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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:09:26 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/38060-8.txt b/38060-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e37f228 --- /dev/null +++ b/38060-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5627 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Out of the Air, by Inez Haynes Irwin + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Out of the Air + +Author: Inez Haynes Irwin + +Release Date: November 19, 2011 [EBook #38060] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUT OF THE AIR *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +OUT OF THE AIR + +BY + +INEZ HAYNES IRWIN + +GROSSET & DUNLAP + +PUBLISHERS--NEW YORK + +Made in the United States of America + + + + +COPYRIGHT, 1920, 1921, BY + +METROPOLITAN PUBLICATIONS, INC. + +COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY + +HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY, INC. + + + + +TO + +BILLY AND PHYLLIS + + + + +OUT OF THE AIR + + + + +I + + +"... so I'll answer your questions in the order you ask them. No, I +don't want ever to fly again. My last pay-hop was two Saturdays ago and +I got my discharge papers yesterday. God willing, I'll never again ride +anything more dangerous than a velocipede. I'm now a respectable +American citizen, and for the future I'm going to confine my locomotion +to the well-known earth. Get that, Spink Sparrel! The earth! In +fact...." + +David Lindsay suddenly looked up from his typewriting. Under his window, +Washington Square simmered in the premature heat of an early June day. +But he did not even glance in that direction. Instead, his eyes sought +the doorway leading from the front room to the back of the apartment. +Apparently he was not seeking inspiration; it was as though he had been +suddenly jerked out of himself. After an absent second, his eye sank to +the page and the brisk clatter of his machine began again. + +"... after the woman you recommended, Mrs. Whatever-her-name-is, +shoveled off a few tons of dust. It's great! It's the key house of New +York, isn't it? And when you look right through the Arch straight up +Fifth Avenue, you feel as though you owned the whole town. And what an +air all this chaste antique New England stuff gives it! Who'd ever +thought you'd turn out--you big rough-neck you--to be a collector of +antiques? Not that I haven't fallen myself for the sailor's chest and +the butterfly table and the glass lamps. I actually salaam to that +sampler. And these furnishings seem especially appropriate when I +remember that Jeffrey Lewis lived here once. You don't know how much +that adds to the connotation of this place." + +Again--but absently--Lindsay looked up. And again, ignoring Washington +Square, which offered an effect as of a formal garden to the long +pink-red palace on its north side--plumy treetops, geometrical grass +areas, weaving paths; elegant little summer-houses--his gaze went with a +seeking look to the doorway. + +"Question No. 2. I haven't any plans of my own at present and I am +quite eligible to the thing you suggest. You say that no one wants to +read anything about the war. I don't blame them. I wish I could fall +asleep for a month and wake up with no recollection of it. I suppose +it's that state of mind which prevents people from writing their +recollections immediately. Of course we'll all do that ultimately, I +suppose--even people who, like myself, aren't professional writers. +Don't imagine that I'm going on with the writing game. I haven't the +divine afflatus. I'm just letting myself drift along with these two +jobs until I get that _guerre_ out of my system; can look around to +find what I really want to do. I'm willing to write my experiences +within a reasonable interval; but not at once. Everything is as vivid +in my mind of course as it's possible to be; but I don't want to have +to think of it. That's why your suggestion in regard to Lutetia Murray +strikes me so favorably. I should really like to do that biography. I'm +in the mood for something gentle and pastoral. And then of course I +have a sense of proprietorship in regard to Lutetia, not alone because +she was my literary find or that it was my thesis on her which got me +my A in English 12. But, in addition, I developed a sort of platonic, +long-distance, with-the-eye-of-the-mind-only crush on her. And yet, I +don't know...." + +Again Lindsay's eyes came up from his paper. For the third time he +ignored Washington Square swarming with lumbering green busses and +dusky-haired Italian babies; puppies, perambulators, and pedestrians. +Again his glance went mechanically to the door leading to the back of +the apartment. + +"You certainly have left an atmosphere in this joint, Spink. Somehow I +feel always as if you were in the room. How it would be possible for +such a pop-eyed, freckle-faced Piute as you to pack an astral body is +more than I can understand. It's here though--that sense of your +presence. The other day I caught myself saying, 'Oh, Spink!' to the +empty air. But to return to Lutetia, I can't tell you how the prospect +tempts. Once on a _permission_ in the spring of '16, I finds myself in +Lyons. There are to be gentle acrobatic doings in the best Gallic manner +in the Park on Sunday. I gallops out to see the sports. One place, I +comes across several scores of _poilus_--on their _permissions_ +similar--squatting on the ground and doing--what do you suppose? Picking +violets. Yep--picking violets. I says to myself then, I says, 'These +frogs sure are queer guys.' But now, Spink, I understand. I don't want +to do anything more strenuous myself than picking violets, unless it's +selling baby blankets, or holding yarn for old ladies. Perhaps by an +enormous effort I might summon the energy to run a tea-room." + +Lindsay stopped his typewriting again. This time he stared fixedly at +Washington Square. His eyes followed a pink-smocked, bob-haired maiden +hurrying across the Park; but apparently she did not register. He turned +abruptly with a--"Hello, old top, what do you want?" + +The doorway, being empty, made no answer. + +Having apparently forgotten his remark the instant it was dropped, +Lindsay went on writing. + +"I admit I'm thinking over that proposition. Among my things in storage +here, I have all Lutetia's works, including those unsuccessful and very +rare pomes of hers; even that blooming thesis I wrote. The thesis would, +of course, read rotten now, but it might provide data that would save +research. When do you propose to bring out this new edition, and how do +you account for that recent demand for her? Of course it establishes me +as some swell prophet. I always said she'd bob up again, you know. Then +it looked as though she was as dead as the dodo. It isn't the work alone +that appeals to me; it's doing it in Lutetia's own town, which is +apparently the exact kind of dead little burg I'm looking for--Quinanog, +isn't it? Come to think of it, Spink, my favorite occupation at this +moment would be making daisy-chains or oak-wreaths. I'll think it..." + +He jumped spasmodically; jerked his head about; glanced over his +shoulder at the doorway-- + +"What I'd really like to do, is the biography of Lutetia for about one +month; then--for about three months--my experiences at the war which, I +understand, are to be put away in the manuscript safe of the publishing +firm of Dunbar, Cabot and Elsingham to be published when the demand for +war stuff begins again. That, I reckon, is what I should do if I'm going +to do it at all. Write it while it's fresh--as I'm not a professional. +But I can't at this moment say yes, and I can't say no. I'd like to stay +a little longer in New York. I'd like to renew acquaintance with the old +burg. I can afford to thrash round a bit, you know, if I like. There's +ten thousand dollars that my uncle left me, in the bank waiting me. When +that's spent, of course I'll have to go to work. + +"You ask me for my impressions of America--as a returned sky-warrior. Of +course I've only been here a week and I haven't talked with so very many +people yet. But everybody is remarkably omniscient. I can't tell them +anything about the late war. Sometimes they ask me a question, but they +never listen to my answer. No, I listen to them. And they're very +informing, believe me. Most of them think that the cavalry won the war +and that we went over the top to the sound of fife and drum. For +myself..." + +Again he jumped; turned his head; stared into the doorway. After an +instant of apparent expectancy, he sighed. He arose and, with an +elaborate saunter, moved over to the mirror hanging above the mantel; +looked at his reflection with the air of one longing to see something +human. The mirror was old; narrow and dim; gold framed. A gay little +picture of a ship, bellying to full sail, filled the space above the +looking-glass. The face, which contemplated him with the same unseeing +carelessness with which he contemplated it, was the face of +twenty-five--handsome; dark. It was long and lean. The continuous flying +of two years had dyed it a deep wine-red; had bronzed and burnished it. +And apparently the experiences that went with that flying had cooled and +hardened it. It was now but a smoothly handsome mask which blanked all +expression of his emotions. + +Even as his eye fixed itself on his own reflected eye, his head jerked +sideways again; he stared expectantly at the open doorway. After an +interval in which nothing appeared, he sauntered through that door; +and--with almost an effect of premeditated carelessness--through the two +little rooms, which so uselessly fill the central space of many New York +houses, to the big sunny bedroom at the back. + +The windows looked out on a paintable series of backyards: on a +sketchable huddle of old, stained, leaning wooden houses. At the +opposite window, a purple-haired, violet-eyed foreign girl in a faded +yellow blouse was making artificial nasturtiums; flame-colored velvet +petals, like a drift of burning snow, heaped the table in front of her. +A black cat sunned itself on the window ledge. On a distant roof, a boy +with a long pole was herding a flock of pigeons. They made glittering +swirls of motion and quick V-wheelings, that flashed the gray of their +wings like blades and the white of their breasts like glass. Their +sudden turns filled the air with mirrors. Lindsay watched their flight +with the critical air of a rival. Suddenly he turned as though someone +had called him; glanced inquiringly back at the doorway.... + +When, a few minutes later, he sauntered into the Rochambeau, immaculate +in the old gray suit he had put off when he donned the French uniform +four years before, he was the pink of summer coolness and the +quintessence of military calm. The little, low-ceilinged series of +rooms, just below the level of the street, were crowded; filled with +smoke, talk, and laughter. Lindsay at length found a table, looked about +him, discovered himself to be among strangers. He ordered a cocktail, +swearing at the price to the sympathetic French waiter, who made an +excited response in French and assisted him to order an elaborate +dinner. Lindsay propped his paper against his water-glass; concentrated +on it as one prepared for lonely eating. With the little-necks, however, +came diversion. From behind the waiter's crooked arm appeared the satiny +dark head of a girl. Lindsay leaped to his feet, held out his hand. + +"Good Lord, Gratia! Where in the world did you come from!" + +The girl put both her pretty hands out. "I _can_ shake hands with you, +David, now that you're in civies. I don't like that green and yellow +ribbon in your buttonhole though. I'm a pacifist, you know, and I've got +to tell you where I stand before we can talk." + +"All right," Lindsay accepted cheerfully. "You're a darn pretty +pacifist, Gratia. Of course you don't know what you're talking about. +But as long as you talk about anything, I'll listen." + +Gratia had cut her hair short, but she had introduced a style of +hair-dressing new even to Greenwich Village. She combed its sleek +abundance straight back to her neck and left it. There, following its +own devices, it turned up in the most delightful curls. Her large dark +eyes were set in a skin of pale amber and in the midst of a piquant +assortment of features. She had a way, just before speaking, of lifting +her sleek head high on the top of her slim neck. And then she was like a +beautiful young seal emerging from the water. + +"Oh, I'm perfectly serious!" the pretty pacifist asserted. "You +know I never have believed in war. Dora says you've come back +loving the French. How you can admire a people who--" After a +while she paused to take breath and then, with the characteristic +lift of her head, "Belgians--the Congo--Algeciras--Morocco-- And as +for England--Ireland--India--Egypt--" The glib, conventional patter +dripped readily from her soft lips. + +Lindsay listened, apparently entranced. "Gratia, you're too pretty for +any use!" he asserted indulgently after the next pause in which she dove +under the water and reappeared sleek-haired as ever. "I'm not going to +argue with you. I'm going to tell you one thing that will be a shock to +you, though. The French don't like war either. And the reason is--now +prepare yourself--they know more about the horrors of war in _one_ +minute than you will in a thousand years. What are you doing with +yourself, these days, Gratia?" + +"Oh, running a shop; making smocks, working on batiks, painting, writing +_vers libre_," Gratia admitted. + +"I mean, what do you do with your leisure?" Lindsay demanded, after +prolonged meditation. + +Gratia ignored this persiflage. "I'm thinking of taking up +psycho-analysis," she confided. "It interests me enormously. I think I +ought to do rather well with it." + +"I offer myself as your first victim. Why, you'll make millions! Every +man in New York will want to be psyched. What's the news, Gratia? I'm +dying for gossip." + +Gratia did her best to feed this appetite. Declining dinner, she sipped +the tall cool green drink which Lindsay ordered for her. She poured out +a flood of talk; but all the time her eyes were flitting from table to +table. And often she interrupted her comments on the absent with remarks +about the present. + +"Yes, Aussie was killed in Italy, flying. Will Arden was wounded in the +Argonne. George Jennings died of the flu in Paris--see that big blonde +over there, Dave? She's the Village dressmaker now--Dark Dale is in +Russia--can't get out. Putty Doane was taken prisoner by the Germans +at--Oh, see that gang of up-towners--aren't they snippy and patronizing +and silly? But Molly Fearing is our best war sensation. You know what a +tiny frightened mouse of a thing she was. She went into the 'Y.' She was +in the trenches the day of the Armistice--_talked_ with Germans; not +prisoners, you understand--but the retreating Germans. Her letters are +wonderful. She's crazy about it over there. I wouldn't be surprised if +she never came back-- Oh, Dave, don't look now; but as soon as you can, +get that tall red-headed girl in the corner, Marie Maroo. She does the +most marvelous drawings you ever saw. She belongs to that new Vortex +School. And then Joel-- Oh, there's Ernestine Phillips and her father. +You want to meet her father. He's a riot. Octogenarian, too! He's just +come from some remote hamlet in Vermont. Ernestine's showing him a +properly expurgated edition of the Village. Hi, Ernestine! He's a Civil +War veteran. Ernest's crazy to see you, Dave!" + +The middle-aged, rather rough-featured woman standing in the doorway +turned at Gratia's call. Her movement revealed the head and shoulders of +a tall, gaunt, very old man, a little rough-featured like his daughter; +white-haired and white-mustached. She hurried at once to Lindsay's +table. + +"Oh, Dave!" She took both Lindsay's hands. "I _am_ glad to see you! How +I have worried about you! My father, Dave. Father, this is David +Lindsay, the young aviator I was telling you about, who had such +extraordinary experiences in France. You remember the one I mean, +father. He served for two years with the French Army before we declared +war." + +Mr. Phillips extended a long arm which dangled a long hand. "Pleased to +meet you, sir! You're the first flier I've had a chance to talk with. I +expect folks make life a perfect misery to you--but if you don't mind +answering questions--" + +"Shoot!" Lindsay permitted serenely. "I'm nearly bursting with +suppressed information. How are you, Ernestine?" + +"Pretty frazzled like the rest of us," Ernestine answered. Ernestine had +one fine feature; a pair of large dark serene eyes. Now they flamed with +a troubled fire. "The war did all kinds of things to my psychology, of +course. I suppose I am the most despised woman in the Village at this +moment because I don't seem to be either a militarist or a pacifist. I +don't believe in war, but I don't see how we could have kept out of it; +or how France could have prevented it." + +"Ernestine!" Lindsay said warmly. "I just love _you_. Contrary to the +generally accepted opinion of the pacifists, France did not deliberately +bring this war on herself. Nor did she keep it up four years for her +private amusement. She hasn't enjoyed one minute of it. I don't expect +Gratia to believe me, but perhaps you will. These four years of death, +destruction, and devastation haven't entertained France a particle." + +"Well, of course--" Ernestine was beginning, "but what's the use?" Her +eyes met Lindsay's in a perplexed, comprehending stare. Lindsay shook +his handsome head gayly. "No use whatever," he said. "I'm rapidly +growing taciturn." + +"What I would like to ask you," Mr. Phillips broke in, "does war seem +such a pretty thing to you, young man, after you've seen a little of it? +I remember in '65 most of us came back thinking that Sherman hadn't used +strong enough language." + +"Mr. Phillips," Lindsay answered, "if there's ever another war, it will +take fifteen thousand dollars to send me a postcard telling me about +it." + +The talk drifted away from the war: turned to prohibition; came back to +it again. Lindsay answered Mr. Phillips's questions with enthusiastic +thoroughness. They pertained mainly to his training at Pau and Avord, +but Lindsay volunteered a detailed comparison of the American military +method with the French. "I'll always be glad though," he concluded, +"that I had that experience with the French Army. And of course when our +troops got over, I was all ready to fly." + +"Then the French uniform is so charming," Gratia put in, consciously +sarcastic. + +Lindsay slapped her slim wrist indulgently and continued to answer Mr. +Phillips's questions. Ernestine listened, the look of trouble growing in +her serene eyes. Gratia listened, diving under water after her shocked +exclamations and reappearing glistening. + +"Oh, there's Matty Packington!" Gratia broke in. "You haven't met Matty +yet, Dave. Hi, Matty! You _must_ know Matty. She's a sketch. She's one +of those people who say the things other people only dare think. You +won't believe her." She rattled one of her staccato explanations; +"society girl--first a slumming tour through the Village--perfectly +crazy about it--studio in McDougal Alley--yeowoman--becoming +uniform--Rolls-Royce--salutes--" + +Matty Packington approached the table with a composed flutter. The two +men arose. Gratia met her halfway; performed the introductions. In a +minute the conversation was out of everybody's hands and in Miss +Packington's. As Gratia prophesied, Lindsay found it difficult to +believe her. She started at an extraordinary speed and she maintained it +without break. + +"Oh, Mr. Lindsay, aren't you heartbroken now that it is all over? You +must tell me all about your experiences sometime. It must have been too +thrilling for words. But don't you think--_don't_ you think--they +stopped the war too soon? If I were Foch I wouldn't have been satisfied +until I'd occupied all Germany, devastated just as much territory as +those beasts devastated in France, and executed all those monsters who +cut off the Belgian babies' hands. Don't you think so?" + +Lindsay contemplated the lady who put this interesting question to him. +She was fair and fairy-like; a little, light-shot golden blonde; all +slim lines and opalescent colors. Her hair fluttered like whirled light +from under her piquantly cocked military cap. The stress of her emotion +added for the instant to the bigness and blueness of her eyes. + +"Well, for myself," he remarked finally, "I can do with a little peace +for a while. And then to carry out your wishes, Miss Packington, Foch +would have had to sacrifice a quarter of a million more Allied soldiers. +But I sometimes think the men at the front were a bit thoughtless of the +entertainment of the civilians. Somehow we _did_ get it into our heads +that we ought to close this war up as soon as possible. Another time +perhaps we'd know better." + +Miss Packington received this characteristically; that is to say, she +did not receive it at all. For by the time Lindsay had begun his last +sentence, she had embarked on a monologue directed this time to Gratia. +The talk flew back and forth, grew general; grew concrete; grew +abstract; grew personal. It bubbled up into monologues from Gratia and +Matty. It thinned down to questions from Ernestine and Mr. Phillips. +Drinks came; were followed by other drinks. All about them, tables +emptied and filled, uniforms predominating; and all to the accompaniment +of chatter; gay mirth; drifting smoke-films and refilled glasses. +Latecomers stopped to shake hands with Lindsay, to join the party for a +drink; to smoke a cigarette; floated away to other parties. But the +nucleus of their party remained the same. + +David answered with patience all questions, stopped patiently halfway +through his own answer to reply to other questions. At about midnight he +rose abruptly. He had just brought to the end a careful and succinct +statement in which he declared that he had seen no Belgian children with +their hands cut off; no crucified Canadians. + +"Folks," he addressed the company genially, "I'm going to admit to you +I'm tired." Inwardly he added, "I won't indicate which ones of you make +me the most tired; but almost all of you give me an awful pain." He +added aloud, "It's the hay for me this instant. Good-night!" + +Back once more in his rooms, he did not light up. Instead he sat at the +window and gazed out. Straight ahead, two lines of golden beads curving +up the Avenue seemed to connect the Arch with the distant horizon. The +deep azure of the sky was faintly powdered with stars. But for its +occasional lights, of a purplish silver, the Square would have been a +mere mystery of trees. But those lights seemed to anchor what was half +vision to earth. And they threw interlaced leaf shadows on the ceiling +above Lindsay's head. It was as though he sat in some ghostly bower. +Looking fixedly through the Arch, his face grew somber. Suddenly he +jerked about and stared through the doorway which led into the back +rooms. + +Nothing appeared-- + +After a while he lighted one gas jet--after an instant's hesitation +another-- + + * * * * * + +In the middle of the night, Lindsay suddenly found himself sitting +upright. His mouth was wide open, parched; his eyes were wide open, +staring.... A chilly prickling tingled along his scalp.... But the +strangest phenomenon was his heart, which, though swelled to an +incredible bulk, nimbly leaped, heavily pounded.... + +Lindsay recognized the motion which inundated him to be fear; +overpowering, shameless, abject fear. But of what? In the instant in +which he gave way to self-analysis, memory supplied him with a vague +impression. _Something_ had come to his bed and, leaning over, had +stared into his face-- + +That _something_ was not human. + +Lindsay fought for control. By an initial feat of courage, his fumbling +fingers lighted a candle which stood on the tiny Sheraton table at his +bedside. On a second impulse, but only after an interval in which +consciously but desperately he grasped at his vanishing manhood, he +leaped out of bed; lighted the gas. Then carrying the lighted candle, he +went from one to another of the four rooms of the apartment. In each +room he lighted every gas jet until the place blazed. He searched it +thoroughly: dark corners and darker closets; jetty strata of shadow +under couches. + +He was alone. + +After a while he went back to bed. But his courage was not equal to +darkness again. Though ultimately he fell asleep, the gas blazed all +night. + + * * * * * + +Lindsay awoke rather jaded the next morning. He wandered from room to +room submitting to one slash of his razor at this mirror and to another +at that. + +At one period of this process, "Rum nightmare I had last night!" he +remarked casually to the unresponsive air. + +He cooked his own breakfast; piled up the dishes and settled himself to +his correspondence again. "This letter is getting to be a book, Spink," +he began. "But I feel every moment as though I wanted to add more. I +slept on your proposition last night, but I don't feel any nearer a +decision. Quinanog and Lutetia tempt me; but then so does New York. By +the way, have you any pictures of Lutetia? I had one in my rooms at +Holworthy. Must be kicking around among my things. I cut it out of the +annual catalogue of your book-house. Photograph as I remember. She was +some pip. I'd like--" + +He started suddenly, turned his head toward the doorway leading to the +back rooms. The doorway was empty. Lindsay arose from his chair, +sauntered in a leisurely manner through the rooms. He investigated +closets again. "Damn it all!" he muttered. + +He resumed his letter. "You're right about writing my experiences now. I +had a long footless talk with some boobs last night, and it was curious +how things came back under their questions. I had quite forgotten them +temporarily, and of course I shall forget them for keeps if I don't +begin to put them down. I have a few scattered notes here and there. I +meant, of course, to keep a diary, but believe me, a man engaged in a +war is too busy for the pursuit of letters. But just as soon as I make +up my mind--" + +Another interval. Absently Lindsay addressed an envelope. Spinney K. +Sparrel, Esq., Park Street, Boston; attacked the list of other +long-neglected correspondents. Suddenly his head jerked upward; pivoted +again. After an instant's observation of the empty doorway, he pulled +his face forward; resumed his work. Page after page slid onto the roller +of his machine, submitted to the tattoo of its little lettered teeth, +emerged neatly inscribed. Suddenly he leaped to his feet; swung about. + +The doorway was empty. + +"Who are you?" he interrogated the empty air, "and what do you want? If +you can tell me, speak--and I'll do anything in my power to help you. +But if you can't tell me, for God's sake go away!" + + * * * * * + +That night--it happened again. There came the same sudden start, +stricken, panting, perspiring, out of deep sleep; the same frantic +search of the apartment with all the lights burning; the same late, +broken drowse; the same jaded awakening. + +As before, he set himself doggedly to work. And, as before, somewhere in +the middle of the morning, he wheeled about swiftly in his chair to +glare through the open doorway. "I wonder if I'm going nutty!" he +exclaimed aloud. + + * * * * * + +Three days went by. Lindsay's nights were so broken that he took long +naps in the afternoon. His days had turned into periods of idle revery. +The letter to Spink Sparrel was still unfinished. He worked +spasmodically at his typewriter: but he completed nothing. The third +night he started toward the Rochambeau with the intention of getting a +room. But halfway across the Park, he stopped and retraced his steps. "I +can't let you beat me!" he muttered audibly, after he arrived in the +empty apartment. + +It