector," she went on. She +was a large, homely, incisive, straight-talking woman. "Would +you like to change to that kind of work?"</p> + +<p>Eugene was sick of the laundry business. The hours were +killing. He had worked as late as one o'clock Sunday morning.</p> + +<p>"I think I would," he exclaimed. "I don't know anything +about it, but this work is no fun."</p> + +<p>"My husband is the manager of The People's Furniture Company," +she went on. "He needs a good collector now and then. +I think he's going to make a change very soon. I'll speak to +him."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> +Eugene smiled joyously and thanked her. This was surely +a windfall. He was anxious to know what collectors were paid +but he thought it scarcely tactful to ask.</p> + +<p>"If he gives you a job you will probably get fourteen dollars +to begin with," she volunteered.</p> + +<p>Eugene thrilled. That would be really a rise in the world. +Four dollars more! He could get some nice clothes out of that +and have spending money besides. He might get a chance to +study art. His visions began to multiply. One could get +up in the world by trying. The energetic delivery he had +done for this laundry had brought him this. Further effort +in the other field might bring him more. And he was young yet.</p> + +<p>He had been working for the laundry company for six months. +Six weeks later, Mr. Henry Mitchly, manager of the People's +Furniture, wrote him care of the laundry company to call at his +home any evening after eight and he would see him. "My wife +has spoken to me of you," he added.</p> + +<p>Eugene complied the same day that he received the note, and +was looked over by a lean, brisk, unctuous looking man of +forty, who asked him various questions as to his work, his home, +how much money he took in as a driver, and what not. Finally +he said, "I need a bright young man down at my place. It's a +good job for one who is steady and honest and hardworking. +My wife seems to think you work pretty well, so I'm willing +to give you a trial. I can put you to work at fourteen dollars. +I want you to come to see me a week from Monday."</p> + +<p>Eugene thanked him. He decided, on Mr. Mitchly's advice, to +give his laundry manager a full week's notice. He told Margaret +that he was leaving and she was apparently glad for his +sake. The management was slightly sorry, for Eugene was a +good driver. During his last week he helped break in a new +man in his place, and on Monday appeared before Mr. Mitchly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Mitchly was glad to have him, for he had seen him as a +young man of energy and force. He explained the simple nature +of the work, which was to take bills for clocks, silverware, rugs, +anything which the company sold, and go over the various routes +collecting the money due,—which would average from seventy +five to a hundred and twenty-five dollars a day. "Most companies +in our line require a bond," he explained, "but we haven't +come to that yet. I think I know honest young men when I see +them. Anyhow we have a system of inspection. If a man's inclined +to be dishonest he can't get very far with us."</p> + +<p>Eugene had never thought of this question of honesty very +much. He had been raised where he did not need to worry about +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +the matter of a little pocket change, and he had made enough at +the <i>Appeal</i> to supply his immediate wants. Besides, among the +people he had always associated with it was considered a very +right and necessary thing to be honest. Men were arrested for +not being. He remembered one very sad case of a boy he knew +being arrested at Alexandria for breaking into a store at night. +That seemed a terrible thing to him at the time. Since then +he had been speculating a great deal, in a vague way as to what +honesty was, but he had not yet decided. He knew that it was +expected of him to account for the last penny of anything that +was placed in his keeping and he was perfectly willing to do so. +The money he earned seemed enough if he had to live on it. +There was no need for him to aid in supporting anyone else. +So he slipped along rather easily and practically untested.</p> + +<p>Eugene took the first day's package of bills as laid out for him, +and carefully went from door to door. In some places money +was paid him for which he gave a receipt, in others he was put +off or refused because of previous difficulties with the company. +In a number of places people had moved, leaving no trace of +themselves, and packing the unpaid for goods with them. It was +his business, as Mr. Mitchly explained, to try to get track of +them from the neighbors.</p> + +<p>Eugene saw at once that he was going to like the work. The +fresh air, the out-door life, the walking, the quickness with which +his task was accomplished, all pleased him. His routes took him +into strange and new parts of the city, where he had never been +before, and introduced him to types he had never met. His +laundry work, taking him from door to door, had been a freshening +influence, and this was another. He saw scenes that he +felt sure he could, when he had learned to draw a little better, +make great things of,—dark, towering factory-sites, great +stretches of railroad yards laid out like a puzzle in rain, snow, +or bright sunlight; great smoke-stacks throwing their black +heights athwart morning or evening skies. He liked them best +in the late afternoon when they stood out in a glow of red or +fading purple. "Wonderful," he used to exclaim to himself, +and think how the world would marvel if he could ever come to +do great pictures like those of Doré. He admired the man's +tremendous imagination. He never thought of himself as doing +anything in oils or water colors or chalk—only pen and ink, and +that in great, rude splotches of black and white. That was +the way. That was the way force was had.</p> + +<p>But he could not do them. He could only think them.</p> + +<p>One of his chief joys was the Chicago river, its black, mucky +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +water churned by puffing tugs and its banks lined by great red +grain elevators and black coal chutes and yellow lumber yards. +Here was real color and life—the thing to draw; and then there +were the low, drab, rain-soaked cottages standing in lonely, +shabby little rows out on flat prairie land, perhaps a scrubby +tree somewhere near. He loved these. He would take an +envelope and try to get the sense of them—the feel, as he called +it—but it wouldn't come. All he did seemed cheap and commonplace, +mere pointless lines and stiff wooden masses. How did +the great artists get their smoothness and ease? He wondered.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_VI" id="I_CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<p>Eugene collected and reported faithfully every day, and +had managed to save a little money. Margaret was now +a part of his past. His landlady, Mrs. Woodruff, had gone to +live with a daughter in Sedalia, Missouri, and he had moved to +a comparatively nice house in East Twenty-first Street on the +South Side. It had taken his eye because of a tree in a fifty +foot space of ground before it. Like his other room it cost him +little, and he was in a private family. He arranged a twenty +cent rate per meal for such meals as he took there, and thus +he managed to keep his bare living expenses down to five dollars +a week. The remaining nine he spent sparingly for clothes, car-fare, +and amusements—almost nothing of the latter. When he +saw he had a little money in reserve he began to think of looking +up the Art Institute, which had been looming up in his mind +as an avenue of advancement, and find out on what condition +he could join a night class in drawing. They were very reasonable, +he heard, only fifteen dollars a quarter, and he decided +to begin if the conditions were not too severe. He was +beginning to be convinced that he was born to be an artist—how +soon he could not tell.</p> + +<p>The old Art Institute, which preceded the present impressive +structure, was located at Michigan Avenue and Monroe Street, +and presented an atmosphere of distinction which was not present +in most of the structures representing the public taste of +the period. It was a large six storey building of brown stone, +and contained a number of studios for painters, sculptors, and +music teachers, besides the exhibition rooms and the rooms for +the classes. There were both day and evening classes, and +even at that time a large number of students. The western +soul, to a certain extent, was fired by the wonder of art. There +was so little of it in the life of the people—the fame of those +who could accomplish things in this field and live in a more +refined atmosphere was great. To go to Paris! To be a +student in any one of the great ateliers of that city! Or of +Munich or Rome, to know the character of the artistic treasures +of Europe—the life of the Art quarter—that was something. +There was what might have been termed a wild desire in the +breast of many an untutored boy and girl to get out of the +ranks of the commonplace; to assume the character and the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +habiliments of the artistic temperament as they were then supposed +to be; to have a refined, semi-languorous, semi-indifferent +manner; to live in a studio, to have a certain freedom in morals +and temperament not accorded to the ordinary person—these +were the great things to do and be. Of course, art composition +was a part of this. You were supposed ultimately to paint +great pictures or do noble sculptures, but in the meanwhile +you could and should live the life of the artist. And that +was beautiful and wonderful and free.</p> + +<p>Eugene had long had some sense of this. He was aware +that there were studios in Chicago; that certain men were +supposed to be doing good work—he saw it in the papers. +There were mentions now and then of exhibitions, mostly free, +which the public attended but sparingly. Once there was an +exhibition of some of the war pictures of Verestchagin, a great +Russian painter who had come West for some purpose. Eugene +saw them one Sunday afternoon, and was enthralled by the +magnificence of their grasp of the elements of battle; the +wonder of color; the truth of character; the dramatic quality; +the sense of force and danger and horror and suffering which +was somehow around and in and through everything that +was shown. This man had virility and insight; stupendous +imagination and temperament. Eugene stood and stared, wondering +how such things could be done. Ever afterward the +name of Verestchagin was like a great call to his imagination; +that was the kind of an artist to be if you were going to be +one.</p> + +<p>Another picture came there once, which appealed to another +side of his nature, although primarily the basis of its appeal was +artistic. It was a great, warm tinted nude by Bouguereau, +a French artist who was startling his day with his daring portrayal +of the nude. The types he depicted were not namby-pamby +little slim-bodied women with spindling qualities of +strength and passion, but great, full-blown women whose voluptuous +contour of neck and arms and torso and hip and thigh was +enough to set the blood of youth at fever heat. The man +obviously understood and had passion, love of form, love of +desire, love of beauty. He painted with a sense of the bridal +bed in the background; of motherhood and of fat, growing +babies, joyously nursed. These women stood up big in their +sense of beauty and magnetism, the soft lure of desire in their +eyes, their full lips parted, their cheeks flushed with the blood +of health. As such they were anathema to the conservative +and puritanical in mind, the religious in temperament, the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +cautious in training or taste. The very bringing of this picture +to Chicago as a product for sale was enough to create a furore +of objection. Such pictures should not be painted, was the cry +of the press; or if painted, not exhibited. Bouguereau was +conceived of by many as one of those dastards of art who were +endeavoring to corrupt by their talent the morals of the world; +there was a cry raised that the thing should be suppressed; and +as is always the case in all such outbursts of special class +opposition, the interest of the general public was aroused.</p> + +<p>Eugene was one of those who noted the discussion. He +had never seen a picture by Bouguereau or, indeed, an original +nude by any other artist. Being usually at liberty after three +o'clock, he was free to visit some of these things, and having +found it possible to do his work in good clothes he had come to +wear his best suit every day. He was a fairly presentable youth +with a solemn mien, and his request to be shown anything in +any art store would have aroused no surprise. He looked +as though he belonged to the intellectual and artistic classes.</p> + +<p>Not being sure of what reception would be accorded one +so young—he was now nearing twenty—he nevertheless ventured +to stop at the gallery where the Bouguereau was being exhibited +and ask to see it. The attendant in charge eyed him curiously, +but led him back to a room hung in dark red, and turning +on a burst of incandescent bulbs set in the ceiling of a red +plush hung cabinet, pulled back the curtain revealing the picture. +Eugene had never seen such a figure and face. It was a dream +of beauty—his ideal come to life. He studied the face and +neck, the soft mass of brown, sensuous hair massed at the back +of the head, the flowerlike lips and soft cheeks. He marveled at +the suggestion of the breasts and the abdomen, that potentiality +of motherhood that is so firing to the male. He could have +stood there hours dreaming, luxuriating, but the attendant who +had left him alone with it for a few minutes returned.</p> + +<p>"What is the price of this?" Eugene asked.</p> + +<p>"Ten thousand dollars," was the reply.</p> + +<p>He smiled solemnly. "It's a wonderful thing," he said, and +turned to go. The attendant put out the light.</p> + +<p>This picture, like those of Verestchagin, made a sharp impression +on him. Curiously he had no longing to paint anything of +this kind. He only rejoiced to look at it. It spoke to him of +his present ideal of womanhood—physical beauty, and he +longed with all his heart to find a creature like that who would +look on him with favor.</p> + +<p>There were other exhibitions—one containing a genuine Rembrandt—which +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +impressed him, but none like these that had definitely +stirred him. His interest in art was becoming eager. +He wanted to find out all about it—to do something himself. +One day he ventured to call at the Art Institute building and +consult the secretary, who explained to him what the charges +were. He learned from her, for she was a woman of a practical, +clerical turn, that the classes ran from October to May, +that he could enter a life or antique class or both, though +the antique alone was advisable for the time, and a class in +illustration, where costumes of different periods were presented +on different models. He found that each class had an instructor +of supposed note, whom it was not necessary for him to +see. Each class had a monitor and each student was supposed +to work faithfully for his own benefit. Eugene did not get to +see the class rooms, but he gained a sense of the art of it all, +nevertheless, for the halls and offices were decorated in an artistic +way, and there were many plaster casts of arms, legs, busts, and +thighs and heads. It was as though one stood in an open doorway +and looked out upon a new world. The one thing that gratified +him was that he could study pen and ink or brush in the illustration +class, and that he could also join a sketch class from +five to six every afternoon without extra charges if he preferred +to devote his evening hours to studying drawing in the life +class. He was a little astonished to learn from a printed +prospectus given him that the life class meant nude models to +work from—both men and women. He was surely approaching +a different world now. It seemed necessary and natural +enough, and yet there was an aloof atmosphere about it, something +that suggested the inner precincts of a shrine, to which +only talent was admitted. Was he talented? Wait! He +would show the world, even if he was a raw country boy.</p> + +<p>The classes which he decided to enter were first a life +class which convened Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings +at seven in one of the study rooms and remained in session until +ten o'clock, and second a sketch class which met from five +to six every afternoon. Eugene felt that he knew little or nothing +about figure and anatomy and had better work at that. Costume +and illustration would have to wait, and as for the landscapes, +or rather city-scapes, of which he was so fond, he could +afford to defer those until he learned something of the fundamentals +of art.</p> + +<p>Heretofore he had rarely attempted the drawing of a face +or figure except in miniature and as details of a larger scene. +Now he was confronted with the necessity of sketching in charcoal +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> +the head or body of a living person, and it frightened him +a little. He knew that he would be in a class with fifteen +or twenty other male students. They would be able to see and +comment on what he was doing. Twice a week an instructor +would come around and pass upon his work. There were +honors for those who did the best work during any one month, +he learned from the prospectus, namely: first choice of seats +around the model at the beginning of each new pose. The +class instructors must be of considerable significance in the +American art world, he thought, for they were N. A.'s, and that +meant National Academicians. He little knew with what contempt +this honor was received in some quarters, or he would +not have attached so much significance to it.</p> + +<p>One Monday evening in October, armed with the several +sheets of paper which he had been told to purchase by his all-informing +prospectus, he began his work. He was a little nervous +at sight of the brightly lighted halls and class rooms, and the +moving crowd of young men and women did not tend to allay +his fears. He was struck at once with the quality of gaiety, +determination and easy grace which marked the different members +of this company. The boys struck him as interesting, virile, +in many cases good looking; the girls as graceful, rather dashing +and confident. One or two whom he noted were beautiful +in a dark way. This was a wonderful world.</p> + +<p>The rooms too, were exceptional. They were old enough +in use to be almost completely covered, as to the walls, +with the accumulation of paint scraped from the palettes. +There were no easels or other paraphernalia, but simply +chairs and little stools—the former, as Eugene learned, +to be turned upside down for easels, the latter for the students +to sit on. In the center of the room was a platform, the +height of an ordinary table, for the model to pose on, and in +one corner a screen which constituted a dressing room. There +were no pictures or statuary—just the bare walls—but curiously, +in one corner, a piano. Out in the halls and in the general +lounging center were pictures of nude figures or parts of +figures posed in all sorts of ways which Eugene, in his raw, +youthful way, thought suggestive. He secretly rejoiced to +look at them but he felt that he must not say anything about +what he thought. An art student, he felt sure, must appear to +be indifferent to such suggestion—to be above such desire. +They were here to work, not to dream of women.</p> + +<p>When the time came for the classes to assemble there was a +scurrying to and fro, conferring between different students, and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> +then the men found themselves in one set of rooms and the +women in another. Eugene saw a young girl in his room, +sitting up near the screen, idly gazing about. She was pretty, +of a slightly Irish cast of countenance, with black hair and +black eyes. She wore a cap that was an imitation of the Polish +national head-dress, and a red cape. Eugene assumed her to be +the class model and secretly wondered if he was really to see +her in the nude. In a few minutes all the students were +gathered, and then there was a stir as there strolled in a rather +vigorous and picturesque man of thirty-six or thereabouts, who +sauntered to the front of the room and called the class to order. +He was clad in a shabby suit of grey tweed and crowned with a +little brown hat, shoved rakishly over one ear, which he did not +trouble to take off. He wore a soft blue hickory shirt without +collar or tie, and looked immensely self-sufficient. He was tall +and lean and raw-boned, with a face which was long and narrow; +his eyes were large and wide set, his mouth big and firm +in its lines; he had big hands and feet, and an almost rolling +gait. Eugene assumed instinctively that this was Mr. Temple +Boyle, N. A., the class instructor, and he imagined there +would be an opening address of some kind. But the instructor +merely announced that Mr. William Ray had been appointed +monitor and that he hoped that there would be no disorder +or wasting of time. There would be regular criticism days by +him—Wednesdays and Fridays. He hoped that each pupil +would be able to show marked improvement. The class would +now begin work. Then he strolled out.</p> + +<p>Eugene soon learned from one of the students that this really +was Mr. Boyle. The young Irish girl had gone behind the +screen. Eugene could see partially, from where he was sitting, +that she was disrobing. It shocked him a little, but he kept +his courage and his countenance because of the presence of so +many others. He turned a chair upside down as he saw the +others do, and sat down on a stool. His charcoal was lying +in a little box beside him. He straightened his paper on its +board and fidgeted, keeping as still as he could. Some of the +students were talking. Suddenly he saw the girl divest herself +of a thin, gauze shirt, and the next moment she came out, naked +and composed, to step upon the platform and stand perfectly +erect, her arms by her side, her head thrown back. Eugene +tingled and blushed and was almost afraid to look directly at +her. Then he took a stick of charcoal and began sketching +feebly, attempting to convey something of this personality and +this pose to paper. It seemed a wonderful thing for him to be +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +doing—to be in this room, to see this girl posing so; in short, +to be an art student. So this was what it was, a world absolutely +different from anything he had ever known. And he was self-called +to be a member of it.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_VII" id="I_CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<p>It was after he had decided to enter the art class that Eugene +paid his first visit to his family. Though they were only a +hundred miles away, he had never felt like going back, even +at Christmas. Now it seemed to him he had something definite +to proclaim. He was going to be an artist; and as to his work, +he was getting along well in that. Mr. Mitchly appeared to like +him. It was to Mr. Mitchly that he reported daily with his +collections and his unsatisfied bills. The collections were checked +up by Mr. Mitchly with the cash, and the unpaid bills certified. +Sometimes Eugene made a mistake, having too much or too little, +but the "too much" was always credited against the "too little," +so that in the main he came out even. In money matters there +was no tendency on Eugene's part to be dishonest. He thought +of lots of things he wanted, but he was fairly well content to +wait and come by them legitimately. It was this note in him +that appealed to Mitchly. He thought that possibly something +could be made of Eugene in a trade way.</p> + +<p>He left the Friday night preceding Labor Day, the first +Monday in September, which was a holiday throughout the +city. He had told Mr. Mitchly that he thought of leaving +Saturday after work for over Sunday and Monday, but Mr. +Mitchly suggested that he might double up his Saturday's work +with Thursday's and Friday's if he wished, and go Friday +evening.</p> + +<p>"Saturday's a short day, anyhow," he said. "That would give +three days at home and still you wouldn't be behind in your +work."</p> + +<p>Eugene thanked his employer and did as suggested. He +packed his bag with the best he had in the way of clothes, and +journeyed homeward, wondering how he would find things. +How different it all was! Stella was gone. His youthful +unsophistication had passed. He could go home as a city man +with some prospects. He had no idea of how boyish he looked—how +much the idealist he was—how far removed from hard, +practical judgment which the world values so highly.</p> + +<p>When the train reached Alexandria, his father and Myrtle +and Sylvia were at the depot to greet him—the latter with +her two year old son. They had all come down in the family +carryall, which left one seat for Eugene. He greeted them +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +warmly and received their encomiums on his looks with a +befitting sense of humility.</p> + +<p>"You're bigger," his father exclaimed. "You're going to +be a tall man after all, Eugene. I was afraid you had stopped +growing."</p> + +<p>"I hadn't noticed that I had grown any," said Eugene.</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes," put in Myrtle. "You're much bigger, Gene. It +makes you look a little thinner. Are you good and strong?"</p> + +<p>"I ought to be," laughed Eugene. "I walk about fifteen or +twenty miles a day, and I'm out in the air all the time. If +I don't get strong now I never will."</p> + +<p>Sylvia asked him about his "stomach trouble." About the +same, he told her. Sometimes he thought it was better, sometimes +worse. A doctor had told him to drink hot water in the +morning but he didn't like to do it. It was so hard to swallow +the stuff.</p> + +<p>While they were talking, asking questions, they reached the +front gate of the house, and Mrs. Witla came out on the +front porch. Eugene, at sight of her in the late dusk, jumped +over the front wheel and ran to meet her.</p> + +<p>"Little ma," he exclaimed. "Didn't expect me back so soon, +did you?"</p> + +<p>"So soon," she said, her arms around his neck. Then she +held him so, quite still for a few moments. "You're getting +to be a big man," she said when she released him.</p> + +<p>He went into the old sitting room and looked around. It was +all quite the same—no change. There were the same books, +the same table, the same chairs, the same pulley lamp hanging +from the center of the ceiling. In the parlor there was nothing +new, nor in the bed rooms or the kitchen. His mother looked +a little older—his father not. Sylvia had changed greatly—being +slightly "peaked" in the face compared to her former +plumpness; it was due to motherhood, he thought. Myrtle +seemed a little more calm and happy. She had a real "steady" +now, Frank Bangs, the superintendent of the local furniture +factory. He was quite young, good-looking, going to be well-off +some day, so they thought. "Old Bill," one of the big horses, +had been sold. Rover, one of the two collies, was dead. Jake +the cat had been killed in a night brawl somewhere.</p> + +<p>Somehow, as Eugene stood in the kitchen watching his mother +fry a big steak and make biscuits and gravy in honor of his +coming, he felt that he did not belong to this world any more. It +was smaller, narrower than he had ever thought. The town +had seemed smaller as he had come through its streets, the houses +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> +too; and yet it was nice. The yards were sweet and simple, +but countrified. His father, running a sewing machine business, +seemed tremendously limited. He had a country or small town +mind. It struck Eugene as curious now, that they had never had +a piano. And Myrtle liked music, too. As for himself, he had +learned that he was passionately fond of it. There were organ +recitals in the Central Music Hall, of Chicago, on Tuesday and +Friday afternoons, and he had managed to attend some after +his work. There were great preachers like Prof. Swing and the +Rev. H. W. Thomas and the Rev. F. W. Gunsaulus and Prof. +Saltus, liberal thinkers all, whose public services in the city +were always accompanied by lovely music. Eugene had found all +these men and their services in his search for life and to avoid +being lonely. Now they had taught him that his old world +was no world at all. It was a small town. He would never +come to this any more.</p> + +<p>After a sound night's rest in his old room he went down the +next day to see Mr. Caleb Williams at the <i>Appeal</i> office, and +Mr. Burgess, and Jonas Lyle, and John Summers. As he +went, on the court house square he met Ed Mitchell and George +Taps and Will Groniger, and four or five others whom he +had known in school. From them he learned how things were. +It appeared that George Anderson had married a local girl +and was in Chicago, working out in the stock yards. Ed +Waterbury had gone to San Francisco. The pretty Sampson +girl, Bessie Sampson, who had once gone with Ted Martinwood +so much, had run away with a man from Anderson, Indiana. +There had been a lot of talk about it at the time. +Eugene listened.</p> + +<p>It all seemed less, though, than the new world that he had +entered. Of these fellows none knew the visions that were now +surging in his brain. Paris—no less—and New York—by +what far route he could scarcely tell. And Will Groniger had +got to be a baggage clerk at one of the two depots and was +proud of it. Good Heavens!</p> + +<p>At the office of the <i>Appeal</i> things were unchanged. Somehow +Eugene had had the feeling that two years would make +a lot of difference, whereas the difference was in him only. +He was the one who had undergone cataclysmic changes. He +had a been a stove polisher, a real estate assistant, a driver and +a collector. He had known Margaret Duff, and Mr. Redwood, +of the laundry, and Mr. Mitchly. The great city had +dawned on him; Verestchagin, and Bouguereau, and the Art +Institute. He was going on at one pace, the town was moving +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +at another one—a slower, but quite as fast as it had ever gone.</p> + +<p>Caleb Williams was there, skipping about as of yore, cheerful, +communicative, interested. "I'm glad to see you back, +Eugene," he declared, fixing him with the one good eye which +watered. "I'm glad you're getting along—that's fine. Going to +be an artist, eh? Well, I think that's what you were cut out for. +I wouldn't advise every young fellow to go to Chicago, but +that's where you belong. If it wasn't for my wife and three +children I never would have left it. When you get a wife +and family though—" he paused and shook his head. "I gad! +You got to do the best you can." Then he went to look up +some missing copy.</p> + +<p>Jonas Lyle was as portly, phlegmatic and philosophic as ever. +He greeted Eugene with a solemn eye in which there was inquiry. +"Well, how is it?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Eugene smiled. "Oh, pretty good."</p> + +<p>"Not going to be a printer, then?"</p> + +<p>"No, I think not."</p> + +<p>"Well, it's just as well, there're an awful lot of them."</p> + +<p>While they were talking John Summers sidled up.</p> + +<p>"How are you, Mr. Witla?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>Eugene looked at him. John was certainly marked for the +grave in the near future. He was thinner, of a bluish-grey +color, bent at the shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Why, I'm fine, Mr. Summers," Eugene said.</p> + +<p>"I'm not so good," said the old printer. He tapped his +chest significantly. "This thing's getting the best of me."</p> + +<p>"Don't you believe it," put in Lyle. "John's always gloomy. +He's just as good as ever. I tell him he'll live twenty years +yet."</p> + +<p>"No, no," said Summers, shaking his head, "I know."</p> + +<p>He left after a bit to "go across the street," his customary +drinking excuse.</p> + +<p>"He can't last another year," Lyle observed the moment the +door was closed. "Burgess only keeps him because it would +be a shame to turn him out. But he's done for."</p> + +<p>"Anyone can see that," said Eugene. "He looks terrible."</p> + +<p>So they talked.</p> + +<p>At noon he went home. Myrtle announced that he was to +come with her and Mr. Bangs to a party that evening. There +were going to be games and refreshments. It never occurred +to him that in this town there had never been dancing among the +boys and girls he moved with, and scarcely any music. People +did not have pianos—or at least only a few of them.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> +After supper Mr. Bangs called, and the three of them went to +a typical small town party. It was not much different from +the ones Eugene had attended with Stella, except that the +participants were, in the main, just that much older. Two +years make a great deal of difference in youth. There were +some twenty-two young men and women all crowded into +three fair sized rooms and on a porch, the windows and doors +leading to which were open. Outside were brown grass and +some autumn flowers. Early crickets were chirping, and there +were late fire-flies. It was warm and pleasant.</p> + +<p>The opening efforts to be sociable were a little stiff. There +were introductions all around, much smart badinage among town +dandies, for most of them were here. There were a number of +new faces—girls who had moved in from other towns or +blossomed into maturity since Eugene had left.</p> + +<p>"If you'll marry me, Madge, I'll buy you a nice new pair +of seal skin earrings," he heard one of the young bloods remark.</p> + +<p>Eugene smiled, and the girl laughed back. "He always thinks +he's so cute."</p> + +<p>It was almost impossible for Eugene to break through the +opening sense of reserve which clogged his actions at everything +in the way of social diversion. He was a little nervous because +he was afraid of criticism. That was his vanity and +deep egotism. He stood about, trying to get into the swing of the +thing with a bright remark or two. Just as he was beginning +to bubble, a girl came in from one of the other rooms. Eugene +had not met her. She was with his prospective brother-in-law, +Bangs, and was laughing in a sweet, joyous way which arrested +his attention. She was dressed in white, he noticed, +with a band of golden brown ribbon pulled through the loops +above the flounces at the bottom of her dress. Her hair was a +wonderful ashen yellow, a great mass of it—and laid in big, thick +braids above her forehead and ears. Her nose was straight, her +lips were thin and red, her cheek-bones faintly but curiously +noticeable. Somehow there was a sense of distinction about her—a +faint aroma of personality which Eugene did not understand. +It appealed to him.</p> + +<p>Bangs brought her over. He was a tight, smiling youth, as +sound as oak, as clear as good water.</p> + +<p>"Here's Miss Blue, Eugene. She's from up in Wisconsin, +and comes down to Chicago occasionally. I told her you ought +to know her. You might meet up there sometime."</p> + +<p>"Say, but that's good luck, isn't it?" smiled Eugene. "I'm +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> +sure I'm glad to know you. What part of Wisconsin do you +come from?"</p> + +<p>"Blackwood," she laughed, her greenish-blue eyes dancing.</p> + +<p>"Her hair is yellow, her eyes are blue, and she comes from +Blackwood," commented Bangs. "How's that?" His big +mouth, with its even teeth, was wide with a smile.</p> + +<p>"You left out the blue name and the white dress. She ought +to wear white all the time."</p> + +<p>"Oh, it does harmonize with my name, doesn't it?" she +cried. "At home I do wear white mostly. You see I'm just +a country girl, and I make most of my things."</p> + +<p>"Did you make that?" asked Eugene.</p> + +<p>"Of course I did."</p> + +<p>Bangs moved away a little, looking at her as if critically. +"Well, that's really pretty," he pronounced.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Bangs is such a flatterer," she smiled at Eugene. "He +doesn't mean any thing he says. He just tells me one thing +after another."</p> + +<p>"He's right," said Eugene. "I agree as to the dress, and +it fits the hair wonderfully."</p> + +<p>"You see, he's lost, too," laughed Bangs. "That's the way +they all do. Well, I'm going to leave you two. I've got to +get back. I left your sister in the hands of a rival of mine."</p> + +<p>Eugene turned to this girl and laughed his reserved laugh. +"I was just thinking what was going to become of me. I've +been away for two years, and I've lost track of some of these +people."</p> + +<p>"I'm worse yet. I've only been here two weeks and I scarcely +know anybody. Mrs. King takes me around everywhere, but +it's all so new I can't get hold of it. I think Alexandria is lovely."</p> + +<p>"It is nice. I suppose you've been out on the lakes?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. We've fished and rowed and camped. I have +had a lovely time but I have to go back tomorrow."</p> + +<p>"Do you?" said Eugene. "Why I do too. I'm going to take +the four-fifteen."</p> + +<p>"So am I!" she laughed. "Perhaps we can go together."</p> + +<p>"Why, certainly. That's fine. I thought I'd have to go +back alone. I only came down for over Sunday. I've been +working up in Chicago."</p> + +<p>They fell to telling each other their histories. She was from +Blackwood, only eighty-five miles from Chicago, and had lived +there all her life. There were several brothers and sisters. Her +father was evidently a farmer and politician and what not, and +Eugene gleaned from stray remarks that they must be well +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +thought of, though poor. One brother-in-law was spoken of +as a banker; another as the owner of a grain elevator; she +herself was a school teacher at Blackwood—had been for several +years.</p> + +<p>Eugene did not realize it, but she was fully five years older +than himself, with the tact and the superior advantage which +so much difference in years brings. She was tired of school-teaching, +tired of caring for the babies of married sisters, tired +of being left to work and stay at home when the ideal marrying +age was rapidly passing. She was interested in able people, +and silly village boys did not appeal to her. There was one +who was begging her to marry him at this moment, but he was +a slow soul up in Blackwood, not actually worthy of her nor +able to support her well. She was hopefully, sadly, vaguely, +madly longing for something better, and as yet nothing had +ever turned up. This meeting with Eugene was not anything +which promised a way out to her. She was not seeking so +urgently—nor did she give introductions that sort of a twist +in her consciousness. But this young man had an appeal for +her beyond anyone she had met recently. They were in sympathetic +accord, apparently. She liked his clear, big eyes, his +dark hair, his rather waxen complexion. He seemed something +better than she had known, and she hoped that he would be +nice to her.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_VIII" id="I_CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<p>The rest of that evening Eugene spent not exactly with, but +near Miss Blue—Miss Angela Blue, as he found her name +to be. He was interested in her not so much from the point of +view of looks, though she was charming enough, but because +of some peculiarity of temperament which lingered with him +as a grateful taste might dwell on the palate. He thought her +young; and was charmed by what he considered her innocence +and unsophistication. As a matter of fact she was not so much +young and unsophisticated as an unconscious simulator of simplicity. +In the conventional sense she was a thoroughly good +girl, loyal, financially honest, truthful in all commonplace things, +and thoroughly virtuous, moreover, in that she considered marriage +and children the fate and duty of all women. Having +had so much trouble with other peoples' children she was not +anxious to have any, or at least many, of her own. Of course, +she did not believe that she would escape with what seemed +to be any such good fortune. She fancied that she would be +like her sisters, the wife of a good business or professional man; +the mother of three or four or five healthy children; the keeper +of an ideal middle class home; the handmaiden of her husband's +needs. There was a deep current of passion in her which +she had come to feel would never be satisfied. No man would +ever understand, no man at least whom she was likely to meet; +but she knew she had a great capacity to love. If someone would +only come along and arouse that—be worthy of it—what a +whirlwind of affection she would return to him! How she would +love, how sacrifice! But it seemed now that her dreams were +destined never to be fulfilled, because so much time had slipped +by and she had not been courted by the right one. So here she +was now at twenty-five, dreaming and longing—the object of her +ideals thus accidentally brought before her, and no immediate +consciousness that that was the case.</p> + +<p>It does not take sexual affinity long to manifest itself, once its +subjects are brought near to each other. Eugene was older in +certain forms of knowledge, broader in a sense, potentially +greater than she would ever comprehend; but nevertheless, +swayed helplessly by emotion and desire. Her own emotions, +though perhaps stronger than his, were differently aroused. The +stars, the night, a lovely scene, any exquisite attribute of nature +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> +could fascinate him to the point of melancholy. With her, nature +in its largest aspects passed practically unnoticed. She responded +to music feelingly, as did Eugene. In literature, only +realism appealed to him; for her, sentiment, strained though not +necessarily unreal, had the greatest charm. Art in its purely +æsthetic forms meant nothing at all to her. To Eugene it was +the last word in the matter of emotional perception. History, +philosophy, logic, psychology, were sealed books to her. To +Eugene they were already open doors, or, better yet, flowery +paths of joy, down which he was wandering. Yet in spite of +these things they were being attracted toward each other.</p> + +<p>And there were other differences. With Eugene convention +meant nothing at all, and his sense of evil and good was something +which the ordinary person would not have comprehended. +He was prone to like all sorts and conditions of human beings—the +intellectual, the ignorant, the clean, the dirty, the gay, the +sorrowful, white, yellow, black. As for Angela, she had a +distinct preference for those who conducted themselves according +to given standards of propriety. She was brought up to +think of those people as best who worked the hardest, denied +themselves the most, and conformed to the ordinary notions of +right and wrong. There was no questioning of current standards +in her mind. As it was written socially and ethically upon the +tables of the law, so was it. There might be charming characters +outside the pale, but they were not admitted to association +or sympathy. To Eugene a human being was a human +being. The ruck of misfits or ne'er-do-wells he could laugh +joyously with or at. It was all wonderful, beautiful, amusing. +Even its grimness and tragedy were worth while, although they +hurt him terribly at times. Why, under these circumstances, he +should have been so thoroughly attracted to Angela remains a +mystery. Perhaps they complemented each other at this time as +a satellite complements a larger luminary—for Eugene's egoism +required praise, sympathy, feminine coddling; and Angela caught +fire from the warmth and geniality of his temperament.</p> + +<p>On the train next day Eugene had nearly three hours of what +he deemed most delightful talk with her. They had not journeyed +far before he had told her how he had traveled this way, on this +train, at this hour, two years before; how he had walked about +the streets of the big city, looking for a place to sleep, how he +had got work and stayed away until he felt that he had found +himself. Now he was going to study art and then to New York +or Paris, and do magazine illustrating and possibly paint pictures. +He was truly your flamboyant youth of talent when he got to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +talking—when he had a truly sympathetic ear. He loved to +boast to someone who really admired him, and he felt that he +had admiration here. Angela looked at him with swimming +eyes. He was really different from anything she had ever +known, young, artistic, imaginative, ambitious. He was going +out into a world which she had longed for but never hoped to +see—that of art. Here he was telling her of his prospective art +studies, and talking of Paris. What a wonderful thing!</p> + +<p>As the train neared Chicago she explained that she would have +to make an almost immediate connection with one which left over +the Chicago Milwaukee and St. Paul, for Blackwood. She +was a little lonely, to tell the truth, a little sick at heart, for +the summer vacation was over and she was going back to +teach school. Alexandria, for the two weeks she had been +there visiting Mrs. King (formerly a Blackwood girl and school-day +chum of hers), was lovely. Her girlhood friend had tried +to make things most pleasant and now it was all over. Even +Eugene was over, for he said nothing much of seeing her again, +or had not so far. She was wishing she might see more of this +world he painted in such glowing colors, when he said:</p> + +<p>"Mr. Bangs said that you come down to Chicago every now +and then?"</p> + +<p>"I do," she replied. "I sometimes come down to go to the +theatres and shop." She did not say that there was an element +of practical household commercialism in it, for she was considered +one of the best buyers in the family and that she was sent +to buy by various members of the family in quantities. From a +practical household point of view she was a thoroughbred and +was valued by her sisters and friends as someone who loved to do +things. She might have come to be merely a family pack horse, +solely because she loved to work. It was instinct to do everything +she did thoroughly, but she worked almost exclusively in +minor household matters.</p> + +<p>"How soon do you expect to come down again?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I can't tell. I sometimes come down when Opera is +on in the winter. I may be here around Thanksgiving."</p> + +<p>"Not before that?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think so," she replied archly.</p> + +<p>"That's too bad. I thought maybe I'd see you a few times +this fall. When you do come I wish you could let me know. +I'd like to take you to the theatre."</p> + +<p>Eugene spent precious little money on any entertainment, but +he thought he could venture this. She would not be down +often. Then, too, he had the notion that he might get a rise +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> +one of these days—that would make a difference. When she +came again he would be in art school, opening up another field +for himself. Life looked hopeful.</p> + +<p>"That's so nice of you," she replied. "And when I come +I'll let you know. I'm just a country girl," she added, with a +toss of her head, "and I don't get to the city often."</p> + +<p>Eugene liked what he considered the guileless naïveté of her +confessions—the frankness with which she owned up to simplicity +and poverty. Most girls didn't. She almost made a +virtue out of these thing—at least they were charming as a +confession in her.</p> + +<p>"I'll hold you to that," he assured her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you needn't. I'll be glad to let you know."</p> + +<p>They were nearing the station. He forgot, for the moment +that she was not as remote and delicate in her beauty as Stella, +that she was apparently not as passionate temperamentally as +Margaret. He saw her wonderfully dull hair and her thin lips +and peculiar blue eyes, and admired her honesty and simplicity. +He picked up her grip and helped her to find her train. When +they came to part he pressed her hand warmly, for she had been +very nice to him, so attentive and sympathetic and interested.</p> + +<p>"Now remember!" he said gaily, after he had put her in her +seat in the local.</p> + +<p>"I won't forget."</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't mind if I wrote you now and then?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all. I'd like it."</p> + +<p>"Then I will," he said, and went out.</p> + +<p>He stood outside and looked at her through the train window +as it pulled out. He was glad to have met her. This was +the right sort of girl, clean, honest, simple, attractive. That +was the way the best women were—good and pure—not wild +pieces of fire like Margaret; nor unconscious, indifferent beauties +like Stella, he was going to add, but couldn't. There was a +voice within him that said that artistically Stella was perfect +and even now it hurt him a little to remember. But Stella +was gone forever, there was no doubt about that.</p> + +<p>During the days that followed he thought of the girl often. +He wondered what sort of a town Blackwood was; what sort +of people she moved with, what sort of a house she lived in. +They must be nice, simple people like his own in Alexandria. +These types of city bred people whom he saw—girls particularly—and +those born to wealth, had no appeal for him as yet. They +were too distant, too far removed from anything he could +aspire to. A good woman such as Miss Blue obviously was, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> +must be a treasure anywhere in the world. He kept thinking +he would write to her—he had no other girl acquaintance now; +and just before he entered art school he did this, penning a little +note saying that he remembered so pleasantly their ride; and +when was she coming? Her answer, after a week, was that +she expected to be in the city about the middle or the end of +October and that she would be glad to have him call. She +gave him the number of an aunt who lived out on the North +Side in Ohio Street, and said she would notify him further. She +was hard at work teaching school now, and didn't even have +time to think of the lovely summer she had had.</p> + +<p>"Poor little girl," he thought. She deserved a better fate. +"When she comes I'll surely look her up," he thought, and there +was a lot that went with the idea. Such wonderful hair!</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_IX" id="I_CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<p>The succeeding days in the art school after his first admission +revealed many new things to Eugene. He understood now, +or thought he did, why artists were different from the rank and +file of mankind. This Art Institute atmosphere was something +so refreshing after his days rambling among poor neighborhoods +collecting, that he could hardly believe that he, Eugene +Witla, belonged there. These were exceptional young people; +some of them, anyhow. If they weren't cut out to be good +artists they still had imagination—the dream of the artist. They +came, as Eugene gradually learned, from all parts of the West +and South, from Chicago and St. Louis—from Kansas, Nebraska +and Iowa—from Texas and California and Minnesota. One boy +was in from Saskatchewan of the Canadian north west, another +from the then territory of New Mexico. Because his +name was Gill they called him the Gila monster—the difference +in the pronunciation of the "G's" not troubling them at all. +A boy who came down from Minnesota was a farmer's son, +and talked about going back to plow and sow and reap during +the next spring and summer. Another boy was the son of a +Kansas City millionaire.</p> + +<p>The mechanics of drawing interested Eugene from the first. +He learned the first night that there was some defect in his +understanding of light and shade as it related to the human +form. He could not get any roundness or texture in his drawings.</p> + +<p>"The darkest shadow is always closest to the high light," observed +his instructor laconically on Wednesday evening, looking +over his shoulder. "You're making everything a dull, even +tone." So that was it.</p> + +<p>"You're drawing this figure as a bricklayer who isn't an +architect might start to build a house. You're laying bricks +without having a plan. Where's your plan?" The voice was +that of Mr. Boyle looking over his shoulder.</p> + +<p>Eugene looked up. He had begun to draw the head only.</p> + +<p>"A plan! A plan!" said his instructor, making a peculiar +motion with his hands which described the outline of the pose +in a single motion. "Get your general lines first. Then you +can put in the details afterward."</p> + +<p>Eugene saw at once.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +Another time his instructor was watching him draw the +female breast. He was doing it woodenly—without much +beauty of contour.</p> + +<p>"They're round! They're round! I tell you!" exclaimed +Boyle. "If you ever see any square ones let me know."</p> + +<p>This caught Eugene's sense of humor. It made him laugh, +even though he flushed painfully, for he knew he had a lot to +learn.</p> + +<p>The cruelest thing he heard this man say was to a boy who +was rather thick and fat but conscientious. "You can't draw," +he said roughly. "Take my advice and go home. You'll make +more money driving a wagon."</p> + +<p>The class winced, but this man was ugly in his intolerance of +futility. The idea of anybody wasting his time was obnoxious +to him. He took art as a business man takes business, and he +had no time for the misfit, the fool, or the failure. He wanted +his class to know that art meant effort.</p> + +<p>Aside from this brutal insistence on the significance of art, +there was another side to the life which was not so hard and +in a way more alluring. Between the twenty-five minute poses +which the model took, there were some four or five minute +rests during the course of the evening in which the students +talked, relighted their pipes and did much as they pleased. +Sometimes students from other classes came in for a few moments.</p> + +<p>The thing that astonished Eugene though, was the freedom +of the model with the students and the freedom of the students +with her. After the first few weeks he observed some of those +who had been there the year before going up to the platform +where the girl sat, and talking with her. She had a little pink +gauze veil which she drew around her shoulders or waist that +instead of reducing the suggestiveness of her attitudes heightened +them.</p> + +<p>"Say, ain't that enough to make everything go black in front +of your eyes," said one boy sitting next to Eugene.</p> + +<p>"Well, I guess," he laughed. "There's some edge to that."</p> + +<p>The boys would sit and laugh and jest with this girl, and +she would laugh and coquette in return. He saw her strolling +about looking at some of the students' drawings of her over +their shoulders, standing face to face with others—and so +calmly. The strong desire which it invariably aroused in Eugene +he quelled and concealed, for these things were not to be shown +on the surface. Once, while he was looking at some photographs +that a student had brought, she came and looked over his shoulder, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +this little flower of the streets, her body graced by the thin +scarf, her lips and cheeks red with color. She came so close +that she leaned against his shoulder and arm with her soft +flesh. It pulled him tense, like a great current; but he made +no sign, pretending that it was the veriest commonplace. Several +times, because the piano was there, and because students would +sing and play in the interludes, she came and sat on the piano +stool herself, strumming out an accompaniment to which some +one or three or four would sing. Somehow this, of all things, +seemed most sensuous to him—most oriental. It set him wild. +He felt his teeth click without volition on his part. When +she resumed her pose, his passion subsided, for then the cold, +æsthetic value of her beauty became uppermost. It was only the +incidental things that upset him.</p> + +<p>In spite of these disturbances, Eugene was gradually showing +improvement as a draughtsman and an artist. He liked to +draw the figure. He was not as quick at that as he was at the +more varied outlines of landscapes and buildings, but he could +give lovely sensuous touches to the human form—particularly +to the female form—which were beginning to be impressive. +He'd got past the place where Boyle had ever to say "They're +round." He gave a sweep to his lines that attracted the instructor's +attention.</p> + +<p>"You're getting the thing as a whole, I see," he said quietly, +one day. Eugene thrilled with satisfaction. Another Wednesday +he said:—"A little colder, my boy, a little colder. There's +sex in that. It isn't in the figure. You ought to make a good +mural decorator some day, if you have the inclination," Boyle +went on; "you've got the sense of beauty." The roots of +Eugene's hair tingled. So art was coming to him. This man +saw his capacity. He really had art in him.</p> + +<p>One evening a paper sign pasted up on the bulletin board bore +the significant legend: "Artists! Attention! We eat! We eat! +Nov. 16th. at Sofroni's. All those who want to get in give +their names to the monitor."</p> + +<p>Eugene had heard nothing of this, but he judged that it +originated in one of the other classes. He spoke to the monitor +and learned that only seventy-five cents was required of him. +Students could bring girls if they wished. Most of them would. +He decided that he would go. But where to get a girl? +Sofroni's was an Italian restaurant in lower Clark Street, which +had originally started out as an eating place for Italian laborers, +because it was near an Italian boarding house section. It was +located in an old house that was not exactly homely. A yard +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> +in the back had been set with plain wooden tables, and benches +had been placed for use in the summer time and, later, this had +been covered with a mouldy tent-cloth to protect the diners +from rain. Still later this became glass and was used in winter. +The place was clean and the food good. Some struggling craftsman +in journalism and art had found it and by degrees Signor +Sofroni had come to realize that he was dealing with a better +element. He began to exchange greetings with these people +to set aside a little corner for them. Finally he entertained a +small group of them at dinner—charging them hardly more than +cost price—and so he was launched. One student told another. +Sofroni now had his yard covered in so that he could entertain a +hundred at dinner, even in winter. He could serve several kinds +of wines and liquors with a dinner for seventy-five cents a piece. +So he was popular.</p> + +<p>The dinner was the culmination of several other class treats. +It was the custom of a class, whenever a stranger, or even a +new member appeared, to yell "Treat! Treat!" at which the +victim or new member was supposed to produce two dollars +as a contribution to a beer fund. If the money was not produced—the +stranger was apt to be thrown out or some ridiculous +trick played upon him—if it was forthcoming, work for the +evening ceased. A collection was immediately taken up. Kegs +of beer were sent for, with sandwiches and cheese. Drinking, +singing, piano playing, jesting followed. Once, to Eugene's +utter astonishment, one of the students—a big, good natured, +carousing boy from Omaha—lifted the nude model to his shoulders, +set her astride his neck and proceeded around the room, +jigging as he went—the girl meantime pulling his black hair, +the other students following and shouting uproariously. Some +of the girls in an adjoining room, studying in an evening life +class, stopped their work to peep through a half dozen small holes +which had been punched in the intervening partition. The sight +of Showalter carrying the girl so astonished the eavesdroppers +that the news of it was soon all over the building. Knowledge +of the escapade reached the Secretary and the next day the +student was dropped. But the Bacchic dance had been enacted—its +impression was left.</p> + +<p>There were other treats like this in which Eugene was urged +to drink, and he did—a very little. He had no taste for beer. +He also tried to smoke, but he did not care for it. He could become +nervously intoxicated at times, by the mere sight of such +revelry, and then he grew witty, easy in his motions, quick to +say bright things. On one of these occasions one of the models +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +said to him: "Why, you're nicer than I thought. I imagined +you were very solemn."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," he said, "only at times. You don't know me."</p> + +<p>He seized her about the waist, but she pushed him away. He +wished now that he danced, for he saw that he might have +whirled her about the room then and there. He decided to learn +at once.</p> + +<p>The question of a girl for the dinner, troubled him. He knew +of no one except Margaret, and he did not know that she danced. +There was Miss Blue, of Blackwood—whom he had seen when +she made her promised visit to the city—but the thought of her in +connection with anything like this was to him incongruous. He +wondered what she would think if she saw such scenes as he +had witnessed.</p> + +<p>It chanced that one day when he was in the members' room, +he met Miss Kenny, the girl whom he had seen posing the +night he had entered the school. Eugene remembered her +fascination, for she was the first nude model he had ever seen +and she was pretty. She was also the one who had come and +stood by him when she was posing. He had not seen her +since then. She had liked Eugene, but he had seemed a little +distant and, at first, a little commonplace. Lately he had +taken to a loose, flowing tie and a soft round hat which became +him. He turned his hair back loosely and emulated the +independent swing of Mr. Temple Boyle. That man was a sort +of god to him—strong and successful. To be like that!</p> + +<p>The girl noted a change for what she deemed the better. He +was so nice now, she thought, so white-skinned and clear-eyed +and keen.</p> + +<p>She pretended to be looking at the drawing of a nude when +she saw him.</p> + +<p>"How are you?" he asked, smiling, venturing to speak to her +because he was lonely and because he knew no other girl.</p> + +<p>She turned gaily, and returned the question, facing him with +smiling lips and genial eyes.</p> + +<p>"I haven't seen you for some time," he said. "Are you back +here now?"</p> + +<p>"For this week," she said. "I'm doing studio work. I don't +care for classes when I can get the other."</p> + +<p>"I thought you liked them!" he replied, recalling her gaiety +of mood.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't dislike it. Only, studio work is better."</p> + +<p>"We've missed you," he said. "The others haven't been +nearly as nice."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> +"Aren't you complimentary," she laughed, her black eyes +looking into his with a twinkle.</p> + +<p>"No, it's so," he returned, and then asked hopefully, "Are +you going to the dinner on the 16th?"</p> + +<p>"Maybe," she said. "I haven't made up my mind. It all +depends."</p> + +<p>"On what?"</p> + +<p>"On how I feel and who asks me."</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't think there'd be any trouble about that," he +observed. "If I had a girl I'd go," he went on, making a terrific +effort to reach the point where he could ask her. She saw his +intention.</p> + +<p>"Well?" she laughed.</p> + +<p>"Would you go with me?" he ventured, thus so shamelessly +assisted.</p> + +<p>"Sure!" she said, for she liked him.</p> + +<p>"That's fine!" he exclaimed. "Where do you live? I'll want +to know that." He searched for a pencil.</p> + +<p>She gave him her number on West Fifty-seventh Street.</p> + +<p>Because of his collecting he knew the neighborhood. It was +a street of shabby frame houses far out on the South Side. He +remembered great mazes of trade near it, and unpaved streets +and open stretches of wet prairie land. Somehow it seemed +fitting to him that this little flower of the muck and coal yard +area should be a model.</p> + +<p>"I'll be sure and get you," he laughed. "You won't forget, +will you, Miss—"</p> + +<p>"Just Ruby," she interrupted. "Ruby Kenny."</p> + +<p>"It's a pretty name, isn't it?" he said. "It's euphonious. You +wouldn't let me come out some Sunday and see just where it is?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you may," she replied, pleased by his comment on her +name. "I'm home most every Sunday. Come out next Sunday +afternoon, if you want to."</p> + +<p>"I will," said Eugene.</p> + +<p>He walked out to the street with her in a very buoyant mood.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_X" id="I_CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<p>Ruby Kenny was the adopted child of an old Irish +laborer and his wife who had taken her from a quarrelling +couple when they had practically deserted her at the age of +four years. She was bright, good natured, not at all informed as +to the social organization of the world, just a simple little girl +with a passion for adventure and no saving insight which would +indicate beforehand whither adventure might lead. She began +life as a cash girl in a department store and was spoiled of her +virtue at fifteen. She was rather fortunate in that her smartness +attracted the rather superior, capable, self-protecting type of +man; and these were fortunate too, in that she was not utterly +promiscuous, appetite with her waiting on strong liking, and +in one or two cases real affection, and culminating only after +a period of dalliance which made her as much a victim of her +moods as were her lovers. Her foster parents provided no guidance +of any intelligent character. They liked her, and since +she was brighter than they were, submitted to her rule, her +explanations of conduct, her taste. She waved aside with a +laughing rejoinder any slight objections they might make, and +always protested that she did not care what the neighbors thought.</p> + +<p>The visits which Eugene paid, and the companionship which +ensued, were of a piece with every other relationship of this +character which he ever entered into. He worshiped beauty +as beauty, and he never wholly missed finding a certain quality +of mind and heart for which he longed. He sought in women, +besides beauty, good nature and sympathy; he shunned criticism +and coldness, and was never apt to select for a sweetheart anyone +who could outshine him either in emotion or rapidity or distinction +of ideas.</p> + +<p>He liked, at this time, simple things, simple homes, simple +surroundings, the commonplace atmosphere of simple life, for +the more elegant and imposing overawed him. The great mansions +which he saw, the great trade structures, the great, significant +personalities, seemed artificial and cold. He liked little +people—people who were not known, but who were sweet and +kindly in their moods. If he could find female beauty with anything +like that as a background he was happy and settled down +near it, if he could, in comfort. His drawing near to Ruby was +governed by this mood.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +The Sunday Eugene called, it rained and the neighborhood +in which she lived was exceedingly dreary. Looking around +here and there one could see in the open spaces between the +houses pools of water standing in the brown, dead grass. He +had crossed a great maze of black cindered car tracks, where +engines and cars were in great masses, and speculated on the +drawings such scenes would make—big black engines throwing +up clouds of smoke and steam in a grey, wet air; great mazes of +parti-colored cars dank in the rain but lovely. At night the +switch lights in these great masses of yards bloomed like flowers. +He loved the sheer yellows, reds, greens, blues, that burned +like eyes. Here was the stuff that touched him magnificently, +and somehow he was glad that this raw flowering girl lived +near something like this.</p> + +<p>When he reached the door and rang the bell he was greeted +by an old shaky Irish-American who seemed to him rather low +in the scale of intelligence—the kind of a man who would +make a good crossing guard, perhaps. He had on common, +characterful clothes, the kind that from long wear have taken +the natural outlines of the body. In his fingers was a short pipe +which he had been smoking.</p> + +<p>"Is Miss Kenny in?" Eugene inquired.</p> + +<p>"Yus," said the man. "Come in. I'll git her." He poked +back through a typical workingman's parlor to a rear room. +Someone had seen to it that almost everything in the room was +red—the big silk-shaded lamp, the family album, the carpet +and the red flowered wall paper.</p> + +<p>While he was waiting he opened the album and looked at +what he supposed were her relatives—commonplace people, all—clerks, +salesmen, store-keepers. Presently Ruby came, and +then his eye lighted, for there was about her a smartness of youth—she +was not more than nineteen—which captivated his fancy. +She had on a black cashmere dress with touches of red velvet +at the neck and elsewhere, and she wore a loose red tie, much +as a boy might. She looked gay and cheerful and held out her +hand.</p> + +<p>"Did you have much trouble in getting here?" she asked.</p> + +<p>He shook his head. "I know this country pretty well. I +collect all through here week days. I work for the Peoples' +Furniture Company, you know."</p> + +<p>"Oh, then it's all right," she said, enjoying his frankness. +"I thought you'd have a hard time finding it. It's a pretty bad +day, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>Eugene admitted that it was, but commented on the car tracks +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +he had seen. "If I could paint at all I'd like to paint those +things. They're so big and wonderful."</p> + +<p>He went to the window and gazed out at the neighborhood.</p> + +<p>Ruby watched him with interest. His movements were pleasing +to her. She felt at home in his company—as though she were +going to like him very much. It was so easy to talk to him. +There were the classes, her studio work, his own career, this +neighborhood, to give her a feeling of congeniality with him.</p> + +<p>"Are there many big studios in Chicago?" he asked when +they finally got around to that phase of her work. He was curious +to know what the art life of the city was.</p> + +<p>"No, not so very many—not, at least, of the good ones. +There are a lot of fellows who think they can paint."</p> + +<p>"Who are the big ones?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Well, I only know by what I hear artists say. Mr. Rose +is pretty good. Byam Jones is pretty fine on <i>genre</i> subjects, so +they say. Walter Low is a good portrait painter, and so is +Manson Steele. And let's see—there's Arthur Biggs—he does +landscapes only; I've never been in his studio; and Finley Wood, +he's another portrait man; and Wilson Brooks, he does figures—Oh! +I don't know, there are quite a number."</p> + +<p>Eugene listened entranced. This patter of art matters was +more in the way of definite information about personalities +than he had heard during all the time he had been in the city. +The girl knew these things. She was in the movement. He +wondered what her relationship to these various people was?</p> + +<p>He got up after a time and looked out of the window again. +She came also. "It's not very nice around here," she explained, +"but papa and mamma like to live here. It's near papa's work."</p> + +<p>"Was that your father I met at the door?"</p> + +<p>"They're not my real parents," she explained. "I'm an +adopted child. They're just like real parents to me, though, +I certainly owe them a lot."</p> + +<p>"You can't have been posing in art very long," said Eugene +thoughtfully, thinking of her age.</p> + +<p>"No; I only began about a year ago."</p> + +<p>She told how she had been a clerk in The Fair and how she and +another girl had got the idea from seeing articles in the Sunday +papers. There was once a picture in the Tribune of a model +posing in the nude before the local life class. This had taken +her eye and she had consulted with the other girl as to whether +they had not better try posing, too. Her friend, like herself, +was still posing. She was coming to the dinner.</p> + +<p>Eugene listened entranced. It reminded him of how he was +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> +caught by the picture of Goose Island in the Chicago River, +of the little tumble-down huts and upturned hulls of boats +used for homes. He told her of that and of how he came, and it +touched her fancy. She thought he was sentimental but nice—and +then he was big, too, and she was so much smaller.</p> + +<p>"You play?" he asked, "don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, just a little. But we haven't got a piano. I learned +what I know by practising at the different studios."</p> + +<p>"Do you dance?" asked Eugene.</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed," she replied.</p> + +<p>"I wish I did," he commented ruefully.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you? It's easy. You could learn in no time. +I could teach you in a lesson."</p> + +<p>"I wish you would," he said persuasively.</p> + +<p>"It isn't hard," she went on, moving away from him. "I +can show you the steps. They always begin with the waltz."</p> + +<p>She lifted her skirts and exposed her little feet. She explained +what to do and how to do it. He tried it alone, but +failed; so she got him to put his arm around her and placed +her hand in his. "Now, follow me," she said.</p> + +<p>It was so delightful to find her in his arms! And she was +apparently in no hurry to conclude the lesson, for she worked +with him quite patiently, explaining the steps, stopping and +correcting him, laughing at her mistakes and his. "You're +getting it, though," she said, after they had turned around a few +times.</p> + +<p>They had looked into each other's eyes a number of times +and she gave him frank smiles in return for his. He thought +of the time when she stood by him in the studio, looking over +his shoulder. Surely, surely this gap of formalities might be +bridged over at once if he tried if he had the courage. He +pulled her a little closer and when they stopped he did not +let go.</p> + +<p>"You're mighty sweet to me," he said with an effort.</p> + +<p>"No, I'm just good natured," she laughed, not endeavoring to +break away.</p> + +<p>He became emotionally tense, as always.</p> + +<p>She rather liked what seemed the superiority of his mood. It +was different, stronger than was customary in the men she +knew.</p> + +<p>"Do you like me?" he asked, looking at her.</p> + +<p>She studied his face and hair and eyes.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," she returned calmly.</p> + +<p>"Are you sure you don't?"</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +There was another pause in which she looked almost mockingly +at him and then, sobering, away at the hall door.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think I do," she said.</p> + +<p>He picked her up in his arms. "You're as cute as a doll," he +said and carried her to the red settee. She spent the rest of the +rainy afternoon resting in his arms and enjoying his kisses. He +was a new and peculiar kind of boy.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_XI" id="I_CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<p>A little while before, Angela Blue at Eugene's earnest +solicitation had paid her first Fall visit to Chicago. She +had made a special effort to come, lured by a certain poignancy +of expression which he could give to any thought, particularly +when it concerned his desires. In addition to the art of drawing +he had the gift of writing—very slow in its development from +a structural and interpretative point of view, but powerful already +on its descriptive side. He could describe anything, people, +houses, horses, dogs, landscapes, much as he could draw them +and give a sense of tenderness and pathos in the bargain which +was moving. He could describe city scenes and the personal +atmosphere which surrounded him in the most alluring fashion. +He had little time to write, but he took it in this instance to +tell this girl what he was doing and how he was doing it. She +was captivated by the quality of the world in which he was +moving, and the distinction of his own personality, which he +indicated rather indirectly than otherwise. By contrast her +own little world began to look very shabby indeed.</p> + +<p>She came shortly after his art school opened, and at her +invitation he went out to the residence of her aunt on the North +Side, a nice, pleasant brick house in a quiet side street, which +had all the airs of middle class peace and comfort. He was +impressed with what seemed to him a sweet, conservative atmosphere—a +fitting domicile for a girl so dainty and refined as +Angela. He paid his respects early Saturday morning because +her neighborhood happened to be in the direction of his work.</p> + +<p>She played for him—better than anyone he had ever known. +It seemed to him a great accomplishment. Her temperament +attracted her to music of a high emotional order and to songs +and instrumental compositions of indefinable sweetness. In the +half hour he stayed she played several things, and he noted with +a new pleasure her small shapely body in a dress of a very +simple, close fitting design; her hair hung in two great braids +far below her waist. She reminded him the least bit of Marguerite +in "Faust."</p> + +<p>He went again in the evening, shining and eager, and arrayed +in his best. He was full of the sense of his art prospects, and +happy to see her again, for he was satisfied that he was going to +fall in love with her. She had a strong, sympathetic attitude +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +which allured him. She wanted to be nice to this youth—wanted +him to like her—and so the atmosphere was right.</p> + +<p>That evening he took her to the Chicago Opera House, +where there was playing an extravaganza. This fantasy, so +beautiful in its stage-craft, so gorgeous in its show of costumes +and pretty girls, so idle in its humor and sweet in its love +songs, captivated both Eugene and Angela. Neither had been +to a theatre for a long time; both were en rapport with some +such fantastic interpretation of existence. After the short acquaintance +at Alexandria it was a nice coming together. It +gave point to their reunion.</p> + +<p>After the performance he guided her through the surging +crowds to a North Division Street car—they had laid cables +since his arrival—and together they went over the beauties and +humor of the thing they had seen. He asked permission to call +again next day, and at the end of an afternoon in her company, +proposed that they go to hear a famous preacher who was speaking +in Central Music Hall evenings.</p> + +<p>Angela was pleased at Eugene's resourcefulness. She wanted +to be with him; this was a good excuse. They went early and +enjoyed it. Eugene liked the sermon as an expression of youth +and beauty and power to command. He would have liked to be +an orator like that, and he told Angela so. And he confided more +and more of himself to her. She was impressed by his vivid interest +in life, his selective power, and felt that he was destined +to be a notable personality.</p> + +<p>There were other meetings. She came again in early November +and before Christmas and Eugene was fast becoming lost +in the meshes of her hair. Although he met Ruby in November +and took up a tentative relation on a less spiritual basis—as he +would have said at the time—he nevertheless held this acquaintanceship +with Angela in the background as a superior +and more significant thing. She was purer than Ruby; there was +in her certainly a deeper vein of feeling, as expressed in her +thoughts and music. Moreover she represented a country home, +something like his own, a nice simple country town, nice people. +Why should he part with her, or ever let her know anything +of this other world that he touched? He did not think he ought +to. He was afraid that he would lose her, and he knew that +she would make any man an ideal wife. She came again in +December and he almost proposed to her—he must not be free +with her or draw too near too rapidly. She made him feel the +sacredness of love and marriage. And he did propose in January.</p> + +<p>The artist is a blend of subtleties in emotion which can not be +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> +classified. No one woman could have satisfied all sides of +Eugene's character at that time. Beauty was the point with him. +Any girl who was young, emotional or sympathetic to the right +degree and beautiful would have attracted and held him for a +while. He loved beauty—not a plan of life. He was interested +in an artistic career, not in the founding of a family. +Girlhood—the beauty of youth—was artistic, hence he craved +it.</p> + +<p>Angela's mental and emotional composition was stable. She +had learned to believe from childhood that marriage was a +fixed thing. She believed in one life and one love. When you +found that, every other relationship which did not minister +to it was ended. If children came, very good; if not, very good; +marriage was permanent anyhow. And if you did not marry +happily it was nevertheless your duty to endure and suffer for +whatever good might remain. You might suffer badly in such a +union, but it was dangerous and disgraceful to break it. If +you could not stand it any more, your life was a failure.</p> + +<p>Of course, Eugene did not know what he was trifling with. +He had no conception of the nature of the relationship he was +building up. He went on blindly dreaming of this girl as +an ideal, and anticipating eventual marriage with her. When +that would be, he had no idea, for though his salary had been +raised at Christmas he was getting only eighteen dollars a +week; but he deemed it would come within a reasonable time.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, his visits to Ruby had brought the inevitable result. +The very nature of the situation seemed to compel it. She +was young, brimming over with a love of adventure, admiring +youth and strength in men. Eugene, with his pale face, which +had just a touch of melancholy about it, his sex magnetism, his +love of beauty, appealed to her. Uncurbed passion was perhaps +uppermost to begin with; very shortly it was confounded with +affection, for this girl could love. She was sweet, good natured, +ignorant of life from many points of view. Eugene represented +the most dramatic imagination she had yet seen. She described +to him the character of her foster parents, told how simple they +were and how she could do about as she pleased. They did not +know that she posed in the nude. She confided to him her particular +friendship for certain artists, denying any present intimacies. +She admitted them in the past, but asserted that they +were bygones. Eugene really did not believe this. He suspected +her of meeting other approaches in the spirit in which she had +met his own. It aroused his jealousy, and he wished at once that +she were not a model. He said as much and she laughed. She +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> +knew he would act like that, it was the first proof of real, definite +interest in her on his part.</p> + +<p>From that time on there were lovely days and evenings spent +in her company. Before the dinner she invited him over to +breakfast one Sunday. Her foster parents were to be away +and she was to have the house to herself. She wanted to cook +Eugene a breakfast—principally to show him she could cook—and +then it was novel. She waited till he arrived at nine to +begin operations and then, arrayed in a neat little lavender, +close fitting house dress, and a ruffled white apron, went about +her work, setting the table, making biscuit, preparing a kidney +ragout with strong wine, and making coffee.</p> + +<p>Eugene was delighted. He followed her about, delaying her +work by taking her in his arms and kissing her. She got flour +on her nose and he brushed it off with his lips.</p> + +<p>It was on this occasion that she showed him a very pleasing +little dance she could do—a clog dance, which had a running, +side-ways motion, with frequent and rapid clicking of the heels. +She gathered her skirts a little way above her ankles and twinkled +her feet through a maze of motions. Eugene was beside himself +with admiration. He told himself he had never met such +a girl—to be so clever at posing, playing and dancing, and so +young. He thought she would make a delightful creature to +live with, and he wished now he had money enough to make it +possible. At this high-flown moment and at some others he +thought he might almost marry her.</p> + +<p>On the night of the dinner he took her to Sofroni's, and was +surprised to find her arrayed in a red dress with a row of large +black leather buttons cutting diagonally across the front. She +had on red stockings and shoes and wore a red carnation in her +hair. The bodice was cut low in the neck and the sleeves were +short. Eugene thought she looked stunning and told her so. +She laughed. They went in a cab, for she had warned him beforehand +that they would have to. It cost him two dollars each +way but he excused his extravagance on the ground of necessity. +It was little things like this that were beginning to make him +think strongly of the problem of getting on.</p> + +<p>The students who had got up this dinner were from all +the art classes, day and night. There were over two hundred of +them, all of them young, and there was a mixed collection of +girl art students, artist's models and girl friends of various grades +of thought and condition, who were brought as companions. The +big dining-room was tempestuous with the rattling of dishes, +the shouting of jests, the singing of songs and the exchange of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +greetings. Eugene knew a few of these people outside his own +classes, enough to give him the chance to be sociable and not +appear lonely or out of it.</p> + +<p>From the outset it was apparent that she, Ruby, was generally +known and liked. Her costume—a little bold—made her conspicuous. +From various directions there were cries of "Hey! +Rube!" which was a familiar interpretation of her first name, +Ruby.</p> + +<p>Eugene was surprised at this—it shocked him a little. All +sorts of boys he did not know came and talked to her, exchanging +familiar gossip. She was called away from him a dozen times +in as many minutes. He saw her laughing and chatting at the +other end of the hall, surrounded by half a dozen students. It +made him jealous.</p> + +<p>As the evening progressed the attitude of each toward the +other and all toward anyone became more and more familiar. +When the courses were over, a space was cleared at one end +and a screen of green cloth rigged up in one corner as a dressing +room for <i>stunts</i>. Eugene saw one of the students called +with much applause to do an Irish monologue, wearing green +whiskers, which he adjusted in the presence of the crowd. There +was another youth who pretended to have with him an immense +roll of verse—an epic, no less—wound in so tight a manner +that it looked as though it might take all night to read it. The +crowd groaned. With amazing savoir faire he put up one hand +for silence, dropped the roll, holding, of course, to the outer +end and began reading. It was not bad verse, but the amusing +part was that it was really short, not more than twenty lines. +The rest of the paper had been covered with scribbling to deceive +the crowd. It secured a round of applause. There was +one second-year man who sang a song—"Down in the Lehigh +Valley"—and another who gave imitations of Temple Boyle and +other instructors at their work of criticising and painting for +the benefit of the class. These were greatly enjoyed. Finally +one of the models, after much calling by the crowd of "Desmond! +Desmond!"—her last name—went behind the green +cloth screen and in a few moments reappeared in the short skirt +of a Spanish dancer, with black and silver spangles, and castanets. +Some friendly student had brought a mandolin and "La Paloma" +was danced.</p> + +<p>Eugene had little of Ruby's company during all these doings. +She was too much sought after. As the other girl was concluding +her dance he heard the cry of "Hey, Rube! Why don't you +do your turn?" Someone else, eager to see her dance, called +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +"Come on, Ruby!" The rest of the room, almost unthinkingly +took it up. Some boys surrounding her had started to push +her toward the dancing space. Before Eugene knew it she was up +in someone's arms being passed from group to group for a +joke. The crowd cheered. Eugene, however, having come so +close to her, was irritated by this familiarity. She did not +appear to belong to him, but to the whole art-student body. +And she was laughing. When she was put down in the clear +space she lifted her skirts as she had done for him and danced. +A crowd of students got very close. He had to draw near to +see her at all. And there she was, unconscious of him, doing +her gay clog dance. When she stopped, three or four of the more +daring youths urged her, seizing her by the hands and arms, +to do something else. Someone cleared a table and someone +else picked her up and put her on it. She did still other dances. +Someone cried, "Hey, Kenny, do you need the red dress?" +So this was his temporary sweetheart.</p> + +<p>When she was finally ready to go home at four o'clock in +the morning, or when the others were agreed to let her go, she +hardly remembered that she had Eugene with her. She saw +him waiting as two students were asking for the privilege of +taking her home.</p> + +<p>"No," she exclaimed, seeing him, "I have my escort. I'm +going now. Good-bye," and came toward him. He felt rather +frozen and out of it.</p> + +<p>"Are you ready?" she asked.</p> + +<p>He nodded gloomily, reproachfully.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_XII" id="I_CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<p>From drawing from the nude, which Eugene came to do +very successfully that winter, his interest switched to his +work in the illustration class where costume figures were used. +Here, for the first time, he tried his hand at wash drawings, +the current medium for magazine work, and was praised after +a time for his execution. Not always, however; for the instructors, +feeling that harsh criticism would make for steadier effort, +pooh-poohed some of his best work. But he had faith in what +he was destined to do, and after sinking to depths of despair he +would rise to great heights of self-confidence.</p> + +<p>His labor for the Peoples' Furniture Company was becoming +a rather dreary grind when Vincent Beers, the instructor +in the illustration class, looking over his shoulder one Wednesday +afternoon said:—"You ought to be able to make a little money +by your work pretty soon, Witla."</p> + +<p>"Do you think so?" questioned Eugene.</p> + +<p>"It's pretty good. There ought to be a place on one of the +newspapers here for a man like you—an afternoon newspaper +possibly. Did you ever try to get on?"</p> + +<p>"I did when I first came to the city, but they didn't want +anyone. I'm rather glad they didn't now. I guess they wouldn't +have kept me very long."</p> + +<p>"You draw in pen and ink pretty well, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"I thought I liked that best of all at first."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, they ought to be able to use you. I wouldn't +stay very long at it though. You ought to go to New York +to get in the magazine illustration field—there's nothing out +here. But a little newspaper work now wouldn't hurt you."</p> + +<p>Eugene decided to try the afternoon papers, for he knew that +if he got work on one of these he could still continue his night +classes. He could give the long evening session to the illustration +class and take an occasional night off to work on the life +studies. That would make an admirable arrangement. For +several days he took an hour after his work to make inquiry, +taking with him some examples of his pen and inks. Several of +the men he saw liked what he had to show, but he found no +immediate opening. There was only one paper, one of the poorest, +that offered him any encouragement. The editor-in-chief +said he might be in need of a man shortly. If Eugene would +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> +come in again in three or four weeks he could tell him. They +did not pay very much—twenty-five dollars to beginners.</p> + +<p>Eugene thought of this as a great opportunity, and when he +went back in three weeks and actually secured the place, he felt +that he was now fairly on the road to prosperity. He was +given a desk in a small back room on a fourth floor where there +was accidentally west and north light. He was in a department +which held two other men, both several years older than himself, +one of whom posed as "dean" of the staff.</p> + +<p>The work here was peculiar in that it included not only pen +and ink but the chalk plate process which was a method of +drawing with a steel point upon a zinc plate covered with a +deposit of chalk, which left a design which was easily reproduced. +Eugene had never done this, he had to be shown by the +"dean," but he soon picked it up. He found it hard on his +lungs, for he had constantly to keep blowing the chalk away +as he scratched the surface of the plate, and sometimes the dust +went up into his nostrils. He hoped sincerely there would not +be much of this work, but there was rather an undue proportion +at first owing to the fact that it was shouldered on to him by +the other two—he being the beginner. He suspected as much +after a little time, but by that time he was beginning to make +friends with his companions and things were not so bad.</p> + +<p>These two, although they did not figure vastly in his life, +introduced him to conditions and personalities in the Chicago +newspaper world which broadened him and presented points of +view which were helpful. The elder of the two, the "dean," was +dressy and art-y; his name was Horace Howe. The other, Jeremiah +Mathews, Jerry for short, was short and fat, with a round, +cheerful, smiling countenance and a wealth of coarse black hair. +He loved chewing tobacco, was a little mussy about his clothes, +but studious, generous and good natured. Eugene found that he +had several passions, one for good food, another for oriental +curios and a third for archæology. He was alive to all that +was going on in the world, and was utterly without any prejudices, +social, moral or religious. He liked his work, and whistled +or talked as he did it. Eugene took a secret like for him from +the beginning.</p> + +<p>It was while working on this paper that Eugene first learned +that he really could write. It came about accidentally for he +had abandoned the idea that he could ever do anything in newspaper +work, which was the field he had originally contemplated. +Here there was great need for cheap Sunday specials of a local +character, and in reading some of these, which were given to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +him for illustration, he came to the conclusion that he could +do much better himself.</p> + +<p>"Say," he asked Mathews, "who writes the articles in here?" +He was looking over the Sunday issue.</p> + +<p>"Oh, the reporters on the staff—anyone that wants to. I +think they buy some from outsiders. They only pay four dollars +a column."</p> + +<p>Eugene wondered if they would pay him, but pay or no pay he +wanted to do them. Maybe they would let him sign his name. +He saw that some were signed. He suggested he believed +he could do that sort of thing but Howe, as a writer himself, +frowned on this. He wrote and drew. Howe's opposition +piqued Eugene who decided to try when the opportunity offered. +He wanted to write about the Chicago River, which he thought +he could illustrate effectively. Goose Island, because of the +description he had read of it several years before, the simple +beauties of the city parks where he liked to stroll and watch +the lovers on Sundays. There were many things, but these +stood as susceptible of delicious, feeling illustration and he +wanted to try his hand. He suggested to the Sunday Editor, +Mitchell Goldfarb, with whom he had become friendly, that +he thought something nice in an illustrative way could be done +on the Chicago River.</p> + +<p>"Go ahead, try your hand," exclaimed that worthy, who was +a vigorous, robust, young American of about thirty-one, with a +gaspy laugh that sounded as if someone had thrown cold water +down his back. "We need all that stuff. Can you write?"</p> + +<p>"I sometimes think I might if I practiced a little."</p> + +<p>"Why not," went on the other, who saw visions of a little +free copy. "Try your hand. You might make a good thing +of it. If your writing is anything like your drawing it will be +all right. We don't pay people on the staff, but you can sign +your name to it."</p> + +<p>This was enough for Eugene. He tried his hand at once. His +art work had already begun to impress his companions. It was +rough, daring, incisive, with a touch of soul to it. Howe was +already secretly envious, Mathews full of admiration. Encouraged +thus by Goldfarb Eugene took a Sunday afternoon and +followed up the branches of the Chicago River, noting its wonders +and peculiarities, and finally made his drawings. Afterward he +went to the Chicago library and looked up its history—accidentally +coming across the reports of some government engineers +who dwelt on the oddities of its traffic. He did not write an +article so much as a panegyric on its beauty and littleness, finding +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> +the former where few would have believed it to exist. Goldfarb +was oddly surprised when he read it. He had not thought +Eugene could do it.</p> + +<p>The charm of Eugene's writing was that while his mind was +full of color and poetry he had logic and a desire for facts +which gave what he wrote stability. He liked to know the history +of things and to comment on the current phases of life. He +wrote of the parks, Goose Island, the Bridewell, whatever took +his fancy.</p> + +<p>His real passion was for art, however. It was a slightly +easier medium for him—quicker. He thrilled to think, sometimes, +that he could tell a thing in words and then actually +draw it. It seemed a beautiful privilege and he loved the thought +of making the commonplace dramatic. It was all dramatic to +him—the wagons in the streets, the tall buildings, the street +lamps—anything, everything.</p> + +<p>His drawing was not neglected meantime, but seemed to get +stronger.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what there is about your stuff, Witla, that +gets me," Mathews said to him one day, "but you do something +to it. Now why did you put those birds flying above that smokestack?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know," replied Eugene. "It's just the way I feel +about it. I've seen pigeons flying like that."</p> + +<p>"It's all to the good," replied Mathews. "And then you +handle your masses right. I don't see anybody doing this sort +of thing over here."</p> + +<p>He meant in America, for these two art workers considered +themselves connoisseurs of pen and ink and illustration generally. +They were subscribers to <i>Jugend</i>, <i>Simplicissimus</i>, <i>Pick-Me-Up</i> +and the radical European art journals. They were aware of +Steinlen and Cheret and Mucha and the whole rising young +school of French poster workers. Eugene was surprised to hear +of these men and these papers. He began to gain confidence in +himself—to think of himself as somebody.</p> + +<p>It was while he was gaining this knowledge—finding out +who was who and what and why that he followed up his relationship +with Angela Blue to its logical conclusion—he became +engaged to her. In spite of his connection with Ruby +Kenny, which continued unbroken after the dinner, he nevertheless +felt that he must have Angela; partly because she offered +more resistance than any girl since Stella, and partly because she +appeared to be so innocent, simple and good hearted. And she +was altogether lovely. She had a beautiful figure, which no +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +crudity of country dressmaking could conceal. She had her wonderful +wealth of hair and her large, luring, water-clear blue eyes. +She had colorful lips and cheeks, a natural grace in walking, could +dance and play the piano. Eugene looked at her and came to +the conclusion after a time that she was as beautiful as any +girl he had ever seen—that she had more soul, more emotion, +more sweetness. He tried to hold her hand, to kiss her, to take +her in his arms, but she eluded him in a careful, wary and yet +half yielding way. She wanted him to propose to her, not because +she was anxious to trap him, but because her conventional conscience +told her these things were not right outside a definite engagement +and she wanted to be engaged first. She was already +in love with him. When he pleaded, she was anxious to throw +herself in his arms in a mad embrace, but she restrained herself, +waiting. At last he flung his arms about her as she was sitting +at the piano one evening and holding her tight pressed his lips +to her cheek.</p> + +<p>She struggled to her feet. "You musn't," she said. "It isn't +right. I can't let you do that."</p> + +<p>"But I love you," he exclaimed, pursuing her. "I want to +marry you. Will you have me, Angela? Will you be mine?"</p> + +<p>She looked at him yearningly, for she realized that she had +made him do things her way—this wild, unpractical, artistic +soul. She wanted to yield then and there but something told her +to wait.</p> + +<p>"I won't tell you now," she said, "I want to talk to papa and +mamma. I haven't told them anything as yet. I want to ask +them about you, and then I'll tell you when I come again."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Angela," he pleaded.</p> + +<p>"Now, please wait, Mr. Witla," she pleaded. She had never +yet called him Eugene. "I'll come again in two or three weeks. +I want to think it over. It's better."</p> + +<p>He curbed his desire and waited, but it made all the more vigorous +and binding the illusion that she was the one woman in +the world for him. She aroused more than any woman yet a +sense of the necessity of concealing the eagerness of his senses—of +pretending something higher. He even tried to deceive himself +into the belief that this was a spiritual relationship, but underneath +all was a burning sense of her beauty, her physical charm, +her passion. She was sleeping as yet, bound in convention and +a semi-religious interpretation of life. If she were aroused! +He closed his eyes and dreamed.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_XIII" id="I_CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<p>In two weeks Angela came back, ready to plight her faith; and +Eugene was waiting, eager to receive it. He had planned to +meet her under the smoky train shed of the Chicago, Milwaukee +and St. Paul depot, to escort her to Kinsley's for dinner, to +bring her some flowers, to give her a ring he had secured in anticipation, +a ring which had cost him seventy-five dollars and +consumed quite all his savings; but she was too regardful of the +drama of the situation to meet him anywhere but in the parlor +of her aunt's house, where she could look as she wished. She +wrote that she must come down early and when he arrived at +eight of a Saturday evening she was dressed in the dress that +seemed most romantic to her, the one she had worn when she +first met him at Alexandria. She half suspected that he would +bring flowers and so wore none, and when he came with pink +roses, she added those to her corsage. She was a picture of +rosy youth and trimness and not unlike the character by whose +name he had christened her—the fair Elaine of Arthur's court. +Her yellow hair was done in a great mass that hung sensuously +about her neck; her cheeks were rosy with the elation of the +hour; her lips moist; her eyes bright. She fairly sparkled her +welcome as he entered.</p> + +<p>At the sight of her Eugene was beside himself. He was always +at the breaking point over any romantic situation. The +beauty of the idea—the beauty of love as love; the delight of +youth filled his mind as a song might, made him tense, feverish, +enthusiastic.</p> + +<p>"You're here at last, Angela!" he said, trying to keep hold of +her hands. "What word?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you musn't ask so soon," she replied. "I want to talk +to you first. I'll play you something."</p> + +<p>"No," he said, following her as she backed toward the piano. +"I want to know. I must. I can't wait."</p> + +<p>"I haven't made up my mind," she pleaded evasively. "I +want to think. You had better let me play."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," he urged.</p> + +<p>"Yes, let me play."</p> + +<p>She ignored him and swept into the composition, but all the +while she was conscious of him hovering over her—a force. At +the close, when she had been made even more emotionally responsive +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +by the suggestion of the music, he slipped his arms about her +as he had once before, but she struggled away again, slipping to +a corner and standing at bay. He liked her flushed face, her +shaken hair, the roses awry at her waist.</p> + +<p>"You must tell me now," he said, standing before her. "Will +you have me?"</p> + +<p>She dropped her head down as though doubting, and fearing +familiarities; he slipped to one knee to see her eyes. Then, looking +up, he caught her about the waist. "Will you?" he asked.</p> + +<p>She looked at his soft hair, dark and thick, his smooth pale +brow, his black eyes and even chin. She wanted to yield dramatically +and this was dramatic enough. She put her hands to +his head, bent over and looked into his eyes; her hair fell forward +about her face. "Will you be good to me?" she asked, yearning +into his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," he declared. "You know that. Oh, I love you +so."</p> + +<p>She put his head far back and laid her lips to his. There was +fire, agony in it. She held him so and then he stood up heaping +kisses upon her cheeks, her lips, her eyes, her neck.</p> + +<p>"Good God!" he exclaimed, "how wonderful you are!"</p> + +<p>The expression shocked her.</p> + +<p>"You mustn't," she said.</p> + +<p>"I can't help it. You are so beautiful!"</p> + +<p>She forgave him for the compliment.</p> + +<p>There were burning moments after this, moments in which +they clung to each other desperately, moments in which he took +her in his arms, moments in which he whispered his dreams of +the future. He took the ring he had bought and put it on her +finger. He was going to be a great artist, she was going to be +an artist's bride; he was going to paint her lovely face, her hair, +her form. If he wanted love scenes he would paint these which +they were now living together. They talked until one in the +morning and then she begged him to go, but he would not. At +two he left, only to come early the next morning to take her +to church.</p> + +<p>There ensued for Eugene a rather astonishing imaginative and +emotional period in which he grew in perception of things literary +and artistic and in dreams of what marriage with Angela +would mean to him. There was a peculiar awareness about +Eugene at this time, which was leading him into an understanding +of things. The extraordinary demands of some phases of +dogma in the matter of religion; the depths of human perversity +in the matter of morality; the fact that there were worlds within +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +worlds of our social organism; that really basically and actually +there was no fixed and definite understanding of anything by +anybody. From Mathews he learned of philosophies—Kant, +Hegel, Schopenhauer—faint inklings of what they believed. +From association with Howe he heard of current authors who +expressed new moods, Pierre Loti, Thomas Hardy, Maeterlinck, +Tolstoi. Eugene was no person to read—he was too eager to +live,—but he gained much by conversation and he liked to talk. +He began to think he could do almost anything if he tried—write +poems, write plays, write stories, paint, illustrate, etc. He used +to conceive of himself as a general, an orator, a politician—thinking +how wonderful he would be if he could set himself definitely +to any one thing. Sometimes he would recite passages from +great speeches he had composed in his imagination as he walked. +The saving grace in his whole make-up was that he really loved +to work and he would work at the things he could do. He would +not shirk his assignments or dodge his duties.</p> + +<p>After his evening class Eugene would sometimes go out to +Ruby's house, getting there by eleven and being admitted by an +arrangement with her that the front door be left open so that +he could enter quietly. More than once he found her sleeping +in her little room off the front room, arrayed in a red silk dressing +gown and curled up like a little black-haired child. She +knew he liked her art instincts and she strove to gratify them, +affecting the peculiar and the exceptional. She would place +a candle under a red shade on a small table by her bed and pretend +to have been reading, the book being usually tossed to one +side on the coverlet where he would see it lying when he came. +He would enter silently, gathering her up in his arms as she +dozed, kissing her lips to waken her, carrying her in his arms into +the front room to caress her and whisper his passion. There was +no cessation of this devotion to Ruby the while he was declaring +his love for Angela, and he really did not see that the two interfered +greatly. He loved Angela, he thought. He liked Ruby, +thought she was sweet. He felt sorry for her at times because +she was such a little thing, so unthinking. Who was going to +marry her eventually? What was going to become of her?</p> + +<p>Because of this very attitude he fascinated the girl who was +soon ready to do anything for him. She dreamed dreams of how +nice it would be if they could live in just a little flat together—all +alone. She would give up her art posing and just keep house +for him. He talked to her of this—imagining it might possibly +come to pass—realizing quite fully that it probably wouldn't. +He wanted Angela for his wife, but if he had money he thought +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> +Ruby and he might keep a separate place—somehow. What +Angela would think of this did not trouble him—only that she +should not know. He never breathed anything to either of the +other, but there were times when he wondered what they would +think each of the other if they knew. Money, money, that was +the great deterrent. For lack of money he could not marry anybody +at present—neither Angela nor Ruby nor anyone else. His +first duty, he thought, was so to place himself financially that he +could talk seriously to any girl. That was what Angela expected +of him, he knew. That was what he would have to have if he +wanted Ruby.</p> + +<p>There came a time when the situation began to grow irksome. +He had reached the point where he began to understand how +limited his life was. Mathews and Howe, who drew more +money, were able to live better than he. They went out to midnight +suppers, theatre parties, and expeditions to the tenderloin +section (not yet known by that name). They had time to browse +about the sections of the city which had peculiar charms for them +as Bohemians after dark—the levee, as a certain section of the +Chicago River was called; Gambler's Row in South Clark +Street; the Whitechapel Club, as a certain organization of newspaper +men was called, and other places frequented by the literati +and the more talented of the newspaper makers. Eugene, first +because of a temperament which was introspective and reflective, +and second because of his æsthetic taste, which was offended by +much that he thought was tawdry and cheap about these places, +and third by what he considered his lack of means, took practically +no part in these diversions. While he worked in his class +he heard of these things—usually the next day—and they were +amplified and made more showy and interesting by the narrative +powers of the participants. Eugene hated coarse, vulgar women +and ribald conduct, but he felt that he was not even permitted +to see them at close range had he wanted to. It took money to +carouse and he did not have it.</p> + +<p>Perhaps, because of his youth and a certain air of unsophistication +and impracticability which went with him, his employers +were not inclined to consider money matters in connection with +him. They seemed to think he would work for little and would +not mind. He was allowed to drift here six months without a +sign of increase, though he really deserved more than any one of +those who worked with him during the same period. He was not +the one to push his claims personally but he grew restless and +slightly embittered under the strain and ached to be free, though +his work was as effective as ever.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> +It was this indifference on their part which fixed his determination +to leave Chicago, although Angela, his art career, his +natural restlessness and growing judgment of what he might +possibly become were deeper incentives. Angela haunted him as +a dream of future peace. If he could marry her and settle down +he would be happy. He felt now, having fairly satiated himself +in the direction of Ruby, that he might leave her. She really +would not care so very much. Her sentiments were not deep +enough. Still, he knew she would care, and when he began +going less regularly to her home, really becoming indifferent to +what she did in the artists' world, he began also to feel ashamed +of himself, for he knew that it was a cruel thing to do. He saw +by her manner when he absented himself that she was hurt and +that she knew he was growing cold.</p> + +<p>"Are you coming out Sunday night?" she asked him once, wistfully.</p> + +<p>"I can't," he apologized; "I have to work."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know how you have to work. But go on. I don't +mind, I know."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Ruby, how you talk. I can't always be here."</p> + +<p>"I know what it is, Eugene," she replied. "You don't care +any more. Oh, well, don't mind me."</p> + +<p>"Now, sweet, don't talk like that," he would say, but after +he was gone she would stand by her window and look out upon +the shabby neighborhood and sigh sadly. He was more to her +than anyone she had met yet, but she was not the kind that +cried.</p> + +<p>"He is going to leave me," was her one thought. "He is +going to leave me."</p> + +<p>Goldfarb had watched Eugene a long time, was interested in +him, realized that he had talent. He was leaving shortly to +take a better Sunday-Editorship himself on a larger paper, and +he thought Eugene was wasting his time and ought to be told +so.</p> + +<p>"I think you ought to try to get on one of the bigger papers +here, Witla," he said to him one Saturday afternoon when things +were closing up. "You'll never amount to anything on this +paper. It isn't big enough. You ought to get on one of the big +ones. Why don't you try the <i>Tribune</i>—or else go to New York? +I think you ought to do magazine work."</p> + +<p>Eugene drank it all in. "I've been thinking of that," he said. +"I think I'll go to New York. I'll be better off there."</p> + +<p>"I would either do one or the other. If you stay too long +in a place like this it's apt to do you harm."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> +Eugene went back to his desk with the thought of change +ringing in his ears. He would go. He would save up his money +until he had one hundred and fifty or two hundred dollars and +then try his luck in the East. He would leave Ruby and Angela, +the latter only temporarily, the former for good very likely, +though he only vaguely confessed this to himself. He would +make some money and then he would come back and marry his +dream from Blackwood. Already his imaginative mind ran forward +to a poetic wedding in a little country church, with Angela +standing beside him in white. Then he would bring her +back with him to New York—he, Eugene Witla, already famous +in the East. Already the lure of the big eastern city was in +his mind, its palaces, its wealth, its fame. It was the great +world he knew, this side of Paris and London. He would go +to it now, shortly. What would he be there? How great? +How soon?</p> + +<p>So he dreamed.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_XIV" id="I_CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<p>Once this idea of New York was fixed in his mind as a +necessary step in his career, it was no trouble for him to +carry it out. He had already put aside sixty dollars in a savings +bank since he had given Angela the ring and he decided to +treble it as quickly as possible and then start. He fancied that +all he needed was just enough to live on for a little while until +he could get a start. If he could not sell drawings to the magazines +he might get a place on a newspaper and anyhow he felt +confident that he could live. He communicated to Howe and +Mathews his intention of going East pretty soon and aroused +in their respective bosoms the emotions which were characteristic +of each. Howe, envious from the start, was glad to have him off +the paper, but regretful of the stellar career which his determination +foreboded. He half suspected now that Eugene would do +something exceptional—he was so loose in his moods—so eccentric. +Mathews was glad for Eugene and a little sorry for himself. +He wished he had Eugene's courage, his fire, his talent.</p> + +<p>"You'll make good when you get down there," Mathews said +to him one afternoon when Howe was out of the room, for he +realized that the latter was jealous. "You've got the stuff. +Some of the work you have done here will give you a fine introduction. +I wish I were going."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you?" suggested Eugene.</p> + +<p>"Who? me? What good would it do me? I'm not ready +yet. I can't do that sort of stuff. I might go down some time."</p> + +<p>"I think you do good work," said Eugene generously. He +really did not believe it was good art, but it was fair newspaper +sketching.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, you don't mean that, Witla," replied Mathews. "I +know what I can do."</p> + +<p>Eugene was silent.</p> + +<p>"I wish when you get down there," went on Mathews, "you +would write us occasionally. I would like to know how you are +getting along."</p> + +<p>"Sure, I'll write," replied Eugene, flattered by the interest +his determination had aroused. "Sure I will." But he never +did.</p> + +<p>In Ruby and Angela he had two problems to adjust which +were not so easy. In the one case it was sympathy, regret, sorrow +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> +for her helplessness, her hopelessness. She was so sweet and +lovely in her way, but not quite big enough mentally or emotionally +for him. Could he really live with her if he wanted +to? Could he substitute her for a girl like Angela? Could he? +And now he had involved Angela, for since her return to tell +him that she accepted him as her affianced lover, there had been +some scenes between them in which a new standard of emotion +had been set for him. This girl who looked so simple and innocent +was burning at times with a wild fire. It snapped in her +eyes when Eugene undid her wonderful hair and ran his hands +through its heavy strands. "The Rhine Maiden," he would say. +"Little Lorelei! You are like the mermaid waiting to catch +the young lover in the strands of her hair. You are Marguerite +and I Faust. You are a Dutch Gretchen. I love this wonderful +hair when it is braided. Oh, sweet, you perfect creature! +I will put you in a painting yet. I will make you famous."</p> + +<p>Angela thrilled to this. She burned in a flame which was of +his fanning. She put her lips to his in long hot kisses, sat on +his knee and twined her hair about his neck; rubbed his face with +it as one might bathe a face in strands of silk. Finding such a +response he went wild, kissed her madly, would have been still +more masterful had she not, at the slightest indication of his +audacity, leaped from his embrace, not opposition but self protection +in her eyes. She pretended to think better of his love, +and Eugene, checked by her ideal of him, tried to restrain himself. +He did manage to desist because he was sure that he +could not do what he wanted to. Daring such as that would +end her love. So they wrestled in affection.</p> + +<p>It was the fall following his betrothal to Angela that he +actually took his departure. He had drifted through the summer, +pondering. He had stayed away from Ruby more and +more, and finally left without saying good-bye to her, though +he thought up to the last that he intended to go out and see her.</p> + +<p>As for Angela, when it came to parting from her, he was in +a depressed and downcast mood. He thought now that he did +not really want to go to New York, but was being drawn by +fate. There was no money for him in the West; they could not +live on what he could earn there. Hence he must go and in +doing so must lose her. It looked very tragic.</p> + +<p>Out at her aunt's house, where she came for the Saturday and +Sunday preceding his departure, he walked the floor with her +gloomily, counted the lapse of the hours after which he would +be with her no more, pictured the day when he would return +successful to fetch her. Angela had a faint foreboding fear of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +the events which might intervene. She had read stories of artists +who had gone to the city and had never come back. Eugene +seemed such a wonderful person, she might not hold him; and +yet he had given her his word and he was madly in love with +her—no doubt of that. That fixed, passionate, yearning look in +his eyes—what did it mean if not enduring, eternal love? Life +had brought her a great treasure—a great love and an artist for +a lover.</p> + +<p>"Go, Eugene!" she cried at last tragically, almost melodramatically. +His face was in her hands. "I will wait for you. +You need never have one uneasy thought. When you are ready +I will be here, only, come soon—you will, won't you?"</p> + +<p>"Will I!" he declared, kissing her, "will I? Look at me. +Don't you know?"</p> + +<p>"Yes! Yes! Yes!" she exclaimed, "of course I know. Oh, +yes! yes!"</p> + +<p>The rest was a passionate embrace. And then they parted. +He went out brooding over the subtlety and the tragedy of life. +The sharp October stars saddened him more. It was a wonderful +world but bitter to endure at times. Still it could be endured +and there was happiness and peace in store for him probably. +He and Angela would find it together living in each other's +company, living in each other's embrace and by each other's +kisses. It must be so. The whole world believed it—even he, +after Stella and Margaret and Ruby and Angela. Even he.</p> + +<p>The train which bore him to New York bore a very meditative +young man. As it pulled out through the great railroad +yards of the city, past the shabby back yards of the houses, the +street crossings at grade, the great factories and elevators, he +thought of that other time when he had first ventured in the city. +How different! Then he was so green, so raw. Since then +he had become a newspaper artist, he could write, he could find +his tongue with women, he knew a little something about the +organization of the world. He had not saved any money, true, +but he had gone through the art school, had given Angela a diamond +ring, had this two hundred dollars with which he was +venturing to reconnoitre the great social metropolis of the country. +He was passing Fifty-seventh Street; he recognized the +neighborhood he traversed so often in visiting Ruby. He had +not said good-bye to her and there in the distance were the rows of +commonplace, two family frame dwellings, one of which she +occupied with her foster parents. Poor little Ruby! and she liked +him. It was a shame, but what was he to do about it? He didn't +care for her. It really hurt him to think and then he tried not +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> +to remember. These tragedies of the world could not be healed +by thinking.</p> + +<p>The train passed out into the flat fields of northern Indiana +and as little country towns flashed past he thought of Alexandria +and how he had pulled up his stakes and left it. What was +Jonas Lyle doing and John Summers? Myrtle wrote that +she was going to be married in the spring. She had delayed +solely because she wanted to delay. He thought sometimes that +Myrtle was a little like himself, fickle in her moods. He was +sure he would never want to go back to Alexandria except for +a short visit, and yet the thought of his father and his mother +and his old home were sweet to him. His father! How little +he knew of the real world!</p> + +<p>As they passed out of Pittsburgh he saw for the first time +the great mountains, raising their heads in solemn majesty in +the dark, and great lines of coke ovens, flaming red tongues of +fire. He saw men working, and sleeping towns succeeding one +another. What a great country America was! What a great +thing to be an artist here! Millions of people and no vast +artistic voice to portray these things—these simple dramatic +things like the coke ovens in the night. If he could only do it! +If he could only stir the whole country, so that his name would +be like that of Doré in France or Verestchagin in Russia. If he +could but get fire into his work, the fire he felt!</p> + +<p>He got into his berth after a time and looked out on the dark +night and the stars, longing, and then he dozed. When he +awoke again the train had already passed Philadelphia. It +was morning and the cars were speeding across the flat meadows +toward Trenton. He arose and dressed, watching the array of +towns the while, Trenton, New Brunswick, Metuchen, Elizabeth. +Somehow this country was like Illinois, flat. After Newark +they rushed out upon a great meadow and he caught the sense +of the sea. It was beyond this. These were tide-water streams, +the Passaic and the Hackensack, with small ships and coal and +brick barges tied at the water side. The thrill of something +big overtook him as the brakeman began to call "Jersey City," +and as he stepped out into the vast train shed his heart misgave +him a little. He was all alone in New York. It was wealthy, +cold and critical. How should he prosper here? He walked +out through the gates to where low arches concealed ferry boats, +and in another moment it was before him, sky line, bay, the +Hudson, the Statue of Liberty, ferry boats, steamers, liners, all +in a grey mist of fierce rain and the tugs and liners blowing +mournfully upon great whistles. It was something he could +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> +never have imagined without seeing it, and this swish of real +salt water, rolling in heavy waves, spoke to him as music might, +exalting his soul. What a wonderful thing this was, this sea—where +ships were and whales and great mysteries. What a +wonderful thing New York was, set down by it, surrounded by +it, this metropolis of the country. Here was the sea; yonder were +the great docks that held the vessels that sailed to the ports of +all the world. He saw them—great grey and black hulls, tied +to long piers jutting out into the water. He listened to the +whistles, the swish of the water, saw the circling gulls, realized +emotionally the mass of people. Here were Jay Gould and +Russell Sage and the Vanderbilts and Morgan—all alive and +all here. Wall Street, Fifth Avenue, Madison Square, Broadway—he +knew of these by reputation. How would he do here—how +fare? Would the city ever acclaim him as it did some? He +looked wide eyed, with an open heart, with intense and immense +appreciation. Well, he was going to enter, going to try. He +could do that—perhaps, perhaps. But he felt lonely. He wished +he were back with Angela where her soft arms could shut him +safe. He wished he might feel her hands on his cheeks, his hair. +He would not need to fight alone then. But now he was alone, +and the city was roaring about him, a great noise like the sea. +He must enter and do battle.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_XV" id="I_CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<p>Not knowing routes or directions in New York, Eugene +took a Desbrosses Street ferry, and coming into West +Street wandered along that curious thoroughfare staring at the +dock entrances. Manhattan Island seemed a little shabby to +him from this angle but he thought that although physically, +perhaps, it might not be distinguished, there must be other things +which made it wonderful. Later when he saw the solidity of +it, the massed houses, the persistent streams of people, the crush +of traffic, it dawned on him that mere humanity in packed numbers +makes a kind of greatness, and this was the island's first +characteristic. There were others, like the prevailing lowness +of the buildings in its old neighborhoods, the narrowness of +the streets in certain areas, the shabbiness of brick and stone +when they have seen an hundred years of weather, which struck +him as curious or depressing. He was easily touched by exterior +conditions.</p> + +<p>As he wandered he kept looking for some place where he might +like to live, some house that had a yard or a tree. At length +he found a row of houses in lower Seventh Avenue with an +array of iron balconies in front which appealed to him. He +applied here and in one house found a room for four dollars +which he thought he had better take for the present. It was +cheaper than any hotel. His hostess was a shabby woman in +black who made scarcely any impression on him as a personality, +merely giving him a thought as to what a dreary thing it was to +keep roomers and the room itself was nothing, a commonplace, +but he had a new world before him and all his interests were outside. +He wanted to see this city. He deposited his grip and +sent for his trunk and then took to the streets, having come to +see and hear things which would be of advantage to him.</p> + +<p>He went about this early relationship to the city in the right +spirit. For a little while he did not try to think what he would +do, but struck out and walked, here, there and everywhere, this +very first day down Broadway to the City Hall and up Broadway +from 14th to 42nd street the same night. Soon he knew all +Third Avenue and the Bowery, the wonders of Fifth Avenue and +Riverside Drive, the beauties of the East River, the Battery, +Central Park and the lower East Side. He sought out quickly +the wonders of metropolitan life—its crowds at dinner and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> +theatre time in Broadway, its tremendous throngs morning and +afternoon in the shopping district, its amazing world of carriages +in Fifth Avenue and Central Park. He had marveled at wealth +and luxury in Chicago, but here it took his breath away. It +was obviously so much more fixed, so definite and comprehensible. +Here one felt intuitively the far reaches which separate +the ordinary man from the scion of wealth. It curled him up +like a frozen leaf, dulled his very soul, and gave him a clear +sense of his position in the social scale. He had come here with +a pretty high estimate of himself, but daily, as he looked, +he felt himself crumbling. What was he? What was art? +What did the city care? It was much more interested in other +things, in dressing, eating, visiting, riding abroad. The lower +part of the island was filled with cold commercialism which +frightened him. In the upper half, which concerned only women +and show—a voluptuous sybaritism—caused him envy. He +had but two hundred dollars with which to fight his way, and +this was the world he must conquer.</p> + +<p>Men of Eugene's temperament are easily depressed. He first +gorged the spectacle of life and then suffered from mental indigestion. +He saw too much of it too quickly. He wandered +about for weeks, looking in the shop windows, the libraries, +the museums, the great streets, growing all the while more despondent. +At night he would return to his bare room and indite +long epistles to Angela, describing what he had seen and telling +her of his undying love for her—largely because he had no other +means of ridding himself of his superabundant vitality and +moods. They were beautiful letters, full of color and feeling, +but to Angela they gave a false impression of emotion and sincerity +because they appeared to be provoked by absence from +her. In part of course they were, but far more largely they were +the result of loneliness and the desire for expression which this +vast spectacle of life itself incited. He also sent her some tentative +sketches of things he had seen—a large crowd in the dark +at 34th Street; a boat off 86th Street in the East River in the +driving rain; a barge with cars being towed by a tug. He could +not think exactly what to do with these things at that time, +but he wanted to try his hand at illustrating for the magazines. +He was a little afraid of these great publications, however, for +now that he was on the ground with them his art did not appear +so significant.</p> + +<p>It was during the first few weeks that he received his only +letter from Ruby. His parting letter to her, written when he +reached New York, had been one of those makeshift affairs which +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +faded passion indites. He was so sorry he had to leave without +seeing her. He had intended to come out but the rush of preparation +at the last moment, and so forth; he hoped to come back +to Chicago one of these days and he would look her up. He +still loved her, but it was necessary for him to leave—to come +where the greatest possibilities were. "I remember how sweet +you were when I first saw you," he added. "I shall never forget +my first impressions, little Ruby."</p> + +<p>It was cruel to add this touch of remembrance, but the artist +in him could not refrain. It cut Ruby as a double edged sword, +for she understood that he cared well enough that way—æsthetically. +It was not her but beauty that he loved, and her particular +beauty had lost its appeal.</p> + +<p>She wrote after a time, intending to be defiant, indifferent, +but she really could not be. She tried to think of something sharp +to say, but finally put down the simple truth.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Dear Eugene:" she wrote, "I got your note several weeks ago, but +I could not bring myself to answer it before this. I know everything +is over between us and that is all right, for I suppose it has to be. +You couldn't love any woman long, I think. I know what you say +about your having to go to New York to broaden your field is true. +You ought to, but I'm sorry you didn't come out. You might have. +Still I don't blame you, Eugene. It isn't much different from what +has been going on for some time. I have cared but I'll get over that, I +know, and I won't ever think hard of you. Won't you return me the +notes I have sent you from time to time and my pictures? You won't +want them now.<br /><br /> +"<span class="smcap">Ruby.</span>"<br /> +</p></div> + +<p>There was a little blank space on the paper and then:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"I stood by the window last night and looked out on the street. The +moon was shining and those dead trees were waving in the wind. I +saw the moon on that pool of water over in the field. It looked like +silver. Oh, Eugene, I wish I were dead."</p></div> + +<p>He jumped up as he read these words and clenched the letter +in his hands. The pathos of it all cut him to the quick, raised his +estimate of her, made him feel as if he had made a mistake in +leaving her. He really cared for her after all. She was sweet. +If she were here now he could live with her. She might as well +be a model in New York as in Chicago. He was on the verge +of writing this, when one of the long, almost daily epistles +Angela was sending arrived and changed his mood. He did not +see how, in the face of so great and clean a love as hers, he could +go on with Ruby. His affection had obviously been dying. +Should he try to revive it now?</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +This conflict of emotions was so characteristic of Eugene's +nature, that had he been soundly introspective, he would have +seen that he was an idealist by temperament, in love with the +æsthetic, in love with love, and that there was no permanent +faith in him for anybody—except the impossible she.</p> + +<p>As it was, he wrote Ruby a letter breathing regret and sorrow +but not inviting her to come. He could not have supported +her long if she had, he thought. Besides he was anxious +to secure Angela. So that affair lapsed.</p> + +<p>In the meantime he visited the magazine offices. On leaving +Chicago he had put in the bottom of his trunk a number of drawings +which he had done for the <i>Globe</i>—his sketches of the Chicago +River, of Blue Island Avenue, of which he had once made +a study as a street, of Goose Island and of the Lake front. +There were some street scenes, too, all forceful in the peculiar +massing of their blacks, the unexpected, almost flashing, use of a +streak of white at times. There was emotion in them, a sense +of life. He should have been appreciated at once, but, oddly, +there was just enough of the radically strange about what he did +to make his work seem crude, almost coarse. He drew a man's +coat with a single dash of his pen. He indicated a face by a +spot. If you looked close there was seldom any detail, frequently +none at all. From the praise he had received at the art +school and from Mathews and Goldfarb he was slowly coming to +the conclusion that he had a way of his own. Being so individual +he was inclined to stick to it. He walked with an air of conviction +which had nothing but his own belief in himself to back +it up, and it was not an air which drew anybody to him. When +he showed his pictures at the <i>Century</i>, <i>Harper's</i>, <i>Scribner's</i>, +they were received with an air of weary consideration. +Dozens of magnificent drawings were displayed on their walls +signed by men whom Eugene now knew to be leaders in the +illustration world. He returned to his room convinced that he +had made no impression at all. They must be familiar with artists +a hundred times better than himself.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact Eugene was simply overawed by the material +face of things. These men whose pictures he saw displayed +on the walls of the art and editorial rooms of the magazines +were really not, in many instances, any better than himself, if as +good. They had the advantage of solid wood frames and artistic +acceptance. He was a long way as yet from magazine distinction +but the work he did later had no more of the fire than had this +early stuff. It was a little broader in treatment, a little less intolerant +of detail, but no more vigorous if as much so. The +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +various art directors were weary of smart young artists showing +drawings. A little suffering was good for them in the beginning. +So Eugene was incontinently turned away with a little +faint praise which was worse than opposition. He sank very +low in spirits.</p> + +<p>There were still the smaller magazines and the newspapers, +however, and he hunted about faithfully, trying to get something +to do. From one or two of the smaller magazines, he +secured commissions, after a time, three or four drawings for +thirty-five dollars; and from that had to be extracted models' +fees. He had to have a room where he could work as an artist, +receiving models to pose, and he finally found one in West 14th +Street, a back bedroom, looking out over an open court and with +a public stair which let all come who might without question. +This cost him twenty-five dollars a month, but he thought he +had better risk it. If he could get a few commissions he could +live.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_XVI" id="I_CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<p>The art world of New York is peculiar. It was then and +for some time after, broken up into cliques with scarcely +any unity. There was a world of sculptors, for instance, in +which some thirty or forty sculptors had part—but they knew +each other slightly, criticised each other severely and retired for +the most part into a background of relatives and friends. There +was a painting world, as distinguished from an illustrating +world, in which perhaps a thousand alleged artists, perhaps more, +took part. Most of these were men and women who had some +ability—enough to have their pictures hung at the National +Academy of Design exhibition—to sell some pictures, get some +decorative work to do, paint some portraits. There were studio +buildings scattered about various portions of the city; in Washington +Square; in Ninth and Tenth Streets; in odd places, such +as Macdougal Alley and occasional cross streets from Washington +Square to Fifty-ninth Street, which were filled with painters, +illustrators, sculptors and craftsmen in art generally. This painting +world had more unity than the world of sculptors and, in a +way, included the latter. There were several art clubs—the +Salmagundi, the Kit-Kat and the Lotus—and there were a number +of exhibitions, ink, water color, oil, with their reception +nights where artists could meet and exchange the courtesies and +friendship of their world. In addition to this there were little +communal groups such as those who resided in the Tenth Street +studios; the Twenty-third Street Y. M. C. A.; the Van Dyck +studios, and so on. It was possible to find little crowds, now and +then, that harmonized well enough for a time and to get into a +group, if, to use a colloquialism, one <i>belonged</i>. If you did not, +art life in New York might be a very dreary thing and one +might go a long time without finding just the particular crowd +with which to associate.</p> + +<p>Beside the painting world there was the illustrating world, +made up of beginners and those who had established themselves +firmly in editorial favor. These were not necessarily a part of +the painting or sculpture worlds and yet, in spirit, were allied +to them, had their clubs also, and their studios were in the various +neighborhoods where the painters and sculptors were. The +only difference was that in the case of the embryo illustrators +they were to be found living three or four in one studio, partly +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> +because of the saving in expense, but also because of the love of +companionship and because they could hearten and correct one +another in their work. A number of such interesting groups +were in existence when Eugene arrived, but of course he did +not know of them.</p> + +<p>It takes time for the beginner to get a hearing anywhere. We +all have to serve an apprenticeship, whatever field we enter. +Eugene had talent and determination, but no experience, no +savoir faire, no circle of friends and acquaintances. The whole +city was strange and cold, and if he had not immediately fallen +desperately in love with it as a spectacle he would have been +unconscionably lonely and unhappy. As it was the great fresh +squares, such as Washington, Union and Madison; the great +streets, such as Broadway, Fifth Avenue and Sixth Avenue; the +great spectacles, such as the Bowery at night, the East River, +the water front, the Battery, all fascinated him with an unchanging +glamor.</p> + +<p>He was hypnotized by the wonder of this thing—the beauty of +it. Such seething masses of people! such whirlpools of life! The +great hotels, the opera, the theatres, the restaurants, all gripped +him with a sense of beauty. These lovely women in magnificent +gowns; these swarms of cabs, with golden eyes, like monstrous +insects; this ebb and surge of life at morning and evening, made +him forget his loneliness. He had no money to spend, no immediate +hope of a successful career, he could walk these streets, +look in these windows, admire these beautiful women; thrill at +the daily newspaper announcements of almost hourly successes in +one field or another. Here and there in the news an author +had made a great success with a book; a scientist with a discovery; +a philosopher with a new theory; a financier with an investment. +There was news of great plays being put on; great +actors and actresses coming from abroad; great successes being +made by débutantes in society; great movements forwarded generally. +Youth and ambition had the call—he saw that. It was +only a question of time, if you had talent, when you would +get your hearing. He longed ardently for his but he had no +feeling that it was coming to him quickly, so he got the blues. +It was a long road to travel.</p> + +<p>One of his pet diversions these days and nights was to walk +the streets in rain or fog or snow. The city appealed to him, wet +or white, particularly the public squares. He saw Fifth Avenue +once in a driving snowstorm and under sputtering arc lights, and +he hurried to his easel next morning to see if he could not put +it down in black and white. It was unsuccessful, or at least +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> +he felt so, for after an hour of trying he threw it aside in disgust. +But these spectacles were drawing him. He was wanting to +do them—wanting to see them shown somewhere in color. Possible +success was a solace at a time when all he could pay for a +meal was fifteen cents and he had no place to go and not a soul +with whom to talk.</p> + +<p>It was an interesting phase of Eugene's character that he +had a passion for financial independence. He might have written +home from Chicago at times when he was hard pressed; he +might have borrowed some money from his father now, but preferred +to earn it—to appear to be further along than he was. +If anyone had asked him he would have said he was doing fine. +Practically he so wrote to Angela, giving as an excuse for further +delay that he wanted to wait until he had ample means. +He was trying all this time to make his two hundred dollars go +as far as possible and to add to it by any little commissions he +could get, however small. He figured his expenses down to +ten dollars a week and managed to stay within that sum.</p> + +<p>The particular building in which he had settled was really not +a studio building but an old, run-down boarding and apartment +house turned partially to uses of trade. The top floor contained +three fair sized rooms and two hall bedrooms, all occupied by +lonely individuals plying some craft or other. Eugene's next +door neighbor chanced to be a hack illustrator, who had had his +training in Boston and had set up his easel here in the hope of +making a living. There were not many exchanges of courtesies +between them at first, although, the door being open the second +day he arrived, he saw that an artist worked there, for the easel +was visible.</p> + +<p>No models applying at first he decided to appeal to the Art +Students' League. He called on the Secretary and was given +the names of four, who replied to postal cards from him. One +he selected, a young Swedish American girl who looked somewhat +like the character in the story he had in mind. She was neat +and attractive, with dark hair, a straight nose and pointed chin, +and Eugene immediately conceived a liking for her. He was +ashamed of his surroundings, however, and consequently diffident. +This particular model was properly distant, and he finished +his pictures with as much expedition and as little expense as he +possibly could.</p> + +<p>Eugene was not given to scraping odd acquaintances, though +he made friends fast enough when the balance of intellect was +right. In Chicago he had become friendly with several young +artists as a result of working with them at the Institute, but here +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +he knew no one, having come without introductions. He did +become acquainted with his neighbor, Philip Shotmeyer. He +wanted to find out about local art life from him, but Shotmeyer +was not brilliant, and could not supply him with more +than minor details of what Eugene desired to know. Through +him he learnt a little of studio regions, art personalities; the +fact that young beginners worked in groups. Shotmeyer had +been in such a group the year before, though why he was alone +now he did not say. He sold drawings to some of the minor +magazines, better magazines than Eugene had yet had dealings +with. One thing he did at once for Eugene which was very +helpful: he admired his work. He saw, as had others before +him, something of his peculiar distinction as an artist, attended +every show and one day he gave him a suggestion which was +the beginning of Eugene's successful magazine career. Eugene +was working on one of his street scenes—a task which he invariably +essayed when he had nothing else to do. Shotmeyer +had drifted in and was following the strokes of his brush as he +attempted to portray a mass of East Side working girls flooding +the streets after six o'clock. There were dark walls of +buildings, a flaring gas lamp or two, some yellow lighted shop +windows, and many shaded, half seen faces—bare suggestions +of souls and pulsing life.</p> + +<p>"Say," said Shotmeyer at one point, "that kind o' looks like +the real thing to me. I've seen a crowd like that."</p> + +<p>"Have you?" replied Eugene.</p> + +<p>"You ought to be able to get some magazine to use that as a +frontispiece. Why don't you try <i>Truth</i> with that?"</p> + +<p>"Truth" was a weekly which Eugene, along with many others +in the West, had admired greatly because it ran a double +page color insert every week and occasionally used scenes of +this character. Somehow he always needed a shove of this kind +to make him act when he was drifting. He put more enthusiasm +into his work because of Shotmeyer's remark, and when it +was done decided to carry it to the office of <i>Truth</i>. The Art +Director approved it on sight, though he said nothing, but carried +it in to the Editor.</p> + +<p>"Here's a thing that I consider a find in its way."</p> + +<p>He set it proudly upon the editorial desk.</p> + +<p>"Say," said the Editor, laying down a manuscript, "that's +the real thing, isn't it? Who did that?"</p> + +<p>"A young fellow by the name of Witla, who has just blown +in here. He looks like the real thing to me."</p> + +<p>"Say," went on the Editor, "look at the suggestion of faces +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> +back there! What? Reminds me just a little of the masses +in Doré stuff—It's good, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"It's fine," echoed the Art Director. "I think he's a comer, +if nothing happens to him. We ought to get a few centre pages +out of him."</p> + +<p>"How much does he want for this?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he doesn't know. He'll take almost anything. I'll give +him seventy-five dollars."</p> + +<p>"That's all right," said the Editor as the Art Director took +the drawing down. "There's something new there. You ought +to hang on to him."</p> + +<p>"I will," replied his associate. "He's young yet. He doesn't +want to be encouraged too much."</p> + +<p>He went out, pulling a solemn countenance.</p> + +<p>"I like this fairly well," he said. "We may be able to find +room for it. I'll send you a check shortly if you'll let me have +your address."</p> + +<p>Eugene gave it. His heart was beating a gay tattoo in his +chest. He did not think anything of price, in fact it did not occur +to him. All that was in his mind was the picture as a double +page spread. So he had really sold one after all and to <i>Truth</i>! +Now he could honestly say he had made some progress. Now +he could write Angela and tell her. He could send her copies +when it came out. He could really have something to point to +after this and best of all, now he knew he could do street scenes.</p> + +<p>He went out into the street treading not the grey stone pavement +but air. He threw back his head and breathed deep. He +thought of other scenes like this which he could do. His dreams +were beginning to be realized—he, Eugene Witla, the painter +of a double page spread in <i>Truth</i>! Already he was doing a +whole series in his imagination, all he had ever dreamed of. He +wanted to run and tell Shotmeyer—to buy him a good meal. +He almost loved him, commonplace hack that he was—because +he had suggested to him the right thing to do.</p> + +<p>"Say, Shotmeyer," he said, sticking his head in that worthy's +door, "you and I eat tonight. <i>Truth</i> took that drawing."</p> + +<p>"Isn't that fine," said his floor-mate, without a trace of envy. +"Well, I'm glad. I thought they'd like it."</p> + +<p>Eugene could have cried. Poor Shotmeyer! He wasn't a +good artist, but he had a good heart. He would never forget +him.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_XVII" id="I_CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<p>This one significant sale with its subsequent check of seventy-five +dollars and later the appearance of the picture in +color, gave Eugene such a lift in spirit that he felt, for the time +being, as though his art career had reached a substantial basis, +and he began to think of going to Blackwood to visit Angela. +But first he must do some more work.</p> + +<p>He concentrated his attention on several additional scenes, doing +a view of Greeley Square in a sopping drizzle, and a picture of +an L train speeding up the Bowery on its high, thin trestle of +steel. He had an eye for contrasts, picking out lights and shadows +sharply, making wonderful blurs that were like colors in +precious stones, confused and suggestive. He took one of these +after a month to <i>Truth</i>, and again the Art Director was his +victim. He tried to be indifferent, but it was hard. The young +man had something that he wanted.</p> + +<p>"You might show me anything else you do in this line," he +said. "I can use a few if they come up to these two."</p> + +<p>Eugene went away with his head in the air. He was beginning +to get the courage of his ability.</p> + +<p>It takes quite a number of drawings at seventy-five and one +hundred dollars each to make a living income, and artists were +too numerous to make anyone's opportunity for immediate distinction +easy. Eugene waited months to see his first drawing +come out. He stayed away from the smaller magazines in the +hope that he would soon be able to contribute to the larger ones, +but they were not eagerly seeking new artists. He met, through +Shotmeyer, two artists who were living in one studio in Waverly +Place and took a great liking to them. One of them, +McHugh, was an importation from Wyoming with delicious +stories of mountain farming and mining; the other, Smite, was a +fisher lad from Nova Scotia. McHugh, tall and lean, with a +face that looked like that of a raw yokel, but with some gleam +of humor and insight in the eyes which redeemed it instantly, +was Eugene's first choice of a pleasing, genial personality. Joseph +Smite had a sense of the sea about him. He was short and +stout, and rather solidly put together, like a blacksmith. He had +big hands and feet, a big mouth, big, bony eye sockets and +coarse brown hair. When he talked, ordinarily, it was with a +slow, halting air and when he smiled or laughed it was with +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +his whole face. When he became excited or gay something +seemed to happen distinctly to every part of his body. His face +became a curious cross-hatch of genial lines. His tongue loosened +and he talked fast. He had a habit of emphasizing his language +with oaths on these occasions—numerous and picturesque, +for he had worked with sea-faring men and had accumulated +a vast vocabulary of picturesque expressions. They were vacant +of evil intent so far as he was concerned, for there was +no subtlety or guile in him. He was kindly and genial all +through. Eugene wanted to be friendly and struck a gay relationship +with these two. He found that he got along excellently +well with them and could swap humorous incidents and +character touches by the hour. It was some months before he +could actually say that he was intimate with them, but he began +to visit them regularly and after a time they called on him.</p> + +<p>It was during this year that he came to know several models +passingly well, to visit the various art exhibitions, to be taken +up by Hudson Dula, the Art Director of <i>Truth</i> and invited +to two or three small dinners given to artists and girls. He did +not find anyone he liked exceptionally well barring one Editor +of a rather hopeless magazine called <i>Craft</i>, devoted to art +subjects, a young blond, of poetic temperament, who saw in him +a spirit of beauty and tried to make friends with him. Eugene +responded cheerfully and thereafter Richard Wheeler was a +visitor at his studio from time to time. He was not making +enough to house himself much better these days, but he did manage +to buy a few plaster casts and to pick up a few nice things +in copper and brass for his studio. His own drawings, his +street scenes, were hung here and there. The way in which +the exceptionally clever looked at them convinced him by degrees +that he had something big to say.</p> + +<p>It was while he was settling himself in this atmosphere—the +spring of the second year—that he decided to go back and visit +Angela and incidentally Alexandria and Chicago. He had been +away now sixteen months, had not seen anyone who had won his +affections or alienated him from his love of Angela. He wrote +in March that he thought he would be coming in May or June. +He did get away in July—a season when the city was suffering +from a wave of intense heat. He had not done so much—illustrated +eight or ten stories and drawn four double page pictures +for <i>Truth</i>, one of which had appeared; but he was getting +along. Just as he was starting for Chicago and Blackwood a +second one was put on the news-stand and he proudly carried a +copy of it with him on the train. It was the Bowery by night, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> +with the L train rushing overhead and, as reproduced, it had +color and life. He felt intensely proud and knew that Angela +would also. She had written him such a glowing appreciation +of the East Side picture called "Six O'clock."</p> + +<p>As he rode he dreamed.</p> + +<p>He reached it at last, the long stretch between New York +and Chicago traversed; he arrived in the Lake city in the afternoon, +and without pausing to revisit the scenes of his earlier efforts +took a five o'clock train for Blackwood. It was sultry, and +on the way heavy thunder clouds gathered and broke in a short, +splendid summer rain. The trees and grass were thoroughly +wet and the dust of the roads was laid. There was a refreshing +coolness about the air which caressed the weary flesh. Little +towns nestling among green trees came into view and passed +again, and at last Blackwood appeared. It was smaller than +Alexandria, but not so different. Like the other it was marked +by a church steeple, a saw mill, a pretty brick business street +and many broad branching green trees. Eugene felt drawn to it +at sight. It was such a place as Angela should live in.</p> + +<p>It was seven o'clock and nearing dusk when he arrived. He +had not given Angela the definite hour of his arrival and so decided +to stay over night at the little inn or so-called hotel which +he saw up the street. He had brought only a large suit case +and a traveling bag. He inquired of the proprietor the direction +and distance of the Blue house from the town, found that he +could get a vehicle any time in the morning which would take +him over, as the phrase ran, for a dollar. He ate his supper +of fried steak and poor coffee and fried potatoes and then sat +out on the front porch facing the street in a rocking chair, to +see how the village of Blackwood wagged and to enjoy the cool +of the evening. As he sat he thought of Angela's home and +how nice it must be. This town was such a little place—so quiet. +There would not be another train coming up from the city until +after eleven.</p> + +<p>After a time he rose and took a short walk, breathing the +night air. Later he came back and throwing wide the windows +of the stuffy room sat looking out. The summer night with +its early rain, its wet trees, its smell of lush, wet, growing +things, was impressing itself on Eugene as one might impress +wet clay with a notable design. Eugene's mood was soft +toward the little houses with their glowing windows, the occasional +pedestrians with their "howdy Jakes" and "evenin' +Henrys." He was touched by the noise of the crickets, the chirp +of the tree toads, the hang of the lucent suns and planets +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> +above the tree tops. The whole night was quick with the richness +of fertility, stirring subtly about some work which concerned +man very little or not at all, yet of which he was at +least a part, till his eyelids drooped after a time and he went +to bed to sleep deeply and dreamlessly.</p> + +<p>Next morning he was up early, eager for the hour to arrive +when he might start. He did not think it advisable to leave +before nine o'clock, and attracted considerable attention by +strolling about, his tall, spare, graceful figure and forceful +profile being an unusual sight to the natives. At nine o'clock +a respectable carryall was placed at his disposal and he was +driven out over a long yellow road, damp with the rain of the +night before and shaded in places by overhanging trees. There +were so many lovely wild flowers growing in the angles of the +rail fences—wild yellow and pink roses, elder flower, Queen +Anne's lace, dozens of beautiful blooms, that Eugene was lost in +admiration. His heart sang over the beauty of yellowing wheatfields, +the young corn, already three feet high, the vistas of hay +and clover, with patches of woods enclosing them, and over all, +house martens and swallows scudding after insects and high up +in the air his boyhood dream of beauty, a soaring buzzard.</p> + +<p>As he rode the moods of his boyhood days came back to him—his +love of winging butterflies and birds; his passion for the +voice of the wood-dove (there was one crying in the still +distance now)—his adoration for the virile strength of the +men of the countryside. He thought as he rode that he would +like to paint a series of country scenes that would be as simple +as those cottage dooryards that they now and then passed; this +little stream that cut the road at right angles and made a drinking +place for the horses; this skeleton of an old abandoned home, +doorless and windowless, where the roof sagged and hollyhocks +and morning glories grew high under the eaves. "We city +dwellers do not know," he sighed, as though he had not taken +the country in his heart and carried it to town as had every +other boy and girl who had gone the way of the metropolis.</p> + +<p>The Blue homestead was located in the centre of a rather +wide rolling stretch of country which lay between two gently +rising ridges of hill covered with trees. One corner of the farm, +and that not so very far from the house, was cut by a stream, +a little shallow thing, singing over pebbles and making willows +and hazel bushes to grow in profusion along its banks, and +there was a little lake within a mile of the house. In front +of it was a ten acre field of wheat, to the right of it a grazing +patch of several acres, to the left a field of clover; and near +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +the house by a barn, a well, a pig pen, a corn crib and some +smaller sheds. In front of the house was a long open lawn, +down the centre of which ran a gravel path, lined on either +side by tall old elm trees. The immediate dooryard was shut +from this noble lawn by a low picket fence along the length of +which grew lilac bushes and inside which, nearer the house, +were simple beds of roses, calycanthus and golden glow. Over +an arbor leading from the backdoor to a rather distant summer +kitchen flourished a grapevine, and there was a tall remnant +of a tree trunk covered completely with a yellow blooming +trumpet vine. The dooryard's lawn was smooth enough, and +the great lawn was a dream of green grass, graced with the +shadows of a few great trees. The house was long and of +no great depth, the front a series of six rooms ranged in a row, +without an upper storey. The two middle rooms which had +originally, perhaps seventy years before, been all there was of +the house. Since then all the other rooms had been added, +and there was in addition to these a lean-to containing a winter +kitchen and dining room, and to the west of the arbor leading +to the summer kitchen, an old unpainted frame storehouse. In +all its parts the place was shabby and run down but picturesque +and quaint.</p> + +<p>Eugene was surprised to find the place so charming. It +appealed to him, the long, low front, with doors opening from the +centre and end rooms direct upon the grass, with windows set +in climbing vines and the lilac bushes forming a green wall between +the house and the main lawn. The great rows of elm +trees throwing a grateful shade seemed like sentinel files. As +the carryall turned in at the wagon gate in front he thought +"What a place for love! and to think Angela should live here."</p> + +<p>The carryall rattled down the pebble road to the left of +the lawn and stopped at the garden gate. Marietta came out. +Marietta was twenty-two years old, and as gay and joyous as +her elder sister Angela was sober and in a way morbid. Light +souled as a kitten, looking always on the bright side of things, +she made hosts of friends everywhere she went, having a perfect +swarm of lovers who wrote her eager notes, but whom she +rebuffed with good natured, sympathetic simplicity. Here on +this farm there was not supposed to be so much opportunity +for social life as in town, but beaux made their way here on +one pretext and another. Marietta was the magnet, and in the +world of gaiety which she created Angela shared.</p> + +<p>Angela was now in the dining room—easy to be called—but +Marietta wanted to see for herself what sort of lover her +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> +sister had captured. She was surprised at his height, his presence, +the keenness of his eyes. She hardly understood so fine a lover +for her own sister, but held out her hand smilingly.</p> + +<p>"This is Mr. Witla, isn't it?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"The same," he replied, a little pompously. "Isn't it a +lovely drive over here?"</p> + +<p>"We think it nice in nice weather," she laughed. "You +wouldn't like it so much in winter. Won't you come in and put +your grip here in the hall? David will take it to your room."</p> + +<p>Eugene obeyed, but he was thinking of Angela and when she +would appear and how she would look. He stepped into the +large, low ceiled, dark, cool parlor and was delighted to see +a piano and some music piled on a rack. Through an open window +he saw several hammocks out on the main lawn, under +the trees. It seemed a wonderful place to him, the substance of +poetry—and then Angela appeared. She was dressed in plain +white linen. Her hair, braided as he liked it in a great rope, +lay as a band across her forehead. She had picked a big pink +rose and put it in her waist. At sight of her Eugene held out +his arms and she flew to them. He kissed her vigorously, for +Marietta had discreetly retired and they were left alone.</p> + +<p>"So I have you at last," he whispered, and kissed her again.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, yes, and it has been so long," she sighed.</p> + +<p>"You couldn't have suffered any more than I have," he consoled. +"Every minute has been torture, waiting, waiting, waiting!"</p> + +<p>"Let's not think of that now," she urged. "We have each +other. You are here."</p> + +<p>"Yes, here I am," he laughed, "all the virtues done up in +one brown suit. Isn't it lovely—these great trees, that beautiful +lawn?"</p> + +<p>He paused from kissing to look out of the window.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad you like it," she replied joyously. "We think +it's nice, but this place is so old."</p> + +<p>"I love it for that," he cried appreciatively. "Those bushes +are so nice—those roses. Oh, dear, you don't know how sweet +it all seems—and you—you are so nice."</p> + +<p>He held her off at arm's length and surveyed her while she +blushed becomingly. His eager, direct, vigorous onslaught confused +her at times—caused her pulse to beat at a high rate.</p> + +<p>They went out into the dooryard after a time and then +Marietta appeared again, and with her Mrs. Blue, a comfortable, +round bodied mother of sixty, who greeted Eugene cordially. +He could feel in her what he felt in his own mother—in every +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> +good mother—love of order and peace, love of the well being of +her children, love of public respect and private honor and +morality. All these things Eugene heartily respected in others. +He was glad to see them, believed they had a place in society, but +was uncertain whether they bore any fixed or important relationship +to him. He was always thinking in his private conscience +that life was somehow bigger and subtler and darker +than any given theory or order of living. It might well be +worth while for a man or woman to be honest and moral +within a given condition or quality of society, but it did not +matter at all in the ultimate substance and composition of the +universe. Any form or order of society which hoped to endure +must have individuals like Mrs. Blue, who would conform to +the highest standards and theories of that society, and when +found they were admirable, but they meant nothing in the +shifting, subtle forces of nature. They were just accidental +harmonies blossoming out of something which meant everything +here to this order, nothing to the universe at large. At twenty-two +years of age he was thinking these things, wondering whether +it would be possible ever to express them; wondering what +people would think of him if they actually knew what he did +think; wondering if there was anything, anything, which was +really stable—a rock to cling to—and not mere shifting shadow +and unreality.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Blue looked at her daughter's young lover with a kindly +eye. She had heard a great deal about him. Having raised her +children to be honest, moral and truthful she trusted them to +associate only with those who were equally so. She assumed +that Eugene was such a man, and his frank open countenance +and smiling eyes and mouth convinced her that he was basically +good. Also, what to her were his wonderful drawings, sent to +Angela in the form of proofs from time to time, particularly +the one of the East Side crowd, had been enough to prejudice her +in his favor. No other daughter of the family, and there were +three married, had approximated to this type of man in her +choice. Eugene was looked upon as a prospective son-in-law who +would fulfill all the conventional obligations joyfully and as +a matter of course.</p> + +<p>"It's very good of you to put me up, Mrs. Blue," Eugene +said pleasantly. "I've always wanted to come out here for a +visit—I've heard so much of the family from Angela."</p> + +<p>"It's just a country home we have, not much to look at, but +we like it," replied his hostess. She smiled blandly, asked if +he wouldn't make himself comfortable in one of the hammocks, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> +wanted to know how he was getting along with his work in +New York and then returned to her cooking, for she was already +preparing his first meal. Eugene strolled with Angela to the +big lawn under the trees and sat down. He was experiencing +the loftiest of human emotions on earth—love in youth, accepted +and requited, hope in youth, justified in action by his +success in New York; peace in youth, for he had a well earned +holiday in his grasp, was resting with the means to do so +and with love and beauty and admiration and joyous summer +weather to comfort him.</p> + +<p>As he rocked to and fro in the hammock gazing at the charming +lawn and realizing all these things, his glance rested at +last upon Angela, and he thought, "Life can really hold no +finer thing than this."</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_XVIII" id="I_CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<p>Toward noon old Jotham Blue came in from a cornfield +where he had been turning the earth between the rows. +Although sixty-five and with snowy hair and beard he looked +to be vigorous, and good to live until ninety or a hundred. +His eyes were blue and keen, his color rosy. He had great +broad shoulders set upon a spare waist, for he had been a +handsome figure of a man in his youth.</p> + +<p>"How do you do, Mr. Witla," he inquired with easy grace +as he strolled up, the yellow mud of the fields on his boots. +He had pulled a big jackknife out of his pocket and begun +whittling a fine twig he had picked up. "I'm glad to see you. +My daughter, Angela, has been telling me one thing and another +about you."</p> + +<p>He smiled as he looked at Eugene. Angela, who was sitting +beside him, rose and strolled toward the house.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad to see you," said Eugene. "I like your country +around here. It looks prosperous."</p> + +<p>"It is prosperous," said the old patriarch, drawing up a chair +which stood at the foot of a tree and seating himself. Eugene +sank back into the hammock.</p> + +<p>"It's a soil that's rich in lime and carbon and sodium—the +things which make plant life grow. We need very little fertilizer +here—very little. The principal thing is to keep the ground +thoroughly cultivated and to keep out the bugs and weeds."</p> + +<p>He cut at his stick meditatively. Eugene noted the chemical +and physical knowledge relative to farming. It pleased him +to find brain coupled with crop cultivation.</p> + +<p>"I noticed some splendid fields of wheat as I came over," +he observed.</p> + +<p>"Yes, wheat does well here," Blue went on, "when the +weather is moderately favorable. Corn does well. We have +a splendid apple crop and grapes are generally successful in +this state. I have always thought that Wisconsin had a little +the best of the other valley states, for we are blessed with a +moderate climate, plenty of streams and rivers and a fine, +broken landscape. There are good mines up north and lots +of lumber. We are a prosperous people, we Wisconsiners, decidedly +prosperous. This state has a great future."</p> + +<p>Eugene noted the wide space between his clear blue eyes as +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +he talked. He liked the bigness of his conception of his state +and of his country. No petty little ground-harnessed ploughman +this, but a farmer in the big sense of the word—a cultivator of +the soil, with an understanding of it—an American who loved +his state and his country.</p> + +<p>"I have always thought of the Mississippi valley as the +country of the future," said Eugene. "We have had the Valley +of the Nile and the Valley of the Euphrates with big populations, +but this is something larger. I rather feel as though a great +wave of population were coming here in the future."</p> + +<p>"It is the new paradise of the world," said Jotham Blue, +pausing in his whittling and holding up his right hand for +emphasis. "We haven't come to realize its possibilities. The +fruit, the corn, the wheat, to feed the nations of the world +can be raised here. I sometimes marvel at the productivity +of the soil. It is so generous. It is like a great mother. It +only asks to be treated kindly to give all that it has."</p> + +<p>Eugene smiled. The bigness of his prospective father-in-law's +feelings lured him. He felt as though he could love this +man.</p> + +<p>They talked on about other things, the character of the surrounding +population, the growth of Chicago, the recent threat of +a war with Venezuela, the rise of a new leader in the Democratic +party, a man whom Jotham admired very much. As he was +telling of the latter's exploits—it appeared he had recently met +him at Blackwood—Mrs. Blue appeared in the front door.</p> + +<p>"Jotham!" she called.</p> + +<p>He rose. "My wife must want a bucket of water," he said, +and strolled away.</p> + +<p>Eugene smiled. This was lovely. This was the way life +should be—compounded of health, strength, good nature, understanding, +simplicity. He wished he were a man like Jotham, +as sound, as hearty, as clean and strong. To think he had +raised eight children. No wonder Angela was lovely. They +all were, no doubt.</p> + +<p>While he was rocking, Marietta came back smiling, her +blond hair blowing about her face. Like her father she had +blue eyes, like him a sanguine temperament, warm and ruddy. +Eugene felt drawn to her. She reminded him a little of +Ruby—a little of Margaret. She was bursting with young +health.</p> + +<p>"You're stronger than Angela," he said, looking at her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I can always outrun Angel-face," she exclaimed. +"We fight sometimes but I can get things away from her. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> +She has to give in. Sometimes I feel older—I always take +the lead."</p> + +<p>Eugene rejoiced in the sobriquet of Angel-face. It suited +Angela, he thought. She looked like pictures of Angels in the +old prints and in the stained glass windows he had seen. He +wondered in a vague way, however, whether Marietta did not +have the sweeter temperament—were not really more lovable +and cosy. But he put the thought forcefully out of his mind. +He felt he must be loyal to Angela here.</p> + +<p>While they were talking the youngest boy, David, came up +and sat down on the grass. He was short and stocky for his +years—sixteen—with an intelligent face and an inquiring eye. +Eugene noted stability and quiet force in his character at once. +He began to see that these children had inherited character as +well as strength from their parents. This was a home in which +successful children were being reared. Benjamin came up after +awhile, a tall, overgrown, puritanical youth, with western modifications +and then Samuel, the oldest of the living boys and the +most impressive. He was big and serene like his father, of +brown complexion and hickory strength. Eugene learned in the +conversation that he was a railroad man in St. Paul—home for +a brief vacation, after three years of absence. He was with +a road called the Great Northern, already a Second Assistant +Passenger Agent and with great prospects, so the family thought. +Eugene could see that all the boys and girls, like Angela, were +ruggedly and honestly truthful. They were written all over with +Christian precept—not church dogma—but Christian precept, +lightly and good naturedly applied. They obeyed the ten commandments +in so far as possible and lived within the limits +of what people considered sane and decent. Eugene wondered +at this. His own moral laxity was a puzzle to him. He +wondered whether he were not really all wrong and they all +right. Yet the subtlety of the universe was always with him—the +mystery of its chemistry. For a given order of society no +doubt he was out of place—for life in general, well, he could +not say.</p> + +<p>At 12.30 dinner was announced from the door by Mrs. +Blue and they all rose. It was one of those simple home feasts +common to any intelligent farming family. There was a generous +supply of fresh vegetables, green peas, new potatoes, new +string beans. A steak had been secured from the itinerant butcher +who served these parts and Mrs. Blue had made hot light biscuit. +Eugene expressed a predilection for fresh buttermilk and they +brought him a pitcherful, saying that as a rule it was given to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +the pigs; the children did not care for it. They talked and +jested and he heard odd bits of information concerning people +here and there—some farmer who had lost a horse by colic; +some other farmer who was preparing to cut his wheat. There +were frequent references to the three oldest sisters, who lived in +other Wisconsin towns. Their children appeared to be numerous +and fairly troublesome. They all came home frequently, +it appeared, and were bound up closely with the interests of +the family as a whole.</p> + +<p>"The more you know about the Blue family," observed +Samuel to Eugene, who expressed surprise at the solidarity of +interest, "the more you realize that they're a clan not a family. +They stick together like glue."</p> + +<p>"That's a rather nice trait, I should say," laughed Eugene, +who felt no such keen interest in his relatives.</p> + +<p>"Well, if you want to find out how the Blue family stick +together just do something to one of them," observed Jake Doll, +a neighbor who had entered.</p> + +<p>"That's sure true, isn't it, Sis," observed Samuel, who was +sitting next to Angela, putting his hand affectionately on his +sister's arm. Eugene noted the movement. She nodded her +head affectionately.</p> + +<p>"Yes, we Blues all hang together."</p> + +<p>Eugene almost begrudged him his sister's apparent affection. +Could such a girl be cut out of such an atmosphere—separated +from it completely, brought into a radically different world, he +wondered. Would she understand him; would he stick by her. +He smiled at Jotham and Mrs. Blue and thought he ought to, +but life was strange. You never could tell what might happen.</p> + +<p>During the afternoon there were more lovely impressions. He +and Angela sat alone in the cool parlor for two hours after +dinner while he restated his impressions of her over and over. He +told her how charming he thought her home was, how nice +her father and mother, what interesting brothers she had. He +made a genial sketch of Jotham as he had strolled up to him +at noon, which pleased Angela and she kept it to show to her +father. He made her pose in the window and sketched her +head and her halo of hair. He thought of his double page +illustration of the Bowery by night and went to fetch it, looking +for the first time at the sweet cool room at the end of the +house which he was to occupy. One window, a west one, had +hollyhocks looking in, and the door to the north gave out on the +cool, shady grass. He moved in beauty, he thought; was +treading on showered happiness. It hurt him to think that +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> +such joy might not always be, as though beauty were not everywhere +and forever present.</p> + +<p>When Angela saw the picture which <i>Truth</i> had reproduced, +she was beside herself with joy and pride and happiness. It +was such a testimony to her lover's ability. He had written +almost daily of the New York art world, so she was familiar +with that in exaggerated ideas, but these actual things, like +reproduced pictures, were different. The whole world would +see this picture. He must be famous already, she imagined.</p> + +<p>That evening and the next and the next as they sat in the +parlor alone he drew nearer and nearer to that definite understanding +which comes between a man and woman when they +love. Eugene could never stop with mere kissing and caressing +in a reserved way, if not persistently restrained. It seemed +natural to him that love should go on. He had not been married. +He did not know what its responsibilities were. He had never +given a thought to what his parents had endured to make him +worth while. There was no instinct in him to tell him. He had +no yearnings for parenthood, that normal desire which gives +visions of a home and the proper social conditions for rearing a +family. All he thought of was the love making period—the +billing and cooing and the transports of delight which come +with it. With Angela he felt that these would be super-normal +precisely because she was so slow in yielding—so on +the defensive against herself. He could look in her eyes at +times and see a swooning veil which foreshadowed a storm of +emotion. He would sit by her stroking her hands, touching her +cheek, smoothing her hair, or at other times holding her in +his arms. It was hard for her to resist those significant pressures +he gave, to hold him at arm's length, for she herself was eager +for the delights of love.</p> + +<p>It was on the third night of his stay and in the face of his +growing respect for every member of this family, that he swept +Angela to the danger line—would have carried her across it had +it not been for a fortuitous wave of emotion, which was not +of his creation, but of hers.</p> + +<p>They had been to the little lake, Okoonee, a little way from +the house during the afternoon for a swim.</p> + +<p>Afterward he and Angela and David and Marietta had +taken a drive. It was one of those lovely afternoons that come +sometimes in summer and speak direct to the heart of love and +beauty. It was so fair and warm, the shadows of the trees +so comforting that they fairly made Eugene's heart ache. He +was young now, life was beautiful, but how would it be when +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> +he was old? A morbid anticipation of disaster seemed to +harrow his soul.</p> + +<p>The sunset had already died away when they drew near home. +Insects hummed, a cow-bell tinkled now and then; breaths +of cool air, those harbingers of the approaching eve, swept their +cheeks as they passed occasional hollows. Approaching the +house they saw the blue smoke curls rising from the kitchen +chimney, foretelling the preparation of the evening meal. Eugene +clasped Angela's hand in an ecstasy of emotion.</p> + +<p>He wanted to dream—sitting in the hammock with Angela +as the dusk fell, watching the pretty scene. Life was all around. +Jotham and Benjamin came in from the fields and the sound +of their voices and of the splashing water came from the kitchen +door where they were washing. There was an anticipatory +stamping of horses' feet in the barn, the lowing of a distant cow, +the hungry grunt of pigs. Eugene shook his head—it was so +pastoral, so sweet.</p> + +<p>At supper he scarcely touched what was put before him, +the group at the dining table holding his attention as a spectacle. +Afterwards he sat with the family on the lawn outside the door, +breathing the odor of flowers, watching the stars over the trees, +listening to Jotham and Mrs. Blue, to Samuel, Benjamin, +David, Marietta and occasionally Angela. Because of his mood, +sad in the face of exquisite beauty, she also was subdued. She +said little, listening to Eugene and her father, but when she +did talk her voice was sweet.</p> + +<p>Jotham arose, after a time, and went to bed, and one by one +the others followed. David and Marietta went into the sitting +room and then Samuel and Benjamin left. They gave as an +excuse hard work for the morning. Samuel was going to try +his hand again at thrashing. Eugene took Angela by the hand +and led her out where some hydrangeas were blooming, white +as snow by day, but pale and silvery in the dark. He took her +face in his hands, telling her again of love.</p> + +<p>"It's been such a wonderful day I'm all wrought up," he +said. "Life is so beautiful here. This place is so sweet and +peaceful. And you! oh, you!" kisses ended his words.</p> + +<p>They stood there a little while, then went back into the +parlor where she lighted a lamp. It cast a soft yellow glow +over the room, just enough to make it warm, he thought. They +sat first side by side on two rocking chairs and then later on a +settee, he holding her in his arms. Before supper she had +changed to a loose cream colored house gown. Now Eugene +persuaded her to let her hair hang in the two braids.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +Real passion is silent. It was so intense with him that he sat +contemplating her as if in a spell. She leaned back against his +shoulder stroking his hair, but finally ceased even that, for her +own feeling was too intense to make movement possible. She +thought of him as a young god, strong, virile, beautiful—a +brilliant future before him. All these years she had waited +for someone to truly love her and now this splendid youth had +apparently cast himself at her feet. He stroked her hands, her +neck, cheeks, then slowly gathered her close and buried his head +against her bosom.</p> + +<p>Angela was strong in convention, in the precepts of her parents, +in the sense of her family and its attitude, but this situation was +more than she could resist. She accepted first the pressure of his +arm, then the slow subtlety with which he caressed her. Resistance +seemed almost impossible now for he held her close—tight +within the range of his magnetism. When finally she +felt the pressure of his hand upon her quivering limbs, she +threw herself back in a transport of agony and delight.</p> + +<p>"No, no, Eugene," she begged. "No, no! Save me from +myself. Save me from myself. Oh, Eugene!"</p> + +<p>He paused a moment to look at her face. It was wrought +in lines of intense suffering—pale as though she were ill. Her +body was quite limp. Only the hot, moist lips told the significant +story. He could not stop at once. Slowly he drew his +hand away, then let his sensitive artists' fingers rest gently on her +neck—her bosom.</p> + +<p>She struggled lamely at this point and slipped to her knees, +her dress loosened at the neck.</p> + +<p>"Don't, Eugene," she begged, "don't. Think of my father, my +mother. I, who have boasted so. I of whom they feel so +sure. Oh, Eugene, I beg of you!"</p> + +<p>He stroked her hair, her cheeks, looking into her face as +Abélard might have looked at Héloïse.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know why it is," she exclaimed, convulsively. "I +am no better than any other, but I have waited so long, so long! +But I mustn't! Oh, Eugene, I mustn't! Help me!"</p> + +<p>Vaguely Eugene understood. She had been without lovers. +Why? he thought. She was beautiful. He got up, half intending +to carry her to his room, but he paused, thinking. She +was such a pathetic figure. Was he really as bad as this? Could +he not be fair in this one instance? Her father had been so +nice to him—her mother—He saw Jotham Blue before him, Mrs. +Blue, her admiring brothers and sisters, as they had been a +little while before. He looked at her and still the prize lured +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +him—almost swept him on in spite of himself, but he stayed.</p> + +<p>"Stand up, Angela," he said at last, pulling himself together, +looking at her intensely. She did so. "Leave me now," he +went on, "right away! I won't answer for myself if you +don't. I am really trying. Please go."</p> + +<p>She paused, looking at him fearfully, regretfully.</p> + +<p>"Oh, forgive me, Eugene," she pleaded.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me," he said. "I'm the one. But you go now, +sweet. You don't know how hard this is. Help me by going."</p> + +<p>She moved away and he followed her with his eyes, yearningly, +burningly, until she reached the door. When she closed it softly +he went into his own room and sat down. His body was limp +and weary. He ached from head to foot from the intensity of +the mood he had passed through. He went over the recent +incidents, almost stunned by his experience and then went +outside and stood under the stairs, listening. Tree toads were +chirping, there were suspicious cracklings in the grass as of +bugs stirring. A duck quacked somewhere feebly. The bell +of the family cow tinkled somewhere over near the water of the +little stream. He saw the great dipper in the sky, Sirius, +Canopus, the vast galaxy of the Milky Way.</p> + +<p>"What is life anyway?" he asked himself. "What is the +human body? What produces passion? Here we are for a few +years surging with a fever of longing and then we burn out +and die." He thought of some lines he might write, of pictures +he might paint. All the while, reproduced before his mind's +eye like a cinematograph, were views of Angela as she had been +tonight in his arms, on her knees. He had seen her true +form. He had held her in his arms. He had voluntarily resigned +her charms for tonight; anyhow, no harm had come. It never +should.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_XIX" id="I_CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<p>It would be hard to say in what respect, if any, the experiences +of this particular night altered Eugene's opinion +of Angela. He was inclined to like her better for what he would +have called her humanness. Thus frankly to confess her weakness +and inability to save herself was splendid. That he was +given the chance to do a noble deed was fortunate and uplifting. +He knew now that he could take her if he wished, but once +calm again he resolved to be fair and not to insist. He could +wait.</p> + +<p>The state of Angela's mind, on the contrary, once she had +come out of her paroxysm and gained the privacy of her own +room, or rather the room she shared with Marietta at the other +extreme of the house, was pitiable. She had for so long considered +herself an estimable and virtuous girl. There was in +her just a faint trace of prudery which might readily have +led to an unhappy old maid existence for her if Eugene, with +his superiority, or non-understanding, or indifference to conventional +theories and to old-maidish feelings, had not come +along and with his customary blindness to material prosperity +and age limitations, seized upon and made love to her. He had +filled her brain with a whirlwind of notions hitherto unfamiliar +to her world and set himself up in her brain as a law unto himself. +He was not like other men—she could see that. He +was superior to them. He might not make much money, being +an artist, but he could make other things which to her seemed +more desirable. Fame, beautiful pictures, notable friends, were +not these things far superior to money? She had had little +enough money in all conscience, and if Eugene made anything +at all it would be enough for her. He seemed to be under +the notion that he needed a lot to get married, whereas she +would have been glad to risk it on almost anything at all.</p> + +<p>This latest revelation of herself, besides tearing her mind +from a carefully nurtured belief in her own virtuous impregnability, +raised at the same time a spectre of disaster in so far as +Eugene's love for her was concerned. Would he, now that +she had allowed him those precious endearments which should +have been reserved for the marriage bed only, care for her +as much as he had before? Would he not think of her as a +light minded, easily spoiled creature who was waiting only +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> +for a propitious moment to yield herself? She had been lost +to all sense of right and wrong in that hour, that she knew. +Her father's character and what he stood for, her mother's +decency and love of virtue, her cleanly-minded, right-living +brothers and sisters,—all had been forgotten and here she was, +a tainted maiden, virtuous in technical sense it is true, but +tainted. Her convention-trained conscience smote her vigorously +and she groaned in her heart. She went outside the door +of her own room and sat down on the damp grass in the +early morning to think. It was so cool and calm everywhere +but in her own soul. She held her face in her hands, feeling +her hot cheeks, wondering what Eugene was thinking now. +What would her father think, her mother? She wrung her hands +more than once and finally went inside to see if she could not +rest. She was not unconscious of the beauty and joy of the +episode, but she was troubled by what she felt she ought to +think, what the consequences to her future might be. To +hold Eugene now—that was a subtle question. To hold up her +head in front of him as she had, could she? To keep him +from going further. It was a difficult situation and she +tossed restlessly all night, getting little sleep. In the morning +she arose weary and disturbed, but more desperately in love +than ever. This wonderful youth had revealed an entirely +new and intensely dramatic world to her.</p> + +<p>When they met on the lawn again before breakfast, Angela +was garbed in white linen. She looked waxen and delicate +and her eyes showed dark rings as well as the dark thoughts +that were troubling her. Eugene took her hand sympathetically.</p> + +<p>"Don't worry," he said, "I know. It isn't as bad as you +think." And he smiled tenderly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Eugene, I don't understand myself now," she said +sorrowfully. "I thought I was better than that."</p> + +<p>"We're none of us better than that," he replied simply. +"We just think we are sometimes. You are not any different +to me. You just think you are."</p> + +<p>"Oh, are you sure?" she asked eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Quite sure," he replied. "Love isn't a terrible thing between +any two. It's just lovely. Why should I think worse +of you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, because good girls don't do what I have done. I have +been raised to know better—to do better."</p> + +<p>"All a belief, my dear, which you get from what has been +taught you. You think it wrong. Why? Because your father +and mother told you so. Isn't that it?"</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> +"Oh, not that alone. Everybody thinks it's wrong. The +Bible teaches that it is. Everybody turns his back on you +when he finds out."</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute," pleaded Eugene argumentatively. He was +trying to solve this puzzle for himself. "Let's leave the Bible +out of it, for I don't believe in the Bible—not as a law of +action anyhow. The fact that everybody thinks it's wrong +wouldn't necessarily make it so, would it?" He was ignoring +completely the significance of <i>everybody</i> as a reflection of those +principles which govern the universe.</p> + +<p>"No-o-o," ventured Angela doubtfully.</p> + +<p>"Listen," went on Eugene. "Everybody in Constantinople +believes that Mahomet is the Prophet of God. That doesn't +make him so, does it?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, everyone here might believe that what we did +last night was wrong without making it so. Isn't that true?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Angela confusedly. She really did not know. +She could not argue with him. He was too subtle, but her innate +principles and instincts were speaking plainly enough, nevertheless.</p> + +<p>"Now what you're really thinking about is what people will +do. They'll turn their backs on you, you say. That is a practical +matter. Your father might turn you out of doors—"</p> + +<p>"I think he would," replied Angela, little understanding the +bigness of the heart of her father.</p> + +<p>"I think he wouldn't," said Eugene, "but that's neither here +nor there. Men might refuse to marry you. Those are material +considerations. You wouldn't say they had anything to +do with real right or wrong, would you?"</p> + +<p>Eugene had no convincing end to his argument. He did not +know any more than anyone else what was right or wrong in +this matter. He was merely talking to convince himself, but he +had enough logic to confuse Angela.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," she said vaguely.</p> + +<p>"Right," he went on loftily, "is something which is supposed +to be in accordance with a standard of truth. Now no one +in all the world knows what truth is, no one. There is no +way of telling. You can only act wisely or unwisely as regards +your personal welfare. If that's what you're worrying about, +and it is, I can tell you that you're no worse off. There's +nothing the matter with your welfare. I think you're better +off, for I like you better."</p> + +<p>Angela wondered at the subtlety of his brain. She was not +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> +sure but that what he said might be true. Could her fears +be baseless? She felt sure she had lost some of the bloom of her +youth anyhow.</p> + +<p>"How can you?" she asked, referring to his saying that he +liked her better.</p> + +<p>"Easily enough," he replied. "I know more about you. I +admire your frankness. You're lovely—altogether so. You +are sweet beyond compare." He started to particularize.</p> + +<p>"Don't, Eugene," she pleaded, putting her finger over her lips. +The color was leaving her cheeks. "Please don't, I can't stand +it."</p> + +<p>"All right," he said, "I won't. But you're altogether lovely. +Let's go and sit in the hammock."</p> + +<p>"No. I'm going to get you your breakfast. It's time you +had something."</p> + +<p>He took comfort in his privileges, for the others had all gone. +Jotham, Samuel, Benjamin and David were in the fields. Mrs. +Blue was sewing and Marietta had gone to see a girl friend up +the road. Angela, as Ruby before her, bestirred herself about +the youth's meal, mixing biscuit, broiling him some bacon, cleaning +a basket of fresh dewberries for him.</p> + +<p>"I like your man," said her mother, coming out where she +was working. "He looks to be good-natured. But don't spoil +him. If you begin wrong you'll be sorry."</p> + +<p>"You spoiled papa, didn't you?" asked Angela sagely, recalling +all the little humorings her father had received.</p> + +<p>"Your father has a keen sense of duty," retorted her mother. +"It didn't hurt him to be spoiled a little."</p> + +<p>"Maybe Eugene has," replied her daughter, turning her slices +of bacon.</p> + +<p>Her mother smiled. All her daughters had married well. +Perhaps Angela was doing the best of all. Certainly her lover +was the most distinguished. Yet, "well to be careful," she +suggested.</p> + +<p>Angela thought. If her mother only knew, or her father. +Dear Heaven! And yet Eugene was altogether lovely. She +wanted to wait on him, to spoil him. She wished she could be +with him every day from now on—that they need not part any +more.</p> + +<p>"Oh, if he would only marry me," she sighed. It was the +one divine event which would complete her life.</p> + +<p>Eugene would have liked to linger in this atmosphere indefinitely. +Old Jotham, he found, liked to talk to him. He +took an interest in national and international affairs, was aware +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +of distinguished and peculiar personalities, seemed to follow +world currents everywhere. Eugene began to think of him as +a distinguished personality in himself, but old Jotham waved +the suggestion blandly aside.</p> + +<p>"I'm a farmer," he said. "I've seen my greatest success +in raising good children. My boys will do well, I know."</p> + +<p>For the first time Eugene caught the sense of fatherhood, of +what it means to live again in your children, but only vaguely. +He was too young, too eager for a varied life, too lustful. So its +true import was lost for the time.</p> + +<p>Sunday came and with it the necessity to leave. He had +been here nine days, really two days more than he had intended +to stay. It was farewell to Angela, who had come so close, +so much in his grasp that she was like a child in his hands. It +was farewell, moreover, to an ideal scene, a bit of bucolic +poetry. When would he see again an old patriarch like Jotham, +clean, kindly, intelligent, standing upright amid his rows of +corn, proud to be a good father, not ashamed to be poor, not +afraid to be old or to die. Eugene had drawn so much from +him. It was like sitting at the feet of Isaiah. It was farewell +to the lovely fields and the blue hills, the long rows of trees down +the lawn walk, the white and red and blue flowers about the +dooryard. He had slept so sweetly in his clean room, he +had listened so joyously to the voices of birds, the wood dove +and the poet thrush; he had heard the water in the Blue's +branch rippling over its clean pebbles. The pigs in the barnyard +pen, the horses, the cows, all had appealed to him. He +thought of Gray's "Elegy"—of Goldsmith's "Deserted Village" +and "The Traveller." This was something like the things those +men had loved.</p> + +<p>He walked down the lawn with Angela, when the time came, +repeating how sorry he was to go. David had hitched up a +little brown mare and was waiting at the extreme end of the +lawn.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Sweet," he sighed. "I shall never be happy until I +have you."</p> + +<p>"I will wait," sighed Angela, although she was wishing +to exclaim: "Oh, take me, take me!" When he was gone she +went about her duties mechanically, for it was as if all the +fire and joy had gone out of her life. Without this brilliant +imagination of his to illuminate things, life seemed dull.</p> + +<p>And he rode, parting in his mind with each lovely thing as +he went—the fields of wheat, the little stream, Lake Okoonee, +the pretty Blue farmhouse, all.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> +He said to himself: "Nothing more lovely will ever come +again. Angela in my arms in her simple little parlor. Dear +God! and there are only seventy years of life—not more than ten +or fifteen of true youth, all told."</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_XX" id="I_CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<p>Eugene carried home with him not only a curiously deepened +feeling for Angela, due to their altered and more +intimate relationship, but moreover a growing respect for her +family. Old Jotham was so impressive a figure of a man; his +wife so kindly and earnest. Their attitude toward their children +and to each other was so sound, and their whole relationship +to society so respectable. Another observer might have been +repelled by the narrowness and frugality of their lives. But +Eugene had not known enough of luxury to be scornful of the +material simplicity of such existence. Here he had found character, +poetry of location, poetry of ambition, youth and happy +prospects. These boys, so sturdy and independent, were sure +to make for themselves such places in the world as they desired. +Marietta, so charming a girl, could not but make a good marriage. +Samuel was doing well in his position with the railroad company; +Benjamin was studying to be a lawyer and David was +to be sent to West Point. He liked them for their familiar, +sterling worth. And they all treated him as the destined husband +of Angela. By the end of his stay he had become as +much en rapport with the family as if he had known it all +his life.</p> + +<p>Before going back to New York he had stopped in Chicago, +where he had seen Howe and Mathews grinding away at +their old tasks, and then for a few days in Alexandria, where +he found his father busy about his old affairs. Sewing machines +were still being delivered by him in person, and the long roads +of the country were as briskly traversed by his light machine-carrying +buggy as in his earliest days. Eugene saw him now as +just a little futile, and yet he admired him, his patience, his +industry. The brisk sewing machine agent was considerably +impressed by his son's success, and was actually trying to take +an interest in art. One evening coming home from the post +office he pointed out a street scene in Alexandria as a subject +for a painting. Eugene knew that art had only been called to +his father's attention by his own efforts. He had noticed these +things all his life, no doubt, but attached no significance to +them until he had seen his son's work in the magazines. "If +you ever paint country things, you ought to paint Cook's Mill, +over here by the falls. That's one of the prettiest things I +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> +know anywhere," he said to him one evening, trying to make his +son feel the interest he took. Eugene knew the place. It was +attractive, a little branch of bright water running at the base of a +forty foot wall of red sandstone and finally tumbling down a +fifteen foot declivity of grey mossy stones. It was close to a +yellow road which carried a good deal of traffic and was surrounded +by a company of trees which ornamented it and sheltered +it on all sides. Eugene had admired it in his youth as +beautiful and peaceful.</p> + +<p>"It is nice," he replied to his father. "I'll take a look at it +some day."</p> + +<p>Witla senior felt set up. His son was doing him honor. +Mrs. Witla, like her husband, was showing the first notable +traces of the flight of time. The crow's-feet at the sides of +her eyes were deeper, the wrinkles in her forehead longer. At +the sight of Eugene the first night she fairly thrilled, for he was +so well developed now, so self-reliant. He had come through +his experiences to a kind of poise which she realized was manhood. +Her boy, requiring her careful guidance, was gone. +This was someone who could guide her, tease her as a man +would a child.</p> + +<p>"You've got so big I hardly know you," she said, as he folded +her in his arms.</p> + +<p>"No, you're just getting little, ma. I used to think I'd +never get to the point where you couldn't shake me, but that's +all over, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"You never did need much shaking," she said fondly.</p> + +<p>Myrtle, who had married Frank Bangs the preceding year, +had gone with her husband to live in Ottumwa, Iowa, where +he had taken charge of a mill, so Eugene did not see her, but he +spent some little time with Sylvia, now the mother of two +children. Her husband was the same quiet, conservative plodder +Eugene had first noted him to be. Revisiting the office of the +<i>Appeal</i> he found that John Summers had recently died. Otherwise +things were as they had been. Jonas Lyle and Caleb +Williams were still in charge—quite the same as before. Eugene +was glad when his time was up, and took the train back to +Chicago with a light heart.</p> + +<p>Again as on his entrance to Chicago from the East, and on +his return to it from Blackwood, he was touched keenly by the +remembrance of Ruby. She had been so sweet to him. His +opening art experiences had in a way been centred about her. +But in spite of all, he did not want to go out and see her. Or +did he? He asked himself this question with a pang of sorrow, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> +for in a way he cared. He cared for her as one might care +for a girl in a play or book. She had the quality of a tragedy +about her. She—her life, her surroundings, her misfortune in +loving him, constituted an artistic composition. He thought +he might be able to write a poem about it some time. He +was able to write rather charming verse which he kept to +himself. He had the knack of saying things in a simple way +and with feeling—making you see a picture. The trouble +with his verse was that it lacked as yet any real nobility of +thought—was not as final in understanding as it might have +been.</p> + +<p>He did not go to see Ruby. The reason he assigned to himself +was that it would not be nice. She might not want him +to now. She might be trying to forget. And he had Angela. +It really wasn't fair to her. But he looked over toward the +region in which she lived, as he travelled out of the city eastward +and wished that some of those lovely moments he had spent with +her might be lived again.</p> + +<p>Back in New York, life seemed to promise a repetition of +the preceding year, with some minor modifications. In the fall +Eugene went to live with McHugh and Smite, the studio +they had consisting of one big working room and three bed-rooms. +They agreed that they could get along together, and +for a while it was good for them all. The criticism they +furnished each other was of real value. And they found it +pleasant to dine together, to walk, to see the exhibitions. They +stimulated each other with argument, each having a special +point of view. It was much as it had been with Howe and +Mathews in Chicago.