did not beat him that night; for he stayed in the apartment until +dawn broke. But from midnight on, he lay with every light in the place +going. At sunrise, he dressed and went out for a walk. And the moment +the sounds of everyday life began to humanize the neighborhood, he +returned; sat down to his machine. + +"Spink, old dear, my mind is made up. I accept! I'll do Lutetia for you; +and, by God, I'll do her well! I'm starting for Boston tomorrow night on +the midnight. I'll call at the office about noon and we'll go to +luncheon together. I'll dig out my thesis and books from storage, and if +you'll get all your dope and data together, I can go right to it. I'm +going to Quinanog tomorrow afternoon. I need a change. Everybody here +makes me tired. The pacifists make me wild and the militarists make me +wilder. Civilians is nuts when it comes to a war. The only person I can +talk about it with is somebody who's been there. And anybody who's been +there has the good sense not to want to talk about it. I don't ever want +to hear of that war again. Personally, I, David Lindsay, meaning me, +want to swing in a hammock on a pleasant, cool, vine-hung piazza; read +Lutetia at intervals and write some little pieces subsequent. Yours, +David." + + + + +II + + +Susannah Ayer dragged herself out of her sleepless night and started to +get up. But halfway through her first rising motion, something seemed to +leave her--to leave her spirit rather than her body. She collapsed in a +droop-shouldered huddle onto the bed. Her red hair had come out of its +thick braids; it streamed forward over her white face; streaked her +nightgown with glowing strands. She pushed it out of her eyes and sat +for a long interval with her face in her hands. Finally she rose and +went to the dresser. Haggardly she stared into the glass at her +reflection, and haggardly her reflection stared back at her. "I don't +wonder you look different, Glorious Susie," she addressed herself +wordlessly, "because you _are_ different. I wonder if you can ever wash +away that experience--" + +She poured water into the basin until it almost brimmed; and dropped her +face into it. After her sponge bath, she contemplated herself again in +the glass. Some color had crept into the pearly whiteness of her cheek. +Her dark-fringed eyes seemed a little less shadow-encircled. She turned +their turquoise glance to the picture of a woman--a miniature painted on +ivory--which hung beside the dresser. + +"Glorious Lutie," she apostrophized it, "you don't know how I wish you +were here. You don't know how much I need you now. I need you so much, +Glorious Lutie--I'm frightened!" + +The miniature, after the impersonal manner of pictures, made no response +to this call for help. Susannah sighed deeply. And for a moment she +stood a figure almost tragic, her eyes darkening as she looked into +space, her young mouth setting its soft scarlet into hard lines. In +another moment she pulled herself out of this daze and continued her +dressing. + +An hour and a half later, when, cool and lithe in her blue linen suit, +she entered the uptown skyscraper which housed the Carbonado Mining +Company, her spirits took a sudden leap. After all, here _was_ help. It +was not the help she most desired and needed--the confidence and advice +of another woman--but at least she would get instant sympathy, ultimate +understanding. + +Anyone, however depressed his mood, must have felt his spirits rise as +he stepped into the Admolian Building. It was so new that its +terra-cotta walls without, its white-enameled tiling within, seemed +always to have been freshly scrubbed and dusted. It was so high that, +with a first acrobatic impulse, it leaped twenty stories above ground; +and with a second, soared into a tower which touched the clouds. That +had not exhausted its strength. It dug in below ground, and there spread +out into rooms, eternally electric-lighted. From the eleventh story up, +its wide windows surveyed every purlieu of Manhattan. Its spacious +elevators seemed magically to defy gravitation. A touch started their +swift flight heavenward; a touch started their soft drop earthward. +Every floor housed offices where fortunes were being made--and lost--at +any rate, changing hands. There was an element of buoyancy in the air, +an atmosphere of success. People moved more quickly, talked more +briskly, from the moment they entered the Admolian Building. As always, +it raised the spirits of Susannah Ayer. The set look vanished from her +eyes; some of their normal brilliancy flowed back into them. Her mouth +relaxed-- When the elevator came to a padded halt at the eighteenth +floor, she had become almost herself again. + +She stopped before the first in a series of offices. Black-printed +letters on the ground glass of the door read: + + 46 + Carbonado Mining Company + Private. Enter No. 47 + +An accommodating hand pointed in the direction of No. 47. Susannah +unlocked the door and with a little sigh, as of relief, stepped in. + +Other offices stretched along the line of the corridor, bearing the +inscriptions, respectively, "No. 48, H. Withington Warner, President and +General Manager; No. 49, Joseph Byan, Vice-President; No. 50, Michael +O'Hearn, Secretary and Treasurer." Ultimately, Susannah's own door would +flaunt the proud motto, "No. 51, Susannah Ayer, Manager Women's +Department." + +Susannah threaded the inner corridor to her own office. She hung up her +hat and jacket; opened her mail; ran through it. Then she lifted the +cover from her typewriter and began mechanically to brush and oil it. +Her mind was not on her work; it had not been on the letters. It kept +speeding back to last night. She did not want to think of last night +again--at least not until she must. She pulled her thoughts into her +control; made them flow back over the past months. And as they sped in +those pleasant channels, involuntarily her mood went with them. Had any +girl ever been so fortunate, she wondered. She put it to herself in +simple declaratives-- + +Here she was, all alone in New York and in New York for the first time, +settled--interestingly and pleasantly settled. Eight months before, she +had stepped out of business college without a hundred dollars in the +world; her course in stenography, typewriting, and secretarial work had +taken the last of her inherited funds. Without kith or kin, she was a +working-woman, now, on her own responsibility. Two months of +apprenticeship, one stenographer among fifty, in the great offices of +the Maxwell Mills, and Barty Joyce, almost the sole remaining friend who +remembered the past glories of her family, had advised her to try New +York. + +"Susannah," he said, "now is the time to strike--now while the men are +away and while the girls are still on war jobs. Get yourself entrenched +before they come back. You've the makings of a wonderful office helper." + +Susannah, with a glorious sense of adventure once she was started, took +his advice and moved to New York. For a week, she answered +advertisements, visited offices; and she found that Barty was right. She +had the refusal of half a dozen jobs. From them she selected the offer +of the Carbonado Mining Company--partly because she liked Mr. Warner, +and partly because it seemed to offer the best future. Mr. Warner said +to her in their first interview: + +"We are looking for a clever woman whom we can specially train in the +methods of our somewhat peculiar business. If you qualify, we shall +advance you to a superior position." + +That "superior position" had fallen into her hand like a ripe peach. +Within a week, Mr. Warner had called her into the private office for a +long business talk. + +"Miss Ayer," he said, "you seem to be making good. I am going to tell +you frankly that if you continue to meet our requirements, we shall +continue to advance you and pay you accordingly. You see, our +business--" Mr. Warner's voice always swelled a little when he said "our +business"--"our business involves a great deal of letter-writing to +women investors and some personal interviews. Now we believe--both Mr. +Byan and I--that women investing money like to deal with one of their +own sex. We have been looking for just the right woman. A candidate for +the position must have tact, understanding, and clearness of written +expression. We have been trying to find such a woman; and frankly, the +search has been difficult. You know how war work--quite rightly, of +course--has monopolized the able women of the country. We have tried out +half a dozen girls; but the less said about them the better. For two +weeks we will let you try your hand at correspondence with women +investors. If your work is satisfactory, it means a permanent job at +twice your present salary." + +Her work had pleased them! It had pleased them instantly. But oh, how +she had worked to please them and to continue to please! Every letter +she sent out--and after explaining the Carbonado Company and its +attractions, Mr. Warner let her compose all the letters to women--was a +study in condensed and graceful expression. At the end of the fortnight +Mr. Warner engaged her permanently. He went even further. He said: + +"Miss Ayer, we're going to make you manager of our women's department; +and we're going to put your name with ours on the letterhead of the new +office stationery." When the day came that she first signed herself +"Susannah Ayer, Manager Women's Department," she felt as though all the +fairy tales she ever read had come true. + +Susannah, as she was assured again and again, continued to give +satisfaction. No wonder; for she liked her job. The work interested her +so much that she always longed to get to the office in the morning, +almost hated to leave it at night. It was a pleasant office, bright and +spacious. Everything was new, even to the capacious waste basket. Her +big, shiny mahogany desk stood close to the window. And from that window +she surveyed the colorful, brick-and-stone West Side of Manhattan, the +Hudson, and the city-spotted, town-dotted stretches beyond. The clouds +hung close; sometimes their white and silver argosies seemed to besiege +her. Once, she almost thought the new moon would bounce through her +window. Snow noiselessly, winds tumultuously, assailed her; but she sat +as impervious as though in an enchanted tower. Gray days made only a +suaver magic, thunderstorms a madder enchantment, about her eyrie. + +The human surroundings were just as pleasant. Though the Carbonado +Company worked only with selected clients, though they transacted most +of their business by mail, there were many visitors--some customers; +others, apparently, merely friends of Mr. Warner, Mr. Byan, and Mr. +O'Hearn--who dropped in of afternoons to chat a while. Pleasant, jolly +men most of these. Snatches of their talk, usually enigmatic, floated to +her across the tops of the partitions; it gave the office an exciting +atmosphere of something doing. And then--it happened that Susannah's way +of life had brought her into contact with but few men--everything was so +_manny_. + +She stood a little in awe of H. Withington Warner, president and general +manager. Mr. Warner was middle-aged and iron-gray. That last adjective +perfectly described him--iron-gray. Everything about him was gray; his +straight, thick hair; his clear, incisive eyes; even his colorless skin. +And his personality had a quality of iron. There was about him a +fascinating element of duality. Sometimes he seemed to Susannah a little +like a clergyman. And sometimes he made her think of an actor. This +histrionic aspect, she decided, was due to his hair, a bit long; to his +features, floridly classic; to his manner, frequently courtly; to his +voice, occasionally oratorical. This, however, showed only in his +lighter moments. Much of the time, of course, he was merely brisk and +businesslike. Whatever his tone, it carried you along. To Susannah, he +was always charming. + +If she stood a little in awe of H. Withington Warner, she made up by +feeling on terms of the utmost equality with Michael O'Hearn, secretary +and treasurer of the Carbonado Mining Company. Mr. O'Hearn--the others +called him "Mike"--was a little Irishman. He had a short stumpy figure +and a short stumpy face. Moreover, he looked as though someone had +delivered him a denting blow in the middle of his profile. From this +indentation jutted in one direction his long, protuberant, rounded +forehead; peaked in another his upturned nose. The rest of him was sandy +hair and sandy complexion, and an agreeable pair of long-lashed Irish +eyes. He was the wit of the office, keeping everyone in constant good +temper. Susannah felt very friendly toward Mr. O'Hearn. This was +strange, because he rarely spoke to her. But somehow, for all that, he +had the gift of seeming friendly. Susannah trusted him as she trusted +Mr. Warner, though in a different way. + +In regard to Joseph Byan, the third member of the combination, Susannah +had her unformulated reservations. Perhaps it was because Byan really +interested her more than the other two. Byan was little and slender; +perfectly formed and rather fine-featured; swift as a cat in his darting +movements. In his blue eyes shone a look of vague pathos and on his lips +floated--Susannah decided that this was the only way to express it--a +vague, a rather sweet smile. Susannah's job had not at first brought her +as much into contact with Mr. Byan as with Mr. Warner. His work, she +learned, lay mostly outside of the office. But once, during her third +week, he had come into her office and dictated a letter; had lingered, +when he had finished with the business in hand, for a little talk. The +conversation, in some curious turn, veered to the subject of firearms. +He was speaking of the various patterns of revolvers. He stood before +her, a slim, perfectly proportioned figure whose clothes, of an almost +feminine nicety and cut, seemed to follow every line of the body +beneath. Suddenly, one of his slight hands made a swift gesture. There +appeared--from where, she could not guess--a little, ugly-looking black +revolver. With it, he illustrated his point. Since, he had never passed +through the office without Susannah's glance playing over him like a +flame. Nowhere along the smooth lines of his figure could she catch the +bulge of that little toy of death. Despite his suave gentleness, there +was a believable quality about Byan; his personality carried conviction, +just as did that of the others. Susannah trusted him, too; but again in +a different way. + +On the very day when Mr. Byan showed her the revolver, she was passing +the open door of Mr. Warner's office; and she heard the full, round +voice of the Chief saying: + +"Remember, Joe, rule number one: no clients or employ--" Byan hastily +closed the door on the tail of that sentence. Sometimes she wondered how +it ended. + +A cog in the machine, Susannah had never fully understood the business. +That was not really necessary; Mr. Warner himself kept her informed on +what she needed to know. He explained in the beginning the glorious +opportunity for investors. From time to time, he added new details, as +for example the glowing reports of their chief engineer or their special +expert. Susannah knew that they were paying three per cent dividends a +month--and in April there was a special dividend of two per cent. +Besides, they were about to break into a "mother lode"--the reports of +their experts proved that--and when that happened, no one could tell +just how high the dividends might be. True, these dividend payments were +often made a little irregularly. One of the things which Susannah did +not understand, did not try to understand, was why a certain list of +preferred stockholders was now and then given an extra dividend; nor why +at times Mr. Warner would transfer a name from one list to another. + +"I'm thinking of saving my money and investing myself in Carbonado +stock!" said Susannah to Mr. Warner one day. + +"Don't," said Mr. Warner; and then with a touch of his clerical manner: +"We prefer to keep our office force and our investors entirely separate +factors for the present. We are trying to avoid the reproach of letting +our people in on the ground floor. When our ship comes in--when we open +the mother lode--you shall be taken care of!" + +So, for six months, everything went perfectly. Susannah had absorbed +herself completely in her job. This was an easy thing to do when the +business was so fascinating. She had gone for five months at this pace +when she realized that she had not taken the leisure to make friends. +Except the three partners--mere shadows to her--and the people at her +boarding-house--also mere shadows to her--she knew only Eloise. Not that +the friendship of Eloise was a thing to pass over lightly. Eloise was a +host in herself. + +They had met at the Dorothy Dorr, a semi-charitable home for young +business women, at which Susannah stayed during her first week in New +York. Eloise was an heiress, of that species known to the newspapers as +a "society girl." Pretty, piquant, gay, extravagant, she dabbled in +picturesque charities, and the Dorothy Dorr was her pet. Sometimes in +the summer, when she ran up to town, she even lodged there. By natural +affinity, she had picked Susannah out of the crowd. By the time Susannah +was established in her new job and had moved to a boarding-house, they +had become friends. But the friendship of Eloise could not be very +satisfactory. She was too busy; and, indeed, too often out of town. From +her social fastnesses, she made sudden, dashing forays on Susannah; took +her to luncheon, dinner, or the theater; then she would retreat to upper +Fifth Avenue, and Susannah would not see her for a fortnight or a month. + +Then, that terrible, perplexing yesterday. If she could only expunge +yesterday from her life--or at least from her memory! + +Of course, there were events leading up to yesterday. Chief among them +was the appearance in the office, some weeks before, of Mr. Ozias +Cowler, from Iowa. Mr. Cowler, Susannah gathered from the manner of the +office, was a customer of importance. He was middle-aged. No, why mince +matters--he was an old man who looked middle-aged. He was old, because +his hair had gone quite white, and his face had fallen into areas broken +by wrinkles. But he appeared to the first glance middle-aged, because +the skin of those areas was ruddy and warm; because his eyes were as +clear and blue as in youth. He looked--well, Susannah decided that he +looked _fatherly_. He was quiet in his step and quiet in his manner. +Though he appeared to her in the light of a customer rather than that of +an acquaintance, Susannah was inclined to like him, as she liked +everyone and everything about the Carbonado offices. + +Susannah gathered in time that Mr. Cowler had a great deal of money, and +that he had come to New York to invest it. Of course the Carbonado +Mining Company--and this included Susannah herself--saw the best of +reasons why it should be invested with them. But evidently, he was a +hard, cautious customer. He came again and again. He sat closeted for +long intervals with Mr. Warner. Sometimes Mr. Byan came into these +conferences. Mr. Cowler was always going to luncheon with the one and to +dinner with the other. He even went to a baseball game with Mr. O'Hearn. +But, although he visited the office more and more frequently, she +gathered that the investment was not forthcoming. Susannah knew how +frequently he was coming because, in spite of the little, admonitory +black hand on the ground-glass door, he always entered, not by the +reception room, but by her office. Usually, he preceded his long talk +with Mr. Warner by a little chat with her. Evidently, he had not yet +caught the quick gait of New York business; for as he left--again +through Susannah's office--he would stop for a longer talk. Once or +twice, Susannah had to excuse herself in order to go on with her work. +She had been a little afraid that Mr. Warner would comment on these +delays in office routine. But, although Mr. Warner once or twice glanced +into her office during these intervals, he never interfered. + +Then came--yesterday. + +Early in the morning, Mr. Warner said: + +"Miss Ayer, I wonder if you can do a favor for us?" He went on, without +waiting for Susannah's answer: "Cowler--you know what a helpless person +he is--wants to go to dinner and the theater tonight. It happens that +none of us can accompany him. We've all made the kind of engagement +which can't be broken--business. He feels a little self-conscious. You +know, his money came to him late, and he has never been to a big city +before. I suspect he is afraid to enter a fashionable restaurant alone. +He wants to go to Sherry's and to the theater afterward--" Mr. Warner +paused to smile genially. "He's something of a hick, you know, and +especially in regard to this Sherry and midnight cabaret stuff." Mr. +Warner rarely used slang; and when he did, his smile seemed to put it +into quotation marks. "True to type, he has bought tickets in the front +row. After the show, he wants to go to one of the midnight cabarets. +Would you be willing to steer him through all this? The show is _Let's +Beat It_." + +Susannah expressed herself as delighted; and indeed she was. To herself +she admitted that Mr. Cowler was no more of a "hick" in regard to +Broadway, Sherry's, and midnight cabarets than she herself. But about +admitting this, she had all the self-consciousness of the newly arrived +New Yorker. + +"That is very good of you, Miss Ayer," said Mr. Warner, appearing much +relieved. "You may go home this afternoon an hour earlier." Again Mr. +Warner passed from his incisive, gray-hued sobriety to an expansive +geniality. "I know that in these circumstances, ladies like to take time +over their toilettes." He smiled at Susannah, a smile more expansive +than any she had ever seen on his face; it showed to the back molars his +handsome, white, regular teeth. + +Mr. Cowler called for her in a taxicab at seven and-- + + * * * * * + +She heard Mr. Warner's door open and shut. Footsteps sounded in the +corridor--that was Mr. O'Hearn's voice. She glanced at her wrist-watch. +Half-past nine. The partners had arrived early this morning, of all +mornings. They were night birds, all three, seldom appearing before +half-past ten, and often working in the office late after she had gone. +Susannah stopped mid-sentence a letter which she was tapping out to a +widow in Iowa, rose, moved toward the door. At the threshold, she +stopped, a deep blush suffusing her face. So she paused for a moment, +irresolute. When finally she started down the corridor, Mr. Warner +emerged from the door of his own office, met her face to face. And as +his eyes rested on hers, she was puzzled by the expression on his smooth +countenance. Was it anxiety? His expression seemed to question her--then +it flowed into his cordial smile. + +Susannah was first to speak: + +"Good-morning, Mr. Warner. May I see you alone for a moment?" + +"Certainly!" With his best courtliness of manner, he bowed her into his +private office. "Won't you have a seat?" + +Susannah sat down. + +"It's about--about Mr. Cowler and last night." She paused. + +"Oh," asked Mr. Warner, carelessly, casually, "did you have a pleasant +evening?" + +"It's about that I wanted to talk with you," Susannah faltered. +Suddenly, her embarrassment broke, and she became perfectly composed. +"Mr. Warner, I dislike to tell you all this, because I know how it will +shock you to hear it. But you will understand that I have no choice in +the matter. It is very hard to speak of, and I don't know exactly how to +express it, but, Mr. Warner, Mr. Cowler insulted me grossly last evening +... so grossly that I left the table where we were eating after the +theater and ... and ... well, perhaps you can guess my state of mind +when I tell you that I was actually afraid to take a taxi. Of course, I +see now how foolish that was. But I ... I ran all the way home." + +For an instant, Mr. Warner's fine, incisive geniality did not change. +Then suddenly it broke into a look of sympathetic understanding. "I am +sorry, Miss Ayer," he declared gravely, "I am indeed sorry." His +clergyman aspect was for the moment in the ascendent. He might have been +talking from the pulpit. His voice took its oratorical tone. "It seems +incredible that men should do such things--incredible. But one must, I +suppose, make allowances. A rural type alone in a great city and +surrounded by all the intoxicating aspects of that city. It undoubtedly +unbalanced him. Moreover, Miss Ayer, I may say without flattery that you +are more than attractive. And then, he is unaccustomed to drinking--" + +"Oh, he had not drunk anything to speak of," Susannah interrupted. "A +little claret at dinner. He had ordered champagne, but this ... this +episode occurred before it came." + +"Incredible!" again murmured Mr. Warner. "Inexplicable!" he added. He +paused for a moment. "You wish me to see that he apologizes?" + +"I don't ask that. I am only telling you so that you may understand why +I can never speak to him again. For of course I don't want to see him as +long as I live. I thought perhaps ... that if he comes here again ... +you might manage so that he doesn't enter through my office." + +"We can probably manage that," Mr. Warner agreed urbanely. "Of course we +can manage that. He is, you see, a prospective client, and a very +profitable one. We must continue to do business with him as usual." + +"Oh, of course!" gasped Susannah. "Please don't think I'm trying to +interfere with your business. I understand perfectly. It is only that +I--but of course you understand. I don't want to see him again." She +rose. Her lithe figure came up to the last inch of its height; the +attitude gave her the effect of a column. Her head was like a glowing +alabaster lamp set at the top of that column. All the trouble had faded +out of her face. The set, scarlet lines in her mouth had melted to their +normal scarlet curves. The light had come back in a brilliant flood to +her turquoise eyes. In this uprush of spirit, her red hair seemed even +to bristle and to glisten. She sparkled visibly. "And now, I guess I'll +get back to work," she said. "Oh, by the way, I found in my mail this +morning a letter addressed, not to the women's department, but to the +firm. I opened it, but of course by accident." + +Mr. Warner drew the letter from its envelope, began casually running +through it. The conversation seemed now to be ended; Susannah moved +toward the door. From his perusal of the letter, Mr. Warner stabbed at +her back with one quick, alarmed glance, and: + +"Oh, Miss Ayer, don't go yet," he said. His tone was a little tense and +sharp. But he continued to peruse the letter. As he finished the last +page, he looked up. Again, his tone seemed peculiar; and he hesitated +before he spoke. + +"Er--did you make out the signature on this?" he asked. + +"No--it puzzled me," replied Susannah. + +"Sit down again, please," said Mr. Warner. Now his manner had that +accent of suavity, that velvety actor quality, which usually he reserved +solely for women clients. "I'm awfully sorry, but I'm afraid I shall +have to ask you to see Mr. Cowler again." + +"Mr. Warner, I ... I simply could not do that. I can never speak to him +again. You don't know.... You can't guess.... Why, I could scarcely tell +my own mother ... if I had one...." + +"It seems quite shocking to you, of course, and--Wait a moment--" Mr. +Warner rose and walked toward the door leading to Byan's office. But he +seemed suddenly to change his mind. "I know exactly how you must feel," +he said, returning. "Believe me, my dear young lady, I enter perfectly +into your emotions. Shocked susceptibilities! Wounded pride! All +perfectly natural, even exemplary. But, Miss Ayer, this is a strange +world. And in some aspects a very unsatisfactory one. We have to put up +with many things we don't like. I, for instance. You could not guess the +many disagreeable experiences to which I submit daily. I hate them as +much as anyone, but business compels me to endure them. Now you, in your +position as manager of the Women's Department--" + +"Nothing," Susannah interrupted steadily, "could induce me knowingly to +submit again to what happened last night. I would rather throw up my +job. I would rather die." + +"But, my dear Miss Ayer, you are not the only young lady in this city +who has been through such experiences. If women will invade industry, +they must take the consequences. Actresses, shopgirls, woman-buyers +accept these things as a matter of course--as all in the day's work. +Indeed, many stenographers complain of unpleasant experiences. You have +been exceedingly fortunate. Have we not in this office paid you every +possible respect?" + +"Of course you have! It is because you have been so kind that I came to +you at once, hoping ... believing ... that you would understand. It +never occurred to me that you...." + +"Of course I understand," Mr. Warner insisted, in his most soothing +tone. "It's all very dreadful. What I am trying to point out to you is +that whatever you do or wherever you go in a great city, the same thing +is likely to happen. I am trying to prove to you that you are especially +protected here. You like your work, don't you?" + +"I love it!" Susannah protested with fervor. + +"Then I think you will do well to ignore the incident. Come, my +child,"--Mr. Warner was now a combination of guiding pastor and +admonishing parent,--"forget this deplorable incident. When Mr. Cowler +comes in this afternoon, meet him as though nothing had happened. +Undoubtedly he is now bitterly regretting his mistake. Unquestionably he +will apologize. And the next time he asks you to go out with him, he +will have learned how to treat a young lady so admirable and estimable, +and you can accept his invitation with an untroubled spirit." + +"If I meet Mr. Cowler I will treat him exactly as though nothing had +happened," Susannah declared steadily. "I mean that upon meeting him I +will bow. I will even--if you ask it--give him any information he may +want about the business. But as to going anywhere with him again--I must +decline absolutely." + +"But that is one of the services which we shall have to demand from time +to time. Clients come to town. They want an attractive young lady, a +lady who will be a credit to them--a description which, I may say, +perfectly applies to you--to accompany them about the city. That will be +a part of your duties in future. Had the occasion arisen before, it +would have been a part of your duties in the past. If Mr. Cowler asks +you again to accompany him for the evening, we shall expect you to go." + +"You never told me," said Susannah after a perceptible interval, during +which directly and piercingly she met Mr. Warner's gentle gaze, "that +you expected this sort of thing." + +"My dear young lady," replied Mr. Warner with a kind of bland elegance, +"I am very sorry if I did not make that clear." + +"Then," said Susannah--so unexpectedly that it was unexpected even to +herself--"I shall have to give up my position. Please look for another +secretary. I shall consider it a favor if you get her as soon as +possible." + +Another pause; and then Mr. Warner asked: + +"Would you mind waiting here for just a few moments before you make that +decision final?" + +"I will wait," agreed Susannah. "But I will not change my decision." + +Mr. Warner did not seem at all surprised or annoyed. He arose abruptly, +started toward Byan's office. This time he entered and closed the door +behind him. A moment later, Susannah realized from the muffled sounds +which filtered through the partition that the partners were in +conference. She caught the velvety tones of Byan; O'Hearn's soft lilt. +And as she sat there, idly tapping the desk with a penholder, something +among the memories of that confused morning crept into her mind; spread +until it blotted out even the memory of Mr. Cowler. That letter--what +did it mean? In her listless, inattentive state of mind, she had opened +it carelessly, read it through before she realized that it was addressed +not to the Women's Department, but to the company. Had anyone asked her, +a moment after she laid it down, just what it said, she could not have +answered. Now, her perplexed loneliness brought it all out on the +tablets of her mind as the chemical brings out the picture from the +blankness of a photographic plate. She glanced at the desk. The letter +was not there--Mr. Warner had taken it with him. + +The man with the illegible signature wrote from Nevada. He had seen, +during a visit to Kansas City, the circulars of the Carbonado Mining +Company. After his return, he had passed through Carbonado. "I wondered, +when I saw your literature, whether there had been a new strike in that +busted camp," he wrote. "There hadn't. Carbonado now consists of one +store-keeper and a few retired prospectors who are trying to scrape +something from the corners of the old Buffalo Boy property. That camp +was worked out in the eighties--and it was never much but promises at +that." As for the photographs which decorated the Carbonado Company's +circulars, this man recognized at least one of them as a picture of a +property he knew in Utah. Finally, he asked sarcastically just how long +they expected to keep up the graft. "It's the old game, isn't it?" he +inquired, "pay three per cent for a while and then get out with the +capital." Three per cent a month--that _was_ exactly what the Carbonado +Company was paying. She wondered-- + +Conjecture for Susannah would have been certainty could she have heard +the conversation just the other side of that closed door. At the moment +when the contents of this letter flashed back into her mind, the letter +itself lay on Mr. Byan's polished mahogany table. Beside it lay a pile +of penciled memoranda through which fluttered from time to time the +nervous hand of H. Withington Warner. Susannah would scarcely have known +her genial employer. The mask of actor and clergyman had slipped from +his face. His cheeks seemed to fall flat and flabby. His eyes had lost +their benevolence. His mouth was set as hard as a trap, the corners +drooping. Across the table from him, too, sat a transformed Byan. His +smooth, regular features had sharpened to the likeness of a rat's. His +voice, however, was still velvety; even though it had just flung at +Warner a string of oaths. + +"I told you we ought to've let go and skipped six weeks ago," he said, +"that was the time for the touch-off. Secret Service still chasin' +Heinies--everythin' coming in and nothin' going out. The suckers had +already stopped biting and then you go and hand out two more monthly +dividends and settle all the bills like you intended to stay in business +forever. What did we want with this royal suite here, and ours a +correspondence game? What do we split if we stop today? Twelve hundred +dollars. Twelve hundred dollars! We land this Cowler--see!" + +Warner, unperturbed, swept his glance to O'Hearn, who sat huddled up in +his chair, searching with his glance now one of his partners, now the +other. + +"Mike," he said, "you're certain about your tip on the fly cops?" + +"Dead sure!" responded O'Hearn. "The regular bulls ain't touching mining +operations just now. It's up to the Secret Service. In two weeks more +they'll be all cleaned up on the war, and then they'll be reorganizing +their little committee on high finance. That there Inspector Laughlin +will take charge. He knows you, Boss. Then"--O'Hearn spread his hands +with a gesture of finality--"about a week more and they'll get round to +us. Three weeks is all we're safe to go. They stop our mail and +then--the pinch maybe. The tip's straight from you-know-who. The +pinch--see!" + +At the repetition of that word "pinch," Byan's countenance changed +subtly. It was as though he had winced within. But he spoke in his usual +velvety tone. + +"Less than three weeks--h'm! How much is Cowler good for?" + +"About a hundred thou'--big or nothing," replied Warner. He was drawing +stars and circles on the desk blotter. "He can't be landed without the +girl. If he'd tumbled for the Lizzies you shook at him--but he +didn't--it's this red-headed doll in our office or nothing. And I've +told you--" + +Here O'Hearn threw himself abruptly into the conversation. + +"Lave out th' girrul," he said. Usually O'Hearn's Irish showed in his +speech only by a slight twist at the turn of his tongue. Now it reverted +to a thick brogue. "I'll not have anythin' to do--" + +"We'll leave in or take out exactly what I say," put in Warner smoothly. +"Exactly what I say," he repeated. At this direct thrust, Byan lifted +his somewhat dreamy eyes. He dropped them again. Then Warner, his gaze +directly on O'Hearn's face, made a swift, sinister gesture. He drew a +forefinger round his own throat, and completed the motion by pointing +directly upward. O'Hearn, his face suddenly going a little pale, +subsided. Warner broke into the sweet, Christian smile of his office +manner. Subtly, he seemed to take command. His personality filled the +room as he leaned forward over the table and summed everything up. + +"As for your noise about quitting six weeks ago," he said, "how was I to +know that the suckers were going to stop running? We looked good for +three months then. We've got three weeks to go. All right. As for the +pinch, they won't get us unless the wad gives out. Every stage of this +game has been submitted to a lawyer. We're just a hair inside--but +inside all the same. _But_ if we can't come through liberally to him +when we're really in trouble, we might as well measure ourselves for +stripes. He's that kind of lawyer. With a hundred thousand dollars--" he +seemed to roll that phrase under his tongue--"we can stay and make +snoots at the Secret Service or beat it elsewhere, just as we please. +Ozias Cowler can furnish the hundred thou'. But he'll take only one +bait. I've tried 'em all--flies, worms, beetles, and grasshoppers--and +there's only one. And that one is trying to wriggle off the hook. I +thought last night when I sent her out with him that maybe she would +fall for him. The rest would have been easy. But she only worked up a +case of this here maidenly virtue. On top of that, she reads this +letter. Of course, she has read it, though she don't know I know. I +squeezed that out of her. + +"There," concluded Warner, "that's the layout, isn't it?" He turned to +Byan; and his smiling, office manner came over his expression. "What +would you say, Joe? You're by way of being an expert on this kind of +bait." In the Carbonado Mining Company, Warner ruled partly through his +quality of personal force, but partly through fear, the cement of +underworld society. Just as he shook at O'Hearn from time to time the +threat conveyed by that sinister gesture, he held over Byan the +knowledge of that trade and traffic, shameful even among criminals, from +which Byan had risen to be a pander of low finance. At this thrust, +however, Byan did not pale, as had O'Hearn. His expression became only +the more inscrutable. + +"You should have let me break her in when I wanted to, months ago," he +said. "I'd 'a' had her ready now. He won't fall for anyone else. I've +offered those other Molls to him, but he's crushed on her and won't look +at anybody else. So we've got to put the screws on her. They're all +cowards inside--yellow every one." + +"Meaning?" inquired Warner. + +"She's in it up to her neck with us," said Byan. "We saw to that. All +right. If we should go up against it, she'd have a hell of a time +proving to a jury that she didn't know what her letters to customers +were all about. Now wouldn't she? Ask yourself. Looked like hard luck to +me when she saw that letter just when she'd slapped the face of this +Cowler. But maybe it's a regular godsend. Put it to her straight that +this business is a graft, that we're due to go up against it in three +weeks unless something nice happens, and that she's in it as deep as any +of us. When she's so scared she can't see, let her know that she has got +one way out--fall for Cowler and help us touch him for his hundred +thousand. Make her think that it's the stir sure if she don't, and a +clean getaway if she does." + +"Suppose," continued Warner in the manner of one weighing every chance, +"she goes with her troubles to some wise guy?" + +"She's got no friends here," said Byan. "I looked into that. Runs around +with one fluff, but she don't count. If she's scared enough, I tell you, +she'll never dare peep--and she'll come round." + +"Suppose she beats it?" suggested Warner. + +"Well, Mike and I can shadow her, can't we?" replied Byan. "If she tries +to get out by rail, we can stop her and put on the screws right away. +The screws!" repeated Byan, as one who liked the idea. "And if she does +hold out a while, nothin's lost. You've got the old dope worked up to +the idea she's interested in him, haven't you? Well, if she don't fall +right away, you can take a little time explaining to him why she acted +that way last night. Maybe best to dangle her a while, anyway--get him +so anxious to see her that he'll fall for anything when you bring her +round. I'll be tightening up the screws, and when he's ripe I'll deliver +her." + +"The screws," repeated O'Hearn. "Meanin'--?" + +"Leave that to me," said Byan. "I know how." + +Warner smiled; but it was not the genial beam of his office manner. For +when the corners of his drooping mouth lifted, they showed merely a +gleam of canine teeth, which lay on his lip like fangs. + +"I suppose, when it's over, she's your personal property," he concluded. + +"Oh, sure!" responded Byan carelessly. + +"You'll not--" began O'Hearn; but this time it was Warner who +interrupted. + +"Mickey," he said, "any arrangements between this lady and Byan are +their own private affair--after the touch-off, which may stand you +twenty-five thousand shiners. Besides--" He did not make his threatening +gesture now, but merely flashed that smile of fangs and sinister +suggestion. Then he rose. + +"All right," he said. "Come on--all of you--and I'll give her that +little business talk, before she's had time to think and work up another +notion. Maybe she'll fall for it right away." + +"Not right away, she won't," Byan promulgated from the depths of his +experience, "but before I'm through, she will." + + * * * * * + +The three men came filing into the room where Susannah sat, her elbows +on the desk, her chin on her hands. She rose abruptly and faced them, +eyes wide, lips parted. Mr. Warner wore his office manner; his smile was +now benevolent. + +"I have been telling Mr. Byan and Mr. O'Hearn about your experience and +your decision, Miss Ayer," began Mr. Warner. + +Susannah blushed deeply; and for an instant her lashes swept over a +sudden stern flame in her eyes. Then she lifted them and looked with a +noncommittal openness from one face to the other. "I think I have +nothing to add," she said. + +"Yes, but perhaps we have," Mr. Warner informed her gently. "Sit down, +Miss Ayer. Sit down, boys." + +The three men seated themselves. "Thank you," said Susannah; but she +continued to stand. Byan rose thereupon, and stood lolling in the +corner, his vague smile floating on his lips. O'Hearn dropped his chin +almost to that point on his chest where his folded arms rested. His lips +drooped. Occasionally he studied the situation from under his +protuberant forehead. + +"Miss Ayer," Warner went on after a pause, "you read that letter--the +one you handed to me this morning?" + +Susannah hesitated for an almost imperceptible moment. "Yes," she +admitted, "entirely by mistake." + +"I am going to tell you something that it will surprise you to hear, +Miss Ayer. What this fellow says is all true. Carbonado is merely a--a +convenient name, let us say. In other words, we are engaged in selling +fake stocks to suckers. To be still more explicit, we are conducting a +criminal business. We could be arrested at any moment and sent to jail. +To the Federal penitentiary, in fact. I suppose that is a great surprise +to you?" + +Though she had guessed something of this ever since she recalled the +contents of the letter, the cold-blooded statement came indeed with all +the force of a surprise. Susannah's figure stiffened as though she had +touched a live wire. The crimson flush drained out of her face. And she +heard herself saying, as though in another's voice and far away, the +inadequate words: "How perfectly terrible!" + +"Exactly so!" agreed Warner. "Only you haven't the remotest idea how +terrible. Miss Ayer, this company--you as well as the rest of us--needs +money and needs it right away. Ozias Cowler has money--a great deal of +money. Somebody's bound to get it--and why not we? We use various means +to get money out of suckers. There's only one way with Cowler. He's +stuck on you. You can get it from him. We want you to do that--we expect +you to do that." + +Susannah stared at him. "Mr. Warner, I think you are crazy. I could no +more do that ... I couldn't ... I wouldn't even know how ... my +resignation goes into effect immediately. I couldn't possibly stay here +another minute." She turned to leave the office. + +"Just one moment!" Mr. Warner's words purled on. His tone was low, his +accent bland--but his voice stopped her instantly. "Miss Ayer, you don't +understand yet. Unless we get some money--a great deal of money--we +shan't last another two weeks. The situation is--but I won't take the +time to explain that. Unless we clean up that aforesaid money, we go to +jail--for a good long term. If we get the money--we don't. Never mind +the details. I assure you it's true." + +"I'm sorry," said Susannah, her lips scarcely moving as she spoke, "but +I fail to see what I have to do with that--" + +"I was about to go on to say, Miss Ayer, that you have everything to do +with it. You must be aware, if you look back over your service with us, +that you are as much involved as anyone. Your name is on our letterhead. +You have signed hundreds and perhaps thousands of letters to woman +investors. Putting a disagreeable fact rather baldly, what happens to us +happens to you. If it's the stir--if it's jail--for us, it's jail for +you." + +Susannah stared at him. She grew rigid. But she roused herself to a +trembling weak defense. + +"I'll tell them, if they arrest me ... all that has gone on here ..." +she began. + +"If you do," put in Mr. Warner smoothly, "you only create for yourself +an unfavorable impression. You put yourself in the position of going +back on your pals, and it will not get you immunity. If Mr. Cowler comes +through, you are entitled to a share of the proceeds. Whether you take +it or no is a matter for your private feelings. But the main point is +that with Cowler in, this thing will be fixed, and without him in, you +are in jail or a fugitive from justice." + +He paused now and looked at Susannah--paused not as one who pities but +as one who asks himself if he has said enough. Susannah's face proved +that he had. + +"Now of course you won't feel like working this morning. And I don't +blame you. Go home and think it over. Your first instinct, probably, +will be to see a lawyer. For your own sake, I advise you not to do that. +For ours, I hope you do. If he tells you the truth, he will show you how +deeply involved you are in this thing. No lawyer whom you can command +will handle your case. What you'd better do is lie down and take a nap. +Then at about five o'clock this afternoon, send for hot coffee and doll +yourself up--Mr. Cowler will call for you at seven." + + * * * * * + +Susannah took part of Mr. Warner's advice. She went home immediately. +But she did not take a nap. Instead, she walked up and down her bedroom +for an hour, thinking hard. She could think now; in her passage home on +the Subway, her first wild panic had beaten its desperate black wings to +quiet. What Warner had told her she now believed implicitly. She was as +much caught in the trap as any one of the three crooks with whom she had +been associated. The only difference was that she did not mean to stay +in the trap. She meant to escape. Also she did not mean to let it drive +her from the city in which she was challenging success. She meant to +stay in New York. She meant to escape. But how? + +If there were only somebody to whom she could go! She had in New York a +few acquaintances--but no real friends. Besides, she didn't want anybody +to know; all she wanted was to get away from--to vanish from their +sight. But where could she go--when--how? + +Fortunately she had plenty of money on hand, plenty at least for her +immediate purposes. She owned a few pawnable things, though only a few. +But at present what she needed, more even than money, was time. She must +get away at once. But again where? For a moment resurgent panic tore +her. Then common sense seemed to offer a solution. Here she was in the +biggest city in the country; the biggest in the world. She had heard +somewhere that a big city was the best place in the world to hide in. +She would hide in New York. Then-- + +She had forgotten one terrifying fact. Byan boarded in the same house. + +She realized why now. A fortnight before--shortly after Mr. Cowler +appeared in the office--he had come to her for advice. He had given up +one bachelor apartment, he said, and was taking another. Repairs had +become inevitable in the new apartment. He did not want to go to a +hotel. Did she know of a good boarding-house in which to spend a month? +She did, of course--her own. Byan came there the next day; although, +curiously enough, she saw but little of him. They had separate tables, +and his meal-hours and hers were different. + +Byan usually came in at about six o'clock. But today he might follow +her. She must work quickly. + +She pulled her trunk out from under the bed and began in frenzied haste +to pack it. Down came all the pictures from her walls. Into the trunk +went most of her clothes; some of her toilet articles; her half-dozen +books; her stationery; all her slender Lares and Penates. When she had +finished with her trunk, she packed her suitcase. As many thin dresses +as she could crush in--inconsequent necessities--her storm boots; her +tooth-brush-- + +Then she wrote a note to her landlady. It read: "Dear Mrs. Ray: I have +been suddenly called away from the city. Will you keep my trunk until I +send for it? Yours in great haste and some trouble, Susannah Ayer." She +put it with her board money in an envelope, addressed to Mrs. Ray, and +placed it on the trunk. + +At three o'clock, her suitcase in one hand, her bag and her umbrella in +the other, her long cape over her arm, she ventured into the hall. + +It was vacant and silent. + +She stole silently down the stairs. She met nobody. She noiselessly +opened the front door. Apparently nobody noticed her. She walked briskly +down the steps; turned toward the Avenue. At the corner something +impelled her to look back. + +Byan, his look directed downward, two fingers fumbling in his side +pocket for his key, was briskly ascending the steps. + + + + +III + + +Lindsay drove directly from the Quinanog station to the Quinanog Arms. +The Arms proved to be a tiny mid-Victorian hotel, not an inexact +replica--and by no means a discreditable one--of many small rustic +hotels that he had seen in England and France. Indeed Quinanog, as he +caught it in glimpses, might have been one part of France or one part of +England--that region which only the English Channel prevents from being +the same country. The motor, which conducted him from the station to the +Arms, drove on roads in which high wine-glass elms made Gothic arches; +between wide meadowy stretches, brilliant with buttercups, daisies, +iris; unassertive, well-proportioned houses with roomy vegetable plots +and tiny patches here and there of flower garden. He arrived at so early +an hour that the best of the long friendly day stretched before him. He +felt disposed to spend it merely in reading and smoking. He had plenty +to smoke; he had seen to that himself in New York. And he had plenty to +read; Spink Sparrel had seen to that in Boston. The bottom of one of his +trunks was covered with Lutetia Murray's works. + +But although he smoked a great deal, he did not read at all. Until +luncheon he merely followed his impulses. Those impulses took him a +little way down the main street, which ran between comfortable, white +colonial houses, set back from the road. He walked through the tiny +triangular Common. He visited the little, poster-hung post-office; +looked into the big neatly arranged general store; strolled back again. +His impulses then led him to explore the grounds of the Arms and +deposited him finally in the hammock on the side porch. After a simple +and very well-cooked luncheon, his languor broke into a sudden +restlessness. "Where is the Murray place?" he asked of the proprietor of +the Arms, whose name, the letterhead of the Arms stationery stated, was +Hyde. + +"The Murray place!" Hyde repeated inquiringly. He was a long, +noncommittal-looking person with big pale blue eyes illuminating a sandy +baldness. "Oh, the _Murray_ place! You mean the old Murray place." + +"I mean the house, whichever and wherever it is, that Lutetia Murray, +the author, used to live in." + +"Oh, sure! I get you. You see it's been empty for such a long spell that +we forget all about it. The old Murray place is on the road to West +Quinanog." + +"It isn't occupied, you say?" + +"Lord, no! Hasn't been lived in since--well, since Lutetia Murray died. +And that was--let me see--" Hyde cast a reflective eye upward. "Ten, +eleven, twelve--oh, fifteen or twenty, I should say. Yes, all of fifteen +years." + +"Does it still belong in the Murray family?" + +"Lord bless your soul, no. There hasn't been a Murray around these parts +since--well, since Lutetia Murray died." + +"Who owns it now?" + +"The Turners. They bought it when it came up for sale after Miss +Murray's death." + +"Well, weren't there any heirs?" + +"There was a niece--her brother's little girl. They had to sell the +place and everything in it. There never _was_ a sale in Quinanog like +that. Why, folks say that the mahogany would bring fancy prices in New +York nowadays." + +"Didn't they get as much as they should have?" Lindsay asked idly. + +"Oh Lord, no! And they found her estate was awful involved, and the +debts et up about all the auction brought in." + +"What became of the little girl?" + +"Some cousins took her." + +"Where is she now?" + +"Never heard tell." + +"Has anybody ever lived in the Murray place since the family left?" + +"No, I believe not." + +"Is it to let?" + +"Yes, and for sale." + +"Well, why hasn't it let or sold?" + +"Oh, I dunno exactly. It's a great big barn of a place. Kinda +ramshackle, and of course it's off the main-traveled road. You'd need a +flivver, at least, to live there nowadays. And there ain't a single +modern improvement in it. No bathroom, nor electric lights, not set +tubs, nor any of the things that women like. No garage neither." + +"Every disability you quote makes it sound all the better to me," +Lindsay commented. He meditated a moment. "I'd like to go over and look +at it this afternoon. Is there anyone here to drive me?" + +"Yes, Dick'll take you in the runabout." Hyde appeared to meditate in +his turn, and he cocked an inquiring eye in Lindsay's direction. "You +wasn't thinking of hiring the place, was you?" + +Lindsay laughed. "I should say I wasn't. No, I just wanted to look at +it." + +"I was going to say," Hyde went on, "that it's a very pleasant location. +City folks always think it's a lovely spot. If you was thinking of +hiring it, my brother's the agent." + +Lindsay laughed again. "Hiring a house is about as far from my plans at +present as returning to France." + +"Well," Hyde commented dryly, "judging from the way the Quinanog boys +feel, I guess I know just about how much you want to do that." + +"How soon can we go to the Murray place?" Lindsay inquired. + +"Now--as far as Dick's