</p> + +<p>During this winter Eugene made his first appearance in one of +the leading publications of the time—<i>Harper's Magazine</i>. He +had gone to the Art Director with some proofs of his previous +work, and had been told that it was admirable; if some suitable +story turned up he would be considered. Later a letter came +asking him to call, and a commission involving three pictures +for $125 was given him. He worked them out successfully +with models and was complimented on the result. His associates +cheered him on also, for they really admired what he was +doing. He set out definitely to <i>make Scribner's</i> and the <i>Century</i>, +as getting into those publications was called, and after a +time he succeeded in making an impression on their respective Art +Directors, though no notable commissions were given him. +From one he secured a poem, rather out of his mood to decorate, +and from the other a short story; but somehow he could not feel +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +that either was a real opportunity. He wanted an appropriate +subject or to sell them some of his scenes.</p> + +<p>Building up a paying reputation was slow work. Although he +was being mentioned here and there among artists, his name +was anything but a significant factor with the public or with +the Art Directors. He was still a promising beginner—growing, +but not yet arrived by a long distance.</p> + +<p>There was one editor who was inclined to see him at his real +worth, but had no money to offer. This was Richard Wheeler, +editor of <i>Craft</i>, a rather hopeless magazine in a commercial +sense, but devoted sincerely enough to art. Wheeler was a +blond young man of poetic temperament, whose enthusiasm for +Eugene's work made it easy for them to become friends.</p> + +<p>It was through Wheeler that he met that winter Miriam +Finch and Christina Channing, two women of radically different +temperaments and professions, who opened for Eugene two entirely +new worlds.</p> + +<p>Miriam Finch was a sculptor by profession—a critic by temperament, +with no great capacity for emotion in herself but an +intense appreciation of its significance in others. To see her +was to be immediately impressed with a vital force in womanhood. +She was a woman who had never had a real youth or +a real love affair, but clung to her ideal of both with a passionate, +almost fatuous, faith that they could still be brought +to pass. Wheeler had invited him to go round to her studio +with him one evening. He was interested to know what +Eugene would think of her. Miriam, already thirty-two when +Eugene met her—a tiny, brown haired, brown eyed girl, with +a slender, rather cat-like figure and a suavity of address and +manner which was artistic to the finger tips. She had none of +that budding beauty that is the glory of eighteen, but she was +altogether artistic and delightful. Her hair encircled her head +in a fluffy cloudy mass; her eyes moved quickly, with intense +intelligence, feeling, humor, sympathy. Her lips were sweetly +modelled after the pattern of a Cupid's bow and her smile was +subtly ingratiating. Her sallow complexion matched her brown +hair and the drab velvet or corduroy of her dress. There was +a striking simplicity about the things she wore which gave +her a distinctive air. Her clothes were seldom fashionable +but always exceedingly becoming, for she saw herself as a whole +and arrayed herself as a decorative composition from head to foot, +with a sense of fitness in regard to self and life.</p> + +<p>To such a nature as Eugene's, an intelligent, artistic, self-regulating +and self-poised human being was always intensely +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> +magnetic and gratifying. He turned to the capable person as +naturally as a flower turns toward the light, finding a joy in +contemplating the completeness and sufficiency of such a being. +To have ideas of your own seemed to him a marvellous thing. +To be able definitely to formulate your thoughts and reach +positive and satisfying conclusions was a great and beautiful +thing. From such personalities Eugene drank admiringly until +his thirst was satiated—then he would turn away. If his +thirst for what they had to give returned, he might come back—not +otherwise.</p> + +<p>Hitherto all his relationships with personages of this quality +had been confined to the male sex, for he had not known any +women of distinction. Beginning with Temple Boyle, instructor +in the life class in Chicago, and Vincent Beers, instructor +in the illustration class, he had encountered successively Jerry +Mathews, Mitchell Goldfarb, Peter McHugh, David Smite and +Jotham Blue, all men of intense personal feeling and convictions +and men who had impressed him greatly. Now he was to +encounter for the first time some forceful, really exceptional +women of the same calibre. Stella Appleton, Margaret Duff, +Ruby Kenny and Angela Blue were charming girls in their way, +but they did not think for themselves. They were not organized, +self-directed, self-controlled personalities in the way that Miriam +Finch was. She would have recognized herself at once as being +infinitely superior intellectually and artistically to any or all of +them, while entertaining at the same time a sympathetic, appreciative +understanding of their beauty, fitness, equality of value +in the social scheme. She was a student of life, a critic of emotions +and understanding, with keen appreciative intelligence, +and yet longing intensely for just what Stella and Margaret +and Ruby and even Angela had—youth, beauty, interest for +men, the power or magnetism or charm of face and form to +compel the impetuous passion of a lover. She wanted to be +loved by someone who could love madly and beautifully, and +this had never come to her.</p> + +<p>Miss Finch's home, or rather studio, was with her family in +East Twenty-sixth Street, where she occupied a north room on +the third floor, but her presence in the bosom of that family did +not prevent her from attaining an individuality and an exclusiveness +which was most illuminating to Eugene. Her room was +done in silver, brown and grey, with a great wax-festooned +candlestick fully five feet high standing in one corner and a +magnificent carved chest of early Flemish workmanship standing +in another. There was a brown combination writing desk and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> +book-shelf which was arrayed with some of the most curious +volumes—Pater's "Marius the Epicurean," Daudet's "Wives of +Men of Genius," Richard Jefferies' "Story of My Heart," +Stevenson's "Aes Triplex," "The Kasidah" of Richard Burton, +"The House of Life" by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, "Also sprach +Zarathustra" by Friedrich Nietzsche. The fact that they were +here, after he had taken one look at the woman and the room, +was to Eugene sufficient proof that they were important. +He handled them curiously, reading odd paragraphs, nosing about, +looking at pictures, and making rapid notes in his mental notebook. +This was someone worth knowing, he felt that. He +wanted to make a sufficiently favorable impression to be permitted +to know her better.</p> + +<p>Miriam Finch was at once taken with Eugene. There was +such an air of vigor, inquiry, appreciation and understanding +about him that she could not help being impressed. He +seemed somewhat like a lighted lamp casting a soft, shaded, +velvety glow. He went about her room, after his introduction, +looking at her pictures, her bronzes and clays, asking after +the creator of this, the painter of that, where a third thing +came from.</p> + +<p>"I never heard of one of these books," he said frankly, when +he looked over the small, specially selected collection.</p> + +<p>"There are some very interesting things here," she volunteered, +coming to his side. His simple confession appealed to her. +He was like a breath of fresh air. Richard Wheeler, who +had brought him in, made no objection to being neglected. He +wanted her to enjoy his find.</p> + +<p>"You know," said Eugene, looking up from Burton's "Kasidah" +and into her brown eyes, "New York gets me dizzy. It's +so wonderful!"</p> + +<p>"Just how?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"It's so compact of wonderful things. I saw a shop the +other day full of old jewelry and ornaments and quaint stones and +clothes, and O Heaven! I don't know what all—more things +than I had ever seen in my whole life before; and here in this +quiet side street and this unpretentious house I find this room. +Nothing seems to show on the outside; everything seems crowded +to suffocation with luxury or art value on the inside."</p> + +<p>"Are you talking about this room?" she ventured.</p> + +<p>"Why, yes," he replied.</p> + +<p>"Take note, Mr. Wheeler," she called, over her shoulder +to her young editor friend. "This is the first time in my life that +I have been accused of possessing luxury. When you write me +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +up again I want you to give me credit for luxury. I like +it."</p> + +<p>"I'll certainly do it," said Wheeler.</p> + +<p>"Yes. 'Art values' too."</p> + +<p>"Yes. 'Art values.' I have it," said Wheeler.</p> + +<p>Eugene smiled. He liked her vivacity. "I know what you +mean," she added. "I've felt the same thing about Paris. You +go into little unpretentious places there and come across such +wonderful things—heaps and heaps of fine clothes, antiques, +jewels. Where was it I read such an interesting article about +that?"</p> + +<p>"Not in <i>Craft</i> I hope?" ventured Wheeler.</p> + +<p>"No, I don't think so. <i>Harper's Bazaar</i>, I believe."</p> + +<p>"Oh, pshaw!" exclaimed Wheeler. "<i>Harper's Bazaar!</i> What +rot!"</p> + +<p>"But that's just what you ought to have. Why don't you +do it—right?"</p> + +<p>"I will," he said.</p> + +<p>Eugene went to the piano and turned over a pile of music. +Again he came across the unfamiliar, the strange, the obviously +distinguished—Grieg's "Arabian Dance"; "Es war ein Traum" +by Lassen; "Elegie" by Massenet; "Otidi" by Davydoff; +"Nymphs and Shepherds" by Purcell—things whose very titles +smacked of color and beauty. Gluck, Sgambati, Rossini, Tschaikowsky—the +Italian Scarlatti—Eugene marvelled at what he +did not know about music.</p> + +<p>"Play something," he pleaded, and with a smile Miriam +stepped to the piano.</p> + +<p>"Do you know 'Es war ein Traum'?" she inquired.</p> + +<p>"No," said he.</p> + +<p>"That's lovely," put in Wheeler. "Sing it!"</p> + +<p>Eugene had thought that possibly she sang, but he was not +prepared for the burst of color that came with her voice. It +was not a great voice, but sweet and sympathetic, equal to the +tasks she set herself. She selected her music as she selected +her clothes—to suit her capacity. The poetic, sympathetic +reminiscence of the song struck home. Eugene was delighted.</p> + +<p>"Oh," he exclaimed, bringing his chair close to the piano and +looking into her face, "you sing beautifully."</p> + +<p>She gave him a glittering smile.</p> + +<p>"Now I'll sing anything you want for you if you go on +like that."</p> + +<p>"I'm crazy about music," he said; "I don't know anything +about it, but I like this sort of thing."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +"You like the really good things. I know. So do I."</p> + +<p>He felt flattered and grateful. They went through "Otidi," +"The Nightingale," "Elegie," "The Last Spring"—music +Eugene had never heard before. But he knew at once that he +was listening to playing which represented a better intelligence, +a keener selective judgment, a finer artistic impulse than anyone +he had ever known had possessed. Ruby played and Angela, the +latter rather well, but neither had ever heard of these things +he was sure. Ruby had only liked popular things; Angela the +standard melodies—beautiful but familiar. Here was someone +who ignored popular taste—was in advance of it. In all her +music he had found nothing he knew. It grew on him as a +significant fact. He wanted to be nice to her, to have her like +him. So he drew close and smiled and she always smiled back. +Like the others she liked his face, his mouth, his eyes, his hair.</p> + +<p>"He's charming," she thought, when he eventually left; and +his impression of her was of a woman who was notably and significantly +distinguished.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_XXI" id="I_CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<p>But Miriam Finch's family, of which she seemed so independent, +had not been without its influence on her. This +family was of Middle West origin, and did not understand or +sympathize very much with the artistic temperament. Since her +sixteenth year, when Miriam had first begun to exhibit a definite +striving toward the artistic, her parents had guarded her jealously +against what they considered the corrupting atmosphere of the +art world. Her mother had accompanied her from Ohio to +New York, and lived with her while she studied art in the art +school, chaperoning her everywhere. When it became advisable, +as she thought, for Miriam to go abroad, she went with her. +Miriam's artistic career was to be properly supervised. When +she lived in the Latin Quarter in Paris her mother was with +her; when she loitered in the atmosphere of the galleries and +palaces in Rome it was with her mother at her side. At Pompeii +and Herculaneum—in London and in Berlin—her mother, an +iron-willed little woman at forty-five at that time, was with her. +She was convinced that she knew exactly what was good for her +daughter and had more or less made the girl accept her theories. +Later, Miriam's personal judgment began to diverge slightly +from that of her mother and then trouble began.</p> + +<p>It was vague at first, hardly a definite, tangible thing in +the daughter's mind, but later it grew to be a definite feeling +that her life was being cramped. She had been warned off +from association with this person and that; had been shown the +pitfalls that surround the free, untrammelled life of the art +studio. Marriage with the average artist was not to be considered. +Modelling from the nude, particularly the nude of +a man, was to her mother at first most distressing. She insisted +on being present and for a long time her daughter thought +that was all right. Finally the presence, the viewpoint, the intellectual +insistence of her mother, became too irksome, and an +open break followed. It was one of those family tragedies +which almost kill conservative parents. Mrs. Finch's heart +was practically broken.</p> + +<p>The trouble with this break was that it came a little too +late for Miriam's happiness. In the stress of this insistent +chaperonage she had lost her youth—the period during which +she felt she should have had her natural freedom. She had +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> +lost the interest of several men who in her nineteenth, twentieth +and twenty-first years had approached her longingly, but who +could not stand the criticism of her mother. At twenty-eight +when the break came the most delightful love period was over +and she felt grieved and resentful.</p> + +<p>At that time she had insisted on a complete and radical change +for herself. She had managed to get, through one art dealer +and another, orders for some of her spirited clay figurines. There +was a dancing girl, a visualization of one of the moods of +Carmencita, a celebrated dancer of the period, which had caught +the public fancy—at least the particular art dealer who was +handling her work for her had managed to sell some eighteen +replicas of it at $175 each. Miss Finch's share of this was +$100, each. There was another little thing, a six-inch bronze +called "Sleep," which had sold some twenty replicas at $150 +each, and was still selling. "The Wind," a figure crouching and +huddling as if from cold, was also selling. It looked as though +she might be able to make from three to four thousand dollars +a year steadily.</p> + +<p>She demanded of her mother at this time the right to a private +studio, to go and come when she pleased, to go about alone +wherever she wished, to have men and women come to her +private apartment, and be entertained by her in her own manner. +She objected to supervision in any form, cast aside criticism +and declared roundly that she would lead her own life. She +realized sadly while she was doing it, however, that the best was +gone—that she had not had the wit or the stamina to do as +she pleased at the time she most wanted to do so. Now she +would be almost automatically conservative. She could not +help it.</p> + +<p>Eugene when he first met her felt something of this. He +felt the subtlety of her temperament, her philosophic conclusions, +what might be called her emotional disappointment. She +was eager for life, which seemed to him odd, for she appeared +to have so much. By degrees he got it out of her, for they came +to be quite friendly and then he understood clearly just how +things were.</p> + +<p>By the end of three months and before Christina Channing +appeared, Eugene had come to the sanest, cleanest understanding +with Miss Finch that he had yet reached with any woman. He +had dropped into the habit of calling there once and sometimes +twice a week. He had learned to understand her point of view, +which was detachedly æsthetic and rather removed from the +world of the sensuous. Her ideal of a lover had been fixed +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +to a certain extent by statues and poems of Greek youth—Hylas, +Adonis, Perseus, and by those men of the Middle Ages +painted by Millais, Burne-Jones, Dante Gabriel Rossetti and +Ford Madox Brown. She had hoped for a youth with a classic +outline of face, distinction of form, graciousness of demeanor +and an appreciative intellect. He must be manly but artistic. +It was a rather high ideal, not readily capable of attainment +by a woman already turned thirty, but nevertheless worth dreaming +about.</p> + +<p>Although she had surrounded herself with talented youth as +much as possible—both young men and young women—she had +not come across <i>the one</i>. There had been a number of times +when, for a very little while, she had imagined she had found +him, but had been compelled to see her fancies fail. All the +youths she knew had been inclined to fall in love with girls +younger than themselves—some to the interesting maidens she +had introduced them to. It is hard to witness an ideal turning +from yourself, its spiritual counterpart, and fixing itself upon +some mere fleshly vision of beauty which a few years will cause +to fade. Such had been her fate, however, and she was at times +inclined to despair. When Eugene appeared she had almost +concluded that love was not for her, and she did not flatter +herself that he would fall in love with her. Nevertheless she +could not help but be interested in him and look at times with +a longing eye at his interesting face and figure. It was so +obvious that if he loved at all it would be dramatically, in all +probability, beautifully.</p> + +<p>As time went on she took pains to be agreeable to him. +He had, as it were, the freedom of her room. She knew of +exhibitions, personalities, movements—in religion, art, science, +government, literature. She was inclined to take an interest in +socialism, and believed in righting the wrongs of the people. +Eugene thought he did, but he was so keenly interested in life +as a spectacle that he hadn't as much time to sympathize as he +thought he ought to have. She took him to see exhibitions, and +to meet people, being rather proud of a boy with so much talent; +and she was pleased to find that he was so generally acceptable. +People, particularly writers, poets, musicians—beginners in every +field, were inclined to remember him. He was an easy talker, +witty, quick to make himself at home and perfectly natural. He +tried to be accurate in his judgments of things, and fair, but he +was young and subject to strong prejudices. He appreciated her +friendship, and did not seek to make their relationship more +intimate. He knew that only a sincere proposal of marriage +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> +could have won her, and he did not care enough for her for that. +He felt himself bound to Angela and, curiously, he felt Miriam's +age as a bar between them. He admired her tremendously and +was learning in part through her what his ideal ought to be, but +he was not drawn sufficiently to want to make love to her.</p> + +<p>But in Christina Channing, whom he met shortly afterward, +he found a woman of a more sensuous and lovable type, though +hardly less artistic. Christina Channing was a singer by profession, +living also in New York with her mother, but not, +as Miss Finch had been, dominated by her so thoroughly, although +she was still at the age when her mother could and did +have considerable influence with her. She was twenty-seven +years of age and so far, had not yet attained the eminence which +subsequently was hers, though she was full of that buoyant self-confidence +which makes for eventual triumph. So far she +had studied ardently under various teachers, had had several +love affairs, none serious enough to win her away from her +chosen profession, and had gone through the various experiences +of those who begin ignorantly to do something in art and eventually +reach experience and understanding of how the world is +organized and what they will have to do to succeed.</p> + +<p>Although Miss Channing's artistic sense did not rise to that +definite artistic expression in her material surroundings which +characterized Miss Finch's studio atmosphere, it went much +farther in its expression of her joy in life. Her voice, a rich +contralto, deep, full, colorful, had a note of pathos and poignancy +which gave a touch of emotion to her gayest songs. She could +play well enough to accompany herself with delicacy and emphasis. +She was at present one of the soloists with the New +York Symphony Orchestra, with the privilege of accepting +occasional outside engagements. The following Fall she was +preparing to make a final dash to Germany to see if she could +not get an engagement with a notable court opera company and +so pave the way for a New York success. She was already +quite well known in musical circles as a promising operatic +candidate and her eventual arrival would be not so much a +question of talent as of luck.</p> + +<p>While these two women fascinated Eugene for the time being, +his feeling for Angela continued unchanged; for though she +suffered in an intellectual or artistic comparison, he felt that she +was richer emotionally. There was a poignancy in her love +letters, an intensity about her personal feelings when in his +presence which moved him in spite of himself—an ache went +with her which brought a memory of the tales of Sappho and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> +Marguerite Gautier. It occurred to him now that if he flung +her aside it might go seriously with her. He did not actually +think of doing anything of the sort, but he was realizing that +there was a difference between her and intellectual women +like Miriam Finch. Besides that, there was a whole constellation +of society women swimming into his ken—women whom he only +knew, as yet, through the newspapers and the smart weeklies +like Town Topics and Vogue, who were presenting still a third +order of perfection. Vaguely he was beginning to see that the +world was immense and subtle, and that there were many things +to learn about women that he had never dreamed of.</p> + +<p>Christina Channing was a rival of Angela's in one sense, that +of bodily beauty. She had a tall perfectly rounded form, a lovely +oval face, a nut brown complexion with the rosy glow of health +showing in cheeks and lips, and a mass of blue black hair. Her +great brown eyes were lustrous and sympathetic.</p> + +<p>Eugene met her through the good offices of Shotmeyer, who +had been given by some common friend in Boston a letter of +introduction to her. He had spoken of Eugene as being a +very brilliant young artist and his friend, and remarked that he +would like to bring him up some evening to hear her sing. +Miss Channing acquiesced, for she had seen some of his drawings +and was struck by the poetic note in them. Shotmeyer, +vain of his notable acquaintances—who in fact tolerated him +for his amusing gossip—described Miss Channing's voice to +Eugene and asked him if he did not want to call on her some +evening. "Delighted," said Eugene.</p> + +<p>The appointment was made and together they went to Miss +Channing's suite in a superior Nineteenth Street boarding house. +Miss Channing received them, arrayed in a smooth, close fitting +dress of black velvet, touched with red. Eugene was reminded +of the first costume in which he had seen Ruby. He was dazzled. +As for her, as she told him afterward, she was conscious +of a peculiar illogical perturbation.</p> + +<p>"When I put on my ribbon that night," she told him, "I was +going to put on a dark blue silk one I had just bought and then I +thought 'No, he'll like me better in a red one.' Isn't that curious? +I just felt as though you were going to like me—as +though we might know each other better. That young man—what's +his name—described you so accurately." It was months +afterward when she confessed that.</p> + +<p>When Eugene entered it was with the grand air he had acquired +since his life had begun to broaden in the East. He took +his relationship with talent, particularly female talent, seriously. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> +He stood up very straight, walked with a noticeable stride, drove +an examining glance into the very soul of the person he was +looking at. He was quick to get impressions, especially of talent. +He could feel ability in another. When he looked at Miss +Channing he felt it like a strong wave—the vibrating wave +of an intense consciousness.</p> + +<p>She greeted him, extending a soft white hand. They spoke +of how they had heard of each other. Eugene somehow made +her feel his enthusiasm for her art. "Music is the finer thing," +he said, when she spoke of his own gift.</p> + +<p>Christina's dark brown eyes swept him from head to foot. +He was like his pictures, she thought—and as good to look at.</p> + +<p>He was introduced to her mother. They sat down, talking, +and presently Miss Channing sang—"Che faro senza Euridice." +Eugene felt as if she were singing to him. Her cheeks were +flushed and her lips red.</p> + +<p>Her mother remarked after she had finished, "You're in splendid +voice this evening, Christina."</p> + +<p>"I feel particularly fit," she replied.</p> + +<p>"A wonderful voice—it's like a big red poppy or a great yellow +orchid!" cried Eugene.</p> + +<p>Christina thrilled. The description caught her fancy. It +seemed true. She felt something of that in the sounds to which +she gave utterance.</p> + +<p>"Please sing 'Who is Sylvia,'" he begged a little later. She +complied gladly.</p> + +<p>"That was written for you," he said softly as she ceased, for +he had come close to the piano. "You image Sylvia for me." +Her cheeks colored warmly.</p> + +<p>"Thanks," she nodded, and her eyes spoke too. She welcomed +his daring and she was glad to let him know it.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_XXII" id="I_CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<p>The chief trouble with his present situation, and with the +entrance of these two women into his life, and it had begun +to be a serious one to him, was that he was not making money. +He had been able to earn about $1200 the first year; the second +he made a little over two thousand, and this third year he was +possibly doing a little better. But in view of what he saw around +him and what he now knew of life, it was nothing. New York +presented a spectacle of material display such as he had never +known existed. The carriages on Fifth Avenue, the dinners at +the great hotels, the constant talk of society functions in the +newspapers, made his brain dizzy. He was inclined to idle about +the streets, to watch the handsomely dressed crowds, to consider +the evidences of show and refinement everywhere, and he came +to the conclusion that he was not living at all, but existing. Art +as he had first dreamed of it, art had seemed not only a road +to distinction but also to affluence. Now, as he studied those +about him, he found that it was not so. Artists were never +tremendously rich, he learned. He remembered reading in Balzac's +story "Cousin Betty," of a certain artist of great distinction +who had been allowed condescendingly by one of the rich families +of Paris to marry a daughter, but it was considered a great +come down for her. He had hardly been able to credit the idea +at the time, so exalted was his notion of the artist. But now +he was beginning to see that it represented the world's treatment +of artists. There were in America a few who were very popular—meretriciously +so he thought in certain cases—who were +said to be earning from ten to fifteen thousand a year. How high +would that place them, he asked himself, in that world of real +luxury which was made up of the so-called <i>four hundred</i>—the +people of immense wealth and social position. He had read in +the papers that it took from fifteen to twenty-five thousand dollars +a year to clothe a débutante. It was nothing uncommon, +he heard, for a man to spend from fifteen to twenty dollars on +his dinner at the restaurant. The prices he heard that tailors +demanded—that dressmakers commanded, the display of jewels +and expensive garments at the opera, made the poor little income +of an artist look like nothing at all. Miss Finch was +constantly telling him of the show and swagger she met with +in her circle of acquaintances, for her tact and adaptability had +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> +gained her the friendship of a number of society people. Miss +Channing, when he came to know her better, made constant references +to things she came in contact with—great singers or violinists +paid $1000 a night, or the tremendous salaries commanded +by the successful opera stars. He began, as he looked at his +own meagre little income, to feel shabby again, and run down, +much as he had during those first days in Chicago. Why, art, +outside the fame, was nothing. It did not make for real living. +It made for a kind of mental blooming, which everybody recognized, +but you could be a poor, sick, hungry, shabby genius—you +actually could. Look at Verlaine, who had recently died +in Paris.</p> + +<p>A part of this feeling was due to the opening of a golden age +of luxury in New York, and the effect the reiterated sight of it +was having on Eugene. Huge fortunes had been amassed in +the preceding fifty years and now there were thousands of residents +in the great new city who were worth anything from one +to fifty and in some instances a hundred million dollars. The +metropolitan area, particularly Manhattan Island above Fifty-ninth +Street, was growing like a weed. Great hotels were being +erected in various parts of the so-called "white light" district. +There was beginning, just then, the first organized attempt of +capital to supply a new need—the modern sumptuous, eight, ten +and twelve story apartment house, which was to house the world +of newly rich middle class folk who were pouring into New York +from every direction. Money was being made in the West, +the South and the North, and as soon as those who were making +it had sufficient to permit them to live in luxury for the rest +of their days they were moving East, occupying these expensive +apartments, crowding the great hotels, patronizing the sumptuous +restaurants, giving the city its air of spendthrift luxury. All +the things which catered to showy material living were beginning +to flourish tremendously, art and curio shops, rug shops, decorative +companies dealing with the old and the new in hangings, +furniture, objects of art; dealers in paintings, jewelry stores, +china and glassware houses—anything and everything which goes +to make life comfortable and brilliant. Eugene, as he strolled +about the city, saw this, felt the change, realized that the drift +was toward greater population, greater luxury, greater beauty. +His mind was full of the necessity of living <i>now</i>. He was young +<i>now</i>; he was vigorous <i>now</i>; he was keen <i>now</i>; in a few years +he might not be—seventy years was the allotted span and twenty-five +of his had already gone. How would it be if he never came +into this luxury, was never allowed to enter society, was never +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> +permitted to live as wealth was now living! The thought hurt +him. He felt an eager desire to tear wealth and fame from the +bosom of the world. Life must give him his share. If it did not +he would curse it to his dying day. So he felt when he was approaching +twenty-six.</p> + +<p>The effect of Christina Channing's friendship for him was +particularly to emphasize this. She was not so much older than +he, was possessed of very much the same temperament, the same +hopes and aspirations, and she discerned almost as clearly as he +did the current of events. New York was to witness a golden +age of luxury. It was already passing into it. Those who rose +to distinction in any field, particularly music or the stage, were +likely to share in a most notable spectacle of luxury. Christina +hoped to. She was sure she would. After a few conversations +with Eugene she was inclined to feel that he would. He was so +brilliant, so incisive.</p> + +<p>"You have such a way with you," she said the second time he +came. "You are so commanding. You make me think you can +do almost anything you want to."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," he deprecated. "Not as bad as that. I have just +as much trouble as anyone getting what I want."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but you will though. You have ideas."</p> + +<p>It did not take these two long to reach an understanding. +They confided to each other their individual histories, with reservations, +of course, at first. Christina told him of her musical +history, beginning at Hagerstown, Maryland, and he went back +to his earliest days in Alexandria. They discussed the differences +in parental control to which they had been subject. He +learned of her father's business, which was that of oyster farming, +and confessed on his part to being the son of a sewing machine +agent. They talked of small town influences, early illusions, +the different things they had tried to do. She had sung +in the local Methodist church, had once thought she would like +to be a milliner, had fallen in the hands of a teacher who tried +to get her to marry him and she had been on the verge of consenting. +Something happened—she went away for the summer, +or something of that sort, and changed her mind.</p> + +<p>After an evening at the theatre with her, a late supper one +night and a third call, to spend a quiet evening in her room, +he took her by the hand. She was standing by the piano and +he was looking at her cheeks, her large inquiring eyes, her smooth +rounded neck and chin.</p> + +<p>"You like me," he said suddenly à propos of nothing save the +mutual attraction that was always running strong between them.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> +Without hesitation she nodded her head, though the bright +blood mounted to her neck and cheeks.</p> + +<p>"You are so lovely to me," he went on, "that words are of +no value. I can paint you. Or you can sing me what you are, +but mere words won't show it. I have been in love before, but +never with anyone like you."</p> + +<p>"Are you in love?" she asked naïvely.</p> + +<p>"What is this?" he asked and slipped his arms about her, +drawing her close.</p> + +<p>She turned her head away, leaving her rosy cheek near his lips. +He kissed that, then her mouth and her neck. He held her +chin and looked into her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Be careful," she said, "mamma may come in."</p> + +<p>"Hang mamma!" he laughed.</p> + +<p>"She'll hang you if she sees you. Mamma would never suspect +me of anything like this."</p> + +<p>"That shows how little mamma knows of her Christina," he +answered.</p> + +<p>"She knows enough at that," she confessed gaily. "Oh, if we +were only up in the mountains now," she added.</p> + +<p>"What mountains," he inquired curiously.</p> + +<p>"The Blue Ridge. We have a bungalow up at Florizel. You +must come up when we go there next summer."</p> + +<p>"Will mamma be there?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"And papa," she laughed.</p> + +<p>"And I suppose Cousin Annie."</p> + +<p>"No, brother George will be."</p> + +<p>"Nix for the bungalow," he replied, using a slang word that +had become immensely popular.</p> + +<p>"Oh, but I know all the country round there. There are some +lovely walks and drives." She said this archly, naïvely, suggestively, +her bright face lit with an intelligence that seemed +perfection.</p> + +<p>"Well—such being the case!" he smiled, "and meanwhile—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, meanwhile you just have to wait. You see how things +are." She nodded her head towards an inside room where Mrs. +Channing was lying down with a slight headache. "Mamma +doesn't leave me very often."</p> + +<p>Eugene did not know exactly how to take Christina. He had +never encountered this attitude before. Her directness, in connection +with so much talent, such real ability, rather took him +by surprise. He did not expect it—did not think she would confess +affection for him; did not know just what she meant by +speaking in the way she did of the bungalow and Florizel. He +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> +was flattered, raised in his own self-esteem. If such a beautiful, +talented creature as this could confess her love for him, what a +personage he must be. And she was thinking of freer conditions—just +what?</p> + +<p>He did not want to press the matter too closely then and +she was not anxious to have him do so—she preferred to be +enigmatic. But there was a light of affection and admiration +in her eye which made him very proud and happy with things +just as they were.</p> + +<p>As she said, there was little chance for love-making under +conditions then existing. Her mother was with her most of +the time. Christina invited Eugene to come and hear her sing +at the Philharmonic Concerts; so once in a great ball-room at +the Waldorf-Astoria and again in the imposing auditorium of +Carnegie Hall and a third time in the splendid auditorium of +the Arion Society, he had the pleasure of seeing her walk briskly +to the footlights, the great orchestra waiting, the audience expectant, +herself arch, assured—almost defiant, he thought, and +so beautiful. When the great house thundered its applause he +was basking in one delicious memory of her.</p> + +<p>"Last night she had her arms about my neck. Tonight when +I call and we are alone she will kiss me. That beautiful, distinguished +creature standing there bowing and smiling loves me +and no one else. If I were to ask her she would marry me—if +I were in a position and had the means."</p> + +<p>"If I were in a position—" that thought cut him, for he knew +that he was not. He could not marry her. In reality she would +not have him knowing how little he made—or would she? He +wondered.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_XXIII" id="I_CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + +<p>Towards the end of spring Eugene concluded he would +rather go up in the mountains near Christina's bungalow +this summer, than back to see Angela. The memory of that +precious creature was, under the stress and excitement of metropolitan +life, becoming a little tarnished. His recollections of her +were as delightful as ever, as redolent of beauty, but he was beginning +to wonder. The smart crowd in New York was composed +of a different type. Angela was sweet and lovely, but +would she fit in?</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Miriam Finch with her subtle eclecticism continued +her education of Eugene. She was as good as a school. +He would sit and listen to her descriptions of plays, her appreciation +of books, her summing up of current philosophies, and he +would almost feel himself growing. She knew so many people, +could tell him where to go to see just such and such an important +thing. All the startling personalities, the worth while +preachers, the new actors, somehow she knew all about them.</p> + +<p>"Now, Eugene," she would exclaim on seeing him, "you positively +must go and see Haydon Boyd in 'The Signet,'" or—"see +Elmina Deming in her new dances," or—"look at the pictures +of Winslow Homer that are being shown at Knoedler's."</p> + +<p>She would explain with exactness why she wanted him to +see them, what she thought they would do for him. She frankly +confessed to him that she considered him a genius and always +insisted on knowing what new thing he was doing. When any +work of his appeared and she liked it she was swift to tell him. +He almost felt as if he owned her room and herself, as if all +that she was—her ideas, her friends, her experiences—belonged +to him. He could go and draw on them by sitting at her feet +or going with her somewhere. When spring came she liked to +walk with him, to listen to his comments on nature and life.</p> + +<p>"That's splendid!" she would exclaim. "Now, why don't +you write that?" or "why don't you paint that?"</p> + +<p>He showed her some of his poems once and she had made copies +of them and pasted them in a book of what she called exceptional +things. So he was coddled by her.</p> + +<p>In another way Christina was equally nice. She was fond of +telling Eugene how much she thought of him, how nice she +thought he was. "You're so big and smarty," she said to him +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> +once, affectionately, pinioning his arms and looking into his +eyes. "I like the way you part your hair, too! You're kind o' +like an artist ought to be!"</p> + +<p>"That's the way to spoil me," he replied. "Let me tell you +how nice you are. Want to know how nice you are?"</p> + +<p>"Uh-uh," she smiled, shaking her head to mean "no."</p> + +<p>"Wait till we get to the mountains. I'll tell you." He +sealed her lips with his, holding her until her breath was almost +gone.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she exclaimed; "you're terrible. You're like steel."</p> + +<p>"And you're like a big red rose. Kiss me!"</p> + +<p>From Christina he learned all about the musical world and +musical personalities. He gained an insight into the different +forms of music, operatic, symphonic, instrumental. He learned +of the different forms of composition, the terminology, the mystery +of the vocal cords, the methods of training. He learned +of the jealousies within the profession, and what the best musical +authorities thought of such and such composers, or singers. He +learned how difficult it was to gain a place in the operatic world, +how bitterly singers fought each other, how quick the public +was to desert a fading star. Christina took it all so unconcernedly +that he almost loved her for her courage. She was so +wise and so good natured.</p> + +<p>"You have to give up a lot of things to be a good artist," she +said to Eugene one day. "You can't have the ordinary life, and +art too."</p> + +<p>"Just what do you mean, Chrissy?" he asked, petting her +hand, for they were alone together.</p> + +<p>"Why, you can't get married very well and have children, and +you can't do much in a social way. Oh, I know they do get +married, but sometimes I think it is a mistake. Most of the +singers I know don't do so very well tied down by marriage."</p> + +<p>"Don't you intend to get married?" asked Eugene curiously.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," she replied, realizing what he was driving at. +"I'd want to think about that. A woman artist is in a d— of +a position anyway," using the letter d only to indicate the +word "devil." "She has so many things to think about."</p> + +<p>"For instance?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, what people think and her family think, and I don't +know what all. They ought to get a new sex for artists—like +they have for worker bees."</p> + +<p>Eugene smiled. He knew what she was driving at. But he +did not know how long she had been debating the problem of +her virginity as conflicting with her love of distinction in art. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> +She was nearly sure she did not want to complicate her art life +with marriage. She was almost positive that success on the operatic +stage—particularly the great opportunity for the beginner +abroad—was complicated with some liaison. Some escaped, but +it was not many. She was wondering in her own mind whether +she owed it to current morality to remain absolutely pure. It +was assumed generally that girls should remain virtuous and +marry, but this did not necessarily apply to her—should it apply +to the artistic temperament? Her mother and her family +troubled her. She was virtuous, but youth and desire had given +her some bitter moments. And here was Eugene to emphasize it.</p> + +<p>"It is a difficult problem," he said sympathetically, wondering +what she would eventually do. He felt keenly that her attitude +in regard to marriage affected his relationship to her. Was +she wedded to her art at the expense of love?</p> + +<p>"It's a big problem," she said and went to the piano to +sing.</p> + +<p>He half suspected for a little while after this that she might +be contemplating some radical step—what, he did not care to +say to himself, but he was intensely interested in her problem. +This peculiar freedom of thought astonished him—broadened his +horizon. He wondered what his sister Myrtle would think +of a girl discussing marriage in this way—the to be or not to be +of it—what Sylvia? He wondered if many girls did that. +Most of the women he had known seemed to think more +logically along these lines than he did. He remembered asking +Ruby once whether she didn't think illicit love was wrong and +hearing her reply, "No. Some people thought it was wrong, +but that didn't make it so to her." Here was another girl +with another theory.</p> + +<p>They talked more of love, and he wondered why she wanted +him to come up to Florizel in the summer. She could not be +thinking—no, she was too conservative. He began to suspect, +though, that she would not marry him—would not marry anyone +at present. She merely wanted to be loved for awhile, no doubt.</p> + +<p>May came and with it the end of Christina's concert work +and voice study so far as New York was concerned. She had +been in and out of the city all the winter—to Pittsburgh, +Buffalo, Chicago, St. Paul and now after a winter's hard work +retired to Hagerstown with her mother for a few weeks prior +to leaving for Florizel.</p> + +<p>"You ought to come down here," she wrote to Eugene early in +June. "There is a sickle moon that shines in my garden +and the roses are in bloom. Oh, the odors are so sweet, and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> +the dew! Some of our windows open out level with the grass +and I sing! I sing!! I sing!!!"</p> + +<p>He had a notion to run down but restrained himself, for she +told him that they were leaving in two weeks for the mountains. +He had a set of drawings to complete for a magazine +for which they were in a hurry. So he decided to wait till +that was done.</p> + +<p>In late June he went up to the Blue Ridge, in Southern Pennsylvania, +where Florizel was situated. He thought at first +he would be invited to stay at the Channing bungalow, but +Christina warned him that it would be safer and better for him +to stay at one of the adjoining hotels. There were several +on the slope of adjacent hills at prices ranging from five to +ten dollars a day. Though this was high for Eugene he +decided to go. He wanted to be with this marvellous creature—to +see just what she did mean by wishing they were in the +mountains together.</p> + +<p>He had saved some eight hundred dollars, which was in a +savings bank and he withdrew three hundred for his little +outing. He took Christina a very handsomely bound copy of +Villon, of whom she was fond, and several volumes of new verse. +Most of these, chosen according to his most recent mood, were +sad in their poetic texture; they all preached the nothingness +of life, its sadness, albeit the perfection of its beauty.</p> + +<p>At this time Eugene had quite reached the conclusion that +there was no hereafter—there was nothing save blind, dark +force moving aimlessly—where formerly he had believed vaguely +in a heaven and had speculated as to a possible hell. His +reading had led him through some main roads and some odd +by-paths of logic and philosophy. He was an omnivorous reader +now and a fairly logical thinker. He had already tackled +Spencer's "First Principles," which had literally torn him up +by the roots and set him adrift and from that had gone back +to Marcus Aurelius, Epictetus, Spinoza and Schopenhauer—men +who ripped out all his private theories and made him wonder +what life really was. He had walked the streets for a long +time after reading some of these things, speculating on the play +of forces, the decay of matter, the fact that thought-forms had +no more stability than cloud-forms. Philosophies came and +went, governments came and went, races arose and disappeared. +He walked into the great natural history museum of New +York once to discover enormous skeletons of prehistoric animals—things +said to have lived two, three, five millions of years +before his day and he marvelled at the forces which produced +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> +them, the indifference, apparently, with which they had been +allowed to die. Nature seemed lavish of its types and utterly +indifferent to the persistence of anything. He came to the +conclusion that he was nothing, a mere shell, a sound, a leaf +which had no general significance, and for the time being it +almost broke his heart. It tended to smash his egotism, to +tear away his intellectual pride. He wandered about dazed, +hurt, moody, like a lost child. But he was thinking persistently.</p> + +<p>Then came Darwin, Huxley, Tyndall, Lubbock—a whole +string of British thinkers who fortified the original conclusions +of the others, but showed him a beauty, a formality, a lavishness +of form and idea in nature's methods which fairly transfixed +him. He was still reading—poets, naturalists, essayists, but he +was still gloomy. Life was nothing save dark forces moving +aimlessly.</p> + +<p>The manner in which he applied this thinking to his life +was characteristic and individual. To think that beauty should +blossom for a little while and disappear for ever seemed sad. +To think that his life should endure but for seventy years and +then be no more was terrible. He and Angela were chance +acquaintances—chemical affinities—never to meet again in all +time. He and Christina, he and Ruby—he and anyone—a few +bright hours were all they could have together, and then would +come the great silence, dissolution, and he would never be +anymore. It hurt him to think of this, but it made him all +the more eager to live, to be loved while he was here. If +he could only have a lovely girl's arms to shut him in safely +always!</p> + +<p>It was while he was in this mood that he reached Florizel +after a long night's ride, and Christina who was a good deal +of a philosopher and thinker herself at times was quick to +notice it. She was waiting at the depot with a dainty little trap +of her own to take him for a drive.</p> + +<p>The trap rolled out along the soft, yellow, dusty roads. The +mountain dew was still in the earth though and the dust was +heavy with damp and not flying. Green branches of trees hung +low over them, charming vistas came into view at every turn. +Eugene kissed her, for there was no one to see, twisting her head +to kiss her lips at leisure.</p> + +<p>"It's a blessed thing this horse is tame or we'd be in for +some accident. What makes you so moody?" she said.</p> + +<p>"I'm not moody—or am I? I've been thinking a lot of +things of late—of you principally."</p> + +<p>"Do I make you sad?"</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> +"From one point of view, yes."</p> + +<p>"And what is that, sir?" she asked with an assumption of +severity.</p> + +<p>"You are so beautiful, so wonderful, and life is so short."</p> + +<p>"You have only fifty years to love me in," she laughed, +calculating his age. "Oh, Eugene, what a boy you are!—Wait +a minute," she added after a pause, drawing the horse to a +stop under some trees. "Hold these," she said, offering him +the reins. He took them and she put her arms about his neck. +"Now, you silly," she exclaimed, "I love you, love you, love +you! There was never anyone quite like you. Will that help +you?" she smiled into his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he answered, "but it isn't enough. Seventy years +isn't enough. Eternity isn't enough of life as it is now."</p> + +<p>"As it is now," she echoed and then took the reins, for she +felt what he felt, the need of persistent youth and persistent +beauty to keep it as it should be, and these things would not +stay.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_XXIV" id="I_CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + +<p>The days spent in the mountains were seventeen exactly, +and during that time with Christina, Eugene reached a +curious exaltation of spirit different from anything he had +experienced before. In the first place he had never known a +girl like Christina, so beautiful, so perfect physically, so incisive +mentally, so full of a fine artistic perception. She was +so quick to perceive exactly what he meant. She was so suggestive +to him in her own thoughts and feelings. The mysteries +of life employed her mind quite as fully as they did his. She +thought much of the subtlety of the human body, of its mysterious +emotions, of its conscious and subconscious activities and relationships. +The passions, the desires, the necessities of life, were +as a fine tapestry for her mind to contemplate. She had no +time to sit down and formulate her thoughts; she did not want +to write—but she worked out through her emotions and through +her singing the beautiful and pathetic things she felt. And +she could talk in a fine, poetic melancholy vein on occasion, +though there was so much courage and strength in her young +blood that she was not afraid of any phase of life or what nature +might do with the little substance which she called herself, +when it should dissolve. "Time and change happeneth to us +all," she would quote to Eugene and he would gravely nod +his head.</p> + +<p>The hotel where he stopped was more pretentious than any +he had been previously acquainted with. He had never had +so much money in his life before, nor had he ever felt called +upon to spend it lavishly. The room he took was—because +of what Christina might think—one of the best. He took +Christina's suggestion and invited her, her mother and her +brother to dinner on several occasions; the remainder of the +family had not arrived yet. In return he was invited to +breakfast, to lunch and dinner at the bungalow.</p> + +<p>Christina showed on his arrival that she had planned to be +with him alone as much as possible, for she suggested that they +make expeditions to High Hill, to Bold Face, and The Chimney—three +surrounding mountains. She knew of good hotels at +seven, ten, fifteen miles distance to which they could go by +train, or else they drive and return by moonlight. She had +selected two or three secluded spots in thickets and groves where +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> +the trees gave way to little open spaces of grass, and in these +they would string a hammock, scatter their books of verse about +and sit down to enjoy the delights of talk and love-making.</p> + +<p>Under the influence of this companionship, under cloudless +skies and in the heart of the June weather, Christina finally +yielded to an arrangement which brought Eugene into a relationship +which he had never dreamed possible with her. They +had progressed by degrees through all the subtleties of courtship. +They had come to discuss the nature of passion and emotion, +and had swept aside as negligible the conviction that there +was any inherent evil in the most intimate relationship. At +last Christina said frankly:</p> + +<p>"I don't want to be married. It isn't for me—not until I've +thoroughly succeeded, anyhow. I'd rather wait—If I could +just have you and singleness too."</p> + +<p>"Why do you want to yield yourself to me?" Eugene asked +curiously.</p> + +<p>"I don't know that I exactly want to. I could do with +just your love—if you were satisfied. It's you that I want to +make happy. I want to give you anything you want."</p> + +<p>"Curious girl," observed her lover, smoothing her high forehead +with his hand. "I don't understand you, Christina. I +don't know how your mind works. Why should you? You +have everything to lose if worst came to worst."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," she smiled. "I'd marry you then."</p> + +<p>"But to do this out of hand, because you love me, because you +want me to be happy!" he paused.</p> + +<p>"I don't understand it either, honey boy," she offered, "I +just do."</p> + +<p>"But why, if you are willing to do this, you wouldn't prefer +to live with me, is what I don't understand."</p> + +<p>She took his face between her hands. "I think I understand +you better than you do yourself. I don't think you'd be happy +married. You might not always love me. I might not always +love you. You might come to regret. If we could be happy +now you might reach the point where you wouldn't care +any more. Then you see I wouldn't be remorseful thinking that +we had never known happiness."</p> + +<p>"What logic!" he exclaimed. "Do you mean to say you +wouldn't care any more?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'd care, but not in the same way. Don't you see, +Eugene, I would have the satisfaction of knowing that even +if we did separate you had had the best of me."</p> + +<p>It seemed astounding to Eugene that she should talk in this +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> +way—reason this way. What a curious, sacrificial, fatalistic +turn of mind. Could a young, beautiful, talented girl really be +like this? Would anybody on earth really believe it if they +knew? He looked at her and shook his head sorrowfully.</p> + +<p>"To think that the quintessence of life should not stay with +us always." He sighed.</p> + +<p>"No, honey boy," she replied, "you want too much. You +think you want it to stay, but you don't. You want it to go. +You wouldn't be satisfied to live with me always, I know it. +Take what the gods provide and have no regrets. Refuse to +think; you can, you know."</p> + +<p>Eugene gathered her up in his arms. He kissed her over and +over, forgetting in her embrace all the loves he had ever +known. She yielded herself to him gladly, joyously, telling him +over and over that it made her happy.</p> + +<p>"If you could only see how nice you are to me you wouldn't +wonder," she explained.</p> + +<p>He concluded she was the most wonderful being he had ever +known. No woman had ever revealed herself to him so unselfishly +in love. No woman he had ever known appeared to +have the courage and the insight to go thus simply and directly +to what she desired. To hear an artist of her power, a girl +of her beauty, discussing calmly whether she should sacrifice +her virtue to love; whether marriage in the customary form was +good for her art; whether she should take him now when they +were young or bow to the conventions and let youth pass, +was enough to shock his still trammelled soul. For after all, +and despite his desire for personal freedom, his intellectual doubts +and mental exceptions, he still had a profound reverence for a +home such as that maintained by Jotham Blue and his wife, +and for its results in the form of normal, healthy, dutiful children. +Nature had no doubt attained to this standard through a +long series of difficulties and experiments, and she would not +readily relinquish it. Was it really necessary to abandon it +entirely? Did he want to see a world in which a woman would +take him for a little while as Christina was doing now, and +then leave him? His experience here was making him think, +throwing his theories and ideas up in the air, making a mess +of all the notions he had ever formed about things. He racked +his brain over the intricacies of sex and life, sitting on the +great verandas of the hotel and wondering over and over just +what the answer was, and why he could not like other men be +faithful to one woman and be happy. He wondered whether +this was really so, and whether he could not. It seemed to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> +him then that he might. He knew that he did not understand +himself very clearly; that he had no grasp on himself at +all as yet—his tendencies, his possibilities.</p> + +<p>These days, under such halcyon conditions, made a profound +impression on him. He was struck with the perfection life could +reach at odd moments. These great quiet hills, so uniform in +their roundness, so green, so peaceful, rested his soul. He +and Christina climbed, one day, two thousand feet to a ledge +which jutted out over a valley and commanded what seemed +to him the kingdoms and the powers of the earth—vast stretches +of green land and subdivided fields, little cottage settlements +and towns, great hills that stood up like friendly brothers to +this one in the distance.</p> + +<p>"See that man down in that yard," said Christina, pointing +to a speck of a being chopping wood in a front space serving as +a garden to a country cottage fully a mile distant.</p> + +<p>"Where?" asked Eugene.</p> + +<p>"See where that red barn is, just this side of that clump of +trees?—don't you see? there, where the cows are in that field."</p> + +<p>"I don't see any cows."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Eugene, what's the matter with your eyes?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, now I see," he replied, squeezing her fingers. "He looks +like a cockroach, doesn't he?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she laughed.</p> + +<p>"How wide the earth is and how small we are. Now think +of that speck with all his hopes and ambitions—all the machinery +of his brain and nerves and tell me whether any God can care. +How can He, Christina?"</p> + +<p>"He can't care for any one particular speck much, sweet. +He might care for the idea of man or a race of men as a +whole. Still, I'm not sure, honey. All I know is that I'm +happy now."</p> + +<p>"And I," he echoed.</p> + +<p>Still they dug at this problem, the question of the origin of +life—its why. The tremendous and wearisome age of the +earth; the veritable storms of birth and death that seemed to +have raged at different periods, held them in discussion.</p> + +<p>"We can't solve it, Eugenio mio," she laughed. "We might +as well go home. Poor, dear mamma will be wondering where +her Christina is. You know I think she suspects that I'm +falling in love with you. She doesn't care how many men fall +in love with me, but if I show the least sign of a strong preference +she begins to worry."</p> + +<p>"Have there been many preferences?" he inquired.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> +"No, but don't ask. What difference does it make? Oh, +Eugene, what difference does it make? I love you now."</p> + +<p>"I don't know what difference it makes," he replied, "only +there is an ache that goes with the thought of previous experience. +I can't tell you why it is. It just is."</p> + +<p>She looked thoughtfully away.</p> + +<p>"Anyhow, no man ever was to me before what you have been. +Isn't that enough? Doesn't that speak?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, sweet, it does. Oh, yes it does. Forgive me. +I won't grieve any more."</p> + +<p>"Don't, please," she said, "you hurt me as much as you hurt +yourself."</p> + +<p>There were evenings when he sat on some one of the great +verandas and watched them trim and string the interspaces between +the columns with soft, glowing, Chinese lanterns, preparatory +to the evening's dancing. He loved to see the girls and men +of the summer colony arrive, the former treading the soft +grass in filmy white gowns and white slippers, the latter in +white ducks and flannels, gaily chatting as they came. Christina +would come to these affairs with her mother and brother, beautifully +clad in white linen or lawns and laces, and he would be +beside himself with chagrin that he had not practised dancing +to the perfection of the art. He could dance now, but not +like her brother or scores of men he saw upon the waxen +floor. It hurt him. At times he would sit all alone after his +splendid evenings with his love, dreaming of the beauty of it all. +The stars would be as a great wealth of diamond seed flung +from the lavish hand of an aimless sower. The hills would +loom dark and tall. There was peace and quiet everywhere.</p> + +<p>"Why may not life be always like this?" he would ask, and +then he would answer himself out of his philosophy that it +would become deadly after awhile, as does all unchanging +beauty. The call of the soul is for motion, not peace. Peace +after activity for a little while, then activity again. So must +it be. He understood that.</p> + +<p>Just before he left for New York, Christina said to him:</p> + +<p>"Now, when you see me again I will be Miss Channing of +New York. You will be Mr. Witla. We will almost forget +that we were ever here together. We will scarcely believe that +we have seen what we have seen and done what we have done."</p> + +<p>"But, Christina, you talk as though everything were over. +It isn't, is it?"</p> + +<p>"We can't do anything like this in New York," she sighed. +"I haven't time and you must work."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> +There was a shade of finality in her tone.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Christina, don't talk so. I can't think that way. +Please don't."</p> + +<p>"I won't," she said. "We'll see. Wait till I get back."</p> + +<p>He kissed her a dozen farewells and at the door held her +close once more.</p> + +<p>"Will you forsake me?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"No, you will forsake me. But remember, dear! Don't you +see? You've had all. Let me be your wood nymph. The +rest is commonplace."</p> + +<p>He went back to his hotel with an ache in his heart, for +he knew they had gone through all they ever would. She +had had her summer with him. She had given him of herself +fully. She wanted to be free to work now. He could not understand +it, but he knew it to be so.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_XXV" id="I_CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV</h2> + +<p>It is a rather dreary thing to come back into the hot city +in the summer after a period of beauty in the mountains. +The quiet of the hills was in Eugene's mind, the glisten and +babble of mountain streams, the soar and poise of hawks and +buzzards and eagles sailing the crystal blue. He felt lonely +and sick for awhile, out of touch with work and with practical +life generally. There were little souvenirs of his recent happiness +in the shape of letters and notes from Christina, but he was +full of the premonition of the end which had troubled him on +leaving.</p> + +<p>He must write to Angela. He had not thought of her all +the time he had been gone. He had been in the habit of writing +to her every third or fourth day at least; while of late his +letters had been less passionate they had remained fairly regular. +But now this sudden break coming—it was fully three weeks—made +her think he must be ill, although she had begun to +feel also that he might be changing. His letters had grown +steadily less reminiscent of the joys they had experienced together +and of the happiness they were anticipating, and more inclined +to deal with the color and character of city life and of +what he hoped to achieve. Angela was inclined to excuse +much of this on the grounds of the special effort he was making +to achieve distinction and a living income for themselves. But +it was hard to explain three weeks of silence without something +quite serious having happened.</p> + +<p>Eugene understood this. He tried to explain it on the +grounds of illness, stating that he was now up and feeling much +better. But when his explanation came, it had the hollow ring +of insincerity. Angela wondered what the truth could be. +Was he yielding to the temptation of that looser life that all +artists were supposed to lead? She wondered and worried, +for time was slipping away and he was setting no definite date +for their much discussed nuptials.</p> + +<p>The trouble with Angela's position was that the delay involved +practically everything which was important in her life. She +was five years older than Eugene. She had long since lost that +atmosphere of youth and buoyancy which is so characteristic of a +girl between eighteen and twenty-two. Those few short years +following, when the body of maidenhood blooms like a rose +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> +and there is about it the freshness and color of all rich, new, +lush life, were behind her. Ahead was that persistent decline +towards something harder, shrewder and less beautiful. In the +case of some persons the decline is slow and the fragrance of +youth lingers for years, the artifices of the dressmaker, the +chemist, and the jeweller being but little needed. In others +it is fast and no contrivance will stay the ravages of a restless, +eager, dissatisfied soul. Sometimes art combines with slowness +of decay to make a woman of almost perennial charm, loveliness +of mind matching loveliness of body, and taste and tact supplementing +both. Angela was fortunate in being slow to fade +and she had a loveliness of imagination and emotion to sustain +her; but she had also a restless, anxious disposition of mind +which, if it had not been stayed by the kindly color of her +home life and by the fortunate or unfortunate intervention of +Eugene at a time when she considered her ideal of love to have +fairly passed out of the range of possibility, would already +have set on her face the signs of old maidenhood. She was +not of the newer order of femininity, eager to get out in the +world and follow some individual line of self-development and +interest. Rather was she a home woman wanting some one man +to look after and love. The wonder and beauty of her dream +of happiness with Eugene now made the danger of its loss and +the possible compulsory continuance of a humdrum, underpaid, +backwoods existence, heart-sickening.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, as the summer passed, Eugene was casually enlarging +his acquaintance with women. MacHugh and Smite had +gone back home for the summer, and it was a relief from his +loneliness to encounter one day in an editorial office, Norma +Whitmore, a dark, keen, temperamental and moody but brilliant +writer and editor who, like others before her, took a fancy to +Eugene. She was introduced to him by Jans Jansen, Art +Director of the paper, and after some light banter she offered +to show him her office.</p> + +<p>She led the way to a little room no larger than six by eight +where she had her desk. Eugene noticed that she was lean +and sallow, about his own age or older, and brilliant and +vivacious. Her hands took his attention for they were thin, +shapely and artistic. Her eyes burned with a peculiar lustre +and her loose-fitting clothes were draped artistically about her. +A conversation sprang up as to his work, which she knew and +admired, and he was invited to her apartment. He looked at +Norma with an unconsciously speculative eye.</p> + +<p>Christina was out of the city, but the memory of her made +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> +it impossible for him to write to Angela in his old vein of +devotion. Nevertheless he still thought of her as charming. +He thought that he ought to write more regularly. He thought +that he ought pretty soon to go back and marry her. He +was approaching the point where he could support her in a +studio if they lived economically. But he did not want to +exactly.</p> + +<p>He had known her now for three years. It was fully a year +and a half since he had seen her last. In the last year his +letters had been less and less about themselves and more and +more about everything else. He was finding the conventional +love letters difficult. But he did not permit himself to realize just +what that meant—to take careful stock of his emotions. That +would have compelled him to the painful course of deciding that +he could not marry her, and asking her to be released from his +promise. He did not want to do that. Instead he parleyed, +held by pity for her passing youth and her undeniable affection +for him, by his sense of the unfairness of having taken up so +much of her time to the exclusion of every other person who +might have proposed to her, by sorrow for the cruelty of her +position in being left to explain to her family that she had been +jilted. He hated to hurt any person's feelings. He did not +want to be conscious of the grief of any person who had come +to suffering through him and he could not make them suffer +very well and not be conscious. He was too tender hearted. +He had pledged himself to Angela, giving her a ring, begging +her to wait, writing her fulsome letters of protest and desire. +Now, after three years, to shame her before her charming family—old +Jotham, her mother, her sisters and brothers—it seemed +a cruel thing to do, and he did not care to contemplate it.</p> + +<p>Angela, with her morbid, passionate, apprehensive nature, +did not fail to see disaster looming in the distance. She loved +Eugene passionately and the pent-up fires of her nature had been +waiting all these years the warrant to express their ardor +which marriage alone could confer. Eugene, by the charm +of his manner and person, no less than by the sensuous character +of some of his moods and the subtleties and refinements of his +references to the ties of sex, had stirred her to anticipate a +perfect fruition of her dreams, and she was now eager for that +fruition almost to the point of being willing to sacrifice virginity +itself. The remembrance of the one significant scene between +her and Eugene tormented her. She felt that if his love was +to terminate in indifference now it would have been better to +have yielded then. She wished that she had not tried to save +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +herself. Perhaps there would have been a child, and he would +have been true to her out of a sense of sympathy and duty. At +least she would have had that crowning glory of womanhood, +ardent union with her lover, and if worst had come to worst she +could have died.</p> + +<p>She thought of the quiet little lake near her home, its glassy +bosom a mirror to the sky, and how, in case of failure, she +would have looked lying on its sandy bottom, her pale hair +diffused by some aimless motion of the water, her eyes sealed by +the end of consciousness, her hands folded. Her fancy outran +her daring. She would not have done this, but she could dream +about it, and it made her distress all the more intense.</p> + +<p>As time went by and Eugene's ardor did not revive, this +problem of her love became more harrassing and she began to +wonder seriously what she could do to win him back to her. +He had expressed such a violent desire for her on his last +visit, had painted his love in such glowing terms that she +felt convinced he must love her still, though absence and the +excitements of city life had dimmed the memory of her temporarily. +She remembered a line in a comic opera which she +and Eugene had seen together: "Absence is the dark room in +which lovers develop negatives" and this seemed a case in +point. If she could get him back, if he could be near her again, +his old fever would develop and she would then find some way +of making him take her, perhaps. It did not occur to her +quite clearly just how this could be done at this time but some +vague notion of self-immolation was already stirring vaguely +and disturbingly in her brain.</p> + +<p>The trying and in a way disheartening conditions of her +home went some way to sustain this notion. Her sister Marietta +was surrounded by a score of suitors who were as eager for her +love as a bee is for the honey of a flower, and Angela could see +that they were already looking upon herself as an elderly +chaperon. Her mother and father watched her going about her +work and grieved because so good a girl should be made to +suffer for want of a proper understanding. She could not conceal +her feelings entirely and they could see at times that she was +unhappy. She could see that they saw it. It was hard to +have to explain to her sisters and brothers, who occasionally +asked after Eugene, that he was doing all right, and never +be able to say that he was coming for her some day soon.</p> + +<p>At first Marietta had been envious of her. She thought +she would like to win Eugene for herself, and only consideration +for Angela's age and the fact that she had not been +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> +so much sought after had deterred her. Now that Eugene was +obviously neglecting her, or at least delaying beyond any reasonable +period, she was deeply sorry. Once, before she had +grown into the age of courtship, she had said to Angela: "I'm +going to be nice to the men. You're too cold. You'll never +get married." And Angela had realized that it was not a +matter of "too cold," but an innate prejudice against most of +the types she met. And then the average man did not take to +her. She could not spur herself to pleasure in their company. +It took a fire like Eugene's to stir her mightily, and once having +known that she could brook no other. Marietta realized this +too. Now because of these three years she had cut herself +off from other men, particularly the one who had been most +attentive to her—faithful Victor Dean. The one thing that +might save Angela from being completely ignored was a spirit +of romance which kept her young in looks as in feelings.</p> + +<p>With the fear of desertion in her mind Angela began to hint +in her letters to Eugene that he should come back to see her, +to express the hope in her letters that their marriage need not—because +of any difficulty of establishing himself—be postponed +much longer. She said to him over and over that she could +be happy with him in a cottage and that she so longed to see +him again. Eugene began to ask himself what he wanted to do.</p> + +<p>The fact that on the passional side Angela appealed to him +more than any woman he had ever known was a saving point in +her favor at this juncture. There was a note in her make-up +which was stronger, deeper, more suggestive of joy to come +than anything he had found elsewhere. He remembered keenly +the wonderful days he had spent with her—the one significant +night when she begged him to save her against herself. All the +beauty of the season with which she was surrounded at that +time; the charm of her family, the odor of flowers and the +shade of trees served to make a setting for her delightfulness +which still endured with him as fresh as yesterday. Now, +without having completed that romance—a very perfect flower—could +he cast it aside?</p> + +<p>At this time he was not entangled with any woman. Miriam +Finch was too conservative and intellectual; Norma Whitmore +not attractive enough. As for some other charming examples +of femininity whom he had met here and there, he had not been +drawn to them or they to him. Emotionally he was lonely and +this for him was always a very susceptible mood. He could +not make up his mind that the end had come with Angela.</p> + +<p>It so happened that Marietta, after watching her sister's +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> +love affair some time, reached the conclusion that she ought +to try to help her. Angela was obviously concealing a weariness +of heart which was telling on her peace of mind and her sweetness +of disposition. She was unhappy and it grieved her sister +greatly. The latter loved her in a whole-hearted way, in spite +of the fact that their affections might possibly have clashed +over Eugene, and she thought once of writing in a sweet way +and telling him how things were. She thought he was good +and kind, that he loved Angela, that perhaps he was delaying as +her sister said until he should have sufficient means to marry +well, and that if the right word were said now he would +cease chasing a phantom fortune long enough to realize that +it were better to take Angela while they were still young, +than to wait until they were so old that the romance of marriage +would for them be over. She revolved this in her mind a long +time, picturing to herself how sweet Angela really was, and +finally nerved herself to pen the following letter, which she +sent.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Dear Eugene: +<br /><br /> +You will be surprised to get a letter from me and I want you +to promise me that you will never say anything about it to anyone—above +all never to Angela. Eugene, I have been watching her for a +long time now and I know she is not happy. She is so desperately +in love with you. I notice when a letter does not come promptly she +is downcast and I can't help seeing that she is longing to have you +here with her. Eugene, why don't you marry Angela? She is lovely +and attractive now and she is as good as she is beautiful. She doesn't +want to wait for a fine house and luxuries—no girl wants to do that, +Eugene, when she loves as I know Angela does you. She would +rather have you now when you are both young and can enjoy life +than any fine house or nice things you might give her later. Now, +I haven't talked to her at all, Eugene—never one word—and I know +it would hurt her terribly if she thought I had written to you. She +would never forgive me. But I can't help it. I can't bear to see +her grieving and longing, and I know that when you know you will +come and get her. Don't ever indicate in any way, please, that I wrote +to you. Don't write to me unless you want to very much. I would +rather you didn't. And tear up this letter. But do come for her +soon, Eugene, please do. She wants you. And she will make you a +perfectly wonderful wife for she is a wonderful girl. We all love +her so—papa and mamma and all. I hope you will forgive me. I +can't help it.</p> + +<p> +"With love I am yours,<br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Marietta.</span>"<br /> +</p></div> + +<p>When Eugene received this letter he was surprised and +astonished, but also distressed for himself and Angela and +Marietta and the whole situation. The tragedy of this situation +appealed to him perhaps as much from the dramatic as from the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> +personal point of view. Little Angela, with her yellow hair +and classic face. What a shame that they could not be together +as she wished; as really, in a way, he wished. She was +beautiful—no doubt of that. And there was a charm about her +which was as alluring as that of any girl barring the intellectually +exceptional. Her emotions in a way were deeper than those of +Miriam Finch and Christina Channing. She could not reason +about them—that was all. She just felt them. He saw +all the phases of her anguish—the probable attitude of her +parents, her own feelings at being looked at by them, the way +her friends wondered. It was a shame, no doubt of that—a +cruel situation. Perhaps he had better go back. He could +be happy with her. They could live in a studio and no doubt +things would work out all right. Had he better be cruel and +not go? He hated to think of it.</p> + +<p>Anyhow he did not answer Marietta's letter, and he did +tear it up into a thousand bits, as she requested. "If Angela +knew no doubt she would feel wretched," he thought.</p> + +<p>In the meanwhile Angela was thinking, and her brooding led +her to the conclusion that it might be advisable, if ever her +lover came back, to yield herself in order that he might feel +compelled to take her. She was no reasoner about life in +any big sense. Her judgment of affairs was more confused at this +time than at a later period. She had no clear conception of how +foolish any trickery of this sort would be. She loved Eugene, +felt that she must have him, felt that she would be willing +to die rather than lose him and the thought of trickery came +only as a last resource. If he refused her she was determined +on one thing—the lake. She would quit this dreary world +where love was crossed with despair in its finest moments; +she would forget it all. If only there were rest and silence on +the other side that would be enough.</p> + +<p>The year moved on toward spring and because of some note of +this, reiterated in pathetic phrases, he came to feel that he must go +back. Marietta's letter preyed on his mind. The intensity of +Angela's attitude made him feel that something desperate would +happen. He could not, in cold blood, sit down and write her +that he would not see her any more. The impressions of +Blackwood were too fresh in his mind—the summer incense and +green beauty of the world in which she lived. He wrote in +April that he would come again in June, and Angela was beside +herself with joy.</p> + +<p>One of the things which helped Eugene to this conclusion was +the fact that Christina Channing was not coming back from +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> +Europe that year. She had written a few times during the winter, +but very guardedly. A casual reader could not have drawn +from what she said that there had ever been anything between +them. He had written much more ardently, of course, but +she had chosen to ignore his eager references, making him +feel by degrees that he was not to know much of her in the +future. They were going to be good friends, but not necessarily +lovers nor eventually husband and wife. It irritated him to think +she could be so calm about a thing which to him seemed so +important. It hurt his pride to think she could so deliberately +throw him over. Finally he began to be incensed, and then +Angela's fidelity appeared in a much finer light. There was a +girl who would not treat him so. She really loved him. She +was faithful and true. So his promised trip began to look much +more attractive, and by June he was in a fever to see her.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_XXVI" id="I_CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> + +<p>The beautiful June weather arrived and with it Eugene +took his departure once more for Blackwood. He was +in a peculiar mood, for while he was anxious to see Angela +again it was with the thought that perhaps he was making a +mistake. A notion of fatality was beginning to run through +his mind. Perhaps he was destined to take her! and yet, +could anything be more ridiculous? He could decide. He had +deliberately decided to go back there—or had he? He admitted +to himself that his passion was drawing him—in fact he could +not see that there was anything much in love outside of passion. +Desire! Wasn't that all that pulled two people together? There +was some little charm of personality above that, but desire was +the keynote. And if the physical attraction were strong enough, +wasn't that sufficient to hold two people together? Did you +really need so much more? It was logic based on youth, enthusiasm +and inexperience, but it was enough to hold him for +the time being—to soothe him. To Angela he was not drawn +by any of the things which drew him to Miriam Finch and +Norma Whitmore, nor was there the wonderful art of Christina +Channing. Still he was going.</p> + +<p>His interest in Norma Whitmore had increased greatly as the +winter passed. In this woman he had found an intellect as +broadening and refining as any he had encountered. Her taste +for the exceptional in literature and art was as great as that +of anyone he had ever known and it was just as individual. +She ran to impressive realistic fiction in literature and to the +kind of fresh-from-the-soil art which Eugene represented. Her +sense of just how big and fresh was the thing he was trying +to do was very encouraging, and she was carrying the word +about town to all her friends that he was doing it. She +had even gone so far as to speak to two different art dealers +asking them why they had not looked into what seemed to her +his perfectly wonderful drawings.</p> + +<p>"Why, they're astonishing in their newness," she told Eberhard +Zang, one of the important picture dealers on Fifth Avenue. +She knew him from having gone there to borrow pictures for +reproduction.</p> + +<p>"Witla! Witla!" he commented in his conservative German +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> +way, rubbing his chin, "I doand remember seeing anything +by him."</p> + +<p>"Of course you don't," replied Norma persistently. "He's +new, I tell you. He hasn't been here so very long. You get +<i>Truth</i> for some week in last month—I forget which one—and +see that picture of Greeley Square. It will show you what +I mean."</p> + +<p>"Witla! Witla!" repeated Zang, much as a parrot might +fix a sound in its memory. "Tell him to come in here and +see me some day. I should like to see some of his things."</p> + +<p>"I will," said Norma, genially. She was anxious to have +Eugene go, but he was more anxious to get a lot of things +done before he had an exhibition. He did not want to +risk an impression with anything short of a rather extensive +series. And his collection of views was not complete at +that time. Besides he had a much more significant art dealer in +mind.</p> + +<p>He and Norma had reached the point by this time where +they were like brother and sister, or better yet, two good men +friends. He would slip his arm about her waist when entering +her rooms and was free to hold her hands or pat her on the arm +or shoulder. There was nothing more than strong good feeling +on his part, while on hers a burning affection might have +been inspired, but his genial, brotherly attitude convinced her +that it was useless. He had never told her of any of his other +women friends and he was wondering as he rode west how +she and Miriam Finch would take his marriage with Angela, +supposing that he ever did marry her. As for Christina Channing, +he did not want to think—really did not dare to think +of her very much. Some sense of lost beauty came to him +out of that experience—a touch of memory that had a pang +in it.</p> + +<p>Chicago in June was just a little dreary to him with its +hurry of life, its breath of past experience, the Art Institute, +the <i>Daily Globe</i> building, the street and house in which Ruby +had lived. He wondered about her (as he had before) the +moment he neared the city, and had a strong desire to go and +look her up. Then he visited the <i>Globe</i> offices, but Mathews +had gone. Genial, cheerful Jerry had moved to Philadelphia +recently, taking a position on the Philadelphia <i>North American</i>, +leaving Howe alone, more finicky and picayune than ever. Goldfarb, +of course, was gone and Eugene felt out of it. He was +glad to take the train for Blackwood, for he felt lonesome. He +left the city with quite an ache for old times in his heart and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> +the feeling that life was a jumble of meaningless, strange and +pathetic things.</p> + +<p>"To think that we should grow old," he pondered, "that things +that were as real as these things were to me, should become +mere memories."</p> + +<p>The time just before he reached Blackwood was one of great +emotional stress for Angela. Now she was to learn whether +he really loved her as much as he had. She was to feel the +joy of his presence, the subtle influence of his attitude. She +was to find whether she could hold him or not. Marietta, +who on hearing that he was coming, had rather plumed herself +that her letter had had something to do with it, was afraid +that her sister would not make good use of this opportune +occasion. She was anxious that Angela should look her best, +and made suggestions as to things she might wear, games she +might play (they had installed tennis and croquet as part of +the home pleasures since he had been there last) and places +they might go to. Marietta was convinced that Angela was +not artful enough—not sufficiently subtle in her presentation +of her charms. He could be made to feel very keen about her +if she dressed right and showed herself to the best advantage. +Marietta herself intended to keep out of the way as much as +possible when Eugene arrived, and to appear at great disadvantage +in the matter of dress and appearance when seen; for she +had become a perfect beauty and was a breaker of hearts without +conscious effort.</p> + +<p>"You know that string of coral beads I have, Angel Face," +she asked Angela one morning some ten days before Eugene +arrived. "Wear them with that tan linen dress of mine and +your tan shoes some day for Eugene. You'll look stunning +in those things and he'll like you. Why don't you take the +new buggy and drive over to Blackwood to meet him? That's +it. You must meet him."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't think I want to, Babyette," she replied. She +was afraid of this first impression. She did not want to appear +to run after him. Babyette was a nickname which had been +applied to Marietta in childhood and had never been dropped.</p> + +<p>"Oh, pshaw, Angel Face, don't be so backward! You're +the shyest thing I know. Why that's nothing. He'll like you +all the better for treating him just a little smartly. You do that +now, will you?"</p> + +<p>"I can't," replied Angela. "I can't do it that way. Let +him come over here first; then I'll drive him over some afternoon."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> +"Oh, Angel Face! Well, anyhow, when he comes you must +wear that little rose flowered house dress and put a wreath of +green leaves in your hair."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I won't do anything of the sort, Babyette," exclaimed +Angela.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you will," replied her sister. "Now you just have +to do what I tell you for once. That dress looks beautiful +on you and the wreath will make it perfect."</p> + +<p>"It isn't the dress. I know that's nice. It's the wreath."</p> + +<p>Marietta was incensed by this bit of pointless reserve.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Angela," she exclaimed, "don't be so silly. You're older +than I am, but I know more about men in a minute than +you'll ever know. Don't you want him to like you? You'll +have to be more daring—goodness! Lots of girls would go a +lot farther than that."</p> + +<p>She caught her sister about the waist and looked into her +eyes. "Now you've got to wear it," she added finally, and +Angela understood that Marietta wanted her to entice Eugene +by any means in her power to make him declare himself finally +and set a definite date or take her back to New York with +him.</p> + +<p>There were other conversations in which a trip to the lake +was suggested, games of tennis, with Angela wearing her +white tennis suit and shoes, a country dance which might be +got up—there were rumors of one to be given in the new barn +of a farmer some seven miles away. Marietta was determined +that Angela should appear youthful, gay, active, just the things +which she knew instinctively would fascinate Eugene.</p> + +<p>Finally Eugene came. He arrived at Blackwood at noon. +Despite her objections Angela met him, dressed smartly and, as +urged by Marietta, carrying herself with an air. She hoped +to impress Eugene with a sense of independence, but when she +saw him stepping down from the train in belted corduroy +travelling suit with a grey English travelling cap, carrying a +green leather bag of the latest design, her heart misgave her. He +was so worldly now, so experienced. You could see by his +manner that this country place meant little or nothing to him. +He had tasted of the world at large.</p> + +<p>Angela had stayed in her buggy at the end of the depot platform +and she soon caught Eugene's eye and waved to him. He +came briskly forward.</p> + +<p>"Why, sweet," he exclaimed, "here you are. How nice +you look!" He jumped up beside her, surveying her critically and +she could feel his examining glance. After the first pleasant impression +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> +he sensed the difference between his new world and +hers and was a little depressed by it. She was a little older, +no doubt of that. You cannot hope and yearn and worry for +three years and not show it. And yet she was fine and tender +and sympathetic and emotional. He felt all this. It hurt him +a little for her sake and his too.</p> + +<p>"Well, how have you been?" he asked. They were in the +confines of the village and no demonstration could be made. +Until the quiet of a country road could be reached all had to +be formal.</p> + +<p>"Oh, just the same, Eugene, longing to see you."</p> + +<p>She looked into his eyes and he felt the impact of that emotional +force which governed her when she was near him. There +was something in the chemistry of her being which roused to +blazing the ordinarily dormant forces of his sympathies. She +tried to conceal her real feeling—to pretend gaiety and enthusiasm, +but her eyes betrayed her. Something roused in him +now at her look—a combined sense of emotion and desire.</p> + +<p>"It's so fine to be out in the country again," he said, pressing +her hand, for he was letting her drive. "After the city, to see +you and the green fields!" He looked about at the little one-storey +cottages, each with a small plot of grass, a few trees, +a neat confining fence. After New York and Chicago, a +village like this was quaint.</p> + +<p>"Do you love me just as much as ever?"</p> + +<p>She nodded her head. They reached a strip of yellow +road, he asking after her father, her mother, her brothers and +sisters, and when he saw that they were unobserved he slipped +his arm about her and drew her head to him.</p> + +<p>"Now we can," he said.</p> + +<p>She felt the force of his desire but she missed that note of +adoration which had seemed to characterize his first lovemaking. +How true it was he had changed! He must have. The city +had made her seem less significant. It hurt her to think that life +should treat her so. But perhaps she could win him back—could +hold him anyhow.</p> + +<p>They drove over toward Okoonee, a little crossroads settlement, +near a small lake of the same name, a place which was +close to the Blue house, and which the Blue's were wont to +speak of as "home." On the way Eugene learned that her +youngest brother David was a cadet at West Point now and +doing splendidly. Samuel had become western freight agent +of the Great Northern and was on the way to desirable promotion. +Benjamin had completed his law studies and was practising +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> +in Racine. He was interested in politics and was going to +run for the state legislature. Marietta was still the gay carefree +girl she had always been, not at all inclined to choose yet +among her many anxious suitors. Eugene thought of her letter +to him—wondered if she would look her thoughts into his eyes +when he saw her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Marietta," Angela replied when Eugene asked after +her, "she's just as dangerous as ever. She makes all the men +make love to her."</p> + +<p>Eugene smiled. Marietta was always a pleasing thought to +him. He wished for the moment that it was Marietta instead +of Angela that he was coming to see.</p> + +<p>She was as shrewd as she was kind in this instance. Her +appearance on meeting Eugene was purposely indifferent and her +attitude anything but coaxing and gay. At the same time +she suffered a genuine pang of feeling, for Eugene appealed +to her. If it were anybody but Angela, she thought, how she +would dress and how quickly she would be coquetting with +him. Then his love would be won by her and she felt that she +could hold it. She had great confidence in her ability to keep +any man, and Eugene was a man she would have delighted +to hold. As it was she kept out of his way, took sly glances +at him here and there, wondered if Angela would truly win +him. She was so anxious for Angela's sake. Never, never, +she told herself, would she cross her sister's path.</p> + +<p>At the Blue homestead he was received as cordially as before. +After an hour it quite brought back the feeling of three years +before. These open fields, this old house and its lovely lawn, all +served to awaken the most poignant sensations. One of Marietta's +beaux, over from Waukesha, appeared after Eugene had +greeted Mrs. Blue and Marietta, and the latter persuaded him to +play a game of tennis with Angela. She invited Eugene to +make it a four with her, but not knowing how he refused.</p> + +<p>Angela changed to her tennis suit and Eugene opened his +eyes to her charms. She was very attractive on the court, quick, +flushed, laughing. And when she laughed she had a charming +way of showing her even, small, white teeth. She quite awakened +a feeling of interest—she looked so dainty and frail. When +he saw her afterward in the dark, quiet parlor, he gathered her +to his heart with much of the old ardour. She felt the quick +change of feeling. Marietta was right. Eugene loved gaiety +and color. Although on the way home she had despaired this +was much more promising.</p> + +<p>Eugene rarely entered on anything half heartedly. If interested +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> +at all he was greatly interested. He could so yield +himself to the glamour of a situation as to come finally to believe +that he was something which he was not. Thus, now he +was beginning to accept this situation as Angela and Marietta +wished he should, and to see her in somewhat the old light. He +overlooked things which in his New York studio, surrounded +by the influences which there modified his judgment, he would +have seen. Angela was not young enough for him. She was +not liberal in her views. She was charming, no doubt of that, +but he could not bring her to an understanding of his casual +acceptance of life. She knew nothing of his real disposition +and he did not tell her. He played the part of a seemingly +single-minded Romeo, and as such he was from a woman's point +of view beautiful to contemplate. In his own mind he was +coming to see that he was fickle but he still did not want to +admit it to himself.</p> + +<p>There was a night of stars after an evening of June perfection. +At five old Jotham came in from the fields, as dignified and +patriarchal as ever. He greeted Eugene with a hearty handshake, +for he admired him. "I see some of your work now and then," +he said, "in these monthly magazines. It's fine. There's a +young minister down here near the lake that's very anxious to +meet you. He likes to get hold of anything you do, and I +always send the books down as soon as Angela gets through +with them."</p> + +<p>He used the words books and magazines interchangeably, +and spoke as though they were not much more important to him +than the leaves of the trees, as indeed, they were not. To a +mind used to contemplating the succession of crops and seasons, +all life with its multitudinous interplay of shapes and forms +seemed passing shadows. Even men were like leaves that fall.</p> + +<p>Eugene was drawn to old Jotham as a filing to a magnet. His +was just the type of mind that appealed to him, and Angela +gained by the radiated glory of her father. If he was so +wonderful she must be something above the average of womanhood. +Such a man could not help but produce exceptional +children.</p> + +<p>Left alone together it was hardly possible for Angela and +Eugene not to renew the old relationship on the old basis. +Having gone as far as he had the first time it was natural that +he should wish to go as far again and further. After dinner, +when she turned to him from her room, arrayed in a soft evening +dress of clinging texture—somewhat low in the neck by request +of Marietta, who had helped her to dress—Eugene was conscious +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> +of her emotional perturbation. He himself was distraught, +for he did not know what he would do—how far he would dare +to trust himself. He was always troubled when dealing with his +physical passion, for it was a raging lion at times. It seemed +to overcome him quite as a drug might or a soporific fume. He +would mentally resolve to control himself, but unless he instantly +fled there was no hope, and he did not seem able to run away. +He would linger and parley, and in a few moments it was master +and he was following its behest blindly, desperately, to the point +almost of exposure and destruction.</p> + +<p>Tonight when Angela came back he was cogitating, wondering +what it might mean. Should he? Would he marry her? Could +he escape? They sat down to talk, but presently he drew her to +him. It was the old story—moment after moment of increasing +feeling. Presently she, from the excess of longing and waiting +was lost to all sense of consideration. And he—</p> + +<p>"I shall have to go away, Eugene," she pleaded, when he +carried her recklessly into his room, "if anything happens. I +cannot stay here."</p> + +<p>"Don't talk," he said. "You can come to me."</p> + +<p>"You mean it, Eugene, surely?" she begged.</p> + +<p>"As sure as I'm holding you here," he replied.</p> + +<p>At midnight Angela lifted frightened, wondering, doubting +eyes, feeling herself the most depraved creature. Two pictures +were in her mind alternately and with pendulum-like reiteration. +One was a composite of a marriage altar and a charming New +York studio with friends coming in to see them much as he had +often described to her. The other was of the still blue waters +of Okoonee with herself lying there pale and still. Yes, she +would die if he did not marry her now. Life would not be +worth while. She would not force him. She would slip out +some night when it was too late and all hope had been abandoned—when +exposure was near—and the next day they would find +her.</p> + +<p>Little Marietta how she would cry. And old Jotham—she +could see him, but he would never be really sure of the truth. +And her mother. "Oh God in heaven," she thought, "how +hard life is! How terrible it can be."</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_XXVII" id="I_CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> + +<p>The atmosphere of the house after this night seemed charged +with reproach to Eugene, although it took on no semblance +of reality in either look or word. When he awoke in the morning +and looked through the half closed shutters to the green world +outside he felt a sense of freshness and of shame. It was +cruel to come into such a home as this and do a thing as mean as +he had done. After all, philosophy or no philosophy, didn't +a fine old citizen like Jotham, honest, upright, genuine in his +moral point of view and his observance of the golden rule, +didn't he deserve better from a man whom he so sincerely admired? +Jotham had been so nice to him. Their conversations +together were so kindly and sympathetic. Eugene felt that +Jotham believed him to be an honest man. He knew he had +that appearance. He was frank, genial, considerate, not willing +to condemn anyone—but this sex question—that was where +he was weak. And was not the whole world keyed to that? +Did not the decencies and the sanities of life depend on right +moral conduct? Was not the world dependent on how the +homes were run? How could anyone be good if his mother +and father had not been good before him? How could the +children of the world expect to be anything if people rushed +here and there holding illicit relations? Take his sister Myrtle, +now—would he have wanted her rifled in this manner? In +the face of this question he was not ready to say exactly what he +wanted or was willing to countenance. Myrtle was a free +agent, as was every other girl. She could do as she pleased. +It might not please him exactly but—he went round and round +from one problem to another, trying to untie this Gordian +knot. One thing, this home had appeared sweet and clean when +he came into it; now it was just a little tarnished, and by him! +Or was it? His mind was always asking this question. There +was nothing that he was actually accepting as true any more. +He was going round in a ring asking questions of this proposition +and that. Are you true? And are you true? And are you +true? And all the while he was apparently not getting anywhere. +It puzzled him, this life. Sometimes it shamed him. +This deed shamed him. And he asked himself whether he was +wrong to be ashamed or not. Perhaps he was just foolish. +Was not life made for living, not worrying? He had not +created his passions and desires.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> +He threw open the shutters and there was the bright day. +Everything was so green outside, the flowers in bloom, the +trees casting a cool, lovely shade, the birds twittering. Bees +were humming. He could smell the lilacs. "Dear God," +he exclaimed, throwing his arms above his head, "How lovely +life is! How beautiful! Oh!" He drew in a deep breath of +the flower and privet laden air. If only he could live always +like this—for ever and ever.</p> + +<p>When he had sponged himself with cold water and dressed, +putting on a soft negligée shirt with turn-down collar and +dark flowing tie, he issued forth clean and fresh. Angela was +there to greet him. Her face was pale but she looked intensely +sweet because of her sadness.</p> + +<p>"There, there," he said, touching her chin, "less of that +now!"</p> + +<p>"I told them that I had a headache," she said. "So I have. +Do you understand?"</p> + +<p>"I understand your headache," he laughed. "But everything +is all right—very much all right. Isn't this a lovely day!"</p> + +<p>"Beautiful," replied Angela sadly.</p> + +<p>"Cheer up," he insisted. "Don't worry. Everything is coming +out fine." He walked to the window and stared out.</p> + +<p>"I'll have your breakfast ready in a minute," she said, and, +pressing his hand, left him.</p> + +<p>Eugene went out to the hammock. He was so deliciously +contented and joyous now that he saw the green world about +him, that he felt that everything was all right again. The +vigorous blooming forces of nature everywhere present belied +the sense of evil and decay to which mortality is so readily +subject. He felt that everything was justified in youth and +love, particularly where mutual affection reigned. Why should +he not take Angela? Why should they not be together? He +went in to breakfast at her call, eating comfortably of the +things she provided. He felt the easy familiarity and graciousness +of the conqueror. Angela on her part felt the fear and uncertainty +of one who has embarked upon a dangerous voyage. +She had set sail—whither? At what port would she land? Was +it the lake or his studio? Would she live and be happy or +would she die to face a black uncertainty? Was there a hell +as some preachers insisted? Was there a gloomy place of lost +souls such as the poets described? She looked into the face +of this same world which Eugene found so beautiful and its +very beauty trembled with forebodings of danger.</p> + +<p>And there were days and days yet to be lived of this. For +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> +all her fear, once having tasted of the forbidden fruit, it was +sweet and inviting. She could not go near Eugene, nor he near +her but this flush of emotion would return.</p> + +<p>In the daylight she was too fearful, but when the night came +with its stars, its fresh winds, its urge to desire, her fears could +not stand in their way. Eugene was insatiable and she was +yearning. The slightest touch was as fire to tow. She yielded +saying she would not yield.</p> + +<p>The Blue family were of course blissfully ignorant of what +was happening. It seemed so astonishing to Angela at first that +the very air did not register her actions in some visible way. +That they should be able thus to be alone was not so remarkable, +seeing that Eugene's courtship was being aided and abetted, for +her sake, but that her lapse should not be exposed by some +sinister influence seemed strange—accidental and subtly ominous. +Something would happen—that was her fear. She had not the +courage of her desire or need.</p> + +<p>By the end of the week, though Eugene was less ardent and +more or less oppressed by the seeming completeness with which +he had conquered, he was not ready to leave. He was sorry +to go, for it ended a honeymoon of sweetness and beauty—all +the more wonderful and enchanting because so clandestine—yet +he was beginning to be aware that he had bound himself in +chains of duty and responsibility. Angela had thrown herself +on his mercy and his sense of honor to begin with. She had +exacted a promise of marriage—not urgently, and as one who +sought to entrap him, but with the explanation that otherwise +life must end in disaster for her. Eugene could look in her +face and see that it would. And now that he had had his way +and plumbed the depths of her emotions and desires he had a +higher estimate of her personality. Despite the fact that she +was older than he, there was a breath of youth and beauty here +that held him. Her body was exquisite. Her feeling about life +and love was tender and beautiful. He wished he could make +true her dreams of bliss without injury to himself.</p> + +<p>It so turned out that as his visit was drawing to a close +Angela decided that she ought to go to Chicago, for there were +purchases which must be made. Her mother wanted her to +go and she decided that she would go with Eugene. This +made the separation easier, gave them more time to talk. Her +usual plan was to stay with her aunt and she was going there +now.</p> + +<p>On the way she asked over and over what he would think of +her in the future; whether what had passed would not lower +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> +her in his eyes. He did not feel that it would. Once she said +to him sadly—"only death or marriage can help me now."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" he asked, her yellow head pillowed +on his shoulder, her dark blue eyes looking sadly into his.</p> + +<p>"That if you don't marry me I'll have to kill myself. I can't +stay at home."</p> + +<p>He thought of her with her beautiful body, her mass of soft +hair all tarnished in death.</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't do that?" he asked unbelievingly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I would," she said sadly. "I must, I will."</p> + +<p>"Hush, Angel Face," he pleaded. "You won't do anything +like that. You won't have to. I'll marry you—How would +you do it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I've thought it all out," she continued gloomily. "You +know that little lake. I'd drown myself."</p> + +<p>"Don't, sweetheart," he pleaded. "Don't talk that way. It's +terrible. You won't have to do anything like that."</p> + +<p>To think of her under the waters of little Okoonee, with +its green banks, and yellow sandy shores. All her love come +to this! All her passion! Her death would be upon his head +and he could not stand the thought of that. It frightened him. +Such tragedies occasionally appeared in the papers with all the +pathetic details convincingly set forth, but this should not enter +his life. He would marry her. She was lovely after all. He +would have to. He might as well make up his mind to that +now. He began to speculate how soon it might be. For the +sake of her family she wanted no secret marriage but one which, +if they could not be present at it, they could at least know was +taking place. She was willing to come East—that could be +arranged. But they must be married. Eugene realized the +depth of her conventional feeling so keenly that it never occurred +to him to suggest an alternative. She would not consent, +would scorn him for it. The only alternative, she appeared +to believe, was death.</p> + +<p>One evening—the last—when it was necessary for her to return +to Blackwood, and he had seen her off on the train, her +face a study in sadness, he rode out gloomily to Jackson Park +where he had once seen a beautiful lake in the moonlight. When +he reached there the waters of the lake were still suffused and +tinged with lovely suggestions of lavender, pink and silver, for +this was near the twenty-first of June. The trees to the east +and west were dark. The sky showed a last blush of orange. +Odours were about—warm June fragrance. He thought now, +as he walked about the quiet paths where the sand and pebbles +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> +crunched lightly beneath his feet, of all the glory of this wonderful +week. How dramatic was life; how full of romance. +This love of Angela's, how beautiful. Youth was with him—love. +Would he go on to greater days of beauty or would he +stumble, idling his time, wasting his substance in riotous living? +Was this riotous living? Would there be evil fruition +of his deeds? Would he really love Angela after he married +her? Would they be happy?</p> + +<p>Thus he stood by the bank of this still lake, studying the +water, marvelling at the subtleties of reflected radiance, feeling +the artist's joy in perfect natural beauty, twining and intertwining +it all with love, death, failure, fame. It was romantic +to think that in such a lake, if he were unkind, would Angela be +found. By such a dark as was now descending would all her +bright dreams be submerged. It would be beautiful as romance. +He could imagine a great artist like Daudet or Balzac making +a great story out of it. It was even a subject for some form of +romantic expression in art. Poor Angela! If he were a great +portrait painter he would paint her. He thought of some treatment +of her in the nude with that mass of hair of hers falling +about her neck and breasts. It would be beautiful. Should he +marry her? Yes, though he was not sure of the outcome, he +must. It might be a mistake but—</p> + +<p>He stared at the fading surface of the lake, silver, lavender, +leaden gray. Overhead a vivid star was already shining. How +would it be with her if she were really below those still waters? +How would it be with him? It would be too desperate, too +regretful. No, he must marry her. It was in this mood that +he returned to the city, the ache of life in his heart. It was in +this mood that he secured his grip from the hotel and sought the +midnight train for New York. For once Ruby, Miriam, Christina, +were forgotten. He was involved in a love drama which +meant life or death to Angela, peace or reproach of conscience +to himself in the future. He could not guess what the outcome +would be, but he felt that he must marry her—how soon he +could not say. Circumstances would dictate that. From present +appearances it must be immediately. He must see about a studio, +announce the news of his departure to Smite and MacHugh; +make a special effort to further his art ambitions so that he and +Angela would have enough to live on. He had talked so glowingly +of his art life that now, when the necessity for demonstrating +it was at hand, he was troubled as to what the showing +might be. The studio had to be attractive. He would need +to introduce his friends. All the way back to New York he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> +turned this over in his mind—Smite, MacHugh, Miriam, Norma, +Wheeler, Christina—what would Christina think if she ever returned +to New York and found him married? There was no +question but that there was a difference between Angela and +these. It was something—a matter of courage—more soul, +more daring, more awareness, perhaps—something. When they +saw her would they think he had made a mistake, would they +put him down as a fool? MacHugh was going with a girl, +but she was a different type—intellectual, smart. He thought +and thought, but he came back to the same conclusion always. +He would have to marry her. There was no way out. He +would have to.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="I_CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> + +<p>The studio of Messrs. Smite, MacHugh and Witla in +Waverley Place was concerned the following October with +a rather picturesque event. Even in the city the time when the +leaves begin to yellow and fall brings a sense of melancholy, +augmented by those preliminaries of winter, gray, lowery days, +with scraps of paper, straws, bits of wood blown about by gusty +currents of air through the streets, making it almost disagreeable +to be abroad. The fear of cold and storm and suffering +among those who have little was already apparent. Apparent +too was the air of renewed vitality common to those who have +spent an idle summer and are anxious to work again. Shopping +and marketing and barter and sale were at high key. The +art world, the social world, the manufacturing world, the professional +worlds of law, medicine, finance, literature, were bubbling +with a feeling of the necessity to do and achieve. The +whole city, stung by the apprehension of winter, had an atmosphere +of emprise and energy.</p> + +<p>In this atmosphere, with a fairly clear comprehension of the +elements which were at work making the colour of the life about +him, was Eugene, digging away at the task he had set himself. +Since leaving Angela he had come to the conclusion that he +must complete the jointings for the exhibition which had been +running in his mind during the last two years. There was no other +way for him to make a notable impression—he saw that. Since +he had returned he had gone through various experiences: the +experience of having Angela tell him that she was sure there +was something wrong with her; an impression sincere enough, +but based on an excited and overwrought imagination of evil to +follow, and having no foundation in fact. Eugene was as yet, +despite his several experiences, not sufficiently informed in such +affairs to know. His lack of courage would have delayed him +from asking if he had known. In the next place, facing this +crisis, he had declared that he would marry her, and because of +her distressed condition he thought he might as well do it now. +He had wanted time to do some of the pictures he was working +on, to take in a little money for drawing, to find a suitable place +to live in. He had looked at various studios in various sections +of the city and had found nothing, as yet, which answered to +his taste or his purse. Anything with a proper light, a bath, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> +a suitable sleeping room, and an inconspicuous chamber which +might be turned into a kitchen, was difficult to find. Prices +were high, ranging from fifty to one hundred and twenty-five +and one hundred and fifty a month. There were some new +studios being erected for the rich loungers and idlers which +commanded, so he understood, three or four thousand dollars a +year. He wondered if he should ever attain to any such magnificence +through his art.</p> + +<p>Again, in taking a studio for Angela and himself there was +the matter of furniture. The studio he had with Smite and +MacHugh was more or less of a camp. The work room was +bare of carpets or rugs. The two folding beds and the cot which +graced their individual chambers were heirlooms from ancient +predecessors—substantial but shabby. Beyond various drawings, +three easels, and a chest of drawers for each, there was +no suitable household equipment. A woman came twice a week +to clean, send out the linen, and make up the beds.</p> + +<p>To live with Angela required, in his judgment, many and +much more significant things. His idea of a studio was some +such one as that now occupied by Miriam Finch or Norma Whitmore. +There ought to be furniture of a period—old Flemish +or Colonial, Heppelwhite or Chippendale or Sheraton, such as +he saw occasionally knocking about in curio shops and second +hand stores. It could be picked up if he had time. He was +satisfied that Angela knew nothing of these things. There +ought to be rugs, hangings of tapestry, bits of brass, pewter, +copper, old silver, if he could afford it. He had an idea of some +day obtaining a figure of the Christ in brass or plaster, hung upon +a rough cross of walnut or teak, which he could hang or stand +in some corner as one might a shrine and place before it two great +candlesticks with immense candles smoked and dripping with +wax. These lighted in a dark studio, with the outlines of the +Christ flickering in the shadows behind would give the desired +atmosphere to his studio. Such an equipment as he dreamed +of would have cost in the neighborhood of two thousand dollars.</p> + +<p>Of course this was not to be thought of at this period. He +had no more than that in ready cash. He was writing to Angela +about his difficulties in finding a suitable place, when he heard +of a studio in Washington Square South, which its literary possessor +was going to quit for the winter. It was, so he understood, +handsomely furnished, and was to be let for the rent of +the studio. The owner wanted someone who would take care +of it by occupying it for him until he should return the following +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> +fall. Eugene hurried round to look at it and, taken with +the location, the appearance of the square from the windows, the +beauty of the furnishings, felt that he would like to live here. +This would be the way to introduce Angela to New York. +This would be the first and proper impression to give her. Here, +as in every well arranged studio he had yet seen were books, +pictures, bits of statuary, implements of copper and some few +of silver. There was a great fish net dyed green and spangled +with small bits of mirror to look like scales which hung as a +veil between the studio proper and an alcove. There was a +piano done in black walnut, and odd pieces of furniture, Mission, +Flemish, Venetian of the sixteenth century and English +of the seventeenth, which, despite that diversity offered a unity +of appearance and a harmony of usefulness. There was one +bed room, a bath, and a small partitioned section which could +be used as a kitchen. With a few of his pictures judiciously +substituted he could see a perfect abode here for himself and +his wife. The rent was fifty dollars. He decided that he +would risk it.</p> + +<p>Having gone so far as to indicate that he would take it—he +was made to feel partially resigned to marriage by the very +appearance of this place—he decided that he would marry in October. +Angela could come to New York or Buffalo—she had +never seen Niagara Falls—and they could be married there. +She had spoken recently of visiting her brother at West Point. +Then they could come here and settle down. He decided that +this must be so, wrote to her to that effect, and vaguely +hinted to Smite and MacHugh that he might get married +shortly.</p> + +<p>This was a great blow to his partners in art, for Eugene was +very popular with them. He had the habit, with those he liked, +of jesting constantly. "Look at the look of noble determination +on Smite's brow this morning," he would comment cheerfully +on getting up; or "MacHugh, you lazy lout, crawl out and +earn your living."</p> + +<p>MacHugh's nose, eyes and ears would be comfortably buried +in the folds of a blanket.</p> + +<p>"These hack artists," Eugene would sigh disconsolately. +"There's not much to be made out of them. A pile of straw +and a couple of boiled potatoes a day is all they need."</p> + +<p>"Aw, cut it out," MacHugh would grunt.</p> + +<p>"To hell, to hell, I yell, I yell," would come from somewhere +in the voice of Smite.</p> + +<p>"If it weren't for me," Eugene would go on, "God knows +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> +what would become of this place. A lot of farmers and fishermen +trying to be artists."</p> + +<p>"And laundry wagon drivers, don't forget that," MacHugh +would add, sitting up and rubbing his tousled head, for Eugene +had related some of his experiences. "Don't forget the contribution +made by the American Steam Laundry Company to the +world of true art."</p> + +<p>"Collars and cuffs I would have you know is artistic," Eugene +at once declared with mock dignity, "whereas plows and +fish is trash."</p> + +<p>Sometimes this "kidding" would continue for a quarter of +an hour at a stretch, when some one remark really brighter than +any other would dissolve the whole in laughter. Work began +after breakfast, to which they usually sallied forth together, +and would continue unbroken save for necessary engagements +or periods of entertainment, lunch and so on, until five in the +afternoon.</p> + +<p>They had worked together now for a couple of years. They +had, by experience, learned of each other's reliability, courtesy, +kindness and liberality. Criticism was free, generous, and sincerely +intended to be helpful. Pleasure trips, such as walks on +grey, lowery days, or in rain or brilliant sunshine, or trips to +Coney Island, Far Rockaway, the theatres, the art exhibitions, the +odd and peculiar restaurants of different nationalities, were always +undertaken in a spirit of joyous camaraderie. Jesting +as to morality, their respective abilities, their tendencies and +characteristics were all taken and given in good part. At one +time it would be Joseph Smite who would come in for a united +drubbing and excoriation on the part of Eugene and MacHugh. +At another time Eugene or MacHugh would be the victim, the +other two joining forces vigorously. Art, literature, personalities, +phases of life, philosophy, were discussed by turn. As with +Jerry Mathews, Eugene had learned of new things from these +men—the life of fisher-folk, and the characteristics of the ocean +from Joseph Smite; the nature and spirit of the great West +from MacHugh. Each appeared to have an inexhaustible fund +of experiences and reminiscences which refreshed and entertained +the trio day by day year in and year out. They were at their +best strolling through some exhibit or preliminary view of an +art collection offered for sale, when all their inmost convictions +of what was valuable and enduring in art would come to the +surface. All three were intolerant of reputations as such, but +were strong for individual merit whether it carried a great name +or not. They were constantly becoming acquainted with the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> +work of some genius little known here, and celebrating his +talents, each to the others. Thus Monet, Degas, Manet, Ribera, +Monticelli, by turns came up for examination and praise.</p> + +<p>When Eugene then, toward the end of September, announced +that he might be leaving them shortly, there was a united wail +of opposition. Joseph Smite was working on a sea scene at +the time, doing his best to get the proper colour harmony between +the worm-eaten deck of a Gold Coast trading ship, a +half naked West Coast negro handling a broken wheel, and a +mass of blue black undulations in the distance which represented +the boundless sea.</p> + +<p>"G'wan!" said Smite, incredulously, for he assumed that Eugene +was jesting. There had been a steady stream of letters +issuing from somewhere in the West and delivered here week +after week, as there had been for MacHugh, but this by now +was a commonplace, and apparently meant nothing. "You +marry? What the hell do you want to get married for? A +fine specimen you will make! I'll come around and tell your +wife."</p> + +<p>"Sure," returned Eugene. "It's true, I may get married." +He was amused at Smite's natural assumption that it was a +jest.</p> + +<p>"Stow that," called MacHugh, from his easel. He was working +on a country corner picture, a group of farmers before a +country post office. "You don't want to break up this shack, +do you?" Both of these men were fond of Eugene. They +found him inspiring, helpful, always intensely vigorous and +apparently optimistic.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to break up any shack. But haven't I a right +to get married?"</p> + +<p>"I vote no, by God!" said Smite emphatically. "You'll +never go out of here with my consent. Peter, are we going to +stand for anything like that?"</p> + +<p>"We are not," replied MacHugh. "We'll call out the reserves +if he tries any game like that on us. I'll prefer charges against +him. Who's the lady, Eugene?"</p> + +<p>"I bet I know," suggested Smite. "He's been running up +to Twenty-sixth Street pretty regularly." Joseph was thinking +of Miriam Finch, to whom Eugene had introduced both him and +MacHugh.</p> + +<p>"Nothing like that, surely," inquired MacHugh, looking +over at Eugene to see if it possibly could be so.</p> + +<p>"It's all true, fellers," replied Eugene, "—as God is my +judge. I'm going to leave you soon."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> +"You're not really talking seriously, are you, Witla?" inquired +Joseph soberly.</p> + +<p>"I am, Joe," said Eugene quietly. He was studying the +perspective of his sixteenth New York view,—three engines coming +abreast into a great yard of cars. The smoke, the haze, +the dingy reds and blues and yellows and greens of kicked +about box cars were showing with beauty—the vigor and beauty +of raw reality.</p> + +<p>"Soon?" asked MacHugh, equally quietly. He was feeling +that touch of pensiveness which comes with a sense of vanishing +pleasures.</p> + +<p>"I think some time in October, very likely," replied Eugene.</p> + +<p>"Jesus Christ, I'm sorry to hear that," put in Smite.</p> + +<p>He laid down his brush and strolled over to the window. +MacHugh, less expressive in extremes, worked on medatively.</p> + +<p>"When'd you reach that conclusion, Witla?" he asked after +a time.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I've been thinking it over for a long time, Peter," +he returned. "I should really have married before if I could +have afforded it. I know how things are here or I wouldn't +have sprung this so suddenly. I'll hold up my end on the rent +here until you get someone else."</p> + +<p>"To hell with the rent," said Smite. "We don't want anyone +else, do we, Peter? We didn't have anyone else before."</p> + +<p>Smite was rubbing his square chin and contemplating his partner +as if they were facing a catastrophe.</p> + +<p>"There's no use talking about that," said Peter. "You know +we don't care about the rent. Do you mind telling us who +you're going to marry? Do we know her?"</p> + +<p>"You don't," returned Eugene. "She's out in Wisconsin. +It's the one who writes the letters. Angela Blue is her +name."</p> + +<p>"Well, here's to Angela Blue, by God, say I," said Smite, +recovering his spirits and picking up his paint brush from his +board to hold aloft. "Here's to Mrs. Eugene Witla, and may +she never reef a sail to a storm or foul an anchor, as they say +up Nova Scotia way."</p> + +<p>"Right oh," added MacHugh, catching the spirit of Smite's +generous attitude. "Them's my sentiments. When d'you +expect to get married really, Eugene?"</p> + +<p>"Oh I haven't fixed the time exactly. About November first, +I should say. I hope you won't say anything about it though, +either of you. I don't want to go through any explanations."</p> + +<p>"We won't, but it's tough, you old walrus. Why the hell +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> +didn't you give us time to think it over? You're a fine jellyfish, +you are."</p> + +<p>He poked him reprimandingly in the ribs.</p> + +<p>"There isn't anyone any more sorry than I am," said Eugene. +"I hate to leave here, I do. But we won't lose track of each +other. I'll still be around here."</p> + +<p>"Where do you expect to live? Here in the city?" asked +MacHugh, still a little gloomy.</p> + +<p>"Sure. Right here in Washington Square. Remember that +Dexter studio Weaver was telling about? The one in the third +floor at sixty-one? That's it."</p> + +<p>"You don't say!" exclaimed Smite. "You're in right. How'd +you get that?"</p> + +<p>Eugene explained.</p> + +<p>"Well, you sure are a lucky man," observed MacHugh. "Your +wife ought to like that. I suppose there'll be a cozy corner for +an occasional strolling artist?"</p> + +<p>"No farmers, no sea-faring men, no artistic hacks—nothing!" +declared Eugene dramatically.</p> + +<p>"You to Hell," said Smite. "When Mrs. Witla sees us—"</p> + +<p>"She'll wish she'd never come to New York," put in Eugene.</p> + +<p>"She'll wish she'd seen us first," said MacHugh.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="BOOK_II" id="BOOK_II"></a>BOOK II</h2> + +<h2>THE STRUGGLE</h2> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_I" id="II_CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<p>The marriage ceremony between Eugene and Angela was +solemnized at Buffalo on November second. As planned, +Marietta was with them. They would go, the three of them, to +the Falls, and to West Point, where the girls would see their +brother David, and then Marietta would return to tell the family +about it. Naturally, under the circumstances, it was a very +simple affair, for there were no congratulations to go through +with and no gifts—at least immediately—to consider and acknowledge. +Angela had explained to her parents and friends +that it was quite impossible for Eugene to come West at this +time. She knew that he objected to a public ceremony where +he would have to run the gauntlet of all her relatives, and so +she was quite willing to meet him in the East and be married +there. Eugene had not troubled to take his family into his confidence +as yet. He had indicated on his last visit home that he +might get married, and that Angela was the girl in question, +but since Myrtle was the only one of his family who had seen +her and she was now in Ottumwa, Iowa, they could not recall +anything about her. Eugene's father was a little disappointed, +for he expected to hear some day that Eugene had made a brilliant +match. His boy, whose pictures were in the magazines so +frequently and whose appearance was so generally distinguished, +ought in New York, where opportunities abounded, to marry an +heiress at least. It was all right of course if Eugene wanted to +marry a girl from the country, but it robbed the family of a +possible glory.</p> + +<p>The spirit of this marriage celebration, so far as Eugene was +concerned, was hardly right. There was the consciousness, always +with him, of his possibly making a mistake; the feeling that +he was being compelled by circumstances and his own weakness +to fulfil an agreement which might better remain unfulfilled. +His only urge was his desire, in the gratification of which he +might find compensation, for saving Angela from an unhappy +spinsterhood. It was a thin reed to lean on; there could be no +honest satisfaction in it. Angela was sweet, devoted, painstaking +in her attitude toward life, toward him, toward everything +with which she came in contact, but she was not what he +had always fancied his true mate would be—the be all and the +end all of his existence. Where was the divine fire which on +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> +this occasion should have animated him; the lofty thoughts of +future companionship; that intense feeling he had first felt about +her when he had called on her at her aunt's house in Chicago? +Something had happened. Was it that he had cheapened his +ideal by too close contact with it? Had he taken a beautiful +flower and trailed it in the dust? Was passion all there was to +marriage? Or was it that true marriage was something higher—a +union of fine thoughts and feelings? Did Angela share his +with him? Angela did have exalted feelings and moods at +times. They were not sensibly intellectual—but she seemed to +respond to the better things in music and to some extent in literature. +She knew nothing about art, but she was emotionally responsive +to many fine things. Why was not this enough to make +life durable and comfortable between them? Was it not really +enough? After he had gone over all these points, there was +still the thought that there was something wrong in this union. +Despite his supposedly laudable conduct in fulfilling an obligation +which, in a way, he had helped create or created, he was +not happy. He went to his marriage as a man goes to fulfil +an uncomfortable social obligation. It might turn out that he +would have an enjoyable and happy life and it might turn out +very much otherwise. He could not face the weight and significance +of the social theory that this was for life—that if he +married her today he would have to live with her all the rest +of his days. He knew that was the generally accepted interpretation +of marriage, but it did not appeal to him. Union ought +in his estimation to be based on a keen desire to live together and +on nothing else. He did not feel the obligation which attaches +to children, for he had never had any and did not feel the desire +for any. A child was a kind of a nuisance. Marriage was a +trick of Nature's by which you were compelled to carry out her +scheme of race continuance. Love was a lure; desire a scheme of +propagation devised by the way. Nature, the race spirit, used +you as you would use a work-horse to pull a load. The load in +this case was race progress and man was the victim. He did +not think he owed anything to nature, or to this race spirit. +He had not asked to come here. He had not been treated as +generously as he might have been since he arrived. Why should +he do what nature bid?</p> + +<p>When he met Angela he kissed her fondly, for of course the +sight of her aroused the feeling of desire which had been running +in his mind so keenly for some time. Since last seeing Angela +he had touched no woman, principally because the right +one had not presented herself and because the memories and the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> +anticipations in connection with Angela were so close. Now +that he was with her again the old fire came over him and he +was eager for the completion of the ceremony. He had seen to +the marriage license in the morning,—and from the train on +which Angela and Marietta arrived they proceeded in a carriage +direct to the Methodist preacher. The ceremony which +meant so much to Angela meant practically nothing to him. It +seemed a silly formula—this piece of paper from the marriage +clerk's office and this instructed phraseology concerning "love, +honor and cherish." Certainly he would love, honor and +cherish if it were possible—if not, then not. Angela, with the +marriage ring on her finger and the words "with this ring I thee +wed" echoing in her ears, felt that all her dreams had come true. +Now she was, really, truly, Mrs. Eugene Witla. She did not +need to worry about drowning herself, or being disgraced, or +enduring a lonely, commiserated old age. She was the wife of +an artist—a rising one, and she was going to live in New York. +What a future stretched before her! Eugene loved her after +all. She imagined she could see that. His slowness in marrying +her was due to the difficulty of establishing himself properly. +Otherwise he would have done it before. They drove to the +Iroquois hotel and registered as man and wife, securing a separate +room for Marietta. The latter pretending an urgent desire +to bathe after her railroad journey, left them, promising to be +ready in time for dinner. Eugene and Angela were finally +alone.</p> + +<p>He now saw how, in spite of his fine theories, his previous +experiences with Angela had deadened to an extent his joy in +this occasion. He had her again it was true. His desire that he +had thought of so keenly was to be gratified, but there was no +mystery connected with it. His real nuptials had been celebrated +at Blackwood months before. This was the commonplace +of any marriage relation. It was intense and gratifying, but +the original, wonderful mystery of unexplored character was +absent. He eagerly took her in his arms, but there was more +of crude desire than of awed delight in the whole proceeding.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless Angela was sweet to him. Hers was a loving +disposition and Eugene was the be all and end all of her love. +His figure was of heroic proportions to her. His talent was divine +fire. No one could know as much as Eugene, of course! +No one could be as artistic. True, he was not as practical as +some men—her brothers and brothers-in-law, for instance—but +he was a man of genius. Why should he be practical? She was +beginning to think already of how thoroughly she would help +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> +him shape his life toward success—what a good wife she would +be to him. Her training as a teacher, her experience as a buyer, +her practical judgment, would help him so much. They spent +the two hours before dinner in renewed transports and then +dressed and made their public appearance. Angela had had +designed a number of dresses for this occasion, representing the +saving of years, and tonight at dinner she looked exceptionally +pretty in a dress of black silk with neck piece and half sleeves +of mother-of-pearl silk, set off with a decoration of seed pearls +and black beads in set designs. Marietta, in a pale pink silk of +peachblow softness of hue with short sleeves and a low cut +bodice was, with all her youth and natural plumpness and gaiety +of soul, ravishing. Now that she had Angela safely married, +she was under no obligations to keep out of Eugene's way nor +to modify her charms in order that her sister's might shine. She +was particularly ebullient in her mood and Eugene could not +help contrasting, even in this hour, the qualities of the two sisters. +Marietta's smile, her humor, her unconscious courage, +contrasted so markedly with Angela's quietness.</p> + +<p>The luxuries of the modern hotel have become the commonplaces +of ordinary existence, but to the girls they were still +strange enough to be impressive. To Angela they were a foretaste +of what was to be an enduring higher life. These carpets, +hangings, elevators, waiters, seemed in their shabby materialism +to speak of superior things.</p> + +<p>One day in Buffalo, with a view of the magnificent falls at +Niagara, and then came West Point with a dress parade accidentally +provided for a visiting general and a ball for the cadets. +Marietta, because of her charm and her brother's popularity, +found herself so much in demand at West Point that +she extended her stay to a week, leaving Eugene and Angela free +to come to New York together and have a little time to themselves. +They only stayed long enough to see Marietta safely +housed and then came to the city and the apartment in Washington +Square.</p> + +<p>It was dark when they arrived and Angela was impressed +with the glittering galaxy of lights the city presented across the +North River from Forty-second Street. She had no idea of the +nature of the city, but as the cab at Eugene's request turned into +Broadway at Forty-second Street and clattered with interrupted +progress south to Fifth Avenue she had her first glimpse of that +tawdry world which subsequently became known as the "Great +White Way." Already its make-believe and inherent cheapness +had come to seem to Eugene largely characteristic of the city +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> +and of life, but it still retained enough of the lure of the flesh +and of clothes and of rush-light reputations to hold his attention. +Here were dramatic critics and noted actors and actresses +and chorus girls, the gods and toys of avid, inexperienced, unsatisfied +wealth. He showed Angela the different theatres, called +her attention to distinguished names; made much of restaurants +and hotels and shops and stores that sell trifles and trash, and +finally turned into lower Fifth Avenue, where the dignity of +great houses and great conservative wealth still lingered. At +Fourteenth Street Angela could already see Washington Arch +glowing cream white in the glare of electric lights.</p> + +<p>"What is that?" she asked interestedly.</p> + +<p>"It's Washington Arch," he replied. "We live in sight of that +on the south side of the Square."</p> + +<p>"Oh! but it is beautiful!" she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>It seemed very wonderful to her, and as they passed under it, +and the whole Square spread out before her, it seemed a perfect +world in which to live.</p> + +<p>"Is this where it is?" she asked, as they stopped in front of the +studio building.</p> + +<p>"Yes, this is it. How do you like it?"</p> + +<p>"I think it's beautiful," she said.</p> + +<p>They went up the white stone steps of the old Bride house +in which was Eugene's leased studio, up two flights of red-carpeted +stairs and finally into the dark studio where he struck +a match and lit, for the art of it, candles. A soft waxen glow +irradiated the place as he proceeded and then Angela saw old +Chippendale chairs, a Heppelwhite writing-table, a Flemish +strong box containing used and unused drawings, the green +stained fish-net studded with bits of looking glass in imitation +of scales, a square, gold-framed mirror over the mantel, and one +of Eugene's drawings—the three engines in the gray, lowering +weather, standing large and impressive upon an easel. It seemed +to Angela the perfection of beauty. She saw the difference now +between the tawdry gorgeousness of a commonplace hotel and +this selection and arrangement of individual taste. The glowing +candelabrum of seven candles on either side of the square mirror +surprised her deeply. The black walnut piano in the alcove +behind the half draped net drew forth an exclamation of delight. +"Oh, how lovely it all is!" she exclaimed and ran to Eugene +to be kissed. He fondled her for a few minutes and then she +left again to examine in detail pictures, pieces of furniture, ornaments +of brass and copper.</p> + +<p>"When did you get all this?" she asked, for Eugene had not +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> +told her of his luck in finding the departing Dexter and leasing +it for the rent of the studio and its care. He was lighting the +fire in the grate which had been prepared by the house attendant.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it isn't mine," he replied easily. "I leased this from +Russell Dexter. He's going to be in Europe until next winter. +I thought that would be easier than waiting around to fix up +a place after you came. We can get our things together next +fall."</p> + +<p>He was thinking he would be able to have his exhibition in +the spring, and perhaps that would bring some notable sales. +Anyhow it might bring a few, increase his repute and give him +a greater earning power.</p> + +<p>Angela's heart sank just a little but she recovered in a moment, +for after all it was very exceptional even to be able to +lease a place of this character. She went to the window and +looked out. There was the great square with its four walls of +houses, the spread of trees, still decorated with a few dusty +leaves, and the dozens of arc lights sputtering their white radiance +in between, the graceful arch, cream white over at the entrance +of Fifth Avenue.</p> + +<p>"It's so beautiful," she exclaimed again, coming back to Eugene +and putting her arms about him. "I didn't think it would be +anything as fine as this. You're so good to me." She put up her +lips and he kissed her, pinching her cheeks. Together they +walked to the kitchen, the bedroom, the bathroom. Then after +a time they blew out the candles and retired for the night.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_II" id="II_CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<p>After the quiet of a small town, the monotony and simplicity +of country life, the dreary, reiterated weariness of +teaching a country school, this new world into which Angela was +plunged seemed to her astonished eyes to be compounded of +little save beauties, curiosities and delights. The human senses, +which weary so quickly of reiterated sensory impressions, exaggerate +with equal readiness the beauty and charm of the unaccustomed. +If it is new, therefore it must be better than that +which we have had of old. The material details with which we +are able to surround ourselves seem at times to remake our point +of view. If we have been poor, wealth will seem temporarily +to make us happy; when we have been amid elements and personages +discordant to our thoughts, to be put among harmonious +conditions seems, for the time being, to solve all our woes. So +little do we have that interior peace which no material conditions +can truly affect or disturb.</p> + +<p>When Angela awoke the next morning, this studio in which +she was now to live seemed the most perfect habitation which +could be devised by man. The artistry of the arrangement of +the rooms, the charm of the conveniences—a bathroom with hot +and cold water next to the bedroom; a kitchen with an array +of necessary utensils. In the rear portion of the studio used as +a dining-room a glimpse of the main studio gave her the sense of +art which dealt with nature, the beauty of the human form, colors, +tones—how different from teaching school. To her the difference +between the long, low rambling house at Blackwood with +its vine ornamented windows, its somewhat haphazard arrangement +of flowers and its great lawn, and this peculiarly compact +and ornate studio apartment looking out upon Washington +Square, was all in favor of the latter. In Angela's judgment +there was no comparison. She could not have understood if +she could have seen into Eugene's mind at this time how her +home town, her father's single farm, the blue waters of the little +lake near her door, the shadows of the tall trees on her lawn +were somehow, compounded for him not only with classic beauty +itself, but with her own charm. When she was among these +things she partook of their beauty and was made more beautiful +thereby. She did not know how much she had lost in leaving +them behind. To her all these older elements of her life were +shabby and unimportant, pointless and to be neglected.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> +This new world was in its way for her an Aladdin's cave of +delight. When she looked out on the great square for the first +time the next morning, seeing it bathed in sunlight, a dignified +line of red brick dwellings to the north, a towering office building +to the east, trucks, carts, cars and vehicles clattering over the +pavement below, it all seemed gay with youth and energy.</p> + +<p>"We'll have to dress and go out to breakfast," said Eugene. +"I didn't think to lay anything in. As a matter of fact I wouldn't +have known what to buy if I had wanted to. I never tried housekeeping +for myself."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's all right," said Angela, fondling his hands, "only +let's not go out to breakfast unless we have to. Let's see what's +here," and she went back to the very small room devoted to +cooking purposes to see what cooking utensils had been provided. +She had been dreaming of housekeeping and cooking for Eugene, +of petting and spoiling him, and now the opportunity had arrived. +She found that Mr. Dexter, their generous lessor, had +provided himself with many conveniences—breakfast and dinner +sets of brown and blue porcelain, a coffee percolator, a charming +dull blue teapot with cups to match, a chafing dish, a set +of waffle irons, griddles, spiders, skillets, stew and roasting pans +and knives and forks of steel and silver in abundance. Obviously +he had entertained from time to time, for there were bread, cake, +sugar, flour and salt boxes and a little chest containing, in small +drawers, various spices.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it will be easy to get something here," said Angela, lighting +the burners of the gas stove to see whether it was in good +working order. "We can just go out to market if you'll come +and show me once and get what we want. It won't take a minute. +I'll know after that." Eugene consented gladly.</p> + +<p>She had always fancied she would be an ideal housekeeper and +now that she had her Eugene she was anxious to begin. It would +be such a pleasure to show him what a manager she was, how +everything would go smoothly in her hands, how careful she +would be of his earnings—their joint possessions.</p> + +<p>She was sorry, now that she saw that art was no great producer +of wealth, that she had no money to bring him, but she +knew that Eugene in the depth of his heart thought nothing of +that. He was too impractical. He was a great artist, but when +it came to practical affairs she felt instinctively that she was +much the wiser. She had bought so long, calculated so well for +her sisters and brothers.</p> + +<p>Out of her bag (for her trunks had not yet arrived) she +extracted a neat house dress of pale green linen which she put on +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> +after she had done up her hair in a cosy coil, and together with +Eugene for a temporary guide, they set forth to find the stores. +He had told her, looking out the windows, that there were +lines of Italian grocers, butchers and vegetable men in the side +streets, leading south from the square, and into one of these they +now ventured. The swarming, impressive life of the street almost +took her breath away, it was so crowded. Potatoes, tomatoes, +eggs, flour, butter, lamb chops, salt—a dozen little accessories +were all purchased in small quantities, and then they +eagerly returned to the studio. Angela was a little disgusted +with the appearance of some of the stores, but some of them +were clean enough. It seemed so strange to her to be buying in +an Italian street, with Italian women and children about, their +swarthy leathern faces set with bright, almost feverish eyes. +Eugene in his brown corduroy suit and soft green hat, watching +and commenting at her side, presented such a contrast. He was +so tall, so exceptional, so laconic.</p> + +<p>"I like them when they wear rings in their ears," he said at +one time.</p> + +<p>"Get the coal man who looks like a bandit," he observed at +another.</p> + +<p>"This old woman here might do for the witch of Endor."</p> + +<p>Angela attended strictly to her marketing. She was gay and +smiling, but practical. She was busy wondering in what quantities +she should buy things, how she would keep fresh vegetables, +whether the ice box was really clean; how much delicate dusting +the various objects in the studio would require. The raw brick +walls of the street, the dirt and slops in the gutter, the stray +cats and dogs hungry and lean, the swarming stream of people, +did not appeal to her as picturesque at all. Only when she +heard Eugene expatiating gravely did she begin to realize that all +this must have artistic significance. If Eugene said so it did. +But it was a fascinating world whatever it was, and it was obvious +that she was going to be very, very happy.</p> + +<p>There was a breakfast in the studio then of hot biscuit with +fresh butter, an omelette with tomatoes, potatoes stewed in +cream, and coffee. After the long period of commonplace restaurant +dining which Eugene had endured, this seemed ideal. To +sit in your own private apartment with a charming wife opposite +you ready to render you any service, and with an array of food +before you which revived the finest memories in your gustatory +experience, seemed perfect. Nothing could be better. He saw +visions of a happy future if he could finance this sort of thing. +It would require a lot of money, more than he had been making, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> +but he thought he could make out. After breakfast Angela +played on the piano, and then, Eugene wanting to work, she +started housekeeping in earnest. The trunks arriving gave her +the task of unpacking and with that and lunch and dinner to say +nothing of love she had sufficient to do.</p> + +<p>It was a charming existence for a little while. Eugene suggested +that they should have Smite and MacHugh to dinner +first of all, these being his closest friends. Angela agreed heartily +for she was only too anxious to meet the people he knew. +She wanted to show him she knew how to receive and entertain +as well as anyone. She made great preparations for the Wednesday +evening following—the night fixed for the dinner—and +when it came was on the qui vive to see what his friends were +like and what they would think of her.</p> + +<p>The occasion passed off smoothly enough and was the occasion +of considerable jollity. These two cheerful worthies were greatly +impressed with the studio. They were quick to praise it before +Angela, and to congratulate him on his good fortune in having +married her. Angela, in the same dress in which she had appeared +at dinner in Buffalo, was impressive. Her mass of yellow +hair fascinated the gaze of both Smite and MacHugh.</p> + +<p>"Gee, what hair!" Smite observed secretly to MacHugh when +neither Angela nor Eugene were within hearing distance.</p> + +<p>"You're right," returned MacHugh. "She's not at all bad +looking, is she?"</p> + +<p>"I should say not," returned Smite who admired Angela's +simple, good-natured western manners. A little later, more +subtly, they expressed their admiration to her, and she was greatly +pleased.</p> + +<p>Marietta, who had arrived late that afternoon, had not made +her appearance yet. She was in the one available studio bedroom +making her toilet. Angela, in spite of her fine raiment, +was busy superintending the cooking, for although through the +janitor she had managed to negotiate the loan of a girl to serve, +she could not get anyone to cook. A soup, a fish, a chicken and +a salad, were the order of procedure. Marietta finally appeared, +ravishing in pink silk. Both Smite and MacHugh sat up and +Marietta proceeded to bewitch them. Marietta knew no order +or distinctions in men. They were all slaves to her—victims to +be stuck on the spit of her beauty and broiled in their amorous +uncertainties at her leisure. In after years Eugene learned to +speak of Marietta's smile as "the dagger." The moment she +appeared smiling he would say, "Ah, we have it out again, have +we? Who gets the blade this evening? Poor victim!"</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> +Being her brother-in-law now, he was free to slip his arm +about her waist and she took this family connection as license to +kiss him. There was something about Eugene which held her +always. During these very first days she gratified her desire to +be in his arms, but always with a sense of reserve which kept +him in check. She wondered secretly how much he liked her.</p> + +<p>Smite and MacHugh, when she appeared, both rose to do +her service. MacHugh offered her his chair by the fire. Smite +bestirred himself in an aimless fashion.</p> + +<p>"I've just had such a dandy week up at West Point," began +Marietta cheerfully, "dancing, seeing dress parades, walking +with the soldier boys."</p> + +<p>"I warn you two, here and now," began Eugene, who had +already learned to tease Marietta, "that you're not safe. This +woman here is dangerous. As artists in good standing you had +better look out for yourselves."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Eugene, how you talk," laughed Marietta, her teeth +showing effectively. "Mr. Smite, I leave it to you. Isn't that +a mean way to introduce a sister-in-law? I'm here for just a +few days too, and have so little time. I think it cruel!"</p> + +<p>"It's a shame!" said Smite, who was plainly a willing victim. +"You ought to have another kind of brother-in-law. If +you had some people I know now—"</p> + +<p>"It's an outrage," commented MacHugh. "There's one thing +though. You may not require so very much time."</p> + +<p>"Now I think that's ungallant," Marietta laughed. "I see +I'm all alone here except for Mr. Smite. Never mind. You +all will be sorry when I'm gone."</p> + +<p>"I believe that," replied MacHugh, feelingly.</p> + +<p>Smite simply stared. He was lost in admiration of her cream +and peach complexion, her fluffy, silky brown hair, her bright +blue eyes and plump rounded arms. Such radiant good nature +would be heavenly to live with. He wondered what sort of a +family this was that Eugene had become connected with. Angela, +Marietta, a brother at West Point. They must be nice, +conservative, well-to-do western people. Marietta went to help +her sister, and Smite, in the absence of Eugene, said: "Say, he's +in right, isn't he? She's a peach. She's got it a little on her +sister."</p> + +<p>MacHugh merely stared at the room. He was taken with +the complexion and arrangement of things generally. The old +furniture, the rugs, the hangings, the pictures, Eugene's borrowed +maid servant in a white apron and cap, Angela, Marietta, +the bright table set with colored china and an arrangement of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> +silver candlesticks—Eugene had certainly changed the tenor +of his life radically within the last ten days. Why he was marvellously +fortunate. This studio was a wonderful piece of +luck. Some people—and he shook his head meditatively.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Eugene, coming back after some final touches to +his appearance, "what do you think of it, Peter?"</p> + +<p>"You're certainly moving along, Eugene. I never expected +to see it. You ought to praise God. You're plain lucky."</p> + +<p>Eugene smiled enigmatically. He was wondering whether he +was. Neither Smite nor MacHugh nor anyone could dream of +the conditions under which this came about. What a sham +the world was anyhow. It's surface appearances so ridiculously +deceptive! If anyone had known of the apparent necessity +when he first started to look for an apartment, of his own mood +toward it!</p> + +<p>Marietta came back, and Angela. The latter had taken +kindly to both these men, or boys as she already considered them. +Eugene had a talent for reducing everybody to "simply folks," +as he called them. So these two capable and talented men were +mere country boys like himself—and Angela caught his attitude.</p> + +<p>"I'd like to have you let me make a sketch of you some day, +Mrs. Witla," MacHugh said to Angela when she came back +to the fire. He was essaying portraiture as a side line and he +was anxious for good opportunities to practice.</p> + +<p>Angela thrilled at the invitation, and the use of her new name, +Mrs. Witla, by Eugene's old friends.</p> + +<p>"I'd be delighted," she replied, flushing.</p> + +<p>"My word, you look nice, Angel-Face," exclaimed Marietta, +catching her about the waist. "You paint her with her hair down +in braids, Mr. MacHugh. She makes a stunning Gretchen."</p> + +<p>Angela flushed anew.</p> + +<p>"I've been reserving that for myself, Peter," said Eugene, +"but you try your hand at it. I'm not much in portraiture anyhow."</p> + +<p>Smite smiled at Marietta. He wished he could paint her, but +he was poor at figure work except as incidental characters in +sea scenes. He could do men better than he could women.</p> + +<p>"If you were an old sea captain now, Miss Blue," he said +to Marietta gallantly, "I could make a striking thing out of +you."</p> + +<p>"I'll try to be, if you want to paint me," she replied gaily. +"I'd look fine in a big pair of boots and a raincoat, wouldn't I, +Eugene?"</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> +"You certainly would, if I'm any judge," replied Smite. +"Come over to the studio and I'll rig you out. I have all those +things on hand."</p> + +<p>"I will," she replied, laughing. "You just say the word."</p> + +<p>MacHugh felt as if Smite were stealing a march on him. He +wanted to be nice to Marietta, to have her take an interest in +him.</p> + +<p>"Now, looky, Joseph," he protested. "I was going to suggest +making a study of Miss Blue myself."</p> + +<p>"Well, you're too late," replied Smite. "You didn't speak +quick enough."</p> + +<p>Marietta was greatly impressed with this atmosphere in which +Angela and Eugene were living. She expected to see something +artistic, but nothing so nice as this particular studio. Angela +explained to her that Eugene did not own it, but that made +small difference in Marietta's estimate of its significance. Eugene +had it. His art and social connections brought it about. +They were beginning excellently well. If she could have as +nice a home when she started on her married career she would +be satisfied.</p> + +<p>They sat down about the round teak table which was one of +Dexter's prized possessions, and were served by Angela's borrowed +maid. The conversation was light and for the most part +pointless, serving only to familiarize these people with each +other. Both Angela and Marietta were taken with the two artists +because they felt in them a note of homely conservatism. +These men spoke easily and naturally of the trials and triumphs +of art life, and the difficulty of making a good living, and seemed +to be at home with personages of repute in one world and another, +its greatest reward.</p> + +<p>During the dinner Smite narrated experiences in his sea-faring +life, and MacHugh of his mountain camping experiences in +the West. Marietta described experiences with her beaux in +Wisconsin and characteristics of her yokel neighbors at Blackwood, +Angela joining in. Finally MacHugh drew a pencil +sketch of Marietta followed by a long train of admiring yokels, +her eyes turned up in a very shy, deceptive manner.</p> + +<p>"Now I think that's cruel," she declared, when Eugene laughed +heartily. "I never look like that."</p> + +<p>"That's just the way you look and do," he declared. "You're +the broad and flowery path that leadeth to destruction."</p> + +<p>"Never mind, Babyette," put in Angela, "I'll take your part +if no one else will. You're a nice, demure, shrinking girl and +you wouldn't look at anyone, would you?"</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> +Angela got up and was holding Marietta's head mock sympathetically +in her arms.</p> + +<p>"Say, that's a dandy pet name," called Smite, moved by Marietta's +beauty.</p> + +<p>"Poor Marietta," observed Eugene. "Come over here to +me and I'll sympathize with you."</p> + +<p>"You don't take my drawing in the right spirit, Miss Blue," +put in MacHugh cheerfully. "It's simply to show how popular +you are."</p> + +<p>Angela stood beside Eugene as her guests departed, her slender +arm about his waist. Marietta was coquetting finally with +MacHugh. These two friends of his, thought Eugene, had the +privilege of singleness to be gay and alluring to her. With him +that was over now. He could not be that way to any girl any +more. He had to behave—be calm and circumspect. It cut him, +this thought. He saw at once it was not in accord with his nature. +He wanted to do just as he had always done—make love +to Marietta if she would let him, but he could not. He walked +to the fire when the studio door was closed.</p> + +<p>"They're such nice boys," exclaimed Marietta. "I think Mr. +MacHugh is as funny as he can be. He has such droll wit."</p> + +<p>"Smite is nice too," replied Eugene defensively.</p> + +<p>"They're both lovely—just lovely," returned Marietta.</p> + +<p>"I like Mr. MacHugh a little the best—he's quainter," said +Angela, "but I think Mr. Smite is just as nice as he can be. He's +so old fashioned. There's not anyone as nice as my Eugene, +though," she said affectionately, putting her arm about him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear, you two!" exclaimed Marietta. "Well, I'm +going to bed."</p> + +<p>Eugene sighed.</p> + +<p>They had arranged a couch for her which could be put behind +the silver-spangled fish net in the alcove when company was +gone.</p> + +<p>Eugene thought what a pity that already this affection of +Angela's was old to him. It was not as it would be if he had +taken Marietta or Christina. They went to their bed room to +retire and then he saw that all he had was passion. Must he be +satisfied with that? Could he be? It started a chain of thought +which, while persistently interrupted or befogged, was really +never broken. Momentary sympathy, desire, admiration, might +obscure it, but always fundamentally it was there. He had made +a mistake. He had put his head in a noose. He had subjected +himself to conditions which he did not sincerely approve of. +How was he going to remedy this—or could it ever be remedied?</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_III" id="II_CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<p>Whatever were Eugene's secret thoughts, he began his +married life with the outward air of one who takes it +seriously enough. Now that he was married, was actually bound +by legal ties, he felt that he might as well make the best of it. He +had once had the notion that it might be possible to say nothing +of his marriage, and keep Angela in the background, but this +notion had been dispelled by the attitude of MacHugh and +Smite, to say nothing of Angela. So he began to consider the +necessity of notifying his friends—Miriam Finch and Norma +Whitmore and possibly Christina Channing, when she should +return. These three women offered the largest difficulty to his +mind. He felt the commentary which their personalities represented. +What would they think of him? What of Angela? +Now that she was right here in the city he could see that she +represented a different order of thought. He had opened the +campaign by suggesting that they invite Smite and MacHugh. +The thing to do now was to go further in this matter.</p> + +<p>The one thing that troubled him was the thought of breaking +the news to Miriam Finch, for Christina Channing was away, +and Norma Whitmore was not of sufficient importance. He +argued now that he should have done this beforehand, but having +neglected that it behoved him to act at once. He did so, +finally, writing to Norma Whitmore and saying, for he had no +long explanation to make—"Yours truly is married. May I +bring my wife up to see you?" Miss Whitmore was truly taken +by surprise. She was sorry at first—very—because Eugene interested +her greatly and she was afraid he would make a mistake +in his marriage; but she hastened to make the best of a bad +turn on the part of fate and wrote a note which ran as follows:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Dear Eugene and Eugene's Wife: +<br /><br /> +"This is news as is news. Congratulations. And I am +coming right down as soon as I get my breath. And then you two +must come to see me.</p> + +<p> +"<span class="smcap">Norma Whitmore</span>."<br /> +</p></div> + +<p>Eugene was pleased and grateful that she took it so nicely, +but Angela was the least big chagrined secretly that he had not +told her before. Why hadn't he? Was this someone that he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> +was interested in? Those three years in which she had doubtingly +waited for Eugene had whetted her suspicions and nurtured +her fears. Still she tried to make little of it and to put on an air +of joyousness. She would be so glad to meet Miss Whitmore. +Eugene told her how kind she had been to him, how much she +admired his art, how helpful she was in bringing together young +literary and artistic people and how influential with those who +counted. She could do him many a good turn. Angela listened +patiently, but she was just the least bit resentful that he should +think so much of any one woman outside of herself. Why should +he, Eugene Witla, be dependent on the favor of any woman? +Of course she must be very nice and they would be good friends, +but—</p> + +<p>Norma came one afternoon two days later with the atmosphere +of enthusiasm trailing, as it seemed to Eugene, like a cloud of +glory about her. She was both fire and strength to him in her +regard and sympathy, even though she resented, ever so slightly, +his affectional desertion.</p> + +<p>"You piggy-wiggy Eugene Witla," she exclaimed. "What do +you mean by running off and getting married and never saying +a word. I never even had a chance to get you a present and now +I have to bring it. Isn't this a charming place—why it's perfectly +delightful," and as she laid her present down unopened she +looked about to see where Mrs. Eugene Witla might be.</p> + +<p>Angela was in the bedroom finishing her toilet. She was +expecting this descent and so was prepared, being suitably dressed +in the light green house gown. When she heard Miss Whitmore's +familiar mode of address she winced, for this spoke volumes +for a boon companionship of long endurance. Eugene +hadn't said so much of Miss Whitmore in the past as he had recently, +but she could see that they were very intimate. She +looked out and saw her—this tall, not very shapely, but graceful +woman, whose whole being represented dynamic energy, +awareness, subtlety of perception. Eugene was shaking her hand +and looking genially into her face.</p> + +<p>"Why should Eugene like her so much?" she asked herself instantly. +"Why did his face shine with that light of intense enthusiasm?" +The "piggy-wiggy Eugene Witla" expression irritated +her. It sounded as though she might be in love with him. +She came out after a moment with a glad smile on her face and +approached with every show of good feeling, but Miss Whitmore +could sense opposition.</p> + +<p>"So this is Mrs. Witla," she exclaimed, kissing her. "I'm delighted +to know you. I have always wondered what sort of a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> +girl Mr. Witla would marry. You'll just have to pardon my +calling him Eugene. I'll get over it after a bit, I suppose, now +that he's married. But we've been such good friends and I admire +his work so much. How do you like studio life—or are +you used to it?"</p> + +<p>Angela, who was taking in every detail of Eugene's old friend, +replied in what seemed an affected tone that no, she wasn't used +to studio life: she was just from the country, you know—a regular +farmer girl—Blackwood, Wisconsin, no less! She stopped +to let Norma express friendly surprise, and then went on to say +that she supposed Eugene had not said very much about her, +but he wrote her often enough. She was rejoicing in the fact +that whatever slight Eugene's previous silence seemed to put upon +her, she had the satisfaction that she had won him after all and +Miss Whitmore had not. She fancied from Miss Whitmore's +enthusiastic attitude that she must like Eugene very much, and +she could see now what sort of women might have made him +wish to delay. Who were the others, she wondered?</p> + +<p>They talked of metropolitan experiences generally. Marietta +came in from a shopping expedition with a Mrs. Link, wife of +an army captain acting as an instructor at West Point, and tea +was served immediately afterward. Miss Whitmore was insistent +that they should come and take dinner with her some evening. +Eugene confided that he was sending a painting to the +Academy.</p> + +<p>"They'll hang it, of course," assured Norma, "but you ought +to have an exhibition of your own."</p> + +<p>Marietta gushed about the wonder of the big stores and so +it finally came time for Miss Whitmore to go.</p> + +<p>"Now you will come up, won't you?" she said to Angela, for +in spite of a certain feeling of incompatibility and difference she +was determined to like her. She thought Angela a little inexperienced +and presumptuous in marrying Eugene. She was +afraid she was not up to his standard. Still she was quaint, piquant. +Perhaps she would do very well. Angela was thinking +all the while that Miss Whitmore was presuming on her old +acquaintance with Eugene—that she was too affected and enthusiastic.</p> + +<p>There was another day on which Miriam Finch called. Richard +Wheeler, having learned at Smite's and MacHugh's studio +of Eugene's marriage and present whereabouts, had hurried +over, and then immediately afterwards off to Miriam Finch's +studio. Surprised himself, he knew that she would be more so.</p> + +<p>"Witla's married!" he exclaimed, bursting into her room, and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> +for the moment Miriam lost her self-possession sufficiently to +reply almost dramatically: "Richard Wheeler, what are you +talking about! You don't mean that, do you?"</p> + +<p>"He's married," insisted Wheeler, "and he's living down in +Washington Square, 61 is the number. He has the cutest yellow-haired +wife you ever saw."</p> + +<p>Angela had been nice to Wheeler and he liked her. He liked +the air of this domicile and thought it was going to be a good +thing for Eugene. He needed to settle down and work hard.</p> + +<p>Miriam winced mentally at the picture. She was hurt by this +deception of Eugene's, chagrined because he had not thought +enough of her even to indicate that he was going to get married.</p> + +<p>"He's been married ten days," communicated Wheeler, and +this added force to her temporary chagrin. The fact that Angela +was yellow-haired and cute was also disturbing.</p> + +<p>"Well," she finally exclaimed cheerfully, "he might have said +something to us, mightn't he?" and she covered her own original +confusion by a gay nonchalance which showed nothing of what +she was really thinking. This was certainly indifference on +Eugene's part, and yet, why shouldn't he? He had never proposed +to her. Still they had been so intimate mentally.</p> + +<p>She was interested to see Angela. She wondered what sort of +a woman she really was. "Yellow-haired! Cute!" Of course, +like all men, Eugene had sacrificed intellect and mental +charm for a dainty form and a pretty face. It seemed queer, +but she had fancied that he would not do that—that his wife, +if he ever took one, would be tall perhaps, and gracious, and +of a beautiful mind—someone distinguished. Why would men, +intellectual men, artistic men, any kind of men, invariably make +fools of themselves! Well, she would go and see her.</p> + +<p>Because Wheeler informed him that he had told Miriam, +Eugene wrote, saying as briefly as possible that he was married +and that he wanted to bring Angela to her studio. For reply +she came herself, gay, smiling, immaculately dressed, anxious to +hurt Angela because she had proved the victor. She also wanted +to show Eugene how little difference it all made to her.</p> + +<p>"You certainly are a secretive young man, Mr. Eugene Witla," +she exclaimed, when she saw him. "Why didn't you make him +tell us, Mrs. Witla?" she demanded archly of Angela, but with +a secret dagger thrust in her eyes. "You'd think he didn't want +us to know."</p> + +<p>Angela cowered beneath the sting of this whip cord. Miriam +made her feel as though Eugene had attempted to conceal his +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> +relationship to her—as though he was ashamed of her. How +many more women were there like Miriam and Norma Whitmore?</p> + +<p>Eugene was gaily unconscious of the real animus in Miriam's +conversation, and now that the first cruel moment was over, was +talking glibly of things in general, anxious to make everything +seem as simple and natural as possible. He was working at one +of his pictures when Miriam came in and was eager to obtain +her critical opinion, since it was nearly done. She squinted at +it narrowly but said nothing when he asked. Ordinarily she +would have applauded it vigorously. She did think it exceptional, +but was determined to say nothing. She walked indifferently +about, examining this and that object in a superior way, +asking how he came to obtain the studio, congratulating him +upon his good luck. Angela, she decided, was interesting, but +not in Eugene's class mentally, and should be ignored. He had +made a mistake, that was plain.</p> + +<p>"Now you must bring Mrs. Witla up to see me," she said +on leaving. "I'll play and sing all my latest songs for you. +I have made some of the daintest discoveries in old Italian and +Spanish pieces."</p> + +<p>Angela, who had posed to Eugene as knowing something about +music, resented this superior invitation, without inquiry as to +her own possible ability or taste, as she did Miriam's entire +attitude. Why was she so haughty—so superior? What was +it to her whether Eugene had said anything about her or not?</p> + +<p>She said nothing to show that she herself played, but she +wondered that Eugene said nothing. It seemed neglectful and +inconsiderate of him. He was busy wondering what Miriam +thought of his picture. Miriam took his hand warmly at parting, +looked cheerfully into his eyes, and said, "I know you two +are going to be irrationally happy," and went out.</p> + +<p>Eugene felt the irritation at last. He knew Angela felt something. +Miriam was resentful, that was it. She was angry at +him for his seeming indifference. She had commented to herself +on Angela's appearance and to her disadvantage. In her +manner had been the statement that his wife was not very important +after all, not of the artistic and superior world to which +she and he belonged.</p> + +<p>"How do you like her?" he asked tentatively after she had +gone, feeling a strong current of opposition, but not knowing +on what it might be based exactly.</p> + +<p>"I don't like her," returned Angela petulantly. "She thinks +she's sweet. She treats you as though she thought you were her +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> +personal property. She openly insulted me about your not telling +her. Miss Whitmore did the same thing—they all do! They +all will! Oh!!"</p> + +<p>She suddenly burst into tears and ran crying toward their +bedroom.</p> + +<p>Eugene followed, astonished, ashamed, rebuked, guilty minded, +almost terror-stricken—he hardly knew what.</p> + +<p>"Why, Angela," he urged pleadingly, leaning over her and +attempting to raise her. "You know that isn't true."</p> + +<p>"It is! It is!!" she insisted. "Don't touch me! Don't come +near me! You know it is true! You don't love me. You +haven't treated me right at all since I've been here. You haven't +done anything that you should have done. She insulted me +openly to my face."</p> + +<p>She was speaking with sobs, and Eugene was at once pained +and terrorized by the persistent and unexpected display of +emotion. He had never seen Angela like this before. He had +never seen any woman so.</p> + +<p>"Why, Angelface," he urged, "how can you go on like this? +You know what you say isn't true. What have I done?"</p> + +<p>"You haven't told your friends—that's what you haven't +done," she exclaimed between gasps. "They still think you're +single. You keep me here hidden in the background as though +I were a—were a—I don't know what! Your friends come +and insult me openly to my face. They do! They do! Oh!" +and she sobbed anew.</p> + +<p>She knew very well what she was doing in her anger and +rage. She felt that she was acting in the right way. Eugene +needed a severe reproof; he had acted very badly, and this +was the way to administer it to him now in the beginning. +His conduct was indefensible, and only the fact that he was +an artist, immersed in cloudy artistic thoughts and not really +subject to the ordinary conventions of life, saved him in her +estimation. It didn't matter that she had urged him to marry +her. It didn't absolve him that he had done so. She thought +he owed her that. Anyhow they were married now, and he +should do the proper thing.</p> + +<p>Eugene stood there cut as with a knife by this terrific charge. +He had not meant anything by concealing her presence, he +thought. He had only endeavored to protect himself very +slightly, temporarily.</p> + +<p>"You oughtn't to say that, Angela," he pleaded. "There +aren't any more that don't know—at least any more that I +care anything about. I didn't think. I didn't mean to conceal +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> +anything. I'll write to everybody that might be interested."</p> + +<p>He still felt hurt that she should brutally attack him this +way even in her sorrow. He was wrong, no doubt, but she? +Was this a way to act, this the nature of true love? He mentally +writhed and twisted.</p> + +<p>Taking her up in his arms, smoothing her hair, he asked +her to forgive him. Finally, when she thought she had punished +him enough, and that he was truly sorry and would make +amends in the future, she pretended to listen and then of a +sudden threw her arms about his neck and began to hug and +kiss him. Passion, of course, was the end of this, but the +whole thing left a disagreeable taste in Eugene's mouth. He +did not like scenes. He preferred the lofty indifference of +Miriam, the gay subterfuge of Norma, the supreme stoicism of +Christina Channing. This noisy, tempestuous, angry emotion +was not quite the thing to have introduced into his life. He +did not see how that would make for love between them.</p> + +<p>Still Angela was sweet, he thought. She was a little girl—not +as wise as Norma Whitmore, not as self-protective as +Miriam Finch or Christina Channing. Perhaps after all she +needed his care and affection. Maybe it was best for her and +for him that he had married her.</p> + +<p>So thinking he rocked her in his arms, and Angela, lying +there, was satisfied. She had won a most important victory. She +was starting right. She was starting Eugene right. She would +get the moral, mental and emotional upper hand of him and +keep it. Then these women, who thought themselves so superior, +could go their way. She would have Eugene and he would be a +great man and she would be his wife. That was all she wanted.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_IV" id="II_CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<p>The result of Angela's outburst was that Eugene hastened to +notify those whom he had not already informed—Shotmeyer, +his father and mother, Sylvia, Myrtle, Hudson Dula—and +received in return cards and letters of congratulation expressing +surprise and interest, which he presented to Angela +in a conciliatory spirit. She realized, after it was all over, that +she had given him an unpleasant shock, and was anxious to +make up to him in personal affection what she had apparently +compelled him to suffer for policy's sake. Eugene did not +know that in Angela, despite her smallness of body and what +seemed to him her babyishness of spirit, he had to deal with a +thinking woman who was quite wise as to ways and means +of handling her personal affairs. She was, of course, whirled +in the maelstrom of her affection for Eugene and this was +confusing, and she did not understand the emotional and philosophic +reaches of his mind; but she did understand instinctively +what made for a stable relationship between husband and wife +and between any married couple and the world. To her the +utterance of the marriage vow meant just what it said, that +they would cleave each to the other; there should be henceforth +no thoughts, feelings, or emotions, and decidedly no actions +which would not conform with the letter and the spirit of the +marriage vow.</p> + +<p>Eugene had sensed something of this, but not accurately or +completely. He did not correctly estimate either the courage +or the rigidity of her beliefs and convictions. He thought +that her character might possibly partake of some of his own +easy tolerance and good nature. She must know that people—men +particularly—were more or less unstable in their make-up. +Life could not be governed by hard and fast rules. Why, +everybody knew that. You might try, and should hold yourself +in check as much as possible for the sake of self-preservation +and social appearances, but if you erred—and you might easily—it +was no crime. Certainly it was no crime to look at another +woman longingly. If you went astray, overbalanced by your +desires, wasn't it after all in the scheme of things? Did we +make our desires? Certainly we did not, and if we did not +succeed completely in controlling them—well—</p> + +<p>The drift of life into which they now settled was interesting +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> +enough, though for Eugene it was complicated with the thought +of possible failure, for he was, as might well be expected of +such a temperament, of a worrying nature, and inclined, in his +hours of ordinary effort, to look on the dark side of things. The +fact that he had married Angela against his will, the fact that +he had no definite art connections which produced him as yet +anything more than two thousand dollars a year, the fact that +he had assumed financial obligations which doubled the cost of +food, clothing, entertainment, and rent—for their studio was +costing him thirty dollars more than had his share of the +Smite-MacHugh chambers—weighed on him. The dinner which +he had given to Smite and MacHugh had cost about eight dollars +over and above the ordinary expenses of the week. Others +of a similar character would cost as much and more. He would +have to take Angela to the theatre occasionally. There would be +the need of furnishing a new studio the following fall, unless +another such windfall as this manifested itself. Although Angela +had equipped herself with a varied and serviceable trousseau, +her clothes would not last forever. Odd necessities began to crop +up not long after they were married, and he began to see +that if they lived with anything like the freedom and care +with which he had before he was married, his income would +have to be larger and surer.</p> + +<p>The energy which these thoughts provoked was not without +result. For one thing he sent the original of the East Side +picture, "Six O'clock" to the American Academy of Design +exhibition—a thing which he might have done long before but +failed to do.</p> + +<p>Angela had heard from Eugene that the National Academy +of Design was a forum for the display of art to which the public +was invited or admitted for a charge. To have a picture accepted +by this society and hung on the line was in its way a +mark of merit and approval, though Eugene did not think +very highly of it. All the pictures were judged by a jury of +artists which decided whether they should be admitted or rejected, +and if admitted whether they should be given a place of +honor or hung in some inconspicuous position. To be hung "on +the line" was to have your picture placed in the lower tier +where the light was excellent and the public could get a good +view of it. Eugene had thought the first two years he was in +New York that he was really not sufficiently experienced or +meritorious, and the previous year he had thought that he would +hoard all that he was doing for his first appearance in some +exhibition of his own, thinking the National Academy commonplace +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> +and retrogressive. The exhibitions he had seen thus far +had been full of commonplace, dead-and-alive stuff, he thought. +It was no great honor to be admitted to such a collection. Now, +because MacHugh was trying, and because he had accumulated +nearly enough pictures for exhibition at a private gallery which +he hoped to interest, he was anxious to see what the standard +body of American artists thought of his work. They might +reject him. If so that would merely prove that they did not +recognize a radical departure from accepted methods and subject +matter as art. The impressionists, he understood, were +being so ignored. Later they would accept him. If he were +admitted it would simply mean that they knew better than he +believed they did.</p> + +<p>"I believe I will do it," he said; "I'd like to know what +they think of my stuff anyhow."</p> + +<p>The picture was sent as he had planned, and to his immense +satisfaction it was accepted and hung. It did not, for some reason, +attract as much attention as it might, but it was not without +its modicum of praise. Owen Overman, the poet, met him in +the general reception entrance of the Academy on the opening +night, and congratulated him sincerely. "I remember seeing +that in <i>Truth</i>," he said, "but it's much better in the original. +It's fine. You ought to do a lot of those things."</p> + +<p>"I am," replied Eugene. "I expect to have a show of my +own one of these days."</p> + +<p>He called Angela, who had wandered away to look at a +piece of statuary, and introduced her.</p> + +<p>"I was just telling your husband how much I like his +picture," Overman informed her.</p> + +<p>Angela was flattered that her husband was so much of a +personage that he could have his picture hung in a great exhibition +such as this, with its walls crowded with what seemed +to her magnificent canvases, and its rooms filled with important +and distinguished people. As they strolled about Eugene pointed +out to her this well known artist and that writer, saying almost +always that they were very able. He knew three or four +of the celebrated collectors, prize givers, and art patrons by +sight, and told Angela who they were. There were a number +of striking looking models present whom Eugene knew either +by reputation, whispered comment of friends, or personally—Zelma +Desmond, who had posed for Eugene, Hedda Anderson, +Anna Magruder and Laura Matthewson among others. Angela +was struck and in a way taken by the dash and beauty of these +girls. They carried themselves with an air of personal freedom +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> +and courage which surprised her. Hedda Anderson was bold in +her appearance but immensely smart. Her manner seemed to +comment on the ordinary woman as being indifferent and not +worth while. She looked at Angela walking with Eugene and +wondered who she was.</p> + +<p>"Isn't she striking," observed Angela, not knowing she was +anyone whom Eugene knew.</p> + +<p>"I know her well," he replied; "she's a model."</p> + +<p>Just then Miss Anderson in return for his nod gave him a +fetching smile. Angela chilled.</p> + +<p>Elizabeth Stein passed by and he nodded to her.</p> + +<p>"Who is she?" asked Angela.</p> + +<p>"She's a socialist agitator and radical. She sometimes speaks +from a soap-box on the East Side."</p> + +<p>Angela studied her carefully. Her waxen complexion, smooth +black hair laid in even plaits over her forehead, her straight, +thin, chiseled nose, even red lips and low forehead indicated +a daring and subtle soul. Angela did not understand her. +She could not understand a girl as good looking as that doing any +such thing as Eugene said, and yet she had a bold, rather free +and easy air. She thought Eugene certainly knew strange +people. He introduced to her William McConnell, Hudson +Dula, who had not yet been to see them, Jan Jansen, Louis +Deesa, Leonard Baker and Paynter Stone.</p> + +<p>In regard to Eugene's picture the papers, with one exception, +had nothing to say, but this one in both Eugene's and Angela's +minds made up for all the others. It was the <i>Evening Sun</i>, +a most excellent medium for art opinion, and it was very definite +in its conclusions in regard to this particular work. The statement +was:</p> + +<p>"A new painter, Eugene Witla, has an oil entitled 'Six O'clock' +which for directness, virility, sympathy, faithfulness to detail +and what for want of a better term we may call totality of spirit, +is quite the best thing in the exhibition. It looks rather out of +place surrounded by the weak and spindling interpretations of +scenery and water which so readily find a place in the exhibition +of the Academy, but it is none the weaker for that. The +artist has a new, crude, raw and almost rough method, but his +picture seems to say quite clearly what he sees and feels. He may +have to wait—if this is not a single burst of ability—but he +will have a hearing. There is no question of that. Eugene +Witla is an artist."</p> + +<p>Eugene thrilled when he read this commentary. It was +quite what he would have said himself if he had dared. Angela +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> +was beside herself with joy. Who was the critic who had said +this, they wondered? What was he like? He must be truly +an intellectual personage. Eugene wanted to go and look him +up. If one saw his talent now, others would see it later. It +was for this reason—though the picture subsequently came +back to him unsold, and unmentioned so far as merit or prizes +were concerned—that he decided to try for an exhibition of +his own.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_V" id="II_CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<p>The hope of fame—what hours of speculation, what pulses +of enthusiasm, what fevers of effort, are based on that +peculiarly subtle illusion! It is yet the lure, the ignis fatuus of +almost every breathing heart. In the young particularly it +burns with the sweetness and perfume of spring fires. Then +most of all does there seem substantial reality in the shadow +of fame—those deep, beautiful illusions which tremendous figures +throw over the world. Attainable, it seems, must be the peace +and plenty and sweet content of fame—that glamour of achievement +that never was on sea or land. Fame partakes of the +beauty and freshness of the morning. It has in it the odour of +the rose, the feel of rich satin, the color of the cheeks of youth. +If we could but be famous when we dream of fame, and not +when locks are tinged with grey, faces seamed with the lines +that speak of past struggles, and eyes wearied with the tensity, the +longings and the despairs of years! To bestride the world in +the morning of life, to walk amid the plaudits and the huzzahs +when love and faith are young; to feel youth and the world's +affection when youth and health are sweet—what dream is that, +of pure sunlight and moonlight compounded. A sun-kissed +breath of mist in the sky; the reflection of moonlight upon +water; the remembrance of dreams to the waking mind—of +such is fame in our youth, and never afterward.</p> + +<p>By such an illusion was Eugene's mind possessed. He had no +conception of what life would bring him for his efforts. He +thought if he could have his pictures hung in a Fifth Avenue +gallery much as he had seen Bouguereau's "Venus" in Chicago, +with people coming as he had come on that occasion—it would +be of great comfort and satisfaction to him. If he could paint +something which would be purchased by the Metropolitan +Museum in New York he would then be somewhat of a classic +figure, ranking with Corot and Daubigny and Rousseau of the +French or with Turner and Watts and Millais of the English, +the leading artistic figures of his pantheon. These men seemed to +have something which he did not have, he thought, a greater +breadth of technique, a finer comprehension of color and character, +a feeling for the subtleties at the back of life which +somehow showed through what they did. Larger experience, +larger vision, larger feeling—these things seemed to be imminent +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> +in the great pictures exhibited here, and it made him a little uncertain +of himself. Only the criticism in the <i>Evening Sun</i> +fortified him against all thought of failure. <i>He was an artist.</i></p> + +<p>He gathered up the various oils he had done—there were some +twenty-six all told now, scenes of the rivers, the streets, the +night life, and so forth—and went over them carefully, touching +up details which in the beginning he had merely sketched or +indicated, adding to the force of a spot of color here, modifying +a tone or shade there, and finally, after much brooding over the +possible result, set forth to find a gallery which would give them +place and commercial approval.</p> + +<p>Eugene's feeling was that they were a little raw and sketchy—that +they might not have sufficient human appeal, seeing that +they dealt with factory architecture at times, scows, tugs, engines, +the elevated roads in raw reds, yellows and blacks; but +MacHugh, Dula, Smite, Miss Finch, Christina, the <i>Evening +Sun</i>, Norma Whitmore, all had praised them, or some of them. +Was not the world much more interested in the form and +spirit of classic beauty such as that represented by Sir John +Millais? Would it not prefer Rossetti's "Blessed Damozel" to +any street scene ever painted? He could never be sure. In the +very hour of his triumph when the <i>Sun</i> had just praised his picture, +there lurked the spectre of possible intrinsic weakness. Did +the world wish this sort of thing? Would it ever buy of him? +Was he of any real value?</p> + +<p>"No, artist heart!" one might have answered, "of no more +value than any other worker of existence and no less. The +sunlight on the corn, the color of dawn in the maid's cheek, +the moonlight on the water—these are of value and of no value +according to the soul to whom is the appeal. Fear not. Of +dreams and the beauty of dreams is the world compounded."</p> + +<p>Kellner and Son, purveyors of artistic treasures by both +past and present masters, with offices in Fifth Avenue near +Twenty-eighth Street, was the one truly significant firm of +art-dealers in the city. The pictures in the windows of Kellner +and Son, the exhibitions in their very exclusive show rooms, the +general approval which their discriminating taste evoked, had +attracted the attention of artists and the lay public for fully +thirty years. Eugene had followed their shows with interest +ever since he had been in New York. He had seen, every now +and then, a most astonishing picture of one school or another +displayed in their imposing shop window, and had heard artists +comment from time to time on other things there with +considerable enthusiasm. The first important picture of the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> +impressionistic school—a heavy spring rain in a grove of silver +poplars by Winthrop—had been shown in the window of this +firm, fascinating Eugene with its technique. He had encountered +here collections of Aubrey Beardsley's decadent drawings, of +Helleu's silverpoints, of Rodin's astonishing sculptures and Thaulow's +solid Scandinavian eclecticism. This house appeared to +have capable artistic connections all over the world, for the +latest art force in Italy, Spain, Switzerland, or Sweden, was +quite as likely to find its timely expression here as the more +accredited work of England, Germany or France. Kellner and +Son were art connoisseurs in the best sense of the word, and +although the German founder of the house had died many years +before, its management and taste had never deteriorated.</p> + +<p>Eugene did not know at this time how very difficult it was +to obtain an exhibition under Kellner's auspices, they being +over-crowded with offers of art material and appeals for display +from celebrated artists who were quite willing and able +to pay for the space and time they occupied. A fixed charge +was made, never deviated from except in rare instances where +the talent of the artist, his poverty, and the advisability of the +exhibition were extreme. Two hundred dollars was considered +little enough for the use of one of their show rooms for ten days.</p> + +<p>Eugene had no such sum to spare, but one day in January, +without any real knowledge as to what the conditions were, +he carried four of the reproductions which had been made +from time to time in <i>Truth</i> to the office of Mr. Kellner, certain +that he had something to show. Miss Whitmore had indicated +to him that Eberhard Zang wanted him to come and see him, but +he thought if he was going anywhere he would prefer to go +to Kellner and Son. He wanted to explain to Mr. Kellner, if +there were such a person, that he had many more paintings +which he considered even better—more expressive of his growing +understanding of American life and of himself and his technique. +He went in timidly, albeit with quite an air, for this adventure +disturbed him much.</p> + +<p>The American manager of Kellner and Son, M. Anatole +Charles, was a Frenchman by birth and training, familiar with +the spirit and history of French art, and with the drift and +tendency of art in various other sections of the world. He +had been sent here by the home office in Berlin not only because +of his very thorough training in English art ways, and because of +his ability to select that type of picture which would attract +attention and bring credit and prosperity to the house here and +abroad; but also because of his ability to make friends among +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> +the rich and powerful wherever he was, and to sell one type of +important picture after another—having some knack or magnetic +capacity for attracting to him those who cared for good art +and were willing to pay for it. His specialties, of course, +were the canvases of the eminently successful artists in various +parts of the world—the living successful. He knew by experience +what sold—here, in France, in England, in Germany. He +was convinced that there was practically nothing of value in +American art as yet—certainly not from the commercial point +of view, and very little from the artistic. Beyond a few canvases +by Inness, Homer, Sargent, Abbey, Whistler, men who +were more foreign, or rather universal, than American in their +attitude, he considered that the American art spirit was as yet +young and raw and crude. "They do not seem to be grown +up as yet over here," he said to his intimate friends. "They +paint little things in a forceful way, but they do not seem as yet +to see things as a whole. I miss that sense of the universe in +miniature which we find in the canvases of so many of the +great Europeans. They are better illustrators than artists over +here—why I don't know."</p> + +<p>M. Anatole Charles spoke English almost more than perfectly. +He was an example of your true man of the world—polished, +dignified, immaculately dressed, conservative in thought and +of few words in expression. Critics and art enthusiasts were constantly +running to him with this and that suggestion in regard +to this and that artist, but he only lifted his sophisticated eyebrows, +curled his superior mustachios, pulled at his highly artistic +goatee, and exclaimed: "Ah!" or "So?" He asserted always +that he was most anxious to find talent—profitable talent—though +on occasion (and he would demonstrate that by an +outward wave of his hands and a shrug of his shoulders), the +house of Kellner and Son was not averse to doing what it +could for art—and that for art's sake without any thought +of profit whatsoever. "Where are your artists?" he would ask. +"I look and look. Whistler, Abbey, Inness, Sargent—ah—they +are old, where are the new ones?"</p> + +<p>"Well, this one"—the critic would probably persist.</p> + +<p>"Well, well, I go. I shall look. But I have little hope—very, +very little hope."</p> + +<p>He was constantly appearing under such pressure, at this studio +and that—examining, criticising. Alas, he selected the work +of but few artists for purposes of public exhibition and usually +charged them well for it.</p> + +<p>It was this man, polished, artistically superb in his way, whom +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> +Eugene was destined to meet this morning. When he entered +the sumptuously furnished office of M. Charles the latter +arose. He was seated at a little rosewood desk lighted by a lamp +with green silk shade. One glance told him that Eugene was +an artist—very likely of ability, more than likely of a sensitive, +high-strung nature. He had long since learned that politeness +and savoir faire cost nothing. It was the first essential so far as +the good will of an artist was concerned. Eugene's card and +message brought by a uniformed attendant had indicated the +nature of his business. As he approached, M. Charles' raised +eyebrows indicated that he would be very pleased to know what +he could do for Mr. Witla.</p> + +<p>"I should like to show you several reproductions of pictures of +mine," began Eugene in his most courageous manner. "I have +been working on a number with a view to making a show and +I thought that possibly you might be interested in looking at them +with a view to displaying them for me. I have twenty-six all +told and—"</p> + +<p>"Ah! that is a difficult thing to suggest," replied M. +Charles cautiously. "We have a great many exhibitions scheduled +now—enough to carry us through two years if we considered +nothing more. Obligations to artists with whom we have +dealt in the past take up a great deal of our time. Contracts, +which our Berlin and Paris branches enter into, sometimes +crowd out our local shows entirely. Of course, we are always +anxious to make interesting exhibitions if opportunity should +permit. You know our charges?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Eugene, surprised that there should be any.</p> + +<p>"Two hundred dollars for two weeks. We do not take +exhibitions for less than that time."</p> + +<p>Eugene's countenance fell. He had expected quite a different +reception. Nevertheless, since he had brought them, he untied +the tape of the portfolio in which the prints were laid.</p> + +<p>M. Charles looked at them curiously. He was much impressed +with the picture of the East Side Crowd at first, but looking at +one of Fifth Avenue in a snow storm, the battered, shabby bus +pulled by a team of lean, unkempt, bony horses, he paused, +struck by its force. He liked the delineation of swirling, wind-driven +snow. The emptiness of this thoroughfare, usually so +crowded, the buttoned, huddled, hunched, withdrawn look of +those who traveled it, the exceptional details of piles of snow +sifted on to window sills and ledges and into doorways and on to +the windows of the bus itself, attracted his attention.</p> + +<p>"An effective detail," he said to Eugene, as one critic might +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> +say to another, pointing to a line of white snow on the window +of one side of the bus. Another dash of snow on a man's hat +rim took his eye also. "I can feel the wind," he added.</p> + +<p>Eugene smiled.</p> + +<p>M. Charles passed on in silence to the steaming tug coming up +the East River in the dark hauling two great freight barges. +He was saying to himself that after all Eugene's art was that +of merely seizing upon the obviously dramatic. It wasn't so much +the art of color composition and life analysis as it was stage +craft. The man before him had the ability to see the dramatic +side of life. Still—</p> + +<p>He turned to the last reproduction which was that of +Greeley Square in a drizzling rain. Eugene by some mystery +of his art had caught the exact texture of seeping water on gray +stones in the glare of various electric lights. He had caught the +values of various kinds of lights, those in cabs, those in cable +cars, those in shop windows, those in the street lamp—relieving +by them the black shadows of the crowds and of the sky. +The color work here was unmistakably good.</p> + +<p>"How large are the originals of these?" he asked thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"Nearly all of them thirty by forty."</p> + +<p>Eugene could not tell by his manner whether he were merely +curious or interested.</p> + +<p>"All of them done in oil, I fancy."</p> + +<p>"Yes, all."</p> + +<p>"They are not bad, I must say," he observed cautiously. "A +little persistently dramatic but—"</p> + +<p>"These reproductions—" began Eugene, hoping by criticising +the press work to interest him in the superior quality of the +originals.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I see," M. Charles interrupted, knowing full well what +was coming. "They are very bad. Still they show well enough +what the originals are like. Where is your studio?"</p> + +<p>"61 Washington Square."</p> + +<p>"As I say," went on M. Charles, noting the address on +Eugene's card, "the opportunity for exhibition purposes is very +limited and our charge is rather high. We have so many +things we would like to exhibit—so many things we must exhibit. +It is hard to say when the situation would permit—If +you are interested I might come and see them sometime."</p> + +<p>Eugene looked perturbed. Two hundred dollars! Two hundred +dollars! Could he afford it? It would mean so much to +him. And yet the man was not at all anxious to rent him the +show room even at this price.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> +"I will come," said M. Charles, seeing his mood, "if you wish. +That is what you want me to do. We have to be careful of +what we exhibit here. It isn't as if it were an ordinary show +room. I will drop you a card some day when occasion offers, +if you wish, and you can let me know whether the time I suggest +is all right. I am rather anxious to see these scenes of +yours. They are very good of their kind. It may be—one +never can tell—an opportunity might offer—a week or ten +days, somewhere in between other things."</p> + +<p>Eugene sighed inwardly. So this was how these things were +done. It wasn't very flattering. Still, he must have an exhibition. +He could afford two hundred if he had to. An +exhibition elsewhere would not be so valuable. He had expected +to make a better impression than this.</p> + +<p>"I wish you would come," he said at last meditatively. "I +think I should like the space if I can get it. I would like to +know what you think."</p> + +<p>M. Charles raised his eyebrows.</p> + +<p>"Very well," he said, "I will communicate with you."</p> + +<p>Eugene went out.</p> + +<p>What a poor thing this exhibiting business was, he thought. +Here he had been dreaming of an exhibition at Kellners which +should be brought about without charge to him because they were +tremendously impressed with his work. Now they did not even +want his pictures—would charge him two hundred dollars to +show them. It was a great come down—very discouraging.</p> + +<p>Still he went home thinking it would do him some good. +The critics would discuss his work just as they did that of other +artists. They would have to see what he could do should it +be that at last this thing which he had dreamed of and so deliberately +planned had come true. He had thought of an exhibition +at Kellner's as the last joyous thing to be attained in the +world of rising art and now it looked as though he was near it. +It might actually be coming to pass. This man wanted to see the +rest of his work. He was not opposed to looking at them. +What a triumph even that was!</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_VI" id="II_CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<p>It was some little time before M. Charles condescended to +write saying that if it was agreeable he would call Wednesday +morning, January 16th, at 10 A. M., but the letter finally +did come and this dispelled all his intermediary doubts and +fears. At last he was to have a hearing! This man might see +something in his work, possibly take a fancy to it. Who could +tell? He showed the letter to Angela with an easy air as though +it were quite a matter of course, but he felt intensely hopeful.</p> + +<p>Angela put the studio in perfect order for she knew +what this visit meant to Eugene, and in her eager, faithful +way was anxious to help him as much as possible. She bought +flowers from the Italian florist at the corner and put them in +vases here and there. She swept and dusted, dressed herself +immaculately in her most becoming house dress and waited +with nerves at high tension for the fateful ring of the door +bell. Eugene pretended to work at one of his pictures which +he had done long before—the raw jangling wall of an East +Side street with its swarms of children, its shabby push-carts, +its mass of eager, shuffling, pushing mortals, the sense of rugged +ground life running all through it, but he had no heart for +the work. He was asking himself over and over what M. +Charles would think. Thank heaven this studio looked so +charming! Thank heaven Angela was so dainty in her pale +green gown with a single red coral pin at her throat. He +walked to the window and stared out at Washington Square, +with its bare, wind-shaken branches of trees, its snow, its ant-like +pedestrians hurrying here and there. If he were only rich—how +peacefully he would paint! M. Charles could go to the +devil.</p> + +<p>The door bell rang.</p> + +<p>Angela clicked a button and up came M. Charles quietly. +They could hear his steps in the hall. He knocked and Eugene +answered, decidedly nervous in his mind, but outwardly calm +and dignified. M. Charles entered, clad in a fur-lined overcoat, +fur cap and yellow chamois gloves.</p> + +<p>"Ah, good morning!" said M. Charles in greeting. "A +fine bracing day, isn't it? What a charming view you have +here. Mrs. Witla! I'm delighted to meet you. I am a little +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> +late but I was unavoidably detained. One of our German +associates is in the city."</p> + +<p>He divested himself of his great coat and rubbed his hands +before the fire. He tried, now that he had unbent so far, to be +genial and considerate. If he and Eugene were to do any +business in the future it must be so. Besides the picture on the +easel before him, near the window, which for the time being +he pretended not to see, was an astonishingly virile thing. +Of whose work did it remind him—anybody's? He confessed +to himself as he stirred around among his numerous art +memories that he recalled nothing exactly like it. Raw reds, +raw greens, dirty grey paving stones—such faces! Why this thing +fairly shouted its facts. It seemed to say: "I'm dirty, I am commonplace, +I am grim, I am shabby, but I am life." And there +was no apologizing for anything in it, no glossing anything +over. Bang! Smash! Crack! came the facts one after another, +with a bitter, brutal insistence on their so-ness. Why, on +moody days when he had felt sour and depressed he had seen +somewhere a street that looked like this, and there it was—dirty, +sad, slovenly, immoral, drunken—anything, everything, but here +it was. "Thank God for a realist," he said to himself as he +looked, for he knew life, this cold connoisseur; but he made no +sign. He looked at the tall, slim frame of Eugene, his cheeks +slightly sunken, his eyes bright—an artist every inch of him, +and then at Angela, small, eager, a sweet, loving, little woman, +and he was glad that he was going to be able to say that he +would exhibit these things.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said, pretending to look at the picture on the +easel for the first time, "we might as well begin to look +at these things. I see you have one here. Very good, I think, +quite forceful. What others have you?"</p> + +<p>Eugene was afraid this one hadn't appealed to him as much +as he hoped it would, and set it aside quickly, picking up the +second in the stock which stood against the wall, covered by +a green curtain. It was the three engines entering the great +freight yard abreast, the smoke of the engines towering straight +up like tall whitish-grey plumes, in the damp, cold air, the sky +lowering with blackish-grey clouds, the red and yellow and blue +cars standing out in the sodden darkness because of the water. +You could feel the cold, wet drizzle, the soppy tracks, the +weariness of "throwing switches." There was a lone brakeman +in the foreground, "throwing" a red brake signal. He was +quite black and evidently wet.</p> + +<p>"A symphony in grey," said M. Charles succinctly.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> +They came swiftly after this, without much comment from +either, Eugene putting one canvas after another before him, +leaving it for a few moments and replacing it with another. +His estimate of his own work did not rise very rapidly, for +M. Charles was persistently distant, but the latter could not help +voicing approval of "After The Theatre," a painting full of the +wonder and bustle of a night crowd under sputtering electric +lamps. He saw that Eugene had covered almost every phase +of what might be called the dramatic spectacle in the public +life of the city and much that did not appear dramatic until he +touched it—the empty canyon of Broadway at three o'clock in +the morning; a long line of giant milk wagons, swinging curious +lanterns, coming up from the docks at four o'clock in the morning; +a plunging parade of fire vehicles, the engines steaming +smoke, the people running or staring open-mouthed; a crowd +of polite society figures emerging from the opera; the bread +line; an Italian boy throwing pigeons in the air from a basket +on his arm in a crowded lower West-side street. Everything he +touched seemed to have romance and beauty, and yet it was real +and mostly grim and shabby.</p> + +<p>"I congratulate you, Mr. Witla," finally exclaimed M. +Charles, moved by the ability of the man and feeling that caution +was no longer necessary. "To me this is wonderful material, +much more effective than the reproductions show, dramatic and +true. I question whether you will make any money out of it. +There is very little sale for American art in this country. It +might almost do better in Europe. It <i>ought</i> to sell, but that +is another matter. The best things do not always sell readily. +It takes time. Still I will do what I can. I will give these +pictures a two weeks' display early in April without any charge +to you whatever." (Eugene started.) "I will call them to +the attention of those who know. I will speak to those who buy. +It is an honor, I assure you, to do this. I consider you an +artist in every sense of the word—I might say a great artist. +You ought, if you preserve yourself sanely and with caution, +to go far, very far. I shall be glad to send for these when the +time comes."</p> + +<p>Eugene did not know how to reply to this. He did not quite +understand the European seriousness of method, its appreciation +of genius, which was thus so easily and sincerely expressed in +a formal way. M. Charles meant every word he said. This +was one of those rare and gratifying moments of his life when +he was permitted to extend to waiting and unrecognized genius +the assurance of the consideration and approval of the world. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> +He stood there waiting to hear what Eugene would say, but +the latter only flushed under his pale skin.</p> + +<p>"I'm very glad," he said at last, in his rather commonplace, +off-hand, American way. "I thought they were pretty good +but I wasn't sure. I'm very grateful to you."</p> + +<p>"You need not feel gratitude toward me," returned M. +Charles, now modifying his formal manner. "You can congratulate +yourself—your art. I am honored, as I tell you. We will +make a fine display of them. You have no frames for these? +Well, never mind, I will lend you frames."</p> + +<p>He smiled and shook Eugene's hand and congratulated Angela. +She had listened to this address with astonishment and swelling +pride. She had perceived, despite Eugene's manner, the anxiety +he was feeling, the intense hopes he was building on the outcome +of this meeting. M. Charles' opening manner had deceived her. +She had felt that he did not care so much after all, and that +Eugene was going to be disappointed. Now, when this burst +of approval came, she hardly knew what to make of it. She +looked at Eugene and saw that he was intensely moved by +not only a sense of relief, but pride and joy. His pale, dark +face showed it. To see this load of care taken off him whom +she loved so deeply was enough to unsettle Angela. She found +herself stirred in a pathetic way and now, when M. Charles +turned to her, tears welled to her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Don't cry, Mrs. Witla," he said grandly on seeing this. +"You have a right to be proud of your husband. He is a +great artist. You should take care of him."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm so happy," half-laughed and half-sobbed Angela, +"I can't help it."</p> + +<p>She went over to where Eugene was and put her face against +his coat. Eugene slipped his arm about her and smiled sympathetically. +M. Charles smiled also, proud of the effect of his +words. "You both have a right to feel very happy," he said.</p> + +<p>"Little Angela!" thought Eugene. This was your true wife +for you, your good woman. Her husband's success meant all +to her. She had no life of her own—nothing outside of him +and his good fortune.</p> + +<p>M. Charles smiled. "Well, I will be going now," he said +finally. "I will send for the pictures when the time comes. And +meanwhile you two must come with me to dinner. I will +let you know."</p> + +<p>He bowed himself out with many assurances of good will, +and then Angela and Eugene looked at each other.</p> + +<p>"Oh, isn't it lovely, Honeybun," she cried, half giggling, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> +half crying. (She had begun to call him Honeybun the first +day they were married.) "My Eugene a great artist. He said +it was a great honor! Isn't that lovely? And all the world is +going to know it soon, now. Isn't that fine! Oh dear, I'm +so proud." And she threw her arms ecstatically about his neck.</p> + +<p>Eugene kissed her affectionately. He was not thinking so +much of her though as he was of Kellner and Son—their great +exhibit room, the appearance of these twenty-seven or thirty +great pictures in gold frames; the spectators who might come to +see; the newspaper criticisms; the voices of approval. Now all +his artist friends would know that he was considered a great +artist; he was to have a chance to associate on equal terms with +men like Sargent and Whistler if he ever met them. The +world would hear of him widely. His fame might go to the +uttermost parts of the earth.</p> + +<p>He went to the window after a time and looked out. There +came back to his mind Alexandria, the printing shop, the Peoples' +Furniture Company in Chicago, the Art Students League, the +<i>Daily Globe</i>. Surely he had come by devious paths.</p> + +<p>"Gee!" he exclaimed at last simply. "Smite and MacHugh'll +be glad to hear this. I'll have to go over and tell them."</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_VII" id="II_CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<p>The exhibition which followed in April was one of those +things which happen to fortunate souls—a complete flowering +out before the eyes of the world of its feelings, emotions, +perceptions, and understanding. We all have our feelings and +emotions, but lack the power of self-expression. It is true, +the work and actions of any man are to some degree expressions +of character, but this is a different thing. The details of most +lives are not held up for public examination at any given time. +We do not see succinctly in any given place just what an individual +thinks and feels. Even the artist is not always or +often given the opportunity of collected public expression under +conspicuous artistic auspices. Some are so fortunate—many +are not. Eugene realized that fortune was showering its +favors upon him.</p> + +<p>When the time came, M. Charles was so kind as to send for +the pictures and to arrange all the details. He had decided +with Eugene that because of the vigor of treatment and the +prevailing color scheme black frames would be the best. The +principal exhibition room on the ground floor in which these +paintings were to be hung was heavily draped in red velvet and +against this background the different pictures stood out effectively. +Eugene visited the show room at the time the pictures were being +hung, with Angela, with Smite and MacHugh, Shotmeyer and +others. He had long since notified Norma Whitmore and +Miriam Finch, but not the latter until after Wheeler had had +time to tell her. This also chagrined her, for she felt in this +as she had about his marriage, that he was purposely neglecting +her.</p> + +<p>The dream finally materialized—a room eighteen by forty, +hung with dark red velvet, irradiated with a soft, illuminating +glow from hidden lamps in which Eugene's pictures stood forth +in all their rawness and reality—almost as vigorous as life +itself. To some people, those who do not see life clearly and +directly, but only through other people's eyes, they seemed more +so.</p> + +<p>For this reason Eugene's exhibition of pictures was an astonishing +thing to most of those who saw it. It concerned phases +of life which in the main they had but casually glanced at, things +which because they were commonplace and customary were +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> +supposedly beyond the pale of artistic significance. One picture +in particular, a great hulking, ungainly negro, a positively +animal man, his ears thick and projecting, his lips fat, his +nose flat, his cheek bones prominent, his whole body expressing +brute strength and animal indifference to dirt and cold, illustrated +this point particularly. He was standing in a cheap, +commonplace East Side street. The time evidently was a January +or February morning. His business was driving an ash +cart, and his occupation at the moment illustrated by the picture +was that of lifting a great can of mixed ashes, paper and +garbage to the edge of the ungainly iron wagon. His hands +were immense and were covered with great red patched woolen +and leather gloves—dirty, bulbous, inconvenient, one would +have said. His head and ears were swaddled about by a red +flannel shawl or strip of cloth which was knotted under his +pugnacious chin, and his forehead, shawl and all, surmounted +by a brown canvas cap with his badge and number as a garbage +driver on it. About his waist was tied a great piece of rough +coffee sacking and his arms and legs looked as though he might +have on two or three pairs of trousers and as many vests. He +was looking purblindly down the shabby street, its hard crisp +snow littered with tin cans, paper, bits of slop and offal. Dust—gray +ash dust, was flying from his upturned can. In the distance +behind him was a milk wagon, a few pedestrians, a little thinly +clad girl coming out of a delicatessen store. Over head were +dull small-paned windows, some shutters with a few of their +slats broken out, a frowsy headed man looking out evidently to +see whether the day was cold.</p> + +<p>Eugene was so cruel in his indictment of life. He seemed +to lay on his details with bitter lack of consideration. Like +a slavedriver lashing a slave he spared no least shade of his +cutting brush. "Thus, and thus and thus" (he seemed to say) +"is it." "What do you think of this? and this? and this?"</p> + +<p>People came and stared. Young society matrons, art dealers, +art critics, the literary element who were interested in art, +some musicians, and, because the newspapers made especial mention +of it, quite a number of those who run wherever they +imagine there is something interesting to see. It was quite a +notable two weeks' display. Miriam Finch (though she never +admitted to Eugene that she had seen it—she would not give him +that satisfaction) Norma Whitmore, William McConnell, +Louis Deesa, Owen Overman, Paynter Stone, the whole ruck +and rabble of literary and artistic life, came. There were +artists of great ability there whom Eugene had never seen before. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> +It would have pleased him immensely if he had chanced to +see several of the city's most distinguished social leaders looking, +at one time and another, at his pictures. All his observers were +astonished at his virility, curious as to his personality, curious +as to what motive, or significance, or point of view it might +have. The more eclectically cultured turned to the newspapers +to see what the art critics would say of this—how they would +label it. Because of the force of the work, the dignity and +critical judgment of Kellner and Son, the fact that the public +of its own instinct and volition was interested, most of the +criticisms were favorable. One art publication, connected with +and representative of the conservative tendencies of a great +publishing house, denied the merit of the collection as a whole, +ridiculed the artist's insistence on shabby details as having artistic +merit, denied that he could draw accurately, denied that he was +a lover of pure beauty, and accused him of having no higher +ideal than that of desire to shock the current mass by painting +brutal things brutally.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Witla," wrote this critic, "would no doubt be flattered +if he were referred to as an American Millet. The brutal +exaggeration of that painter's art would probably testify to him +of his own merit. He is mistaken. The great Frenchman was +a lover of humanity, a reformer in spirit, a master of drawing +and composition. There was nothing of this cheap desire to +startle and offend by what he did. If we are to have ash cans +and engines and broken-down bus-horses thrust down our throats +as art, Heaven preserve us. We had better turn to commonplace +photography at once and be done with it. Broken window +shutters, dirty pavements, half frozen ash cart drivers, overdrawn, +heavily exaggerated figures of policemen, tenement harridans, +beggars, panhandlers, sandwich men—of such is <i>Art</i> +according to Eugene Witla."</p> + +<p>Eugene winced when he read this. For the time being it +seemed true enough. His art was shabby. Yet there were +others like Luke Severas who went to the other extreme.</p> + +<p>"A true sense of the pathetic, a true sense of the dramatic, +the ability to endow color—not with its photographic value, +though to the current thought it may seem so—but with its +higher spiritual significance; the ability to indict life with its +own grossness, to charge it prophetically with its own meanness +and cruelty in order that mayhap it may heal itself; the ability to +see wherein is beauty—even in shame and pathos and degradation; +of such is this man's work. He comes from the soil +apparently, fresh to a great task. There is no fear here, no +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> +bowing to traditions, no recognition of any of the accepted +methods. It is probable that he may not know what the accepted +methods are. So much the better. We have a new method. The +world is the richer for that. As we have said before, Mr. +Witla may have to wait for his recognition. It is certain +that these pictures will not be quickly purchased and hung in +parlors. The average art lover does not take to a new thing +so readily. But if he persevere, if his art does not fail him, +his turn will come. It cannot fail. He is a great artist. +May he live to realize it consciously and in his own soul."</p> + +<p>Tears leaped to Eugene's eyes when he read this. The +thought that he was a medium for some noble and super-human +purpose thickened the cords in his throat until they felt like a +lump. He wanted to be a great artist, he wanted to be worthy +of the appreciation that was thus extended to him. He thought +of all the writers and artists and musicians and connoisseurs of +pictures who would read this and remember him. It was just +possible that from now onwards some of his pictures would sell. +He would be so glad to devote himself to this sort of thing—to +quit magazine illustration entirely. How ridiculous the latter +was, how confined and unimportant. Henceforth, unless driven +by sheer necessity, he would do it no more. They should beg +in vain. He was an artist in the true sense of the word—a +great painter, ranking with Whistler, Sargent, Velasquez and +Turner. Let the magazines with their little ephemeral circulation +go their way. He was for the whole world.</p> + +<p>He stood at the window of his studio one day while the +exhibition was still in progress, Angela by his side, thinking +of all the fine things that had been said. No picture had been +sold, but M. Charles had told him that some might be taken +before it was all over.</p> + +<p>"I think if I make any money out of this," he said to Angela, +"we will go to Paris this summer. I have always wanted to see +Paris. In the fall we'll come back and take a studio up town. +They are building some dandy ones up in Sixty-fifth Street." +He was thinking of the artists who could pay three and four +thousand dollars a year for a studio. He was thinking of men +who made four, five, six and even eight hundred dollars out +of every picture they painted. If he could do that! Or if he +could get a contract for a mural decoration for next winter. +He had very little money laid by. He had spent most of his time +this winter working with these pictures.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Eugene," exclaimed Angela, "it seems so wonderful. I +can hardly believe it. You a really, truly, great artist! And us +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> +going to Paris! Oh, isn't that beautiful. It seems like a dream. +I think and think, but it's hard to believe that I am here sometimes, +and that your pictures are up at Kellner's and oh!—" +she clung to him in an ecstasy of delight.</p> + +<p>Out in the park the leaves were just budding. It looked as +though the whole square were hung with a transparent green +net, spangled, as was the net in his room, with tiny green +leaves. Songsters were idling in the sun. Sparrows were flying +noisily about in small clouds. Pigeons were picking lazily +between the car tracks of the street below.</p> + +<p>"I might get a group of pictures illustrative of Paris. You +can't tell what we'll find. Charles says he will have another +exhibition for me next spring, if I'll get the material ready." +He pushed his arms above his head and yawned deliciously.</p> + +<p>He wondered what Miss Finch thought now. He wondered +where Christina Channing was. There was never a word in the +papers yet as to what had become of her. He knew what +Norma Whitmore thought. She was apparently as happy +as though the exhibition had been her own.</p> + +<p>"Well, I must go and get your lunch, Honeybun!" exclaimed +Angela. "I have to go to Mr. Gioletti, the grocer, and to Mr. +Ruggiere, the vegetable man." She laughed, for the Italian +names amused her.</p> + +<p>Eugene went back to his easel. He was thinking of Christina—where +was she? At that moment, if he had known, she was +looking at his pictures, only newly returned from Europe. She +had seen a notice in the <i>Evening Post</i>.</p> + +<p>"Such work!" Christina thought, "such force! Oh, what a +delightful artist. And he was with me."</p> + +<p>Her mind went back to Florizel and the amphitheatre among +the trees. "He called me 'Diana of the Mountains,'" she +thought, "his 'hamadryad,' his 'huntress of the morn.'" She +knew he was married. An acquaintance of hers had written in +December. The past was past with her—she wanted no more +of it. But it was beautiful to think upon—a delicious memory.</p> + +<p>"What a queer girl I am," she thought.</p> + +<p>Still she wished she could see him again—not face to face, +but somewhere where he could not see her. She wondered if he +was changing—if he would ever change. He was so beautiful +then—to her.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_VIII" id="II_CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<p>Paris now loomed bright in Eugene's imagination, the prospect +mingling with a thousand other delightful thoughts. +Now that he had attained to the dignity of a public exhibition, +which had been notably commented upon by the newspapers and +art journals and had been so generally attended by the elect, +artists, critics, writers generally, seemed to know of him. There +were many who were anxious to meet and greet him, to speak approvingly +of his work. It was generally understood, apparently, +that he was a great artist, not exactly arrived to the fullness +of his stature as yet, being so new, but on his way. Among +those who knew him he was, by this one exhibition, lifted almost +in a day to a lonely height, far above the puny efforts of such +men as Smite and MacHugh, McConnell and Deesa, the whole +world of small artists whose canvases packed the semi-annual +exhibition of the National Academy of Design and the Water +color society, and with whom in a way, he had been associated. +He was a great artist now—recognized as such by the eminent +critics who knew; and as such, from now on, would be expected +to do the work of a great artist. One phrase in the criticisms of +Luke Severas in the <i>Evening Sun</i> as it appeared during the +run of his exhibition remained in his memory clearly—"If he +perseveres, if his art does not fail him." Why should his art +fail him?—he asked himself. He was immensely pleased to +hear from M. Charles at the close of the exhibition that three +of his pictures had been sold—one for three hundred dollars to +Henry McKenna, a banker; another, the East Side street scene +which M. Charles so greatly admired, to Isaac Wertheim, for +five hundred dollars; a third, the one of the three engines and the +railroad yard, to Robert C. Winchon, a railroad man, first vice-president +of one of the great railroads entering New York, also +for five hundred dollars. Eugene had never heard of either +Mr. McKenna or Mr. Winchon, but he was assured that they +were men of wealth and refinement. At Angela's suggestion he +asked M. Charles if he would not accept one of his pictures as +a slight testimony of his appreciation for all he had done for +him. Eugene would not have thought to do this, he was so careless +and unpractical. But Angela thought of it, and saw that +he did it. M. Charles was greatly pleased, and took the picture +of Greeley Square, which he considered a masterpiece of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> +color interpretation. This somehow sealed the friendship between +these two, and M. Charles was anxious to see Eugene's +interests properly forwarded. He asked him to leave three of his +scenes on sale for a time and he would see what he could do. +Meanwhile, Eugene, with thirteen hundred added to the thousand +and some odd dollars he had left in his bank from previous +earnings, was convinced that his career was made, and decided, +as he had planned to go to Paris, for the summer at least.</p> + +<p>This trip, so exceptional to him, so epoch-making, was easily +arranged. All the time he had been in New York he had heard +more in his circle of Paris than of any other city. Its streets, +its quarters, its museums, its theatres and opera were already +almost a commonplace to him. The cost of living, the ideal +methods of living, the way to travel, what to see—how often +he had sat and listened to descriptions of these things. Now +he was going. Angela took the initiative in arranging all the +practical details—such as looking up the steamship routes, deciding +on the size of trunks required, what to take, buying the +tickets, looking up the rates of the different hotels and pensions +at which they might possibly stay. She was so dazed by the +glory that had burst upon her husband's life that she scarcely +knew what to do or what to make of it.</p> + +<p>"That Mr. Bierdat," she said to Eugene, referring to one of +the assistant steam-ship agents with whom she had taken counsel, +"tells me that if we are just going for the summer it's foolish +to take anything but absolute necessaries. He says we can buy +so many nice little things to wear over there if we need them, +and then I can bring them back duty free in the fall."</p> + +<p>Eugene approved of this. He thought Angela would like +to see the shops. They finally decided to go via London, returning +direct from Havre, and on the tenth of May they departed, +arriving in London a week later and in Paris on the first +of June. Eugene was greatly impressed with London. He +had arrived in time to miss the British damp and cold and +to see London through a golden haze which was entrancing. +Angela objected to the shops, which she described as "punk," +and to the condition of the lower classes, who were so poor and +wretchedly dressed. She and Eugene discussed the interesting +fact that all Englishmen looked exactly alike, dressed, walked, +and wore their hats and carried their canes exactly alike. Eugene +was impressed with the apparent "go" of the men—their +smartness and dapperness. The women he objected to in the +main as being dowdy and homely and awkward.</p> + +<p>But when he reached Paris, what a difference! In London, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> +because of the lack of sufficient means (he did not feel that as +yet he had sufficient to permit him to indulge in the more expensive +comforts and pleasures of the city) and for the want of +someone to provide him with proper social introductions, he was +compelled to content himself with that superficial, exterior aspect +of things which only the casual traveler sees—the winding +streets, the crush of traffic, London Tower, Windsor Castle, +the Inns of court, the Strand, Piccadilly, St. Paul's and, of +course, the National Gallery and the British Museum. South +Kensington and all those various endowed palaces where objects +of art are displayed pleased him greatly. In the main he +was struck with the conservatism of London, its atmosphere +of Empire, its soldiery and the like, though he considered it +drab, dull, less strident than New York, and really less picturesque. +When he came to Paris, however, all this was +changed. Paris is of itself a holiday city—one whose dress is +always gay, inviting, fresh, like one who sets forth to spend a +day in the country. As Eugene stepped onto the dock at Calais +and later as he journeyed across and into the city, he could feel +the vast difference between France and England. The one country +seemed young, hopeful, American, even foolishly gay, the +other serious, speculative, dour.</p> + +<p>Eugene had taken a number of letters from M. Charles, Hudson +Dula, Louis Deesa, Leonard Baker and others, who, on +hearing that he was going, had volunteered to send him to +friends in Paris who might help him. The principal thing, if +he did not wish to maintain a studio of his own, and did +wish to learn, was to live with some pleasant French family +where he could hear French and pick it up quickly. If he +did not wish to do this, the next best thing was to settle in +the Montmartre district in some section or court where he +could obtain a nice studio, and where there were a number of +American or English students. Some of the Americans to whom +he had letters were already domiciled here. With a small +calling list of friends who spoke English he would do very +well.</p> + +<p>"You will be surprised, Witla," said Deesa to him one day, +"how much English you can get understood by making intelligent +signs."</p> + +<p>Eugene had laughed at Deesa's descriptions of his own difficulties +and successes, but he found that Deesa was right. Signs +went very far and they were, as a rule, thoroughly intelligible.</p> + +<p>The studio which he and Angela eventually took after a few +days spent at an hotel, was a comfortable one on the third +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> +floor of a house which Eugene found ready to his hand, recommended +by M. Arkquin, of the Paris branch of Kellner and +Son. Another artist, Finley Wood, whom afterwards Eugene +recalled as having been mentioned to him by Ruby Kenny, in +Chicago, was leaving Paris for the summer. Because of M. +Charles' impressive letter, M. Arkquin was most anxious that +Eugene should be comfortably installed and suggested that he +take this, the charge being anything he cared to pay—forty +francs the month. Eugene looked at it and was delighted. It +was in the back of the house, looking out on a little garden, and +because of a westward slope of the ground from this direction +and an accidental breach in the building line, commanded a wide +sweep of the city of Paris, the twin towers of Notre Dame, +the sheer rise of the Eiffel tower. It was fascinating to see the +lights of the city blinking of an evening. Eugene would invariably +draw his chair close to his favorite window when he +came in, while Angela made lemonade or iced tea or practised +her culinary art on a chafing dish. In presenting to him an +almost standard American menu she exhibited the executive +ability and natural industry which was her chief characteristic. +She would go to the neighboring groceries, rotisseries, patisseries, +green vegetable stands, and get the few things she needed in +the smallest quantities, always selecting the best and preparing +them with the greatest care. She was an excellent cook and +loved to set a dainty and shining table. She saw no need of +company, for she was perfectly happy alone with Eugene and +felt that he must be with her. She had no desire to go anywhere +by herself—only with him; and she would hang on every +thought and motion waiting for him to say what his pleasure +would be.</p> + +<p>The wonder of Paris to Eugene was its freshness and the +richness of its art spirit as expressed on every hand. He was +never weary of looking at the undersized French soldiery with +their wide red trousers, blue coats and red caps, or the police +with their capes and swords and the cab drivers with their +air of leisurely superiority. The Seine, brisk with boats at +this season of the year, the garden of the Tuileries, with its +white marble nudes and formal paths and stone benches, the Bois, +the Champ de Mars, the Trocadero Museum, the Louvre—all +the wonder streets and museums held him as in a dream.</p> + +<p>"Gee," he exclaimed to Angela one afternoon as he followed +the banks of the Seine toward Issy, "this is certainly the home +of the blessed for all good artists. Smell that perfume. (It was +from a perfume factory in the distance.) See that barge!" +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> +He leaned on the river wall. "Ah," he sighed, "this is perfect."</p> + +<p>They went back in the dusk on the roof of an open car. "When +I die," he sighed, "I hope I come to Paris. It is all the heaven +I want."</p> + +<p>Yet like all perfect delights, it lost some of its savour after +a time, though not much. Eugene felt that he could live in +Paris if his art would permit him—though he must go back, +he knew, for the present anyhow.</p> + +<p>Angela, he noticed after a time, was growing in confidence, if +not in mentality. From a certain dazed uncertainty which +had characterized her the preceding fall when she had first come +to New York, heightened and increased for the time being +by the rush of art life and strange personalities she had encountered +there and here she was blossoming into a kind of assurance +born of experience. Finding that Eugene's ideas, feelings +and interests were of the upper world of thought entirely—concerned +with types, crowds, the aspect of buildings, streets, +skylines, the humors and pathetic aspects of living, she concerned +herself solely with the managerial details. It did not +take her long to discover that if anyone would relieve Eugene +of all care for himself he would let him do it. It was no +satisfaction to him to buy himself anything. He objected to +executive and commercial details. If tickets had to be bought, +time tables consulted, inquiries made, any labor of argument or +dispute engaged in, he was loath to enter on it. "You get these, +will you, Angela?" he would plead, or "you see him about that. +I can't now. Will you?"</p> + +<p>Angela would hurry to the task, whatever it was, anxious +to show that she was of real use and necessity. On the +busses of London or Paris, as in New York, he was sketching, +sketching, sketching—cabs, little passenger boats of the +Seine, characters in the cafes, parks, gardens, music halls, anywhere, +anything, for he was practically tireless. All that he +wanted was not to be bothered very much, to be left to his +own devices. Sometimes Angela would pay all the bills for +him for a day. She carried his purse, took charge of all the +express orders into which their cash had been transferred, kept a +list of all their expenditures, did the shopping, buying, paying. +Eugene was left to see the thing that he wanted to see, to think +the things that he wanted to think. During all those early +days Angela made a god of him and he was very willing to +cross his legs, Buddha fashion, and act as one.</p> + +<p>Only at night when there were no alien sights or sounds +to engage his attention, when not even his art could come between +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> +them, and she could draw him into her arms and submerge his +restless spirit in the tides of her love did she feel his equal—really +worthy of him. These transports which came with the +darkness, or with the mellow light of the little oil lamp that +hung in chains from the ceiling near their wide bed, or in the +faint freshness of dawn with the birds cheeping in the one tree of +the little garden below—were to her at once utterly generous +and profoundly selfish. She had eagerly absorbed Eugene's +philosophy of self-indulgent joy where it concerned themselves—all +the more readily as it coincided with her own vague ideas +and her own hot impulses.</p> + +<p>Angela had come to marriage through years of self-denial, +years of bitter longing for the marriage that perhaps would never +be, and out of those years she had come to the marriage bed +with a cumulative and intense passion. Without any knowledge +either of the ethics or physiology of sex, except as pertained +to her state as a virgin, she was vastly ignorant of marriage itself; +the hearsay of girls, the equivocal confessions of newly +married women, and the advice of her elder sister (conveyed by +Heaven only knows what process of conversation) had left her +almost as ignorant as before, and now she explored its mysteries +with abandon, convinced that the unrestrained gratification of +passion was normal and excellent—in addition to being, as she +came to find, a universal solvent for all differences of opinion or +temperament that threatened their peace of mind. Beginning +with their life in the studio on Washington Square, and continuing +with even greater fervor now in Paris, there was what might +be described as a prolonged riot of indulgence between them, +bearing no relation to any necessity in their natures, and certainly +none to the demands which Eugene's intellectual and artistic +tasks laid upon him. She was to Eugene astonishing and +delightful; and yet perhaps not so much delightful as astonishing. +Angela was in a sense elemental, but Eugene was not: he +was the artist, in this as in other things, rousing himself to a +pitch of appreciation which no strength so undermined by intellectual +subtleties could continuously sustain. The excitement +of adventure, of intrigue in a sense, of discovering the secrets +of feminine personality—these were really what had constituted +the charm, if not the compelling urge, of his romances. To +conquer was beautiful: but it was in essence an intellectual enterprise. +To see his rash dreams come true in the yielding of +the last sweetness possessed by the desired woman, had been to +him imaginatively as well as physically an irresistible thing. +But these enterprises were like thin silver strands spun out across +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> +an abyss, whose beauty but not whose dangers were known to +him. Still, he rejoiced in this magnificent creature-joy which +Angela supplied; it was, so far as it was concerned, what he +thought he wanted. And Angela interpreted her power to respond +to what seemed his inexhaustible desire as not only a +kindness but a duty.</p> + +<p>Eugene set up his easel here, painted from nine to noon some +days, and on others from two to five in the afternoon. If it were +dark, he would walk or ride with Angela or visit the museums, +the galleries and the public buildings or stroll in the factory +or railroad quarters of the city. Eugene sympathized most with +sombre types and was constantly drawing something which represented +grim care. Aside from the dancers in the music halls, +the toughs, in what later became known as the Apache district, +the summer picnicking parties at Versailles and St. Cloud, the +boat crowds on the Seine, he drew factory throngs, watchmen +and railroad crossings, market people, market in the dark, street +sweepers, newspaper vendors, flower merchants, always with +a memorable street scene in the background. Some of the +most interesting bits of Paris, its towers, bridges, river views, +façades, appeared in backgrounds to the grim or picturesque or +pathetic character studies. It was his hope that he could interest +America in these things—that his next exhibition would not +only illustrate his versatility and persistence of talent, but show +an improvement in his art, a surer sense of color values, a greater +analytical power in the matter of character, a surer selective +taste in the matter of composition and arrangement. He did +not realize that all this might be useless—that he was, aside +from his art, living a life which might rob talent of its finest +flavor, discolor the aspect of the world for himself, take scope +from imagination and hamper effort with nervous irritation, +and make accomplishment impossible. He had no knowledge of +the effect of one's sexual life upon one's work, nor what such a +life when badly arranged can do to a perfect art—how it can +distort the sense of color, weaken that balanced judgment of +character which is so essential to a normal interpretation of life, +make all striving hopeless, take from art its most joyous conception, +make life itself seem unimportant and death a relief.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_IX" id="II_CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<p>The summer passed, and with it the freshness and novelty +of Paris, though Eugene never really wearied of it. The +peculiarities of a different national life, the variations between +this and his own country in national ideals, an obviously much +more complaisant and human attitude toward morals, a matter-of-fact +acceptance of the ills, weaknesses and class differences, +to say nothing of the general physical appearance, the dress, +habitations and amusements of the people, astonished as much +as they entertained him. He was never weary of studying the +differences between American and European architecture, noting +the pacific manner in which the Frenchman appeared to +take life, listening to Angela's unwearied comments on the cleanliness, +economy, thoroughness with which the French women +kept house, rejoicing in the absence of the American leaning to +incessant activity. Angela was struck by the very moderate +prices for laundry, the skill with which their concierge—who +governed this quarter and who knew sufficient English to talk +to her—did her marketing, cooking, sewing and entertaining. +The richness of supply and aimless waste of Americans was +alike unknown. Because she was naturally of a domestic turn +Angela became very intimate with Madame Bourgoche and +learned of her a hundred and one little tricks of domestic economy +and arrangement.</p> + +<p>"You're a peculiar girl, Angela," Eugene once said to her. "I +believe you would rather sit down stairs and talk to that French-woman +than meet the most interesting literary or artistic personage +that ever was. What do you find that's so interesting to +talk about?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing much," replied Angela, who was not unconscious +of the implied hint of her artistic deficiencies. "She's such a +smart woman. She's so practical. She knows more in a minute +about saving and buying and making a little go a long way +than any American woman I ever saw. I'm not interested in +her any more than I am in anyone else. All the artistic people +do, that I can see, is to run around and pretend that they're a +whole lot when they're not."</p> + +<p>Eugene saw that he had made an irritating reference, not +wholly intended in the way it was being taken.</p> + +<p>"I'm not saying she isn't able," he went on. "One talent is +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> +as good as another, I suppose. She certainly looks clever enough +to me. Where is her husband?"</p> + +<p>"He was killed in the army," returned Angela dolefully.</p> + +<p>"Well I suppose you'll learn enough from her to run a hotel +when you get back to New York. You don't know enough about +housekeeping now, do you?"</p> + +<p>Eugene smiled with his implied compliment. He was anxious +to get Angela's mind off the art question. He hoped she would +feel or see that he meant nothing, but she was not so easily +pacified.</p> + +<p>"You don't think I'm so bad, Eugene, do you?" she asked +after a moment. "You don't think it makes so much difference +whether I talk to Madame Bourgoche? She isn't so dull. She's +awfully smart. You just haven't talked to her. She says she +can tell by looking at you that you're a great artist. You're +different. You remind her of a Mr. Degas that once lived +here. Was he a great artist?"</p> + +<p>"Was he!" said Eugene. "Well I guess yes. Did he have +this studio?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, a long time ago—fifteen years ago."</p> + +<p>Eugene smiled beatifically. This was a great compliment. +He could not help liking Madame Bourgoche for it. She was +bright, no doubt of that, or she would not be able to make such +a comparison. Angela drew from him, as before, that her domesticity +and housekeeping skill was as important as anything +else in the world, and having done this was satisfied and cheerful +once more. Eugene thought how little art or conditions or +climate or country altered the fundamental characteristics of +human nature. Here he was in Paris, comparatively well supplied +with money, famous, or in process of becoming so, and +quarreling with Angela over little domestic idiosyncrasies, just +as in Washington Square.</p> + +<p>By late September Eugene had most of his Paris sketches so +well laid in that he could finish them anywhere. Some +fifteen were as complete as they could be made. A number of +others were nearly so. He decided that he had had a profitable +summer. He had worked hard and here was the work to show +for it—twenty-six canvases which were as good, in his judgment, +as those he had painted in New York. They had not +taken so long, but he was surer of himself—surer of his method. +He parted reluctantly with all the lovely things he had seen, +believing that this collection of Parisian views would be as impressive +to Americans as had been his New York views. M. +Arkquin for one, and many others, including the friends of Deesa +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> +and Dula were delighted with them. The former expressed the +belief that some of them might be sold in France.</p> + +<p>Eugene returned to America with Angela, and learning that +he might stay in the old studio until December first, settled down +to finish the work for his exhibition there.</p> + +<p>The first suggestion that Eugene had that anything was +wrong with him, aside from a growing apprehensiveness as to +what the American people would think of his French work, was +in the fall, when he began to imagine—or perhaps it was +really true—that coffee did not agree with him. He had for several +years now been free of his old-time complaint,—stomach +trouble; but gradually it was beginning to reappear and he +began to complain to Angela that he was feeling an irritation +after his meals, that coffee came up in his throat. "I think I'll +have to try tea or something else if this doesn't stop," he observed. +She suggested chocolate and he changed to that, but +this merely resulted in shifting the ill to another quarter. He +now began to quarrel with his work—not being able to get a +certain effect, and having sometimes altered and re-altered and +re-re-altered a canvas until it bore little resemblance to the +original arrangement, he would grow terribly discouraged; or +believe that he had attained perfection at last, only to change his +mind the following morning.</p> + +<p>"Now," he would say, "I think I have that thing right at +last, thank heaven!"</p> + +<p>Angela would heave a sigh of relief, for she could feel instantly +any distress or inability that he felt, but her joy was of +short duration. In a few hours she would find him working at +the same canvas changing something. He grew thinner and +paler at this time and his apprehensions as to his future rapidly +became morbid.</p> + +<p>"By George! Angela," he said to her one day, "it would be a +bad thing for me if I were to become sick now. It's just the time +that I don't want to. I want to finish this exhibition up right +and then go to London. If I could do London and Chicago as +I did New York I would be just about made, but if I'm going to +get sick—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you're not going to get sick, Eugene," replied Angela, +"you just think you are. You want to remember that you've +worked very hard this summer. And think how hard you +worked last winter! You need a good rest, that's what you need. +Why don't you stop after you get this exhibition ready and +rest awhile? You have enough to live on for a little bit. M. +Charles will probably sell a few more of those pictures, or +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> +some of those will sell and then you can wait. Don't try to +go to London in the spring. Go on a walking tour or go down +South or just rest awhile, anywhere,—that's what you need."</p> + +<p>Eugene realized vaguely that it wasn't rest that he needed +so much as peace of mind. He was not tired. He was merely +nervously excited and apprehensive. He began to sleep badly, +to have terrifying dreams, to feel that his heart was failing +him. At two o'clock in the morning, the hour when for some +reason human vitality appears to undergo a peculiar disturbance, +he would wake with a sense of sinking physically. His pulse +would appear to be very low, and he would feel his wrists nervously. +Not infrequently he would break out in a cold perspiration +and would get up and walk about to restore himself. Angela +would rise and walk with him. One day at his easel he +was seized with a peculiar nervous disturbance—a sudden glittering +light before his eyes, a rumbling in his ears, and a sensation +which was as if his body were being pricked with ten million +needles. It was as though his whole nervous system had given +way at every minute point and division. For the time being +he was intensely frightened, believing that he was going crazy, +but he said nothing. It came to him as a staggering truth that +the trouble with him was over-indulgence physically; that the +remedy was abstinence, complete or at least partial; that he +was probably so far weakened mentally and physically that it +would be very difficult for him to recover; that his ability to +paint might be seriously affected—his life blighted.</p> + +<p>He stood before his canvas holding his brush, wondering. +When the shock had completely gone he laid the brush down with +a trembling hand. He walked to the window, wiped his cold, +damp forehead with his hand and then turned to get his coat +from the closet.</p> + +<p>"Where are you going?" asked Angela.</p> + +<p>"For a little walk. I'll be back soon. I don't feel just as +fresh as I might."</p> + +<p>She kissed him good-bye at the door and let him go, but her +heart troubled her.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid Eugene is going to get sick," she thought. "He +ought to stop work."</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_X" id="II_CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<p>It was the beginning of a period destined to last five or six +years, in which, to say the least, Eugene was not himself. +He was not in any sense out of his mind, if power to reason +clearly, jest sagely, argue and read intelligently are any evidences +of sanity; but privately his mind was a maelstrom of contradictory +doubts, feelings and emotions. Always of a philosophic and +introspective turn, this peculiar faculty of reasoning deeply and +feeling emotionally were now turned upon himself and his own +condition and, as in all such cases where we peer too closely into +the subtleties of creation, confusion was the result. Previously +he had been well satisfied that the world knew nothing. Neither +in religion, philosophy nor science was there any answer to the +riddle of existence. Above and below the little scintillating +plane of man's thought was—what? Beyond the optic strength +of the greatest telescope,—far out upon the dim horizon of +space—were clouds of stars. What were they doing out there? +Who governed them? When were their sidereal motions calculated? +He figured life as a grim dark mystery, a sad semiconscious +activity turning aimlessly in the dark. No one knew +anything. God knew nothing—himself least of all. Malevolence, +life living on death, plain violence—these were the chief +characteristics of existence. If one failed of strength in any +way, if life were not kind in its bestowal of gifts, if one were +not born to fortune's pampering care—the rest was misery. In +the days of his strength and prosperity the spectacle of existence +had been sad enough: in the hours of threatened delay +and defeat it seemed terrible. Why, if his art failed him now, +what had he? Nothing. A little puny reputation which he could +not sustain, no money, a wife to take care of, years of possible +suffering and death. The abyss of death! When he looked +into that after all of life and hope, how it shocked him, how it +hurt! Here was life and happiness and love in health—there +was death and nothingness—æons and æons of nothingness.</p> + +<p>He did not immediately give up hope—immediately succumb +to the evidences of a crumbling reality. For months and months +he fancied each day that this was a temporary condition; that +drugs and doctors could heal him. There were various remedies +that were advertised in the papers, blood purifiers, nerve restorers, +brain foods, which were announced at once as specifics +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> +and cures, and while he did not think that the ordinary patent +medicine had anything of value in it, he did imagine that some +good could be had from tonics, or <i>the</i> tonic. A physician +whom he consulted recommended rest and an excellent tonic +which he knew of. He asked whether he was subject to any +wasting disease. Eugene told him no. He confessed to an +over-indulgence in the sex-relationship, but the doctor did not +believe that ordinarily this should bring about a nervous decline. +Hard work must have something to do with it, over-anxiety. +Some temperaments such as his were predisposed at +birth to nervous breakdowns; they had to guard themselves. +Eugene would have to be very careful. He should eat regularly, +sleep as long as possible, observe regular hours. A system of exercise +might not be a bad thing for him. He could get him a +pair of Indian clubs or dumb-bells or an exerciser and bring +himself back to health that way.</p> + +<p>Eugene told Angela that he believed he would try exercising +and joined a gymnasium. He took a tonic, walked with her +a great deal, sought to ignore the fact that he was nervously +depressed. These things were of practically no value, for the +body had apparently been drawn a great distance below normal +and all the hell of a subnormal state had to be endured before +it could gradually come into its own again.</p> + +<p>In the meantime he was continuing his passional relations +with Angela, in spite of a growing judgment that they were in +some way harmful to him. But it was not easy to refrain, and +each failure to do so made it harder. It was a customary remark +of his that "he must quit this," but it was like the self-apologetic +assurance of the drunkard that he must reform.</p> + +<p>Now that he had stepped out into the limelight of public +observation—now that artists and critics and writers somewhat +knew of him, and in their occasional way were wondering +what he was doing, it was necessary that he should bestir himself +to especial effort in order to satisfy the public as to the +enduring quality of his art. He was glad, once he realized that +he was in for a siege of bad weather, that his Paris drawings +had been so nearly completed before the break came. By the +day he suffered the peculiar nervousness which seemed to mark +the opening of his real decline, he had completed twenty-two +paintings, which Angela begged him not to touch; and by sheer +strength of will, though he misdoubted gravely, he managed to +complete five more. All of these M. Charles came to see on +occasion, and he approved of them highly. He was not so sure +that they would have the appeal of the American pictures, for +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> +after all the city of Paris had been pretty well done over and +over in illustration and genré work. It was not so new as +New York; the things Eugene chose were not as unconventional. +Still, he could say truly they were exceptional. They might try +an exhibition of them later in Paris if they did not take here. +He was very sorry to see that Eugene was in poor health and +urged him to take care of himself.</p> + +<p>It seemed as if some malign planetary influence were affecting +him. Eugene knew of astrology and palmistry and one day, +in a spirit of curiosity and vague apprehensiveness, consulted a +practitioner of the former, receiving for his dollar the statement +that he was destined to great fame in either art or literature but +that he was entering a period of stress which would endure for +a number of years. Eugene's spirits sank perceptibly. The +musty old gentleman who essayed his books of astrological lore +shook his head. He had a rather noble growth of white hair +and a white beard, but his coffee-stained vest was covered with +tobacco ash and his collar and cuffs were dirty.</p> + +<p>"It looks pretty bad between your twenty-eighth and your +thirty-second years, but after that there is a notable period of +prosperity. Somewhere around your thirty-eighth or thirty-ninth +year there is some more trouble—a little—but you will +come out of that—that is, it looks as though you would. Your +stars show you to be of a nervous, imaginative character, inclined +to worry; and I see that your kidneys are weak. You ought +never to take much medicine. Your sign is inclined to that but +it is without benefit to you. You will be married twice, but I +don't see any children."</p> + +<p>He rambled on dolefully and Eugene left in great gloom. +So it was written in the stars that he was to suffer a period of +decline and there was to be more trouble for him in the future. +But he did see a period of great success for him between his +thirty-second and his thirty-eighth years. That was some comfort. +Who was the second woman he was to marry? Was +Angela going to die? He walked the streets this early December +afternoon, thinking, thinking.</p> + +<p>The Blue family had heard a great deal of Eugene's success +since Angela had come to New York. There had never been a +week but at least one letter, and sometimes two, had gone the +rounds of the various members of the family. It was written +to Marietta primarily, but Mrs. Blue, Jotham, the boys and +the several sisters all received it by turns. Thus the whole regiment +of Blue connections knew exactly how it was with Angela +and even better than it was; for although things had looked prosperous +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> +enough, Angela had not stayed within the limits of bare +fact in describing her husband's success. She added atmosphere, +not fictitious, but the seeming glory which dwelt in her mind, +until the various connections of the Blue family, Marietta in +particular, were convinced that there was nothing but dignity +and bliss in store for the wife of so talented a man. The studio +life which Angela had seen, here and in Paris, the picturesque +descriptions which came home from London and Paris, the +personalities of M. Charles, M. Arkquin, Isaac Wertheim, +Henry L. Tomlins, Luke Severas—all the celebrities whom they +met, both in New York and abroad, had been described at +length. There was not a dinner, a luncheon, a reception, a tea +party, which was not pictured in all its native colors and more. +Eugene had become somewhat of a demi-god to his Western connections. +The quality of his art was never questioned. It was +only a little time now before he would be rich or at least well-to-do.</p> + +<p>All the relatives hoped that he would bring Angela home +some day on a visit. To think that she should have married +such a distinguished man!</p> + +<p>In the Witla family it was quite the same. Eugene had not +been home to see his parents since his last visit to Blackwood, +but they had not been without news. For one thing, Eugene had +been neglectful, and somewhat because of this Angela had taken +it upon herself to open up a correspondence with his mother. +She wrote that of course she didn't know her but that she was +terribly fond of Eugene, that she hoped to make him a good +wife and that she hoped to make her a satisfactory daughter-in-law. +Eugene was so dilatory about writing. She would write +for him now and his mother should hear every week. She asked +if she and her husband couldn't manage to come and see them +sometime. She would be so glad and it would do Eugene so +much good. She asked if she couldn't have Myrtle's address—they +had moved from Ottumwa—and if Sylvia wouldn't write +occasionally. She sent a picture of herself and Eugene, a sketch +of the studio which Eugene had made one day, a sketch of herself +looking pensively out of the window into Washington +Square. Pictures from his first show published in the newspapers, +accounts of his work, criticisms,—all reached the members +of both families impartially and they were kept well aware +of how things were going.</p> + +<p>During the time that Eugene was feeling so badly and because, +if he were going to lose his health, it might be necessary +to economize greatly, it occurred to Angela that it might be +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> +advisable for them to go home for a visit. While her family +were not rich, they had sufficient means to live on. Eugene's +mother also was constantly writing, wanting to know why they +didn't come out there for a while. She could not see why Eugene +could not paint his pictures as well in Alexandria as in New +York or Paris. Eugene listened to this willingly, for it occurred +to him that instead of going to London he might do Chicago +next, and he and Angela could stay awhile at Blackwood and +another while at his own home. They would be welcome guests.</p> + +<p>The condition of his finances at this time was not exactly bad, +but it was not very good. Of the thirteen hundred dollars he +had received for the first three pictures sold, eleven hundred had +been used on the foreign trip. He had since used three hundred +dollars of his remaining capital of twelve hundred, but M. +Charles' sale of two pictures at four hundred each had swelled +his bank balance to seventeen hundred dollars; however, on this +he had to live now until additional pictures were disposed of. +He daily hoped to hear of additional sales, but none occurred.</p> + +<p>Moreover, his exhibition in January did not produce quite the +impression he thought it would. It was fascinating to look +at; the critics and the public imagined that by now he must have +created a following for himself, else why should M. Charles +make a feature of his work. But Charles pointed out that these +foreign studies could not hope to appeal to Americans as did the +American things. He indicated that they might take better +in France. Eugene was depressed by the general tone of the +opinions, but this was due more to his unhealthy state of mind +than to any inherent reason for feeling so. There was still +Paris to try and there might be some sales of his work here. +The latter were slow in materializing, however, and because +by February he had not been able to work and because it was +necessary that he should husband his resources as carefully as possible, +he decided to accept Angela's family's invitation as well as +that of his own parents and spend some time in Illinois and +Wisconsin. Perhaps his health would become better. He decided +also that, if his health permitted, he would work in Chicago.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XI" id="II_CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<p>It was in packing the trunks and leaving the studio in Washington +Square (owing to the continued absence of Mr. +Dexter they had never been compelled to vacate it) that Angela +came across the first evidence of Eugene's duplicity. Because +of his peculiar indifference to everything except matters which +related to his art, he had put the letters which he had received +in times past from Christina Channing, as well as the one and +only one from Ruby Kenny, in a box which had formerly contained +writing paper and which he threw carelessly in a corner +of his trunk. He had by this time forgotten all about them, +though his impression was that he had placed them somewhere +where they would not be found. When Angela started to lay +out the various things which occupied it she came across this +box and opening it took out the letters.</p> + +<p>Curiosity as to things relative to Eugene was at this time the +dominant characteristic of her life. She could neither think +nor reason outside of this relationship which bound her to him. +He and his affairs were truly the sum and substance of her existence. +She looked at the letters oddly and then opened one—the +first from Christina. It was dated Florizel, the summer +of three years before when she was waiting so patiently for him +at Blackwood. It began conservatively enough—"Dear E—," +but it concerned itself immediately with references to an apparently +affectionate relationship. "I went this morning to see if +by chance there were any tell-tale evidences of either Diana or +Adonis in Arcady. There were none of importance. A hairpin +or two, a broken mother-of-pearl button from a summer +waist, the stub of a lead-pencil wherewith a certain genius +sketched. The trees seemed just as unconscious of any nymphs +or hamadryads as they could be. The smooth grass was quite +unruffled of any feet. It is strange how much the trees and +forest know and keep their counsel.</p> + +<p>"And how is the hot city by now? Do you miss a certain +evenly-swung hammock? Oh, the odor of leaves and the dew! +Don't work too hard. You have an easy future and almost too +much vitality. More repose for you, sir, and considerably more +optimism of thought. I send you good wishes.—Diana."</p> + +<p>Angela wondered at once who Diana was, for before she had +begun the letter she had looked for the signature on the succeeding +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> +page. Then after reading this she hurried feverishly +from letter to letter, seeking a name. There was none. "Diana +of the Mountains," "The Hamadryad," "The Wood-Nymph," +"C," "C C"—so they ran, confusing, badgering, enraging +her until all at once it came to light—her first name at least. It +was on the letter from Baltimore suggesting that he come to +Florizel—"Christina."</p> + +<p>"Ah," she thought, "Christina! That is her name." Then +she hurried back to read the remaining epistles, hoping to find +some clue to her surname. They were all of the same character, +in the manner of writing she despised,—top-lofty, make-believe, +the nasty, hypocritical, cant and make-believe superiority +of the studios. How Angela hated her from that moment. How +she could have taken her by the throat and beaten her head +against the trees she described. Oh, the horrid creature! How +dare she! And Eugene—how could he! What a way to reward +her love! What an answer to make to all her devotion! At +the very time when she was waiting so patiently, he was in the +mountains with this Diana. And here she was packing his trunk +for him like the little slave that she was when he cared so little, +had apparently cared so little all this time. How could he ever +have cared for her and done anything like this! He didn't! +He never had! Dear Heaven!</p> + +<p>She began clenching and unclenching her hands dramatically, +working herself into that frenzy of emotion and regret which +was her most notable characteristic. All at once she stopped. +There was another letter in another handwriting on cheaper +paper. "Ruby" was the signature.</p> + +<p>"Dear Eugene:"—she read—"I got your note several weeks +ago, but I couldn't bring myself to answer it before this. I +know everything is over between us and that is all right I suppose. +It has to be. You couldn't love any woman long, I +think. I know what you say about having to go to New York +to broaden your field is true. You ought to, but I'm sorry you +didn't come out. You might have. Still I don't blame you, +Eugene. It isn't much different from what has been going on +for some time. I have cared, but I'll get over that, I know, and +I won't ever think hard of you. Won't you return me the notes +I have sent you from time to time, and my picture? You won't +want them now.—Ruby."</p> + +<p>"I stood by the window last night and looked out on the street. +The moon was shining and those dead trees were waving in the +wind. I saw the moon on that pool of water over in the field. +It looked like silver. Oh, Eugene, I wish that I were dead."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> +Angela got up (as Eugene had) when she read this. The +pathos struck home, for somehow it matched her own. Ruby! +Who was she? Where had she been concealed while she, Angela, +was coming to Chicago? Was this the fall and winter of their +engagement? It certainly was. Look at the date. He had +given her the diamond ring on her finger that fall! He had +sworn eternal affection! He had sworn there was never another +girl like her in all the world and yet, at that very time, he was +apparently paying <i>court</i> to this woman if nothing worse. Heaven! +Could anything like this really be? He was telling her that +he loved her and making love to this Ruby at the same time. +He was kissing and fondling her and Ruby too!! Was there +ever such a situation? He, Eugene Witla, to deceive her this +way. No wonder he wanted to get rid of her when he came to +New York. He would have treated her as he had this Ruby. +And Christina! This Christina!! Where was she? Who +was she? What was she doing now? She jumped up prepared +to go to Eugene and charge him with his iniquities, but remembered +that he was out of the studio—that he had gone +for a walk. He was sick now, very sick. Would she dare to +reproach him with these reprehensible episodes?</p> + +<p>She came back to the trunk where she was working and sat +down. Her eyes were hard and cold for the time, but at the +same time there was a touch of terror and of agonized affection. +A face that, in the ordinary lines of its repose, was very much +like that of a madonna, was now drawn and peaked and gray. +Apparently Christina had forsaken him, or it might be that +they still corresponded secretly. She got up again at that +thought. Still the letters were old. It looked as though all +communication had ceased two years ago. What had he written +to her?—love notes. Letters full of wooing phrases such as he +had written to her. Oh, the instability of men, the insincerity, +the lack of responsibility and sense of duty. Her father,—what +a different man he was; her brothers,—their word was +their bond. And here was she married to a man who, even in +the days of his most ardent wooing, had been deceiving her. +She had let him lead her astray, too,—disgrace her own home. +Tears came after a while, hot, scalding tears that seared her +cheeks. And now she was married to him and he was sick +and she would have to make the best of it. She wanted to make +the best of it, for after all she loved him.</p> + +<p>But oh, the cruelty, the insincerity, the unkindness, the brutality +of it all.</p> + +<p>The fact that Eugene was out for several hours following +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> +her discovery gave her ample time to reflect as to a suitable +course of action. Being so impressed by the genius of the man, +as imposed upon her by the opinion of others and her own affection, +she could not readily think of anything save some method +of ridding her soul of this misery and him of his evil tendencies, +of making him ashamed of his wretched career, of making him +see how badly he had treated her and how sorry he ought to be. +She wanted him to feel sorry, very sorry, so that he would be a +long time repenting in suffering, but she feared at the same +time that she could not make him do that. He was so ethereal, +so indifferent, so lost in the contemplation of life that he could +not be made to think of her. That was her one complaint. +He had other gods before her—the god of his art, the god of nature, +the god of people as a spectacle. Frequently she had complained +to him in this last year—"you don't love me! you don't +love me!" but he would answer, "oh, yes I do. I can't be talking +to you all the time, Angel-face. I have work to do. My art has +to be cultivated. I can't be making love all the time."</p> + +<p>"Oh, it isn't that, it isn't that!" she would exclaim passionately. +"You just don't love me, like you ought to. You just +don't care. If you did I'd feel it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Angela," he answered, "why do you talk so? Why do +you carry on so? You're the funniest girl I ever knew. Now +be reasonable. Why don't you bring a little philosophy to bear? +We can't be billing and cooing all the time!"</p> + +<p>"Billing and cooing! That's the way you think of it. That's +the way you talk of it! As though it were something you had +to do. Oh, I hate love! I hate life! I hate philosophy! I +wish I could die."</p> + +<p>"Now, Angela, for Heaven's sake, why will you take on so? +I can't stand this. I can't stand these tantrums of yours. +They're not reasonable. You know I love you. Why, haven't +I shown it? Why should I have married you if I didn't? I +wasn't obliged to marry you!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear! oh, dear!" Angela would sob on, wringing her +hands. "Oh, you really don't love me! You don't care! And it +will go on this way, getting worse and worse, with less and less +of love and feeling until after awhile you won't even want to +see me any more—you'll hate me! Oh, dear! oh, dear!"</p> + +<p>Eugene felt keenly the pathos involved in this picture of +decaying love. In fact, her fear of the disaster which might overtake +her little bark of happiness was sufficiently well founded. +It might be that his affection would cease—it wasn't even affection +now in the true sense of the word,—a passionate intellectual +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> +desire for her companionship. He never had really loved her +for her mind, the beauty of her thoughts. As he meditated he +realized that he had never reached an understanding with her +by an intellectual process at all. It was emotional, subconscious, +a natural drawing together which was not based on reason and +spirituality of contemplation apparently, but on grosser emotions +and desires. Physical desire had been involved—strong, +raging, uncontrollable. And for some reason he had always felt +sorry for her—he always had. She was so little, so conscious of +disaster, so afraid of life and what it might do to her. It was +a shame to wreck her hopes and desires. At the same time he +was sorry now for this bondage he had let himself into—this +yoke which he had put about his neck. He could have done so +much better. He might have married a woman of wealth or +a woman with artistic perceptions and philosophic insight like +Christina Channing, who would be peaceful and happy with +him. Angela couldn't be. He really didn't admire her enough, +couldn't fuss over her enough. Even while he was soothing her +in these moments, trying to make her believe that there was no +basis for her fears, sympathizing with her subconscious intuitions +that all was not well, he was thinking of how different his +life might have been.</p> + +<p>"It won't end that way," he would soothe. "Don't cry. Come +now, don't cry. We're going to be very happy. I'm going to +love you always, just as I'm loving you now, and you're going +to love me. Won't that be all right? Come on, now. Cheer +up. Don't be so pessimistic. Come on, Angela. Please do. +Please!"</p> + +<p>Angela would brighten after a time, but there were spells of +apprehension and gloom; they were common, apt to burst forth +like a summer storm when neither of them was really expecting +it.</p> + +<p>The discovery of these letters now checked the feeling, with +which she tried to delude herself at times, that there might be +anything more than kindness here. They confirmed her suspicions +that there was not and brought on that sense of defeat and +despair which so often and so tragically overcame her. It did +it at a time, too, when Eugene needed her undivided consideration +and feeling, for he was in a wretched state of mind. To +have her quarrel with him now, lose her temper, fly into rages +and compel him to console her, was very trying. He was in +no mood for it; could not very well endure it without injury +to himself. He was seeking for an atmosphere of joyousness, +wishing to find a cheerful optimism somewhere which would pull +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> +him out of himself and make him whole. Not infrequently he +dropped in to see Norma Whitmore, Isadora Crane, who was +getting along very well on the stage, Hedda Andersen, who had +a natural charm of intellect with much vivacity, even though +she was a model, and now and then Miriam Finch. The latter +was glad to see him alone, almost as a testimony against Angela, +though she would not go out of her way to conceal from Angela +the fact that he had been there. The others, though he said +nothing, assumed that since Angela did not come with him he +wanted nothing said and observed his wish. They were inclined +to think that he had made a matrimonial mistake and was possibly +artistically or intellectually lonely. All of them noted his +decline in health with considerate apprehension and sorrow. It +was too bad, they thought, if his health was going to fail him +just at this time. Eugene lived in fear lest Angela should become +aware of any of these visits. He thought he could not tell her +because in the first place she would resent his not having taken +her with him; and in the next, if he had proposed it first, she +would have objected, or set another date, or asked pointless questions. +He liked the liberty of going where he pleased, saying +nothing, not feeling it necessary to say anything. He longed for +the freedom of his old pre-matrimonial days. Just at this time, +because he could not work artistically and because he was in need +of diversion and of joyous artistic palaver, he was especially +miserable. Life seemed very dark and ugly.</p> + +<p>Eugene, returning and feeling, as usual, depressed about his +state, sought to find consolation in her company. He came in +at one o'clock, their usual lunch hour, and finding Angela still +working, said, "George! but you like to keep at things when +you get started, don't you? You're a regular little work-horse. +Having much trouble?"</p> + +<p>"No-o," replied Angela, dubiously.</p> + +<p>Eugene noted the tone of her voice. He thought she was +not very strong and this packing was getting on her nerves. +Fortunately there were only some trunks to look after, for +the vast mass of their housekeeping materials belonged to the +studio. Still no doubt she was weary.</p> + +<p>"Are you very tired?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"No-o," she replied.</p> + +<p>"You look it," he said, slipping his arm about her. Her face, +which he turned up with his hand, was pale and drawn.</p> + +<p>"It isn't anything physical," she replied, looking away from +him in a tragic way. "It's just my heart. It's here!" and she +laid her hand over her heart.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> +"What's the matter now?" he asked, suspecting something +emotional, though for the life of him he could not imagine what. +"Does your heart hurt you?"</p> + +<p>"It isn't my real heart," she returned, "it's just my mind, my +feelings; though I don't suppose they ought to matter."</p> + +<p>"What's the matter now, Angel-face," he persisted, for he +was sorry for her. This emotional ability of hers had the power +to move him. It might have been acting, or it might not have +been. It might be either a real or a fancied woe;—in either case +it was real to her. "What's come up?" he continued. "Aren't +you just tired? Suppose we quit this and go out somewhere and +get something to eat. You'll feel better."</p> + +<p>"No, I couldn't eat," she replied. "I'll stop now and get +your lunch, but I don't want anything."</p> + +<p>"Oh, what's the matter, Angela?" he begged. "I know there's +something. Now what is it? You're tired, or you're sick, or +something has happened. Is it anything that I have done? Look +at me! Is it?"</p> + +<p>Angela held away from him, looking down. She did not +know how to begin this but she wanted to make him terribly +sorry if she could, as sorry as she was for herself. She thought +he ought to be; that if he had any true feeling of shame and +sympathy in him he would be. Her own condition in the face +of his shameless past was terrible. She had no one to love her. +She had no one to turn to. Her own family did not understand +her life any more—it had changed so. She was a different +woman now, greater, more important, more distinguished. Her +experiences with Eugene here in New York, in Paris, in London +and even before her marriage, in Chicago and Blackwood, had +changed her point of view. She was no longer the same in her +ideas, she thought, and to find herself deserted in this way emotionally—not +really loved, not ever having been really loved +but just toyed with, made a doll and a plaything, was terrible.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed in a shrill staccato, "I don't know +what to do! I don't know what to say! I don't know what to +think! If I only knew how to think or what to do!"</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" begged Eugene, releasing his hold and +turning his thoughts partially to himself and his own condition +as well as to hers. His nerves were put on edge by these emotional +tantrums—his brain fairly ached. It made his hands +tremble. In his days of physical and nervous soundness it did +not matter, but now, when he was sick, when his own heart was +weak, as he fancied, and his nerves set to jangling by the least +discord, it was almost more than he could bear. "Why don't +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> +you speak?" he insisted. "You know I can't stand this. I'm +in no condition. What's the trouble? What's the use of carrying +on this way? Are you going to tell me?"</p> + +<p>"There!" Angela said, pointing her finger at the box of letters +she had laid aside on the window-sill. She knew he would +see them, would remember instantly what they were about.</p> + +<p>Eugene looked. The box came to his memory instantly. He +picked it up nervously, sheepishly, for this was like a blow in the +face which he had no power to resist. The whole peculiar nature +of his transactions with Ruby and with Christina came back +to him, not as they had looked to him at the time, but as they were +appearing to Angela now. What must she think of him? Here +he was protesting right along that he loved her, that he was +happy and satisfied to live with her, that he was not interested +in any of these other women whom she knew to be interested in +him and of whom she was inordinately jealous, that he had always +loved her and her only, and yet here were these letters suddenly +come to light, giving the lie to all these protestations and +asseverations—making him look like the coward, the blackguard, +the moral thief that he knew himself to be. To be +dragged out of the friendly darkness of lack of knowledge and +understanding on her part and set forth under the clear white +light of positive proof—he stared helplessly, his nerves trembling, +his brain aching, for truly he was in no condition for an +emotional argument.</p> + +<p>And yet Angela was crying now. She had walked away from +him and was leaning against the mantel-piece sobbing as if her +heart would break. There was a real convincing ache in the +sound—the vibration expressing the sense of loss and defeat and +despair which she felt. He was staring at the box wondering +why he had been such an idiot as to leave them in his trunk, to +have saved them at all.</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't know that there is anything to say to that," +he observed finally, strolling over to where she was. There +wasn't anything that he could say—that he knew. He was +terribly sorry—sorry for her, sorry for himself. "Did you +read them all?" he asked, curiously.</p> + +<p>She nodded her head in the affirmative.</p> + +<p>"Well, I didn't care so much for Christina Channing," he +observed, deprecatingly. He wanted to say something, anything +which would relieve her depressed mood. He knew it couldn't +be much. If he could only make her believe that there wasn't +anything vital in either of these affairs, that his interests and +protestations had been of a light, philandering character. Still +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> +the Ruby Kenny letter showed that she cared for him desperately. +He could not say anything against Ruby.</p> + +<p>Angela caught the name of Christina Channing clearly. It +seared itself in her brain. She recalled now that it was she of +whom she had heard him speak in a complimentary way from +time to time. He had told in studios of what a lovely voice she +had, what a charming platform presence she had, how she could +sing so feelingly, how intelligently she looked upon life, how +good looking she was, how she was coming back to grand opera +some day. And he had been in the mountains with her—had +made love to her while she, Angela, was out in Blackwood waiting +for him patiently. It aroused on the instant all the fighting +jealousy that was in her breast; it was the same jealousy that +had determined her once before to hold him in spite of the plotting +and scheming that appeared to her to be going on about +her. They should not have him—these nasty studio superiorities—not +any one of them, nor all of them combined, if they +were to unite and try to get him. They had treated her shamefully +since she had been in the East. They had almost uniformly +ignored her. They would come to see Eugene, of course, +and now that he was famous they could not be too nice to him, +but as for her—well, they had no particular use for her. Hadn't +she seen it! Hadn't she watched the critical, hypocritical, examining +expressions in their eyes! She wasn't smart enough! +She wasn't literary enough or artistic enough. She knew as +much about life as they did and more—ten times as much; and +yet because she couldn't strut and pose and stare and talk in an +affected voice they thought themselves superior. And so did +Eugene, the wretched creature! Superior! The cheap, mean, +nasty, selfish upstarts! Why, the majority of them had nothing. +Their clothes were mere rags and tags, when you came to +examine them closely—badly sewed, of poor material, merely +slung together, and yet they wore them with such a grand +air! She would show them. She would dress herself too, one +of these days, when Eugene had the means. She was doing +it now—a great deal more than when she first came, and she +would do it a great deal more before long. The nasty, mean, +cheap, selfish, make-belief things. She would show them! O-oh! +how she hated them.</p> + +<p>Now as she cried she also thought of the fact that Eugene +could write love letters to this horrible Christina Channing—one +of the same kind, no doubt; her letters showed it. O-oh! +how she hated her! If she could only get at her to poison her. +And her sobs sounded much more of the sorrow she felt than of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> +the rage. She was helpless in a way and she knew it. She +did not dare to show him exactly what she felt. She was afraid +of him. He might possibly leave her. He really did not care +for her enough to stand everything from her—or did he? This +doubt was the one terrible, discouraging, annihilating feature of +the whole thing—if he only cared.</p> + +<p>"I wish you wouldn't cry, Angela," said Eugene appealingly, +after a time. "It isn't as bad as you think. It looks pretty +bad, but I wasn't married then, and I didn't care so very much +for these people—not as much as you think; really I didn't. It +may look that way to you, but I didn't."</p> + +<p>"Didn't care!" sneered Angela, all at once, flaring up. "Didn't +care! It looks as though you didn't care, with one of them +calling you Honey Boy and Adonis, and the other saying she +wishes she were dead. A fine time you'd have convincing anyone +that you didn't care. And I out in Blackwood at that +very time, longing and waiting for you to come, and you up in the +mountains making love to another woman. Oh, I know how +much you cared. You showed how much you cared when you +could leave me out there to wait for you eating my heart out +while you were off in the mountains having a good time with +another woman. 'Dear E—,' and 'Precious Honey Boy,' and +'Adonis'! That shows how much you cared, doesn't it!"</p> + +<p>Eugene stared before him helplessly. Her bitterness and +wrath surprised and irritated him. He did not know that she +was capable of such an awful rage as showed itself in her +face and words at this moment, and yet he did not know but +that she was well justified. Why so bitter though—so almost +brutal? He was sick. Had she no consideration for him?</p> + +<p>"I tell you it wasn't as bad as you think," he said stolidly, +showing for the first time a trace of temper and opposition. +"I wasn't married then. I did like Christina Channing; I +did like Ruby Kenny. What of it? I can't help it now. +What am I going to say about it? What do you want me +to say? What do you want me to do?"</p> + +<p>"Oh," whimpered Angela, changing her tone at once from helpless +accusing rage to pleading, self-commiserating misery. "And +you can stand there and say to me 'what of it'? What of it! +What of it! What shall you say? What do you think you +ought to say? And me believing that you were so honorable +and faithful! Oh, if I had only known! If I had only known! +I had better have drowned myself a hundred times over than have +waked and found that I wasn't loved. Oh, dear, oh, dear! I +don't know what I ought to do! I don't know what I can do!"</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> +"But I do love you," protested Eugene soothingly, anxious to +say or do anything which would quiet this terrific storm. He +could not imagine how he could have been so foolish as to +leave these letters lying around. Dear Heaven! What a mess +he had made of this! If only he had put them safely outside +the home or destroyed them. Still he had wanted to keep +Christina's letters; they were so charming.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you love me!" flared Angela. "I see how you love me. +Those letters show it! Oh, dear! oh, dear! I wish I were +dead."</p> + +<p>"Listen to me, Angela," replied Eugene desperately, "I know +this correspondence looks bad. I did make love to Miss Kenny +and to Christina Channing, but you see I didn't care enough +to marry either of them. If I had I would have. I cared +for you. Believe it or not. I married you. Why did I marry +you? Answer me that? I needn't have married you. Why +did I? Because I loved you, of course. What other reason +could I have?"</p> + +<p>"Because you couldn't get Christina Channing," snapped Angela, +angrily, with the intuitive sense of one who reasons from +one material fact to another, "that's why. If you could have, +you would have. I know it. Her letters show it."</p> + +<p>"Her letters don't show anything of the sort," returned +Eugene angrily. "I couldn't get her? I could have had her, +easily enough. I didn't want her. If I had wanted her, I would +have married her—you can bet on that."</p> + +<p>He hated himself for lying in this way, but he felt for the +time being that he had to do it. He did not care to stand in +the rôle of a jilted lover. He half-fancied that he could have +married Christina if he had really tried.</p> + +<p>"Anyhow," he said, "I'm not going to argue that point with +you. I didn't marry her, so there you are; and I didn't marry +Ruby Kenny either. Well you can think all you want; but +I know. I cared for them, but I didn't marry them. I +married you instead. I ought to get credit for something on that +score. I married you because I loved you, I suppose. That's +perfectly plain, isn't it?" He was half convincing himself +that he had loved her—in some degree.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I see how you love me," persisted Angela, cogitating this +very peculiar fact which he was insisting on and which it was +very hard intellectually to overcome. "You married me because +you couldn't very well get out of it, that's why. Oh, I +know. You didn't want to marry me. That's very plain. +You wanted to marry someone else. Oh, dear! oh, dear!"</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> +"Oh, how you talk!" replied Eugene defiantly. "Marry someone +else! Who did I want to marry? I could have married +often enough if I had wanted to. I didn't want to marry, +that's all. Believe it or not. I wanted to marry you and I +did. I don't think you have any right to stand there and argue +so. What you say isn't so, and you know it."</p> + +<p>Angela cogitated this argument further. He had married her! +Why had he? He might have cared for Christina and Ruby, +but he must have cared for her too. Why hadn't she thought +of that? There was something in it—something besides a mere +desire to deceive her. Perhaps he did care for her a little. Anyway +it was plain that she could not get very far by arguing +with him—he was getting stubborn, argumentative, contentious. +She had not seen him that way before.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she sobbed, taking refuge from this very difficult +realm of logic in the safer and more comfortable one of illogical +tears. "I don't know what to do! I don't know what to think!"</p> + +<p>She was badly treated, no doubt of that. Her life was a +failure, but even so there was some charm about him. As he +stood there, looking aimlessly around, defiant at one moment, +appealing at another, she could not help seeing that he was not +wholly bad. He was just weak on this one point. He loved +pretty women. They were always trying to win him to them. +He was probably not wholly to blame. If he would only be repentant +enough, this thing might be allowed to blow over. +It couldn't be forgiven. She never could forgive him for the +way he had deceived her. Her ideal of him had been pretty +hopelessly shattered—but she might live with him on probation.</p> + +<p>"Angela!" he said, while she was still sobbing, and feeling +that he ought to apologize to her. "Won't you believe me? +Won't you forgive me? I don't like to hear you cry this way. +There's no use saying that I didn't do anything. There's no +use my saying anything at all, really. You won't believe me. I +don't want you to; but I'm sorry. Won't you believe that? +Won't you forgive me?"</p> + +<p>Angela listened to this curiously, her thoughts going around +in a ring for she was at once despairing, regretful, revengeful, +critical, sympathetic toward him, desirous of retaining her state, +desirous of obtaining and retaining his love, desirous of punishing +him, desirous of doing any one of a hundred things. Oh, +if he had only never done this! And he was sickly, too. He +needed her sympathy.</p> + +<p>"Won't you forgive me, Angela?" he pleaded softly, laying +his hand on her arm. "I'm not going to do anything like +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> +that any more. Won't you believe me? Come on now. Quit +crying, won't you?"</p> + +<p>Angela hesitated for a while, lingering dolefully. She did +not know what to do, what to say. It might be that he would +not sin against her any more. He had not thus far, in so far as +she knew. Still this was a terrible revelation. All at once, +because he manœuvred himself into a suitable position and because +she herself was weary of fighting and crying, and because +she was longing for sympathy, she allowed herself to be pulled +into his arms, her head to his shoulder, and there she cried +more copiously than ever. Eugene for the moment felt terribly +grieved. He was really sorry for her. It wasn't right. He +ought to be ashamed of himself. He should never have done anything +like that.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry," he whispered, "really I am. Won't you forgive +me?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know what to do! what to think!" moaned Angela +after a time.</p> + +<p>"Please do, Angela," he urged, holding her questioningly.</p> + +<p>There was more of this pleading and emotional badgering +until finally out of sheer exhaustion Angela said yes. Eugene's +nerves were worn to a thread by the encounter. He was pale, +exhausted, distraught. Many scenes like this, he thought, would +set him crazy; and still he had to go through a world of petting +and love-making even now. It was not easy to bring her back +to her normal self. It was bad business, this philandering, he +thought. It seemed to lead to all sorts of misery for him, and +Angela was jealous. Dear Heaven! what a wrathful, vicious, +contentious nature she had when she was aroused. He had never +suspected that. How could he truly love her when she acted +like that? How could he sympathize with her? He recalled +how she sneered at him—how she taunted him with Christina's +having discarded him. He was weary, excited, desirous of rest +and sleep, but now he must make more love. He fondled her, +and by degrees she came out of her blackest mood; but he was +not really forgiven even then. He was just understood better. +And she was not truly happy again but only hopeful—and +watchful.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XII" id="II_CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<p>Spring, summer and fall came and went with Eugene and +Angela first in Alexandria and then in Blackwood. In +suffering this nervous breakdown and being compelled to leave +New York, Eugene missed some of the finest fruits of his artistic +efforts, for M. Charles, as well as a number of other people, +were interested in him and were prepared to entertain him in +an interesting and conspicuous way. He could have gone out +a great deal, but his mental state was such that he was poor +company for anyone. He was exceedingly morbid, inclined +to discuss gloomy subjects, to look on life as exceedingly sad +and to believe that people generally were evil. Lust, dishonesty, +selfishness, envy, hypocrisy, slander, hate, theft, adultery, murder, +dementia, insanity, inanity—these and death and decay occupied +his thoughts. There was no light anywhere. Only a storm of +evil and death. These ideas coupled with his troubles with +Angela, the fact that he could not work, the fact that he felt +he had made a matrimonial mistake, the fact that he feared +he might die or go crazy, made a terrible and agonizing winter +for him.</p> + +<p>Angela's attitude, while sympathetic enough, once the first +storm of feeling was over, was nevertheless involved with a +substratum of criticism. While she said nothing, agreed that +she would forget, Eugene had the consciousness all the while +that she wasn't forgetting, that she was secretly reproaching +him and that she was looking for new manifestations of weakness +in this direction, expecting them and on the alert to prevent +them.</p> + +<p>The spring-time in Alexandria, opening as it did shortly after +they reached there, was in a way a source of relief to Eugene. +He had decided for the time being to give up trying to work, +to give up his idea of going either to London or Chicago, and +merely rest. Perhaps it was true that he was tired. He didn't +feel that way. He couldn't sleep and he couldn't work, but he +felt brisk enough. It was only because he couldn't work that +he was miserable. Still he decided to try sheer idleness. Perhaps +that would revive his wonderful art for him. Meantime he +speculated ceaselessly on the time he was losing, the celebrities +he was missing, the places he was not seeing. Oh, London, +London! If he could only do that.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> +Mr. and Mrs. Witla were immensely pleased to have their boy +back with them again. Being in their way simple, unsophisticated +people, they could not understand how their son's health could +have undergone such a sudden reverse.</p> + +<p>"I never saw Gene looking so bad in all his life," observed +Witla pére to his wife the day Eugene arrived. "His eyes are +so sunken. What in the world do you suppose is ailing him?"</p> + +<p>"How should I know?" replied his wife, who was greatly +distressed over her boy. "I suppose he's just tired out, that's +all. He'll probably be all right after he rests awhile. Don't +let on that you think he's looking out of sorts. Just pretend +that he's all right. What do you think of his wife?"</p> + +<p>"She appears to be a very nice little woman," replied Witla. +"She's certainly devoted to him. I never thought Eugene +would marry just that type, but he's the judge. I suppose +people thought that I would never marry anybody like you, +either," he added jokingly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you did make a terrible mistake," jested his wife in +return. "You worked awfully hard to make it."</p> + +<p>"I was young! I was young! You want to remember that," +retorted Witla. "I didn't know much in those days."</p> + +<p>"You don't appear to know much better yet," she replied, +"do you?"</p> + +<p>He smiled and patted her on the back. "Well, anyhow +I'll have to make the best of it, won't I? It's too late now."</p> + +<p>"It certainly is," replied his wife.</p> + +<p>Eugene and Angela were given his old room on the second +floor, commanding a nice view of the yard and the street corner, +and they settled down to spend what the Witla parents hoped +would be months of peaceful days. It was a curious sensation to +Eugene to find himself back here in Alexandria looking out +upon the peaceful neighborhood in which he had been raised, +the trees, the lawn, the hammock replaced several times since +he had left, but still in its accustomed place. The thought of +the little lakes and the small creek winding about the town +were a comfort to him. He could go fishing now and boating, +and there were some interesting walks here and there. He +began to amuse himself by going fishing the first week, but +it was still a little cold, and he decided, for the time being, to +confine himself to walking.</p> + +<p>Days of this kind grow as a rule quickly monotonous. To a +man of Eugene's turn of mind there was so little in Alexandria +to entertain him. After London and Paris, Chicago and New +York, the quiet streets of his old home town were a joke. He +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> +visited the office of the <i>Appeal</i> but both Jonas Lyle and Caleb +Williams had gone, the former to St. Louis, the latter to Bloomington. +Old Benjamin Burgess, his sister's husband's father, +was unchanged except in the matter of years. He told Eugene +that he was thinking of running for Congress in the next +campaign—the Republican organization owed it to him. His +son Henry, Sylvia's husband, had become a treasurer of the +local bank. He was working as patiently and quietly as ever, +going to church Sundays, going to Chicago occasionally on +business, consulting with farmers and business men about small +loans. He was a close student of the several banking journals +of the country, and seemed to be doing very well financially. +Sylvia had little to say of how he was getting along. Having +lived with him for eleven years, she had become somewhat close-mouthed +like himself. Eugene could not help smiling at the +lean, slippered subtlety of the man, young as he was. He was +so quiet, so conservative, so intent on all the little things which +make a conventionally successful life. Like a cabinet maker, +he was busy inlaying the little pieces which would eventually +make the perfect whole.</p> + +<p>Angela took up the household work, which Mrs. Witla +grudgingly consented to share with her, with a will. She +liked to work and would put the house in order while Mrs. +Witla was washing the dishes after breakfast. She would +make special pies and cakes for Eugene when she could without +giving offense, and she tried to conduct herself so that Mrs. +Witla would like her. She did not think so much of the Witla +household. It wasn't so much better than her own—hardly +as good. Still it was Eugene's birthplace and for that reason +important. There was a slight divergence of view-point though, +between his mother and herself, over the nature of life and +how to live it. Mrs. Witla was of an easier, more friendly +outlook on life than Angela. She liked to take things as they +came without much worry, while Angela was of a naturally +worrying disposition. The two had one very human failing +in common—they could not work with anyone else at anything. +Each preferred to do all that was to be done rather +than share it at all. Both being so anxious to be conciliatory +for Eugene's sake and for permanent peace in the family, there +was small chance for any disagreement, for neither was without +tact. But there was just a vague hint of something in the air—that +Angela was a little hard and selfish, on Mrs. Witla's part; +that Mrs. Witla was just the least bit secretive, or shy or +distant—from Angela's point of view. All was serene and +lovely on the surface, however, with many won't-you-let-me's +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> +and please-do-now's on both sides. Mrs. Witla, being so much +older, was, of course, calmer and in the family seat of dignity +and peace.</p> + +<p>To be able to sit about in a chair, lie in a hammock, stroll in +the woods and country fields and be perfectly happy in idle +contemplation and loneliness, requires an exceptional talent for +just that sort of thing. Eugene once fancied he had it, as did his +parents, but since he had heard the call of fame he could never +be still any more. And just at this time he was not in need +of solitude and idle contemplation but of diversion and entertainment. +He needed companionship of the right sort, gayety, +sympathy, enthusiasm. Angela had some of this, when she was +not troubled about anything, his parents, his sister, his old acquaintances +had a little more to offer. They could not, however, +be forever talking to him or paying him attention, and beyond +them there was nothing. The town had no resources. Eugene +would walk the long country roads with Angela or go boating +or fishing sometimes, but still he was lonely. He would sit on +the porch or in the hammock and think of what he had seen +in London and Paris—how he might be at work. St. Paul's +in a mist, the Thames Embankment, Piccadilly, Blackfriars +Bridge, the muck of Whitechapel and the East End—how he +wished he was out of all this and painting them. If he could +only paint. He rigged up a studio in his father's barn, using a +north loft door for light and essayed certain things from memory, +but there was no making anything come out right. He +had this fixed belief, which was a notion purely, that there was +always something wrong. Angela, his mother, his father, whom +he occasionally asked for an opinion, might protest that it was +beautiful or wonderful, but he did not believe it. After a few +altering ideas of this kind, under the influences of which he +would change and change and change things, he would find +himself becoming wild in his feelings, enraged at his condition, +intensely despondent and sorry for himself.</p> + +<p>"Well," he would say, throwing down his brush, "I shall +simply have to wait until I come out of this. I can't do anything +this way." Then he would walk or read or row on the +lakes or play solitaire, or listen to Angela playing on the piano +that his father had installed for Myrtle long since. All the time +though he was thinking of his condition, what he was missing, +how the gay world was surging on rapidly elsewhere, how long +it would be before he got well, if ever. He talked of going to +Chicago and trying his hand at scenes there, but Angela persuaded +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> +him to rest for a while longer. In June she promised +him they would go to Blackwood for the summer, coming back +here in the fall if he wished, or going on to New York or +staying in Chicago, just as he felt about it. Now he needed rest.</p> + +<p>"Eugene will probably be all right by then," Angela volunteered +to his mother, "and he can make up his mind whether he +wants to go to Chicago or London."</p> + +<p>She was very proud of her ability to talk of where they +would go and what they would do.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XIII" id="II_CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<p>If it had not been for the lurking hope of some fresh exciting +experience with a woman, he would have been unconscionably +lonely. As it was, this thought with him—quite as the confirmed +drunkard's thought of whiskey—buoyed him up, kept +him from despairing utterly, gave his mind the only diversion it +had from the ever present thought of failure. If by chance he +should meet some truly beautiful girl, gay, enticing, who would +fall in love with him! that would be happiness. Only, Angela +was constantly watching him these days and, besides, more +girls would simply mean that his condition would be aggravated. +Yet so powerful was the illusion of desire, the sheer animal +magnetism of beauty, that when it came near him in the form of a +lovely girl of his own temperamental inclinations he could not +resist it. One look into an inviting eye, one glance at a face +whose outlines were soft and delicate—full of that subtle suggestion +of youth and health which is so characteristic of girlhood—and +the spell was cast. It was as though the very form of +the face, without will or intention on the part of the possessor, +acted hypnotically upon its beholder. The Arabians believed +in the magic power of the word Abracadabra to cast a spell. +For Eugene the form of a woman's face and body was quite +as powerful.</p> + +<p>While he and Angela were in Alexandria from February to +May, he met one night at his sister's house a girl who, from the +point of view of the beauty which he admired and to which +he was so susceptible, was extremely hypnotic, and who for +the ease and convenience of a flirtation was very favorably +situated. She was the daughter of a traveling man, George +Roth by name, whose wife, the child's mother, was dead, but +who lived with his sister in an old tree-shaded house on the edge +of Green Lake not far from the spot where Eugene had once +attempted to caress his first love, Stella Appleton. Frieda +was the girl's name. She was extremely attractive, not more than +eighteen years of age, with large, clear, blue eyes, a wealth of +yellowish-brown hair and a plump but shapely figure. She was +a graduate of the local high school, well developed for her +years, bright, rosy-cheeked, vivacious and with a great deal of +natural intelligence which attracted the attention of Eugene +at once. Normally he was extremely fond of a natural, cheerful, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> +laughing disposition. In his present state he was abnormally +so. This girl and her foster mother had heard of +him a long time since through his parents and his sister, whom +they knew well and whom they visited frequently. George +Roth had moved here since Eugene had first left for Chicago, +and because he was so much on the road he had not seen him since. +Frieda, on all his previous visits, had been too young to take +an interest in men, but now at this age, when she was just +blossoming into womanhood, her mind was fixed on them. She +did not expect to be interested in Eugene because she knew +he was married, but because of his reputation as an artist she +was curious about him. Everybody knew who he was. The local +papers had written up his success and published his portrait. +Frieda expected to see a man of about forty, stern and sober. +Instead she met a smiling youth of twenty-nine, rather gaunt +and hollow-eyed, but none the less attractive for that. Eugene, +with Angela's approval, still affected a loose, flowing tie, a +soft turn-down collar, brown corduroy suits as a rule, the coat +cut with a belt, shooting jacket fashion, a black iron ring of +very curious design upon one of his fingers, and a soft hat. His +hands were very thin and white, his skin pale. Frieda, rosy, +as thoughtless as a butterfly, charmingly clothed in a dress of +blue linen, laughing, afraid of him because of his reputation, +attracted his attention at once. She was like all the young, +healthy, laughing girls he had ever known, delightful. He +wished he were single again that he might fall into a jesting +conversation with her. She seemed inclined to be friendly from +the first.</p> + +<p>Angela being present, however, and Frieda's foster mother, +it was necessary for him to be circumspect and distant. The +latter, Sylvia and Angela, talked of art and listened to Angela's +descriptions of Eugene's eccentricities, idiosyncrasies and experiences, +which were a never-failing source of interest to the common +run of mortals whom they met. Eugene would sit by in a +comfortable chair with a weary, genial or indifferent look on +his face as his mood happened to be. To-night he was bored and +a little indifferent in his manner. No one here interested him +save this girl, the beauty of whose face nourished his secret +dreams. He longed to have some such spirit of youth near him +always. Why could not women remain young?</p> + +<p>While they were laughing and talking, Eugene picked up a +copy of Howard Pyle's "Knights of the Round Table" with +its warm heavy illustrations of the Arthurian heroes and heroines, +and began to study the stately and exaggerated characteristics +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> +of the various characters. Sylvia had purchased it for her +seven-year old boy Jack, asleep upstairs, but Frieda had read +it in her girlhood a few years before. She had been moving +restlessly about, conscious of an interest in Eugene but not +knowing how to find an opportunity for conversation. His +smile, which he sometimes directed toward her, was to her +entrancing.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I read that," she said, when she saw him looking at it. +She had drifted to a position not far behind his chair and near +one of the windows. She pretended to be looking out at first, +but now began to talk to him. "I used to be crazy about +every one of the Knights and Ladies—Sir Launcelot, Sir Galahad, +Sir Tristram, Sir Gawaine, Queen Guinevere."</p> + +<p>"Did you ever hear of Sir Bluff?" he asked teasingly, "or +Sir Stuff? or Sir Dub?" He looked at her with a mocking +light of humor in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Oh, there aren't such people," laughed Frieda, surprised +at the titles but tickled at the thought of them.</p> + +<p>"Don't you let him mock you, Frieda," put in Angela, who was +pleased at the girl's gayety and glad that Eugene had found +someone in whom he could take an interest. She did not fear the +simple Western type of girl like Frieda and her own sister +Marietta. They were franker, more kindly, better intentioned +than the Eastern studio type, and besides they did not consider +themselves superior. She was playing the rôle of the condescending +leader here.</p> + +<p>"Certainly there are," replied Eugene solemnly, addressing +Frieda. "They are the new Knights of the Round Table. +Haven't you ever heard of that book?"</p> + +<p>"No, I haven't," answered Frieda gaily, "and there isn't +any such. You're just teasing me."</p> + +<p>"Teasing you? Why I wouldn't think of such a thing. And +there is such a book. It's published by Harper and Brothers +and is called 'The New Knights of the Round Table.' You +simply haven't heard of it, that's all."</p> + +<p>Frieda was impressed. She didn't know whether to believe +him or not. She opened her eyes in a curiously inquiring girlish +way which appealed to Eugene strongly. He wished he were free +to kiss her pretty, red, thoughtlessly-parted lips. Angela herself +was faintly doubtful as to whether he was speaking of a real +book or not.</p> + +<p>"Sir Stuff is a very famous Knight," he went on, "and so is +Sir Bluff. They're inseparable companions in the book. As +for Sir Dub and Sir Hack, and the Lady Dope—"</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> +"Oh, hush, Eugene," called Angela gaily. "Just listen to +what he's telling Frieda," she remarked to Miss Roth. "You +mustn't mind him though. He's always teasing someone. Why +didn't you raise him better, Sylvia?" she asked of Eugene's sister.</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't ask me. We never could do anything with +Gene. I never knew he had much jesting in him until he came +back this time."</p> + +<p>"They're very wonderful," they heard him telling Frieda, "all +fine rosy gentlemen and ladies."</p> + +<p>Frieda was impressed by this charming, good-natured man. +His spirit was evidently as youthful and gay as her own. She +sat before him looking into his smiling eyes while he teased her +about this, that and the other foible of youth. Who were +her sweethearts? How did she make love? How many boys +lined up to see her come out of church on Sunday? He knew. +"I'll bet they look like a line of soldiers on dress parade," he +volunteered, "all with nice new ties and clean pocket handkerchiefs +and their shoes polished and—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, ha! ha!" laughed Frieda. The idea appealed to her +immensely. She started giggling and bantering with him and +their friendship was definitely sealed. She thought he was +delightful.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XIV" id="II_CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<p>The opportunity for further meetings seemed to come about +quite naturally. The Witla boathouse, where the family +kept one small boat, was at the foot of the Roth lawn, reached +by a slightly used lane which came down that side of the house; +and also by a grape-arbor which concealed the lake from the +lower end of the house and made a sheltered walk to the waterside, +at the end of which was a weather-beaten wooden bench. +Eugene came here sometimes to get the boat to row or to fish. +On several occasions Angela had accompanied him, but she +did not care much for rowing or fishing and was perfectly willing +that he should go alone if he wanted to. There was also the +friendship of Miss Roth for Mr. and Mrs. Witla, which occasionally +brought her and Frieda to the house. And Frieda came +from time to time to his studio in the barn, to see him paint. +Because of her youth and innocence Angela thought very little of +her presence there, which struck Eugene as extremely fortunate. +He was interested in her charms, anxious to make love to her in +a philandering sort of way, without intending to do her any +harm. It struck him as a little curious that he should find her +living so near the spot where once upon a winter's night he had +made love to Stella. There was something not unlike Stella +about her, though she was softer, more whole souledly genial +and pliable to his moods.</p> + +<p>He saw her one day, when he went for his boat, standing out +in the yard, and she came down to the waterside to greet him.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said, smiling at her fresh morning appearance, and +addressing her with that easy familiarity with which he knew +how to take youth and life generally, "we're looking as bright as +a butterfly. I don't suppose we butterflies have to work very +hard, do we?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't we," replied Frieda. "That's all you know."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't know, that's true, but perhaps one of these +butterflies will tell me. Now you, for instance."</p> + +<p>Frieda smiled. She scarcely knew how to take him, but she +thought he was delightful. She hadn't the faintest conception +either of the depth and subtlety of his nature or of the genial, +kindly inconstancy of it. She only saw him as a handsome, +smiling man, not at all too old, witty, good-natured, here by +the bright green waters of this lake, pulling out his boat. He +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> +looked so cheerful to her, so care free. She had him indissolubly +mixed in her impressions with the freshness of the ground, the +newness of the grass, the brightness of the sky, the chirping +of the birds and even the little scintillating ripples on the water.</p> + +<p>"Butterflies never work, that I know," he said, refusing to +take her seriously. "They just dance around in the sunlight +and have a good time. Did you ever talk to a butterfly about +that?"</p> + +<p>Frieda merely smiled at him.</p> + +<p>He pushed his boat into the water, holding it lightly by a +rope, got down a pair of oars from a rack and stepped into it. +Then he stood there looking at her.</p> + +<p>"Have you lived in Alexandria long?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"About eight years now."</p> + +<p>"Do you like it?"</p> + +<p>"Sometimes, not always. I wish we lived in Chicago. O-oh!" +she sniffed, turning up her pretty nose, "isn't that lovely!" She +was smelling some odor of flowers blown from a garden.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I get it too. Geraniums, isn't it? They're blooming +here, I see. A day like this sets me crazy." He sat down in +his boat and put his oars in place.</p> + +<p>"Well, I have to go and try my luck for whales. Wouldn't +you like to go fishing?"</p> + +<p>"I would, all right," said Frieda, "only aunt wouldn't let me, I +think. I'd just love to go. It's lots of fun, catching fish."</p> + +<p>"Yes, <i>catching</i> fish," laughed Eugene. "Well, I'll bring you +a nice little shark—one that bites. Would you like that? +Down in the Atlantic Ocean they have sharks that bite and +bark. They come up out of the water at night and bark like +a dog."</p> + +<p>"O-o-oh, dear! how funny!" giggled Frieda, and Eugene began +slowly rowing his boat lakeward.</p> + +<p>"Be sure you bring me a nice fish," she called.</p> + +<p>"Be sure you're here to get it when I come back," he answered.</p> + +<p>He saw her with the lattice of spring leaves behind her, +the old house showing pleasantly on its rise of ground, some +house-martens turning in the morning sky.</p> + +<p>"What a lovely girl," he thought. "She's beautiful—as fresh +as a flower. That is the one great thing in the world—the +beauty of girlhood."</p> + +<p>He came back after a time expecting to find her, but her +foster-mother had sent her on an errand. He felt a keen sense +of disappointment.</p> + +<p>There were other meetings after this, once on a day when he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> +came back practically fishless and she laughed at him; once +when he saw her sunning her hair on the back porch after she +had washed it and she came down to stand under the trees near +the water, looking like a naiad. He wished then he could take +her in his arms, but he was a little uncertain of her and of +himself. Once she came to his studio in the barn to bring him +a piece of left-over dough which his mother had "turned" on +the top of the stove.</p> + +<p>"Eugene used to be crazy about that when he was a boy," his +mother had remarked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, let me take it to him," said Frieda gaily, gleeful over +the idea of the adventure.</p> + +<p>"That's a good idea," said Angela innocently. "Wait, I'll put +it on this saucer."</p> + +<p>Frieda took it and ran. She found Eugene staring oddly at his +canvas, his face curiously dark. When her head came above +the loft floor his expression changed immediately. His guileless, +kindly smile returned.</p> + +<p>"Guess what," she said, pulling a little white apron she +had on over the dish.</p> + +<p>"Strawberries." They were in season.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no."</p> + +<p>"Peaches and cream."</p> + +<p>"Where would we get peaches now?"</p> + +<p>"At the grocery store."</p> + +<p>"I'll give you one more guess."</p> + +<p>"Angel cake!" He was fond of that, and Angela occasionally +made it.</p> + +<p>"Your guesses are all gone. You can't have any."</p> + +<p>He reached out his hand, but she drew back. He followed +and she laughed. "No, no, you can't have any now."</p> + +<p>He caught her soft arm and drew her close to him. "Sure +I can't?"</p> + +<p>Their faces were close together.</p> + +<p>She looked into his eyes for a moment, then dropped her +lashes. Eugene's brain swirled with the sense of her beauty. +It was the old talisman. He covered her sweet lips with his +own and she yielded feverishly.</p> + +<p>"There now, eat your dough," she exclaimed when he let +her go, pushing it shamefacedly toward him. She was flustered—so +much so that she failed to jest about it. "What would +Mrs. Witla think," she added, "if she could see us?"</p> + +<p>Eugene paused solemnly and listened. He was afraid of +Angela.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> +"I've always liked this stuff, ever since I was a boy," he said +in an offhand way.</p> + +<p>"So your mother said," replied Frieda, somewhat recovered. +"Let me see what you're painting." She came round to his +side and he took her hand. "I'll have to go now," she said +wisely. "They'll be expecting me back."</p> + +<p>Eugene speculated on the intelligence of girls—at least on +that of those he liked. Somehow they were all wise under +these circumstances—cautious. He could see that instinctively +Frieda was prepared to protect him and herself. She did not +appear to be suffering from any shock from this revelation. +Rather she was inclined to make the best of it.</p> + +<p>He folded her in his arms again.</p> + +<p>"You're the angel cake and the strawberries and the peaches +and cream," he said.</p> + +<p>"Don't!" she pleaded. "Don't! I have to go now."</p> + +<p>And when he released her she ran quickly down the stairs, +giving him a swift, parting smile.</p> + +<p>So Frieda was added to the list of his conquests and he +pondered over it gravely. If Angela could have seen this scene, +what a storm there would have been! If she ever became conscious +of what was going on, what a period of wrath there +would be! It would be terrible. After her recent discovery +of his letters he hated to think of that. Still this bliss of +caressing youth—was it not worth any price? To have a bright, +joyous girl of eighteen put her arms about you—could you risk +too much for it? The world said one life, one love. Could he +accede to that? Could any one woman satisfy him? Could +Frieda if he had her? He did not know. He did not care +to think about it. Only this walking in a garden of flowers—how +delicious it was. This having a rose to your lips!</p> + +<p>Angela saw nothing of this attraction for some time. She +was not prepared yet to believe, poor little depender on the +conventions as she understood them, that the world was full +of plots and counter-plots, snares, pitfalls and gins. The +way of the faithful and well-meaning woman in marriage should +be simple and easy. She should not be harassed by uncertainty +of affection, infelicities of temper, indifference or infidelity. If +she worked hard, as Angela was trying to do, trying to be a +good wife, saving, serving, making a sacrifice of her time and +services and moods and wishes for her husband's sake, why +shouldn't he do the same for her? She knew of no double +standard of virtue. If she had she would not have believed in +it. Her parents had raised her to see marriage in a different +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> +light. Her father was faithful to her mother. Eugene's father +was faithful to his wife—that was perfectly plain. Her brothers-in-law +were faithful to her sisters, Eugene's brothers-in-law +were faithful to his sisters. Why should not Eugene be faithful +to her?</p> + +<p>So far, of course, she had no evidence to the contrary. He +probably was faithful and would remain so. He had said so, +but this pre-matrimonial philandering of his looked very curious. +It was an astonishing thing that he could have deceived her +so. She would never forget it. He was a genius to be sure. +The world was waiting to hear what he had to say. He was +a great man and should associate with great men, or, failing +that, should not want to associate with anyone at all. It was +ridiculous for him to be running around after silly women. She +thought of this and decided to do her best to prevent it. The +seat of the mighty was in her estimation the place for Eugene, +with her in the foreground as a faithful and conspicuous acolyte, +swinging the censer of praise and delight.</p> + +<p>The days went on and various little meetings—some accidental, +some premeditated—took place between Eugene and +Frieda. There was one afternoon when he was at his sister's +and she came there to get a pattern for her foster-mother from +Sylvia. She lingered for over an hour, during which time +Eugene had opportunities to kiss her a dozen times. The beauty +of her eyes and her smile haunted him after she was gone. There +was another time when he saw her at dusk near his boathouse, +and kissed her in the shadow of the sheltering grape-arbor. In +his own home there were clandestine moments and in his studio, +the barn loft, for Frieda made occasion a few times to come +to him—a promise to make a sketch of her being the excuse. +Angela resented this, but she could not prevent it. In the main +Frieda exhibited that curious patience in love which women so +customarily exhibit and which a man can never understand. +She could wait for her own to come to her—for him to find +her; while he, with that curious avidness of the male in love, +burned as a fed fire to see her. He was jealous of the little +innocent walks she took with boys she knew. The fact that +it was necessary for her to be away from him was a great +deprivation. The fact that he was married to Angela was a +horrible disaster. He would look at Angela, when she was with +him, preventing him from his freedom in love, with almost +calculated hate in his eyes. Why had he married her? As for +Frieda, when she was near, and he could not draw near her, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> +his eyes followed her movements with a yearning, devouring +glance. He was fairly beside himself with anguish under the +spell of her beauty. Frieda had no notion of the consuming +flame she had engendered.</p> + +<p>It was a simple thing to walk home with her from the post-office—quite +accidentally on several occasions. It was a fortuitous +thing that Anna Roth should invite Angela and himself, +as well as his father and mother, to her house to dinner. On +one occasion when Frieda was visiting at the Witla homestead, +Angela thought Frieda stepped away from Eugene in a curiously +disturbed manner when she came into the parlor. She was +not sure. Frieda hung round him in a good-natured way most +of the time when various members of the family were present. +She wondered if by any chance he was making love to her, +but she could not prove it. She tried to watch them from then +on, but Eugene was so subtle, Frieda so circumspect, that she +never did obtain any direct testimony. Nevertheless, before they +left Alexandria there was a weeping scene over this, hysterical, +tempestuous, in which she accused him of making love to Frieda, +he denying it stoutly.</p> + +<p>"If it wasn't for your relatives' sake," she declared, "I would +accuse her to her face, here before your eyes. She couldn't +dare deny it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you're crazy," said Eugene. "You're the most suspicious +woman I ever knew. Good Lord! Can't I look at a +woman any more? This little girl! Can't I even be nice to +her?"</p> + +<p>"Nice to her? Nice to her? I know how you're nice to her. +I can see! I can feel! Oh, God! Why can't you give me a +faithful husband!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, cut it out!" demanded Eugene defiantly. "You're always +watching. I can't turn around but you have your eye +on me. I can tell. Well, you go ahead and watch. That's all +the good it will do you. I'll give you some real reason for +watching one of these days. You make me tired!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, hear how he talks to me," moaned Angela, "and we're +only married one year! Oh, Eugene, how can you? Have you +no pity, no shame? Here in your own home, too! Oh! oh! +oh!"</p> + +<p>To Eugene such hysterics were maddening. He could not +understand how anyone should want or find it possible to carry +on in this fashion. He was lying "out of the whole cloth" +about Frieda, but Angela didn't know and he knew she didn't +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> +know. All these tantrums were based on suspicion. If she +would do this on a mere suspicion, what would she not do when +she had a proved cause?</p> + +<p>Still by her tears she as yet had the power of rousing his +sympathies and awakening his sense of shame. Her sorrow +made him slightly ashamed of his conduct or rather sorry, for +the tougher nature was constantly presenting itself. Her suspicions +made the further pursuit of this love quest practically +impossible. Secretly he already cursed the day he had married +her, for Frieda's face was ever before him, a haunting lure +to love and desire. In this hour life looked terribly sad to him. +He couldn't help feeling that all the perfect things one might +seek or find were doomed to the searing breath of an inimical +fate. Ashes of roses—that was all life had to offer. Dead +sea fruit, turning to ashes upon the lips. Oh, Frieda! Frieda! +Oh, youth, youth! That there should dance before him for evermore +an unattainable desire—the holy grail of beauty. Oh life, +oh death! Which was really better, waking or sleeping? If +he could only have Frieda now it would be worth living, but +without her—</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XV" id="II_CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<p>The weakness of Eugene was that he was prone in each +of these new conquests to see for the time being the sum +and substance of bliss, to rise rapidly in the scale of uncontrollable, +exaggerated affection, until he felt that here and +nowhere else, now and in this particular form was ideal happiness. +He had been in love with Stella, with Margaret, with +Ruby, with Angela, with Christina, and now with Frieda, quite +in this way, and it had taught him nothing as yet concerning +love except that it was utterly delightful. He wondered at +times how it was that the formation of a particular face could +work this spell. There was plain magic in the curl of a lock of +hair, the whiteness or roundness of a forehead, the shapeliness +of a nose or ear, the arched redness of full-blown petal lips. +The cheek, the chin, the eye—in combination with these things—how +did they work this witchery? The tragedies to which +he laid himself open by yielding to these spells—he never stopped +to think of them.</p> + +<p>It is a question whether the human will, of itself alone, ever +has cured or ever can cure any human weakness. Tendencies +are subtle things. They are involved in the chemistry of one's +being, and those who delve in the mysteries of biology frequently +find that curious anomaly, a form of minute animal life +born to be the prey of another form of animal life—chemically +and physically attracted to its own disaster. Thus, to quote +Calkins, "some protozoa are apparently limited to special kinds +of food. The 'slipper-animal' (Paramecium) and the 'bell-animal' +(Vorticella) live on certain kinds of bacteria, and +many others, which live upon smaller protozoa, seem to have a +marked affinity for certain kinds. I have watched one of these +creatures (Actinobolus) lie perfectly quiet while hundreds of +bacteria and smaller kinds of protozoa bumped against it, until +a certain variety (Halteria grandinella) came near, when a +minute dart, or 'trochocyst,' attached to a relatively long thread, +was launched. The victim was invariably hit, and after a +short struggle was drawn in and devoured. The results of +many experiments indicate that the apparently <i>willful</i> selection +in these cases is the inevitable action of definite chemical and +physical laws which the individual organism can no more +change than it can change the course of gravitation. The +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> +killing dart mentioned above is called out by the particular kind +of prey with the irresistible attraction of an iron filing for a +magnet."</p> + +<p>Eugene did not know of these curious biologic experiments +at this time, but he suspected that these attractions were deeper +than human will. He thought at times that he ought to resist +his impulses. At other times he asked himself why. If his +treasure was in this and he lost it by resistance, what had he? +A sense of personal purity? It did not appeal to him. The +respect of his fellow-citizens? He believed that most of his +fellow-citizens were whited sepulchres. What good did their +hypocritical respect do him? Justice to others? Others were +not concerned, or should not be in the natural affinity which +might manifest itself between two people. That was for them +to settle. Besides, there was very little justice in the world. +As for his wife—well, he had given her his word, but he had not +done so willingly. Might one swear eternal fealty and abide +by it when the very essence of nature was lack of fealty, inconsiderateness, +destruction, change? A gloomy Hamlet to be +sure, asking "can honor set a leg?"—a subtle Machiavelli believing +that might made right, sure that it was a matter of +careful planning, not ethics which brought success in this world, +and yet one of the poorest planners in it. An anarchistic manifestation +of selfishness surely; but his additional plea was that he +did not make his own mind, nor his emotions, nor anything +else. And worst of all, he counselled himself that he was not +seizing anything ruthlessly. He was merely accepting that +which was thrust temptingly before him by fate.</p> + +<p>Hypnotic spells of this character like contagion and fever +have their period of duration, their beginning, climax and end. +It is written that love is deathless, but this was not written +of the body nor does it concern the fevers of desire. The +marriage of true minds to which Shakespeare would admit no +impediment is of a different texture and has little sex in it. +The friendship of Damon and Pythias was a marriage in the +best sense, though it concerned two men. The possibilities of +intellectual union between a man and a woman are quite the +same. This is deathless in so far as it reflects the spiritual +ideals of the universe—not more so. All else is illusion of short +duration and vanishes in thin air.</p> + +<p>When the time came for Eugene to leave Alexandria as he +had originally wanted to do, he was not at all anxious to +depart; rather it was an occasion of great suffering for him. +He could not see any solution to the problem which confronted +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> +him in connection with Frieda's love for him. As a +matter of fact, when he thought about it at all he was quite +sure that she did not understand or appreciate the nature of +her affection for him or his for her. It had no basis in responsibility. +It was one of those things born of thin air—sunlight, +bright waters, the reflection of a bright room—things which +are intangible and insubstantial. Eugene was not one who, +if he thought anything at all about it, would persuade a girl +to immorality for the mere sake of indulgence. His feelings +were invariably compounded of finer things, love of companionship, +love of beauty, a variable sense of the consequences which +must ensue, not so much to him as to her, though he took +himself into consideration. If she were not already experienced +and he had no method of protecting her, if he could not take her +as his wife or give her the advantages of his presence and financial +support, secretly or openly, if he could not keep all their +transactions a secret from the world, he was inclined to hesitate. +He did not want to do anything rash—as much for her sake +as for his. In this case, the fact that he could not marry her, +that he could not reasonably run away with her, seeing that he +was mentally sick and of uncertain financial condition, the fact +that he was surrounded by home conditions which made it of +the greatest importance that he should conduct himself circumspectly, +weighed greatly with him. Nevertheless a tragedy +could easily have resulted here. If Frieda had been of a headstrong, +unthinking nature; if Angela had been less watchful, +morbid, appealing in her mood; if the family and town conditions +had been less weighty; if Eugene had had health and +ample means, he would probably have deserted Angela, taken +Frieda to some European city—he dreamed of Paris in this +connection—and found himself confronted later by an angry +father or a growing realization that Frieda's personal charms +were not the sum and substance of his existence, or both. +George Roth, for all he was a traveling salesman, was a man +of considerable determination. He might readily have ended +the life of his daughter's betrayer—art reputation or no. He +worshiped Frieda as the living image of his dead wife, and at +best he would have been heartbroken.</p> + +<p>As it was, there was not much chance of this, for Eugene +was not rash. He was too philosophic. Conditions might have +arisen in which he would have shown the most foolhardy +bravado, but not in his present state. There was not sufficient +anguish in his own existence to drive him to action. He saw +no clear way. So, in June, with Angela he took his departure +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> +for Blackwood, pretending, to her, outward indifference as to his +departure, but inwardly feeling as though his whole life were +coming to nothing.</p> + +<p>When he reached Blackwood he was now, naturally, disgusted +with the whole atmosphere of it. Frieda was not there. Alexandria, +from having been the most wearisome sidepool of aimless +inactivity, had suddenly taken on all the characteristics of +paradise. The little lakes, the quiet streets, the court house +square, his sister's home, Frieda's home, his own home, had +been once more invested for him with the radiance of romance—that +intangible glory of feeling which can have no existence +outside the illusion of love. Frieda's face was everywhere in +it, her form, the look of her eyes. He could see nothing there +now save the glory of Frieda. It was as though the hard, weary +face of a barren landscape were suddenly bathed in the soft +effulgence of a midnight moon.</p> + +<p>As for Blackwood, it was as lovely as ever but he could not +see it. The fact that his attitude had changed toward Angela +for the time being made all the difference. He did not really +hate her—he told himself that. She was not any different from +that she had been, that was perfectly plain. The difference +was in him. He really could not be madly in love with two +people at once. He had entertained joint affections for Angela +and Ruby, and Angela and Christina, but those were not +the dominating fevers which this seemed to be. He could not +for the time get the face of this girl out of his mind. He +was sorry for Angela at moments. Then, because of her insistence +on his presence with her—on her being in his company, +"following him around" as he put it, he hated her. Dear +Heaven! if he could only be free without injuring her. If he +could only get loose. Think, at this moment he might be with +Frieda walking in the sun somewhere, rowing on the lake at +Alexandria, holding her in his arms. He would never forget +how she looked the first morning she came into his barn studio +at home—how enticing she was the first night he saw her at +Sylvia's. What a rotten mess living was, anyhow. And so he +sat about in the hammock at the Blue homestead, or swung +in a swing that old Jotham had since put up for Marietta's +beaux, or dreamed in a chair in the shade of the house, reading. +He was dreary and lonely with just one ambition in the world—Frieda.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, as might be expected, his health was not getting +any better. Instead of curing himself of those purely carnal +expressions of passion which characterized his life with Angela, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> +the latter went on unbroken. One would have thought that his +passion for Frieda would have interrupted this, but the presence +of Angela, the comparatively enforced contact, her insistence on +his attentions, broke down again and again the protecting barrier +of distaste. Had he been alone, he would have led a chaste +life until some new and available infatuation seized him. As +it was there was no refuge either from himself or Angela, and +the at times almost nauseating relationship went on and on.</p> + +<p>Those of the Blue family, who were in the home or near it, +were delighted to see him. The fact that he had achieved such +a great success, as the papers had reported, with his first exhibition +and had not lost ground with the second—a very interesting +letter had come from M. Charles saying that the +Paris pictures would be shown in Paris in July—gave them a +great estimate of him. Angela was a veritable queen in this +home atmosphere; and as for Eugene, he was given the privilege +of all geniuses to do as he pleased. On this occasion +Eugene was the centre of interest, though he appeared not to +be, for his four solid Western brothers-in-law gave no indication +that they thought he was unusual. He was not their type—banker, +lawyer, grain merchant and real estate dealer—but they +felt proud of him just the same. He was different, and at the +same time natural, genial, modest, inclined to appear far more +interested in their affairs than he really was. He would listen +by the hour to the details of their affairs, political, financial, +agricultural, social. The world was a curious compost to +Eugene and he was always anxious to find out how other +people lived. He loved a good story, and while he rarely told +one he made a splendid audience for those who did. His eyes +would sparkle and his whole face light with the joy of the +humor he felt.</p> + +<p>Through all this—the attention he was receiving, the welcome +he was made to feel, the fact that his art interests were not yet +dead (the Paris exhibition being the expiring breath of his +original burst of force), he was nevertheless feeling the downward +trend of his affairs most keenly. His mind was not +right. That was surely true. His money affairs were getting +worse, not better, for while he could hope for a few sales yet +(the Paris pictures did not sell in New York) he was not +certain that this would be the case. This homeward trip had +cost him two hundred of his seventeen hundred dollars and there +would be additional expenses if he went to Chicago, as he +planned in the fall. He could not live a single year on fifteen +hundred dollars—scarcely more than six months, and he could +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> +not paint or illustrate anything new in his present state. Additional +sales of the pictures of the two original exhibitions must +be effected in a reasonable length of time or he would find +himself in hard straits.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, Angela, who had obtained such a high estimate +of his future by her experience in New York and Paris, was +beginning to enjoy herself again, for after all, in her judgment, +she seemed to be able to manage Eugene very well. He +might have had some slight understanding with Frieda Roth—it +couldn't have been much or she would have seen it, she thought—but +she had managed to break it up. Eugene was cross, naturally, +but that was due more to her quarreling than anything +else. These storms of feeling on her part—not always +premeditated—seemed very essential. Eugene must be made to +understand that he was married now; that he could not look +upon or run after girls as he had in the old days. She was +well aware that he was considerably younger than she was in +temperament, inclined to be exceedingly boyish, and this was +apt to cause trouble anywhere. But if she watched over him, +kept his attention fixed on her, everything would come out +all right. And then there were all these other delightful +qualities—his looks, his genial manner, his reputation, his talent. +What a delightful thing it had become to announce herself as +Mrs. Eugene Witla and how those who knew about him sat up. +Big people were his friends, artists admired him, common, homely, +everyday people thought he was nice and considerate and able +and very worth while. He was generally liked everywhere. +What more could one want?</p> + +<p>Angela knew nothing of his real thoughts, for because of +sympathy, a secret sense of injustice toward her on his part, +a vigorous, morbid impression of the injustice of life as a whole, +a desire to do things in a kindly or at least a secret and not +brutal way, he was led to pretend at all times that he really cared +for her; to pose as being comfortable and happy; to lay all his +moods to his inability to work. Angela, who could not read +him clearly, saw nothing of this. He was too subtle for her +understanding at times. She was living in a fool's paradise; +playing over a sleeping volcano.</p> + +<p>He grew no better and by fall began to get the notion that +he could do better by living in Chicago. His health would come +back to him there perhaps. He was terribly tired of Blackwood. +The long tree-shaded lawn was nothing to him now. +The little lake, the stream, the fields that he had rejoiced in +at first were to a great extent a commonplace. Old Jotham was +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> +a perpetual source of delight to him with his kindly, stable, +enduring attitude toward things and his interesting comment +on life, and Marietta entertained him with her wit, her good +nature, her intuitive understanding; but he could not be happy +just talking to everyday, normal, stable people, interesting and +worthwhile as they might be. The doing of simple things, +living a simple life, was just now becoming irritating. He +must go to London, Paris—do things. He couldn't loaf this +way. It mattered little that he could not work. He must +try. This isolation was terrible.</p> + +<p>There followed six months spent in Chicago in which he +painted not one picture that was satisfactory to him, that was +not messed into nothingness by changes and changes and changes. +There were then three months in the mountains of Tennessee +because someone told him of a wonderfully curative spring in +a delightful valley where the spring came as a dream of color +and the expense of living was next to nothing. There were four +months of summer in southern Kentucky on a ridge where +the air was cool, and after that five months on the Gulf of +Mexico, at Biloxi, in Mississippi, because some comfortable +people in Kentucky and Tennessee told Angela of this delightful +winter resort farther South. All this time Eugene's money, +the fifteen hundred dollars he had when he left Blackwood, +several sums of two hundred, one hundred and fifty and two +hundred and fifty, realized from pictures sold in New York +and Paris during the fall and winter following his Paris exhibition, +and two hundred which had come some months afterward +from a fortuitous sale by M. Charles of one of his old +New York views, had been largely dissipated. He still had +five hundred dollars, but with no pictures being sold and none +painted he was in a bad way financially in so far as the future +was concerned. He could possibly return to Alexandria with +Angela and live cheaply there for another six months, but +because of the Frieda incident both he and she objected to it. +Angela was afraid of Frieda and was resolved that she would +not go there so long as Frieda was in the town, and Eugene was +ashamed because of the light a return would throw on his +fading art prospects. Blackwood was out of the question to +him. They had lived on her parents long enough. If he did not +get better he must soon give up this art idea entirely, for he +could not live on trying to paint.</p> + +<p>He began to think that he was possessed—obsessed of a devil—and +that some people were pursued by evil spirits, fated by stars, +doomed from their birth to failure or accident. How did the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> +astrologer in New York know that he was to have four years +of bad luck? He had seen three of them already. Why did a +man who read his palm in Chicago once say that his hand showed +two periods of disaster, just as the New York astrologer had +and that he was likely to alter the course of his life radically in +the middle portion of it? Were there any fixed laws of being? +Did any of the so-called naturalistic school of philosophers and +scientists whom he had read know anything at all? They +were always talking about the fixed laws of the universe—the +unalterable laws of chemistry and physics. Why didn't chemistry +or physics throw some light on his peculiar physical condition, +on the truthful prediction of the astrologer, on the signs and +portents which he had come to observe for himself as foretelling +trouble or good fortune for himself. If his left eye +twitched he had observed of late he was going to have a quarrel +with someone—invariably Angela. If he found a penny or any +money, he was going to get money; for every notification of a +sale of a picture with the accompanying check had been preceded +by the discovery of a coin somewhere: once a penny in State +Street, Chicago, on a rainy day—M. Charles wrote that a +picture had been sold in Paris for two hundred; once a three-cent +piece of the old American issue in the dust of a road in +Tennessee—M. Charles wrote that one of his old American +views had brought one hundred and fifty; once a penny in sands +by the Gulf in Biloxi—another notification of a sale. So it +went. He found that when doors squeaked, people were apt to +get sick in the houses where they were; and a black dog howling +in front of a house was a sure sign of death. He had seen this +with his own eyes, this sign which his mother had once told him +of as having been verified in her experience, in connection with +the case of a man who was sick in Biloxi. He was sick, and a +dog came running along the street and stopped in front of this +place—a black dog—and the man died. Eugene saw this with +his own eyes,—that is, the dog and the sick man's death notice. +The dog howled at four o'clock in the afternoon and the next +morning the man was dead. He saw the crape on the door. +Angela mocked at his superstition, but he was convinced. "There +are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt +of in your philosophy."</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XVI" id="II_CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<p>Eugene was reaching the point where he had no more +money and was compelled to think by what process he +would continue to make a living in the future. Worry and a +hypochondriacal despair had reduced his body to a comparatively +gaunt condition. His eyes had a nervous, apprehensive look. He +would walk about speculating upon the mysteries of nature, +wondering how he was to get out of this, what was to become +of him, how soon, if ever, another picture would be sold, when? +Angela, from having fancied that his illness was a mere temporary +indisposition, had come to feel that he might be seriously affected +for some time. He was not sick physically: he could walk +and eat and talk vigorously enough, but he could not work and +he was worrying, worrying, worrying.</p> + +<p>Angela was quite as well aware as Eugene that their finances +were in a bad way or threatening to become so, though he said +nothing at all about them. He was ashamed to confess at this +day, after their very conspicuous beginning in New York, that he +was in fear of not doing well. How silly—he with all his ability! +Surely he would get over this, and soon.</p> + +<p>Angela's economical upbringing and naturally saving instinct +stood her in good stead now, for she could market with the +greatest care, purchase to the best advantage, make every scrap +and penny count. She knew how to make her own clothes, as +Eugene had found out when he first visited Blackwood, and +was good at designing hats. Although she had thought in New +York, when Eugene first began to make money, that now she +would indulge in tailor-made garments and the art of an excellent +dressmaker, she had never done so. With true frugality +she had decided to wait a little while, and then Eugene's health +having failed she had not the chance any more. Fearing the +possible long duration of this storm she had begun to mend and +clean and press and make over whatever seemed to require it. +Even when Eugene suggested that she get something new she +would not do it. Her consideration for their future—the difficulty +he might have in making a living, deterred her.</p> + +<p>Eugene noted this, though he said nothing. He was not unaware +of the fear that she felt, the patience she exhibited, the +sacrifice she made of her own whims and desires to his, and he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> +was not entirely unappreciative. It was becoming very apparent to +him that she had no life outside his own—no interests. She was +his shadow, his alter ego, his servant, his anything he wanted her +to be. "Little Pigtail" was one of his jesting pet names for her +because in the West as a boy they had always called anyone who +ran errands for others a pigtailer. In playing "one old cat," +if one wanted another to chase the struck balls he would say: +"You pig-tail for me, Willie, will you?" And Angela was his +"little pigtail."</p> + +<p>There were no further grounds for jealousy during the time, +almost two years, in which they were wandering around together, +for the reason that she was always with him, almost his sole +companion, and that they did not stay long enough in any one +place and under sufficiently free social conditions to permit him +to form those intimacies which might have resulted disastrously. +Some girls did take his eye—the exceptional in youth and physical +perfection were always doing that, but he had no chance or +very little of meeting them socially. They were not living with +people they knew, were not introduced in the local social worlds, +which they visited. Eugene could only look at these maidens +whom he chanced to spy from time to time, and wish that he +might know them better. It was hard to be tied down to a +conventional acceptance of matrimony—to pretend that he was +interested in beauty only in a sociological way. He had to do it +before Angela though (and all conventional people for that matter), +for she objected strenuously to the least interest he might +manifest in any particular woman. All his remarks had to be +general and guarded in their character. At the least show of +feeling or admiration Angela would begin to criticize his choice +and to show him wherein his admiration was ill-founded. If +he were especially interested she would attempt to tear his latest +ideal to pieces. She had no mercy, and he could see plainly +enough on what her criticism was based. It made him smile but +he said nothing. He even admired her for her heroic efforts to +hold her own, though every victory she seemed to win served only +to strengthen the bars of his own cage.</p> + +<p>It was during this time that he could not help learning and +appreciating just how eager, patient and genuine was her regard +for his material welfare. To her he was obviously the +greatest man in the world, a great painter, a great thinker, a +great lover, a great personality every way. It didn't make so +much difference to her at this time that he wasn't making any +money. He would sometime, surely, and wasn't she getting it all +in fame anyhow, now? Why, to be Mrs. Eugene Witla, after +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> +what she had seen of him in New York and Paris, what more +could she want? Wasn't it all right for her to rake and scrape +now, to make her own clothes and hats, save, mend, press and +patch? He would come out of all this silly feeling about other +women once he became a little older, and then he would be all +right. Anyhow he appeared to love her now; and that was something. +Because he was lonely, fearsome, uncertain of himself, +uncertain of the future, he welcomed these unsparing attentions +on her part, and this deceived her. Who else would give them +to him, he thought; who else would be so faithful in times like +these? He almost came to believe that he could love her again, +be faithful to her, if he could keep out of the range of these other +enticing personalities. If only he could stamp out this eager desire +for other women, their praise and their beauty!</p> + +<p>But this was more because he was sick and lonely than anything +else. If he had been restored to health then and there, +if prosperity had descended on him as he so eagerly dreamed, it +would have been the same as ever. He was as subtle as nature itself; +as changeable as a chameleon. But two things were significant +and real—two things to which he was as true and unvarying +as the needle to the pole—his love of the beauty of life +which was coupled with his desire to express it in color, and his +love of beauty in the form of the face of a woman, or rather that +of a girl of eighteen. That blossoming of life in womanhood +at eighteen!—there was no other thing under the sun like it to +him. It was like the budding of the trees in spring; the blossoming +of flowers in the early morning; the odor of roses and dew, +the color of bright waters and clear jewels. He could not be faithless +to that. He could not get away from it. It haunted him +like a joyous vision, and the fact that the charms of Stella and +Ruby and Angela and Christina and Frieda in whom it had been +partially or wholly shadowed forth at one time or another had +come and gone, made little difference. It remained clear and +demanding. He could not escape it—the thought; he could not +deny it. He was haunted by this, day after day, and hour after +hour; and when he said to himself that he was a fool, and that +it would lure him as a will-o'-the-wisp to his destruction and +that he could find no profit in it ultimately, still it would not +down. The beauty of youth; the beauty of eighteen! To him +life without it was a joke, a shabby scramble, a work-horse job, +with only silly material details like furniture and houses and steel +cars and stores all involved in a struggle for what? To make +a habitation for more shabby humanity? Never! To make a +habitation for beauty? Certainly! What beauty? The beauty +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> +of old age?—How silly! The beauty of middle age? Nonsense! +The beauty of maturity? No! The beauty of youth? Yes. +The beauty of eighteen. No more and no less. That was the +standard, and the history of the world proved it. Art, literature, +romance, history, poetry—if they did not turn on this and the +lure of this and the wars and sins because of this, what did they +turn on? He was for beauty. The history of the world justified +him. Who could deny it?</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XVII" id="II_CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<p>From Biloxi, because of the approach of summer when it +would be unbearably warm there, and because his funds +were so low that it was necessary to make a decisive move of +some kind whether it led to complete disaster or not, he decided +to return to New York. In storage with Kellners (M. Charles +had kindly volunteered to take care of them for him) were a +number of the pictures left over from the original show, and +nearly all the paintings of the Paris exhibition. The latter +had not sold well. Eugene's idea was that he could slip into +New York quietly, take a room in some side street or in Jersey +City or Brooklyn where he would not be seen, have the pictures +in the possession of M. Charles returned to him, and see if he +could not get some of the minor art dealers or speculators of +whom he had heard to come and look at them and buy them outright. +Failing that, he might take them himself, one by one, to +different dealers here and there and dispose of them. He remembered +now that Eberhard Zang had, through Norma Whitmore, +asked him to come and see him. He fancied that, as +Kellners had been so interested, and the newspaper critics had +spoken of him so kindly the smaller dealers would be eager to +take up with him. Surely they would buy this material. It was +exceptional—very. Why not?</p> + +<p>Eugene forgot or did not know the metaphysical side of prosperity +and failure. He did not realize that "as a man thinketh +so is he," and so also is the estimate of the whole world at the +time he is thinking of himself thus—not as he is but as he thinks +he is. The sense of it is abroad—by what processes we know +not, but so it is.</p> + +<p>Eugene's mental state, so depressed, so helpless, so fearsome—a +rudderless boat in the dark, transmitted itself as an impression, +a wireless message to all those who knew him or knew of him. +His breakdown, which had first astonished M. Charles, depressed +and then weakened the latter's interest in him. Like all other +capable, successful men in the commercial world M. Charles +was for strong men—men in the heyday of their success, the +zenith of their ability. The least variation from this standard +of force and interest was noticeable to him. If a man was going +to fail—going to get sick and lose his interest in life or have +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> +his viewpoint affected, it might be very sad, but there was just +one thing to do under such circumstances—get away from him. +Failures of any kind were dangerous things to countenance. One +must not have anything to do with them. They were very unprofitable. +Such people as Temple Boyle and Vincent Beers, +who had been his instructors in the past and who had heard of +him in Chicago at the time of his success, Luke Severas, William +McConnell, Oren Benedict, Hudson Dula, and others wondered +what had become of him. Why did he not paint any more? He +was never seen in the New York haunts of art! It was rumored +at the time of the Paris exhibition that he was going to London +to do a similar group of views, but the London exhibition never +came off. He had told Smite and MacHugh the spring he left +that he might do Chicago next, but that came to nothing. There +was no evidence of it. There were rumors that he was very rich, +that his art had failed him, that he had lost his mind even, and +so the art world that knew him and was so interested in him +no longer cared very much. It was too bad but—so thought the +rival artists—there was one less difficult star to contend with. +As for his friends, they were sorry, but such was life. He might +recover. If not,—well—.</p> + +<p>As time went on, one year, another year, another year, the +strangeness of his suddenly brilliant burst and disappearance +became to the talented in this field a form of classic memory. +He was a man of such promise! Why did he not go on painting? +There was an occasional mention in conversation or in print, +but Eugene to all intents and purposes was dead.</p> + +<p>When he came to New York it was after his capital had been +reduced to three hundred dollars and he had given Angela one +hundred and twenty-five of this to take her back to Blackwood +and keep her there until he could make such arrangements as +would permit her to join him. After a long discussion they had +finally agreed that this would be best, for, seeing that he could +neither paint nor illustrate, there was no certainty as to what +he would do. To come here on so little money with her was +not advisable. She had her home where she was welcome to stay +for a while anyhow. Meanwhile he figured he could weather +any storm alone.</p> + +<p>The appearance of the metropolis, after somewhat over two +years of absence during which he had wandered everywhere, was +most impressive to Eugene. It was a relief after the mountains +of Kentucky and Tennessee and the loneliness of the Biloxi +coast, to get back to this swarming city where millions were hurrying +to and fro, and where one's misery as well as one's prosperity +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> +was apparently swallowed up in an inconceivable mass of +life. A subway was being built. The automobile, which only a +few years before was having a vague, uncertain beginning, was +now attaining a tremendous vogue. Magnificent cars of new design +were everywhere. From the ferry-house in Jersey City he +could see notable changes in the skyline, and a single walk across +Twenty-third Street and up Seventh Avenue showed him a +changing world—great hotels, great apartment houses, a tremendous +crush of vainglorious life which was moulding the city +to its desires. It depressed him greatly, for he had always hoped +to be an integral part of this magnificence and display and now +he was not—might never be again.</p> + +<p>It was still raw and cold, for the spring was just beginning +to break, and Eugene was compelled to buy a light overcoat, his +own imperishable great coat having been left behind, and he had +no other fit to wear. Appearances, he thought, demanded this. +He had spent forty of his closely-guarded one hundred and seventy-five +dollars coming from Biloxi to New York, and now an +additional fifteen was required for this coat, leaving him one +hundred and twenty-five dollars with which to begin his career +anew. He was greatly worried as to the outcome, but curiously +also he had an abiding subconscious feeling that it could not be +utterly destructive to him.</p> + +<p>He rented a cheap room in a semi-respectable neighborhood +in West Twenty-fourth Street near Eleventh Avenue solely because +he wanted to keep out of the run of intellectual life and +hide until he could get on his feet. It was an old and shabby +residence in an old and shabby red brick neighborhood such as +he had drawn in one of his views, but it was not utterly bad. +The people were poor but fairly intellectual. He chose this +particular neighborhood with all its poverty because it was near +the North River where the great river traffic could be seen, and +where, because of some open lots in which were stored wagons, +his one single west window gave him a view of all this life. +About the corner in Twenty-third Street, in another somewhat +decayed residence, was a moderate priced restaurant and boarding +house. Here he could get a meal for twenty-five cents. He +cared nothing for the life that was about him. It was cheap, +poor, from a money point of view, dingy, but he would not be +here forever he hoped. These people did not know him. Besides +the number 552 West 24th Street did not sound bad. It +might be one of the old neighborhoods with which New York +was dotted, and which artists were inclined to find and occupy.</p> + +<p>After he had secured this room from a semi-respectable Irish +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> +landlady, a dock weigher's wife, he decided to call upon M. +Charles. He knew that he looked quite respectable as yet, despite +his poverty and decline. His clothes were good, his overcoat +new, his manner brisk and determined. But what he could +not see was that his face in its thin sallowness, and his eyes with +their semi-feverish lustre bespoke a mind that was harassed by +trouble of some kind. He stood outside the office of Kellner and +Son in Fifth Avenue—a half block from the door, wondering +whether he should go in, and just what he should say. He had +written to M. Charles from time to time that his health was +bad and that he couldn't work—always that he hoped to be better +soon. He had always hoped that a reply would come that +another of his pictures had been sold. One year had gone and +then two, and now a third was under way and still he was not +any better. M. Charles would look at him searchingly. He +would have to bear his gaze unflinchingly. In his present nervous +state this was difficult and yet he was not without a kind +of defiance even now. He would force himself back into favor +with life sometime.</p> + +<p>He finally mustered up his courage and entered and M. +Charles greeted him warmly.</p> + +<p>"This certainly is good,—to see you again. I had almost given +up hope that you would ever come back to New York. How is +your health now? And how is Mrs. Witla? It doesn't seem +as though it had been three years. You're looking excellent. +And how is painting going now? Getting to the point where +you can do something again?"</p> + +<p>Eugene felt for the moment as though M. Charles believed him +to be in excellent condition, whereas that shrewd observer of +men was wondering what could have worked so great a change. +Eugene appeared to be eight years older. There were marked +wrinkles between his eyes and an air of lassitude and weariness. +He thought to himself, "Why, this man may possibly be done for +artistically. Something has gone from him which I noted the +first time I met him: that fire and intense enthusiasm which +radiated force after the fashion of an arclight. Now he seems +to be seeking to draw something in,—to save himself from +drowning as it were. He is making a voiceless appeal for consideration. +What a pity!"</p> + +<p>The worst of it all was that in his estimation nothing could +be done in such a case. You couldn't do anything for an artist +who could do nothing for himself. His art was gone. The +sanest thing for him to do would be to quit trying, go at some +other form of labor and forget all about it. It might be that he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> +would recover, but it was a question. Nervous breakdowns were +not infrequently permanent.</p> + +<p>Eugene noticed something of this in his manner. He couldn't +tell exactly what it was, but M. Charles seemed more than ordinarily +preoccupied, careful and distant. He wasn't exactly +chilly in his manner, but reserved, as though he were afraid he +might be asked to do something which he could not very well do.</p> + +<p>"I noticed that the Paris scenes did not do very well either +here or in Paris," observed Eugene with an air of nonchalance, +as though it were a matter of small importance, at the same time +hoping that he would have some favorable word. "I had the idea +that they would take better than they did. Still I don't suppose +I ought to expect everything to sell. The New York ones did +all right."</p> + +<p>"They did very well indeed, much better than I expected. I +didn't think as many would be sold as were. They were very +new and considerably outside the lines of current interest. The +Paris pictures, on the other hand, were foreign to Americans +in the wrong sense. By that I mean they weren't to be included +in that genre art which comes from abroad, but is not based +on any locality and is universal in its appeal—thematically speaking. +Your Paris pictures were, of course, pictures in the best +sense to those who see art as color and composition and idea, but +to the ordinary lay mind they were, I take it, merely Paris scenes. +You get what I mean. In that sense they were foreign, and +Paris has been done illustratively anyhow. You might have done +better with London or Chicago. Still you have every reason to +congratulate yourself. Your work made a distinct impression +both here and in France. When you feel able to return to it I +have no doubt you will find that time has done you no harm."</p> + +<p>He tried to be polite and entertaining, but he was glad when +Eugene went away again.</p> + +<p>The latter turned out into the street disconsolate. He could +see how things were. He was down and out for the present and +would have to wait.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XVIII" id="II_CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<p>The next thing was to see what could be done with the +other art dealers and the paintings that were left. There +were quite a number of them. If he could get any reasonable +price at all he ought to be able to live quite awhile—long enough +anyhow to get on his feet again. When they came to his quiet +room and were unpacked by him in a rather shamefaced and +disturbed manner and distributed about, they seemed wonderful +things. Why, if the critics had raved over them and M. Charles +had thought they were so fine, could they not be sold? Art dealers +would surely buy them! Still, now that he was on the +ground again and could see the distinctive art shops from the +sidewalks his courage failed him. They were not running after +pictures. Exceptional as he might be, there were artists in +plenty—good ones. He could not run to other well known art +dealers very well for his work had become identified with the +house of Kellner and Son. Some of the small dealers might buy +them but they would not buy them all—probably one or two at +the most, and that at a sacrifice. What a pass to come to!—he, +Eugene Witla, who three years before had been in the heyday +of his approaching prosperity, wondering as he stood in the room +of a gloomy side-street house how he was going to raise money +to live through the summer, and how he was going to sell the +paintings which had seemed the substance of his fortune but +two years before. He decided that he would ask several of the +middle class dealers whether they would not come and look at +what he had to show. To a number of the smaller dealers in +Fourth, Sixth, Eighth Avenues and elsewhere he would offer to +sell several outright when necessity pinched. Still he had to raise +money soon. Angela could not be left at Blackwood indefinitely.</p> + +<p>He went to Jacob Bergman, Henry LaRue, Pottle Frères and +asked if they would be interested to see what he had. Henry +Bergman, who was his own manager, recalled his name at once. +He had seen the exhibition but was not eager. He asked curiously +how the pictures of the first and second exhibitions had +sold, how many there were of them, what prices they brought. +Eugene told him.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> +"You might bring one or two here and leave them on sale. +You know how that is. Someone might take a fancy to them. +You never can tell."</p> + +<p>He explained that his commission was twenty-five per cent, +and that he would report when a sale was made. He was not +interested to come and see them. Eugene could select any two +pictures he pleased. It was the same with Henry LaRue and +Pottle Frères, though the latter had never heard of him. They +asked him to show them one of his pictures. Eugene's pride +was touched the least bit by this lack of knowledge on their +part, though seeing how things were going with him he felt as +though he might expect as much and more.</p> + +<p>Other art dealers he did not care to trust with his paintings +on sale, and he was now ashamed to start carrying them about to +the magazines, where at least one hundred and twenty-five to +one hundred and fifty per picture might be expected for them, if +they were sold at all. He did not want the magazine art world +to think that he had come to this. His best friend was Hudson +Dula, and he might no longer be Art Director of <i>Truth</i>. As a +matter of fact Dula was no longer there. Then there were +Jan Jansen and several others, but they were no doubt thinking +of him now as a successful painter. It seemed as though his +natural pride were building insurmountable barriers for him. +How was he to live if he could not do this and could not paint? +He decided on trying the small art dealers with a single picture, +offering to sell it outright. They might not recognize him and +so might buy it direct. He could accept, in such cases, without +much shock to his pride, anything which they might offer, +if it were not too little.</p> + +<p>He tried this one bright morning in May, and though it was +not without result it spoiled the beautiful day for him. He took +one picture, a New York scene, and carried it to a third rate +art dealer whose place he had seen in upper Sixth Avenue, and +without saying anything about himself asked if he would like to +buy it. The proprietor, a small, dark individual of Semitic extraction, +looked at him curiously and at his picture. He could +tell from a single look that Eugene was in trouble, that he needed +money and that he was anxious to sell his picture. He thought +of course that he would take anything for it and he was not sure +that he wanted the picture at that. It was not very popular +in theme, a view of a famous Sixth Avenue restaurant showing +behind the track of the L road, with a driving rain pouring in +between the interstices of light. Years after this picture was +picked up by a collector from Kansas City at an old furniture +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> +sale and hung among his gems, but this morning its merits were +not very much in evidence.</p> + +<p>"I see that you occasionally exhibit a painting in your window +for sale. Do you buy originals?"</p> + +<p>"Now and again," said the man indifferently—"not often. +What have you?"</p> + +<p>"I have an oil here that I painted not so long ago. I occasionally +do these things. I thought maybe you would like to +buy it."</p> + +<p>The proprietor stood by indifferently while Eugene untied the +string, took off the paper and stood the picture up for inspection. +It was striking enough in its way but it did not appeal to him as +being popular. "I don't think it's anything that I could sell +here," he remarked, shrugging his shoulders. "It's good, but we +don't have much call for pictures of any kind. If it were a +straight landscape or a marine or a figure of some kind—. Figures +sell best. But this—I doubt if I could get rid of it. You +might leave it on sale if you want to. Somebody might like it. +I don't think I'd care to buy it."</p> + +<p>"I don't care to leave it on sale," replied Eugene irritably. +Leave one of his pictures in a cheap side-street art store—and that +on sale! He would not. He wanted to say something cutting +in reply but he curbed his welling wrath to ask,</p> + +<p>"How much do you think it would be worth if you did want +it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh," replied the proprietor, pursing his lips reflectively, +"not more than ten dollars. We can't ask much for anything +we have on view here. The Fifth Avenue stores take all the +good trade."</p> + +<p>Eugene winced. Ten dollars! Why, what a ridiculous sum! +What was the use of coming to a place like this anyhow? He +could do better dealing with the art directors or the better stores. +But where were they? Whom could he deal with? Where +were there any stores much better than this outside the large ones +which he had already canvassed. He had better keep his pictures +and go to work now at something else. He only had thirty-five +of them all told and at this rate he would have just three +hundred and fifty dollars when they were all gone. What good +would that do him? His mood and this preliminary experience +convinced him that they could not be sold for any much greater +sum. Fifteen dollars or less would probably be offered and he +would be no better off at the end. His pictures would be gone +and he would have nothing. He ought to get something to do +and save his pictures. But what?</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> +To a man in Eugene's position—he was now thirty-one years +of age, with no training outside what he had acquired in developing +his artistic judgment and ability—this proposition of +finding something else which he could do was very difficult. His +mental sickness was, of course, the first great bar. It made him +appear nervous and discouraged and so more or less objectionable +to anyone who was looking for vigorous healthy manhood in the +shape of an employee. In the next place, his look and manner +had become decidedly that of the artist—refined, retiring, subtle. +He also had an air at times of finicky standoffishness, particularly +in the presence of those who appeared to him commonplace or +who by their look or manner appeared to be attempting to set +themselves over him. In the last place, he could think of nothing +that he really wanted to do—the idea that his art ability would +come back to him or that it ought to serve him in this crisis, +haunting him all the time. Once he had thought he might like +to be an art director; he was convinced that he would be a good +one. And another time he had thought he would like to write, +but that was long ago. He had never written anything since +the Chicago newspaper specials, and several efforts at concentrating +his mind for this quickly proved to him that writing was +not for him now. It was hard for him to formulate an intelligent +consecutive-idea'd letter to Angela. He harked back to his +old Chicago days and remembering that he had been a collector +and a driver of a laundry wagon, he decided that he might do +something of that sort. Getting a position as a street-car conductor +or a drygoods clerk appealed to him as possibilities. The +necessity of doing something within regular hours and in a routine +way appealed to him as having curative properties. How +should he get such a thing?</p> + +<p>If it had not been for the bedeviled state of his mind this +would not have been such a difficult matter, for he was physically +active enough to hold any ordinary position. He might have appealed +frankly and simply to M. Charles or Isaac Wertheim +and through influence obtained something which would have +tided him over, but he was too sensitive to begin with and his +present weakness made him all the more fearful and retiring. +He had but one desire when he thought of doing anything outside +his creative gift, and that was to slink away from the gaze +of men. How could he, with his appearance, his reputation, his +tastes and refinement, hobnob with conductors, drygoods clerks, +railroad hands or drivers? It wasn't possible—he hadn't the +strength. Besides all that was a thing of the past, or he thought +it was. He had put it behind him in his art student days. Now +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> +to have to get out and look for a job! How could he? He +walked the streets for days and days, coming back to his room to +see if by any chance he could paint yet, writing long, rambling, +emotional letters to Angela. It was pitiful. In fits of gloom +he would take out an occasional picture and sell it, parting with +it for ten or fifteen dollars after he had carried it sometimes for +miles. His one refuge was in walking, for somehow he could not +walk and feel very, very bad. The beauty of nature, the activity +of people entertained and diverted his mind. He would come +back to his room some evenings feeling as though a great change +had come over him, as though he were going to do better now; +but this did not last long. A little while and he would be back +in his old mood again. He spent three months this way, drifting, +before he realized that he must do something—that fall and winter +would be coming on again in a little while and he would have +nothing at all.</p> + +<p>In his desperation he first attempted to get an art directorship, +but two or three interviews with publishers of magazines proved +to him pretty quickly that positions of this character were not +handed out to the inexperienced. It required an apprenticeship, +just as anything else did, and those who had positions in this field +elsewhere had the first call. His name or appearance did not +appear to strike any of these gentlemen as either familiar or important +in any way. They had heard of him as an illustrator and +a painter, but his present appearance indicated that this was a +refuge in ill health which he was seeking, not a vigorous, constructive +position, and so they would have none of him. He +next tried at three of the principal publishing houses, but they +did not require anyone in that capacity. Truth to tell he knew +very little of the details and responsibilities of the position, though +he thought he did. After that there was nothing save drygoods +stores, street-car registration offices, the employment offices of +the great railroads and factories. He looked at sugar refineries, +tobacco factories, express offices, railroad freight offices, wondering +whether in any of these it would be possible for him to obtain +a position which would give him a salary of ten dollars a +week. If he could get that, and any of the pictures now on +show with Jacob Bergman, Henry LaRue and Pottle Frères +should be sold, he could get along. He might even live on this +with Angela if he could sell an occasional picture for ten or fifteen +dollars. But he was paying seven dollars a week for nothing +save food and room, and scarcely managing to cling to the +one hundred dollars which had remained of his original traveling +fund after he had paid all his opening expenses here in New +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> +York. He was afraid to part with all his pictures in this way +for fear he would be sorry for it after a while.</p> + +<p>Work is hard to get under the most favorable conditions of +health and youth and ambition, and the difficulties of obtaining +it under unfavorable ones need not be insisted on. Imagine if you +can the crowds of men, forty, fifty, one hundred strong, that +wait at the door of every drygoods employment office, every +street-car registration bureau, on the special days set aside for +considering applications, at every factory, shop or office where +an advertisement calling for a certain type of man or woman was +inserted in the newspapers. On a few occasions that Eugene +tried or attempted to try, he found himself preceded by peculiar +groups of individuals who eyed him curiously as he approached, +wondering, as he thought, whether a man of his type could be +coming to apply for a job. They seemed radically different from +himself to his mind, men with little education and a grim consciousness +of the difficulties of life; young men, vapid looking +men, shabby, stale, discouraged types—men who, like himself, +looked as though they had seen something very much better, +and men who looked as though they had seen things a great deal +worse. The evidence which frightened him was the presence +of a group of bright, healthy, eager looking boys of nineteen, +twenty, twenty-one and twenty-two who, like himself when he +first went to Chicago years before, were everywhere he went. +When he drew near he invariably found it impossible to indicate +in any way that he was looking for anything. He couldn't. +His courage failed him; he felt that he looked too superior; +self-consciousness and shame overcame him.</p> + +<p>He learned now that men rose as early as four o'clock in the +morning to buy a newspaper and ran quickly to the address +mentioned in order to get the place at the head of the line, thus +getting the first consideration as an applicant. He learned that +some other men, such as waiters, cooks, hotel employees and so +on, frequently stayed up all night in order to buy a paper at two +in the morning, winter or summer, rain or snow, heat or cold, +and hurry to the promising addresses they might find. He learned +that the crowds of applicants were apt to become surly or sarcastic +or contentious as their individual chances were jeopardized by +ever-increasing numbers. And all this was going on all the time, +in winter or summer, heat or cold, rain or snow. Pretending +interest as a spectator, he would sometimes stand and watch, +hearing the ribald jests, the slurs cast upon life, fortune, individuals +in particular and in general by those who were wearily +or hopelessly waiting. It was a horrible picture to him in his +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> +present condition. It was like the grinding of the millstones, +upper and nether. These were the chaff. He was a part of the +chaff at present, or in danger of becoming so. Life was winnowing +him out. He might go down, down, and there might never +be an opportunity for him to rise any more.</p> + +<p>Few, if any of us, understand thoroughly the nature of the +unconscious stratification which takes place in life, the layers +and types and classes into which it assorts itself and the barriers +which these offer to a free migration of individuals from one +class to another. We take on so naturally the material habiliments +of our temperaments, necessities and opportunities. Priests, +doctors, lawyers, merchants, appear to be born with their particular +mental attitude and likewise the clerk, the ditch-digger, the +janitor. They have their codes, their guilds and their class +feelings. And while they may be spiritually closely related, they +are physically far apart. Eugene, after hunting for a place for +a month, knew a great deal more about this stratification than +he had ever dreamed of knowing. He found that he was +naturally barred by temperament from some things, from others +by strength and weight, or rather the lack of them; from others, +by inexperience; from others, by age; and so on. And those +who were different from him in any or all of these respects +were inclined to look at him askance. "You are not as we are," +their eyes seemed to say; "why do you come here?"</p> + +<p>One day he approached a gang of men who were waiting +outside a car barn and sought to find out where the registration +office was. He did not lay off his natural manner of superiority—could +not, but asked a man near him if he knew. It had +taken all his courage to do this.</p> + +<p>"He wouldn't be after lookin' fer a place as a conductor +now, would he?" he heard someone say within his hearing. For +some reason this remark took all his courage away. He went +up the wooden stairs to the little office where the application +blanks were handed out, but did not even have the courage to +apply for one. He pretended to be looking for someone and +went out again. Later, before a drygoods superintendent's +office, he heard a youth remark, "Look what wants to be a clerk." +It froze him.</p> + +<p>It is a question how long this aimless, nervous wandering +would have continued if it had not been for the accidental recollection +of an experience which a fellow artist once related to +him of a writer who had found himself nervously depressed +and who, by application to the president of a railroad, had +secured as a courtesy to the profession which he represented so +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> +ably a position as an apprentice in a surveying corps, being given +transportation to a distant section of the country and employed +at a laborer's wages until he was well. Eugene now thought +of this as quite an idea for himself. Why it had not occurred to +him before he did not know. He could apply as an artist—his +appearance would bear him out, and being able to speak from the +vantage point of personal ability temporarily embarrassed by ill +health, his chances of getting something would be so much better. +It would not be the same as a position which he had secured for +himself without fear or favor, but it would be a position, different +from farming with Angela's father because it would command +a salary.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XIX" id="II_CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<p>This idea of appealing to the president of one of the great +railroads that entered New York was not so difficult to +execute. Eugene dressed himself very carefully the next morning, +and going to the office of the company in Forty-second Street, +consulted the list of officers posted in one of the halls, and finding +the president to be on the third floor, ascended. He discovered, +after compelling himself by sheer will power to enter, +that this so-called office was a mere anteroom to a force of assistants +serving the president, and that no one could see him +except by appointment.</p> + +<p>"You might see his secretary if he isn't busy," suggested the +clerk who handled his card gingerly.</p> + +<p>Eugene was for the moment undetermined what to do but +decided that maybe the secretary could help him. He asked that +his card might be taken to him and that no explanation be demanded +of him except by the secretary in person. The latter +came out after a while, an under secretary of perhaps twenty-eight +years of age, short and stout. He was bland and apparently +good natured.</p> + +<p>"What is it I can do for you?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Eugene had been formulating his request in his mind—some +method of putting it briefly and simply.</p> + +<p>"I came up to see Mr. Wilson," he said, "to see if he would +not send me out as a day-laborer of some kind in connection +with some department of the road. I am an artist by profession +and I am suffering from neurasthenia. All the doctors I have +consulted have recommended that I get a simple, manual position +of some kind and work at it until I am well. I know of an +instance in which Mr. Wilson, assisted, in this way, Mr. Savin +the author, and I thought he might be willing to interest himself +in my case."</p> + +<p>At the sound of Henry Savin's name the under-secretary +pricked up his ears. He had, fortunately, read one of his books, +and this together with Eugene's knowledge of the case, his personal +appearance, a certain ring of sincerity in what he was saying, +caused him to be momentarily interested.</p> + +<p>"There is no position in connection with any clerical work +which the president could give you, I am sure," he replied. +"All of these things are subject to a system of promotion. It +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> +might be that he could place you with one of the construction +gangs in one of the departments under a foreman. I don't +know. It's very hard work, though. He might consider your +case." He smiled commiseratingly. "I question whether you're +strong enough to do anything of that sort. It takes a pretty +good man to wield a pick or a shovel."</p> + +<p>"I don't think I had better worry about that now," replied +Eugene in return, smiling wearily. "I'll take the work and see +if it won't help me. I think I need it badly enough."</p> + +<p>He was afraid the under-secretary would repent of his suggestion +and refuse him entirely.</p> + +<p>"Can you wait a little while?" asked the latter curiously. He +had the idea that Eugene was someone of importance, for he had +suggested as a parting argument that he could give a number +of exceptional references.</p> + +<p>"Certainly," said Eugene, and the secretary went his way, coming +back in half an hour to hand him an enveloped letter.</p> + +<p>"We have the idea," he said quite frankly waiving any suggestion +of the president's influence in the matter and speaking for +himself and the secretary-in-chief, with whom he had agreed +that Eugene ought to be assisted, "that you had best apply to +the engineering department. Mr. Hobsen, the chief-engineer, +can arrange for you. This letter I think will get you what +you want."</p> + +<p>Eugene's heart bounded. He looked at the superscription and +saw it addressed to Mr. Woodruff Hobsen, Chief Engineer, and +putting it in his pocket without stopping to read it, but thanking +the under-secretary profusely, went out. In the hall at a safe +distance he stopped and opened it, finding that it spoke of him +familiarly as "Mr. Eugene Witla, an artist, temporarily incapacitated +by neurasthenia," and went on to say that he was +"desirous of being appointed to some manual toil in some construction +corps. The president's office recommends this request +to your favor."</p> + +<p>When he read this he knew it meant a position. It roused +curious feelings as to the nature and value of stratification. As +a laborer he was nothing: as an artist he could get a position as +a laborer. After all, his ability as an artist was worth something. +It obtained him this refuge. He hugged it joyously, and a few +moments later handed it to an under-secretary in the Chief-Engineer's +office. Without being seen by anyone in authority +he was in return given a letter to Mr. William Haverford, +"Engineer of Maintenance of Way," a pale, anæmic gentleman +of perhaps forty years of age, who, as Eugene learned from him +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> +when he was eventually ushered into his presence a half hour +later, was a captain of thirteen thousand men. The latter read +the letter from the Engineer's office curiously. He was struck +by Eugene's odd mission and his appearance as a man. Artists +were queer. This was like one. Eugene reminded him of +himself a little in his appearance.</p> + +<p>"An artist," he said interestedly. "So you want to work as +a day laborer?" He fixed Eugene with clear, coal-black eyes +looking out of a long, pear-shaped face. Eugene noticed that +his hands were long and thin and white and that his high, pale +forehead was crowned by a mop of black hair.</p> + +<p>"Neurasthenia. I've heard a great deal about that of late, +but have never been troubled that way myself. I find that I +derive considerable benefit when I am nervous from the use of +a rubber exerciser. You have seen them perhaps?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," Eugene replied, "I have. My case is much too grave +for that, I think. I have traveled a great deal. But it doesn't +seem to do me any good. I want work at something manual, I +fancy—something at which I have to work. Exercise in a room +would not help me. I think I need a complete change of environment. +I will be much obliged if you will place me in some +capacity."</p> + +<p>"Well, this will very likely be it," suggested Mr. Haverford +blandly. "Working as a day-laborer will certainly not strike +you as play. To tell you the truth, I don't think you can +stand it." He reached for a glass-framed map showing the +various divisions of the railroad stretching from New England +to Chicago and St. Louis, and observed quietly. "I could send +you to a great many places, Pennsylvania, New York, Ohio, +Michigan, Canada." His finger roved idly about. "I have +thirteen thousand men in my department and they are scattered +far and wide."</p> + +<p>Eugene marveled. Such a position! Such authority! This +pale, dark man sitting as an engineer at a switch board directing +so large a machine.</p> + +<p>"You have a large force," he said simply. Mr. Haverford +smiled wanly.</p> + +<p>"I think, if you will take my advice, you will not go in a +construction corps right away. You can hardly do manual labor. +There is a little carpenter shop which we have at Speonk, not +very far outside the city, which I should think would answer +your needs admirably. A little creek joins the Hudson there +and it's out on a point of land, the shop is. It's summer now, +and to put you in a broiling sun with a gang of Italians would be +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> +a little rough. Take my advice and go here. +It will be hard enough. After you are broken in and you think you want a +change I can easily arrange it for you. The money may not +make so much difference to you but you may as well have it. It +will be fifteen cents an hour. I will give you a letter to Mr. +Litlebrown, our division engineer, and he will see that you are +properly provided for."</p> + +<p>Eugene bowed. Inwardly he smiled at the thought that the +money would not be acceptable to him. Anything would be acceptable. +Perhaps this would be best. It was near the city. The +description of the little carpenter shop out on the neck of land +appealed to him. It was, as he found when he looked at the map +of the immediate division to which this belonged, almost within +the city limits. He could live in New York—the upper portion +of it anyhow.</p> + +<p>Again there was a letter, this time to Mr. Henry C. Litlebrown, +a tall, meditative, philosophic man whom Eugene found +two days later in the division offices at Yonkers, who in turn +wrote a letter to Mr. Joseph Brooks, Superintendent of Buildings, +at Mott Haven, whose secretary finally gave Eugene a +letter to Mr. Jack Stix, foreman carpenter at Speonk. This +letter, when presented on a bright Friday afternoon, brought him +the advice to come Monday at seven A. M., and so Eugene saw +a career as a day laborer stretching very conspicuously before him.