concerned." + +"By the way," Hyde dropped, as he turned toward the garage, "the Murrays +called the place Blue Medders." + +"Blue Meadows," Lindsay repeated aloud. And to himself, "Blue Meadows." +And again, though wordlessly, "Blue Meadows." It was apparent that he +liked the sound and the image the sound evoked. + +The runabout chugged to Blue Meadows in less than ten minutes. The road +branched off from the State highway at the least frequented place in its +ample stretch; ran for a long way to West Quinanog. On this side road, +houses were few and they grew fewer and fewer until they left Blue +Meadows quite by itself. Its situation, though solitary, was not lonely. +It sat near the road. Perhaps, Lindsay decided, it would have been too +near if stately wine-glass elms, feathered with leaves all along their +lissom trunks, in collaboration with a high lilac hedge now past its +blooming, had not helped to sequester it. From the street, the house +showed only a roof with two capacious chimneys, the upper story of its +gray clapboarded façade. + +Dick, a gangling freckled youth, slowed down the machine as if in +preparation for a stop. "I've got the key," he volunteered, "if you want +to go in." + +Until that moment Lindsay had entertained no idea of going in. But +Dick's words fired his imagination. "Thanks, I think I will." + +Dick handed over the long, delicately wrought key. He made no move to +follow Lindsay out of the car. "If you don't mind," he said, "I'll run +down the road to see a cousin of mine. How soon before you'll want to +start back?" + +"Oh, give me half an hour or so," Lindsay decided carelessly. + +The runabout chugged into the green arch which imprisoned the distance. + +Alone, Lindsay strolled between lilac bushes and over the sunken flags +which led to the front door. Then, changing his mind, he made an +appraising tour about the outside of the place. + +Blue Meadows was a big old house: big, so it seemed to his amateur +judgment, by an incredible number of rooms; and old--and here his +judgment, though swift, was more accurate--to the time of two hundred +years. Outside, it had all the earmarks of Colonial architecture--plain +lines, stark walls, the windows, with twenty-four lights, geometrically +placed; but its lovely lines, its beautiful proportions, and the soft +plushy nap which time had laid upon its front clapboardings mitigated +all its severities. The shingles of the roof and sides were +weather-beaten and gray, the blinds a deep old blue. At one side jutted +an incongruous modern addition; into the second story of which was set a +galleried piazza. At the other side stretched an endless series of +additions, tapering in size to a tiny shed. + +"This is Lutetia's house!" Lindsay stopped to muse. "Is it true that I +spent two years with the French Army? Is it true that I served two more +with the American Army? Oh, to think you didn't live to see all that, +Lutetia!" + +A lattice arched over the doorway and on it a big climbing rose was just +coming into bud. The beautiful door showed the pointed architrave, the +leaded side panels, the fanlight, the engaged columns, of Colonial +times. It resisted the first attack of the key, but yielded finally to +Lindsay's persuasion. He stepped into the hall. + +It was a rectangular hall, running straight to the back of the house. +Pairs of doors, opposite each other, gaped on both sides. At the left +arose a slender straight stairway, mahogany-railed. Lindsay strolled +from one room to the other, opening windows and blinds. They were big +square rooms, finished in the conventional Colonial manner, with +fireplaces and fireplace cupboards. The wallpaper, faded and stained, +was of course quite bare of pictures and ornaments. He stopped to +examine the carving on the white, painted panels above the +fireplace--garlands of flowers caught with torches and masks. + +Smiling to himself, Lindsay returned to the hall. "Oh, Lutetia, I should +like to have seen you here!" he remarked wordlessly. + +Behind the stairway, at the back, appeared another door. He opened it +into darkness. Fumbling in his pocket, he produced a box of matches, +lighted his way through the blackness; again opened windows and +shutters. This proved to be the long back room so common in Colonial +homes; running the entire width of the house. There were two fireplaces. +One was small, with a Franklin stove. The other--Lindsay calculated that +it would take six-foot logs. Four well-grown children, shoulder to +shoulder, could have walked into it. This room was not entirely empty. +In the center--by a miracle his stumbling progress had just avoided +it--was a long table of the refectory type. Lindsay studied the position +of the two fireplaces. He examined the ceiling. "You threw the whole lot +of little rooms together to make this big room, Lutetia. You're a lady +quite of my own architectural taste. I, too, like a lot of space." + +He continued his explorations. From one side of the long living-room +extended kitchen, laundry; servants' rooms and servants' dining-room; an +endless maze of butteries, pantries, sheds. Lindsay gave them short +shrift. At the other side, however, lay a little half-oval room, the +first floor of that Victorian addition which he had marked from the +outside. + +"Oh, Lutetia, Lutetia, how could you, how could you?" he burst out at +first glance. "To add this modern bit to that fine Colonial stateliness! +Perhaps we're not kindred souls after all." + +Hugging the wall of this room and leading to the second floor was a +stairway so narrow that only one person could mount it at a time. +Lindsay proved this to his own satisfaction by ascending it. It opened +into a big back room of the main house, the one with the galleried +piazza. Lindsay opened all the windows here; and then went rapidly from +room to room, letting in the June sunshine. + +They were all empty, of course--and yet, in a dozen plaintive +ways--faded wall spaces, which showed the exact size of pictures, nails +with carpet tufts still clinging to them, a forgotten window shade or +two--they spoke eloquently of habitation. Indeed, the whole place had a +friendly atmosphere, Lindsay reflected; there was none of the cold, dead +connotation of most long-empty houses. This old place was spiritually +warm, as though some reflection of a long-ago vivid life still hung +among its shadows. From the dust, the stains, the cobwebs, it might have +been vacant for a century. From the welcoming warmth of its quiet rooms, +it might have been vacant but for a day. + +Through the back windows, Lindsay looked down onto what must once have +been a huge rectangle of lawn; and near the house, what must once have +been an oval of flower garden. The lawn, stretching to a stone +wall--beyond which towered a chaos of trees--was now knee-deep in +timothy-grass; the garden had reverted to jungle. He studied the garden. +Close to the house, an enormous syringa bush heaped into a mountain of +fragrant snow. Near, a smoke-bush was just beginning to bubble into +rounds of blood-scarlet gauze. Strangled rosebushes showed yellow or +crimson. Afar an enormous patch of tiger lilies gave the effect of a +bizarre, orchidous tropical group. The rest was an indiscriminate +early-summer tangle of sumac; elderberry; bayberry; silver birches; wild +roses; daisies; buttercups; and what would later be Queen Anne's lace +and goldenrod. From a back corner window, it seemed to him that he +caught a glint of water; but he could not recapture it from any other +point of view. However, he lost all memory of this in a more affording +discovery. For the front windows gave him the reason of the name, Blue +Meadows. Across the road stretched a series of meadows, all bluish +purple with blooming iris. + +Lindsay contemplated this charming prospect for a long interval. + +"And now, Lutetia," he suddenly turned and addressed the empty rooms, "I +want to find _your_ room. Which of these six was it?" + +Retracing his steps, he went from room to room until, many times, he had +made a complete survey of the second floor. He crossed and recrossed his +own trail, as the excitement of the quest mounted in him. + +"Ah!" he exclaimed aloud, "here it is! You can't escape your soul-mate, +Lutetia." + +It was not because the room was so much bigger than the rest that he +made this decision; it was only because it was so much more quaint. At +one side it merged, by means of a slender doorway, with the galleried +piazza. From it, by means of that tiny flight of stairs, Lutetia could +have descended to the first floor of that mid-Victorian addition. "I +take it all back, Lutetia," he approved. "Middle of the nineteenth +century or not, it's a wonder--this combination." At the back of +Lutetia's room was a third door; as slender as the door leading to the +gallery, but much lower; not four feet high. Lindsay pushed it open, +crawled on hands and knees through it. He had of course, on his first +exploration, entered the small room into which it led. But he had gone +in and out without careful examination; it had seemed merely a +four-walled room. Coming into it, however, from Lutetia's bedroom, it +suddenly acquired character. + +The walls were papered in white. And on the mid-Victorian dado scarcely +legible now, he suddenly discovered drawings. Drawings of a curious +character and of a more curious technique. He followed their fluttery +maze from wall to wall--a flight of little beings, winged at the +shoulders and knees, with flying locks and strange finlike hands and +feet; fanciful, comic, tender. + +"Oh!" Lindsay emitted aloud. "Ah!" And in an instant: "I see! This room +belonged to that child Hyde spoke of." + +He ascended to the garret. This was of course the big storeroom of the +Colonial imagination. It too was quite empty. At one spot a +post--obviously not a roof-support--ran from floor to ceiling. Lindsay +gazed about a little unseeingly. "I wonder what that post was for?" he +questioned himself absently. After a while, "What's become of that +child?" he demanded of circumambient space. + +As though this offered food for reflection, he descended by means of the +main stairway to the lower floor; sat on the doorsteps a while. He +mused--gazing out into the green-colored, sweet-scented June afternoon. +After an interval he arose and repeated his voyage of exploration. + +Again he was struck with the friendly quality of the old place. That +physical dampness, which long vacant houses hold in solution, seemed +entirely to have disappeared before the flood of June sunshine. The +spiritual chill, which always accompanies it--that sinister quality so +connotative of congregations of evil spirits--he again observed was +completely lacking. As he emerged from one room to enter another, it +seemed to him that the one back of him filled with--_companionship_, he +described it to himself. As he continued his explorations, it seemed to +him that the room he was about to enter would offer him not ghostly but +human welcome. That human welcome did not come, of course. Instead, +there surged upon him the rich odors of the lilacs and syringas; the +staccato greetings of the birds. + +After a while he went downstairs again. Sitting in the front doorway, he +fell into a rich revery. + +This was where Lutetia Murray wrote the books which had so intrigued his +boyish fancy. Mentally he ran over the list: _The Sport of the +Goddesses_, _The Weary Time_, _Mary Towle_, _Old Age_, _Intervals_, +_With Pitfall and with Gin_, _Cynthia Ware_-- Details came up before his +mental vision which he had entirely forgotten and now only half +remembered; dramatic moments; descriptive passages; conversational +interludes; scenes; epigrams.... He tried to imagine Lutetia Murray at +Blue Meadows. The picture which, in college, he had cut from a +book-house catalogue, flashed before him; he had found it among his +papers. The figure was standing.... He had looked at it only yesterday, +but his masculine observation retained no details of the gown except +that it left her neck and arms bare. The face was in profile. The +curling hair rose to a high mass on her head. The delicate features were +_mignonne_, except for the delicious, warm, lusciously cut mouth-- Was +she blonde or brunet he wondered. She died at forty-five. To David +Lindsay at twenty-two, forty-five had seemed a respectable old age. To +David Lindsay at twenty-eight, it seemed almost young. She was dead, of +course, when he began to read her. Oh, if he could only have met her! It +was a great pity that she had died so young. Her work--he had made a +point of this in his thesis--had already swung from an erratic, highly +colored first period into a more balanced, carefully characterized +second period; was just emerging into a third period that was the union +of these two; big and rounded and satisfying. But death had cut that +development short. In the last four years Lindsay had seen a great deal +of death and often in atrocious form. He had long ago concluded that he +had thought on the end of man all the thoughts that were in him. But +now, sitting in the scented warmth of Lutetia's trellised doorway, he +found that there were still other thoughts which he could think. + + * * * * * + +The runabout chugged up the road presently. "Ben waiting long?" the +freckled Dick asked with a cheery shamelessness. + +"No, I've been looking the house over. Wonderful old place, isn't it?" + +"Don't care much for it myself," Dick answered. "I don't like anything +old--old houses or that old truck the summer folks are always buying. +Things can't be too new or up-to-date for me." + +Lindsay did not appear at first to hear this; he was still bemused from +the experiences of the afternoon. But as they approached the Arms, he +emerged from his daze with a belated reply. "Well, I suppose a lot of +people feel the way you do," he remarked vaguely. "Mr. Hyde tells me +that the Murray place hasn't been let for fifteen years. I expect the +rest of the people around here don't like old houses." + +"Oh, that ain't the reason the Murray house hasn't let," Dick explained +with the scorn of rustic omniscience. "They say it's haunted." + + * * * * * + +"What rent do they ask for the Murray house?" Lindsay asked Hyde that +evening. + +Hyde scratched the back of his head. His face contracted with that +mental agony which afflicts the Yankee when an exact statement is +demanded of him. "Well, I shouldn't be surprised if you could get it for +two hundred dollars the season," he finally brought out. + +Lindsay considered, but apparently not Hyde's answer; for presently he +came out with a different question. "Why do they say it's haunted?" + +Hyde emitted a short contemptuous laugh. "Did you ever hear of any house +in the country that's been empty for a number of years that worn't +considered haunted?" + +"No," Lindsay admitted. "I am disappointed, though. I had hoped you +would be able to tell me about the ghost." + +"Well, I can't," Hyde asserted scornfully, "nor nobody else neither." + +The two men smoked in silence. + +After a while Lindsay made the motions preliminary to rising. He knocked +the ashes out of his pipe; put his pipe in his pocket; withdrew his feet +from their comfortable elevation on the piazza rail. Finally he +assembled his full height on the floor, but not without a prolonged +stretching movement. "Well," he said, halfway through the yawn, "I guess +you can tell that brother of yours that I'm going to hire the Murray +house for the season." + +Hyde was equally if not more _dégagé_. He did not move; nor did he +change his expression. "All right," he commented without enthusiasm, +"I'll let him know. How soon would you like to go in, say?" + +"As soon as I can buy a bed." Lindsay disappeared through the doorway. + + * * * * * + +Two days later Lindsay found himself comfortably settled at Blue +Meadows. Upstairs--he had of course chosen Lutetia's room--was a cot and +a bureau of soft wood. Downstairs was a limited assortment of cheap +china; cheaper cutlery; the meagerest possible cooking equipment. + +But there was an atmosphere given to Lindsay's room by Lutetia's own +picture hanging above the bureau. And another to the living-room by +Lutetia's own works--a miscellaneous collection of ugly-proportioned, +ugly-colored, late-nineteenth-century volumes--ranged on the broad shelf +above the fireplace; by Lindsay's writing materials scattered over the +refectory table. Economical as he had been inside, he had exploded into +extravagance outside. A Gloucester hammock swung at the back. A +collection of garden materials which included a scythe, a spade, a +sickle, a lawn-mower, and a hose filled one corner of the barn. +Already--his back still complained of the process--he had cut the +spacious lawn. + +He was at one and the same time sanely placid and wildly happy. + +Every morning he awoke with the sun and the birds. Adapting himself with +an instant spiritual content to the fact that he was no longer in France +and would not have to fly, he turned over to take another nap. An hour +or two later, he was up and eating his self-prepared breakfast. The rest +of the day was reading Lutetia; musing on Lutetia; "scything" or +"sickling," as he called it in his letters to Spink, in the garden; +reflecting on Lutetia; exploring the neighborhood on foot; meditating on +Lutetia; reading and rereading the mass of Spink's data on Lutetia; +hosing the garden; making notes on Spink's data on Lutetia and thinking +of his notes on Spink's data on Lutetia. He awoke in the morning with +Lutetia on his mind. He fell asleep at night with Lutetia in his heart. +He had come to realize that Lutetia, the author, was even better than he +had supposed her. His college thesis had described her merely as the +Mrs. Gaskell of New England. Now, mentally, he promoted her to its Jane +Austen. His youth had risen to the lure of her color and fecundity, but +his youngness had not realized how rich she was in humor; how wise; what +a tenderness for people informed her careful, realistic detail. It was a +triumph to find her even better than the flattering dictum of his boyish +judgment. + +Exploring Lutetia's domain gave results only second in satisfaction to +exploring Lutetia's mind. It was obvious at his first inspection that +the garden had once stretched contrasting glories of color and perfume. +A careful study from the windows was even more productive than a close +survey. There, definitely, he could trace the remains of flower-plots; +pleached paths; low hedges and lichened rocks. Resurrecting that garden +would be an integral part of the joy of resurrecting Lutetia. By this +time also, he had explored the barn. There, a big roomy lower floor +sustained only part of a broken stairway. The equally roomy upper floor +seemed, from such glimpses as he could get below, to be piled with +rubbish. Some day, he promised himself, he would clean it out. Beyond, +and to the right of the barn, bounded by the stone wall, scrambled a +miniature wilderness. That wilderness evaded every effort of +exploration. Only an axe could clear a trail there. Another day he would +tackle the wilderness. But in the meantime he would devote himself to +garden and lawn; in the meantime also loaf and invite his soul. After +all, that was his main reason for coming to Quinanog. Whenever he +thought of this, he took immediately to the Gloucester hammock. + +Every morning he walked briskly over the long mile of road, shaded with +wine-glass elms, slashed with vistas of pasture, pond, and brook which +lay between Blue Meadows and the Quinanog post-office. When he had +inquired for his mail--usually he had none--he strolled over to the +general store and made his few simple purchases. He had followed this +routine for ten days before it occurred to him that he had not seen a +newspaper since he settled himself at Blue Meadows. "I'll let it go that +way, I guess," he said to himself. He noticed at first with a little +embarrassment and then with amusement that the groups in the post-office +waiting for mail, the customers at the general store, were all quietly +watching him. And one morning this floated to him from behind a pile of +cracker boxes: + +"He's the nut that's taken the Murray place. Lives all alone--batching +it. Some sort of highbrow." + +Gradually, however, he made acquaintance. Silas Turner, who owned the +next farm to Blue Meadows, offered him a ride one morning on the road. +Out of a vague conversation on the weather and real estate, Mr. Turner +dropped one interesting fact. He had known Lutetia Murray. This +revelation kept Lindsay chatting for half an hour while Mr. Turner +spilled a mass of uncorrelated details. Such as Miss Murray's +neighborliness; the time her cow ran away and Art Curtis brought it +back; how Miss Murray admired Mis' Turner's beach plum jelly so much +that Mis' Turner always made some extra just for her. As they parted he +let fall dispassionately: "She was a mighty handsome woman. Fine +figure!" He added, still dispassionately but with an effect somehow of +enthusiastic conviction, "She kept her looks to the last day of her +life." + +Useless, all this, for a biography, Lindsay reflected; but it gave him +an idea. He bought that day a second-hand bicycle at the Quinanog +garage; and thereafter, when the devil of restlessness stirred in his +young muscles, he trundled about the countryside in search of those +families mentioned in Lutetia's letters. Some were utterly gone from +Quinanog, some were not affording, and some added useful detail; as when +old Mrs. Apperson produced a dozen letters written from Europe during +Lutetia's first trip abroad. "I'd have admired to go to Europe, but it +never came so's I could," said Mrs. Apperson. "When Miss Murray went, +she wrote me from every city, telling me all about it. I read 'em over a +lot--makes me feel as though I'd been there too. And every Decoration +Day," she added inconsequently, "I put a bunch of heliotrope on her +grave. She just loved the smell of heliotrope." + +Somehow, Lindsay had never even thought of Lutetia's grave. The next day +he made that pilgrimage. The graveyard lay near the town center, +overtopped by the pine-covered hill which bore three austere white +buildings--church, town-hall, and grange. The grave itself was in a +patch of modern tombstones, surrounded by the flaking slabs of two +centuries ago. The stone was featureless, ill-proportioned; the +inscription recorded nothing but her name and the dates of her birth and +death. + +The note which most often came out of these wayside gossipings was a +high one--of the gaiety and the brilliancy of the Blue Meadows +hospitality. Apparently people were coming and going all the time; some +distinguished; some undiscovered: but all with personality. When Lindsay +returned from such a talk, the old house glowed like an opal--so full +did it seem of the colors of those vivacious days. + +But he was not quite content to be long away from his own fireside. The +friendly atmosphere of the Murray house continued to exercise its +enchanting sway. He always felt that one room became occupied the +instant he left it, that the one he was about to enter was already +occupied--and this feeling grew day by day, augmented. It brought him +back to the house always with a sense of expectancy. "Lutetia's house is +my hotel-lobby, my movie, my theater, my grand opera, my cabaret," he +wrote Spink. "There's a strange fascination about it--a fascination with +an element of eternal promise." + +At times, when he entered the trellised doorway, he found himself +expecting someone to come forward to greet him. It kept occurring to him +that a neighbor had stopped to call, was waiting inside for him. +Sometimes in the middle of the night he would drift slowly out of a +delicious sleep to a sense, equally delicious, of being most gently and +lovingly companioned in the room; sometimes in the morning he would wake +up with a snap, as though the house were full of company. For a moment +the whole place would seem brilliant and gay, and then--it was as though +a bubble burst in the air--he was alone. "It's almost as good," he wrote +Spink, "as though you were here yourself, you goggle-eyed hick, you!" +Once or twice he caught himself talking aloud; addressing the empty air. +He stifled this impulse, however. "People always have a tendency to get +bughouse," he explained to Spink, "when they live alone. I used to do +that in your rooms. I'm going to try to keep sane as long as possible." + +Ten days increased rather than diminished this impression. By this time +he had burned his thesis and was now making notes that were part the +direct product of Spink's data and part the byproduct of Lutetia's own +works. The syringas were beginning to run down; but the roses were +coming out in great numbers. The hollyhocks had opened flares of color +under the living-room window. The lawn was as close to plush as constant +care could make it. The garden was not yet quite cleaned out. He was +glad, for he liked working there. It was not a whit less friendly than +the house. Indeed, he felt so companioned there that sometimes he looked +up suddenly to see who was watching his efforts to resurrect a neglected +rosebush; or to uproot a flourishing patch of poison ivy. The evenings +were long, and as--consciously girlish and in quotation marks he wrote +Spink--"lovely." His big lamp made a spot of golden color in the shadowy +long room. One northeaster, which lasted three days, gave him dark and +damp excuse for three days of roaring fire. Much of that time he sat +opposite the blazing logs in the big, rush-bottomed piazza chair which +he had purchased, smoking and reading Lutetia. Now and then, he looked +up at Lutetia's picture, which he had finally brought down from his +bedroom. + +Perhaps it was the picture which made him feel more companioned here +than anywhere in the house or out. The living-room was peculiarly rich +with presence, so rich that he left it reluctantly at night and returned +to it as quickly as possible in the morning; so rich that often he +smiled, though why he could not have said; so rich that in the evening +he often looked up suddenly from his book and stared into its shadowy +length for a long, moveless--and breathlessly expectant--interval. + +Indeed that sensation so concretely, so steadily, so persistently +augmented that one evening-- + +He had been reading ever since dark; and it was getting late. Finally he +arose; closed the door and windows. He came back to the table and stood +leaning against it, idly whistling the _Sambre et Meuse_ through his +teeth, while he looked at Lutetia's portrait. + +He took up _The Sport of the Goddesses_ just to look it over ... turned +a page or two ... became immersed.... Suddenly ... he realized that he +was not alone.... + +He was not alone. That was conclusive. That he suddenly and absolutely +knew; though how he knew it he could not guess. His eyes stopped, in the +midst of Lutetia's single grim murder, fixed on the printed line. He +could not move them along that line. He did not mind that. But he could +not move them off the page. And he did mind that; for he wanted--most +intensely wanted--to lift his gaze. After lifting it, he presently +discovered, he would want to project it to the left. Whoever his visitor +was, it sat at the left. That he knew, completely, absolutely, and +conclusively; but again, how he knew it, he did not know. + +An immeasurable interval passed. + +He tried to raise his eyes. He could not accomplish it. The air grew +thick; his hands, still holding the book, turned cold and hard as clamps +of iron. His eyes smarted from their unwinking immobility. This was +absurd. Breaking this deathly ossification was just a matter of will. He +made himself turn a page. Five lines down he decided; he would look up. +But he did not look up. He could not. He wanted to see ... but something +stronger than desire and will withheld him. He read; turned another +page. Five lines down.... + +Ah ... the paralysing chill was moving off.... In a moment ... he was +going to be