</p> + +<p>The "little shop" in question was located in the most charming +manner possible. If it had been set as a stage scene for his especial +artistic benefit it could not have been better. On a point of land +between the river and the main line of the railroad and a +little creek, which was east of the railroad and which the latter +crossed on a trestle to get back to the mainland again, it stood, +a long, low two-storey structure, green as to its roof, red as to +its body, full of windows which commanded picturesque views +of passing yachts and steamers and little launches and row-boats +anchored safely in the waters of the cove which the creek formed. +There was a veritable song of labor which arose from this shop, +for it was filled with planes, lathes and wood-turning instruments +of various kinds, to say nothing of a great group of carpenters +who could make desks, chairs, tables, in short, office furniture +of various kinds, and who kept the company's needs of these +fittings for its depots and offices well supplied. Each carpenter +had a bench before a window on the second floor, and in the +centre were the few necessary machines they were always using, +small jig, cross cut, band and rip saws, a plane, and four or five +lathes. On the ground floor was the engine room, the blacksmith's +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> +shop, the giant plane, the great jig and cross cut saws, and +the store room and supply closets. Out in the yard were piles of +lumber, with tracks in between, and twice every day a local +freight called "The Dinky" stopped to switch in or take out +loaded cars of lumber or finished furniture and supplies. Eugene, +as he approached on the day he presented his letter, stopped to admire +the neatness of the low board fence which surrounded it all, +the beauty of the water, the droning sweetness of the saws.</p> + +<p>"Why, the work here couldn't be very hard," he thought. He +saw carpenters looking out of the upper windows, and a couple +of men in brown overalls and jumpers unloading a car. They +were carrying great three-by-six joists on their shoulders. Would +he be asked to do anything like that. He scarcely thought so. +Mr. Haverford had distinctly indicated in his letter to Mr. +Litlebrown that he was to be built up by degrees. Carrying great +joists did not appeal to him as the right way, but he presented +his letter. He had previously looked about on the high ground +which lay to the back of the river and which commanded this +point of land, to see if he could find a place to board and lodge, +but had seen nothing. The section was very exclusive, occupied +by suburban New Yorkers of wealth, and they were not +interested in the proposition which he had formulated in his +own mind, namely his temporary reception somewhere as a paying +guest. He had visions of a comfortable home somewhere +now with nice people, for strangely enough the securing of this +very minor position had impressed him as the beginning of the +end of his bad luck. He was probably going to get well now, +in the course of time. If he could only live with some nice +family for the summer. In the fall if he were improving, and +he thought he might be, Angela could come on. It might be +that one of the dealers, Pottle Frères or Jacob Bergman or +Henry LaRue would have sold a picture. One hundred and +fifty or two hundred dollars joined to his salary would go a long +way towards making their living moderately comfortable. Besides +Angela's taste and economy, coupled with his own art judgment, +could make any little place look respectable and attractive.</p> + +<p>The problem of finding a room was not so easy. He followed +the track south to a settlement which was visible from the shop +windows a quarter of a mile away, and finding nothing which +suited his taste as to location, returned to Speonk proper and +followed the little creek inland half a mile. This adventure delighted +him for it revealed a semi-circle of charming cottages +ranged upon a hill slope which had for its footstool the little +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> +silvery-bosomed stream. Between the stream and the hill slope +ran a semi-circular road and above that another road. Eugene +could see at a glance that here was middle class prosperity, +smooth lawns, bright awnings, flower pots of blue and yellow +and green upon the porches, doorsteps and verandas. An auto +standing in front of one house indicated a certain familiarity with +the ways of the rich, and a summer road house, situated at the +intersection of a road leading out from New York and the little +stream where it was crossed by a bridge, indicated that the +charms of this village were not unknown to those who came +touring and seeking for pleasure. The road house itself was +hung with awnings and one dining balcony out over the water. +Eugene's desire was fixed on this village at once. He wanted +to live here—anywhere in it. He walked about under the +cool shade of the trees looking at first one door yard and then +another wishing that he might introduce himself by letter and +be received. They ought to welcome an artist of his ability and +refinement and would, he thought, if they knew. His working +in a furniture factory or for the railroad as a day laborer for his +health simply added to his picturesque character. In his wanderings +he finally came upon a Methodist church quaintly built of +red brick and grey stone trimmings, and the sight of its tall, +stained glass windows and square fortress-like bell-tower gave +him an idea. Why not appeal to the minister? He could +explain to him what he wanted, show him his credentials—for +he had with him old letters from editors, publishers and art +houses—and give him a clear understanding as to why he wanted +to come here at all. His ill health and distinction ought to +appeal to this man, and he would probably direct him to some +one who would gladly have him. At five in the afternoon he +knocked at the door and was received in the pastor's study—a +large still room in which a few flies were buzzing in the shaded +light. In a few moments the minister himself came in—a tall, +grey-headed man, severely simple in his attire and with the easy +air of one who is used to public address. He was about to ask +what he could do for him when Eugene began with his explanation.</p> + +<p>"You don't know me at all. I am a stranger in this section. +I am an artist by profession and I am coming to Speonk on +Monday to work in the railroad shop there for my health. I have +been suffering from a nervous breakdown and am going to try +day labor for awhile. I want to find a convenient, pleasant place +to live, and I thought you might know of someone here, or near +here, who might be willing to take me in for a little while. I +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span> +can give excellent references. There doesn't appear to be anything +in the immediate neighborhood of the shop."</p> + +<p>"It is rather isolated there," replied the old minister, studying +Eugene carefully. "I have often wondered how all those men +like it, traveling so far. None of them live about here." He +looked at Eugene solemnly, taking in his various characteristics. +He was not badly impressed. He seemed to be a reserved, +thoughtful, dignified young man and decidedly artistic. It struck +him as very interesting that he should be trying so radical a thing +as day labor for his nerves.</p> + +<p>"Let me see," he said thoughtfully. He sat down in his chair +near his table and put his hand over his eyes. "I don't think +of anyone just at the moment. There are plenty of families +who have room to take you if they would, but I question very +much whether they would. In fact I'm rather sure they wouldn't. +Let me see now."</p> + +<p>He thought again.</p> + +<p>Eugene studied his big aquiline nose, his shaggy grey eyebrows, +his thick, crisp, grey hair. Already his mind was +sketching him, the desk, the dim walls, the whole atmosphere of +the room.</p> + +<p>"No, no," he said slowly. "I don't think of anyone. There +is one family—Mrs. Hibberdell. She lives in the—let me see—first, +second, third, tenth house above here. She has one nephew +with her at present, a young man of about your age, and I don't +think anyone else. I don't know that she would consider taking +you in, but she might. Her house is quite large. She did have +her daughter with her at one time, but I'm not sure that she's +there now. I think not."</p> + +<p>He talked as though he were reporting his own thoughts to +himself audibly.</p> + +<p>Eugene pricked up his ears at the mention of a daughter. +During all the time he had been out of New York he had not, +with the exception of Frieda, had a single opportunity to talk +intimately with any girl. Angela had been with him all the time. +Here in New York since he had been back he had been living +under such distressing conditions that he had not thought of +either youth or love. He had no business to be thinking of it +now, but this summer air, this tree-shaded village, the fact that +he had a position, small as it was, on which he could depend +and which would no doubt benefit him mentally, and that he was +somehow feeling better about himself because he was going to +work, made him feel that he might look more interestedly on life +again. He was not going to die; he was going to get well. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span> +Finding this position proved it. And he might go to the house +now and find some charming girl who would like him very much. +Angela was away. He was alone. He had again the freedom of +his youth. If he were only well and working!</p> + +<p>He thanked the old minister very politely and went his way, +recognizing the house by certain details given him by the minister, +a double balconied veranda, some red rockers, two yellow +jardinières at the doorstep, a greyish white picket fence and gate. +He walked up smartly and rang the bell. A very intelligent +woman of perhaps fifty-five or sixty with bright grey hair and +clear light blue eyes was coming out with a book in her hand. +Eugene stated his case. She listened with keen interest, looking +him over the while. His appearance took her fancy, for she +was of a strong intellectual and literary turn of mind.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't ordinarily consider anything of the kind, but I +am alone here with my nephew and the house could easily accommodate +a dozen. I don't want to do anything which will irritate +him, but if you will come back in the morning I will let you +know. It would not disturb me to have you about. Do you +happen to know of an artist by the name of Deesa?"</p> + +<p>"I know him well," replied Eugene. "He's an old friend of +mine."</p> + +<p>"He is a friend of my daughter's, I think. Have you enquired +anywhere else here in the village?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Eugene.</p> + +<p>"That is just as well," she replied.</p> + +<p>He took the hint.</p> + +<p>So there was no daughter here. Well, what matter? The +view was beautiful. Of an evening he could sit out here in one +of the rocking chairs and look at the water. The evening sun, +already low in the west was burnishing it a bright gold. The +outline of the hill on the other side was dignified and peaceful. +He could sleep and work as a day laborer and take life easy for +a while. He could get well now and this was the way to do it. +Day laborer! How fine, how original, how interesting. He felt +somewhat like a knight-errant reconnoitring a new and very +strange world.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XX" id="II_CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<p>The matter of securing admission to this house was quickly +settled. The nephew, a genial, intelligent man of thirty-four, +as Eugene discovered later, had no objection. It appeared +to Eugene that in some way he contributed to the support of +this house, though Mrs. Hibberdell obviously had some money +of her own. A charmingly furnished room on the second floor +adjoining one of the several baths was assigned him, and he was +at once admitted to the freedom of the house. There were books, +a piano (but no one to play it), a hammock, a maid-of-all-work, +and an atmosphere of content and peace. Mrs. Hibberdell, a +widow, presumably of some years of widowhood, was of that +experience and judgment in life which gave her intellectual poise. +She was not particularly inquisitive about anything in connection +with him, and so far as he could see from surface indications +was refined, silent, conservative. She could jest, and did, in a +subtle understanding way. He told her quite frankly at the +time he applied that he was married, that his wife was in the West +and that he expected her to return after his health was somewhat +improved. She talked with him about art and books and life +in general. Music appeared to be to her a thing apart. She +did not care much for it. The nephew, Davis Simpson, was +neither literary nor artistic, and apparently cared little for music. +He was a buyer for one of the larger department stores, a slight, +dapper, rather dandified type of man, with a lean, not thin but +tight-muscled face, and a short black mustache, and he appeared +to be interested only in the humors of character, trade, baseball +and methods of entertaining himself. The things that pleased +Eugene about him were that he was clean, simple, direct, good-natured +and courteous. He had apparently no desire to infringe +on anybody's privacy, but was fond of stirring up light discussions +and interpolating witty remarks. He liked also to grow flowers +and to fish. The care of a border of flowers which glorified a +short gravel path in the back yard received his especial attention +evenings and mornings.</p> + +<p>It was a great pleasure for Eugene to come into this atmosphere +after the storm which had been assailing him for the past three +years, and particularly for the past ninety days. He was only +asked to pay eight dollars a week by Mrs. Hibberdell, though +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> +he realized that what he was obtaining in home atmosphere +here was not ordinarily purchasable at any price in the public +market. The maid saw to it that a little bouquet of flowers was +put on his dressing table daily. He was given fresh towels and +linen in ample quantities. The bath was his own. He could sit +out on the porch of an evening and look at the water uninterrupted +or he could stay in the library and read. Breakfast and +dinner were invariably delightful occasions, for though he rose +at five-forty-five in order to have his bath, breakfast, and be +able to walk to the factory and reach it by seven, Mrs. Hibberdell +was invariably up, as it was her habit to rise thus early, had +been so for years. She liked it. Eugene in his weary mood +could scarcely understand this. Davis came to the table some +few moments before he would be leaving. He invariably had +some cheery remark to offer, for he was never sullen or gloomy. +His affairs, whatever they were, did not appear to oppress him. +Mrs. Hibberdell would talk to Eugene genially about his work, +this small, social centre of which they were a part and which +was called Riverwood, the current movements in politics, religion, +science and so forth. There were references sometimes to her +one daughter, who was married and living in New York. It +appeared that she occasionally visited her mother here. Eugene +was delighted to think he had been so fortunate as to find this +place. He hoped to make himself so agreeable that there would +be no question as to his welcome, and he was not disappointed.</p> + +<p>Between themselves Mrs. Hibberdell and Davis discussed him, +agreeing that he was entirely charming, a good fellow, and well +worth having about. At the factory where Eugene worked +and where the conditions were radically different, he made for +himself an atmosphere which was almost entirely agreeable to +him, though he quarreled at times with specific details. On +the first morning, for instance, he was put to work with two +men, heavy clods of souls he thought at first, familiarly known +about the yard as John and Bill. These two, to his artistic eye, +appeared machines, more mechanical than humanly self-directive. +They were of medium height, not more than five feet, nine inches +tall and weighed about one hundred and eighty pounds each. One +had a round, poorly modeled face very much the shape of an egg, +to which was attached a heavy yellowish mustache. He had a +glass eye, complicated in addition by a pair of spectacles which +were fastened over his large, protruding red ears with steel hooks. +He wore a battered brown hat, now a limp shapeless mass. His +name was Bill Jeffords and he responded sometimes to the +sobriquet of "One Eye."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> +The other man was John alias "Jack" Duncan, an individual +of the same height and build with but slightly more modeling +to his face and with little if any greater intelligence. He +looked somewhat the shrewder—Eugene fancied there might be +lurking in him somewhere a spark of humor, but he was mistaken. +Unquestionably in Jeffords there was none. Jack Stix, +the foreman-carpenter, a tall, angular, ambling man with red +hair, a red mustache, shifty, uncertain blue eyes and noticeably big +hands and feet, had suggested to Eugene that he work with +these men for a little while. It was his idea to "try him out," +as he told one of the associate foremen who was in charge of a +gang of Italians working in the yard for the morning, and he was +quite equal to doing it. He thought Eugene had no business +here and might possibly be scared off by a little rough work.</p> + +<p>"He's up here for his health," he told him. "I don't know +where he comes from. Mr. Brooks sent him up here with +orders to put him on. I want to see how he takes to real work +for awhile."</p> + +<p>"Look out you don't hurt him," suggested the other. "He +don't look very strong to me."</p> + +<p>"He's strong enough to carry a few spiles, I guess. If Jimmy +can carry 'em, he can. I don't intend to keep him at it long."</p> + +<p>Eugene knew nothing of this, but when he was told to "come +along, new man" and shown a pile of round, rough ash trunk +cutting six inches in diameter and eight feet long, his courage +failed him. He was suffered to carry some of these to the second +floor, how many he did not know.</p> + +<p>"Take 'em to Thompson up there in the corner," said Jeffords +dully.</p> + +<p>Eugene grasped one uncertainly in the middle with his thin, +artistic hands. He did not know that there were ways of handling +lumber just as there were ways of handling a brush. He +tried to lift it but could not. The rough bark scratched his +fingers cruelly.</p> + +<p>"Yah gotta learn somepin about that before yuh begin, I +guess," said Jack Duncan, who had been standing by eyeing +him narrowly.</p> + +<p>Jeffords had gone about some other work.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I don't know very much about it," replied Eugene +shamefacedly stopping and waiting for further instructions.</p> + +<p>"Lemme show you a trick," said his associate. "There's tricks +in all these here trades. Take it by the end this-a-way, and +push it along until you can stand it up. Stoop down now and put +your shoulder right next the middle. Gotta pad under your +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> +shirt? You oughtta have one. Now put your right arm out +ahead o'yuh, on the spile. Now you're all right."</p> + +<p>Eugene straightened up and the rough post balanced itself +evenly but crushingly on his shoulder. It appeared to grind his +muscles and his back and legs ached instantly. He started +bravely forward straining to appear at ease but within fifty feet +he was suffering agony. He walked the length of the shop, +however, up the stairs and back again to the window where +Thompson was, his forehead bursting with perspiration and his +ears red with blood. He fairly staggered as he neared the +machine and dropped the post heavily.</p> + +<p>"Look what you're doin'," said a voice behind him. It was +Thompson, the lathe worker. "Can't you put that down easy?"</p> + +<p>"No, I can't," replied Eugene angrily, his face tinged with a +faint blush from his extreme exertion. He was astonished and +enraged to think they should put him to doing work like this, +especially since Mr. Haverford had told him it would be easy. +He suspected at once a plot to drive him away. He would have +added "these are too damn heavy for me," but he restrained himself. +He went down stairs wondering how he was to get up the +others. He fingered about the pole gingerly hoping that the time +taken this way would ease his pain and give him strength for the +next one. Finally he picked up another and staggered painfully +to the loft again. The foreman had his eye on him but said +nothing. It amused him a little to think Eugene was having +such a hard time. It wouldn't hurt him for a change, would do +him good. "When he gets four carried up let him go," he said +to Thompson, however, feeling that he had best lighten the situation +a little. The latter watched Eugene out of the tail of his +eye noting the grimaces he made and the strain he was undergoing, +but he merely smiled. When four had been dropped on +the floor he said: "That'll do for the present," and Eugene, +heaving a groan of relief, went angrily away. In his nervous, +fantastic, imaginative and apprehensive frame of mind, he +imagined he had been injured for life. He feared he had strained +a muscle or broken a blood vessel somewhere.</p> + +<p>"Good heavens, I can't stand anything like this," he thought. +"If the work is going to be this hard I'll have to quit. I wonder +what they mean by treating me this way. I didn't come here to +do this."</p> + +<p>Visions of days and weeks of back-breaking toil stretched before +him. It would never do. He couldn't stand it. He saw his +old search for work coming back, and this frightened him in +another direction. "I mustn't give up so easily," he counseled +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> +himself in spite of his distress. "I have to stick this out a little +while anyhow." It seemed in this first trying hour as though he +were between the devil and the deep sea. He went slowly +down into the yard to find Jeffords and Duncan. They were +working at a car, one inside receiving lumber to be piled, the +other bringing it to him.</p> + +<p>"Get down, Bill," said John, who was on the ground looking +up at his partner indifferently. "You get up there, new man. +What's your name?"</p> + +<p>"Witla," said Eugene.</p> + +<p>"Well, my name's Duncan. We'll bring this stuff to you and +you pile it."</p> + +<p>It was more heavy lumber, as Eugene apprehensively observed, +quarter cut joists for some building—"four by fours" they called +them—but after he was shown the art of handling them they +were not unmanageable. There were methods of sliding and +balancing them which relieved him of a great quantity of labor. +Eugene had not thought to provide himself with gloves though, +and his hands were being cruelly torn. He stopped once to +pick a splinter out of his thumb and Jeffords, who was coming +up, asked, "Ain't cha got no gloves?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Eugene, "I didn't think to get any."</p> + +<p>"Your hands'll get pretty well bunged up, I'm afraid. Maybe +Joseph'll let you have his for to-day, you might go in and ask +him."</p> + +<p>"Where's Joseph?" asked Eugene.</p> + +<p>"He's inside there. He's taking from the plane."</p> + +<p>Eugene did not understand this quite. He knew what a plane +was, had been listening to it sing mightily all the morning, the +shavings flying as it smoothed the boards, but <i>taking</i>?</p> + +<p>"Where's Joseph?" he asked of the plane driver.</p> + +<p>He nodded his head to a tall hump-shouldered boy of perhaps +twenty-two. He was a big, simple, innocent looking fellow. +His face was long and narrow, his mouth wide, his eyes a watery +blue, his hair a shock of brown, loose and wavy, with a good +sprinkling of sawdust in it. About his waist was a big piece +of hemp bagging tied by a grass rope. He wore an old faded +wool cap with a long visor in order to shield his eyes from the +flying chips and dust, and when Eugene came in one hand was +lifted protectingly to shield his eyes. Eugene approached him +deprecatingly.</p> + +<p>"One of the men out in the yard said that you might have a +pair of gloves you would lend me for to-day. I'm piling lumber +and it's tearing my hands. I forgot to get a pair."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span> +"Sure," said Joseph genially waving his hand to the driver +to stop. "They're over here in my locker. I know what that is. +I been there. When I come here they rubbed it into me jist +as they're doin' to you. Doncher mind. You'll come out all +right. Up here for your health, are you? It ain't always like +that. Somedays there ain't most nothin' to do here. Then somedays +ag'in there's a whole lot. Well, it's good healthy work, +I can say that. I ain't most never sick. Nice fresh air we git +here and all that."</p> + +<p>He rambled on, fumbling under his bagging apron for his keys, +unlocking his locker and producing a great pair of old yellow +lumber gloves. He gave them to Eugene cheerfully and the latter +thanked him. He liked Eugene at once and Eugene liked +him. "A nice fellow that," he said, as he went back to his car. +"Think of how genially he gave me these. Lovely! If only all +men were as genial and kindly disposed as this boy, how nice the +world would be." He put on the gloves and found his work instantly +easier for he could grasp the joists firmly and without +pain. He worked on until noon when the whistle blew and he +ate a dreary lunch sitting by himself on one side, pondering. +After one he was called to carry shavings, one basket after another +back through the blacksmith shop to the engine room in the +rear where was a big shaving bin. By four o'clock he had seen +almost all the characters he was going to associate with for the +time that he stayed there. Harry Fornes, the blacksmith or "the +village smith," as Eugene came to call him later on, Jimmy +Sudds, the blacksmith's helper or "maid-of-all-work" as he +promptly named him; John Peters, the engineer, Malachi Dempsey, +the driver of the great plane, Joseph Mews and, in addition, +carpenters, tin-smiths, plumbers, painters, and those few exceptional +cabinet makers who passed through the lower floor now +and then, men who were about the place from time to time +and away from it at others all of whom took note of Eugene +at first as a curiosity.</p> + +<p>Eugene was himself intensely interested in the men. Harry +Fornes and Jimmy Sudds attracted him especially. The former +was an undersized American of distant Irish extraction who was +so broad chested, swollen armed, square-jawed and generally self-reliant +and forceful as to seem a minor Titan. He was remarkably +industrious, turning out a great deal of work and +beating a piece of iron with a resounding lick which could be +heard all about the hills and hollows outside. Jimmy Sudds, his +assistant, was like his master equally undersized, dirty, gnarled, +twisted, his teeth showing like a row of yellow snags, his ears +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> +standing out like small fans, his eye askew, but nevertheless with +so genial a look in his face as to disarm criticism at once. Every +body liked Jimmy Sudds because he was honest, single-minded +and free of malicious intent. His coat was three and his trousers +two times too large for him, and his shoes were obviously bought +at a second-hand store, but he had the vast merit of being a +picture. Eugene was fascinated with him. He learned shortly +that Jimmy Sudds truly believed that buffaloes were to be shot +around Buffalo, New York.</p> + +<p>John Peters, the engineer, was another character who fixed his +attention. John was almost helplessly fat and was known for +this reason as "Big John." He was a veritable whale of a man. +Six feet tall, weighing over three hundred pounds and standing +these summer days in his hot engine room, his shirt off, his suspenders +down, his great welts of fat showing through his thin +cotton undershirt, he looked as though he might be suffering, +but he was not. John, as Eugene soon found out, did not take +life emotionally. He stood mostly in his engine room door when +the shade was there staring out on the glistening water of the +river, occasionally wishing that he didn't need to work but could +lie and sleep indefinitely instead.</p> + +<p>"Wouldja think them fellers would feel purty good sittin' out +there on the poop deck of them there yachts smokin' their perfectos?" +he once asked Eugene, apropos of the magnificent private +vessels that passed up and down the river.</p> + +<p>"I certainly would," laughed Eugene.</p> + +<p>"Aw! Haw! That's the life fer yer uncle Dudley. I could +do that there with any of 'em. Aw! Haw!"</p> + +<p>Eugene laughed joyously.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's the life," he said. "We all could stand our share."</p> + +<p>Malachi Dempsey, the driver of the great plane, was dull, +tight-mouthed, silent, more from lack of ideas than anything +else, though oyster-wise he had learned to recede from all manner +of harm by closing his shell tightly. He knew no way to avoid +earthly harm save by being preternaturally silent, and Eugene saw +this quickly. He used to stare at him for long periods at a time, +marvelling at the curiosity his attitude presented. Eugene himself, +though, was a curiosity to the others, even more so than +they to him. He did not look like a workingman and could not +be made to do so. His spirit was too high, his eye too flashing and +incisive. He smiled at himself carrying basketful after basketful +of shavings from the planing room, where it rained shavings +and from which, because of the lack of a shaving blower, they +had to be removed back to the hot engine room where Big John +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> +presided. The latter took a great fancy to Eugene, but something +after the fashion of a dog for a master. He did not have +a single idea above his engine, his garden at home, his wife, +his children and his pipe. These and sleep—lots of it—were his +joys, his recreations, the totality of his world.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XXI" id="II_CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<p>There were many days now, three months all told, in which +Eugene obtained insight into the workaday world such as +he had not previously had. It is true he had worked before in +somewhat this fashion, but his Chicago experience was without +the broad philosophic insight which had come to him since. +Formerly the hierarchies of power in the universe and on earth +were inexplicable to him—all out of order; but here, where he +saw by degrees ignorant, almost animal intelligence, being directed +by greater, shrewder, and at times it seemed to him possibly +malicious intelligences—he was not quite sure about that—who +were so strong that the weaker ones must obey them, he began +to imagine that in a rough way life might possibly be ordered +to the best advantage even under this system. It was true that +men quarreled here with each other as to who should be allowed +to lead. There was here as elsewhere great seeking for the +privileges and honors of direction and leadership in such petty +things as the proper piling of lumber, the planing of boards, the +making of desks and chairs, and men were grimly jealous of their +talents and abilities in these respects, but in the main it was the +jealousy that makes for ordered, intelligent control. All were +striving to do the work of intelligence, not of unintelligence. +Their pride, however ignorant it might be, was in the superior, +not the inferior. They might complain of their work, snarl at +each other, snarl at their bosses, but after all it was because +they were not able or permitted to do the higher work and carry +out the orders of the higher mind. All were striving to do something +in a better way, a superior way, and to obtain the honors +and emoluments that come from doing anything in a superior +way. If they were not rewarded according to their estimate of +their work there was wrath and opposition and complaint and +self-pity, but the work of the superior intelligence was the thing +which each in his blind, self-seeking way was apparently trying +to do.</p> + +<p>Because he was not so far out of his troubles that he could +be forgetful of them, and because he was not at all certain that +his talent to paint was ever coming back to him, he was not +as cheerful at times as he might have been; but he managed to +conceal it pretty well. This one thought with its attendant +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> +ills of probable poverty and obscurity were terrible to him. Time +was slipping away and youth. But when he was not thinking of +this he was cheerful enough. Besides he had the ability to +simulate cheerfulness even when he did not feel it. Because he +did not permanently belong to this world of day labor and +because his position which had been given him as a favor was +moderately secure, he felt superior to everything about him. He +did not wish to show this feeling in any way—was very anxious +as a matter of fact to conceal it, but his sense of superiority and +ultimate indifference to all these petty details was an abiding +thought with him. He went to and fro carrying a basket of shavings, +jesting with "the village smith," making friends with +"Big John," the engineer, with Joseph, Malachi Dempsey, little +Jimmy Sudds, in fact anyone and everyone who came near him +who would be friends. He took a pencil one day at the noon +hour and made a sketch of Harry Fornes, the blacksmith, his +arm upraised at the anvil, his helper, Jimmy Sudds, standing +behind him, the fire glowing in the forge. Fornes, who was +standing beside him, looking over his shoulder, could scarcely +believe his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Wotcha doin'?" he asked Eugene curiously, looking over his +shoulder, for it was at the blacksmith's table, in the sun of his +window that he was sitting, looking out at the water. Eugene +had bought a lunch box and was carrying with him daily a +delectable lunch put up under Mrs. Hibberdell's direction. He +had eaten his noonday meal and was idling, thinking over the +beauty of the scene, his peculiar position, the curiosities of this +shop—anything and everything that came into his head.</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute," he said genially, for he and the smith were +already as thick as thieves.</p> + +<p>The latter gazed interestedly and finally exclaimed:</p> + +<p>"W'y that's me, ain't it?"</p> + +<p>"Yep!" said Eugene.</p> + +<p>"Wat are you goin' to do with that wen you get through with +it?" asked the latter avariciously.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to give it to you, of course."</p> + +<p>"Say, I'm much obliged fer that," replied the smith delightedly. +"Gee, the wife'll be tickled to see that. You're a artist, ain't +cher? I hearda them fellers. I never saw one. Gee, that's good, +that looks just like me, don't it?"</p> + +<p>"Something," said Eugene quietly, still working.</p> + +<p>The helper came in.</p> + +<p>"Watcha' doin'?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"He's drawin' a pitcher, ya rube, watchye suppose he's doin'," +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span> +informed the blacksmith authoritatively. "Don't git too close. +He's gotta have room."</p> + +<p>"Aw, whose crowdin'?" asked the helper irritably. He realized +at once that his superior was trying to shove him in the +background, this being a momentous occasion. He did not propose +that any such thing should happen. The blacksmith glared +at him irritably but the progress of the art work was too exciting +to permit of any immediate opportunities for hostilities, so Jimmy +was allowed to crowd close and see.</p> + +<p>"Ho, ho! that's you, ain't it," he asked the smith curiously, +indicating with a grimy thumb the exact position of that dignitary +on the drawing.</p> + +<p>"Don't," said the latter, loftily—"sure! He's gotta have +room."</p> + +<p>"An' there's me. Ho! Ho! Gee, I look swell, don't I? +Ho! ho!"</p> + +<p>The little helper's tushes were showing joyously—a smile +that extended far about either side of his face. He was entirely +unconscious of the rebuke administered by the smith.</p> + +<p>"If you're perfectly good, Jimmy," observed Eugene cheerfully +still working, "I may make a sketch of you, sometime!"</p> + +<p>"Na! Will you? Go on! Say, hully chee. Dat'll be fine, +won't it? Say, ho! ho! De folks at home won't know me. I'd +like to have a ting like dat, say!"</p> + +<p>Eugene smiled. The smith was regretful. This dividing of +honors was not quite all that it might be. Still his own picture +was delightful. It looked exactly like the shop. Eugene worked +until the whistle blew and the belts began to slap and the wheels +to whirr. Then he got up.</p> + +<p>"There you are, Fornes," he said. "Like it?"</p> + +<p>"Gee, it's swell," said the latter and carried it to the locker. +He took it out after a bit though and hung it up over his bench +on the wall opposite his forge, for he wanted everyone to see. +It was one of the most significant events in his life. This sketch +was the subject immediately of a perfect storm of discussion. +Eugene was an artist—could draw pictures—that was a revelation +in itself. Then this picture was so life-like. It looked like +Fornes and Sudds and the shop. Everyone was interested. +Everyone jealous. They could not understand how God had +favored the smith in this manner. Why hadn't Eugene sketched +them before he did him? Why didn't he immediately offer to +sketch them now? Big John came first, tipped off and piloted +by Jimmy Sudds.</p> + +<p>"Say!" he said his big round eyes popping with surprise. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span> +"There's some class to that, what? That looks like you, Fornes. +Jinged if it don't! An' Suddsy! Bless me if there ain't Suddsy. +Say, there you are, kid, natural as life, damned if you ain't. +That's fine. You oughta keep that, smith."</p> + +<p>"I intend to," said the latter proudly.</p> + +<p>Big John went back to his engine room regretfully. Next +came Joseph Mews, his shoulders humped, his head bobbing +like a duck, for he had this habit of nodding when he walked.</p> + +<p>"Say, wot d'ye thinka that?" he asked. "Ain't that fine. He +kin drawr jist as good as they do in them there magazines. I see +them there things in them, now an' then. Ain't that swell? +Lookit Suddsy back in there. Eh, Suddsy, you're in right, +all right. I wisht he'd make a picture o' us out there. We're +just as good as you people. Wats the matter with us, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he ain't goin' to be bothered makin' pitchers of you +mokes," replied the smith jestingly. "He only draws real ones. +You want to remember that, Mews. He's gotta have good people +to make sketches of. None o' your half-class plane-drivers and +jig-saw operators."</p> + +<p>"Is that so? Is that so?" replied Joseph contemptuously, +his love of humor spurred by the slight cast upon his ability. +"Well if he was lookin' for real ones he made a mistake wen he +come here. They're all up front. You don't want to forget that, +smith. They don't live in no blacksmith's shop as I ever seen it."</p> + +<p>"Cut it out! Cut it out!" called little Sudds from a position +of vantage near the door. "Here comes the boss," and Joseph +immediately pretended to be going to the engine room for a +drink. The smith blew up his fire as though it were necessary +to heat the iron he had laid in the coals. Jack Stix came ambling +by.</p> + +<p>"Who did that?" he asked, stopping after a single general, +glance and looking at the sketch on the wall.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Witla, the new man," replied the smith, reverently.</p> + +<p>"Say, that's pretty good, ain't it?" the foreman replied pleasantly. +"He did that well. He must be an artist."</p> + +<p>"I think he is," replied the smith, cautiously. He was always +eager to curry favor with the boss. He came near to his side +and looked over his arm. "He done it here today at noon in +about a half an hour."</p> + +<p>"Say, that's pretty good now," and the foreman went on his +way, thinking.</p> + +<p>If Eugene could do that, why was he here? It must be his +run down condition, sure enough. And he must be the friend of +someone high in authority. He had better be civil. Hitherto +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span> +he had stood in suspicious awe of Eugene, not knowing what to +make of him. He could not figure out just why he was here—a +spy possibly. Now he thought that he might be mistaken.</p> + +<p>"Don't let him work too hard," he told Bill and John. "He +ain't any too strong yet. He came up here for his health."</p> + +<p>He was obeyed in this respect, for there was no gain-saying the +wishes of a foreman, but this open plea for consideration was the +one thing if any which could have weakened Eugene's popularity. +The men did not like the foreman. He would have been stronger +at any time in the affections of the men if the foreman had +been less markedly considerate or against him entirely.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The days which followed were restful enough though hard, for +Eugene found that the constant whirl of work which went on +here, and of which he had naturally to do his share, was beneficial +to him. For the first time in several years he slept soundly. He +would don his suit of blue overalls and jumper in the morning a +few minutes before the whistle blew at seven and from then +on until noon, and from one o'clock until six he would carry +shavings, pile lumber for one or several of the men in the yard, +load or unload cars, help Big John stoke his boilers, or carry chips +and shavings from the second floor. He wore an old hat which +he had found in a closet at Mrs. Hibberdell's, a faded, crumpled +memory of a soft tan-colored sombrero which he punched jauntily +to a peak and wore over one ear. He had big new yellow +gloves which he kept on his hands all day, which were creased +and frayed, but plenty good enough for this shop and yard. He +learned to handle lumber nicely, to pile with skill, to "take" for +Malachi Dempsey from the plane, to drive the jig-saw, and other +curious bits. He was tireless in his energy because he was weary +of thinking and hoped by sheer activity to beat down and overcome +his notion of artistic inability—to forget that he believed +that he couldn't paint and so be able to paint again. He had +surprised himself in these sketches he had made, for his first feeling +under the old régime would have been that he could not +make them. Here, because the men were so eager and he was so +much applauded, he found it rather easy and, strange to say, +he thought they were good.</p> + +<p>At the home of Mrs. Hibberdell at night he would lay off +all his working clothes before dinner, take a cold bath and don a +new brown suit, which because of the assurance of this position +he had bought for eighteen dollars, ready made. He found it +hard to get off to buy anything, for his pay ceased (fifteen cents +an hour) the moment he left the shop. He had put his pictures +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> +in storage in New York and could not get off (or at least did not +want to take the time off) to go and sell any. He found that he +could leave without question if he wanted no pay, but if he +wanted pay and had a good reason he could sometimes be excused. +His appearance about the house and yard after six-thirty in the +evening and on Sundays was attractive enough. He looked +delicate, refined, conservative, and, when not talking to someone, +rather wistful. He was lonely and restless, for he felt terribly +out of it. This house was lonely. As at Alexandria, before he +met Frieda, he was wishing there were some girls about. He +wondered where Frieda was, what she was doing, whether she had +married. He hoped not. If life had only given him a girl like +Frieda—so young, so beautiful! He would sit and gaze at the +water after dark in the moonlight, for this was his one consolation—the +beauty of nature—thinking. How lovely it all was! How +lovely life was,—this village, the summer trees, the shop where +he worked, the water, Joseph, little Jimmy, Big John, the stars. +If he could paint again, if he could be in love again. In love! +In love! Was there any other sensation in the world like that +of being in love?</p> + +<p>A spring evening, say, some soft sweet odours blowing as they +were tonight, the dark trees bending down, or the twilight angelically +silver, hyacinth, orange, some soothing murmurs of the +wind; some faint chirping of the tree-toads or frogs and then your +girl. Dear God! Could anything be finer than that? Was +anything else in life worth while? Your girl, her soft young +arms about your neck, her lips to yours in pure love, her eyes +speaking like twin pools of color here in the night.</p> + +<p>So had it been only a little while ago with Frieda. So had +it been once with Angela. So long ago with Stella! Dear, sweet +Stella, how nice she was. And now here he was sick and lonely +and married and Angela would be coming back soon—and—He +would get up frequently to shut out these thoughts, and either +read or walk or go to bed. But he was lonely, almost irritably so. +There was only one true place of comfort for Eugene anywhere +and that was in the spring time in love.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XXII" id="II_CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<p>It was while he was mooning along in this mood, working, +dreaming, wishing, that there came, one day to her mother's +house at Riverwood, Carlotta Wilson—Mrs. Norman Wilson, +in the world in which she moved—a tall brunette of thirty-two, +handsome after the English fashion, shapely, graceful, with a +knowledge of the world which was not only compounded of +natural intelligence and a sense of humor, but experiences fortunate +and unfortunate which had shown her both the showy and +the seamy sides of life. To begin with she was the wife of a +gambler—a professional gambler—of that peculiar order which +essays the rôle of a gentleman, looks the part, and fleeces unmercifully +the unwary partakers of their companionship. Carlotta +Hibberdell, living with her mother at that time in Springfield, +Massachusetts, had met him at a local series of races, which +she was attending with her father and mother, where Wilson +happened to be accidentally upon another mission. Her father, +a real estate dealer, and fairly successful at one time, was very +much interested in racing horses, and owned several of worthy +records though of no great fame. Norman Wilson had posed as +a real estate speculator himself, and had handled several fairly +successful deals in land, but his principal skill and reliance was +in gambling. He was familiar with all the gambling opportunities +of the city, knew a large circle of those who liked +to gamble, men and women in New York and elsewhere, and +his luck or skill at times was phenomenal. At other times it was +very bad. There were periods when he could afford to live in +the most expensive apartment houses, dine at the best restaurants, +visit the most expensive country pleasure resorts and otherwise +disport himself in the companionship of friends. At other +times, because of bad luck, he could not afford any of these +things and though he held to his estate grimly had to borrow +money to do it. He was somewhat of a fatalist in his interpretation +of affairs and would hang on with the faith that his luck +would turn. It did turn invariably, of course, for when difficulties +began to swarm thick and fast he would think vigorously +and would usually evolve some idea which served to help him +out. His plan was always to spin a web like a spider and await +the blundering flight of some unwary fly.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span> +At the time she married him Carlotta Hibberdell did not know +of the peculiar tendencies and subtle obsession of her ardent +lover. Like all men of his type he was suave, persuasive, passionate, +eager. There was a certain cat-like magnetism about him +also which fascinated her. She could not understand him at that +time and she never did afterwards. The license which he subsequently +manifested not only with her but with others astonished +and disgusted her. She found him selfish, domineering, outside +his own particular field shallow, not at all artistic, emotional, or +poetic. He was inclined to insist on the last touch of material +refinement in surroundings (so far as he understood them) when +he had money, but she found to her regret that he did not understand +them. In his manner with her and everyone else he +was top-lofty, superior, condescending. His stilted language at +times enraged and at other times amused her, and when her +original passion passed and she began to see through his pretence +to his motives and actions she became indifferent and then weary. +She was too big a woman mentally to quarrel with him much. +She was too indifferent to life in its totality to really care. Her +one passion was for an ideal lover of some type, and having been +thoroughly mistaken in him she looked abroad wondering whether +there were any ideal men.</p> + +<p>Various individuals came to their apartments. There were +gamblers, blasé society men, mining experts, speculators, sometimes +with, sometimes without a wife. From these and from +her husband and her own observation she learned of all sorts +of scoundrels, mes-alliances, [<i>sic</i>] queer manifestations of incompatibility +of temper, queer freaks of sex desire. Because she was +good looking, graceful, easy in her manners, there were no end of +proposals, overtures, hints and luring innuendos cast in her direction. +She had long been accustomed to them. Because her husband +deserted her openly for other women and confessed it in a +blasé way she saw no valid reason for keeping herself from other +men. She chose her lovers guardedly and with subtle taste, beginning +after mature deliberation with one who pleased her +greatly. She was seeking refinement, emotion, understanding +coupled with some ability and they were not so easy to find. The +long record of her liaisons is not for this story, but their impress +on her character was important.</p> + +<p>She was indifferent in her manner at most times and to most +people. A good jest or story drew from her a hearty laugh. +She was not interested in books except those of a very exceptional +character—the realistic school—and these she thought ought not +to be permitted except to private subscribers, nevertheless she +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span> +cared for no others. Art was fascinating—really great art. She +loved the pictures of Rembrandt, Frans Hals, Correggio, Titian. +And with less discrimination, and more from a sensual point of +view the nudes of Cabanel, Bouguereau and Gerome. To her +there was reality in the works of these men, lightened by great +imagination. Mostly people interested her, the vagaries of their +minds, the idiosyncrasies of their characters, their lies, their subterfuges, +their pretences, their fears. She knew that she was a +dangerous woman and went softly, like a cat, wearing a half-smile +not unlike that seen on the lips of Monna Lisa, but she +did not worry about herself. She had too much courage. At +the same time she was tolerant, generous to a fault, charitable. +When someone suggested that she overdid the tolerance, she +replied, "Why shouldn't I? I live in such a magnificent glass +house."</p> + +<p>The reason for her visit home on this occasion was that her +husband had practically deserted her for the time being. He was +in Chicago for some reason principally because the atmosphere +in New York was getting too hot for him, as she suspected. +Because she hated Chicago and was weary of his company she +refused to go with him. He was furious for he suspected her +of liaisons, but he could not help himself. She was indifferent. +Besides she had other resources than those he represented, or +could get them.</p> + +<p>A certain wealthy Jew had been importuning her for years +to get a divorce in order that he might marry her. His car +and his resources were at her command but she condescended only +the vaguest courtesies. It was within the ordinary possibilities +of the day for him to call her up and ask if he could not come +with his car. He had three. She waved most of this aside indifferently. +"What's the use?" was her pet inquiry. Her husband +was not without his car at times. She had means to drive +when she pleased, dress as she liked, and was invited to many interesting +outings. Her mother knew well of her peculiar attitude, +her marital troubles, her quarrels and her tendency to flirt. She +did her best to keep her in check, for she wanted to retain for +her the privilege of obtaining a divorce and marrying again, the +next time successfully. Norman Wilson, however, would not +readily give her a legal separation even though the preponderance +of evidence was against him and, if she compromised herself, there +would be no hope. She half suspected that her daughter might +already have compromised herself, but she could not be sure. +Carlotta was too subtle. Norman made open charges in their +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span> +family quarrels, but they were based largely on jealousy. He +did not know for sure.</p> + +<p>Carlotta Wilson had heard of Eugene. She did not know of +him by reputation, but her mother's guarded remarks in regard to +him and his presence, the fact that he was an artist, that he was +sick and working as a laborer for his health aroused her interest. +She had intended to spend the period of her husband's +absence at Narragansett with some friends, but before doing so +she decided to come home for a few days just to see for herself. +Instinctively her mother suspected curiosity on her part in regard +to Eugene. She threw out the remark that he might not stay +long, in the hope that her daughter might lose interest. His +wife was coming back. Carlotta discerned this opposition—this +desire to keep her away. She decided that she would come.</p> + +<p>"I don't know that I want to go to Narragansett just now," +she told her mother. "I'm tired. Norman has just worn my +nerves to a frazzle. I think I'll come up home for a week or so."</p> + +<p>"All right," said her mother, "but do be careful how you act +now. This Mr. Witla appears to be a very nice man and he's +happily married. Don't you go casting any looks in his direction. +If you do I won't let him stay here at all."</p> + +<p>"Oh, how you talk," replied Carlotta irritably. "Do give +me a little credit for something. I'm not going up there to +see him. I'm tired, I tell you. If you don't want me to come +I won't."</p> + +<p>"It isn't that, I do want you. But you know how you are. +How do you ever expect to get free if you don't conduct yourself +circumspectly? You know that you—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, for heaven's sake, I hope you're not going to start that +old argument again," exclaimed Carlotta defensively. "What's +the use beginning on that? We've been all over it a thousand +times. I can't go anywhere or do anything but what you want +to fuss. Now I'm not coming up there to do anything but rest. +Why will you always start in to spoil everything?"</p> + +<p>"Well now, you know well enough, Carlotta—" reiterated +her mother.</p> + +<p>"Oh, chuck it. I'll not come. To hell with the house. I'll +go to Narragansett. You make me tired!"</p> + +<p>Her mother looked at her tall daughter, graceful, handsome, +her black hair parted in rich folds, irritated and yet pleased with +her force and ability. If she would only be prudent and careful, +what a figure she might yet become! Her complexion was like +old rose-tinted ivory, her lips the color of dark raspberries, her +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span> +eyes bluish grey, wide set, large, sympathetic, kindly. What a +pity she had not married some big, worthy man to begin with. To +be tied up to this gambler, even though they did live in Central +Park West and had a comparatively sumptuous apartment, was +a wretched thing. Still it was better than poverty or scandal, +though if she did not take care of herself both might ensue. She +wanted her to come to Riverwood for she liked her company, but +she wanted her to behave herself. Perhaps Eugene would save +the day. He was certainly restrained enough in his manner and +remarks. She went back to Riverwood, and Carlotta, the quarrel +smoothed over, followed her.</p> + +<p>Eugene did not see her during the day she arrived, for he was +at work; and she did not see him as he came in at night. He had +on his old peaked hat and carried his handsome leather lunch box +jauntily in one hand. He went to his room, bathed, dressed and +then out on the porch to await the call of the dinner gong. Mrs. +Hibberdell was in her room on the second floor and "Cousin +Dave," as Carlotta called Simpson, was in the back yard. It was +a lovely twilight. He was in the midst of deep thoughts about +the beauty of the scene, his own loneliness, the characters at +the shop-work, Angela and what not, when the screen door opened +and she stepped out. She had on a short-sleeved house dress +of spotted blue silk with yellow lace set about the neck and the +ends of the sleeves. Her shapely figure, beautifully proportioned +to her height, was set in a smooth, close fitting corset. Her hair, +laid in great braids at the back, was caught in a brown spangled +net. She carried herself with thoughtfulness and simplicity, +seeming naturally indifferent.</p> + +<p>Eugene rose. "I'm in your way, I think. Won't you have +this chair?"</p> + +<p>"No, thanks. The one in the corner will do. But I might as +well introduce myself, since there isn't anyone here to do it. +I'm Mrs. Wilson, Mrs. Hibberdell's daughter. You're Mr. +Witla?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I answer to that," said Eugene, smiling. He was not +very much impressed at first. She seemed nice and he fancied +intelligent—a little older than he would have preferred any +woman to be who was to interest him. She sat down and looked +at the water. He took his chair and held his peace. He was +not even interested to talk to her. She was nice to look at, however. +Her presence lightened the scene for him.</p> + +<p>"I always like to come up here," she volunteered finally. "It's +so warm in the city these days. I don't think many people know +of this place. It's out of the beaten track."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span> +"I enjoy it," said Eugene. "It's such a rest for me. I don't +know what I would have done if your mother hadn't taken me in. +It's rather hard to find any place, doing what I am."</p> + +<p>"You've taken a pretty strenuous way to get health, I should +say," she observed. "Day labor sounds rough to me. Do you +mind it?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all. I like it. The work is interesting and not so +very hard. It's all so new to me, that's what makes it easy. I +like the idea of being a day laborer and associating with laborers. +It's only because I'm run down in health that I worry. I don't +like to be sick."</p> + +<p>"It is bad," she replied, "but this will probably put you on your +feet. I think we're always inclined to look on our present +troubles as the worst. I know I am."</p> + +<p>"Thanks for the consolation," he said.</p> + +<p>She did not look at him and he rocked to and fro silently. +Finally the dinner gong struck. Mrs. Hibberdell came down +stairs and they went in.</p> + +<p>The conversation at dinner turned on his work for a few moments +and he described accurately the personalities of John and +Bill and Big John the engineer, and little Suddsy and Harry +Fornes, the blacksmith. Carlotta listened attentively without appearing +to, for everything about Eugene seemed singular and +exceptional to her. She liked his tall, spare body, his lean hands, +his dark hair and eyes. She liked the idea of his dressing as a +laboring man in the morning, working all day in the shop, and +yet appearing so neat and trim at dinner. He was easy in his +manner, apparently lethargic in his movements and yet she could +feel a certain swift force that filled the room. It was richer +for his presence. She understood at a glance that he was an +artist, in all probability a good one. He said nothing of that, +avoided carefully all reference to his art, and listened attentively. +She felt though as if he were studying her and everyone else, and +it made her gayer. At the same time she had a strong leaning +toward him. "What an ideal man to be associated with," was +one of her repeated thoughts.</p> + +<p>Although she was about the house for ten days and he met +her after the third morning not only at dinner, which was natural +enough, but at breakfast (which surprised him a little), he paid +not so very much attention to her. She was nice, very, but Eugene +was thinking of another type. He thought she was uncommonly +pleasant and considerate and he admired her style of +dressing and her beauty, studying her with interest, wondering +what sort of a life she led, for from various bits of conversation +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span> +he overheard not only at table but at other times he judged she +was fairly well to do. There was an apartment in Central Park +West, card parties, automobile parties, theatre parties and a +general sense of people—acquaintances anyhow, who were making +money. He heard her tell of a mining engineer, Dr. Rowland; +of a successful coal-mining speculator, Gerald Woods; of a +Mrs. Hale who was heavily interested in copper mines and apparently +very wealthy. "It's a pity Norman couldn't connect +with something like that and make some real money," he heard +her say to her mother one evening. He understood that Norman +was her husband and that he probably would be back soon. So +he kept his distance—interested and curious but hardly more.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wilson was not so easily baffled, however. A car appeared +one evening at the door immediately after dinner, a great +red touring car, and Mrs. Wilson announced easily, "We're +going for a little spin after dinner, Mr. Witla. Don't you want +to come along?"</p> + +<p>Eugene had never ridden in an automobile at that time. "I'd +be very pleased," he said, for the thought of a lonely evening +in an empty house had sprung up when he saw it appear.</p> + +<p>There was a chauffeur in charge—a gallant figure in a brown +straw cap and tan duster, but Mrs. Wilson manœuvred for +place.</p> + +<p>"You sit with the driver, coz," she said to Simpson, and when +her mother stepped in she followed after, leaving Eugene the +place to the right of her.</p> + +<p>"There must be a coat and cap in the locker," she said to the +chauffeur; "let Mr. Witla have it."</p> + +<p>The latter extracted a spare linen coat and straw cap which +Eugene put on.</p> + +<p>"I like automobiling, don't you?" she said to Eugene good-naturedly. +"It's so refreshing. If there is any rest from care +on this earth it's in traveling fast."</p> + +<p>"I've never ridden before," replied Eugene simply. Something +about the way he said it touched her. She felt sorry for +him because he appeared lonely and gloomy. His indifference to +her piqued her curiosity and irritated her pride. Why shouldn't +he take an interest in her? As they sped under leafy lanes, up +hill and down dale, she made out his face in the starlight. It was +pale, reflective, indifferent. "These deep thinkers!" she chided +him. "It's terrible to be a philosopher." Eugene smiled.</p> + +<p>When they reached home he went to his room as did all the +others to theirs. He stepped out into the hall a few minutes later +to go to the library for a book, and found that her door which +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span> +he had to pass was wide open. She was sitting back in a Morris +chair, her feet upon another chair, her skirts slightly drawn up +revealing a trim foot and ankle. She did not stir but looked up +and smiled winningly.</p> + +<p>"Aren't you tired enough to sleep?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Not quite yet," she smiled.</p> + +<p>He went down stairs and turning on a light in the library +stood looking at a row of books reading the titles. He heard +a step and there she was looking at the books also.</p> + +<p>"Don't you want a bottle of beer?" she asked. "I think there +is some in the ice box. I forgot that you might be thirsty."</p> + +<p>"I really don't care," he said. "I'm not much for drinks of +any kind."</p> + +<p>"That's not very sociable," she laughed.</p> + +<p>"Let's have the beer then," he said.</p> + +<p>She threw herself back languidly in one of the big dining +room chairs when she had brought the drinks and some Swiss +cheese and crackers, and said: "I think you'll find some cigarettes +on the table in the corner if you like."</p> + +<p>He struck her a match and she puffed her cigarette comfortably. +"I suppose you find it lonely up here away from all your +friends and companions," she volunteered.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I've been sick so long I scarcely know whether I have +any."</p> + +<p>He described some of his imaginary ailments and experiences +and she listened to him attentively. When the beer was gone +she asked him if he would have more but he said no. After +a time because he stirred wearily, she got up.</p> + +<p>"Your mother will think we're running some sort of a midnight +game down here," he volunteered.</p> + +<p>"Mother can't hear," she said. "Her room is on the third +floor and besides she doesn't hear very well. Dave don't mind. +He knows me well enough by now to know that I do as I +please."</p> + +<p>She stood closer to Eugene but still he did not see. When +he moved away she put out the lights and followed him to the +stairs.</p> + +<p>"He's either the most bashful or the most indifferent of men," +she thought, but she said softly, "Good-night. Pleasant dreams +to you," and went her way.</p> + +<p>Eugene thought of her now as a good fellow, a little gay for +a married woman, but probably circumspect withal. She was +simply being nice to him. All this was simply because, as yet, he +was not very much interested.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span> +There were other incidents. One morning he passed her door. +Her mother had already gone down to breakfast and there was +the spectacle of a smooth, shapely arm and shoulder quite bare +to his gaze as she lay on her pillow apparently unconscious that +her door was open. It thrilled him as something sensuously beautiful +for it was a perfect arm. Another time he saw her of an +evening just before dinner buttoning her shoes. Her dress was +pulled three-quarters of the way to her knees and her shoulders +and arms were bare, for she was still in her corset and short +skirts. She seemed not to know that he was near. One night +after dinner he started to whistle something and she went to +the piano to keep him company. Another time he hummed on +the porch and she started the same song, singing with him. He +drew his chair near the window where there was a couch after +her mother had retired for the night, and she came and threw +herself on it. "You don't mind if I lie here?" she said, "I'm +tired tonight."</p> + +<p>"Not at all. I'm glad of your company. I'm lonely."</p> + +<p>She lay and stared at him, smiling. He hummed and she +sang. "Let me see your palm," she said, "I want to learn something." +He held it out. She fingered it temptingly. Even this +did not wake him.</p> + +<p>She left for five days because of some necessity in connection +with her engagements and when she returned he was glad to see +her. He had been lonesome, and he knew now that she made +the house gayer. He greeted her genially.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad to see you back," he said.</p> + +<p>"Are you really?" she replied. "I don't believe it."</p> + +<p>"Why not?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, signs, omens and portents. You don't like women very +well I fancy."</p> + +<p>"Don't I!"</p> + +<p>"No, I think not," she replied.</p> + +<p>She was charming in a soft grayish green satin. He noticed +that her neck was beautiful and that her hair looped itself gracefully +upon the back of it. Her nose was straight and fine, sensitive +because of its thin partitioning walls. He followed her into +the library and they went out on the porch. Presently he returned—it +was ten o'clock—and she came also. Davis had +gone to his room, Mrs. Hibberdell to hers.</p> + +<p>"I think I'll read," he said, aimlessly.</p> + +<p>"Why anything like that?" she jested. "Never read when you +can do anything else."</p> + +<p>"What else can I do?"</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span> +"Oh, lots of things. Play cards, tell fortunes, read palms, +drink beer—" She looked at him wilfully.</p> + +<p>He went to his favorite chair near the window, side by side +with the window-seat couch. She came and threw herself on +it.</p> + +<p>"Be gallant and fix my pillows for me, will you?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Of course I will," he said.</p> + +<p>He took a pillow and raised her head, for she did not deign +to move.</p> + +<p>"Is that enough?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"One more."</p> + +<p>He put his hand under the first pillow and lifted it up. She +took hold of his free hand to raise herself. When she had it +she held it and laughed a curious excited laugh. It came over +him all at once, the full meaning of all the things she had been +doing. He dropped the pillow he was holding and looked at her +steadfastly. She relaxed her hold and leaned back, languorous, +smiling. He took her left hand, then her right and sat down +beside her. In a moment he slipped one arm under her waist and +bending over put his lips to hers. She twined her arms about his +neck tightly and hugged him close; then looking in his eyes she +heaved a great sigh.</p> + +<p>"You love me, don't you?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I thought you never would," she sighed, and clasped him to +her again.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XXIII" id="II_CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + +<p>The form of Carlotta Wilson was perfect, her passion eager, +her subtlety a match for almost any situation. She had +deliberately set out to win Eugene because he was attractive to +her and because, by his early indifference, he had piqued her vanity +and self-love. She liked him though, liked every one of his +characteristics, and was as proud of her triumph as a child with +a new toy. When he had finally slipped his arm under her waist +she had thrilled with a burning, vibrating thrill throughout her +frame and when she came to him it was with the eagerness of +one wild for his caresses. She threw herself on him, kissed him +sensuously scores of times, whispered her desire and her affection. +Eugene thought, now that he saw her through the medium of +an awakened passion, that he had never seen anything more +lovely. For the time being he forgot Frieda, Angela, his loneliness, +the fact that he was working in supposed prudent self-restraint +to effect his recovery, and gave himself up to the full enjoyment +of this situation.</p> + +<p>Carlotta was tireless in her attentions. Once she saw that he +really cared, or imagined he did, she dwelt in the atmosphere of +her passion and affection. There was not a moment that she was +not with or thinking of Eugene when either was possible. She +lay in wait for him at every turn, gave him every opportunity +which her skill could command. She knew the movements of +her mother and cousin to the least fraction—could tell exactly +where they were, how long they were likely to remain, how long +it would take them to reach a certain door or spot from where +they were standing. Her step was noiseless, her motions and +glances significant and interpretative. For a month or thereabouts +she guided Eugene through the most perilous situations, +keeping her arms about him to the last possible moment, kissing +him silently and swiftly at the most unexpected times and in +the most unexpected surroundings. Her weary languor, her +seeming indifference, disappeared, and she was very much alive—except +in the presence of others. There her old manner remained, +intensified even, for she was determined to throw a veil +of darkness over her mother and her cousin's eyes. She succeeded +admirably for the time being, for she lied to her mother out of +the whole cloth, pretending that Eugene was nice but a little +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span> +slow so far as the ways of the world were concerned. "He may +be a good artist," she volunteered, "but he isn't very much of a +ladies' man. He hasn't the first trace of gallantry."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hibberdell was glad. At least there would be no disturbance +here. She feared Carlotta, feared Eugene, but she saw no +reason for complaint. In her presence all was seemingly formal +and at times almost distant. She did not like to say to her daughter +that she should not come to her own home now that Eugene +was here, and she did not like to tell him to leave. Carlotta +said she liked him fairly well, but that was nothing. Any married +woman might do that. Yet under her very eyes was going +forward the most disconcerting license. She would have been astounded +if she had known the manner in which the bath, Carlotta's +chamber and Eugene's room were being used. The hour +never struck when they were beyond surveillance but what +they were together.</p> + +<p>Eugene grew very indifferent in the matter of his work. From +getting to the point where he was enjoying it because he looked +upon it as a form of exercise which was benefiting him, and +feeling that he might not have to work indefinitely if he kept up +physical rehabilitation at this pace, he grew languid about it and +moody over the time he had to give to it. Carlotta had the privilege +of a certain automobile and besides she could afford to hire +one of her own. She began by suggesting that he meet her at +certain places and times for a little spin and this took him away +from his work a good portion of the time.</p> + +<p>"You don't have to work every day, do you?" she asked him +one Sunday afternoon when they were alone. Simpson and Mrs. +Hibberdell had gone out for a walk and they were in her room +on the second floor. Her mother's was on the third.</p> + +<p>"I don't have to," he said, "if I don't mind losing the money +they pay. It's fifteen cents an hour and I need that. I'm not +working at my regular profession, you must remember."</p> + +<p>"Oh, chuck that," she said. "What's fifteen cents an hour? +I'll give you ten times that to come and be with me."</p> + +<p>"No, you won't," he said. "You won't give me anything. We +won't go anywhere on that basis."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Eugene, how you talk. Why won't you?" she asked. +"I have lots of it—at least lots more than you have just now. +And it might as well be spent this way as some other. It won't +be spent right anyhow—that is not for any exceptional purpose. +Why shouldn't you have some of it? You can pay it back to me."</p> + +<p>"I won't do it," said Eugene. "We won't go anywhere on +that basis. I'd rather go and work. It's all right, though. I +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span> +can sell a picture maybe. I expect to hear any day of something +being sold. What is it you want to do?"</p> + +<p>"I want you to come automobiling with me tomorrow. Ma is +going over to her sister Ella's in Brooklyn. Has that shop of +yours a phone?"</p> + +<p>"Sure it has. I don't think you'd better call me up there +though."</p> + +<p>"Once wouldn't hurt."</p> + +<p>"Well, perhaps not. But we'd better not begin that, or at +least not make a practice of it. These people are very strict. +They have to be."</p> + +<p>"I know," said Carlotta. "I won't. I was just thinking. +I'll let you know. You know that river road that runs on the +top of the hill over there?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"You be walking along there tomorrow at one o'clock and I'll +pick you up. You can come this once, can't you?"</p> + +<p>"Sure," said Eugene. "I can come. I was just joking. I +can get some money." He had still his hundred dollars which +he had not used when he first started looking for work. He had +been clinging to it grimly, but now in this lightened atmosphere +he thought he might spend some of it. He was going to get well. +Everything was pointing that way. His luck was with him.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll get the car. You don't mind riding in that, do +you?"</p> + +<p>"No," he said. "I'll wear a good suit to the shop and change +over there."</p> + +<p>She laughed gaily, for his scruples and simplicity amused her.</p> + +<p>"You're a prince—my Prince Charming," she said and she +flung herself in his lap. "Oh, you angel man, heaven-born! +I've been waiting for you I don't know how long. Wise man! +Prince Charming! I love you! I love you! I think you're the +nicest thing that ever was."</p> + +<p>Eugene caressed her gently.</p> + +<p>"And you're my wise girl. But we are no good, neither you +nor I. You're a wastrel and a stray. And I—I hesitate to think +what I am."</p> + +<p>"What is a wastrel?" she asked. "That's a new one on me. +I don't remember."</p> + +<p>"Something or someone that can be thrown away as useless. +A stray is a pigeon that won't stay with the flock."</p> + +<p>"That's me," said Carlotta, holding out her firm, smooth arms +before her and grinning mischievously. "I won't stay with any +flock. Nix for the flocks. I'd rather be off with my wise man. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span> +He is nice enough for me. He's better nor nine or ten flocks." +She was using corrupt English for the joy of it. "Just me and +you, Prince Charming. Am I your lovely wastrel? Do you +like strays? Say you do. Listen! Do you like strays?"</p> + +<p>Eugene had been turning his head away, saying "scandalous! +terrible, you're the worst ever," but she stopped his mouth with +her lips.</p> + +<p>"Do you?"</p> + +<p>"This wastrel, yes. This stray," he replied, smoothing her +cheek. "Ah, you're lovely, Carlotta, you're beautiful. What a +wonderful woman you are."</p> + +<p>She gave herself to him completely.</p> + +<p>"Whatever I am, I'm yours, wise man," she went on. "You +can have anything you want of me, do anything you please with +me. You're like an opiate to me, Eugene, sweet! You stop my +mouth and close my eyes and seal my ears. You make me forget +everything I suppose I might think now and then but I don't +want to. I don't want to! And I don't care. I wish you were +single. I wish I were free. I wish we had an island somewhere +together. Oh, hell! Life is a wearisome tangle, isn't it? 'Take +the cash and let the credit go.'"</p> + +<p>By this time Carlotta had heard enough of Eugene's life to +understand what his present condition was. She knew he was +sick though not exactly why. She thought it was due to overwork. +She knew he was out of funds except for certain pictures +he had on sale, but that he would regain his art ability and re-establish +himself she did not doubt. She knew something of +Angela and thought it was all right that she should be away from +him, but now she wished the separation might be permanent. +She went into the city and asking about at various art stores +learned something of Eugene's art history and his great promise. +It made him all the more fascinating in her eyes. One of his +pictures on exhibition at Pottle Frères was bought by her after +a little while and the money sent to Eugene, for she had learned +from him how these pictures, any pictures, were exhibited on +sale and the painter paid, minus the commission, when the sale +was made. She took good care to make it clear to the manager at +Pottle Frères that she was doing this so that Eugene could have +the money and saw to it that the check reached him promptly. +If Eugene had been alone this check of three hundred dollars +would have served to bring Angela to him. As it was it gave +him funds to disport himself with in her company. He did not +know that she had been the means of his getting it, or to whom +the picture had been sold. A fictitious name was given. This +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span> +sale somewhat restored Eugene's faith in his future, for if one of +his pictures would sell so late in the day for this price, others +would.</p> + +<p>There were days thereafter of the most curious composition. +In the morning he would leave dressed in his old working suit +and carrying his lunch box, Carlotta waving him a farewell +from her window, or, if he had an engagement outside with Carlotta, +wearing a good suit, and trusting to his overalls and jumper +to protect it, working all day with John and Bill, or Malachi +Dempsey and Joseph—for there was rivalry between these two +groups as to which should have his company—or leaving the +shop early and riding with her a part of the time, coming home +at night to be greeted by Carlotta as though she had not seen him +at all. She watched for his coming as patiently as a wife and +was as eager to see if there was anything she could do for him. +In the shop Malachi and Joseph or John and Bill and sometimes +some of the carpenters up stairs would complain of a rush of +work in order that they might have his assistance or presence. +Malachi and Joseph could always enter the complaint that they +were in danger of being hampered by shavings, for the latter +were constantly piling up in great heaps, beautiful shavings of +ash and yellow pine and walnut which smelled like resin and +frankincense and had the shape of girl's curls or dry breakfast +food, or rich damp sawdust. Or John and Bill would complain +that they were being overworked and needed someone in the car +to receive. Even Big John, the engineer, tried to figure out +some scheme by which he could utilize Eugene as a fireman, but +that was impossible; there was no call for any such person. The +foreman understood well enough what the point was but said +nothing, placing Eugene with the particular group which seemed +to need him most. Eugene was genial enough about the matter. +Wherever he was was right. He liked to be in the cars or on +a lumber pile or in the plane room. He also liked to stand and +talk to Big John or Harry Fornes, his basket under his arm—"kidding," +as he called it. His progress to and fro was marked +by endless quips and jests and he was never weary.</p> + +<p>When his work was done at night he would hurry home, following +the right bank of the little stream until he reached a path +which led up to the street whereon was the Hibberdell house. +On his way he would sometimes stop and study the water, its +peaceful current bearing an occasional stick or straw upon its +bosom, and contrasting the seeming peace of its movement with +his own troubled life. The subtlety of nature as expressed in +water appealed to him. The difference between this idyllic +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span> +stream bank and his shop and all who were of it, struck him forcefully. +Malachi Dempsey had only the vaguest conception of the +beauty of nature. Jack Stix was scarcely more artistic than the +raw piles of lumber with which he dealt. Big John had no +knowledge of the rich emotions of love or of beauty which troubled +Eugene's brain. They lived on another plane, apparently.</p> + +<p>And at the other end of the stream awaiting him was Carlotta, +graceful, sophisticated, eager in her regard for him, lukewarm +in her interest in morals, sybaritic in her moods, representing +in a way a world which lived upon the fruits of this exploited +toil and caring nothing about it. If he said anything to +Carlotta about the condition of Joseph Mews, who carried +bundles of wood home to his sister of an evening to help save +the expense of fuel, she merely smiled. If he talked of the poverty +of the masses she said, "Don't be doleful, Eugene." She +wanted to talk of art and luxury and love, or think of them at +least. Her love of the beauty of nature was keen. There were +certain inns they could reach by automobile where they could sit +and dine and drink a bottle of wine or a pitcher of claret cup, +and here she would muse on what they would do if they were +only free. Angela was frequently in Carlotta's thoughts, persistently +in Eugene's, for he could not help feeling that he was +doing her a rank injustice.</p> + +<p>She had been so patient and affectionate all this long time past, +had tended him as a mother, waited on him as a servant. Only +recently he had been writing in most affectionate terms, wishing +she were with him. Now all that was dead again. It was hard +work to write. Everything he said seemed a lie and he did not +want to say it. He hated to pretend. Still, if he did not write +Angela would be in a state of mortal agony, he thought, and +would shortly come to look him up. It was only by writing, +protesting his affection, explaining why in his judgment it was +unadvisable for her to come at present, that she could be made +to stay where she was. And now that he was so infatuated with +Carlotta this seemed very desirable. He did not delude himself +that he would ever be able to marry her. He knew that he could +not get a divorce, there being no grounds, and the injustice to +Angela being such a bar to his conscience; and as for Carlotta, +her future was very uncertain. Norman Wilson, for all that he +disregarded her at times, did not want to give her up. He was +writing, threatening to come back to New York if she did not +come to him, though the fact that she was in her mother's home, +where he considered her safe, was some consolation to him. Angela +was begging Eugene to let her come. They would get along, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span> +she argued, on whatever he got and he would be better off with +her than alone. She pictured him living in some uncomfortable +boarding house where he was not half attended to and intensely +lonely. Her return meant the leaving of this lovely home—for +Mrs. Hibberdell had indicated that she would not like to keep +him and his wife—and so the end of this perfect romance with +Carlotta. An end to lovely country inns and summer balconies +where they were dining together! An end to swift tours in her +automobile, which she guided skilfully herself, avoiding the presence +of a chauffeur. An end to lovely trysts under trees and by +pretty streams where he kissed and fondled her and where she +lingered joyously in his arms!</p> + +<p>"If ma could only see us now," she would jest; or,</p> + +<p>"Do you suppose Bill and John would recognize you here if +they saw you?"</p> + +<p>Once she said: "This is better than the engine room, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"You're a bad lot, Carlotta," he would declare, and then would +come to her lips the enigmatic smile of Monna Lisa.</p> + +<p>"You like bad lots, don't you? Strays make fine hunting."</p> + +<p>In her own philosophy she was taking the cash and letting +the credit go.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XXIV" id="II_CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + +<p>Days like this could not go on forever. The seed of their +destruction was in their beginning. Eugene was sad. He +used to show his mood at times and if she asked him what was +the matter, would say: "We can't keep this thing up much longer. +It must come to an end soon."</p> + +<p>"You're certainly a gloomy philosopher, Genie," she would +say, reproachfully, for she had hopes that it could be made to +last a long while under any circumstances. Eugene had the feeling +that no pretence would escape Angela's psychology. She was +too sensitive to his unspoken moods and feelings. She would +come soon, willynilly, and then all this would be ended. As a +matter of fact several things combined to bring about change and +conclusion.</p> + +<p>For one thing Mrs. Hibberdell had been more and more impressed +with the fact that Carlotta was not merely content to +stay but that once having come she was fairly determined to remain. +She had her own apartment in the city, ostensibly closed +for the summer, for she had protested that it was too hot to live +in town when she first proposed going to Narragansett. After +seeing Eugene she figured out a possible use for it, though that +use was dangerous, for Norman Wilson might return at any +time. Nevertheless, they had been there on occasions—this with +the double effect of deceiving her mother and entertaining Eugene. +If she could remain away from Riverwood a percentage of +the time, she argued with Eugene, it would make her stay less +suspicious and would not jeopardize their joy in companionship. +So she did this. At the same time she could not stay away from +Riverwood entirely, for Eugene was there necessarily morning +and evening.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, toward the end of August Mrs. Hibberdell was +growing suspicious. She had seen an automobile entering Central +Park once when Carlotta had phoned her that she had a sick +headache and could not come up. It looked to Mrs. Hibberdell, +who had gone down town shopping on the strength of this ailment +and who had phoned Carlotta that she was going to call at +her apartment in the evening, as though Eugene and Carlotta +were in it. Eugene had gone to work that morning, which made +it seem doubtful, but it certainly looked very much like him. +Still she did not feel sure it was he or Carlotta either. When +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span> +she came to the latter's apartment Carlotta was there, feeling +better, but stating that she had not been out. Mrs. Hibberdell +concluded thoughtfully that she must have been mistaken.</p> + +<p>Her own room was on the third floor, and several times after +all had retired and she had come down to the kitchen or dining +room or library for something, she had heard a peculiar noise +as of someone walking lightly. She thought it was fancy on her +part, for invariably when she reached the second floor all was +dark and still. Nevertheless she wondered whether Eugene and +Carlotta could be visiting. Twice, between breakfast and the +time Eugene departed, she thought she heard Eugene and Carlotta +whispering on the second floor, but there was no proof. +Carlotta's readiness to rise for breakfast at six-thirty in order to +be at the same table with Eugene was peculiar, and her giving +up Narragansett for Riverwood was most significant. It remained +for one real discovery to resolve all her suspicions into +the substance of fact and convict Carlotta of being the most conscienceless +of deceivers.</p> + +<p>It came about in this fashion. One Sunday morning Davis +and Mrs. Hibberdell had decided to go automobiling. Eugene +and Carlotta were invited but had refused, for Carlotta on hearing +the discussion several days before had warned Eugene and +planned to have the day for herself and her lover. She cautioned +him to pretend the need of making visits down town. As for +herself she had said she would go, but on the day in question +did not feel well enough. Davis and Mrs. Hibberdell departed, +their destination being Long Island. It was an all day tour. +After an hour their machine broke, however, and after sitting +in it two hours waiting for repairs—long enough to spoil their +plans—they came back by trolley. Eugene had not gone down +town. He was not even dressed when the door opened on the +ground floor and Mrs. Hibberdell came in.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Carlotta," she called, standing at the foot of the stairs +and expecting Carlotta to appear from her own room or a sort +of lounging and sewing room which occupied the front of the +house on the second floor and where she frequently stayed. Carlotta +unfortunately was with Eugene and the door to this room +was commanded from where Mrs. Hibberdell was standing. She +did not dare to answer.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Carlotta," called her mother again.</p> + +<p>The latter's first thought was to go back in the kitchen and +look there, but on second thoughts she ascended the steps and +started for the sewing room. Carlotta thought she had entered. +In an instant she had seized the opportunity to step into the bath +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span> +which was next to Eugene's room but she was scarcely quick +enough. Her mother had not gone into the room—only opened +the door and looked in. She did not see Carlotta step out of +Eugene's room, but she did see her entering the bath, in negligee, +and she could scarcely have come from anywhere else. Her own +door which was between Eugene's room and the sewing room +was ten feet away. It did not seem possible that she could have +come from there: she had not had time enough, and anyhow +why had she not answered?</p> + +<p>The first impulse of Mrs. Hibberdell was to call to her. Her +second thought was to let the ruse seem successful. She was +convinced that Eugene was in his room, and a few moments later +a monitory cough on his part—coughed for a purpose—convinced +her.</p> + +<p>"Are you in the bath, Carlotta?" she called quietly, after looking +into Carlotta's room.</p> + +<p>"Yes," came the reply, easily enough now. "Did your machine +break down?"</p> + +<p>A few remarks were exchanged through the door and then +Mrs. Hibberdell went to her room. She thought over the situation +steadily for it greatly irritated her. It was not the same +as the discovered irregularity of a trusted and virtuous daughter. +Carlotta had not been led astray. She was a grown woman, +married, experienced. In every way she knew as much about +life as her mother—in some respects more. The difference between +them was in ethical standards and the policy that aligns +itself with common sense, decency, self preservation, as against +its opposite. Carlotta had so much to look out for. Her future +was in her own hands. Besides, Eugene's future, his wife's +rights and interests, her mother's home, her mother's standards, +were things which she ought to respect—ought to want to respect. +To find her lying as she had been this long time, pretending +indifference, pretending absence, and no doubt associating +with Eugene all the while, was disgusting. She was very angry, +not so much at Eugene, though her respect for him was greatly +lowered, artist though he was, as at Carlotta. She ought to +do better. She ought to be ashamed not to guard herself against +a man like Eugene, instead of luring him on. It was Carlotta's +fault, and she determined to reproach her bitterly and to break +up this wretched alliance at once.</p> + +<p>There was an intense and bitter quarrel the next morning, for +Mrs. Hibberdell decided to hold her peace until Eugene and +Davis should be out of the house. She wanted to have this out +with Carlotta alone, and the clash came shortly after breakfast +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span> +when both the others had left. Carlotta had already warned Eugene +that something might happen on account of this, but under +no circumstances was he to admit anything unless she told him +to. The maid was in the kitchen out of ear shot, and Mrs. Hibberdell +and Carlotta were in the library when the opening gun +was fired. In a way Carlotta was prepared, for she fancied her +mother might have seen other things—what or how much she +could not guess. She was not without the dignity of a Circe, +for she had been through scenes like this before. Her own husband +had charged her with infidelity more than once, and she had +been threatened with physical violence by him. Her face was +pale but calm.</p> + +<p>"Now, Carlotta," observed her mother vigorously, "I saw what +was going on yesterday morning when I came home. You were +in Mr. Witla's room with your clothes off. I saw you come out. +Please don't deny it. I saw you come out. Aren't you ashamed +of yourself? How can you treat me that way after your promise +not to do anything out of the way here?"</p> + +<p>"You didn't see me come out of his room and I wasn't in +there," said Carlotta brazenly. Her face was pale, but she was +giving a fair imitation of righteous surprise. "Why do you make +any such statement as that?"</p> + +<p>"Why, Carlotta Hibberdell, how dare you contradict me; +how dare you lie! You came out of that room. You know you +did. You know that you were in there. You know that I saw +you. I should think you would be ashamed of yourself, slipping +about this house like a street girl and your own mother in it. +Aren't you ashamed of yourself? Have you no sense of decency +left? Oh, Carlotta, I know you are bad, but why will you come +here to be so? Why couldn't you let this man alone? He was +doing well enough. It's a shame, the thing you have done. It's +an outrage. Mrs. Witla ought to come here and whip you within +an inch of your life."</p> + +<p>"Oh, how you talk," said Carlotta, irritably. "You make me +tired. You didn't see me. It's the old story—suspicion. You're +always full of suspicion. You didn't see me and I wasn't in +there. Why do you start a fuss for nothing!"</p> + +<p>"A fuss! A fuss for nothing—the idea, you evil woman. A +fuss for nothing. How can you talk that way! I can hardly +believe my senses. I can hardly believe you would dare to brazenly +face me in this way. I saw you and now you deny it."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hibberdell had not seen her, but she was convinced that +what she said was true.</p> + +<p>Carlotta brazened it out. "You didn't," she insisted.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span> +Mrs. Hibberdell stared. The effrontery of it took her breath +away.</p> + +<p>"Carlotta," she exclaimed, "I honestly think you are the worst +woman in the world. I can't think of you as my daughter—you +are too brazen. You're the worst because you're calculating. +You know what you're doing, and you are deliberate in your +method of doing it. You're evil-minded. You know exactly +what you want and you set out deliberately to get it. You have +done it in this case. You started out to get this man and you +have succeeded in doing it. You have no sense of shame, no +pride, no honesty, no honor, no respect for me or anyone else. +You do not love this man. You know you don't. If you did +you would never degrade him and yourself and me as you have +done. You've simply indulged in another vile relationship because +you wanted to, and now when you're caught you brazen it +out. You're evil, Carlotta. You're as low as a woman can be, +even if you are my daughter."</p> + +<p>"It isn't true," said Carlotta. "You're just talking to hear +yourself talk."</p> + +<p>"It is true and you know it," reproved her mother. "You +talk about Norman. He never did a thing worse in his life than +you have done. He may be a gambler and immoral and inconsiderate +and selfish. What are you? Can you stand there and +tell me you're any better? Pah! If you only had a sense of +shame something could be done for you, but you haven't any. +You're just vile, that's all."</p> + +<p>"How you talk, ma," she observed, calmly; "how you carry +on, and that on a mere suspicion. You didn't see me. I might +have been in there but you didn't see me and I wasn't. You're +making a storm just because you want to. I like Mr. Witla. +I think he's very nice, but I'm not interested in him and I haven't +done anything to harm him. You can turn him out if you want +to. That's none of my affairs. You're simply raging about as +usual without any facts to go upon."</p> + +<p>Carlotta stared at her mother, thinking. She was not greatly +disturbed. It was pretty bad, no doubt of that, but she was not +thinking so much of that as of the folly of being found out. Her +mother knew for certain, though she would not admit to her that +she knew. Now all this fine summer romance would end—the +pleasant convenience of it, anyhow. Eugene would be put to +the trouble of moving. Her mother might say something disagreeable +to him. Besides, she knew she was better than Norman +because she did not associate with the same evil type of +people. She was not coarse, she was not thick-witted, she was +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span> +not cruel, she was not a user of vile language or an expresser of +vile ideas, and Norman was at times. She might lie and she +might be calculating, but not to anyone's disadvantage—she was +simply passion driven—boldly so and only toward love or romance. +"Am I evil?" she often asked herself. Her mother said +she was evil. Well, she was in one way; but her mother was +angry, that was all. She did not mean all she said. She would +come round. Still Carlotta did not propose to admit the truth +of her mother's charges or to go through this situation without +some argument. There were charges which her mother was +making which were untenable—points which were inexcusable.</p> + +<p>"Carlotta Hibberdell, you're the most brazen creature I ever +knew! You're a terrible liar. How can you stand there and +look me in the eye and say that, when you know that I know? +Why lie in addition to everything else? Oh! Carlotta, the shame +of it. If you only had some sense of honor! How can you lie +like that? How can you?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not lying," declared Carlotta, "and I wish you would +quit fussing. You didn't see me. You know you didn't. I +came out of my room and you were in the front room. Why do +you say you weren't. You didn't see me. Supposing I am a liar. +I'm your daughter. I may be vile. I didn't make myself so. +Certainly I'm not in this instance. Whatever I am I come by +it honestly. My life hasn't been a bed of roses. Why do you +start a silly fight? You haven't a thing to go on except suspicion +and now you want to raise a row. I don't care what you +think of me. I'm not guilty in this case and you can think what +you please. You ought to be ashamed to charge me with something +of which you are not sure."</p> + +<p>She walked to the window and stared out. Her mother shook +her head. Such effrontery was beyond her. It was like her +daughter, though. She took after her father and herself. Both +were self-willed and determined when aroused. At the same time +she was sorry for her girl, for Carlotta was a capable woman in +her way and very much dissatisfied with life.</p> + +<p>"I should think you would be ashamed of yourself, Carlotta, +whether you admit it to me or not," she went on. "The truth is +the truth and it must hurt you a little. You were in that room. +We won't argue that, though. You set out deliberately to do this +and you have done it. Now what I have to say is this: You +are going back to your apartment today, and Mr. Witla is going +to leave here as quick as he can get a room somewhere else. +You're not going to continue this wretched relationship any +longer if I can help it. I'm going to write to his wife and to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span> +Norman too, if I can't do anything else to break this up. You're +going to let this man alone. You have no right to come between +him and Mrs. Witla. It's an outrage, and no one but a vile, +conscienceless woman would do it. I'm not going to say anything +to him now, but he's going to leave here and so are you. +When it's all over you can come back if you want to. I'm +ashamed for you. I'm ashamed for myself. If it hadn't been +for my own feelings and those of Davis, I would have ordered +you both out of the house yesterday and you know it. It's consideration +for myself that's made me smooth it over as much as +I have. He, the vile thing, after all the courtesy I have shown +him. Still I don't blame him as much as I do you, for he would +never have looked at you if you hadn't made him. My own +daughter! My own house! Tch! Tch! Tch!"</p> + +<p>There was more conversation—that fulgurous, coruscating reiteration +of charges. Eugene was no good. Carlotta was vile. +Mrs. Hibberdell wouldn't have believed it possible if she hadn't +seen it with her own eyes. She was going to tell Norman if +Carlotta didn't reform—over and over, one threat after another.</p> + +<p>"Well," she said, finally, "you're going to get your things +ready and go into the city this afternoon. I'm not going to have +you here another day."</p> + +<p>"No I'm not," said Carlotta boldly, pondering over all that +had been said. It was a terrible ordeal, but she would not go +today. "I'm going in the morning. I'm not going to pack that +fast. It's too late. I'm not going to be ordered out of here like +a servant."</p> + +<p>Her mother groaned, but she gave in. Carlotta could not be +made to do anything she did not want to do. She went to her +room, and presently Mrs. Hibberdell heard her singing. She +shook her head. Such a personality. No wonder Eugene succumbed +to her blandishments. What man wouldn't?</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XXV" id="II_CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV</h2> + +<p>The sequel of this scene was not to be waited for. At dinner +time Mrs. Hibberdell announced in the presence of +Carlotta and Davis that the house was going to be closed up for +the present, and very quickly. She and Carlotta were going +to Narragansett for the month of September and a part of October. +Eugene, having been forewarned by Carlotta, took it with +a show of polite surprise. He was sorry. He had spent such +a pleasant time here. Mrs. Hibberdell could not be sure whether +Carlotta had told him or not, he seemed so innocent, but she assumed +that she had and that he like Carlotta was "putting on." +She had informed Davis that for reasons of her own she wanted +to do this. He suspected what they were, for he had seen signs +and slight demonstrations which convinced him that Carlotta +and Eugene had reached an understanding. He did not consider +it anything very much amiss, for Carlotta was a woman of +the world, her own boss and a "good fellow." She had always +been nice to him. He did not want to put any obstacles in her +way. In addition, he liked Eugene. Once he had said to Carlotta +jestingly, "Well, his arms are almost as long as Norman's—not +quite maybe."</p> + +<p>"You go to the devil," was her polite reply.</p> + +<p>Tonight a storm came up, a brilliant, flashing summer storm. +Eugene went out on the porch to watch it. Carlotta came also.</p> + +<p>"Well, wise man," she said, as the thunder rolled. "It's all +over up here. Don't let on. I'll see you wherever you go, but +this was so nice. It was fine to have you near me. Don't get +blue, will you? She says she may write your wife, but I don't +think she will. If she thinks I'm behaving, she won't. I'll try +and fool her. It's too bad, though. I'm crazy about you, Genie."</p> + +<p>Now that he was in danger of losing Carlotta, her beauty took +on a special significance for Eugene. He had come into such +close contact with her, had seen her under such varied conditions, +that he had come to feel a profound admiration for not only her +beauty but her intellect and ability as well. One of his weaknesses +was that he was inclined to see much more in those he admired +than was really there. He endowed them with the romance +of his own moods—saw in them the ability to do things +which he only could do. In doing this of course he flattered +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span> +their vanity, aroused their self-confidence, made them feel themselves +the possessors of latent powers and forces which before +him they had only dreamed of. Margaret, Ruby, Angela, Christina +and Carlotta had all gained this feeling from him. They +had a better opinion of themselves for having known him. Now +as he looked at Carlotta he was intensely sorry, for she was so +calm, so affable, so seemingly efficient and self reliant, and such a +comfort to him in these days.</p> + +<p>"Circe!" he said, "this is too bad. I'm sorry. I'm going +to hate to lose you."</p> + +<p>"You won't lose me," she replied. "You can't. I won't let +you. I've found you now and I'm going to keep you. This don't +mean anything. We can find places to meet. Get a place where +they have a phone if you can. When do you think you'll go?"</p> + +<p>"Right away," said Eugene. "I'll take tomorrow morning off +and look."</p> + +<p>"Poor Eugene," she said sympathetically. "It's too bad. +Never mind though. Everything will come out right."</p> + +<p>She was still not counting on Angela. She thought that even +if Angela came back, as Eugene told her she would soon, a joint +arrangement might possibly be made. Angela could be here, but +she, Carlotta, could share Eugene in some way. She thought +she would rather live with him than any other man on earth.</p> + +<p>It was only about noon the next morning when Eugene had +found another room, for, in living here so long, he had thought +of several methods by which he might have obtained a room in +the first place. There was another church, a library, the postmaster +and the ticket agent at Speonk who lived in the village. +He went first to the postmaster and learned of two families, one +the home of a civil engineer, where he might be welcome, and it +was here that he eventually settled. The view was not quite so +attractive, but it was charming, and he had a good room and +good meals. He told them that he might not stay long, for his +wife was coming back soon. The letters from Angela were becoming +most importunate.</p> + +<p>He gathered up his belongings at Mrs. Hibberdell's and took +a polite departure. After he was gone Mrs. Hibberdell of +course changed her mind, and Carlotta returned to her apartment +in New York. She communicated with Eugene not only by +phone but by special delivery, and had him meet her at a convenient +inn the second evening of his departure. She was planning +some sort of a separate apartment for them, when Eugene +informed her that Angela was already on her way to New York +and that nothing could be done at present.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span> +Since Eugene had left her at Biloxi, Angela had spent a most +miserable period of seven months. She had been grieving her +heart out, for she imagined him to be most lonely, and at the +same time she was regretful that she had ever left him. She +might as well have been with him. She figured afterward that +she might have borrowed several hundred dollars from one of +her brothers, and carried out the fight for his mental recovery +by his side. Once he had gone she fancied she might have made +a mistake matrimonially, for he was so impressionable—but his +condition was such that she did not deem him to be interested +in anything save his recovery. Besides, his attitude toward her +of late had been so affectionate and in a way dependent. All +her letters since he had left had been most tender, speaking of +his sorrow at this necessary absence and hoping that the time +would soon come when they could be together. The fact that +he was lonely finally decided her and she wrote that she was +coming whether he wanted her to or not.</p> + +<p>Her arrival would have made little difference except that +by now he was thoroughly weaned away from her again, had +obtained a new ideal and was interested only to see and be with +Carlotta. The latter's easy financial state, her nice clothes, her +familiarity with comfortable and luxurious things—better things +than Eugene had ever dreamed of enjoying—her use of the +automobile, her freedom in the matter of expenditures—taking +the purchase of champagne and expensive meals as a matter of +course—dazzled and fascinated him. It was rather an astonishing +thing, he thought, to have so fine a woman fall in love with +him. Besides, her tolerance, her indifference to petty conventions, +her knowledge of life and literature and art—set her in +marked contrast to Angela, and in all ways she seemed rare +and forceful to him. He wished from his heart that he could +be free and could have her.</p> + +<p>Into this peculiar situation Angela precipitated herself one +bright Saturday afternoon in September. She was dying to see +Eugene again. Full of grave thoughts for his future, she had +come to share it whatever it might be. Her one idea was that +he was sick and depressed and lonely. None of his letters had +been cheerful or optimistic, for of course he did not dare to confess +the pleasure he was having in Carlotta's company. In order +to keep her away he had to pretend that lack of funds made it +inadmissible for her to be here. The fact that he was spending, +and by the time she arrived had spent, nearly the whole of the +three hundred dollars his picture sold to Carlotta had brought +him, had troubled him—not unduly, of course, or he would not +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span> +have done it. He had qualms of conscience, severe ones, but +they passed with the presence of Carlotta or the reading of his +letters from Angela.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what's the matter with me," he said to himself +from time to time. "I guess I'm no good." He thought it +was a blessing that the world could not see him as he was.</p> + +<p>One of the particular weaknesses of Eugene's which should +be set forth here and which will help to illuminate the bases of +his conduct was that he was troubled with a dual point of view—a +condition based upon a peculiar power of analysis—self-analysis +in particular, which was constantly permitting him to +tear himself up by the roots in order to see how he was getting +along. He would daily and hourly when not otherwise employed +lift the veil from his inner mental processes as he might +lift the covering from a well, and peer into its depths. What +he saw was not very inviting and vastly disconcerting, a piece +of machinery that was not going as a true man should, clock +fashion, and corresponding in none of its moral characteristics +to the recognized standard of a man. He had concluded by +now, from watching various specimens, that sane men were honest, +some inherently moral, some regulated by a keen sense of +duty, and occasionally all of these virtues and others were bound +up in one man. Angela's father was such an one. M. Charles +appeared to be another. He had concluded from his association +with Jerry Mathews, Philip Shotmeyer, Peter MacHugh and +Joseph Smite that they were all rather decent in respect to morals. +He had never seen them under temptation but he imagined +they were. Such a man as William Haverford, the Engineer +of Maintenance of Way, and Henry C. Litlebrown, the Division +Engineer of this immense road, struck him as men who +must have stuck close to a sense of duty and the conventions of +the life they represented, working hard all the time, to have +attained the positions they had. All this whole railroad system +which he was watching closely from day to day from his little +vantage point of connection with it, seemed a clear illustration +of the need of a sense of duty and reliability. All of these men +who worked for this company had to be in good health, all had +to appear at their posts on the tick of the clock, all had to perform +faithfully the duties assigned them, or there would be disasters. +Most of them had climbed by long, arduous years of +work to very modest positions of prominence, as conductors, engineers, +foremen, division superintendents. Others more gifted +or more blessed by fortune became division engineers, superintendents, +vice-presidents and presidents. They were all slow +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span> +climbers, rigid in their sense of duty, tireless in their energy, +exact, thoughtful. What was he?</p> + +<p>He looked into the well of his being and there he saw nothing +but shifty and uncertain currents. It was very dark down +there. He was not honest, he said to himself, except in money +matters—he often wondered why. He was not truthful. He +was not moral. This love of beauty which haunted him seemed +much more important than anything else in the world, and his +pursuit of that seemed to fly in the face of everything else which +was established and important. He found that men everywhere +did not think much of a man who was crazy after women. +They might joke about an occasional lapse as an amiable vice +or one which could be condoned, but they wanted little to do +with a man who was overpowered by it. There was a case over +in the railroad yard at Speonk recently which he had noted, of +a foreman who had left his wife and gone after some hoyden +in White Plains, and because of this offense he was promptly +discharged. It appeared, though, that before this he had occasionally +had such lapses and that each time he had been discharged, +but had been subsequently forgiven. This one weakness, and +no other, had given him a bad reputation among his fellow railroad +men—much as that a drunkard might have. Big John +Peters, the engineer, had expressed it aptly to Eugene one day +when he told him in confidence that "Ed Bowers would go to +hell for his hide," the latter being the local expression for women. +Everybody seemed to pity him, and the man seemed in a way +to pity himself. He had a hang-dog look when he was re-instated, +and yet everybody knew that apart from this he was a +fairly competent foreman. Still it was generally understood that +he would never get anywhere.</p> + +<p>From that Eugene argued to himself that a man who was +cursed with this peculiar vice could not get anywhere; that he, +if he kept it up, would not. It was like drinking and stealing, +and the face of the world was against it. Very frequently +it went hand in hand with those things—"birds of a feather" +he thought. Still he was cursed with it, and he no more than +Ed Bowers appeared to be able to conquer it. At least he was +yielding to it now as he had before. It mattered not that the +women he chose were exceptionally beautiful and fascinating. +They were women, and ought he to want them? He had +one. He had taken a solemn vow to love and cherish her, or +at least had gone through the formality of such a vow, and here +he was running about with Carlotta, as he had with Christina +and Ruby before her. Was he not always looking for some such +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span> +woman as this? Certainly he was. Had he not far better be +seeking for wealth, distinction, a reputation for probity, chastity, +impeccable moral honor? Certainly he had. It was the +way to distinction apparently, assuming the talent, and here he +was doing anything but take that way. Conscience was his barrier, +a conscience unmodified by cold self-interest. Shame upon +himself! Shame upon his weak-kneed disposition, not to be able +to recover from this illusion of beauty. Such were some of the +thoughts which his moments of introspection brought him.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, there came over him that other phase of +his duality—the ability to turn his terrible searchlight of intelligence +which swept the heavens and the deep as with a great +white ray—upon the other side of the question. It revealed +constantly the inexplicable subtleties and seeming injustices of +nature. He could not help seeing how the big fish fed upon +the little ones, the strong were constantly using the weak as +pawns; the thieves, the grafters, the murderers were sometimes +allowed to prey on society without let or hindrance. Good was +not always rewarded—frequently terribly ill-rewarded. Evil +was seen to flourish beautifully at times. It was all right to say +that it would be punished, but would it? Carlotta did not think +so. She did not think the thing she was doing with him was +very evil. She had said to him over and over that it was an +open question, that he was troubled with an ingrowing conscience. +"I don't think it's so bad," she once told him. "It +depends somewhat on how you were raised." There was a system +apparently in society, but also apparently it did not work +very well. Only fools were held by religion, which in the main +was an imposition, a graft and a lie. The honest man might be +very fine but he wasn't very successful. There was a great to-do +about morals, but most people were immoral or unmoral. Why +worry? Look to your health! Don't let a morbid conscience +get the better of you. Thus she counselled, and he agreed with +her. For the rest the survival of the fittest was the best. Why +should he worry? He had talent.</p> + +<p>It was thus that Eugene floundered to and fro, and it was in +this state, brooding and melancholy, that Angela found him on +her arrival. He was as gay as ever at times, when he was not +thinking, but he was very thin and hollow-eyed, and Angela +fancied that it was overwork and worry which kept him in this +state. Why had she left him? Poor Eugene! She had clung +desperately to the money he had given her, and had most of it +with her ready to be expended now for his care. She was so +anxious for his recovery and his peace of mind that she was +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span> +ready to go to work herself at anything she could find, in order +to make his path more easy. She was thinking that fate was +terribly unjust to him, and when he had gone to sleep beside +her the first night she lay awake and cried. Poor Eugene! To +think he should be tried so by fate. Nevertheless, he should not +be tortured by anything which she could prevent. She was going +to make him as comfortable and happy as she could. She set +about to find some nice little apartment or rooms where they +could live in peace and where she could cook Eugene's meals +for him. She fancied that maybe his food had not been exactly +right, and when she got him where she could manifest a pretence +of self-confidence and courage that he would take courage +from her and grow better. So she set briskly about her task, +honeying Eugene the while, for she was confident that this above +all things was the thing he needed. She little suspected what +a farce it all appeared to him, how mean and contemptible he +appeared to himself. He did not care to be mean—to rapidly +disillusion her and go his way; and yet this dual existence sickened +him. He could not help but feel that from a great many +points of view Angela was better than Carlotta. Yet the other +woman was wider in her outlook, more gracious in her appearance, +more commanding, more subtle. She was a princess of +the world, subtle, deadly Machiavellian, but a princess nevertheless. +Angela was better described by the current and acceptable +phrase of the time—a "thoroughly good woman," honest, energetic, +resourceful, in all things obedient to the race spirit and +the conventional feelings of the time. He knew that society +would support her thoroughly and condemn Carlotta, and yet +Carlotta interested him more. He wished that he might have +both and no fussing. Then all would be beautiful. So he +thought.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XXVI" id="II_CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> + +<p>The situation which here presented itself was subject to no +such gracious and generous development. Angela was the +soul of watchfulness, insistence on duty, consideration for right +conduct and for the privileges, opportunities and emoluments +which belonged to her as the wife of a talented artist, temporarily +disabled, it is true, but certain to be distinguished +in the future. She was deluding herself that this recent experience +of reverses had probably hardened and sharpened Eugene's +practical instincts, made him less indifferent to the necessity of +looking out for himself, given him keener instincts of self-protection +and economy. He had done very well to live on so little +she thought, but they were going to do better—they were going +to save. She was going to give up those silly dreams she had +entertained of a magnificent studio and hosts of friends, and she +was going to start now saving a fraction of whatever they made, +however small it might be, if it were only ten cents a week. +If Eugene could only make nine dollars a week by working every +day, they were going to live on that. He still had ninety-seven +of the hundred dollars he had brought with him, he told her, +and this was going in the bank. He did not tell her of the sale +of one of his pictures and of the subsequent dissipation of the +proceeds. In the bank, too, they were going to put any money +from subsequent sales until he was on his feet again. One of +these days if they ever made any money, they were going to buy +a house somewhere in which they could live without paying rent. +Some of the money in the bank, a very little of it, might go for +clothes if worst came to worst, but it would not be touched +unless it was absolutely necessary. She needed clothes now, +but that did not matter. To Eugene's ninety-seven was added +Angela's two hundred and twenty-eight which she brought with +her, and this total sum of three hundred and twenty-five dollars +was promptly deposited in the Bank of Riverwood.</p> + +<p>Angela by personal energy and explanation found four rooms +in the house of a furniture manufacturer; it had been vacated +by a daughter who had married, and they were glad to let it to +an artist and his wife for practically nothing so far as real +worth was concerned, for this was a private house in a lovely +lawn. Twelve dollars per month was the charge. Mrs. Witla +seemed very charming to Mrs. Desenas, who was the wife of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span> +the manufacturer, and for her especial benefit a little bedroom +on the second floor adjoining a bath was turned into a kitchen, +with a small gas stove, and Angela at once began housekeeping +operations on the tiny basis necessitated by their income. Some +furniture had to be secured, for the room was not completely +furnished, but Angela by haunting the second-hand stores in +New York, looking through all the department stores, and visiting +certain private sales, managed to find a few things which +she could buy cheaply and which would fit in with the dressing +table, library table, dining table and one bed which were already +provided. The necessary curtains for the bath and kitchen windows +she cut, decorated and hung for herself. She went down +to the storage company where the unsold and undisplayed portion +of Eugene's pictures were and brought back seven, which she +placed in the general living-room and dining-room. All Eugene's +clothes, his underwear and socks particularly, received her immediate +attention, and she soon had his rather attenuated wardrobe +in good condition. From the local market she bought good +vegetables and a little meat and made delightful stews, ragouts, +combinations of eggs and tasty meat juices after the +French fashion. All her housekeeping art was employed to the +utmost to make everything look clean and neat, to maintain a +bountiful supply of varied food on the table and yet to keep the +cost down, so that they could not only live on nine dollars a +week, but set aside a dollar or more of that for what Angela +called their private bank account. She had a little hollow brown +jug, calculated to hold fifteen dollars in change, which could +be opened when full, which she conscientiously endeavored to +fill and refill. Her one desire was to rehabilitate her husband +in the eyes of the world—this time to stay—and she was determined +to do it.</p> + +<p>For another thing, reflection and conversation with one person +and another had taught her that it was not well for herself +or for Eugene for her to encourage him in his animal passions. +Some woman in Blackwood had pointed out a local case of locomotor-ataxia +which had resulted from lack of self-control, and +she had learned that it was believed that many other nervous +troubles sprang from the same source. Perhaps Eugene's had. +She had resolved to protect him from himself. She did not believe +she could be injured, but Eugene was so sensitive, so emotional.</p> + +<p>The trouble with the situation was that it was such a sharp +change from his recent free and to him delightful mode of existence +that it was almost painful. He could see that everything +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span> +appeared to be satisfactory to her, that she thought all his +days had been moral and full of hard work. Carlotta's presence +in the background was not suspected. Her idea was that +they would work hard together now along simple, idealistic lines +to the one end—success for him, and of course, by reflection, for +her.</p> + +<p>Eugene saw the charm of it well enough, but it was only as +something quite suitable for others. He was an artist. The +common laws of existence could not reasonably apply to an +artist. The latter should have intellectual freedom, the privilege +of going where he pleased, associating with whom he chose. +This marriage business was a galling yoke, cutting off all rational +opportunity for enjoyment, and he was now after a brief +period of freedom having that yoke heavily adjusted to his neck +again. Gone were all the fine dreams of pleasure and happiness +which so recently had been so real—the hope of living with Carlotta—the +hope of associating with her on easy and natural terms +in that superior world which she represented. Angela's insistence +on the thought that he should work every day and bring +home nine dollars a week, or rather its monthly equivalent, +made it necessary for him to take sharp care of the little money +he had kept out of the remainder of the three hundred in order +to supply any deficiency which might occur from his taking time +off. For there was no opportunity now of seeing Carlotta of +an evening, and it was necessary to take a regular number of +afternoons or mornings off each week, in order to meet her. He +would leave the little apartment as usual at a quarter to seven +in the morning, dressed suitably for possible out-door expeditions, +for in anticipation of difficulty he had told Angela that it +was his custom to do this, and sometimes he would go to the +factory and sometimes he would not. There was a car line +which carried him rapidly cityward to a rendezvous, and he +would either ride or walk with her as the case might be. There +was constant thought on his and her part of the risk involved, but +still they persisted. By some stroke of ill or good fortune Norman +Wilson returned from Chicago, so that Carlotta's movements +had to be calculated to a nicety, but she did not care. She +trusted most to the automobiles which she could hire at convenient +garages and which would carry them rapidly away from +the vicinity where they might be seen and recognized.</p> + +<p>It was a tangled life, difficult and dangerous. There was no +peace in it, for there is neither peace nor happiness in deception. +A burning joy at one time was invariably followed by a disturbing +remorse afterward. There was Carlotta's mother, Norman +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span> +Wilson, and Angela, to guard against, to say nothing of the +constant pricking of his own conscience.</p> + +<p>It is almost a foregone conclusion in any situation of this +kind that it cannot endure. The seed of its undoing is in itself. +We think that our actions when unseen of mortal eyes resolve +themselves into nothingness, but this is not true. They are +woven indefinably into our being, and shine forth ultimately as +the real self, in spite of all our pretences. One could almost +accept the Brahmanistic dogma of a psychic body which sees +and is seen where we dream all to be darkness. There is no +other supposition on which to explain the facts of intuition. So +many individuals have it. They know so well without knowing +why they know.</p> + +<p>Angela had this intuitive power in connection with Eugene. +Because of her great affection for him she divined or apprehended +many things in connection with him long before they +occurred. Throughout her absence from him she had been +haunted by the idea that she ought to be with him, and now that +she was here and the first excitement of contact and adjustment +was over, she was beginning to be aware of something. Eugene +was not the same as he had been a little while before he had left +her. His attitude, in spite of a kindly show of affection, was +distant and preoccupied. He had no real power of concealing +anything. He appeared at times—at most times when he was +with her—to be lost in a mist of speculation. He was lonely +and a little love-sick, because under the pressure of home affairs +Carlotta was not able to see him quite so much. At the same +time, now that the fall was coming on, he was growing weary +of the shop at Speonk, for the gray days and slight chill which +settled upon the earth at times caused the shop windows to be +closed and robbed the yard of that air of romance which had +characterized it when he first came there. He could not take +his way of an evening along the banks of the stream to the arms +of Carlotta. The novelty of Big John and Joseph Mews and +Malachi Dempsey and Little Suddsy had worn off. He was +beginning now to see also that they were nothing but plain workingmen +after all, worrying over the fact that they were not +getting more than fifteen or seventeen and a half cents an hour; +jealous of each other and their superiors, full of all the frailties +and weaknesses to which the flesh is heir.</p> + +<p>His coming had created a slight diversion for them, for he +was very strange, but his strangeness was no longer a novelty. +They were beginning to see him also as a relatively commonplace +human being. He was an artist, to be sure, but his actions and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span> +intentions were not so vastly different from those of other men.</p> + +<p>A shop of this kind, like any other institution where people +are compelled by force of circumstances to work together +whether the weather be fair or foul, or the mood grave or +gay, can readily become and frequently does become a veritable +hell. Human nature is a subtle, irritable, irrational thing. It +is not so much governed by rules of ethics and conditions of +understanding as a thing of moods and temperament. Eugene +could easily see, philosopher that he was, that these people would +come here enveloped in some mist of home trouble or secret +illness or grief and would conceive that somehow it was not +their state of mind but the things around them which were the +cause of all their woe. Sour looks would breed sour looks in +return; a gruff question would beget a gruff answer; there were +long-standing grudges between one man and another, based on +nothing more than a grouchy observation at one time in the +past. He thought by introducing gaiety and persistent, if +make-believe, geniality that he was tending to obviate and overcome +the general condition, but this was only relatively true. +His own gaiety was capable of becoming as much of a weariness +to those who were out of the spirit of it, as was the sour +brutality with which at times he was compelled to contend. So +he wished that he might arrange to get well and get out of here, +or at least change his form of work, for it was plain to be seen +that this condition would not readily improve. His presence was +a commonplace. His power to entertain and charm was practically +gone.</p> + +<p>This situation, coupled with Angela's spirit of honest conservatism +was bad, but it was destined to be much worse. From +watching him and endeavoring to decipher his moods, Angela +came to suspect something—she could not say what. He did not +love her as much as he had. There was a coolness in his caresses +which was not there when he left her. What could have happened, +she asked herself. Was it just absence, or what? One +day when he had returned from an afternoon's outing with +Carlotta and was holding her in his arms in greeting, she asked +him solemnly:</p> + +<p>"Do you love me, Honeybun?"</p> + +<p>"You know I do," he asseverated, but without any energy, for +he could not regain his old original feeling for her. There was +no trace of it, only sympathy, pity, and a kind of sorrow that +she was being so badly treated after all her efforts.</p> + +<p>"No, you don't," she replied, detecting the hollow ring in +what he said. Her voice was sad, and her eyes showed traces +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span> +of that wistful despair into which she could so readily sink at +times.</p> + +<p>"Why, yes I do, Angelface," he insisted. "What makes you +ask? What's come over you?" He was wondering whether +she had heard anything or seen anything and was concealing her +knowledge behind this preliminary inquiry.</p> + +<p>"Nothing," she replied. "Only you don't love me. I don't +know what it is. I don't know why. But I can feel it right +here," and she laid her hand on her heart.</p> + +<p>The action was sincere, unstudied. It hurt him, for it was +like that of a little child.</p> + +<p>"Oh, hush! Don't say that," he pleaded. "You know I do. +Don't look so gloomy. I love you—don't you know I do?" +and he kissed her.</p> + +<p>"No, no!" said Angela. "I know! You don't. Oh, dear; +oh, dear; I feel so bad!"</p> + +<p>Eugene was dreading another display of the hysteria with +which he was familiar, but it did not come. She conquered +her mood, inasmuch as she had no real basis for suspicion, and +went about the work of getting him his dinner. She was depressed, +though, and he was fearful. What if she should ever +find out!</p> + +<p>More days passed. Carlotta called him up at the shop occasionally, +for there was no phone where he lived, and she would +not have risked it if there had been. She sent him registered +notes to be signed for, addressed to Henry Kingsland and directed +to the post office at Speonk. Eugene was not known +there as Witla and easily secured these missives, which were +usually very guarded in their expressions and concerned appointments—the +vaguest, most mysterious directions, which he understood. +They made arrangements largely from meeting to +meeting, saying, "If I can't keep it Thursday at two it will be +Friday at the same time; and if not then, Saturday. If anything +happens I'll send you a registered special." So it went on.</p> + +<p>One noontime Eugene walked down to the little post office at +Speonk to look for a letter, for Carlotta had not been able to +meet him the previous day and had phoned instead that she +would write the following day. He found it safely enough, +and after glancing at it—it contained but few words—decided +to tear it up as usual and throw the pieces away. A mere expression, +"Ashes of Roses," which she sometimes used to designate +herself, and the superscription, "Oh, Genie!" made it, +however, inexpressibly dear to him. He thought he would hold +it in his possession just a little while—a few hours longer. It +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span> +was enigmatic enough to anyone but himself, he thought, even +if found. "The bridge, two, Wednesday." The bridge referred +to was one over the Harlem at Morris Heights. He +kept the appointment that day as requested, but by some necromancy +of fate he forgot the letter until he was within his own +door. Then he took it out, tore it up into four or five pieces +quickly, put it in his vest pocket, and went upstairs intending at +the first opportunity to dispose of it.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, Angela, for the first time since they had been +living at Riverwood, had decided to walk over toward the factory +about six o'clock and meet Eugene on his way home. She +heard him discourse on the loveliness of this stream and what a +pleasure it was to stroll along its banks morning and evening. +He was so fond of the smooth water and the overhanging leaves! +She had walked with him there already on several Sundays. +When she went this evening she thought what a pleasant surprise +it would be for him, for she had prepared everything on +leaving so that his supper would not be delayed when they reached +home. She heard the whistle blow as she neared the shop, and, +standing behind a clump of bushes on the thither side of the +stream, she waited, expecting to pounce out on Eugene with a +loving "Boo!" He did not come.</p> + +<p>The forty or fifty men who worked here trickled out like a +little stream of black ants, and then, Eugene not appearing, +Angela went over to the gate which Joseph Mews in the official +capacity of gateman, after the whistle blew, was closing.</p> + +<p>"Is Mr. Witla here?" asked Angela, peering through the bars +at him. Eugene had described Joseph so accurately to her that +she recognized him at sight.</p> + +<p>"No, ma'am," replied Joseph, quite taken back by this attractive +arrival, for good-looking women were not common at +the shop gate of the factory. "He left four or five hours ago. +I think he left at one o'clock, if I remember right. He wasn't +working with us today. He was working out in the yard."</p> + +<p>"You don't know where he went, do you?" asked Angela, who +was surprised at this novel information. Eugene had not said +anything about going anywhere. Where could he have gone?</p> + +<p>"No'm, I don't," replied Joseph volubly. "He sometimes +goes off this way—quite frequent, ma'am. His wife calls him +up—er—now, maybe you're his wife."</p> + +<p>"I am," said Angela; but she was no longer thinking of what +she was saying, her words on the instant were becoming mechanical. +Eugene going away frequently? He had never said +anything to her! His wife calling him up! Could there be +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span> +another woman! Instantly all her old suspicions, jealousies, +fears, awoke, and she was wondering why she had not fixed on +this fact before. That explained Eugene's indifference, of +course. That explained his air of abstraction. He wasn't thinking +of her, the miserable creature! He was thinking of someone +else. Still she could not be sure, for she had no proof. +Two adroit questions elicited the fact that no one in the shop +had ever seen his wife. He had just gone out. A woman had +called up.</p> + +<p>Angela took her way home amid a whirling fire of conjecture. +When she reached it Eugene was not there yet, for he sometimes +delayed his coming, lingering, as he said, to look at the water. +It was natural enough in an artist. She went upstairs and hung +the broad-brimmed straw she had worn in the closet, and went +into the kitchen to await his coming. Experience with him and +the nature of her own temperament determined her to enact a +rôle of subtlety. She would wait until he spoke, pretending +that she had not been out. She would ask whether he had had +a hard day, and see whether he disclosed the fact that he had +been away from the factory. That would show her positively +what he was doing and whether he was deliberately deceiving +her.</p> + +<p>Eugene came up the stairs, gay enough but anxious to deposit +the scraps of paper where they would not be seen. No opportunity +came for Angela was there to greet him.</p> + +<p>"Did you have a hard job today?" she asked, noting that he +made no preliminary announcement of any absence.</p> + +<p>"Not very," he replied; "no. I don't look tired?"</p> + +<p>"No," she said bitterly, but concealing her feelings; she +wanted to see how thoroughly and deliberately he would lie. +"But I thought maybe you might have. Did you stop to look +at the water tonight?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he replied smoothly. "It's very lovely over there. I +never get tired of it. The sun on the leaves these days now that +they are turning yellow is so beautiful. They look a little like +stained glass at certain angles."</p> + +<p>Her first impulse after hearing this was to exclaim, "Why do +you lie to me, Eugene?" for her temper was fiery, almost uncontrollable +at times; but she restrained herself. She wanted to +find out more—how she did not know, but time, if she could +only wait a little, would help her. Eugene went to the bath, +congratulating himself on the ease of his escape—the comfortable +fact that he was not catechised very much; but in this temporary +feeling of satisfaction he forgot the scraps of paper in his +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span> +vest pocket—though not for long. He hung his coat and vest +on a hook and started into the bedroom to get himself a fresh +collar and tie. While he was in there Angela passed the bathroom +door. She was always interested in Eugene's clothes, +how they were wearing, but tonight there were other thoughts +in her mind. Hastily and by intuition she went through his +pockets, finding the torn scraps, then for excuse took his coat +and vest down to clean certain spots. At the same moment +Eugene thought of his letter. He came hurrying out to get it, +or the pieces, rather, but Angela already had them and was looking +at them curiously.</p> + +<p>"What was that?" she asked, all her suspicious nature on +the <i>qui vive</i> for additional proof. Why should he keep the torn +fragments of a letter in his pocket? For days she had had a +psychic sense of something impending. Everything about him +seemed strangely to call for investigation. Now it was all coming +out.</p> + +<p>"Nothing," he said nervously. "A memorandum. Throw it +in the paper box."</p> + +<p>Angela noted the peculiarity of his voice and manner. She +was taken by the guilty expression of his eyes. Something was +wrong. It concerned these scraps of paper. Maybe it was in +these she would be able to read the riddle of his conduct. The +woman's name might be in here. Like a flash it came to her +that she might piece these scraps together, but there was another +thought equally swift which urged her to pretend indifference. +That might help her. Pretend now and she would know more +later. She threw them in the paper box, thinking to piece them +together at her leisure. Eugene noted her hesitation, her suspicion. +He was afraid she would do something, what he could +not guess. He breathed more easily when the papers fluttered +into the practically empty box, but he was nervous. If they +were only burned! He did not think she would attempt to put +them together, but he was afraid. He would have given anything +if his sense of romance had not led him into this trap.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XXVII" id="II_CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> + +<p>Angela was quick to act upon her thought. No sooner +had Eugene entered the bath than she gathered up the +pieces, threw other bits of paper like them in their place and +tried quickly to piece them together on the ironing board where +she was. It was not difficult; the scraps were not small. On +one triangular bit were the words, "Oh, Genie!" with a colon +after it; on another the words, "The bridge," and on another +"Roses." There was no doubt in her mind from this preliminary +survey that this was a love note, and every nerve in her +body tingled to the terrible import of it. Could it really be +true? Could Eugene have found someone else? Was this the +cause of his coolness and his hypocritical pretence of affection? +and of his not wanting her to come to him? Oh, God! Would +her sufferings never cease! She hurried into the front room, her +face white, her hand clenching the tell-tale bits, and there set to +work to complete her task. It did not take her long. In four +minutes it was all together, and then she saw it all. A love +note! From some demon of a woman. No doubt of it! Some +mysterious woman in the background. "Ashes of Roses!" Now +God curse her for a siren, a love thief, a hypnotizing snake, +fascinating men with her evil eyes. And Eugene! The dog! +The scoundrel! The vile coward! The traitor! Was there no +decency, no morality, no kindness, no gratitude in his soul? +After all her patience, all her suffering, all her loneliness, her +poverty. To treat her like this! Writing that he was sick +and lonely and unable to have her with him, and at the same +time running around with a strange woman. "Ashes of Roses!" +Oh, curses, curses, curses on her harlot's heart and brain! Might +God strike her dead for her cynical, brutal seizing upon that +sacred possession which belonged to another. She wrung her +hands desperately.</p> + +<p>Angela was fairly beside herself. Through her dainty little +head ran a foaming torrent of rage, hate, envy, sorrow, self-commiseration, +brutal desire for revenge. If she could only get +at this woman! If she could only denounce Eugene now to his +face! If she could only find them together and kill them! How +she would like to strike her on the mouth! How tear her hair +and her eyes out! Something of the forest cat's cruel rage shone +in her gleaming eyes as she thought of her, for if she could +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</a></span> +have had Carlotta there alone she would have tortured her with +hot irons, torn her tongue and teeth from their roots, beaten her +into insensibility and an unrecognizable mass. She was a real +tigress now, her eyes gleaming, her red lips wet. She would +kill her! kill her!! kill her!!! As God was judge, she would +kill her if she could find her, and Eugene and herself. Yes, yes, +she would. Better death than this agony of suffering. Better +a thousand times to be dead with this beast of a woman dead +beside her and Eugene than to suffer this way. She didn't deserve +it. Why did God torture her so? Why was she made +to bleed at every step by this her sacrificial love? Had she +not been a good wife? Had she not laid every tribute of tenderness, +patience, self-abnegation, self-sacrifice and virtue on the +altar of love? What more could God ask? What more could +man want? Had she not waited on Eugene in sickness and +health? She had gone without clothes, gone without friends, +hidden herself away in Blackwood the seven months while he +was here frittering away his health and time in love and immorality, +and what was her reward? In Chicago, in Tennessee, +in Mississippi, had she not waited on him, sat up with him of +nights, walked the floor with him when he was nervous, consoled +him in his fear of poverty and failure, and here she was now, +after seven long months of patient waiting and watching—eating +her lonely heart out—forsaken. Oh, the inconceivable inhumanity +of the human heart! To think anybody could be so +vile, so low, so unkind, so cruel! To think that Eugene with +his black eyes, his soft hair, his smiling face, could be so treacherous, +so subtle, so dastardly! Could he really be as mean as +this note proved him to be? Could he be as brutal, as selfish? +Was she awake or asleep? Was this a dream? Ah, God! no, +no it was not a dream. It was a cold, bitter, agonizing reality. +And the cause of all her suffering was there in the bathroom +now shaving himself.</p> + +<p>For one moment she thought she would go in and strike him +where he stood. She thought she could tear his heart out, cut +him up, but then suddenly the picture of him bleeding and dead +came to her and she recoiled. No, no, she could not do that! +Oh, no, not Eugene—and yet and yet——</p> + +<p>"Oh, God, let me get my hands on that woman!" she said +to herself. "Let me get my hands on her. I'll kill her, I'll +kill her! I'll kill her!"</p> + +<p>This torrent of fury and self-pity was still raging in her +heart when the bathroom knob clicked and Eugene came out. +He was in his undershirt, trousers and shoes, looking for a clean +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span> +white shirt. He was very nervous over the note which had been +thrown in scraps into the box, but looking in the kitchen and +seeing the pieces still there he was slightly reassured. Angela +was not there; he could come back and get them when he found +out where she was. He went on into the bedroom, looking into +the front room as he did so. She appeared to be at the window +waiting for him. After all, she was probably not as suspicious +as he thought. It was his own imagination. He was too nervous +and sensitive. Well, he would get those pieces now if he +could and throw them out of the window. Angela should not +have a chance to examine them if she wanted to. He slipped +out into the kitchen, made a quick grab for the little heap, and +sent the pieces flying. Then he felt much better. He would +never bring another letter home from anybody, that was a certainty. +Fate was too much against him.</p> + +<p>Angela came out after a bit, for the click of the bathroom +knob had sobered her a little. Her rage was high, her pulse +abnormal, her whole being shaken to its roots, but still she realized +that she must have time to think. She must see who this +woman was first. She must have time to find her. Eugene +mustn't know. Where was she now? Where was this bridge? +Where did they meet? Where did she live? She wondered for +the moment why she couldn't think it all out, why it didn't come +to her in a flash, a revelation. If she could only know!</p> + +<p>In a few minutes Eugene came in, clean-shaven, smiling, his +equanimity and peace of mind fairly well restored. The letter +was gone. Angela could never know. She might suspect, but +this possible burst of jealousy had been nipped in the bud. He +came over toward her to put his arm round her, but she slipped +away from him, pretending to need the sugar. He let this effort +at love making go—the will for the deed, and sat down at +the snow-white little table, set with tempting dishes and waited +to be served. The day had been very pleasant, being early in +October, and he was pleased to see a last lingering ray of light +falling on some red and yellow leaves. This yard was very +beautiful. This little flat, for all their poverty, very charming. +Angela was neat and trim in a dainty house dress of mingled +brown and green. A dark blue studio apron shielded her bosom +and skirt. She was very pale and distraught-looking, but Eugene +for the time was almost unconscious of it—he was so +relieved.</p> + +<p>"Are you very tired, Angela?" he finally asked sympathetically.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'm not feeling so well today," she replied.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span> +"What have you been doing, ironing?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, and cleaning. I worked on the cupboard."</p> + +<p>"You oughtn't to try to do so much," he said cheerfully. +"You're not strong enough. You think you're a little horse, +but you are only a colt. Better go slow, hadn't you?"</p> + +<p>"I will after I get everything straightened out to suit me," +she replied.</p> + +<p>She was having the struggle of her life to conceal her real +feelings. Never at any time had she undergone such an ordeal +as this. Once in the studio, when she discovered those two +letters, she thought she was suffering—but that, what was that +to this? What were her suspicions concerning Frieda? What +were the lonely longings at home, her grieving and worrying +over his illness? Nothing, nothing! Now he was actually +faithless to her. Now she had the evidence. This woman was +here. She was somewhere in the immediate background. After +these years of marriage and close companionship he was deceiving +her. It was possible that he had been with this woman +today, yesterday, the day before. The letter was not dated. +Could it be that she was related to Mrs. Hibberdell? Eugene +had said that there was a married daughter, but never that she +was there. If she was there, why should he have moved? He +wouldn't have. Was it the wife of the man he was last living +with? No; she was too homely. Angela had seen her. Eugene +would never associate with her. If she could only know! +"Ashes of Roses!" The world went red before her eyes. There +was no use bursting into a storm now, though. If she could +only be calm it would be better. If she only had someone to +talk to—if there were a minister or a bosom friend! She might +go to a detective agency. They might help her. A detective +could trace this woman and Eugene. Did she want to do this? +It cost money. They were very poor now. Paugh! Why +should she worry about their poverty, mending her dresses, going +without hats, going without decent shoes, and he wasting his +time and being upon some shameless strumpet! If he had +money, he would spend it on her. Still, he had handed her almost +all the money he had brought East with him intact. How +was that?</p> + +<p>All the time Eugene was sitting opposite her eating with fair +heartiness. If the trouble about the letter had not come out so +favorably he would have been without appetite, but now he felt +at ease. Angela said she was not hungry and could not eat. +She passed him the bread, the butter, the hashed brown potatoes, +the tea, and he ate cheerfully.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span> +"I think I am going to try and get out of that shop over +there," he volunteered affably.</p> + +<p>"Why?" asked Angela mechanically.</p> + +<p>"I'm tired of it. The men are not so interesting to me now. +I'm tired of them. I think Mr. Haverford will transfer me if +I write to him. He said he would. I'd rather be outside with +some section gang if I could. It's going to be very dreary in the +shop when they close it up."</p> + +<p>"Well, if you're tired you'd better," replied Angela. "Your +mind needs diversion, I know that. Why don't you write to Mr. +Haverford?"</p> + +<p>"I will," he said, but he did not immediately. He went into +the front room and lit the gas eventually, reading a paper, then +a book, then yawning wearily. Angela came in after a time and +sat down pale and tired. She went and secured a little workbasket +in which were socks undarned and other odds and ends +and began on those, but she revolted at the thought of doing +anything for him and put them up. She got out a skirt of hers +which she was making. Eugene watched her a little while lazily, +his artistic eye measuring the various dimensions of her features. +She had a well-balanced face, he finally concluded. He noted +the effect of the light on her hair—the peculiar hue it gave it—and +wondered if he could get that in oil. Night scenes were +harder than those of full daylight. Shadows were so very +treacherous. He got up finally.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm going to turn in," he said. "I'm tired. I have +to get up at six. Oh, dear, this darn day labor business gives me +a pain. I wish it were over."</p> + +<p>Angela did not trust herself to speak. She was so full of pain +and despair that she thought if she spoke she would cry. He +went out, saying: "Coming soon?" She nodded her head. +When he was gone the storm burst and she broke into a blinding +flood of tears. They were not only tears of sorrow, but of rage +and helplessness. She went out on a little balcony which was +there and cried alone, the night lights shining wistfully about. +After the first storm she began to harden and dry up again, for +helpless tears were foreign to her in a rage. She dried her eyes +and became white-faced and desperate as before.</p> + +<p>The dog, the scoundrel, the brute, the hound! she thought. +How could she ever have loved him? How could she love him +now? Oh, the horror of life, its injustice, its cruelty, its shame! +That she should be dragged through the mire with a man like +this. The pity of it! The shame! If this was art, death take +it! And yet hate him as she might—hate this hellish man-trap +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span> +who signed herself "Ashes of Roses"—she loved him, too. She +could not help it. She knew she loved him. Oh, to be crossed +by two fevers like this! Why might she not die? Why not die, +right now?</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="II_CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> + +<p>The hells of love are bitter and complete. There were days +after that when she watched him, followed him down the +pleasant lane from the house to the water's edge, slipping out unceremoniously +after he had gone not more than eight hundred feet. +She watched the bridge at Riverwood at one and six, expecting +that Eugene and his paramour might meet there. It just happened +that Carlotta was compelled to leave town for ten days +with her husband, and so Eugene was safe. On two occasions +he went downtown—into the heart of the great city, anxious to +get a breath of the old life that so fascinated him, and Angela +followed him only to lose track of him quickly. He did nothing +evil, however, merely walked, wondering what Miriam Finch +and Christina Channing and Norma Whitmore were doing +these days and what they were thinking of him in his long +absence. Of all the people he had known, he had only seen +Norma Whitmore once and that was not long after he returned +to New York. He had given her a garbled explanation of his +illness, stated that he was going to work now and proposed to +come and see her. He did his best to avoid observation, however, +for he dreaded explaining the reason of his non-productive condition. +Miriam Finch was almost glad that he had failed, since +he had treated her so badly. Christina Channing was in opera, +as he quickly discovered, for he saw her name blazoned one day +the following November in the newspapers. She was a star of +whose talent great hopes were entertained, and was interested +almost exclusively in her career. She was to sing in "Bohème" +and "Rigoletto."</p> + +<p>Another thing, fortunate for Eugene at this time, was that +he changed his work. There came to the shop one day an +Irish foreman, Timothy Deegan, master of a score of "guineas," +as he called the Italian day laborers who worked for him, +who took Eugene's fancy greatly. He was of medium height, +thick of body and neck, with a cheerful, healthy red face, a +keen, twinkling gray eye, and stiff, closely cropped gray hair +and mustache. He had come to lay the foundation for a small +dynamo in the engine room at Speonk, which was to supply the +plant with light in case of night work, and a car of his had +been backed in, a tool car, full of boards, barrows, mortar +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span> +boards, picks and shovels. Eugene was amused and astonished +at his insistent, defiant attitude and the brisk manner in which +he was handing out orders to his men.</p> + +<p>"Come, Matt! Come, Jimmie! Get the shovels now! Get +the picks!" he heard him shout. "Bring some sand here! Bring +some stone! Where's the cement now? Where's the cement? +Jasus Christ! I must have some cement. What arre ye all +doing? Hurry now, hurry! Bring the cement."</p> + +<p>"Well, he knows how to give orders," commented Eugene to +Big John, who was standing near. "He certainly does," replied +the latter.</p> + +<p>To himself Eugene observed, hearing only the calls at first, +"the Irish brute." Later he discovered a subtle twinkle in +Deegan's eyes as he stood brazenly in the door, looking defiantly +about. There was no brutality in it, only self-confidence and a +hearty Irish insistence on the necessity of the hour.</p> + +<p>"Well, you're a dandy!" commented Eugene boldly after a +time, and laughed.</p> + +<p>"Ha! ha! ha!" mocked Deegan in return. "If you had to +work as harred as these men you wouldn't laugh."</p> + +<p>"I'm not laughing at them. I'm laughing at you," explained +Eugene.</p> + +<p>"Laugh," said Deegan. "Shure you're as funny to me as I +am to you."</p> + +<p>Eugene laughed again. The Irishman agreed with himself +that there was humor in it. He laughed too. Eugene patted +his big rough shoulder with his hands and they were friends +immediately. It did not take Deegan long to find out from +Big John why he was there and what he was doing.</p> + +<p>"An arrtist!" he commented. "Shewer he'd better be outside +than in. The loikes of him packin' shavin's and him laughin' +at me."</p> + +<p>Big John smiled.</p> + +<p>"I believe he wants to get outside," he said.</p> + +<p>"Why don't he come with me, then? He'd have a foine +time workin' with the guineas. Shewer 'twould make a man av +him—a few months of that"—and he pointed to Angelo Esposito +shoveling clay.</p> + +<p>Big John thought this worth reporting to Eugene. He did +not think that he wanted to work with the guineas, but he +might like to be with Deegan. Eugene saw his opportunity. +He liked Deegan.</p> + +<p>"Would you like to have an artist who's looking for health +come and work for you, Deegan?" Eugene asked genially. He +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span> +thought Deegan might refuse, but it didn't matter. It was +worth the trial.</p> + +<p>"Shewer!" replied the latter.</p> + +<p>"Will I have to work with the Italians?"</p> + +<p>"There'll be plenty av work for ye to do without ever layin' +yer hand to pick or shovel unless ye want to. Shewer that's +no work fer a white man to do."</p> + +<p>"And what do you call them, Deegan? Aren't they white?"</p> + +<p>"Shewer they're naat."</p> + +<p>"What are they, then? They're not black."</p> + +<p>"Nagurs, of coorse."</p> + +<p>"But they're not negroes."</p> + +<p>"Will, begad, they're naat white. Any man kin tell that be +lookin' at thim."</p> + +<p>Eugene smiled. He understood at once the solid Irish temperament +which could draw this hearty conclusion. There was +no malice in it. Deegan did not underestimate these Italians. +He liked his men, but they weren't white. He didn't know what +they were exactly, but they weren't white. He was standing +over them a moment later shouting, "Up with it! Up with it! +Down with it! Down with it!" as though his whole soul were +intent on driving the last scrap of strength out of these poor +underlings, when as a matter of fact they were not working +very hard at all. His glance was roving about in a general way +as he yelled and they paid little attention to him. Once in a +while he would interpolate a "Come, Matt!" in a softer key—a +key so soft that it was entirely out of keeping with his other +voice. Eugene saw it all clearly. He understood Deegan.</p> + +<p>"I think I'll get Mr. Haverford to transfer me to you, if +you'll let me come," he said at the close of the day when Deegan +was taking off his overalls and the "Eyetalians," as he +called them, were putting the things back in the car.</p> + +<p>"Shewer!" said Deegan, impressed by the great name of +Haverford. If Eugene could accomplish that through such a +far-off, wondrous personality, he must be a remarkable man +himself. "Come along. I'll be glad to have ye. Ye can just +make out the O. K. blanks and the repoarts and watch over the +min sich times as I'll naat be there and—well—all told, ye'll +have enough to keep ye busy."</p> + +<p>Eugene smiled. This was a pleasant prospect. Big John had +told him during the morning that Deegan went up and down +the road from Peekskill on the main line, Chatham on the Midland +Division, and Mt. Kisco on a third branch to New York +City. He built wells, culverts, coal bins, building piers—small +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</a></span> +brick buildings—anything and everything, in short, which a +capable foreman-mason ought to be able to build, and in addition +he was fairly content and happy in his task. Eugene could +see it. The atmosphere of the man was wholesome. He was +like a tonic—a revivifying dynamo to this sickly overwrought +sentimentalist.</p> + +<p>That night he went home to Angela full of the humor and +romance of his new situation. He liked the idea of it. He +wanted to tell her about Deegan—to make her laugh. He was +destined unfortunately to another kind of reception.</p> + +<p>For Angela, by this time, had endured the agony of her discovery +to the breaking point. She had listened to his pretences, +knowing them to be lies, until she could endure it no longer. +In following him she had discovered nothing, and the change in +his work would make the chase more difficult. It was scarcely +possible for anyone to follow him, for he himself did not know +where he would be from day to day. He would be here, there, +and everywhere. His sense of security as well as of his unfairness +made him sensitive about being nice in the unimportant +things. When he thought at all he was ashamed of what he +was doing—thoroughly ashamed. Like the drunkard he appeared +to be mastered by his weakness, and the psychology of his +attitude is so best interpreted. He caressed her sympathetically, +for he thought from her drawn, weary look that she was verging +on some illness. She appeared to him to be suffering from +worry for him, overwork, or approaching malady.</p> + +<p>But Eugene in spite of his unfaithfulness did sympathize with +Angela greatly. He appreciated her good qualities—her truthfulness, +economy, devotion and self-sacrifice in all things which +related to him. He was sorry that his own yearning for freedom +crossed with her desire for simple-minded devotion on his +part. He could not love her as she wanted him to, that he knew, +and yet he was at times sorry for it, very. He would look at +her when she was not looking at him, admiring her industry, her +patience, her pretty figure, her geniality in the face of many difficulties, +and wish that she could have had a better fate than to +have met and married him.</p> + +<p>Because of these feelings on his part for her he could not bear +to see her suffer. When she appeared to be ill he could not help +drawing near to her, wanting to know how she was, endeavoring +to make her feel better by those sympathetic, emotional demonstrations +which he knew meant so much to her. On this particular +evening, noting the still drawn agony of her face, he +was moved to insist. "What's the matter with you, Angelface, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</a></span> +these days? You look so tired. You're not right. What's troubling +you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing," replied Angela wearily.</p> + +<p>"But I know there is," he replied. "You can't be feeling +well. What's ailing you? You're not like yourself at all. +Won't you tell me, sweet? What's the trouble?"</p> + +<p>He was thinking because Angela said nothing that it must be +a real physical illness. Any emotional complaint vented itself +quickly.</p> + +<p>"Why should you care?" she asked cautiously, breaking her +self-imposed vow of silence. She was thinking that Eugene and +this woman, whoever she was, were conspiring to defeat her +and that they were succeeding. Her voice had changed from +one of weary resignation to subtle semi-concealed complaint and +offense, and Eugene noted it. Before she could add any more, he +had observed, "Why shouldn't I? Why, how you talk! What's +the matter now?"</p> + +<p>Angela really did not intend to go on. Her query was +dragged out of her by his obvious sympathy. He was sorry for +her in some general way. It made her pain and wrath all the +greater. And his additional inquiry irritated her the more.</p> + +<p>"Why should you?" she asked weepingly. "You don't want +me. You don't like me. You pretend sympathy when I look +a little bad, but that's all. But you don't care for me. If you +could get rid of me, you would. That is so plain."</p> + +<p>"Why, what are you talking about?" he asked, astonished. +Had she found out anything? Was the incident of the scraps +of paper really closed? Had anybody been telling her anything +about Carlotta? Instantly he was all at sea. Still he had to +pretend.</p> + +<p>"You know I care," he said. "How can you say that?"</p> + +<p>"You don't. You know you don't!" she flared up suddenly. +"Why do you lie? You don't care. Don't touch me. Don't +come near me. I'm sick of your hypocritical pretences! Oh!" +And she straightened up with her finger nails cutting into her +palms.</p> + +<p>Eugene at the first expression of disbelief on her part had laid +his hand soothingly on her arm. That was why she had jumped +away from him. Now he drew back, nonplussed, nervous, a +little defiant. It was easier to combat rage than sorrow; but +he did not want to do either.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter with you?" he asked, assuming a look of +bewildered innocence. "What have I done now?"</p> + +<p>"What haven't you done, you'd better ask. You dog! You +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</a></span> +coward!" flared Angela. "Leaving me to stay out in Wisconsin +while you go running around with a shameless woman. Don't +deny it! Don't dare to deny it!"—this apropos of a protesting +movement on the part of Eugene's head—"I know all! I know +more than I want to know. I know how you've been acting. +I know what you've been doing. I know how you've been lying +to me. You've been running around with a low, vile wretch of +a woman while I have been staying out in Blackwood eating +my heart out, that's what you've been doing. Dear Angela! +Dear Angelface! Dear Madonna Doloroso! Ha! What have +you been calling her, you lying, hypocritical coward! What +names have you for her, Hypocrite! Brute! Liar! I know +what you've been doing. Oh, how well I know! Why was I +ever born?—oh, why, why?"</p> + +<p>Her voice trailed off in a wail of agony. Eugene stood there +astonished to the point of inefficiency. He could not think of +a single thing to do or say. He had no idea upon what evidence +she based her complaint. He fancied that it must be much +more than had been contained in that little note which he had +torn up. She had not seen that—of that he was reasonably sure—or +was he? Could she have taken it out of the box while he +was in the bath and then put it back again? This sounded like +it. She had looked very bad that night. How much did she +know? Where had she secured this information? Mrs. Hibberdell? +Carlotta? No! Had she seen her? Where? When?</p> + +<p>"You're talking through your hat," he said aimlessly and +largely in order to get time. "You're crazy! What's got into +you, anyhow? I haven't been doing anything of the sort."</p> + +<p>"Oh, haven't you!" she sneered. "You haven't been meeting +her at bridges and road houses and street cars, have you? You +liar! You haven't been calling her 'Ashes of Roses' and 'River +Nymph' and 'Angel Girl.'" Angela was making up names and +places out of her own mind. "I suppose you used some of the +pet names on her that you gave to Christina Channing, didn't +you? She'd like those, the vile strumpet! And you, you dog, +pretending to me—pretending sympathy, pretending loneliness, +pretending sorrow that I couldn't be here! A lot you cared +what I was doing or thinking or suffering. Oh, I hate you, you +horrible coward! I hate her! I hope something terrible happens +to you. If I could get at her now I would kill her and +you both—and myself. I would! I wish I could die! I wish +I could die!"</p> + +<p>Eugene was beginning to get the measure of his iniquity as +Angela interpreted it. He could see now how cruelly he had +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</a></span> +hurt her. He could see now how vile what he was doing looked +in her eyes. It was bad business—running with other women—no +doubt of it. It always ended in something like this—a terrible +storm in which he had to sit by and hear himself called +brutal names to which there was no legitimate answer. He had +heard of this in connection with other people, but he had never +thought it would come to him. And the worst of it was that +he was guilty and deserving of it. No doubt of that. It lowered +him in his own estimation. It lowered her in his and her +own because she had to fight this way. Why did he do it? +Why did he drag her into such a situation? It was breaking +down that sense of pride in himself which was the only sustaining +power a man had before the gaze of the world. Why did he +let himself into these situations? Did he really love Carlotta? +Did he want pleasure enough to endure such abuse as this? +This was a terrible scene. And where would it end? His +nerves were tingling, his brain fairly aching. If he could only +conquer this desire for another type and be faithful, and yet +how dreadful that seemed! To confine himself in all his +thoughts to just Angela! It was not possible. He thought of +these things, standing there enduring the brunt of this storm. +It was a terrible ordeal, but it was not wholly reformatory even +at that.</p> + +<p>"What's the use of your carrying on like that, Angela?" he +said grimly, after he had listened to all this. "It isn't as bad +as you think. I'm not a liar, and I'm not a dog! You must +have pieced that note I threw in the paper box together and read +it. When did you do it?"</p> + +<p>He was curious about that and about how much she knew. +What were her intentions in regard to him? What in regard +to Carlotta? What would she do next?</p> + +<p>"When did I do it?" she replied. "When did I do it? What +has that to do with it? What right have you to ask? Where +is this woman, that's what I want to know? I want to find +her. I want to face her. I want to tell her what a wretched +beast she is. I'll show her how to come and steal another +woman's husband. I'll kill her. I'll kill her and I'll kill you, +too. Do you hear? I'll kill you!" And she advanced on him +defiantly, blazingly.</p> + +<p>Eugene was astounded. He had never seen such rage in any +woman. It was wonderful, fascinating, something like a great +lightning-riven storm. Angela was capable of hurling thunderbolts +of wrath. He had not known that. It raised her in his +estimation—made her really more attractive than she would +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</a></span> +otherwise have been, for power, however displayed, is fascinating. +She was so little, so grim, so determined! It was in its +way a test of great capability. And he liked her for it even +though he resented her abuse.</p> + +<p>"No, no, Angela," he said sympathetically and with a keen +wish to alleviate her sorrow. "You would not do anything like +that. You couldn't!"</p> + +<p>"I will! I will!" she declared. "I'll kill her and you, too!"</p> + +<p>And then having reached this tremendous height she suddenly +broke. Eugene's big, sympathetic understanding was after +all too much for her. His brooding patience in the midst of +her wrath, his innate sorrow for what he could not or would +not help (it was written all over his face), his very obvious +presentation of the fact by his attitude that he knew that she +loved him in spite of this, was too much for her. It was like +beating her hands against a stone. She might kill him and this +woman, whoever she was, but she would not have changed his +attitude toward her, and that was what she wanted. A great +torrent of heart-breaking sobs broke from her, shaking her +frame like a reed. She threw her arms and head upon the +kitchen table, falling to her knees, and cried and cried. Eugene +stood there contemplating the wreck he had made of her dreams. +Certainly it was hell, he said to himself; certainly it was. He +was a liar, as she said, a dog, a scoundrel. Poor little Angela! +Well, the damage had been done. What could he do now? +Anything? Certainly not. Not a thing. She was broken—heart-broken. +There was no earthly remedy for that. Priests +might shrive for broken laws, but for a broken heart what remedy +was there?</p> + +<p>"Angela!" he called gently. "Angela! I'm sorry! Don't +cry! Angela!! Don't cry!"</p> + +<p>But she did not hear him. She did not hear anything. Lost in +the agony of her situation, she could only sob convulsively until +it seemed that her pretty little frame would break to pieces.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XXIX" id="II_CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> + +<p>Eugene's feelings on this occasion were of reasonable duration. +It is always possible under such circumstances to +take the victim of our brutalities in our arms and utter a few +sympathetic or repentant words. The real kindness and repentance +which consists in reformation is quite another matter. One +must see with eyes too pure to behold evil to do that. Eugene +was not to be reformed by an hour or many hours of agony on +anyone's part. Angela was well within the range of his sympathetic +interests. He suffered with her keenly, but not enough +to outrun or offset his own keen desire for what he considered +his spiritual right to enjoy beauty. What harm did it do, he +would have asked himself, if he secretly exchanged affectionate +looks and feelings with Carlotta or any other woman who +fascinated him and in turn was fascinated by him? Could an +affinity of this character really be called evil? He was not +giving her any money which Angela ought to have, or very +little. He did not want to marry her—and she really did not +want to marry him, he thought—there was no chance of that, +anyhow. He wanted to associate with her. And what harm +did that do Angela? None, if she did not know. Of course, +if she knew, it was very sad for her and for him. But, if the +shoe were on the other foot, and Angela was the one who was +acting as he was acting now he would not care, he thought. He +forgot to add that if he did not care it would be because he was +not in love, and Angela was in love. Such reasoning runs in +circles. Only it is not reasoning. It is sentimental and emotional +anarchy. There is no will toward progress in it.</p> + +<p>When Angela recovered from her first burst of rage and +grief it was only to continue it further, though not in quite the +same vein. There can only be one superlative in any field of +endeavor. Beyond that may be mutterings and thunderings or +a shining after-glow, but no second superlative. Angela charged +him with every weakness and evil tendency, only to have him +look at her in a solemn way, occasionally saying: "Oh, no! +You know I'm not as bad as that," or "Why do you abuse me +in that way? That isn't true," or "Why do you say that?"</p> + +<p>"Because it is so, and you know it's so," Angela would declare.</p> + +<p>"Listen, Angela," he replied once, with a certain amount of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</a></span> +logic, "there is no use in brow-beating me in this way. It +doesn't do any good to call me names. You want me to love +you, don't you? That's all that you want. You don't want +anything else. Will calling me names make me do it? If I +can't I can't, and if I can I can. How will fighting help that?"</p> + +<p>She listened to him pitifully, for she knew that her rage was +useless, or practically so. He was in the position of power. +She loved him. That was the sad part of it. To think that +tears and pleadings and wrath might not really avail, after all! +He could only love her out of a desire that was not self-generated. +That was something she was beginning to see in a dim +way as a grim truth.</p> + +<p>Once she folded her hands and sat white and drawn, staring +at the floor. "Well, I don't know what to do," she declared. +"I suppose I ought to leave you. If it just weren't for my family! +They all think so highly of the marriage state. They are +so naturally faithful and decent. I suppose these qualities have +to be born in people. They can't be acquired. You would have +to be made over."</p> + +<p>Eugene knew she would not leave him. He smiled at the +superior condescension of the last remark, though it was not +intended as such by her. To think of his being made over after +the model Angela and her relatives would lay down!</p> + +<p>"I don't know where I'd go or what I'd do," she observed. +"I can't go back to my family. I don't want to go there. I +haven't been trained in anything except school teaching, and I +hate to think of that again. If I could only study stenography +or book-keeping!" She was talking as much to clear her own +mind as his. She really did not know what to do.</p> + +<p>Eugene listened to this self-demonstrated situation with a +shamed face. It was hard for him to think of Angela being +thrown out on the world as a book-keeper or a stenographer. +He did not want to see her doing anything like that. In a way, +he wanted to live with her, if it could be done in his way—much +as the Mormons might, perhaps. What a lonely life hers +would be if she were away from him! And she was not suited +to it. She was not suited to the commercial world—she was +too homey, too housewifely. He wished he could assure her now +that she would not have further cause for grief and mean it, +but he was like a sick man wishing he could do the things a +hale man might. There was no self-conviction in his thoughts, +only the idea that if he tried to do right in this matter he might +succeed, but he would be unhappy. So he drifted.</p> + +<p>In the meanwhile Eugene had taken up his work with Deegan +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</a></span> +and was going through a very curious experience. At the time +Deegan had stated that he would take him he had written to +Haverford, making a polite request for transfer, and was immediately +informed that his wishes would be granted. Haverford +remembered Eugene kindly. He hoped he was improving. +He understood from inquiry of the Superintendent of Buildings +that Deegan was in need of a capable assistant, anyhow, and +that Eugene could well serve in that capacity. The foreman +was always in trouble about his reports. An order was issued +to Deegan commanding him to receive Eugene, and another to +Eugene from the office of the Superintendent of Buildings ordering +him to report to Deegan. Eugene went, finding him working +on the problem of constructing a coal bin under the depot +at Fords Centre, and raising as much storm as ever. He was +received with a grin of satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"So here ye arre. Will, ye're just in time. I want ye to go +down to the ahffice."</p> + +<p>Eugene laughed. "Sure," he said. Deegan was down in a +freshly excavated hole and his clothes were redolent of the +freshly turned earth which surrounded him. He had a plumb +bob in his hand and a spirit level, but he laid them down. +Under the neat train shed to which he crawled when Eugene +appeared and where they stood, he fished from a pocket of his +old gray coat a soiled and crumpled letter which he carefully +unfolded with his thick and clumsy fingers. Then he held it +up and looked at it defiantly.</p> + +<p>"I want ye to go to Woodlawn," he continued, "and look +after some bolts that arre theyer—there's a keg av thim—an' +sign the bill fer thim, an' ship thim down to me. They're not +miny. An' thin I waant ye to go down to the ahffice an' take +thim this O. K." And here he fished around and produced another +crumpled slip. "It's nonsinse!" he exclaimed, when he +saw it. "It's onraisonable! They're aalways yillen fer thim +O. K. blanks. Ye'd think, begad, I was goin' to steal thim +from thim. Ye'd think I lived on thim things. O. K. blanks, +O. K. blanks. From mornin' 'til night O. K. blanks. It's nonsinse! +It's onraisonable!" And his face flushed a defiant red.</p> + +<p>Eugene could see that some infraction of the railroad's rules +had occurred and that Deegan had been "called down," or +"jacked up" about it, as the railroad men expressed it. He was +in a high state of dudgeon—as defiant and pugnacious as his +royal Irish temper would allow.</p> + +<p>"I'll fix it," said Eugene. "That's all right. Leave it to +me."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</a></span> +Deegan showed some signs of approaching relief. At last he +had a man of "intilligence," as he would have expressed it. He +flung a parting shot though at his superior as Eugene departed.</p> + +<p>"Tell thim I'll sign fer thim when I git thim and naat before!" +he rumbled.</p> + +<p>Eugene laughed. He knew no such message would be accepted, +but he was glad to give Deegan an opportunity to blow +off steam. He entered upon his new tasks with vim, pleased +with the out-of-doors, the sunshine, the opportunity for brief +trips up and down the road like this. It was delightful. He +would soon be all right now, that he knew.</p> + +<p>He went to Woodlawn and signed for the bolts; went to +the office and met the chief clerk (delivering the desired O. K. +blanks in person) who informed him of the chief difficulty in +Deegan's life. It appeared that there were some twenty-five of +these reports to be made out monthly, to say nothing of endless +O. K. blanks to be filled in with acknowledgments of material +received. Everything had to be signed for in this way, it mattered +not whether it was a section of a bridge or a single bolt +or a pound of putty. If a man could sit down and reel off a +graphic report of what he was doing, he was the pride of the +chief clerk's heart. His doing the work properly was taken as +a matter of course. Deegan was not efficient at this, though he +was assisted at times by his wife and all three of his children, +a boy and two girls. He was constantly in hot water.</p> + +<p>"My God!" exclaimed the chief clerk, when Eugene explained +that Deegan had thought that he might leave the bolts at the +station where they would be safe until he needed them and then +sign for them when he took them out. He ran his hands distractedly +through his hair. "What do you think of that?" he +exclaimed. "He'll leave them there until he needs them, will +he? What becomes of my reports? I've got to have those +O. K.'s. You tell Deegan he ought to know better than that; +he's been long enough on the road. You tell him that I said +that I want a signed form for everything consigned to him the +moment he learns that it's waiting for him. And I want it without +fail. Let him go and get it. The gall! He's got to come +to time about this, or something's going to drop. I'm not going +to stand it any longer. You'd better help him in this. I've got +to make out my reports on time."</p> + +<p>Eugene agreed that he would. This was his field. He could +help Deegan. He could be really useful.</p> + +<p>Time passed. The weather grew colder, and while the work +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</a></span> +was interesting at first, like all other things it began after a time +to grow monotonous. It was nice enough when the weather was +fine to stand out under the trees, where some culvert was being +built to bridge a small rivulet or some well to supply the freight +engines with water, and survey the surrounding landscape; but +when the weather grew colder it was not so nice. Deegan was +always interesting. He was forever raising a ruction. He lived +a life of hard, narrow activity laid among boards, wheelbarrows, +cement, stone, a life which concerned construction and had no +particular joy in fruition. The moment a thing was nicely finished +they had to leave it and go where everything would be +torn up again. Eugene used to look at the wounded ground, +the piles of yellow mud, the dirty Italians, clean enough in +their spirit, but soiled and gnarled by their labor, and wonder +how much longer he could stand it. To think that he, of all +men, should be here working with Deegan and the <i>guineas</i>! +He became lonesome at times—terribly, and sad. He longed +for Carlotta, longed for a beautiful studio, longed for a luxurious, +artistic life. It seemed that life had wronged him terribly, +and yet he could do nothing about it. He had no money-making +capacity.</p> + +<p>About this time the construction of a rather pretentious machine +shop, two hundred by two hundred feet and four storeys +high was assigned to Deegan, largely because of the efficiency +which Eugene contributed to Deegan's work. Eugene handled +his reports and accounts with rapidity and precision, and this +so soothed the division management that they had an opportunity +to see Deegan's real worth. The latter was beside himself +with excitement, anticipating great credit and distinction for +the work he was now to be permitted to do.</p> + +<p>"'Tis the foine time we'll have, Eugene, me bye," he exclaimed, +"puttin' up that buildin'. 'Tis no culvert we'll be +afther buildin' now. Nor no coal bin. Wait till the masons +come. Then ye'll see somethin'."</p> + +<p>Eugene was pleased that their work was progressing so successfully, +but of course there was no future in it for him. He +was lonely and disheartened.</p> + +<p>Besides, Angela was complaining, and rightfully enough, that +they were leading a difficult life—and to what end, so far as +she was concerned? He might recover his health and his art +(by reason of his dramatic shake-up and changes he appeared to +be doing so), but what would that avail her? He did not love +her. If he became prosperous again it might be to forsake her, +and at best he could only give her money and position if he ever +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[Pg 391]</a></span> +attained these, and how would that help? It was love that she +wanted—his love. And she did not have that, or only a mere +shadow of it. He had made up his mind after this last fatal +argument that he would not pretend to anything he did not feel +in regard to her, and this made it even harder. She did believe +that he sympathized with her in his way, but it was an intellectual +sympathy and had very little to do with the heart. He +was sorry for her. Sorry! Sorry! How she hated the thought +of that! If he could not do any better than that, what was there +in all the years to come but misery?</p> + +<p>A curious fact to be noted about this period was that suspicion +had so keyed up Angela's perceptions that she could almost +tell, and that without knowing, when Eugene was with +Carlotta or had been. There was something about his manner +when he came in of an evening, to say nothing of those +subtler thought waves which passed from him to her when he +was with Carlotta, which told her instantly where he had been +and what he had been doing. She would ask him where he had +been and he would say: "Oh, up to White Plains" or "out to +Scarborough," but nearly always when he had been with Carlotta +she would flare up with, "Yes, I know where you've been. +You've been out again with that miserable beast of a woman. +Oh, God will punish her yet! You will be punished! Wait and +see."</p> + +<p>Tears would flood her eyes and she would berate him +roundly.</p> + +<p>Eugene stood in profound awe before these subtle outbreaks. +He could not understand how it was that Angela came to know +or suspect so accurately. To a certain extent he was a believer +in spiritualism and the mysteries of a subconscious mind or +self. He fancied that there must be some way of this subconscious +self seeing or apprehending what was going on and +of communicating its knowledge in the form of fear and suspicion +to Angela's mind. If the very subtleties of nature were +in league against him, how was he to continue or profit in this +career? Obviously it could not be done. He would probably +be severely punished for it. He was half terrified by the +vague suspicion that there might be some laws which tended +to correct in this way all the abuses in nature. There might +be much vice and crime going seemingly unpunished, but there +might also be much correction going on, as the suicides and +deaths and cases of insanity seemed to attest. Was this true? +Was there no escape from the results of evil except by abandoning +it entirely? He pondered over this gravely.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</a></span> +Getting on his feet again financially was not such an easy +thing. He had been out of touch now so long with things +artistic—the magazine world and the art agencies—that he felt +as if he might not readily be able to get in touch again. Besides +he was not at all sure of himself. He had made sketches +of men and things at Speonk, and of Deegan and his gang on +the road, and of Carlotta and Angela, but he felt that they +were weak in their import—lacking in the force and feeling +which had once characterized his work. He thought of trying +his hand at newspaper work if he could make any sort of a +connection—working in some obscure newspaper art department +until he should feel himself able to do better; but he +did not feel at all confident that he could get that. His severe +breakdown had made him afraid of life—made him yearn for +the sympathy of a woman like Carlotta, or of a larger more +hopeful, more tender attitude, and he dreaded looking for anything +anywhere. Besides he hated to spare the time unless he +were going to get somewhere. His work was so pressing. +But he knew he must quit it. He thought about it wearily, +wishing he were better placed in this world; and finally screwed +up his courage to leave this work, though it was not until something +else was quite safely in his hands.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XXX" id="II_CHAPTER_XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX</h2> + +<p>It was only after a considerable lapse of time, when trying +to live on nine dollars a week and seeing Angela struggle +almost hopelessly in her determination to live on what he earned +and put a little aside, that he came to his senses and made a +sincere effort to find something better. During all this time he +had been watching her narrowly, seeing how systematically she +did all her own house work, even under these adverse and trying +circumstances, cooking, cleaning, marketing. She made +over her old clothes, reshaping them so that they would last +longer and still look stylish. She made her own hats, doing +everything in short that she could to make the money in the +bank hold out until Eugene should be on his feet. She was +willing that he should take money and buy himself clothes when +she was not willing to spend it on herself. She was living +in the hope that somehow he would reform. Consciousness +of what she was worth to him might some day strike him. Still +she did not feel that things could ever be quite the same again. +She could never forget, and neither could he.</p> + +<p>The affair between Eugene and Carlotta, because of the +various forces that were militating against it, was now slowly +drawing to a close. It had not been able to endure all the storm +and stress which followed its discovery. For one thing, Carlotta's +mother, without telling her husband, made him feel that +he had good cause to stay about, which made it difficult for Carlotta +to act. Besides she charged her daughter constantly, much +as Angela was charging Eugene, with the utmost dissoluteness +of character and was as constantly putting her on the defensive. +She was too hedged about to risk a separate apartment, and +Eugene would not accept money from her to pay for expensive +indoor entertainment. She wanted to see him but she kept hoping +he would get to the point where he would have a studio +again and she could see him as a star in his own field. That +would be so much nicer.</p> + +<p>By degrees their once exciting engagements began to lapse, +and despite his grief Eugene was not altogether sorry. To tell +the truth, great physical discomfort recently had painted his +romantic tendencies in a very sorry light for him. He thought +he saw in a way where they were leading him. That there +was no money in them was obvious. That the affairs of the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[Pg 394]</a></span> +world were put in the hands of those who were content to get +their life's happiness out of their management, seemed quite plain. +Idlers had nothing as a rule, not even the respect of their fellow +men. The licentious were worn threadbare and disgraced by +their ridiculous and psychologically diseased propensities. Women +and men who indulged in these unbridled relations were sickly +sentimentalists, as a rule, and were thrown out or ignored by +all forceful society. One had to be strong, eager, determined +and abstemious if wealth was to come, and then it had to be +held by the same qualities. One could not relax. Otherwise +one became much what he was now, a brooding sentimentalist—diseased +in mind and body.</p> + +<p>So out of love-excitement and poverty and ill health and abuse +he was coming to see or thought he was this one fact clearly,—namely +that he must behave himself if he truly wished to succeed. +Did he want to? He could not say that. But he had +to—that was the sad part of it—and since apparently he had +to, he would do the best he could. It was grim but it was +essential.</p> + +<p>At this time Eugene still retained that rather ultra artistic +appearance which had characterized his earlier years, but he began +to suspect that on this score he was a little bizarre and out +of keeping with the spirit of the times. Certain artists whom +he met in times past and recently, were quite commercial in their +appearance—the very successful ones—and he decided that it +was because they put the emphasis upon the hard facts of life +and not upon the romance connected with their work. It impressed +him and he decided to do likewise, abandoning the flowing +tie and the rather indiscriminate manner he had of combing +his hair, and thereafter affected severe simplicity. He still +wore a soft hat because he thought it became him best, but +otherwise he toned himself down greatly. His work with Deegan +had given him a sharp impression of what hard, earnest +labor meant. Deegan was nothing but a worker. There was +no romance in him. He knew nothing about romance. Picks +and shovels and mortar boards and concrete forms—such was his +life, and he never complained. Eugene remembered commiserating +him once on having to get up at four A. M. in order to take +a train which would get to work by seven. Darkness and cold +made no difference to him, however.</p> + +<p>"Shewer, I have to be theyre," he had replied with his quizzical +Irish grin. "They're not payin' me me wages fer lyin' +in bed. If ye were to get up that way every day fer a year it +would make a man of ye!"</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</a></span> +"Oh, no," said Eugene teasingly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Deegan, "it would. An' yere the wan that's +needin' it. I can tell that by the cut av ye."</p> + +<p>Eugene resented this but it stayed by him. Deegan had the +habit of driving home salutary lessons in regard to work and +abstemiousness without really meaning to. The two were wholly +representative of him—just those two things and nothing more.</p> + +<p>One day he went down into Printing House Square to see if +he could not make up his mind to apply at one of the newspaper +art departments, when he ran into Hudson Dula whom +he had not seen for a long while. The latter was delighted +to see him.</p> + +<p>"Why, hello, Witla!" he exclaimed, shocked to see that he +was exceptionally thin and pale. "Where have you been all +these years? I'm delighted to see you. What have you been doing? +Let's go over here to Hahn's and you tell me all about +yourself."</p> + +<p>"I've been sick, Dula," said Eugene frankly. "I had a severe +case of nervous breakdown and I've been working on the railroad +for a change. I tried all sorts of specialists, but they +couldn't help me. So I decided to go to work by the day and +see what that would do. I got all out of sorts with myself +and I've been pretty near four years getting back. I think I +am getting better, though. I'm going to knock off on the +road one of these days and try my hand at painting again. I +think I can do it."</p> + +<p>"Isn't that curious," replied Dula reminiscently, "I was just +thinking of you the other day and wondering where you were. +You know I've quit the art director game. <i>Truth</i> failed and +I went into the lithographic business. I have a small interest in +a plant that I'm managing down in Bond Street. I wish you'd +come in and see me some day."</p> + +<p>"I certainly will," said Eugene.</p> + +<p>"Now this nervousness of yours," said Dula, as they strolled +into the restaurant where they were dining. "I have a brother-in-law +that was hit that way. He's still doctoring around. I'm +going to tell him about your case. You don't look so bad."</p> + +<p>"I'm feeling much better," said Eugene. "I really am but +I've had a bad spell of it. I'm going to come back in the game, +though, I feel sure of it. When I do I'll know better how to +take care of myself. I over-worked on that first burst of +pictures."</p> + +<p>"I must say that was the best stuff of that kind I ever saw +done in this country," said Dula. "I saw both your shows, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</a></span> +as you remember. They were splendid. What became of all +those pictures?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, some were sold and the rest are in storage," replied +Eugene.</p> + +<p>"Curious, isn't it," said Dula. "I should have thought all +those things would have been purchased. They were so new and +forceful in treatment. You want to pull yourself together and +stay pulled. You're going to have a great future in that field."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know," replied Eugene pessimistically. "It's +all right to obtain a big reputation, but you can't live on that, +you know. Pictures don't sell very well over here. I have most +of mine left. A grocer with one delivery wagon has the best +artist that ever lived backed right off the board for financial +results."</p> + +<p>"Not quite as bad as that," said Dula smilingly. "An artist +has something which a tradesman can never have—you want to +remember that. His point of view is worth something. He +lives in a different world spiritually. And then financially you +can do well enough—you can live, and what more do you want? +You're received everywhere. You have what the tradesman +cannot possibly attain—distinction; and you give the world a +standard of merit—you will, at least. If I had your ability I +would never sit about envying any butcher or baker. Why, all +the artists know you now—the good ones, anyhow. It only +remains for you to do more, to obtain more. There are lots +of things you can do."</p> + +<p>"What, for instance?" asked Eugene.</p> + +<p>"Why, ceilings, mural decorations. I was saying to someone +the other day what a mistake it was the Boston Library did +not assign some of their panels to you. You would make +splendid things of them."</p> + +<p>"You certainly have a world of faith in me," replied Eugene, +tingling warmly. It was like a glowing fire to hear this after +all the dreary days. Then the world still remembered him. He +was worth while.</p> + +<p>"Do you remember Oren Benedict—you used to know him +out in Chicago, didn't you?"</p> + +<p>"I certainly did," replied Eugene. "I worked with him."</p> + +<p>"He's down on the <i>World</i> now, in charge of the art department +there. He's just gone there." Then as Eugene exclaimed +over the curious shifts of time, he suddenly added, "Why +wouldn't that be a good idea for you? You say you're just +about to knock off. Why don't you go down and do some +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[Pg 397]</a></span> +pen work to get your hand in? It would be a good experience +for you. Benedict would be glad to put you on, I'm sure."</p> + +<p>Dula suspected that Eugene might be out of funds, and this +would be an easy way for him to slip into something which +would lead back to studio work. He liked Eugene. He was +anxious to see him get along. It flattered him to think he +had been the first to publish his work in color.</p> + +<p>"That isn't a bad idea," said Eugene. "I was really thinking +of doing something like that if I could. I'll go up and see +him maybe today. It would be just the thing I need now,—a +little preliminary practise. I feel rather rusty and uncertain."</p> + +<p>"I'll call him up, if you want," said Dula generously. "I +know him well. He was asking me the other day if I knew one +or two exceptional men. You wait here a minute."</p> + +<p>Eugene leaned back in his chair as Dula left. Could it be +that he was going to be restored thus easily to something better? +He had thought it would be so hard. Now this chance was +coming to lift him out of his sufferings at the right time.</p> + +<p>Dula came back. "He says 'Sure,'" he exclaimed. "'Come +right down!' You'd better go down there this afternoon. +That'll be just the thing for you. And when you are placed +again, come around and see me. Where are you living?"</p> + +<p>Eugene gave him his address.</p> + +<p>"That's right, you're married," he added, when Eugene spoke +of himself and Angela having a small place. "How is Mrs. +Witla? I remember her as a very charming woman. Mrs. +Dula and I have an apartment in Gramercy Place. You didn't +know I had tied up, did you? Well, I have. Bring your wife +and come to see us. We'll be delighted. I'll make a dinner +date for you two."</p> + +<p>Eugene was greatly pleased and elated. He knew Angela +would be. They had seen nothing of artistic life lately. He +hurried down to see Benedict and was greeted as an old acquaintance. +They had never been very chummy but always +friendly. Benedict had heard of Eugene's nervous breakdown.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll tell you," he said, after greeting and reminiscences +were over, "I can't pay very much—fifty dollars is high here +just at present, and I have just one vacancy now at twenty-five +which you can have if you want to try your hand. There's +a good deal of hurry up about at times, but you don't mind +that. When I get things straightened out here I may have +something better."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's all right," replied Eugene cheerfully. "I'm glad +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[Pg 398]</a></span> +to get that." (He was very glad indeed.) "And I don't mind +the hurry. It will be good for a change."</p> + +<p>Benedict gave him a friendly handshake in farewell. He +was glad to have him, for he knew what he could do.</p> + +<p>"I don't think I can come before Monday. I have to give +a few days' notice. Is that all right?"</p> + +<p>"I could use you earlier, but Monday will do," said Benedict, +and they parted genially.</p> + +<p>Eugene hurried back home. He was delighted to tell Angela, +for this would rob their condition of part of its gloom. It was +no great comfort to him to be starting in as a newspaper +artist again at twenty-five dollars a week, but it couldn't be +helped, and it was better than nothing. At least it was putting +him back on the track again. He was sure to do still better +after this. He could hold this newspaper job, he felt, and outside +that he didn't care very much for the time being; his +pride had received some severe jolts. It was vastly better than +day labor, anyway. He hurried up the four flights of stairs to +the cheap little quarters they occupied, saying when he saw +Angela at the gas range: "Well, I guess our railroad days are +over."</p> + +<p>"What's the trouble?" asked Angela apprehensively.</p> + +<p>"No trouble," he replied. "I have a better job."</p> + +<p>"What is it?"</p> + +<p>"I'm going to be a newspaper artist for a while on the +<i>World</i>."</p> + +<p>"When did you find that out?" she asked, brightening, for +she had been terribly depressed over their state.</p> + +<p>"This afternoon. I'm going to work Monday. Twenty-five +dollars will be some better than nine, won't it?"</p> + +<p>Angela smiled. "It certainly will," she said, and tears of +thanksgiving filled her eyes.</p> + +<p>Eugene knew what those tears stood for. He was anxious +to avoid painful reminiscences.</p> + +<p>"Don't cry," he said. "Things are going to be much better +from now on."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I hope so, I hope so," she murmured, and he patted +her head affectionately as it rested on his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"There now. Cheer up, girlie, will you! We're going to +be all right from now on."</p> + +<p>Angela smiled through her tears. She set the table, exceedingly +cheerful.</p> + +<p>"That certainly is good news," she laughed afterward. "But +we're not going to spend any more money for a long while, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[Pg 399]</a></span> +anyhow. We're going to save something. We don't want to +get in this hole again."</p> + +<p>"No more for mine," replied Eugene gaily, "not if I know +my business," and he went into the one little combination +parlor, sitting room, reception room and general room of all +work, to open his evening newspaper and whistle. In his excitement +he almost forgot his woes over Carlotta and the love +question in general. He was going to climb again in the +world and be happy with Angela. He was going to be an +artist or a business man or something. Look at Hudson Dula. +Owning a lithographic business and living in Gramercy Place. +Could any artist he knew do that? Scarcely. He would see +about this. He would think this art business over. Maybe he +could be an art director or a lithographer or something. He +had often thought while he was with the road that he could +be a good superintendent of buildings if he could only give it +time enough.</p> + +<p>Angela, for her part, was wondering what this change really +spelled for her. Would he behave now? Would he set himself +to the task of climbing slowly and surely? He was getting +along in life. He ought to begin to place himself securely in +the world if he ever was going to. Her love was not the +same as it had formerly been. It was crossed with dislike and +opposition at times, but still she felt that he needed her to +help him. Poor Eugene—if he only were not cursed with this +weakness. Perhaps he would overcome it? So she mused.