able.... In a moment.... + +He lifted his eyes.... He gazed steadily to the left.... + + + + +IV + + +Before night Susannah had found a room which exactly suited her purpose. +This was as much a matter of design as of luck. She had heard of the +place before. It was a large building in the West Twenties which had +formerly been the imposing parsonage of an imposing and very important +church. The church had long ago gone the way of all old Manhattan +buildings. But the parsonage, divided into an infinite number of +cubby-hole rooms, had become a lodging-house. A lodging-house with a +difference, however. For whereas in the ordinary establishment of this +kind, one paid rent to a landlady who lived on the spot, here one paid +it to an agent who came from somewhere, promptly every Monday morning, +for the purpose of collection. It was a perfect hiding-place. You did +not know your neighbor. Your neighbor did not know you. With due care, +one could plan his life so that he met nobody. + +Susannah, except for a choice of rooms, did not for an interval plan her +life at all. She made that choice instantly, however. Of two rooms +situated exactly opposite each other at the back of the second floor, +she chose one because it overlooked a yard containing a tree. It was a +tiny room, whitewashed; meagerly and nondescriptly furnished. But the +door-frame and window-frame offered decoration. Following the +ecclesiastical design of the whole house, they peaked into triangles of +carved wood. + +Susannah gave scant observation to any of these things. Once alone in +her room, she locked the door. Then she removed two things from her +suitcase--a nightgown and the miniature of Glorious Lutie. The latter +she suspended by a thumbtack beside the mirror of her bureau. Then she +undressed and went to bed. She slept fitfully all the rest of that day +and all that night. Early in the morning she crept out, bought herself, +at a Seventh Avenue delicatessen shop, a jar of milk and a loaf of +bread. She lunched and dined in her room. She breakfasted next morning +on the remains. + +Her sleep was deep and dreamless; but in her waking moments her thoughts +pursued the same treadmill. + +"Glorious Lutie," she began one of the wordless monologues which she was +always addressing to the miniature, "I ought to have known long ago that +they were a gang of crooks! Why don't we trust our intuitions? I suppose +it's because our intuitions are not always right. I can't quite go with +anything so magic, so irrational as intuition! And then again I'm afraid +I'm too logical. But I'm always having the same thing happen to me. +Perhaps I'm talking with somebody I have met for the first time. +Suddenly that person makes a statement. Instantly--it's like a little +hammer knocking on my mind--something inside me says: 'That is a lie. He +is lying deliberately and he knows he lies.' Now you would think that I +would trust that lead, that I would follow it implicitly. But do I? No! +Never! I pay no more attention to it than as though it never happened. +And generally my intuition is right. But always I find it out too late. +Now that little hammer has been knocking its warnings about the +Warner-Byan-O'Hearn bunch ever since I started to work for them. But I +could not _make_ myself pay any attention to it. I did not want to +believe it, for one thing. And then of course the work was awfully +interesting. I kept calling myself all kinds of names for thinking-- And +they _were_ kind. I _wouldn't_ believe it. But my intuition kept telling +me that Warner was a hypocrite. And as for Byan--" + +Perhaps Susannah could not voice, even to Glorious Lutie, the thoughts +that flooded her mind when she conjured up the image of Byan. For in her +heart Susannah knew that Byan admired her overmuch, that he would have +liked to flirt with her, that he had started-- But Warner had called him +off. The enigmatic phrase, which had come to her from Warner's office +and in Warner's voice, recurred. "Keep off clients and office employ--" +Susannah knew the end of it now--"employees" of course. Warner's rule +for his fellow crooks was that they must not flirt with clients or the +office force. Again and again in her fitful wakefulness she saw Byan +standing before her; slim, blade-like; his smartly cut suit adhering, as +though pasted there, to the lithe lines of his active body. And then +suddenly that revolver which came from--where? Byan was of course the +most attractive of them all. That floating, pathetic smile revealed such +white teeth! That deep look came from eyes so long-lashed! Warner with +his pseudo-clergyman, pseudo-actor oratory, deep-voiced and vibrant, was +the most obvious. O'Hearn, his lids perpetually down, except when they +lifted swiftly to let his glance lick up detail, was the most +mysterious. But Byan was the most attractive-- + +"Yes, Glorious Lutie, I was always receiving letters which started that +little hammer of intuition knocking. I was always overhearing bits of +conversation which started it; although often I could not understand a +word. I was always trying to piece things together--wondering-- Well, +the next time I'll know better. I've learned my lesson. But oh--think, +think, _think_ what I've helped to do. They robbed widows and orphans +and all kinds of helpless people. Of course I didn't know I was doing +it. But that's going to haunt me for a long, long time. I wish there +were some way I could make up. I've come out of it safe. But they--oh, I +mustn't think of this. I _mustn't_. I can't stand it if I do. Oh, +Glorious Lutie, believe me, my guardian angel was certainly on _that_ +job. Otherwise I don't know what would have become of me. Are you my +guardian angel, I wonder?" + +When Susannah finally arose for good, she discovered, naturally enough, +that she was hungry. She went out immediately and, in the nearest +Child's restaurant, ordered a dinner which she afterward described to +Glorious Lutie as "magnanimously, munificently, magnificently +masculine." It consisted mainly of sirloin steak and boiled potatoes, +"and I certainly ate my fill of them both." Then she took a little +aimless, circumscribed walk; returned to her room. She unpacked her +tightly stratified suitcase; hung her clothes in her little closet; +ranged her small articles in the bureau drawer. As though she were going +to start clean in her new career, she bathed and washed her hair in the +public bathroom on the second floor. Coming back into her room, she sat +for a long time before the window while her dripping locks dried. She +sat there through the dusk. + +"After all, Glorious Lutie," she reflected contentedly, "why do I ever +live in anything bigger than a hall bedroom? All a girl needs is a bed, +a bureau, one chair and a closet, and that is exactly what I've got. And +for full measure they have thrown in all those ducky little backyards +and a tree. I don't expect you to believe it, but I tell you true. A +tree in Manhattan. How do you suppose it got by the censor! And just +now, if you please, a tiny new moon all tangled up in its branches. It's +trying its best to get out, but it can't make it. I never saw a new moon +struggle so hard. Honest, I can hear it pant for breath. It looks like a +silver fish that tried to leap out of this window and got caught in a +green net. I suppose your Glorious Susie must be thinking of annexing a +job sometime, Glorious Lutie. Or else we'll cease to eat. But for a few +days I won't, if you don't mind; I'm fed up on jobs. And I've lost my +taste for offices. No, I think I'll take those few days off and do a +rubberneck trip around Manhattan. I feel like looking on innocent +objects that can't speak or think. And for a time I don't want to go any +place where I'd be likely to see my friends of the Carbonado Mining +Company. After a while the thought of them won't bother me so. Probably +by this time they have hired some other poor girl. Perhaps she won't +mind Mr. Cowler though. Anyway, I'm free of them." + +When Susannah awoke the next morning, which was the third of her +occupancy of the little room, some of her normal vitality had flowed +back, her spirits began to mount. She sang--she even whistled--as she +bathed and dressed; and she indulged in no more than the usual number of +exasperated exclamations over the uncoilableness of her freshly +shampooed, sparkling hair. "Why do we launder our tresses, I ask you, +Glorious Lutie?" she questioned once. "And oh, why didn't I have regular +gold hair like yours instead of this garnet mane? I look like--I look +like--Azinnia! But oh, I ought never to complain when I reflect that +I've escaped the curse of white eyelashes." + +A consideration first of the shimmery day outside, and next of the +clothes hanging in her closet, deflected her attention from this +grievance. She chose from her closet a salmon-colored linen gown, +slightly faded to a delicate golden rose. It was a long, slim dress and +it made as much as possible of every inch of Susannah's long slimness. +Moreover, it was notably successful in bringing out the blue of her +brilliant eyes, the red of her brilliant hair, the contrasting white of +her smooth warm skin. That face now so shone and smelled of soap that, +the instant she caught sight of it in the glass, she pulled open the top +drawer of her bureau and powdered it frantically. + +"I always shine, Glorious Lutie, as though I had washed with brass +polish. I don't remember that you ever glistened. But I do remember that +you always smelled as sweet as--roses, or new-mown hay, or heliotrope. I +wonder what powder you did use? And it was a very foxy move on your +part, to have yourself painted in just that soft swirl of blue tulle. +You look as though you were rising from a cloud. I wonder what your +dresses were like? I seem to remember pale blues and pinks; very +delicate yellows and the most silvery grays. It seems to me that tulle +and tarlatan and maline were your dope. Do you think, Glorious Lutie, +when I reach your age, I shall be as good-looking as you?" + +Glorious Lutie, with that reticence which distinguishes the inhabitants +of portraits, made no answer. But an observer might have said that the +young face, staring alternately at the mirror and at the miniature, +would some day mature to a face very like the one which stared back at +it from the gold frame. Both were blonde. But where Glorious Lutie's +eyes were a misty brown-lashed azure, Glorious Susie's were a spirited +dark-lashed turquoise. Glorious Lutie's hair was like a golden crown, +beautifully carved and burnished. Glorious Susie's turbulent mane was +red, and it made a rumpled, coppery bunch in her neck. However, family +resemblances peered from every angle of the two faces, although +differences of temperament made sharp contrast of their expressions. +Glorious Lutie was all soft, dreamy tenderness; Susannah, all spirit, +active charm, resolution. + +Susannah spent three days--almost carefree--of of what she described to +the miniature as "touristing." She had very little time to converse with +Glorious Lutie; for the little room saw her only at morning and night. +But she gave her confidante a detailed account of the day's adventures. +"It was the Bronx Zoo this morning, Glorious Lutie," she would say. +"Have you ever noticed how satisfactory little beasties are? They don't +lay traps for you and try to put you in a tortured position that you +can't wriggle out of?" Though her question was humorous in spirit, +Susannah's eyes grew black, as with a sudden terror. "No, _we_ lay traps +for _them_. I guess I've never before even tried to guess what it means +to be trapped?" Or, "It was the Art Museum this afternoon, Glorious +Lutie. I've looked at everything from a pretty nearly life-size replica +of the Parthenon to a needle used by a little Egyptian girl ten million +years ago. I'm so full of information and dope and facts that, if an +autopsy were to be held over me at this moment, it would be found that +my brain had turned into an Encyclopædia Britannica. In fact, I will +modestly admit that I know everything." Or, "It was the Aquarium this +morning, Glorious Lutie. Why didn't you tell me that fish were +interesting? I've always hated a fish. They won't roll over or jump +through for you and practically none of them bark or sing--or anything. +I have always thought of them only as something you eat unwillingly on +Fridays. But some of them are really beautiful; and interesting. I +stayed there three hours; and I suppose if it hadn't been for the horrid +stenchy smell I'd be there yet." + +But in spite of these vivacious, wordless monologues, her spirits were a +long time rising to their normal height. The frightened look had not +completely left her eyes; and often on her long, lonely walks, she would +stop short suddenly, trembling like a spirited horse, as though some +inner consideration harassed her. Then she would take up her walk at a +frantic pace. Ultimately, however, she succeeded in leaving those +terrifying considerations behind. And inevitably in the end, the +resilience of youth conquered. The day came when Susannah leaped out of +bed as lightly as though it were her first morning in New York. + +"Glorious Lutie," began her ante-breakfast address, "we are not a +millionairess; ergo, today we buy all the morning papers and read them +at breakfast in order to hunt for a job via the ads. And perhaps the +next time your Glorious Susie begins to earn money, you might advise her +to save a little against an unexpected situation. Of course I shouldn't +have squandered my money the way I did. But I never had had so much +before in my life--and oh, the joy of having cut-steel buckles and a +perfectly beautiful raincoat--and my first set of furs--and perfumery +and everything." + +The advertising columns were not, she found (and attributed it to the +return of so many men from France), very fecund. Each newspaper offered +only from two to six chances worth considering. One, which appeared in +all of them, seemed to afford the best opening. It read: + + "_Wanted_: A stenographer, lady-like appearance and address, + with some executive experience. Steady job and quick advancement + to right woman. Apply between 9 and 11, room 1009, Carman + Building." + +"I am requested to apply for this spectacular job at the office itself, +Glorious Lutie," she confided on her return to her room, "and I'm going +out immediately after it. It's a romantic thing, getting a job through +an advertisement. I hope I float up to the forty-sixth floor of a +skyscraper, sail into a suite of offices which fill the entire top +story; all Turkish rugs on the highly polished floor; all expensive +paintings on the delicately tinted walls; all cut flowers with yard-long +stems in the finely cut crystal vases. I should like to find there a new +employer; tall, young, handsome, and dark. Dark he must be, Glorious +Lutie. I cannot marry a blond; our children would be albinos. He would +address me thus: 'Most Beauteous Blonde--you arrive at a moment when we +are so much in need of a secretary that if you don't immediately seat +yourself at yon machine, we shall go out of business. Your salary is one +hundred dollars a week. This exquisite rose-lined boudoir is for your +private use. You will find a bunch of fresh violets on your desk every +morning. May I offer you my Rolls-Royce to bring you back and forth to +work? And,' having fallen in love with me instantly, 'how soon may I ask +you to marry me?'" + +Susannah took the Subway to Wall Street; walked through that busy +city-cañon to the Carman Building. She strode into the elevator, almost +empty in the hour which followed the morning rush; started to emerge, as +directed by the elevator-man, at the tenth floor. But she did not +emerge. Instead, her face as white as paper, she leaped back into the +elevator; ascended with it to the top floor; descended with it; +hurriedly left the building. + +That first casual glance down the corridor had given her a glimpse of H. +Withington Warner sauntering slowly away from the elevator. + +"Say, Eloise," she said late that afternoon over the telephone to the +friend she had made at the Dorothy Dorr Home. "When can I see you?... +Yes.... No.... Well, you see I'm out of a job at present.... No, I can't +tell you about it. This is a rooming-house. There is no telephone in my +room. I am telephoning from the hall. And so I'd rather wait until I see +you. But in brief, I'm eating at Child's, soda-fountains and even peanut +stands. I'm really getting back my girlish figure. Only I think I'm +going to be a regular O. Henry story. Headlines as follows: _Beautiful +Titian-haired_ (mark that _Titian-haired_, Eloise) _Blonde Dead of +Starvation. Drops Dead on Fifth Avenue. Too Proud to Beg._ I hope that +none of those wicked reporters will guess that my new shoes with the +cut-steel buckles cost thirty-five dollars. All right! All right.... The +'Attic' at seven. I'll be there promptly as usual and you'll get there +late as usual.... Oh yes, you will! Thanks awfully, Eloise. I feel just +like going out to dinner." + +Eloise, living up to her promise, made so noble an effort that she was +only ten minutes late. Then, as usual, she came dashing and sparkling +into the room; a slim brown girl, much browner than usual, for her coat +of seashore tan; with narrow topaz eyes and deep dimples; very smart in +embroidered linen and summer furs. The Attic restaurant occupied the +whole top floor of a very high, downtown West Side skyscraper. Its main +business came at luncheon, so the girls sat almost alone in its long, +cool quiet. They found a table in a little stall whose window overhung +the gray, fog-swathed river which seamlessly joined gray fog-misted sky. +A moon, opaque as a scarlet wafer, seemed to be pasted at a spot that +could be either river or sky. The girls ordered their inconsequent +dinner. They talked their inconsequent girl chatter. They drank each a +glass of May wine. + +Susannah had quite recovered her poise and her spirit. She described her +new room with great detail. She suggested that Eloise, whom she +invariably addressed as, "you pampered minion of millions, you!" should +call on her in that scrubby hall bedroom. In fact, her narrative went +from joke to joke in a vein so steadily and so augmentingly gay that, +when Eloise had paid the bill and they sat dawdling over their coffee, +suddenly she found herself on the verge of breaking her vow of secrecy, +of relating the horrors of the last week. + +"Eloise," she began, "I'm going to tell you something that I don't want +you ever to--" + +And then the words dried on her lips. Her tongue seemed to turn to wood. +She paled. She froze. Her eyes set on-- + +O'Hearn was walking into the Attic. + +He did not perceive that instant terror of petrification; for it +happened he did not even glance in their direction. He walked, +self-absorbed apparently, to the other end of the room. But his +face--Susannah got it clearly--was stony too. It had the look somehow of +a man about to perform a deed repugnant to him. + +"What's the matter, Sue?" Eloise asked in alarm. "You look awfully ill +all of a sudden." + +"The fact is," Susannah answered with instant composure, "I feel a +little faint, Eloise. Do you mind if we go now? I really should like to +have a little air." + +"Not at all," Eloise answered. "Any time you say. Come on!" + +They made rapidly for the elevator. Susannah did not glance back. But +inwardly she thanked her guardian-angel for the fortuitous miracle by +which intervening waiters formed a screen. Not until they had walked +block after block, turning and twisting at her own suggestion, did +Susannah feel safe. + +"Oh, what was it you were going to tell me, Susannah," Eloise +interrupted suddenly, "just before we left the Attic?" + +"I don't seem to remember at this moment," Susannah evaded. "Perhaps it +will come to me later." + + * * * * * + +Susannah did not sleep very well that night. But by morning she had +recovered her poise. "Glorious Lutie," she said wordlessly from her bed, +"I think I'll go seriously to the business of getting a job. It'll take +my mind off--things. I'm going to ignore that little _rencontre_ of +yesterday. Don't you despair. The handsome young employer with his +romantic eyes and movie-star eyelashes awaits me somewhere. And just as +soon as we're married, you shall be hung in a manner befitting your +birth and station in a drawing-room as big as Central Park. I wish it +weren't so darn hot. Somehow too, I don't feel so strong about answering +ads in _person_ as I did two days ago." + +On her way to breakfast she bought all the newspapers. She spent her +morning answering advertisements by letter. She received no replies to +this first batch; but she pursued the same course for three days. + +"Glorious Lutie," she addressed the miniature a few days later, "this is +beginning to get serious. I am now almost within sight of the end bill +in my wad. In point of fact I will not conceal from you that today I +pawned my one and only jewel--my jade ring. You don't know how naked I +feel without it. It will keep us for--perhaps it will last three weeks. +And after that-- However, I don't think we'll either of us starve. You +don't take any sustenance and I take very little these days. I wish this +weather would change. You are so cool living in that blue cloud, +Glorious Lutie, that you don't appreciate what it's like when it's +ninety in the shade and still going up. I'm getting pretty sick of it. I +guess," she concluded, smiling, "I'll make out a list of the friends I +can appeal to in case of need." + +The idea seemed to raise her spirits. She sat down and turned to the +unused memorandum portion of her diary. Her list ran something like +this: + +New York-- + +No. 1--First and foremost--Eloise, who, being an heiress and the owner +of a check-book, never has any real cash and always borrows from me. + +Providence-- + +No. 2--Barty Joyce--Always has money because he's prudent--and the salt +of the earth-- + +P.S. Eloise never pays the money back that she borrows from me-- + +"Will you tell me, Glorious Lutie, why I don't fall in love with Barty +and why he doesn't fall in love with me? There's something awfully out +about me. I don't think I've been in love more than six times; and the +only serious one was the policeman on the beat who had a wife and five +children." + +Providence again-- + +No. 3--The Coburns--nice, comfy, middle-aged folks; not rich; the best +friends a girl could possibly have. + +No. 4-- + +But here she yawned loudly and relinquished the whole proceeding. + +That afternoon Susannah visited several employment agencies which dealt +with office help. She answered all the inquiries that their +questionnaires put to her; omitting any reference to the Carbonado +Mining Company. It was late in the afternoon when she finished. She +walked slowly homeward down the Avenue. Outside of her own door, she +tried to decide whether she would go immediately to dinner or lie down +first. A sudden fatigue forced decision in favor of a nap. She walked +wearily up the first flight of stairs. Ahead, someone was ascending the +second flight--a man. He turned down the hall. She followed. He stopped +at the room opposite hers; fumbled unsuccessfully with the key. As she +approached, she glanced casually in his direction. + +It was Byan. + + + + +V + + +Dear Spink: + +This is the kind of letter one never writes. But if you knew my mental +chaos.... And I've got to tell somebody about the thing that I can speak +about to nobody. If I don't.... What do you suppose I've done? I've +bought a house. Yep-- I'm a property owner now. Of course you guess! Or +do you guess? It's the Murray place. I could just make it and have +enough left over for a year or two or three. But after that, Spink, I'm +going to work because I'll have to. + +I suppose you're wondering why I did it. You're not puzzled half as much +as I am; although in one way I know exactly why I did it. Perhaps I +didn't do it at all. Anyway, I didn't do it of my own volition. Somebody +made me. I'm going to tell you about that presently. + +Yes, it's all mine: beautiful old square-roomed house with its carved +panelings and its generous Colonial fireplaces; its slender doors and +amusing door-latches; an upstairs of ample bedrooms; an old garret with +slave quarters; the downstairs with that little, charmingly incongruous, +galleried, mid-Victorian addition; barn; lawn; flower-garden. And how +beautiful I'm making that flower-garden you'll never suspect till you +see it. But you won't see it for quite a while--I withdraw all my +invitations to visit me. I don't want you now, Spink; although I never +wanted you so much in my life. I'll want you later, I think. Of course +it isn't from you personally--you beetle-eyed old scout--that I'm +withdrawing my invitation; it's from any flesh-and-blood being. If you +had an astral self-- I don't want anybody. I never wanted to be alone so +much in my life. In a moment I'm going to tell you why. + +And the wine-glass elms are mine; and the lilacs and syringas and the +smoke-bush and the hollyhocks; and all the things I've planted; my +Canterbury bells (if they come up); my deep, rich dahlias and my +flame-colored phlox (if ditto). All mine! Gee, Spink, I never felt so +rich in my life, because what I've enumerated isn't twenty-five per cent +of what I own. In a minute I'm going to tell you what the remaining +seventy-five per cent is. + +This place is full of birds and bees. I watch them from the house. +Spink, we flying-men are boobs. Have you ever watched a bee fly? I spend +hours, it seems to me, just studying them--trying to crab their act. And +the other day there was an air-fight just over my roof. A chicken-hawk +attacked by the whole bird population. It was a reproduction in +miniature of a bombing-machine pursued by a dozen combat-planes. Spink, +it was the best flying I've ever seen. You should have seen the sparrows +keeping on his tail! The little birds relied on their quickness of +attack, just as combat planes do. They attacked from all angles with +such rapidity that the hawk could do nothing but run for his life. The +little birds circled about, waiting for the moment to dive. A +combat-plane dives; its machines go ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta and it turns off +before the gunner can swing his guns over. The birds dived, picked +furiously at his eyes while the hawk turned bewildered from one attack +to another. But the little birds did something that planes can't even +attempt--they hovered over him almost motionless, waiting their moment +to attack. Here I am talking of flying! Flying! Did I ever fly? When I +got to New York, Greenwich Village seemed strange and unnatural, just a +pasteboard dream. Pau--Avord--Verdun--were the only real things in my +life. Now _they're_ shadows like Greenwich Village. Quinanog--the Murray +place--and Lutetia--seem the only real things. + +I'm going to tell you all about it in a moment. I sure am. The world +seems to be full of landing-places, but for some reason I can't land. +Every time, I seem to come short on the field; or overshoot it. Perhaps +it's because I feel it ought not to be told-- Perhaps it's because I +feel you won't believe me-- + +But I've got to do it. So here goes! + +Spink, the remaining seventy-five per cent that I own in this place is-- +This place is haunted. Not by a ghost, but by _ghosts_! There are not +one of them, but four. Three I see occasionally. But one of the +quartet--I see her all the time. She is Lutetia. + +It began-- Well, it all goes back to your rooms in New York. They're +haunted too, but you don't know it, you wall-eyed old grave-digger, you. +Not because you're inept or unsensitive or anything stupid-- It's +because there's something they want to say to _me_--a message they want +to give to me alone. But I can't stop to go into that now. To return to +your apartment, _something_ ... used to come ... to my bed at night ... +and bend over me ... I don't know who it was or what it was, except that +it was masculine. And how I knew that, I dunno. + +It bothered me. One reason why I came down here was that I thought I was +going crazy. Perhaps I have gone crazy. Anyway, if I have I like it. But +here I am again! It's as though the world slipped out from under me. I +can fly on and on or climb, but it's the coming down that baffles me. +When I cut the motor off and the noise dies away, I feel sick and +afraid; the bus seems to take its own head. Now for a landing--even if I +do smash. + +From the moment I entered this house, I felt as though there were others +here. Not specifically, you understand. At first, it was only a +sensation of warmth in the atmosphere that grew to a feeling of +friendliness that deepened to a sense of companionship until-- Well, I +found myself in a mood of eternal expectancy. Something was going to +happen but I didn't know what or how or when.... Oh yes, in a _way_ I +knew what. I was going to see something. Some time--I felt dimly--when I +should enter one of these rooms, so stark and yet so occupied, somebody +would be there to greet me ... or some day turning a corner I should +come suddenly on.... I did not dread that experience, Spink, I give you +my word. I reveled in the expectancy of it. It was beautiful; it was +rich. I wasn't anything of what you call _afraid_. I wanted it to +happen. + +And it did happen. + +One evening, as usual, I was reading Lutetia. I was sitting in my big +chair beside the refectory table. Outside, it was a perfect night I +remember; dark and still, and the stars so big that they seemed to spill +out of the heavens. Inside, the lamp was bright. My eyes were on my +book. Suddenly.... I was not alone. Don't ask me how I knew it. Only +take it from me that I did. I knew it all right. For--_oh, Spink_--(I've +underlined that just like a girl) all in a flash I didn't want--to look +up. I wanted to go away from this place and to go with considerable +speed, not glancing back. It was the worst sensation that I have ever +known--worse even than a night raid. After a while something came back; +courage I suppose you'd call it; a kind of calm, a poise. Anyway, I +found that I was going to be able to look up presently and not mind +it.... + +Of course I knew whom I was going to see.... + +I did look up. And I did see-- It was Lutetia. Spink, if you try to say +those things that people always say--that it was imagination, that I was +overwrought, that my mind, moving all the day among the facts and +realities of Lutetia's life, suddenly projected a picture--I'll never +speak to you again. There she sat, her elbow resting on the arm of her +chair, her chin in her hand, looking at me. I can't tell you how long +she stayed. But all the time she was there she looked at me. And all +that time I looked at her. I don't think, Spink, I have ever guessed how +much eyes can say. Her eyes said so much that I think I could write the +whole rest of the night about them. Except that I'm not quite sure what +they said. It was all entreaty; oh, blazing, blasting, blinding +entreaty.... Of that I am sure. But what she asked of me I haven't the +remotest idea. After a while ... something impelled me to look down at +my book again. When I lifted my eyes Lutetia was gone. + +That wasn't all, Spink; for that night, or the next day-- But I'm going +to try to keep to a consecutive story. I didn't go to bed immediately. I +didn't feel like sleeping. You can understand it was considerable of a +shock. And very thrilling. Literally thrilling! I shook. It didn't +bother me an atom after it was over. I wasn't the least afraid. But I +vibrated for hours. I walked four or five miles--where, I don't know. I +must have passed the Fallows place, because I recall the scent of +honeysuckle. But I assure you I seemed to be walking through the +stars.... She is beautiful. I can't tell you how beautiful because I +have no colors to give you; no flesh to go by. Perhaps she is not +beautiful, but lovely. What queer things words are! I have called +females _pretty_ and _stunning_ and even _fascinating_ and _beautiful_. +I think I never called any woman _lovely_ before. I've been that young. +But I'm not as young as I was yesterday. I'm a century, an age, an æon +older. I was obsessed though. If you believe it, when I went to bed, I +had only one idea in my mind--a hope that she would come back soon. + +She didn't come back soon--at least not that night. But somebody else +did.... + +In the middle of the night, I suddenly found myself, wide-eyed and +clear-minded, sitting upright in bed and listening to something. I don't +know what I had heard, but I remember with perfect clearness--Spink, you +tell me this is a dream and I'll murder you--what I immediately did and +what I subsequently saw. I got up quite calmly and lighted a candle. +Then I opened the door. + +Do you remember my writing you that the chamber, just back of the one I +occupy, must have been the room of a child--Lutetia's little niece? The +door of that room, of course, leads into the hall as mine does. As I +stood there, shading my candle from the draft, that door opened and +there emerged from the room--what do you suppose? + +A little girl. + +I say--a little girl. She wasn't, you understand, a real little girl. +Nor was she a dead little girl. Instantly I knew that--just as instantly +as I had known that Lutetia _was_ dead. I mean, and I hope this +phraseology is technically correct, that Lutetia, as I saw her, was the +ghost of someone who had once lived. This little girl was an apparition; +an appearance projected through space of some one who now lives. That +or--oh, how difficult this is, Spink--a sloughed-off, astral self left +in this old place; or--but I won't go into that. + +I stood there, as I said, shading my candle. The little girl closed her +door with a meticulous care. Did I hear the ghost of a click? Perhaps my +ear supplied that. By one hand she was dragging a big doll--one of those +rag-dolls children have. I couldn't tell you anything about +Lutetia--except that she was lovely--ineffably lovely. But I can tell +you all about this little girl. She was pigtailed and freckled. The +pigtails were short, very thick, so tight that their ends snapped +upwards, like hundreds of little-girl pigtails that I have seen. There +was a row of tangled little ringlets on her forehead. She didn't look at +me. She didn't know that I was there. She proceeded straight across the +hall, busily stub-toeing her way like any freckled, pigtailed little +girl, the doll dragging on the floor behind her, until she reached the +garret stairs. She opened the garret door, closed it with the same +meticulous care. The last I got was a little white glimpse of her +down-dropped face, as she pulled the rag-doll's leg away from the +shutting door. + +I waited there a long time--until my candle guttered to nothing. She did +not return. I did not see her or anybody else again that night. + +I went back to bed and fell immediately into a perfectly quiet, +dreamless sleep. The next morning early, I went over to Hyde's +brother--his name is Corning--and bought this house. Perhaps you can +tell me why I did it. I don't exactly know myself; for of course I +couldn't afford it. I realized only that I could not--I simply and +absolutely could _not_--let anybody else buy Lutetia. + +You think, of course, that I've finished now, Spink. But that isn't all. +Not by a million Persian parasangs--all. She has come again. I mean +Lutetia. For that matter, they both have come again. But I'll try to +tell my story categorically. + +It was a night or two later; another dewy, placid large-starred night-- +Strange how this beautiful weather keeps up! I had been reading as +usual; but my mind was as vacant as a glass bell from which you have +exhausted the air. I was rereading, I remember, Lutetia's _The Sport of +the Goddesses_. Spink, how that woman could write! And.... Again I +became aware that I wasn't alone. Just as definitely, I knew that it was +not Lutetia this time; nor even Little Pigtails. This time, and perhaps +it's because I'm getting used to this sort of thing, I had a sense +of--not _fear_--but only of what I'll call a _spiritual diffidence_. + +Yet instantly I looked up. + +He--it was a _he_ this time--was standing in the doorway, which leads +from this big living-room into the front hall. We were +vis-à-vis--tête-à-tête one might say. He was looking straight at me and +I--I assure you, Spink--I looked straight at him. + +Spink, you have never heard of a jovial ghost, have you? I'm sure I +haven't. But this was or could have been a jovial ghost. He was big--not +fat but ample--middle-aged, more than middle-aged. He wore an enormous +beard cut square like the men in Assyrian mural tablets. Hair a little +long. I assure you he was the handsomest old beggar that I have ever +seen. He looked like a portrait by Titian. I got--it's like holding a +photographic negative up to the light and trying to get the figures on +it--that he wore a sort of flowing gown; it made him stately. And one of +those little round caps that conceal or protect baldness. I can't +describe him. How the devil _can_ you describe a ghost? I mean an +apparition. For he isn't dead either--any more than the little girls is. +He's alive somewhere. + +Well, our steady exchange of looks went on and on and on. If I could +have said anything it would have been: "What do you want of me, you +handsome old beggar?" What he would have said to me I don't know; +although he was trying with all his ghostly strength to put some message +over. How he was trying! It was that effort that kept him from being +what he was--_is_--jovial. God, how that gaze burned--tore--ate. It grew +insupportable after a while--it was melting me to nothingness. I dropped +my eyes. Suddenly I could lift them, for I knew he was gone. Somehow I +had the feeling that a monstrous bomb had noiselessly exploded in the +room. His going troubled me no more than his coming. I remember I said +aloud: "I'm sorry I couldn't get you, old top! Better luck next time!" + +I got up from my chair after a few minutes to take my usual +before-going-to-bed walk. I walked about the room; absent-mindedly +putting things to rights--the way women do. My mind--and I suspect my +eyes too--were still so full of him that when, on stepping outside, I +came across another--I was conscious of some shock. Again not of fear, +but of a terrific surprise. + +Are you getting all this, Spink? Oh, of course you're not, because you +don't believe it. But try to believe it. Put yourself in my place! Try +to get the wonder, the magic, the terror, the touch now and then of +horror, but above all the fierce thrill--of living with a family of +ghosts? + +This one--the fourth--was a man too. About thirty, I should say. And +awfully charming. Yes, you spaniel-eyed fish, you, one man is saying +this of another man. He was awfully charming. Short, dark. He +wore--again it is like holding a negative up to the light--he wore white +ducks or flannels. He stood very easily, his weight--listen to me, his +_weight_--mainly on one foot and one hand curved against his hip. In the +other hand, he carried his pipe. He looked at me--God, how he looked at +me! How, for that matter, they all look at me! They want something, +Spink. Of me. They're trying to tell me. I can't get it, though. But, +believe me, I'm trying. This was worse than the old fellow. For this +one, like Lutetia, was dead. And he, like her, was trying to put his +message across a world, whereas the old fellow had only to pierce a +dimension. How he looked at me; held me; bored into me. It was like +sustaining visual vitriol.... How he looked at me! It became +horrible.... Pretty soon I realized I wasn't going to be able to stand +it.... + +Yet I stayed with it as long as he did, and of course we continued to +glare at each other. I don't exactly know what the etiquette of these +meetings is; but I seem to feel vaguely that it's up to me to stay with +them as long as they're here. This time, it must have been all of five +minutes, although it seemed longer ... much longer ... and I, all the +time, trying to hold on. Then suddenly something happened. I don't know +what it was, but one instant he was there, and another he wasn't. Don't +ask me how he went away. I don't know. He simply ceased to be; and yet +so swifter-than-instantly, so exquisitely, so subtly that my only +question was--even though my mind was still stinging from his gaze--had +he been there at all. It was as though the tree back of him had +instantaneously absorbed him. It was a shock too--that disappearance. + +Well, again I went out for a hike. I walked anywhere--everywhere. How +far I don't know. But half the night. Again it was as though I marched +through the stars.... + +I haven't seen the old painter again--I call him painter simply because +he wore that long robe. And I haven't seen the young guy again. But I +see Lutetia all the time. She comes and goes. Sometimes when I enter the +living-room, I find her already there.... Sometimes when I leave it, I +know she enters by another door.... We spend long evenings together.... +I can't write when she's about; but curiously enough I can sometimes +read; that is to say, I can read Lutetia. I try to read because moments +come when I realize that she prefers me not to look at her. It's when +she's exhausted from trying to give me her message. Or when she's +girding herself up for another go. At those moments, the room is full of +a frightful struggle; a gigantic spiritual concentration. It seems to me +I could not look even if she wanted me. Oh, how she tries, Spink! It +wrings my heart. She's so helpless, so hopeless--so gentle, so tender, +so lovely! It's all my own stupidity. The iron-wall stupidity of flesh +and blood. Perhaps, if I were to kill myself--and I think I could do +that for her.... Only she doesn't want me to do that.... But what does +she want me to do? If I could only.... + + * * * * * + +Lindsay had written steadily the whole evening; written at a violent +speed and with a fierce intensity. Now his speed died down. His hands +dropped from the typewriter. That mental intensity evaporated. He became +aware.... + +He was not alone. + +The long living-room was doubly cheerful that night. The inevitable +tracks of living had begun to humanize it. A big old bean-pot full of +purple iris sat on one end of the refectory table. Lindsay's books and +notebooks; his paper and envelopes; his pens and pencils sprawled over +the length of table between him and the iris. That the night was a +little cool, Lindsay had seized as pretext to build a huge fire. The +high, jagged flames conspired with the steady glow of the big lamp to +rout the shadows from everywhere but the extreme corners. + +No more than--after her coming--he was alone was Lutetia alone. It was, +Lindsay reflected, a picture almost as posed as for a camera. Lutetia +sat; and leaning against her, close to her knee, stood a pigtailed +little girl. She might have been listening to a story; for her little +ear was cocked in Lutetia's direction. That attitude brought to +Lindsay's observation a delicious, snub-nosed child profile. She gazed +unseeingly over her shoulder to a far corner. And Lutetia gazed straight +over the child's head at Lindsay-- + +They sat for a long time--a long long time--thus. The little girl's +vague eyes still fixed themselves on the shadows as on magic realms that +were being constantly unrolled to her. Lutetia's eyes still sought +Lindsay's. And Lindsay's eyes remained on Lutetia's; held there by the +agony of her effort and the exquisite torture of his own bewilderment. + +After a while he arose. With slow, precise movements, he gathered up the +pages of his letter to Spink. He arranged them carefully according to +their numbers--twelve typewritten pages. He walked leisurely with them +over to the fireplace and deposited them in the flames. + +When he turned, the room was empty. + +The next day brought storm again. + + * * * * * + +The coolness of the night vanished finally before the sparkling sunshine +of a wind-swept day. Lindsay wrote for an hour or two. Then he gave +himself up to what he called the "chores." He washed his few dishes. He +toiled on the lawn and in the garden. He finished the work of repairing +the broken stairway in the barn. At the close of this last effort, he +even cast a longing look in the direction of the rubbish collection in +the second story of the barn. But his digestion apprised him that this +voyage of discovery must be put off until after luncheon. He emerged +from the back entrance of the barn, made his way, contrary to his usual +custom, by a circuitous route to the front of the house. He stopped to +tack up a trail of rosebush which had pulled loose from the trellis +there. He felt unaccountably tired. When he entered the house he was +conscious for the first time of a kind of loneliness.... + +He had not seen Lutetia, nor any of her companions, for three days. He +admitted to himself that he missed the tremendous excitement of the last +fortnight. But particularly he missed Lutetia. He paused absently to +glance into the two front rooms, still as empty as on the day he had +first seen them. He wandered upstairs into his bedroom. From there, he +journeyed to the child's room beyond; examined again the dim drawings on +the wall. It occurred to him that, by going over them with crayons, he +could restore some of their lost vividness. The idea brought a little +spurt of exhilaration to his jaded spirit. He returned to his own room, +just for the sake of descending Lutetia's little private stairway to +what must have been her private living-room below. He walked absently +and a little slowly; still conscious of loneliness. He did not pause +long in the living-room, although he made a tentative move in the +direction of the kitchen. Still absently and quite mechanically he +opened the back door; started to step out onto the broad flat stone +which made the step.... + +Most unexpectedly--and shockingly, he was not alone. A tiny figure ... +black ... sat on the doorstep; sat so close to the door that, as it +rose, his curdling flesh warned him he had almost touched it. A curious +thing happened. Lindsay swayed, pitched; fell backwards, white and +moveless. + + + + +VI + + +"How did they find me, Glorious Lutie?" Susannah asked next morning. +"How _did_ they find me? If I could only teach myself to listen to the +warning of those little hammers. Something told me when I saw Warner +walking along the corridor of the Carman Building that he was not there +by accident. Something told me when I ran into O'Hearn at the Attic the +other night that _he_ was not _there_ by accident. They have been +following me all the time. They've known what I've been doing every +moment. Just as Byan knows where I am now. How did they do it? I've +never suspected it for a moment. I've never seen anybody. I'm +frightened, Glorious Lutie; I'm dreadfully frightened. I don't know +where to turn. If I only had a real friend-- But perhaps that wouldn't +help as much as I think. For I'm afraid--I'm too afraid to tell +_anybody_--" + +All this, she said as usual, wordlessly. But she said it from her bed, +her eyes fixed in a lackluster stare on the little oval gleam of the +miniature. + +"I don't know what I'd do without you, Glorious Lutie, to tell my +troubles to. You're a great deal more than a picture to me. You're a +real presence-- Oh, if you could only see for me now. I wonder if Byan +is still in his room? I wonder what he's going to do. I mean--what is +the next move? Oh, of course he's there! He wants to talk with me. But I +won't let him talk with me. I'll stay in this room until I starve! And +he can't telephone. How can he put over what he wants to say?" + +That question answered itself automatically when she dragged herself up +from bed. A white square glimmered beside her door. She pounced upon it. + + "Dear Miss Ayer: + + "Of course we have known where you were and what you were doing + every instant since you left the office. We did not interfere + with your quitting your boarding-house because we preferred to + give you a few days to think things over. I hope you've been + enjoying your little excursions to the Museum and the Aquarium. + We knew you'd come to your senses after a while and be ready to + talk business. That is why you've had those little, accidental + meetings from time to time. That advertisement for a job in the + Carman Building was a decoy ad. It is useless for you to try to + get away from us. + + "And in the meantime the situation is getting more and more + desperate. You know why. Now listen. We can clean up on that + little business deal in three days. Do you know what that means? + Maybe a hundred thousand dollars. We'll let you in. Your share + would be twelve thousand five hundred. Don't that sound pretty + good to you? You can avoid any trouble by going away with us. Or + you can go alone and nobody will bother you. We'll give you the + dope on that; for believe me, we know how. And you wouldn't have + to do a thing you don't want to do. We've got grandpa tamed now + in regard to you. We've told him that you're a lady, and won't + stand for that rough stuff. He's wild about you, and crazy to + see you, and make it all right again. Now why not use a little + sense? Slip a note under my door across the way and tell me that + you'll doll yourself up and be ready to go to dinner with him + tonight at seven." + + A postscript added: "This is unsigned and typewritten on your + own typewriter and so couldn't be used by anyone who didn't like + our way of doing business. For your own safety though, I advise + you to burn it." + +This last was the one bit of advice in the letter which Susannah +followed. She lighted a match and burned it over her water basin. Then +she forced her protesting throat to swallow a glass of milk. She ate +some crackers. After that she went to bed. + +What to do and where to go! Over and over again, she turned the meager +possibilities of her situation. Nothing offered escape. A hackneyed +phrase floated into her mind--"woman's wit." From time immemorial it had +been a bromidiom that any woman, however stupid, could outwit any man, +however clever. Was it true? Perhaps not all the time, and perhaps +sometimes. That was the only way though--she must pit her nimble, +inexperienced woman's wit against their heavier but trained man's wit. +Her problem was to get out of this house, unseen. But how? All kinds of +fantastic schemes floated through her tired mind. If she could only +disguise herself-- But she would have to go out first to get the +disguise. And Byan was across the hall, waiting for just that move. If +there were only a convenient fire-escape! But of course he would +anticipate that. If she could only summon a taxi, leap into it and drive +for an hour! But she would have to telephone for the taxi in the outside +hall, where Byan could hear her. On and on, she drove her tired mind; +inventing schemes more and more impracticable. For a long time, that +woman's wit spawned nothing-- + +Then suddenly a curious idea came to her. It was so ridiculous that she +rejected it instantly. Ridiculous--and it stood ninety-nine per cent +chance of failure; offered but one per cent chance of success. +Nevertheless it recurred. It offered more and more suggestion, more and +more temptation. True, it was a thing barely possible; true also, that +it was the only thing possible. But could she put it through? Had she +the nerve? Had she the strength? + +She must find both the nerve and the strength. + +She bathed and dressed quickly and with a growing steadiness. She packed +her belongings into her suitcase, put Glorious Lutie's miniature in her +handbag. + +She sat down at her bureau and wrote a note: + +"If you will come to my room, after you have had your breakfast, I will +talk the matter over with you. I will not leave the building before you +return. I will be ready to see you at ten o'clock." + +She opened her door, walked across the corridor; slipped the note under +the door of Byan's room. Then she hurried back; locked her door; sat +down and waited, her hands clasped. Her hands grew colder and colder +until they seemed like marble, but all the time her mind seemed to +steady and clarify. + +After a long while she heard Byan's door open. She heard his steps +retreating down the hall and over the stairs. + +Ten minutes later, Susannah appeared, suitcase in hand, at the janitor's +office on the first floor. "I'm Miss Ayer in No. 9, second floor," she +said. "May I leave this suitcase here? I've just thought that I wanted +to go to a friend's room on the fifth floor and I don't want to lug it +up all those stairs." + +The janitor considered her for a puzzled second. Of course he was in +Byan's pay, Susannah reflected. + +"Sure," he answered uncertainly after a while. + +"I'm expecting a gentleman to call on me," Susannah went on steadily. +"Tell him I'll be on the fifth floor at No. 9. My friend is out," she +ended in glib explanation, "but she's left her key with me. There's a +little work that I wanted to do on her typewriter." The janitor--she had +worked this out in advance--must know that Room 9, fifth floor--was +occupied by a woman who owned a typewriter. Susannah established that +when, a few days before, she had restored to its owner a letter shoved +by mistake under her own door. + +Susannah deposited her bag on the floor in the janitor's office. She +walked steadily up the stairs to the second floor. She felt the +janitor's gaze on the first flight of her progress. She stopped just +before she reached her own room, glanced back. She was alone there. The +janitor had not followed her. Perhaps Byan's instructions to him were +only to watch the door. With a swift pounce, she ran to Byan's door, +turned the knob. + +It opened. + +She ran to the closet; opened that. As she suspected, it was empty. +Indeed, her swift glance had discovered no signs of occupancy in the +room. Even the bed was undisturbed. Byan had hired it, of course, just +for the purpose of being there that one night. Susannah closed the +closet door after her, so that the merest crack let in the air she +should demand--and waited. In that desperate hour when she lay thinking, +the idea had suddenly flashed into her mind that there was only one +place in the house where Byan would not look for her. That place was his +own room. But it would not have occurred to her to take refuge there if +she had not noted, even in her taut terror of the night before, that +when Byan entered his own room he had omitted to lock the door after +him. As indeed, why should he? There was nothing to steal in it but +Byan. Moreover, of course Byan had sat up all night--his door +unlocked--ready to forestall any effort of hers to escape. + + * * * * * + +An hour later Susannah heard a padded, rather brisk step ascending the +stairs, coming along the hall. It was Byan, of course--no one could +mistake his pace. He knocked on the door of her room; at first gently, +then insistently. A pause. Then he tried the knob, again at first +gently, then insistently. His steps retreated down the hall and the +stairs. He must have got a pass-key from the janitor, for when, a long +minute later, she heard his steps return, the scraping of a lock sounded +from across the hall. She heard her somewhat rusty door-hinges creak. +There followed a low whistle as of surprise, then an irregular +succession of steps and creaks proving that he was looking under the +bed, was inspecting the closet. She heard him retreat again down the +stairs, and braced herself to endure a longer wait. At last, two pairs +of feet sounded on the stairs. Had her ruse fully succeeded--would they +mount at once to Room 9, fifth floor? No--they were coming again along +the second-floor corridor. With a tingle of nerves in her temples and +cheeks, she realized that she had reached the supreme moment of peril. +They began knocking at every door on the second-floor corridors. Once +she heard a muffled