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[Pg 400]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XXXI" id="II_CHAPTER_XXXI"></a>CHAPTER XXXI</h2> + +<p>The work which Eugene undertook in connection with the +art department of the <i>World</i> was not different from that +which he had done ten years before in Chicago. It seemed no +less difficult for all his experience—more so if anything, for he +felt above it these days and consequently out of place. He +wished at once that he could get something which would pay +him commensurately with his ability. To sit down among +mere boys—there were men there as old as himself and older, +though, of course, he did not pay so much attention to them—was +galling. He thought Benedict should have had more +respect for his talent than to have offered him so little, though +at the same time he was grateful for what he had received. He +undertook energetically to carry out all the suggestions given +him, and surprised his superior with the speed and imagination +with which he developed everything. He surprised Benedict +the second day with a splendid imaginative interpretation of +"the Black Death," which was to accompany a Sunday newspaper +article upon the modern possibilities of plagues. The +latter saw at once that Eugene could probably only be retained +a very little while at the figure he had given him. He +had made the mistake of starting him low, thinking that +Eugene's talent after so severe an illness might be at a very low +ebb. He did not know, being new to the art directorship of a +newspaper, how very difficult it was to get increases for those +under him. An advance of ten dollars to anyone meant earnest +representation and an argument with the business manager, +and to double and treble the salary, which should have been +done in this case, was out of the question. Six months was a +reasonable length of time for anyone to wait for an increase—such +was the dictate of the business management—and in +Eugene's case it was ridiculous and unfair. However, being +still sick and apprehensive, he was content to abide by the situation, +hoping with returning strength and the saving of a little +money to put himself right eventually.</p> + +<p>Angela, of course, was pleased with the turn of affairs. Having +suffered so long with only prospects of something worse in +store, it was a great relief to go to the bank every Tuesday—Eugene +was paid on Monday—and deposit ten dollars against +a rainy day. It was agreed between them that they might use +six for clothing, which Angela and Eugene very much needed, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[Pg 401]</a></span> +and some slight entertainment. It was not long before Eugene +began to bring an occasional newspaper artist friend up to dinner, +and they were invited out. They had gone without much +clothing, with scarcely a single visit to the theatre, without +friends—everything. Now the tide began slowly to change; +in a little while, because they were more free to go to places, +they began to encounter people whom they knew.</p> + +<p>There was six months of the drifting journalistic work, in +which as in his railroad work he grew more and more restless, +and then there came a time when he felt as if he could not +stand that for another minute. He had been raised to thirty-five +dollars and then fifty, but it was a terrific grind of exaggerated +and to him thoroughly meretricious art. The only valuable +results in connection with it were that for the first time in +his life he was drawing a moderately secure living salary, and +that his mind was fully occupied with details which gave him +no time to think about himself. He was in a large room surrounded +by other men who were as sharp as knives in their +thrusts of wit, and restless and greedy in their attitude toward +the world. They wanted to live brilliantly, just as he did, +only they had more self-confidence and in many cases that extreme +poise which comes of rare good health. They were inclined +to think he was somewhat of a poseur at first, but later +they came to like him—all of them. He had a winning smile +and his love of a joke, so keen, so body-shaking, drew to him all +those who had a good story to tell.</p> + +<p>"Tell that to Witla," was a common phrase about the office +and Eugene was always listening to someone. He came to +lunching with first one and then another, then three or four +at a time; and by degrees Angela was compelled to entertain +Eugene and two or three of his friends twice and sometimes +three times a week. She objected greatly, and there was some +feeling over that, for she had no maid and she did not think +that Eugene ought to begin so soon to put the burden of entertainment +upon their slender income. She wanted him to +make these things very formal and by appointment, but Eugene +would stroll in genially, explaining that he had Irving Nelson +with him, or Henry Hare, or George Beers, and asking nervously +at the last minute whether it was all right. Angela would +say, "Certainly, to be sure," in front of the guests, but when +they were alone there would be tears and reproaches and firm +declarations that she would not stand it.</p> + +<p>"Well, I won't do it any more," Eugene would apologize. +"I forgot, you know."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[Pg 402]</a></span> +Still he wanted Angela to get a maid and let him bring all +who would come. It was a great relief to get back into the +swing of things and see life broadening out once more.</p> + +<p>It was not so long after he had grown exceedingly weary of +his underpaid relationship to the <i>World</i> that he heard of something +which promised a much better avenue of advancement. +Eugene had been hearing for some time from one source and +another of the development of art in advertising. He had read +one or two articles on the subject in the smaller magazines, had +seen from time to time curious and sometimes beautiful series +of ads run by first one corporation and then another, advertising +some product. He had always fancied in looking at these +things that he could get up a notable series on almost any subject, +and he wondered who handled these things. He asked +Benedict one night, going up on the car with him, what he +knew about it.</p> + +<p>"Why so far as I know," said Benedict, "that is coming to +be quite a business. There is a man out in Chicago, Saljerian, +an American Syrian—his father was a Syrian, but he was born +over here—who has built up a tremendous business out of designing +series of ads like that for big corporations. He got up +that Molly Maguire series for the new cleaning fluid. I don't +think he does any of the work himself. He hires artists to do +it. Some of the best men, I understand, have done work for +him. He gets splendid prices. Then some of the big advertising +agencies are taking up that work. One of them I know. +The Summerville Company has a big art department in connection +with it. They employ fifteen to eighteen men all the +time, sometimes more. They turn out some fine ads, too, to my +way of thinking. Do you remember that Korno series?"—Benedict +was referring to a breakfast food which had been advertised +by a succession of ten very beautiful and very clever +pictures.</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Eugene.</p> + +<p>"Well, they did that."</p> + +<p>Eugene thought of this as a most interesting development. +Since the days in which he worked on the Alexandria <i>Appeal</i> +he had been interested in ads. The thought of ad creation +took his fancy. It was newer than anything else he had encountered +recently. He wondered if there would not be some +chance in that field for him. His paintings were not selling. +He had not the courage to start a new series. If he could +make some money first, say ten thousand dollars, so that he +could get an interest income of say six or seven hundred dollars +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[Pg 403]</a></span> +a year, he might be willing to risk art for art's sake. He had +suffered too much—poverty had scared him so that he was +very anxious to lean on a salary or a business income for +the time being.</p> + +<p>It was while he was speculating over this almost daily that +there came to him one day a young artist who had formerly +worked on the <i>World</i>—a youth by the name of Morgenbau—Adolph +Morgenbau—who admired Eugene and his work +greatly and who had since gone to another paper. He was very +anxious to tell Eugene something, for he had heard of a change +coming in the art directorship of the Summerville Company +and he fancied for one reason and another that Eugene might +be glad to know of it. Eugene had never looked to Morgenbau +like a man who ought to be working in a newspaper art +department. He was too self-poised, too superior, too wise. +Morgenbau had conceived the idea that Eugene was destined +to make a great hit of some kind and with that kindling intuition +that sometimes saves us whole he was anxious to help Eugene +in some way and so gain his favor.</p> + +<p>"I have something I'd like to tell you, Mr. Witla," he observed.</p> + +<p>"Well, what is it?" smiled Eugene.</p> + +<p>"Are you going out to lunch?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, come along."</p> + +<p>They went out together and Morgenbau communicated to +Eugene what he had heard—that the Summerfield Company had +just dismissed, or parted company with, or lost, a very capable +director by the name of Freeman, and that they were looking +for a new man.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you apply for that?" asked Morgenbau. "You +could hold it. You're doing just the sort of work that would +make great ads. You know how to handle men, too. They +like you. All the young fellows around here do. Why don't +you go and see Mr. Summerfield? He's up in Thirty-fourth +Street. You might be just the man he's looking for, and then +you'd have a department of your own."</p> + +<p>Eugene looked at this boy, wondering what had put this +idea in his head. He decided to call up Dula and did so +at once, asking him what he thought would be the best move +to make. The latter did not know Summerville [<i>sic</i>], but he knew +someone who did.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what you do, Eugene," he said. "You go +and see Baker Bates of the Satina Company. That's at the +corner of Broadway and Fourth Street. We do a big business +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[Pg 404]</a></span> +with the Satina Company, and they do a big business with +Summerfield. I'll send a letter over to you by a boy and you +take that. Then I'll call Bates up on the phone, and if he's +favorable he can speak to Summerfield. He'll want to see you, +though."</p> + +<p>Eugene was very grateful and eagerly awaited the arrival of +the letter. He asked Benedict for a little time off and went +to Mr. Baker Bates. The latter had heard enough from Dula +to be friendly. He had been told by the latter that Eugene +was potentially a great artist, slightly down on his luck, but +that he was doing exceedingly well where he was and would +do better in the new place. He was impressed by Eugene's +appearance, for the latter had changed his style from the semi-artistic +to the practical. He thought Eugene looked capable. +He was certainly pleasant.</p> + +<p>"I'll talk to Mr. Summerfield for you," he said, "though I +wouldn't put much hope in what will come of it if I were you. +He's a difficult man and it's best not to appear too eager in this +matter. If he can be induced to send for you it will be much +better. You let this rest until tomorrow. I'll call him up on +another matter and take him out to lunch, and then I'll see how +he stands and who he has in mind, if he has anyone. He may +have, you know. If there is a real opening I'll speak of you. +We'll see."</p> + +<p>Eugene went away once more, very grateful. He was thinking +that Dula had always meant good luck to him. He had +taken his first important drawing. The pictures he had published +for him had brought him the favor of M. Charles. +Dula had secured him the position that he now had. Would +he be the cause of his getting this one?</p> + +<p>On the way down town on the car he encountered a cross-eyed +boy. He had understood from someone recently that cross-eyed +boys were good luck—cross-eyed women bad luck. A thrill +of hopeful prognostication passed over him. In all likelihood he +was going to get this place. If this sign came true this time, +he would believe in signs. They had come true before, but this +would be a real test. He stared cheerfully at the boy and the +latter looked him full in the eyes and grinned.</p> + +<p>"That settles it!" said Eugene. "I'm going to get it."</p> + +<p>Still he was far from being absolutely sure.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[Pg 405]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XXXII" id="II_CHAPTER_XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII</h2> + +<p>The Summerfield Advertising Agency, of which Mr. Daniel +C. Summerfield was president, was one of those curious +exfoliations or efflorescences of the personality of a single individual +which is so often met with in the business world, and which +always means a remarkable individual behind them. The ideas, +the enthusiasm, the strength of Mr. Daniel C. Summerfield was +all there was to the Summerfield Advertising Agency. It was +true there was a large force of men working for him, advertising +canvassers, advertising writers, financial accountants, artists, +stenographers, book-keepers and the like, but they were all as +it were an emanation or irradiation of the personality of Mr. +Daniel C. Summerfield. He was small, wiry, black-haired, +black-eyed, black-mustached, with an olive complexion and even, +pleasing, albeit at times wolfish, white teeth which indicated +a disposition as avid and hungry as a disposition well might be.</p> + +<p>Mr. Summerfield had come up into his present state of affluence +or comparative affluence from the direst poverty and by +the directest route—his personal efforts. In the State in which +he had originated, Alabama, his family had been known, in +the small circle to which they were known at all, as poor white +trash. His father had been a rather lackadaisical, half-starved +cotton planter who had been satisfied with a single bale or less +of cotton to the acre on the ground which he leased, and who +drove a lean mule very much the worse for age and wear, up +and down the furrows of his leaner fields the while he complained +of "the misery" in his breast. He was afflicted with slow +consumption or thought he was, which was just as effective, +and in addition had hook-worm, though that parasitic producer +of hopeless tiredness was not yet discovered and named.</p> + +<p>Daniel Christopher, his eldest son, had been raised with +scarcely any education, having been put in a cotton mill at +the age of seven, but nevertheless he soon manifested himself +as the brain of the family. For four years he worked in the +cotton mill, and then, because of his unusual brightness, he +had been given a place in the printing shop of the Wickham +Union, where he was so attractive to the slow-going proprietor +that he soon became foreman of the printing department and +then manager. He knew nothing of printing or newspapers +at the time, but the little contact he obtained here soon cleared +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[Pg 406]</a></span> +his vision. He saw instantly what the newspaper business was, +and decided to enter it. Later, as he grew older, he suspected +that no one knew very much about advertising as yet, or very +little, and that he was called by God to revise it. With this +vision of a still wider field of usefulness in his mind, he began +at once to prepare himself for it, reading all manner of advertising +literature and practicing the art of display and effective +statement. He had been through such bitter things as +personal fights with those who worked under him, knocking one +man down with a heavy iron form key; personal altercation +with his own father and mother in which he frankly told them +that they were failures, and that they had better let him show +them something about regulating their hopeless lives. He had +quarreled with his younger brothers, trying to dominate them, +and had succeeded in controlling the youngest, principally for +the very good reason that he had become foolishly fond of him; +this younger brother he later introduced into his advertising +business. He had religiously saved the little he had earned +thus far, invested a part of it in the further development of +the Wickham <i>Union</i>, bought his father an eight acre farm, which +he showed him how to work, and finally decided to come to +New York to see if he could not connect himself with some +important advertising concern where he could learn something +more about the one thing that interested him. He was already +married, and he brought his young wife with him from the +South.</p> + +<p>He soon connected himself as a canvasser with one of the +great agencies and advanced rapidly. He was so smiling, so +bland, so insistent, so magnetic, that business came to him rapidly. +He became the star man in this New York concern and Alfred +Cookman, who was its owner and manager, was soon pondering +what he could do to retain him. No individual or concern +could long retain Daniel C. Summerfield, however, once he +understood his personal capabilities. In two years he had +learned all that Alfred Cookman had to teach him and more +than he could teach him. He knew his customers and what +their needs were, and where the lack was in the service which +Mr. Cookman rendered them. He foresaw the drift toward +artistic representation of saleable products, and decided to go +into that side of it. He would start an agency which would +render a service so complete and dramatic that anyone who could +afford to use his service would make money.</p> + +<p>When Eugene first heard of this agency, the Summerfield +concern was six years old and rapidly growing. It was already +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[Pg 407]</a></span> +very large and profitable and as hard and forceful as its owner. +Daniel C. Summerfield, sitting in his private office, was absolutely +ruthless in his calculations as to men. He had studied +the life of Napoleon and had come to the conclusion that no +individual life was important. Mercy was a joke to be eliminated +from business. Sentiment was silly twaddle. The thing +to do was to hire men as cheaply as possible, to drive them +as vigorously as possible, and to dispose of them quickly when +they showed signs of weakening under the strain. He had already +had five art directors in as many years, had "hired and +fired," as he termed it, innumerable canvassers, ad writers, +book-keepers, stenographers, artists—getting rid of anyone and +everyone who showed the least sign of incapacity or inefficiency. +The great office floor which he maintained was a model of +cleanliness, order—one might almost say beauty of a commercial +sort, but it was the cleanliness, order and beauty of a hard, +polished and well-oiled machine. Daniel C. Summerfield was +not much more than that, but he had long ago decided that +was what he must be in order not to be a failure, a fool, and +as he called it, "a mark," and he admired himself for being +so.</p> + +<p>When Mr. Baker Bates at Hudson Dula's request went to +Mr. Summerfield in regard to the rumored vacancy which really +existed, the latter was in a most receptive frame of mind. He +had just come into two very important advertising contracts +which required a lot of imagination and artistic skill to execute, +and he had lost his art director because of a row over a +former contract. It was true that in very many cases—in most +cases, in fact—his customers had very definite ideas as to what +they wanted to say and how they wanted to say it, but not +always. They were almost always open to suggestions as to +modifications and improvements, and in a number of very important +cases they were willing to leave the entire theory of procedure +to the Summerfield Advertising Company. This called +for rare good judgment not only in the preparation, but in the +placing of these ads, and it was in the matter of their preparation—the +many striking ideas which they should embody—that +the judgment and assistance of a capable art director of real +imagination was most valuable.</p> + +<p>As has already been said, Mr. Summerfield had had five art +directors in almost as many years. In each case he had used +the Napoleonic method of throwing a fresh, unwearied mind +into the breach of difficulty, and when it wearied or broke under +the strain, tossing it briskly out. There was no compunction +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[Pg 408]</a></span> +or pity connected with any detail of this method. "I hire good +men and I pay them good wages," was his favorite comment. +"Why shouldn't I expect good results?" If he was wearied +or angered by failure he was prone to exclaim—"These Goddamned +cattle of artists! What can you expect of them? They +don't know anything outside their little theory of how things +ought to look. They don't know anything about life. Why, +God damn it, they're like a lot of children. Why should anybody +pay any attention to what they think? Who cares what +they think? They give me a pain in the neck." Mr. Daniel +C. Summerfield was very much given to swearing, more as a +matter of habit than of foul intention, and no picture of him +would be complete without the interpolation of his favorite +expressions.</p> + +<p>When Eugene appeared on the horizon as a possible applicant +for this delightful position, Mr. Daniel C. Summerfield +was debating with himself just what he should do in connection +with the two new contracts in question. The advertisers +were awaiting his suggestions eagerly. One was for the +nation-wide advertising of a new brand of sugar, the second for +the international display of ideas in connection with a series of +French perfumes, the sale of which depended largely upon the +beauty with which they could be interpreted to the lay mind. +The latter were not only to be advertised in the United States +and Canada, but in Mexico also, and the fulfilment of the +contracts in either case was dependent upon the approval given +by the advertisers to the designs for newspaper, car and billboard +advertising which he should submit. It was a ticklish +business, worth two hundred thousand dollars in ultimate profits, +and naturally he was anxious that the man who should sit in +the seat of authority in his art department should be one of +real force and talent—a genius if possible, who should, through +his ideas, help him win his golden harvest.</p> + +<p>The right man naturally was hard to find. The last man had +been only fairly capable. He was dignified, meditative, thoughtful, +with considerable taste and apprehension as to what the +material situation required in driving home simple ideas, but he +had no great imaginative grasp of life. In fact no man who +had ever sat in the director's chair had ever really suited Mr. +Summerfield. According to him they had all been weaklings. +"Dubs; fakes; hot air artists," were some of his descriptions +of them. Their problem, however, was a hard one, for they had +to think very vigorously in connection with any product which +he might be trying to market, and to offer him endless suggestions +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[Pg 409]</a></span> +as to what would be the next best thing for a manufacturer +to say or do to attract attention to what he had to sell. It +might be a catch phrase such as "Have You Seen This New +Soap?" or "Do You Know Soresda?—It's Red." It might be +that a novelty in the way of hand or finger, eye or mouth was +all that was required, carrying some appropriate explanation in +type. Sometimes, as in the case of very practical products, their +very practical display in some clear, interesting, attractive way +was all that was needed. In most cases, though, something +radically new was required, for it was the theory of Mr. Summerfield +that his ads must not only arrest the eye, but fix themselves +in the memory, and convey a fact which was or at least +could be made to seem important to the reader. It was a +struggling with one of the deepest and most interesting phases +of human psychology.</p> + +<p>The last man, Older Freeman, had been of considerable use +to him in his way. He had collected about him a number of +fairly capable artists—men temporarily down on their luck—who +like Eugene were willing to take a working position of this +character, and from them he had extracted by dint of pleading, +cajoling, demonstrating and the like a number of interesting +ideas. Their working hours were from nine to five-thirty, their +pay meagre—eighteen to thirty-five, with experts drawing in +several instances fifty and sixty dollars, and their tasks innumerable +and really never-ending. Their output was regulated by a +tabulated record system which kept account of just how much +they succeeded in accomplishing in a week, and how much it +was worth to the concern. The ideas on which they worked +were more or less products of the brains of the art director +and his superior, though they occasionally themselves made important +suggestions, but for their proper execution, the amount +of time spent on them, the failures sustained, the art director +was more or less responsible. He could not carry to his employer +a poor drawing of a good idea, or a poor idea for something +which required a superior thought, and long hope to retain his +position. Mr. Daniel C. Summerfield was too shrewd and too +exacting. He was really tireless in his energy. It was his art +director's business, he thought, to get him good ideas for good +drawings and then to see that they were properly and speedily +executed.</p> + +<p>Anything less than this was sickening failure in the eyes of +Mr. Summerfield, and he was not at all bashful in expressing +himself. As a matter of fact, he was at times terribly brutal. +"Why the hell do you show me a thing like that?" he once +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[Pg 410]</a></span> +exclaimed to Freeman. "Jesus Christ; I could hire an ashman +and get better results. Why, God damn it, look at the drawing +of the arm of that woman. Look at her ear. Whose going +to take a thing like that? It's tame! It's punk! It's a joke! +What sort of cattle have you got out there working for you, +anyhow? Why, if the Summerfield Advertising Company can't +do better than that I might as well shut up the place and go +fishing. We'll be a joke in six weeks. Don't try to hand me +any such God damned tripe as that, Freeman. You know better. +You ought to know our advertisers wouldn't stand for +anything like that. Wake up! I'm paying you five thousand +a year. How do you expect I'm going to get my money back +out of any such arrangement as that? You're simply wasting +my money and your time letting a man draw a thing like that. +Hell!!"</p> + +<p>The art director, whoever he was, having been by degrees +initiated into the brutalities of the situation, and having—by reason +of the time he had been employed and the privileges he had +permitted himself on account of his comfortable and probably +never before experienced salary—sold himself into bondage to +his now fancied necessities, was usually humble and tractable +under the most galling fire. Where could he go and get five +thousand dollars a year for his services? How could he live at +the rate he was living if he lost this place? Art directorships +were not numerous. Men who could fill them fairly acceptably +were not impossible to find. If he thought at all and was not +a heaven-born genius serene in the knowledge of his God-given +powers, he was very apt to hesitate, to worry, to be humble +and to endure a good deal. Most men under similar circumstances +do the same thing. They think before they fling back +into the teeth of their oppressors some of the slurs and brutal +characterizations which so frequently issue therefrom. Most +men do. Besides there is almost always a high percentage of +truth in the charges made. Usually the storm is for the betterment +of mankind. Mr. Summerfield knew this. He knew also +the yoke of poverty and the bondage of fear which most if not +all his men were under. He had no compunctions about using +these weapons, much as a strong man might use a club. He had +had a hard life himself. No one had sympathized with him +very much. Besides you couldn't sympathize and succeed. Better +look the facts in the face, deal only with infinite capacity, +roughly weed out the incompetents and proceed along the line +of least resistance, in so far as your powerful enemies were +concerned. Men might theorize and theorize until the crack +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[Pg 411]</a></span> +of doom, but this was the way the thing had to be done and this +was the way he preferred to do it.</p> + +<p>Eugene had never heard of any of these facts in connection +with the Summerfield Company. The idea had been flung at +him so quickly he had no time to think, and besides if he had +had time it would have made no difference. A little experience +of life had taught him as it teaches everyone else to mistrust +rumor. He had applied for the place on hearing and he was +hoping to get it. At noon the day following his visit to Mr. +Baker Bates, the latter was speaking for him to Mr. Summerfield, +but only very casually.</p> + +<p>"Say," he asked, quite apropos of nothing apparently, for +they were discussing the chances of his introducing his product +into South America, "do you ever have need of an art director +over in your place?"</p> + +<p>"Occasionally," replied Summerfield guardedly, for his impression +was that Mr. Baker Bates knew very little of art directors +or anything else in connection with the art side of advertising +life. He might have heard of his present need and be +trying to palm off some friend of his, an incompetent, of course, +on him. "What makes you ask?"</p> + +<p>"Why, Hudson Dula, the manager of the Triple Lithographic +Company, was telling me of a man who is connected +with the <i>World</i> who might make a good one for you. I know +something of him. He painted some rather remarkable views +of New York and Paris here a few years ago. Dula tells me +they were very good."</p> + +<p>"Is he young?" interrupted Summerfield, calculating.</p> + +<p>"Yes, comparatively. Thirty-one or two, I should say."</p> + +<p>"And he wants to be an art director, does he. Where is he?"</p> + +<p>"He's down on the <i>World</i>, and I understand he wants to get +out of there. I heard you say last year that you were looking +for a man, and I thought this might interest you."</p> + +<p>"What's he doing down on the <i>World</i>?"</p> + +<p>"He's been sick, I understand, and is just getting on his +feet again."</p> + +<p>The explanation sounded sincere enough to Summerfield.</p> + +<p>"What's his name?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Witla, Eugene Witla. He had an exhibition at one of +the galleries here a few years ago."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid of these regular high-brow artists," observed Summerfield +suspiciously. "They're usually so set up about their +art that there's no living with them. I have to have someone +with hard, practical sense in my work. Someone that isn't a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[Pg 412]</a></span> +plain damn fool. He has to be a good manager—a good administrator, +mere talent for drawing won't do—though he has +to have that, or know it when he sees it. You might send this +fellow around sometime if you know him. I wouldn't mind +looking at him. I may need a man pretty soon. I'm thinking +of making certain changes."</p> + +<p>"If I see him I will," said Baker indifferently and dropped +the matter. Summerfield, however, for some psychological reason +was impressed with the name. Where had he heard it? +Somewhere apparently. Perhaps he had better find out something +about him.</p> + +<p>"If you send him you'd better give him a letter of introduction," +he added thoughtfully, before Bates should have forgotten +the matter. "So many people try to get in to see me, +and I may forget."</p> + +<p>Baker knew at once that Summerfield wished to look at Witla. +He dictated a letter of introduction that afternoon to his stenographer +and mailed it to Eugene.</p> + +<p>"I find Mr. Summerfield apparently disposed to see you," he +wrote. "You had better go and see him if you are interested. +Present this letter. Very truly yours."</p> + +<p>Eugene looked at it with astonishment and a sense of foregoneness +so far as what was to follow. Fate was fixing this +for him. He was going to get it. How strange life was! Here +he was down on the <i>World</i> working for fifty dollars a week, +and suddenly an art directorship, a thing he had thought of for +years, was coming to him out of nowhere! Then he decided +to telephone Mr. Daniel Summerfield, saying that he had a +letter from Mr. Baker Bates and asking when he could see +him. Later he decided to waste no time, but to present the +letter direct without phoning. At three in the afternoon he received +permission from Benedict to be away from the office +between three and five, and at three-thirty he was in the anteroom +of the general offices of the Summerfield Advertising +Company, waiting for a much desired permission to enter.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">[Pg 413]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="II_CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII</h2> + +<p>When Eugene called, Mr. Daniel C. Summerfield was +in no great rush about any particular matter, but he +had decided in this case as he had in many others that it was +very important that anyone who wanted anything from him +should be made to wait. Eugene was made to wait a solid +hour before he was informed by an underling that he was very +sorry but that other matters had so detained Mr. Summerfield +that it was now impossible for him to see him at all this day, +but that tomorrow at twelve he would be glad to see him. +Eugene was finally admitted on the morrow, however, and +then, at the first glance, Mr. Summerfield liked him. "A man +of intelligence," he thought, as he leaned back in his chair and +stared at him. "A man of force. Young still, wide-eyed, +quick, clean looking. Perhaps I have found someone in this +man who will make a good art director." He smiled, for +Summerfield was always good-natured in his opening relationships—usually +so in all of them, and took most people (his employees +and prospective employees particularly) with an air of +superior but genial condescension.</p> + +<p>"Sit down! Sit down!" he exclaimed cheerfully and Eugene +did so, looking about at the handsomely decorated walls, the floor +which was laid with a wide, soft, light brown rug, and the +mahogany desk, flat-topped, glass covered, on which lay handsome +ornaments of silver, ivory and bronze. This man looked +so keen, so dynamic, like a polished Japanese carving, hard +and smooth.</p> + +<p>"Now tell me all about yourself," began Summerfield. +"Where do you come from? Who are you? What have you +done?"</p> + +<p>"Hold! Hold!" said Eugene easily and tolerantly. "Not +so fast. My history isn't so much. The short and simple annals +of the poor. I'll tell you in two or three sentences."</p> + +<p>Summerfield was a little taken back at this abruptness which +was generated by his own attitude; still he liked it. This +was something new to him. His applicant wasn't frightened +or apparently even nervous so far as he could judge. "He is +droll," he thought, "sufficiently so—a man who has seen a number +of things evidently. He is easy in manner, too, and kindly."</p> + +<p>"Well," he said smilingly, for Eugene's slowness appealed to +him. His humor was something new in art directors. So far +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">[Pg 414]</a></span> +as he could recall, his predecessors had never had any to speak of.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm an artist," said Eugene, "working on the <i>World</i>. +Let's hope that don't militate against me very much."</p> + +<p>"It don't," said Summerfield.</p> + +<p>"And I want to become an art director because I think I'd +make a good one."</p> + +<p>"Why?" asked Summerfield, his even teeth showing amiably.</p> + +<p>"Well, because I like to manage men, or I think I do. And +they take to me."</p> + +<p>"You know that?"</p> + +<p>"I do. In the next place I know too much about art to +want to do the little things that I'm doing. I can do bigger +things."</p> + +<p>"I like that also," applauded Summerfield. He was thinking +that Eugene was nice and good looking, a little pale and +thin to be wholly forceful, perhaps, he wasn't sure. His hair +a little too long. His manner, perhaps, a bit too deliberate. +Still he was nice. Why did he wear a soft hat? Why did +artists always insist on wearing soft hats, most of them? It +was so ridiculous, so unbusinesslike.</p> + +<p>"How much do you get?" he added, "if it's a fair question."</p> + +<p>"Less than I'm worth," said Eugene. "Only fifty dollars. +But I took it as a sort of health cure. I had a nervous breakdown +several years ago—better now, as Mulvaney used to say—and +I don't want to stay at that. I'm an art director by temperament, +or I think I am. Anyhow, here I am."</p> + +<p>"You mean," said Summerfield, "you never ran an art department +before?"</p> + +<p>"Never."</p> + +<p>"Know anything about advertising?"</p> + +<p>"I used to think so."</p> + +<p>"How long ago was that?"</p> + +<p>"When I worked on the Alexandria, Illinois, <i>Daily Appeal</i>."</p> + +<p>Summerfield smiled. He couldn't help it.</p> + +<p>"That's almost as important as the Wickham <i>Union</i>, I fancy. +It sounds as if it might have the same wide influence."</p> + +<p>"Oh, much more, much more," returned Eugene quietly. +"The Alexandria <i>Appeal</i> had the largest exclusively country +circulation of any county south of the Sangamon."</p> + +<p>"I see! I see!" replied Summerfield good-humoredly. "It's +all day with the Wickham <i>Union</i>. Well, how was it you came +to change your mind?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I got a few years older for one thing," said Eugene. +"And then I decided that I was cut out to be the greatest living +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">[Pg 415]</a></span> +artist, and then I came to New York, and in the excitement +I almost lost the idea."</p> + +<p>"I see."</p> + +<p>"But I have it again, thank heaven, tied up back of the +house, and here I am."</p> + +<p>"Well, Witla, to tell you the truth you don't look like a +real live, every day, sure-enough art director, but you might +make good. You're not quite art-y enough according to the +standards that prevail around this office. Still I might be willing +to take one gosh-awful chance. I suppose if I do I'll get +stung as usual, but I've been stung so often that I ought to be +used to it by now. I feel sort of spotted at times from the +hornets I've hired in the past. But, be that as it may, what do +you think you could do with a real live art directorship if you +had it?"</p> + +<p>Eugene mused. This persiflage entertained him. He thought +Summerfield would hire him now that they were together.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'd draw my salary first and then I'd see that I had +the proper system of approach so that any one who came to see +me would think I was the King of England, and then I'd——"</p> + +<p>"I was really busy yesterday," interpolated Summerfield apologetically.</p> + +<p>"I'm satisfied of that," replied Eugene gaily. "And finally +I might condescend, if I were coaxed enough, to do a little +work."</p> + +<p>This speech at once irritated and amused Mr. Summerfield. +He liked a man of spirit. You could do something with someone +who wasn't afraid, even if he didn't know so much to begin +with. And Eugene knew a good deal, he fancied. Besides, his +talk was precisely in his own sarcastic, semi-humorous vein. +Coming from Eugene it did not sound so hard as it would have +coming from himself, but it had his own gay, bantering attitude +of mind in it. He believed Eugene could make good. He +wanted to try him, instanter, anyhow.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll tell you what, Witla," he finally observed. "I +don't know whether you can run this thing or not—the probabilities +are all against you as I have said, but you seem to +have some ideas or what might be made some under my direction, +and I think I'll give you a chance. Mind you, I haven't +much confidence. My personal likes usually prove very fatal to +me. Still, you're here, and I like your looks and I haven't seen +anyone else, and so——"</p> + +<p>"Thanks," said Eugene.</p> + +<p>"Don't thank me. You have a hard job ahead of you if I +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">[Pg 416]</a></span> +take you. It's no child's play. You'd better come with me +first and look over the place," and he led the way out into the +great central room where, because it was still noon time, there +were few people working, but where one could see just how +imposing this business really was.</p> + +<p>"Seventy-two stenographers, book-keepers, canvassers and +writers and trade-aid people at their desks," he observed with +an easy wave of his hand, and moved on into the art department, +which was in another wing of the building where a north +and east light could be secured. "Here's where you come in," +he observed, throwing open the door where thirty-two artists' +desks and easels were ranged. Eugene was astonished.</p> + +<p>"You don't employ that many, do you?" he asked interestedly. +Most of the men were out to lunch.</p> + +<p>"From twenty to twenty-five all the time, sometimes more," +he said. "Some on the outside. It depends on the condition +of business."</p> + +<p>"And how much do you pay them, as a rule?"</p> + +<p>"Well, that depends. I think I'll give you seventy-five +dollars a week to begin with, if we come to an understanding. +If you make good I'll make it a hundred dollars a week inside +of three months. It all depends. The others we don't pay so +much. The business manager can tell you."</p> + +<p>Eugene noticed the evasion. His eyes narrowed. Still there +was a good chance here. Seventy-five dollars was considerably +better than fifty and it might lead to more. He would be his +own boss—a man of some consequence. He could not help +stiffening with pride a little as he looked at the room which +Summerfield pointed out to him as his own if he came—a room +where a large, highly polished oak desk was placed and where +some of the Summerfield Advertising Company's art products +were hung on the walls. There was a nice rug on the floor +and some leather-backed chairs.</p> + +<p>"Here's where you will be if you come here," said Summerfield.</p> + +<p>Eugene gazed round. Certainly life was looking up. How +was he to get this place? On what did it depend? His mind +was running forward to various improvements in his affairs, a +better apartment for Angela, better clothes for her, more entertainment +for both of them, freedom from worry over the future; +for a little bank account would soon result from a place like +this.</p> + +<p>"Do you do much business a year?" Eugene asked curiously.</p> + +<p>"Oh, about two million dollars' worth."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">[Pg 417]</a></span> +"And you have to make drawings for every ad?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly, not one but six or eight sometimes. It depends +upon the ability of the art director. If he does his work right +I save money."</p> + +<p>Eugene saw the point.</p> + +<p>"What became of the other man?" he asked, noting the name +of Older Freeman on the door.</p> + +<p>"Oh, he quit," said Summerville, "or rather he saw what +was coming and got out of the way. He was no good. He +was too weak. He was turning out work here which was a +joke—some things had to be done over eight and nine times."</p> + +<p>Eugene discovered the wrath and difficulties and opposition +which went with this. Summerfield was a hard man, plainly. +He might smile and joke now, but anyone who took that chair +would hear from him constantly. For a moment Eugene felt +as though he could not do it, as though he had better not try +it, and then he thought, "Why shouldn't I? It can't hurt me. +If worst comes to worst, I have my art to fall back on."</p> + +<p>"Well, so it goes," he said. "If I don't make good, the +door for mine, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, nothing so easy," chuckled Summerfield; "the coal +chute."</p> + +<p>Eugene noticed that he champed his teeth like a nervous +horse, and that he seemed fairly to radiate waves of energy. +For himself he winced the least bit. This was a grim, fighting +atmosphere he was coming into. He would have to fight +for his life here—no doubt of that.</p> + +<p>"Now," said Summerfield, when they were strolling back +to his own office. "I'll tell you what you might do. I have +two propositions, one from the Sand Perfume Company and +another from the American Crystal Sugar Refining Company +which may mean big contracts for me if I can present them +the right line of ideas for advertising. They want to advertise. +The Sand Company wants suggestions for bottles, labels, +car ads, newspaper ads, posters, and so on. The American +Crystal Company wants to sell its sugar in small packages, +powdered, grained, cubed, hexagoned. We want package forms, +labels, posters ads, and so on for that. It's a question of how +much novelty, simplicity and force we can put in the smallest +possible space. Now I depend upon my art director to tell me +something about these things. I don't expect him to do everything. +I'm here and I'll help him. I have men in the trade +aid department out there who are wonders at making suggestions +along this line, but the art director is supposed to help. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418">[Pg 418]</a></span> +He's the man who is supposed to have the taste and can execute +the proposition in its last form. Now suppose you take +these two ideas and see what you can do with them. Bring +me some suggestions. If they suit me and I think you have +the right note, I'll hire you. If not, well then I won't, and +no harm done. Is that all right?"</p> + +<p>"That's all right," said Eugene.</p> + +<p>Mr. Summerfield handed him a bundle of papers, catalogues, +prospectuses, communications. "You can look these over if you +want to. Take them along and then bring them back."</p> + +<p>Eugene rose.</p> + +<p>"I'd like to have two or three days for this," he said. "It's +a new proposition to me. I think I can give you some ideas—I'm +not sure. Anyhow, I'd like to try."</p> + +<p>"Go ahead! Go ahead!" said Summerfield, "the more the +merrier. And I'll see you any time you're ready. I have a +man out there—Freeman's assistant—who's running things for +me temporarily. Here's luck," and he waved his hand indifferently.</p> + +<p>Eugene went out. Was there ever such a man, so hard, so +cold, so practical! It was a new note to him. He was simply +astonished, largely because he was inexperienced. He had not +yet gone up against the business world as those who try to do +anything in a big way commercially must. This man was getting +on his nerves already, making him feel that he had a +tremendous problem before him, making him think that the +quiet realms of art were merely the backwaters of oblivion. +Those who did anything, who were out in the front row of effort, +were fighters such as this man was, raw products of the +soil, ruthless, superior, indifferent. If only he could be that +way, he thought. If he could be strong, defiant, commanding, +what a thing it would be. Not to wince, not to quail, but to +stand up firm, square to the world and make people obey. Oh, +what a splendid vision of empire was here before him.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">[Pg 419]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="II_CHAPTER_XXXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV</h2> + +<p>The designs or suggestions which Eugene offered his prospective +employer for the advertising of the products of M. +Sand et Cie and the American Crystal Sugar Refining Company, +were peculiar. As has been indicated, Eugene had one of +those large, effervescent intelligences which when he was in +good physical condition fairly bubbled ideas. His imaginings, +without any effort on his part, naturally took all forms and +shapes. The call of Mr. Summerfield was for street car cards, +posters and newspaper ads of various sizes, and what he wanted +Eugene specifically to supply was not so much the lettering or +rather wording of the ads as it was their artistic form and illustrative +point: what one particular suggestion in the form of a +drawing or design could be made in each case which would +arrest public attention. Eugene went home and took the sugar +proposition under consideration first. He did not say anything +of what he was really doing to Angela, because he did not want +to disappoint her. He pretended that he was making sketches +which he might offer to some company for a little money and because +it amused him. By the light of his green shaded working +lamp at home he sketched designs of hands holding squares of +sugar, either in the fingers or by silver and gold sugar tongs, +urns piled high with crystalline concoctions, a blue and gold +after-dinner cup with one lump of the new form on the side +against a section of snow white table cloth, and things of that +character. He worked rapidly and with ease until he had some +thirty-five suggestions on this one proposition alone, and then +he turned his attention to the matter of the perfumery.</p> + +<p>His first thought was that he did not know all the designs +of the company's bottles, but he originated peculiar and delightful +shapes of his own, some of which were afterwards adopted +by the company. He designed boxes and labels to amuse himself +and then made various still-life compositions such as a box, +a bottle, a dainty handkerchief and a small white hand all showing +in a row. His mind slipped to the manufacture of perfume, +the growing of flowers, the gathering of blossoms, the type of +girls and men that might possibly be employed, and then he +hurried to the great public library the next day to see if he +could find a book or magazine article which would tell him +something about it. He found this and several articles on sugar +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420">[Pg 420]</a></span> +growing and refining which gave him new ideas in that direction. +He decided that in each case he would put a beautifully +designed bottle of perfume or a handsome package of sugar, say, +in the upper right or lower left-hand corner of the design, and +then for the rest show some scene in the process of its manufacture. +He began to think of men who could carry out his +ideas brilliantly if they were not already on his staff, letterers, +character artists, men with a keen sense of color combination +whom he might possibly hire cheaply. He thought of Jerry +Mathews of the old Chicago <i>Globe</i> days—where was he now?—and +Philip Shotmeyer, who would be almost ideal to work +under his direction, for he was a splendid letterer, and Henry +Hare, still of the <i>World</i>, with whom he had frequently talked +on the subject of ads and posters. Then there was young Morgenbau, +who was a most excellent character man, looking to +him for some opportunity, and eight or ten men whose work +he had admired in the magazines—the best known ones. He +decided first to see what could be done with the staff that he +had, and then to eliminate and fill in as rapidly as possible until +he had a capable working group. He had already caught by +contact with Summerfield some of that eager personage's ruthlessness +and began to manifest it in his own attitude. He was +most impressionable to things advantageous to himself, and this +chance to rise to a higher level out of the slough of poverty in +which he had so greatly suffered nerved him to the utmost +effort. In two days he had a most impressive mass of material +to show his prospective employer, and he returned to his presence +with considerable confidence. The latter looked over his +ideas carefully and then began to warm to his attitude of mind.</p> + +<p>"I should say!" he said generously, "there's some life to this +stuff. I can see you getting the five thousand a year all right +if you keep on. You're a little new, but you've caught the +drift." And he sat down to show him where some improvements +from a practical point of view could be made.</p> + +<p>"Now, professor," he said finally when he was satisfied that +Eugene was the man he wanted, "you and I might as well call +this a deal. It's pretty plain to me that you've got something +that I want. Some of these things are fine. I don't know +how you're going to make out as a master of men, but you +might as well take that desk out there and we'll begin right +now. I wish you luck. I really do. You're a live wire, I +think."</p> + +<p>Eugene thrilled with satisfaction. This was the result he +wanted. No half-hearted commendation, but enthusiastic praise. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421">[Pg 421]</a></span> +He must have it. He always felt that he could command it. +People naturally ran after him. He was getting used to it by +now—taking it as a matter of course. If he hadn't broken down, +curse the luck, think where he could have been today. He +had lost five years and he was not quite well yet, but thank +God he was getting steadily better, and he would try and hold +himself in check from now on. The world demanded it.</p> + +<p>He went out with Summerfield into the art room and was +there introduced by him to the various men employed. "Mr. +Davis, Mr. Witla; Mr. Hart, Mr. Witla; Mr. Clemens, Mr. +Witla," so it went, and the staff was soon aware of who he +was. Summerfield then took him into the next room and introduced +him to the various heads of departments, the business +manager who fixed his and his artists' salaries, the cashier who +paid him, the manager of the ad writing department, the manager +of the trade aid department, and the head of the stenographic +department, a woman. Eugene was a little disgusted +with what he considered the crassness of these people. After +the quality of the art atmosphere in which he had moved these +people seemed to him somewhat raw and voracious, like fish. +They had no refinement. Their looks and manners were unduly +aggressive. He resented particularly the fact that one canvasser +with whom he shook hands wore a bright red tie and had on +yellow shoes. The insistence on department store models for +suits and floor-walker manners pained him.</p> + +<p>"To hell with such cattle," he thought, but on the surface +he smiled and shook hands and said how glad he would be to +work with them. Finally when all the introductions were over +he went back to his own department, to take up the work +which rushed through here like a living stream, pellmell. His +own staff was, of course, much more agreeable to him. These +artists who worked for him interested him, for they were as he +suspected men very much like himself, in poor health probably, +or down on their luck and compelled to do this. He called for +his assistant, Mr. Davis, whom Summerfield had introduced to +him as such, and asked him to let him see how the work stood.</p> + +<p>"Have you a schedule of the work in hand?" he asked easily.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," said his new attendant.</p> + +<p>"Let me see it."</p> + +<p>The latter brought what he called his order book and showed +him just how things worked. Each particular piece of work, +or order as it was called, was given a number when it came +in, the time of its entry marked on the slip, the name of the +artist to whom it was assigned, the time taken to execute it, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422">[Pg 422]</a></span> +and so forth. If one artist only put two hours on it and another +took it and put four, this was noted. If the first drawing +was a failure and a second begun, the records would show +all, the slips and errors of the office as well as its speed and capacity. +Eugene perceived that he must see to it that his men +did not make many mistakes.</p> + +<p>After this order book had been carefully inspected by him, +he rose and strolled about among the men to see how they were +getting on. He wanted to familiarize himself at once with the +styles and methods of his men. Some were working on clothing +ads, some on designs illustrative of the beef industry, some +on a railroad travel series for the street cars, and so forth. +Eugene bent over each one graciously, for he wanted to make +friends with these people and win their confidence. He knew +from experience how sensitive artists were—how they could be +bound by feelings of good fellowship. He had a soft, easy, +smiling manner which he hoped would smooth his way for +him. He leaned over this man's shoulder and that asking what +the point was, how long a piece of work of that character ought +to take, suggesting where a man appeared to be in doubt what +he thought would be advisable. He was not at all certain of +himself—this line of work being so new—but he was hopeful +and eager. It was a fine sensation, this being a boss, if one +could only triumph at it. He hoped to help these men to help +themselves; to make them make good in ways which would bring +them and him more money. He wanted more money—that +five thousand, no less.</p> + +<p>"I think you have the right idea there," he said to one pale, +anæmic worker who looked as though he might have a lot of +talent.</p> + +<p>The man, whose name was Dillon, responded to the soothing, +caressing tone of his voice. He liked Eugene's appearance, +though he was not at all disposed to pass favorable judgment +as yet. It was already rumored that he had had an exceptional +career as an artist. Summerfield had attended to that. He +looked up and smiled and said, "Do you think so?"</p> + +<p>"I certainly do," said Eugene cheerfully. "Try a touch of +yellow next to that blue. See if you don't like that."</p> + +<p>The artist did as requested and squinted at it narrowly. "It +helps it a lot, don't it," he observed, as though it were his +own.</p> + +<p>"It certainly does," said Eugene, "that's a good idea," and +somehow Dillon felt as though he had thought of it. Inside +of twenty minutes the whole staff was agreeing with itself that +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423">[Pg 423]</a></span> +he was a nice man to all outward appearances and that he might +make good. He appeared to be so sure. They little knew how +perturbed he was inwardly, how anxious he was to get all the +threads of this in his hand and to see that everything came to +an ideal fruition. He dreaded the hour when he might have +something to contend with which was not quite right.</p> + +<p>Days passed at this new work and then weeks, and by +degrees he grew moderately sure of himself and comparatively +easy in his seat, though he realized that he had not stepped into +a bed of roses. He found this a most tempestuous office to work +in, for Summerfield was, as he expressed it, "on the job" early +and late, and tireless in his insistence and enthusiasm. He came +down from his residence in the upper portion of the city at +eight-fifty in the morning and remained almost invariably until +six-thirty and seven and not infrequently until eight and nine +in the evening. He had the inconsiderate habit of keeping such +of his staff as happened to be working upon the thing in which +he was interested until all hours of the night; sometimes transferring +his deliberations to his own home and that without +dinner or the proffer of it to those whom he made to work. +He would talk advertising with one big merchant or another +until it was time to go home, and would then call in the weary +members of his staff before they had time to escape and begin +a long and important discussion of something he wanted done. +At times, when anything went wrong, he would fly into an +insane fury, rave and curse and finally, perhaps, discharge the +one who was really not to blame. There were no end of +labored and irritating conferences in which hard words and sarcastic +references would fly about, for he had no respect for the +ability or personality of anyone who worked for him. They +were all more or less machines in his estimation and rather +poorly constructed ones at that. Their ideas were not good +enough unless for the time being they happened to be new, or +as in Eugene's case displaying pronounced talent.</p> + +<p>He could not fathom Eugene so readily, for he had never met +anyone of his kind. He was looking closely in his case, as he +was in that of all the others, to see if he could not find some +weakness in his ideas. He had a gleaming, insistent, almost +demoniac eye, a habit of chewing incessantly and even violently +the stub end of a cigar, the habit of twitching, getting up and +walking about, stirring things on his desk, doing anything and +everything to give his restless, generative energy a chance to +escape.</p> + +<p>"Now, professor," he would say when Eugene came in and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424">[Pg 424]</a></span> +seated himself quietly and unobtrusively in some corner, "we +have a very difficult thing here to solve today. I want to know +what you think could be done in such and such a case," describing +a particular condition.</p> + +<p>Eugene would brace himself up and begin to consider, but +rumination was not what Summerfield wanted from anyone.</p> + +<p>"Well, professor! well! well!" he would exclaim.</p> + +<p>Eugene would stir irritably. This was so embarrassing—in a +way so degrading to him.</p> + +<p>"Come to life, professor," Summerfield would go on. He +seemed to have concluded long before that the gad was the +most effective commercial weapon.</p> + +<p>Eugene would then make some polite suggestion, wishing instead +that he could tell him to go to the devil, but that was +not the end of it. Before all the old writers, canvassers, trade +aid men—sometimes one or two of his own artists who might +be working upon the particular task in question, he would exclaim: +"Lord! what a poor suggestion!" or "can't you do any +better than that, professor?" or "good heavens, I have three +or four ideas better than that myself." The best he would +ever say in conference was, "Well, there may be something in +that," though privately, afterwards, he might possibly express +great pleasure. Past achievements counted for nothing; that +was so plain. One might bring in gold and silver all day +long; the next day there must be more gold and silver and in +larger quantities. There was no end to the man's appetite. +There was no limit to the speed at which he wished to drive +his men. There was no limit to the venomous commercial idea +as an idea. Summerfield set an example of nagging and irritating +insistence, and he urged all his employees to the same policy. +The result was a bear-garden, a den of prize-fighters, liars, cutthroats +and thieves in which every man was for himself openly +and avowedly and the devil take the hindmost.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425">[Pg 425]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XXXV" id="II_CHAPTER_XXXV"></a>CHAPTER XXXV</h2> + +<p>Still time went by, and although things did not improve +very much in his office over the standards which he saw +prevailing when he came there, he was obviously getting things +much better arranged in his private life. In the first place +Angela's attitude was getting much better. The old agony +which had possessed her in the days when he was acting so badly +had modified as day by day she saw him working and conducting +himself with reasonable circumspection. She did not +trust him as yet. She was not sure that he had utterly broken with +Carlotta Wilson (she had never found out who his paramour +was), but all the evidence seemed to attest it. There was a +telephone down stairs in a drug store by which, during his days +on the <i>World</i>, Angela would call him up at any time, and whenever +she had called him up he was always in the office. He +seemed to have plenty of time to take her to the theatre if she +wished to go, and to have no especial desire to avoid her company. +He had once told her frankly that he did not propose to +pretend to love her any more, though he did care for her, and +this frightened her. In spite of her wrath and suffering she +cared for him, and she believed that he still sympathized with +her and might come to care for her again—that he ought to.</p> + +<p>She decided to play the rôle of the affectionate wife whether +it was true or not, and to hug and kiss him and fuss over +him if he would let her, just as though nothing had happened. +Eugene did not understand this. He did not see how +Angela could still love him. He thought she must hate him, +having such just grounds, for having by dint of hard work and +absence come out of his vast excitement about Carlotta he was +beginning to feel that he had done her a terrific injustice and +to wish to make amends. He did not want to love her, he +did not feel that he could, but he was perfectly willing to +behave himself, to try to earn a good living, to take her to +theatre and opera as opportunity permitted, and to build up +and renew a social relationship with others which should act +as a substitute for love. He was beginning to think that there +was no honest or happy solution to any affair of the heart +in the world. Most people so far as he could see were unhappily +married. It seemed to be the lot of mankind to make mistakes +in its matrimonial selections. He was probably no more +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_426" id="Page_426">[Pg 426]</a></span> +unhappy than many others. Let the world wag as it would for +a time. He would try to make some money now, and restore +himself in the eyes of the world. Later, life might bring him +something—who could tell?</p> + +<p>In the next place their financial condition, even before he left +the <i>World</i>, was so much better than it had been. By dint of +saving and scraping, refusing to increase their expenses more +than was absolutely necessary, Angela had succeeded by the +time he left the <i>World</i> in laying by over one thousand dollars, +and since then it had gone up to three thousand. They +had relaxed sufficiently so that now they were wearing reasonably +good clothes, were going out and receiving company +regularly. It was not possible in their little apartment which +they still occupied to entertain more than three or four at the +outside, and two was all that Angela ever cared to consider as +either pleasurable or comfortable; but they entertained this number +frequently. There were some slight recoveries of friendship +and of the old life—Hudson Dula, Jerry Mathews, who had +moved to Newark; William McConnell, Philip Shotmeyer. +MacHugh and Smite were away, one painting in Nova Scotia, +the other working in Chicago. As for the old art crowd, socialists +and radicals included, Eugene attempted to avoid them as +much as possible. He knew nothing of the present whereabouts +of Miriam Finch and Norma Whitmore. Of Christina Channing +he heard much, for she was singing in Grand Opera, her +pictures displayed in the paper and upon the billboards. There +were many new friends, principally young newspaper artists +like Adolph Morgenbau, who took to Eugene and were in a +sense his disciples.</p> + +<p>Angela's relations showed up from time to time, among them +David Blue, now a sub-lieutenant in the army, with all the army +officer's pride of place and station. There were women friends +of Angela's for whom Eugene cared little—Mrs. Desmas, the +wife of the furniture manufacturer at Riverwood, from whom +they had rented their four rooms there; Mrs. Wertheim, the +wife of the multimillionaire, to whom M. Charles had introduced +them; Mrs. Link, the wife of the West Point army captain +who had come to the old Washington Square studio with +Marietta and who was now stationed at Fort Hamilton in +Brooklyn; and a Mrs. Juergens, living in a neighboring apartment. +As long as they were very poor, Angela was +very careful how she revived acquaintances; but when they +began to have a little money she decided that she might indulge +her predilection and so make life less lonesome for herself. She +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_427" id="Page_427">[Pg 427]</a></span> +had always been anxious to build up solid social connections for +Eugene, but as yet she did not see how it was to be done.</p> + +<p>When Eugene's new connection with the Summerfield company +was consummated, Angela was greatly astonished and rather +delighted to think that if he had to work in this practical field +for long it was to be under such comforting auspices—that is, as +a superior and not as an underling. Long ago she had come to +feel that Eugene would never make any money in a commercial +way. To see him mounting in this manner was curious, but +not wholly reassuring. They must save money; that was her +one cry. They had to move soon, that was very plain, but +they mustn't spend any more than they had to. She delayed +until the attitude of Summerfield, upon an accidental visit to +their flat, made it commercially advisable.</p> + +<p>Summerfield was a great admirer of Eugene's artistic ability. +He had never seen any of his pictures, but he was rather keen to, +and once when Eugene told him that they were still on display, +one or two of them at Pottle Frères, Jacob Bergman's and Henry +LaRue's, he decided to visit these places, but put it off. One +night when he was riding uptown on the L road with Eugene +he decided because he was in a vagrom mood to accompany him +home and see his pictures there. Eugene did not want this. He +was chagrined to be compelled to take him into their very little +apartment, but there was apparently no way of escaping it. He +tried to persuade him to visit Pottle Frères instead, where one +picture was still on view, but Summerfield would none of that.</p> + +<p>"I don't like you to see this place," finally he said apologetically, +as they were going up the steps of the five-story apartment +house. "We are going to get out of here pretty soon. I +came here when I worked on the road."</p> + +<p>Summerfield looked about at the poor neighborhood, the inlet +of a canal some two blocks east where a series of black coal +pockets were and to the north where there was flat open country +and a railroad yard.</p> + +<p>"Why, that's all right," he said, in his direct, practical way. +"It doesn't make any difference to me. It does to you, though, +Witla. You know, I believe in spending money, everybody +spending money. Nobody gets anywhere by saving anything. +Pay out! Pay out—that's the idea. I found that out for myself +long ago. You'd better move when you get a chance soon +and surround yourself with clever people."</p> + +<p>Eugene considered this the easy talk of a man who was successful +and lucky, but he still thought there was much in it. +Summerfield came in and viewed the pictures. He liked them, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_428" id="Page_428">[Pg 428]</a></span> +and he liked Angela, though he wondered how Eugene ever came +to marry her. She was such a quiet little home body. Eugene +looked more like a Bohemian or a club man now that he had +been worked upon by Summerfield. The soft hat had long +since been discarded for a stiff derby, and Eugene's clothes were +of the most practical business type he could find. He looked +more like a young merchant than an artist. Summerfield invited +them over to dinner at his house, refusing to stay to dinner here, +and went his way.</p> + +<p>Before long, because of his advice they moved. They had +practically four thousand by now, and because of his salary +Angela figured that they could increase their living expenses to +say two thousand five hundred or even three thousand dollars. +She wanted Eugene to save two thousand each year against the +day when he should decide to return to art. They sought about +together Saturday afternoons and Sundays and finally found a +charming apartment in Central Park West overlooking the park, +where they thought they could live and entertain beautifully. +It had a large dining-room and living-room which when the +table was cleared away formed one great room. There was a +handsomely equipped bathroom, a nice kitchen with ample pantry, +three bedrooms, one of which Angela turned into a sewing room, +and a square hall or entry which answered as a temporary reception +room. There were plenty of closets, gas and electricity, +elevator service with nicely uniformed elevator men, and a house +telephone. It was very different from their last place, where +they only had a long dark hall, stairways to climb, gas only, +and no phone. The neighborhood, too, was so much better. +Here were automobiles and people walking in the park or promenading +on a Sunday afternoon, and obsequious consideration or +polite indifference to your affairs from everyone who had anything +to do with you.</p> + +<p>"Well, the tide is certainly turning," said Eugene, as they +entered it the first day.</p> + +<p>He had the apartment redecorated in white and delft-blue +and dark blue, getting a set of library and dining-room furniture +in imitation rosewood. He bought a few choice pictures +which he had seen at various exhibitions to mix with his own, +and set a cut-glass bowl in the ceiling where formerly the commonplace +chandelier had been. There were books enough, accumulated +during a period of years, to fill the attractive white +bookcase with its lead-paned doors. Attractive sets of bedroom +furniture in bird's-eye maple and white enamel were secured, +and the whole apartment given a very cosy and tasteful appearance. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_429" id="Page_429">[Pg 429]</a></span> +A piano was purchased outright and dinner and breakfast +sets of Haviland china. There were many other dainty accessories, +such as rugs, curtains, portières, and so forth, the hanging +of which Angela supervised. Here they settled down to a comparatively +new and attractive life.</p> + +<p>Angela had never really forgiven him his indiscretions of the +past, his radical brutality in the last instance, but she was not +holding them up insistently against him. There were occasional +scenes even yet, the echoes of a far-off storm; but as long as +they were making money and friends were beginning to come +back she did not propose to quarrel. Eugene was very considerate. +He was very, very hard-working. Why should she nag +him? He would sit by a window overlooking the park at night +and toil over his sketches and ideas until midnight. He was up +and dressed by seven, down to his office by eight-thirty, out to +lunch at one or later, and only back home at eight or nine o'clock +at night. Sometimes Angela would be cross with him for this, +sometimes rail at Mr. Summerfield for an inhuman brute, but +seeing that the apartment was so lovely and that Eugene was +getting along so well, how could she quarrel? It was for her +benefit as much as for his that he appeared to be working. He +did not think about spending money. He did not seem to care. +He would work, work, work, until she actually felt sorry for +him.</p> + +<p>"Certainly Mr. Summerfield ought to like you," she said to +him one day, half in compliment, half in a rage at a man who +would exact so much from him. "You're valuable enough to +him. I never saw a man who could work like you can. Don't +you ever want to stop?"</p> + +<p>"Don't bother about me, Angelface," he said. "I have to do +it. I don't mind. It's better than walking the streets and wondering +how I'm going to get along"—and he fell to his ideas +again.</p> + +<p>Angela shook her head. Poor Eugene! If ever a man deserved +success for working, he certainly did. And he was really +getting nice again—getting conventional. Perhaps it was because +he was getting a little older. It might turn out that he +would become a splendid man, after all.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_430" id="Page_430">[Pg 430]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XXXVI" id="II_CHAPTER_XXXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI</h2> + +<p>There came a time, however, when all this excitement and +wrath and quarreling began to unnerve Eugene and to +make him feel that he could not indefinitely stand the strain. +After all, his was the artistic temperament, not that of a commercial +or financial genius. He was too nervous and restless. +For one thing he was first astonished, then amused, then embittered +by the continual travesty on justice, truth, beauty, sympathy, +which he saw enacted before his eyes. Life stripped of its +illusion and its seeming becomes a rather deadly thing to contemplate. +Because of the ruthless, insistent, inconsiderate attitude +of this employer, all the employees of this place followed +his example, and there was neither kindness nor courtesy—nor +even raw justice anywhere. Eugene was compelled to see himself +looked upon from the beginning, not so much by his own +staff as by the other employees of the company, as a man who +could not last long. He was disliked forsooth because Summerfield +displayed some liking for him, and because his manners +did not coincide exactly with the prevailing standard of the +office. Summerfield did not intend to allow his interest in Eugene +to infringe in any way upon his commercial exactions, but +this was not enough to save or aid Eugene in any way. The +others disliked him, some because he was a true artist to begin +with, because of his rather distant air, and because in spite of +himself he could not take them all as seriously as he should.</p> + +<p>Most of them seemed little mannikins to him—little second, +third, and fourth editions or copies of Summerfield. They all +copied that worthy's insistent air. They all attempted to imitate +his briskness. Like children, they were inclined to try to +imitate his bitter persiflage and be smart; and they demanded, +as he said they should, the last ounce of consideration and duty +from their neighbors. Eugene was too much of a philosopher not +to take much of this with a grain of salt, but after all his position +depended on his activity and his ability to get results, and +it was a pity, he thought, that he could expect neither courtesy +nor favor from anyone. Departmental chiefs stormed his room +daily, demanding this, that, and the other work immediately. +Artists complained that they were not getting enough pay, the +business manager railed because expenses were not kept low, +saying that Eugene might be an improvement in the matter of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_431" id="Page_431">[Pg 431]</a></span> +the quality of the results obtained and the speed of execution, +but that he was lavish in his expenditure. Others cursed openly +in his presence at times, and about him to his employer, alleging +that the execution of certain ideas was rotten, or that certain +work was delayed, or that he was slow or discourteous. There +was little in these things, as Summerfield well knew from watching +Eugene, but he was too much a lover of quarrels and excitement +as being productive of the best results in the long run to +wish to interfere. Eugene was soon accused of delaying work +generally, of having incompetent men (which was true), of +being slow, of being an artistic snob. He stood it all calmly +because of his recent experience with poverty, but he was determined +to fight ultimately. He was no longer, or at least not +going to be, he thought, the ambling, cowardly, dreaming Witla +he had been. He was going to stand up, and he did begin to.</p> + +<p>"Remember, you are the last word here, Witla," Summerfield +had told him on one occasion. "If anything goes wrong here, +you're to blame. Don't make any mistakes. Don't let anyone +accuse you falsely. Don't run to me. I won't help you."</p> + +<p>It was such a ruthless attitude that it shocked Eugene into +an attitude of defiance. In time he thought he had become a +hardened and a changed man—aggressive, contentious, bitter.</p> + +<p>"They can all go to hell!" he said one day to Summerfield, +after a terrific row about some delayed pictures, in which one +man who was animated by personal animosity more than anything +else had said hard things about him. "The thing that's +been stated here isn't so. My work is up to and beyond the +mark. This individual here"—pointing to the man in question—"simply +doesn't like me. The next time he comes into my room +nosing about I'll throw him out. He's a damned fakir, and +you know it. He lied here today, and you know that."</p> + +<p>"Good for you, Witla!" exclaimed Summerfield joyously. +The idea of a fighting attitude on Eugene's part pleased him. +"You're coming to life. You'll get somewhere now. You've +got the ideas, but if you let these wolves run over you they'll +do it, and they'll eat you. I can't help it. They're all no good. +I wouldn't trust a single God-damned man in the place!"</p> + +<p>So it went. Eugene smiled. Could he ever get used to such +a life? Could he ever learn to live with such cheap, inconsiderate, +indecent little pups? Summerfield might like them, but +he didn't. This might be a marvellous business policy, but he +couldn't see it. Somehow it seemed to reflect the mental attitude +and temperament of Mr. Daniel C. Summerfield and nothing +more. Human nature ought to be better than that.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_432" id="Page_432">[Pg 432]</a></span> +It is curious how fortune sometimes binds up the wounds of +the past, covers over the broken places as with clinging vines, +gives to the miseries and mental wearinesses of life a look of +sweetness and comfort. An illusion of perfect joy is sometimes +created where still, underneath, are cracks and scars. Here +were Angela and Eugene living together now, beginning to be +visited by first one and then the other of those they had known in +the past, seemingly as happy as though no storm had ever beset the +calm of their present sailing. Eugene, despite all his woes, was +interested in this work. He liked to think of himself as the +captain of a score of men, having a handsome office desk, being +hailed as chief by obsequious subordinates and invited here and +there by Summerfield, who still liked him. The work was hard, +but it was so much more profitable than anything he had ever +had before. Angela was happier, too, he thought, than she had +been in a long time, for she did not need to worry about money +and his prospects were broadening. Friends were coming back +to them in a steady stream, and they were creating new ones. +It was possible to go to a seaside resort occasionally, winter or +summer, or to entertain three or four friends at dinner. Angela +had a maid. The meals were served with considerable distinction +under her supervision. She was flattered to hear nice things +said about her husband in her presence, for it was whispered +abroad in art circles with which they were now slightly in +touch again that half the effectiveness of the Summerfield ads +was due to Eugene's talent. It was no shame for him to come +out now and say where he was, for he was getting a good salary +and was a department chief. He, or rather the house through +him, had made several great hits, issuing series of ads which attracted +the attention of the public generally to the products +which they advertised. Experts in the advertising world first, +and then later the public generally, were beginning to wonder +who it was that was primarily responsible for the hits.</p> + +<p>The Summerfield company had not had them during the +previous six years of its history. There were too many of them +coming close together not to make a new era in the history of +the house. Summerfield, it was understood about the office, was +becoming a little jealous of Eugene, for he could not brook the +presence of a man with a reputation; and Eugene, with his five +thousand dollars in cash in two savings banks, with practically +two thousand five hundred dollars' worth of tasteful furniture +in his apartment and with a ten-thousand life-insurance policy +in favor of Angela, was carrying himself with quite an air. He +was not feeling so anxious about his future.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_433" id="Page_433">[Pg 433]</a></span> +Angela noted it. Summerfield also. The latter felt that +Eugene was beginning to show his artistic superiority in a way +which was not entirely pleasant. He was coming to have a +direct, insistent, sometimes dictatorial manner. All the driving +Summerfield had done had not succeeded in breaking his spirit. +Instead, it had developed him. From a lean, pale, artistic soul, +wearing a soft hat, he had straightened up and filled out until +now he looked more like a business man than an artist, with a +derby hat, clothes of the latest cut, a ring of oriental design on +his middle finger, and pins and ties which reflected the prevailing +modes.</p> + +<p>Eugene's attitude had not as yet changed completely, but it was +changing. He was not nearly so fearsome as he had been. He was +beginning to see that he had talents in more directions than one, +and to have the confidence of this fact. Five thousand dollars +in cash, with two or three hundred dollars being added monthly, +and interest at four per cent, being paid upon it, gave him a +reserve of self-confidence. He began to joke Summerfield himself, +for he began to realize that other advertising concerns might +be glad to have him. Word had been brought to him once that +the Alfred Cookman Company, of which Summerfield was a +graduate, was considering making him an offer, and the Twine-Campbell +Company, the largest in the field, was also interested +in what he was doing. His own artists, mostly faithful because +he had sought to pay them well and to help them succeed, had +spread his fame greatly. According to them, he was the sole +cause of all the recent successes which had come to the house, +which was not true at all.</p> + +<p>A number, perhaps the majority, of things recently had started +with him; but they had been amplified by Summerfield, worked +over by the ad-writing department, revised by the advertisers +themselves, and so on and so forth, until notable changes had +been effected and success achieved. There was no doubt that +Eugene was directly responsible for a share of this. His presence +was inspiring, constructive. He keyed up the whole tone +of the Summerfield Company merely by being there; but he was +not all there was to it by many a long step. He realized this +himself.</p> + +<p>He was not at all offensively egotistic—simply surer, calmer, +more genial, less easily ruffled; but even this was too much. +Summerfield wanted a frightened man, and seeing that Eugene +might be getting strong enough to slip away from him, he began +to think how he should either circumvent his possible sudden +flight, or discredit his fame, so that if he did leave he would +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_434" id="Page_434">[Pg 434]</a></span> +gain nothing by it. Neither of them was directly manifesting +any ill-will or indicating his true feelings, but such was the situation +just the same. The things which Summerfield thought he +might do were not easy to do under any circumstances. It was +particularly hard in Eugene's case. The man was beginning to +have an air. People liked him. Advertisers who met him, the +big manufacturers, took note of him. They did not understand +him as a trade figure, but thought he must have real force. One +man—a great real estate plunger in New York, who saw him +once in Summerfield's office—spoke to the latter about him.</p> + +<p>"That's a most interesting man you have there, that man +Witla," he said, when they were out to lunch together. "Where +does he come from?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, the West somewhere!" replied Summerfield evasively. +"I don't know. I've had so many art directors I don't pay +much attention to them."</p> + +<p>Winfield (ex-Senator Kenyon C. Winfield, of Brooklyn) +perceived a slight undercurrent of opposition and belittling. +"He looks like a bright fellow," he said, intending to drop the +subject.</p> + +<p>"He is, he is," returned Summerfield; "but like all artists, +he's flighty. They're the most unstable people in the world. +You can't depend upon them. Good for one idea today—worth +nothing tomorrow—I have to handle them like a lot of children. +The weather sometimes makes all the difference in the world."</p> + +<p>Winfield fancied this was true. Artists generally were worth +nothing in business. Still, he remembered Eugene pleasantly.</p> + +<p>As Summerfield talked here, so was it in the office and elsewhere. +He began to say in the office and out that Eugene was +really not doing as well as he might, and that in all likelihood +he would have to drop him. It was sad; but all directors, even +the best of them, had their little day of ability and usefulness, +and then ran to seed. He did not see why it was that all these +directors failed so, but they did. They never really made good +in the company. By this method, his own undiminished ability +was made to stand out free and clear, and Eugene was not able +to appear as important. No one who knew anything about Eugene, +however, at this time believed this; but they did believe—in +the office—that he might lose his position. He was too bright—too +much of a leader. They felt that this condition could not +continue in a one-man concern; and this made the work harder, +for it bred disloyalty in certain quarters. Some of his men were +disposed to counsel with the enemy.</p> + +<p>But as time passed and in spite of the change of attitude which +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_435" id="Page_435">[Pg 435]</a></span> +was coming over Summerfield, Eugene became even stronger in +his own self-esteem. He was not getting vainglorious as yet—merely +sure. Because of his art work his art connections had +revived considerably, and he had heard again from such men +as Louis Deesa, M. Charles, Luke Severas, and others who now +knew where he was and wondered why he did not come back +to painting proper. M. Charles was disgusted. "A great error," +he said. He always spoke of him to others as a great loss +to art. Strange to relate, one of his pictures was sold the spring +following his entry into the Summerfield Company, and another +the following winter. Each netted him two hundred and fifty +dollars, Pottle Frères being the agents in one case, Jacob Bergman +in the other. These sales with their consequent calls for +additional canvases to show, cheered him greatly. He felt satisfied +now that if anything happened to him he could go back +to his art and that he could make a living, anyhow.</p> + +<p>There came a time when he was sent for by Mr. Alfred Cookman, +the advertising agent for whom Summerfield had worked; +but nothing came of that, for the latter did not care to pay +more than six thousand a year and Summerfield had once told +Eugene that he would eventually pay him ten thousand if he +stayed with him. He did not think it was fair to leave him +just then, and, besides, Cookman's firm had not the force and go +and prestige which Summerfield had at this time. His real +chance came some six months later, when one of the publishing +houses of Philadelphia having an important weekly to market, +began looking for an advertising manager.</p> + +<p>It was the policy of this house to select young men and to +select from among all the available candidates just the one particular +one to suit the fancy of the owner and who had a record +of successful effort behind him. Now Eugene was not any more +an advertising manager by experience than he was an art director, +but having worked for Summerfield for nearly two years he +had come to know a great deal about advertising, and the public +thought he knew a great deal more. He knew by now just how +Summerfield had his business organized. He knew how he specialized +his forces, giving this line to one and that line to another. +He had been able to learn by sitting in conferences and +consultations what it was that advertisers wanted, how they +wanted their goods displayed, what they wanted said. He had +learned that novelty, force and beauty were the keynotes and +he had to work these elements out under the most galling fire +so often that he knew how it ought to be done. He knew also +about commissions, rebates, long-time contracts, and so forth. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_436" id="Page_436">[Pg 436]</a></span> +He had fancied more than once that he might run a little advertising +business of his own to great profit if he only could find +an honest and capable business manager or partner. Since this +person was not forthcoming, he was content to bide his time.</p> + +<p>But the Kalvin Publishing Company of Philadelphia had +heard of him. In his search for a man, Obadiah Kalvin, the +founder of the company, had examined many individuals through +agents in Chicago, in St. Louis, in Baltimore, Boston, and New +York, but he had not yet made up his mind. He was slow in +his decisions, and always flattered himself that once he made a +selection he was sure of a good result. He had not heard of +Eugene until toward the end of his search, but one day in the +Union Club in Philadelphia, when he was talking to a big advertising +agent with whom he did considerable business, the +latter said:</p> + +<p>"I hear you are looking for an advertising manager for your +weekly."</p> + +<p>"I am," he said.</p> + +<p>"I heard of a man the other day who might suit you. He's +with the Summerfield Company in New York. They've been +getting up some very striking ads of late, as you may have noticed."</p> + +<p>"I think I have seen some of them," replied Kalvin.</p> + +<p>"I'm not sure of the man's name—Witla, or Gitla, or some +such thing as that; but, anyhow, he's over there, and they say +he's pretty good. Just what he is in the house I don't know. +You might look him up."</p> + +<p>"Thanks; I will," replied Kalvin. He was really quite grateful, +for he was not quite satisfied with any of those he had seen +or heard of. He was an old man, extremely sensitive to ability, +wanting to combine force with refinement if he could; he was a +good Christian, and was running Christian, or rather their happy +correlatives, decidedly conservative publications. When he went +back to his office he consulted with his business partner, a man +named Fredericks, who held but a minor share in the company, +and asked him if he couldn't find out something about this +promising individual. Fredericks did so. He called up Cookman, +in New York, who was delighted to injure his old employee, +Summerfield, to the extent of taking away his best man +if he could. He told Fredericks that he thought Eugene was +very capable, probably the most capable young man in the field, +and in all likelihood the man he was looking for—a hustler.</p> + +<p>"I thought once of hiring him myself here not long ago," he +told Fredericks. "He has ideas, you can see that."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_437" id="Page_437">[Pg 437]</a></span> +The next thing was a private letter from Mr. Fredericks to +Mr. Witla asking if by any chance he could come over to Philadelphia +the following Saturday afternoon, indicating that there +was a business proposition of considerable importance which he +wished to lay before him.</p> + +<p>From the paper on which it was written Eugene could see +that there was something important in the wind, and laid the +matter before Angela. The latter's eyes glistened.</p> + +<p>"I'd certainly go if I were you," she advised. "He might +want to make you business manager or art director or something. +You can be sure they don't intend to offer you less than you're +getting now, and Mr. Summerfield certainly has not treated you +very well, anyhow. You've worked like a slave for him, and +he's never kept his agreement to raise your salary as much as he +said he would. It may mean our having to leave New York; +but that doesn't make any difference for a while. You don't +intend to stay in this field, anyhow. You only want to stay +long enough to get a good sound income of your own."</p> + +<p>Angela's longing for Eugene's art career was nevertheless +being slightly stilled these days by the presence and dangled lure +of money. It was a great thing to be able to go downtown and +buy dresses and hats to suit the seasons. It was a fine thing to +be taken by Eugene Saturday afternoons and Sundays in season +to Atlantic City, to Spring Lake, and Shelter Island.</p> + +<p>"I think I will go over," he said; and he wrote Mr. Fredericks +a favorable reply.</p> + +<p>The latter met him at the central station in Philadelphia with +his auto and took him out to his country place in the Haverford +district. On the way he talked of everything but business—the +state of the weather, the condition of the territory through +which they were traveling, the day's news, the nature and interest +of Eugene's present work. When they were in the Fredericks +house, where they arrived in time for dinner, and while they +were getting ready for it, Mr. Obadiah Kalvin dropped in—ostensibly +to see his partner, but really to look at Eugene without +committing himself. He was introduced to Eugene, and +shook hands with him cordially. During the meal he talked +with Eugene a little, though not on business, and Eugene wondered +why he had been called. He suspected, knowing as he did +that Kalvin was the president of the company, that the latter +was there to look at him. After dinner Mr. Kalvin left, and +Eugene noted that Mr. Fredericks was then quite ready to talk +with him.</p> + +<p>"The thing that I wanted you to come over and see me about +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_438" id="Page_438">[Pg 438]</a></span> +is in regard to our weekly and the advertising department. We +have a great paper over here, as you know," he said. "We are +intending to do much more with it in the future than we have +in the past even. Mr. Kalvin is anxious to get just the man to +take charge of the advertising department. We have been looking +for someone for quite a little while. Several people have +suggested your name, and I'm rather inclined to think that Mr. +Kalvin would be pleased to see you take it. His visit here today +was purely accidental, but it was fortunate. He had a chance +to look at you, so that if I should propose your name he will +know just who you are. I think you would find this company +a fine background for your efforts. We have no penny-wise-and-pound-foolish +policy over here. We know that any successful +thing is made by the men behind it, and we are willing to +pay good money for good men. I don't know what you are +getting where you are, and I don't care very much. If you are +interested I should like to talk to Mr. Kalvin about you, and +if he is interested I should like to bring you two together for a +final conference. The salary will be made right, you needn't +worry about that. Mr. Kalvin isn't a small man. If he likes +a man—and I think he might like you—he'll offer you what he +thinks you're worth and you can take it or leave it. I never +heard anyone complain about the salary he offered."</p> + +<p>Eugene listened with extreme self-gratulation. He was thrilling +from head to toe. This was the message he had been expecting +to hear for so long. He was getting five thousand now, +he had been offered six thousand. Mr. Kalvin could do no less +than offer him seven or eight—possibly ten. He could easily ask +seven thousand five hundred.</p> + +<p>"I must say," he said innocently, "the proposition sounds attractive +to me. It's a different kind of thing—somewhat—from +what I have been doing, but I think I could handle it successfully. +Of course, the salary will determine the whole thing. +I'm not at all badly placed where I am. I've just got comfortably +settled in New York, and I'm not anxious to move. But I +would not be opposed to coming. I have no contract with Mr. +Summerfield. He has never been willing to give me one."</p> + +<p>"Well, we are not keen upon contracts ourselves," said Mr. +Fredericks. "It's not a very strong reed to lean upon, anyhow, +as you know. Still a contract might be arranged if you wish it. +Supposing we talk a little further to Mr. Kalvin today. He +doesn't live so far from here," and with Eugene's consent he +went to the phone.</p> + +<p>The latter had supposed that the conversation with Mr. Kalvin +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_439" id="Page_439">[Pg 439]</a></span> +was something which would necessarily have to take place +at some future date; but from the conversation then and there +held over the phone it appeared not. Mr. Fredericks explained +elaborately over the phone—as though it was necessary—that +he had been about the work of finding an advertising manager +for some time, as Mr. Kalvin knew, and that he had some difficulty +in finding the right man.</p> + +<p>"I have been talking to Mr. Witla, whom you met here +today, and he is interested in what I have been telling him about +the <i>Weekly</i>. He strikes me from my talk with him here as +being possibly the man you are looking for. I thought that you +might like to talk with him further."</p> + +<p>Mr. Kalvin evidently signified his assent, for the machine +was called out and they traveled to his house, perhaps a mile +away. On the way Eugene's mind was busy with the possibilities +of the future. It was all so nebulous, this talk of a connection +with the famous Kalvin Publishing Company; but at +the same time it was so significant, so potential. Could it be +possible that he was going to leave Summerfield, after all, and +under such advantageous circumstances? It seemed like a +dream.</p> + +<p>Mr. Kalvin met them in the library of his house, which stood +in a spacious lawn and which save for the lights in the library +was quite dark and apparently lonely. And here their conversation +was continued. He was a quiet man—small, gray-haired, +searching in his gaze. He had, as Eugene noted, little hands and +feet, and appeared as still and composed as a pool in dull +weather. He said slowly and quietly that he was glad that +Eugene and Mr. Fredericks had had a talk. He had heard a +little something of Eugene in the past; not much. He wanted +to know what Eugene thought of current advertising policies, +what he thought of certain new developments in advertising +method, and so on, at some length.</p> + +<p>"So you think you might like to come with us," he observed +drily toward the end, as though Eugene had proposed coming.</p> + +<p>"I don't think I would object to coming under certain conditions," +he replied.</p> + +<p>"And what are those conditions?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I would rather hear what you have to suggest, Mr. +Kalvin. I really am not sure that I want to leave where I am. +I'm doing pretty well as it is."</p> + +<p>"Well, you seem a rather likely young man to me," said Mr. +Kalvin. "You have certain qualities which I think I need. I'll +say eight thousand for this year, and if everything is satisfactory +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_440" id="Page_440">[Pg 440]</a></span> +one year from this time I'll make it ten. After that we'll +let the future take care of itself."</p> + +<p>"Eight thousand! Ten next year!" thought Eugene. The +title of advertising manager of a great publication! This was +certainly a step forward!</p> + +<p>"Well, that isn't so bad," he said, after a moment's apparent +reflection. "I'd be willing to take that, I think."</p> + +<p>"I thought you would," said Mr. Kalvin, with a dry smile. +"Well, you and Mr. Fredericks can arrange the rest of the details. +Let me wish you good luck," and he extended his hand +cordially.</p> + +<p>Eugene took it.</p> + +<p>It did not seem as he rode back in the machine with Mr. Fredericks +to the latter's house—for he was invited to stay for the +night—that it could really be true. Eight thousand a year! +Was he eventually going to become a great business man instead +of an artist? He could scarcely flatter himself that this was +true, but the drift was strange. Eight thousand this year! Ten +the next if he made good; twelve, fifteen, eighteen—— He had +heard of such salaries in the advertising field alone, and how +much more would his investments bring him. He foresaw an +apartment on Riverside Drive in New York, a house in the +country perhaps, for he fancied he would not always want to +live in the city. An automobile of his own, perhaps; a grand +piano for Angela; Sheraton or Chippendale furniture; friends, +fame—what artist's career could compare to this? Did any +artist he knew enjoy what he was enjoying now, even? Why +should he worry about being an artist? Did they ever get +anywhere? Would the approval of posterity let him ride in an +automobile now? He smiled as he recalled Dula's talk about +class superiority—the distinction of being an artist, even though +poor. Poverty be hanged! Posterity could go to the devil! He +wanted to live now—not in the approval of posterity.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_441" id="Page_441">[Pg 441]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XXXVII" id="II_CHAPTER_XXXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII</h2> + +<p>The best positions are not always free from the most disturbing +difficulties, for great responsibility goes with great +opportunity; but Eugene went gaily to this new task, for he +knew that it could not possibly be much more difficult than the +one he was leaving. Truly, Summerfield had been a terrible +man to work for. He had done his best by petty nagging, insisting +on endless variations, the most frank and brutal criticism, +to break down Eugene's imperturbable good nature and +make him feel that he could not reasonably hope to handle the +situation without Summerfield's co-operation and assistance. +But he had only been able, by so doing, to bring out Eugene's +better resources. His self-reliance, coolness under fire, ability +to work long and ardently even when his heart was scarcely in +it, were all strengthened and developed.</p> + +<p>"Well, luck to you, Witla," he said, when Eugene informed +him one morning that he was going to leave and wished to give +him notice.</p> + +<p>"You needn't take me into consideration. I don't want you +to stay if you're going to go. The quicker the better. These +long drawn-out agonies over leaving don't interest me. There's +nothing in that. Clinch the job today if you want it. I'll find +someone."</p> + +<p>Eugene resented his indifference, but he only smiled a cordial +smile in reply. "I'll stay a little while if you want me to—one +or two weeks—I don't want to tie up your work in any way."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, no! You won't tie up my work. On your way, and +good luck!"</p> + +<p>"The little devil!" thought Eugene; but he shook hands and +said he was sorry. Summerfield grinned imperturbably. He +wound up his affairs quickly and got out. "Thank God," he +said the day he left, "I'm out of that hell hole!" But he came +to realize afterward that Summerfield had rendered him a great +service. He had forced him to do his best and utmost, which +no one had ever done before. It had told in his character, his +spiritual make-up, his very appearance. He was no longer timid +and nervous, but rather bold and determined-looking. He had +lost that fear of very little things, for he had been sailing through +stormy seas. Little storms did not—could never again—really +frighten him. He had learned to fight. That was the one great +thing Summerfield had done for him.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_442" id="Page_442">[Pg 442]</a></span> +In the offices of the Kalvin Company it was radically different. +Here was comparative peace and quiet. Kalvin had not fought +his way up by clubbing little people through little difficulties, +but had devoted himself to thinking out a few big things, and +letting them because of their very bigness and newness make +their own way and his. He believed in big men, honest men—the +biggest and most honest he could find. He saw something +in Eugene, a tendency toward perfection perhaps which attracted +him.</p> + +<p>The formalities of this new arrangement were soon concluded, +and Eugene came into his new and beautiful offices, heralded by +the word recently passed about that he was a most charming man. +He was greeted by the editor, Townsend Miller, in the most +cordial manner. He was met by his assembled staff in the most +friendly spirit. It quite took Eugene's breath away to realize +that he was the responsible head of some fifteen capable advertising +men here in Philadelphia alone, to say nothing of eight +more in a branch office in Chicago and traveling canvassers in +the different parts of the country—the far West, the South, the +Southwest, the Canadian Northwest. His material surroundings +were much more imposing than they had been with the Summerfield +Company. The idea of all these men was to follow up +business, to lay interesting propositions before successful merchants +and manufacturers who had not yet tried the columns of +the <i>North American Weekly</i>, to make contracts which should be +mutually advantageous to the advertiser and the <i>Weekly</i>, and to +gain and retain good-will according to the results rendered. It +was no very difficult task in connection with the <i>North American +Weekly</i> to do this, because owing to a novel and appealing +editorial policy it was already in possession of a circulation of +five hundred thousand a week, and was rapidly gaining more. +It was not difficult, as Eugene soon found, to show advertisers in +most cases that this was a proposition in which worth-while results +could be obtained. What with Eugene's fertility in suggesting +new methods of advertising, his suaveness of approach +and geniality in laying before the most recalcitrant his very desirable +schemes, his ability to get ideas and suggestions out of his +men in conference, he was really in no danger of not being able +to hold his own, and indeed was destined to make a rather remarkable +showing.</p> + +<p>Eugene and Angela settled into what might have been deemed +a fixed attitude of comfort and refinement. Without much inconvenience +to himself and with little friction among those +about, he had succeeded in reorganizing his staff along lines +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_443" id="Page_443">[Pg 443]</a></span> +which were eminently satisfactory to himself. Some men who +were formerly with the Summerfield Company were now with +him. He had brought them because he found he could inculcate +in them the spirit of sympathetic relationship and good understanding +such as Kalvin desired. He was not making the progress +which Summerfield was making with really less means at +his command, but then, on the other hand, this was a rich company +which did not ask or expect any such struggle as that which +Summerfield had been and was still compelled to make for himself. +The business ethics of this company were high. It believed +in clean methods, good salaries, honest service. Kalvin +liked him, and he had one memorable conversation with Eugene +some time after he came there—almost a year—which stuck in +his memory and did him much good. Kalvin saw clearly wherein +both his strength and his weakness lay, and once said to Fredericks, +his business manager: "The one thing I like about that +man is his readiness with ideas. He always has one, and he's +the most willing man to try I ever knew. He has imagination. +He needs to be steadied in the direction of sober thought, so that +he doesn't promise more than he can fulfil. Outside this I see +nothing the matter with him."</p> + +<p>Fredericks agreed. He liked Eugene also. He did as much +as he could to make things smooth, but of course Eugene's task +was personal and to be worked out by him solely. Kalvin said +to him when it became necessary to raise his salary:</p> + +<p>"I've watched your work for a year now and I'm going to +keep my word and raise your salary. You're a good man. You +have many excellent qualities which I want and need in the man +who sits at that desk; but you have also some failings. I don't +want you to get offended. A man in my position is always like +a father who sits at the head of a family, and my lieutenants +are like my sons. I have to take an interest in them because +they take an interest in me. Now you've done your work well—very +well, but you are subject to one fault which may sometime +lead into trouble. You're a little too enthusiastic. I don't think +you stop to think enough. You have a lot of ideas. They swarm +in your head like bees, and sometimes you let them all out at +once and they buzz around you and confuse you and everyone +else connected with you. You would really be a better man if +you had, not less ideas—I wouldn't say that—but better control +of them. You want to do too many things at once. Go slow. +Take your time. You have lots of time. You're young yet. +Think! If you're in doubt, come down and consult with me. I'm +older in this business than you are, and I'll help you all I can."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_444" id="Page_444">[Pg 444]</a></span> +Eugene smiled and said: "I think that's true."</p> + +<p>"It is true," said Kalvin; "and now I want to speak of another +thing which is a little more of a personal matter, and I +don't want you to take offence, for I'm saying it for your benefit. +If I'm any judge of men, and I flatter myself sometimes that I +am, you're a man whose greatest weakness lies—and, mind you, +I have no actual evidence to go upon, not one scrap—your greatest +weakness lies perhaps not so much in the direction of women +as in a love of luxury generally, of which women might become, +and usually are, a very conspicuous part."</p> + +<p>Eugene flushed the least bit nervously and resentfully, for he +thought he had conducted himself in the most circumspect manner +here—in fact, everywhere since the days he had begun to +put the Riverwood incident behind him.</p> + +<p>"Now I suppose you wonder why I say that. Well, I raised +two boys, both dead now, and one was just a little like you. +You have so much imagination that it runs not only to ideas in +business, but ideas in dress and comfort and friends and entertainment. +Be careful of the kind of people you get in with. +Stick to the conservative element. It may be hard for you, but +it's best for you, materially speaking. You're the kind of man, +if my observations and intuitions are correct, who is apt to be +carried away by his ideals of anything—beauty, women, show. +Now I have no ascetic objections to women, but to you they are +dangerous, as yet. At bottom, I don't think you have the making +of a real cold business man in you, but you're a splendid +lieutenant. I'll tell you frankly I don't think a better man than +you has ever sat, or could sit, in that chair. You are very exceptional, +but your very ability makes you an uncertain quantity. +You're just on the threshold of your career. This additional +two thousand dollars is going to open up new opportunities to +you. Keep cool. Keep out of the hands of clever people. Don't +let subtle women come near. You're married, and for your sake +I hope you love your wife. If you don't, pretend to, and stay +within the bounds of convention. Don't let any scandal ever +attach to you. If you do it will be absolutely fatal so far as I +am concerned. I have had to part with a number of excellent +men in my time because a little money turned their heads and +they went wild over some one woman, or many women. Don't +you be that way. I like you. I'd like to see you get along. Be +cold if you can. Be careful. Think. That's the best advice I +can give you, and I wish you luck."</p> + +<p>He waved him a dismissal, and Eugene rose. He wondered +how this man had seen so clearly into his character. It was the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_445" id="Page_445">[Pg 445]</a></span> +truth, and he knew it +was. His inmost thoughts and feelings were evidently written where this man could see them. Fittingly +was he president of a great company. He could read men.</p> + +<p>He went back into his office and decided to take this lesson +to heart. He must keep cool and sane always. "I guess I've +had enough experience to know that, though, by now," he said +and dismissed the idea from his mind.</p> + +<p>For this year and the year following, when his salary was +raised to twelve thousand, Eugene flourished prodigiously. He +and Miller became better friends than ever. Miller had advertising +ideas which were of value to Eugene. Eugene had art and +editorial ideas which were of value to Miller. They were together +a great deal at social functions, and were sometimes hailed +by their companions as the "Kalvin Kids," and the "Limelight +Twins." Eugene learned to play golf with Miller, though he +was a slow student and never good, and also tennis. He and +Mrs. Miller, Angela and Townsend, frequently made a set on +their own court or over at Miller's. They automobiled and +rode a great deal. Eugene met some charming women, particularly +young ones, at dances, of which he had become very fond, +and at dinners and receptions. They and the Millers were invited +to a great many affairs, but by degrees it became apparent +to him, as it did to Miller and Mrs. Miller, that his presence +was much more desired by a certain type of smart woman than +was that of his wife.</p> + +<p>"Oh, he is so clever!" was an observation which might have +been heard in various quarters. Frequently the compliment +stopped there and nothing was said of Angela, or later on it +would come up that she was not quite so nice. Not that she was +not charming and worthy and all that, "But you know, my dear, +she isn't quite so available. You can't use her as you can some +women."</p> + +<p>It was at this time that Angela first conceived the notion +seriously that a child might have a sobering effect on Eugene. +She had, in spite of the fact that for some time now they had +been well able to support one or more, and in spite also of the +fact that Eugene's various emotional lapses indicated that he +needed a sobering weight of some kind, steadily objected in her +mind to the idea of subjecting herself to this ordeal. To tell +the truth, aside from the care and worry which always, owing +to her early experience with her sister's children, had been associated +in her mind with the presence of them, she was decidedly +afraid of the result. She had heard her mother say that most +girls in their infancy showed very clearly whether they were to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_446" id="Page_446">[Pg 446]</a></span> +be good healthy mothers or not—whether they were to have +children—and her recollection was that her mother had once +said that she would not have any children. She half believed it +to be impossible in her case, though she had never told this to +Eugene, and she had guarded herself jealously against the +chance of having any.</p> + +<p>Now, however, after watching Eugene all these years, seeing +the drift of his present mood, feeling the influence of prosperity +on him, she wished sincerely that she might have one, without +great danger or discomfort to herself, in order that she might +influence and control him. He might learn to love it. The +sense of responsibility involved would have its effect. People +would look to him to conduct himself soberly under these circumstances, +and he probably would—he was so subject to public +opinion now. She thought of this a long time, wondering, for +fear and annoyance were quite strong influences with her, and +she did nothing immediately. She listened to various women +who talked with her from time to time about the child question, +and decided that perhaps it was very wrong not to have children—at +least one or two; that it was very likely possible that +she could have one, if she wanted to. A Mrs. Sanifore who +called on her quite frequently in Philadelphia—she met her at +the Millers'—told her that she was sure she could have one +even if she was past the usual age for first babies; for she had +known so many women who had.</p> + +<p>"If I were you, Mrs. Witla, I would see a doctor," she suggested +one day. "He can tell you. I'm sure you can if you +want to. They have so many ways of dieting and exercising +you which make all the difference in the world. I'd like to +have you come some day and see my doctor, if you will."</p> + +<p>Angela decided that she would, for curiosity's sake, and in +case she wished to act in the matter some time; and was informed +by the wiseacre who examined her that in his opinion +there was no doubt that she could. She would have to subject +herself to a strict regimen. Her muscles would have to be +softened by some form of manipulation. Otherwise, she was +apparently in a healthy, normal condition and would suffer no +intolerable hardship. This pleased and soothed Angela greatly. +It gave her a club wherewith to strike her lord—a chain wherewith +to bind him. She did not want to act at once. It was +too serious a matter. She wanted time to think. But it was +pleasant to know that she could do this. Unless Eugene sobered +down now——</p> + +<p>During the time in which he had been working for the Summerfield +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_447" id="Page_447">[Pg 447]</a></span> +Company and since then for the Kalvin Company here +in Philadelphia, Eugene, in spite of the large salary he was +receiving—more each year—really had not saved so much money. +Angela had seen to it that some of his earnings were invested +in Pennsylvania Railroad stock, which seemed to her safe +enough, and in a plot of ground two hundred by two hundred +feet at Upper Montclair, New Jersey, near New York, where +she and Eugene might some day want to live. His business engagements +had necessitated considerable personal expenditures, +his opportunity to enter the Baltusrol Golf Club, the Yere +Tennis Club, the Philadelphia Country Club, and similar organizations +had taken annual sums not previously contemplated, +and the need of having a modest automobile, not a touring car, +was obvious. His short experience with that served as a lesson, +however, for it was found to be a terrific expense, entirely disproportionate +to his income. After paying for endless repairs, +salarying a chauffeur wearisomely, and meeting with an accident +which permanently damaged the looks of his machine, he +decided to give it up. They could rent autos for all the uses +they would have. And so that luxury ended there.</p> + +<p>It was curious, too, how during this time their Western home +relations fell rather shadowily into the background. Eugene +had not been home now for nearly two years, and Angela had +seen only David of all her family since she had been in Philadelphia. +In the fall of their third year there Angela's mother +died and she returned to Blackwood for a short time. The following +spring Eugene's father died. Myrtle moved to New +York; her husband, Frank Bangs, was connected with a western +furniture company which was maintaining important show rooms +in New York. Myrtle had broken down nervously and taken +up Christian Science, Eugene heard. Henry Burgess, Sylvia's +husband, had become president of the bank with which he had +been so long connected, and had sold his father's paper, the +Alexandria <i>Appeal</i>, when the latter suddenly died. Marietta +was promising to come to Philadelphia next year, in order, as +she said, that Eugene might get her a rich husband; but Angela +informed him privately that Marietta was now irrevocably engaged +and would, the next year, marry a wealthy Wisconsin +lumber man. Everyone was delighted to hear that Eugene was +doing so well, though all regretted the lapse of his career as an +artist. His fame as an advertising man was growing, and he +was thought to have considerable weight in the editorial direction +of the <i>North American Weekly</i>. So he flourished.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_448" id="Page_448">[Pg 448]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XXXVIII" id="II_CHAPTER_XXXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII</h2> + +<p>It was in the fall of the third year that the most flattering +offer of any was made him, and that without any seeking on +his part, for he was convinced that he had found a fairly permanent +berth and was happy among his associates. Publishing +and other trade conditions were at this time in a peculiar condition, +in which lieutenants of any importance in any field might +well be called to positions of apparently extraordinary prominence +and trust. Most of the great organizations of Eugene's +day were already reaching a point where they were no longer +controlled by the individuals who had founded and constructed +them, but had passed into the hands of sons or holding companies, +or groups of stockholders, few of whom knew much, if +anything, of the businesses which they were called to engineer +and protect.</p> + +<p>Hiram C. Colfax was not a publisher at all at heart. He had +come into control of the Swinton-Scudder-Davis Company by +one of those curious manipulations of finance which sometimes +give the care of sheep into the hands of anything but competent +or interested shepherds. Colfax was sufficiently alert to handle +anything in such a way that it would eventually make money +for him, even if that result were finally attained by parting with +it. In other words, he was a financier. His father had been a +New England soap manufacturer, and having accumulated more +or less radical ideas along with his wealth, had decided to propagandize +in favor of various causes, the Single Tax theory of +Henry George for one, Socialism for another, the promotion of +reform ideas in politics generally. He had tried in various ways +to get his ideas before the public, but had not succeeded very +well. He was not a good speaker, not a good writer, simply a +good money maker and fairly capable thinker, and this irritated +him. He thought once of buying or starting a newspaper +in Boston, but investigation soon showed him that this was a +rather hazardous undertaking. He next began subsidizing +small weeklies which should advocate his reforms, but this +resulted in little. His interest in pamphleteering did bring his +name to the attention of Martin W. Davis of the Swinton-Scudder-Davis +Company, whose imprint on books, magazines and +weeklies was as common throughout the length and breadth of +the land as that of Oxford is upon the English bible.</p> + +<p>The Swinton-Scudder-Davis Company was in sad financial +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_449" id="Page_449">[Pg 449]</a></span> +straits. Intellectually, for various reasons, it had run to seed. +John Jacob Swinton and Owen V. Scudder, the men with book, +magazine and true literary instincts, were long since dead. Mr. +Davis had tried for the various heirs and assigns involved to +run it intelligently and honestly, but intelligence and honesty +were of little value in this instance without great critical judgment. +This he had not. The house had become filled with +editors, readers, critics, foremen of manufacturing and printing +departments, business managers, art directors, traveling salesmen +and so on without end, each of whom might be reasonably efficient +if left alone, but none of whom worked well together and +all of whom used up a great deal of money.</p> + +<p>The principal literary publication, a magazine of great prestige, +was in the hands of an old man who had been editor +for nearly forty years. A weekly was being run by a boy, comparatively, +a youth of twenty-nine. A second magazine, devoted +to adventure fiction, was in the hands of another young +man of twenty-six, a national critical monthly was in the hands +of salaried critics of great repute and uncompromising attitude. +The book department was divided into the hands of a juvenile +editor, a fiction editor, a scientific and educational editor and +so on. It was Mr. Davis' task to see that competent overseers +were in charge of all departments so that they might flourish +and work harmoniously under him, but he was neither sufficiently +wise or forceful to fill the rôle. He was old and was +veered about first by one theory and then by another, and within +the house were rings and cliques. One of the most influential +of these—the most influential, in fact—was one which was captained +and led by Florence J. White, an Irish-American, who +as business manager (and really more than that, general manager +under Davis) was in charge of the manufacturing and printing +departments, and who because of his immense budgets for paper, +ink, printing, mailing and distribution generally, was in practical +control of the business.</p> + +<p>He it was who with Davis' approval said how much was to +be paid for paper, ink, composition, press work, and salaries generally. +He it was who through his henchman, the head of the +printing department, arranged the working schedules by which +the magazines and books were to reach the presses, with the +practical power to say whether they were to be on time or not. +He it was who through another superintendent supervised the +mailing and the stock room, and by reason of his great executive +ability was coming to have a threatening control over the advertising +and circulation departments.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_450" id="Page_450">[Pg 450]</a></span> +The one trouble with White, and this was something which +would affect any man who should come in through Davis' auspices, +was that he knew nothing of art, literature, or science, +and cared less, his only interest being in manufacture. He had +risen so rapidly on the executive side that his power had outrun +his financial means. Davis, the present head above him, had no +means beyond his own depreciated share. Because of poor editorial +judgment, the books and magazines were tottering through +a serious loss of prestige to eventual failure. Something had to +be done, for at that time the expenditure for three years past +had been much greater than the receipts.</p> + +<p>So Marshall P. Colfax, the father of Hiram Colfax, had been +appealed to, because of his interest in reform ideas which might +be to a certain extent looked upon as related to literature, and +because he was reported to be a man of great wealth. Rumor +reported his fortune as being anywhere between six and eight +millions. The proposition which Davis had to put before him +was this: that he buy from the various heirs and assigns the +whole of the stock outside his (Davis') own, which amounted +to somewhere about sixty-five per cent, and then come in as +managing director and reorganize the company to suit himself. +Davis was old. He did not want to trouble himself about the +future of this company or risk his own independent property. +He realized as well as anyone that what the company needed +was new blood. A receivership at this juncture would injure +the value of the house imprint very much indeed. White had +no money, and besides he was so new and different that Davis +scarcely understood what his ambitions or his true importance +might be. There was no real intellectual sympathy between +them. In the main, he did not like White's temperament, and +so in considering what might be done for the company he passed +him by.</p> + +<p>Various consultations were held. Colfax was greatly flattered +to think that this proposition should be brought to his attention +at all. He had three sons, only one of whom was interested in +the soap business. Edward and Hiram, the two youngest, +wanted nothing to do with it. He thought this might be an +outlet for the energies of one or both of them, preferably Hiram, +who was more of an intellectual and scientific turn than the +others, though his chief interests were financial; and besides +these books and publications would give him the opportunity +which he had long been seeking. His personal prestige might +be immensely heightened thereby. He examined carefully into +the financial phases of the situation, using his son Hiram, whose +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_451" id="Page_451">[Pg 451]</a></span> +financial judgment he had faith in, as an accountant and mouthpiece, +and finally, after seeing that he could secure the stock on +a long-time consideration for a very moderate valuation—$1,500,000, +while it was worth $3,000,000—he had his son +Hiram elected director and president and proceeded to see what +could be done with the company.</p> + +<p>In this approaching transaction Florence J. White had seen +his opportunity and seized it. He had realized on sight that +Hiram would need and possibly appreciate all the information +and assistance he could get, and being in a position to know he +had laid all the facts in connection with the house plainly before +him. He saw clearly where the trouble lay, the warring factions, +the lack of editorial judgment, the poor financial manipulations. +He knew exactly where the stock was and by what +representations it could be best frightened and made to release +itself cheaply. He worked vigorously for Hiram because he +liked him and the latter reciprocated his regard.</p> + +<p>"You've been a prince in this transaction, White," he said to +that individual one day. "You've put things practically in my +hands. I'm not going to forget it."</p> + +<p>"Don't mention it," said White. "It's to my interest to see a +real live man come in here."</p> + +<p>"When I become president, you become vice-president, and +that means twenty-five thousand a year." White was then +getting twelve.</p> + +<p>"When I become vice-president nothing will ever happen to +your interests," returned the other man grimly. White was six +feet tall, lean, savage, only semi-articulate. Colfax was small, +wiry, excitable, with enough energy to explode a cartridge by +yelling at it. He was eager, vainglorious, in many respects brilliant. +He wanted to shine in the world, and he did not know +how to do it as yet exactly.</p> + +<p>The two shook hands firmly.</p> + +<p>Some three months later Colfax was duly elected director and +president, and the same meeting that elected him president +elected Florence J. White vice-president. The latter was for +clearing out all the old elements and letting in new blood. Colfax +was for going slow, until he could see for himself what he +wanted to do. One or two men were eliminated at once, an old +circulation man and an old advertising man. In six months, +while they were still contemplating additional changes and looking +for new men, Colfax senior died, and the Swinton-Scudder-Davis +Company, or at least Mr. Colfax's control of it, was +willed to Hiram. So he sat there, accidentally president, and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_452" id="Page_452">[Pg 452]</a></span> +in full charge, wondering how he should make it a great success, +and Florence J. White was his henchman and sworn ally.</p> + +<p>At the time that Colfax first heard of Eugene he had been +in charge of the Swinton-Scudder-Davis Company (which he +was planning to reincorporate as "The United Magazines +Corporation") for three years. He had made a number of +changes, some radical, some conservative. He had put in an +advertising man whom he was now finding unsatisfactory, and +had made changes in the art and editorial departments which +were more the result of the suggestions of others, principally +of White, than the thoughts of his own brain. Martin W. Davis +had retired. He was old and sick, and unwilling to ruminate +in a back-room position. Such men as the editor of the <i>National +Review</i>, <i>Swinton's Magazine</i>, and <i>Scudder's Weekly</i> were the +only figures of importance about the place, and they were now +of course immensely subsidiary to Hiram Colfax and Florence +White.</p> + +<p>The latter had introduced a rather hard, bitter atmosphere +into the place. He had been raised under difficult conditions +himself in a back street in Brooklyn, and had no sympathy with +the airs and intellectual insipidities which characterized the +editorial and literary element which filled the place. He had an +Irishman's love of organization and politics, but far and away +above that he had an Irishman's love of power. Because of the +trick he had scored in winning the favor of Hiram Colfax at +the time when the tremendous affairs of the concern were in a +state of transition, he had become immensely ambitious. He +wanted to be not nominally but actually director of the affairs +of this house under Colfax, and he saw his way clear to do it by +getting editors, art directors, department heads and assistants +generally who were agreeable to him. But unfortunately he +could not do this directly, for while Colfax cared little about +the details of the business his hobby was just this one thing—men. +Like Obadiah Kalvin, of the Kalvin Publishing Company, +who, by the way, was now his one great rival, Colfax prided +himself on his ability to select men. His general idea was that if +he could find one more man as good as Florence White to take +charge of the art, editorial and book end of the business, not +from the manufacturing and commercial, but from the intellectual +and spiritual ends—a man with ideas who would draw +to him authors, editors, scientific writers and capable assistants +generally—the fortune of the house would be made. He +thought, sanely enough from some points of view, that this publishing +world could be divided in this way. White bringing +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_453" id="Page_453">[Pg 453]</a></span> +the inside manufacturing, purchasing and selling interests to a +state of perfection; the new man, whoever he might be, bringing +the ideas of the house and their literary and artistic representation +up to such a state of efficiency that the whole country would +know that it was once more powerful and successful. He +wanted to be called the foremost publisher of his day, and then +he could retire gracefully or devote himself to other financial +matters as he pleased.</p> + +<p>He really did not understand Florence J. White as well as +he did himself. White was a past master at dissembling. He +had no desire to see any such thing as Colfax was now planning +come to pass. He could not do the things intellectually and +spiritually which Colfax wanted done, nevertheless he wanted +to be king under this emperor, the real power behind the throne, +and he did not propose to brook any interference if he could +help it. It was in his power, having the printing and composing +room in his hands, to cause any man whom he greatly disliked +to suffer severely. Forms could be delayed, material lost, complaints +lodged as to dilatoriness in the matter of meeting schedules, +and so on, ad infinitum. He had the Irishman's love of +chicanery in the matter of morals. If he could get at an enemy's +record and there was a flaw in it, the facts were apt to +become mysteriously known at the most inconvenient times. He +demanded the utmost loyalty of those who worked under him. +If a man did not know enough instinctively to work intelligently +for his interests, while at the same time appearing to serve the +interests of the house at large only, he was soon dismissed on +one pretext or another. Intelligent department heads, not sure +of their own strength and seeing which way the wind was blowing, +soon lined up in his course. Those whom he liked and who +did his will prospered. Those whom he disliked suffered greatly +in their duties, and were forever explaining or complaining to +Colfax, who was not aware of White's subtlety and who therefore +thought them incompetent.</p> + +<p>Colfax, when he first heard of Eugene, was still cherishing +his dream of a literary and artistic primate who should rank in +power with White. He had not found him as yet, for all the +men he sincerely admired and thought fitted for the position +were in business for themselves. He had sounded one man after +another, but to no satisfactory end. Then it became necessary +to fill the position of advertising manager with someone who +would make a conspicuous success of it, and he began to sound +various authorities. Naturally he looked at the different advertising +men working for various publications, and quickly came +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_454" id="Page_454">[Pg 454]</a></span> +to the name of Eugene Witla. The latter was rumored to be +making a shining success of his work. He was well liked where +he was. Two different business men told Colfax that they had +met him and that he was exceptionally clever. A third told him +of his record with Summerfield, and through a fourth man who +knew Eugene, and who was having him to lunch at the Hardware +Club a few weeks later, Colfax had a chance to meet him +without appearing to be interested in him in any way.</p> + +<p>Not knowing who Colfax was, or rather very little, other +than that he was president of this great rival publishing concern, +Eugene was perfectly free and easy in his manner. He was +never affected at any time, decidedly eager to learn things from +anybody and supremely good natured.</p> + +<p>"So you're Swinton, Scudder and Davis, are you?" he said +to Colfax on introduction. "That trinity must have shrunk +some to get condensed into you, but I suppose the power is all +there."</p> + +<p>"I don't know about that! I don't know about that!" exclaimed +Colfax electrically. He was always ready like a greyhound +to run another a race. "They tell me Swinton and Scudder +were exceptionally big men. If you have as much force +as you have length there's nothing the matter with you, though."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm all right," said Eugene, "when I'm by myself. +These little men worry me, though. They are so darned +smart."</p> + +<p>Colfax cackled ecstatically. He liked Eugene's looks. The +latter's manner, easy and not in any way nervous or irritable +but coupled with a heavenly alertness of eye, took his fancy. It +was a fit companion for his own terrific energy, and it was not +unduly soft or yielding.</p> + +<p>"So you're the advertising manager of the <i>North American</i>. +How'd they ever come to tie you down to that?"</p> + +<p>"They didn't tie me," said Eugene. "I just lay down. But +they put a nice fat salary on top of me to keep me there. I +wouldn't lie down for anything except a salary."</p> + +<p>He grinned smartly.</p> + +<p>Colfax cackled.</p> + +<p>"Well, my boy, it doesn't seem to be hurting your ribs, does +it? They've not caved in yet. Ha! Ha!—Ha! Ha! They've +not, have they? Ha! Ha!"</p> + +<p>Eugene studied this little man with great interest. He was +taken by his sharp, fierce, examining eye. He was so different +from Kalvin, who was about his size, but so much more quiet, +peaceful, dignified. Colfax was electric, noisy, insistent, like a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_455" id="Page_455">[Pg 455]</a></span> +pert jack-in-the-box; he seemed to be nothing but energy. Eugene +thought of him as having an electric body coated over with +some thin veneer of skin. He seemed as direct as a flash of +lightning.</p> + +<p>"Doing pretty good over there, are you?" he asked. "I've +heard a little something about you from time to time. Not +much. Not much. Just a little. Not unfavorable, though. +Not unfavorable."</p> + +<p>"I hope not," said Eugene easily. He wondered why Colfax +was so interested in him. The latter kept looking him over +much as one might examine a prize animal. Their eyes would +meet and Colfax's would gleam with a savage but friendly fire.</p> + +<p>"Well?" said Eugene to him finally.</p> + +<p>"I'm just thinking, my boy! I'm just thinking!" he returned, +and that was all Eugene could get out of him.</p> + +<p>It was not long after this very peculiar meeting which stuck +in Eugene's memory that Colfax invited him over to his house +in New York to dinner. "I wish," he wrote one day not long +after this meeting, "that the next time you are in New York +you would let me know. I would like to have you come to my +house to dine. You and I ought to be pretty good friends. +There are a number of things I would like to talk to you about."</p> + +<p>This was written on the paper of the United Magazines +Corporation, which had just been organized to take over the +old company of Swinton, Scudder and Davis, and was labeled +"The Office of the President."</p> + +<p>Eugene thought this was significant. Could Colfax be going +to make him an offer of some kind? Well, the more the merrier! +He was doing very well indeed, and liked Mr. Kalvin +very much, in fact, all his surroundings, but, as an offer was a +testimonial to merit and could be shown as such, he would not +be opposed to receiving it. It might strengthen him with Kalvin +if it did nothing else. He made an occasion to go over, first +talking the letter over with Angela, who was simply curious +about the whole thing. He told her how much interested Colfax +appeared to be the first time they met and that he fancied +it might mean an offer from the United Magazines Corporation +at some time or other.</p> + +<p>"I'm not particularly anxious about it," said Eugene, "but I'd +like to see what is there."</p> + +<p>Angela was not sure that it was wise to bother with it. "It's +a big firm," she said, "but it isn't bigger than Mr. Kalvin's, and +he's been mighty nice to you. You'd better not do anything to +injure yourself with him."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_456" id="Page_456">[Pg 456]</a></span> +Eugene thought of this. It was sound advice. Still he +wanted to hear.</p> + +<p>"I won't do anything," he said. "I would like to hear what +he has to say, though."</p> + +<p>A little later he wrote that he was coming on the twentieth +and that he would be glad to take dinner with Colfax.</p> + +<p>The first meeting between Eugene and Colfax had been conclusive +so far as future friendship was concerned. These two, +like Eugene and Summerfield, were temperamentally in accord, +though Colfax was very much superior to Summerfield in his +ability to command men.</p> + +<p>This night when they met at dinner at Colfax's house the +latter was most cordial. Colfax had invited him to come to +his office, and together they went uptown in his automobile. His +residence was in upper Fifth Avenue, a new, white marble +fronted building with great iron gates at the door and a splendid +entry set with small palms and dwarf cedars. Eugene saw at +once that this man was living in that intense atmosphere of +commercial and financial rivalry which makes living in New +York so keen. You could feel the air of hard, cold order about +the place, the insistence on perfection of appointment, the compulsion +toward material display which was held in check only +by that sense of fitness, which knowledge of current taste and +the mode in everything demanded. His automobile was very +large and very new, the latest model, a great dark blue affair +which ran as silently as a sewing machine. The footman who +opened the door was six feet tall, dressed in knee breeches and +a swallow-tailed coat. The valet was a Japanese, silent, polite, +attentive. Eugene was introduced to Mrs. Colfax, a most +graceful but somewhat self-conscious woman. A French maid +later presented two children, a boy and a girl.</p> + +<p>Eugene by now had become used to luxury in various forms, +and this house was not superior to many he had seen; but it +ranked with the best. Colfax was most free in it. He threw +his overcoat to the valet carelessly and tossed his babies in the +air by turn, when they were presented to him by the French +maid. His wife, slightly taller than himself, received a resounding +smack.</p> + +<p>"There, Ceta," he exclaimed (a diminutive for Cecile, as Eugene +subsequently learned), "how do you like that, eh? Meet +Mr. Witla. He's an artist and an art director and an advertising +manager and——"</p> + +<p>"A most humble person," put in Eugene smilingly. "Not half +as bad as you may think. His report is greatly exaggerated."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_457" id="Page_457">[Pg 457]</a></span> +Mrs. Colfax smiled sweetly. "I discount much that he says +at once," she returned. "More later. Won't you come up into +the library?"</p> + +<p>They ascended together, jesting. Eugene was pleased with +what he saw. Mrs. Colfax liked him. She excused herself after +a little while and Colfax talked life in general. "I'm going to +show you my house now, and after dinner I'm going to talk a +little business to you. You interest me. I may as well tell you +that."</p> + +<p>"Well, you interest me, Colfax," said Eugene genially, "I +like you."</p> + +<p>"You don't like me any more than I like you, that's a sure +thing," replied the other.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_458" id="Page_458">[Pg 458]</a></span> +</p> + + + + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XXXIX" id="II_CHAPTER_XXXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXXIX</h2> + + +<p>The results of this evening were most pleasant, but in some +ways disconcerting. It became perfectly plain that Colfax +was anxious to have Eugene desert the Kalvin Company and +come over to him.</p> + +<p>"You people over there," he said to him at one stage of the +conversation, "have an excellent company, but it doesn't compare +with this organization which we are revising. Why, what +are your two publications to our seven? You have one eminently +successful one—the one you're on—and no book business +whatsoever! We have seven publications all doing excellently +well, and a book business that is second to none in the +country. You know that. If it hadn't been that the business +had been horribly mismanaged it would never have come into +my hands at all. Why, Witla, I want to tell you one little fact +in connection with that organization which will illustrate everything +else which might be said in connection with it before I +came here! They were wasting twenty thousand dollars a +year on ink alone. We were publishing a hundred absolutely +useless books that did not sell enough to pay for the cost of +printing, let alone the paper, plates, typework and cost of distribution. +I think it's safe to say we lost over a hundred thousand +dollars a year that way. The magazines were running +down. They haven't waked up sufficiently yet to suit me. But +I'm looking for men. I'm really looking for one man eventually +who will take charge of all that editorial and art work and make +it into something exceptional. He wants to be a man who can +handle men. If I can get the right man I will even include the +advertising department, for that really belongs with the literary +and art sections. It depends on the man."</p> + +<p>He looked significantly at Eugene, who sat there stroking +his upper lip with his hand.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said thoughtfully, "that ought to make a very +nice place for someone. Who have you in mind?"</p> + +<p>"No one as yet that I'm absolutely sure of. I have one man +in mind who I think might come to fill the position after he had +had a look about the organization and a chance to study its needs +a little. It's a hard position to hold. It requires a man with +imagination, tact, judgment. He would have to be a sort of +vice-Colfax, for I can't give my attention permanently to that +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_459" id="Page_459">[Pg 459]</a></span> +business. I don't want to. I have bigger fish to fry. But I +want someone who will eventually be my other self in these +departments, who can get along with Florence White and the +men under him and hold his own in his own world. I want a +sort of bi-partisan commission down there—each man supreme +in his own realm."</p> + +<p>"It sounds interesting," said Eugene thoughtfully. "Who's +your man?"</p> + +<p>"As I say, he isn't quite ready yet, in my judgment, but he is +near it, and he's the right man! He's in this room now. You're +the man I'm thinking about, Witla."</p> + +<p>"No," said Eugene quietly.</p> + +<p>"Yes; you," replied Colfax.</p> + +<p>"You flatter me," he said, with a deprecatory wave of his +hand. "I'm not so sure that he is."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, he is, if he thinks he is!" replied Colfax emphatically. +"Opportunity doesn't knock in vain at a real man's door. +At least, I don't believe it will knock here and not be admitted. +Why the advertising department of this business alone is worth +eighteen thousand dollars a year to begin with."</p> + +<p>Eugene sat up. He was getting twelve. Could he afford to +ignore that offer? Could the Kalvin Company afford to pay +him that much? They were paying him pretty well as it was. +Could the Kalvin Company offer him the prospects which this +company was offering him?</p> + +<p>"What is more, I might say," went on Colfax, "the general +publishing control of this organization—the position of managing +publisher, which I am going to create and which when you +are fitted for it you can have, will be worth twenty-five thousand +dollars a year, and that oughtn't to be so very far away, +either."</p> + +<p>Eugene turned that over in his mind without saying anything. +This offer coming so emphatically and definitely at this time +actually made him nervous and fearsome. It was such a tremendous +thing to talk about—the literary, art and advertising +control of the United Magazines Corporation. Who was this +man White? What was he like? Would he be able to agree +with him? This man beside him was so hard, so brilliant, so +dynamic! He would expect so much.</p> + +<p>And then his work with Townsend Miller and under Mr. +Kalvin. How much he had learned of the editorial game by +merely talking and planning with those two men! He had got +the whole idea of timely topics, of big progressive, national +forecasts and features, of odd departments and interesting pieces +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_460" id="Page_460">[Pg 460]</a></span> +of fiction and personality studies, from talking with Miller +alone. Kalvin had made clear to him what constituted great +craftsmen. Of course, long before, he had suspected just how +it was, but in Philadelphia he had sat in conference with +Miller and Kalvin, and knew. He had practically managed +the former's little art department for him without paying much +attention to it either. Couldn't he really handle this greater +thing if he tried? If he didn't, someone else would. Would +the man who would, be so much greater than himself?</p> + +<p>"I'm not anxious that you should act hastily," said Colfax +soothingly, after a little bit, for he saw that Eugene was debating +the question solemnly and that it was a severe problem for +him. "I know how you feel. You have gone into the Kalvin +Company and you've made good. They've been nice to you. It's +only natural that they should be. You hate to leave. Well, +think it over. I won't tempt you beyond your best judgment. +Think it over. There's a splendid chance here. Just the same, +I like you, and I think you are the man to get away with it. +Come down to my place tomorrow and let me show you what +we have. I want to show our resources. I don't think you +know how big this thing really is."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do," replied Eugene, smiling. "It certainly is a fascinating +proposition. But I can't make up my mind about it +now. It's something I want to think about. I'd like to take my +time, and I'll let you know."</p> + +<p>"Take all the time you want, my boy! Take all the time +you want!" exclaimed Colfax. "I'll wait for you a little while. +I'm in no life-or-death hurry. This position can't be filled satisfactorily +in a minute. When you're ready, let me know what +you decide. And now let's go to the theatre—what do you +say?"</p> + +<p>The automobile was called, Mrs. Colfax and her guest, Miss +Genier, appeared. There was an interesting evening in a box, +with Eugene talking gaily and entertainingly to all, and then +an after-theatre bite at Sherry's. The next morning, for he +stayed all night at Colfax's, they visited the United Magazines +Corporation building together, and at noon Eugene returned to +Philadelphia.</p> + +<p>His head was fairly seething and ringing with all he had seen +and heard. Colfax was a great man, he thought, greater in +some respects than Kalvin. He was more forceful, more enthusiastic, +younger—more like himself, than Kalvin. He could +never fail, he was too rich. He would make a success of this +great corporation—a tremendous success—and if he went he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_461" id="Page_461">[Pg 461]</a></span> +might help make it with him. What a thing that would be! +Very different from working for a corporation with whose success +he had never had anything to do. Should he ignore this +offer? New York, a true art and literary standing; a great +executive and social standing; fame; money—all these were +calling. Why, on eighteen or twenty-five thousand he could +have a splendid studio apartment of his own, say on Riverside +Drive; he could entertain magnificently; he could keep an automobile +without worrying about it. Angela would cease feeling +that they had to be careful. It would be the apex of lieutenantship +for him. Beyond that he would take stock in the company, +or a business of his own. What a long distance he had +come from the days when, here as a boy, he had walked the +streets, wondering where he would find a $3 room, and when as +an art failure he carried his paintings about and sold them for +ten and fifteen dollars. Dear Heaven, what peculiar tricks fortune +could play!</p> + +<p>The discussion with Angela of this proposition led to some +additional uncertainty, for although she was greatly impressed +with what Colfax offered, she was afraid Eugene might be +making a mistake in leaving Kalvin. The latter had been so +nice to Eugene. He had never associated with him in any intimate +way, but he and Angela had been invited to his home on +several formal occasions, and Eugene had reported that Kalvin +was constantly giving him good advice. His attitude in the +office was not critical but analytic and considerate.</p> + +<p>"He's been mighty nice to me," Eugene said to her one morning +at breakfast; "they all have. It's a shame to leave him. +And yet, now that I look at it, I can see very plainly that there +is never going to be the field here that there will be with the +United Company. They have the publications and the book +business, and the Kalvin Company hasn't and won't have. Kalvin +is too old. They're in New York, too; that's one thing I +like about it. I'd like to live in New York again. Wouldn't +you?"</p> + +<p>"It would be fine," said Angela, who had never really cared +for Philadelphia and who saw visions of tremendous superiority +in this situation. Philadelphia had always seemed a little out +of the way of things after New York and Paris. Only Eugene's +good salary and the comforts they had experienced here +had made it tolerable. "Why don't you speak to Mr. Kalvin +and tell him just what Mr. Colfax says," she asked. "It may +be that he'll offer to raise your salary so much that you'll want +to stay when he hears of this."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_462" id="Page_462">[Pg 462]</a></span> +"No danger," replied Eugene. "He may raise it a bit, but +he never can pay me twenty-five thousand dollars a year. There +isn't any reason for paying it. It takes a corporation like the +United to do it. There isn't a man in our place gets that, unless +it is Fredericks. Besides, I could never be anything more +here, or much more, than advertising manager. Miller has that +editorial job sewed up. He ought to have it, too, he's a good +man. This thing that Colfax offers lets me out into a new +field. I don't want to be an advertising manager all my days if +I can help it!"</p> + +<p>"I don't want you to be, either, Eugene," sighed Angela. +"It's a shame you can't quit entirely and take up your art work. +I've always thought that if you were to stop now and go to +painting you would make a success of it. There's nothing the +matter with your nerves now. It's just a question of whether +we want to live more simply for a while and let you work at +that. I'm sure you'd make a big success of it."</p> + +<p>"Art doesn't appeal to me so much as it did once," replied +Eugene. "I've lived too well and I know a lot more about living +than I once did. Where could I make twelve thousand a +year painting? If I had a hundred thousand or a couple of +hundred thousand laid aside, it would be a different thing, but +I haven't. All we have is that Pennsylvania Railroad stock and +those lots in Montclair eating their merry little heads off in +taxes, and that Steel common stock. If we go back to New +York we ought to build on that Montclair property, and rent +it if we don't want to live in it. If I quit now we wouldn't +have more than two thousand dollars a year outside of what I +could earn, and what sort of a life can you live on that?"</p> + +<p>Angela saw, disappearing under those circumstances, the +rather pleasant world of entertainment in which they were disporting +themselves. Art distinction might be delightful, but +would it furnish such a table as they were sitting at this morning? +Would they have as nice a home and as many friends? Art was +glorious, but would they have as many rides and auto trips as +they had now? Would she be able to dress as nicely? It took +money to produce a variety of clothing—house, street, evening, +morning and other wear. Hats at thirty-five and forty dollars +were not in the range of artists' wives, as a rule. Did she want +to go back to a simpler life for his art's sake? Wouldn't it be +better to have him go with Mr. Colfax and make $25,000 a +year for a while and then have him retire?</p> + +<p>"You'd better talk to Mr. Kalvin," she counseled. "You'll +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_463" id="Page_463">[Pg 463]</a></span> +have to do that, anyhow. See what he says. After that you +can decide what you must do."</p> + +<p>Eugene hesitated, but after thinking it all over he decided +that he would.</p> + +<p>One morning not long after, when he met Mr. Kalvin in the +main hall on the editorial floor, he said, "I'd like to talk to you +for a few moments some time today alone, Mr. Kalvin, if you +can spare me the time."</p> + +<p>"Certainly. I'm not busy now," returned the president. +"Come right down. What is it you want to see me about?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll tell you," said Eugene, when they had reached the +former's office and he had closed the door. "I've had an offer +that I feel that I ought to talk to you about. It's a pretty fascinating +proposition and it's troubling me. I owe it to you as +well as to myself to speak about it."</p> + +<p>"Yes; what is it?" said Kalvin considerately.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Colfax of the United Magazines Corporation came to +me not long ago and wanted to know if I would not come with +him. He offers me eighteen thousand dollars a year as advertising +manager to begin with, and a chance to take charge of all +the art and editorial ends as well a little later at twenty-five +thousand dollars. He calls it the managing-publishing end of +the business. I've been thinking of it seriously, for I've handled +the art and advertising ends here and at the Summerfield Company, +and I have always imagined that I knew something of the +book and magazine business. I know it's a rather large proposition, +but I'm not at all sure that I couldn't handle it.".</p> + +<p>Mr. Kalvin listened quietly. He saw what Colfax's scheme +was and liked it as a proposition. It was a good idea, but needed +an exceptional man for the position. Was Eugene the man? He +wasn't sure of that, and yet perchance he might be. Colfax, he +thought, was a man of excellent financial if not publishing judgment. +He might, if he could get the proper person, make an +excellent success of his business. Eugene interested him, perhaps +more at first flash than he would later. This man before +him had a most promising appearance. He was clean, quick, +with an alert mind and eye. He could see how, because of Eugene's +success here, Colfax was thinking of him being even more +exceptional than he was. He was a good man, a fine man, under +direction. Would Colfax have the patience, the interest, the +sympathy, to work with and understand him?</p> + +<p>"Now, let's think about that a little, Witla," he said quietly. +"It's a flattering offer. You'd be foolish if you didn't give it +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_464" id="Page_464">[Pg 464]</a></span> +careful consideration. Do you know anything about the organization +of that place over there?"</p> + +<p>"No," replied Eugene, "nothing except what I learned by +casually going over it with Mr. Colfax."</p> + +<p>"Do you know much about Colfax as a man?"</p> + +<p>"Very little. I've only met him twice. He's forceful, dramatic, +a man with lots of ideas. I understand he's very rich, +three or four millions, someone told me."</p> + +<p>Kalvin's hand moved indifferently. "Do you like him?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I can't say yet absolutely whether I do or don't. He +interests me a lot. He's wonderfully dynamic. I'm sure I'm +favorably impressed with him."</p> + +<p>"And he wants to give you charge eventually of all the magazines +and books, the publishing end?"</p> + +<p>"So he says," said Eugene.</p> + +<p>"I'd go a little slow if I were saddling myself with that responsibility. +I'd want to be sure that I knew all about it. You +want to remember, Witla, that running one department under +the direction and with the sympathetic assistance and consideration +of someone over you is very different from running four or +five departments on your own responsibility and with no one +over you except someone who wants intelligent guidance from +you. Colfax, as I understand him, isn't a publisher, either by +tendency or training or education. He's a financier. He'll +want you, if you take that position, to tell him how it shall be +done. Now, unless you know a great deal about the publishing +business, you have a difficult task in that. I don't want to appear +to be throwing cold water on your natural ambition to get +up in the world. You're entitled to go higher if you can. No +one in your circle of acquaintances would wish you more luck +than I will if you decide to go. I want you to think carefully +of what you are doing. Where you are here you are perfectly +safe, or as nearly safe as any man is who behaves himself and +maintains his natural force and energy can be. It's only natural +that you should expect more money in the face of this offer, and +I shall be perfectly willing to give it to you. I intended, as you +possibly expected, to do somewhat better for you by January. +I'll say now that if you want to stay here you can have fourteen +thousand now and possibly sixteen thousand in a year or a year +and a half from now. I don't want to overload this department +with what I consider an undue salary. I think sixteen thousand +dollars, when it is paid, will be high for the work that is done +here, but you're a good man and I'm perfectly willing to pay it +to you.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_465" id="Page_465">[Pg 465]</a></span> +The thing for you to do is to make up your mind whether +this proposition which I now make you is safer and more in accord +with your desires than the one Mr. Colfax makes you. +With him your eighteen thousand begins at once. With me sixteen +thousand is a year away, anyhow. With him you have +promise of an outlook which is much more glittering than any +you can reasonably hope for here, but you want to remember +that the difficulties will be, of course, proportionately greater. +You know something about me by now. You still—and don't +think I want to do him any injustice; I don't—have to learn +about Mr. Colfax. Now, I'd advise you to think carefully before +you act. Study the situation over there before you accept +it. The United Magazines Corporation is a great concern. I +have no doubt that under Mr. Colfax's management it has a +brilliant future in store for it. He is an able man. If you +finally decide to go, come and tell me and there will be no hard +feelings one way or the other. If you decide to stay, the new +salary arrangement goes into effect at once. As a matter of fact, +I might as well have Mr. Fredericks credit that up to you so +that you can say that you have drawn that sum here. It won't +do you any harm. Then we can run along as before. I know +it isn't good business as a rule to try and keep a man who has +been poisoned by a bigger offer, and because I know that is the +reason why I am only offering you fourteen thousand dollars +this year. I want to be sure that you are sure that you want +to stay. See?"</p> + +<p>He smiled.</p> + +<p>Eugene arose. "I see," he said. "You are one of the best +men I have ever known, Mr. Kalvin. You have constantly +treated me with more consideration than I ever expected to receive +anywhere. It has been a pleasure and a privilege to work +for you. If I stay, it will be because I want to because I value +your friendship."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Kalvin quietly, "that's very nice, I'm sure, and +I appreciate it. But don't let your friendship for me or your +sense of gratitude stop you from doing something you think you +ought to do. Go ahead if you feel like it. I won't feel the least +bit angry with you. I'll feel sorry, but that's neither here nor +there. Life is a constant condition of readjustment, and every +good business man knows it."</p> + +<p>He took Eugene's extended hand.</p> + +<p>"Good luck," he said, "whatever you do"—his favorite expression.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_466" id="Page_466">[Pg 466]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XL" id="II_CHAPTER_XL"></a>CHAPTER XL</h2> + +<p>The upshot of Eugene's final speculation was that he accepted +the offer of the United Magazines Corporation and +left Mr. Kalvin. Colfax had written one day to his house asking +him what he thought he would do about it. The more he +had turned it over in his mind, the more it had grown in attraction. +The Colfax company was erecting a tremendous building, +eighteen stories high, in the heart of the middle business district +in New York near Union Square, to house all their departments. +Colfax had said at the time Eugene took dinner with him that +the sixteenth, seventeenth and eighteenth floors would be devoted +to the editorial, publication, circulation, art, and advertising departments. +He had asked Eugene what he had thought would +be a good floor arrangement, and the latter, with his usual facility +for scheming such things, had scratched on a piece of paper +a tentative layout for the various departments. He had put the +editorial and art departments on the topmost floor, giving the +publisher, whoever he might eventually prove to be, a commanding +position in a central room on the western side of the building +which overlooked all the city between the Square and Hudson +River, and showed that magnificent body of water as a +panorama for the eye to feast upon. He had put the advertising +and some overflow editorial rooms on the seventeenth floor, and +the circulation with its attendant mailing and cabinet record +rooms on the sixteenth. The publisher's and editor's rooms he +laid out after an old Flemish scheme he had long had in mind, +in which green, dark blue, blood-red and black walnut shades +contrasted richly with the flood of light which would be available.</p> + +<p>"You might as well do this thing right if you do it at all," he +had said to Colfax. "Nearly all the editorial offices I have ever +seen have been the flimsiest makeshifts. A rich-looking editorial, +art and advertising department would help your company a +great deal. It has advertising value."</p> + +<p>He recalled as he spoke Summerfield's theory that a look of +prosperity was about the most valuable asset a house could have.</p> + +<p>Colfax agreed with him, and said when the time came that +he wished Eugene would do him the favor to come and look the +thing over. "I have two good architects on the job," he explained, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_467" id="Page_467">[Pg 467]</a></span> +"but I would rather trust your ideas as to how those +rooms should be laid out."</p> + +<p>When he was considering this final call for a decision he +was thinking how this floor would look—how rich it would be. +Eventually, if he succeeded, his office would be the most sumptuous +thing in it. He would be the most conspicuous figure in +the great, new building, apart from Colfax himself.</p> + +<p>Thoughts of this kind, which ought to have had but very little +share in any commercial speculation, were nevertheless uppermost +in Eugene's mind; for he was not a business man—he was +primarily an artist, and for all his floundering round in the +commercial world he remained an artist still. His sense of his +coming dignity and standing before the world was almost greater +than his sense of the terrifying responsibility which it involved. +Colfax was a hard man, he knew, harder even than Summerfield, +for he talked less and acted more; but this did not sink into +Eugene's consciousness sufficiently to worry him. He fancied +he was a strong man, able to hold his own anywhere.</p> + +<p>Angela was really not very much opposed to the change, though +her natural conservatism made her worry and hesitate to approve. +It was a great step forward if Eugene succeeded, but if he failed +it would be such a loss.</p> + +<p>"Colfax has so much faith in me," he told her. "He's convinced +that I can do it, and faith like that is a great help. I'd +like to try it, anyhow. It can't do me any harm. If I think I +can't handle the publishing proposition I'll stick to the advertising +end."</p> + +<p>"All right," said Angela, "but I scarcely know what to advise. +They've been so nice to you over here."</p> + +<p>"I'll try it," said Eugene determinedly. "Nothing venture, +nothing have," and he informed Kalvin the same day.</p> + +<p>The latter looked at him solemnly, his keen gray eyes contemplating +the situation from all points of view. "Well, Eugene," +he said, "you're shouldering a great responsibility. It's +difficult. Think carefully of everything that you do. I'm sorry +to see you go. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>He had the feeling that Eugene was making a mistake—that +he would do better to rest a while where he was; but persuasion +was useless. It would only give Eugene the notion that he was +more important than he was—make matters more difficult in the +future.</p> + +<p>Kalvin had heard a number of things concerning Colfax recently, +and he fancied that Eugene might find it hard to deal +with him later. The general impression was that he was subject +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_468" id="Page_468">[Pg 468]</a></span> +to sudden likes and dislikes which did not bear the test of +time. He was said to be scarcely human enough to be the effective +head of a great working corporation.</p> + +<p>The truth was that this general opinion was quite correct. +Colfax was as hard as steel but of a smiling and delightful presence +to those he fancied. Vanity was really his other name, and +ambition with him knew no bounds. He hoped to make a tremendous +success of his life, to be looked up to as an imposing +financier, and he wanted <i>men</i>—only strong men about him. Eugene +seemed to Colfax to be a strong man, and the day he +finally communicated with him saying that he thought that he +would accept his offer but that he wished to talk to him further, +Colfax threw his hat up in the air, slapped his side partner White +on the back, and exclaimed: "Whee! Florrie! There's a trick +I've scored for this corporation. There's a man, unless I am +greatly mistaken, will do something here. He's young but he's +all right. He's got the looks on you and me, Florrie, but we +can stand that, can't we?"</p> + +<p>White eyed him, with a show of joy and satisfaction which +was purely simulated. He had seen many editors and many +advertising men in his time. To his judgment they were nearly +all lightweights, men who were easily satisfied with the little +toy wherewith he or anyone might decide to gratify their vanity. +This was probably another case in point, but if a real publisher +were coming in here it would not be so well with him. He +might attempt to crowd in on his authority or at least divide it +with him. That did not appeal to his personal vanity. It +really put a stumbling block in his path, for he hoped to rule +here some day alone. Why was it that Colfax was so eager to +have the authority in this house divided? Was it because he +was somewhat afraid of him? He thought so, and he was exceedingly +close to the truth when he thought so.</p> + +<p>"Florrie's a good lieutenant," Colfax said to himself, "but he +needs to be counterbalanced here by someone who will represent +the refinements and that intellectual superiority which the world +respects."</p> + +<p>He wanted this refinement and intellectual superiority to be +popular with the public, and to produce results in the shape of +increased circulation for his magazines and books. These two +would then act as checks each to the other, thus preventing the +house from becoming overweighted in either direction. Then he +could drive this team as a grand master—the man who had selected +both, whose ideas they represented, and whose judgment +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_469" id="Page_469">[Pg 469]</a></span> +they respected. The world of finance and trade would know +they were nothing without him.</p> + +<p>What Eugene thought and what White thought of this +prospective situation was that the other would naturally be the +minor figure, and that he under Colfax would be the shining +light. Eugene was convinced that the house without proper +artistic and intellectual dominance was nothing. White was +convinced that without sane commercial management it was a +failure and that this was the thing to look to. Money could buy +brains.</p> + +<p>Colfax introduced Eugene to White on the morning he arrived +to take charge, for on the previous occasions when he had +been there White was absent. The two looked at each other +and immediately suspended judgment, for both were able men. +Eugene saw White as an interesting type—tall, leathery, swaggering, +a back-street bully evolved into the semblance of a gentleman. +White saw in Eugene a nervous, refined, semi-emotional +literary and artistic type who had, however, a curious versatility +and virility not common among those whom he had previously +encountered. He was exceedingly forceful but not poised. That +he could eventually undermine him if he could not dominate him +he did not doubt. Still he was coming in with the backing of +Colfax and a great reputation, and it might not be easy. Eugene +made him feel nervous. He wondered as he looked at him +whether Colfax would really make him general literary, artistic +and advertising administrator, or whether he would remain +simply advertising manager as he now entered. Colfax had not +accepted Eugene for more than that.</p> + +<p>"Here he is, Florrie," Colfax had said of Eugene, in introducing +him to White. "This is the man I've been talking about. +Witla—Mr. White. White—Mr. Witla. You two want to +get together for the good of this house in the future. What do +you think of each other?"</p> + +<p>Eugene had previously noted the peculiarity of this rowdy, +rah! rah! attitude on the part of Colfax. He seemed to have no +sense of the conventions of social address and conference at any +time.</p> + +<p>"Now, by God," Colfax exclaimed, striking his right fist +against his left palm, "unless I am greatly mistaken, this house +is going to begin to move! I'm not positive that I have the man +I want, but I think I have. White, let's stroll around and +introduce him."</p> + +<p>White swaggered to the office door.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_470" id="Page_470">[Pg 470]</a></span> +"Sure," he said quietly. "An exceptional man," he said to +himself.</p> + +<p>Colfax was almost beside himself with satisfaction, for he was +subject to emotional flushes which, however, related to self-aggrandizement +only. He walked with a great stride (little as +he was), which was his wont when he was feeling particularly +satisfied. He talked in a loud voice, for he wanted everyone to +know that he, Hiram Colfax, was about and as forceful as the +lord of so great an institution should be. He could yell and +scream something like a woman in a paroxysm of rage when he +was thwarted or irritated. Eugene did not know that as yet.</p> + +<p>"Here's one of the printing floors," he said to Eugene, throwing +open a door which revealed a room full of thundering presses +of giant size. "Where's Dodson, boy? Where's Dodson? Tell +him to come here. He's foreman of our printing department," he +added, turning to Eugene, as the printer's devil, who had been +working at a press, scurried away to find his master. "I told +you, I guess, that we have thirty of these presses. There are +four more floors just like this."</p> + +<p>"So you did," replied Eugene. "It certainly is a great concern. +I can see that the possibilities of a thing like this are +almost limitless."</p> + +<p>"Limitless—I should say! It depends on what you can do +with this," and he tapped Eugene's forehead. "If you do your +part right, and he does his"—turning to White—"there won't +be any limit to what this house can do. That remains to be +seen."</p> + +<p>Just then Dodson came bustling up, a shrewd, keen henchman +of White's, and looked at Eugene curiously.</p> + +<p>"Dodson, Mr. Witla, the new advertising manager. He's +going to try to help pay for all this wasteful presswork you're +doing. Witla, Mr. Dodson, manager of the printing department."</p> + +<p>The two men shook hands. Eugene felt in a way as though +he were talking to an underling, and did not pay very definite +attention to him. Dodson resented his attitude somewhat, but +gave no sign. His loyalty was to White, and he felt himself +perfectly safe under that man's supervision.</p> + +<p>The next visit was to the composing room where a vast army +of men were working away at type racks and linotype machines. +A short, fat, ink-streaked foreman in a green striped apron that +looked as though it might have been made of bed ticking came +forward to greet them ingratiatingly. He was plainly nervous +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_471" id="Page_471">[Pg 471]</a></span> +at their presence, and withdrew his hand when Eugene offered +to take it.</p> + +<p>"It's too dirty," he said. "I'll take the will for the deed, Mr. +Witla."</p> + +<p>More explanations and laudations of the extent of the business +followed.</p> + +<p>Then came the circulation department with its head, a tall +dark man who looked solemnly at Eugene, uncertain as to what +place he was to have in the organization and uncertain as to +what attitude he should ultimately have to take. White was +"butting into his affairs," as he told his wife, and he did not +know where it would end. He had heard rumors to the effect +that there was to be a new man soon who was to have great +authority over various departments. Was this he?</p> + +<p>There came next the editors of the various magazines, who +viewed this triumphal procession with more or less contempt, +for to them both Colfax and White were raw, uncouth upstarts +blazoning their material superiority in loud-mouthed phrases. +Colfax talked too loud and was too vainglorious. White was +too hard, bitter and unreasoning. They hated them both with +a secret hate but there was no escaping their domination. The +need of living salaries held all in obsequious subjection.</p> + +<p>"Here's Mr. Marchwood," Colfax said inconsiderately of the +editor of the <i>International Review</i>. "He thinks he's making +a wonderful publication of that, but we don't know whether +he is yet or not."</p> + +<p>Eugene winced for Marchwood. He was so calm, so refined, +so professional.</p> + +<p>"I suppose we can only go by the circulation department," +he replied simply, attracted by Eugene's sympathetic smile.</p> + +<p>"That's all! That's all!" exclaimed Colfax.</p> + +<p>"That is probably true," said Eugene, "but a good thing ought +to be as easily circulated as a poor one. At least it's worth +trying."</p> + +<p>Mr. Marchwood smiled. It was a bit of intellectual kindness +in a world of cruel comment.</p> + +<p>"It's a great institution," said Eugene finally, on reaching +the president's office again. "I'll begin now and see what I can +do."</p> + +<p>"Good luck, my boy. Good luck!" said Colfax loudly. "I'm +laying great stress on what you're going to do, you know."</p> + +<p>"Don't lean too hard," returned Eugene. "Remember, I'm +just one in a great organization."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_472" id="Page_472">[Pg 472]</a></span> +"I know, I know, but <i>the one</i> is all I need up there—<i>the +one</i>, see?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," laughed Eugene, "cheer up. We'll be able to +do a little something, I'm sure."</p> + +<p>"A great man, that," Colfax declared to White as he went +away. "The real stuff in that fellow, no flinching there you +notice. He knows how to think. Now, Florrie, unless I miss +my guess you and I are going to get somewhere with this +thing."</p> + +<p>White smiled gloomily, almost cynically. He was not so +sure. Eugene was pretty good, but he was obviously too independent, +too artistic, to be really stable and dependable. He +would never run to him for advice, but he would probably make +mistakes. He might lose his head. What must he do to offset +this new invasion of authority? Discredit him? Certainly. But +he needn't worry about that. Eugene would do something. He +would make mistakes of some kind. He felt sure of it. He was +almost positive of it.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_473" id="Page_473">[Pg 473]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XLI" id="II_CHAPTER_XLI"></a>CHAPTER XLI</h2> + +<p>The opening days of this their second return to New York +were a period of great joy to Angela. Unlike that first +time when she was returning after seven months of loneliness and +unhappiness to a sick husband and a gloomy outlook, she was +now looking forward to what, in spite of her previous doubts, +was a glorious career of dignity, prosperity and abundance. +Eugene was such an important man now. His career was so +well marked and in a way almost certified. They had a +good bit of money in the bank. Their investments in stocks, +on which they obtained a uniform rate of interest of about seven +per cent., aggregated $30,000. They had two lots, two hundred +by two hundred, in Montclair, which were said to be slowly increasing +in value and which Eugene now estimated to be worth +about six thousand. He was talking about investing what additional +money he might save in stocks bearing better interest or +some sound commercial venture. When the proper time came, +a little later, he might even abandon the publishing field entirely +and renew his interest in art. He was certainly getting near +the possibility of this.</p> + +<p>The place which they selected for their residence in New York +was in a new and very sumptuous studio apartment building on +Riverside Drive near Seventy-ninth Street, where Eugene had +long fancied he would like to live. This famous thoroughfare +and show place with its restricted park atmosphere, its magnificent +and commanding view of the lordly Hudson, its wondrous +woods of color and magnificent sunsets had long taken his eye. +When he had first come to New York it had been his delight to +stroll here watching the stream of fashionable equipages pour out +towards Grant's Tomb and return. He had sat on a park bench +many an afternoon at this very spot or farther up, and watched +the gay company of horsemen and horsewomen riding cheerfully +by, nodding to their social acquaintances, speaking to the +park keepers and road scavengers in a condescending and superior +way, taking their leisure in a comfortable fashion and +looking idly at the river. It seemed a wonderful world to +him at that time. Only millionaires could afford to live there, +he thought—so ignorant was he of the financial tricks of the +world. These handsomely garbed men in riding coats and +breeches; the chic looking girls in stiff black hats, trailing +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_474" id="Page_474">[Pg 474]</a></span> +black riding skirts, yellow gloved, and sporting short whips +which looked more like dainty canes than anything else, took +his fancy greatly. It was his idea at that time that this was +almost the apex of social glory—to be permitted to ride here +of an afternoon.</p> + +<p>Since then he had come a long way and learned a great deal, +but he still fancied this street as one of the few perfect expressions +of the elegance and luxury of metropolitan life, and +he wanted to live on it. Angela was given authority, after +discussion, to see what she could find in the way of an apartment +of say nine or eleven rooms with two baths or more, +which should not cost more than three thousand or three thousand +five hundred. As a matter of fact, a very handsome apartment +of nine rooms and two baths including a studio room eighteen +feet high, forty feet long and twenty-two feet wide was +found at the now, to them, comparatively moderate sum of three +thousand two hundred. The chambers were beautifully finished +in old English oak carved and stained after a very pleasing +fifteenth century model, and the walls were left to the discretion +of the incoming tenant. Whatever was desired in the way +of tapestries, silks or other wall furnishing would be supplied.</p> + +<p>Eugene chose green-brown tapestries representing old Rhine +Castles for his studio, and blue and brown silks for his wall +furnishings elsewhere. He now realized a long cherished dream +of having the great wooden cross of brown stained oak, ornamented +with a figure of the bleeding Christ, which he set in a +dark shaded corner behind two immense wax candles set in tall +heavy bronze candlesticks, the size of small bed posts. These +when lighted in an otherwise darkened room and flickering +ruefully, cast a peculiar spell of beauty over the gay throngs +which sometimes assembled here. A grand piano in old English +oak occupied one corner, a magnificent music cabinet in +French burnt woodwork, stood near by. There were a number +of carved and fluted high back chairs, a carved easel with one +of his best pictures displayed, a black marble pedestal bearing a +yellow stained marble bust of Nero, with his lascivious, degenerate +face, scowling grimly at the world, and two gold plated +candelabra of eleven branches each hung upon the north wall.</p> + +<p>Two wide, tall windows with storm sashes, which reached +from the floor to the ceiling, commanded the West view of the +Hudson. Outside one was a small stone balcony wide enough +to accommodate four chairs, which gave a beautiful, cool view of +the drive. It was shielded by an awning in summer and was +nine storeys above the ground. Over the water of the more or +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_475" id="Page_475">[Pg 475]</a></span> +less peaceful stream were the stacks and outlines of a great +factory, and in the roadstead lay boats always, war vessels, +tramp freighters, sail boats, and up and down passed the endless +traffic of small craft always so pleasant to look upon in +fair or foul weather. It was a beautiful apartment, beautifully +finished in which most of their furniture, brought from Philadelphia, +fitted admirably. It was here that at last they settled +down to enjoy the fruit of that long struggle and comparative +victory which brought them so near their much desired goal—an +indestructible and unchangeable competence which no winds +of ill fortune could readily destroy.</p> + +<p>Eugene was quite beside himself with joy and satisfaction +at thus finding himself and Angela eventually surrounded by +those tokens of luxury, comfort and distinction which had so +long haunted his brain. Most of us go through life with the +furniture of our prospective castle well outlined in mind, but +with never the privilege of seeing it realized. We have our pictures, +our hangings, our servitors well and ably selected. Eugene's +were real at last.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_476" id="Page_476">[Pg 476]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XLII" id="II_CHAPTER_XLII"></a>CHAPTER XLII</h2> + +<p>The affairs of the United Magazines Corporation, so far +as the advertising, commercial and manufacturing ends at +least were concerned, were not in such an unfortunate condition +by any means as to preclude their being quickly restored +by tact, good business judgment and hard work. Since the +accession to power of Florence White in the commercial and +financial ends, things in that quarter at least had slowly begun +to take a turn for the better. Although he had no judgment +whatsoever as to what constituted a timely article, an important +book or a saleable art feature, he had that peculiar intuition +for right methods of manufacture, right buying and right +selling of stock, right handling of labor from the cost and +efficiency point of view, which made him a power to be reckoned +with. He knew a good manufacturing man to employ at sight. +He knew where books could be sold and how. He knew how +to buy paper in large quantities and at the cheapest rates, and +how to print and manufacture at a cost which was as low as +could possibly be figured. All waste was eliminated. He used +his machines to their utmost capacity, via a series of schedules +which saved an immense amount of waste and demanded the +least possible help. He was constantly having trouble with +the labor unions on this score, for they objected to a policy +which cut out duplication of effort and so eliminated their men. +He was an iron master, however, coarse, brutal, foul when dealing +with them, and they feared and respected him.</p> + +<p>In the advertising end of the business things had been going +rather badly, for the reason that the magazines for which this +department was supposed to get business had not been doing so +well editorially. They were out of touch with the times to a +certain extent—not in advance of the feelings and emotions of +the period, and so the public was beginning to be inclined to +look elsewhere for its mental pabulum. They had had great +circulation and great prestige. That was when they were +younger, and the original publishers and editors in their prime. +Since then days of weariness, indifference and confusion had +ensued. Only with the accession of Colfax to power had hope +begun to return. As has been said, he was looking for strong +men in every quarter of this field, but in particular he was +looking for one man who would tell him how to govern them +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_477" id="Page_477">[Pg 477]</a></span> +after he had them. Who was to dream out the things which +would interest the public in each particular magazine proposition? +Who was to draw great and successful authors to the +book end of the house? Who was to inspire the men who were +directing the various departments with the spirit which would +bring public interest and success? Eugene might be the man eventually +he hoped, but how soon? He was anxious to hurry his +progress now that he had him.</p> + +<p>It was not long after Eugene was seated in his advertising +managerial chair that he saw how things lay. His men, when +he gathered them in conference, complained that they were fighting +against falling circulations.</p> + +<p>"You can talk all you want, Mr. Witla," said one of his +men gloomily, "but circulation and circulation only is the answer. +They have to keep up the magazines here. All these +manufacturers know when they get results. We go out and get +new business all the time, but we don't keep it. We can't keep +it. The magazines don't bring results. What are you going +to do about that?"</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what we are going to do," replied Eugene +calmly, "we're going to key up the magazines. I understand +that a number of changes are coming in that direction. They +are doing better already. The manufacturing department, for +one thing, is in splendid shape. I know that. In a short time +the editorial departments will be. I want you people to put +up, at this time, the best fight you know how under the conditions +as they are. I'm not going to make any changes here if I +can help it. I'm going to show you how it can be done—each +one separately. I want you to believe that we have the greatest +organization in the world, and it can be made to sweep everything +before it. Take a look at Mr. Colfax. Do you think he +is ever going to fail? We may, but he won't."</p> + +<p>The men liked Eugene's manner and confidence. They liked +his faith in them, and it was not more than ten days before he +had won their confidence completely. He took home to the +hotel where he and Angela were stopping temporarily all the +magazines, and examined them carefully. He took home a +number of the latest books issued, and asked Angela to read +them. He tried to think just what it was each magazine should +represent, and who and where was the man who would give to +each its proper life and vigor. At once, for the adventure magazine, +he thought of a man whom he had met years before +who had since been making a good deal of a success editing a +Sunday newspaper magazine supplement, Jack Bezenah. He +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_478" id="Page_478">[Pg 478]</a></span> +had started out to be a radical writer, but had tamed down and +become a most efficient newspaper man. Eugene had met him +several times in the last few years and each time had been impressed +by the force and subtlety of his judgment of life. Once +he had said to him, "Jack, you ought to be editing a magazine +of your own."</p> + +<p>"I will be, I will be," returned that worthy. Now as he +looked at this particular proposition Bezenah stuck in his mind as +the man who should be employed. He had seen the present +editor, but he seemed to have no force at all.</p> + +<p>The weekly needed a man like Townsend Miller—where +would he find him? The present man's ideas were interesting +but not sufficiently general in their appeal. Eugene went about +among the various editors looking at them, ostensibly making +their acquaintance, but he was not satisfied with any one of +them.</p> + +<p>He waited to see that his own department was not needing +any vast effort on his part before he said to Colfax one day:</p> + +<p>"Things are not right with your editorial department. I've +looked into my particular job to see that there is nothing so +radically behindhand there but what it can be remedied, but +your magazines are not right. I wish, aside from salary proposition +entirely, that you would let me begin to make a few +changes. You haven't the right sort of people upstairs. I'll +try not to move too fast, but you couldn't be worse off than +you are now in some instances."</p> + +<p>"I know it!" said Colfax. "I know it! What do you suggest?"</p> + +<p>"Simply better men, that's all," replied Eugene. "Better men +with newer ideas. It may cost you a little more money at present, +but it will bring you more back in the long run."</p> + +<p>"You're right! You're right!" insisted Colfax enthusiastically. +"I've been waiting for someone whose judgment I +thought was worth two whoops to come and tell me that for a +long time. So far as I'm concerned you can take charge right +now! The salary that I promised you goes with it. I want to +tell you something, though! I want to tell you something! +You're going in there now with full authority, but don't you +fall or stub your toe or get sick or make any mistakes. If +you do, God help you! if you do, I'll eat you alive! I'm a +good employer, Witla. I'll pay any price for good men, within +reason, but if I think I'm being done, or made a fool of, or a +man is making a mistake, then there's no mercy in me—not a +single bit. I'm a plain, everyday blank, blank, blank" (and he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_479" id="Page_479">[Pg 479]</a></span> +used a term so foul that it would not bear repetition in print), +"and that's all there is to me. Now we understand each +other."</p> + +<p>Eugene looked at the man in astonishment. There was a +hard, cold gleam in his blue eyes which he had seen there before. +His presence was electric—his look demoniac.</p> + +<p>"I've had a remark somewhat of that nature made to me +before," commented Eugene. He was thinking of Summerfield's +"the coal shute for yours." He had hardly expected to +hear so cold and definite a proposition laid down so soon after +his entry upon his new duties, but here it was, and he had to +face it. He was sorry for the moment that he had ever left +Kalvin.</p> + +<p>"I'm not at all afraid of responsibility," replied Eugene +grimly. "I'm not going to fall down or stub my toe or make +any mistakes if I can help it. And if I do I won't complain +to you."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm only telling you," said Colfax, smiling and good-natured +again. The cold light was gone. "And I mean it in +the best way in the world. I'll back you up with all power +and authority, but if you fail, God help you; I can't."</p> + +<p>He went back to his desk and Eugene went upstairs. He +felt as though the red cap of a cardinal had been put upon +his head, and at the same time an axe suspended over him. He +would have to think carefully of what he was doing from now +on. He would have to go slow, but he would have to go. +All power had been given him—all authority. He could go +upstairs now and discharge everybody in the place. Colfax +would back him up, but he would have to replace them. And +that quickly and effectively. It was a trying hour, notable but +grim.</p> + +<p>His first move was to send for Bezenah. He had not seen +him for some time, but his stationery which he now had headed +"The United Magazines Corporation," and in one corner "Office +of the Managing Publisher," brought him fast enough. It +was a daring thing to do in a way thus to style himself managing +publisher, when so many able men were concerned in the work, +but this fact did not disturb him. He was bound and determined +to begin, and this stationery—the mere engraving of it—was +as good a way as any of serving notice that he was in +the saddle. The news flew like wild fire about the building, +for there were many in his office, even his private stenographer, +to carry the news. All the editors and assistants wondered +what it could mean, but they asked no questions, except among +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_480" id="Page_480">[Pg 480]</a></span> +themselves. No general announcement had been made. On +the same stationery he sent for Adolph Morgenbau, who had +exhibited marked skill at Summerfield's as his assistant, and who +had since become art editor of <i>The Sphere</i>, a magazine of rising +importance. He thought that Morgenbau might now be +fitted to handle the art work under him, and he was not mistaken. +Morgenbau had developed into a man of considerable +force and intelligence, and was only too glad to be connected +with Eugene again. He also talked with various advertising +men, artists and writers as to just who were the most live editorial +men in the field at that time, and these he wrote to, +asking if they would come to see him. One by one they came, +for the fact that he had come to New York to take charge +not only of the advertising but the editorial ends of the United +Magazines Corporation spread rapidly over the city. All those +interested in art, writing, editing and advertising heard of it. +Those who had known something of him in the past could +scarcely believe their ears. Where did he get the skill?</p> + +<p>Eugene stated to Colfax that he deemed it advisable that a +general announcement be made to the staff that he was in +charge. "I have been looking about," he said, "and I think I +know what I want to do."</p> + +<p>The various editors, art directors, advertising men and book +workers were called to the main office and Colfax announced +that he wished to make a statement which affected all those +present. "Mr. Witla here will be in charge of all the publishing +ends of this business from now on. I am withdrawing from +any say in the matter, for I am satisfied that I do not know as +much about it as he does. I want you all to look to him for +advice and counsel just as you have to me in the past. Mr. +White will continue in charge of the manufacturing and distributing +end of the business. Mr. White and Mr. Witla will +work together. That's all I have to say."</p> + +<p>The company departed, and once more Eugene returned to +his office. He decided at once to find an advertising man who +could work under him and run that branch of the business as +well as he would. He spent some time looking for this man, +and finally found him working for the Hays-Rickert Company, +a man whom he had known something of in the past as an exceptional +worker. He was a strong, forceful individual of +thirty-two, Carter Hayes by name, who was very anxious to +succeed in his chosen work, and who saw a great opportunity +here. He did not like Eugene so very well—he thought that +he was over-estimated—but he decided to work for him. The +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_481" id="Page_481">[Pg 481]</a></span> +latter put him in at ten thousand a year and then turned his +attention to his new duties completely.</p> + +<p>The editorial and publishing world was entirely new to +Eugene from the executive side. He did not understand it as +well as he did the art and advertising worlds, and because it +was in a way comparatively new and strange to him he made +a number of initial mistakes. His first was in concluding that +all the men about him were more or less weak and inefficient, +principally because the magazines were weak, when, as a matter +of fact, there were a number of excellent men whom conditions +had repressed, and who were only waiting for some +slight recognition to be of great value. In the next place, he +was not clear as to the exact policies to be followed in the case +of each publication, and he was not inclined to listen humbly +to those who could tell him. His best plan would have been +to have gone exceedingly slow, watching the men who were in +charge, getting their theories and supplementing their efforts +with genial suggestions. Instead he decided on sweeping changes +and not long after he had been in charge he began to make +them. Marchwood, the editor of the <i>Review</i>, was removed, as +was Gailer of the <i>Weekly</i>. The editorship of the <i>Adventure +Story Magazine</i> was given to Bezenah.</p> + +<p>In any organization of this kind, however, great improvements +cannot be effected in a moment, and weeks and months +must elapse before any noticeable change can be shown. Instead +of throwing the burden of responsibility on each of his assistants +and leaving it there, making occasional criticisms, Eugene +undertook to work with each and all of them, endeavoring to +direct the policy intimately in each particular case. It was not +easy, and to him at times it was confusing. He had a great +deal to learn. Still he did have helpful ideas in a score of directions +daily and these told. The magazines were improved. +The first issues which were affected by his judgment and those +of his men were inspected closely by Colfax and White. The +latter was particularly anxious to see what improvement had been +made, and while he could not judge well himself, he had the +means of getting opinions. Nearly all these were favorable, much +to his disappointment, for he hoped to find things to criticize.</p> + +<p>Colfax, who had been watching Eugene's determined air, +the energy with which he went about his work and the manner +in which he freely accepted responsibility, came to admire him +even more than he had before. He liked him socially—his +companionship after business hours—and began to invite him up +to the house to dinner. Unlike Kalvin, on most of these occasions +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_482" id="Page_482">[Pg 482]</a></span> +he did not take Angela into consideration, for having +met her he was not so very much impressed with her. She +was nice, but not of the same coruscating quality as her husband. +Mrs. Colfax expressed a derogatory opinion, and this +also made it difficult. He sincerely wished that Eugene were +single.</p> + +<p>Time passed. As Eugene worked more and more with the +various propositions which this situation involved, he became +more and more at his ease. Those who have ever held an +executive position of any importance know how easy it is, given +a certain degree of talent, to attract men and women of ability +and force according to that talent. Like seeks like and those who +are looking for advancement in their world according to their +talents naturally drift to those who are more highly placed and +who are much like themselves. Advertising men, artists, circulation +men, editors, book critics, authors and all those who +were sufficiently in his vein to understand or appreciate him +sought him out, and by degrees he was compelled to learn to +refer all applicants to the heads of departments. He was compelled +to learn to rely to a certain degree on his men, and having +learned this he was inclined to go to the other extreme and +rely too much. In the case of Carter Hayes, in the advertising +department, he was particularly impressed with the man's efficiency, +and rested on him heavily for all the details of that work, +merely inspecting his programs of procedure and advising him in +difficult situations. The latter appreciated this, for he was +egotistic to the roots, but it did not develop a sense of loyalty +in him. He saw in Eugene a man who had risen by some fluke +of fortune, and who was really not an advertising man at heart. +He hoped some day that circumstances would bring it about +that he could be advertising manager in fact, dealing directly +with Colfax and White, whom, because of their greater financial +interest in the business, he considered Eugene's superiors, and +whom he proposed to court. There were others in the other +departments who felt the same way.</p> + +<p>The one great difficulty with Eugene was that he had no +great power of commanding the loyalty of his assistants. He +had the power of inspiring them—of giving them ideas which +would be helpful to themselves—but these they used, as a rule, +merely to further their own interests, to cause them to advance +to a point where they deemed themselves beyond him. Because +in his manner he was not hard, distant, bitter, he was considered, +as a rule, rather easy. The men whom he employed, and he +had talent for picking men of very exceptional ability, sometimes +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_483" id="Page_483">[Pg 483]</a></span> +much greater than his own in their particular specialties, +looked upon him not so much as a superior after a time, as +someone who was in their path and to whose shoes they might +properly aspire. He seemed so good natured about the whole +work—so easy going. Now and then he took the trouble to +tell a man that he was getting too officious, but in the main +he did not care much. Things were going smoothly, the magazines +were improving, the advertising and circulation departments +were showing marked gains, and altogether his life seemed +to have blossomed out into comparative perfection. There were +storms and daily difficulties, but they were not serious. Colfax +advised with him genially when he was in doubt, and White +pretended a friendship which he did not feel.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_484" id="Page_484">[Pg 484]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XLIII" id="II_CHAPTER_XLIII"></a>CHAPTER XLIII</h2> + +<p>The trouble with this situation was that it involved more +power, comfort, ease and luxury than Eugene had ever +experienced before, and made him a sort of oriental potentate +not only among his large company of assistants but in his own +home. Angela, who had been watching his career all these +years with curiosity, began to conceive of him at last as a genius +in every respect—destined to some great pre-eminence, in art +or finance or the publishing world or all three. She did not +relax her attitude in regard to his conduct, being more convinced +than ever that to achieve the dizzy eminence to which he +was now so rapidly ascending, he must be more circumspect +than ever. People were watching him so closely now. They +were so obsequious to him, but still so dangerous. A man in +his position must be so careful how he dressed, talked, walked.</p> + +<p>"Don't make so much fuss," he used to say to her. "For +heaven's sake, let me alone!" This merely produced more quarrels, +for Angela was determined to regulate him in spite of his +wishes and in his best interests.</p> + +<p>Grave men and women in various walks of life—art, literature, +philanthropy, trade, began to seek him out, because in +the first place he had an understanding mind and because in +the next place, which was much more important, he had something +to give. There are always those in all walks of life who +are seeking something through those avenues which a successful +person represents, whatever they may be, and these together +with those others who are always intensely eager to bask in +the reflected glory of a rising luminary, make a retinue for every +successful man. Eugene had his retinue, men and women of +his own station or beneath it, who would eagerly shake his +hand with an "Oh, yes, indeed. Managing Publisher of the +United Magazines Corporation! Oh, yes, yes!" Women particularly +were prone to smile, showing him even white teeth and +regretting that all good looking and successful men were married.</p> + +<p>In July following his coming from Philadelphia the United +Magazines Corporation moved into its new building, and then +he was installed into the most imposing office of his career. +A subtle assistant, wishing to ingratiate the staff in Eugene's +good graces, suggested that a collection be taken up for flowers. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_485" id="Page_485">[Pg 485]</a></span> +His room, which was done in white, blue and gold with rose +wood furniture, to set it apart from the prevailing decorative +scheme and so make it more impressive, was scattered with +great bouquets of roses, sweet peas and pinks, in beautiful and +ornate vases of different colors, countries and schools. His +great rosewood flat-topped desk, covered with a thick, plate +glass through which the polished wood shone brightly, was decorated +with flowers. On the morning of his entry he held an impromptu +reception, on which occasion he was visited by Colfax +and White, who after going to look at their new rooms, came to +his. A general reception which followed some three weeks later, +and in which the successful representatives of various walks of +life in the metropolis took part, drew to the building a great +crowd, artists, writers, editors, publishers, authors and advertising +men who saw him in all his glory. On this occasion, Eugene, +with White and Colfax did the receiving. He was admired at a +distance by striplings who wondered how he had ever accomplished +such great results. His rise had been so meteoric. It +seemed so impossible that a man who had started as an artist +should change and become a dominant factor in literature and +art from a publishing point of view.</p> + +<p>In his own home his surroundings were equally showy; he +was as much a figure as he was in his office. When he was +alone with Angela, which was not so often, for naturally they +did a great deal of entertaining, he was a figure even to her. +Long ago she had come to think of him as someone who would +some day dominate in the art world; but to see him an imposing +factor in the city's commercial life, its principal publishers' representative, +having a valet and an automobile, riding freely in +cabs, lunching at the most exclusive restaurants and clubs, and +associating constantly with someone who was of importance, was +a different matter.</p> + +<p>She was no longer so sure of herself with him, not so certain +of her power to control him. They quarreled over little things, +but she was not so ready to begin these quarrels. He seemed +changed now and deeper still. She was afraid, even yet, that +he might make a mistake and lose it all, that the forces of ill +will, envy and jealousy which were everywhere apparent in life, +and which blow about so easily like gusts of wind, would work +him harm. Eugene was apparently at ease, though he was +troubled at times for his own safety, when he thought of it, +for he had no stock in the company, and was as beholden to +Colfax as any hall boy, but he did not see how he could easily +be dispensed with. He was <i>making good</i>.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_486" id="Page_486">[Pg 486]</a></span> +Colfax was friendly to him. He was surprised at times to +see how badly the manufacturing arrangements could go awry, +affecting his dates of issue, but White invariably had a good excuse. +Colfax took him to his house in the country, his lodge in +the mountains, on short yachting and fishing trips, for he liked +to talk to him, but he rarely if ever invited Angela. He did +not seem to think it was necessary to do this, and Eugene was +afraid to impress the slight upon his attention, much as he +dreaded the thoughts which Angela must be thinking. It was +Eugene here and Eugene there, with constant calls of "where +are you, old man?" from Colfax, who appeared not to want +to be away from him.</p> + +<p>"Well, old man," he would say, looking him over much as +one might a blood horse or a pedigree dog, "you're getting on. +This new job agrees with you. You didn't look like that when +you came to me," and he would feel the latest suit Eugene might +be wearing, or comment on some pin or tie he had on, or tell +him that his shoes were not as good as he could really get, if +he wanted to be perfect in dress. Colfax was for grooming his +new prize much as one might groom a blood horse, and he was +always telling Eugene little details of social life, the right things +to do, the right places to be seen, the right places to go, as +though Eugene knew little or nothing.</p> + +<p>"Now when we go down to Mrs. Savage's Friday afternoon, +you get a Truxton Portmanteau. Have you seen them? Well, +there's the thing. Got a London coat? Well, you ought to +have one. Those servants down there go through your things +and they size you up accordingly. Nothing less than two dollars +each goes, and five dollars to the butler, remember that."</p> + +<p>He assumed and insisted after a fashion which Eugene resented +quite as much as he did his persistent ignoring of Angela, +but he did not dare comment on it. He could see that Colfax +was variable, that he could hate as well as love, and that he +rarely took any intermediate ground. Eugene was his favorite +now.</p> + +<p>"I'll send my car around for you at two Friday," he would +say, as though Eugene did not keep a car, when he was planning +one of his week-end excursions. "You be ready."</p> + +<p>At two, on that day, Colfax's big blue touring car would come +speeding up to the entrance of the apartment house and Eugene's +valet would carry down his bags, golf sticks, tennis racket and +the various paraphernalia that go with a week-end's entertainment, +and off the car would roll. At times Angela would be +left behind, at times taken, when Eugene could arrange it; +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_487" id="Page_487">[Pg 487]</a></span> +but he found that he had to be tactful and accede to Colfax's +indifference mostly. Eugene would always explain to her how +it was. He was sorry for her in a way, and yet he felt there +was some justice in the distinction. She was not exactly suited +to that topmost world in which he was now beginning to move. +These people were colder, sharper, shrewder, than Angela. They +had more of that intense sophistication of manner and experience +than she could achieve. As a matter of fact, Angela had as +much grace and more than many of the four hundred, but she +did lack that quickness of wit or that shallow self-sufficiency and +assurance which are the almost invariable traits of those who +shine as members of the smart set. Eugene was able to assume +this manner whether he felt it or not.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's all right," she would say, "as long as you're doing +it for business reasons."</p> + +<p>She resented it nevertheless, bitterly, for it seemed such an +uncalled for slur. Colfax had no compunctions in adjusting his +companionship to suit his moods. He thought Eugene was +well suited to this high life. He thought Angela was not. +He made the distinction roughly and went his way.</p> + +<p>It was in this manner that Eugene learned a curious fact +about the social world, and that was that frequently in these +highest circles a man would be received where his wife would +not and vice versa, and that nothing very much was thought of +it, if it could be managed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, is that Birkwood," he heard a young swell once remark, +concerning an individual in Philadelphia. "Why do they +let him in? His wife is charming, but he won't do," and once +in New York he heard a daughter ask her mother, of a certain +wife who was announced—her husband being at the same table—"who +invited her?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I don't know," replied her mother; "I didn't. She +must have come of her own accord."</p> + +<p>"She certainly has her nerve with her," replied the daughter—and +when the wife entered Eugene could see why. She was +not good looking and not harmoniously and tastefully dressed. +It gave Eugene a shock, but in a way he could understand. +There were no such grounds of complaint against Angela. She +was attractive and shapely. Her one weakness was that she +lacked the blasé social air. It was too bad, he thought.</p> + +<p>In his own home and circle, however, he thought to make up +for this by a series of entertainments which grew more and +more elaborate as time went on. At first when he came back +from Philadelphia it consisted of a few people in to dinner, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_488" id="Page_488">[Pg 488]</a></span> +old friends, for he was not quite sure of himself and did not +know how many would come to share his new honors with +him. Eugene had never got over his love for those he had +known in his youth. He was not snobbish. It was true that +now he was taking naturally to prosperous people, but the +little ones, the old-time ones, he liked for old lang syne's sake +as well as for themselves. Many came to borrow money, for +he had associated with many ne'er do wells in his time, but many +more were attracted by his fame.</p> + +<p>Eugene knew intimately and pleasantly most of the artistic and +intellectual figures of his day. In his home and at his table +there appeared artists, publishers, grand opera stars, actors and +playwrights. His large salary, for one thing, his beautiful apartment +and its location, his magnificent office and his friendly +manner all conspired to assist him. It was his self-conscious +boast that he had not changed. He liked nice people, simple +people, natural people he said, for these were the really great +ones, but he could not see how far he had come in class selection. +Now he naturally gravitated to the wealthy, the reputed, +the beautiful, the strong and able, for no others interested him. +He hardly saw them. If he did it was to pity or give alms.</p> + +<p>It is difficult to indicate to those who have never come out +of poverty into luxury, or out of comparative uncouthness into +refinement, the veil or spell which the latter comes eventually +to cast over the inexperienced mind, coloring the world anew. +Life is apparently striving, constantly, to perfect its illusions and +to create spells. There are, as a matter of fact, nothing but +these outside that ultimate substance or principle which underlies +it all. To those who have come out of inharmony, harmony +is a spell, and to those who have come out of poverty, luxury is a +dream of delight. Eugene, being primarily a lover of beauty, +keenly responsive to all those subtleties of perfection and arrangement +which ingenuity can devise, was taken vastly by the +nature of this greater world into which, step by step apparently, +he was almost insensibly passing. Each new fact which met +his eye or soothed his sensibilities was quickly adjusted to all +that had gone before. It seemed to him as though all his life +he had naturally belonged to this perfect world of which country +houses, city mansions, city and country clubs, expensive hotels +and inns, cars, resorts, beautiful women, affected manners, subtlety +of appreciation and perfection of appointment generally +were the inherent concomitants. This was the true heaven—that +material and spiritual perfection on earth, of which the +world was dreaming and to which, out of toil, disorder, shabby +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_489" id="Page_489">[Pg 489]</a></span> +ideas, mixed opinions, non-understanding and all the ill to +which the flesh is heir, it was constantly aspiring.</p> + +<p>Here was no sickness, no weariness apparently, no ill health +or untoward circumstances. All the troubles, disorders and imperfections +of existence were here carefully swept aside and one +saw only the niceness, the health and strength of being. He +was more and more impressed as he came farther and farther +along in the scale of comfort, with the force and eagerness +with which life seems to minister to the luxury-love of the +human mind. He learned of so many, to him, lovely things, +large, wellkept, magnificent country places, scenes of exquisite +beauty where country clubs, hotels, seaside resorts of all descriptions +had been placed. He found sport, amusement, exercise, +to be tremendously well organized and that there were +thousands of people who were practically devoting their lives +to this. Such a state of social ease was not for him yet, but he +could sit at the pleasures, so amply spread, between his hours +of work and dream of the time to come when possibly he might +do nothing at all. Yachting, motoring, golfing, fishing, hunting, +riding, playing tennis and polo, there were experts in all these +fields he found. Card playing, dancing, dining, lounging, these +seemed to occupy many people's days constantly. He could only +look in upon it all as upon a passing show, but that was better +than nothing. It was more than he had ever done before. He +was beginning to see clearly how the world was organized, how +far were its reaches of wealth, its depths of poverty. From +the lowest beggar to the topmost scene—what a distance!</p> + +<p>Angela scarcely kept pace with him in all these mental peregrinations. +It was true that now she went to the best dressmakers +only, bought charming hats, the most expensive shoes, +rode in cabs and her husband's auto, but she did not feel about +it as he did. It seemed very much like a dream to her—like +something that had come so suddenly and so exuberantly +that it could not be permanent. There was running in her mind +all the time that Eugene was neither a publisher, nor an editor, +nor a financier at heart, but an artist and that an artist he would +remain. He might attain great fame and make much money out +of his adopted profession, but some day in all likelihood he +would leave it and return to art. He seemed to be making +sound investments—at least, they seemed sound to her, and their +stocks and bank accounts, principally convertible stocks, seemed +a safe enough margin for the future to guarantee peace of mind, +but they were not saving so much, after all. It was costing them +something over eight thousand dollars a year to live, and their +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_490" id="Page_490">[Pg 490]</a></span> +expenses were constantly growing larger rather than smaller. +Eugene appeared to become more and more extravagant.</p> + +<p>"I think we are doing too much entertaining," Angela had +once protested, but he waived the complaint aside. "I can't do +what I'm doing and not entertain. It's building me up. People +in our position have to." He threw open the doors finally to +really remarkable crowds and most of the cleverest people in all +walks of life—the really exceptionally clever—came to eat his +meals, to drink his wines, to envy his comfort and wish they were +in his shoes.</p> + +<p>During all this time Eugene and Angela instead of growing +closer together, were really growing farther and farther apart. +She had never either forgotten or utterly forgiven that one +terrific lapse, and she had never believed that Eugene was utterly +cured of his hedonistic tendencies. Crowds of beautiful women +came to Angela's teas, lunches and their joint evening parties and +receptions. Under Eugene's direction they got together interesting +programmes, for it was no trouble now for him to command +musical, theatrical, literary and artistic talent. He knew men +and women who could make rapid charcoal or crayon sketches of +people, could do feats in legerdemain, and character representation, +could sing, dance, play, recite and tell humorous stories +in a droll and off-hand way. He insisted that only exceptionally +beautiful women be invited, for he did not care to look at the +homely ones, and curiously he found dozens, who were not only +extremely beautiful, but singers, dancers, composers, authors, +actors and playwrights in the bargain. Nearly all of them were +brilliant conversationalists and they helped to entertain themselves—made +their own entertainment, in fact. His table very +frequently was a glittering spectacle. One of his "Stunts" as he +called it was to bundle fifteen or twenty people into three or +four automobiles after they had lingered in his rooms until +three o'clock in the morning and motor out to some out-of-town +inn for breakfast and "to see the sun rise." A small matter +like a bill for $75.00 for auto hire or thirty-five dollars for a +crowd for breakfast did not trouble him. It was a glorious sensation +to draw forth his purse and remove four or five or six yellow +backed ten dollar bills, knowing that it made little real +difference. More money was coming to him from the same +source. He could send down to the cashier at any time and draw +from five hundred to a thousand dollars. He always had from +one hundred and fifty to three hundred dollars in his purse in +denominations of five, ten and twenty dollar bills. He carried +a small check book and most frequently paid by check. He +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_491" id="Page_491">[Pg 491]</a></span> +liked to assume that he was known and frequently imposed this +assumption on others.</p> + +<p>"Eugene Witla! Eugene Witla! George! he's a nice fellow,"—or +"it's remarkable how he has come up, isn't it?" "I was +at the Witlas' the other night. Did you ever see such a beautiful +apartment? It's perfect! That view!"</p> + +<p>People commented on the interesting people he entertained, +the clever people you met there, the beautiful women, the beautiful +view. "And Mrs. Witla is so charming."</p> + +<p>But down at the bottom of all this talk there was also much +envy and disparagement and never much enthusiasm for the +personality of Mrs. Witla. She was not as brilliant as Eugene—or +rather the comment was divided. Those who liked clever +people, show, wit, brilliance, ease, liked Eugene and not Angela +quite so much. Those who liked sedateness, solidity, sincerity, +the commoner virtues of faithfulness and effort, admired Angela. +All saw that she was a faithful handmaiden to her husband, +that she adored the ground he walked on.</p> + +<p>"Such a nice little woman—so homelike. It's curious that +he should have married her, though, isn't it? They are so different. +And yet they appear to have lots of things in common, +too. It's strange—isn't it?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_492" id="Page_492">[Pg 492]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XLIV" id="II_CHAPTER_XLIV"></a>CHAPTER XLIV</h2> + +<p>It was in the course of his final upward progress that Eugene +came once more into contact with Kenyon C. Winfield, Ex-State +Senator of New York, President of the Long Island +Realty Company, land developer, real estate plunger, financier, +artist, what not—a man very much of Eugene's own type and +temperament, who at this time was doing rather remarkable +things in a land speculative way. Winfield was tall and thin, +black haired, black eyed, slightly but not offensively hook nosed, +dignified, gracious, intellectual, magnetic, optimistic. He was +forty-eight years of age. Winfield was a very fair sample of +your man of the world who has ideas, dreams, fancies, executive +ability, a certain amount of reserve and judgment, sufficient to +hold his own in this very complicated mortal struggle. He was +not really a great man, but he was so near it that he gave the +impression to many of being so. His deep sunken black eyes +burned with a peculiar lustre, one might almost have fancied +a tint of red in them. His pale, slightly sunken face had some +of the characteristics of your polished Mephisto, though not too +many. He was not at all devilish looking in the true sense +of the word, but keen, subtle, artistic. His method was to ingratiate +himself with men who had money in order to get from +them the vast sums which he found it necessary to borrow to +carry out the schemes or rather dreams he was constantly generating. +His fancies were always too big for his purse, but he +had such lovely fancies that it was a joy to work with them +and him.</p> + +<p>Primarily Winfield was a real estate speculator, secondarily +he was a dreamer of dreams and seer of visions. His visions +consisted of lovely country areas near some city stocked with +charming country houses, cut up with well paved, tree shaded +roads, provided with sewers, gas, electricity, suitable railway service, +street cars and all the comforts of a well organized living +district which should be at once retired, exclusive, pleasing, conservative +and yet bound up tightly with the great Metropolitan +heart of New York which he so greatly admired. Winfield had +been born and raised in Brooklyn. He had been a politician, +orator, insurance dealer, contractor, and so on. He had succeeded +in organizing various suburban estates—Winfield, Sunnyside, +Ruritania, The Beeches—little forty, fifty, one hundred and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_493" id="Page_493">[Pg 493]</a></span> +two hundred acre flats which with the help of "O. P. M." as he +always called other people's money he had divided off into blocks, +laying out charmingly with trees and sometimes a strip of green +grass running down the centre, concrete sidewalks, a set of +noble restrictions, and so forth. Anyone who ever came to look +at a lot in one of Winfield's perfect suburbs always found the +choicest piece of property in the centre of this latest burst of improvement +set aside for the magnificent house which Mr. Kenyon +C. Winfield, the president of the company, was to build and live +in. Needless to say they were never built. He had been +round the world and seen a great many things and places, but +Winfield or Sunnyside or Ruritania or The Beeches, so the lot +buyers in these places were told, had been finally selected by +him deliberately as the one spot in all the world in which he +hoped to spend the remainder of his days.</p> + +<p>At the time Eugene met him, he was planning Minetta Water +on the shores of Gravesend Bay, which was the most ambitious +of all his projects so far. He was being followed financially, +by a certain number of Brooklyn politicians and financiers who +had seen him succeed in small things, taking a profit of from +three to four hundred per cent, out of ten, twenty and thirty +acre flats, but for all his brilliance it had been slow work. He +was now worth between three and four hundred thousand dollars +and, for the first time in his life, was beginning to feel that +freedom in financial matters which made him think that he could +do almost anything. He had met all sorts of people, lawyers, +bankers, doctors, merchants, the "easy classes" he called them, +all with a little money to invest, and he had succeeded in luring +hundreds of worth-while people into his projects. His great +dreams had never really been realized, however, for he saw +visions of a great warehouse and shipping system to be established +on Jamaica Bay, out of which he was to make millions, if it +ever came to pass, and also a magnificent summer resort of some +kind, somewhere, which was not yet clearly evolved in his mind. +His ads were scattered freely through the newspapers: his signs, +or rather the signs of his towns, scattered broadcast over Long +Island.</p> + +<p>Eugene had met him first when he was working with the Summerfield +Company, but he met him this time quite anew at the +home of the W. W. Willebrand on the North Shore of Long +Island near Hempstead. He had gone down there one Saturday +afternoon at the invitation of Mrs. Willebrand, whom he had +met at another house party and with whom he had danced. She +had been pleased with his gay, vivacious manner and had asked +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_494" id="Page_494">[Pg 494]</a></span> +him if he wouldn't come. Winfield was here as a guest with his +automobile.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Winfield pleasantly. "I recall you very well. +You are now with the United Magazines Corporation,—I understand—someone +was telling me—a most prosperous company, +I believe. I know Mr. Colfax very well. I once spoke +to Summerfield about you. A most astonishing fellow, that, +tremendously able. You were doing that series of sugar plantation +ads for them or having them done. I think I copied the +spirit of those things in advertising Ruritania, as you may have +noticed. Well, you certainly have improved your condition +since then. I once tried to tell Summerfield that he had an exceptional +man in you, but he would have nothing of it. He's +too much of an egoist. He doesn't know how to work with a +man on equal terms."</p> + +<p>Eugene smiled at the thought of Summerfield.</p> + +<p>"An able man," he said simply. "He did a great deal for me."</p> + +<p>Winfield liked that. He thought Eugene would criticize +him. He liked Eugene's genial manner and intelligent, expressive +face. It occurred to him that when next he wanted to +advertise one of his big development projects, he would go to +Eugene or the man who had done the sugar plantation series of +pictures and get him to give him the right idea for advertising.</p> + +<p>Affinity is such a peculiar thing. It draws people so easily, +apart from volition or consciousness. In a few moments Eugene +and Winfield, sitting side by side on the veranda, looking at the +greenwood before them, the long stretch of open sound, dotted +with white sails and the dim, distant shore of Connecticut, were +talking of real estate ventures in general, what land was worth, +how speculations of this kind turned out, as a rule. Winfield +was anxious to take Eugene seriously, for he felt drawn to him +and Eugene studied Winfield's pale face, his thin, immaculate +hands, his suit of soft, gray cloth. He looked as able as his public +reputation made him out to be—in fact, he looked better +than anything he had ever done. Eugene had seen Ruritania and +The Beeches. They did not impress him vastly as territorial +improvements, but they were pretty, nevertheless. For middle-class +people, they were quite the thing he thought.</p> + +<p>"I should think it would be a pleasure to you to scheme +out a new section," he said to him once. "The idea of a virgin +piece of land to be converted into streets and houses or a village +appeals to me immensely. The idea of laying it out and sketching +houses to fit certain positions, suits my temperament exactly. I +wish sometimes I had been born an architect."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_495" id="Page_495">[Pg 495]</a></span> +"It is pleasant and if that were all it would be ideal," +returned Winfield. "The thing is more a matter of financing +than anything else. You have to raise money for land and +improvements. If you make exceptional improvements they are +expensive. You really can't expect to get much, if any, of your +money back, until all your work is done. Then you have to +wait. If you put up houses you can't rent them, for the moment +you rent them, you can't sell them as new. When you make +your improvements your taxes go up immediately. If you sell +a piece of property to a man or woman who isn't exactly in +accord with your scheme, he or she may put up a house which +destroys the value of a whole neighborhood for you. You can't +fix the details of a design in a contract too closely. You can +only specify the minimum price the house is to cost and the nature +of the materials to be used. Some people's idea of beauty +will vary vastly from others. Taste in sections may change. +A whole city like New York may suddenly decide that it +wants to build west when you are figuring on its building east. +So—well, all these things have to be taken into consideration."</p> + +<p>"That sounds logical enough," said Eugene, "but wouldn't +the right sort of a scheme just naturally draw to itself the right +sort of people, if it were presented in the right way? Don't +you fix the conditions by your own attitude?"</p> + +<p>"You do, you do," replied Winfield, easily. "If you give the +matter sufficient care and attention it can be done. The pity +is you can be too fine at times. I have seen attempts at perfection +come to nothing. People with taste and tradition and money +behind them are not moving into new additions and suburbs, +as a rule. You are dealing with the new rich and financial beginners. +Most people strain their resources to the breaking +point to better their living conditions and they don't always +know. If they have the money, it doesn't always follow that +they have the taste to grasp what you are striving for, and if +they have the taste they haven't the money. They would do +better if they could, but they can't. A man in my position is +like an artist and a teacher and a father confessor and financier +and everything all rolled into one. When you start to be a real +estate developer on a big scale you must be these things. I +have had some successes and some notable failures. Winfield is +one of the worst. It's disgusting to me now."</p> + +<p>"I have always wished I could lay out a seaside resort or a +suburb," said Eugene dreamily. "I've never been to but one or +two of the resorts abroad, but it strikes me that none of the resorts +here—certainly none near New York—are right. The opportunities +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_496" id="Page_496">[Pg 496]</a></span> +are so wonderful. The things that have been done +are horrible. There is no plan, no detail anywhere."</p> + +<p>"My views exactly," said Winfield. "I've been thinking of it +for years. Some such place could be built, and I suppose if +it were done right it would be successful. It would be expensive, +though, very, and those who come in would have a long +wait for their money."</p> + +<p>"It would be a great opportunity to do something really +worth while, though," said Eugene. "No one seems to realize +how beautiful a thing like that could be made."</p> + +<p>Winfield said nothing, but the thought stuck in his mind. He +was dreaming a seaside improvement which should be the most +perfect place of its kind in the world—a monument to himself if +he did it. If Eugene had this idea of beauty he might help. +At least he might talk to him about it when the time came. +Perhaps Eugene might have a little money to invest. It would +take millions to put such a scheme through, but every little +would help. Besides Eugene might have ideas which should +make money both for himself and for Winfield. It was worth +thinking about. So they parted, not to meet again for weeks +and months, but they did not forget each other.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_497" id="Page_497">[Pg 497]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="BOOK_III" id="BOOK_III"></a>BOOK III</h2> + +<h2>THE REVOLT</h2> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_499" id="Page_499">[Pg 499]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_I" id="III_CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<p>It was when Eugene was at the height of his success that a +meeting took place between himself and a certain Mrs. +Emily Dale.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dale was a strikingly beautiful and intelligent widow +of thirty-eight, the daughter of a well-to-do and somewhat +famous New York family of Dutch extraction—the widow +of an eminent banker of considerable wealth who had been +killed in an automobile accident near Paris some years before. +She was the mother of four children, Suzanne, eighteen; +Kinroy, fifteen; Adele, twelve, and Ninette, nine, but the size +of her family had in no way affected the subtlety of her social +personality and the delicacy of her charm and manner. She was +tall, graceful, willowy, with a wealth of dark hair, which was +used in the most subtle manner to enhance the beauty of her +face. She was calm, placid apparently, while really running +deep with emotion and fancies, with manners which were the +perfection of kindly courtesy and good breeding and with those +airs of superiority which come so naturally to those who are +raised in a fortunate and exclusive atmosphere.</p> + +<p>She did not consider herself passionate in a marked degree, +but freely admitted to herself that she was vain and coquettish. +She was keen and observing, with a single eye to the main chance +socially, but with a genuine love for literature and art and a +propensity to write. Eugene met her through Colfax, who introduced +him to her. He learned from the latter that she was +rather unfortunate in her marriage except from a money point +of view, and that her husband's death was no irreparable loss. +He also learned from the same source that she was a good mother, +trying to bring up her children in the manner most suitable to +their station and opportunities. Her husband had been of a +much poorer social origin than herself, but her own standing +was of the very best. She was a gay social figure, being invited +much, entertaining freely, preferring the company of +younger men to those of her own age or older and being followed +ardently by one fortune hunter and another, who saw +in her beauty, wealth and station, an easy door to the heaven +of social supremacy.</p> + +<p>The Dale home, or homes rather, were in several different +places—one at Morristown, New Jersey, another on fashionable +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_500" id="Page_500">[Pg 500]</a></span> +Grimes Hill on Staten Island, a third—a city residence, which +at the time Eugene met them, was leased for a term of years—was +in Sixty-seventh Street, near Fifth Avenue in New York +City, and a fourth, a small lodge, at Lenox, Massachusetts, +which was also rented. Shortly after he met her the house +at Morristown was closed and the lodge at Lenox re-occupied.</p> + +<p>For the most part Mrs. Dale preferred to dwell in her ancestral +home on Staten Island, which, because of its commanding +position on what was known as Grimes Hill, controlled a +magnificent view of the bay and harbor of New York. Manhattan, +its lower wall of buildings, lay like a cloud at the north. +The rocking floor of the sea, blue and gray and slate black by +turn, spread to the east. In the west were visible the Kill von +Kull with its mass of shipping and the Orange Hills. In a boat +club at Tompkinsville she had her motor boat, used mostly by +her boy; in her garage at Grimes Hill, several automobiles. She +owned several riding horses, retained four family servants permanently +and in other ways possessed all those niceties of appointment +which make up the comfortable life of wealth and ease.</p> + +<p>The two youngest of her girls were in a fashionable boarding +school at Tarrytown; the boy, Kinroy, was preparing for Harvard; +Suzanne, the eldest, was at home, fresh from boarding +school experiences, beginning to go out socially. Her début had +already been made. Suzanne was a peculiar girl, plump, beautiful, +moody, with, at times, a dreamy air of indifference and +a smile that ran like a breath of air over water. Her eyes were +large, of a vague blue-gray, her lips rosy and arched; her cheeks +full and pink. She had a crown of light chestnut hair, a body +at once innocent and voluptuous in its outlines. When she +laughed it was a rippling gurgle, and her sense of humor was perfect, +if not exaggerated. One of those naturally wise but as +yet vague and formless artistic types, which suspect without +education, nearly all the subtleties of the world, and burst +forth full winged and beautiful, but oh, so fragile, like a butterfly +from its chrysalis, the radiance of morning upon its body. +Eugene did not see her for a long time after he met Mrs. +Dale, but when he did, he was greatly impressed with her +beauty.</p> + +<p>Life sometimes builds an enigma out of common clay, and +with a look from a twelve-year-old girl, sets a Dante singing. +It can make a god of a bull, a divinity of an ibis, or a beetle, +set up a golden calf to be worshipped of the multitude. Paradox! +Paradox! In this case an immature and yet nearly perfect +body held a seemingly poetic and yet utterly nebulous appreciation +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_501" id="Page_501">[Pg 501]</a></span> +of life—a body so youthful, a soul so fumbling that +one would ask, How should tragedy lurk in form like this?</p> + +<p>A fool?</p> + +<p>Not quite, yet so nebulous, so much a dreamer that difficulty +might readily follow in the wake of any thoughtless deed.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact, favored as she was by nature and fortune, +her very presence was dangerous—provocative, without thought +of being so. If a true artist had painted her, synthesizing her +spirit with her body, he might have done so showing her standing +erect on a mountain top, her limbs outlined amidst fluttering +draperies against the wind, her eyes fixed on distant heights, +or a falling star. Out of mystery into mystery again, so she +came and went. Her mind was not unlike a cloud of mist +through which the morning sun is endeavoring to break, irradiating +all with its flushes of pink and gold. Again it was like +those impearled shells of the South Sea, without design yet +suggestive of all perfections and all beauties. Dreams! dreams!—of +clouds, sunsets, colors, sounds which a too articulate world +would do its best later to corrupt. What Dante saw in Beatrice, +what Abélard saw in Héloïse, Romeo in Juliet, so some wondering +swain could have seen in her—and suffered a like fate.</p> + +<p>Eugene encountered Mrs. Dale at a house party on Long +Island one Saturday afternoon, and their friendship began at once. +She was introduced to him by Colfax, and because of the +latter's brusque, jesting spirit was under no illusions as to his +social state.</p> + +<p>"You needn't look at him closely," he observed gaily, "he's +married."</p> + +<p>"That simply makes him all the more interesting," she rippled, +and extended her hand.</p> + +<p>Eugene took it. "I'm glad a poor married man can find shelter +somewhere," he said, smartly.</p> + +<p>"You should rejoice," she replied. "It's at once your liberty +and your protection. Think how safe you are!"</p> + +<p>"I know, I know," he said. "All the slings and arrows of +Miss Fortune hurtling by."</p> + +<p>"And you in no danger of being hurt."</p> + +<p>He offered her his arm, and they strolled through a window +onto a veranda.</p> + +<p>The day was just the least bit dull for Mrs. Dale. Bridge +was in progress in the card room, a company of women and girls +gambling feverishly. Eugene was not good at bridge, not quick +enough mentally, and Mrs. Dale did not care much for it.</p> + +<p>"I have been trying to stir up enough interest to bring to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_502" id="Page_502">[Pg 502]</a></span> +pass a motor ride, but it doesn't work," she said. "They all +have the gambling fever today. Are you as greedy as the +others?"</p> + +<p>"I'm greedy I assure you, but I can't play. The greediest +thing I can do is to stay away from the tables. I save most. +That sharp Faraday has cleaned me and two others out of four +hundred dollars. It's astonishing the way some people can +play. They just look at the cards or make mystic signs and the +wretched things range themselves in serried ranks to suit them. +It's a crime. It ought to be a penitentiary offense, particularly +to beat me. I'm such an inoffensive specimen of the non-bridge +playing family."</p> + +<p>"A burnt child, you know. Stay away. Let's sit here. They +can't come out here and rob you."</p> + +<p>They sat down in green willow chairs, and after a time a +servant offered them coffee. Mrs. Dale accepted. They drifted +conversationally from bridge to characters in society—a certain +climber by the name of Bristow, a man who had made a fortune +in trunks—and from him to travel and from travel to Mrs. +Dale's experiences with fortune hunters. The automobile materialized +through the intervention of others, but Eugene found +great satisfaction in this woman's company and sat beside her. +They talked books, art, magazines, the making of fortunes and +reputations. Because he was or seemed to be in a position to +assist her in a literary way she was particularly nice to him. +When he was leaving she asked, "Where are you in New +York?"</p> + +<p>"Riverside Drive is our present abode," he said.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you bring Mrs. Witla and come down to see us +some week-end? I usually have a few people there, and the house +is roomy. I'll name you a special day if you wish."</p> + +<p>"Do. We'll be delighted. Mrs. Witla will enjoy it, I'm +sure."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dale wrote to Angela ten days later as to a particular +date, and in this way the social intimacy began.</p> + +<p>It was never of a very definite character, though. When +Mrs. Dale met Angela she liked her quite well as an individual, +whatever she may have thought of her as a social figure. Neither +Eugene nor Angela saw Suzanne nor any of the other children +on this occasion, all of them being away. Eugene admired +the view tremendously and hinted at being invited again. Mrs. +Dale was delighted. She liked him as a man entirely apart from +his position but particularly because of his publishing station. +She was ambitious to write. Others had told her that he was +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_503" id="Page_503">[Pg 503]</a></span> +the most conspicuous of the rising figures in the publishing +world. Being friendly with him would give her exceptional +standing with all his editors. She was only too pleased to be +gracious to him. He was invited again and a third time, with +Angela, and it seemed as though they were reaching, or might +at least reach, something much more definite than a mere social +acquaintance.</p> + +<p>It was about six months after Eugene had first met Mrs. +Dale that Angela gave a tea, and Eugene, in assisting her to +prepare the list of invitations, had suggested that those who +were to serve the tea and cakes should be two exceptionally +pretty girls who were accustomed to come to the Witla apartment, +Florence Reel, the daughter of a well-known author of +that name and Marjorie Mac Tennan, the daughter of a well-known +editor, both beautiful and talented, one with singing +and the other with art ambitions. Angela had seen a picture +of Suzanne Dale in her mother's room at Daleview on Grimes +Hill, and had been particularly taken with her girlish charm and +beauty.</p> + +<p>"I wonder," she said, "if Mrs. Dale would object to having +Suzanne come and help serve that day. She would like it, I'm +sure, there are going to be so many clever people here. We +haven't seen her, but that doesn't matter. It would be a nice +way to introduce herself."</p> + +<p>"That's a good idea, I should say," observed Eugene judicially. +He had seen the photo of Suzanne and liked it, though +he was not over-impressed. Photos to him were usually gross +deceivers. He accepted them always with reservations. Angela +forthwith wrote to Mrs. Dale, who agreed. She would be glad +to come herself. She had seen the Witla apartment, and had +been very much pleased with it. The reception day came and +Angela begged Eugene to come home early.</p> + +<p>"I know you don't like to be alone with a whole roomful +of people, but Mr. Goodrich is coming, and Frederick Allen (one +of their friends who had taken a fancy to Eugene), Arturo +Scalchero is going to sing and Bonavita to play." Scalchero was +none other than Arthur Skalger, of Port Jervis, New Jersey, +but he assumed this corruption of his name in Italy to help him +to success. Bonavita was truly a Spanish pianist of some repute +who was flattered to be invited to Eugene's home.</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't care much about it," replied Eugene. "But +I will come."</p> + +<p>He frequently felt that afternoon teas and receptions were +ridiculous affairs, and that he had far better be in his office attending +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_504" id="Page_504">[Pg 504]</a></span> +to his multitudinous duties. Still he did leave early, and +at five-thirty was ushered into a great roomful of chattering, +gesticulating, laughing people. A song by Florence Reel had +just been concluded. Like all girls of ambition, vivacity and +imagination, she took an interest in Eugene, for in his smiling +face she found a responsive gleam.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Witla!" she exclaimed. "Now here you are and +you just missed my song. And I wanted you to hear it, too."</p> + +<p>"Don't grieve, Florrie," he said familiarly, holding her hand +and looking momentarily in her eyes. "You're going to sing it +again for me. I heard part of it as I came up on the elevator." +He relinquished her hand. "Why, Mrs. Dale! Delighted, I'm +sure. So nice of you. And Arturo Scalchero—hullo, Skalger, +you old frost! Where'd you get the Italian name? Bonavita! +Fine! Am I going to hear you play? All over? Alas! Marjorie +Mac Tennan! Gee, but you look sweet! If Mrs. Witla +weren't watching me, I'd kiss you. Oh, the pretty bonnet! +And Frederick Allen! My word! What are you trying to grab +off, Allen? I'm on to you. No bluffs! Nix! Nix! Why, Mrs. +Schenck—delighted! Angela, why didn't you tell me Mrs. +Schenck was coming? I'd have been home at three."</p> + +<p>By this time he had reached the east end of the great studio +room, farthest from the river. Here a tea table was spread +with a silver tea service, and behind it a girl, oval-faced, +radiantly healthy, her full lips parted in a ripe smile, her +blue-gray eyes talking pleasure and satisfaction, her forehead +laid about by a silver filigree band, beneath which her brown +chestnut curls protruded. Her hands, Eugene noted, were +plump and fair. She stood erect, assured, with the least touch +of quizzical light in her eye. A white, pink-bordered dress +draped her girlish figure.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," he said easily, "but I wager a guess that this +is—that this is—this is Suzanne Dale—what?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, this is," she replied laughingly. "Can I give you a +cup of tea, Mr. Witla? I know you are Mr. Witla from ma-ma´'s +description and the way in which you talk to everybody."</p> + +<p>"And how do I talk to everybody, may I ask, pleasum?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I can't tell you so easily. I mean, I can't find the words, +you know. I know how it is, though. Familiarly, I suppose I +mean. Will you have one lump or two?"</p> + +<p>"Three an thou pleasest. Didn't your mother tell me you +sang or played?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you mustn't believe anything ma-ma´ says about me! +She's apt to say anything. Tee! Hee! It makes me laugh"—she +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_505" id="Page_505">[Pg 505]</a></span> +pronounced it laaf—"to think of my playing. My teacher +says he would like to strike my knuckles. Oh, dear!" (She +went into a gale of giggles.) "And sing! Oh, dear, dear! +That is too good!"</p> + +<p>Eugene watched her pretty face intently. Her mouth and +nose and eyes fascinated him. She was so sweet! He noted the +configuration of her lips and cheeks and chin. The nose was +delicate, beautifully formed, fat, not sensitive. The ears were +small, the eyes large and wide set, the forehead naturally high, +but so concealed by curls that it seemed low. She had a few +freckles and a very small dimple in her chin.</p> + +<p>"Now you mustn't laugh like that," he said mock solemnly. +"It's very serious business, this laughing. In the first place, it's +against the rules of this apartment. No one is ever, ever, ever supposed +to laugh here, particularly young ladies who pour tea. +Tea, Epictetus well says, involves the most serious conceptions +of one's privileges and duties. It is the high-born prerogative of +tea servers to grin occasionally, but never, never, never under +any circumstances whatsoever——" Suzanne's lips were beginning +to part ravishingly in anticipation of a burst of laughter.</p> + +<p>"What's all the excitement about, Witla?" asked Skalger, +who had drifted to his side. "Why this sudden cessation of +progress?"</p> + +<p>"Tea, my son, tea!" said Eugene. "Have a cup with me?"</p> + +<p>"I will."</p> + +<p>"He's trying to tell me, Mr. Skalger, that I should never laaf. +I must only grin." Her lips parted and she laughed joyously. +Eugene laughed with her. He could not help it. "Ma-ma´ says +I giggle all the time. I wouldn't do very well here, would I?"</p> + +<p>She always pronounced it "ma-ma´."</p> + +<p>She turned to Eugene again with big smiling eyes.</p> + +<p>"Exceptions, exceptions. I might make exceptions—one exception—but +not more."</p> + +<p>"Why one?" she asked archly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, just to hear a natural laugh," he said a little plaintively. +"Just to hear a real joyous laugh. Can you laugh joyously?"</p> + +<p>She giggled again at this, and he was about to tell her how +joyously she did laugh when Angela called him away to hear +Florence Reel, who was going to sing again for his especial benefit. +He parted from Miss Dale reluctantly, for she seemed some +delicious figure as delicately colorful as Royal Dresden, as perfect +in her moods as a spring evening, as soft, soulful, enticing +as a strain of music heard through the night at a distance or over +the water. He went over to where Florence Reel was standing, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_506" id="Page_506">[Pg 506]</a></span> +listening in a sympathetic melancholy vein to a delightful rendering +of "The Summer Winds Are Blowing, Blowing." All +the while he could not help thinking of Suzanne—letting his eyes +stray in that direction. He talked to Mrs. Dale, to Henrietta +Tenmon, to Luke Severas, Mr. and Mrs. Dula, Payalei Stone, +now a writer of special articles, and others, but he couldn't help +longing to go back to her. How sweet she was! How very delightful! +If he could only, once more in his life, have the love +of a girl like that!</p> + +<p>The guests began to depart. Angela and Eugene bustled about +the farewells. Because of the duties of her daughter, which continued +to the end, Mrs. Dale stayed, talking to Arthur Skalger. +Eugene was in and out between the studio and cloak room off +the entry way. Now and then he caught glimpses of Suzanne +demurely standing by her tea cups and samovar. For years +he had seen nothing so fresh and young as her body. She was +like a new grown wet white lily pod in the dawn of the year. +She seemed to have the texture of the water chestnut and the +lush, fat vegetables of the spring. Her eyes were as clear as +water; her skin as radiant new ivory. There was no sign of +weariness about her, nor any care, nor any thought of evil, nor +anything except health and happiness. "Such a face!" he thought +casually in passing. "She is as sweet as any girl could be. As +radiant as light itself."</p> + +<p>Incidentally the personality of Frieda Roth came back, and—long +before her—Stella Appleton.</p> + +<p>"Youth! Youth! What in this world could be finer—more +acceptable! Where would you find its equal? After all the dust +of the streets and the spectacle of age and weariness—the crow's +feet about people's eyes, the wrinkles in their necks, the make-believe +of rouge and massage, and powder and cosmetics, to see +real youth, not of the body but of the soul also—the eyes, the +smile, the voice, the movements—all young. Why try to imitate +that miracle? Who could? Who ever had?"</p> + +<p>He went on shaking hands, bowing, smiling, laughing, jesting, +making believe himself, but all the while the miracle of the +youth and beauty of Suzanne Dale was running in his mind.</p> + +<p>"What are you thinking about, Eugene?" asked Angela, coming +to the window where he had drawn a rocking-chair and was +sitting gazing out on the silver and lavender and gray of the +river surface in the fading light. Some belated gulls were still +flying about. Across the river the great manufactory was sending +off a spiral of black smoke from one of its tall chimneys. +Lamps were beginning to twinkle in its hundred-windowed wall. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_507" id="Page_507">[Pg 507]</a></span> +A great siren cry broke from its whistle as six o'clock tolled +from a neighboring clock tower. It was still late February and +cold.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I was thinking of the beauty of this scene," he said +wearily.</p> + +<p>Angela did not believe it. She was conscious of something, +but they never quarreled about what he was thinking nowadays. +They had come too far along in comfort and solidity. What was +it, though, she wondered, that he was thinking about?</p> + +<p>Suzanne Dale had no particular thought of him. He was +nice—pleasant, good-looking. Mrs. Witla was quite nice and +young.</p> + +<p>"Ma-ma," she said, "did you look out of the window at Mr. +Witla's?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my dear!"</p> + +<p>"Wasn't that a beautiful view?"</p> + +<p>"Charming."</p> + +<p>"I should think you might like to live on the Drive sometime, +ma-ma."</p> + +<p>"We may sometime."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dale fell to musing. Certainly Eugene was an attractive +man—young, brilliant, able. What a mistake all the young +men made, marrying so early. Here he was successful, introduced +to society, attractive, the world really before him, and he +was married to someone who, though a charming little woman, +was not up to his possibilities.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," she thought, "so goes the world. Why worry? +Everyone must do the best they can."</p> + +<p>Then she thought of a story she might write along this line +and get Eugene to publish it in one of his magazines.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_508" id="Page_508">[Pg 508]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_II" id="III_CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<p>While these various events were occurring the work of the +United Magazines Corporation had proceeded apace. +By the end of the first year after Eugene's arrival it had cleared +up so many of its editorial and advertising troubles that he was +no longer greatly worried about them, and by the end of the +second year it was well on the way toward real success. Eugene +had become so much of a figure about the place that everyone in +the great building, in which there were over a thousand employed, +knew him at sight. The attendants were most courteous +and obsequious, as much so almost as they were to Colfax and +White, though the latter with the improvement of the general +condition of the company had become more dominating and imposing +than ever. White with his large salary of twenty-five +thousand a year and his title of vice-president was most anxious +that Eugene should not become more powerful than he had already. +It irritated him greatly to see the airs Eugene gave himself, +for the latter had little real tact, and instead of dissembling +his importance before his superiors was inclined to flaunt it. He +was forever retailing to Colfax some new achievement in the +advertising, circulation, and editorial fields, and that in White's +presence, for he did not take the latter very seriously, telling of +a new author of importance captured for the book department; +a new manuscript feature secured for one or another of the +magazines, a new circulation scheme or connection devised, or a +new advertising contract of great money value manipulated. +His presence in Colfax's office was almost invariably a signal for +congratulation or interest, for he was driving things hard and +Colfax knew it. White came to hate the sight of him.</p> + +<p>"Well, what's the latest great thing you've done?" Colfax said +once to Eugene jovially in White's presence, for he knew that +Eugene was as fond of praise as a child and so could be bantered +with impunity. White concealed a desire to sneer behind a +deceptive smile.</p> + +<p>"No latest great thing, only Hayes has turned that Hammond +Packing Company trick. That means eighteen thousand dollars' +worth more of new business for next year. That'll help a little, +won't it?"</p> + +<p>"Hayes! Hayes! I'll be switched if I don't think he comes +pretty near being a better advertising man than you are, Witla. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_509" id="Page_509">[Pg 509]</a></span> +You picked him, I'll have to admit that, but he certainly knows +all about the game. If anything ever happened to you, I think +I'd like to keep him right there." White pretended not to hear +this, but it pleased him. Hayes should be aided as much as +possible by him.</p> + +<p>Eugene's face fell, for this sudden twisting of the thread of +interest from his to his assistant's achievements damped his +enthusiasm. It wasn't pleasant to have his inspirational leadership +questioned or made secondary to the work of those whom he +was managing. He had brought all these men here and keyed +the situation up. Was Colfax going to turn on him? "Oh, very +well," he said sweetly.</p> + +<p>"Don't look so hurt," returned Colfax easily. "I know what +you're thinking. I'm not going to turn on you. You hired this +man. I'm simply telling you that if anything should happen to +you I'd like to keep him right where he is."</p> + +<p>Eugene thought this remark over seriously. It was tantamount +to serving notice on him that he could not discharge +Hayes. Colfax did not actually so mean it at the moment, +though it was the seed of such a thought. He simply left the +situation open for consideration, and Eugene went away thinking +what an extremely unfavorable twist this gave to everything. If +he was to go on finding good men and bringing them in here but +could not discharge them, and if then, later, they became offensive +to him, where would he be? Why, if they found that out, as +they might through White, they could turn on him as lions on +a tamer and tear him to pieces! This was a bad and unexpected +twist to things, and he did not like it.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, while it had never occurred to Colfax +before in this particular connection, for he liked Eugene, it fitted +in well with certain warnings and suggestions which had been +issuing from White who was malevolently opposed to Eugene. +His success in reorganizing the place on the intellectual and +artistic sides was too much. Eugene's work was giving him a +dignity and a security which was entirely disproportionate to +what he was actually doing and which was threatening to overshadow +and put in the limbo of indifference that of every other +person connected with the business. This must be broken. Colfax, +for the time being, was so wrapped up in what he considered +Eugene's shining intellectual and commercial qualities that he +was beginning to ignore White. The latter did not propose that +any such condition should continue. It was no doubt a rare +thing to find a man who could pick good men and make the +place successful, but what of himself? Colfax was naturally +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_510" id="Page_510">[Pg 510]</a></span> +very jealous, he knew, and suspicious. He did not want to be +overshadowed in any way by any of his employees. He did not +feel that he was, so far. But now White thought it would be a +fine thing to stir him up on this score if he could—to arouse his +jealousy. He knew that Colfax did not care so much about the +publishing world, though now that he was in it, and was seeing +that it could be made profitable, he was rather gratified by the +situation. His wife liked it, for people were always talking to +her about the United Magazines Corporation, its periodicals, its +books, its art products and that was flattering. While it might +not be as profitable as soap and woolens and railway stocks with +which her husband was identified, it was somewhat more distinguished. +She wanted him to keep it directly under his thumb and +to shine by its reflected light.</p> + +<p>In looking about for a club wherewith to strike Eugene, White +discovered this. He sounded Colfax on various occasions by +innuendo, and noted his sniffing nostrils. If he could first reach +Eugene's advertising, circulation and editorial men and persuade +them to look to him instead of to Eugene, he might later reach +and control Eugene through Colfax. He might humble Eugene +by curbing his power, making him see that he, White, was still +the power behind the throne.</p> + +<p>"What do you think of this fellow Witla?" Colfax would +ask White from time to time, and when these occasions offered he +was not slow to drive in a wedge.</p> + +<p>"He's an able fellow," he said once, apparently most open-mindedly. +"It's plain that he's doing pretty well with those departments, +but I think you want to look out for his vanity. He's +just the least bit in danger of getting a swelled head. You want +to remember that he's still pretty young for the job he holds +(White was eight years older). These literary and artistic +people are all alike. The one objection that I have to them is +that they never seem to have any real practical judgment. They +make splendid second men when well governed, and you can do +almost anything with them, if you know how to handle them, +but you have to govern them. This fellow, as I see him, is just +the man you want. He's picking some good people and he's +getting some good results, but unless you watch him he's apt to +throw them all out of here sometime or go away and take them +all with him. I shouldn't let him do that if I were you. I +should let him get just the men you think are right, and then I +should insist that he keep them. Of course, a man has got to +have authority in his own department, but it can be carried too +far. You're treating him pretty liberally, you know."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_511" id="Page_511">[Pg 511]</a></span> +This sounded very sincere and logical to Colfax, who admired +White for it, for in spite of the fact that he liked Eugene greatly +and went about with him a great deal, he did not exactly trust +him. The man was in a way too brilliant, he thought. He was +a little too airy and light on his feet.</p> + +<p>Under pretext of helping his work and directing his policy +without actually interfering so that it might eventually prove a +failure, White was constantly making suggestions. He made +suggestions which he told Colfax Eugene ought to try in the +circulation department. He made suggestions which he thought +he might find advisable to try in the advertising department. He +had suggestions, gathered from Heaven knows where, for the +magazines and books, and these he invariably sent through Colfax, +taking good care, however, that the various department heads +knew from what source they had originally emanated. It was +his plan to speak to Hayes or Gillmore, who was in charge of +circulation, or one of the editors about some thought that was in +his mind and then have that same thought come as an order via +Eugene. The latter was so anxious to make good, so good-natured +in his interpretation of suggestions, that it did not occur +to him, for a long time, that he was being played. The men +under him, however, realized that something was happening, for +White was hand and glove with Colfax, and the two were not +always in accord with Eugene. He was not quite as powerful +as White, was the first impression, and later the idea got about +that Eugene and White did not agree temperamentally and that +White was the stronger and would win.</p> + +<p>It is not possible to go into the long, slow multitudinous incidents +and details which go to make up office politics, but anyone +who has ever worked in a large or small organization anywhere +will understand. Eugene was not a politician. He knew nothing +of the delicate art of misrepresentation as it was practised by +White and those who were of his peculiarly subtle mental tendencies. +White did not like Eugene, and he proposed to have his +power curbed. Some of Eugene's editors, after a time, began to +find it difficult to get things as they wanted them from the printing +department, and, when they complained, it was explained that +they were of a disorderly and quarrelsome disposition. Some of +his advertising men made mistakes in statement or presentation, +and curiously these errors almost invariably came to light. Eugene +found that his strong men were most quickly relieved of +their difficulties if they approached White, but if they came to +him it was not quite so easy. Instead of ignoring these petty +annoyances and going his way about the big things, he stopped +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_512" id="Page_512">[Pg 512]</a></span> +occasionally to fight these petty battles and complaints, and these +simply put him in the light of one who was not able to maintain +profound peace and order in his domain. White was always +bland, helpful, ready with a suave explanation.</p> + +<p>"It's just possible that he may not know how to handle these +fellows, after all," he said to Colfax, and then if anyone was +discharged it was a sign of an unstable policy.</p> + +<p>Colfax cautioned Eugene occasionally in accordance with +White's suggestions, but Eugene was now so well aware of what +was going on that he could see where they came from. He +thought once of accusing White openly in front of Colfax, but +he knew that this would not be of any advantage for he had no +real evidence to go on. All White's protestations to Colfax were +to the effect that he was trying to help him. So the battle lay.</p> + +<p>In the meantime, Eugene, because of this or the thought rather +that he might not always remain as powerful as he was, having +no stock in the concern and not being able to buy any, had been +interesting himself in a proposition which had since been brought +to him by Mr. Kenyon C. Winfield, who, since that memorable +conversation at the home of the Willebrands on Long Island, +had not forgotten him. Winfield had thought of him for a long +time in connection with a plan he had of establishing on the +South Shore of Long Island, some thirty-five miles from New +York, a magnificent seaside resort which should outrival Palm +Beach and the better places of Atlantic City, and give to New +York, close at hand, such a dream of beauty and luxury as would +turn the vast tide of luxury-loving idlers and successful money +grubbers from the former resorts to this. Considerable thought +had been given by him as to just what its principal characteristics +should be, but he had not worked it out to suit himself exactly, +and he thought Eugene might be interested from the outlining +point of view.</p> + +<p>Unfortunately, on the face of it, this was just the sort of +scheme which made an appeal to Eugene from all points of view, +in spite of the fact that he already had his hands as full as they +could be. Nothing interested him quite so much as beauty and +luxury in some artistic combination. A summer resort of really +imposing proportions, with hotels, casinos, pagodas, resident sections, +club houses, a wide board or stone walk along the ocean, +and possibly a gambling center which should outrival Monte +Carlo, had long since occurred to him as something which might +well spring up near New York. He and Angela had visited +Palm Beach, Old Point Comfort, Virginia Hot Springs, Newport, +Shelter Island, Atlantic City, and Tuxedo, and his impressions +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_513" id="Page_513">[Pg 513]</a></span> +of what constituted luxury and beauty had long since widened +to magnificent proportions. He liked the interiors of the +Chamberlain at Old Point Comfort, and the Royal Ponciana at +Palm Beach. He had studied with artistic curiosity the development +of the hotel features at Atlantic City and elsewhere. It +had occurred to him that a restricted territory might be had out +on the Atlantic Ocean near Gravesend Bay possibly, which would +include among other things islands, canals or inland waterways, +a mighty sea beach, two or three great hotels, a casino for dancing, +dining, gambling, a great stone or concrete walk to be laid +out on a new plan parallel with the ocean, and at the back of all +these things and between the islands and the ocean a magnificent +seaside city where the lots should sell at so expensive a rate that +only the well-to-do could afford to live there. His thought was +of something so fine that it would attract all the prominent +pleasure-lovers he had recently met. If they could be made to +understand that such a place existed; that it was beautiful, +showy, exclusive in a money sense, they would come there by the +thousands.</p> + +<p>"Nothing is so profitable as a luxury, if the luxury-loving public +want it," Colfax had once said to him; and he believed it. +He judged this truth by the things he had recently seen. People +literally spent millions to make themselves comfortable. He +had seen gardens, lawns, walks, pavilions, pergolas, laid out at +an expense of thousands and hundreds of thousands of dollars, +where few would ever see them. In St. Louis he had seen a +mausoleum built upon the lines of the Taj Mahal, the lawn +about which was undermined by a steam-heating plant in order +that the flowers and shrubs displayed there might bloom all winter +long. It had never occurred to him that the day would come +when he would have anything to do with such a dream as this +or its ultimate fruition, but his was the kind of mind that loved +to dwell on things of the sort.</p> + +<p>The proposition which Winfield now genially laid before him +one day was simple enough. Winfield had heard that Eugene +was making a good deal of money, that his salary was twenty-five +thousand a year, if not more, that he had houses and lots +and some nice stock investments, and it occurred to him, as it +would have to anyone, that Eugene might be able to shoulder a +comfortable investment in some kind of land speculation, particularly +if he could see his way to make much more money in +the long run. The idea Winfield had was as follows: He was +going to organize a corporation to be known as The Sea Island +Development Company, to be capitalized at ten million dollars, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_514" id="Page_514">[Pg 514]</a></span> +some two or three hundred thousand dollars of which was to be +laid down or paid into the treasury at the start. Against this +latter sum stock to the value of one million dollars, or five +shares of one hundred dollars par value each, was to be issued. +That is, whoever laid down one hundred dollars in cash was to +receive in return three shares of common stock and two of preferred, +valued at one hundred dollars each, bearing eight per +cent. interest. This ratio was to be continued until $200,000 in +cash was in the treasury. Then those who came afterward and +were willing to buy were only to receive two shares of common +and one of preferred, until one million in cash was in the treasury. +After that the stock was to be sold at its face value, or +more, as the situation might dictate.</p> + +<p>The original sum of two hundred thousands dollars was to go +to purchase for the corporation an undeveloped tract of land, +half swamp, half island, and facing the Atlantic Ocean beyond +Gravesend Bay, now owned by Winfield himself, where a beautiful +rolling beach of white sand stretched some three miles in length +and without flaw or interruption. This would clear Winfield of +a piece of property which was worth, say $60,000, but at present +unsaleable, and give him magnificent holdings in the new +company besides. He proposed to take a mortgage on this and +all improvements the company might make in order to protect +himself. At the west end of this tract—inland from the sea—was +a beautiful bay, which, though shallow, gave access to a +series of inlets and a network of waterways, embracing nine +small islands. These waterways, when dredged, would be amply +deep enough for yachts and small craft of all descriptions, and +the first important thought which occurred to Winfield was that +the mud and sand so dredged could be used to fill in the low, +marshy levels of soil between them and the sea and so make it all +into high, dry, and valuable land. The next thing was to devise +a beautiful scheme of improvement, and it was for this that he +wished to talk to Eugene.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_515" id="Page_515">[Pg 515]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_III" id="III_CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<p>The matter was not difficult to arrange. Before Winfield +had gone ten sentences, Eugene began to take the ideas out +of his mind.</p> + +<p>"I know something of that property," he said, studying a little +outline map which Winfield had prepared. "I've been out there +duck shooting with Colfax and some others. It's fine property, +there's no doubt of it. How much do they want for it?"</p> + +<p>"Well, as a matter of fact, I already own it," said Winfield. +"It cost me sixty thousand dollars five years ago when it was a +vast, inaccessible swamp. Nothing has been done to it since, but +I will turn it over to the company for what it is worth now—two +hundred thousand dollars—and take a mortgage for my +protection. Then the company can do what it pleases with it; +but as president, of course, I should direct the line of development. +If you want to make a fortune and have fifty thousand +dollars to spare, here is your chance. This land has increased +in value from sixty to two hundred thousand dollars in five +years. What do you fancy it will be worth in ten years from +now the way New York is growing? It has pretty near four +million people now. In twenty-five years it is safe to say that +there will be fourteen or fifteen millions scattered over this territory +which lies within twenty-five miles. Of course, this is +thirty-two miles away on a direct line, but what of it? The +Long Island Railroad will be glad to put a spur in there which +would bring this territory within one hour of the city. Think +of it—one of the finest beaches on the Atlantic Ocean within one +hour of New York! I expect to interest Mr. Wiltsie, the +President of the Long Island, very heavily in this property. I +come to you now because I think your advertising and artistic +advice are worth something. You can take it or leave it, but +before you do anything, I want you to come out and look over +the property with me."</p> + +<p>All told, in stocks, land, free money in the banks, and what +he might save in a year or two, Eugene had about fifty thousand +dollars of good hard cash which he could lay his hands on at a +pinch. He was well satisfied that Winfield was putting before +him one of those golden opportunities which, prudently managed, +would make him a rich man. Nevertheless, his fifty thousand +was fifty thousand, and he had it. Never again, however, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_516" id="Page_516">[Pg 516]</a></span> +once this other thing was under way, if it were true, would he +have to worry about a position, or whether he would be able to +maintain his present place in society. One could not possibly say +what an investment like this might not lead to. Winfield, so he +told Eugene, expected eventually to clear six or eight million +dollars himself. He was going to take stock in some of the hotels, +casinos, and various other enterprises, which would be +organized. He could clearly see how, later, once this land was +properly drained and laid out, it would be worth from three to +fifteen thousand dollars per lot of one hundred by one hundred +feet—the smallest portions to be sold. There were islands which +for clubs or estates should bring splendid returns. Think of the +leases to yacht and boat clubs alone! The company would own +all the land.</p> + +<p>"I would develop this myself if I had the capital," said Winfield, +"but I want to see it done on a gigantic scale, and I haven't +the means. I want something here which will be a monument to +me and to all connected with it. I am willing to take my +chances pro rata with those who now enter, and to prove my good +faith I am going to buy as many shares as I possibly can on the +five-for-one basis. You or anyone else can do the same thing. +What do you think?"</p> + +<p>"It's a great idea," said Eugene. "It seems as though a dream +which had been floating about in the back of my head for years +had suddenly come to life. I can scarcely believe that it is true, +and yet I know that it is, and that you will get away with it +just as you are outlining it here. You want to be very careful +how you lay out this property, though. You have the chance of +a lifetime. For goodness' sake, don't make any mistakes! Let's +have one resort that will be truly, beautifully right."</p> + +<p>"That's precisely the way I feel about it," answered Winfield, +"and that's why I am talking to you. I want you to come in +on this, for I think your imagination will be worth something. +You can help me lay this thing out right and advertise it right."</p> + +<p>They talked on about one detail and another until finally Eugene, +in spite of all his caution, saw his dreams maturing in this +particular proposition. Fifty thousand dollars invested here +would give him two thousand five hundred shares—one thousand +preferred, and fifteen hundred common—whose face value, guaranteed +by this magnificent piece of property, would be $250,000. +Think of it, $250,000—a quarter of a million and that subject +to a natural increase which might readily carry him into the +millionaire class! His own brains would be of some value here, +for Winfield was anxious to have him lay this out, and this +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_517" id="Page_517">[Pg 517]</a></span> +would bring him in touch with not only one of the best real +estate men in the city, but would bring him into contact with a +whole host of financiers in business, people who would certainly +become interested in this venture. Winfield talked easily of +architects, contractors, railroad men, presidents of construction +companies, all of whom would take stock for the business opportunities +it would bring to them later and also of the many strings +to be pulled which later would bring great gains to the company +and save it from expenditures which would otherwise mean millions +in outlay. Thus this proposed extension by the Long Island +which would cost that railroad two hundred thousand dollars +would cost the Sea Island Company nothing and would bring +thousands of lovers of beauty there the moment conveniences +were established to receive them. This was true of hotels to be +built. Each would bring business for everything else. The company +would lease the ground. The great hotel men would do +their own building according to restrictions and plans laid down +by the Sea Island Company. The only real expenditure would +be for streets, sewers, lights, water, walks, trees, and the great +one hundred foot wide boardwalk with concrete ornaments which +would be the finest sea stroll in the world. But these could be +undertaken by degrees.</p> + +<p>Eugene saw it all. It was a vision of empire. "I don't know +about this," he said cautiously. "It's a great thing, but I may +not have the means to dip into it. I want to think it over. +Meanwhile, I'll be glad to go out there and look over the ground +with you."</p> + +<p>Winfield could see that he had Eugene fascinated. It would +be an easy matter to land him once he had his plans perfected. +Eugene would be the type of man who would build a house and +come and live there in the summer. He would interest many +people whom he knew. He went away feeling that he had made +a good start, and he was not mistaken.</p> + +<p>Eugene talked the matter over with Angela—his one recourse +in these matters—and as usual she was doubtful, but not entirely +opposed. Angela had considerable caution, but no great business +vision. She could not really tell him what he ought to do. +Thus far his judgment, or rather his moves, had been obviously +successful. He had been going up apparently because he was +valuable as an assistant, not because he was a born leader.</p> + +<p>"You'll have to judge for yourself, Eugene," Angela finally +said. "I don't know. It looks fine. You certainly don't want +to work for Mr. Colfax all your life, and if, as you say, they +are beginning to plot against you, you had better prepare to get +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_518" id="Page_518">[Pg 518]</a></span> +out sometime. We have enough now, really, to live on, if you +want to return to your art."</p> + +<p>Eugene smiled. "My art. My poor old art! A lot I've done +to develop my art."</p> + +<p>"I don't think it needs developing. You have it. I'm sorry +sometimes I ever let you leave it. We have lived better, but +your work hasn't counted for as much. What good has it done +you outside the money to be a successful publisher? You were +as famous as you are now before you ever started in on this line, +and more so. More people know you even now as Eugene +Witla, the artist, than as Eugene Witla, the magazine man."</p> + +<p>Eugene knew this to be so. His art achievements had never +forsaken him. They had grown in fame always. Pictures that +he had sold for two hundred and four hundred had gone up to +as high as three and four thousand in value, and they were still +rising. He was occasionally approached by an art dealer to +know if he never intended to paint any more. In social circles +it was a constant cry among the elect, "Why don't you paint +any longer?" "What a shame you ever left the art world!" +"Those pictures of yours, I can never forget them."</p> + +<p>"My dear lady," Eugene once said solemnly, "I can't live by +painting pictures as I am living by directing magazines. Art is +very lovely. I am satisfied to believe that I am a great painter. +Nevertheless, I made little out of it, and since then I have +learned to live. It's sad, but it's true. If I could see my way +to live in half the comfort I am living in now and not run the +risk of plodding the streets with a picture under my arm, I +would gladly return to art. The trouble is the world is always +so delightfully ready to see the other fellow make the sacrifice +for art or literature's sake. Selah! I won't do it. So there!"</p> + +<p>"It's a pity! It's a pity!" said this observer, but Eugene was +not vastly distressed. Similarly Mrs. Dale had reproached him, +for she had seen and heard of his work.</p> + +<p>"Some time. Some time," he said grandly; "wait."</p> + +<p>Now at length this land proposition seemed to clear the way +for everything. If Eugene embarked upon it, he might gradually +come to the point at which he could take some official position +in connection with it. Anyhow, think of a rising income +from $250,000! Think of the independence, the freedom! +Surely then he could paint or travel, or do as he pleased.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact, after two automobile rides to the nearest +available position on the site of the future resort and a careful +study of the islands and the beach, Eugene devised a scheme +which included four hotels of varying sizes, one dining and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_519" id="Page_519">[Pg 519]</a></span> +dancing casino, one gambling resort after the pattern of Monte +Carlo, a summer theatre, a music pavilion, three lovely piers, +motor and yacht club houses, a park with radiating streets, and +other streets arranged in concentric rings to cross them. There +was a grand plaza about which the four hotels were ranged, a +noble promenade, three miles in length, to begin with, a handsome +railway station, plots for five thousand summer homes, +ranging from five to fifteen thousand in price. There were +islands for residences, islands for clubs, islands for parks. One +of the hotels sat close to an inlet over which a dining veranda +was to be built—stairs were to be laid down to the water so +that one could step into gondolas or launches and be carried +quickly to one of the music pavilions on one of the islands. +Everything that money wanted was to be eventually available +here, and all was to be gone about slowly but beautifully, so +that each step would only make more sure each additional step.</p> + +<p>Eugene did not enter on this grand scheme until ten men, +himself included, had pledged themselves to take stock up to +$50,000 each. Included in these were Mr. Wiltsie, President +of the Long Island; Mr. Kenyon C. Winfield, and Milton +Willebrand, the very wealthy society man at whose home he had +originally met Winfield. The Sea Island Company was then +incorporated, and on a series of dates agreed upon between them +and which were dependent upon a certain amount of work being +accomplished by each date, the stock was issued to them in ten-thousand-dollar +lots and then cash taken and deposited in the +treasury. By the end of two years after Eugene had first been +approached by Winfield he had a choice collection of gold-colored +certificates in the Sea Island Realty and Construction Company, +which was building the now widely heralded seaside resort—"Blue +Sea"—which, according to those interested, was to be the +most perfect resort of its kind in the world. His certificates +stated that they were worth $250,000, and potentially they were. +Eugene and Angela looking at them, thinking of the initiative +and foresight of Mr. Kenyon C. Winfield and the men he was +associated with, felt sure that some day, and that not so very +far distant, they would yield their face value and much more.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_520" id="Page_520">[Pg 520]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_IV" id="III_CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<p>It had been while he was first perfecting his undertaking with +Winfield as to what his relationship to the new Sea Island +Construction Company was to be that Eugene had been dwelling +more and more fondly upon the impression which Suzanne Dale +had originally made upon him. It was six weeks before they met +again, and then it was on the occasion of a dance that Mrs. Dale +was giving in honor of Suzanne that Eugene and Angela were +invited. Mrs. Dale admired Angela's sterling qualities as a +wife, and while there might be temperamental and social differences, +she did not think they were sufficient to warrant any discrimination +between them, at least not on her part. Angela +was a good woman—not a social figure at all—but interesting in +her way. Mrs. Dale was much more interested in Eugene, because +in the first place they were very much alike temperamentally, +and in the next place because Eugene was a successful and +brilliant person. She liked to see the easy manner in which he +took life, the air with which he assumed that talent should naturally +open all doors to him. He was not conscious apparently +of any inferiority in anything but rather of a splendid superiority. +She heard it from so many that he was rapidly rising in his +publishing world and that he was interested in many things, the +latest this project to create a magnificent summer resort. Winfield +was a personal friend of hers. He had never attempted to +sell her any property, but he had once said that he might some +day take her Staten Island holdings and divide them up into +town lots. This was one possibility which tended to make her +pleasant to him.</p> + +<p>The evening in question Eugene and Angela went down to +Daleview in their automobile. Eugene always admired this +district, for it gave him a sense of height and scope which was +not easily attainable elsewhere about New York. It was still +late winter and the night was cold but clear. The great house +with its verandas encased in glass was brightly lit. There were +a number of people—men and women, whom Eugene had met at +various places, and quite a number of young people whom he did +not know. Angela had to be introduced to a great many, and +Eugene felt that peculiar sensation which he so often experienced +of a certain incongruity in his matrimonial state. Angela was +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_521" id="Page_521">[Pg 521]</a></span> +nice, but to him she was not like these other women who carried +themselves with such an air. There was a statuesqueness and +a sufficiency about many of them, to say nothing of their superb +beauty and sophistication which made him feel, when the contrast +was forced upon him closely, that he had made a terrible +mistake. Why had he been so silly as to marry? He could have +told Angela frankly that he would not at the time, and all would +have been well. He forgot how badly, emotionally, he had entangled +himself. But scenes like these made him dreadfully unhappy. +Why, his life if he were single would now be but beginning!</p> + +<p>As he walked round tonight he was glad to be free socially +even for a few minutes. He was glad that first this person and +that took the trouble to talk to Angela. It relieved him of the +necessity of staying near her, for if he neglected her or she felt +neglected by others she was apt to reproach him. If he did not +show her attention, she would complain that he was conspicuous +in his indifference. If others refused to talk to her, it was his +place. He should. Eugene objected to this necessity with all +his soul, but he did not see what he was to do about it. As she +often said, even if he had made a mistake in marrying her, it was +his place to stick by her now that he had. A real man would.</p> + +<p>One of the things that interested him was the number of beautiful +young women. He was interested to see how full and complete +mentally and physically so many girls appeared to be at +eighteen. Why, in their taste, shrewdness, completeness, they +were fit mates for a man of almost any age up to forty! Some +of them looked so wonderful to him—so fresh and ruddy with +the fires of ambition and desire burning briskly in their veins. +Beautiful girls—real flowers, like roses, light and dark. And to +think the love period was all over for him—completely over!</p> + +<p>Suzanne came down with others after a while from some room +upstairs, and once more Eugene was impressed with her simple, +natural, frank, good-natured attitude. Her light chestnut-colored +hair was tied with a wide band of light blue ribbon which +matched her eyes and contrasted well with her complexion. +Again, her dress was some light flimsy thing, the color of peach +blossoms, girdled with ribbon and edged with flowers like a +wreath. Soft white sandals held her feet.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Witla!" she said gaily, holding out her smooth +white arm on a level with her eyes and dropping her hand gracefully. +Her red lips were parted, showing even white teeth, +arching into a radiant smile. Her eyes were quite wide as he +remembered, with an innocent, surprised look in them, which was +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_522" id="Page_522">[Pg 522]</a></span> +wholly unconscious with her. If wet roses could outrival a +maiden in all her freshness, he thought he would like to see it. +Nothing could equal the beauty of a young woman in her eighteenth +or nineteenth year.</p> + +<p>"Yes, quite, Mr. Witla," he said, beaming. "I thought you +had forgotten. My, we look charming this evening! We look +like roses and cut flowers and stained-glass windows and boxes +of jewels, and, and, and——"</p> + +<p>He pretended to be lost for more words and looked quizzically +up at the ceiling.</p> + +<p>Suzanne began to laugh. Like Eugene, she had a marked +sense of the comic and the ridiculous. She was not in the least +vain, and the idea of being like roses and boxes of jewels and +stained-glass windows tickled her fancy.</p> + +<p>"Why, that's quite a collection of things to be, isn't it?" she +laughed, her lips parted. "I wouldn't mind being all those +things if I could, particularly the jewels. Mama won't give me +any. I can't even get a brooch for my throat."</p> + +<p>"Mama is real mean, apparently," said Eugene vigorously. +"We'll have to talk to mama, but she knows, you know, that +you don't need any jewels, see? She knows that you have something +which is just as good, or better. But we won't talk about +that, will we?"</p> + +<p>Suzanne had been afraid that he was going to begin complimenting +her, but seeing how easily he avoided this course she +liked him for it. She was a little overawed by his dignity and +mental capacity, but attracted by his gaiety and lightness of +manner.</p> + +<p>"Do you know, Mr. Witla," she said, "I believe you like to +tease people."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" said Eugene. "Oh, never, never! Nothing like +that. How could I? Tease people! Far be it from me! That's +the very last thing I ever think of doing. I always approach +people in a very solemn manner and tell them the dark sad +truth. It's the only way. They need it. The more truth I +tell the better I feel. And then they like me so much better for +it."</p> + +<p>At the first rush of his quizzical tirade Suzanne's eyes opened +quaintly, inquiringly. Then she began to smile, and in a moment +after he ceased she exclaimed: "Oh, ha! ha! Oh, dear! +Oh, dear, how you talk!" A ripple of laughter spread outward, +and Eugene frowned darkly.</p> + +<p>"How dare you laugh?" he said. "Don't laugh at me. It's +against the rules to laugh, anyhow. Don't you remember growing +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_523" id="Page_523">[Pg 523]</a></span> +girls should never laugh? Solemnity is the first rule of beauty. +Never smile. Keep perfectly solemn. Look wise. Hence. +Therefore. If. And——"</p> + +<p>He lifted a finger solemnly, and Suzanne stared. He had +fixed her eye with his and was admiring her pretty chin and nose +and lips, while she gazed not knowing what to make of him. +He was very different; very much like a boy, and yet very much +like a solemn, dark master of some kind.</p> + +<p>"You almost frighten me," she said.</p> + +<p>"Now, now, listen! It's all over. Come to. I'm just a +silly-billy. Are you going to dance with me this evening?"</p> + +<p>"Why, certainly, if you want me to! Oh, that reminds me! +We have cards. Did you get one?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Well, they're over here, I think."</p> + +<p>She led the way toward the reception hall, and Eugene took +from the footman who was stationed there two of the little +books.</p> + +<p>"Let's see," he said, writing, "how greedy dare I be?"</p> + +<p>Suzanne made no reply.</p> + +<p>"If I take the third and the sixth and the tenth would that +be too many?"</p> + +<p>"No-o," said Suzanne doubtfully.</p> + +<p>He wrote in hers and his and then they went back to the +drawing-room where so many were now moving. "Will you be +sure and save me these?"</p> + +<p>"Why, certainly," she replied. "To be sure, I will!"</p> + +<p>"That's nice of you. And now here comes your mother. Remember, +you mustn't ever, ever, ever laugh. It's against the +rules."</p> + +<p>Suzanne went away, thinking. She was pleased at the gaiety +of this man who seemed so light-hearted and self-sufficient. He +seemed like someone who took her as a little girl, so different +from the boys she knew who were solemn in her presence and +rather love sick. He was the kind of man one could have lots of +fun with without subjecting one's self to undue attention and +having to explain to her mother. Her mother liked him. But +she soon forgot him in the chatter of other people.</p> + +<p>Eugene was thinking again, though, of the indefinable something +in the spirit of this girl which was attracting him so vigorously. +What was it? He had seen hundreds of girls in the +last few years, all charming, but somehow this one—— She +seemed so strong, albeit so new and young. There was a poise +there—a substantial quality in her soul which could laugh at life +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_524" id="Page_524">[Pg 524]</a></span> +and think no ill of it. That was it or something of it, for of +course her beauty was impressive, but a courageous optimism was +shining out through her eyes. It was in her laugh, her mood. +She would never be afraid.</p> + +<p>The dance began after ten, and Eugene danced with first one +and then another—Angela, Mrs. Dale, Mrs. Stevens, Miss +Willy. When the third set came he went looking for Suzanne +and found her talking to another young girl and two society +men.</p> + +<p>"Mine, you know," he said smilingly.</p> + +<p>She came out to him laughing, stretching her arm in a sinuous +way, quite unconscious of the charming figure she made. She had +a way of throwing back her head which revealed her neck in +beautiful lines. She looked into Eugene's eyes simply and unaffectedly, +returning his smile with one of her own. And when +they began to dance he felt as though he had never really danced +before.</p> + +<p>What was it the poet said of the poetry of motion? This was +it. This was it. This girl could dance wonderfully, sweetly, as +a fine voice sings. She seemed to move like the air with the +sound of the two-step coming from an ambush of flowers, and +Eugene yielded himself instinctively to the charm—the hypnotism +of it. He danced and in dancing forgot everything except +this vision leaning upon his arm and the sweetness of it all. +Nothing could equal this emotion, he said to himself. It was +finer than anything he had ever experienced. There was joy in +it, pure delight, an exquisite sense of harmony; and even while +he was congratulating himself the music seemed to hurry to a +finish. Suzanne had looked up curiously into his eyes.</p> + +<p>"You like dancing, don't you?" she said.</p> + +<p>"I do, but I don't dance well."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I think so!" she replied. "You dance so easily."</p> + +<p>"It is because of you," he said simply. "You have the soul of +the dance in you. Most people dance poorly, like myself."</p> + +<p>"I don't think so," she said, hanging on to his arm as they +walked toward a seat. "Oh, there's Kinroy! He has the next +with me."</p> + +<p>Eugene looked at her brother almost angrily. Why should +circumstances rob him of her company in this way? Kinroy +looked like her—he was very handsome for a boy.</p> + +<p>"Well, then, I have to give you up. I wish there were more."</p> + +<p>He left her only to wait impatiently for the sixth and the +tenth. He knew it was silly to be interested in her in this way, +for nothing could come of it. She was a young girl hedged +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_525" id="Page_525">[Pg 525]</a></span> +about by all the conventions and safeguards which go to make +for the perfect upbringing of girlhood. He was a man past the +period of her interest, watched over by conventions and interests +also. There could be absolutely nothing between them, and +yet he longed for her just the same, for just this little sip of the +nectar of make-believe. For a few minutes in her company, married +or not, so many years older or not, he could be happy in her +company, teasing her. That sense of dancing—that sense of +perfect harmony with beauty—when had he ever experienced +that before?</p> + +<p>The night went by, and at one he and Angela went home. +She had been entertained by some young officer in the army stationed +at Fort Wadsworth who had known her brother David. +That had made the evening pleasant for her. She commented +on Mrs. Dale and Suzanne, what a charming hostess the former +was and how pretty and gay Suzanne looked, but Eugene manifested +little interest. He did not want it to appear that he had +been interested in Suzanne above any of the others.</p> + +<p>"Yes, she's very nice," he said. "Rather pretty; but she's like +all girls at that age. I like to tease them."</p> + +<p>Angela wondered whether Eugene had really changed for +good. He seemed saner in all his talk concerning women. Perhaps +large affairs had cured him completely, though she could +not help feeling that he must be charmed and delighted by the +beauty of some of the women whom he saw.</p> + +<p>Five weeks more went by and then he saw Suzanne one day +with her mother on Fifth Avenue, coming out of an antique +shop. Mrs. Dale explained that she was looking after the repair +of a rare piece of furniture. Eugene and Suzanne were +enabled to exchange but a few gay words. Four weeks later he +met them at the Brentwood Hadleys, in Westchester. Suzanne +and her mother were enjoying a season of spring riding. Eugene +was there for only a Saturday afternoon and Sunday. On this +occasion he saw her coming in at half-past four wearing a divided +riding skirt and looking flushed and buoyant. Her lovely hair +was flowing lightly about her temples.</p> + +<p>"Oh, how are you?" she asked, with that same inconsequent +air, her hand held out to him at a high angle. "I saw you last +in Fifth Avenue, didn't I? Mama was having her chair fixed. +Ha, ha! She's such a slow rider! I've left her miles behind. +Are you going to be here long?"</p> + +<p>"Just today and tomorrow."</p> + +<p>He looked at her, pretending gaiety and indifference.</p> + +<p>"Is Mrs. Witla here?"</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_526" id="Page_526">[Pg 526]</a></span> +"No, she couldn't come. A relative of hers is in the city."</p> + +<p>"I need a bath terribly," said the desire of his eyes, and passed +on, calling back: "I'll see you again before dinner, very likely."</p> + +<p>Eugene sighed.</p> + +<p>She came down after an hour, dressed in a flowered organdie, +a black silk band about her throat, a low collar showing her +pretty neck. She picked up a magazine, passing a wicker table, +and came down the veranda where Eugene was sitting alone. +Her easy manner interested him, and her friendliness. She liked +him well enough to be perfectly natural with him and to seek +him out where he was sitting once she saw he was there.</p> + +<p>"Oh, here you are!" she said, and sat down, taking a chair +which was near him.</p> + +<p>"Yes, here I am," he said, and began teasing her as usual, for +it was the only way in which he knew how to approach her. +Suzanne responded vivaciously, for Eugene's teasing delighted +her. It was the one kind of humor she really enjoyed.</p> + +<p>"You know, Mr. Witla," she said to him once, "I'm not going +to laugh at any of your jokes any more. They're all at my +expense."</p> + +<p>"That makes it all the nicer," he said. "You wouldn't want +me to make jokes at my expense, would you? That would be a +terrible joke."</p> + +<p>She laughed and he smiled. They looked at a golden sunset +filtering through a grove of tender maples. The spring was +young and the leaves just budding.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it lovely tonight?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes!" she exclaimed, in a mellow, meditative voice, the +first ring of deep sincerity in it that he ever noticed there.</p> + +<p>"Do you like nature?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Do I?" she returned. "I can't get enough of the woods +these days. I feel so queer sometimes, Mr. Witla. As though I +were not really alive at all, you know. Just a sound, or a color +in the woods."</p> + +<p>He stopped and looked at her. The simile caught him quite +as any notable characteristic in anyone would have caught him. +What was the color and complexity of this girl's mind? Was +she so wise, so artistic and so emotional that nature appealed to +her in a deep way? Was this wonderful charm that he felt the +shadow or radiance of something finer still?</p> + +<p>"So that's the way it is, is it?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said quietly.</p> + +<p>He sat and looked at her, and she eyed him as solemnly.</p> + +<p>"Why do you look at me so?" she asked.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_527" id="Page_527">[Pg 527]</a></span> +"Why do you say such curious things?" he answered.</p> + +<p>"What did I say?"</p> + +<p>"I don't believe you really know. Well, never mind. Let us +walk, will you? Do you mind? It's still an hour to dinner. +I'd like to go over and see what's beyond those trees."</p> + +<p>They went down a little path bordered with grass and under +green budding twigs. It came to a stile finally and looked out +upon a stony green field where some cows were pasturing.</p> + +<p>"Oh, the spring! The spring!" exclaimed Eugene, and Suzanne +answered: "You know, Mr. Witla, I think we must be +something alike in some ways. That's just the way I feel."</p> + +<p>"How do you know how I feel?"</p> + +<p>"I can tell by your voice," she said.</p> + +<p>"Can you, really?"</p> + +<p>"Why, yes. Why shouldn't I?"</p> + +<p>"What a strange girl you are!" he said thoughtfully. "I don't +think I understand you quite."</p> + +<p>"Why, why, am I so different from everyone else?"</p> + +<p>"Quite, quite," he said; "at least to me. I have never seen +anyone quite like you before."</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_528" id="Page_528">[Pg 528]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_V" id="III_CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<p>It was after this meeting that vague consciousness came to +Suzanne that Mr. Witla, as she always thought of him to +herself, was just a little more than very nice to her. He was so +gentle, so meditative, and withal so gay when he was near her! +He seemed fairly to bubble whenever he came into her presence, +never to have any cause for depression or gloom such as sometimes +seized on her when she was alone. He was always immaculately +dressed, and had great affairs, so her mother said. They +discussed him once at table at Daleview, and Mrs. Dale said she +thought he was charming.</p> + +<p>"He's one of the nicest fellows that comes here, I think," said +Kinroy. "I don't like that stick, Woodward."</p> + +<p>He was referring to another man of about Eugene's age who +admired his mother.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Witla is such a queer little woman," said Suzanne. +"She's so different from Mr. Witla. He's so gay and good-natured, +and she's so reserved. Is she as old as he is, mama?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think so," said Mrs. Dale, who was deceived by +Angela's apparent youth. "What makes you ask?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I just wondered!" said Suzanne, who was vaguely curious +concerning things in connection with Eugene.</p> + +<p>There were several other meetings, one of which Eugene engineered, +once when he persuaded Angela to invite Suzanne and her +mother to a spring night revel they were having at the studio, +and the other when he and Angela were invited to the Willebrands, +where the Dales were also.</p> + +<p>Angela was always with him. Mrs. Dale almost always with +Suzanne. There were a few conversations, but they were merely +gay, inconsequent make-believe talks, in which Suzanne saw Eugene +as one who was forever happy. She little discerned the +brooding depths of longing that lay beneath his gay exterior.</p> + +<p>The climax was brought about, however, when one July day +after a short visit to one of the summer resorts, Angela was +taken ill. She had always been subject to colds and sore throats, +and these peculiar signs, which are associated by medical men +with latent rheumatism, finally culminated in this complaint. +Angela had also been pronounced to have a weak heart, and this +combined with a sudden, severe rheumatic attack completely +prostrated her. A trained nurse had to be called, and Angela's +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_529" id="Page_529">[Pg 529]</a></span> +sister Marietta was sent for. Eugene's sister Myrtle, who now +lived in New York, was asked by him to come over and take +charge, and under her supervision, pending Marietta's arrival, +his household went forward smoothly enough. The former, being +a full-fledged Christian Scientist, having been instantly cured, +as she asserted, of a long-standing nervous complaint, was for +calling a Christian Science practitioner, but Eugene would have +none of it. He could not believe that there was anything in +this new religious theory, and thought Angela needed a doctor. +He sent for a specialist in her complaint. He pronounced that +six weeks at the least, perhaps two months, must elapse before +Angela would be able to sit up again.</p> + +<p>"Her system is full of rheumatism," said her physician. "She +is in a very bad way. Rest and quiet, and constant medication +will bring her round."</p> + +<p>Eugene was sorry. He did not want to see her suffer, but her +sickness did not for one minute alter his mental attitude. In +fact, he did not see how it could. It did not change their relative +mental outlook in any way. Their peculiar relationship of +guardian and restless ward was quite unaffected.</p> + +<p>All social functions of every kind were now abandoned and +Eugene stayed at home every evening, curious to see what the +outcome would be. He wanted to see how the trained nurse did +her work and what the doctor thought would be the next step. +He had a great deal to do at all times, reading, consulting, and +many of those who wished to confer with him came to the apartment +of an evening. All those who knew them socially at all +intimately called or sent messages of condolence, and among +those who came were Mrs. Dale and Suzanne. The former because +Eugene had been so nice to her in a publishing way and +was shortly going to bring out her first attempt at a novel was +most assiduous. She sent flowers and came often, proffering the +services of Suzanne for any day that the nurse might wish to be +off duty or Myrtle could not be present. She thought Angela +might like to have Suzanne read to her. At least the offer +sounded courteous and was made in good faith.</p> + +<p>Suzanne did not come alone at first, but after a time, when +Angela had been ill four weeks and Eugene had stood the heat +of the town apartment nightly for the chance of seeing her, she +did. Mrs. Dale suggested that he should run down to her place +over Saturday and Sunday. It was not far. They were in close +telephone communication. It would rest him.</p> + +<p>Eugene, though Angela had suggested it a number of times +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_530" id="Page_530">[Pg 530]</a></span> +before, had refused to go to any seaside resort or hotel, even for +Saturday and Sunday, his statement being that he did not care to +go alone at this time. The truth was he was becoming so interested +in Suzanne that he did not care to go anywhere save somewhere +that he might see her again.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dale's offer was welcome enough, but having dissembled +so much he had to dissemble more. Mrs. Dale insisted. +Angela added her plea. Myrtle thought he ought to go. He +finally ordered the car to take him down one Friday afternoon +and leave him. Suzanne was out somewhere, but he sat on the +veranda and basked in the magnificent view it gave of the lower +bay. Kinroy and some young friend, together with two girls, +were playing tennis on one of the courts. Eugene went out to +watch them, and presently Suzanne returned, ruddy from a walk +she had taken to a neighbor's house. At the sight of her every +nerve in Eugene's body tingled—he felt a great exaltation, and +it seemed as though she responded in kind, for she was particularly +gay and laughing.</p> + +<p>"They have a four," she called to him, her white duck skirt +blowing. "Let's you and I get rackets and play single."</p> + +<p>"I'm not very good, you know," he said.</p> + +<p>"You couldn't be worse than I am," she replied. "I'm so +bad Kinroy won't let me play in any game with him. Ha, ha!"</p> + +<p>"Such being the case——" Eugene said lightly, and followed +her to get the rackets.</p> + +<p>They went to the second court, where they played practically +unheeded. Every hit was a signal for congratulation on the part +of one or the other, every miss for a burst of laughter or a jest. +Eugene devoured Suzanne with his eyes, and she looked at him +continually, in wide-eyed sweetness, scarcely knowing what she +was doing. Her own hilarity on this occasion was almost inexplicable +to her. It seemed as though she was possessed of some +spirit of joy which she couldn't control. She confessed to him +afterward that she had been wildly glad, exalted, and played +with freedom and abandon, though at the same time she was +frightened and nervous. To Eugene she was of course ravishing +to behold. She could not play, as she truly said, but it made no +difference. Her motions were beautiful.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dale had long admired Eugene's youthful spirit. She +watched him now from one of the windows, and thought of him +much as one might of a boy. He and Suzanne looked charming +playing together. It occurred to her that if he were single he +would not make a bad match for her daughter. Fortunately he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_531" id="Page_531">[Pg 531]</a></span> +was sane, prudent, charming, more like a guardian to Suzanne +than anything else. Her friendship for him was rather a healthy +sign.</p> + +<p>After dinner it was proposed by Kinroy that he and his +friends and Suzanne go to a dance which was being given at a +club house, near the government fortifications at The Narrows, +where they spread out into the lower bay. Mrs. Dale, not wishing +to exclude Eugene, who was depressed at the thought of +Suzanne's going and leaving him behind, suggested that they all +go. She did not care so much for dancing herself, but Suzanne +had no partner and Kinroy and his friend were very much interested +in the girls they were taking. A car was called, and they +sped to the club to find it dimly lighted with Chinese lanterns, +and an orchestra playing softly in the gloom.</p> + +<p>"Now you go ahead and dance," said her mother to Suzanne. +"I want to sit out here and look at the water a while. I'll watch +you through the door."</p> + +<p>Eugene held out his hand to Suzanne, who took it, and in a +moment they were whirling round. A kind of madness seized +them both, for without a word or look they drew close to each +other and danced furiously, in a clinging ecstasy of joy.</p> + +<p>"Oh, how lovely!" Suzanne exclaimed at one turn of the +room, where, passing an open door, they looked out and saw a +full lighted ship passing silently by in the distant dark. A sail +boat; its one great sail enveloped in a shadowy quiet, floated +wraith-like, nearer still.</p> + +<p>"Do scenes like that appeal to you so?" asked Eugene.</p> + +<p>"Oh, do they!" she pulsated. "They take my breath away. +This does, too, it's so lovely!"</p> + +<p>Eugene sighed. He understood now. Never, he said to himself, +was the soul of an artist so akin to his own and so enveloped +in beauty. This same thirst for beauty that was in him +was in her, and it was pulling her to him. Only her soul was so +exquisitely set in youth and beauty and maidenhood that it +overawed and frightened him. It seemed impossible that she +should ever love him. These eyes, this face of hers—how they +enchanted him! He was drawn as by a strong cord, and so was +she—by an immense, terrible magnetism. He had felt it all the +afternoon. Keenly. He was feeling it intensely now. He +pressed her to his bosom, and she yielded, yearningly, suiting her +motions to his subtlest moods. He wanted to exclaim: "Oh, +Suzanne! Oh, Suzanne!" but he was afraid. If he said anything +to her it would frighten her. She did not really dream as +yet what it all meant.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_532" id="Page_532">[Pg 532]</a></span> +"You know," he said, when the music stopped, "I'm quite +beside myself. It's narcotic. I feel like a boy."</p> + +<p>"Oh, if they would only go on!" was all she said. And together +they went out on the veranda, where there were no lights +but only chairs and the countless stars.</p> + +<p>"Well?" said Mrs. Dale.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid you don't love to dance as well as I do?" observed +Eugene calmly, sitting down beside her.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I don't, seeing how joyously you do it. I've been +watching you. You two dance well together. Kinroy, won't +you have them bring us ices?"</p> + +<p>Suzanne had slipped away to the side of her brother's friends. +She talked to them cheerily the while Eugene watched her, but +she was intensely conscious of his presence and charm. She tried +to think what she was doing, but somehow she could not—she +could only feel. The music struck up again, and for looks' sake +he let her dance with her brother's friend. The next was his, +and the next, for Kinroy preferred to sit out one, and his friend +also. Suzanne and Eugene danced the major portions of the +dances together, growing into a wild exaltation, which, however, +was wordless except for a certain eagerness which might have +been read into what they said. Their hands spoke when they +touched and their eyes when they met. Suzanne was intensely +shy and fearsome. She was really half terrified by what she was +doing—afraid lest some word or thought would escape Eugene, +and she wanted to dwell in the joy of this. He went once between +two dances, when she was hanging over the rail looking +at the dark, gurgling water below, and leaned over beside her.</p> + +<p>"How wonderful this night is!" he said.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes!" she exclaimed, and looked away.</p> + +<p>"Do you wonder at all at the mystery of life?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes; oh, yes! All the time."</p> + +<p>"And you are so young!" he said passionately, intensely.</p> + +<p>"Sometimes, you know, Mr. Witla," she sighed, "I do not +like to think."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know; I just can't tell you! I can't find words. +I don't know."</p> + +<p>There was an intense pathos in her phrasing which meant +everything to his understanding. He understood how voiceless +a great soul really might be, new born without an earth-manufactured +vocabulary. It gave him a clearer insight into a thought +he had had for a long while and that was that we came, as +Wordsworth expressed it, "trailing clouds of glory." But from +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_533" id="Page_533">[Pg 533]</a></span> +where? Her soul must be intensely wise—else why his yearning +to her? But, oh, the pathos of her voicelessness!</p> + +<p>They went home in the car, and late that night, while he +was sitting on the veranda smoking to soothe his fevered brain, +there was one other scene. The night was intensely warm everywhere +except on this hill, where a cool breeze was blowing. The +ships on the sea and bay were many—twinkling little lights—and +the stars in the sky were as a great army. "See how the floor of +heaven is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold," he quoted to +himself. A door opened and Suzanne came out of the library, +which opened on to the veranda. He had not expected to see +her again, nor she him. The beauty of the night had drawn her.</p> + +<p>"Suzanne!" he said, when the door opened.</p> + +<p>She looked at him, poised in uncertainty, her lovely white face +glowing like a pale phosphorescent light in the dark.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it beautiful out here? Come, sit down."</p> + +<p>"No," she said. "I mustn't stay. It is so beautiful!" She +looked about her vaguely, nervously, and then at him. "Oh, that +breeze!" She turned up her nose and sniffed eagerly.</p> + +<p>"The music is still whirling in my head," he said, coming to +her. "I cannot get over tonight." He spoke softly—almost in +a whisper—and threw his cigar away. Suzanne's voice was low.</p> + +<p>She looked at him and filled her deep broad chest with air. +"Oh!" she sighed, throwing back her head, her neck curving +divinely.</p> + +<p>"One more dance," he said, taking her right hand and putting +his left upon her waist.</p> + +<p>She did not retreat from him, but looked half distrait, half +entranced in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Without music?" she asked. She was almost trembling.</p> + +<p>"You are music," he replied, her intense sense of suffocation +seizing him.</p> + +<p>They moved a few paces to the left where there were no windows +and where no one could see. He drew her close to him +and looked into her face, but still he did not dare say what he +thought. They moved about softly, and then she gurgled that +soft laugh that had entranced him from the first. "What would +people think?" she asked.</p> + +<p>They walked to the railing, he still holding her hand, and then +she withdrew it. He was conscious of great danger—of jeopardizing +a wonderfully blissful relationship, and finally said: +"Perhaps we had better go."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said. "Ma-ma would be greatly disturbed if she +knew this."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_534" id="Page_534">[Pg 534]</a></span> +She walked ahead of him to the door.</p> + +<p>"Good night," she whispered.</p> + +<p>"Good night," he sighed.</p> + +<p>He went back to his chair and meditated on the course he was +pursuing. This was a terrible risk. Should he go on? The +flower-like face of Suzanne came back to him—her supple body, +her wondrous grace and beauty. "Oh, perhaps not, but what a +loss, what a lure to have flaunted in front of his eyes! Were +there ever thoughts and feelings like these in so young a body? +Never, never, never, had he seen her like. Never in all his experiences +had he seen anything so exquisite. She was like the +budding woods in spring, like little white and blue flowers growing. +If life now for once would only be kind and give him her!</p> + +<p>"Oh, Suzanne, Suzanne!" he breathed to himself, lingering +over the name.</p> + +<p>For a fourth or a fifth time Eugene was imagining himself to +be terribly, eagerly, fearsomely in love.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_535" id="Page_535">[Pg 535]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_VI" id="III_CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<p>This burst of emotion with its tentative understanding so +subtly reached, changed radically and completely the whole +complexion of life for Eugene. Once more now the spirit of +youth had returned to him. He had been resenting all this +while, in spite of his success, the passage of time, for he was +daily and hourly growing older, and what had he really achieved? +The more Eugene had looked at life through the medium of his +experiences, the more it had dawned on him that somehow all +effort was pointless. To where and what did one attain when +one attained success? Was it for houses and lands and fine furnishings +and friends that one was really striving? Was there +any such thing as real friendship in life, and what were its +fruits—intense satisfaction? In some few instances, perhaps, but +in the main what a sorry jest most so-called friendships veiled! +How often they were coupled with self-interest, self-seeking, +self-everything! We associated in friendship mostly only with +those who were of our own social station. A good friend. Did +he possess one? An inefficient friend? Would one such long be +his friend? Life moved in schools of those who could run a +certain pace, maintain a certain standard of appearances, compel +a certain grade of respect and efficiency in others. Colfax was +his friend—for the present. So was Winfield. About him were +scores and hundreds who were apparently delighted to grasp his +hand, but for what? His fame? Certainly. His efficiency? +Yes. Only by the measure of his personal power and strength +could he measure his friends—no more.</p> + +<p>And as for love—what had he ever had of love before? +When he went back in his mind, it seemed now that all, each, +and every one, had been combined in some way with lust and evil +thinking. Could he say that he had ever been in love truly? +Certainly not with Margaret Duff or Ruby Kenny or Angela—though +that was the nearest he had come to true love—or Christina +Channing. He had liked all these women very much, as he +had Carlotta Wilson, but had he ever loved one? Never. Angela +had won him through his sympathy for her, he told himself +now. He had been induced to marry out of remorse. And +here he was now having lived all these years and come all this +way without having truly loved. Now, behold Suzanne Dale +with her perfection of soul and body, and he was wild about her—not +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_536" id="Page_536">[Pg 536]</a></span> +for lust, but for love. He wanted to be with her, to hold +her hands, to kiss her lips, to watch her smile; but nothing more. +It was true her body had its charm. In extremes it would draw +him, but the beauty of her mind and appearance—there lay the +fascination. He was heartsick at being compelled to be absent +from her, and yet he did not know that he would ever be able +to attain her at all.</p> + +<p>As he thought of his condition, it rather terrified and nauseated +him. To think, after having known this one hour of wonder +and superlative bliss, of being compelled to come back into the +work-a-day world! Nor were things improving at the office of the +United Magazines Corporation. Instead of growing better, +they were growing worse. With the diversity of his interests, +particularly the interest he held in the Sea Island Realty and +Construction Company, he was growing rather lackadaisical in +his attitude toward all magazine interests with which he was +connected. He had put in strong men wherever he could find +them, but these had come to be very secure in their places, working +without very much regard to him since he could not give +them very much attention. White and Colfax had become intimate +with many of them personally. Some of them, such as +Hayes, the advertising man, the circulation manager, the editor +of the <i>International Review</i>, the editor in charge of books, were +so very able that, although it was true that Eugene had hired +them it was practically settled that they could not be removed. +Colfax and White had come to understand by degrees that Eugene +was a person who, however brilliant he might be in selecting +men, was really not capable of attention to detail. He could +not bring his mind down to small practical points. If he had +been an owner, like Colfax, or a practical henchman like White, +he would have been perfectly safe, but being a natural-born +leader, or rather organizer, he was, unless he secured control in +the beginning, rather hopeless and helpless when organization was +completed. Others could attend to details better than he could. +Colfax came to know his men and like them. In absences which +had become more frequent, as Eugene became more secure, and +as he took up with Winfield, they had first gone to Colfax for +advice, and later, in Colfax's absence, to White. The latter received +them with open arms. Indeed, among themselves, his +lieutenants frequently discussed Eugene and agreed that in +organizing, or rather reorganizing the place, he had done his +great work. He might have been worth twenty-five thousand +a year doing that, but hardly as a man to sit about and cool his +heels after the work was done. White had persistently whispered +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_537" id="Page_537">[Pg 537]</a></span> +suggestions of Eugene's commercial inefficiency for the +task he was essaying to Colfax. "He is really trying to do up +there what you ought to be doing," he told him, "and what you +can do better. You want to remember that you've learned a lot +since you came in here, and so has he, only he has become a little +less practical and you have become more so. These men of his +look more to you now than they do to him."</p> + +<p>Colfax rejoiced in the thought. He liked Eugene, but he +liked the idea better that his business interests were perfectly +safe. He did not like to think that any one man was becoming +so strong that his going would injure him, and this thought for +a long time during Eugene's early ascendancy had troubled him. +The latter had carried himself with such an air. Eugene had +fancied that Colfax needed to be impressed with his importance, +and this, in addition to his very thorough work, was one way to +do it. His manner had grated on Colfax after a time, for he +was the soul of vainglory himself, and he wanted no other gods +in the place beside himself. White, on the contrary, was constantly +subservient and advisory in his manner. It made a great +difference.</p> + +<p>By degrees, through one process and another, Eugene had lost +ground, but it was only in a nebulous way as yet, and not in anything +tangible. If he had never turned his attention to anything +else, had never wearied of any detail, and kept close to +Colfax and to his own staff, he would have been safe. As it +was, he began now to neglect them more than ever, and this +could not fail to tell rather disastrously in the long run.</p> + +<p>In the first place the prospects in connection with the Sea +Island Construction Company were apparently growing brighter +and brighter. It was one of those schemes which would take +years and years to develop, but it did not look that way at first. +Rather it seemed to be showing tangible evidences of accomplishment. +The first year, after a good deal of money had been invested, +considerable dredging operations were carried out, and +dry land appeared in many places—a long stretch of good earth +to the rear of the main beach whereon hotels and resorts of all +sorts could be constructed. The boardwalk was started after a +model prepared by Eugene, and approved—after modification—by +the architect engaged, and a portion of the future great dining +and dancing casinos was begun and completed, a beautiful building +modeled on a combination of the Moorish, Spanish and Old +Mission styles. A notable improvement in design had been effected +in this scheme, for the color of Blue Sea, according to +Eugene's theory, was to be red, white, yellow, blue, and green, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_538" id="Page_538">[Pg 538]</a></span> +done in spirited yet simple outlines. The walls of all buildings +were to be white and yellow, latticed with green. The roofs, +porticos, lintels, piers, and steps were to be red, yellow, green, +and blue. There were to be round, shallow Italian pools of +concrete in many of the courts and interiors of the houses. The +hotels were to be western modifications of the Giralda in Spain, +each one a size smaller, or larger, than the other. Green spear +pines and tall cone-shaped poplars were to be the prevailing tree +decorations. The railroad, as Mr. Winfield promised, had already +completed its spur and Spanish depot, which was beautiful. +It looked truly as though Blue Sea would become +what Winfield said it would become; the seaside resort of +America.</p> + +<p>The actuality of this progress fascinated Eugene so much that +he gave, until Suzanne appeared, much more time than he really +should have to the development of the scheme. As in the days +when he first went with Summerfield, he worked of nights on +exterior and interior layouts, as he called them—façades, ground +arrangements, island improvements, and so on. He went frequently +with Winfield and his architect in his auto to see how +Blue Sea was getting on and to visit monied men, who might be +interested. He drew up plans for ads and booklets, making romantic +sketches and originating catch lines.</p> + +<p>In the next place, after Suzanne appeared, he began to pay +attention almost exclusively in his thoughts to her. He could not +get her out of his head night or day. She haunted his thoughts +in the office, at home, and in his dreams. He began actually to +burn with a strange fever, which gave him no rest. When +would he see her again? When would he see her again? When +would he see her again? He could see her only as he danced +with her at the boat club, as he sat with her in the swing at Daleview. +It was a wild, aching desire which gave him no peace any +more than any other fever of the brain ever does.</p> + +<p>Once, not long after he and she had danced at the boat club together, +she came with her mother to see how Angela was, and +Eugene had a chance to say a few words to her in the studio, for +they came after five in the afternoon when he was at home. Suzanne +gazed at him wide-eyed, scarcely knowing what to think, +though she was fascinated. He asked her eagerly where she had +been, where she was going to be.</p> + +<p>"Why," she said gracefully, her pretty lips parted, "we're +going to Bentwood Hadley's tomorrow. We'll be there for a +week, I fancy. Maybe longer."</p> + +<p>"Have you thought of me much, Suzanne?"</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_539" id="Page_539">[Pg 539]</a></span> +"Yes, yes! But you mustn't, Mr. Witla. No, no. I don't +know what to think."</p> + +<p>"If I came to Bentwood Hadleys, would you be glad?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," she said hesitatingly, "but you mustn't come."</p> + +<p>Eugene was there that week-end. It wasn't difficult to manage.</p> + +<p>"I'm awfully tired," he wrote to Mrs. Hadley. "Why don't +you invite me out?"</p> + +<p>"Come!" came a telegram, and he went.</p> + +<p>On this occasion, he was more fortunate than ever. Suzanne +was there, out riding when he came, but, as he learned from +Mrs. Hadley, there was a dance on at a neighboring country +club. Suzanne with a number of others was going. Mrs. Dale +decided to go, and invited Eugene. He seized the offer, for he +knew he would get a chance to dance with his ideal. When +they were going in to dinner, he met Suzanne in the hall.</p> + +<p>"I am going with you," he said eagerly. "Save a few dances +for me."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, inhaling her breath in a gasp.</p> + +<p>They went, and he initialled her card in five places.</p> + +<p>"We must be careful," she pleaded. "Ma-ma won't like it."</p> + +<p>He saw by this that she was beginning to understand, and +would plot with him. Why was he luring her on? Why did +she let him?</p> + +<p>When he slipped his arm about her in the first dance he said, +"At last!" And then: "I have waited for this so long."</p> + +<p>Suzanne made no reply.</p> + +<p>"Look at me, Suzanne," he pleaded.</p> + +<p>"I can't," she said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, look at me," he urged, "once, please. Look in my +eyes."</p> + +<p>"No, no," she begged, "I can't."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Suzanne," he exclaimed, "I am crazy about you. I am +mad. I have lost all reason. Your face is like a flower to me. +Your eyes—I can't tell you about your eyes. Look at me!"</p> + +<p>"No," she pleaded.</p> + +<p>"It seems as though the days will never end in which I do +not see you. I wait and wait. Suzanne, do I seem like a silly +fool to you?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"I am counted sharp and able. They tell me I am brilliant. +You are the most perfect thing that I have ever known. I think +of you awake and asleep. I could paint a thousand pictures of +you. My art seems to come back to me through you. If I +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_540" id="Page_540">[Pg 540]</a></span> +live I will paint you in a hundred ways. Have you ever seen +the Rossetti woman?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"He painted a hundred portraits of her. I shall paint a thousand +of you."</p> + +<p>She lifted her eyes to look at him shyly, wonderingly, drawn +by this terrific passion. His own blazed into hers. "Oh, look at +me again," he whispered, when she dropped them under the +fire of his glance.</p> + +<p>"I can't," she pleaded.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, once more."</p> + +<p>She lifted her eyes and it seemed as though their souls would +blend. He felt dizzy, and Suzanne reeled.</p> + +<p>"Do you love me, Suzanne?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," she trembled.</p> + +<p>"Do you love me?"</p> + +<p>"Don't ask me now."</p> + +<p>The music ceased and Suzanne was gone.</p> + +<p>He did not see her until much later, for she slipped away +to think. Her soul was stirred as with a raging storm. It +seemed as though her very soul was being torn up. She was +tremulous, tumultuous, unsettled, yearning, eager. She came +back after a time and they danced again, but she was calmer +apparently. They went out on a balcony, and he contrived to +say a few words there.</p> + +<p>"You mustn't," she pleaded. "I think we are being watched."</p> + +<p>He left her, and on the way home in the auto he whispered: +"I shall be on the west veranda tonight. Will you come?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, I'll try."</p> + +<p>He walked leisurely to that place later when all was still, +and sat down to wait. Gradually the great house quieted. It +was one and one-thirty, and then nearly two before the door +opened. A figure slipped out, the lovely form of Suzanne, dressed +as she had been at the ball, a veil of lace over her hair.</p> + +<p>"I'm so afraid," she said, "I scarcely know what I am doing. +Are you sure no one will see us?"</p> + +<p>"Let us walk down the path to the field." It was the same +way they had taken in the early spring when he had met her +here before. In the west hung low a waning moon, yellow, +sickle shaped, very large because of the hour.</p> + +<p>"Do you remember when we were here before?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I loved you then. Did you care for me?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_541" id="Page_541">[Pg 541]</a></span> +They walked on under the trees, he holding her hand.</p> + +<p>"Oh, this night, this night," he said, the strain of his intense +emotion wearying him.</p> + +<p>They came out from under the trees at the end of the path. +There was a sense of August dryness in the air. It was warm, +sensuous. About were the sounds of insects, faint bumblings, +cracklings. A tree toad chirped, or a bird cried.</p> + +<p>"Come to me, Suzanne," he said at last when they emerged +into the full light of the moon at the end of the path and +paused. "Come to me." He slipped his arm about her.</p> + +<p>"No," she said. "No."</p> + +<p>"Look at me, Suzanne," he pleaded; "I want to tell you how +much I love you. Oh, I have no words. It seems ridiculous +to try to tell you. Tell me that you love me, Suzanne. Tell +me now. I am crazy with love of you. Tell me."</p> + +<p>"No," she said, "I can't."</p> + +<p>"Kiss me!"</p> + +<p>"No!"</p> + +<p>He drew her to him and turned her face up by her chin in +spite of her. "Open your eyes," he pleaded. "Oh, God! That +this should come to me! Now I could die. Life can hold no +more. Oh, Flower Face! Oh, Silver Feet! Oh, Myrtle +Bloom! Divine Fire! How perfect you are. How perfect! +And to think you love me!"</p> + +<p>He kissed her eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Kiss me, Suzanne. Tell me that you love me. Tell me. +Oh, how I love that name, Suzanne. Whisper to me you love +me."</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"But you do."</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Look at me, Suzanne. Flower face. Myrtle Bloom. For +God's sake, look at me! You love me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, yes, yes," she sobbed of a sudden, throwing her +arm around his neck. "Oh, yes, yes."</p> + +<p>"Don't cry," he pleaded. "Oh, sweet, don't cry. I am mad +for love of you, mad. Kiss me now, one kiss. I am staking +my soul on your love. Kiss me!"</p> + +<p>He pressed his lips to hers, but she burst away, terror-stricken.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I am so frightened," she exclaimed all at once. "Oh, +what shall I do? I am so afraid. Oh, please, please. Something +terrifies me. Something scares me. Oh, what am I +going to do? Let me go back."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_542" id="Page_542">[Pg 542]</a></span> +She was white and trembling. Her hands were nervously +clasping and unclasping.</p> + +<p>Eugene smoothed her arm soothingly. "Be still, Suzanne," +he said. "Be still. I shall say no more. You are all right. +I have frightened you. We will go back. Be calm. You are +all right."</p> + +<p>He recovered his own poise with an effort because of her obvious +terror, and led her back under the trees. To reassure her he +drew his cigar case from his pocket and pretended to select a cigar. +When he saw her calming, he put it back.</p> + +<p>"Are you quieter now, sweet?" he asked, tenderly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but let us go back."</p> + +<p>"Listen. I will only go as far as the edge. You go alone. +I will watch you safely to the door."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said peacefully.</p> + +<p>"And you really love me, Suzanne?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, but don't speak of it. Not tonight. You will +frighten me again. Let us go back."</p> + +<p>They strolled on. Then he said: "One kiss, sweet, in parting. +One. Life has opened anew for me. You are the solvent +of my whole being. You are making me over into something +different. I feel as though I had never lived until now. Oh, +this experience! It is such a wonderful thing to have done—to +have lived through, to have changed as I have changed. +You have changed me so completely, made me over into the artist +again. From now on I can paint again. I can paint you." He +scarcely knew what he was saying. He felt as though he were +revealing himself to himself as in an apocalyptic vision.</p> + +<p>She let him kiss her, but she was too frightened and wrought +to even breathe right. She was intense, emotional, strange. +She did not really understand what it was that he was talking +about.</p> + +<p>"Tomorrow," he said, "at the wood's edge. Tomorrow. +Sweet dreams. I shall never know peace any more without +your love."</p> + +<p>And he watched her eagerly, sadly, bitterly, ecstatically, as +she walked lightly from him, disappearing like a shadow through +the dark and silent door.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_543" id="Page_543">[Pg 543]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_VII" id="III_CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<p>It would be impossible to describe even in so detailed an +account as this the subtleties, vagaries, beauties and terrors +of the emotions which seized upon him, and which by degrees +began also to possess Suzanne, once he became wholly infatuated +with her. Mrs. Dale, was, after a social fashion, one of Eugene's +best friends. She had since she had first come to know +him spread his fame far and wide as an immensely clever publisher +and editor, an artist of the greatest power, and a man of +lovely and delightful ideas and personal worth. He knew +from various conversations with her that Suzanne was the apple +of her eye. He had heard her talk, had, in fact, discussed with +her the difficulties of rearing a simple mannered, innocent-minded +girl in present day society. She had confided to him that it had +been her policy to give Suzanne the widest liberty consistent with +good-breeding and current social theories. She did not want to +make her bold or unduly self-reliant, and yet she wanted her to +be free and natural. Suzanne, she was convinced, from long +observation and many frank conversations, was innately honest, +truthful and clean-minded. She did not understand her exactly, +for what mother can clearly understand any child; but she +thought she read her well enough to know that she was in some +indeterminate way forceful and able, like her father, and that +she would naturally gravitate to what was worth while in life.</p> + +<p>Had she any talent? Mrs. Dale really did not know. The +girl had vague yearnings toward something which was anything +but social in its quality. She did not care anything at all for +most of the young men and women she met. She went about a +great deal, but it was to ride and drive. Games of chance did +not interest her. Drawing-room conversations were amusing to +her, but not gripping. She liked interesting characters, able +books, striking pictures. She had been particularly impressed +with those of Eugene's; she had seen and had told her mother +that they were wonderful. She loved poetry of high order, and +was possessed of a boundless appetite for the ridiculous and the +comic. An unexpected faux pas was apt to throw her into uncontrollable +fits of laughter and the funny page selections of +the current newspaper artists, when she could obtain them, +amused her intensely. She was a student of character, and of +her own mother, and was beginning to see clearly what were +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_544" id="Page_544">[Pg 544]</a></span> +the motives that were prompting her mother in her attitude +toward herself, quite as clearly as that person did herself and +better. At bottom she was more talented than her mother, +but in a different way. She was not, as yet, as self-controlled, +or as understanding of current theories and beliefs as her mother, +but she was artistic, emotional, excitable, in an intellectual +way, and capable of high flights of fancy and of intense and fine +appreciations. Her really sensuous beauty was nothing to her. +She did not value it highly. She knew she was beautiful, and +that men and boys were apt to go wild about her, but she did +not care. They must not be so silly, she thought. She did not +attempt to attract them in any way. On the contrary, she +avoided every occasion of possible provocation. Her mother +had told her plainly how susceptible men were, how little their +promises meant, how careful she must be of her looks and actions. +In consequence, she went her way as gaily and yet as inoffensively +as she could, trying to avoid the sadness of entrancing anyone +hopelessly and wondering what her career was to be. Then +Eugene appeared.</p> + +<p>With his arrival, Suzanne had almost unconsciously entered +upon a new phase of her existence. She had seen all sorts of men +in society, but those who were exclusively social were exceedingly +wearisome to her. She had heard her mother say that it was an +important thing to marry money and some man of high social +standing, but who this man was to be and what he was to be +like she did not know. She did not look upon the typical society +men she had encountered as answering suitably to the +term high. She had seen some celebrated wealthy men of influential +families, but they did not appear to her really human +enough to be considered. Most of them were cold, self-opinionated, +ultra-artificial to her easy, poetic spirit. In the realms of +real distinction were many men whom the papers constantly +talked about, financiers, politicians, authors, editors, scientists, +some of whom were in society, she understood, but most of whom +were not. She had met a few of them as a girl might. Most of +those she met, or saw, were old and cold and paid no attention +to her whatever. Eugene had appeared trailing an atmosphere +of distinction and acknowledged ability and he was young. He +was good looking, too—laughing and gay. It seemed almost impossible +at first to her that one so young and smiling should be +so able, as her mother said. Afterwards, when she came to +know him, she began to feel that he was more than able; that +he could do anything he pleased. She had visited him once in +his office, accompanied by her mother, and she had been vastly +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_545" id="Page_545">[Pg 545]</a></span> +impressed by the great building, its artistic finish, Eugene's +palatial surroundings. Surely he was the most remarkable young +man she had ever known. Then came his incandescent attentions +to her, his glowing, radiant presence and then——</p> + +<p>Eugene speculated deeply on how he should proceed. All at +once, after this night, the whole problem of his life came before +him. He was married; he was highly placed socially, better +than he had ever been before. He was connected closely with +Colfax, so closely that he feared him, for Colfax, in spite of +certain emotional vagaries of which Eugene knew, was intensely +conventional. Whatever he did was managed in the most offhand +way and with no intention of allowing his home life to +be affected or disrupted. Winfield, whom also Mrs. Dale +knew, was also conventional to outward appearances. He had +a mistress, but she was held tightly in check, he understood. +Eugene had seen her at the new casino, or a portion of it, the +East Wing, recently erected at Blue Sea, and he had been greatly +impressed with her beauty. She was smart, daring, dashing. +Eugene looked at her then, wondering if the time would ever +come when he could dare an intimacy of that character. So +many married men did. Would he ever attempt it and succeed?</p> + +<p>Now that he had met Suzanne, however, he had a different +notion of all this, and it had come over him all at once. Heretofore +in his dreams, he had fancied he might strike up an emotional +relationship somewhere which would be something like +Winfield's towards Miss De Kalb, as she was known, and so +satisfy the weary longing that was in him for something new +and delightful in the way of a sympathetic relationship with +beauty. Since seeing Suzanne, he wanted nothing of this, but +only some readjustment or rearrangement of his life whereby he +could have Suzanne and Suzanne only. Suzanne! Suzanne! +Oh, that dream of beauty. How was he to obtain her, how free +his life of all save a beautiful relationship with her? He could +live with her forever and ever. He could, he could! Oh, this +vision, this dream!</p> + +<p>It was the Sunday following the dance that Suzanne and +Eugene managed to devise another day together, which, though, +it was one of those semi-accidental, semi-voiceless, but nevertheless +not wholly thoughtless coincidences which sometimes come +about without being wholly agreed upon or understood in the +beginning, was nevertheless seized upon by them, accepted silently +and semi-consciously, semi-unconsciously worked out together. +Had they not been very strongly drawn to each other by now, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_546" id="Page_546">[Pg 546]</a></span> +this would not have happened at all. But they enjoyed it none +the less. To begin with, Mrs. Dale was suffering from a sick +headache the morning after. In the next place, Kinroy suggested +to his friends to go for a lark to South Beach, which was +one of the poorest and scrubbiest of all the beaches on Staten +Island. In the next place, Mrs. Dale suggested that Suzanne +be allowed to go and that perhaps Eugene would be amused. +She rather trusted him as a guide and mentor.</p> + +<p>Eugene said calmly that he did not object. He was eager +to be anywhere alone with Suzanne, and he fancied that some +opportunity would present itself whereby once they were there, +they could be together, but he did not want to show it. Once +more the car was called and they departed, being let off at +one end of a silly panorama which stretched its shabby length +for a mile along the shore. The chauffeur took the car back to +the house, it being agreed that they could reach him by phone. +The party started down the plank walk, but almost immediately, +because of different interests, divided. Eugene and Suzanne +stopped to shoot at a shooting gallery. Next they stopped at a +cane rack to ring canes. Anything was delightful to Eugene +which gave him an opportunity to observe his inamorata, to +see her pretty face, her smile, and to hear her heavenly voice. +She rung a cane for him. Every gesture of hers was perfection; +every look a thrill of delight. He was walking in some +elysian realm which had nothing to do with the tawdry evidence +of life about him.</p> + +<p>They followed the boardwalk southward, after a ride in the +Devil's Whirlpool, for by now Suzanne was caught in the +persuasive subtlety of his emotion and could no more do as her +honest judgment would have dictated than she could have flown. +It needed some shock, some discovery to show her whither she +was drifting and this was absent. They came to a new dance +hall, where a few servant girls and their sweethearts were +dancing, and for a lark Eugene proposed that they should enter. +They danced together again, and though the surroundings were +so poor and the music wretched, Eugene was in heaven.</p> + +<p>"Let's run away and go to the Terra-Marine," he suggested, +thinking of a hotel farther south along the shore. "It +is so pleasant there. This is all so cheap."</p> + +<p>"Where is it?" asked Suzanne.</p> + +<p>"Oh, about three miles south of here. We could almost +walk there."</p> + +<p>He looked down the long hot beach, but changed his mind.</p> + +<p>"I don't mind this," said Suzanne. "It's so very bad that +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_547" id="Page_547">[Pg 547]</a></span> +it's good, you know. I like to see how these people enjoy themselves."</p> + +<p>"But it is <i>so</i> bad," argued Eugene. "I wish I had your live, +healthy attitude toward things. Still we won't go if you don't +want to."</p> + +<p>Suzanne paused, thinking. Should she run away with him? +The others would be looking for them. No doubt they were +already wondering where they had gone. Still it didn't make so +much difference. Her mother trusted her with Eugene. They +could go.</p> + +<p>"Well," she said finally, "I don't care. Let's."</p> + +<p>"What will the others think?" he said doubtfully.</p> + +<p>"Oh, they won't mind," she said. "When they're ready, +they'll call the car. They know that I am with you. They +know that I can get the car when I want it. Mama won't +mind."</p> + +<p>Eugene led the way back to a train which ran to Hugenot, +their destination. He was beside himself with the idea of a +day all alone with Suzanne. He did not stay to consider or +give ear to a thought concerning Angela at home or how Mrs. +Dale would view it. Nothing would come of it. It was not an +outrageous adventure. They took the train south, and in a +little while were in another world, on the veranda of a hotel +that overlooked the sea. There were numerous autos of idlers +like themselves in a court before the hotel. There was a great +grassy lawn with swings covered by striped awnings of red and +blue and green, and beyond that a pier with many little white +launches anchored near. The sea was as smooth as glass and +great steamers rode in the distance trailing lovely plumes of +smoke. The sun was blazing hot, brilliant, but here on the +cool porch waiters were serving pleasure lovers with food and +drink. A quartette of negroes were singing. Suzanne and +Eugene seated themselves in rockers at first to view the perfect +day and later went down and sat in a swing. Unthinkingly, +without words, these two were gradually gravitating toward +each other under some spell which had no relationship to +everyday life. Suzanne looked at him in the double seated swing +where they sat facing each other and they smiled or jested aimlessly, +voicing nothing of all the upward welling deep that was +stirring within.</p> + +<p>"Was there ever such a day?" said Eugene finally, and in a +voice that was filled with extreme yearning. "See that steamer +out there. It looks like a little toy."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Suzanne with a little gasp. She inhaled her +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_548" id="Page_548">[Pg 548]</a></span> +breath as she pronounced this word which gave it an airy breathlessness +which had a touch of demure pathos in it. "Oh, it is +perfect."</p> + +<p>"Your hair," he said. "You don't know how nice you look. +You fit this scene exactly."</p> + +<p>"Don't speak of me," she pleaded. "I look so tousled. The +wind in the train blew my hair so I ought to go the ladies' dressing +room and hunt up a maid."</p> + +<p>"Stay here," said Eugene. "Don't go. It is all so lovely."</p> + +<p>"I won't now. I wish we might always sit here. You, just +as you are there, and I here."</p> + +<p>"Did you ever read the 'Ode on a Grecian Urn'?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Do you remember the lines 'Fair youth, beneath the trees, +thou canst not leave'?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," she answered ecstatically.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though winning near the goal—yet, do not grieve;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For ever wilt thou love and she be fair.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Don't, don't," she pleaded.</p> + +<p>He understood. The pathos of that great thought was too +much for her. It hurt her as it did him. What a mind!</p> + +<p>They rocked and swung idly, he pushing with his feet at times +in which labor she joined him. They strolled up the beach and +sat down on a green clump of grass overlooking the sea. Idlers +approached and passed. He laid his arm to her waist and held +her hand, but something in her mood stayed him from any expression. +Through dinner at the hotel it was the same and +on the way to the train, for she wanted to walk through the +dark. Under some tall trees, though, in the rich moonlight prevailing, +he pressed her hand.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Suzanne," he said.</p> + +<p>"No, no," she breathed, drawing back.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Suzanne," he repeated, "may I tell you?"</p> + +<p>"No, no," she answered. "Don't speak to me. Please don't. +Let's just walk. You and I."</p> + +<p>He hushed, for her voice, though sad and fearsome, was +imperious. He could not do less than obey this mood.</p> + +<p>They went to a little country farmhouse which ranged along +the track in lieu of a depot, and sang a quaint air from some +old-time comic opera.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_549" id="Page_549">[Pg 549]</a></span> +"Do you remember the first time when you came to play tennis +with me?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Do you know I felt a strange vibration before your coming +and all during your playing. Did you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"What is that, Suzanne?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>"Don't you want to know?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, Mr. Witla, not now."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Witla?"</p> + +<p>"It must be so."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Suzanne!"</p> + +<p>"Let's just think," she pleaded, "it is so beautiful."</p> + +<p>They came to a station near Daleview, and walked over. On +the way he slipped his arm about her waist, but, oh, so lightly.</p> + +<p>"Suzanne," he asked, with a terrible yearning ache in his +heart, "do you blame me? Can you?"</p> + +<p>"Don't ask me," she pleaded, "not now. No, no."</p> + +<p>He tried to press her a little more closely.</p> + +<p>"Not now. I don't blame you."</p> + +<p>He stopped as they neared the lawn and entered the house +with a jesting air. Explanations about mixing in the crowd +and getting lost were easy. Mrs. Dale smiled good naturedly. +Suzanne went to her room.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_550" id="Page_550">[Pg 550]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_VIII" id="III_CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<p>Having involved himself thus far, seized upon and made +his own this perfect flower of life, Eugene had but one +thought, and that was to retain it. Now, of a sudden, had +fallen from him all the weariness of years. To be in love again. +To be involved in such a love, so wonderful, so perfect, so +exquisite, it did not seem that life could really be so gracious +as to have yielded him so much. What did it all mean, his +upward rise during all these years? There had been seemingly +but one triumph after another since the bitter days in Riverwood +and after. The <i>World</i>, Summerfield's, The Kalvin Company, +The United Magazine Corporation, Winfield, his beautiful +apartment on the drive. Surely the gods were good. What +did they mean? To give him fame, fortune and Suzanne into +the bargain? Could such a thing really be? How could it be +worked out? Would fate conspire and assist him so that he +could be free of Angela—or——</p> + +<p>The thought of Angela to him in these days was a great +pain. At bottom Eugene really did not dislike her, he never +had. Years of living with her had produced an understanding +and a relationship as strong and as keen as it might well be in +some respects. Angela had always fancied since the Riverwood +days that she really did not love Eugene truly any more—could +not, that he was too self-centered and selfish; but this on her +part was more of an illusion than a reality. She did care +for him in an unselfish way from one point of view, in that she +would sacrifice everything to his interests. From another point +of view it was wholly selfish, for she wanted him to sacrifice +everything for her in return. This he was not willing to do +and had never been. He considered that his life was a larger +thing than could be encompassed by any single matrimonial +relationship. He wanted freedom of action and companionship, +but he was afraid of Angela, afraid of society, in a way afraid +of himself and what positive liberty might do to him. He +felt sorry for Angela—for the intense suffering she would endure +if he forced her in some way to release him—and at the +same time he felt sorry for himself. The lure of beauty had +never for one moment during all these years of upward mounting +effort been stilled.</p> + +<p>It is curious how things seem to conspire at times to produce +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_551" id="Page_551">[Pg 551]</a></span> +a climax. One would think that tragedies like plants +and flowers are planted as seeds and grow by various means and +aids to a terrible maturity. Roses of hell are some lives, and +they shine with all the lustre of infernal fires.</p> + +<p>In the first place Eugene now began to neglect his office +work thoroughly, for he could not fix his mind upon it any +more than he could upon the affairs of the Sea Island Company, +or upon his own home and Angela's illness. The morning after +his South Beach experience with Suzanne and her curious reticence, +he saw her for a little while upon the veranda of Daleview. +She was not seemingly depressed, or at least, not noticeably +so, and yet there was a gravity about her which indicated that a +marked impression of some kind had been made upon her soul. +She looked at him with wide frank eyes as she came out to him +purposely to tell him that she was going with her mother and some +friends to Tarrytown for the day.</p> + +<p>"I have to go," she said. "Mamma has arranged it by +phone."</p> + +<p>"Then I won't see you any more here?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Do you love me, Suzanne?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, yes," she declared, and walked wearily to an angle +of the wall where they could not be seen.</p> + +<p>He followed her quickly, cautiously.</p> + +<p>"Kiss me," he said, and she put her lips to his in a distraught +frightened way. Then she turned and walked briskly +off and he admired the robust swinging of her body. She was +not tall, like himself, or small like Angela, but middle sized, +full bodied, vigorous. He imagined now that she had a powerful +soul in her, capable of great things, full of courage and +strength. Once she was a little older, she would be very forceful +and full of strong, direct thought.</p> + +<p>He did not see her again for nearly ten days, and by that +time he was nearly desperate. He was wondering all the time +how he was to arrange this. He could not go on in this haphazard +way, seeing her occasionally. Why she might leave town +for the fall a little later and then what would he do? If her +mother heard she would take her off to Europe and then would +Suzanne forget? What a tragedy that would be! No, before +that should happen, he would run away with her. He would +realize all his investments and get away. He could not live +without her. He must have her at any cost. What did the United +Magazine Corporation amount to, anyway? He was tired of +that work. Angela might have the Sea Island Realty Company's +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_552" id="Page_552">[Pg 552]</a></span> +stock, if he could not dispose of it advantageously, or if +he could, he would make provision for her out of what he +should receive. He had some ready money—a few thousand dollars. +This and his art—he could still paint—would sustain them. +He would go to England with Suzanne, or to France. They +would be happy if she really loved him and he thought she did. +All this old life could go its way. It was a dreary thing, +anyhow, without love. These were his first thoughts.</p> + +<p>Later, he came to have different ones, but this was after he +had talked to Suzanne again. It was a difficult matter to arrange. +In a fit of desperation he called up Daleview one +day, and asked if Miss Suzanne Dale was there. A servant +answered, and in answer to the "who shall I say" he gave the +name of a young man that he knew Suzanne knew. When she +answered he said: "Listen, Suzanne! Can you hear very +well?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Do you recognize my voice?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Please don't pronounce my name, will you?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Suzanne, I am crazy to see you. It has been ten days now. +Are you going to be in town long?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I think so."</p> + +<p>"If anyone comes near you, Suzanne, simply hang up the receiver, +and I will understand."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"If I came anywhere near your house in a car, could you +come out and see me?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Suzanne!"</p> + +<p>"I'm not sure. I'll try. What time?"</p> + +<p>"Do you know where the old fort road is, at Crystal Lake, +just below you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Do you know where the ice house is near the road there?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Could you come there?"</p> + +<p>"What time?"</p> + +<p>"At eleven tomorrow morning or two this afternoon or three."</p> + +<p>"I might at two today."</p> + +<p>"Oh, thank you for that. I'll wait for you, anyhow."</p> + +<p>"All right. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>And she hung up the receiver.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_553" id="Page_553">[Pg 553]</a></span> +Eugene rejoiced at the fortunate outcome of this effort without +thinking at first of the capable manner in which she had +handled the situation. Truly he said afterwards she must be +very courageous to think so directly and act so quickly, for it +must have been very trying to her. This love of his was so new. +Her position was so very difficult. And yet, on this first call +when she had been suddenly put in touch with him, she had +shown no signs of trepidation. Her voice had been firm and +even, much more so than his, for he was nervously excited. She +had taken in the situation at once and fallen into the ruse quite +readily. Was she as simple as she seemed? Yes and no. She +was simply capable, he thought and her capability had acted +through her simplicity instantly.</p> + +<p>At two the same day Eugene was there. He gave as an +excuse to his secretary that he was going out for a business conference +with a well-known author whose book he wished to obtain, +and, calling a closed auto, but one not his own, journeyed +to the rendezvous. He asked the man to drive down the road, +making runs of half a mile to and fro while he sat in the +shade of a clump of trees out of view of the road. Presently +Suzanne came, bright and fresh as the morning, beautiful in a +light purple walking costume of masterly design. She had on a +large soft brimmed hat with long feathers of the same shade +which became her exquisitely. She walked with an air of grace +and freedom, and yet when he looked into her eyes, he saw a +touch of trouble there.</p> + +<p>"At last?" he said signaling her and smiling. "Come in here. +My car is just up the road. Don't you think we had better get +in? It's closed. We might be seen. How long can you stay?"</p> + +<p>He took her in his arms and kissed her eagerly while she explained +that she could not stay long. She had said she was +going to the library, which her mother had endowed, for a +book. She must be there by half past three or four at the +least.</p> + +<p>"Oh, we can talk a great deal by then," he said gaily. "Here +comes the car. Let's get in."</p> + +<p>He looked cautiously about, hailed it, and they stepped in +quickly as it drew up.</p> + +<p>"Perth Amboy," said Eugene, and they were off at high +speed.</p> + +<p>Once in the car all was perfect, for they could not be seen. +He drew the shades partially and took her in his arms.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Suzanne," he said, "how long it has seemed. How very +long. Do you love me?"</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_554" id="Page_554">[Pg 554]</a></span> +"Yes, you know I do."</p> + +<p>"Suzanne, how shall we arrange this? Are you going away +soon? I must see you oftener."</p> + +<p>"I don't know," she said. "I don't know what mama +is thinking of doing. I know she wants to go up to Lenox in +the fall."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Pshaw!" commented Eugene wearily.</p> + +<p>"Listen, Mr. Witla," said Suzanne thoughtfully. "You +know we are running a terrible risk. What if Mrs. Witla +should find out, or mama? It would be terrible."</p> + +<p>"I know it," said Eugene. "I suppose I ought not to be +acting in this way. But, oh, Suzanne, I am wild about you. +I am not myself any longer. I don't know what I am. I only +know that I love you, love you, love you!"</p> + +<p>He gathered her in his arms and kissed her ecstatically. "How +sweet you look. How beautiful you are. Oh, flower face! +Myrtle Bloom! Angel Eyes! Divine Fire!" He hugged her in +a long silent embrace, the while the car sped on.</p> + +<p>"But what about us?" she asked, wide-eyed. "You know we +are running a terrible risk. I was just thinking this morning +when you called me up. It's dangerous, you know."</p> + +<p>"Are you becoming sorry, Suzanne?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Do you love me?"</p> + +<p>"You know I do."</p> + +<p>"Then you will help me figure this out?"</p> + +<p>"I want to. But listen, Mr. Witla, now listen to me. I +want to tell you something." She was very solemn and quaint +and sweet in this mood.</p> + +<p>"I will listen to anything, baby mine, but don't call me Mr. +Witla. Call me Eugene, will you?"</p> + +<p>"Well, now, listen to me, Mr.—Mr.—Eugene."</p> + +<p>"Not Mr. Eugene, just Eugene. Now say it. Eugene," +he quoted his own name to her.</p> + +<p>"Now listen to me, Mr.—now, listen to me, Eugene," she at +last forced herself to say, and Eugene stopped her lips with his +mouth.</p> + +<p>"There," he said.</p> + +<p>"Now listen to me," she went on urgently, "you know I am +afraid mama will be terribly angry if she finds this out."</p> + +<p>"Oh, will she?" interrupted Eugene jocosely.</p> + +<p>Suzanne paid no attention to him.</p> + +<p>"We have to be very careful. She likes you so much now +that if she doesn't come across anything direct, she will never +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_555" id="Page_555">[Pg 555]</a></span> +think of anything. She was talking about you only this morning."</p> + +<p>"What was she saying?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, what a nice man you are, and how able you are."</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing like that," replied Eugene jestingly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, she did. And I think Mrs. Witla likes me. I can +meet you sometimes when I'm there, but we must be so careful. +I mustn't stay out long today. I want to think things out, +too. You know I'm having a real hard time thinking about +this."</p> + +<p>Eugene smiled. Her innocence was so delightful to him, so +naïve.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by thinking things out, Suzanne?" +asked Eugene curiously. He was interested in the workings +of her young mind, which seemed so fresh and wonderful to +him. It was so delightful to find this paragon of beauty so responsive, +so affectionate and helpful and withal so thoughtful. +She was somewhat like a delightful toy to him, and he held her +as reverently in awe as though she were a priceless vase.</p> + +<p>"You know I want to think what I'm doing. I have to. It +seems so terrible to me at times and yet you know, you +know——"</p> + +<p>"I know what?" he asked, when she paused.</p> + +<p>"I don't know why I shouldn't if I want to—if I love you."</p> + +<p>Eugene looked at her curiously. This attempt at analysis +of life, particularly in relation to so trying and daring a situation +as this, astonished him. He had fancied Suzanne more or +less thoughtless and harmless as yet, big potentially, but uncertain +and vague. Here she was thinking about this most difficult +problem almost more directly than he was and apparently with +more courage. He was astounded, but more than that, intensely +interested. What had become of her terrific fright of +ten days before? What was it she was thinking about exactly?</p> + +<p>"What a curious girl you are," he said.</p> + +<p>"Why am I?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Because you are. I didn't think you could think so keenly +yet. I thought you would some day. But, how have you reasoned +this out?"</p> + +<p>"Did you ever read 'Anna Karénina'?" she asked him meditatively.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, wondering that she should have read it at +her age.</p> + +<p>"What did you think of that?"</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_556" id="Page_556">[Pg 556]</a></span> +"Oh, it shows what happens, as a rule, when you fly in the +face of convention," he said easily, wondering at the ability of +her brain.</p> + +<p>"Do you think things must happen that way?"</p> + +<p>"No, I don't think they must happen that way. There are +lots of cases where people do go against the conventions and +succeed. I don't know. It appears to be all a matter of time +and chance. Some do and some don't. If you are strong +enough or clever enough to 'get away with it,' as they say, you +will. If you aren't, you won't. What makes you ask?"</p> + +<p>"Well," she said, pausing, her lips parted, her eyes fixed on +the floor, "I was thinking that it needn't necessarily be like +that, do you think? It could be different?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it could be," he said thoughtfully, wondering if it really +could.</p> + +<p>"Because if it couldn't," she went on, "the price would be +too high. It isn't worth while."</p> + +<p>"You mean, you mean," he said, looking at her, "that you +would." He was thinking that she was deliberately contemplating +making a sacrifice of herself for him. Something in her +thoughtful, self-debating, meditative manner made him think so.</p> + +<p>Suzanne looked out of the window and slowly nodded her +head. "Yes," she said, solemnly, "if it could be arranged. +Why not? I don't see why."</p> + +<p>Her face was a perfect blossom of beauty, as she spoke. Eugene +wondered whether he was waking or sleeping. Suzanne +reasoning so! Suzanne reading "Anna Karénina" and philosophizing +so! Basing a course of action on theorizing in connection +with books and life, and in the face of such terrible evidence +as "Anna Karénina" presented to the contrary of this +proposition. Would wonders ever cease?</p> + +<p>"You know," she said after a time, "I think mama +wouldn't mind, Eugene. She likes you. I've heard her say +so lots of times. Besides I've heard her talk this way about +other people. She thinks people oughtn't to marry unless they +love each other very much. I don't think she thinks it's necessary +for people to marry at all unless they want to. We might +live together if we wished, you know."</p> + +<p>Eugene himself had heard Mrs. Dale question the marriage +system, but only in a philosophic way. He did not take much +stock in her social maunderings. He did not know what she +might be privately saying to Suzanne, but he did not believe it +could be very radical, or at least seriously so.</p> + +<p>"Don't you take any stock in what your mother says, Suzanne," +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_557" id="Page_557">[Pg 557]</a></span> +he observed, studying her pretty face. "She doesn't +mean it, at least, she doesn't mean it as far as you are concerned. +She's merely talking. If she thought anything were +going to happen to you, she'd change her mind pretty quick."</p> + +<p>"No, I don't think so," replied Suzanne thoughtfully. "You +know, I think I know mama better than she knows herself. +She always talks of me as a little girl, but I can rule her in +lots of things. I've done it."</p> + +<p>Eugene stared at Suzanne in amazement. He could scarcely +believe his ears. She was beginning so early to think so deeply +on the social and executive sides of life. Why should her mind +be trying to dominate her mother's?</p> + +<p>"Suzanne," he observed, "you must be careful what you do or +say. Don't rush into talking of this pellmell. It's dangerous. +I love you, but we shall have to go slow. If Mrs. Witla +should learn of this, she would be crazy. If your mother should +suspect, she would take you away to Europe somewhere, very +likely. Then I wouldn't get to see you at all."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, she wouldn't," replied Suzanne determinedly. "You +know, I know mama better than you think I do. I can rule +her, I tell you. I know I can. I've done it."</p> + +<p>She tossed her head in an exquisitely pretty way which upset +Eugene's reasoning faculties. He could not think and look at +her.</p> + +<p>"Suzanne," he said, drawing her to him. "You are exquisite, +extreme, the last word in womanhood for me. To think of your +reasoning so—you, Suzanne."</p> + +<p>"Why, why," she asked, with pretty parted lips and uplifted +eyebrows, "why shouldn't I think?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, certainly, we all do, but not so deeply, necessarily, +Flower Face."</p> + +<p>"Well, we must think now," she said simply.</p> + +<p>"Yes, we must think now," he replied; "would you really +share a studio with me if I were to take one? I don't know +of any other way quite at present."</p> + +<p>"I would, if I knew how to manage it," she replied. "Mama +is queer. She's so watchful. She thinks I'm a child and you +know I am not at all. I don't understand mama. She +talks one thing and does another. I would rather do and not +talk. Don't you think so?" He stared. "Still, I think I +can fix it. Leave it to me."</p> + +<p>"And if you can you'll come to me?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, yes," exclaimed Suzanne ecstatically, turning to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_558" id="Page_558">[Pg 558]</a></span> +him all at once and catching his face between her hands. "Oh!"—she +looked into his eyes and dreamed.</p> + +<p>"But we must be careful," he cautioned. "We musn't do +anything rash."</p> + +<p>"I won't," said Suzanne.</p> + +<p>"And I won't, of course," he replied.</p> + +<p>They paused again while he watched her.</p> + +<p>"I might make friends with Mrs. Witla," she observed, after +a time. "She likes me, doesn't she?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Eugene.</p> + +<p>"Mama doesn't object to my going up there, and I could +let you know."</p> + +<p>"That's all right. Do that," said Eugene. "Oh, please do, +if you can. Did you notice whose name I used today?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said. "You know Mr. Witla, Eugene, I thought +you might call me up?"</p> + +<p>"Did you?" he asked, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"You give me courage, Suzanne," he said, drawing close to +her. "You're so confident, so apparently carefree. The world +hasn't touched your spirit."</p> + +<p>"When I'm away from you, though, I'm not so courageous," +she replied. "I've been thinking terrible things. I get frightened +sometimes."</p> + +<p>"But you mustn't, sweet, I need you so. Oh, how I need +you."</p> + +<p>She looked at him, and for the first time smoothed his hair +with her hand.</p> + +<p>"You know, Eugene, you're just like a boy to me."</p> + +<p>"Do I seem so?" he asked, comforted greatly.</p> + +<p>"I couldn't love you as I do if you weren't."</p> + +<p>He drew her to him again and kissed her anew.</p> + +<p>"Can't we repeat these rides every few days?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, if I'm here, maybe."</p> + +<p>"It's all right to call you up if I use another name?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think so."</p> + +<p>"Let's choose new names for each, so that we'll know who's +calling. You shall be Jenny Lind and I Allan Poe." Then +they fell to ardent love-making until the time came when they +had to return. For him, so far as work was concerned, the afternoon +was gone.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_559" id="Page_559">[Pg 559]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_IX" id="III_CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<p>There followed now a series of meetings contrived with +difficulty, fraught with danger, destructive of his peace of +mind, of his recently acquired sense of moral and commercial +responsibility, of the sense of singleness of purpose and interest +in his editorial and publishing world, which had helped him so +much recently. The meetings nevertheless were full of such +intense bliss for him that it seemed as though he were a thousand +times repaid for all the subtlety and folly he was practicing. +There were times when he came to the ice house in a hired car, +others when she notified him by phone or note to his office of +times when she was coming in to town to stay. He took her in +his car one afternoon to Blue Sea when he was sure no one would +encounter him. He persuaded Suzanne to carry a heavy veil, +which could be adjusted at odd moments. Another time—several, +in fact she came to the apartment in Riverside Drive, ostensibly +to see how Mrs. Witla was getting along, but really, of +course, to see Eugene. Suzanne did not really care so much +for Angela, although she did not dislike her. She thought she +was an interesting woman, though perhaps not a happy mate for +Eugene. The latter had told her not so much that he was unhappy +as that he was out of love. He loved her now, Suzanne, +and only her.</p> + +<p>The problem as to where this relationship was to lead to was +complicated by another problem, which Eugene knew nothing +of, but which was exceedingly important. For Angela, following +the career of Eugene with extreme pleasure and satisfaction +on the commercial side, and fear and distrust on the social and +emotional sides, had finally decided to risk the uncertain outcome +of a child in connection with Eugene and herself, and to give +him something which would steady his life and make him realize +his responsibilities and offer him something gladdening besides +social entertainment and the lure of beauty in youth. She had +never forgotten the advice which Mrs. Sanifore and her physician +had given her in Philadelphia, nor had she ever ceased her +cogitations as to what the probable effect of a child would be. +Eugene needed something of this sort to balance him. His position +in the world was too tenuous, his temperament too variable. +A child—a little girl, she hoped, for he always liked little girls +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_560" id="Page_560">[Pg 560]</a></span> +and made much of them—would quiet him. If she could only +have a little girl now!</p> + +<p>Some two months before her illness, while Eugene was becoming, +all unsuspected by her, so frenzied about Suzanne, she had +relaxed, or rather abandoned, her old-time precautions entirely, +and had recently begun to suspect that her fears, or hopes, or both, +were about to be realized. Owing to her subsequent illness and +its effect on her heart, she was not very happy now. She was naturally +very uncertain as to the outcome as well as to how Eugene +would take it. He had never expressed a desire for a child, but +she had no thought of telling him as yet, for she wanted to be absolutely +sure. If she were not correct in her suspicions, and got +well, he would attempt to dissuade her for the future. If she +were, he could not help himself. Like all women in that condition, +she was beginning to long for sympathy and consideration +and to note more keenly the drift of Eugene's mind toward a +world which did not very much concern her. His interest in +Suzanne had puzzled her a little, though she was not greatly +troubled about her because Mrs. Dale appeared to be so thoughtful +about her daughter. Times were changing. Eugene had been +going out much alone. A child would help. It was high time +it came.</p> + +<p>When Suzanne had started coming with her mother, Angela +thought nothing of it; but on the several occasions when Suzanne +called during her illness, and Eugene had been present, +she felt as though there might easily spring up something between +them. Suzanne was so charming. Once as she lay thinking +after Suzanne had left the room to go into the studio for a +few moments, she heard Eugene jesting with her and laughing +keenly. Suzanne's laugh, or gurgling giggle, was most infectious. +It was so easy, too, for Eugene to make her laugh, for +his type of jesting was to her the essence of fun. It seemed to +her that there was something almost overgay in the way they +carried on. On each occasion when she was present, Eugene proposed +that he take Suzanne home in his car, and this set her +thinking.</p> + +<p>There came a time when, Angela being well enough from her +rheumatic attack, Eugene invited a famous singer, a tenor, who +had a charming repertoire of songs, to come to his apartment and +sing. He had met him at a social affair in Brooklyn with which +Winfield had something to do. A number of people were invited—Mrs. +Dale, Suzanne, and Kinroy, among others; but +Mrs. Dale could not come, and as Suzanne had an appointment +for the next morning, Sunday, in the city, she decided to stay at +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_561" id="Page_561">[Pg 561]</a></span> +the Witlas. This pleased Eugene immensely. He had bought +a sketching book which he had begun to fill with sketches +of Suzanne from memory and these he wanted to show her. Besides, +he wanted her to hear this singer's beautiful voice.</p> + +<p>The company was interesting. Kinroy brought Suzanne early +and left. Eugene and Suzanne, after she had exchanged greetings +with Angela, sat out on the little stone balcony overlooking +the river and exchanged loving thoughts. He was constantly +holding her hand when no one was looking and stealing kisses. +After a time the company began to arrive, and finally the singer +himself. The trained nurse, with Eugene's assistance, helped +Angela forward, who listened enraptured to the songs. Suzanne +and Eugene, swept by the charm of some of them, looked at +each other with that burning gaze which love alone understands. +To Eugene Suzanne's face was a perfect flower of hypnotic influence. +He could scarcely keep his eyes off her for a moment +at a time. The singer ceased, the company departed. Angela +was left crying over the beauty of "The Erlking," the last song +rendered. She went back to her room, and Suzanne ostensibly +departed for hers. She came out to say a few final words to +Mrs. Witla, then came through the studio to go to her own room +again. Eugene was there waiting. He caught her in his arms, +kissing her silently. They pretended to strike up a conventional +conversation, and he invited her to sit out on the stone balcony +for a few last moments. The moon was so beautiful over the +river.</p> + +<p>"Don't!" she said, when he gathered her in his arms, in the +shadow of the night outside. "She might come."</p> + +<p>"No," he said eagerly.</p> + +<p>They listened, but there was no sound. He began an easy +pretence to talk, the while stroking her pretty arm, which was +bare. Insanity over her beauty, the loveliness of the night, the +charm of the music, had put him beside himself. He drew her +into his arms in spite of her protest, only to have Angela suddenly +appear at the other end of the room where the door was. +There was no concealing anything she saw. She came rapidly +forward, even as Suzanne jumped up, a sickening rage in her +heart, a sense of her personal condition strong in her mind, a +sense of something terrible and climacteric in the very air, but +she was still too ill to risk a great demonstration or to declare +herself fully. It seemed now once more the whole world had +fallen about her ears, for because of her plans and in spite of +all her suspicions, she had not been ready to believe that Eugene +would really trespass again. She had come to surprise him, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_562" id="Page_562">[Pg 562]</a></span> +if possible, but she had not actually expected to, had hoped not +to. Here was this beautiful girl, the victim of his wiles, and +here was she involved by her own planning, while Eugene, +shame-faced, she supposed, stood by ready to have this ridiculous +liaison nipped in the bud. She did not propose to expose herself +to Suzanne if she could help it, but sorrow for herself, shame +for him, pity for Suzanne in a way, the desire to preserve the +shell of appearances, which was now, after this, so utterly empty +for her though so important for the child, caused her to swell +with her old-time rage, and yet to hold it in check. Six years +before she would have raged to his face, but time had softened +her in this respect. She did not see the value of brutal words.</p> + +<p>"Suzanne," she said, standing erect in the filtered gloom of +the room which was still irradiated by the light of the moon in +the west, "how could you! I thought so much better of you."</p> + +<p>Her face, thinned by her long illness and her brooding over +her present condition, was still beautiful in a spiritual way. She +wore a pale yellow and white flowered dressing gown of filmy, +lacy texture, and her long hair, done in braids by the nurse, +was hanging down her back like the Gretchen she was to him +years before. Her hands were thin and pale, but artistic, and +her face drawn in all the wearisome agony of a mater dolorosa.</p> + +<p>"Why, why," exclaimed Suzanne, terribly shaken out of her +natural fine poise for the moment but not forgetful of the dominating +thought in her mind, "I love him; that's why, Mrs. +Witla."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, you don't! you only think you love him, as so many +women have before you, Suzanne," said Angela frozenly, the +thought of the coming child always with her. If she had only +told him before! "Oh, shame, in my house, and you a young, +supposedly innocent girl! What do you suppose your mother +would think if I should call her up and tell her now? Or your +brother? You knew he was a married man. I might excuse you +if it weren't for that if you hadn't known me and hadn't accepted +my hospitality. As for him, there is no need of my talking +to him. This is an old story with him, Suzanne. He has done +this with other women before you, and he will do it with other +women after you. It is one of the things I have to bear for +having married a man of so-called talent. Don't think, Suzanne, +when you tell me you love him, that you tell me anything new. +I have heard that story before from other women. You are not +the first, and you will not be the last."</p> + +<p>Suzanne looked at Eugene inquiringly, vaguely, helplessly, +wondering if all this were so.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_563" id="Page_563">[Pg 563]</a></span> +Eugene hardened under Angela's cutting accusation, but he +was not at all sure at first what he ought to do. He wondered +for the moment whether he ought not to abandon Suzanne and +fall back into his old state, dreary as it might seem to him; but +the sight of her pretty face, the sound of Angela's cutting voice, +determined him quickly. "Angela," he began, recovering his +composure the while Suzanne contemplated him, "why do you +talk that way? You know that what you say isn't true. There +was one other woman. I will tell Suzanne about her. There +were several before I married you. I will tell her about them. +But my life is a shell, and you know it. This apartment is a +shell. Absolutely it means nothing at all to me. There has +been no love between us, certainly not on my part, for years, +and you know that. You have practically confessed to me from +time to time that you do not care for me. I haven't deceived +this girl. I am glad to tell her now how things stand."</p> + +<p>"How things stand! How things stand!" exclaimed Angela, +blazing and forgetting herself for the moment. "Will you tell +her what an excellent, faithful husband you have made me? +Will you tell her how honestly you have kept your word pledged +to me at the altar? Will you tell her how I have worked and +sacrificed for you through all these years? How I have been +repaid by just such things as this? I'm sorry for you, Suzanne, +more than anything else," went on Angela, wondering whether +she should tell Eugene here and now of her condition but fearing +he would not believe it. It seemed so much like melodrama. +"You are just a silly little girl duped by an expert man, who +thinks he loves you for a little while, but who really doesn't. +He will get over it. Tell me frankly what do you expect to get +out of it all? You can't marry him. I won't give him a divorce. +I can't, as he will know later, and he has no grounds for +obtaining one. Do you expect to be his mistress? You have no +hope of ever being anything else. Isn't that a nice ambition for +a girl of your standing? And you are supposed to be virtuous! +Oh, I am ashamed of you, if you are not! I am sorry for your +mother. I am astonished to think that you would so belittle +yourself."</p> + +<p>Suzanne had heard the "I can't," but she really did not know +how to interpret it. It had never occurred to her that there +could ever be a child here to complicate matters. Eugene told +her that he was unhappy, that there was nothing between him +and Angela and never could be.</p> + +<p>"But I love him, Mrs. Witla," said Suzanne simply and rather +dramatically. She was tense, erect, pale and decidedly beautiful. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_564" id="Page_564">[Pg 564]</a></span> +It was a great problem to have so quickly laid upon her shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Don't talk nonsense, Suzanne!" said Angela angrily and +desperately. "Don't deceive yourself and stick to a silly pose. +You are acting now. You're talking as you think you ought to +talk, as you have seen people talk in plays. This is my husband. +You are in my home. Come, get your things. I will call up +your mother and tell her how things stand, and she will send +her auto for you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," said Suzanne, "you can't do that! I can't go back +there, if you tell her. I must go out in the world and get something +to do until I can straighten out my own affairs. I won't +be able to go home any more. Oh, what shall I do?"</p> + +<p>"Be calm, Suzanne," said Eugene determinedly, taking her +hand and looking at Angela defiantly. "She isn't going to call +up your mother, and she isn't going to tell your mother. You are +going to stay here, as you intended, and tomorrow you are going +where you thought you were going."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, she isn't!" said Angela angrily, starting for the +phone. "She is going home. I'm going to call her mother."</p> + +<p>Suzanne stirred nervously. Eugene put his hand in hers to +reassure her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, you aren't," he said determinedly. "She isn't going +home, and you are not going to touch that phone. If you do, a +number of things are going to happen, and they are going to +happen quick."</p> + +<p>He moved between her and the telephone receiver, which hung +in the hall outside the studio and toward which she was edging.</p> + +<p>Angela paused at the ominous note in his voice, the determined +quality of his attitude. She was surprised and amazed at the +almost rough manner in which he put her aside. He had taken +Suzanne's hand, he, her husband, and was begging her to be +calm.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Eugene," said Angela desperately, frightened and horrified, +her anger half melted in her fears, "you don't know what +you are doing! Suzanne doesn't. She won't want anything to +do with you when she does. Young as she is, she will have too +much womanhood."</p> + +<p>"What are you talking about?" asked Eugene desperately. +He had no idea of what Angela was driving at, not the faintest +suspicion. "What are you talking about?" he repeated grimly.</p> + +<p>"Let me say just one word to you alone, not here before Suzanne, +just one, and then perhaps you will be willing to let her +go home tonight."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_565" id="Page_565">[Pg 565]</a></span> +Angela was subtle in this, a little bit wicked. She was not +using her advantage in exactly the right spirit.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" demanded Eugene sourly, expecting some trick. +He had so long gnawed at the chains which bound him that the +thought of any additional lengths which might be forged irritated +him greatly. "Why can't you tell it here? What difference +can it make?"</p> + +<p>"It ought to make all the difference in the world. Let me +say it to you alone."</p> + +<p>Suzanne, who wondered what it could be, walked away. She +was wondering what it was that Angela had to tell. The latter's +manner was not exactly suggestive of the weighty secret she bore. +When Suzanne was gone, Angela whispered to him.</p> + +<p>"It's a lie!" said Eugene vigorously, desperately, hopelessly. +"It's something you've trumped up for the occasion. It's just +like you to say that, to do it! Pah! I don't believe it. It's a +lie! It's a lie! You know it's a lie!"</p> + +<p>"It's the truth!" said Angela angrily, pathetically, outraged +in her every nerve and thought by the reception which this fact +had received, and desperate to think that the announcement of a +coming child by him should be received in this manner under +such circumstances that it should be forced from her as a last +resort, only to be received with derision and scorn. "It's the +truth, and you ought to be ashamed to say that to me. What +can I expect from a man, though, who would introduce another +woman into his own home as you have tonight?" To think that +she should be reduced to such a situation as this so suddenly! +It was impossible to argue it with him here. She was ashamed +now that she had introduced it at this time. He would not believe +her, anyhow now, she saw that. It only enraged him and +her. He was too wild. This seemed to infuriate him—to condemn +her in his mind as a trickster and a sharper, someone who +was using unfair means to hold him. He almost jumped away +from her in disgust, and she realized that she had struck an awful +blow which apparently, to him, had some elements of unfairness +in it.</p> + +<p>"Won't you have the decency after this to send her away?" +she pleaded aloud, angrily, eagerly, bitterly.</p> + +<p>Eugene was absolutely in a fury of feeling. If ever he thoroughly +hated and despised Angela, he did so at that moment. +To think that she should have done anything like this! To +think that she should have complicated this problem of weariness +of her with a thing like this! How cheap it was, how +shabby! It showed the measure of the woman, to bring a child +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_566" id="Page_566">[Pg 566]</a></span> +into the world, regardless of the interests of the child, in order +to hold him against his will. Damn! Hell! God damn such +a complicated, rotten world! No, she was lying. She could +not hold him that way. It was a horrible, low, vile trick. He +would have nothing to do with her. He would show her. He +would leave her. He would show her that this sort of thing +would not work with him. It was like every other petty thing +she had ever done. Never, never, never, would he let this stand +in the way. Oh, what a mean, cruel, wretched thing to do!</p> + +<p>Suzanne came back while they were arguing. She half suspected +what it was all about, but she did not dare to act or +think clearly. The events of this night were too numerous, too +complicated. Eugene had said so forcibly it was a lie whatever +it was, that she half believed him. That was a sign surely of +the little affection that existed between him and Angela. Angela +was not crying. Her face was hard, white, drawn.</p> + +<p>"I can't stay here," said Suzanne dramatically to Eugene. "I +will go somewhere. I had better go to a hotel for the night. +Will you call a car?"</p> + +<p>"Listen to me, Suzanne," said Eugene vigorously and determinedly. +"You love me, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"You know I do," she replied.</p> + +<p>Angela stirred sneeringly.</p> + +<p>"Then you will stay here. I want you to pay no attention to +anything she may say or declare. She has told me a lie tonight. +I know why. Don't let her deceive you. Go to your room and +your bed. I want to talk to you tomorrow. There is no need +of your leaving tonight. There is plenty of room here. It's +silly. You're here now—stay."</p> + +<p>"But I don't think I'd better stay," said Suzanne nervously.</p> + +<p>Eugene took her hand reassuringly.</p> + +<p>"Listen to me," he began.</p> + +<p>"But she won't stay," said Angela.</p> + +<p>"But she will," said Eugene; "and if she don't stay, she goes +with me. I will take her home."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, you won't!" replied Angela.</p> + +<p>"Listen," said Eugene angrily. "This isn't six years ago, but +now. I'm master of this situation, and she stays here. She +stays here, or she goes with me and you look to the future as +best you may. I love her. I'm not going to give her up, and if +you want to make trouble, begin now. The house comes down +on your head, not mine."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Angela, half terrified, "what do I hear?"</p> + +<p>"Just that. Now you go to your room. Suzanne will go to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_567" id="Page_567">[Pg 567]</a></span> +hers. I will go to mine. We will not have any more fighting +here tonight. The jig is up. The die is cast. I'm through. +Suzanne comes to me, if she will."</p> + +<p>Angela walked to her room through the studio, stricken by +the turn things had taken, horrified by the thoughts in her mind, +unable to convince Eugene, unable to depose Suzanne, her throat +dry and hot, her hands shaking, her heart beating fitfully; she +felt as if her brain would burst, her heart break actually, not +emotionally. She thought Eugene had gone crazy, and yet now, +for the first time in her married life, she realized what a terrible +mistake she had made in always trying to drive him. It +hadn't worked tonight, her rage, her domineering, critical attitude. +It had failed her completely, and also this scheme, this +beautiful plan, this trump card on which she had placed so much +reliance for a happy life, this child which she had hoped to play +so effectively. He didn't believe her. He wouldn't even admit +its possibility. He didn't admire her for it. He despised her! +He looked on it as a trick. Oh, what an unfortunate thing it +had been to mention it! And yet Suzanne must understand, +she must know, she would never countenance anything like this. +But what would he do? He was positively livid with rage. +What fine auspices these were under which to usher a child into +the world! She stared feverishly before her, and finally began to +cry hopelessly.</p> + +<p>Eugene stood in the hall beside Suzanne after she had gone. +His face was drawn, his eyes hunted, his hair tousled. He +looked grim and determined in his way, stronger than he had +ever looked before.</p> + +<p>"Suzanne," he said, taking the latter by her two arms and +staring into her eyes, "she has told me a lie, a lie, a cold, mean, +cruel lie. She'll tell it you shortly. She says she is with child +by me. It isn't so. She couldn't have one. If she did, it would +kill her. She would have had one long ago if she could have. +I know her. She thinks this will frighten me. She thinks it +will drive you away. Will it? It's a lie, do you hear me, whatever +she says. It's a lie, and she knows it. Ough!" He +dropped her left arm and pulled at his neck. "I can't stand +this. You won't leave me. You won't believe her, will you?"</p> + +<p>Suzanne stared into his distraught face, his handsome, desperate, +significant eyes. She saw the woe there, the agony, and was +sympathetic. He seemed wonderfully worthy of love, unhappy, +unfortunately pursued; and yet she was frightened. Still she +had promised to love him.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_568" id="Page_568">[Pg 568]</a></span> +"No," she said fixedly, her eyes speaking a dramatic confidence.</p> + +<p>"You won't leave here tonight?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>She smoothed his cheek with her hand.</p> + +<p>"You will come and walk with me in the morning? I have +to talk with you."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Don't be afraid. Just lock your door if you are. She won't +bother you. She won't do anything. She is afraid of me. She +may want to talk with you, but I am close by. Do you still +love me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Will you come to me if I can arrange it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Even in the face of what she says?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I don't believe her. I believe you. What difference +could it make, anyhow? You don't love her."</p> + +<p>"No," he said; "no, no, no! I never have." He drew her +into his arms wearily, relievedly. "Oh, Flower Face," he said, +"don't give me up! Don't grieve. Try not to, anyhow. I +have been bad, as she says, but I love you. I love you, and I +will stake all on that. If all this must fall about our heads, +then let it fall. I love you."</p> + +<p>Suzanne stroked his cheek with her hands nervously. She +was deathly pale, frightened, but somehow courageous through +it all. She caught strength from his love.</p> + +<p>"I love you," she said.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he replied. "You won't give me up?"</p> + +<p>"No, I won't," she said, not really understanding the depth of +her own mood. "I will be true."</p> + +<p>"Things will be better tomorrow," he said, somewhat more +quietly. "We will be calmer. We will walk and talk. You +won't leave without me?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Please don't; for I love you, and we must talk and plan."</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_569" id="Page_569">[Pg 569]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_X" id="III_CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<p>The introduction of this astonishing fact in connection with +Angela was so unexpected, so morally diverting and peculiar +that though Eugene denied it, half believed she was lying, +he was harassed by the thought that she might be telling the +truth. It was so unfair, though, was all he could think, so unkind! +It never occurred to him that it was accidental, as indeed +it was not, but only that it was a trick, sharp, cunning, ill-timed +for him, just the thing calculated to blast his career and tie him +down to the old régime when he wanted most to be free. A new +life was dawning for him now. For the first time in his life he +was to have a woman after his own heart, so young, so beautiful, +so intellectual, so artistic! With Suzanne by his side, he +was about to plumb the depths of all the joys of living. Without +her, life was to be dark and dreary, and here was Angela +coming forward at the critical moment disrupting this dream as +best she could by the introduction of a child that she did not +want, and all to hold him against his will. If ever he hated her +for trickery and sharp dealing, he did so now. What would the +effect on Suzanne be? How would he convince her that it was +a trick? She must understand; she would. She would not let +this miserable piece of chicanery stand between him and her. +He turned in his bed wearily after he had gone to it, but he +could not sleep. He had to say something, do something. So +he arose, slipped on a dressing gown, and went to Angela's room.</p> + +<p>That distraught soul, for all her determination and fighting +capacity, was enduring for the second time in her life the fires +of hell. To think that in spite of all her work, her dreams, this +recent effort to bring about peace and happiness, perhaps at +the expense of her own life, she was compelled to witness a +scene like this. Eugene was trying to get free. He was obviously +determined to do so. This scandalous relationship, when +had it begun? Would her effort to hold him fail? It looked +that way, and yet surely Suzanne, when she knew, when she +understood, would leave him. Any woman would.</p> + +<p>Her head ached, her hands were hot, she fancied she might +be suffering a terrible nightmare, she was so sick and weak; but, +no, this was her room. A little while ago she was sitting in her +husband's studio, surrounded by friends, the object of much solicitude, +Eugene apparently considerate and thoughtful of her, a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_570" id="Page_570">[Pg 570]</a></span> +beautiful programme being rendered for their special benefit. +Now she was lying here in her room, a despised wife, an outcast +from affection and happiness, the victim of some horrible +sorcery of fate whereby another woman stood in her place in +Eugene's affection. To see Suzanne, proud in her young beauty, +confronting her with bold eyes, holding her husband's hand, +saying in what seemed to her to be brutal, or insane, or silly +melodramatic make-believe, "But I love him, Mrs. Witla," was +maddening. Oh, God! Oh, God! Would her tortures never +cease? Must all her beautiful dreams come to nothing? Would +Eugene leave her, as he so violently said a little while ago? She +had never seen him like this. It was terrible to see him so determined, +so cold and brutal. His voice had actually been harsh +and guttural, something she had never known before in him.</p> + +<p>She trembled as she thought, and then great flashes of rage +swept her only to be replaced by rushes of fear. She was in such +a terrific position. The woman was with him, young, defiant, +beautiful. She had heard him call to her, had heard them talking. +Once she thought that now would be the time to murder +him, Suzanne, herself, the coming life and end it all; but at +this critical moment, having been sick and having grown so much +older, with this problem of the coming life before her, she had +no chart to go by. She tried to console herself with the thought +that he must abandon his course, that he would when the true +force of what she had revealed had had time to sink home; but +it had not had time yet. Would it before he did anything rash? +Would it before he had completely compromised himself and +Suzanne? Judging from her talk and his, he had not as yet, or +she thought not. What was he going to do? What was he +going to do?