colloquy--the impatient tones of some strange man, +the apologetic voice of the janitor. At other doors she heard, shortly +after the knock, the scraping of the pass-key. Now they were in the room +just beyond the wall of the closet where she was crouching. She heard +them enter and emerge--the moment had come! But their footsteps passed +her door; an instant later, she heard the pass-key grate in the door of +the room on the other side. Then--one hand shaking convulsively on the +knob of Byan's closet door--she heard them go flying up the stairs to +the third story--the fourth-- + + * * * * * + +Before noon of that haunted, hunted morning, Susannah found a room in a +curious way. When she escaped from the house in the West Twenties, she +had walked westward almost to the river. In a little den of a restaurant +just off the docks, she ordered breakfast and the morning newspapers. +But when she tried to look over the advertising columns with a view to +finding a room, she had a violent fit of trembling. The members of the +Carbonado Mining Company, she recalled to herself, were studying those +advertisements just as closely as she; and perhaps at that very moment. + +Hiding in a great city! Why, she thought to herself, it's the only place +where you can't hide! + +Susannah dawdled over breakfast as long as she dared. She found herself +wincing as she emerged onto the busy dingy street of docks. She stopped +under the shade of an awning and controlled the abnormal fluttering of +her heart while she thought out her situation. She dared no longer walk +the streets. She dared not go to a real-estate agent. How, then, might +she find a room and a hiding-place? + +Then a Salvation Army girl came picking her way across the crowded, +cluttered dock-pavement toward her awning. And Susannah had a sudden +impulse which she afterwards described to Glorious Lutie as a stroke of +genius. She came out to the edge of the pavement and accosted the Blue +Bonnet. + +"Do you know of any place where a girl who's a stranger in New York may +find a cheap and respectable lodging?" she asked. + +The Salvation Army girl gave her a long, steady scrutiny from under the +scoop of her bonnet. + +"My sister keeps a rooming-house up on Eighth Avenue," she said finally. +"She always has an extra room, and she will take you in, I guess. Have +you a bit of paper? I'll write her a note." + +Susannah flew, swift as a homing dove, to the address. The landlady, a +shapeless, featureless, middle-aged blonde, read the note; herself gave +a long glance of scrutiny, and showed the room. Susannah's examination +was merely perfunctory. In fact, she looked with eyes which saw not. +Probably never before did a shabby, battered bedchamber, stained as to +ceiling, peeling as to wallpaper, carelessly patched as to carpet, +indescribably broken-down and nondescript as to furniture, seem a very +paradise to the eyes of twenty-five. + +The bed was humpy, but it was a double bed; and clean. Susannah sank on +to it. She did not rise for a long time. Then, true to her accepted +etiquette on occasions of this kind, she drew the miniature from her +handbag and pinned it on to the wall beside her bureau. + +"Glorious Lutie," her thoughts ran, "I'm as weak as a sick cat. If there +was ever a girl more terrified, more friendless, more worn-out than I +feel at this moment, I'd like to know how she got that way. I want to +crawl into that bed and stay there for a week just reveling in the +thought that I'm safe. Safe, Glorious Lutie. Safe! Alone with you. And +nobody to be afraid of. Our funds are running low of course. I've +nothing to pawn except you. But don't be afraid--I'll never pawn you. If +we have to go down, we'll go down together and with all sails set. I've +got an awful hate and fear on this job-hunting business now. Heaven +knows I don't want much money; only enough to live on. I guess I won't +try to be a high-class queen of secretaries any longer--or at least for +the present. My lay is to lie low for a month or two. I'll rest for a +few days. Then I'll go into--what? What, Glorious Lutie, tell me what? +I've got it! Domestic service. That's my escape. I've certainly got +brains enough to be a second girl and they never could find me tucked +away in somebody's house, especially if I never take my afternoons out. +Which, believe me, Glorious Lutie, I won't. I'll spend them all with +you. Oh, what an idea that is! I'll wait around here for about a week +and then I'll tackle one of the domestic service agencies. If I know +anything about after-the-war conditions, I'll be snapped up like hot +cakes." + +Keeping her promise to herself, Susannah stayed as much as possible +indoors. The landlady consented to give her breakfast, but she would do +no more--even that was an accommodation. In gratitude, Susannah took +care of her own room. She kept it in spotless order; she even pottered +with repairs. With breakfast at home, she had no need to leave the house +of mornings. She went without luncheon; and late in the afternoon, +before the home-going flood from the offices, she had dinner in a +Child's restaurant round the corner. For the rest of the time, she read +the landlady's books--few, and mostly cheap. But they included a set of +Dickens; and she renewed acquaintance with a novelist whom she loved for +himself and who called up memories of her happiest times. But her mood +with Dickens was curiously capricious. His deaths and persecutions and +poignant tragedies she could no longer endure--they swept her into a +gulf of black melancholy. On the second day of her voluntary +imprisonment, she glanced through _Bleak House_; stumbled into the +wanderings of Little Jo through the streets of London. Suddenly she +surprised herself by a fit of hysterical, trembling tears. This +explosion cleared her mental airs; but afterward she skipped through +Dickens, picking and choosing his humors, his love-passages, his +gargantuan feasts in wayside inns. + +When her eyes grew weary with reading, or when she ran into one of those +passages which brought the black cloud, Susannah gazed vacantly out of +the window. + +Her lodging-house stood on a corner; she had a back, corner room on the +third floor. The house next door, on the side street, finished to the +rear in a two-story shed. Its roof lay almost under her window. The +landlady, upon showing the room, had called her attention to this shed. +"We've got no regular fire escapes, dearie," she said, "but in case of +trouble, you're all right. You just step out here and if the skylight +ain't open, somebody'll get you down with a ladder. A person can't be +too careful about fires!" Across the skylight lay a few scanty +backyards--treeless, grassless, uninteresting. This city area of yards +and sheds seemed to be the club, the Rialto for all the stray cats of +Eighth Avenue. Susannah named them, endowed them with personalities. +Their squabbles, their amours, their melodramatic stalking, gave her a +kind of apathetic interest. + +The interest lessened as three days went by, and the apathy deepened. +"It's my state of mind, Glorious Lutie," she apprised the miniature. +"It's this weight that's on my spirit. It's fear. Just as soon as I can +get my mind off--I mean just as soon as I become convinced that I'm +never going to be bothered again, it will go, I'm sure. Of course I +can't help feeling as I do. But I ought not to. I'm perfectly safe now. +In a few days those crooks won't trouble about me any more. It will be +too late. And I know it." + +She reiterated those last two sentences as though Glorious Lutie were a +difficult person to convince. The next morning, however, came diversion. +Work--roofing--began on the shed just under her window. Susannah watched +the workmen with an interest that held, at first, an element of +determined concentration. The roofers, an elderly man and a younger one, +incredibly dirty in their blackened overalls, which were soon matched by +face and hands, were very conscious at first of the brilliant tawny head +just above. Once, muffled by the window, she caught an allusion to white +horses. But Susannah ignored this; continued to watch them disappearing +and emerging through the open skylight, setting up their melting-pot, +arranging their sheets of tin. + +Before she was out of bed next morning they were making a metallic +clatter with their hammers. In her normal state, Susannah was a creature +almost without nerves. She even retained a little of the child's +enjoyment of a racket for its own sake. But now--the din annoyed her, +annoyed her unspeakably. She crept languidly out of bed, peeped through +the edge of the curtain. They were just beginning work. It would keep up +all day. + +"I can't stand this!" said Susannah aloud; and then began one of her +wordless addresses to the miniature. + +"I guess the time has come, anyhow, to strike into pastures new. Behold, +Glorious Lutie, your Glorious Susie descending from the high and mighty +position of pampered secretary to that of driven slave. Tomorrow morn I +apply for a job as second girl. If it weren't for this headache, I'd do +it today." + +However, the hammering only intensified her headache; she must get +outside. So when the landlady arrived with her breakfast, Susannah +inquired for the address of the nearest employment office. She dressed, +and descended to the street. As always, of late, she had a shrinking as +she stepped out into the open world of men and women. When she had +controlled this, she moved with a curious apathy to the old, battered +ground-floor office with yellow signs over its front windows, where +girls found work at domestic service. Presently, she was registered, was +sitting on a long bench with a row of women ranging from slatternly to +cheaply smart. She scarcely observed them. That apathy was settling +deeper about her spirits; her only sensation was her dull headache. +Somehow, when she sat still it was not wholly an unpleasant headache. +Then the voice of the sharp-faced woman at the desk in the corner called +her name. It tore the veil, woke her as though from sleep. She rose, to +face her first chance--a thin, severe woman with a mouth like a steel +trap. + +This first chance furnished no opening, however; neither, as the morning +wore away, did several other chances. The process of getting a second +maid's job was at the same time more difficult and less difficult than +she had thought. Susannah had forgotten that people always ask servants +for references. She had supposed her carefully worked out explanation +would cover that situation--that she had been a stenographer in +Providence; that she had come to New York soon after the Armistice was +signed, hoping for a bigger outlook; that the returning soldiers were +snapping up all the jobs; that she had tried again and again for a +position; that her money was fast going; that she had been advised to +enter domestic service. Housekeepers from rich establishments and the +mistresses of small ones interviewed her; but the lack of references +laid an impassable barrier. In the afternoon, however, luck changed. A +suburbanite from Jamaica, a round, grizzled, middle-aged woman, +desperately in need of a second girl, cut through all the red-tape that +had held the others up. "You're perfectly honest," she said +meditatively, "about admitting you've had no experience, and you _look_ +trustworthy." + +"I assure you, madam,"--Susannah was eager, but wary; not too eager. She +even laughed a little--"I am honest--so honest that it hurts." + +"The only thing is," her interlocutor went on hesitatingly; "you must +pardon me for putting it so bluntly; but we might as well be open with +each other. I'm afraid you'll feel a little above your position." + +"Well," Susannah responded honestly, "to be straightforward with _you_, +I suppose I shall. But I give you my word, I'll never _show_ it. And +that's the only thing that counts, isn't it?" + +The woman smiled. + +"I must confess I like you," she burst out impulsively. "But how am I +going to know that you're--all right?" + +Susannah sighed. "I understand your situation perfectly. I don't know +how you're to know I'm all right--morally or just in the matter of mere +honesty. For there's nobody but me to tell you that I'm moral and +honest. And of course I'm prejudiced." + +"Well, anyway I'm going to risk it. I'm engaging you now. It is +understood--ten dollars a week; and alternate Thursdays and Sundays out. +I don't want you until tomorrow because I want my former maid out of the +house before you come. Now will you promise me that you'll take the nine +train tomorrow?" + +"I promise," Susannah agreed. + +"But that reminds me," the woman came on another difficulty, "what's to +guarantee that you'll stay with me?" + +"I guarantee," Susannah said steadily, "that if you keep to your end of +the agreement, I'll stay with you at least three months." + +The woman sparkled. "All right, I'll expect you tomorrow on the nine +train. I'll be there with the Ford to meet you. Here are the +directions." She scribbled busily on a card. + +Susannah walked home as one who treads on air. The veil of apathy had +broken. And in spite of her headache, which caught her by fits and +starts, her mood broke into a joy so wild that it sent her pirouetting +about the room. "Glorious Lutie, I never felt so happy in my life. So +gayly, grandly, gorgeously, gor-gloriously happy! All my troubles are +over. I'm safe." And on the strength of that security, she washed and +ironed her lavender linen suit. Her headache was better again. Perhaps +if she went out now to an early dinner, it might disappear altogether. +But how languorous she felt, how indisposed to effort. She would sit and +read a while. She opened _Pickwick Papers_ on its last pages. She had +almost finished the book. + +"I suppose it will be a long time before I have a chance to do any more +reading," she meditated. "So I think I'll finish this. You've helped me +through a hard passage in my life, Charles Dickens, and I thank you with +all my heart." + +But she could not read. As soon as she sat down by the window and +settled her eyes on the book, the headache returned. The men were still +at work on the roof, hammering away at one corner. Every blow seemed to +strike her skull. Midway of the roof, the skylight yawned open; their +extra tools were laid out beside it. At five o'clock they would quit for +the day. Usually she disliked to have them go. In spite of their noise, +she felt that still. They gave her a kind of warm, human sense of +companionship. And they had become accustomed to her appearances at the +window. Their flirtatious first glances had ceased for want of +encouragement. They scarcely seemed to see her when they looked up. But +now--that hammering at her skull! Susannah suddenly rose and closed the +window, hot though the day was, against this torrent of sound. As though +its futile shield would give added protection, she drew the curtain. In +the dimmed light she sat rocking, her head in her hands. Her face was +fire-hot--why, she wondered-- The hammering stopped. They were soldering +now. They were always doing that; beating the tin sheets into place and +stopping to solder them. There would be silence for a time. In a moment, +she would open the window for a breath of air on her burning face.... + +She started at a knock on her door, low, quick, but abrupt. Before she +could answer, it opened. His face shadowed in the three-quarters light, +but his form perfectly outlined, instantly recognizable--stood Warner. +Behind Warner was Byan, and behind Byan, O'Hearn. + +All the blood of her heart seemed to strike in one wave on Susannah's +aching head, and then to recede. She knew both the tingling of terror +and the numbness of horror. Prickling, stinging darts volleyed her face, +her hands, her feet; and yet she seemed to be freezing to stone. + +They came into the room before anyone spoke--Warner first. Byan lolled +to a place in the corner; the three-quarters light, filtering through +the thin fabric of the flimsy, yellow curtain, revealed his clean +profile, his mysterious half-smile. O'Hearn stood just at the entrance. +He did not continue to look at her. His eyes sought the floor. + +Warner was speaking now: + +"Good-evening, Miss Ayer. We have come to finish up that little piece of +business with you. It has been delayed as long as it can be. Pardon us +for breaking in upon you like this. Your landlady tried to prevent us, +but we assured her that you would want to see us. As I think you will +when you come to your senses and hear what I have to say." + +He stopped, as though awaiting her reply. But Susannah made no answer. +She had dropped her eyes now; her hands lay limp in her lap. And in this +pause, a curious piece of byplay passed between Warner and O'Hearn. The +master of this trio caught the glance of his assistant and, with a swift +motion of three fingers toward the lapel of his coat, gave him that +"office" in the underworld sign manual--which means "look things over." +O'Hearn, moving so lightly that Susannah scarcely noted his passage, +stepped to the window, lifted the edge of the curtain. He took a swift, +intent look outside and returned to Warner. His back to Susannah, he +spoke with his lips, scarcely vocalizing the words. + +"No getaway there, Boss--straight drop--" he said. + +Warner was speaking again. + +"Your landlady says we may have her parlor for our conference. Wouldn't +you prefer to make yourself presentable for the street and then join us +there--in about ten minutes, say?" + +Ten minutes--this gave her a chance to play for time--the only chance +she had. She looked up. Nothing on the clean-cut, pearl-white exterior +of her face gave a clue to the anarchy within; nothing, even, in her +black-fringed, blue gaze the tautly-held scarlet lips. Her fire-bright +head lifted a little higher and she gazed steadily into Warner's eyes, +as she spoke in a voice which seemed to her to belong to someone else: + +"I can give you a few minutes, but I have not changed my determination." + +"But I think you will," said Warner. "I really think you will. Before we +go, I might remind you that we have been extremely gentle and patient +with you, Miss Ayer. I might also remind you that you have never +succeeded in giving us the slip. You were very clever when you escaped +from your last lodging. We don't know yet exactly how you did it. +Perhaps you will tell us in the course of our little talk this +afternoon. But you were not quite clever enough. You did not figure that +with such important matters pending, we would have the outside of the +house watched as well as the inside. So that you may not think our +meeting this afternoon is accidental, let me remind you that you have an +engagement for tomorrow afternoon in Jamaica--to take a job as second +maid. What we have to offer you this afternoon will probably be so +attractive that you will overlook that engagement." + +He paused. + +"I will be with you in ten minutes," said Susannah. She was conscious of +no emotion now--only that her head ached, and that the faded roses in +the old carpet were entwined with forget-me-nots--a thing she had never +noticed before. + +"Thank you." Warner made her a gallant little bow. "Mr. Byan and I will +wait in the parlor. Until we come to an understanding, we shall have to +continue the old arrangement. It will therefore be necessary for Mr. +O'Hearn to watch in the hall. If you do not arrive in ten minutes--this +room will probably do as well as the parlor. Until then, Miss Ayer!" + +He opened the door, passed out. Byan retreated after him, flashing one +of his pathetically sweet, floating smiles. Susannah looked up now, +followed their movements as the felon must follow the movements of the +man with the rope. O'Hearn had been standing close to Susannah, his +veiling lashes down. He fell in behind the other two. But before he +joined the file, those lashes came up in a quick glance which stabbed +Susannah. His hand came up too. He was pointing to the window. And then +he spoke two words in a whisper so low that they carried only to the +ears of Susannah, scarce three feet away--so low that she could not have +made them out but for the exaggerated, expressive movement of his lips. + +"Skylight--quick--" he said. He made for the door in the wake of the +other two. + +For the fraction of an instant Susannah did not comprehend. And then +suddenly one of those little intuitive blows which she was always +receiving and ignoring gave, on the hard surface of her mind, a faint +tap. This time, she was conscious of it. This time, she trusted it +instantly. This time, it told her what to do. + +"I'll be with you as soon as I get dolled up," she called. + +"That's right," came the suave voice of Warner from the hall. + +She closed the door. She listened while two sets of footsteps descended +the stairs. She heard a third set, which must be O'Hearn's, retreat for +a few paces and then stop. She fell swiftly to work. She put on her hat +and cape. She took the miniature, thumbtack and all, from the wall, and +put it in her wrist bag. "Help me, Glorious Lutie," she called from the +depths of her soul. "Help me! Help me! Help me! I'm lost if you don't +help me! I can't do it any more alone." + + + + +VII + + +When Lindsay pulled back from the quiet gray void which had enshrouded +him, he was lying on the grass. Far, far away, as though pasted against +the brilliant blue sky, was a face. Gradually the sky receded. The face +came nearer. It topped, he gradually gathered, the tiny slender +black-silk figure of a little old lady. "Do you feel all right now?" it +asked. + +Lindsay wished that she would not question him. He was immensely +preoccupied with what seemed essentially private matters. But the +instinct of courtesy prodded him. "Very much, thank you," he answered +weakly. He closed his eyes again. He became conscious of a wet cloth +sopping his forehead and cheeks. A breeze tingled on the bare flesh of +his neck and chest. He opened his eyes again; sat up. "Do you mean to +tell me I fainted?" he demanded with his customary vigor. + +"That's exactly what you did, young man," the old lady answered. "The +instant you looked at me! I was setting with my back to the door. You +could have knocked me down with a feather, when you fell over +backwards." + +"Have I been out long?" + +"Not more'n a moment. I flaxed around and got some water and brought you +to in a jiffy. You ain't an invalid, are you?" + +"Far from it," Lindsay reassured her. "I'm afraid, though, I've been +working too long in the hot sun this morning." + +"Like as not!" the little old lady agreed briskly. "I guess you're +hungry too," she hazarded. "Now you just get up and lay in the hammock +and I'm going to make you some lunch. I see there was some eggs there +and milk and tea. I'll have you some scrambled eggs fixed in no time. My +name is Spash--Mrs. Spash." + +"My name is Lindsay--David Lindsay." + +Lindsay found himself submitting without a murmur to the little old +lady's program. He lay quiescent in the hammock and let the tides of +vitality flow back.... Mrs. Spash's prophecy, if anything, +underestimated her energy. In an incredibly short time she had produced, +in collaboration with the oil stove, eggs scrambled on bread deliciously +toasted, tea of a revivifying heat and strength. + +"Gee, that tastes good!" Lindsay applauded. He sighed. "It certainly +takes a woman!" + +"What are you doing here?" Mrs. Spash inquired. "Batching it?" + +"Yes, I think that describes the process," Lindsay admitted. After an +instant, "How did you happen to be on the doorstep?" + +"Well, I don't wonder you ask," Mrs. Spash declared. "I didn't know the +Murray place was let and--well, I was making one of my regular visits. +You see, I come here often. I'm pretty fond of this old house. I lived +here once for years." + +Lindsay sat upright. "Did you by chance live here when Lutetia Murray +was alive?" + +"Well, I should say I did!" Mrs. Spash answered. "I lived here the last +twenty years of Lutetia Murray's life. I was her housekeeper, as you +might say." + +Lindsay stared at her. He started to speak. It was obvious that +conflicting comments fought for expression, but all he managed to +say--and ineptly enough--was: "Oh, you knew her, then?" + +"Knew her!" Mrs. Spash seemed to search among her vocabulary for words. +Or perhaps it was her soul for emotions. "Yes, I knew her," she +concluded with a feeble breathlessness. + +"You've lived in this house, then, for twenty years," Lindsay repeated, +musing. + +"Yes, all of that." Mrs. Spash appeared to muse also. For an instant the +two followed their own preoccupations. Then as though they led them to +the same _impasse_, their eyes lifted simultaneously; met. They smiled. + +"I've bought this house, Mrs. Spash," Lindsay confided. "And you never +can guess why." + +Mrs. Spash started what appeared to be a comment. It deteriorated into a +little inarticulate murmur. + +"I bought it," Lindsay went on, "because when I was in college, I fell +in love with Lutetia Murray." And then, at Mrs. Spash's wide-eyed, faded +stare, "Not with Miss Murray herself--I never saw her--but with her +books. I read everything she wrote and I wrote in college what we call a +thesis on her." + +"Sort of essay or composition," Mrs. Spash defined thesis to herself. + +"Exactly," Lindsay permitted. + +"She was--she was--" Mrs. Spash began in a dispassionate sort of way. +She concluded in a kind of frenzy. "She was an angel." + +"Oh yes, she's that all right. I have never seen anybody so lovely." + +Mrs. Spash made a swift conversational pounce. "I thought you said you'd +never seen her." + +Lindsay flushed abjectly. "No," he admitted. "But you see I have a +picture of her." He pointed to the mantel. + +"Yes, I noticed that when I came in to get some water." Strangely enough +Mrs. Spash did not, for a moment, look at the picture. Instead she +stared at Lindsay. Lindsay submitted easily enough to this examination. +After a while Mrs. Spash appeared to abandon her scrutiny of him. She +trotted over to the fireplace; studied Lutetia's likeness. + +"I don't know as I ever see that one--it don't half do her justice--I +hate a profile picture--" She pronounced "profile" to rhyme with +"wood-pile." "None of her pictures ever did do her justice. Her beauty +was mostly in her hair and her eyes. She had a beautiful skin too, +though she never took no care of it. Never wore a hat--no matter how hot +the sun was. And then her expression-- Well, it was just +beautiful--changing all the time." + +Lindsay was only half listening. He was, with an amused glint in his +eyes, studying Mrs. Spash's spare, erect black-silk figure. She was a +relic perfectly preserved, he reflected, of mid-Victorianism. Her black +was of the kind that is accurately described by the word decent. And she +wore fittingly a little black, beaded cape with a black shade-hat that +tilted forward over her face at a decided slant. Her straight, white, +abundant hair was apparently parted in the middle under her hat. At any +rate, the neat white parting continued over the crown of her head to her +very neck, where it concealed itself under a flat black-silk bow. Her +gnarled, blue-veined hands had been covered with the lace mitts that now +lay on the table. Her little wrinkled face was neat-featured. The irises +of her eyes were a faded blue and the whites were blue also; and this +put a note of youthful color among her wrinkles. + +But Lindsay lost interest in these details; for, obviously, a new idea +caught him in its instant clutch. "Oh, Mrs. Spash," he suggested, "would +you be so good as to take me through this house? I want you to tell me +who occupied the rooms. This is not mere idle curiosity on my part. You +see Miss Murray's publishers have decided to bring out a new edition of +her works. They want me to write a life of Miss Murray. I'm asking +everybody who knows anything about her all kinds of questions." + +Mrs. Spash received all this with that unstirred composure which +indicates non-comprehension of the