</p> + +<p>Angela feared as she lay there that in spite of her revelation +he might really leave her immediately. There might readily +spring a terrible public scandal out of all this. The mockery of +their lives laid bare; the fate of the child jeopardized; Eugene, +Suzanne, and herself disgraced, though she had little thought for +Suzanne. Suzanne might get him, after all. She might accidentally +be just hard and cold enough. The world might possibly +forgive him. She herself might die! What an end, after +all her dreams of something bigger, better, surer! Oh, the pity, +the agony of this! The terror and horror of a wrecked life!</p> + +<p>And then Eugene came into the room.</p> + +<p>He was haggard, stormy-eyed, thoughtful, melancholy, as he +entered. He stood in the doorway first, intent, then clicked a +little night-lamp button which threw on a very small incandescent +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_571" id="Page_571">[Pg 571]</a></span> +light near the head of Angela's bed, and then sat down in a +rocking-chair which the nurse had placed near the medicine table. +Angela had so much improved that no night nurse was needed—only +a twelve-hour one.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said solemnly but coldly, when he saw her pale, +distraught, much of her old, youthful beauty still with her, "you +think you have scored a splendid trick, don't you? You think +you have sprung a trap? I simply came in here to tell you that +you haven't—that you have only seen the beginning of the end. +You say you are going to have a child. I don't believe it. It's +a lie, and you know it's a lie. You saw that there was an end +coming to all this state of weariness some time, and this is your +answer. Well, you've played one trick too many, and you've +played it in vain. You lose. I win this time. I'm going to be +free now, I want to say to you, and I am going to be free if I +have to turn everything upside down. I don't care if there were +seventeen prospective children instead of one. It's a lie, in the +first place; but if it isn't, it's a trick, and I'm not going to be +tricked any longer. I've had all I want of domination and trickery +and cheap ideas. I'm through now, do you hear me? I'm +through."</p> + +<p>He felt his forehead with a nervous hand. His head ached, +he was half sick. This was such a dreary pit to find himself in, +this pit of matrimony, chained by a domineering wife and a +trickily manœuvred child. His child! What a mockery at this +stage of his life! How he hated the thought of that sort of +thing, how cheap it all seemed!</p> + +<p>Angela, who was wide-eyed, flushed, exhausted, lying staring +on her pillow, asked in a weary, indifferent voice: "What do +you want me to do, Eugene, leave you?"</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you, Angela," he said sepulchrally, "I don't know +what I want you to do just at this moment. The old life is all +over. It's as dead as dead can be. For eleven or twelve years +now I have lived with you, knowing all the while that I was +living a lie. I have never really loved you since we were married. +You know that. I may have loved you in the beginning, +yes, I did, and at Blackwood, but that was a long, long while +ago. I never should have married you. It was a mistake, but I +did, and I've paid for it, inch by inch. You have, too. You +have insisted all along that I ought to love you. You have browbeaten +and abused me for something I could no more do than I +could fly. Now, at this last minute, you introduce a child to +hold me. I know why you have done it. You imagine that in +some way you have been appointed by God to be my mentor and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_572" id="Page_572">[Pg 572]</a></span> +guardian. Well, I tell you now that you haven't. It's all over. +If there were fifty children, it's all over. Suzanne isn't going to +believe any such cheap story as that, and if she did she wouldn't +leave me. She knows why you do it. All the days of weariness +are over for me, all the days of being afraid. I'm not an ordinary +man, and I'm not going to live an ordinary life. You have +always insisted on holding me down to the little, cheap conventions +as you have understood them. Out in Wisconsin, out in +Blackwood. Nothing doing. It's all over from now on. Everything's +over. This house, my job, my real estate deal—everything. +I don't care what your condition is. I love this girl in +there, and I'm going to have her. Do you hear me? I love her, +and I'm going to have her. She's mine. She suits me. I love +her, and no power under God is going to stay me. Now you +think this child proposition you have fixed up is going to stay me, +but you are going to find out that it can't, that it won't. It's a +trick, and I know it, and you know it. It's too late. It might +have last year, or two years ago, or three, but it won't work now. +You have played your last card. That girl in there belongs to +me, and I'm going to have her."</p> + +<p>Again he smoothed his face in a weary way, pausing to sway +the least bit in his chair. His teeth were set, his eyes hard. +Consciously he realized that it was a terrible situation that confronted +him, hard to wrestle with.</p> + +<p>Angela gazed at him with the eyes of one who is not quite +sure that she even sees aright. She knew that Eugene had developed. +He had become stronger, more urgent, more defiant, +during all these years in which he had been going upward. He +was no more like the Eugene who had clung to her for companionship +in the dark days at Biloxi and elsewhere than a child +is like a grown man. He was harder, easier in his manner, more +indifferent, and yet, until now, there had never been a want of +traces of the old Eugene. What had become of them so suddenly? +Why was he so raging, so bitter? This girl, this foolish, +silly, selfish girl, with her Circe gift of beauty, by tolerance +of his suit, by yielding, perhaps by throwing herself at Eugene's +head, had done this thing. She had drawn him away from her in +spite of the fact that they had appeared to be happily mated. Suzanne +did not know that they were not. In this mood he might +actually leave her, even as she was, with child. It depended on +the girl. Unless she could influence her, unless she could bring +pressure to bear in some way, Eugene might readily be lost to +her, and then what a tragedy! She could not afford to have him +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_573" id="Page_573">[Pg 573]</a></span> +go now. Why, in six months——! She shivered at the thought +of all the misery a separation would entail. His position, their +child, society, this apartment. Dear God, it would drive her +crazy if he were to desert her now!</p> + +<p>"Oh, Eugene," she said quite sadly and without any wrath in +her voice at this moment, for she was too torn, terrified and +disheveled in spirit to feel anything save a haunting sense of fear, +"you don't know what a terrible mistake you are making. I did +do this thing on purpose, Eugene. It is true. Long ago in Philadelphia +with Mrs. Sanifore I went to a physician to see if it +were possible that I might have a child. You know that I always +thought that I couldn't. Well, he told me that I could. I went +because I thought that you needed something like that, Eugene, +to balance you. I knew you didn't want one. I thought you +would be angry when I told you. I didn't act on it for a long +while. I didn't want one myself. I hoped that it might be a +little girl if ever there was one, because I know that you like +little girls. It seems silly now in the face of what has happened +tonight. I see what a mistake I have made. I see what the +mistake is, but I didn't mean it evilly, Eugene. I didn't. I +wanted to hold you, to bind you to me in some way, to help you. +Do you utterly blame me, Eugene? I'm your wife, you know."</p> + +<p>He stirred irritably, and she paused, scarcely knowing how to +go on. She could see how terribly irritated he was, how sick at +heart, and yet she resented this attitude on his part. It was so +hard to endure when all along she had fancied that she had so +many just claims on him, moral, social, other claims, which he +dare not ignore. Here she was now, sick, weary, pleading with +him for something that ought justly be hers—and this coming +child's!</p> + +<p>"Oh, Eugene," she said quite sadly, and still without any +wrath in her voice, "please think before you make a mistake. +You don't really love this girl, you only think you do. You +think she is beautiful and good and sweet and you are going to +tear everything up and leave me, but you don't love her, and +you are going to find it out. You don't love anyone, Eugene. +You can't. You are too selfish. If you had any real love in +you, some of it would have come out to me, for I have tried to +be all that a good wife should be, but it has been all in vain. I've +known you haven't liked me all these years. I've seen it in your +eyes, Eugene. You have never come very close to me as a lover +should unless you had to or you couldn't avoid me. You have +been cold and indifferent, and now that I look back I see that +it has made me so. I have been cold and hard. I've tried to +steel myself to match what I thought was your steeliness, and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_574" id="Page_574">[Pg 574]</a></span> +now I see what it has done for me. I'm sorry. But as for her, +you don't love her and you won't. She's too young. She hasn't +any ideas that agree with yours. You think she's soft and gentle, +and yet big and wise, but do you think if she had been that she +could have stood up there as she did tonight and looked me in +the eyes—me, your wife—and told me that she loved you—you, +my husband? Do you think if she had any shame she would be +in there now knowing what she does, for I suppose you have +told her? What kind of a girl is that, anyway? You call her +good? Good! Would a good girl do anything like that?"</p> + +<p>"What is the use of arguing by appearances?" asked Eugene, +who had interrupted her with exclamations of opposition and +bitter comments all through the previous address. "The situation +is one which makes anything look bad. She didn't intend to +be put in a position where she would have to tell you that she +loved me. She didn't come here to let me make love to her in +this apartment. I made love to her. She's in love with me, +and I made her love me. I didn't know of this other thing. If I +had, it wouldn't have made any difference. However, let that +be as it will. So it is. I'm in love with her, and that's all there +is to it."</p> + +<p>Angela stared at the wall. She was half propped up on a +pillow, and had no courage now to speak of and no fighting +strength.</p> + +<p>"I know what it is with you, Eugene," she said, after a time; +"it's the yoke that galls. It isn't me only; it's anyone. It's +marriage. You don't want to be married. It would be the same +with any woman who might ever have loved and married you, +or with any number of children. You would want to get rid of +her and them. It's the yoke that galls you, Eugene. You want +your freedom, and you won't be satisfied until you have it. A +child wouldn't make any difference. I can see that now."</p> + +<p>"I want my freedom," he exclaimed bitterly and inconsiderately, +"and, what's more, I'm going to have it! I don't care. +I'm sick of lying and pretending, sick of common little piffling +notions of what you consider right and wrong. For eleven or +twelve years now I have stood it. I have sat with you every +morning at breakfast and every evening at dinner, most of the +time when I didn't want to. I have listened to your theories of +life when I didn't believe a word of what you said, and didn't +care anything about what you thought. I've done it because I +thought I ought to do it so as not to hurt your feelings, but I'm +through with all that. What have I had? Spying on me, opposition, +searching my pockets for letters, complaining if I dared +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_575" id="Page_575">[Pg 575]</a></span> +to stay out a single evening and did not give an account of +myself.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you leave me after that affair at Riverdale? +Why do you hang on to me when I don't love you? One'd +think I was prisoner and you my keeper. Good Christ! When +I think of it, it makes me sick! Well, there's no use worrying +over that any more. It's all over. It's all beautifully over, and +I'm done with it. I'm going to live a life of my own hereafter. +I'm going to carve out some sort of a career that suits me. I'm +going to live with someone that I can really love, and that's the +end of it. Now you run and do anything you want to."</p> + +<p>He was like a young horse that had broken rein and that thinks +that by rearing and plunging he shall become forever free. He +was thinking of green fields and delightful pastures. He was free +now, in spite of what she had told him. This night had made +him so, and he was going to remain free. Suzanne would stand +by him, he felt it. He was going to make it perfectly plain to +Angela that never again, come what may, would things be as +they were.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Eugene," she replied sadly, after listening to his protestations +on this score, "I think that you do want your freedom, +now that I see you. I'm beginning to see what it means to you. +But I have made such a terrible mistake. Are you thinking about +me at all? What shall I do? It is true that there will be a +child unless I die. I may die. I'm afraid of that, or I was. I +am not now. The only reason I would care to live would be to +take care of it. I didn't think I was going to be ill with rheumatism. +I didn't think my heart was going to be affected in +this way. I didn't think that you were going to do as you have +done, but now that you have, nothing matters. Oh," she said +sadly, hot tears welling to her eyes, "it is all such a mistake! If +I only hadn't done this!"</p> + +<p>Eugene stared at the floor. He wasn't softened one bit. He +did not think she was going to die—no such luck! He was +thinking that this merely complicated things, or that she might +be acting, but that it could not stand in his way. Why had she +tried to trick him in this way? It was her fault. Now she +was crying, but that was the old hypocrisy of emotion that she +had used so often. He did not intend to desert her absolutely. +She would have plenty to live on. Merely he did not propose to +live with her, if he could help it, or only nominally, anyhow. +The major portion of his time should be given to Suzanne.</p> + +<p>"I don't care what it costs," he said finally. "I don't propose +to live with you. I didn't ask you to have a child. It was +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_576" id="Page_576">[Pg 576]</a></span> +none of my doing. You're not going to be deserted financially, +but I'm not going to live with you."</p> + +<p>He stirred again, and Angela stared hot-cheeked. The hardness +of the man enraged her for the moment. She did not believe +that she would starve, but their improving surroundings, +their home, their social position, would be broken up completely.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes. I understand," she pleaded, with an effort at +controlling herself, "but I am not the only one to be considered. +Are you thinking of Mrs. Dale, and what she may do and say? +She isn't going to let you take Suzanne if she knows it, without +doing something about it. She is an able woman. She loves +Suzanne, however self-willed she may be. She likes you now, +but how long do you think she is going to like you when she +learns what you want to do with her daughter? What are you +going to do with her? You can't marry her under a year even +if I were willing to give you a divorce. You could scarcely get +a divorce in that time."</p> + +<p>"I'm going to live with her, that's what I'm going to do," declared +Eugene. "She loves me, she's willing to take me just as I +am. She doesn't need marriage ceremonies and rings and vows +and chains. She doesn't believe in them. As long as I love her, +all right. When I cease to love her, she doesn't want me any +more. Some difference in that, isn't there?" he added bitterly. +"It doesn't sound exactly like Blackwood, does it?"</p> + +<p>Angela bridled. His taunts were cruel.</p> + +<p>"She says that, Eugene," she replied quietly, "but she hasn't +had time to think. You've hypnotized her for the moment. +She's fascinated. When she stops to think later, if she has any +sense, any pride—— But, oh, why should I talk, you won't +listen. You won't think." Then she added: "But what do +you propose to do about Mrs. Dale? Don't you suppose she +will fight you, even if I do not? I wish you would stop and +think, Eugene. This is a terrible thing you are doing."</p> + +<p>"Think! Think!" he exclaimed savagely and bitterly. "As +though I had not been thinking all these years. Think! Hell! +I haven't done anything but think. I've thought until the soul +within me is sick. I've thought until I wish to God I could +stop. I've thought about Mrs. Dale. Don't you worry about +her. I'll settle this matter with her later. Just now I want to +convince you of what I am going to do. I'm going to have +Suzanne, and you're not going to stop me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Eugene," sighed Angela, "if something would only make +you see! It is partially my fault. I have been hard and suspicious +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_577" id="Page_577">[Pg 577]</a></span> +and jealous, but you have given me some cause to be, +don't you think? I see now that I have made a mistake. I +have been too hard and too jealous, but I could reform if you +would let me try." (She was thinking now of living, not dying.) +"I know I could. You have so much to lose. Is this +change worth it? You know so well how the world looks at +these things. Why, even if you should obtain your freedom from +me under the circumstances, what do you suppose the world +would think? You couldn't desert your child. Why not wait +and see what happens? I might die. There have been such +cases. Then you would be free to do as you pleased. That is +only a little way off."</p> + +<p>It was a specious plea, calculated to hold him; but he saw +through it.</p> + +<p>"Nothing doing!" he exclaimed, in the slang of the day. "I +know all about that. I know what you're thinking. In the first +place, I don't believe you are in the condition you say you are. +In the next place, you're not going to die. I don't propose to +wait to be free. I know you, and I've no faith in you. What I +do needn't affect your condition. You're not going to starve. +No one need know, unless you start a row about it. Suzanne +and I can arrange this between ourselves. I know what you're +thinking, but you're not going to interfere. If you do, I'll smash +everything in sight—you, this apartment, my job——" He +clenched his hands desperately, determinedly.</p> + +<p>Angela's hands were tingling with nervous pains while Eugene +talked. Her eyes ached and her heart fluttered. She could not +understand this dark, determined man, so savage and so resolute +in his manner. Was this Eugene who was always moving about +quietly when he was near her, getting angry at times, but always +feeling sorry and apologizing? She had boasted to some of her +friends, and particularly to Marietta, in a friendly, jesting way +that she could wind Eugene around her little finger. He was +so easy-going in the main, so quiet. Here he was a raging demon +almost, possessed of an evil spirit of desire and tearing up his +and hers and Suzanne's life for that matter, by the roots. She +did not care for Suzanne, though, now, or Mrs. Dale. Her +own blighted life, and Eugene's, looming so straight ahead of +her terrified her.</p> + +<p>"What do you suppose Mr. Colfax will do when he hears of +this?" she asked desperately, hoping to frighten him.</p> + +<p>"I don't care a damn what Mr. Colfax will or can do!" he +replied sententiously. "I don't care a damn what anybody does +or says or thinks. I love Suzanne Dale. She loves me. She +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_578" id="Page_578">[Pg 578]</a></span> +wants me. There's an end of that. I'm going to her now. You +stay me if you can."</p> + +<p>Suzanne Dale! Suzanne Dale! How that name enraged and +frightened Angela! Never before had she witnessed quite so +clearly the power of beauty. Suzanne Dale was young and +beautiful. She was looking at her only tonight thinking how +fascinating she was—how fair her face—and here was Eugene +bewitched by it, completely undone. Oh, the terror of beauty! +The terror of social life generally! Why had she entertained? +Why become friendly with the Dales? But then there were +other personalities, almost as lovely and quite as young—Marjorie +McLennan, Florence Reel, Henrietta Tenman, Annette +Kean. It might have been any one of these. She couldn't have +been expected to shut out all young women from Eugene's life. +No; it was Eugene. It was his attitude toward life. His craze +about the beautiful, particularly in women. She could see it now. +He really was not strong enough. Beauty would always upset +him at critical moments. She had seen it in relation to herself—the +beauty of her form, which he admired so, or had admired. +"God," she prayed silently, "give me wisdom now. Give me +strength. I don't deserve it, but help me. Help me to save him. +Help me to save myself."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Eugene," she said aloud, hopelessly, "I wish you would +stop and think. I wish you would let Suzanne go her way in +the morning, and you stay sane and calm. I won't care about +myself. I can forgive and forget. I'll promise you I'll never +mention it. If a child comes, I'll do my best not to let it annoy +you. I'll try yet not to have one. It may not be too late. I'll +change from this day forth. Oh!" She began to cry.</p> + +<p>"No! By God!" he said, getting up. "No! No! No! I'm +through now. I'm through! I've had enough of fake hysterics +and tears. Tears one minute, and wrath and hate the next. +Subtlety! Subtlety! Subtlety! Nothing doing. You've been +master and jailer long enough. It's my turn now. I'll do a little +jailing and task-setting for a change. I'm in the saddle, and I'm +going to stay there. You can cry if you want to, you can do +what you please about the child. I'm through. I'm tired, and +I'm going to bed, but this thing is going to stand just as it does. +I'm through, and that's all there is to it."</p> + +<p>He strode out of the room angrily and fiercely, but nevertheless, +when he reached it, he sat in his own room, which was on +the other side of the studio from Angelas, and did not sleep. +His mind was on fire with the thought of Suzanne; he thought +of the old order which had been so quickly and so terribly broken. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_579" id="Page_579">[Pg 579]</a></span> +Now, if he could remain master, and he could, he proposed +to take Suzanne. She would come to him, secretly no doubt, if +necessary. They would open a studio, a second establishment. +Angela might not give him a divorce. If what she said was true, +she couldn't. He wouldn't want her to, but he fancied from this +conversation that she was so afraid of him that she would not +stir up any trouble. There was nothing she could really do. +He was in the saddle truly, and would stay there. He would +take Suzanne, would provide amply for Angela, would visit all +those lovely public resorts he had so frequently seen, and he and +Suzanne would be happy together.</p> + +<p>Suzanne! Suzanne! Oh, how beautiful she was! And to +think how nobly and courageously she had stood by him tonight. +How she had slipped her hand into his so sweetly and had said, +"But I love him, Mrs. Witla." Yes, she loved him. No doubt +of that. She was young, exquisite, beautifully rounded in her +budding emotion and feeling. She was going to develop into a +wonderful woman, a real one. And she was so young. What a +pity it was he was not free now! Well, wait, this would right +all things, and, meanwhile, he would have her. He must talk to +Suzanne. He must tell her how things stood. Poor little Suzanne! +There she was in her room wondering what was to +become of her, and here was he. Well, he couldn't go to her +tonight. It did not look right, and, besides, Angela might fight +still. But tomorrow! Tomorrow! Oh, tomorrow he would +walk and talk with her, and they would plan. Tomorrow he +would show her just what he wanted to do and find out what she +could do.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_580" id="Page_580">[Pg 580]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_XI" id="III_CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<p>This night passed without additional scenes, though as it stood +it was the most astonishing and tremendous in all Eugene's +experience. He had, not up to the time Angela walked into +the room, really expected anything so dramatic and climacteric +to happen, though what he did expect was never really very +clear to him. At times as he lay and thought now he fancied +that he might eventually have to give Suzanne up, though how, +or when, or why, he could not say. He was literally crazed by +her, and could not think that such a thing could really be. At +other moments he fancied that powers outside of this visible life, +the life attested by the five senses, had arranged this beautiful +finish to his career for him so that he might be perfectly happy. +All his life he had fancied that he was leading a more or less +fated life, principally more. He thought that his art was a gift, +that he had in a way been sent to revolutionize art in America, +or carry it one step farther forward and that nature was thus +constantly sending its apostles or special representatives over +whom it kept watch and in whom it was well pleased. At other +times he fancied he might be the sport or toy of untoward and +malicious powers, such as those which surrounded and accomplished +Macbeth's tragic end, and which might be intending to +make an illustration of him. As he looked at life at times, it +seemed to do this with certain people. The fates lied. Lovely, +blandishing lures were held out only to lead men to destruction. +He had seen other men who seemed to have been undone in this +way. Was he to be so treated?</p> + +<p>Angela's unexpected and peculiar announcement made it look +that way. Still he did not believe it. Life had sent Suzanne +across his path for a purpose. The fates or powers had seen he +was miserable and unhappy. Being a favorite child of Heaven, +he was to be rewarded for his sufferings by having her. She was +here now—quickly, forcefully thrust into his arms, so to speak, +so that perhaps he might have her all the more quickly. How +silly it seemed to him now to have brought her into his own +apartment to make love to her and get caught, and yet how fortunate, +too, the hand of fate! No doubt it was intended. Anyhow, +the shame to him, the shame to Angela and Suzanne, the +terrific moments and hours that each was enduring now—these +were things which were unfortunately involved in any +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_581" id="Page_581">[Pg 581]</a></span> +necessarily great readjustment. It was probable that it had +to come about this way. It was better so than to go on +living an unhappy life. He was really fitted for something +better, he thought—a great career. He would have to adjust +this thing with Angela in some way now, either leave her, or +make some arrangement whereby he could enjoy the company of +Suzanne uninterrupted. There must be no interference. He +did not propose to give her up. The child might come. Well +and good. He would provide for it, that would be all. He recalled +now the conversation he had had with Suzanne in which +she had said that she would live with him if she could. The +time had come. Their plan for a studio should now be put into +effect. It must be secret. Angela would not care. She could +not help herself. If only the events of this night did not terrorize +Suzanne into retracing her steps! He had not explained +to her how he was to get rid of Angela apart from what she had +heard this night. She was thinking, he knew, that they could +go on loving each other in this tentative fashion, occupying a +studio together, perhaps, not caring what the world thought, not +caring what her mother thought, ignoring her brother and sister +and Angela, and being happy with Eugene only. He had never +tried to disillusion her. He was not thinking clearly himself. +He was rushing forward in an aimless way, desiring the companionship +of her beautiful mind and body. Now he saw he +must act or lose her. He must convince her in the face of what +Angela had said, or let her go. She would probably be willing +to come to him rather than leave him entirely. He must talk, +explain, make her understand just what a trick this all was.</p> + +<p>Angela had not slept, but lay staring at the ceiling in the dark, +her eyes a study in despair. When morning came they were +none of them further along in their conclusions than they were +the night before, save to know, each separately and distinctly, +that a great tragedy or change was at hand. Suzanne had +thought and thought, or tried to, but the impulse of blood and +passion in her were Eugeneward and she could only see the +situation from their own point of view. She loved him, she +thought—must love him, since he was so ready to sacrifice so +much for her; yet at the same time there was a strange, disconcerting +nebulosity about her which, had Eugene fully realized +it at this moment, would have terrified him. In her state, which +was one of wondering delight at the beauty of life and love—a +fatalistic security in the thought that joy was to come to her +throughout life—much joy. She could not see the grimness of +Eugene's position. She could not understand the agony of a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_582" id="Page_582">[Pg 582]</a></span> +soul that had never really tasted supreme bliss in love, and had +wanted, however foolishly, the accessories of wealth, and had +never had them. Terrorized lest after the first sip of so wonderful +a joy it should be removed forever, Eugene was tingling +in the dark of his own room—tingling and yet reaching, almost +with outstretched hands, to the splendor of the life that was +seemingly before him. Suzanne, however, to whom life had given +so much, was resting in a kind of still ease, like that which might +fill a drowsy poppyland of joy where all the pleasures had been +attained and were being tasted at leisure. Life at its worst to +her was not so bad. Witness this storm which had been quelled +in part by Eugene and was like to blow over as nothing at all. +Things came round of their own accord in time, if one let +them. She had always felt so sure that whatever happened no +ill would befall her, and here she was courted and protected by +Eugene even in his own home!</p> + +<p>In this situation, therefore, she was not grieving either for Eugene, +for Angela, or for herself. She could not. Some dispositions +are so. Eugene was able to take care of himself and her +and Angela financially, she thought. She was really looking forward +to that better day when this misalliance should be broken +up, and Eugene and presumably Angela would be really happier. +She wanted Eugene to be much happier, and Angela, for that +matter—and through her, if possible, since Eugene's happiness +seemed to depend on her. But unlike Eugene, she was already +thinking that she could live well enough without him, if it must +be. She did not want to. She felt that her greatest happiness +would be in repaying him for past ills and pains; but if they must +part for a time, for instance, it would not make so much difference. +Time would bring them together. But if it didn't—— But +it would. Why think otherwise? But how wonderful it +was that her beauty, her mere physical beauty, which seemed +unimportant to her, made him so wild. She could not know of +the actual physical pain gnawing at his vitals, but it was so plain +that he was madly stricken with her. His whole face and his +burning black eyes riveted on her in intense delight and almost +agony proved it. Was she so beautiful? Surely not! Yet he +yearned over her so. And it was so delightful.</p> + +<p>She arose at dawn and began silently to dress, thinking that +she might take a walk, leaving a note for Eugene as to where to +come and find her if he could. She had one appointment for the +day. Later she would have to go home, but things would come +out all right. Since Eugene had compelled Angela to relinquish +her determination to inform her mother, all must be well. They +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_583" id="Page_583">[Pg 583]</a></span> +would meet, she and Eugene. She would leave her home and be +his and they would go anywhere, anywhere Eugene desired, only +she would prefer to persuade her mother to see things from her +point of view and later countenance some understanding between +them here. Because of Angela's and Eugene's position here, she +preferred this. Because of her youth and her poetic, erratic conception +of life, she assumed that she could overcome her mother +and that she and Eugene could live together somewhere in peace. +Her friends might either be unaware of the situation, or they +could be told, some of them, and they might countenance it because +it was so beautiful and natural!</p> + +<p>Eugene heard her stirring after a time, and rose and went to +her room and knocked. When she opened the door almost fully +dressed a thrill of pain passed over his heart, for he thought that +she had been intending to slip away without seeing him any more—so +little they really knew each other. But as she stood there, +a little cool or still or sober from much thought and the peculiar +nature of her position, she seemed more beautiful than +ever.</p> + +<p>"You're not going, are you?" he asked, as she looked up at +him with inquiring eyes.</p> + +<p>"I thought I'd go for a walk."</p> + +<p>"Without me?"</p> + +<p>"I intended to see you, if I could, or leave a note for you to +come to me. I thought you would."</p> + +<p>"Will you wait for me?" he asked, feeling as though he must +hold her close forever in order to live. "Just a little bit. I want +to change my clothes." He took her in his arms.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said softly.</p> + +<p>"You won't go without me?"</p> + +<p>"No. Why do you ask?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I love you so!" he replied, and pushed her head back +and looked yearningly into her eyes.</p> + +<p>She took his tired face between her hands and studied his eyes. +She was so enrapt by him now in this first burst of affection +that she could see nothing but him. He seemed so beautiful, so +hungry! It did not matter to her now that she was in the home +of his wife or that his love was complicated with so much that +was apparently evil. She loved him. She had thought all night +about him, not sleeping. Being so young, it was hard for her +to reason clearly as yet, but somehow it seemed to her that he +was very unhappily placed, terribly ill-mated, and that he needed +her. He was so fine, so clean, so capable! If he did not want +Angela, why should she want him? She would not be suffering +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_584" id="Page_584">[Pg 584]</a></span> +for anything save his company, and why should she want to hold +him? She, Suzanne, would not, if she were in Angela's place. +If there were a child, would that make any real difference? He +did not love her.</p> + +<p>"Don't worry about me," she said reassuringly. "I love you. +Don't you know I do? I have to talk to you. We have to +talk. How is Mrs. Witla?"</p> + +<p>She was thinking about what Mrs. Witla would do, whether +she would call up her mother, whether her struggle to have Eugene +would begin at once.</p> + +<p>"Oh, she's about the same!" he said wearily. "We've had a +long argument. I've told her just what I propose to do, but +I'll tell you about that later."</p> + +<p>He went away to change his clothes, and then stepped into +Angela's room.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to walk with Suzanne," he said dominantly, when +he was ready.</p> + +<p>"All right," said Angela, who was so tired she could have +fainted. "Will you be back for dinner?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," he replied. "What difference does it make?"</p> + +<p>"Only this: that the maid and cook need not stay unless you +are coming. I want nothing."</p> + +<p>"When will the nurse be here?"</p> + +<p>"At seven."</p> + +<p>"Well, you can prepare dinner, if you wish," he said. "I will +try and be back by four."</p> + +<p>He walked toward the studio where Suzanne was, and found +her waiting, white-faced, slightly hollow-eyed, but strong and +confident. Now, as so often before, he noticed that spirit of +self-sufficiency and reliance about her young body which had +impressed him so forcibly and delightfully in the past. She was +a wonderful girl, this Suzanne, full of grit and ability, although +raised under what might have been deemed enervating circumstances. +Her statement, made under pressure the night before, +that she must go to a hotel and not go home until she could +straighten out her affairs, had impressed him greatly. Why had +she thought of going out in the world to work for herself unless +there were something really fine about her? She was heir to a +fortune under her father's will, he had heard her mother say +once. This morning her glance was so assured. He did not use +the phone to call a car, but strolled out into the drive with her +walking along the stone wall which commanded the river northward +toward Grant's Tomb. It occurred to him that they might +go to Claremont Inn for breakfast, and afterwards take a car +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_585" id="Page_585">[Pg 585]</a></span> +somewhere—he did not know quite where. Suzanne might be +recognized. So might he.</p> + +<p>"What shall we do, sweet?" he asked, as the cool morning air +brushed their faces. It was a glorious day.</p> + +<p>"I don't care," replied Suzanne. "I promised to be at the +Almerdings some time today, but I didn't say when. They won't +think anything of it if I don't get there till after dinner. Will +Mrs. Witla call up mama?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think so. In fact, I'm sure she won't." He was +thinking of his last conversation with Angela, when she said she +would do nothing. "Is your mother likely to call you up?"</p> + +<p>"I think not. Mama doesn't usually bother when she knows +where I am going. If she does, they'll simply say I haven't come +yet. Will Mrs. Witla tell her, if she calls up there?"</p> + +<p>"I think not," he said. "No, I'm sure she won't. Angela +wants time to think. She isn't going to do anything. She told +me that this morning. She's going to wait until she sees what I +am going to do. It all depends now on how we play our cards."</p> + +<p>He strolled on, looking at the river and holding Suzanne's +hand. It was only a quarter to seven and the drive was comparatively +empty.</p> + +<p>"If she tells mama, it will make things very bad," said Suzanne +thoughtfully. "Do you really think she won't?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sure she won't. I'm positive. She doesn't want to do +anything yet. It's too dangerous. I think she thinks that maybe +I will come round. Oh, what a life I've led! It seems like a +dream, now that I have your love. You are so different, so +generous! Your attitude is so unselfish! To have been ruled +all these years in every little thing. This last trick of hers!"</p> + +<p>He shook his head woefully. Suzanne looked at his weary +face, her own as fresh as the morning.</p> + +<p>"Oh, if I might only have had you to begin with!" he added.</p> + +<p>"Listen, Eugene," said Suzanne. "You know I feel sorry +for Mrs. Witla. We shouldn't have done what we did last +night, but you made me. You know you will never listen to me, +until it's too late. You're so headstrong! I don't want you to +leave Mrs. Witla unless you want to. You needn't for me. I +don't want to marry you; not now, anyhow. I'd rather just +give myself to you, if you want me to. I want time though, to +think and plan. If mama should hear today, there would be a +terrible time. If we have time to think, we may bring her +round. I don't care anything about what Mrs. Witla told you +last night. I don't want you to leave her. If we could just +arrange some way. It's mama, you know."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_586" id="Page_586">[Pg 586]</a></span> +She swung his hand softly in hers, pressing his fingers. She +was deep in thought, for her mother presented a real problem.</p> + +<p>"You know," she went on, "mama isn't narrow. She doesn't +believe much in marriage unless it's ideal. Mrs. Witla's condition +wouldn't make so much difference if only the child were +here. I've been thinking about that. Mama might sanction +some arrangement if she thought it would make me happy and +there was no scandal. But I'll have to have time to talk to her. +It can't be done right away."</p> + +<p>Eugene listened to this with considerable surprise, as he did +to everything Suzanne volunteered. She seemed to have been +thinking about these questions a long time. She was not free +with her opinions. She hesitated and halted between words and +in her cogitations, but when they were out this was what they +came to. He wondered how sound they were.</p> + +<p>"Suzanne," he said, "you take my breath away! How you +think! Do you know what you're talking about? Do you know +your mother at all well?"</p> + +<p>"Mama? Oh, yes, I think I understand mama. You know +she's very peculiar. Mama is literary and romantic. She talks +a great deal about liberty, but I don't take in everything she says. +I think mama is different from most women—she's exceptional. +She likes me, not so much as a daughter as a person. She's +anxious about me. You know, I think I'm stronger than mama. +I think I could dominate her if I tried. She leans on me now +a lot, and she can't make me do anything unless I want to. I +can make her come to my way of thinking, I believe. I have, +lots of times. That's what makes me think I might now, if I +have time. It will take time to get her to do what I want."</p> + +<p>"How much time?" asked Eugene thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know. Three months. Six months. I can't +tell. I would like to try, though."</p> + +<p>"And if you can't, then what?"</p> + +<p>"Why, then—why, then I'll defy her, that's all. I'm not sure, +you know. But I think I can."</p> + +<p>"And if you can't?"</p> + +<p>"But I can. I'm sure I can." She tossed her head gaily.</p> + +<p>"And come to me?"</p> + +<p>"And come to you."</p> + +<p>They were near One Hundredth Street, under the trees. +There was a lone man some distance away, walking from them. +Eugene caught Suzanne in his arms and implanted a kiss upon +her mouth. "Oh, you divinity!" he exclaimed. "Helen! +Circe!"</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_587" id="Page_587">[Pg 587]</a></span> +"No," she replied, with smiling eyes. "No, not here. Wait +till we get a car."</p> + +<p>"Shall we go to Claremont?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not hungry."</p> + +<p>"Then we might as well call a car and ride."</p> + +<p>They hunted a garage and sped northward, the wonderful +wind of the morning cooling and refreshing their fevered senses. +Both he and Suzanne were naturally depressed at moments, at +other moments preternaturally gay, for he was varying between +joy and fear, and she was buoying him up. Her attitude was +calmer, surer, braver, than his. She was like a strong mother +to him.</p> + +<p>"You know," he said, "I don't know what to think at times. +I haven't any particular charge against Mrs. Witla except that I +don't love her. I have been so unhappy. What do you think +of cases of this kind, Suzanne? You heard what she said about +me."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I heard."</p> + +<p>"It all comes from that. I don't love her. I never have really +from the beginning. What do you think where there is no love? +It is true, part of what she said. I have been in love with other +women, but it has always been because I have been longing for +some sort of temperament that was congenial to me. I have, +Suzanne, too, since I have been married. I can't say that I was +really in love with Carlotta Wilson, but I did like her. She +was very much like myself. The other was a girl somewhat like +you. Not so wise. That was years ago. Oh, I could tell you +why! I love youth. I love beauty. I want someone who is +my companion mentally. You are that, Suzanne, and yet see +what a hell it is creating. Do you think it is so bad where I +am so very unhappy? Tell me, what do you think?"</p> + +<p>"Why, why," said Suzanne, "I don't think anyone ought to +stick by a bad bargain, Eugene."</p> + +<p>"Just what do you mean by that, Suzanne?"</p> + +<p>"Well, you say you don't love her. You're not happy with +her. I shouldn't think it would be good for her or you to have +you stay with her. She can live. I wouldn't want you to stay +with me if you didn't love me. I wouldn't want you at all if +you didn't. I wouldn't want to stay with you if I didn't love +you, and I wouldn't. I think marriage ought to be a happy +bargain, and if it isn't you oughtn't to try to stay together just +because you thought you could stay together once."</p> + +<p>"What if there were children?"</p> + +<p>"Well, that might be different. Even then, one or the other +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_588" id="Page_588">[Pg 588]</a></span> +could take them, wouldn't you think? The children needn't be +made very unhappy in such a case."</p> + +<p>Eugene looked at Suzanne's lovely face. It seemed so strange +to hear her reasoning so solemnly—this girl!</p> + +<p>"But you heard what she said about me, Suzanne, and about +her condition?"</p> + +<p>"I know," she said. "I've thought about it. I don't see that +it makes so very much difference. You can take care of her."</p> + +<p>"You love me just as much?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Even if all she says is true?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Why, Suzanne?"</p> + +<p>"Well, all her charges concerned years gone by, and that isn't +now. And I know you love me now. I don't care about the past. +You know, Eugene, I don't care anything about the future, +either. I want you to love me only so long as you want to love +me. When you are tired of me, I want you to leave me. I +wouldn't want you to live with me if you didn't love me. I +wouldn't want to live with you if I didn't love you."</p> + +<p>Eugene looked into her face, astonished, pleased, invigorated, +and heartened by this philosophy. It was so like Suzanne, he +thought. She seemed to have reached definite and effective conclusions +so early. Her young mind seemed a solvent for all life's +difficulties.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you wonderful girl!" he said. "You know you are +wiser than I am, stronger. I draw to you, Suzanne, like a cold +man to a fire. You are so kindly, so temperate, so understanding!"</p> + +<p>They rode on toward Tarrytown and Scarborough, and on +the way Eugene told Suzanne some of his plans. He was willing +not to leave Angela, if that was agreeable to her. He was willing +to maintain this outward show, if that was satisfactory. The +only point was, could he stay and have her, too? He did not understand +quite how she could want to share him with anybody, +but he could not fathom her from any point of view, and he was +fascinated. She seemed the dearest, the subtlest, the strangest +and most lovable girl. He tried to find out by what process she +proposed to overcome the objections of her mother, but Suzanne +seemed to have no plans save that of her ability to gradually +get the upper hand mentally and dominate her. "You know," +she said at one point, "I have money coming to me. Papa set +aside two hundred thousand dollars for each of us children when +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_589" id="Page_589">[Pg 589]</a></span> +we should come of age, and I am of age now. It is to be held +in trust, but I shall have twelve thousand or maybe more from +that. We can use that. I am of age now, and I have never said +anything about it. Mama has managed all these things."</p> + +<p>Here was another thought which heartened Eugene. With +Suzanne he would have this additional income, which might be +used whatever else might betide. If only Angela could be made +to accept his conditions and Suzanne could win in her contest +with her mother all would be well. His position need not be +jeopardized. Mrs. Dale need hear nothing of it at present. He +and Suzanne could go on associating in this way until an understanding +had been reached. It was all like a delightful courtship +which was to bloom into a still more delightful marriage.</p> + +<p>The day passed in assurances of affection. Suzanne told Eugene +of a book she had read in French, "The Blue Bird." The +allegory touched Eugene to the quick—its quest for happiness, +and he named Suzanne then and there "The Blue Bird." She +made him stop the car and go back to get her an exquisite lavender-hued +blossom growing wild on a tall stalk which she saw +in a field as they sped by. Eugene objected genially, because it +was beyond a wire fence and set among thorns, but she said, +"Yes, now, you must. You know you must obey me now. I am +going to begin to train you now. You've been spoiled. You're +a bad boy. Mama says that. I am going to reform you."</p> + +<p>"A sweet time you'll have, Flower Face! I'm a bad lot. +Have you noticed that?"</p> + +<p>"A little."</p> + +<p>"And you still like me?"</p> + +<p>"I don't mind. I think I can change you by loving you."</p> + +<p>Eugene went gladly. He plucked the magnificent bloom and +handed it to her "as a sceptre," he said. "It looks like you, you +know," he added. "It's regal."</p> + +<p>Suzanne accepted the compliment without thought of its flattering +import. She loved Eugene, and words had scarcely any +meaning to her. She was as happy as a child and as wise in +many things as a woman twice her years. She was as foolish as +Eugene over the beauty of nature, dwelling in an ecstasy upon +morning and evening skies, the feel of winds and the sigh of +leaves. The beauties of nature at every turn caught her eye, +and she spoke to him of things she felt in such a simple way that +he was entranced.</p> + +<p>Once when they had left the car and were walking about the +grounds of an inn, she found that one of her silk stockings had +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_590" id="Page_590">[Pg 590]</a></span> +worn through at the heel. She lifted up her foot and looked at +it meditatively. "Now, if I had some ink I could fix that up so +quickly," she said, laughing.</p> + +<p>"What would you do?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I would black it," she replied, referring to her pink heel, "or +you could paint it."</p> + +<p>He laughed and she giggled. It was these little, idle simplicities +which amused and fascinated him.</p> + +<p>"Suzanne," he said dramatically at this time, "you are taking +me back into fairyland."</p> + +<p>"I want to make you happy," she said, "as happy as I am."</p> + +<p>"If I could be! If I only could be!"</p> + +<p>"Wait," she said; "be cheerful. Don't worry. Everything +will come out all right. I know it will. Things always come +right for me. I want you and you will come to me. You will +have me just as I will have you. Oh, it is all so beautiful!"</p> + +<p>She squeezed his hand in an ecstasy of delight and then gave +him her lips.</p> + +<p>"What if someone should see?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I don't care! I don't care!" she cried. "I love you!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_591" id="Page_591">[Pg 591]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_XII" id="III_CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<p>After dining joyously, these two returned to the city. +Suzanne, as she neared New York proper, was nervous as +to what Angela might have done, for she wanted, in case Angela +told her mother, to be present, in order to defend herself. +She had reached a rather logical conclusion for her, and that was, +in case her mother objected too vigorously, to elope with Eugene. +She wanted to see just how her mother would take the +intelligence in order that she might see clearly what to do. +Previously she had the feeling that she could persuade her +mother not to interfere, even in the face of all that had been +revealed. Nevertheless, she was nervous, and her fears were bred +to a certain extent by Eugene's attitude.</p> + +<p>In spite of all his bravado, he really did not feel at all secure. +He was not afraid of what he might lose materially so much as +he was of losing Suzanne. The thought of the coming child +had not affected them at all as yet. He could see clearly that +conditions might come about whereby he could not have her, but +they were not in evidence as yet. Besides, Angela might be lying. +Still at odd moments his conscience troubled him, for in +the midst of his intense satisfaction, his keenest thrills of joy, +he could see Angela lying in bed, the thought of her wretched +future before her, the thought of the coming life troubling her, +or he could hear the echo of some of the pleas she had made. It +was useless to attempt to shut them out. This was a terrible +ordeal he was undergoing, a ruthless thing he was doing. All the +laws of life and public sentiment were against him. If the +world knew, it would accuse him bitterly. He could not forget +that. He despaired at moments of ever being able to solve the +tangle in which he had involved himself, and yet he was determined +to go on. He proposed accompanying Suzanne to her +friends, the Almerdings, but she changed her mind and decided +to go home. "I want to see whether mama has heard anything," +she insisted.</p> + +<p>Eugene had to escort her to Staten Island and then order the +chauffeur to put on speed so as to reach Riverside by four. He +was somewhat remorseful, but he argued that his love-life was +so long over, in so far as Angela was concerned, that it could not +really make so very much difference. Since Suzanne wanted to +wait a little time and proceed slowly, it was not going to be as +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_592" id="Page_592">[Pg 592]</a></span> +bad for Angela as he had anticipated. He was going to give +her a choice of going her way and leaving him entirely, either +now, or after the child was born, giving her the half of his +property, stocks, ready money, and anything else that might be +divisible, and all the furniture, or staying and tacitly ignoring +the whole thing. She would know what he was going to do, +to maintain a separate ménage, or secret rendezvous for Suzanne. +He proposed since Suzanne was so generous not to debate +this point, but to insist. He must have her, and Angela +must yield, choosing only her conditions.</p> + +<p>When he came to the house, a great change had come over +Angela. In the morning when he left she was hard and bitter +in her mood. This afternoon she was, albeit extremely sad, more +soft and melting than he had ever seen her. Her hard spirit was +temporarily broken, but in addition she had tried to resign herself +to the inevitable and to look upon it as the will of God. +Perhaps she had been, as Eugene had often accused her of being, +hard and cold. Perhaps she had held him in too tight leading +strings. She had meant it for the best. She had tried to pray +for light and guidance, and after a while something softly sad, +like a benediction, settled upon her. She must not fight any +more, she thought. She must yield. God would guide her. +Her smile, kindly and wan, when Eugene entered the room, took +him unawares.</p> + +<p>Her explanation of her mood, her prayers, her willingness to +give him up if need be, even in the face of what was coming to +her, moved him more than anything that had ever passed between +them. He sat opposite her at dinner, looking at her thin +hands and face, and her sad eyes, trying to be cheerful and considerate, +and then, going back into her room and hearing her +say she would do whatever he deemed best, burst into tears. He +cried from an excess of involuntary and uncontrolled emotion. +He hardly knew why he cried, but the sadness of everything—life, +the tangle of human emotions, the proximity of death to all, +old age, Suzanne, Angela, all—touched him, and he shook as +though he would rend his sides. Angela, in turn, was astonished +and grieved for him. She could scarcely believe her eyes. Was +he repenting? "Come to me, Eugene!" she pleaded. "Oh, I'm +so sorry! <i>Are you as much in love as that?</i> Oh, dear, dear, if I +could only do something! Don't cry like that, Eugene. If it +means so much to you, I will give you up. It tears my heart to +hear you. Oh, dear, please don't cry."</p> + +<p>He laid his head on his knees and shook, then seeing her getting +up, came over to the bed to prevent her.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_593" id="Page_593">[Pg 593]</a></span> +"No, no," he said, "it will pass. I can't help it. I'm sorry +for you. I'm sorry for myself. I'm sorry for life. God will +punish me for this. I can't help it, but you are a good woman."</p> + +<p>He laid his head down beside her and sobbed, great, aching +sobs. After a time he recovered himself, only to find that +he had given Angela courage anew. She would think now that +his love might be recovered since he had seemed so sympathetic; +that Suzanne might be displaced. He knew that could not be, +and so he was sorry that he had cried.</p> + +<p>They went on from that to discussion, to argument, to ill-feeling, +to sympathetic agreement again by degrees, only to fall +out anew. Angela could not resign herself to the thought of +giving him up. Eugene could not see that he was called upon +to do anything, save divide their joint possessions. He was most +anxious to have nothing to do with Angela anymore in any way. +He might live in the same house, but that would be all. He +was going to have Suzanne. He was going to live for her only. +He threatened Angela with dire consequences if she tried to interfere +in any way. If she communicated with Mrs. Dale, or +said anything to Suzanne, or attempted to injure him commercially, +he would leave her.</p> + +<p>"Here is the situation," he would insist. "You can maintain +it as I say, or break it. If you break it, you lose me and everything +that I represent. If you maintain it, I will stay here. I +think I will. I am perfectly willing to keep up appearances, but +I want my freedom."</p> + +<p>Angela thought and thought of this. She thought once of +sending for Mrs. Dale and communicating with her secretly, +urging her to get Suzanne out of the way without forewarning +either the girl or Eugene, but she did not do this. It was the +one thing she should have done and a thing Mrs. Dale would +have agreed to, but fear and confusion deterred her. The next +thing was to write or talk to Suzanne, and because she mistrusted +her mood in Suzanne's presence she decided to write. She lay +in bed on Monday when Eugene was away at the office and +composed a long letter in which she practically gave the history +of Eugene's life reiterating her own condition and stating what +she thought Eugene ought to do.</p> + +<p>"How can you think, Suzanne," she asked in one place, "that +he will be true to you when he can ignore me, in this condition? +He has not been true to anyone else. Are you going to throw +your life away? Your station is assured now. What can he +add to you that you have not already? If you take him, it is +sure to become known. You are the one who will be injured, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_594" id="Page_594">[Pg 594]</a></span> +not he. Men recover from these things, particularly from an +infatuation of this character, and the world thinks nothing of +it; but the world will not forgive you. You will be 'a bad +woman' after this, irretrievably so if a child is born. You think +you love him. Do you really love him this much? Read this +and stop and think. Think of his character. I am used to him. +I made my mistakes in the beginning, and it is too late for me +to change. The world can give me nothing. I may have sorrow +and disgust, but at least I shall not be an outcast and our +friends and the world will not be scandalized. But you—you +have everything before you. Some man will come to you whom +you will love and who will not ask and willingly make a sacrifice +of you. Oh, I beg you to think! You do not need him. +After all, sorry as I am to confess it, I do. It is as I tell you. +Can you really afford to ignore this appeal?"</p> + +<p>Suzanne read this and was greatly shocked. Angela painted +him in a wretched light, as fickle, deceitful, dishonest in his relations +with women. She debated this matter in her own room, +for it could not help but give her pause. After a time, Eugene's +face came back to her, however, his beautiful mind, the atmosphere +of delight and perfection that seemed to envelop all that +surrounded him. It was as though Eugene were a mirage of +beauty, so soft, so sweet, so delightful! Oh, to be with him; to +hear his beautiful voice; to feel his intense caresses! What could +life offer her equal to that? And, besides, he needed her. She +decided to talk it out with him, show him the letter, and then +decide.</p> + +<p>Eugene came in a day or two, having phoned Monday and +Tuesday mornings. He made a rendezvous of the ice house, and +then appeared as eager and smiling as ever. Since returning to +the office and seeing no immediate sign of a destructive attitude +on Angela's part, he had recovered his courage. He was hopeful +of a perfect dénouement to all this—of a studio and his +lovely Suzanne. When they were seated in the auto, she immediately +produced Angela's letter and handed it to him without +comment. Eugene read it quietly.</p> + +<p>He was greatly shocked at what he read, for he thought that +Angela was more kindly disposed toward him. Still he knew +it to be true, all of it, though he was not sure that Suzanne would +suffer from his attentions. The fates might be kind. They +might be happy together. Anyhow, he wanted her now.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said, giving it back, "what of it? Do you believe +all she says?"</p> + +<p>"It may be so, but somehow when I am with you I don't seem +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_595" id="Page_595">[Pg 595]</a></span> +to care. When I am away from you, it's different. I'm not so +sure."</p> + +<p>"You can't tell whether I am as good as you think I am?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know what to think. I suppose all she says about +you is true. I'm not sure. When you're away, it's different. +When you are here, I feel as though everything must come out +right. I love you so. Oh, I know it will!" She threw her +arms around him.</p> + +<p>"Then the letter doesn't really make any difference?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>She looked at him with big round eyes, and it was the old +story, bliss in affection without thought. They rode miles, +stopped at an inn for something to eat—Mrs. Dale was away for +the day—looked at the sea where the return road skirted it, and +kissed and kissed each other. Suzanne grew so ecstatic that +she could see exactly how it was all coming out.</p> + +<p>"Now you leave it to me," she said. "I will sound mama. +If she is at all logical, I think I can convince her. I would so +much rather do it that way. I hate deception. I would rather +just tell her, and then, if I have to, defy her. I don't think +I shall have to, though. She can't do anything."</p> + +<p>"I don't know about that," said Eugene cautiously. He had +come to have great respect for Suzanne's courage, and he was +rather relying on Mrs. Dale's regard for him to stay her from +any desperate course, but he did not see how their end was to be +achieved.</p> + +<p>He was for entering on an illicit relationship after a time +without saying anything at all. He was in no hurry, for his +feeling for Suzanne was not purely physical, though he wanted +her. Because of her strange reading and philosophy, she was +defying the world. She insisted that she did not see how it +would hurt her.</p> + +<p>"But, my dear, you don't know life," said Eugene. "It will +hurt you. It will grind you to pieces in all places outside of New +York. This is the Metropolis. It is a world city. Things +are not quite the same here, but you will have to pretend, anyhow. +It is so much easier."</p> + +<p>"Can you protect me?" she asked significantly, referring to +the condition Angela pleaded. "I wouldn't want—I couldn't, +you know, not yet, not yet."</p> + +<p>"I understand," he said. "Yes, I can, absolutely."</p> + +<p>"Well, I want to think about it," she said again. "I prefer +so much to be honest about it. I would so much rather just +tell mama, and then go and do it. It would be so much nicer. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_596" id="Page_596">[Pg 596]</a></span> +My life is my own to do with as I please. It doesn't concern +anybody, not even mama. You know, if I want to waste it, +I may, only I don't think that I am doing so. I want to live +as I choose. I don't want to get married yet."</p> + +<p>Eugene listened to her with the feeling that this was the most +curious experience of his life. He had never heard, never seen, +never experienced anything like it. The case of Christina Channing +was different. She had her art to consider. Suzanne had +nothing of the sort. She had a lovely home, a social future, +money, the chance of a happy, stable, normal life. This was +love surely, and yet he was quite at sea. Still so many favorable +things had happened, consciously favorable, that he was +ready to believe that all this was intended for his benefit by a +kind, governing providence.</p> + +<p>Angela had practically given in already. Why not Suzanne's +mother? Angela would not tell her anything. Mrs. Dale was +not any stronger than Angela apparently. Suzanne might be +able to control her as she said. If she was so determined to try, +could he really stop her? She was headstrong in a way and +wilful, but developing rapidly and reasoning tremendously. Perhaps +she could do this thing. Who could tell? They came +flying back along lovely lanes where the trees almost swept their +faces, past green stretches of marsh where the wind stirred in +ripples the tall green cat grass, past pretty farm yards, with +children and ducks in the foreground, beautiful mansions, playing +children, sauntering laborers. All the while they were reassuring +each other, vowing perfect affection, holding each other +close. Suzanne, as Angela had, loved to take Eugene's face +between her hands and look into his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Look at me," she said once when he had dolefully commented +upon the possibility of change. "Look straight into my eyes. +What do you see?"</p> + +<p>"Courage and determination," he said.</p> + +<p>"What else?"</p> + +<p>"Love."</p> + +<p>"Do you think I will change?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Surely?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Well, look at me straight, Eugene. I won't. I won't, do +you hear? I'm yours until you don't want me anymore. Now +will you be happy?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said.</p> + +<p>"And when we get our studio," she went on.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_597" id="Page_597">[Pg 597]</a></span> +"When we get our studio," he said, "we'll furnish it perfectly, +and entertain a little after a while, maybe. You'll be +my lovely Suzanne, my Flower Face, my Myrtle Blossom. +Helen, Circe, Dianeme."</p> + +<p>"I'll be your week-end bride," she laughed, "your odd or even +girl, whichever way the days fall."</p> + +<p>"If it only comes true," he exclaimed when they parted. "If +it only does."</p> + +<p>"Wait and see," she said. "Now you wait and see."</p> + +<p>The days passed and Suzanne began what she called her campaign. +Her first move was to begin to talk about the marriage +question at the dinner table, or whenever she and her mother +were alone, and to sound her on this important question, putting +her pronouncements on record. Mrs. Dale was one of those +empirical thinkers who love to philosophize generally, but who +make no specific application of anything to their own affairs. +On this marriage question she held most liberal and philosophic +views for all outside her own immediate family. It was her +idea, outside her own family, of course, that if a girl having +reached maturity, and what she considered a sound intellectual +majority, and who was not by then satisfied with the condition +which matrimony offered, if she loved no man desperately enough +to want to marry him and could arrange some way whereby +she could satisfy her craving for love without jeopardizing her +reputation, that was her lookout. So far as Mrs. Dale was concerned, +she had no particular objection. She knew women in +society, who, having made unfortunate marriages, or marriages +of convenience, sustained some such relationship to men whom +they admired. There was a subtle, under the surface understanding +outside the society circles of the most rigid morality in regard +to this, and there was the fast set, of which she was at times +a welcome member, which laughed at the severe conventions of +the older school. One must be careful—very. One must not +be caught. But, otherwise, well, every person's life was a law +unto him or herself.</p> + +<p>Suzanne never figured in any of these theories, for Suzanne +was a beautiful girl, capable of an exalted alliance, and her +daughter. She did not care to marry her off to any wretched possessor +of great wealth or title, solely for wealth's or title's sake, +but she was hoping that some eligible young man of excellent +social standing or wealth, or real personal ability, such, for instance, +as Eugene possessed, would come along and marry Suzanne. +There would be a grand wedding at a church of some +prominence,—St. Bartholomew's, very likely; a splendid wedding +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_598" id="Page_598">[Pg 598]</a></span> +dinner, oceans of presents, a beautiful honeymoon. She used +to look at Suzanne and think what a delightful mother she +would make. She was so young, robust, vigorous, able, and in a +quiet way, passionate. She could tell when she danced how +eagerly she took life. The young man would come. It would +not be long. These lovely springtimes would do their work one +of these days. As it was, there were a score of men already who +would have given an eye to attract Suzanne's attention, but +Suzanne would none of them. She seemed shy, coy, elusive, +but above all, shy. Her mother had no idea of the iron will +all this concealed any more than she had of the hard anarchic, +unsocial thoughts that were surging in her daughter's brain.</p> + +<p>"Do you think a girl ought to marry at all, mama?" +Suzanne asked her one evening when they were alone together, +"if she doesn't regard marriage as a condition she could endure +all her days?"</p> + +<p>"No-o," replied her mother. "What makes you ask?"</p> + +<p>"Well, you see so much trouble among married people that +we know. They're not very happy together. Wouldn't it be +better if a person just stayed single, and if they found someone +that they could really love, well, they needn't necessarily marry +to be happy, need they?"</p> + +<p>"What have you been reading lately, Suzanne?" asked her +mother, looking up with a touch of surprise in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Nothing lately. What makes you ask?" said Suzanne wisely, +noting the change in her mother's voice.</p> + +<p>"With whom have you been talking?"</p> + +<p>"Why, what difference does that make, mama? I've heard +you express precisely the same views?"</p> + +<p>"Quite so. I may have. But don't you think you're rather +young to be thinking of things like that? I don't say all that I +think when I'm arguing things philosophically. There are conditions +which govern everything. If it were impossible for a +girl to marry well, or if looks or lack of money interfered,—there +are plenty of reasons—a thing like that might possibly be +excusable, but why should you be thinking of that?"</p> + +<p>"Why, it doesn't necessarily follow, mama, that because I +am good looking, or have a little money, or am socially eligible, +that I should want to get married. I may not want to get married +at all. I see just as well as you do how things are with +most people. Why shouldn't I? Do I have to keep away +from every man, then?"</p> + +<p>"Why, Suzanne! I never heard you argue like this before. +You must have been talking with someone or reading +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_599" id="Page_599">[Pg 599]</a></span> +some outré book of late. I wish you wouldn't. You are +too young and too good looking to entertain any such ideas. +Why, you can have nearly any young man you wish. Surely +you can find someone with whom you can live happily or with +whom you would be willing to try. It's time enough to think +about the other things when you've tried and failed. At least you +can give yourself ample time to learn something about life before +you begin to talk such nonsense. You're too young. Why +it's ridiculous."</p> + +<p>"Mama," said Suzanne, with the least touch of temper, +"I wish you wouldn't talk to me like that. I'm not a child +any more. I'm a woman. I think like a woman—not like a +girl. You forget that I have a mind of my own and some +thoughts. I may not want to get married. I don't think I do. +Certainly not to any of the silly creatures that are running after +me now. Why shouldn't I take some man in an independent +way, if I wish? Other women have before me. Even if they +hadn't, it would be no reason why I shouldn't. My life is +my own."</p> + +<p>"Suzanne Dale!" exclaimed her mother, rising, a thrill of terror +passing along her heartstrings. "What are you talking +about? Are you basing these ideas on anything I have said in the +past? Then certainly my chickens are coming home to roost +early. You are in no position to consider whether you want to +get married or not. You have seen practically nothing of men. +Why should you reach any such conclusions now? For goodness' +sake, Suzanne, don't begin so early to meditate on these terrible +things. Give yourself a few years in which to see the world. I +don't ask you to marry, but you may meet some man whom you +could love very much, and who would love you. If you were to +go and throw yourself away under some such silly theory as you +entertain now, without stopping to see, or waiting for life to +show you what it has in store, what will you have to offer him. +Suzanne, Suzanne"—Suzanne was turning impatiently to a window—"you +frighten me! There isn't, there couldn't be. Oh, +Suzanne, I beg of you, be careful what you think, what you +say, what you do! I can't know all your thoughts, no mother +can, but, oh, if you will stop and think, and wait a while!"</p> + +<p>She looked at Suzanne who walked to a mirror and began to +fix a bow in her hair.</p> + +<p>"Mama," she said calmly. "Really, you amuse me. When +you are out with people at dinner, you talk one way, and when +you are here with me, you talk another. I haven't done anything +desperate yet. I don't know what I may want to do. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_600" id="Page_600">[Pg 600]</a></span> +I'm not a child any more, mama. Please remember that. +I'm a woman grown, and I certainly can lay out my life for +myself. I'm sure I don't want to do what you are doing—talk +one thing and do another."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dale recoiled intensely from this stab. Suzanne had +suddenly developed in the line of her argument a note of +determination, frank force and serenity of logic which appalled +her. Where had the girl got all this? With whom had she +been associating? She went over in her mind the girls and men +she had met and known. Who were her intimate companions?—Vera +Almerding; Lizette Woodworth; Cora TenEyck—a +half dozen girls who were smart and clever and socially experienced. +Were they talking such things among themselves? +Was there some man or men unduly close to them? There was +one remedy for all this. It must be acted on quickly if Suzanne +were going to fall in with and imbibe any such ideas as these. +Travel—two or three years of incessant travel with her, which +would cover this dangerous period in which girls were so susceptible +to undue influence was the necessary thing. Oh, her +own miserable tongue! Her silly ideas! No doubt all she +said was true. Generally it was so. But Suzanne! Her Suzanne, +never! She would take her away while she had time, +to grow older and wiser through experience. Never would she +be permitted to stay here where girls and men were talking +and advocating any such things. She would scan Suzanne's +literature more closely from now on. She would viser her friendships. +What a pity that so lovely a girl must be corrupted by +such wretched, unsocial, anarchistic notions. Why, what would +become of her girl? Where would she be? Dear Heaven!</p> + +<p>She looked down in the social abyss yawning at her feet and +recoiled with horror.</p> + +<p>Never, never, never! Suzanne should be saved from herself, +from all such ideas now and at once.</p> + +<p>And she began to think how she could introduce the idea of +travel easily and nicely. She must lure Suzanne to go without +alarming her—without making her think that she was bringing +pressure to bear. But from now on there must be a new order +established. She must talk differently; she must act differently. +Suzanne and all her children must be protected against themselves +and others also. That was the lesson which this conversation +taught her.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_601" id="Page_601">[Pg 601]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_XIII" id="III_CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<p>Eugene and Angela had been quarreling between themselves +most bitterly; at other times Angela was attempting +to appeal to his sense of justice and fair play, if not his old-time +affection, in the subtlest of ways. She was completely +thrown out of her old methods of calculation, and having lost +those had really no traditions on which to proceed. Eugene had +always heretofore apparently feared her wrath; now he cared +nothing for that. He had been subject, in times past, to a +certain extent to those alluring blandishments which the married +will understand well enough, but these were as ashes. Her +charms meant nothing to him. She had hoped that the thought +of a coming child would move him, but no, it was apparently +without avail. Suzanne seemed a monster to her now since she +did not desert him, and Eugene a raving maniac almost, and yet +she could see how human and natural it all was. He was hypnotized, +possessed. He had one thought, Suzanne, Suzanne, and +he would fight her at every turn for that. He told her so. +He told her of her letter to Suzanne, and the fact that he +had read and destroyed it. It did not help her cause at all. +She knew that she had decried him. He stood his ground +solidly, awaiting the will of Suzanne, and he saw Suzanne frequently, +telling her that he had won completely, and that the fulfilment +of their desires now depended upon her.</p> + +<p>As has been said, Suzanne was not without passion. The +longer she associated with Eugene, the more eager she became +for that joyous fulfilment which his words, his looks, his emotions +indicated. In her foolish, girlish way, she had built up +a fancy which was capable of realization only by the most ruthless +and desperate conduct. Her theory of telling her mother +and overcoming her by argument or defiance was really vain, +for it could not be settled so easily, or so quickly. Because of +her mother's appeal to her in this first conversation, she fancied +she had won a substantial victory. Her mother was subject +to her control and could not defeat her in argument. By the +latter token she felt she was certain to win. Besides, she was +counting heavily on her mother's regard for Eugene and her +deep affection for herself. Hitherto, her mother had really refused +her nothing.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_602" id="Page_602">[Pg 602]</a></span> +The fact that Eugene did not take her outright at this time,—postponing +until a more imperative occasion an adjustment of the +difficulties which must necessarily flow from their attempted +union without marriage—was due to the fact that he was not as +desperate or as courageous as he appeared to be. He wanted her, +but he was a little afraid of Suzanne herself. She was doubtful, +anxious to wait, anxious to plan things her own way. He +was not truly ruthless ever, but good natured and easy going. +He was no subtle schemer and planner, but rather an easy +natured soul, who drifted here and there with all the tides +and favorable or unfavorable winds of circumstance. He might +have been ruthless if he had been eager enough for any one +particular thing on this earth, money, fame, affection, but at +bottom, he really did not care as much as he thought he did. +Anything was really worth fighting for if you had to have +it, but it was not worth fighting for to the bitter end, if you +could possibly get along without it. Besides, there was nothing +really one could not do without, if one were obliged. He +might long intensely, but he could survive. He was more absorbed +in this desire than in anything else in his history, but he +was not willing to be hard and grasping.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, Suzanne was willing to be taken, but +needed to be pressed or compelled. She imagined in a vague +way that she wanted to wait and adjust things in her own way, +but she was merely dreaming, procrastinating because he was +procrastinating. If he had but compelled her at once she +would have been happy, but he was sadly in need of that desperate +energy that acts first and thinks afterward. Like Hamlet, +he was too fond of cogitating, too anxious to seek the less +desperate way, and in doing this was jeopardizing that ideal bliss +for which he was willing to toss away all the material advantages +which he had thus far gained.</p> + +<p>When Mrs. Dale quite casually within a few days began to +suggest that they leave New York for the fall and winter, +she, Suzanne and Kinroy, and visit first England, then Southern +France and then Egypt, Suzanne immediately detected something +intentional about it, or at best a very malicious plan on +the part of fate to destroy her happiness. She had been conjecturing +how, temporarily, she could avoid distant and long +drawn out engagements which her mother not infrequently accepted +for herself and Suzanne outside New York, but she had +not formulated a plan. Mrs. Dale was very popular and much +liked. This easy suggestion, made with considerable assurance +by her mother, and as though it would be just the thing, frightened +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_603" id="Page_603">[Pg 603]</a></span> +and then irritated Suzanne. Why should her mother think +of it just at this time?</p> + +<p>"I don't want to go to Europe," she said warily. "We were +over there only three years ago. I'd rather stay over here this +winter and see what's going on in New York."</p> + +<p>"But this trip will be so delightful, Suzanne," her mother +insisted. "The Camerons are to be at Callendar in Scotland +for the fall. They have taken a cottage there. I had a note +from Louise, Tuesday. I thought we might run up there and +see them and then go to the Isle of Wight."</p> + +<p>"I don't care to go, mama," replied Suzanne determinedly. +"We're settled here comfortably. Why do you always want to be +running off somewhere?"</p> + +<p>"Why, I'm not running—how you talk, Suzanne! I never +heard you object very much to going anywhere before. I +should think Egypt and the Riviera would interest you very +much. You haven't been to either of these places."</p> + +<p>"I know they're delightful, but I don't care to go this fall. +I'd rather stay here. Why should you suddenly decide that you +want to go away for a year?"</p> + +<p>"I haven't suddenly decided," insisted her mother. "I've +been thinking of it for some time, as you know. Haven't I said +that we would spend a winter in Europe soon? The last time +I mentioned it, you were very keen for it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know, mama, but that was nearly a year ago. I +don't want to go now. I would rather stay here."</p> + +<p>"Why would you? More of your friends go away than +remain. I think a particularly large number of them are going +this winter."</p> + +<p>"Ha! Ha! Ho! Ho!" laughed Suzanne. "A particularly +large number. How you exaggerate, mama, when you +want anything. You always amuse me. It's a particularly large +number now, just because you want to go," and she laughed +again.</p> + +<p>Suzanne's defiance irritated her mother. Why should she suddenly +take this notion to stay here? It must be this group of +girls she was in with, and yet, Suzanne appeared to have so +few intimate girl friends. The Almerdings were not going to +stay in town all the winter. They were here now because of +a fire at their country place, but it would only be for a little +while. Neither were the TenEycks. It couldn't be that +Suzanne was interested in some man. The only person she cared +much about was Eugene Witla, and he was married and only +friendly in a brotherly, guardian-like way.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_604" id="Page_604">[Pg 604]</a></span> +"Now, Suzanne," she said determinedly, "I'm not going to +have you talk nonsense. This trip will be a delightful thing +for you once you have started. It's useless for you to let a +silly notion like not wanting to go stand in your way. You are +just at the time when you ought to travel. Now you had better +begin to prepare yourself, for we're going."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, I'm not, mama," said Suzanne. "Why, you talk +as though I were a very little girl. I don't want to go this +fall and I'm not going. You may go if you want to, but I'm +not going."</p> + +<p>"Why, Suzanne Dale!" exclaimed her mother. "Whatever +has come over you? Of course you'll go. Where would you +stay if I went? Do you think I would walk off and leave +you? Have I ever before?"</p> + +<p>"You did when I was at boarding school," interrupted Suzanne.</p> + +<p>"That was a different matter. Then you were under proper +supervision. Mrs. Hill was answerable to me for your care. +Here you would be alone. What do you think I would be +doing?"</p> + +<p>"There you go, mama, talking as though I was a little +girl again. Will you please remember that I am nearly nineteen? +I know how to look after myself. Besides, there are +plenty of people with whom I might stay if I chose."</p> + +<p>"Suzanne Dale, you talk like one possessed. I'll listen to +nothing of the sort. You are my daughter, and as such, subject +to my guardianship. Of what are you thinking? What +have you been reading? There's some silly thing at the bottom +of all this. I'll not go away and leave you and you will come +with me. I should think that after all these years of devotion +on my part, you would take my feelings into consideration. +How can you stand there and argue with me in this +way?"</p> + +<p>"Arguing, mama?" asked Suzanne loftily. "I'm not arguing. +I'm just not going. I have my reasons for not wanting +to go, and I'm not going, that's all! Now you may go if you +want to."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dale looked into Suzanne's eyes and saw for the first +time a gleam of real defiance in them. What had brought this +about? Why was her daughter so set—of a sudden, so stubborn +and hard? Fear, anger, astonishment, mingled equally in her +feelings.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by reasons?" asked her mother. "What +reasons have you?"</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_605" id="Page_605">[Pg 605]</a></span> +"A very good one," said Suzanne quietly, twisting it to the +singular.</p> + +<p>"Well, what is it then, pray?"</p> + +<p>Suzanne debated swiftly and yet a little vaguely in her own +mind. She had hoped for a longer process of philosophic discussion +in which to entrap her mother into some moral and intellectual +position from which she could not well recede, and by +reason of which she would have to grant her the license she desired. +From one remark and another dropped in this and the +preceding conversation, she realized that her mother had no logical +arrangement in her mind whereby she included her in her +philosophical calculations at all. She might favor any and every +theory and conclusion under the sun, but it would mean nothing +in connection with Suzanne. The only thing that remained, +therefore, was to defy her, or run away, and Suzanne did not +want to do the latter. She was of age. She could adjust her +own affairs. She had money. Her mental point of view was as +good and sound as her mother's. As a matter of fact, the latter's +attitude, in view of Suzanne's recent experience and feelings, +seemed weak and futile. What did her mother know +of life any more than she? They were both in the world, and +Suzanne felt herself to be the stronger—the sounder of the two. +Why not tell her now and defy her. She would win. She must. +She could dominate her mother, and this was the time to do it.</p> + +<p>"Because I want to stay near the man I love," she finally +volunteered quietly.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dale's hand, which had been elevated to a position of +gesticulation before her, dropped limp, involuntarily, to her +side. Her mouth opened the least bit. She stared in a surprised, +anguished, semi-foolish way.</p> + +<p>"The man you love, Suzanne?" she asked, swept completely +from her moorings, and lost upon a boundless sea. "Who is +he?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Witla, mama—Eugene. I love him and he loves +me. Don't stare, mama. Mrs. Witla knows. She is willing +that we should have each other. We love each other. I am +going to stay here where I can be near him. He needs me."</p> + +<p>"Eugene Witla!" exclaimed her mother, breathless, a look +of horror in her eyes, cold fright in her tense hands. "You +love Eugene Witla? a married man! He loves you! Are you +talking to me? Eugene Witla!! You love him! Why I can't +believe this. I'm not in my right mind. Suzanne Dale, don't +stand there! Don't look at me like that! Are you telling me, +your mother? Tell me it isn't so! Tell me it isn't so before +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_606" id="Page_606">[Pg 606]</a></span> +you drive me mad! Oh, great Heavens, what am I coming to? +What have I done? Eugene Witla of all men! Oh, God, oh, +God, oh, God!"</p> + +<p>"Why do you carry on so, mama?" asked Suzanne calmly. +She had expected some such scene as this—not quite so intense, +so hysterical, but something like it, and was, in a way, prepared +for it. A selfish love was her animating, governing impulse—a +love also that stilled self, and put aside as nothing all the +world and its rules. Suzanne really did not know what she was +doing. She was hypnotized by the sense of perfection in her +lover, the beauty of their love. Not practical facts but the +beauty of the summer, the feel of cool winds, the glory of skies +and sunlight and moonlight, were in her mind. Eugene's arms +about her, his lips to hers, meant more than all the world beside. +"I love him. Of course, I love him. What is there so strange +about that?"</p> + +<p>"What is strange? Are you in your right mind? Oh, my +poor, dear little girl! My Suzanne! Oh, that villain! That +scoundrel! To come into my house and make love to you, my +darling child! How should you know? How could I expect +you to understand? Oh, Suzanne! for my sake, for the love of +Heaven, hush! Never breathe it! Never say that terrible thing +to me again! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Oh, dear!!! That I +should live to see this! My child! My Suzanne! My lovely, +beautiful Suzanne! I shall die unless I can stop this! I shall +die! I shall die!"</p> + +<p>Suzanne stared at her mother quite astonished at the violent +emotion into which she had cast her. Her pretty eyes were +open wide, her eyebrows elevated, her lips parted sweetly. She +was a picture of intense classic beauty, chiseled, peaceful, self-possessed. +Her brow was as smooth as marble, her lips as arched +as though they had never known one emotion outside joy. Her +look was of a quizzical, slightly amused, but not supercilious +character which made her more striking than ever if possible.</p> + +<p>"Why, mama! You think I am a child, don't you? All +that I say to you is true. I love Eugene. He loves me. I +am going to live with him as soon as it can be quietly arranged. +I wanted to tell you because I don't want to do anything secretly, +but I propose to do it. I wish you wouldn't insist on looking +on me as a baby, mama. I know what I am doing. I have +thought it all out this long time."</p> + +<p>"Thought it all out!" pondered Mrs. Dale. "Going to live +with him when it can be arranged! Is she talking of living +with a man without a wedding ceremony being performed? +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_607" id="Page_607">[Pg 607]</a></span> +With a man already married! Is the child stark mad? Something +has turned her brain. Surely something has. This is +not my Suzanne—my dear, lovely, entrancing Suzanne."</p> + +<p>To Suzanne she exclaimed aloud:</p> + +<p>"Are you talking of living with this, with this, oh, I don't +dare to name him. I'll die if I don't get this matter straightened +out; of living without a marriage ceremony and without his +being divorced? I can't believe that I am awake. I can't! I +can't!"</p> + +<p>"Certainly I am," replied Suzanne. "It is all arranged between +us. Mrs. Witla knows. She has given her consent. I +expect you to give yours, if you desire me to stay here, mama."</p> + +<p>"Give my consent! As God is my witness! Am I alive? Is +this my daughter talking to me? Am I in this room here +with you? I." She stopped, her mouth wide open. "If it +weren't so horribly tragic, I should laugh. I will! I will become +hysterical! My brain is whirling like a wheel now. Suzanne +Dale, you are insane. You are madly, foolishly insane. +If you do not hush and cease this terrible palaver, I will have +you locked up. I will have an inquiry made into your sanity. +This is the wildest, most horrible, most unimaginable thing ever +proposed to a mother. To think that I should have lived with +you eighteen long years, carried you in my arms, nursed you at +my breast and then have you stand here and tell me that you will +go and live unsanctioned with a man who has a good true +woman now living as his wife. This is the most astounding +thing I have ever heard of. It is unbelievable. You will not +do it. You will no more do it than you will fly. I will kill +him! I will kill you! I would rather see you dead at my feet +this minute than to even think that you could have stood there +and proposed such a thing to me. It will never be! It will +never be! I will give you poison first. I will do anything, +everything, but you shall never see this man again. If he dares +to cross this threshold, I will kill him at sight. I love you. +I think you are a wonderful girl, but this thing shall never +be. And don't you dare to attempt to dissuade me. I will +kill you, I tell you. I would rather see you dead a thousand +times. To think! To think! To think! Oh, that beast! +That villain! that unconscionable cur! To think that he should +come into my house after all my courtesy to him and do this +thing to me. Wait! He has position, he has distinction. I +will drive him out of New York. I will ruin him. I will +make it impossible for him to show his face among decent +people. Wait and see!"</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_608" id="Page_608">[Pg 608]</a></span> +Her face was white, her hands clenched, her teeth set. She +had a keen, savage beauty, much like that of a tigress when +it shows its teeth. Her eyes were hard and cruel and flashing. +Suzanne had never imagined her mother capable of such +a burst of rage as this.</p> + +<p>"Why, mama," she said calmly and quite unmoved, "you +talk as though you ruled my life completely. You would like +to make me feel, I suppose, that I do not dare to do what I +choose. I do, mama. My life is my own, not yours. You +cannot frighten me. I have made up my mind what I am +going to do in this matter, and I am going to do it. You +cannot stop me. You might as well not try. If I don't do it +now, I will later. I love Eugene. I am going to live with +him. If you won't let me I will go away, but I propose to +live with him, and you might as well stop now trying to +frighten me, for you can't."</p> + +<p>"Frighten you! Frighten you! Suzanne Dale, you haven't +the faintest, weakest conception of what you are talking about, +or of what I mean to do. If a breath of this—the faintest +intimation of your intention were to get abroad, you would be +socially ostracized. Do you realize that you would not have a +friend left in the world—that all the people you now know and +are friendly with would go across the street to avoid you? If +you didn't have independent means, you couldn't even get a +position in an ordinary shop. Going to live with him? You +are going to die first, right here in my charge and in my +arms. I love you too much not to kill you. I would a thousand +times rather die with you myself. You are not going +to see that man any more, not once, and if he dares to show +his face here, I will kill him. I have said it. I mean it. Now +you provoke me to action if you dare."</p> + +<p>Suzanne merely smiled. "How you talk, mama. You make +me laugh."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dale stared.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Suzanne! Suzanne!" she suddenly exclaimed. "Before +it is too late, before I learn to hate you, before you break +my heart, come to my arms and tell me that you are sorry—that +it is all over—that it is all a vile, dark, hateful dream. +Oh, my Suzanne! My Suzanne!"</p> + +<p>"No, mama, no. Don't come near, don't touch me," said +Suzanne, drawing back. "You haven't any idea of what you are +talking about, of what I am, or what I mean to do. You +don't understand me. You never did, mama. You have always +looked down on me in some superior way as though you +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_609" id="Page_609">[Pg 609]</a></span> +knew a great deal and I very little. It isn't that way at all. +It isn't true. I know what I am about. I know what I am +doing. I love Mr. Witla, and I am going to live with him. +Mrs. Witla understands. She knows how it is. You will. I +don't care anything at all about what people think. I don't care +what any society friends do. They are not making my life. +They are all just as narrow and selfish as they can be, anyhow. +Love is something different from that. You don't understand +me. I love Eugene, and he is going to have me, and I am +going to have him. If you want to try to wreck my life and +his, you may, but it won't make any difference. I will have him, +anyhow. We might just as well quit talking about it now."</p> + +<p>"Quit talking about it? Quit talking about it? Indeed, I +haven't even begun talking yet. I am just trying to collect +my wits, that's all. You are raging in insanity. This thing +will never be. It will nev-er be. You are just a poor, deluded +slip of girl, whom I have failed to watch sufficiently. From +now on, I will do my duty by you, if God spares me. You +need me. Oh, how you need me. Poor little Suzanne!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, hush, mama! Stop the hysteria," interrupted Suzanne.</p> + +<p>"I will call up Mr. Colfax. I will call up Mr. Winfield. +I will have him discharged. I will expose him in the newspapers. +The scoundrel, the villain, the thief! Oh, that I should +have lived to see this day. That I should have lived to have +seen this day!"</p> + +<p>"That's right, mama," said Suzanne, wearily. "Go on. +You are just talking, you know, and I know that you are. You +cannot change me. Talking cannot. It is silly to rave like +this, I think. Why won't you be quiet? We may talk, but +needn't scream."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dale put her hands to her temples. Her brain seemed +to be whirling.</p> + +<p>"Never mind, now," she said. "Never mind. I must have +time to think. But this thing you are thinking will never be. +It never will be. Oh! Oh!" and she turned sobbing to the +window.</p> + +<p>Suzanne merely stared. What a peculiar thing emotions were +in people—their emotions over morals. Here was her mother, +weeping, and she was looking upon the thing her mother was +crying about as the most essential and delightful and desirable +thing. Certainly life was revealing itself to her rapidly these +days. Did she really love Eugene so much? Yes, yes, yes, +indeed. A thousand times yes. This was not a tearful emotion +for her, but a great, consuming, embracing joy.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_610" id="Page_610">[Pg 610]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_XIV" id="III_CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<p>For hours that night, until one, two, and three o'clock in +the morning; from five, six and seven on until noon and +night of the next day, and the next day after that and the +fourth day and the fifth day, the storm continued. It was a +terrible, siege, heart burning, heart breaking, brain racking; +Mrs. Dale lost weight rapidly. The color left her cheeks, a +haggard look settled in her eyes. She was terrified, nonplussed, +driven to extremities for means wherewith to overcome Suzanne's +opposition and suddenly but terribly developed will. No one +would have dreamed that this quiet, sweet-mannered, introspective +girl could be so positive, convinced and unbending when +in action. She was as a fluid body that has become adamant. +She was a creature made of iron, a girl with a heart of stone; +nothing moved her—her mother's tears, her threats of social +ostracism, of final destruction, of physical and moral destruction +for Eugene and herself, her threats of public exposure in +the newspapers, of incarceration in an asylum. Suzanne had +watched her mother a long time and concluded that she loved +to talk imposingly in an easy, philosophic, at times pompous, +way, but that really there was very little in what she said. +She did not believe that her mother had true courage—that she +would risk incarcerating her in an asylum, or exposing Eugene +to her own disadvantage, let alone poisoning or killing her. +Her mother loved her. She would rage terribly for a time +this way, then she would give in. It was Suzanne's plan to +wear her down, to stand her ground firmly until her mother +wearied and broke under the strain. Then she would begin +to say a few words for Eugene, and eventually by much arguing +and blustering, her mother would come round. Eugene would +be admitted to the family councils again. He and Suzanne +would argue it all out together in her mother's presence. They +would probably agree to disagree in a secret way, but she would +get Eugene and he her. Oh, the wonder of that joyous dénouement. +It was so near now, and all for a little courageous fighting. +She would fight, fight until her mother broke, and then—Oh, +Eugene, Eugene!</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dale was not to be so easily overcome as Suzanne +imagined. Haggard and worn as she was, she was far from +yielding. There was an actual physical conflict between them +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_611" id="Page_611">[Pg 611]</a></span> +once when Suzanne, in the height of an argument, decided that +she would call up Eugene on the phone and ask him to come +down and help her settle the discussion. Mrs. Dale was determined +that she should not. The servants were in the house +listening, unable to catch at first the drift of the situation, but +knowing almost by intuition that there was a desperate discussion +going on. Suzanne decided to go down to the library +where the phone was. Mrs. Dale put her back to the door +and attempted to deter her. Suzanne tried to open it by pulling. +Her mother unloosed her hands desperately, but it was very +difficult, Suzanne was so strong.</p> + +<p>"For shame," she said. "For shame! To make your mother +contest with you. Oh, the degradation"—the while she was +struggling. Finally, angry, hysteric tears coursed involuntarily +down her cheeks and Suzanne was moved at last. It was so obvious +that this was real bitter heart-burning on her mother's +part. Her hair was shaken loose on one side—her sleeve torn.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my goodness! my goodness!" Mrs Dale gasped at last, +throwing herself in a chair and sobbing bitterly. "I shall never +lift my head again. I shall never lift my head again."</p> + +<p>Suzanne looked at her somewhat sorrowfully. "I'm sorry, +mama," she said, "but you have brought it all on yourself. I +needn't call him now. He will call me and I will answer. It +all comes from your trying to rule me in your way. You won't +realize that I am a personality also, quite as much as you are. +I have my life to live. It is mine to do with as I please. You +are not going to prevent me in the long run. You might just +as well stop fighting with me now. I don't want to quarrel +with you. I don't want to argue, but I am a grown woman, +mama. Why don't you listen to reason? Why don't you let +me show you how I feel about this? Two people loving each +other have a right to be with each other. It isn't anyone else's +concern."</p> + +<p>"Anyone else's concern! Anyone else's concern!" replied her +mother viciously. "What nonsense. What silly, love-sick drivel. +If you had any idea of life, of how the world is organized, you +would laugh at yourself. Ten years from now, one year even, +you will begin to see what a terrible mistake you are trying +to make. You will scarcely believe that you could have done +or said what you are doing and saying now. Anyone else's concern! +Oh, Merciful Heaven! Will nothing put even a suggestion +of the wild, foolish, reckless character of the thing you are +trying to do in your mind?"</p> + +<p>"But I love him, mama," said Suzanne.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_612" id="Page_612">[Pg 612]</a></span> +"Love! Love! You talk about love," said her mother bitterly +and hysterically. "What do you know about it? Do you +think he can be loving you when he wants to come here and +take you out of a good home and a virtuous social condition +and wreck your life, and bring you down into the mire, your +life and mine, and that of your sisters and brother for ever and +ever? What does he know of love? What do you? Think of +Adele and Ninette and Kinroy. Have you no regard for +them? Where is your love for me and for them? Oh, I have +been so afraid that Kinroy might hear something of this. He +would go and kill him. I know he would. I couldn't prevent it. +Oh, the shame, the scandal, the wreck, it would involve us all +in. Have you no conscience, Suzanne; no heart?"</p> + +<p>Suzanne stared before her calmly. The thought of Kinroy +moved her a little. He might kill Eugene—she couldn't tell—he +was a courageous boy. Still there was no need for any +killing, or exposure, or excitement of any kind if her mother +would only behave herself. What difference did it make to her, +or Kinroy, or anybody anywhere what she did? Why couldn't +she if she wanted to? The risk was on her head. She was +willing. She couldn't see what harm it would do.</p> + +<p>She expressed this thought to her mother once who answered +in an impassioned plea for her to look at the facts. "How many +evil women of the kind and character you would like to make +of yourself, do you know? How many would you like to know? +How many do you suppose there are in good society? Look at +this situation from Mrs. Witla's point of view. How would +you like to be in her place? How would you like to be in +mine? Suppose you were Mrs. Witla and Mrs. Witla were the +other woman. What then?"</p> + +<p>"I would let him go," said Suzanne.</p> + +<p>"Yes! Yes! Yes! You would let him go. You might, but +how would you feel? How would anyone feel? Can't you see +the shame in all this, the disgrace? Have you no comprehension +at all? No feeling?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, how you talk, mama. How silly you talk. You don't +know the facts. Mrs. Witla doesn't love him any more. She +told me so. She has written me so. I had the letter and gave +it back to Eugene. He doesn't care for her. She knows it. +She knows he cares for me. What difference does it make if +she doesn't love him. He's entitled to love somebody. Now I +love him. I want him. He wants me. Why shouldn't we +have each other?"</p> + +<p>In spite of all her threats, Mrs. Dale was not without subsidiary +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_613" id="Page_613">[Pg 613]</a></span> +thoughts of what any public move on her part would +certainly, not probably, but immediately involve. Eugene was +well known. To kill him, which was really very far from her +thoughts, in any save a very secret way, would create a tremendous +sensation and involve no end of examination, discussion, +excited publicity. To expose him to either Colfax or Winfield +meant in reality exposing Suzanne to them, and possibly to members +of her own social set, for these men were of it, and might +talk. Eugene's resignation would cause comment. If he left, +Suzanne might run away with him—then what? There was the +thought on her part that the least discussion or whisper of this +to anybody might produce the most disastrous results. What +capital the so-called "Yellow" newspapers would make out of a +story of this character. How they would gloat over the details. +It was a most terrible and dangerous situation, and yet it was +plain that something had to be done and that immediately. +What?</p> + +<p>In this crisis it occurred to her that several things might be +done and that without great danger of irremediable consequences +if she could only have a little time in which Suzanne +would promise to remain quiescent and do so. If she could get +her to say that she would do nothing for ten days or five days +all might be well for them. She could go to see Angela, +Eugene, Mr. Colfax, if necessary. To leave Suzanne in +order to go on these various errands, she had to obtain Suzanne's +word, which she knew she could respect absolutely, that +she would make no move of any kind until the time was up. +Under pretense that Suzanne herself needed time to think, or +should take it, she pleaded and pleaded until finally the girl, +on condition that she be allowed to phone to Eugene and state +how things stood, consented. Eugene had called her up on the +second day after the quarrel began and had been informed by the +butler, at Mrs. Dale's request, that she was out of town. He +called the second day, and got the same answer. He wrote to +her and Mrs. Dale hid the letter, but on the fourth day, Suzanne +called him up and explained. The moment she did so, he was +sorry that she had been so hasty in telling her mother, terribly +so, but there was nothing to be done now save to stand by his +guns. He was ready in a grim way to rise or fall so long as, +in doing either, he should obtain his heart's desire.</p> + +<p>"Shall I come and help you argue?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"No, not for five days. I have given my word."</p> + +<p>"Shall I see you?"</p> + +<p>"No, not for five days, Eugene."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_614" id="Page_614">[Pg 614]</a></span> +"Mayn't I even call you up?"</p> + +<p>"No, not for five days. After that, yes."</p> + +<p>"All right, Flower Face—Divine Fire. I'll obey. I'm yours +to command. But, oh, sweet, it's a long time."</p> + +<p>"I know, but it will pass."</p> + +<p>"And you won't change?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"They can't make you?"</p> + +<p>"No, you know they can't, dearest. Why do you ask?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I can't help feeling a little fearful, sweet. You are so +young, so new to love."</p> + +<p>"I won't change. I won't change. I don't need to swear. +I won't."</p> + +<p>"Very well, then, Myrtle Bloom."</p> + +<p>She hung up the receiver, and Mrs. Dale knew now that her +greatest struggle was before her.</p> + +<p>Her several contemplated moves consisted first, in going to +see Mrs. Witla, unknown to Suzanne and Eugene, learning what +she knew of how things were and what she would advise.</p> + +<p>This really did no good, unless the fact that it fomented anew +the rage and grief of Angela, and gave Mrs. Dale additional +material wherewith to belabor Eugene, could be said to be of +advantage. Angela, who had been arguing and pleading with +Eugene all this time, endeavoring by one thought and another +to awaken him to a sense of the enormity of the offense he was +contemplating, was practically in despair. She had reached the +point where she had become rather savage again, and he also. +In spite of her condition, in spite of all she could say, he was +cold and bitter, so insistent that he was through with the old +order that he made her angry. Instead of leaving him, as she +might have done, trusting to time to alter his attitude, or to +teach her the wisdom of releasing him entirely, she preferred to +cling to him, for there was still affection left. She was used +to him, he was the father of her coming child, unwelcome as +it was. He represented her social position to her, her station +in the world. Why should she leave him? Then, too, there +was this fear of the outcome, which would come over her like +a child. She might die. What would become of the child?</p> + +<p>"You know, Mrs. Dale," she said at one point significantly, "I +don't hold Suzanne absolutely guiltless. She is old enough to +know better. She has been out in society long enough to know +that a married man is sacred property to another woman."</p> + +<p>"I know, I know," replied Mrs. Dale resentfully, but cautiously, +"but Suzanne is so young. You really don't know how +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_615" id="Page_615">[Pg 615]</a></span> +much of a child she is. And she has this silly, idealistic, emotional +disposition. I suspected something of it, but I did not +know it was so strong. I'm sure I don't know where she gets +it. Her father was most practical. But she was all right until +your husband persuaded her."</p> + +<p>"That may be all true," went on Angela, "but she is not +guiltless. I know Eugene. He is weak, but he will not follow +where he is not led, and no girl need be tempted unless she +wants to."</p> + +<p>"Suzanne is so young," again pleaded Mrs. Dale.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm sure if she knew Mr. Witla's record accurately," +went on Angela foolishly, "she wouldn't want him. I have +written her. She ought to know. He isn't honest and he isn't +moral as this thing shows. If this were the first time he had +fallen in love with another woman, I could forgive him, but +it isn't. He did something quite as bad six or seven years ago, +and only two years before that there was another woman. He +wouldn't be faithful to Suzanne if he had her. It would be a +case of blazing affection for a little while, and then he would +tire and cast her aside. Why, you can tell what sort of a +man he is when he would propose to me, as he did here, that I +should let him maintain a separate establishment for Suzanne +and say nothing of it. The idea!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dale clicked her lips significantly. She considered Angela +foolish for talking in this way, but it could not be helped +now. Possibly Eugene had made a mistake in marrying her. +This did not excuse him, however, in her eyes for wanting to +take Suzanne under the conditions he proposed. If he were free, +it would be an entirely different matter. His standing, his mind, +his manners, were not objectionable, though he was not to the +manner born.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dale went away toward evening, greatly nonplussed by +what she had seen and heard, but convinced that no possible good +could come of the situation. Angela would never give him a +divorce. Eugene was not a fit man morally for her daughter, +anyhow. There was great scandal on the verge of exposure here +in which her beloved daughter would be irretrievably smirched. +In her desperation, she decided, if she could do no better, she +would try to dissuade Eugene from seeing Suzanne until he +could obtain a divorce, in which case, to avoid something worse, +she would agree to a marriage, but this was only to be a lip +promise. The one thing she wanted to do was to get Suzanne +to give him up entirely. If Suzanne could be spirited away, +or dissuaded from throwing herself away on Eugene, that would +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_616" id="Page_616">[Pg 616]</a></span> +be the thing. Still, she proposed to see what a conversation +with Eugene would do.</p> + +<p>The next morning as he was sitting in his office wondering +what the delay of five days portended, and what Suzanne was +doing, as well as trying to fix his mind on the multitudinous +details which required his constant attention, and were now being +rather markedly neglected, the card of Mrs. Emily Dale was +laid on his table, and a few moments later, after his secretary +had been dismissed, and word given that no one else was to be +allowed to enter, Mrs. Dale was shown in.</p> + +<p>She was pale and weary, but exquisitely dressed in a greenish +blue silk and picture hat of black straw and feathers. She +looked quite young and handsome herself, not too old for Eugene, +and indeed once she had fancied he might well fall in +love with her. What her thoughts were at that time, she was +not now willing to recall, for they had involved the probable desertion +or divorce, or death of Angela, and Eugene's passionate +infatuation for her. All that was over now, of course, and in +the excitement and distress, almost completely obliterated. Eugene +had not forgotten that he had had similar sensations or +imaginations at the time, and that Mrs. Dale had always drawn +to him in a sympathetic and friendly way. Here she was, +though, this morning coming upon a desperate mission no doubt, +and he would have to contend with her as best he could.</p> + +<p>The conversation opened by his looking into her set face as +she approached and smiling blandly, though it was something +of an effort. "Well," he said, in quite a business like way, +"what can I do for you?"</p> + +<p>"You villain," she exclaimed melodramatically, "my daughter +has told me all."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Suzanne phoned me that she told you," he replied, in +a conciliatory tone.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said in a low, tense voice, "and I ought to kill +you where you stand. To think that I should have ever harbored +such a monster as you in my home and near my dear, innocent +daughter. It seems incredible now. I can't believe it. +That you should dare. And you with a dear, sweet wife at +home, sick and in the condition she is in. I should think if you +had any manhood at all any sense of shame! When I think +of that poor, dear little woman, and what you have been doing, +or trying to do—if it weren't for the scandal you would never +leave this office alive."</p> + +<p>"Oh, bother! Don't talk rot, Mrs. Dale," said Eugene +quietly, though irritably. He did not care for her melodramatic +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_617" id="Page_617">[Pg 617]</a></span> +attitude. "The dear, darling little woman you speak of is not as +badly off as you think, and I don't think she needs as much of +your sympathy as you are so anxious to give. She is pretty +well able to take care of herself, sick as she is. As for killing +me, you or anyone else, well that wouldn't be such a bad idea. +I'm not so much in love with life. This is not fifty years ago, +though, but the nineteenth century, and this is New York City. +I love Suzanne. She loves me. We want each other desperately. +Now, an arrangement can be made which will not interfere +with you in any way, and which will adjust things for us. Suzanne +is anxious to make that arrangement. It is as much her +proposition as it is mine. Why should you be so vastly disturbed? +You know a great deal about life."</p> + +<p>"Why should I be disturbed? Why should I? Can you sit +in this office, you a man in charge of all this vast public work, +and ask me in cold blood why I should be disturbed? And my +daughter's very life at stake. Why should I be disturbed and +my daughter only out of her short dresses a little while ago and +practically innocent of the world. You dare to tell me that she +proposed! Oh, you impervious scoundrel! To think I could be +so mistaken in any human being. You, with your bland manners +and your inconsistent talk of happy family life. I might have +understood, though, when I saw you so often without your wife. +I should have known. I did, God help me! but I didn't act +upon it. I was taken by your bland, gentlemanly attitude. I +don't blame poor, dear little Suzanne. I blame you, you utterly +deceiving villain and myself for being so silly. I am being +justly rewarded, however."</p> + +<p>Eugene merely looked at her and drummed with his fingers.</p> + +<p>"But I did not come here to bandy words with you," she went +on. "I came to say that you must never see my daughter again, +or speak of her, or appear where she might chance to be, though +she won't be where you may appear, if I have my way, for you +won't have a chance to appear anywhere in decent society very +much longer. I shall go, unless you agree here and now never +to see or communicate with her any more, to Mr. Colfax, whom +I know personally, as you are aware, and lay the whole matter +before him. I'm sure with what I know now of your record, +and what you have attempted to do in connection with my +daughter, and the condition of your wife, that he will not +require your services very much longer. I shall go to Mr. +Winfield, who is also an old friend, and lay the matter before +him. Privately you will be drummed out of society and my +daughter will be none the worse for it. She is so very young +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_618" id="Page_618">[Pg 618]</a></span> +that when the facts are known, you are the only one who will +bear the odium of this. Your wife has given me your wretched +record only yesterday. You would like to make my Suzanne your +fourth or fifth. Well, you will not. I will show you something +you have not previously known. You are dealing with a +desperate mother. Defy me if you dare. I demand that you +write your farewell to Suzanne here and now, and let me take +it to her."</p> + +<p>Eugene smiled sardonically. Mrs. Dale's reference to Angela +made him bitter. She had been there and Angela had talked +of him—his past to her. What a mean thing to do. After all, +Angela was his wife. Only the morning before, she had been +appealing to him on the grounds of love, and she had not told +him of Mrs. Dale's visit. Love! Love! What sort of love +was this? He had done enough for her to make her generous +in a crisis like this, even if she did not want to be.</p> + +<p>"Write you a statement of release to Suzanne?" he observed, +his lips curling—"how silly. Of course, I won't. And as for +your threat to run to Mr. Colfax, I have heard that before +from Mrs. Witla. There is the door. His office is twelve flights +down. I'll call a boy, if you wish. You tell it to Mr. Colfax +and see how much farther it goes before you are much older. +Run to Mr. Winfield also. A lot I care about him or Mr. +Colfax. If you want a grand, interesting discussion of this +thing, just begin. It will go far and wide, I assure you. I love +your daughter. I'm desperate about her. I'm literally crazy +about her"—he got up—"she loves me, or I think she does. +Anyhow, I'm banking all on that thought. My life from the +point of view of affection has been a failure. I have never really +been in love before, but I am crazy about Suzanne Dale. I am +wild about her. If you had any sympathy for an unhappy, sympathetic, +emotional mortal, who has never yet been satisfied in a +woman, you would give her to me. I love her. I love her. By +God!"—he banged the desk with his fist—"I will do anything +for her. If she will come to me, Colfax can have his position, +Winfield can have his Blue Sea Corporation. You can have her +money, if she wants to give it to you. I can make a living abroad +by my art, and I will. Other Americans have done it before me. +I love her! I love her! Do you hear me? I love her, and +what's more, I'm going to have her! You can't stop me. You +haven't the brains; you haven't the strength; you haven't the resources +to match that girl. She's brighter than you are. She's +stronger, she's finer. She's finer than the whole current day +conception of society and life. She loves me and she wants to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_619" id="Page_619">[Pg 619]</a></span> +give herself to me, willingly, freely, joyously. Match that in +your petty society circles if you can. Society! You say you +will have me drummed out of it, will you? A lot I care about +your society. Hacks, mental light weights, money grubbers, +gamblers, thieves, leeches—a fine lot! To see you sitting there +and talking to me with your grand air makes me laugh. A lot +I care for you. I was thinking of another kind of woman when +I met you, not a narrow, conventional fool. I thought I saw +one in you. I did, didn't I—not? You are like all the rest, +a narrow, petty slavish follower after fashion and convention. +Well," he snapped his fingers in her face, "go on and do your +worst. I will get Suzanne in the long run. She will come to +me. She will dominate you. Run to Colfax! Run to Winfield! +I will get her just the same. She's mine. She belongs +to me. She is big enough for me. The Gods have given her +to me, and I will have her if I have to smash you and your home +and myself and everyone else connected with me. I'll have her! +I'll have her! She is mine! She is mine!" He lifted a tense +hand. "Now you run and do anything you want to. Thank +God, I've found one woman who knows how to live and love. +She's mine!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dale stared at him in amazement, scarcely believing her +ears. Was he crazy? Was he really so much in love? Had +Suzanne turned his brain? What an astonishing thing. She +had never seen him anything like this—never imagined him capable +of anything like it. He was always so quiet, smiling, +bland, witty. Here he was dramatic, impassioned, fiery, hungry. +There was a terrible light in his eyes and he was desperate. +He must be in love.</p> + +<p>"Oh, why will you do this to me?" she whimpered all at +once. The terror of his mood conveying itself to her for the +moment, and arousing a sympathy which she had not previously +felt. "Why will you come into my home and attempt to destroy +it? There are lots of women who will love you. There +are lots more suited to your years and temperament than Suzanne. +She doesn't understand you. She doesn't understand +herself. She is just young, and foolish and hypnotized. You +have hypnotized her. Oh, why will you do this to me? You +are so much older than her, so much more schooled in life. +Why not give her up? I don't want to go to Mr. Colfax. I +don't want to speak to Mr. Winfield. I will, if I have to, +but I don't want to. I have always thought so well of you. +I know you are not an ordinary man. Restore my respect for +you, my confidence in you. I can forgive, if I can't forget. You +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_620" id="Page_620">[Pg 620]</a></span> +may not be happily married. I am sorry for you. I don't want +to do anything desperate. I only want to save poor, little Suzanne. +Oh, please! please! I love her so. I don't think you +understand how I feel. You may be in love, but you ought to +be willing to consider others. True love would. I know that +she is hard and wilful and desperate now, but she will change +if you will help her. Why, if you really love her, if you have +any sympathy for me or regard for her future, or your own, you +will renounce your schemes and release her. Tell her you made +a mistake. Write to her now. Tell her you can't do this and +not socially ruin her and me and yourself, and so you won't do +it. Tell her that you have decided to wait until time has made +you a free man, if that is to be, and then let her have a chance +of seeing if she will not be happy in a normal life. You don't +want to ruin her at this age, do you? She is so young, so +innocent. Oh, if you have any judgment of life at all, any +regard, any consideration, anything, I beg of you; I beg as her +mother, for I love her. Oh!" Tears came into her eyes again +and she cried weakly in her handkerchief.</p> + +<p>Eugene stared at her. What was he doing? Where was he +going? Was he really as bad as he appeared to be here? Was +he possessed? Was he really so hard-hearted? Through her +grief and Angela's and the threats concerning Colfax and Winfield, +he caught a glimpse of the real heart of the situation. It +was as if there had been a great flash of lightning illuminating +a black landscape. He saw sympathetically, sorrow, folly, a +number of things that were involved, and then the next moment, +it was gone. Suzanne's face came back, smooth, classic, chiseled, +perfectly modeled, her beauty like a tightened bow; her eyes, her +lips, her hair, the gaiety and buoyancy of her motions and her +smile. Give her up! Give up Suzanne and that dream of the +studio, and of joyous, continuous, delicious companionship? Did +Suzanne want him to? What had she said over the phone? No! +No! No! Quit now, and her clinging to him. No! No! +No! Never!! He would fight first. He would go down fighting. +Never! Never! Never!</p> + +<p>His brain seethed.</p> + +<p>"I can't do it," he said, getting up again, for he had sat down +after his previous tirade. "I can't do it. You are asking something +that is utterly impossible. It can never be done. God +help me, I'm insane, I'm wild over her. Go and do anything +you want to, but I must have her and I will. She's mine! She's +mine! She's mine!"</p> + +<p>His thin, lean hands clenched and he clicked his teeth.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_621" id="Page_621">[Pg 621]</a></span> +"Mine, mine, mine!" he muttered, and one would have thought +him a villain in a cheap melodrama.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dale shook her head.</p> + +<p>"God help us both!" she said. "You shall never, never have +her. You are not worthy of her. You are not right in your +mind. I will fight you with all the means in my power. I am +desperate! I am wealthy. I know how to fight. You shall +not have her. Now we will see which will win." She rose to +go and Eugene followed her.</p> + +<p>"Go ahead," he said calmly, "but in the end you lose. Suzanne +comes to me. I know it. I feel it. I may lose many other +things, but I get her. She's mine."</p> + +<p>"Oh," sighed Mrs. Dale wearily, half believing him and moving +towards the door. "Is this your last word?"</p> + +<p>"It is positively."</p> + +<p>"Then I must be going."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," he said solemnly.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," she answered, white faced, her eyes staring.</p> + +<p>She went out and Eugene took up the telephone; but he +remembered that Suzanne had warned him not to call, but +to depend on her. So he put it down again.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_622" id="Page_622">[Pg 622]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_XV" id="III_CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<p>The fire and pathos of Mrs. Dale's appeal should have given +Eugene pause. He thought once of going after her and +making a further appeal, saying that he would try and get a +divorce eventually and marry Suzanne, but he remembered that +peculiar insistency of Suzanne on the fact that she did not want +to get married. Somehow, somewhere, somewhy, she had formulated +this peculiar ideal or attitude, which whatever the world +might think of it, was possible of execution, providing he and +she were tactful enough. It was not such a wild thing for two +people to want to come together in this way, if they chose, +he thought. Why was it? Heaven could witness there were +enough illicit and peculiar relationships in this world to prevent +society from becoming excited about one more, particularly when +it was to be conducted in so circumspect and subtle a way. He +and Suzanne did not intend to blazon their relationship to the +world. As a distinguished artist, not active, but acknowledged +and accomplished, he was entitled to a studio life. He and +Suzanne could meet there. Nothing would be thought of it. +Why had she insisted on telling her mother? It could all have +been done without that. There was another peculiar ideal of +hers, her determination to tell the truth under all circumstances. +And yet she had really not told it. She had deceived her mother +a long time about him simply by saying nothing. Was this +some untoward trick of fate's, merely devised to harm him? +Surely not. And yet Suzanne's headstrong determination seemed +almost a fatal mistake now. He sat down brooding over it. +Was this a terrific blunder? Would he be sorry? All his life +was in the balance. Should he turn back?</p> + +<p>No! No! No! Never! It was not to be. He must go +on. He must! He must! So he brooded.</p> + +<p>The next of Mrs. Dale's resources was not quite so unavailing +as the others, though it was almost so. She had sent for +Dr. Latson Woolley, her family physician—an old school practitioner +of great repute, of rigid honor and rather Christian +principles himself, but also of a wide intellectual and moral discernment, +so far as others were concerned.</p> + +<p>"Well, Mrs. Dale," he observed, when he was ushered into +her presence in the library on the ground floor, and extending +his hand cordially, though wearily, "what can I do for you +this morning?"</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_623" id="Page_623">[Pg 623]</a></span> +"Oh, Dr. Woolley," she began directly, "I am in so much +trouble. It isn't a case of sickness. I wish it were. It is +something so much worse. I have sent for you because I know +I can rely on your judgment and sympathy. It concerns my +daughter, Suzanne."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," he grunted, in a rather crusty voice, for his +vocal cords were old, and his eyes looked out from under shaggy, +gray eyebrows which somehow bespoke a world of silent observation. +"What's the matter with her? What has she done now +that she ought not to do?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, doctor," exclaimed Mrs. Dale nervously, for the experiences +of the last few days had almost completely dispelled her +normal composure, "I don't know how to tell you, really. I +don't know how to begin. Suzanne, my dear precious Suzanne, +in whom I have placed so much faith and reliance has, has——"</p> + +<p>"Well, tell me," interrupted Dr. Woolley laconically.</p> + +<p>When she had told him the whole story, and answered some +of his incisive questions, he said:</p> + +<p>"Well, I am thinking you have a good deal to be grateful for. +She might have yielded without your knowledge and told you +afterwards—or not at all."</p> + +<p>"Not at all. Oh, doctor! My Suzanne!"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Dale, I looked after you and your mother before you +and Suzanne. I know something about human nature and your +family characteristics. Your husband was a very determined +man, as you will remember. Suzanne may have some of his +traits in her. She is a very young girl, you want to remember, +very robust and vigorous. How old is this Witla man?"</p> + +<p>"About thirty-eight or nine, doctor."</p> + +<p>"Um! I suspected as much. The fatal age. It's a wonder +you came through that period as safely as you did. You're +nearly forty, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, doctor, but you're the only one that knows it."</p> + +<p>"I know, I know. It's the fatal age. You say he is in +charge of the United Magazines Corporation. I have probably +heard of him. I know of Mr. Colfax of that company. Is +he very emotional in his temperament?"</p> + +<p>"I had never thought so before this."</p> + +<p>"Well, he probably is. Thirty-eight to thirty-nine and eighteen +or nineteen—bad combination. Where is Suzanne?"</p> + +<p>"Upstairs in her room, I fancy."</p> + +<p>"It might not be a bad thing if I talked to her myself a little, +though I don't believe it will do any good."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dale disappeared and was gone for nearly three-quarters +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_624" id="Page_624">[Pg 624]</a></span> +of an hour. Suzanne was stubborn, irritable, and to all preliminary +entreaties insisted that she would not. Why should +her mother call in outsiders, particularly Dr. Woolley, whom she +knew and liked. She suspected at once when her mother said +Dr. Woolley wanted to see her that it had something to do +with her case, and demanded to know why. Finally, after much +pleading, she consented to come down, though it was with the +intention of showing her mother how ridiculous all her excitement +was.</p> + +<p>The old doctor who had been meditating upon the inexplicable +tangle, chemical and physical, of life—the blowing +hither and thither of diseases, affections, emotions and hates +of all kinds, looked up quizzically as Suzanne entered.</p> + +<p>"Well, Suzanne," he said genially, rising and walking slowly +toward her, "I'm glad to see you again. How are you this +morning?"</p> + +<p>"Pretty well, doctor, how are you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, as you see, as you see, a little older and a little fussier, +Suzanne, making other people's troubles my own. Your mother +tells me you have fallen in love. That's an interesting thing +to do, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"You know, doctor," said Suzanne defiantly, "I told mama +that I don't care to discuss this, and I don't think she has +any right to try to make me. I don't want to and I won't. I +think it is all in rather poor taste."</p> + +<p>"Poor taste, Suzanne?" asked Mrs. Dale. "Do you call our +discussion of what you want to do poor taste, when the world +will think that what you want to do is terrible when you +do it?"</p> + +<p>"I told you, mama, that I was not coming down here to discuss +this thing, and I'm not!" said Suzanne, turning to her +mother and ignoring Dr. Woolley. "I'm not going to stay. I +don't want to offend Dr. Woolley, but I'm not going to stay +and have you argue this all over again."</p> + +<p>She turned to go.</p> + +<p>"There, there, Mrs. Dale, don't interrupt," observed Dr. +Woolley, holding Suzanne by the very tone of his voice. "I +think myself that very little is to be gained by argument. +Suzanne is convinced that what she is planning to do is to her +best interest. It may be. We can't always tell. I think the +best thing that could be discussed, if anything at all in this +matter can be discussed, is the matter of time. It is my opinion +that before doing this thing that Suzanne wants to do, and which +may be all right, for all I know, it would be best if she would +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_625" id="Page_625">[Pg 625]</a></span> +take a little time. I know nothing of Mr. Witla. He may be +a most able and worthy man. Suzanne ought to give herself +a little time to think, though. I should say three months, or +six months. A great many after effects hang on this decision, +as you know," he said, turning to Suzanne. "It may involve +responsibilities you are not quite ready to shoulder. You are +only eighteen or nineteen, you know. You might have to give +up dancing and society, and travel, and a great many things, and +devote yourself to being a mother and ministering to your husband's +needs. You expect to live with him permanently, don't +you?"</p> + +<p>"I don't want to discuss this, Dr. Woolley."</p> + +<p>"But you do expect that, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Only as long as we love each other."</p> + +<p>"Um, well, you might love him for some little time yet. +You rather expect to do that, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Why, yes, but what is the good of this, anyhow? My mind +is made up."</p> + +<p>"Just the matter of thinking," said Dr. Woolley, very soothingly +and in a voice which disarmed Suzanne and held her. +"Just a little time in which to be absolutely sure. Your mother +is anxious not to have you do it at all. You, as I understand +it, want to do this thing right away. Your mother loves you, +and at bottom, in spite of this little difference, I know you love +her. It just occurred to me that for the sake of good feeling +all around, you might like to strike a balance. You might be +willing to take, say six months, or a year and think about it. +Mr. Witla would probably not object. You won't be any +the less delightful to him at the end of that time, and as for +your mother, she would feel a great deal better if she thought +that, after all, what you decided to do you had done after mature +deliberation."</p> + +<p>"Yes," exclaimed Mrs. Dale, impulsively, "do take time to +think, Suzanne. A year won't hurt you."</p> + +<p>"No," said Suzanne unguardedly. "It is all a matter of +whether I want to or not. I don't want to."</p> + +<p>"Precisely. Still this is something you might take into consideration. +The situation from all outside points of view is serious. +I haven't said so, but I feel that you would be making a +great mistake. Still, that is only my opinion. You are entitled +to yours. I know how you feel about it, but the public +is not likely to feel quite the same. The public is a wearisome +thing, Suzanne, but we have to take it into consideration."</p> + +<p>Suzanne stared stubbornly and wearily at her tormentors. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_626" id="Page_626">[Pg 626]</a></span> +Their logic did not appeal to her at all. She was thinking of +Eugene and her plan. It could be worked. What did she care +about the world? During all this talk, she drew nearer and +nearer the door and finally opened it.</p> + +<p>"Well, that is all," said Dr. Woolley, when he saw she was +determined to go. "Good morning, Suzanne. I am glad to +have seen you again."</p> + +<p>"Good morning, Dr. Woolley," she replied.</p> + +<p>She went out and Mrs. Dale wrung her hands. "I wish I +knew what was to be done," she exclaimed, gazing at her counselor.</p> + +<p>Dr. Woolley brooded over the folly of undesired human +counsel.</p> + +<p>"There is no need for excitement," he observed after a time. +"It is obvious to me that if she is handled rightly, she will wait. +She is in a state of high strung opposition and emotion for some +reason at present. You have driven her too hard. Relax. Let +her think this thing out for herself. Counsel for delay, but +don't irritate. You cannot control her by driving. She has +too stern a will. Tears won't help. Emotion seems a little +silly to her. Ask her to think, or better yet, let her think and +plead only for delay. If you could get her away for two or three +weeks or months, off by herself undisturbed by your pleadings +and uninfluenced by his—if she would ask him of her own accord +to let her alone for that time, all will be well. I don't +think she will ever go to him. She thinks she will, but I have +the feeling that she won't. However, be calm. If you can, get +her to go away."</p> + +<p>"Would it be possible to lock her up in some sanatorium or +asylum, doctor, until she has had time to think?"</p> + +<p>"All things are possible, but I should say it would be the +most inadvisable thing you could do. Force accomplishes nothing +in these cases."</p> + +<p>"I know, but suppose she won't listen to reason?"</p> + +<p>"You really haven't come to that bridge yet. You haven't +talked calmly to her yet. You are quarreling with her. There +is very little in that. You will simply grow further and further +apart."</p> + +<p>"How practical you are, doctor," observed Mrs. Dale, in a +mollified and complimentary vein.</p> + +<p>"Not practical, but intuitional. If I were practical, I would +never have taken up medicine."</p> + +<p>He walked to the door, his old body sinking in somewhat +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_627" id="Page_627">[Pg 627]</a></span> +upon itself. His old, gray eyes twinkled slightly as he turned.</p> + +<p>"You were in love once, Mrs. Dale," he said.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she replied.</p> + +<p>"You remember how you felt then?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Be reasonable. Remember your own sensations—your own +attitude. You probably weren't crossed in your affair. She is. +She has made a mistake. Be patient. Be calm. We want to +stop it and no doubt can. Do unto others as you would be +done by."</p> + +<p>He ambled shufflingly across the piazza and down the wide +steps to his car.</p> + +<p>"Mama," she said, when after Dr. Woolley had gone her +mother came to her room to see if she might not be in a mellower +mood, and to plead with her further for delay, "it seems +to me you are making a ridiculous mess of all this. Why should +you go and tell Dr. Woolley about me! I will never forgive +you for that. Mama, you have done something I never thought +you would do. I thought you had more pride—more individuality."</p> + +<p>One should have seen Suzanne, in her spacious boudoir, her +back to her oval mirrored dressing table, her face fronting her +mother, to understand her fascination for Eugene. It was a +lovely, sunny, many windowed chamber, and Suzanne in a white +and blue morning dress was in charming accord with the gay +atmosphere of the room.</p> + +<p>"Well, Suzanne, you know," she said, rather despondently, +"I just couldn't help it. I had to go to someone. I am quite +alone apart from you and Kinroy and the children"—she referred +to Adele and Ninette as the children when talking to either Suzanne +or Kinroy—"and I didn't want to say anything to them. +You have been my only confidant up to now, and since you have +turned against me——"</p> + +<p>"I haven't turned against you, mama."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes you have. Let's not talk about it, Suzanne. You +have broken my heart. You are killing me. I just had to go +to someone. We have known Dr. Woolley so long. He is so +good and kind."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know, mama, but what good will it do? How can +anything he might say help matters? He isn't going to change +me. You're only telling it to somebody who oughtn't to know +anything about it."</p> + +<p>"But I thought he might influence you," pleaded Mrs. Dale. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_628" id="Page_628">[Pg 628]</a></span> +"I thought you would listen to him. Oh, dear, oh, dear. I'm +so tired of it all. I wish I were dead. I wish I had never +lived to see this."</p> + +<p>"Now there you go, mama," said Suzanne confidently. "I +can't see why you are so distressed about what I am going to +do. It is my life that I am planning to arrange, not yours. +I have to live my life, mama, not you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, but it is just that that distresses me. What will +it be after you do this—after you throw it away? Oh, if +you could only see what you are contemplating doing—what a +wretched thing it will be when it is all over with. You will +never live with him—he is too old for you, too fickle, too insincere. +He will not care for you after a little while, and then +there you will be, unmarried, possibly with a child on your hands, +a social outcast! Where will you go?"</p> + +<p>"Mama," said Suzanne calmly, her lips parted in a rosy, baby +way, "I have thought of all this. I see how it is. But I think +you and everybody else make too much ado about these things. +You think of everything that could happen, but it doesn't all +happen that way. People do these things, I'm sure, and nothing +much is thought of it."</p> + +<p>"Yes, in books," put in Mrs. Dale. "I know where you get +all this from. It's your reading."</p> + +<p>"Anyhow, I'm going to. I have made up my mind," added +Suzanne. "I have decided that by September fifteenth I will go +to Mr. Witla, and you might just as well make up your mind to +it now." This was August tenth.</p> + +<p>"Suzanne," said her mother, staring at her, "I never imagined +you could talk in this way to me. You will do nothing of +the kind. How can you be so hard? I did not know that you +had such a terrible will in you. Doesn't anything I have said +about Adele and Ninette or Kinroy appeal to you? Have you +no heart in you? Why don't you wait, as Dr. Woolley suggests, +six months or a year? Why do you talk about jumping into this +without giving yourself time to think? It is such a wild, rash +experiment. You haven't thought anything about it, you haven't +had time."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I have, mama!" replied Suzanne. "I've thought a +great deal about it. I'm fully convinced. I want to do it then +because I told Eugene that I would not keep him waiting long; +and I won't. I want to go to him. That will make a clear +two months since we first talked of this."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dale winced. She had no idea of yielding to her daughter, +or letting her do this, but this definite conclusion as to the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_629" id="Page_629">[Pg 629]</a></span> +time brought matters finally to a head. Her daughter was out +of her mind, that was all. It gave her not any too much time +to turn round in. She must get Suzanne out of the city—out +of the country, if possible, or lock her up, and she must do it +without antagonizing her too much.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_630" id="Page_630">[Pg 630]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_XVI" id="III_CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<p>Mrs. Dale's next step in this struggle was to tell Kinroy, +who wanted, of course, in a fit of boyish chivalry, to go +immediately and kill Eugene. This was prevented by Mrs. Dale, +who had more control over him than she had over Suzanne, pointing +out to him what a terrifically destructive scandal would ensue +and urging subtlety and patience. Kinroy had a sincere affection +for his sisters, particularly Suzanne and Adele, and he +wanted to protect all of them. He decided in a pompous, ultra +chivalrous spirit that he must help his mother plan, and together +they talked of chloroforming her some night, of carrying her +thus, as a sick girl, in a private car to Maine or the Adirondacks +or somewhere in Canada.</p> + +<p>It would be useless to follow all these strategic details in +their order. There were, after the five days agreed upon by +Suzanne, attempted phone messages by Eugene, which were frustrated +by Kinroy, who was now fulfilling the rôle of private +detective. Suzanne resolved to have Eugene summoned to the +house for a discussion, but to this her mother objected. She felt +that additional meetings would simply strengthen their bond of +union. Kinroy wrote to Eugene of his own accord that he knew +all, and that if he attempted to come near the place he would +kill him at sight. Suzanne, finding herself blocked and detained +by her mother, wrote Eugene a letter which Elizabeth, her maid, +secretly conveyed to the mail for her, telling him how things +stood. Her mother had told Dr. Woolley and Kinroy. She had +decided that September fifteenth was the time she would leave +home, unless their companionship was quietly sanctioned. Kinroy +had threatened to kill him to her, but she did not think he +had anything to fear. Kinroy was just excited. Her mother +wanted her to go to Europe for six months and think it over, but +this she would not do. She was not going to leave the city, +and he need not fear, if he did not hear anything for a few days +at a time, that anything was wrong with her. They must wait +until the storm subsided a little. "I shall be here, but perhaps +it is best for you not to try to see me just now. When the time +comes, I will come to you, and if I get a chance, I will see you +before."</p> + +<p>Eugene was both pained and surprised at the turn things had +taken, but still encouraged to hope for the best by the attitude +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_631" id="Page_631">[Pg 631]</a></span> +Suzanne took toward it all. Her courage strengthened him. +She was calm, so purposeful! What a treasure she was!</p> + +<p>So began a series of daily love notes for a few days, until +Suzanne advised him to cease. There were constant arguments +between her, her mother and Kinroy. Because she was being so +obviously frustrated, she began to grow bitter and hard, and short +contradictory phrases passed between her and her mother, principally +originating in Suzanne.</p> + +<p>"No, no, no!" was her constantly reiterated statement. "I +won't do it! What of it? It's silly! Let me alone! I won't +talk!" So it went.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dale was planning hourly how to abduct her. Chloroforming +and secret removal after the fashion she had in her mind +was not so easy of accomplishment. It was such a desperate thing +to do to Suzanne. She was afraid she might die under its influence. +It could not be administered without a doctor. The servants +would think it strange. She fancied there were whispered +suspicions already. Finally she thought of pretending to agree +with Suzanne, removing all barriers, and asking her to come to +Albany to confer with her guardian, or rather the legal representative +of the Marquardt Trust Company, which held her share +of her father the late Westfield Dale's estate in trust for her, +in regard to some property in western New York, which belonged +to her. Mrs. Dale decided to pretend to be obliged to +go to Albany in order to have Suzanne sign a waiver of right to +any share in her mother's private estate, after which, supposedly, +she would give Suzanne her freedom, having also disinherited +her in her will. Suzanne, according to this scheme, was then to +come back to New York and go her way and her mother was +not to see her any more.</p> + +<p>To make this more effective, Kinroy was sent to tell her of +her mother's plan and beg her for her own and her family's sake +not to let the final separation come about. Mrs. Dale changed +her manner. Kinroy acted his part so effectively that what with +her mother's resigned look and indifferent method of address, +Suzanne was partly deceived. She imagined her mother had experienced +a complete change of heart and might be going to do +what Kinroy said.</p> + +<p>"No," she replied to Kinroy's pleadings, "I don't care whether +she cuts me off. I'll be very glad to sign the papers. If she +wants me to go away, I'll go. I think she has acted very foolishly +through all this, and so have you."</p> + +<p>"I wish you wouldn't let her do that," observed Kinroy, who +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_632" id="Page_632">[Pg 632]</a></span> +was rather exulting over the satisfactory manner in which this +bait was being swallowed. "Mama is broken hearted. She +wants you to stay here, to wait six months or a year before you +do anything at all, but if you won't, she's going to ask you to do +this. I've tried to persuade her not to. I'd hate like anything +to see you go. Won't you change your mind?"</p> + +<p>"I told you I wouldn't, Kinroy. Don't ask me."</p> + +<p>Kinroy went back to his mother and reported that Suzanne +was stubborn as ever, but that the trick would in all probability +work. She would go aboard the train thinking she was going +to Albany. Once aboard, inside a closed car, she would scarcely +suspect until the next morning, and then they would be far in +the Adirondack Mountains.</p> + +<p>The scheme worked in part. Her mother, as had Kinroy, +went through this prearranged scene as well as though she were +on the stage. Suzanne fancied she saw her freedom near at +hand. Only a travelling bag was packed, and Suzanne went +willingly enough into the auto and the train, only stipulating +one thing—that she be allowed to call up Eugene and explain. +Both Kinroy and her mother objected, but, when finally she +refused flatly to go without, they acceded. She called him up +at the office—it was four o'clock in the afternoon, and they were +leaving at five-thirty—and told him. He fancied at once it was +a ruse, and told her so, but she thought not. Mrs. Dale had +never lied to her before, neither had her brother. Their words +were as bonds.</p> + +<p>"Eugene says this is a trap, mama," said Suzanne, turning +from the phone to her mother, who was near by. "Is it?"</p> + +<p>"You know it isn't," replied her mother, lying unblushingly.</p> + +<p>"If it is, it will come to nothing," she replied, and Eugene +heard her. He was strengthened into acquiescence by the tone +of her voice. Surely she was a wonderful girl—a master of men +and women in her way.</p> + +<p>"Very well, if you think it's all right," said Eugene; "but I'll +be very lonely. I've been so already. I shall be more so, Flower +Face, unless I see you soon. Oh, if the time were only up!"</p> + +<p>"It will be, Eugene," she replied, "in a very few days now. +I'll be back Thursday, and then you can come down and see +me."</p> + +<p>"Thursday afternoon?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. We're to be back Thursday morning."</p> + +<p>She finally hung up the receiver and they entered the automobile +and an hour later the train.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_633" id="Page_633">[Pg 633]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_XVII" id="III_CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<p>It was a Montreal, Ottawa and Quebec express, and it ran +without stopping to Albany. By the time it was nearing the +latter place Suzanne was going to bed—and because it was a +private car—Mrs. Dale explained that the president of the road +had lent it to her—no announcement of its arrival, which would +have aroused Suzanne, was made by the porter. When it +stopped there shortly after ten o'clock it was the last car at +the south end of the train, and you could hear voices calling, but +just what it was was not possible to say. Suzanne, who had already +gone to bed, fancied it might be Poughkeepsie or some +wayside station. Her mother's statement was that since they +arrived so late, the car would be switched to a siding, and they +would stay aboard until morning. Nevertheless, she and Kinroy +were alert to prevent any untoward demonstration or decision +on Suzanne's part, and so, as the train went on, she slept soundly +until Burlington in the far northern part of Vermont was +reached the next morning. When she awoke and saw that the +train was still speeding on, she wondered vaguely but not clearly +what it could mean. There were mountains about, or rather tall, +pine-covered hills, mountain streams were passed on high trestles +and sections of burned woodlands were passed where forest fires +had left lonely, sad charred stretches of tree trunks towering +high in the air. Suddenly it occurred to Suzanne that this was +peculiar, and she came out of the bath to ask why.</p> + +<p>"Where are we, mama?" she asked. Mrs. Dale was +leaning back in a comfortable willow chair reading, or pretending +to read a book. Kinroy was out on the observation platform for +a moment. He came back though shortly, for he was nervous as +to what Suzanne would do when she discovered her whereabouts. +A hamper of food had been put aboard the night before, unknown +to Suzanne, and Mrs. Dale was going shortly to serve breakfast. +She had not risked a maid on this journey.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," replied her mother indifferently, looking out +at a stretch of burnt woods.</p> + +<p>"I thought we were to be in Albany a little after midnight?" +said Suzanne.</p> + +<p>"So we were," replied Mrs. Dale, preparing to confess. Kinroy +came back into the car.</p> + +<p>"Well, then," said Suzanne, pausing, looking first out of the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_634" id="Page_634">[Pg 634]</a></span> +windows and then fixedly at her mother. It came to her as she +saw the unsettled, somewhat nervous expression in her mother's +face and eyes and in Kinroy's that this was a trick and that she +was being taken somewhere—where?—against her will.</p> + +<p>"This is a trick, mama," she said to her mother grandly. +"You have lied to me—you and Kinroy. We are not going to +Albany at all. Where are we going?"</p> + +<p>"I don't want to tell you now, Suzanne," replied Mrs. Dale +quietly. "Have your bath and we'll talk about it afterwards. It +doesn't matter. We're going up into Canada, if you want to +know. We are nearly there now. You'll know fast enough +when we get there."</p> + +<p>"Mama," replied Suzanne, "this is a despicable trick! You +are going to be sorry for this. You have lied to me—you and +Kinroy. I see it now. I might have known, but I didn't believe +you would lie to me, mama. I can't do anything just now, +I see that very plainly. But when the time comes, you are going +to be sorry. You can't control me this way. You ought to +know better. You yourself are going to take me back to New +York." And she fixed her mother with a steady look which betokened +a mastership which her mother felt nervously and +wearily she might eventually be compelled to acknowledge.</p> + +<p>"Now, Suzanne, what's the use of talking that way?" pleaded +Kinroy. "Mama is almost crazy, as it is. She couldn't think +of any other way or thing to do."</p> + +<p>"You hush, Kinroy," replied Suzanne. "I don't care to talk +to you. You have lied to me, and that is more than I ever did +to you. Mama, I am astonished at you," she returned to her +mother. "My mother lying to me! Very well, mama. You +have things in your hands today. I will have them in mine later. +You have taken just the wrong course. Now you wait and see."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dale winced and quailed. This girl was the most unterrified, +determined fighter she had ever known. She wondered +where she got her courage—from her late husband, probably. +She could actually feel the quietness, grit, lack of fear, which had +grown up in her during the last few weeks under the provocation +which antagonism had provided. "Please don't talk that +way, Suzanne," she pleaded. "I have done it all for your own +good. You know I have. Why will you torture me? You +know I won't give you up to that man. I won't. I'll move +heaven and earth first. I'll die in this struggle, but I won't give +you up."</p> + +<p>"Then you'll die, mama, for I'm going to do what I said. +You can take me to where this car stops, but you can't take me +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_635" id="Page_635">[Pg 635]</a></span> +out of it. I'm going back to New York. Now, a lot you have +accomplished, haven't you?"</p> + +<p>"Suzanne, I am convinced almost that you are out of your +mind. You have almost driven me out of mine, but I am still +sane enough to see what is right."</p> + +<p>"Mama, I don't propose to talk to you any more, or to Kinroy. +You can take me back to New York, or you can leave me, +but you will not get me out of this car. I am done with listening +to nonsense and pretences. You have lied to me once. You +will not get a chance to do it again."</p> + +<p>"I don't care, Suzanne," replied her mother, as the train sped +swiftly along. "You have forced me to do this. It is your own +attitude that is causing all the trouble. If you would be reasonable +and take some time to think this all over, you would not be +where you are now. I won't let you do this thing that you want +to do. You can stay in the car if you wish, but you cannot be +taken back to New York without money. I will speak to the +station agent about that."</p> + +<p>Suzanne thought of this. She had no money, no clothes, +other than those she had on. She was in a strange country and +not so very used to travelling alone. She had really gone to +very few places in times past by herself. It took the edge off +her determination to resist, but she was not conquered by any +means.</p> + +<p>"How are you going to get back?" asked her mother, after a +time, when Suzanne paid no attention to her. "You have no +money. Surely, Suzanne, you are not going to make a scene? +I only want you to come up here for a few weeks so that you +will have time to think away from that man. I don't want you +to go to him on September the fifteenth. I just won't let you +do that. Why won't you be reasonable? You can have a pleasant +time up here. You like to ride. You are welcome to do +that. I will ride with you. You can invite some of your friends +up here, if you choose. I will send for your clothes. Only stay +here a while and think over what you are going to do."</p> + +<p>Suzanne refused to talk. She was thinking what she could do. +Eugene was back in New York. He would expect her Thursday.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Suzanne," put in Kinroy. "Why not take ma's advice? +She's trying to do the best thing by you. This is a terrible thing +you are trying to do. Why not listen to common sense and +stay up here three or four months?"</p> + +<p>"Don't talk like a parrot, Kinroy! I'm hearing all this from +mama."</p> + +<p>When her mother reproached her, she said: "Oh, hush, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_636" id="Page_636">[Pg 636]</a></span> +mama, I don't care to hear anything more. I won't do anything +of the sort. You lied to me. You said you were going to +Albany. You brought me out here under a pretence. Now you +can take me back. I won't go to any lodge. I won't go anywhere, +except to New York. You might just as well not argue +with me."</p> + +<p>The train rolled on. Breakfast was served. The private car +was switched to the tracks of the Canadian Pacific at Montreal. +Her mother's pleas continued. Suzanne refused to eat. She sat +and looked out of the window, meditating over this strange dénouement. +Where was Eugene? What was he doing? What +would he think when she did not come back? She was not enraged +at her mother. She was merely contemptuous of her. +This trick irritated and disgusted her. She was not thinking +of Eugene in any wild way, but merely that she would get back +to him. She conceived of him much as she did of herself +though her conception of her real self was still vague as strong, +patient, resourceful, able to live without her a little while if he +had to. She was eager to see him, but really more eager that he +should see her if he wanted to. What a creature he must take +her mother to be!</p> + +<p>By noon they had reached Juinata, by two o'clock they were +fifty miles west of Quebec. At first, Suzanne thought she +would not eat at all to spite her mother. Later she reasoned +that that was silly and ate. She made it exceedingly unpleasant +for them by her manner, and they realized that by bringing her +away from New York they had merely transferred their troubles. +Her spirit was not broken as yet. It filled the car with +a disturbing vibration.</p> + +<p>"Suzanne," questioned her mother at one point, "won't you +talk to me? Won't you see I'm trying to do this for your own +good? I want to give you time to think. I really don't want to +coerce you, but you must see."</p> + +<p>Suzanne merely stared out of the window at the green fields +speeding by.</p> + +<p>"Suzanne! Don't you see this will never do? Can't you see +how terrible it all is?"</p> + +<p>"Mama, I want you to let me alone. You have done what +you thought was the right thing to do. Now let me alone. You +lied to me, mama. I don't want to talk to you. I want you +to take me back to New York. You have nothing else to do. +Don't try to explain. You haven't any explanation."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dale's spirit fairly raged, but it was impotent in the +presence of this her daughter. She could do nothing.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_637" id="Page_637">[Pg 637]</a></span> +Still more hours, and at one small town Suzanne decided to +get off, but both Mrs. Dale and Kinroy offered actual physical +opposition. They felt intensely silly and ashamed, though, for +they could not break the spirit of the girl. She ignored their +minds—their mental attitude in the most contemptuous way. +Mrs. Dale cried. Then her face hardened. Then she pleaded. +Her daughter merely looked loftily away.</p> + +<p>At Three Rivers Suzanne stayed in the car and refused to +move. Mrs. Dale pleaded, threatened to call aid, stated that she +would charge her with insanity. It was all without avail. The +car was uncoupled after the conductor had asked Mrs. Dale if +she did not intend to leave it. She was beside herself, frantic +with rage, shame, baffled opposition.</p> + +<p>"I think you are terrible!" she exclaimed to Suzanne. "You +are a little demon. We will live in this car, then. We will +see."</p> + +<p>She knew that this could not be, for the car was only leased +for the outward trip and had to be returned the next day.</p> + +<p>The car was pushed on to a siding.</p> + +<p>"I beg of you, Suzanne. Please don't make a mockery of us. +This is terrible. What will people think?"</p> + +<p>"I don't care what they think," said Suzanne.</p> + +<p>"But you can't stay here."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I can!"</p> + +<p>"Come, get off, please do. We won't stay up here indefinitely. +I'll take you back. Promise me to stay a month and +I'll give you my solemn word I'll take you back at the end of +that time. I'm getting sick of this. I can't stand it. Do what +you like after that. Only stay a month now."</p> + +<p>"No, mama," replied Suzanne. "No, you won't. You lied +to me. You're lying to me now, just as you did before."</p> + +<p>"I swear to you I'm not. I lied that once, but I was frantic. +Oh, Suzanne, please, please. Be reasonable. Have some consideration. +I will take you back, but wait for some clothes to +arrive. We can't go this way."</p> + +<p>She sent Kinroy for the station master, to whom was explained +the need of a carriage to take them to Mont Cecile and also for +a doctor—this was Mrs. Dale's latest thought—to whom she +proposed to accuse Suzanne of insanity. Help to remove her +was to be called. She told this to Suzanne, who simply glared +at her.</p> + +<p>"Get the doctor, mama," she said. "We will see if I have +to go that way. But you will rue every step of this. You will +be thoroughly sorry for every silly step you have taken."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_638" id="Page_638">[Pg 638]</a></span> +When the carriage arrived, Suzanne refused to get out. The +country driver, a French habitant, reported its presence at the +car. Kinroy tried to soothe his sister by saying that he would +help straighten matters out if she would only go peacefully.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you, Susie, if it isn't all arranged to suit you within +a month, and you still want to go back, I'll send you the money. +I have to go back tomorrow, or next day for ma, but I'll give +you my word. In fact, I'll persuade mother to bring you back +in two weeks. You know I never lied to you before. I never +will again. Please come. Let's go over there. We can be comfortable, +anyhow."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dale had leased the lodge from the Cathcarts by phone. +It was all furnished—ready to live in—even wood fires prepared +for lighting in the fireplaces. It had hot and cold water controlled +by a hot-water furnace system; acetylene gas, a supply of +staples in the kitchen. The service to take care of it was to be +called together by the caretaker, who could be reached by phone +from the depot. Mrs. Dale had already communicated with +him by the time the carriage arrived. The roads were so poor +that the use of an automobile was impossible. The station agent, +seeing a fat fee in sight, was most obliging.</p> + +<p>Suzanne listened to Kinroy, but she did not believe him. She +did not believe anyone now, save Eugene, and he was nowhere +near to advise her. Still, since she was without money and they +were threatening to call a doctor, she thought it might be best +perhaps to go peacefully. Her mother was most distracted. Her +face was white and thin and nervous, and Kinroy was apparently +strained to the breaking point.</p> + +<p>"Do you promise me faithfully," she asked her mother, who +had begun her pleadings anew, corroborating Kinroy in a way, +"that you will take me back to New York in two weeks if I +promise to stay that long?" This was still within the date in +which she had promised to go to Witla, and as long as she got +back by that time, she really did not care, provided she could +write to her lover. It was a silly arbitrary thing for her mother +to have done, but it could be endured. Her mother, seeing no +reasonable way to obtain peace, promised. If she could only keep +her there two weeks quietly, perhaps that would help. Suzanne +could think here under different conditions. New York was so +exciting. Out at this lodge all would be still. There was more +argument, and, finally, Suzanne agreed to enter the hack, and +they drove over toward Mont Cecile and the Cathcarts' Lodge, +now vacant and lonely, which was known as "While-a-Way."</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_639" id="Page_639">[Pg 639]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_XVIII" id="III_CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<p>The Cathcart Lodge, a long, two-story affair, half-way +up a fine covered mountain slope, was one of those +summer conveniences of the rich, situated just near enough to +the primeval wilds to give one a sense of the unexplored and +dangerous in raw nature, and yet near enough to the comforts of +civilization, as represented by the cities of Quebec and Montreal, +to make one feel secure in the possession of those material joys, +otherwise so easily interrupted. It was full of great rooms tastefully +furnished with simple summery things—willow chairs, box +window-seats, structural book shelves, great open fireplaces, surmounted +by handsome mantels, outward swinging leaded casements, +settees, pillow-strewn rustic couches, great fur rugs and +robes and things of that character. The walls were ornamented +with trophies of the chase—antlers, raw fox skins, mounted +loons and eagles, skins of bears and other animals. This year +the Cathcarts were elsewhere, and the lodge was to be had by a +woman of Mrs. Dale's standing for the asking.</p> + +<p>When they reached While-a-Way, the caretaker, Pierre, an +old habitant of musty log-hut origin, who spoke broken English +and was dressed in earth-brown khaki over Heaven knows what +combination of clothes beneath, had lighted the fires and was +bestirring himself about warming the house generally with the +furnaces. His wife, a small, broad-skirted, solid-bodied woman, +was in the kitchen preparing something to eat. There was plenty +of meat to be had from the larder of the habitant himself, to +say nothing of flour, butter, and the like. A girl to serve was +called from the family of a neighboring trapper. She had worked +in the lodge as maid to the Cathcarts. They settled down to +make themselves comfortable, but the old discussion continued. +There was no cessation to it, and through it all, actually, Suzanne +was having her way.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, Eugene back in New York was expecting word +from Suzanne on Thursday, and none came. He called up the +house only to learn that Mrs. Dale was out of the city and was +not expected back soon. Friday came, and no word; and Saturday. +He tried a registered letter "for personal delivery only, +return signature demanded" but it came back marked "not +there." Then he realized that his suspicions were correct and +that Suzanne had fallen into a trap. He grew gloomy, fearful, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_640" id="Page_640">[Pg 640]</a></span> +impatient and nervous by turn, and all at the same time. He +drummed on his desk at the office, tried almost in vain to fix his +mind on the scores of details which were ever before him, wandered +aimlessly about the streets at times, thinking. He was +asked for his opinion on art plans, and books, and advertising +and circulation propositions, but he could not fix his mind closely +on what was being said.</p> + +<p>"The chief has certainly got something on his mind which is +troubling him these days," said Carter Hayes, the advertising +man, to the circulation head. "He's not himself. I don't believe +he hears what I'm telling him."</p> + +<p>"I've noticed that," replied the latter. They were in the +reception room outside Eugene's door, and strolled arm in arm +down the richly carpeted hall to the elevator. "There's certainly +something wrong. He ought to take a rest. He's trying +to do too much."</p> + +<p>Hayes did not believe Eugene was trying to do too much. In +the last four or five months it had been almost impossible to get +near him. He came down at ten or ten-thirty in the morning, +left frequently at two and three, had lunch engagements which +had nothing to do with office work, and at night went into the +social world to dinner or elsewhere, where he could not be found. +Colfax had sent for him on a number of occasions when he was +not present, and on several other occasions, when he had called +on his floor and at his office, Eugene was out. It did not strike +him as anything to complain of—Eugene had a right to be about—but +as inadvisable, in the managing publisher's own interest. +He knew that he had a vast number of things to take care of. It +would take an exceptionally efficient man to manage them and +not give all his time to them. He would not have thought this +if Eugene had been a partner with himself, as were other men +in other ventures in which he was interested, but not being so, +he could not help viewing him as an employee, one who ought +to give all his time to his work.</p> + +<p>White never asked anything much save the privilege of working, +and was always about the place, alert, earnest at his particular +duties, not haughty, but calm and absolutely efficient in +every way. He was never weary of consulting with Colfax, +whereas Eugene was indifferent, not at all desirous of running to +him with every little proposition, but preferring to act on his +own initiative, and carrying himself constantly with very much +of an air.</p> + +<p>In other ways there were other things which were and had +been militating against him. By degrees it had come to be rumored +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_641" id="Page_641">[Pg 641]</a></span> +about the office that Eugene was interested in the Blue +Sea or Sea Island Development and Construction Company, of +which there was a good deal of talk about the city, particularly +in financial and social circles. Colfax had heard of the corporation. +He had been interested in the scheme because it promised +so much in the way of luxury. Not much of the panoramic +whole so beautifully depicted in the colored insets of a thirty-two-page +literary prospectus fathered by Eugene was as yet accomplished, +but there was enough to indicate that it was going +to be a great thing. Already somewhat over a mile and a quarter +of the great sea walk and wall were in place. A dining and +dancing pavilion had been built, and one of the smaller hotels—all +in accordance with the original architectural scheme. There +were a number of houses—something like twenty or thirty on +plots one hundred and fifty by one hundred and fifty feet, built +in the most ornate fashion on ground which had formerly been +wet marsh grown high with grass. Three or four islands had +been filled in and the club house of a minor yacht club had been +constructed, but still the Sea Island Development Company had +a long way to go before even a third of its total perfection would +be in sight.</p> + +<p>Eugene did not know the drift of the company's financial affairs, +except in a general way. He had tried to keep out of it +so far as public notice of him was concerned, though he was +constantly lunching with Winfield, Willebrand, and others, and +endeavoring to direct as much attention to the wonders and +prospects of the new resort as was possible for him to do. It +was an easy thing for him to say to one person and another whom +he met that Blue Sea was rapidly becoming the most perfect +thing in the way of a summer resort that he had ever seen, and +this did good; so did the comments of all the other people who +were interested in it, but it did not make it anything of a success +as yet. As a matter of fact, the true success of Blue Sea +depended on the investment of much more than the original ten +millions for which it had been capitalized. It depended on a +truly solid growth, which could not be rapid.</p> + +<p>The news which came to the United Magazines Corporation +and eventually to Colfax and White was that Eugene was heavily +interested in this venture, that he was secretary or held some +other office in connection with it, and that he was giving a great +deal of his time to its development, which might better be employed +in furthering the interests of the United Magazines Corporation.</p> + +<p>"What do you think of that?" asked Colfax of White, on +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_642" id="Page_642">[Pg 642]</a></span> +hearing the news one morning. It had come through the head +of the printing department under White, who had mentioned it +to Colfax in White's presence by the latter's directions.</p> + +<p>"It's just what I've been telling you all along," said the latter +blandly. "He isn't interested in this business any more than he +is in any other. He's using it as a stepping-stone, and when he's +through with it, good-bye. Now that's all right from his point +of view. Every man has a right to climb up, but it isn't so good +from yours. You'd be better off if you had a man who wanted +to stay here. You'd be better off really if you were handling it +yourself. You may not want to do that, but with what you +know now you can get someone who will work under you quite +well. That's the one satisfactory thing about it—you really can +get along without him if it comes right down to it now. With +a good man in there, it can be handled from your office."</p> + +<p>It was about this time that the most ardent phase of Eugene's +love affair with Suzanne began. All through the spring and +summer Eugene had been busy with thoughts of Suzanne, ways +of meeting her, pleasurable rides with her, thinking of things +she had done and said. As a rule now, his thoughts were very +far from the interests of his position, and in the main it bored +him greatly. He began to wish earnestly that his investment in +the Sea Island Corporation would show some tangible return in +the way of interest, so that he could have means to turn round +with. It struck him after Angela's discovery of his intrigue with +Suzanne as a most unfortunate thing that he had tied up all his +means in this Blue Sea investment. If it had been fated that +he was to go on living with Angela, it would have been all +right. Then he could have waited in patience and thought nothing +of it. Now it simply meant that if he wanted to realize it, +it would all be tied up in the courts, or most likely so, for Angela +could sue him; and at any rate he would wish to make +reasonable provision for her, and that would require legal adjustment. +Apart from this investment, he had nothing now save his +salary, and that was not accumulating fast enough to do him +much good in case Mrs. Dale went to Colfax soon, and the +latter broke with him. He wondered if Colfax really would +break with him. Would he ask him to give up Suzanne, or +simply force him to resign? He had noticed that for some time +Colfax had not been as cordial to and as enthusiastic about him +as he had formerly been, but this might be due to other things +besides opposition. Moreover, it was natural for them to become +a little tired of each other. They did not go about so +much together, and when they did Colfax was not as high-flown +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_643" id="Page_643">[Pg 643]</a></span> +and boyish in his spirits as he had formerly been. Eugene +fancied it was White who was caballing against him, but he +thought if Colfax was going to change, he was going to change, +and there was no help for it. There were no grounds, he +fancied, in so far as the affairs of the corporation were concerned. +His work was successful.</p> + +<p>The storm broke one day out of a clear sky, in so far as the +office was concerned, but not until there had been much heartache +and misery in various directions—with the Dales, with Angela, +and with Eugene himself.</p> + +<p>Suzanne's action was the lightning bolt which precipitated the +storm. It could only come from that quarter. Eugene was +frantic to hear from her, and for the first time in his life began +to experience those excruciating and gnawing pangs which are +the concomitants of uncertain and distraught love. It manifested +itself in an actual pain in his vitals—in the region of the solar +plexus, or what is commonly known as the pit of the stomach. +He suffered there very much, quite as the Spartan boy may have +done who was gnawed by the fox concealed under his belt. He +would wonder where Suzanne was, what she was doing, and +then, being unable to work, would call his car and ride, or take +his hat and walk. It did him no good to ride, for the agony +was in sitting still. At night he would go home and sit by one +or the other of his studio windows, principally out on the little +stone balcony, and watch the changing panorama of the Hudson, +yearning and wondering where she was. Would he ever see her +again? Would he be able to win this battle if he did? Oh, her +beautiful face, her lovely voice, her exquisite lips and eyes, the +marvel of her touch and beautiful fancy!</p> + +<p>He tried to compose poetry to her, and wrote a series of sonnets +to his beloved, which were not at all bad. He worked on +his sketch book of pencil portraits of Suzanne seeking a hundred +significant and delightful expressions and positions, which could +afterwards be elaborated into his gallery of paintings of her, +which he proposed to paint at some time. It did not matter to +him that Angela was about, though he had the graciousness to +conceal these things from her. He was ashamed, in a way, of his +treatment of her, and yet the sight of her now was not so much +pitiable as objectionable and unsatisfactory. Why had he married +her? He kept asking himself that.</p> + +<p>They sat in the studio one night. Angela's face was a picture +of despair, for the horror of her situation was only by degrees +coming to her, and she said, seeing him so moody and despondent:</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_644" id="Page_644">[Pg 644]</a></span> +"Eugene, don't you think you can get over this? You say +Suzanne has been spirited away. Why not let her go? Think +of your career, Eugene. Think of me. What will become of +me? You can get over it, if you try. Surely you won't throw +me down after all the years I have been with you. Think how +I have tried. I have been a pretty good wife to you, haven't I? +I haven't annoyed you so terribly much, have I? Oh, I feel +all the time as though we were on the brink of some terrible +catastrophe! If only I could do something; if only I could say +something! I know I have been hard and irritable at times, but +that is all over now. I am a changed woman. I would never be +that way any more."</p> + +<p>"It can't be done, Angela," he replied calmly. "It can't be +done. I don't love you. I've told you that. I don't want to +live with you. I can't. I want to get free in some way, either +by divorce, or a quiet separation, and go my way. I'm not happy. +I never will be as long as I am here. I want my freedom and +then I will decide what I want to do."</p> + +<p>Angela shook her head and sighed. She could scarcely believe +that this was she wandering around in her own apartment +wondering what she was going to do in connection with her own +husband. Marietta had gone back to Wisconsin before the storm +broke. Myrtle was in New York, but she hated to confess to +her. She did not dare to write to any member of her own family +but Marietta, and she did not want to confess to her. Marietta +had fancied while she was here that they were getting along +nicely. She had fits of crying, which alternated with fits of +anger, but the latter were growing weak. Fear, despondency, +and grief were becoming uppermost in her soul again—the fear +and despondency that had weighed her down in those lonely days +before she married Eugene, the grief that she was now actually +and finally to lose the one man whom, in spite of everything, she +loved still.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_645" id="Page_645">[Pg 645]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_XIX" id="III_CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<p>It was three days later when he was at his office that a telegram +came from Mrs. Dale, which read, "I depend on you, +on the honor of a gentleman, to ignore any message which may +come from my daughter until I see you."</p> + +<p>Eugene was puzzled, but fancied that there must be a desperate +quarrel on between Suzanne and her mother, wherever +they were, and that it was probable that he would hear from +her now. It was his first inkling as to her whereabouts, for +the telegram was sent off from Three Rivers, in Canada, and he +fancied they must be near there somewhere. The place of despatch +did him no good from a material point of view, for he +could neither write nor pursue Suzanne on the strength of this. +He would not know where to find her. He could only wait, +conscious that she was having a struggle, perhaps as severe, or +possibly more so, than his own. He wandered about with this +telegram in his pocket wondering when he should hear—what a +day should bring forth, and all those who came in contact with +him noticed that there was something wrong.</p> + +<p>Colfax saw him, and asked: "What's the matter, old man? +You're not looking as chipper as you might." He fancied it +might be something in connection with the Blue Sea Corporation. +He had heard, after he had learned that Eugene was in it, that +it would take much more money than had been invested to date +to make it a really successful seaside proposition according to the +original outlines, and that it would be years before it could possibly +yield an adequate return. If Eugene had put much money +in it, he had probably lost it or tied it up in a most unsatisfactory +way. Well, it served him right for trifling with things he +knew nothing about.</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing," replied Eugene abstractedly. "I'm all right. +I'm just a little run down physically. I'll come round."</p> + +<p>"You'd better take a month or so off and brace up, if you're +not in shape."</p> + +<p>"Oh, not at all! Not now, anyhow."</p> + +<p>It occurred to Eugene that he might use the time to advantage +a little later and that he would claim it.</p> + +<p>They proceeded to business, but Colfax noticed that Eugene's +eyes were specially hollow and weary and that he was noticeably +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_646" id="Page_646">[Pg 646]</a></span> +restless. He wondered whether he might be going to break +down physically.</p> + +<p>Suzanne had drifted along peacefully enough considering the +nature of the feeling between her and her mother at this time. +After a few days of desultory discussion, however, along the +lines now so familiar, she began to see that her mother had no +intention of terminating their stay at the time agreed upon, +particularly since their return to New York meant, so far as +Suzanne was concerned, her immediate departure to Witla. +Mrs. Dale began at first to plead for additional delay, and +later that Suzanne should agree not to go to New York but to +Lenox for a season. It was cold up here already now, though +there were still spells of bright warm summery or autumn +weather between ten and four in the day, and sometimes in the +evening. The nights usually were cold. Mrs. Dale would +gladly have welcomed a compromise, for it was terribly lonely, +just herself and Suzanne—after the gaieties of New York. +Four days before the time of her proposed departure, Mrs. Dale +was still obdurate or parleying in a diplomatic way, and Suzanne, +disgusted, made the threat which caused Mrs. Dale to +wire distractedly to Eugene. Later, she composed the following, +which she gave to Gabrielle:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +"<span class="smcap">DEAR EUGENE</span>— +</p> + +<p>If you love me, come and get me. I have told mama that if she +did not keep her word to return with me to New York by the fifteenth, +I would write to you and she is still obstinate. I am at the Cathcart +Lodge, While-a-Way, eighteen miles north of Three Rivers, here in +Canada. Anyone can show you. I will be here when you come. +Do not try to write to me as I am afraid I should not get it. But +I will be at the Lodge.</p> + +<p> +"With love,<br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">SUZANNE.</span>"<br /> +</p></div> + +<p>Eugene had never before received a love appeal, nor indeed +any such appeal from any woman in his life.</p> + +<p>This letter reached him thirty-six hours after the telegram +arrived, and set him to planning at once. The hour had struck. +He must act. Perhaps this old world was now behind him forever. +Could he really get Suzanne, if he went to Canada to +find her? How was she surrounded? He thrilled with delight +when he realized that it was Suzanne who was calling him and +that he was going to find her. "If you love me, come and get +me."</p> + +<p>Would he?</p> + +<p>Watch!</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_647" id="Page_647">[Pg 647]</a></span> +He called for his car, telephoned his valet to pack his bag +and bring it to the Grand Central Station, first ascertaining for +himself the time of departure, asked to talk to Angela, who had +gone to Myrtle's apartment in upper Seventh Avenue, ready at +last to confess her woes to Eugene's sister. Her condition did +not appeal to Eugene in this situation. The inevitable result, +which he thought of frequently, was still far away. He notified +Colfax that he was going to take a few days rest, went to +the bank where he had over four thousand dollars on deposit, +and drew it all. He then went to a ticket office and purchased +a one-way ticket, uncertain where his actions would take him +once he saw Suzanne. He tried once more to get Angela, intending +boldly to tell her that he was going to seek Suzanne, +and to tell her not to worry, that he would communicate with +her, but she had not returned. Curiously, through all this, he +was intensely sorry for her, and wondered how she would take +it, if he did not return. How would the child be arranged +for? He felt he must go. Angela was heartsick, he knew that, +and frightened. Still he could not resist this call. He could not +resist anything in connection with this love affair. He was like +a man possessed of a devil or wandering in a dream. He knew +that his whole career was at stake, but it did not make any difference. +He must get her. The whole world could go hang +if he could only obtain her,—her the beautiful, the perfect!</p> + +<p>At five-thirty the train departed, and then he sat as it rolled +northward speculating on what he was to do when he got there. +If Three Rivers were much of a place, he could probably hire +an automobile. He could leave it some distance from the +lodge and then see if he could not approach unobserved and +signal Suzanne. If she were about, she would no doubt be on +the lookout. At a sign she would run to him. They would +hurry to the automobile. The pursuit might quickly follow, but +he would arrange it so that his pursuers would not know which +railroad station he was going to. Quebec was the nearest big +city, he found by studying the map, though he might return to +Montreal and New York or Buffalo, if he chose to go west +he would see how the train ran.</p> + +<p>It is curious what vagaries the human mind is subject to, under +conditions of this kind. Up to the time of Eugene's arrival +in Three Rivers and after, he had no plan of campaign, or of +future conduct beyond that of obtaining Suzanne. He did not +know that he would return to New York—he did not know that +he would not. If Suzanne wished, and it were best, and they +could, they would go to England from Montreal, or France. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_648" id="Page_648">[Pg 648]</a></span> +If necessary, they could go to Portland and sail. Mrs. Dale, +on the evidence that he had Suzanne and that of her own free +will and volition, might yield and say nothing, in which case +he could return to New York and resume his position. This +courageous stand on his part if he had only followed it might +have solved the whole problem quickly. It might have been the +sword that would have cut the Gordian Knot. On the train +was a heavy black-bearded man, which was always good luck +to him. At Three Rivers, when he dismounted from the train, +he found a horseshoe, which was also a lucky sign. He did not +stop to think what he would do if he really lost his position and +had to live on the sum he had with him. He was really not +thinking logically. He was dreaming. He fancied that he +would get Suzanne and have his salary, and that somehow things +would be much as they were. Of such is the logic of dreams.</p> + +<p>When he arrived at Three Rivers, of course the conditions +were not what he anticipated. It is true that at times, after a +long continued period of dry weather, the roads were passable +for automobiles, at least as far as While-a-Way, but the weather +had not recently been entirely dry. There had been a short +period of cold rain and the roads were practically impassable, +save for horses and carryalls. There was a carryall which went +as far as St. Jacques, four miles from While-a-Way, where the +driver told him he could get a horse, if he wanted one. The +owner of this hack line had a stable there.</p> + +<p>This was gratifying to him, and he decided to make arrangements +for two horses at St. Jacques, which he would take to +within a reasonable distance of the lodge and tie in some spot +where they would not be seen. Then he could consider the situation +and signal Suzanne; if she were there on the lookout. How +dramatic the end would be! How happy they would be flying +together! Judge then his astonishment on reaching St. Jacques +to find Mrs. Dale waiting for him. Word had been telephoned +by her faithful representative, the station agent at Three Rivers, +that a man of Eugene's description had arrived and departed for +While-a-Way. Before this a telegram had come from New York +from Kinroy to the effect that Eugene had gone somewhere. His +daily habits since Mrs. Dale had gone away had been under observation. +Kinroy, on his return, had called at the United Magazines +Corporation and asked if Eugene was in the city. Heretofore +he had been reported in. When on this day he was reported +as having gone, Kinroy called up Angela to inquire. She +also stated that he had left the city. He then wired his mother +and she, calculating the time of his arrival, and hearing from the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_649" id="Page_649">[Pg 649]</a></span> +station agent of his taking the carryall, had gone down to meet +him. She had decided to fight every inch of the way with all +the strategy at her command. She did not want to kill him—had +not really the courage to do that—but she still hoped to +dissuade him. She had not been able to bring herself to resort +to guards and detectives as yet. He could not be as hard as he +looked and acted. Suzanne was bedeviling him by her support +and communications. She had not been able to govern there, +she saw. Her only hope was to talk him out of it, or into an +additional delay. If necessary, they would all go back to New +York together and she would appeal to Colfax and Winfield. +She hoped they would persuade him to reason. Anyhow, she +would never leave Suzanne for one moment until this thing had +been settled in her favor, or brutally against her.</p> + +<p>When Eugene appeared she greeted him with her old social +smile and called to him affably: "Come, get in."</p> + +<p>He looked at her grimly and obeyed, but changed his manner +when he saw that she was really kindly in her tone and greeted +her sociably.</p> + +<p>"How have you been?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, quite well, thank you!"</p> + +<p>"And how is Suzanne?"</p> + +<p>"All right, I fancy. She isn't here, you know."</p> + +<p>"Where is she?" asked Eugene, his face a study in defeat.</p> + +<p>"She went with some friends to visit Quebec for ten days. +Then she is going from there to New York. I don't expect to +see her here any more."</p> + +<p>Eugene choked with a sense of repugnance to her airy taradiddles. +He did not believe what she was saying—saw at once that +she was fencing with him.</p> + +<p>"That's a lie," he said roughly, "and it's out of the whole +cloth! She's here, and you know it. Anyhow, I am going to see +for myself."</p> + +<p>"How polite you are!" she laughed diplomatically. "That +isn't the way you usually talk. Anyhow, she isn't here. You'll +find that out, if you insist. I wouldn't advise you to insist, for +I've sent for counsel since I heard you were coming, and you +will find detectives as well as guards waiting to receive you. +She isn't here, though, even at that, and you might just as well +turn round and go back. I will drive you over to Three Rivers, +if you wish. Why not be reasonable, now, and avoid a scene? +She isn't here. You couldn't have her if she were. The people +I have employed will prevent that. If you make trouble, you +will simply be arrested and then the newspapers will have it. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_650" id="Page_650">[Pg 650]</a></span> +Why not be reasonable now, Mr. Witla, and go on back? You +have everything to lose. There is a train through Three Rivers +from Quebec for New York at eleven tonight. We can make +it. Don't you want to do that? I will agree, if you come to +your senses now, and cause me no trouble here, to bring Suzanne +back to New York within a month. I won't let you have her +unless you get a divorce and straighten things out with your +wife, but if you can do that within six months, or a year, and +she still wants you, you can have her. I will promise in writing +to withdraw all objection, and see that her full share of her +property comes to her uncontested. I will help you and her +socially all I can. You know I am not without influence."</p> + +<p>"I want to see her first," replied Eugene grimly and disbelievingly.</p> + +<p>"I won't say that I will forget everything," went on Mrs. +Dale, ignoring his interpolated remark. "I can't—but I will +pretend to. You can have the use of my country place at +Lenox. I will buy out the lease at Morristown, or the New +York House, and you can live in either place. I will set aside +a sum of money for your wife, if you wish. That may help you +obtain your release. Surely you do not want to take her under +the illegal condition which you propose, when you can have her +outright in this brilliant manner by waiting a little while. She +says she does not want to get married, but that is silly talk, +based on nothing except erratic reading. She does, or she will, +the moment she comes to think about it seriously. Why not +help her? Why not go back now and let me bring her to New +York a little later and then we will talk this all over. I shall +be very glad to have you in my family. You are a brilliant +man. I have always liked you. Why not be reasonable? Come +now and let's drive over to Three Rivers and you take the train +back to New York, will you?"</p> + +<p>While Mrs. Dale had been talking, Eugene had been surveying +her calmly. What a clever talker she was! How she could +lie! He did not believe her. He did not believe one word that +she said. She was fighting to keep him from Suzanne, why he +could readily understand. Suzanne was somewhere, here, he +fancied, though, as in the case of her recent trip to Albany, she +might have been spirited away.</p> + +<p>"Absurd!" said Eugene easily, defiantly, indifferently. "I'll +not do anything of the sort. In the first place, I don't believe +you. If you are so anxious to be nice to me, let me see +her, and then you can say all this in front of her. I've come up +here to see her, and I'm going to. She's here. I know she is. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_651" id="Page_651">[Pg 651]</a></span> +You needn't lie. You needn't talk. I know she's here. Now +I'm going to see her, if I have to stay here a month and search."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dale stirred nervously. She knew that Eugene was desperate. +She knew that Suzanne had written to him. Talk might +be useless. Strategy might not avail, but she could not help +using it.</p> + +<p>"Listen to me," she said excitedly. "I tell you Suzanne is +not here. She's gone. There are guards up there—lots of them. +They know who you are. They have your description. They +have orders to kill you, if you try to break in. Kinroy is there. +He is desperate. I have been having a struggle to prevent his +killing you already. The place is watched. We are watched at +this moment. Won't you be reasonable? You can't see her. +She's gone. Why make all this fuss? Why take your life in +your hands?"</p> + +<p>"Don't talk," said Eugene. "You're lying. I can see it in +your face. Besides, my life is nothing. I am not afraid. Why +talk? She's here. I'm going to see her."</p> + +<p>He stared before him and Mrs. Dale ruminated as to what +she was to do. There were no guards or detectives, as she said. +Kinroy was not there. Suzanne was not away. This was all +palaver, as Eugene suspected, for she was too anxious to avoid +publicity to give any grounds for it, before she was absolutely +driven.</p> + +<p>It was a rather halcyon evening after some days of exceeding +chill. A bright moon was coming up in the east, already discernible +in the twilight, but which later would shine brilliantly. +It was not cold but really pleasantly warm, and the rough +road along which they were driving was richly odorous. Eugene +was not unconscious of its beauty, but depressed by the +possibility of Suzanne's absence.</p> + +<p>"Oh, do be generous," pleaded Mrs. Dale, who feared that +once they saw each other, reason would disappear. Suzanne +would demand, as she had been continually demanding, to be +taken back to New York. Eugene with or without Suzanne's +consent or plea, would ignore her overtures of compromise and +there would be immediate departure or defiant union here. She +thought she would kill them if need be, but in the face of Eugene's +defiant persistence on one side, and Suzanne's on the +other, her courage was failing. She was frightened by the daring +of this man. "I will keep my word," she observed distractedly. +"Honestly she isn't here. She's in Quebec, I tell you. +Wait a month. I will bring her back then. We will arrange +things together. Why can't you be generous?"</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_652" id="Page_652">[Pg 652]</a></span> +"I could be," said Eugene, who was considering all the brilliant +prospects which her proposal involved and being moved by +them, "but I can't believe you. You're not telling me the truth. +You didn't tell the truth to Suzanne when you took her from +New York. That was a trick, and this is another. I know she +isn't away. She's right up there in the lodge, wherever it is. +You take me to her and then we will talk this thing out together. +By the way, where are you going?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dale had turned into a bypath or half-formed road +closely lined with small trees and looking as though it might be +a woodchoppers' path.</p> + +<p>"To the lodge."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe it," replied Eugene, who was intensely suspicious. +"This isn't a main road to any such place as that."</p> + +<p>"I tell you it is."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dale was nearing the precincts of the lodge and wanted +more time to talk and plead.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Eugene, "you can go this way if you want to. +I'm going to get out and walk. You can't throw me off by +driving me around in some general way. I'm going to stay here +a week, a month, two months, if necessary, but I'm not going +back without seeing Suzanne. She's here, and I know it. I'll +go up alone and find her. I'm not afraid of your guards."</p> + +<p>He jumped out and Mrs. Dale gave up in despair. "Wait," +she pleaded. "It's over two miles yet. I'll take you there. She +isn't home tonight, anyhow. She's over at the cottage of the +caretaker. Oh, why won't you be reasonable? I'll bring her to +New York, I tell you. Are you going to throw aside all those +fine prospects and wreck your life and hers and mine? Oh, if +Mr. Dale were only alive! If I had a man on whom I could +rely! Come, get in, and I'll drive you up there, but promise me +you won't ask to see her tonight. She isn't there, anyway. She's +over at the caretaker's. Oh, dear, if only something would happen +to solve this!"</p> + +<p>"I thought you said she was in Quebec?"</p> + +<p>"I only said that to gain time. I'm so unstrung. It wasn't +true, but she isn't at the lodge, truly. She's away tonight. I +can't let you stay there. Let me take you back to St. Jacques +and you can stay with old Pierre Gaine. You can come up in +the morning. The servants will think it so strange. I promise +you you shall see Suzanne. I give you my word."</p> + +<p>"Your word. Why, Mrs. Dale, you're going around in a +ring! I can't believe anything you say," replied Eugene calmly. +He was very much collected and elated now since he knew that +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_653" id="Page_653">[Pg 653]</a></span> +Suzanne was here. He was going to see her—he felt it. He +had Mrs. Dale badly worsted, and he proposed to drive her until, +in the presence of Suzanne, he and his beloved dictated terms.</p> + +<p>"I'm going there tonight and you are going to bring her to me. +If she isn't there, you know where to find her. She's here, and +I'm going to see her tonight. We'll talk of all this you're proposing +in front of her. It's silly to twist things around this way. +The girl is with me, and you know it. She's mine. You can't +control her. Now we two will talk to you together."</p> + +<p>He sat back in the light vehicle and began to hum a tune. The +moon was getting clearer.</p> + +<p>"Promise me just one thing," urged Mrs. Dale despairingly. +"Promise me that you will urge Suzanne to accept my proposition. +A few months won't hurt. You can see her in New +York as usual. Go about getting a divorce. You are the only +one who has any influence with her. I admit it. She won't believe +me. She won't listen to me. You tell her. Your future +is in it. Persuade her to wait. Persuade her to stay up here +or at Lenox for a little while and then come down. She will +obey you. She will believe anything you say. I have lied. I +have lied terribly all through this, but you can't blame me. Put +yourself in my place. Think of my position. Please use your +influence. I will do all that I say and more."</p> + +<p>"Will you bring Suzanne to me tonight?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, if you promise."</p> + +<p>"Will you bring her to me tonight, promise or no promise? +I don't want to say anything to you which I can't say in front +of her."</p> + +<p>"Won't you promise me that you will accept my proposition +and urge her to?"</p> + +<p>"I think I will, but I won't say. I want her to hear what +you have to say. I think I will."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dale shook her head despondently.</p> + +<p>"You might as well acquiesce," went on Eugene. "I'm going +to see her anyhow, whether you will or no. She's there, and I'll +find her if I have to search the house room by room. She can +hear my voice."</p> + +<p>He was carrying things with a high hand.</p> + +<p>"Well," replied Mrs. Dale, "I suppose I must. Please don't +let on to the servants. Pretend you're my guest. Let me take +you back to St. Jacques tonight, after you see her. Don't stay +with her more than half an hour."</p> + +<p>She was absolutely frightened out of her wits at this terrific +dénouement.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_654" id="Page_654">[Pg 654]</a></span> +Eugene sat grimly congratulating himself as they jogged on in +the moonlight. He actually squeezed her arm cheerfully and +told her not to be so despairing—that all would come out all +right. They would talk to Suzanne. He would see what she +would have to say.</p> + +<p>"You stay here," she said, as they reached a little wooded +knoll in a bend of the road—a high spot commanding a vast +stretch of territory now lit by a glistening northern moon. "I'll +go right inside and get her. I don't know whether she's there, +but if she isn't, she's over at the caretaker's, and we'll go over +there. I don't want the servants to see you meet her. Please +don't be demonstrative. Oh, be careful!"</p> + +<p>Eugene smiled. How excited she was! How pointless, after +all her threats! So this was victory. What a fight he had made! +Here he was outside this beautiful lodge, the lights of which he +could see gleaming like yellow gold through the silvery shadows. +The air was full of field fragrances. You could smell +the dewy earth, soon to be hard and covered deep in snow. +There was still a bird's voice here and there and faint stirrings +of the wind in the leaves. "On such a night," came back Shakespeare's +lines. How fitting that Suzanne should come to him +under such conditions! Oh, the wonder of this romance—the +beauty of it! From the very beginning it had been set about +with perfections of scenery and material environment. Obviously, +nature had intended this as the crowning event of his life. +Life recognized him as a genius—the fates it was heaping posies +in his lap, laying a crown of victory upon his brow.</p> + +<p>He waited while Mrs. Dale went to the lodge, and then after +a time, true enough, there appeared in the distance the swinging, +buoyant, girlish form of Suzanne. She was plump, healthful, +vigorous. He could detect her in the shadows under the trees +and behind her a little way Mrs. Dale. Suzanne came eagerly +on—youthful, buoyant, dancing, determined, beautiful. Her +skirts were swinging about her body in ripples as she strode. +She looked all Eugene had ever thought her. Hebe—a young +Diana, a Venus at nineteen. Her lips were parted in a welcoming +smile as she drew near and her eyes were as placid as those +dull opals which still burn with a hidden lustre of gold and +flame.</p> + +<p>She held out her arms to him as she came, running the last +few steps.</p> + +<p>"Suzanne!" called her mother. "For shame!"</p> + +<p>"Hush, mama!" declared Suzanne defiantly. "I don't care. +I don't care. It's your fault. You shouldn't have lied to me. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_655" id="Page_655">[Pg 655]</a></span> +He wouldn't have come if I hadn't sent for him. I'm going +back to New York. I told you I was."</p> + +<p>She did not say, "Oh, Eugene!" as she came close, but gathered +his face in her hands and looked eagerly into his eyes. His +burned into hers. She stepped back and opened wide her arms +only to fold them tightly about him.</p> + +<p>"At last! At last!" he said, kissing her feverishly. "Oh, Suzanne! +Oh, Flower Face!"</p> + +<p>"I knew you would come," she said. "I told her you would. +I'll go back with you."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," said Eugene. "Oh, this wonderful night! This +wonderful climax! Oh, to have you in my arms again!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dale stood by, white, intense. To think a daughter of +hers should act like this, confound her so, make her a helpless +spectator of her iniquity. What an astounding, terrible, impossible +thing!</p> + +<p>"Suzanne!" she cried. "Oh, that I should have lived to see +this day!"</p> + +<p>"I told you, mama, that you would regret bringing me up +here," declared Suzanne. "I told you I would write to him. I +knew you would come," she said to Eugene, and she squeezed +his hand affectionately.</p> + +<p>Eugene inhaled a deep breath and stared at her. The night, +the stars swung around him in a gorgeous orbit. Thus it was +to be victorious. It was too beautiful, too wonderful! To think +he should have triumphed in this way! Could any other man +anywhere ever have enjoyed such a victory?</p> + +<p>"Oh, Suzanne," he said eagerly, "this is like a dream; it's like +heaven! I can scarcely believe I am alive."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," she replied, "it is beautiful, perfect!" And together +they strolled away from her mother, hand in hand.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_656" id="Page_656">[Pg 656]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_XX" id="III_CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<p>The flaw in this situation was that Eugene, after getting +Suzanne in his arms once more, had no particular solution +to offer. Instead of at once outlining an open or secret scheme of +escape, or taking her by main force and walking off with her, +as she more than half expected him to do, here he was repeating +to her what her mother had told him, and instead of saying +"Come!" he was asking her advice.</p> + +<p>"This is what your mother proposed to me just now, Suzanne," +he began, and entered upon a full explanation. It was a vision +of empire to him.</p> + +<p>"I said to her," he said, speaking of her mother, who was +near by, "that I would decide nothing. She wanted me to say +that I would do this, but I insisted that it must be left to you. +If you want to go back to New York, we will go, tonight or +tomorrow. If you want to accept this plan of your mother's, it's +all right, so far as I am concerned. I would rather have you +now, but if I can see you, I am willing to wait."</p> + +<p>He was calm now, logical, foolishly speculative. Suzanne +wondered at this. She had no advice to offer. She had expected +some dramatic climax, but since it had not come about, she had +to be content. The truth was that she had been swept along by +her desire to be with Eugene. It had seemed to her in the beginning +that it was not possible for him to get a divorce. It had +seemed also from her reading and youthful philosophizing that +it was really not necessary. She did not want to be mean to +Angela. She did not want Eugene to mortify her by openly +leaving her. She had fancied since Eugene had said that Angela +was not satisfactory to him and that there was no real love between +them, that Angela really did not care she had practically +admitted as much in her letter—that it would not make so +much difference if she shared him with her. What was he explaining +now—a new theory as to what they were to do? She +thought he was coming for her to take her away like a god, +whereas here he was presenting a new theory to her in anything +but a god-like way. It was confusing. She did not know how it +was that Eugene did not want to leave at once.</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't know whatever you think," she said. "If +you want me to stay here another month——"</p> + +<p>"No, no!" exclaimed Eugene quickly, conscious of a flaw in +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_657" id="Page_657">[Pg 657]</a></span> +the arrangement, and anxious to make it seem right. "I didn't +mean that. Not that. I want you to come back with me now, +if possible, tonight, only I wanted to tell you this. Your mother +seems sincere. It seems a shame if we can keep friends with her +and still have our way, not to do so. I don't want to do any +greater harm than I can help unless you are perfectly willing +and——" He hesitated over his own thoughts.</p> + +<p>At this moment Suzanne could scarcely have told what she +felt. The crux of the situation was being put to her for her +decision, and it should not be. She was not strong enough, not +experienced enough. Eugene should decide, and whatever he +decided would be right.</p> + +<p>The truth was that after getting her in his arms again, and +that in the presence of her mother, Eugene did not feel that he +was quite so much the victor as he had imagined, or that the +whole problem of his life was solved. He could not very well +ignore, he thought, what Mrs. Dale had to offer, if she was +offering it seriously. She had said to him just before he came +into the presence of Suzanne that unless he accepted these terms +she would go on fighting—that she would telegraph to Colfax +and ask him to come up here. Although Eugene had drawn his +money and was ready to fly if he could, still the thought of Colfax +and the desire to keep his present state of social security +and gain all Mrs. Dale had to offer besides were deterrents. He +hesitated. Wasn't there some way to smooth everything out?</p> + +<p>"I don't want you to decide finally," he said, "but what do +you think?"</p> + +<p>Suzanne was in a simmering, nebulous state, and could not +think. Eugene was here. This was Arcady and the moon was +high.</p> + +<p>It was beautiful to have him with her again. It was wonderful +to feel his caresses. But he was not flying with her. +They were not defying the world; they were not doing what +she fancied they would be doing, rushing to victory, and that +was what she had sent for him for. Mrs. Dale was going to +help Eugene get a divorce, so she said. She was going to help +subsidize Angela, if necessary. Suzanne was going to get married, +and actually settle down after a time. What a curious +thought. Why that was not what she had wanted to do. She +had wanted to flout convention in some way; to do original +things as she had planned, as she had dreamed. It might be +disastrous, but she did not think so. Her mother would have +yielded. Why was Eugene compromising? It was curious. +Such thoughts as these formulated in her mind at this time +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_658" id="Page_658">[Pg 658]</a></span> +were the most disastrous things that could happen to their romance. +Union should have followed his presence. Flight should +have been a portion of it. As it was she was in his arms, but +she was turning over vague, nebulous thoughts. Something—a +pale mist before an otherwise brilliant moon; a bit of spindrift; +a speck of cloud, no bigger than a man's hand that might possibly +portend something and might not, had come over the +situation. Eugene was as desirable as ever, but he was not +flying with her. They were talking about going back to New +York afterwards, but they were not going together at once. +How was that?</p> + +<p>"Do you think mama can really damage you with Mr. +Colfax?" she asked curiously at one point, after Eugene had +mentioned her mother's threat.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," he replied solemnly. "Yes, I think she +could. I don't know what he'd do, though. It doesn't matter +much one way or the other," he added. Suzanne puzzled.</p> + +<p>"Well, if you want to wait, it's all right," she said. "I +want to do whatever you think best. I don't want you to +lose your position. If you think we ought to wait, we will."</p> + +<p>"Not if I'm not to be with you regularly," replied Eugene, +who was wavering. He was not your true champion of victory—your +administrative leader. Foolishly he was spelling over an +arrangement whereby he could eat his cake and have it—see +Suzanne, drive with her, dance with her, all but live with her in +New York until such time as the actual union could be arranged +secretly or openly. Mrs. Dale was promising to receive +him as a son, but she was merely plotting for time—time +to think, act, permit Suzanne, under argument, to come to her +senses. Time would solve everything, she thought, and tonight +as she hung about, keeping close and overhearing some of Eugene's +remarks, she felt relieved. Either he was coming to his senses +and beginning to regret his folly or he was being deluded by her +lies. If she could keep him and Suzanne apart one more week, +and get to New York herself, she would go to Colfax now, and +to Winfield, and see if they could not be induced to use their +good offices. Eugene must be broken. He was erratic, insane. +Her lies were apparently plausible enough to gain her this delay, +and that was all she wanted.</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't know. Whatever you think," said Suzanne +again, after a time between embraces and kisses, "do you want +me to come back with you tomorrow, or——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," he replied quickly and vigorously, "tomorrow, only +we must try and argue your mother into the right frame of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_659" id="Page_659">[Pg 659]</a></span> +mind. She feels that she has lost now since we are together, +and we must keep her in that mind. She talks compromise and +that's just what we want. If she is willing to have us make +some arrangement, why not? I would be willing to let things +rest for a week or so, just to give her a chance if she wishes. +If she doesn't change then we can act. You could come as +far as Lenox for a week, and then come on."</p> + +<p>He talked like one who had won a great victory, whereas he +had really suffered a great defeat. He was not taking Suzanne.</p> + +<p>Suzanne brooded. It was not what she expected—but——</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, after a time.</p> + +<p>"Will you return with me tomorrow?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"As far as Lenox or New York?"</p> + +<p>"We'll see what mama says. If you can agree with her—anything +you want—I am willing."</p> + +<p>After a time Eugene and Suzanne parted for the night. It was +agreed that they should see each other in the morning, that they +should go back as far as Lenox together. Mrs. Dale was to +help Eugene get a divorce. It was a delightfully affectionate +and satisfactory situation, but somehow Eugene felt that he was +not handling it right. He went to bed in one part of the house—Suzanne +in another—Mrs. Dale, fearful and watchful, staying +near by, but there was no need. He was not desperate. He +went to sleep thinking that the near future was going to adjust +everything for him nicely, and that he and Suzanne were +eventually going to get married.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_660" id="Page_660">[Pg 660]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_XXI" id="III_CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<p>The next day, after wavering whether they would not spend +a few days here in billing and cooing and listening to Mrs. +Dale's veiled pleas as to what the servants might think, or what +they might know already or suspect from what the station master +at Three Rivers might say, they decided to return, Eugene +to New York, Suzanne to Lenox. All the way back to Albany, +Eugene and Suzanne sat together in one seat in the Pullman like +two children rejoicing in each other's company. Mrs. Dale +sat one seat away, turning over her promises and pondering +whether, after all, she had not yet better go at once and try to +end all by an appeal to Colfax, or whether she had better wait +a little while and see if the affair might not die down of its +own accord.</p> + +<p>At Albany the following morning, Suzanne and Mrs. Dale +transferred to the Boston and Albany, Eugene going on to +New York. He went to the office feeling much relieved, and +later in the day to his apartment. Angela, who had been under +a terrific strain, stared at him as if he were a ghost, or one +come back to life from the dead. She had not known where +he had gone. She had not known whether he would ever come +back. There was no use in reproaching him—she had realized +that long since. The best she could do was to make an appeal. +She waited until after dinner, at which they had discussed +the mere commonplaces of life, and then came to his room, +where he was unpacking.</p> + +<p>"Did you go to find Suzanne?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Is she with you?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Eugene, do you know where I have spent the last three +days?" she asked.</p> + +<p>He did not answer.</p> + +<p>"On my knees. On my knees," she declared, "asking God to +save you from yourself."</p> + +<p>"Don't talk rot, Angela," he returned coldly. "You know +how I feel about this thing. How much worse am I now than +I was before? I tried to get you on the phone to tell you. I +went to find her and bring her back, and I did as far as +Lenox. I am going to win this fight. I am going to get Suzanne, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_661" id="Page_661">[Pg 661]</a></span> +either legally or otherwise. If you want to give me a +divorce, you can. I will provide amply for you. If you don't +I'm going to take her, anyhow. That's understood between +me and her. Now what's the use of hysterics?"</p> + +<p>Angela looked at him tearfully. Could this be the Eugene +she had known? In each scene with him, after each plea, or +through it, she came to this adamantine wall. Was he really +so frantic about this girl? Was he going to do what he said? +He outlined to her quite calmly his plans as recently revised, +and at one point Angela, speaking of Mrs. Dale, interrupted +him—"she will never give her up to you—you will see. You +think she will. She says she will. She is only fooling you. She +is fighting for time. Think what you are doing. You can't +win."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I can," said Eugene, "I practically have already. +She will come to me."</p> + +<p>"She may, she may, but at what a cost. Look at me, Eugene. +Am I not enough? I am still good looking. You have +declared to me time and again that I have a beautiful form. +See, see"—she tore open her dressing gown and the robe de +nuit, in which she had come in. She had arranged this scene, +especially thought it out, and hoped it would move him. "Am +I not enough? Am I not still all that you desire?"</p> + +<p>Eugene turned his head away in disgust—wearily—sick of +their melodramatic appeals. This was the last rôle Angela should +have played. It was the most ineffectual, the least appropriate +at the moment. It was dramatic, striking, but totally ineffective +under the circumstances.</p> + +<p>"It's useless acting in that way to me, Angela," he said. "I'm +no longer to be moved in that way by you. All marital affection +between us is dead—terribly so. Why plead to me with +something that has no appeal. I can't help it. It's dead. Now +what are we going to do about it?"</p> + +<p>Once more Angela turned wearily. Although she was nerve +worn and despairing, she was still fascinated by the tragedy +which was being played out under her eyes. Would nothing +make him see?</p> + +<p>They went their separate ways for the night, and the next +day he was at his desk again. Word came from Suzanne +that she was still in Lenox, and then that her mother had gone +to Boston for a day or two on a visit. The fifth day Colfax +stepped into his office, and, hailing him pleasantly, sat down.</p> + +<p>"Well, how are things with you, old man?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, about the same," said Eugene. "I can't complain."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_662" id="Page_662">[Pg 662]</a></span> +"Everything going all right with you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, moderately so."</p> + +<p>"People don't usually butt in on you here when I'm here, do +they?" he asked curiously.</p> + +<p>"I've given orders against anything like that, but I'll make +it doubly sure in this case," said Eugene, alert at once. Could +Colfax be going to talk to him about anything in connection +with his case? He paled a little.</p> + +<p>Colfax looked out of the window at the distant panorama of +the Hudson. He took out a cigar, and cut the end, but did not +light it.</p> + +<p>"I asked you about not being interrupted," he began thoughtfully, +"because I have a little something I want to talk to you +about, which I would rather no one else heard. Mrs. Dale +came to me the other day," he said quietly. Eugene started at +the mention of her name and paled still more, but gave no +other outward sign. "And she told me a long story about +something that you were trying to do in connection with her +daughter—run away with her, or go and live with her without +a license or a divorce, or desert your wife, or something to that +effect, which I didn't pay much attention to, but which I have +to talk to you about just the same. Now, I never like to meddle +with a man's personal affairs. I don't think that they concern +me. I don't think they concern this business, except in so far as +they may affect it unfavorably, but I would like to know if +it is true. Is it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Eugene.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Dale is an old friend of mine. I've known her for +years. I know Mrs. Witla, of course, but not quite in the same +way. I haven't seen as much of her as I have of you. I didn't +know that you were unhappily married, but that is neither here +nor there. The point is, that she seems to be on the verge of +making a great scandal out of this—she seems a little distracted +to me—and I thought I'd better come up and have a little talk +with you before anything serious really happened. You know it +would be a rather damaging thing to this business if any scandal +were started in connection with you just at present."</p> + +<p>He paused, expecting some protest or explanation, but Eugene +merely held his peace. He was tense, pale, harried. So she +had gone to Colfax, after all. Instead of going to Boston; instead +of keeping her word, she had come down here to New York +and gone to Colfax. Had she told him the full story? Very +likely Colfax, in spite of all his smooth words, would be inclined +to sympathize with her. What must he think of him? +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_663" id="Page_663">[Pg 663]</a></span> +He was rather conservative in a social way. Mrs. Dale could be +of service to him in her world in one way and another. He +had never seen Colfax quite so cool and deliberate as he was +now. He seemed to be trying to maintain an exceedingly judicial +and impartial tone, which was not characteristic.</p> + +<p>"You have always been an interesting study to me, Witla, +ever since I first met you," he went on, after a time. "You're +a genius, I fancy, if there ever was one, but like all geniuses +you are afflicted with tendencies which are erratic. I used to +think for a little while that maybe you sat down and planned +the things which you have carried through so successfully, but +I have since concluded that you don't. You attract some forms +of force and order. Also, I think you have various other faculties—it +would be hard for me to say just what they are. One +is vision. I know you have that. Another is appreciation of +ability. I know you have that. I have seen you pick some +exceptional people. You plan in a way, but you don't plan logically +or deliberately, unless I am greatly mistaken. The matter +of this Dale girl now is an interesting case in point, I +think."</p> + +<p>"Let's not talk of her," said Eugene frigidly and bridling +slightly. Suzanne was a sore point with him. A dangerous +subject. Colfax saw it. "That's something I can't talk about +very well."</p> + +<p>"Well, we won't," put in the other calmly, "but the point +can be established in other ways. You'll admit, I think, that +you haven't been planning very well in connection with this +present situation, for if you had been, you would see that in +doing what you have been doing you have been riding straight +for a fall. If you were going to take the girl, and she was +willing, as she appears to be, you should have taken her without +her mother's knowledge, old man. She might have been +able to adjust things afterward. If not, you would have had +her, and I suppose you would have been willing to suffer the +consequences, if you had been caught. As it is, you have let +Mrs. Dale in on it, and she has powerful friends. You can't +ignore her. I can't. She is in a fighting mood, and it looks +as though she were going to bring considerable pressure to +bear to make you let go."</p> + +<p>He paused again, waiting to see if Eugene would say something, +but the latter made no comment.</p> + +<p>"I want to ask one question, and I don't want you to take +any offense at it, for I don't mean anything by it, but it will +help to clear this matter up in my own mind, and probably +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_664" id="Page_664">[Pg 664]</a></span> +in yours later, if you will. Have you had anything to do in +a compromising way with Miss——?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Eugene before he could finish.</p> + +<p>"How long has this fight been going on?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, about four weeks, or a little less."</p> + +<p>Colfax bit at the end of his cigar.</p> + +<p>"You have powerful enemies here, you know, Witla. Your +rule hasn't been very lenient. One of the things I have +noticed about you is your utter inability to play politics. You +have picked men who would be very glad to have your shoes, +if they could. If they could get the details of this predicament, +your situation wouldn't be tenable more than fifteen +minutes. You know that, of course. In spite of anything +I might do you would have to resign. You couldn't maintain +yourself here. I couldn't let you. You haven't thought of +that in this connection, I suppose. No man in love does. I +know just how you feel. From having seen Mrs. Witla, I can +tell in a way just what the trouble is. You have been reined +in too close. You haven't been master in your own home. +It's irritated you. Life has appeared to be a failure. You +have lost your chance, or thought you had on this matrimonial +game, and it's made you restless. I know this girl. She's beautiful. +But just as I say, old man, you haven't counted the +cost—you haven't calculated right—you haven't planned. If +anything could prove to me what I have always faintly suspected +about you, it is this: You don't plan carefully enough——" and +he looked out of the window.</p> + +<p>Eugene sat staring at the floor. He couldn't make out just +what it was that Colfax intended to do about it. He was +calmer in his thinking than he had ever seen him before—less +dramatic. As a rule, Colfax yelled things—demonstrated, performed—made +excited motions. This morning, he was slow, +thoughtful, possibly emotional.</p> + +<p>"In spite of the fact that I like you personally, Witla—and +every man owes a little something to friendship—it can't be +worked out in business, though—I have been slowly coming to +the conclusion that perhaps, after all, you aren't just the ideal +man for this place. You're too emotional, I fancy—too erratic. +White has been trying to tell me that for a long time, but I +wouldn't believe it. I'm not taking his judgment now. I don't +know that I would ever have acted on that feeling or idea, if +this thing hadn't come up. I don't know that I am going to +do so finally, but it strikes me that you are in a very ticklish +position—one rather dangerous to this house, and you know +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_665" id="Page_665">[Pg 665]</a></span> +that this house could never brook a scandal. Why the newspapers +would never get over it. It would do us infinite harm. +I think, viewing it all in all, that you had better take a year +off and see if you can't straighten this out quietly. I don't +think you had better try to take this girl unless you can get a +divorce and marry her, and I don't think you had better try to +get a divorce unless you can do it quietly. I mean so far as +your position here is concerned only. Apart from that, you +can do what you please. But remember! a scandal would affect +your usefulness here. If things can be patched up, well +and good. If not, well then they can't. If this thing gets +talked about much, you know that there will be no hope of +your coming back here. I don't suppose you would be willing +to give her up?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Eugene.</p> + +<p>"I thought as much. I know just how you take a thing of +this kind. It hits your type hard. Can you get a divorce from +Mrs. Witla?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not so sure," said Eugene. "I haven't any suitable +grounds. We simply don't agree, that's all—my life has been +a hollow shell."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Colfax, "it's a bad mix up all around. I know +how you feel about the girl. She's very beautiful. She's just +the sort to bring about a situation of this kind. I don't want +to tell you what to do. You are your own best judge, but if +you will take my advice, you won't try to live with her without +first marrying her. A man in your position can't afford to +do it. You're too much in the public eye. You know you have +become fairly conspicuous in New York during the last few +years, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Eugene. "I thought I had arranged that matter +with Mrs. Dale."</p> + +<p>"It appears not. She tells me that you are trying to persuade +her daughter to live with you; that you have no means of +obtaining a divorce within a reasonable time; that your wife is +in a—pardon me, and that you insist on associating with her +daughter, meanwhile, which isn't possible, according to her. +I'm inclined to think she's right. It's hard, but it can't be +helped. She says that you say that if you are not allowed to +do that, you will take her and live with her."</p> + +<p>He paused again. "Will you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Eugene.</p> + +<p>Colfax twisted slowly in his chair and looked out of the +window. What a man! What a curious thing love was! +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_666" id="Page_666">[Pg 666]</a></span> +"When is it," he asked finally, "that you think you might +do this?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know. I'm all tangled up now. I'll have to +think."</p> + +<p>Colfax meditated.</p> + +<p>"It's a peculiar business. Few people would understand this +as well as I do. Few people would understand you, Witla, as +I do. You haven't calculated right, old man, and you'll have +to pay the price. We all do. I can't let you stay here. I wish +I could, but I can't. You'll have to take a year off and think +this thing out. If nothing happens—if no scandal arises—well, +I won't say what I'll do. I might make a berth for you here +somewhere—not exactly in the same position, perhaps, but somewhere. +I'll have to think about that. Meanwhile"—he stopped +and thought again.</p> + +<p>Eugene was seeing clearly how it was with him. All this talk +about coming back meant nothing. The thing that was apparent +in Colfax's mind was that he would have to go, and the +reason that he would have to go was not Mrs. Dale or Suzanne, +or the moral issue involved, but the fact that he had lost Colfax's +confidence in him. Somehow, through White, through +Mrs. Dale, through his own actions day in and day out, Colfax +had come to the conclusion that he was erratic, uncertain, and, +for that reason, nothing else, he was being dispensed with now. +It was Suzanne—it was fate, his own unfortunate temperament. +He brooded pathetically, and then he said: "When do you +want this to happen?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, any time, the quicker, the better, if a public scandal is +to grow out of it. If you want you can take your time, three +weeks, a month, six weeks. You had better make it a matter +of health and resign for your own good.—I mean the looks of +the thing. That won't make any difference in my subsequent +conclusions. This place is arranged so well now, that it can +run nicely for a year without much trouble. We might fix +this up again—it depends——"</p> + +<p>Eugene wished he had not added the last hypocritical phrase.</p> + +<p>He shook hands and went to the door and Eugene strolled +to the window. Here was all the solid foundation knocked from +under him at one fell stroke, as if by a cannon. He had lost +this truly magnificent position, $25,000 a year. Where would +he get another like it? Who else—what other company could +pay any such salary? How could he maintain the Riverside +Drive apartment now, unless he married Suzanne? How could +he have his automobile—his valet? Colfax said nothing about +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_667" id="Page_667">[Pg 667]</a></span> +continuing his income—why should he? He really owed him +nothing. He had been exceedingly well paid—better paid than +he would have been anywhere else.</p> + +<p>He regretted his fanciful dreams about Blue Sea—his silly +enthusiasm in tying up all his money in that. Would Mrs. +Dale go to Winfield? Would her talk do him any real harm +there? Winfield had always been a good friend to him, had +manifested a high regard. This charge, this talk of abduction. +What a pity it all was. It might change Winfield's +attitude, and still why should it? He had women; no wife, +however. He hadn't, as Colfax said, planned this thing quite +right. That was plain now. His shimmering world of dreams +was beginning to fade like an evening sky. It might be that +he had been chasing a will-o'-the-wisp, after all. Could this +really be possible? Could it be?</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_668" id="Page_668">[Pg 668]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_XXII" id="III_CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<p>One would have thought that this terrific blow would have +given Eugene pause in a way, and it did. It frightened +him. Mrs. Dale had gone to Colfax in order to persuade him +to use his influence to make Eugene behave himself, and, having +done so much, she was actually prepared to go further. She +was considering some scheme whereby she could blacken Eugene, +have his true character become known without in any way involving +Suzanne. Having been relentlessly pursued and harried +by Eugene, she was now as relentless in her own attitude. She +wanted him to let go now, entirely, if she could, not to see +Suzanne any more and she went, first to Winfield, and then +back to Lenox with the hope of preventing any further communication, +or at least action on Suzanne's part, or Eugene's +possible presence there.</p> + +<p>In so far as her visit to Winfield was concerned, it did not +amount to so much morally or emotionally in that quarter, for +Winfield did not feel that he was called upon to act in the +matter. He was not Eugene's guardian, nor yet a public censor +of morals. He waived the whole question grandly to one side, +though in a way he was glad to know of it, for it gave him an +advantage over Eugene. He was sorry for him a little—what +man would not be? Nevertheless, in his thoughts of reorganizing +the Blue Sea Corporation, he did not feel so bad over what +might become of Eugene's interests. When the latter approached +him, as he did some time afterward, with the idea that +he might be able to dispose of his holdings, he saw no way to +do it. The company was really not in good shape. More money +would have to be put in. All the treasury stock would have +to be quickly disposed of, or a reorganization would have to be +effected. The best that could be promised under these circumstances +was that Eugene's holdings might be exchanged for +a fraction of their value in a new issue by a new group of directors. +So Eugene saw the end of his dreams in that direction +looming up quite clearly.</p> + +<p>When he saw what Mrs. Dale had done, he saw also that it +was necessary to communicate the situation clearly to Suzanne. +The whole thing pulled him up short, and he began to wonder +what was to become of him. With his twenty-five thousand a +year in salary cut off, his prospect of an independent fortune in +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_669" id="Page_669">[Pg 669]</a></span> +Blue Sea annihilated, the old life closed to him for want of +cash, for who can go about in society without money? he saw +that he was in danger of complete social and commercial extinction. +If by any chance a discussion of the moral relation +between him and Suzanne arose, his unconscionable attitude toward +Angela, if White heard of it for instance, what would +become of him? The latter would spread the fact far and +wide. It would be the talk of the town, in the publishing world +at least. It would close every publishing house in the city to +him. He did not believe Colfax would talk. He fancied that +Mrs. Dale had not, after all, spoken to Winfield, but if she had, +how much further would it go? Would White hear of it +through Colfax? Would he keep it a secret if he knew? +Never! The folly of what he had been doing began to dawn +upon him dimly. What was it that he had been doing? He +felt like a man who had been cast into a deep sleep by a powerful +opiate and was now slowly waking to a dim wondering sense +of where he was. He was in New York. He had no position. +He had little ready money—perhaps five or six thousand all told. +He had the love of Suzanne, but her mother was still fighting +him, and he had Angela on his hands, undivorced. How was he +to arrange things now? How could he think of going back to +her? Never!</p> + +<p>He sat down and composed the following letter to Suzanne, +which he thought would make clear to her just how things +stood and give her an opportunity to retract if she wished, for +he thought he owed that much to her now:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Flower Face</span>: +<br /><br /> +I had a talk with Mr. Colfax this morning and what I feared might +happen has happened. Your mother, instead of going to Boston as you +thought, came to New York and saw him and, I fancy, my friend +Winfield, too. She cannot do me any harm in that direction, for my +relationship with that company does not depend on a salary, or a +fixed income of any kind, but she has done me infinite harm here. +Frankly, I have lost my position. I do not believe that would have +come about except for other pressure with which she had nothing to +do, but her charges and complaints, coming on top of opposition here +on the part of someone else, has done what she couldn't have done +alone. Flower Face, do you know what that means? I told you once +that I had tied up all my spare cash in Blue Sea, which I hoped would +come to so much. It may, but the cutting off my salary here means +great changes for me there, unless I can make some other business +engagement immediately. I shall probably have to give up my apartment +in Riverside Drive and my automobile, and in other ways trim +my sails to meet the bad weather. It means that if you come to me, +we should have to live on what I can earn as an artist unless I +should decide and be able to find something else. When I came to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_670" id="Page_670">[Pg 670]</a></span> +Canada for you, I had some such idea in mind, but since this thing +has actually happened, you may think differently. If nothing happens +to my Blue Sea investment, there may be an independent fortune some +day in that. I can't tell, but that is a long way off, and meanwhile, +there is only this, and I don't know what else your mother may do to +my reputation. She appears to be in a very savage frame of mind. +You heard what she said at While-a-Way. She has evidently gone back +on that completely. +<br /><br /> +"Flower Face, I lay this all before you so that you may see how +things are. If you come to me it may be in the face of a faded +reputation. You must realize that there is a great difference between +Eugene Witla, Managing Publisher of the United Magazines Corporation, +and Eugene Witla, Artist. I have been very reckless and defiant +in my love for you. Because you are so lovely—the most perfect thing +that I have ever known, I have laid all on the altar of my affection. +I would do it again, gladly—a thousand times. Before you came, my +life was a gloomy thing. I thought I was living, but I knew in my +heart that it was all a dusty shell—a lie. Then you came, and oh, +how I have lived! The nights, the days of beautiful fancy. Shall +I ever forget White Wood, or Blue Sea, or Briarcliff, or that wonderful +first day at South Beach? Little girl, our ways have been the ways +of perfectness and peace. This has been an intensely desperate thing +to do, but for my sake, I am not sorry. I have been dreaming a wonderfully +sweet and perfect dream. It may be when you know all and +see how things stand, and stop and think, as I now ask you to do, +you may be sorry and want to change your mind. Don't hesitate to do +so if you feel that way. You know I told you to think calmly long +ago before you told your mother. This is a bold, original thing we have +been planning. It is not to be expected that the world would see it as +we have. It is quite to be expected that trouble would follow in the +wake of it, but it seemed possible to me, and still seems so. If you +want to come to me, say so. If you want me to come to you, speak +the word. We will go to England or Italy, and I will try my hand +at painting again. I can do that I am sure. Or, we can stay here, +and I can see if some engagement cannot be had. +<br /><br /> +"You want to remember, though, that your mother may not have finished +fighting. She may go to much greater lengths than she has gone. +You thought you might control her, but it seems not. I thought we had +won in Canada, but it appears not. If she attempts to restrain you +from using your share of your father's estate, she may be able to cause +you trouble there. If she attempts to incarcerate you, she might be +successful. I wish I could talk to you. Can't I see you at Lenox? +Are you coming home next week? We ought to think and plan and +act now if at all. Don't let any consideration for me stand in your +way, though, if you are doubtful. Remember that conditions are different +now. Your whole future hangs on your decision. I should +have talked this way long ago, perhaps, but I did not think your +mother could do what she has succeeded in doing. I did not think +my financial standing would play any part in it. +<br /><br /> +"Flower Face, this is the day of real trial for me. I am unhappy, +but only at the possible prospect of losing you. Nothing of all these +other things really matters. With you, everything would be perfect, +whatever my condition might be. Without you, it will be as dark as +night. The decision is in your hands and you must act. Whatever +you decide, that I will do. Don't, as I say, let consideration for me +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_671" id="Page_671">[Pg 671]</a></span> +stand in the way. You are young. You have a social career before +you. After all, I am twice your age. I talk thus sanely because if +you come to me now, I want you to understand clearly how you +come. +<br /><br /> +"Oh, I wonder sometimes if you really understand. I wonder if I +have been dreaming a dream. You are so beautiful. You have been +such an inspiration to me. Has this been a lure—a will-o'-the wisp? +I wonder. I wonder. And yet I love you, love you, love you. A +thousand kisses, Divine Fire, and I wait for your word.</p> + +<p> +"<span class="smcap">Eugene.</span>"<br /> +</p></div> + +<p>Suzanne read this letter at Lenox, and for the first time in +her life she began to think and ponder seriously. What had +she been doing? What was Eugene doing? This dénouement +frightened her. Her mother was more purposeful than she +imagined. To think of her going to Colfax—of her lying and +turning so in her moods. She had not thought this possible of +her mother. Had not thought it possible that Eugene could lose +his position. He had always seemed so powerful to her; so much +a law unto himself. Once when they were out in an automobile +together, he had asked her why she loved him, and she said, +"because you are a genius and can do anything you please."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," he answered, "nothing like that. I can't really +do very much of anything. You just have an exaggerated notion +of me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, I haven't," she replied. "You can paint, and you +can write"—she was judging by some of the booklets about Blue +Sea and verses about herself and clippings of articles done in +his old Chicago newspaper days, which he showed her once in +a scrapbook in his apartment—"and you can run that office, and +you were an advertising manager and an art director."</p> + +<p>She lifted up her face and looked into his eyes admiringly.</p> + +<p>"My, what a list of accomplishments!" he replied. "Well +whom the gods would destroy they first make mad." He +kissed her.</p> + +<p>"And you love so beautifully," she added by way of climax.</p> + +<p>Since then, she had thought of this often, but now, somehow, +it received a severe setback. He was not quite so powerful. +He could not prevent her mother from doing this, and +could she really conquer her mother? Whatever Suzanne +might think of her deceit, she was moving Heaven and earth +to prevent this. Was she wholly wrong? After that climacteric +night at St. Jacques, when somehow the expected did not happen, +Suzanne had been thinking. Did she really want to leave home, +and go with Eugene? Did she want to fight her mother in regard +to her estate? She might have to do that. Her original +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_672" id="Page_672">[Pg 672]</a></span> +idea had been that she and Eugene would meet in some lovely +studio, and that she would keep her own home, and he would +have his. It was something very different, this talk of poverty, +and not having an automobile, and being far away from home. +Still she loved him. Maybe she could force her mother to +terms yet.</p> + +<p>There were more struggles in the two or three succeeding +days, in which the guardian of the estate—Mr. Herbert Pitcairn, +of the Marquardt Trust Company, and, once more, Dr. Woolley, +were called in to argue with her. Suzanne, unable to make up +her mind, listened to her mother's insidious plea, that if she +would wait a year, and then say she really wanted him, she +could have him; listened to Mr. Pitcairn tell her mother that +he believed any court would on application adjudge her incompetent +and tie up her estate; heard Dr. Woolley say in her +presence to her mother that he did not deem a commission in +lunacy advisable, but if her mother insisted, no doubt a judge +would adjudge her insane, if no more than to prevent this unhallowed +consummation. Suzanne became frightened. Her +iron nerve, after Eugene's letter, was weakening. She was +terribly incensed against her mother, but she began now for +the first time to think what her friends would think. Supposing +her mother did lock her up. Where would they think she was? +All these days and weeks of strain, which had worn her +mother threadbare had told something on her own strength, +or rather nerve. It was too intense, and she began to wonder +whether they had not better do as Eugene suggested, and wait +a little while. He had agreed up at St. Jacques to wait, if she +were willing. Only the provision was that they were to see each +other. Now her mother had changed front again, pleading +danger, undue influence, that she ought to have at least a year +of her old kind of life undisturbed to see whether she really +cared.</p> + +<p>"How can you tell?" she insisted to Suzanne, in spite of +the girl's desire not to talk. "You have been swept into this, +and you haven't given yourself time to think. A year won't +hurt. What harm will it do you or him?"</p> + +<p>"But, mama," asked Suzanne over and over at different +times, and in different places, "why did you go and tell Mr. +Colfax? What a mean, cruel thing that was to do!"</p> + +<p>"Because I think he needs something like that to make him +pause and think. He isn't going to starve. He is a man of +talent. He needs something like that to bring him to his senses. +Mr. Colfax hasn't discharged him. He told me he wouldn't. He +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_673" id="Page_673">[Pg 673]</a></span> +said he would make him take a year off and think about it, and +that's just what he has done. It won't hurt him. I don't care +if it does. Look at the way he has made me suffer."</p> + +<p>She felt exceedingly bitter toward Eugene, and was rejoicing +that at last she was beginning to have her innings.</p> + +<p>"Mama," said Suzanne, "I am never going to forgive you +for this. You are acting horribly—I will wait, but it will come +to the same thing in the end. I am going to have him."</p> + +<p>"I don't care what you do after a year," said Mrs. Dale cheerfully +and subtly. "If you will just wait that long and give +yourself time to think and still want to marry him, you can +do so. He can probably get a divorce in that time, anyhow." +She did not mean what she was saying, but any argument was +good for the situation, if it delayed matters.</p> + +<p>"But I don't know that I want to marry him," insisted Suzanne, +doggedly, harking back to her original idea. "That isn't +my theory of it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," replied Mrs. Dale complaisantly, "you will know +better what to think of that after a year. I don't want to coerce +you, but I'm not going to have our home and happiness +broken up in this way without turning a hand, and without +your stopping to think about it. You owe it to me—to all these +years I have cared for you, to show me some consideration. A +year won't hurt you. It won't hurt him. You will find out +then whether he really loves you or not. This may just be +a passing fancy. He has had other women before you. He +may have others after you. He may go back to Mrs. Witla. It +doesn't make any difference what he tells you. You ought to +test him before you break up his home and mine. If he really +loves you, he will agree readily enough. Do this for me, Suzanne, +and I will never cross your path any more. If you will +wait a year you can do anything you choose. I can only hope +you won't go to him without going as his wife, but if you insist, +I will hush the matter up as best I can. Write to him and +tell him that you have decided that you both ought to wait a +year. You don't need to see him any more. It will just stir +things all up afresh. If you don't see him, but just write, it +will be better for him, too. He won't feel so badly as he will +if you see him again and go all over the ground once more."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dale was terribly afraid of Eugene's influence, but she +could not accomplish this.</p> + +<p>"I won't do that," said Suzanne, "I won't do it. I'm going +back to New York, that's all there is about it!" Mrs. Dale +finally yielded that much. She had to.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_674" id="Page_674">[Pg 674]</a></span> +There was a letter from Suzanne after three days, saying that +she couldn't answer his letter in full, but that she was coming +back to New York and would see him, and subsequently a +meeting between Suzanne and Eugene at Daleview in her +mother's presence—Dr. Woolley and Mr. Pitcairn were in another +part of the house at the time—in which the proposals were +gone over anew.</p> + +<p>Eugene had motored down after Mrs. Dale's demands had +been put before him in the gloomiest and yet more feverish +frame of mind in which he had ever been,—gloomy because of +heavy forebodings of evil and his own dark financial condition—while +inspirited at other moments by thoughts of some splendid, +eager revolt on the part of Suzanne, of her rushing to him, defying +all, declaring herself violently and convincingly, and so +coming off a victor with him. His faith in her love was still +so great.</p> + +<p>The night was one of those cold October ones with a steely +sky and a sickle moon, harbinger of frost, newly seen in the west, +and pointed stars thickening overhead. As he sat in his car on +the Staten Island ferry boat, he could see a long line of southward +bound ducks, homing to those reedy marshes which Bryant +had in mind when he wrote "To a Waterfowl." They were +honking as they went, their faint "quacks" coming back on the +thin air and making him feel desperately lonely and bereft. +When he reached Daleview, speeding past October trees, and +entered the great drawing-room where a fire was blazing and +where once in spring he had danced with Suzanne, his heart +leaped up, for he was to see her, and the mere sight of her was +as a tonic to his fevered body—a cool drink to a thirsting man.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dale stared at Eugene defiantly when he came, but +Suzanne welcomed him to her embrace. "Oh!" she exclaimed, +holding him close for a few moments and breathing feverishly. +There was complete silence for a time.</p> + +<p>"Mama insists, Eugene," she said after a time, "that we +ought to wait a year, and I think since there is such a fuss +about it, that perhaps it might be just as well. We may have +been just a little hasty, don't you think? I have told mama +what I think about her action in going to Mr. Colfax, but she +doesn't seem to care. She is threatening now to have me adjudged +insane. A year won't make any real difference since +I am coming to you, anyhow, will it? But I thought I ought +to tell you this in person, to ask you about it"—she paused, looking +into his eyes.</p> + +<p>"I thought we settled all this up in St. Jacques?" said Eugene, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_675" id="Page_675">[Pg 675]</a></span> +turning to Mrs. Dale, but experiencing a sinking sensation +of fear.</p> + +<p>"We did, all except the matter of not seeing her. I think it +is highly inadvisable that you two should be together. It isn't +possible the way things stand. People will talk. Your wife's +condition has to be adjusted. You can't be running around +with her and a child coming to you. I want Suzanne to go +away for a year where she can be calm and think it all out, +and I want you to let her. If she still insists that she wants +you after that, and will not listen to the logic of the situation +in regard to marriage, then I propose to wash my hands +of the whole thing. She may have her inheritance. She may +have you if she wants you. If you have come to your senses +by that time, as I hope you will have, you will get a divorce, +or go back to Mrs. Witla, or do whatever you do in a sensible +way."</p> + +<p>She did not want to incense Eugene here, but she was very +bitter.</p> + +<p>Eugene merely frowned.</p> + +<p>"Is this your decision, Suzanne, too?" he asked wearily.</p> + +<p>"I think mama is terrible, Eugene," replied Suzanne evasively, +or perhaps as a reply to her mother. "You and I have +planned our lives, and we will work them out. We have been +a little selfish, now that I think of it. I think a year won't +do any harm, perhaps, if it will stop all this fussing. I can +wait, if you can."</p> + +<p>An inexpressible sense of despair fell upon Eugene at the +sound of this, a sadness so deep that he could scarcely speak. +He could not believe that it was really Suzanne who was saying +that to him. Willing to wait a year! She who had declared so +defiantly that she would not. It would do no harm? To +think that life, fate, her mother were triumphing over him in this +fashion, after all. What then was the significance of the black-bearded +men he had seen so often of late? Why had he been +finding horseshoes? Was fate such a liar? Did life in its dark, +subtle chambers lay lures and traps for men? His position gone, +his Blue Sea venture involved in an indefinite delay out of +which might come nothing, Suzanne going for a whole year, +perhaps for ever, most likely so, for what could not her mother +do with her in a whole year, having her alone? Angela alienated—a +child approaching. What a climax!</p> + +<p>"Is this really your decision, Suzanne?" he asked, sadly, a +mist of woe clouding his whole being.</p> + +<p>"I think it ought to be, perhaps, Eugene," she replied, still +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_676" id="Page_676">[Pg 676]</a></span> +evasively. "It's very trying. I will be faithful to you, though. +I promise you that I will not change. Don't you think we can +wait a year? We can, can't we?"</p> + +<p>"A whole year without seeing you, Suzanne?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it will pass, Eugene."</p> + +<p>"A whole year?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Eugene."</p> + +<p>"I have nothing more to say, Mrs. Dale," he said, turning to +her mother solemnly, a sombre, gloomy light in his eye, his +heart hardening towards Suzanne for the moment. To think she +should treat him so—throw him down, as he phrased it. Well, +such was life. "You win," he added. "It has been a terrible +experience for me. A terrible passion. I love this girl. I love +her with my whole heart. Sometimes I have vaguely suspected +that she might not know."</p> + +<p>He turned to Suzanne, and for the first time he thought that +he did not see there that true understanding which he had +fancied had been there all the time. Could fate have been lying +to him also in this? Was he mistaken in this, and had he been +following a phantom lure of beauty? Was Suzanne but another +trap to drag him down to his old nothingness? God! +The prediction of the Astrologer of a second period of defeat +after seven or eight years came back.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Suzanne!" he said, simply and unconsciously dramatic. +"Do you really love me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Eugene," she replied.</p> + +<p>"Really?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>He held out his arms and she came, but for the life of him +he could not dispel this terrible doubt. It took the joy out of +his kiss—as if he had been dreaming a dream of something perfect +in his arms and had awaked to find it nothing—as if life +had sent him a Judas in the shape of a girl to betray him.</p> + +<p>"Do let us end this, Mr. Witla," said Mrs. Dale coldly, "there +is nothing to be gained by delaying. Let us end it for a year, +and then talk."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Suzanne," he continued, as mournful as a passing bell, +"come to the door with me."</p> + +<p>"No, the servants are there," put in Mrs. Dale. "Please +make your farewells here."</p> + +<p>"Mama," said Suzanne angrily and defiantly, moved by the +pity of it, "I won't have you talk this way. Leave the room, +or I shall go to the door with him and further. Leave us, +please."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_677" id="Page_677">[Pg 677]</a></span> +Mrs. Dale went out.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Flower Face," said Eugene pathetically, "I can't believe +it. I can't. I can't! This has been managed wrong. I +should have taken you long ago. So it is to end this way. A +year, a whole year, and how much longer?"</p> + +<p>"Only a year," she insisted. "Only a year, believe me, can't +you? I won't change, I won't!"</p> + +<p>He shook his head, and Suzanne as before took his face in +her hands. She kissed his cheeks, his lips, his hair.</p> + +<p>"Believe me, Eugene. I seem cold. You don't know what +I have gone through. It is nothing but trouble everywhere. +Let us wait a year. I promise you I will come to you. I swear. +One year. Can't we wait one year?"</p> + +<p>"A year," he said. "A year. I can't believe it. Where will +we all be in a year? Oh, Flower Face, Myrtle Bloom, Divine +Fire. I can't stand this. I can't. It's too much. I'm the +one who is paying now. Yes, I pay."</p> + +<p>He took her face and looked at it, all its soft, enticing +features, her eyes, her lips, her cheeks, her hair.</p> + +<p>"I thought, I thought," he murmured.</p> + +<p>Suzanne only stroked the back of his head with her hands.</p> + +<p>"Well, if I must, I must," he said.</p> + +<p>He turned away, turned back to embrace her, turned again +and then, without looking back, walked out into the hall. Mrs. +Dale was there waiting.</p> + +<p>"Good night, Mrs. Dale," he said gloomily.</p> + +<p>"Good night, Mr. Witla," she replied frigidly, but with a +sense of something tragic in her victory at that.</p> + +<p>He took his hat and walked out.</p> + +<p>Outside the bright October stars were in evidence by millions. +The Bay and Harbor of New York were as wonderfully +lit as on that night when Suzanne came to him after +the evening at Fort Wadsworth on her own porch. He recalled +the spring odours, the wonderful feel of youth and love—the +hope that was springing then. Now, it was five or six months +later, and all that romance was gone. Suzanne, sweet voice, +accomplished shape, light whisper, delicate touch. Gone. All +gone—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Faded the flower and all its budded charms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faded the sight of beauty from my eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faded the shape of beauty from my arms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faded the voice, warmth, whiteness, paradise."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Gone were those bright days in which they had ridden together, +dined together, walked in sylvan places beside their car. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_678" id="Page_678">[Pg 678]</a></span> +A little way from here he first played tennis with her. A +little way from here he had come so often to meet her clandestinely. +Now she was gone—gone.</p> + +<p>He had come in his car, but he really did not want it. Life +was accursed. His own was a failure. To think that all his +fine dreams should crumble this way. Shortly he would have +no car, no home on Riverside Drive, no position, no anything.</p> + +<p>"God, I can't stand this!" he exclaimed, and a little later—"By +God, I can't! I can't!"</p> + +<p>He dismissed his car at the Battery, telling his chauffeur to +take it to the garage, and walking gloomily through all the tall +dark streets of lower New York. Here was Broadway where +he had often been with Colfax and Winfield. Here was this +great world of finance around Wall Street in which he had +vaguely hoped to shine. Now these buildings were high and +silent—receding from him in a way. Overhead were the clear +bright stars, cool and refreshing, but without meaning to him +now. How was he to settle it? How adjust it? A year! +She would never come back—never! It was all gone. A bright +cloud faded. A mirage dissolved into its native nothingness. +Position, distinction, love, home—where were they? Yet a little +while and all these things would be as though they had never +been. Hell! Damn! Curse the brooding fates that could thus +plot to destroy him!</p> + +<p>Back in her room in Daleview Suzanne had locked herself +in. She was not without a growing sense of the tragedy of it. +She stared at the floor, recalled his face.</p> + +<p>"Oh, oh," she said, and for the first time in her life felt +as though she could cry from a great heartache—but she could +not.</p> + +<p>And in Riverside Drive was another woman brooding, lonely, +despondently, desperately, over the nature of the tragedy that +was upon her. How were things to be adjusted? How was +she to be saved? Oh! oh! her life, her child! If Eugene could +be made to understand! If he could only be made to see!</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_679" id="Page_679">[Pg 679]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_XXIII" id="III_CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + +<p>During the weeks which followed Colfax's talk with him, +and Suzanne's decision, which amounted practically to a +dismissal, Eugene tried to wind up his affairs at the United +Magazines Corporation, as well as straighten out his relationship +with Angela. It was no easy task. Colfax helped him +considerably by suggesting that he should say he was going +abroad for the company, for the time being, and should make +it appear imperative that he go at once. Eugene called in +his department heads, and told them what Colfax suggested, +but added that his own interests elsewhere, of which they +knew, or suspected, were now so involved that he might possibly +not return, or only for a little while at best. He put forward +an air of great sufficiency and self-satisfaction, considering +the difficulties he was encountering, and the thing passed +off as a great wonder, but with no suspicion of any immediate +misfortune attaching to him. As a matter of fact, it was assumed +that he was destined to a much higher estate—the control +of his private interests.</p> + +<p>In his talk with Angela he made it perfectly plain that he was +going to leave her. He would not make any pretence about this. +She ought to know. He had lost his position; he was not going +to Suzanne soon; he wanted her to leave him, or he would +leave her. She should go to Wisconsin or Europe or anywhere, +for the time being, and leave him to fight this thing out +alone. He was not indispensable to her in her condition. +There were nurses she could hire—maternity hospitals where +she could stay. He would be willing to pay for that. He +would never live with her any more, if he could help it—he +did not want to. The sight of her in the face of his longing +for Suzanne would be a wretched commentary—a reproach +and a sore shame. No, he would leave her and perhaps, possibly, +sometime when she obtained more real fighting courage, +Suzanne might come to him. She ought to. Angela might +die. Yes, brutal as it may seem, he thought this. She might +die, and then—and then—— No thought of the child that +might possibly live, even if she died, held him. He could not +understand that, could not grasp it as yet. It was a mere abstraction.</p> + +<p>Eugene took a room in an apartment house in Kingsbridge, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_680" id="Page_680">[Pg 680]</a></span> +where he was not known for the time being, and where he was +not likely to be seen. Then there was witnessed that dreary +spectacle of a man whose life has apparently come down in a +heap, whose notions, emotions, tendencies and feelings are confused +and disappointed by some untoward result. If Eugene had +been ten or fifteen years older, the result might have been suicide. +A shade of difference in temperament might have resulted +in death, murder, anything. As it was, he sat blankly at times +among the ruins of his dreams speculating on what Suzanne was +doing, on what Angela was doing, on what people were saying +and thinking, on how he could gather up the broken pieces of +his life and make anything out of them at all.</p> + +<p>The one saving element in it all was his natural desire to +work, which, although it did not manifest itself at first, by +degrees later on began to come back. He must do something, +if it was not anything more than to try to paint again. He +could not be running around looking for a position. There was +nothing for him in connection with Blue Sea. He had to work +to support Angela, of whom he was now free, if he did not want +to be mean; and as he viewed it all in the light of what had +happened, he realized that he had been bad enough. She had +not been temperamentally suited to him, but she had tried to be. +Fundamentally it was not her fault. How was he to work and +live and be anything at all from now on?</p> + +<p>There were long arguments over this situation between him +and Angela—pleas, tears, a crashing downward of everything +which was worth while in life to Angela, and then, in spite of +her pathetic situation, separation. Because it was November +and the landlord had heard of Eugene's financial straits, or +rather reverse of fortune, it was possible to relinquish the +lease, which had several years to run, and the apartment was +given up. Angela, distraught, scarcely knew which way to +turn. It was one of those pitiless, scandalous situations in life +which sicken us of humanity. She ran helplessly to Eugene's +sister, Myrtle, who first tried to conceal the scandal and tragedy +from her husband, but afterward confessed and deliberated as +to what should be done. Frank Bangs, who was a practical +man, as well as firm believer in Christian Science because of his +wife's to him miraculous healing from a tumor several years +before, endeavored to apply his understanding of the divine +science—the omnipresence of good to this situation.</p> + +<p>"There is no use worrying about it, Myrtle," he said to his +wife, who, in spite of her faith, was temporarily shaken and +frightened by the calamities which seemingly had overtaken +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_681" id="Page_681">[Pg 681]</a></span> +her brother. "It's another evidence of the workings of mortal +mind. It is real enough in its idea of itself, but nothing in +God's grace. It will come out all right, if we think right. +Angela can go to a maternity hospital for the time being, or +whenever she's ready. We may be able to persuade Eugene to +do the right thing."</p> + +<p>Angela was persuaded to consult a Christian Science practitioner, +and Myrtle went to the woman who had cured her +and begged her to use her influence, or rather her knowledge +of science to effect a rehabilitation for her brother. She was told +that this could not be done without his wish, but that she would +pray for him. If he could be persuaded to come of his own +accord, seeking spiritual guidance or divine aid, it would be a +different matter. In spite of his errors, and to her they seemed +palpable and terrible enough at present, her faith would not +allow her to reproach him, and besides she loved him. He was +a strong man, she said, always strange. He and Angela might +not have been well mated. But all could be righted in <i>Science</i>. +There was a dreary period of packing and storing for Angela, +in which she stood about amid the ruins of her previous comfort +and distinction and cried over the things that had seemed so +lovely to her. Here were all Eugene's things, his paintings, +his canes, his pipes, his clothes. She cried over a handsome +silk dressing gown in which he had been wont to lounge about—it +smacked so much, curiously, of older and happier days. There +were hard, cold and determined conferences also in which some +of Angela's old fighting, ruling spirit would come back, but not +for long. She was beaten now, and she knew it—wrecked. +The roar of a cold and threatening sea was in her ears.</p> + +<p>It should be said here that at one time Suzanne truly imagined +she loved Eugene. It must be remembered, however, that she +was moved to affection for him by the wonder of a personality +that was hypnotic to her. There was something about the personality +of Eugene that was subversive of conventionality. He +approached, apparently a lamb of conventional feelings and appearances; +whereas, inwardly, he was a ravening wolf of indifference +to convention. All the organized modes and methods +of life were a joke to him. He saw through to something that +was not material life at all, but spiritual, or say immaterial, of +which all material things were a shadow. What did the great +forces of life care whether this system which was maintained here +with so much show and fuss was really maintained at all or not? +How could they care? He once stood in a morgue and saw human +bodies apparently dissolving into a kind of chemical mush +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_682" id="Page_682">[Pg 682]</a></span> +and he had said to himself then how ridiculous it was to assume +that life meant anything much to the forces which were doing +these things. Great chemical and physical forces were at work, +which permitted, accidentally, perhaps, some little shadow-play, +which would soon pass. But, oh, its presence—how sweet it +was!</p> + +<p>Naturally Suzanne was cast down for the time being, for she +was capable of suffering just as Eugene was. But having given +her word to wait, she decided to stick to that, although she had +not stuck to her other. She was between nineteen and twenty +now—Eugene was nearing forty. Life could still soothe her in +spite of herself. In Eugene's case it could only hurt the more. Mrs. +Dale went abroad with Suzanne and the other children, visiting +with people who could not possibly have heard, or ever would +except in a vague, uncertain way for that matter. If it became +evident, as she thought it might, that there was to be a scandal, +Mrs. Dale proposed to say that Eugene had attempted to establish +an insidious hold on her child in defiance of reason and +honor, and that she had promptly broken it up, shielding Suzanne, +almost without the latter's knowledge. It was plausible +enough.</p> + +<p>What was he to do now? how live? was his constant thought. +Go into a wee, small apartment in some back street with Angela, +where he and she, if he decided to stay with her, could find a +pretty outlook for a little money and live? Never. Admit that +he had lost Suzanne for a year at least, if not permanently, in +this suddenly brusque way? Impossible. Go and confess that +he had made a mistake, which he still did not feel to be true? +or that he was sorry and would like to patch things up as before? +Never. He was not sorry. He did not propose to live +with Angela in the old way any more. He was sick of her, +or rather of that atmosphere of repression and convention in +which he had spent so many years. He was sick of the idea +of having a child thrust on him against his will. He would +not do it. She had no business to put herself in this position. +He would die first. His insurance was paid up to date. He +had carried during the last five years a policy for something +over eighteen thousand in her favor, and if he died she would +get that. He wished he might. It would be some atonement +for the hard knocks which fate had recently given her, but he +did not wish to live with her any more. Never, never, child or +no child. Go back to the apartment after this night—how +could he? If he did, he must pretend that nothing had happened—at +least, nothing untoward between him and Suzanne. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_683" id="Page_683">[Pg 683]</a></span> +She might come back. Might! Might! Ah, the mockery of +it—to leave him in this way when she really could have come +to him—should have—oh, the bitterness of this thrust of fate!</p> + +<p>There was a day when the furniture was sent away and +Angela went to live with Myrtle for the time being. There +was another tearful hour when she left New York to visit her +sister Marietta at Racine, where they now were, intending to +tell her before she came away, as a profound secret, the terrible +tragedy which had overtaken her. Eugene went to the train +with her, but with no desire to be there. Angela's one thought, +in all this, was that somehow time would effect a reconciliation. +If she could just wait long enough; if she could keep +her peace and live and not die, and not give him a divorce, he +might eventually recover his sanity and come to think of her as +at least worth living with. The child might do it, its coming +would be something that would affect him surely. He was +bound to see her through it. She told herself she was willing +and delighted to go through this ordeal, if only it brought him +back to her. This child—what a reception it was to receive, +unwanted, dishonored before its arrival, ignored; if by any +chance she should die, what would he do about it? Surely he +would not desert it. Already in her nervous, melancholy way, +she was yearning toward it.</p> + +<p>"Tell me," she said to Eugene one day, when they were alternately +quarreling and planning, "if the baby comes, and I—and +I—die, you won't absolutely desert it? You'll take it, won't +you?"</p> + +<p>"I'll take it," he replied. "Don't worry. I'm not an absolute +dog. I didn't want it. It's a trick on your part, but I'll +take it. I don't want you to die. You know that."</p> + +<p>Angela thought if she lived that she would be willing to go +through a period of poverty and depression with him again, if +only she could live to see him sane and moral and even semi-successful. +The baby might do it. He had never had a child. +And much as he disliked the idea now, still, when it was here, +he might change his mind. If only she could get through that +ordeal. She was so old—her muscles so set. Meanwhile she +consulted a lawyer, a doctor, a fortune teller, an astrologer and +the Christian Science practitioner to whom Myrtle had recommended +her. It was an aimless, ridiculous combination, but she +was badly torn up, and any port seemed worth while in this +storm.</p> + +<p>The doctor told her that her muscles were rather set, but +with the regimen he prescribed, he was satisfied she would be +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_684" id="Page_684">[Pg 684]</a></span> +all right. The astrologer told her that she and Eugene were +fated for this storm by the stars—Eugene, particularly, and that +he might recover, in which case, he would be successful again +in a measure. As for herself, he shook his head. Yes, she would +be all right. He was lying. The fortune teller laid the cards +to see if Eugene would ever marry Suzanne, and Angela was +momentarily gratified to learn that she would never enter his +life—this from a semi-cadaverous, but richly dressed and bejeweled +lady whose ante-room was filled with women whose +troubles were of the heart, the loss of money, the enmity of +rivals, or the dangers of childbirth. The Christian Science practitioner +declared all to be divine mind—omnipotent, omnipresent, +omniscient good, and that evil could not exist in it—only the +illusion of it. "It is real enough to those who give it their +faith and believe," said the counselor, "but without substance +or meaning to those who know themselves to be a perfect, indestructible +reflection of an idea in God. God is a principle. +When the nature of that principle is realized and yourself as +a part of it, evil falls away as the troublesome dream that it +is. It has no reality." She assured her that no evil could befall +her in the true understanding of Science. God is love.</p> + +<p>The lawyer told her, after listening to a heated story of Eugene's +misconduct, that under the laws of the State of New +York, in which these misdeeds were committed, she was not entitled +to anything more than a very small fraction of her husband's +estate, if he had any. Two years was the shortest time +in which a divorce could be secured. He would advise her to +sue if she could establish a suitable condition of affluence on +Eugene's part, not otherwise. Then he charged her twenty-five +dollars for this advice.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_685" id="Page_685">[Pg 685]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_XXIV" id="III_CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + +<p>To those who have followed a routine or system of living in +this world—who have, by slow degrees and persistent effort, +built up a series of habits, tastes, refinements, emotions and +methods of conduct, and have, in addition, achieved a certain +distinction and position, so that they have said to one "Go!" and +he goes, and to another "Come!" and he comes, who have enjoyed +without stint or reserve, let or hindrance, those joys of +perfect freedom of action, and that ease and deliberation which +comes with the presence of comparative wealth, social position, +and comforts, the narrowing that comes with the lack of means, +the fear of public opinion, or the shame of public disclosure, is +one of the most pathetic, discouraging and terrifying things that +can be imagined. These are the hours that try men's souls. +The man who sits in a seat of the mighty and observes a world +that is ruled by a superior power, a superior force of which he +by some miraculous generosity of fate has been chosen apparently +as a glittering instrument, has no conception of the feelings of +the man who, cast out of his dignities and emoluments, sits in +the dark places of the world among the ashes of his splendor +and meditates upon the glory of his bygone days. There is a +pathos here which passes the conception of the average man. +The prophets of the Old Testament discerned it clearly enough, +for they were forever pronouncing the fate of those whose follies +were in opposition to the course of righteousness and who +were made examples of by a beneficent and yet awful power. +"Thus saith the Lord: Because thou hast lifted thyself up +against the God of Heaven, and they have brought the vessels +of His house before thee, and thou and thy Lords, thy wives +and concubines, have drank wine in them, and thou hast praised +the gods of silver and gold, of brass, iron, wood, and stone...God +hath numbered thy Kingdom and finished it. Thou +art weighed in the balance and found wanting; thy Kingdom is +divided and given to the Medes and the Persians."</p> + +<p>Eugene was in a minor way an exemplification of this seeming +course of righteousness. His Kingdom, small as it was, was +truly at an end. Our social life is so organized, so closely knit +upon a warp of instinct, that we almost always instinctively flee +that which does not accord with custom, usage, preconceived +notions and tendencies—those various things which we in our +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_686" id="Page_686">[Pg 686]</a></span> +littleness of vision conceive to be dominant. Who does not run +from the man who may because of his deeds be condemned of +that portion of the public which we chance to respect? Walk +he ever so proudly, carry himself with what circumspectness he +may, at the first breath of suspicion all are off—friends, relations, +business acquaintances, the whole social fabric in toto. +"Unclean!" is the cry. "Unclean! Unclean!" And it does +not matter how inwardly shabby we may be, what whited sepulchres +shining to the sun, we run quickly. It seems a tribute +to that providence which shapes our ends, which continues perfect +in tendency however vilely we may overlay its brightness +with the rust of our mortal corruption, however imitative we +may be.</p> + +<p>Angela had gone home by now to see her father, who was now +quite old and feeble, and also down to Alexandria to see Eugene's +mother, who was also badly deteriorated in health.</p> + +<p>"I keep hoping against hope that your attitude will change +toward me," wrote Angela. "Let me hear from you if +you will from time to time. It can't make any difference in +your course. A word won't hurt, and I am so lonely. Oh, +Eugene, if I could only die—if I only could!" No word +as to the true state of things was given at either place. Angela +pretended that Eugene had long been sick of his commercial +career and was, owing to untoward conditions in the Colfax +Company, glad to return to his art for a period. He might +come home, but he was very busy. So she lied. But she wrote +Myrtle fully of her hopes and, more particularly, her fears.</p> + +<p>There were a number of conferences between Eugene and +Myrtle, for the latter, because of their early companionship, +was very fond of him. His traits, the innocent ones, were as +sweet to her as when they were boy and girl together. She +sought him out in his lovely room at Kingsbridge.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you come and stay with us, Eugene?" she +pleaded. "We have a comfortable apartment. You can have +that big room next to ours. It has a nice view. Frank likes +you. We have listened to Angela, and I think you are wrong, +but you are my brother, and I want you to come. Everything +is coming out right. God will straighten it out. Frank and I +are praying for you. There is no evil, you know, according to +the way we think. Now"—and she smiled her old-time girlish +smile—"don't stay up here alone. Wouldn't you rather be +with me?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'd like to be there well enough, Myrtle, but I can't do +it now. I don't want to. I have to think. I want to be alone. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_687" id="Page_687">[Pg 687]</a></span> +I haven't settled what I want to do. I think I will try my +hand at some pictures. I have a little money and all the time +I want now. I see there are some nice houses over there on +the hill that might have a room with a north window that would +serve as a studio. I want to think this thing out first. I don't +know what I'll do."</p> + +<p>He had now that new pain in his groin, which had come to +him first when her mother first carried Suzanne off to Canada +and he was afraid that he should never see her any more. It +was a real pain, sharp, physical, like a cut with a knife. He +wondered how it was that it could be physical and down there. +His eyes hurt him and his finger tips. Wasn't that queer, too?</p> + +<p>"Why don't you go and see a Christian Science practitioner?" +asked Myrtle. "It won't do you any harm. You don't need +to believe. Let me get you the book and you can read it. See +if you don't think there is something in it. There you go smiling +sarcastically, but, Eugene, I can't tell you what it hasn't +done for us. It's done everything—that's just all. I'm a different +person from what I was five years ago, and so is Frank. +You know how sick I was?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you go and see Mrs. Johns? You needn't tell +her anything unless you want to. She has performed some perfectly +wonderful cures."</p> + +<p>"What can Mrs. Johns do for me?" asked Eugene bitterly, +his lip set in an ironic mould. "Cure me of gloom? Make my +heart cease to ache? What's the use of talking? I ought to +quit the whole thing." He stared at the floor.</p> + +<p>"She can't, but God can. Oh, Eugene, I know how you feel! +Please go. It can't do you any harm. I'll bring you the book +tomorrow. Will you read it if I bring it to you?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Eugene, please for my sake."</p> + +<p>"What good will it do? I don't believe in it. I can't. I'm +too intelligent to take any stock in that rot."</p> + +<p>"Eugene, how you talk! You'll change your mind some time. +I know how you think. But read it anyhow. Will you please? +Promise me you will. I shouldn't ask. It isn't the way, but I +want you to look into it. Go and see Mrs. Johns."</p> + +<p>Eugene refused. Of asinine things this seemed the silliest. +Christian Science! Christian rot! He knew what to do. His +conscience was dictating that he give up Suzanne and return to +Angela in her hour of need—to his coming child, for the time +being anyhow, but this awful lure of beauty, of personality, of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_688" id="Page_688">[Pg 688]</a></span> +love—how it tugged at his soul! Oh, those days with Suzanne +in the pretty watering and dining places about New York, those +hours of bliss when she looked so beautiful! How could he get +over that? How give up the memory? She was so sweet. Her +beauty so rare. Every thought of her hurt. It hurt so badly +that most of the time he dared not think—must, perforce, walk +or work or stir restlessly about agonized for fear he should +think too much. Oh, life; oh, hell!</p> + +<p>The intrusion of Christian Science into his purview just now +was due, of course, to the belief in and enthusiasm for that +religious idea on the part of Myrtle and her husband. As at +Lourdes and St. Anne de Beau Pré and other miracle-working +centres, where hope and desire and religious enthusiasm for the +efficacious intervention of a superior and non-malicious force +intervenes, there had occurred in her case an actual cure from a +very difficult and complicated physical ailment. She had been +suffering from a tumor, nervous insomnia, indigestion, constipation +and a host of allied ills, which had apparently refused to +yield to ordinary medical treatment. She was in a very bad way +mentally and physically at the time the Christian Science textbook, +"Science and Health, with Key to the Scriptures," by Mrs. +Eddy, was put into her hands. While attempting to read it in +a hopeless, helpless spirit, she was instantly cured—that is, the +idea that she was well took possession of her, and not long after +she really was so. She threw all her medicines, of which there +was quite a store, into the garbage pail, eschewed doctors, began +to read the Christian Science literature, and attend the +Christian Science church nearest her apartment, and was soon +involved in its subtle metaphysical interpretation of mortal life. +Into this faith, her husband, who loved her very much, had +followed, for what was good enough for her and would cure +her was good enough for him. He soon seized on its spiritual +significance with great vigor and became, if anything, a better +exponent and interpreter of the significant thought than was she +herself.</p> + +<p>Those who know anything of Christian Science know that its +main tenet is that God is a principle, not a personality understandable +or conceivable from the mortal or sensory side of life +(which latter is an illusion), and that man (spiritually speaking) +in His image and likeness. Man is not God or any part of Him. +He is an idea in God, and, as such, as perfect and indestructible +and undisturbably harmonious as an idea in God or principle +must be. To those not metaphysically inclined, this is usually +dark and without significance, but to those spiritually or metaphysically +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_689" id="Page_689">[Pg 689]</a></span> +minded it comes as a great light. Matter becomes a +built-up set or combination of illusions, which may have evolved +or not as one chooses, but which unquestionably have been built +up from nothing or an invisible, intangible idea, and have no +significance beyond the faith or credence, which those who are at +base spiritual give them. Deny them—know them to be what +they are—and they are gone.</p> + +<p>To Eugene, who at this time was in a great state of mental +doldrums—blue, dispirited, disheartened, inclined to see only +evil and destructive forces—this might well come with peculiar +significance, if it came at all. He was one of those men who +from their birth are metaphysically inclined. All his life he +had been speculating on the subtleties of mortal existence, reading +Spencer, Kant, Spinoza, at odd moments, and particularly +such men as Darwin, Huxley, Tyndall, Lord Avebury, Alfred +Russel Wallace, and latterly Sir Oliver Lodge and Sir William +Crookes, trying to find out by the inductive, naturalistic method +just what life was. He had secured inklings at times, he thought, +by reading such things as Emerson's "Oversoul," "The Meditations +of Marcus Aurelius," and Plato. God was a spirit, he +thought, as Christ had said to the woman at the well in Samaria, +but whether this spirit concerned itself with mortal affairs, +where was so much suffering and contention, was another +matter. Personally he had never believed so—or been at all +sure. He had always been moved by the Sermon on the Mount; +the beauty of Christ's attitude toward the troubles of the world, +the wonder of the faith of the old prophets in insisting that God +is God, that there are no other Gods before him, and that he +would repay iniquity with disfavor. Whether he did or not was +an open question with him. This question of sin had always +puzzled him—original sin. Were there laws which ante-dated +human experience, which were in God—The Word—before it +was made flesh? If so, what were these laws? Did they concern +matrimony—some spiritual union which was older than +life itself? Did they concern stealing? What was stealing +outside of life? Where was it before man began? Or did it +only begin with man? Ridiculous! It must relate to something +in chemistry and physics, which had worked out in life. A +sociologist—a great professor in one of the colleges had once +told him that he did not believe in success or failure, sin, or a +sense of self-righteousness except as they were related to built-up +instincts in the race—instincts related solely to the self-preservation +and the evolution of the race. Beyond that was nothing. +Spiritual morality? Bah! He knew nothing about it.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_690" id="Page_690">[Pg 690]</a></span> +Such rank agnosticism could not but have had its weight with +Eugene. He was a doubter ever. All life, as I have said before, +went to pieces under his scalpel, and he could not put it together +again logically, once he had it cut up. People talked +about the sanctity of marriage, but, heavens, marriage was an +evolution! He knew that. Someone had written a two-volume +treatise on it—"The History of Human Marriage," or something +like that and in it animals were shown to have mated +only for so long as it took to rear the young, to get them to the +point at which they could take care of themselves. And wasn't +this really what was at the basis of modern marriage? He had +read in this history, if he recalled aright, that the only reason +marriage had come to be looked upon as sacred, and for life, +was the length of time it took to rear the human young. It took +so long that the parents were old, safely so, before the children +were launched into the world. Then why separate?</p> + +<p>But it was the duty of everybody to raise children.</p> + +<p>Ah! there had been the trouble. He had been bothered by +that. The home centered around that. Children! Race reproduction! +Pulling this wagon of evolution! Was every man +who did not inevitably damned? Was the race spirit against +him? Look at the men and women who didn't—who couldn't. +Thousands and thousands. And those who did always thought +those who didn't were wrong. The whole American spirit he +had always felt to be intensely set in this direction—the idea of +having children and rearing them, a conservative work-a-day +spirit. Look at his father. And yet other men were so shrewd +that they preyed on this spirit, moving factories to where this +race spirit was the most active, so that they could hire the children +cheaply, and nothing happened to them, or did something +happen?</p> + +<p>However, Myrtle continued to plead with him to look into +this new interpretation of the Scriptures, claiming that it was +true, that it would bring him into an understanding of spirit +which would drive away all these mortal ills, that it was above +all mortal conception—spiritual over all, and so he thought +about that. She told him that if it was right that he should +cease to live with Angela, it would come to pass, and that if it +was not, it would not; but anyhow and in any event in this +truth there would be peace and happiness to him. He should +do what was right ("seek ye first the Kingdom of God"), and +then all these things would be added unto him.</p> + +<p>And it seemed terribly silly at first to Eugene for him to be +listening at all to any such talk, but later it was not so much +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_691" id="Page_691">[Pg 691]</a></span> +so. There were long arguments and appeals, breakfast and +dinner, or Sunday dinners at Myrtle's apartment, arguments +with Bangs and Myrtle concerning every phase of the Science +teaching, some visits to the Wednesday experience and testimony +meetings of their church, at which Eugene heard statements +concerning marvelous cures which he could scarcely believe, +and so on. So long as the testimonies confined themselves +to complaints which might be due to nervous imagination, he was +satisfied that their cures were possibly due to religious enthusiasm, +which dispelled their belief in something which they did +not have, but when they were cured of cancer, consumption, +locomotor-ataxia, goitres, shortened limbs, hernia—he did not +wish to say they were liars, they seemed too sincere to do that, +but he fancied they were simply mistaken. How could they, or +this belief, or whatever it was, cure cancer? Good Lord! He +went on disbelieving in this way, and refusing also to read the +book until one Wednesday evening when he happened to be at +the Fourth Church of Christ Scientist in New York that a man +stood up beside him in his own pew and said:</p> + +<p>"I wish to testify to the love and mercy of God in my case, +for I was hopelessly afflicted not so very long ago and one of +the vilest men I think it is possible to be. I was raised in a +family where the Bible was read night and morning—my father +was a hidebound Presbyterian—and I was so sickened by the +manner in which it was forced down my throat and the inconsistencies +which I thought I saw existing between Christian +principle and practice, even in my own home, that I said to myself +I would conform as long as I was in my father's house +and eating his bread, but when I got out I would do as I +pleased. I was in my father's house after that a number of +years, until I was seventeen, and then I went to a large city, +Cincinnati, but the moment I was away and free I threw aside +all my so-called religious training and set out to do what I +thought was the most pleasant and gratifying thing for me to do. +I wanted to drink, and I did, though I was really never a very +successful drinker." Eugene smiled. "I wanted to gamble, and +I did, but I was never a very clever gambler. Still I did gamble +a bit. My great weakness was women, and here I hope none +will be offended, I know they will not be, for there may be +others who need my testimony badly. I pursued women as I +would any other lure. They were really all that I desired—their +bodies. My lust was terrible. It was such a dominant +thought with me that I could not look at any good-looking +woman except, as the Bible says, to lust after her. I was vile. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_692" id="Page_692">[Pg 692]</a></span> +I became diseased. I was carried into the First Church of +Christ Scientist in Chicago, after I had spent all my money and +five years of my time on physicians and specialists, suffering +from locomotor ataxia, dropsy and kidney disease. I had previously +been healed of some other things by ordinary medicine.</p> + +<p>"If there is anyone within the sound of my voice who is afflicted +as I was, I want him to listen to me.</p> + +<p>"I want to say to you tonight that I am a well man—not well +physically only, but well mentally, and, what is better yet, in so +far as I can see the truth, spiritually. I was healed after six +months' treatment by a Christian Science practitioner in Chicago, +who took my case on my appealing to her, and I stand +before you absolutely sound and whole. God is good."</p> + +<p>He sat down.</p> + +<p>While he had been talking Eugene had been studying him +closely, observing every line of his features. He was tall, lean, +sandy-haired and sandy-bearded. He was not bad-looking, with +long straight nose, clear blue eyes, a light pinkish color to his +complexion, and a sense of vigor and health about him. The +thing that Eugene noted most was that he was calm, cool, serene, +vital. He said exactly what he wanted to say, and he said +it vigorously. His voice was clear and with good carrying +power. His clothes were shapely, new, well made. He was no +beggar or tramp, but a man of some profession—an engineer, +very likely. Eugene wished that he might talk to him, and yet +he felt ashamed. Somehow this man's case paralleled his own; +not exactly, but closely. He personally was never diseased, but +how often he had looked after a perfectly charming woman to +lust after her! Was the thing that this man was saying really +true? Could he be lying? How ridiculous! Could he be mistaken? +<i>This man?</i> Impossible! He was too strong, too keen, +too sincere, too earnest, to be either of these things. Still—But +this testimony might have been given for his benefit, some +strange helpful power—that kindly fate that had always pursued +him might be trying to reach him here. Could it be? He +felt a little strange about it, as he had when he saw the black-bearded +man entering the train that took him to Three Rivers, +the time he went at the call of Suzanne, as he did when horseshoes +were laid before him by supernatural forces to warn him +of coming prosperity. He went home thinking, and that night +he seriously tried to read "Science and Health" for the first time.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_693" id="Page_693">[Pg 693]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_XXV" id="III_CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV</h2> + +<p>Those who have ever tried to read that very peculiar and, +to many, very significant document know what an apparent +jumble of contradictions and metaphysical balderdash it appears +to be. The statement concerning the rapid multiplication and +increased violence of diseases since the flood, which appears in +the introduction is enough to shock any believer in definite, material, +established natural science, and when Eugene came upon +this in the outset, it irritated him, of course, greatly. Why +should anybody make such a silly statement as this? Everybody +knew that there had never been a flood. Why quote a myth as +a fact? It irritated and from a critical point of view amused +him. Then he came upon what he deemed to be a jumble of +confusion in regard to matter and spirit. The author talked of +the evidences of the five physical senses as being worthless, and +yet was constantly referring to and using similes based upon +those evidences to illustrate her spiritual meanings. He threw +the book down a number of times, for the Biblical references +irritated him. He did not believe in the Bible. The very word +Christianity was a sickening jest, as sickening as it had been to +the man in the church. To say that the miracles of Christ +could be repeated today could not be serious. Still the man had +testified. Wasn't that so? A certain vein of sincerity running +through it all—that profound evidence of faith and sympathy +which are the characteristics of all sincere reformers—appealed +to him. Some little thoughts here and there—a profound acceptance +of the spiritual understanding of Jesus, which he himself +accepted, stayed with him. One sentence or paragraph +somehow stuck in his mind, because he himself was of a metaphysical +turn——</p> + +<p>"Become conscious for a single moment that life and intelligence +are purely spiritual, neither in nor of matter, and the +body will then utter no complaints. If suffering from a belief +in sickness, you will find yourself suddenly well. Sorrow is +turned into joy when the body is controlled by spiritual life +and love."</p> + +<p>"God is a spirit," he recalled Jesus as saying. "They that +worship Him must worship in spirit and in truth."</p> + +<p>"You will find yourself suddenly well," thought Eugene. +"Sorrow is turned into joy."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_694" id="Page_694">[Pg 694]</a></span> +"Sorrow. What kind of sorrow? Love sorrow? This probably +meant the end of earthly love; that that too was mortal."</p> + +<p>He read on, discovering that Scientists believed in the immaculate +conception of the Virgin Mary, which struck him as silly; +also that they believed in the ultimate abolition of marriage as +representing a mortal illusion of self-creation and perpetuation, +and of course the having of children through the agency of the +sexes, also the dematerialization of the body—its chemicalization +into its native spirituality, wherein there can be neither sin, +sickness, disease, decay nor death, were a part of their belief or +understanding. It seemed to him to be a wild claim, and yet at +the time, because of his natural metaphysical turn, it accorded +with his sense of the mystery of life.</p> + +<p>It should be remembered as a factor in this reading that Eugene +was particularly fitted by temperament—introspective, imaginative, +psychical—and by a momentarily despairing attitude, +in which any straw was worth grasping at which promised relief +from sorrow, despair and defeat, to make a study of this +apparently radical theory of human existence. He had heard a +great deal of Christian Science, seeing its churches built, its adherents +multiplying, particularly in New York, and enthusiastically +claiming freedom from every human ill. Idle, without +entertainment or diversion and intensely introspective, it was +natural that these curious statements should arrest him.</p> + +<p>He was not unaware, also, from past reading and scientific +speculation, that Carlyle had once said that "matter itself—the +outer world of matter, was either nothing, or else a product due +to man's mind" (Carlyle's Journal, from Froude's Life of Carlyle), +and that Kant had held the whole universe to be something +in the eye or mind—neither more nor less than a thought. +Marcus Aurelius, he recalled, had said somewhere in his meditations +that the soul of the universe was kind and merciful; that +it had no evil in it, and was not harmed by evil. This latter +thought stuck in his mind as peculiar because it was so diametrically +opposed to his own feelings that the universe, the spirit of +it that is, was subtle, cruel, crafty, and malicious. He wondered +how a man who could come to be Emperor of Rome +could have thought otherwise. Christ's Sermon on the Mount +had always appealed to him as the lovely speculations of an +idealist who had no real knowledge of life. Yet he had always +wondered why "Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, +where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break +through and steal" had thrilled him as something so beautiful +that it must be true "For where your treasure is there will your +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_695" id="Page_695">[Pg 695]</a></span> +heart be also." Keats had said "beauty is truth—truth beauty," +and still another "truth is what is."</p> + +<p>"And what is?" he had asked himself in answer to that.</p> + +<p>"Beauty," was his reply to himself, for life at bottom, in spite +of all its teeming terrors, was beautiful.</p> + +<p>Only those of a metaphysical or natural religious turn of mind +would care to follow the slow process of attempted alteration, +which took place during the series of months which followed +Angela's departure for Racine, her return to New York at +Myrtle's solicitation, the time she spent in the maternity hospital, +whither she was escorted on her arrival by Eugene and +after. These are the deeps of being which only the more able +intellectually essay, but Eugene wandered in them far and wide. +There were long talks with Myrtle and Bangs—arguments upon +all phases of mortal thought, real and unreal, with which Angela's +situation had nothing to do. Eugene frankly confessed +that he did not love her—that he did not want to live with her. +He insisted that he could scarcely live without Suzanne. There +was the taking up and reading or re-reading of odd philosophic +and religious volumes, for he had nothing else to do. He did +not care at first to go and sit with Angela, sorry as he was for +her. He read or re-read Kent's "History of the Hebrews"; +Weiniger's "Sex and Character"; Carl Snyder's "The World +Machine"; Muzzey's "Spiritual Heroes"; Johnston's translation +of "Bhagavad Ghita"; Emerson's essay on the Oversoul, and +Huxley's "Science and Hebrew Tradition" and "Science and +Christian Tradition." He learned from these things some curious +facts which relate to religion, which he had either not known +before or forgotten, i.e., that the Jews were almost the only +race or nation which developed a consecutive line of religious +thinkers or prophets; that their ideal was first and last a single +God or Divinity, tribal at first, but later on universal, whose +scope and significance were widened until He embraced the +whole universe—was, in fact, the Universe—a governing principle—one +God, however, belief in whom, His power to heal, +to build up and overthrow had never been relinquished.</p> + +<p>The Old Testament was full of that. Was that. The old +prophets, he learned to his astonishment, were little more than +whirling dervishes when they are first encountered historically, +working themselves up into wild transports and frenzies, lying +on the ground and writhing, cutting themselves as the Persian +zealots do to this day in their feast of the tenth month and resorting +to the most curious devices for nurturing their fanatic +spirit, but always setting forth something that was astonishingly +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_696" id="Page_696">[Pg 696]</a></span> +spiritual and great. They usually frequented the holy places +and were to be distinguished by their wild looks and queer +clothing. Isaiah eschewed clothing for three years (Is. 22, 21); +Jeremiah appeared in the streets of the capital (according to +Muzzey) with a wooden yoke on his neck, saying, "Thus shalt +Juda's neck be bent under bondage to the Babylonian" (Jer. +27; 2 ff); Zedekiah came to King Ahab, wearing horns of iron +like a steer, and saying, "Thus shalt thou push the Syrians" +(1 Kings 22, 11). The prophet was called mad because he +acted like a madman. Elisha dashed in on the gruff captain, +Jehu, in his camp and broke a vial of oil on his head, saying, +"Thus saith the Lord God of Israel, I have made thee king over +the people of the Lord"; then he opened the door and fled. +Somehow, though these things seemed wild, yet they accorded +with Eugene's sense of prophecy. They were not cheap but +great—wildly dramatic, like the word of a Lord God might be. +Another thing that fascinated him was to find that the evolutionary +hypothesis did not after all shut out a conception of a +ruling, ordaining Divinity, as he had supposed, for he came across +several things in the papers which, now that he was thinking +about this so keenly, held him spellbound. One was quoted from +a biological work by a man named George M. Gould, and read:</p> + +<p>"Life reaches control of physical forces by the cell-mechanism, +and, so far as we know, by it solely." From reading Mrs. +Eddy and arguing with Bangs, Eugene was not prepared to admit +this, but he was fascinated to see how it led ultimately to an +acknowledgment of an active Divinity which shapes our ends. +"No organic molecule shows any evidence of intellect, design +or purpose. It is the product solely of mathematically determinate +and invariable physical forces. Life becomes conscious of +itself through specialized cellular activity, and human personality, +therefore, can only be a unity of greater differentiations of +function, a higher and fuller incarnation than the single cell +incarnation. Life, or God, is in the cell.... (And everywhere +outside of it, quite as active and more so, perhaps, Eugene +reserved mentally.) The cell's intelligence is His. +(From reading Mrs. Eddy, Eugene could not quite agree with +this. According to her, it was an illusion.) The human personality +is also at last Himself and only Himself.... If +you wish to say 'Biologos' or God instead of Life, I heartily +agree, and we are face to face with the sublime fact of biology. +The cell is God's instrument and mediator in materiality; it is +the mechanism of incarnation, the word made flesh and dwelling +among us."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_697" id="Page_697">[Pg 697]</a></span> +The other was a quotation in a Sunday newspaper from some +man who appeared to be a working physicist of the time—Edgar +Lucien Larkin:</p> + +<p>"With the discovery and recent perfection of the new ultra-violet +light microscope and the companion apparatus, the microphotographic +camera, with rapidly moving, sensitive films, it +seems that the extreme limit of vision of the human eye has been +reached. Inorganic and organic particles have been seen, and +these so minute that (the smallest) objects visible in the most +powerful old-style instruments are as huge chunks in comparison. +An active microscopic universe as wonderful as the sidereal +universe, the stellar structure, has been revealed. This complexity +actually exists; but exploration has scarcely commenced. +Within a hundred years, devoted to this research, the micro-universe +may be partially understood. Laws of micro-movements +may be detected and published in textbooks like those of +the gigantic universe suns and their concentric planets and +moons. I cannot look into these minute moving and living +deeps without instantly believing that they are mental—every +motion is controlled by mind. The longer I look at the amazing +things, the deeper is this conviction. This micro-universe is +rooted and grounded in a mental base. Positively and without +hope of overthrow, this assertion is made—the flying particles +know where to go. Coarse particles, those visible in old-time +microscopes, when suspended in liquids, were observed to be in +rapid motion, darting to all geometrical directions with high +speed. But the ultra-violet microscope reveals moving trillions +of far smaller bodies, and these rush on geometric lines and cutout +angles with the most incredible speed, specific for each kind +and type."</p> + +<p>What were the angles? Eugene asked himself. Who made them? +Who or what arranged the geometric lines? The "Divine +Mind" of Mrs. Eddy? Had this woman really found the truth? +He pondered this, reading on, and then one day in a paper he +came upon this reflection in regard to the universe and its government +by Alfred Russel Wallace, which interested him as a +proof that there might be, as Jesus said and as Mrs. Eddy contended, +a Divine Mind or central thought in which there was no +evil intent, but only good. The quotation was: "Life is that +power which, from air and water and the substances dissolved +therein, builds up organized and highly complex structures possessing +definite forms and functions; these are presented in a continuous +state of decay and repair by internal circulation of fluids +and gases; they reproduce their like, go through various phases of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_698" id="Page_698">[Pg 698]</a></span> +youth, maturity and age, die and quickly decompose into their +constituent elements. They thus form continuous series of similar +individuals and so long as external conditions render their existence +possible seem to possess a potential immortality.</p> + +<p>"It is very necessary to presuppose some vast intelligence, some +pervading spirit, to explain the guidance of the lower forces in +accordance with the preordained system of evolution we see prevailing. +Nothing less will do....</p> + +<p>"If, however, we go as far as this, we must go further.... +We have a perfect right, on logical and scientific grounds, to see +in all the infinitely varied products of the animal and vegetable +kingdoms, which we alone can make use of, a preparation for ourselves, +to assist in our mental development, and to fit us for a +progressively higher state of existence as spiritual beings.</p> + +<p>"...It seems only logical to assume that the vast, the infinite +chasm between ourselves and the Deity, is to some extent +occupied by an almost infinite series of grades of beings, +each successive grade having higher and higher powers in regard +to the origination, the development and the control of the universe.</p> + +<p>"...There may have been a vast system of co-operation +of such grades of beings, from a very high grade of power and +intelligence down to those unconscious or almost unconscious +cell souls posited by Haeckel....</p> + +<p>"I can imagine the ... Infinite Being, foreseeing and determining +the broad outlines of a universe....</p> + +<p>"He might, for instance, impress a sufficient number of his +highest angels to create by their will power the primal universe +of ether, with all those inherent properties and forces necessary +for what was to follow. Using this as a vehicle, the next subordinate +association of angels would so act upon the ether as to +develop from it, in suitable masses and at suitable distances, the +various elements of matter, which, under the influence of such +laws and forces as gravitation, heat, and electricity, would thenceforth +begin to form those vast systems of nebulæ and suns which +constitute our stellar universe.</p> + +<p>"Then we may imagine these hosts of angels, to whom a +thousand years are as one day, watching the development of this +vast system of suns and planets until some one or more of them +combined in itself all those conditions of size, of elementary constitution, +of atmosphere, of mass of water and requisite distance +from its source of heat as to insure a stability of constitution +and uniformity of temperature for a given minimum of millions +of years, or of ages, as would be required for the full development +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_699" id="Page_699">[Pg 699]</a></span> +of a life world from amœba to man, with a surplus of a +few hundreds of millions for his adequate development.</p> + +<p>"We are led, therefore, to postulate a body of what we may +term organizing spirits, who would be charged with the duty of +so influencing the myriads of cell souls as to carry out their +part of the work with accuracy and certainty....</p> + +<p>"At successive stages of the development of the life world, +more and perhaps higher intelligences might be required to +direct the main lines of variation in definite directions, in accordance +with the general design to be worked out, and to guard +against a break in the particular line, which alone could lead +ultimately to the production of the human form.</p> + +<p>"This speculative suggestion, I venture to hope, will appeal to +some of my readers as the very best approximation we are now +able to formulate as to the deeper, the most fundamental causes +of matter and force of life and consciousness, and of man himself, +at his best, already a little lower than the angels, and, like +them, destined to a permanent progressive existence in a world +of spirit."</p> + +<p>This very peculiar and apparently progressive statement in +regard to the conclusion which naturalistic science had revealed +in regard to the universe struck Eugene as pretty fair confirmation +of Mrs. Eddy's contention that all was mind and its infinite +variety and that the only difference between her and the +British scientific naturalists was that they contended for an +ordered hierarchy which could only rule and manifest itself according +to its own ordered or self-imposed laws, which they +could perceive or detect, whereas, she contended for a governing +spirit which was everywhere and would act through ordered laws +and powers of its own arrangement. God was a principle like +a rule in mathematics—two times two is four, for instance—and +was as manifest daily and hourly and momentarily in a hall bedroom +as in the circling motions of suns and systems. God was +a principle. He grasped that now. A principle could be and +was of course anywhere and everywhere at one and the same +time. One could not imagine a place for instance where two +times two would not be four, or where that rule would not be. +So, likewise with the omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent mind +of God.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_700" id="Page_700">[Pg 700]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_XXVI" id="III_CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> + +<p>The most dangerous thing to possess a man to the extent of +dominating him is an idea. It can and does ride him to +destruction. Eugene's idea of the perfection of eighteen was +one of the most dangerous things in his nature. In a way, combined +with the inability of Angela to command his interest and +loyalty, it had been his undoing up to this date. A religious idea +followed in a narrow sense would have diverted this other, but +it also might have destroyed him, if he had been able to follow +it. Fortunately the theory he was now interesting himself in +was not a narrow dogmatic one in any sense, but religion in its +large aspects, a comprehensive resumé and spiritual co-ordination +of the metaphysical speculation of the time, which was worthy +of anyone's intelligent inquiry. Christian Science as a cult or +religion was shunned by current religions and religionists as +something outré, impossible, uncanny—as necromancy, imagination, +hypnotism, mesmerism, spiritism—everything, in short, that +it was not, and little, if anything, that it really was. Mrs. Eddy +had formulated or rather restated a fact that was to be found +in the sacred writings of India; in the Hebrew testaments, old +and new; in Socrates, Marcus Aurelius, St. Augustine, Emerson, +and Carlyle. The one variation notable between her and the +moderns was that her <i>ruling unity</i> was not malicious, as Eugene +and many others fancied, but helpful. Her <i>unity</i> was a <i>unity</i> +of love. God was everything but the father of evil, which according +to her was an illusion—neither fact nor substance—sound +and fury, signifying nothing.</p> + +<p>It must be remembered that during all the time Eugene was +doing this painful and religious speculation he was living in the +extreme northern portion of the city, working desultorily at some +paintings which he thought he might sell, visiting Angela occasionally, +safely hidden away in the maternity hospital at +One Hundred and Tenth Street, thinking hourly and momentarily +of Suzanne, and wondering if, by any chance, he should +ever see her any more. His mind had been so inflamed by the +beauty and the disposition of this girl that he was really not +normal any longer. He needed some shock, some catastrophe +greater than any he had previously experienced to bring him to +his senses. The loss of his position had done something. The +loss of Suzanne had only heightened his affection for her. The +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_701" id="Page_701">[Pg 701]</a></span> +condition of Angela had given him pause, for it was an interesting +question what would become of her. "If she would only +die!" he said to himself, for we have the happy faculty of hating +most joyously on this earth the thing we have wronged the +most. He could scarcely go and see her, so obsessed was he +with the idea that she was a handicap to his career. The idea +of her introducing a child into his life only made him savage. +Now, if she should die, he would have the child to care for and +Suzanne, because of it, might never come to him.</p> + +<p>His one idea at this time was not to be observed too much, +or rather not at all, for he considered himself to be in great disfavor, +and only likely to do himself injury by a public appearance—a +fact which was more in his own mind than anywhere +else. If he had not believed it, it would not have been true. +For this reason he had selected this quiet neighborhood where +the line of current city traffic was as nothing, for here he could +brood in peace. The family that he lived with knew nothing +about him. Winter was setting in. Because of the cold and +snow and high winds, he was not likely to see many people hereabouts—particularly +those celebrities who had known him in the +past. There was a great deal of correspondence that followed +him from his old address, for his name had been used on many +committees, he was in "Who's Who," and he had many friends +less distinguished than those whose companionship would have +required the expenditure of much money who would have been +glad to look him up. He ignored all invitations, however; refused +to indicate by return mail where he was for the present; +walked largely at night; read, painted, or sat and brooded during +the day. He was thinking all the time of Suzanne and how +disastrously fate had trapped him apparently through her. He +was thinking that she might come back, that she ought. Lovely, +hurtful pictures came to him of re-encounters with her in which +she would rush into his arms, never to part, from him any more. +Angela, in her room at the hospital, received little thought from +him. She was there. She was receiving expert medical attention. +He was paying all the bills. Her serious time had not +yet really come. Myrtle was seeing her. He caught glimpses +of himself at times as a cruel, hard intellect driving the most +serviceable thing his life had known from him with blows, but +somehow it seemed justifiable. Angela was not suited to him. +Why could she not live away from him? Christian Science set +aside marriage entirely as a human illusion, conflicting with the +indestructible unity of the individual with God. Why shouldn't +she let him go?</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_702" id="Page_702">[Pg 702]</a></span> +He wrote poems to Suzanne, and read much poetry that he +found in an old trunkful of books in the house where he was +living. He would read again and again the sonnet beginning, +"When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes"—that cry out +of a darkness that seemed to be like his own. He bought a book +of verse by Yeats, and seemed to hear his own voice saying of +Suzanne,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + <span class="i0">"Why should I blame her that she filled my days<br /></span> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">With misery ...</span> +</div></div> + +<p>He was not quite as bad as he was when he had broken down +eight years before, but he was very bad. His mind was once +more riveted upon the uncertainty of life, its changes, its follies. +He was studying those things only which deal with the abstrusities +of nature, and this began to breed again a morbid fear of +life itself. Myrtle was greatly distressed about him. She worried +lest he might lose his mind.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you go to see a practitioner, Eugene?" she begged +of him one day. "You will get help—really you will. You +think you won't, but you will. There is something about them—I +don't know what. They are spiritually at rest. You will +feel better. Do go."</p> + +<p>"Oh, why do you bother me, Myrtle? Please don't. I don't +want to go. I think there is something in the idea metaphysically +speaking, but why should I go to a practitioner? God is +as near me as He is anyone, if there is a God."</p> + +<p>Myrtle wrung her hands, and because she felt so badly more +than anything else, he finally decided to go. There might be +something hypnotic or physically contagious about these people—some +old alchemy of the mortal body, which could reach and +soothe him. He believed in hypnotism, hypnotic suggestion, etc. +He finally called up one practitioner, an old lady highly recommended +by Myrtle and others, who lived farther south on +Broadway, somewhere in the neighborhood of Myrtle's home. +Mrs. Althea Johns was her name—a woman who had performed +wonderful cures. Why should he, Eugene Witla, he asked himself +as he took up the receiver, why should he, Eugene Witla, ex-managing +publisher of the United Magazines Corporation, ex-artist +(in a way, he felt that he was no longer an artist in the +best sense) be going to a woman in Christian Science to be +healed of what? Gloom? Yes. Failure? Yes. Heartache? +Yes. His evil tendencies in regard to women, such as the +stranger who had sat beside him had testified to? Yes. How +strange! And yet he was curious. It interested him a little to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_703" id="Page_703">[Pg 703]</a></span> +speculate as to whether this could really be done. Could he be +healed of failure? Could this pain of longing be made to cease? +Did he want it to cease? No; certainly not! He wanted +Suzanne. Myrtle's idea, he knew, was that somehow this +treatment would reunite him and Angela and make him forget +Suzanne, but he knew that could not be. He was going, but +he was going because he was unhappy and idle and aimless. +He was going because he really did not know what else to +do.</p> + +<p>The apartment of Mrs. Johns—Mrs. Althea Johns—was in +an apartment house of conventional design, of which there were +in New York hundreds upon hundreds at the time. There was +a spacious areaway between two wings of cream-colored pressed +brick leading back to an entrance way which was protected by +a handsome wrought-iron door on either side of which was +placed an electric lamp support of handsome design, holding +lovely cream-colored globes, shedding a soft lustre. Inside was +the usual lobby, elevator, uniformed negro elevator man, indifferent +and impertinent, and the telephone switchboard. The +building was seven storeys high. Eugene went one snowy, blustery +January night. The great wet flakes were spinning in huge +whirls and the streets were covered with a soft, slushy carpet of +snow. He was interested, as usual, in spite of his gloom, in +the picture of beauty the world presented—the city wrapped in +a handsome mantle of white. Here were cars rumbling, people +hunched in great coats facing the driving wind. He liked the +snow, the flakes, this wonder of material living. It eased his +mind of his misery and made him think of painting again. +Mrs. Johns was on the seventh floor. Eugene knocked and +was admitted by a maid. He was shown to a waiting room, for +he was a little ahead of his time, and there were others—healthy-looking +men and women, who did not appear to have an ache +or pain—ahead of him. Was not this a sign, he thought as he +sat down, that this was something which dealt with imaginary +ills? Then why had the man he had heard in the church beside +him testified so forcibly and sincerely to his healing? Well, he +would wait and see. He did not see what it could do for him +now. He had to work. He sat there in one corner, his hands +folded and braced under his chin, thinking. The room was not +artistic but rather nondescript, the furniture cheap or rather +tasteless in design. Didn't Divine Mind know any better than +to present its representatives in such a guise as this? Could a +person called to assist in representing the majesty of God on +earth be left so unintelligent artistically as to live in a house like +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_704" id="Page_704">[Pg 704]</a></span> +this? Surely this was a poor manifestation of Divinity, but——</p> + +<p>Mrs. Johns came—a short, stout, homely woman, gray, wrinkled, +dowdy in her clothing, a small wen on one side of her +mouth, a nose slightly too big to be pleasing—all mortal deficiencies +as to appearance highly emphasized, and looking like +an old print of Mrs. Micawber that he had seen somewhere. +She had on a black skirt good as to material, but shapeless, +commonplace, and a dark blue-gray waist. Her eye was clear +and gray though, he noticed, and she had a pleasing smile.</p> + +<p>"This is Mr. Witla, I believe," she said, coming across the +room to him, for he had got into a corner near the window, and +speaking with an accent which sounded a little Scotch. "I'm so +glad to see you. Won't you come in?" she said, giving him +precedence over some others because of his appointment, and +re-crossed the room preceding him down the hall to her practice +room. She stood to one side to take his hand as he passed.</p> + +<p>He touched it gingerly.</p> + +<p>So this was Mrs. Johns, he thought, as he entered, looking +about him. Bangs and Myrtle had insisted that she had performed +wonderful cures—or rather that Divine Mind had, +through her. Her hands were wrinkled, her face old. Why +didn't she make herself young if she could perform these wonderful +cures? Why was this room so mussy? It was actually +stuffy with chromos and etchings of the Christ and Bible scenes +on the walls, a cheap red carpet or rug on the floor, inartistic +leather-covered chairs, a table or desk too full of books, a pale +picture of Mrs. Eddy and silly mottoes of which he was sick +and tired hung here and there. People were such hacks when +it came to the art of living. How could they pretend to a +sense of Divinity who knew nothing of life? He was weary +and the room here offended him. Mrs. Johns did. Besides, her +voice was slightly falsetto. Could <i>she</i> cure cancer? and consumption? +and all other horrible human ills, as Myrtle insisted +she had? He didn't believe it.</p> + +<p>He sat down wearily and yet contentiously in the chair she +pointed out to him and stared at her while she quietly seated +herself opposite him looking at him with kindly, smiling eyes.</p> + +<p>"And now," she said easily, "what does God's child think is +the matter with him?"</p> + +<p>Eugene stirred irritably.</p> + +<p>"God's child," he thought; "what cant!" What right had he +to claim to be a child of God? What was the use of beginning +that way? It was silly, so asinine. Why not ask plainly what +was the matter with him? Still he answered:</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_705" id="Page_705">[Pg 705]</a></span> +"Oh, a number of things. So many that I am pretty sure +they can never be remedied."</p> + +<p>"As bad as that? Surely not. It is good to know, anyhow, +that nothing is impossible to God. We can believe that, anyhow, +can't we?" she replied, smiling. "You believe in God, or +a ruling power, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know whether I do or not. In the main, I guess I +do. I'm sure I ought to. Yes, I guess I do."</p> + +<p>"Is He a malicious God to you?"</p> + +<p>"I have always thought so," he replied, thinking of Angela.</p> + +<p>"Mortal mind! Mortal mind!" she asseverated to herself. +"What delusions will it not harbor!"</p> + +<p>And then to him:</p> + +<p>"One has to be cured almost against one's will to know that +God is a God of love. So you believe you are sinful, do you, +and that He is malicious? It is not necessary that you should +tell me how. We are all alike in the mortal state. I would +like to call your attention to Isaiah's words, 'Though your sins +be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red +like crimson, they shall be as wool.'"</p> + +<p>Eugene had not heard this quotation for years. It was only +a dim thing in his memory. It flashed out simply now and appealed, +as had all these Hebraic bursts of prophetic imagery in +the past. Mrs. Johns, for all her wen and her big nose and +dowdy clothes, was a little better for having been able to quote +this so aptly. It raised her in his estimation. It showed a vigorous +mind, at least a tactful mind.</p> + +<p>"Can you cure sorrow?" he asked grimly and with a touch of +sarcasm in his voice. "Can you cure heartache or fear?"</p> + +<p>"I can do nothing of myself," she said, perceiving his mood. +"All things are possible to God, however. If you believe in a +Supreme Intelligence, He will cure you. St. Paul says 'I can +do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.' Have +you read Mrs. Eddy's book?"</p> + +<p>"Most of it. I'm still reading it."</p> + +<p>"Do you understand it?"</p> + +<p>"No, not quite. It seems a bundle of contradictions to +me."</p> + +<p>"To those who are first coming into Science it nearly always +seems so. But don't let that worry you. You would like to be +cured of your troubles. St. Paul says, 'For the wisdom of this +world is foolishness with God.' 'The Lord knoweth the thoughts +of the wise—that they are vain.' Do not think of me as a +woman, or as having had anything to do with this. I would +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_706" id="Page_706">[Pg 706]</a></span> +rather have you think of me as St. Paul describes anyone who +works for truth—'Now then we are ambassadors for Christ, as +though God did beseech you by us, we pray you in Christ's +stead, be ye reconciled to God.'"</p> + +<p>"You know your Bible, don't you?" said Eugene.</p> + +<p>"It is the only knowledge I have," she replied.</p> + +<p>There followed one of those peculiar religious demonstrations +so common in Christian Science—so peculiar to the uninitiated—in +which she asked Eugene to fix his mind in meditation on the +Lord's prayer. "Never mind if it seems pointless to you now. +You have come here seeking aid. You are God's perfect image +and likeness. He will not send you away empty-handed. Let +me read you first, though, this one psalm, which I think is always +so helpful to the beginner." She opened her Bible, which +was on the table near her, and began:</p> + +<p>"He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most high shall +abide under the shadow of the Almighty.</p> + +<p>"I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress; +my God; in him will I trust.</p> + +<p>"Surely he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler, +and from the noisome pestilence.</p> + +<p>"He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings +shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and thy buckler.</p> + +<p>"Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night, nor for the +arrow that flieth by day. Nor for the pestilence that walketh +in the darkness; nor for destruction that wasteth at noonday.</p> + +<p>"A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy +right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.</p> + +<p>"Only with thine eyes shalt thou behold and see the reward +of the wicked.</p> + +<p>"Because thou hast made the Lord, which is my refuge, even +the most High, thy habitation; There shall no evil befall thee, +neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling.</p> + +<p>"For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee +in all thy ways.</p> + +<p>"They shall bear thee up in their hands, lest thou dash thy +foot against a stone.</p> + +<p>"Thou shalt tread upon the lion and the adder, the young +lion and the dragon shalt thou trample under foot.</p> + +<p>"Because he hath set his love upon me, therefore will I +deliver him. I will set him on high, because he hath known my +name.</p> + +<p>"He shall call upon me, and I will answer him: I will be +with him in trouble. I will deliver him and honor him.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_707" id="Page_707">[Pg 707]</a></span> +"With long life will I satisfy him, and show him my salvation."</p> + +<p>During this most exquisite pronunciamento of Divine favor +Eugene was sitting with his eyes closed, his thoughts wandering +over all his recent ills. For the first time in years, he was trying +to fix his mind upon an all-wise, omnipresent, omnipotent generosity. +It was hard and he could not reconcile the beauty of +this expression of Divine favor with the nature of the world as +he knew it. What was the use of saying, "They shall bear thee +up in their hands lest thou dash thy foot against a stone," when +he had seen Angela and himself suffering so much recently? +Wasn't he dwelling in the secret place of the Most High when +he was alive? How could one get out of it? Still—— "Because +he hath set his love on me—therefore will I deliver him." +Was that the answer? Was Angela's love set on him? Was +his own? Might not all their woes have sprung from that?</p> + +<p>"He shall call upon me and I shall answer. I will deliver +him in trouble. I will deliver him and honor him."</p> + +<p>Had he ever really called on <i>Him</i>? Had Angela? Hadn't +they been left in the slough of their own despond? Still Angela +was not suited to him. Why did not God straighten that +out? He didn't want to live with her.</p> + +<p>He wandered through this philosophically, critically, until +Mrs. Johns stopped. What, he asked himself, if, in spite of all +his doubts, this seeming clamor and reality and pain and care +were an illusion? Angela was suffering. So were many other +people. How could this thing be true? Did not these facts +exclude the possibility of illusion? Could they possibly be a +part of it?</p> + +<p>"Now we are going to try to realize that we are God's perfect +children," she said, stopping and looking at him. "We +think we are so big and strong and real. We are real enough, +but only as a thought in God—that is all. No harm can happen +to us there—no evil can come nigh us. For God is infinite, +all power, all life. Truth, Love, over all, and all."</p> + +<p>She closed her eyes and began, as she said, to try to realize +for him the perfectness of his spirit in God. Eugene sat there +trying to think of the Lord's prayer, but in reality thinking of +the room, the cheap prints, the homely furniture, her ugliness, +the curiousness of his being there. He, Eugene Witla, being +prayed for! What would Angela think? Why was this woman +old, if spirit could do all these other things? Why didn't she +make herself beautiful? What was it she was doing now? +Was this hypnotism, mesmerism, she was practicing? He remembered +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_708" id="Page_708">[Pg 708]</a></span> +where Mrs. Eddy had especially said that these were +not to be practiced—could not be in Science. No, she was no +doubt sincere. She looked it—talked it. She believed in this +beneficent spirit. Would it aid as the psalm said? Would it +heal this ache? Would it make him not want Suzanne ever any +more? Perhaps that was evil? Yes, no doubt it was. Still—— +Perhaps he had better fix his mind on the Lord's Prayer. Divinity +could aid him if it would. Certainly it could. No doubt of +it. There was nothing impossible to this vast force ruling the +universe. Look at the telephone, wireless telegraphy. How +about the stars and sun? "He shall give his angels charge +over thee."</p> + +<p>"Now," said Mrs. Johns, after some fifteen minutes of silent +meditation had passed and she opened her eyes smilingly—"we +are going to see whether we are not going to be better. We are +going to feel better, because we are going to do better, and because +we are going to realize that nothing can hurt an idea in +God. All the rest is illusions. It cannot hold us, for it is not +real. Think good—God—and you are good. Think evil and +you are evil, but it has no reality outside your own thought. +Remember that." She talked to him as though he was a little +child.</p> + +<p>He went out into the snowy night where the wind was whirling +the snow in picturesque whirls, buttoning his coat about him. +The cars were running up Broadway as usual. Taxicabs were +scuttling by. There were people forging their way through +the snow, that ever-present company of a great city. There were +arc lights burning clearly blue through the flying flakes. He +wondered as he walked whether this would do him any good. +Mrs. Eddy insisted that all these were unreal, he thought—that +mortal mind had evolved something which was not in accord +with spirit—mortal mind "a liar and the father of it," he +recalled that quotation. Could it be so? Was evil unreal? +Was misery only a belief? Could he come out of his sense of +fear and shame and once more face the world? He boarded a +car to go north. At Kingsbridge he made his way thoughtfully +to his room. How could life ever be restored to him as it had +been? He was really forty years of age. He sat down in his +chair near his lamp and took up his book, "Science and Health," +and opened it aimlessly. Then he thought for curiosity's sake +he would see where he had opened it—what the particular page +or paragraph his eye fell on had to say to him. He was still +intensely superstitious. He looked, and here was this paragraph +growing under his eyes:</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_709" id="Page_709">[Pg 709]</a></span> +"When mortal man blends his thoughts of existence with the +spiritual, and works only as God works, he will no longer grope +in the dark and cling to earth because he has not tasted heaven. +Carnal beliefs defraud us. They make man an involuntary +hypocrite—producing evil when he would create good, forming +deformity when he would outline grace and beauty, injuring +those whom he would bless. He becomes a general mis-creator, +who believes he is a semi-God. His touch turns hope to dust, +the dust we all have trod. He might say in Bible language, +'The good that I would, I do not, but evil, which I would not, +I do.'"</p> + +<p>He closed the book and meditated. He wished he might +realize this thing if this were so. Still he did not want to become +a religionist—a religious enthusiast. How silly they were. +He picked up his daily paper—the <i>Evening Post</i>—and there on +an inside page quoted in an obscure corner was a passage from +a poem by the late Francis Thompson, entitled "The Hound of +Heaven." It began:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I fled Him, down the arches of the years ...<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The ending moved him strangely:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Still with unhurrying chase,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And unperturbèd face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deliberate speed, majestic instancy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came on the following Feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a voice above their beat—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Naught shelters thee, who wilt not shelter Me."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Did this man really believe this? Was it so?</p> + +<p>He turned back to his book and read on, and by degrees he +came half to believe that sin and evil and sickness might possibly +be illusions—that they could be cured by aligning one's +self intellectually and spiritually with this Divine Principle. +He wasn't sure. This terrible sense of wrong. Could he give +up Suzanne? Did he want to? No!</p> + +<p>He got up and went to the window and looked out. The +snow was still blowing.</p> + +<p>"Give her up! Give her up!" And Angela in such a precarious +condition. What a devil of a hole he was in, anyway! +Well, he would go and see her in the morning. He would at +least be kind. He would see her through this thing. He lay +down and tried to sleep, but somehow sleep never came to him +right any more. He was too wearied, too distressed, too wrought +up. Still he slept a little, and that was all he could hope for in +these days.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_710" id="Page_710">[Pg 710]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_XXVII" id="III_CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> + +<p>It was while he was in this state, some two months later, +that the great event, so far as Angela was concerned, came +about, and in it, of necessity, he was compelled to take part. +Angela was in her room, cosily and hygienically furnished, overlooking +the cathedral grounds at Morningside Heights, and +speculating hourly what her fate was to be. She had never +wholly recovered from the severe attack of rheumatism which +she had endured the preceding summer and, because of her +worries since, in her present condition was pale and weak though +she was not ill. The head visiting obstetrical surgeon, Dr. +Lambert, a lean, gray man of sixty-five years of age, with grizzled +cheeks, whose curly gray hair, wide, humped nose and keen +gray eyes told of the energy and insight and ability that had +placed him where he was, took a slight passing fancy to her, +for she seemed to him one of those plain, patient little women +whose lives are laid in sacrificial lines. He liked her brisk, +practical, cheery disposition in the face of her condition, which +was serious, and which was so noticeable to strangers. Angela +had naturally a bright, cheery face, when she was not depressed +or quarrelsome. It was the outward sign of her ability to say +witty and clever things, and she had never lost the desire to +have things done efficiently and intelligently about her wherever +she was. The nurse, Miss De Sale, a solid, phlegmatic person +of thirty-five, admired her spunk and courage and took a great +fancy to her also because she was lightsome, buoyant and hopeful +in the face of what was really a very serious situation. The +general impression of the head operating surgeon, the house surgeon +and the nurse was that her heart was weak and that her +kidneys might be affected by her condition. Angela had somehow +concluded after talks with Myrtle that Christian Science, +as demonstrated by its practitioners, might help her through this +crisis, though she had no real faith in it. Eugene would come +round, she thought, also, for Myrtle was having him treated +absently, and he was trying to read the book, she said. There +would be a reconciliation between them when the baby came—because—because—— +Well, because children were so winning! +Eugene was really not hard-hearted—he was just infatuated. +He had been ensnared by a siren. He would get +over it.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_711" id="Page_711">[Pg 711]</a></span> +Miss De Sale let her hair down in braids, Gretchen style, +and fastened great pink bows of ribbon in them. As her condition +became more involved, only the lightest morning gowns +were given her—soft, comfortable things in which she sat about +speculating practically about the future. She had changed from +a lean shapeliness to a swollen, somewhat uncomely object, but +she made the best of a bad situation. Eugene saw her and felt +sorry. It was the end of winter now, with snow blowing gaily +or fiercely about the windows, and the park grounds opposite +were snow-white. She could see the leafless line of sentinel +poplars that bordered the upper edges of Morningside. She +was calm, patient, hopeful, while the old obstetrician shook his +head gravely to the house surgeon.</p> + +<p>"We shall have to be very careful. I shall take charge of the +actual birth myself. See if you can't build up her strength. +We can only hope that the head is small."</p> + +<p>Angela's littleness and courage appealed to him. For once +in a great many cases he really felt sorry.</p> + +<p>The house surgeon did as directed. Angela was given specially +prepared food and drink. She was fed frequently. She +was made to keep perfectly quiet.</p> + +<p>"Her heart," the house surgeon reported to his superior, "I +don't like that. It's weak and irregular. I think there's a +slight lesion."</p> + +<p>"We can only hope for the best," said the other solemnly. +"We'll try and do without ether."</p> + +<p>Eugene in his peculiar mental state was not capable of realizing +the pathos of all this. He was alienated temperamentally +and emotionally. Thinking that he cared for his wife dearly, +the nurse and the house surgeon were for not warning him. +They did not want to frighten him. He asked several times +whether he could be present during the delivery, but they stated +that it would be dangerous and trying. The nurse asked Angela +if she had not better advise him to stay away. Angela did, +but Eugene felt that in spite of his alienation, she needed him. +Besides, he was curious. He thought Angela would stand it +better if he were near, and now that the ordeal was drawing +nigh, he was beginning to understand how desperate it might be +and to think it was only fair that he should assist her. Some +of the old pathetic charm of her littleness was coming back to +him. She might not live. She would have to suffer much. She +had meant no real evil to him—only to hold him. Oh, the bitterness +and the pathos of this welter of earthly emotions. Why +should they be so tangled?</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_712" id="Page_712">[Pg 712]</a></span> +The time drew very near, and Angela was beginning to suffer +severe pains. Those wonderful processes of the all-mother, +which bind the coming life in a cradle of muscles and ligaments +were practically completed and were now relaxing their tendencies +in one direction to enforce them in another. Angela +suffered at times severely from straining ligaments. Her hands +were clenched desperately, her face would become deathly pale. +She would cry. Eugene was with her on a number of these +occasions and it drove home to his consciousness the subtlety and +terror of this great scheme of reproduction, which took all +women to the door of the grave, in order that this mortal scheme +of things might be continued. He began to think that there +might be something in the assertion of the Christian Science +leaders that it was a lie and an illusion, a terrible fitful fever +outside the rational consciousness of God. He went to the library +one day and got down a book on obstetrics, which covered +the principles and practice of surgical delivery. He saw +there scores of pictures drawn very carefully of the child in +various positions in the womb—all the strange, peculiar, flower-like +positions it could take, folded in upon itself like a little +half-formed petal. The pictures were attractive, some of them +beautiful, practical as they were. They appealed to his fancy. +They showed the coming baby perfect, but so small, its head now +in one position, now in another, its little arms twisted about in +odd places, but always delightfully, suggestively appealing. +From reading here and there in the volume, he learned that the +great difficulty was the head—the delivery of that. It appeared +that no other difficulty really confronted the obstetrician. How +was that to be got out? If the head were large, the mother old, +the walls of the peritoneal cavity tight or hard, a natural delivery +might be impossible. There were whole chapters on Craniotomy, +Cephalotripsy, which in plain English means crushing the head +with an instrument....</p> + +<p>One chapter was devoted to the Cæsarian operation, with a +description of its tremendous difficulties and a long disquisition +on the ethics of killing the child to save the mother, or the +mother to save the child with their relative values to society +indicated. Think of it—a surgeon sitting in the seat of judge +and executioner at the critical moment! Ah, life with its petty +laws did not extend here. Here we came back to the conscience +of man which Mrs. Eddy maintained was a reflection of immanent +mind. If God were good, He would speak through that—He +was speaking through it. This surgeon referred to that +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_713" id="Page_713">[Pg 713]</a></span> +inmost consciousness of supreme moral law, which alone could +guide the practitioner in this dreadful hour.</p> + +<p>Then he told of what implements were necessary, how many +assistants (two), how many nurses (four), the kinds of bandages, +needles, silk and catgut thread, knives, clamp dilators, +rubber gloves. He showed how the cut was to be made—when, +where. Eugene closed the book, frightened. He got up and +walked out in the air, a desire to hurry up to Angela impelling +him. She was weak, he knew that. She had complained of her +heart. Her muscles were probably set. Supposing these problems, +any one of them, should come in connection with her. +He did not wish her to die.</p> + +<p>He had said he had—yes, but he did not want to be a murderer. +No, no! Angela had been good to him. She had +worked for him. Why, God damn it, she had actually suffered +for him in times past. He had treated her badly, very badly, +and now in her pathetic little way she had put herself in this +terrific position. It was her fault, to be sure it was. She had +been trying as she always had to hold him against his will, but +then could he really blame her? It wasn't a crime for her to +want him to love her. They were just mis-mated. He had +tried to be kind in marrying her, and he hadn't been kind at all. +It had merely produced unrest, dissatisfaction, unhappiness for +him and for her, and now this—this danger of death through +pain, a weak heart, defective kidneys, a Cæsarian operation. +Why, she couldn't stand anything like that. There was no +use talking about it. She wasn't strong enough—she was too +old.</p> + +<p>He thought of Christian Science practitioners, of how they +might save her—of some eminent surgeon who would know +how without the knife. How? How? If these Christian +Scientists could only <i>think</i> her through a thing like this—he +wouldn't be sorry. He would be glad, for her sake, if not his +own. He might give up Suzanne—he might—he might. Oh, +why should that thought intrude on him now?</p> + +<p>When he reached the hospital it was three o'clock in the +afternoon, and he had been there for a little while in the +morning when she was comparatively all right. She was much +worse. The straining pains in her side which she had complained +of were worse and her face was alternately flushed and +pale, sometimes convulsed a little. Myrtle was there talking +with her, and Eugene stood about nervously, wondering what +he should do—what he could do. Angela saw his worry. In +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_714" id="Page_714">[Pg 714]</a></span> +spite of her own condition she was sorry for him. She knew +that this would cause him pain, for he was not hard-hearted, +and it was his first sign of relenting. She smiled at him, +thinking that maybe he would come round and change his attitude +entirely. Myrtle kept reassuring her that all would be +well with her. The nurse said to her and to the house doctor +who came in, a young man of twenty-eight, with keen, quizzical +eyes, whose sandy hair and ruddy complexion bespoke a +fighting disposition, that she was doing nicely.</p> + +<p>"No bearing down pains?" he asked, smiling at Angela, his +even white teeth showing in two gleaming rows.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what kind they are, doctor," she replied. +"I've had all kinds."</p> + +<p>"You'll know them fast enough," he replied, mock cheerfully. +"They're not like any other kind."</p> + +<p>He went away and Eugene followed him.</p> + +<p>"How is she doing?" he asked, when they were out in the +hall.</p> + +<p>"Well enough, considering. She's not very strong, you know. +I have an idea she is going to be all right. Dr. Lambert will +be here in a little while. You had better talk to him."</p> + +<p>The house surgeon did not want to lie. He thought Eugene +ought to be told. Dr. Lambert was of the same opinion, but +he wanted to wait until the last, until he could judge approximately +correctly.</p> + +<p>He came at five, when it was already dark outside, and +looked at Angela with his grave, kindly eyes. He felt her +pulse, listened to her heart with his stethoscope.</p> + +<p>"Do you think I shall be all right, doctor?" asked Angela +faintly.</p> + +<p>"To be sure, to be sure," he replied softly. "Little woman, +big courage." He smoothed her hand.</p> + +<p>He walked out and Eugene followed him.</p> + +<p>"Well, doctor," he said. For the first time for months Eugene +was thinking of something besides his lost fortune and +Suzanne.</p> + +<p>"I think it advisable to tell you, Mr. Witla," said the old +surgeon, "that your wife is in a serious condition. I don't want +to alarm you unnecessarily—it may all come out very satisfactorily. +I have no positive reason to be sure that it will not. +She is pretty old to have a child. Her muscles are set. The +principal thing we have to fear in her case is some untoward +complication with her kidneys. There is always difficulty in the +delivery of the head in women of her age. It may be necessary +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_715" id="Page_715">[Pg 715]</a></span> +to sacrifice the child. I can't be sure. The Cæsarian +operation is something I never care to think about. It is rarely +used, and it isn't always successful. Every care that can be +taken will be taken. I should like to have you understand the +conditions. Your consent will be asked before any serious steps +are taken. Your decision will have to be quick, however, when +the time comes."</p> + +<p>"I can tell you now, doctor, what my decision will be," said +Eugene realizing fully the gravity of the situation. For the +time being, his old force and dignity were restored. "Save +her life if you can by any means that you can. I have no other +wish."</p> + +<p>"Thanks," said the surgeon. "We will do the best we can."</p> + +<p>There were hours after that when Eugene, sitting by Angela, +saw her endure pain which he never dreamed it was possible for +any human being to endure. He saw her draw herself up rigid +time and again, the color leaving her face, the perspiration +breaking out on her forehead only to relax and flush and groan +without really crying out. He saw, strange to relate, that she +was no baby like himself, whimpering over every little ill, but a +representative of some great creative force which gave her power +at once to suffer greatly and to endure greatly. She could not +smile any more. That was not possible. She was in a welter +of suffering, unbroken, astonishing. Myrtle had gone home to +her dinner, but promised to return later. Miss De Sale came, +bringing another nurse, and while Eugene was out of the room, +Angela was prepared for the final ordeal. She was arrayed in +the usual open back hospital slip and white linen leggings. Under +Doctor Lambert's orders an operating table was got ready +in the operating room on the top floor and a wheel table stationed +outside the door, ready to remove her if necessary. He +had left word that at the first evidence of the genuine childbearing +pain, which the nurse understood so well, he was to +be called. The house surgeon was to be in immediate charge +of the case.</p> + +<p>Eugene wondered in this final hour at the mechanical, practical, +business-like manner in which all these tragedies—the +hospital was full of women—were taken. Miss De Sale went +about her duties calm, smiling, changing the pillows occasionally +for Angela, straightening the disordered bedclothes, adjusting +the window curtains, fixing her own lace cap or apron +before the mirror which was attached to the dresser, or before +the one that was set in the closet door, and doing other little +things without number. She took no interest in Eugene's tense +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_716" id="Page_716">[Pg 716]</a></span> +attitude, or Myrtle's when she was there, but went in and out, +talking, jesting with other nurses, doing whatever she had to +do quite undisturbed.</p> + +<p>"Isn't there anything that can be done to relieve her of +this pain?" Eugene asked wearily at one point. His own nerves +were torn. "She can't stand anything like that. She hasn't +the strength."</p> + +<p>She shook her head placidly. "There isn't a thing that anyone +can do. We can't give her an opiate. It stops the process. +She just has to bear it. All women do."</p> + +<p>"All women," thought Eugene. Good God! Did all women +go through a siege like this every time a child was born? There +were two billion people on the earth now. Had there been +two billion such scenes? Had he come this way?—Angela? +every child? What a terrible mistake she had made—so unnecessary, +so foolish. It was too late now, though, to speculate +concerning this. She was suffering. She was agonizing.</p> + +<p>The house surgeon came back after a time to look at her +condition, but was not at all alarmed apparently. He nodded +his head rather reassuringly to Miss De Sale, who stood beside +him. "I think she's doing all right," he said.</p> + +<p>"I think so, too," she replied.</p> + +<p>Eugene wondered how they could say this. She was suffering +horribly.</p> + +<p>"I'm going into Ward A for an hour," said the doctor. "If +any change comes you can get me there."</p> + +<p>"What change could come," asked Eugene of himself, "any +worse than had already appeared?" He was thinking of the +drawings, though, he had seen in the book—wondering if Angela +would have to be assisted in some of the grim, mechanical +ways indicated there. They illustrated to him the deadly possibilities +of what might follow.</p> + +<p>About midnight the expected change, which Eugene in agonized +sympathy was awaiting, arrived. Myrtle had not returned. +She had been waiting to hear from Eugene. Although +Angela had been groaning before, pulling herself tense at times, +twisting in an aimless, unhappy fashion, now she seemed to +spring up and fall as though she had fainted. A shriek accompanied +the movement, and then another and another. He rushed +to the door, but the nurse was there to meet him.</p> + +<p>"It's here," she said quietly. She went to a phone outside +and called for Dr. Willets. A second nurse from some other +room came in and stood beside her. In spite of the knotted +cords on Angela's face, the swollen veins, the purple hue, they +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_717" id="Page_717">[Pg 717]</a></span> +were calm. Eugene could scarcely believe it, but he made an +intense effort to appear calm himself. So this was childbirth!</p> + +<p>In a few moments Dr. Willets came in. He also was calm, +business like, energetic. He was dressed in a black suit and +white linen jacket, but took that off, leaving the room as he +did so, and returned with his sleeves rolled up and his body +incased in a long white apron, such as Eugene had seen butchers +wear. He went over to Angela and began working with her, +saying something to the nurse beside him which Eugene did not +hear. He could not look—he dared not at first.</p> + +<p>At the fourth or fifth convulsive shriek, a second doctor came +in, a young man of Willets' age, and dressed as he was, who +also took his place beside him. Eugene had never seen him before. +"Is it a case of forceps?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I can't tell," said the other. "Dr. Lambert is handling this +personally. He ought to be here by now."</p> + +<p>There was a step in the hall and the senior physician or obstetrician +had entered. In the lower hall he had removed his +great coat and fur gloves. He was dressed in his street clothes, +but after looking at Angela, feeling her heart and temples, he +went out and changed his coat for an apron, like the others. +His sleeves were rolled up, but he did not immediately do anything +but watch the house surgeon, whose hands were bloody.</p> + +<p>"Can't they give her chloroform?" asked Eugene, to whom no +one was paying any attention, of Miss De Sale.</p> + +<p>She scarcely heard, but shook her head. She was busy dancing +attendance on her very far removed superiors, the physicians.</p> + +<p>"I would advise you to leave the room," said Dr. Lambert +to Eugene, coming over near him. "You can do nothing here. +You will be of no assistance whatsoever. You may be in the +way."</p> + +<p>Eugene left, but it was only to pace agonizedly up and down +the hall. He thought of all the things that had passed between +him and Angela—the years—the struggles. All at once +he thought of Myrtle, and decided to call her up—she wanted to +be there. Then he decided for the moment he would not. She +could do nothing. Then he thought of the Christian Science +practitioner. Myrtle could get her to give Angela absent treatment. +Anything, anything—it was a shame that she should +suffer so.</p> + +<p>"Myrtle," he said nervously over the phone, when he reached +her, "this is Eugene. Angela is suffering terribly. The birth +is on. Can't you get Mrs. Johns to help her? It's terrible!"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, Eugene. I'll come right down. Don't worry."</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_718" id="Page_718">[Pg 718]</a></span> +He hung up the receiver and walked up and down the hall +again. He could hear mumbled voices—he could hear muffled +screams. A nurse, not Miss De Sale, came out and wheeled +in the operating table.</p> + +<p>"Are they going to operate?" he asked feverishly. "I'm Mr. +Witla."</p> + +<p>"I don't think so. I don't know. Dr. Lambert wants her +to be taken to the operating room in case it is necessary."</p> + +<p>They wheeled her out after a few moments and on to the elevator +which led to the floor above. Her face was slightly +covered while she was being so transferred, and those who were +around prevented him from seeing just how it was with her, but +because of her stillness, he wondered, and the nurse said that a +very slight temporary opiate had been administered—not enough +to affect the operation, if it were found necessary. Eugene +stood by dumbly, terrified. He stood in the hall, outside the +operating room, half afraid to enter. The head surgeon's warning +came back to him, and, anyhow, what good could he do? +He walked far down the dim-lit length of the hall before him, +wondering, and looked out on a space where was nothing but +snow. In the distance a long lighted train was winding about a +high trestle like a golden serpent. There were automobiles +honking and pedestrians laboring along in the snow. What a +tangle life was, he thought. What a pity. Here a little while +ago, he wanted Angela to die, and now,—God Almighty, that +was her voice groaning! He would be punished for his evil +thoughts—yes, he would. His sins, all these terrible deeds +would be coming home to him. They were coming home to +him now. What a tragedy his career was! What a failure! +Hot tears welled up into his eyes, his lower lip trembled, not +for himself, but for Angela. He was so sorry all at once. He +shut it all back. No, by God, he wouldn't cry! What good +were tears? It was for Angela his pain was, and tears would +not help her now.</p> + +<p>Thoughts of Suzanne came to him—Mrs. Dale, Colfax, but +he shut them out. If they could see him now! Then another +muffled scream and he walked quickly back. He couldn't +stand this.</p> + +<p>He didn't go in, however. Instead he listened intently, hearing +something which sounded like gurgling, choking breathing. +Was that Angela?</p> + +<p>"The low forceps"—it was Dr. Lambert's voice.</p> + +<p>"The high forceps." It was his voice again. Something +clinked like metal in a bowl.</p> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_719" id="Page_719">[Pg 719]</a></span> +"It can't be done this way, I'm afraid," it was Dr. Lambert's +voice again. "We'll have to operate. I hate to do it, +too."</p> + +<p>A nurse came out to see if Eugene were near. "You had +better go down into the waiting room, Mr. Witla," she cautioned. +"They'll be bringing her out pretty soon. It won't be +long now."</p> + +<p>"No," he said all at once, "I want to see for myself." He +walked into the room where Angela was now lying on the +operating table in the centre of the room. A six-globed electrolier +blazed close overhead. At her head was Dr. Willets, administering +the anæsthetic. On the right side was Dr. Lambert, +his hands encased in rubber gloves, bloody, totally unconscious +of Eugene, holding a scalpel. One of the two nurses +was near Angela's feet, officiating at a little table of knives, +bowls, water, sponges, bandages. On the left of the table was +Miss De Sale. Her hands were arranging some cloths at the +side of Angela's body. At her side, opposite Dr. Lambert, was +another surgeon whom Eugene did not know. Angela was +breathing stertorously. She appeared to be unconscious. Her +face was covered with cloths and a rubber mouth piece or cone. +Eugene cut his palms with his nails.</p> + +<p>So they have to operate, after all, he thought. She is as bad +as that. The Cæsarian operation. Then they couldn't even +get the child from her by killing it. Seventy-five per cent. of +the cases recorded were successful, so the book said, but how +many cases were not recorded. Was Dr. Lambert a great +surgeon? Could Angela stand ether—with her weak heart?</p> + +<p>He stood there looking at this wonderful picture while Dr. +Lambert quickly washed his hands. He saw him take a small +gleaming steel knife—bright as polished silver. The old man's +hands were encased in rubber gloves, which looked bluish white +under the light. Angela's exposed flesh was the color of a candle. +He bent over her.</p> + +<p>"Keep her breathing normal if you can," he said to the young +doctor. "If she wakes give her ether. Doctor, you'd better +look after the arteries."</p> + +<p>He cut softly a little cut just below the centre of the abdomen +apparently, and Eugene saw little trickling streams of blood +spring where his blade touched. It did not seem a great cut. +A nurse was sponging away the blood as fast as it flowed. As +he cut again, the membrane that underlies the muscles of the +abdomen and protects the intestines seemed to spring into view.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to cut too much," said the surgeon calmly—almost +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_720" id="Page_720">[Pg 720]</a></span> +as though he were talking to himself. "These intestines +are apt to become unmanageable. If you just lift up the ends, +doctor. That's right. The sponge, Miss Wood. Now, if we +can just cut here enough"—he was cutting again like an honest +carpenter or cabinet worker.</p> + +<p>He dropped the knife he held into Miss Wood's bowl of +water. He reached into the bleeding, wound, constantly sponged +by the nurse, exposing something. What was that? Eugene's +heart jerked. He was reaching down now in there with his +middle finger—his fore and middle fingers afterwards, and +saying, "I don't find the leg. Let's see. Ah, yes. Here we +have it!"</p> + +<p>"Can I move the head a little for you, doctor?" It was +the young doctor at his left talking.</p> + +<p>"Careful! Careful! It's bent under in the region of the +coccyx. I have it now, though. Slowly, doctor, look out for +the placenta."</p> + +<p>Something was coming up out of this horrible cavity, which +was trickling with blood from the cut. It was queer a little +foot, a leg, a body, a head.</p> + +<p>"As God is my judge," said Eugene to himself, his eyes brimming +again.</p> + +<p>"The placenta, doctor. Look after the peritoneum, Miss +Wood. It's alive, all right. How is her pulse, Miss De +Sale?"</p> + +<p>"A little weak, doctor."</p> + +<p>"Use less ether. There, now we have it! We'll put that +back. Sponge. We'll have to sew this afterwards, Willets. +I won't trust this to heal alone. Some surgeons think it will, +but I mistrust her recuperative power. Three or four stitches, +anyhow."</p> + +<p>They were working like carpenters, cabinet workers, electricians. +Angela might have been a lay figure for all they +seemed to care. And yet there was a tenseness here, a great +hurry through slow sure motion. "The less haste, the more +speed," popped into Eugene's mind—the old saw. He stared +as if this were all a dream—a nightmare. It might have been +a great picture like Rembrandt's "The Night Watch." One +young doctor, the one he did not know, was holding aloft a +purple object by the foot. It might have been a skinned rabbit, +but Eugene's horrified eyes realized that it was his child—Angela's +child—the thing all this horrible struggle and suffering +was about. It was discolored, impossible, a myth, a monster. +He could scarcely believe his eyes, and yet the doctor was +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_721" id="Page_721">[Pg 721]</a></span> +striking it on the back with his hand, looking at it curiously. +At the same moment came a faint cry—not a cry, either—only +a faint, queer sound.</p> + +<p>"She's awfully little, but I guess she'll make out." It was +Dr. Willets talking of the baby. Angela's baby. Now the +nurse had it. That was Angela's flesh they had been cutting. +That was Angela's wound they were sewing. This wasn't life. +It was a nightmare. He was insane and being bedeviled by +spirits.</p> + +<p>"Now, doctor, I guess that will keep. The blankets, Miss De +Sale. You can take her away."</p> + +<p>They were doing lots of things to Angela, fastening bandages +about her, removing the cone from her mouth, changing her position +back to one of lying flat, preparing to bathe her, moving +her to the rolling table, wheeling her out while she moaned unconscious +under ether.</p> + +<p>Eugene could scarcely stand the sickening, stertorous breathing. +It was such a strange sound to come from her—as if her unconscious +soul were crying. And the child was crying, too, +healthily.</p> + +<p>"Oh, God, what a life, what a life!" he thought. To think +that things should have to come this way. Death, incisions! +unconsciousness! pain! Could she live? Would she? And +now he was a father.</p> + +<p>He turned and there was the nurse holding this littlest girl +on a white gauze blanket or cushion. She was doing something +to it—rubbing oil on it. It was a pink child now, like any +other baby.</p> + +<p>"That isn't so bad, is it?" she asked consolingly. She wanted +to restore Eugene to a sense of the commonplace. He was +so distracted looking.</p> + +<p>Eugene stared at it. A strange feeling came over him. Something +went up and down his body from head to toe, doing +something to him. It was a nervous, titillating, pinching feeling. +He touched the child. He looked at its hands, its face. +It looked like Angela. Yes, it did. It was his child. It was +hers. Would she live? Would he do better? Oh, God, to +have this thrust at him now, and yet it was his child. How +could he? Poor little thing. If Angela died—if Angela died, +he would have this and nothing else, this little girl out of all her +long, dramatic struggle. If she died, came this. To do what +to him? To guide? To strengthen? To change? He could +not say. Only, somehow, in spite of himself, it was beginning +to appeal to him. It was the child of a storm. And Angela, so +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_722" id="Page_722">[Pg 722]</a></span> +near him now—would she ever live to see it? There she was +unconscious, numb, horribly cut. Dr. Lambert was taking a last +look at her before leaving.</p> + +<p>"Do you think she will live, doctor?" he asked the great +surgeon feverishly. The latter looked grave.</p> + +<p>"I can't say. I can't say. Her strength isn't all that it +ought to be. Her heart and kidneys make a bad combination. +However, it was a last chance. We had to take it. I'm sorry. +I'm glad we were able to save the child. The nurse will give +her the best of care."</p> + +<p>He went out into his practical world as a laborer leaves his +work. So may we all. Eugene went over and stood by Angela. +He was tremendously sorry for the long years of mistrust +that had brought this about. He was ashamed of himself, +of life—of its strange tangles. She was so little, so pale, +so worn. Yes, he had done this. He had brought her here +by his lying, his instability, his uncertain temperament. It was +fairly murder from one point of view, and up to this last hour +he had scarcely relented. But life had done things to him, +too. Now, now—— Oh, hell, Oh, God damn! If she would +only recover, he would try and do better. Yes, he would. It +sounded so silly coming from him, but he would try. Love +wasn't worth the agony it cost. Let it go. Let it go. He +could live. Truly there were hierarchies and powers, as Alfred +Russel Wallace pointed out. There was a God somewhere. +He was on His throne. These large, dark, immutable forces, +they were not for nothing. If she would only not die, he would +try—he would behave. He would! he would!</p> + +<p>He gazed at her, but she looked so weak, so pale now he +did not think she could come round.</p> + +<p>"Don't you want to come home with me, Eugene?" said +Myrtle, who had come back some time before, at his elbow. +"We can't do anything here now! The nurse says she may not +become conscious for several hours. The baby is all right in +their care."</p> + +<p>The baby! the baby! He had forgotten it, forgotten Myrtle. +He was thinking of the long dark tragedy of his life—the +miasma of it.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said wearily. It was nearly morning. He went out +and got into a taxi and went to his sister's home, but in spite +of his weariness, he could scarcely sleep. He rolled feverishly.</p> + +<p>In the morning he was up again, early, anxious to go back and +see how Angela was—and the child.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_723" id="Page_723">[Pg 723]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="III_CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> + +<p>The trouble with Angela's system, in addition to a weak +heart, was that it was complicated at the time of her delivery +by that peculiar manifestation of nervous distortion or +convulsions known as eclampsia. Once in every five hundred +cases (or at least such was the statistical calculation at the +time), some such malady occurred to reduce the number of the +newborn. In every two such terminations one mother also +died, no matter what the anticipatory preparations were on the +part of the most skilled surgeons. Though not caused by, it +was diagnosed by, certain kidney changes. What Eugene had +been spared while he was out in the hall was the sight of +Angela staring, her mouth pulled to one side in a horrible +grimace, her body bent back, canoe shape, the arms flexed, the +fingers and thumbs bending over each other to and fro, in and +out, slowly, not unlike a mechanical figure that is running +down. Stupor and unconsciousness had immediately followed, +and unless the child had been immediately brought into the +world and the womb emptied, she and it would have died a +horrible death. As it was she had no real strength to fight +her way back to life and health. A Christian Science practitioner +was trying to "realize her identity with good" for her, +but she had no faith before and no consciousness now. She +came to long enough to vomit terribly, and then sank into a +fever. In it she talked of Eugene. She was in Blackwood, +evidently, and wanted him to come back to her. He held her +hand and cried, for he knew that there was never any recompense +for that pain. What a dog he had been! He bit his lip +and stared out of the window.</p> + +<p>Once he said: "Oh, I'm no damned good! I should have +died!"</p> + +<p>That whole day passed without consciousness, and most of +the night. At two in the morning Angela woke and asked to +see the baby. The nurse brought it. Eugene held her hand. +It was put down beside her, and she cried for joy, but it was a +weak, soundless cry. Eugene cried also.</p> + +<p>"It's a girl, isn't it?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Eugene, and then, after a pause, "Angela, I want +to tell you something. I'm so sorry, I'm ashamed. I want +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_724" id="Page_724">[Pg 724]</a></span> +you to get well. I'll do better. Really I will." At the same +time he was wondering, almost subconsciously, whether he +would or no. Wouldn't it be all the same if she were really +well—or worse?</p> + +<p>She caressed his hand. "Don't cry," she said, "I'll be all +right. I'm going to get well. We'll both do better. It's as +much my fault as yours. I've been too hard." She worked +at his fingers, but he only choked. His vocal cords hurt +him.</p> + +<p>"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," he finally managed to say.</p> + +<p>The child was taken away after a little while and Angela +was feverish again. She grew very weak, so weak that although +she was conscious later, she could not speak. She tried +to make some signs. Eugene, the nurse, Myrtle, understood. +The baby. It was brought and held up before her. She +smiled a weak, yearning smile and looked at Eugene. "I'll +take care of her," he said, bending over her. He swore a +great oath to himself. He would be decent—he would be +clean henceforth and for ever. The child was put beside her +for a little while, but she could not move. She sank steadily +and died.</p> + +<p>Eugene sat by the bed holding his head in his hands. So, +he had his wish. She was really dead. Now he had been +taught what it was to fly in the face of conscience, instinct, +immutable law. He sat there an hour while Myrtle begged +him to come away.</p> + +<p>"Please, Eugene!" she said. "Please!"</p> + +<p>"No, no," he replied. "Where shall I go? I am well enough +here."</p> + +<p>After a time he did go, however, wondering how he would +adjust his life from now on. Who would take care of +of——</p> + +<p>"Angela" came the name to his mind. Yes, he would call +her "Angela." He had heard someone say she was going to +have pale yellow hair.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The rest of this story is a record of philosophic doubt and +speculation and a gradual return to normality, his kind of +normality—the artistic normality of which he was capable. He +would—he thought—never again be the maundering sentimentalist +and enthusiast, imagining perfection in every beautiful +woman that he saw. Yet there was a period when, had Suzanne +returned suddenly, all would have been as before between them, +and even more so, despite his tremulousness of spirit, his speculative +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_725" id="Page_725">[Pg 725]</a></span> +interest in Christian Science as a way out possibly, his +sense of brutality, almost murder, in the case of Angela—for, +the old attraction still gnawed at his vitals. Although he had +Angela, junior, now to look after, and in a way to divert +him,—a child whom he came speedily to delight in—his fortune +to restore, and a sense of responsibility to that abstract +thing, society or public opinion as represented by those he +knew or who knew him, still there was this ache and this +non-controllable sense of adventure which freedom to contract +a new matrimonial alliance or build his life on the plan he +schemed with Suzanne gave him. Suzanne! Suzanne!—how +her face, her gestures, her voice, haunted him. Not Angela, for +all the pathos of her tragic ending, but Suzanne. He thought +of Angela often—those last hours in the hospital, her last +commanding look which meant "please look after our child," +and whenever he did so his vocal cords tightened as under the +grip of a hand and his eyes threatened to overflow, but even +so, and even then, that undertow, that mystic cord that seemed +to pull from his solar plexus outward, was to Suzanne and to +her only. Suzanne! Suzanne! Around her hair, the thought +of her smile, her indescribable presence, was built all that substance +of romance which he had hoped to enjoy and which now, +in absence and probably final separation, glowed with a radiance +which no doubt the reality could never have had.</p> + +<p>"We are such stuff as dreams are made on and our little +life is rounded with a sleep." We are such stuff as dreams +are made on, and only of dreams are our keen, stinging realities +compounded. Nothing else is so moving, so vital, so painful as +a dream.</p> + +<p>For a time that first spring and summer, while Myrtle looked +after little Angela and Eugene went to live with her and her +husband, he visited his old Christian Science practitioner, Mrs. +Johns. He had not been much impressed with the result in +Angela's case, but Myrtle explained the difficulty of the situation +in a plausible way. He was in a terrific state of depression, +and it was while he was so that Myrtle persuaded him +to go again. She insisted that Mrs. Johns would overcome his +morbid gloom, anyhow, and make him feel better. "You want +to come out of this, Eugene," she pleaded. "You will never +do anything until you do. You are a big man. Life isn't over. +It's just begun. You're going to get well and strong again. +Don't worry. Everything that is is for the best."</p> + +<p>He went once, quarreling with himself for doing so, for in +spite of his great shocks, or rather because of them, he had no +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_726" id="Page_726">[Pg 726]</a></span> +faith in religious conclusions of any kind. Angela had not +been saved. Why should he?</p> + +<p>Still the metaphysical urge was something—it was so hard +to suffer spiritually and not believe there was some way out. +At times he hated Suzanne for her indifference. If ever she +came back he would show her. There would be no feeble +urgings and pleadings the next time. She had led him into this +trap, knowing well what she was doing—for she was wise +enough—and then had lightly deserted him. Was that the +action of a large spirit? he asked himself. Would the wonderful +something he thought he saw there be capable of that? Ah, +those hours at Daleview—that one stinging encounter in Canada!—the +night she danced with him so wonderfully!</p> + +<p>During a period of nearly three years all the vagaries and +alterations which can possibly afflict a groping and morbid mind +were his. He went from what might be described as <i>almost</i> a +belief in Christian Science to almost a belief that a devil ruled +the world, a Gargantuan Brobdingnagian Mountebank, who +plotted tragedy for all ideals and rejoiced in swine and +dullards and a grunting, sweating, beefy immorality. By degrees +his God, if he could have been said to have had one in +his consciousness, sank back into a dual personality or a compound +of good and evil—the most ideal and ascetic good, as +well as the most fantastic and swinish evil. His God, for a +time at least, was a God of storms and horrors as well as of +serenities and perfections. He then reached a state not of abnegation, +but of philosophic open-mindedness or agnosticism. +He came to know that he did not know what to believe. +All apparently was permitted, nothing fixed. Perhaps life +loved only change, equation, drama, laughter. When in moments +of private speculation or social argument he was prone +to condemn it loudest, he realized that at worst and at best it +was beautiful, artistic, gay, that, however, he might age, groan, +complain, withdraw, wither, still, in spite of him, this large +thing which he at once loved and detested was sparkling on. +He might quarrel, but it did not care; he might fail or die, +but it could not. He was negligible—but, oh, the sting and +delight of its inner shrines and favorable illusions.</p> + +<p>And curiously, for a time, even while he was changing in +this way, he went back to see Mrs. Johns, principally because +he liked her. She seemed to be a motherly soul to him, +contributing some of the old atmosphere he had enjoyed in his +own home in Alexandria. This woman, from working constantly +in the esoteric depths, which Mrs. Eddy's book suggests, demonstrating +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_727" id="Page_727">[Pg 727]</a></span> +for herself, as she thought, through her belief in or +understanding of, the oneness of the universe (its non-malicious, +affectionate control, the non-existence of fear, pain, disease, and +death itself), had become so grounded in her faith that evil +positively did not exist save in the belief of mortals, that at +times she almost convinced Eugene that it was so. He speculated +long and deeply along these lines with her. He had come +to lean on her in his misery quite as a boy might on his mother.</p> + +<p>The universe to her was, as Mrs. Eddy said, spiritual, not +material, and no wretched condition, however seemingly powerful, +could hold against the truth—could gainsay divine harmony. +God was good. All that is, is God. Hence all that is, is good +or it is an illusion. It could not be otherwise. She looked at +Eugene's case, as she had at many a similar one, being sure, in +her earnest way, that she, by realizing his ultimate fundamental +spirituality, could bring him out of his illusions, and make him +see the real spirituality of things, in which the world of flesh +and desire had no part.</p> + +<p>"Beloved," she loved to quote to him, "now are we the sons +of God, and it doth not yet appear what we shall be, but we +know that when he shall appear"—(and she explained that <i>he</i> +was this universal spirit of perfection of which we are a part)—"we +shall be like him; for we shall see him as He is."</p> + +<p>"And every man that has this hope in him purifieth himself +even as He is pure."</p> + +<p>She once explained to him that this did not mean that the +man must purify himself by some hopeless moral struggle, or +emaciating abstinance, but rather that the fact that he had this +hope of something better in him, would fortify him in spite +of himself.</p> + +<p>"You laugh at me," she said to him one day, "but I tell you +you are a child of God. There is a divine spark in you. It must +come out. I know it will. All this other thing will fall away as +a bad dream. It has no reality."</p> + +<p>She even went so far in a sweet motherly way as to sing +hymns to him, and now, strange to relate, her thin voice was +no longer irritating to him, and her spirit made her seemingly +beautiful in his eyes. He did not try to adjust the curiosities +and anomalies of material defects in so far as she was concerned. +The fact that her rooms were anything but artistically perfect; +that her body was shapeless, or comparatively so, when +contrasted with that standard of which he had always been so +conscious; the fact that whales were accounted by her in some +weird way as spiritual, and bugs and torturesome insects of all +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_728" id="Page_728">[Pg 728]</a></span> +kinds as emanations of mortal mind, did not trouble him at +all. There was something in this thought of a spiritual universe—of +a kindly universe, if you sought to make it so, which pleased +him. The five senses certainly could not indicate the totality of +things; beyond them must lie depths upon depths of wonder and +power. Why might not this act? Why might it not be good? +That book that he had once read—"The World Machine"—had +indicated this planetary life as being infinitesimally small; +that from the point of view of infinity it was not even thinkable—and +yet here it appeared to be so large. Why might it not +be, as Carlyle had said, a state of mind, and as such, so easily +dissolvable. These thoughts grew by degrees, in force, in power.</p> + +<p>At the same time he was beginning to go out again a little. +A chance meeting with M. Charles, who grasped his hand +warmly and wanted to know where he was and what he was +doing, revived his old art fever. M. Charles suggested, with +an air of extreme interest, that he should get up another exhibition +along whatever line he chose.</p> + +<p>"You!" he said, with a touch of heartening sympathy, and +yet with a glow of fine corrective scorn, for he considered +Eugene as an artist only, and a very great one at that. "You,—Eugene +Witla—an editor—a publisher! Pah! You—who could +have all the art lovers of the world at your feet in a few +years if you chose—you who could do more for American art +in your life time than anyone I know, wasting your time art +directing, art editing—publishing! Pouf! Aren't you really +ashamed of yourself? But it isn't too late. Come now—a fine +exhibition! What do you say to an exhibition of some kind +next January or February, in the full swing of the season? +Everybody's interested then. I will give you our largest gallery. +How is that? What do you say?" he glowed in a peculiarly +Frenchy way,—half commanding, half inspiring or exhorting.</p> + +<p>"If I can," said Eugene quietly, with a deprecating wave of +the hand, and a faint line of self-scorn about the corners of +his mouth. "It may be too late."</p> + +<p>"'Too late! Too late!' What nonsense! Do you say that +to me? If you can! If you can! Well, I give you up! You +with your velvet textures and sure lines. It is too much. It +is unbelievable!"</p> + +<p>He raised his hands, eyes, and eye-brows in Gallic despair. +He shrugged his shoulders, waiting to see a change of expression +in Eugene.</p> + +<p>"Very good!" said Eugene, when he heard this. "Only I +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_729" id="Page_729">[Pg 729]</a></span> +can't promise anything. We will see." And he wrote out his +address.</p> + +<p>This started him once more. The Frenchman, who had often +heard him spoken of and had sold all his earlier pictures, was +convinced that there was money in him—if not here then abroad—money +and some repute for himself as his sponsor. Some +American artists must be encouraged—some <i>must</i> rise. Why not +Eugene? Here was one who really deserved it.</p> + +<p>So Eugene worked, painting swiftly, feverishly, brilliantly—with +a feeling half the time that his old art force had deserted +him for ever—everything that came into his mind. Taking a +north lighted room near Myrtle he essayed portraits of her and +her husband, of her and baby Angela, making arrangements +which were classically simple. Then he chose models from +the streets,—laborers, washerwomen, drunkards—characters all, +destroying canvases frequently, but, on the whole, making steady +progress. He had a strange fever for painting life as he saw it, +for indicating it with exact portraits of itself, strange, grim +presentations of its vagaries, futilities, commonplaces, drolleries, +brutalities. The mental, fuzzy-wuzzy maunderings and meanderings +of the mob fascinated him. The paradox of a decaying +drunkard placed against the vivid persistence of life gripped his +fancy. Somehow it suggested himself hanging on, fighting on, +accusing nature, and it gave him great courage to do it. This +picture eventually sold for eighteen thousand dollars, a record +price.</p> + +<p>In the meantime his lost dream in the shape of Suzanne was +traveling abroad with her mother—in England, Scotland, France, +Egypt, Italy, Greece. Aroused by the astonishing storm which +her sudden and uncertain fascination had brought on, she was +now so shaken and troubled by the disasters which had seemed +to flow to Eugene in her wake, that she really did not know +what to do or think. She was still too young, too nebulous. +She was strong enough in body and mind, but very uncertain +philosophically and morally—a dreamer and opportunist. Her +mother, fearful of some headstrong, destructive outburst in which +her shrewdest calculations would prove of no avail, was most +anxious to be civil, loving, courteous, politic anything to avoid +a disturbing re-encounter with the facts of the past, or a sudden +departure on the part of Suzanne, which she hourly feared. +What was she to do? Anything Suzanne wanted—her least +whim, her moods in dress, pleasure, travel, friendship, were most +assiduously catered to. Would she like to go here? would she +like to see that? would this amuse her? would that be pleasant? +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_730" id="Page_730">[Pg 730]</a></span> +And Suzanne, seeing always what her mother's motives were, and +troubled by the pain and disgrace she had brought on Eugene, +was uncertain now as to whether her conduct had been right or +not. She puzzled over it continually.</p> + +<p>More terrifying, however, was the thought which came to her +occasionally as to whether she had really loved Eugene at all +or not. Was this not a passing fancy? Had there not been some +chemistry of the blood, causing her to make a fool of herself, +without having any real basis in intellectual rapprochement. Was +Eugene truly the one man with whom she could have been +happy? Was he not too adoring, too headstrong, too foolish +and mistaken in his calculations? Was he the able person she +had really fancied him to be? Would she not have come to +dislike him—to hate him even—in a short space of time? Could +they have been truly, permanently happy? Would she not be +more interested in one who was sharp, defiant, indifferent—one +whom she could be compelled to adore and fight for rather than +one who was constantly adoring her and needing her sympathy? +A strong, solid, courageous man—was not such a one +her ideal, after all? And could Eugene be said to be that? +These and other questions tormented her constantly.</p> + +<p>It is strange, but life is constantly presenting these pathetic +paradoxes—these astounding blunders which temperament and +blood moods bring about and reason and circumstance and convention +condemn. The dreams of man are one thing—his capacity +to realize them another. At either pole are the accidents +of supreme failure and supreme success—the supreme failure of +an Abélard for instance, the supreme success of a Napoleon, +enthroned at Paris. But, oh, the endless failures for one success.</p> + +<p>But in this instance it cannot be said that Suzanne had definitely +concluded that she did not love him. Far from it. Although +the cleverest devices were resorted to by Mrs. Dale to +bring her into contact with younger and to her—now—more +interesting personalities, Suzanne—very much of an introspective +dreamer and quiet spectator herself, was not to be swiftly +deluded by love again—if she had been deluded. She had half +decided to study men from now on, and use them, if need +be, waiting for the time when some act, of Eugene's, perhaps, +or some other personality, might decide for her. The strange, +destructive spell of her beauty began to interest her, for now she +knew that she really was beautiful. She looked in her mirror +very frequently now—at the artistry of a curl, the curve of her +chin, her cheek, her arm. If ever she went back to Eugene +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_731" id="Page_731">[Pg 731]</a></span> +how well she would repay him for his agony. But would she? +Could she? Would he have not recovered his sanity and be able +to snap his fingers in her face and smile superciliously? For, +after all, no doubt he was a wonderful man and would shine +as something somewhere soon again. And when he did—what +would he think of her—her silence, her desertion, her moral +cowardice?</p> + +<p>"After all, I am not of much account," she said to herself. +"But what he thought of me!—that wild fever—that was wonderful! +Really he was wonderful!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_732" id="Page_732">[Pg 732]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_XXIX" id="III_CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> + +<p>The dénouement of all this, as much as ever could be, was +still two years off. By that time Suzanne was considerably +more sobered, somewhat more intellectually cultivated, a little +cooler—not colder exactly—and somewhat more critical. Men, +when it came to her type of beauty, were a little too suggestive +of their amorousness. After Eugene their proffers of passion, +adoration, undying love, were not so significant.</p> + +<p>But one day in New York on Fifth Avenue, there was a re-encounter. +She was shopping with her mother, but their ways, +for a moment, were divided. By now Eugene was once more +in complete possession of his faculties. The old ache had subsided +to a dim but colorful mirage of beauty that was always in +his eye. Often he had thought what he would do if he saw +Suzanne again—what say, if anything. Would he smile, bow—and +if there were an answering light in her eye, begin his +old courtship all over, or would he find her changed, cold, indifferent? +Would he be indifferent, sneering? It would be +hard on him, perhaps, afterwards, but it would pay her out and +serve her right. If she really cared, she ought to be made to +suffer for being a waxy fool and tool in the hands of her mother. +He did not know that she had heard of his wife's death—the +birth of his child—and that she had composed and destroyed +five different letters, being afraid of reprisal, indifference, scorn.</p> + +<p>She had heard of his rise to fame as an artist once more, for +the exhibition had finally come about, and with it great praise, +generous acknowledgments of his ability—artists admired him +most of all. They thought him strange, eccentric, but great. +M. Charles had suggested to a great bank director that his +new bank in the financial district be decorated by Eugene alone, +which was eventually done—nine great panels in which he expressed +deeply some of his feeling for life. At Washington, in +two of the great public buildings and in three state capitols were +tall, glowing panels also of his energetic dreaming,—a brooding +suggestion of beauty that never was on land or sea. Here +and there in them you might have been struck by a face—an arm, +a cheek, an eye. If you had ever known Suzanne as she was +you would have known the basis—the fugitive spirit at the bottom +of all these things.</p> + +<p>But in spite of that he now hated her—or told himself that +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_733" id="Page_733">[Pg 733]</a></span> +he did. Under the heel of his intellectuality was the face, the +beauty that he adored. He despised and yet loved it. Life +had played him a vile trick—love—thus to frenzy his reason +and then to turn him out as mad. Now, never again, should +love affect him, and yet the beauty of woman was still his +great lure—only he was the master.</p> + +<p>And then one day Suzanne appeared.</p> + +<p>He scarcely recognized her, so sudden it was and so quickly +ended. She was crossing Fifth Avenue at Forty-second Street. +He was coming out of a jeweler's, with a birthday ring for +little Angela. Then the eyes of this girl, a pale look—a flash +of something wonderful that he remembered and then——</p> + +<p>He stared curiously—not quite sure.</p> + +<p>"He does not even recognize me," thought Suzanne, "or +he hates me now. Oh!—all in five years!"</p> + +<p>"It is she, I believe," he said to himself, "though I am not +quite sure. Well, if it is she can go to the devil!" His mouth +hardened. "I will cut her as she deserves to be cut," he +thought. "She shall never know that I care."</p> + +<p>And so they passed,—never to meet in this world—each always +wishing, each defying, each folding a wraith of beauty +to the heart.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_734" id="Page_734">[Pg 734]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2><a name="LENVOI" id="LENVOI"></a>L'ENVOI</h2> + +<p>There appears to be in metaphysics a basis, or no basis, according +as the temperament and the experience of each shall +incline him, for ethical or spiritual ease or peace. Life sinks +into the unknowable at every turn and only the temporary or +historical scene remains as a guide,—and that passes also. It +may seem rather beside the mark that Eugene in his moral and +physical depression should have inclined to various religious abstrusities +for a time, but life does such things in a storm. +They constituted a refuge from himself, from his doubts and +despairs as religious thought always does.</p> + +<p>If I were personally to define religion I would say that it +is a bandage that man has invented to protect a soul made +bloody by circumstance; an envelope to pocket him from the +unescapable and unstable illimitable. We seek to think of +things as permanent and see them so. Religion gives life a +habitation and a name apparently—though it is an illusion. +So we are brought back to time and space and illimitable mind—as +what? And we shall always stand before them attributing +to them all those things which we cannot know.</p> + +<p>Yet the need for religion is impermanent, like all else in +life. As the soul regains its health, it becomes prone to the +old illusions. Again women entered his life—never believe +otherwise—drawn, perhaps, by a certain wistfulness and loneliness +in Eugene, who though quieted by tragedy for a little +while was once more moving in the world. He saw their +approach with more skepticism, and yet not unmoved—women +who came through the drawing rooms to which he was invited, +wives and daughters who sought to interest him in themselves +and would scarcely take no for an answer; women of +the stage—women artists, poetasters, "varietists," critics, dreamers. +From the many approaches, letters and meetings, some +few relationships resulted, ending as others had ended. Was +he not changed, then? Not much—no. Only hardened intellectually +and emotionally—tempered for life and work. There +were scenes, too, violent ones, tears, separations, renouncements, +cold meetings—with little Angela always to one side +in Myrtle's care as a stay and consolation.</p> + +<p>In Eugene one saw an artist who, pagan to the core, enjoyed +reading the Bible for its artistry of expression, and Schopenhauer, +Nietzsche, Spinoza and James for the mystery of things +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_735" id="Page_735">[Pg 735]</a></span> +which they suggested. In his child he found a charming personality +and a study as well—one whom he could brood over +with affectionate interest at times, seeing already something of +himself and something of Angela, and wondering at the outcome. +What would she be like? Would art have any interest +for her? She was so daring, gay, self-willed, he thought.</p> + +<p>"You've a Tartar on your hands," Myrtle once said to him, +and he smiled as he replied:</p> + +<p>"Just the same I'll see if I can't keep up with her."</p> + +<p>One of his occasional thoughts was that if he and Angela, +junior, came to understand each other thoroughly, and she did +not marry too soon, he could build a charming home around +her. Perhaps her husband might not object to living with +them.</p> + +<p>The last scene of all may be taken from his studio in Montclair, +where with Myrtle and her husband as resident housekeepers +and Angela as his diversion he was living and working. +He was sitting in front of his fireplace one night reading, when +a thought in some history recalled to his mind a paragraph +somewhere in Spencer's astonishing chapters on "the unknowable" +in his "Facts and Comments," and he arose to see if he +could find it. Rummaging around in his books he extracted +the volume and reread it, with a kind of smack of intellectual +agreement, for it suited his mood in regard to life and his own +mental state in particular. Because it was so peculiarly related +to his own viewpoint I quote it:</p> + +<p>"Beyond the reach of our intelligence as are the mysteries +of the objects known by our senses, those presented in this +universal matrix are, if we may say so, still further beyond the +reach of our intelligence, for whereas, those of the one kind may +be, and are, thought of by many as explicable on the hypothesis +of creation, and by the rest on the hypothesis of evolution, +those of the other kind cannot by either be regarded as thus +explicable. Theist and Agnostic must agree in recognizing the +properties of Space as inherent, eternal, uncreated—as anteceding +all creation, if creation has taken place. Hence, could we +penetrate the mysteries of existence, there would still remain +more transcendent mysteries. That which can be thought of +as neither made nor evolved presents us with facts the origin of +which is even more remote from conceivability than is the +origin of the facts presented by visible and tangible things.... The +thought of this blank form of existence which, explored +in all directions as far as eye can reach, has, beyond that, +an unexplored region compared with which the part imagination +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_736" id="Page_736">[Pg 736]</a></span> +has traversed is but infinitesimal—the thought of a space, +compared with which our immeasurable sidereal system dwindles +to a point, is a thought too overwhelming to be dwelt upon. Of +late years the consciousness that without origin or cause, infinite +space has ever existed and must ever exist produces in me +a feeling from which I shrink."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Eugene, turning as he thought he heard a slight +noise, "that is certainly the sanest interpretation of the limitations +of human thought I have ever read"—and then seeing the +tiny Angela enter, clad in a baggy little sleeping suit which +was not unrelated to a Harlequin costume, he smiled, for he +knew her wheedling, shifty moods and tricks.</p> + +<p>"Now what are you coming in here for?" he asked, with +mock severity. "You know you oughn't to be up so late. If +Auntie Myrtle catches you!"</p> + +<p>"But I can't sleep, Daddy," she replied trickily, anxious to +be with him a little while longer before the fire, and tripping +coaxingly across the floor. "Won't you take me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know all about your not being able to sleep, you +scamp. You're coming in here to be cuddled. You beat it!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, Daddy!"</p> + +<p>"All right, then, come here." And he gathered her up in +his arms and reseated himself by the fire. "Now you go to +sleep or back you go to bed."</p> + +<p>She snuggled down, her yellow head in his crook'd elbow +while he looked at her cheek, recalling the storm in which she +had arrived.</p> + +<p>"Little flower girl," he said. "Sweet little kiddie."</p> + +<p>His offspring made no reply. Presently he carried her +asleep to her couch, tucked her in, and, coming back, went out +on the brown lawn, where a late November wind rustled in the +still clinging brown leaves. Overhead were the star—Orion's +majestic belt and those mystic constellations that make Dippers, +Bears, and that remote cloudy formation known as the Milky +Way.</p> + +<p>"Where in all this—in substance," he thought, rubbing his +hand through his hair, "is Angela? Where in substance will +be that which is me? What a sweet welter life is—how rich, +how tender, how grim, how like a colorful symphony."</p> + +<p>Great art dreams welled up into his soul as he viewed the +sparkling deeps of space.</p> + +<p>"The sound of the wind—how fine it is tonight," he thought.</p> + +<p>Then he went quietly in and closed the door.</p> + +<p class="pg1"><span class="smcap">THE END</span></p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The "Genius", by Theodore Dreiser + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE "GENIUS" *** + +***** This file should be named 31824-h.htm or 31824-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/8/2/31824/ + +Produced by Jim Adcock and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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