main issue. + +"Of course I'm interested on my own account too," Lindsay went on. +"She's such a wonderful creature, so charming and so beautiful, so +sweet, so unbearably poignant and sad. I can't understand," he concluded +absently, "why she is so sad." + +Mrs. Spash seemed to comprehend instantly. "It's the way she died," she +explained vaguely, "and how everything was left!" She walked in little +swift pattering steps, and with the accustomed air of one who knows her +way, through the side door into the addition. "This was Miss Murray's +own living-room," she told Lindsay. "She had that little bit of a +stairway made, she _said_, so's too many folks couldn't come up to her +room at once. Not that that made any difference. Wherever she was, the +whole household went." + +With little nipping steps Mrs. Spash ascended the stairway. Lindsay +followed. + +"Did Miss Murray die in her room?" Lindsay asked. + +"How did you know this was her room?" Mrs. Spash demanded. + +"I don't know exactly. I just guessed it," Lindsay answered. "I sleep +here myself," he hurriedly threw off. + +"Yes. She died here. She was all alone when she died. You see--" Mrs. +Spash sat down on the one chair and, instantly sensing her mood, Lindsay +sat down on the bed. + +"You see, things hadn't gone very well for Miss Murray the last years of +her life. Her books didn't sell-- And she spent money like water. She +was allus the most open-hearted, open-handed creature you can imagine. +She allus had the house full of company! And then there was the little +girl--Cherry--who lived with her. At the end, things were bad. No money +coming in. And Miss Murray sick all the time." + +"You say she was alone when she died," Lindsay gently brought her back +to the track. + +"Yes--except for little Cherry, who slept right through +everything--childlike. Cherry had that room." Mrs. Spash jerked an +angular thumb back. + +Lindsay nodded. "Yes, I guessed that--with all the drawings--" + +"The Weejubs! Mr. Gale drew them pictures for Cherry. He was an artist. +He used to paint pictures out in the backyard there. I didn't fancy them +very much myself--too dauby. You had to stand way off from them 'fore +they'd look like anything _a-tall_. But he used to get as high as five +hundred dollars for them. Oh, what excitement there was in this house +while he was decorating Cherry's room! And little Cherry chattering like +a magpie! Mr. Gale made up a whole long story about the Weejubs on her +walls. Lord, I've forgotten half of it; but Cherry could rattle it all +off as _fast_. Miss Murray had that door between her room and Cherry's +made small on purpose. She said Cherry could come into her room whenever +she wanted to, as long as she was a little girl. But when Cherry grew +up, she was going to make it hard for her. But she promised when Cherry +was sixteen years old she shouldn't have to call her auntie any +more--she could call her jess Lutetia. Queer idea, worn't it?" + +Mrs. Spash's old eyes so narrowed before an oncoming flood of +reminiscence that they seemed to retreat to the back of her head, where +they diminished to blue sparks. For a moment the room was silent. Then +"Let me show you something! You'd oughter know it, seein' it's your +house. There's some, though, I wouldn't show it to." + +She pattered with her surprising quickness to the back wall. She pressed +a spot in the paneling and a small square of the wood moved slowly back. + +"You see, Miss Murray's bed ran along that wall, just as Cherry's did in +the other room. Mornings and evenings they used to open this panel and +talk to each other." + +Lindsay's eyes filmed even as Mrs. Spash's had. Mentally he saw the two +faces bending toward the opening.... + +"But you was asking about Miss Murray's death-- As I say, things didn't +go well with her. I didn't understand how it all happened. Folks stopped +buying her books, I guess. Anyway, when she died, there was nothing +left. And there was debts. The house and everything in it was sold--at +auction. It was awful to see Miss Murray's things all out on the lawn. +And a great crowd of gawks--riff-raff from everywhere--looking at 'em +and making fun of 'em-- She had beautiful things, but they went for +nothing a-tall. They jess about paid her debts." + +Lindsay groaned. "But her death--" + +"Oh yes, as I was sayin'. You see, Miss Murray worn't ever the same +after Mr. Lewis died. You know about that?" + +Lindsay nodded. "He was drowned." + +Mrs. Spash nodded confirmatively. "Yes, in Spy Pond--over South Quinanog +way. He was swimming all alone. He was taken with cramps way out in the +middle of the Pond. Finally somebody saw him struggling and they put out +in a boat, but they were too late. Miss Murray was in the garden when +they brought him back on a shutter. I was with her. I can see the way +her face looked now. She didn't say anything. Not a word! She turned to +stone. And it didn't seem to me that she ever came back to flesh again. +They was to be married in October. He was a splendid man. He came from +New York." + +"Yes. Curiously enough I spent a few days in what used to be his rooms," +Lindsay informed her. + +"That so?" But it was quite apparent that nothing outside the radius of +Quinanog interested Mrs. Spash deeply. She made no further comment. + +"Was she very much in love with Lewis?" Lindsay ventured. + +"In love! I wish you could see their eyes when they looked at each +other. They'd met late. Miss Murray had always had lots of attention. +But she never seemed to care for anybody--though she'd flirt a +little--until she met Mr. Lewis. It was love at first sight with them." + +She proceeded. + +"Well, Miss Murray died five years after Mr. Lewis. She died--well, I +don't know exactly what it was. But she had _attacks_. She was a +terrible sufferer. And she was worried--money matters worried her. You +see, little Cherry's mother died when she was born and her father soon +after. Miss Murray'd always had Cherry and felt responsible for her. I +know, because she told me. 'It ain't myself, Eunice Spash,' she said to +me more'n once. 'It's little Cherry.' Anyway, she was alone when her +last attack came. She'd sent for a cousin--I forget the name--to be with +her, and she was up in Boston getting a nurse, and I was in the other +side of the house. I never heard a sound. We found her dead in the +middle of the floor--there." Her crooked forefinger indicated the spot. +"Seemed she'd got up and tried to get to the door to call. But she +dropped and died halfway. She was all contorted. Her face looked--Not so +much suffering of the body as-- Well, you could see it in her face that +it come to her that she was going, and Cherry was left with nothing." + +"What became of that cousin?" Lindsay inquired. "I have asked everybody +in the neighborhood, but nobody seems to know." + +"And I don't know. She went to Boston, taking Cherry with her. For a +time we heard from Cherry now and then--she'd write letters to the +children. Then we lost sight of her. I don't know whether Miss Murray's +cousin's living or dead; Cherry either." + +Lindsay felt that he could have assured her that Cherry was alive; but +his conclusion rested on premises too gauzy for him to hazard the +statement. + +Mrs. Spash sighed. She arose, led the way into the hall. "This was Mr. +Monroe's room; and Mr. Gale's room was back of his. He liked the room +that overlooked the garden. Mr. Monroe--" + +"That's the big man, the sculptor," Lindsay hazarded. + +"How'd you know?" Mrs. Spash pounced on him again. + +"Oh, I've talked with a lot of people in the neighborhood," Lindsay +returned evasively. + +"That Mr. Monroe," Mrs. Spash glided on easily, "was a case and a half. +Nothing but talk and laugh every moment he was in the house. I used to +admire to have him come." + +"Where is he?" Lindsay asked easily. He hoped Mrs. Spash did not guess +how, mentally, he hung upon her answer. + +"He went to Italy--to Florence--after Miss Murray died." Mrs. Spash +stopped. "He was in love with Miss Murray. Had been for years. She +wouldn't have him though. He was an awful nice man. Sometimes I thought +she would have him. But after Mr. Lewis came-- Queer, worn't it? I don't +know whether Mr. Monroe's alive or dead." + +Again Lindsay felt that he could have assured her that he was alive, but +again gauzy premises inhibited exact conclusions. + +"The last I heard of him he was in Rome. 'Tain't likely he's alive now. +_Land_, no! He'd be well over seventy--close onto seventy-five. Mr. Gale +was in love with her too. He was younger. I don't think he ever told +Miss Murray, I never _did_ know if she knew. You couldn't fool me +though. Well, I started out to show you this house. I must be gitting +on. You've seen the slave quarters and the whipping-post upstairs?" + +"Yes. _Everybody_ could tell me about the whipping-post and the slave +quarters. But the things I wanted to know--" + +"Well, it's natural enough that folks shouldn't know much about her. +Miss Murray was a lady that didn't talk about her own affairs and she +kept sort of to herself, as you might say. She wasn't the kind that ran +in on folks. She wrote by fits and starts. Sometimes she'd stay up late +at night. She _allus_ wrote new-moon time. She said the light of the +crescent moon inspired her. How they used to make fun of her about that! +But she'd write with all of them about, laughing and talking and playing +the piano or singing--and dancing even. The house was so lively those +days--they was all great trainers. And yet she could fall asleep right +in the midst of all that confusion. Well--so you see she wasn't given to +making calls. And then there was always so much to do and so many folks +around at home. Have you been upstairs in the barn?" + +"No--not yet. The stairs were all broken away. I had just finished +mending them when I had the pleasure of making your acquaintance." + +They both smiled reminiscently. + +"Let's go up there now--there must be a lot of things--" She ended her +sentence a little vaguely as the old sometimes do. But the movement with +which she arose from her chair and trotted toward the stairs was full of +an anticipation almost youthful. + +"The garden used to be so pretty," she sighed as they started on the +well-worn trail to the barn. "Miss Murray worn't what you might call +practical, but she could make flowers grow. She never cooked, nor sewed, +nor anything sensible, but she'd work in that garden till-- There was +certain combinations of flowers that she used to like; hollyhocks, +especially the garnet ones so dark they was almost black, surrounded by +them blue Canterbury bells; and then phlox in all colors, white and pink +and magenta and lavender and purple. I think there was some things put +out here," she interrupted herself vaguely, "that nobody wanted at the +auction. There wasn't even a bid on them." + +She trotted up the stairs like a pony that has suddenly become aged. +Lindsay followed, two steps at a time. The upper story of the barn was +the confused mass of objects that the lumber room of any large household +inevitably collects. Broken chairs; tables, bureaux; rejected pieces of +china; kitchen furnishings; a rusty stove, old boxes; bandboxes; broken +trunks; torn bags. + +"There! That's the table Miss Murray used to do her writing at. She said +there never had been a table built big enough for her. I expect that's +why nobody bought it at the auction. 'Twas too big for mortal use, you +might say. The same reason I expect is why the dining-room table didn't +sell either." + +"Where did she write?" Lindsay asked, measuring the table with his eye. + +"All summer in the south living-room. But when it come winter, she'd +often take her things and set right in front of the fire in the +living-room. Then she'd write at that long table you're writing on." + +"This table goes back to the south living-room tomorrow," Lindsay +decided almost inaudibly. "Can you tell me the exact spot?" + +"I guess I _can_. Lord knows I've got down on my hands and knees and +dusted the legs often enough. Miss Murray said, though it was soft wood, +it was the oldest piece in the house. She bought it at some old tavern +where they was having a sale. She said it dated back--long before +Revolutionary times--to Colonial days." + +"Could you tell me, I wonder, about the rest of Miss Murray's +furniture?" Lindsay came suddenly from out a deep revery. "Do you +remember who bought it? I would like to buy back all that I can get. I'd +like to make the old place look, as much as possible, as it used to +look." + +Mrs. Spash flashed him a quick intent look. Then she meditated. "I think +I could probably tell you where most every piece went. The Drakes got +the Field bed and the ivory-keyhole bureau and the ivory-keyhole desk; +and Miss Garnet got the elephant and Mis' Manson got the gazelles--" + +"Elephant! Gazelles!" Lindsay interrupted. + +"The gazelles," Mrs. Spash smiled indulgently. "Well, it does sound +queer, but Miss Murray used to call those little thin-legged candle +tables that folks use, _gazelles_. The elephant was a great high chest +of drawers. Mis' Manson got the maple gazelles--" She proceeded in what +promised to be an indefinite category. + +"Do you think I could buy any of those things back?" Lindsay asked after +listening patiently to the end. + +"Some of them, I guess. I have a few things in my attic I'll sell +you--and some I'll give you. I'd admire to see them in the old place +once more." + +"You must let me buy them all," Lindsay protested. + +"Well, we'll see about that," Mrs. Spash disposed of this disagreement +easily. "Have you seen the Dew Pond yet?" + +"The Dew Pond!" Lindsay echoed. + +"The little pond beyond the barn," Mrs. Spash explained. Then, as though +a great light dawned, "Oh, of course it's all so growed up round it +you'd never notice it. Come and I'll show it to you." + +Lindsay followed her out of the barn. This was all like a dream, he +reflected--but then everything was like a dream nowadays. He had lived +in a dream for two months now. Mrs. Spash struck into a path which led +beyond the barn. + +The trail grew narrower and narrower; threatened after a while to +disappear. Lindsay finally took the lead, broke a path. They came +presently on a pond so tiny that it was not a pond at all; it was a +pool. Water-lilies choked it; forget-me-nots bordered it; high wild +roses screened it. + +Lindsay stood looking for a long time into it. "It's the Merry Mere of +_Mary Towle_," he meditated aloud. Mrs. Spash received this in the +uninterrogative silence with which she had received other of his +confidences. She apparently fell back easily into the ways of literary +folk. + +"I remember now I got a glint of water from one of the upstairs +bedrooms," Lindsay went on, "the first time I came into the house. But I +forgot it instantly; and I've never noticed it since." + +"Wait a moment!" Mrs. Spash seemed afraid that he would leave. "There's +something else." She attempted to push her way through the jungle in the +direction of the house. For an instant her progress was easy, then +bushes and vines caught her. Lindsay sprang to her assistance. + +"There's something here--that was left," she panted. "Folks have +forgotten all about--" She dropped explanatory phrases. + +Heedless of tearing thorns and piercing prickers, Lindsay crashed on. +Mrs. Spash watched expectantly. + +"There!" she called with satisfaction. + +On a cairn of rocks, filmed over by years of exposure to the weather, +stood what Lindsay immediately recognized to be a large old rum-jar. The +sun found exposed spots on its surface, brought out its rich olive +color. + +"After Mr. Lewis died," Mrs. Spash explained, "Miss Murray went abroad +for a year. She went to Egypt. She put this here when she came home. +Then you could see it from the house. The sun shone on it something +handsome. She told me once she went into a temple on the Nile cut out of +the living-rock, where there was room after room, one right back of the +other. In the last one, there was an altar; and once a year, the first +ray of the rising sun would strike through all the rooms and lay on that +altar. Worn't that cute? I allus thought she had that in mind when she +put this here." + +Lindsay contemplated the old rum-jar. Mrs. Spash contemplated him. And +suddenly it was as though she were looking at Lindsay from a new point +of view. + +Lindsay's face had changed subtly in the last two months. The sun of +Quinanog had added but little to the tan and burn with which three years +of flying had crusted it. He was still very handsome. It was not, +however, this comeliness that Mrs. Spash seemed to be examining. The +experiences at Quinanog had softened the deliberate stoicism of his +look. Rather they had fed some inner softness; had fired it. His air was +now one of perpetual question. Yet dreams often invaded his eyes; +blurred them; drooped his lips. + +"It's all unbelievable," Lindsay suddenly commented, "I don't believe +it. I don't believe you. I don't believe myself." + +Mrs. Spash still kept her eyes fixed on the young man's face. Her look +had grown piercing. + +"Have you a shovel handy?" she surprisingly asked. + +"Yes, why?" + +Mrs. Spash did not answer immediately. He turned and looked at her. She +was still gazing at him hard; but the light from some long-harbored +emotion of her dulled old soul was shining bluely in her dulled old +eyes. + +"I want you should get it," she ordered briefly. "There's something +right here," she pointed, "that I want you to dig up." + + + + +VIII + + +Susannah let herself lightly down on the tin roof; it was scarcely a +step from her window. With deliberate caution, she turned and drew the +shade. Then she tiptoed toward the skylight. The workmen were still +soldering; the older man, with the air of one performing a delicate +operation, lay stretched out flat, holding some kind of receptacle; the +younger was pouring molten lead from a ladle. Try as she might, she +could not prevent her feet from making a slight tapping on the tin. The +older man glanced sharply up. "Look out!" called the younger, and he +bent again to his work. Almost running now, she stepped into the gaping +hole of the skylight. The stairs were very steep--practically a ladder. +As she disappeared from view, she heard a quick "What the hell!" from +the roof above her. + +Susannah hurried forward along a dark passage, looking for stairs. The +passage jutted, became lighter, went forward again. This must be the +point where the shed-addition joined the main building. She was in the +hallway of a dingy, conventional flat-house, with doors to right and +left. One of these doors opened; a woman in a faded calico dress looked +her over, the glance including the traveling-bag; then picked up a +letter from the hall-floor, and closed it again. Susannah found herself +controlling an impulse to run. But no steps sounded behind her--she was +not as yet pursued. And there was the stairway--at the very front of the +house! She descended the two flights to the entrance. There, for a +moment, she paused. As soon as Warner discovered her flight, they would +be after her. The workmen would point the way. The street--and +quick--was the only chance. Noiselessly she opened the door. At the head +of the steps leading to the street, she stopped long enough for a look +to right and left. Only a scattered afternoon crowd--no Warner, no Byan. +An Eighth Avenue tram-car was ringing its gong violently. On a sudden +impulse of safety, she shot down the steps, ran past her own door to the +corner. An open southbound car had drawn up, was taking on passengers. +She reached it just as the conductor was about to give the forward +signal, and was almost jerked off her feet as she stepped onto the +platform. Steadying herself, she looked, in the brief moment afforded by +the bumpy crossing of the car, down the side street. + +The entrances of her own house at the corner, the entrances to the house +she had just left, were blank and undisturbed; no one was following her. +She paid her fare, and settled down on the end of a cross-seat. + +And now she was aware not of relief or reaction or fear, but solely of +her headache. It had changed in character. It had become a furious +internal bombardment of her brows. If she turned her eyes to right or +left, she seemed to be dragging weights across the front of her brain. +Yet this headache did not seem quite a part of herself. It was as though +she knew, by a supernormal sensitiveness, the symptoms of someone else. +It was as though suddenly she had become two people. Anyway, it had +ceased to be personal. And somewhere else within her head was growing a +delicious feeling of freedom, of lightness, of escape from a wheel. Her +evasion of the Carbonado Mining Company did not account for all that; +she felt free from everything. "I'm not going to take any more rooms," +she said to herself. "I'm going to sleep out of doors now, like the +birds. People find you when you take rooms. Where shall I begin?" She +considered; and then one of those little hammers of intuition seemed to +tap on her brain. Again, she did not resist. "Why, Washington Square of +course!" she said to herself. + +The car was threading now the narrow ways of Greenwich Village. It +stopped; Susannah stepped off. The rest seemed for a long time to be +just wandering. But that curious sense of duality had vanished. She was +one person again. She did not find Washington Square easily; but then, +it made no difference whether she ever found it. For New York and the +world were so amusing when once you were free! You could laugh at +everything--the passing crowds, surging as though business really +mattered; the Carbonado Mining Company; the grisly old fool in their +toils, and Susannah Ayer. You could laugh even at the climate--for +sometimes it seemed very hot, which was right in summer, and sometimes +cold, which wasn't right at all. You could laugh at the headache, when +it tied ridiculous knots in your forehead. There was the +Arch--Washington Square at last. + +But it wasn't time to sleep in Washington Square yet. The birds hadn't +gone to bed. Sparrows were still pecking and squabbling along the +borders of the flower-beds. Besides, New York was still flowing, on its +homeward surge from office and workshop, down the paths. Susannah sat +down on a bench and considered. She had a disposition to stay there--why +was she so weak? Oh, of course she hadn't eaten. People always had +dinner before going to bed. She must eat--and she had money. She shook +out her pocketbook into her lap. A ten-dollar bill, a one-dollar bill, +and some small change. She must dine gloriously--free creatures always +did that when they had money. Besides, she was never going to pay any +more room rent. Susannah rose, strolled up Fifth Avenue. The crowd was +thinning out. That was pleasant, too. She disliked to get out of the way +of people. She was crossing Twenty-third Street now; and now she was +before the correct, white façade of the Hague House. A proper and +expensive place for dinner. + +Susannah found it very hard to speak to the waiter. It was like talking +to someone through a partition. It seemed difficult even to move her +lips; they felt wooden. + +"A petite marmite, please; then I'll see what more I want," she heard +herself saying at last. + +But when the petite marmite came, steaming in its big, red casserole, +she found herself quite disinclined to eat--almost unable to eat. She +managed only two or three mouthfuls of the broth; then dallied with the +beef. Perhaps it was because instantly--and for no reason whatever--she +had become two people again. Perhaps it was because she had been +drinking so much ice-water. It couldn't be because H. Withington Warner +was sitting at the next table to the right. It couldn't be that--because +she had told him, when first she saw him sitting there, that she was no +longer afraid of the Carbonado Company. And indeed, when she turned to +the left and saw him sitting there also--when by degrees she discovered +that there was one of him at every table in the room, she thought of +Alice in the Trial Scene in Wonderland, and became as contemptuous as +Alice. "After all," she said, "you're only a pack of cards." + +With a flourish, the waiter set the dinner-card before her, asking: +"What will you have next, Madame?" Oh yes, she was dining! + +"I think I can't eat any more--the bill, please," she heard one of her +selves saying. That self, she discovered, took calm cognizance of +everything about her; listened to conversation. As the waiter turned his +back, that half of her saw that Mr. Warner wasn't there any more; +neither at the table on her right, nor anywhere. But when she had paid +the bill, tipped, and risen to go, the other self discovered that he was +back again at every table; and that with every Warner was a Byan and an +O'Hearn. "I am snapping my fingers at them, though nobody sees it," she +said to both her selves. "I can't imagine how they ever troubled me so +much. They don't know what I'm doing! I'm sleeping out of doors; they +can find me only in rooms!" As though staggered by her complete +composure, not one of this triplicate multitude of enemies followed her +outside. + +"Now I'll go to Washington Square," she said, realizing that her +personalities had merged again. "The birds must be in bed." She took a +bus; and sank into languor and that curious, impersonal headache until +the conductor, calling "All out," at the south terminus, recalled to her +that she was going somewhere. "I must have been asleep," she thought. +"Isn't this a wonderful world?" + +The long, early summer twilight was just beginning to draw about the +world. The day lingered though--in an exquisite luminousness. All around +her the city was grappling tentatively with oncoming dusk. On a few of +the passing limousines, the front lamps struck a garish note. Near, the +Fifth Avenue lights were like slowly burning bonfires in the trees; in +the distance, seemingly suspended by chains so delicate that they were +invisible, they diminished to pots of gold. The six-o'clock rush had +long ago ceased. Now everyone sauntered; for everyone was freshly +caparisoned for the wonderful night glories of midsummer Manhattan. + +Susannah sat down on a bench in Washington Square and surveyed this free +world. Though her eyes burned, they saw crystal-clear. All about her +Italian-town mixed democratically with Greenwich Village; made +contrasting color and noise. Fat Italian mothers, snatching the +post-sunset breezes, chattered from bench to bench while they nursed +babies. On other benches, lovers clasped hands. Children played over the +grass. The birds twittered and the trees murmured. Every color darted +pricklingly distinct to Susannah's avid eyes, burning and heavy though +it was. Every sound came distinct to her avid ears, though it sounded +through a ringing. + +The Fifth Avenue busses were clumping and lumbering in swift succession +to their stopping-places. How much, Susannah thought, they looked like +prehistoric beetles; colossally big; armored to an incredible hardness +and polish. And, already, roped-off crowds of people were patiently +waiting upstairs seats. As each bus stopped, there came momentary +scramble and confusion until inside and out they filled up. She watched +this process for a long, long time. + +"I can't go to sleep yet," she said to herself finally, "the people +won't let me. One can't sleep in this wonderful world. Where does one go +after dinner? Oh, to the theater, of course! On Broadway!" She found +herself drifting, happily though languorously, through the arch and +northward. + +Twilight had settled down; had become dusk; had become night. New York +was so brilliant that it almost hurt. It was deep dusk and yet the +atmosphere was like a purple river flowing between stiff cañon-like +buildings. Everywhere in that purple river glittered golden lights. And, +floating through it, were mermaids and mermen of an extreme beauty. +Susannah passed from Fifth Avenue to Broadway. She stopped under one of +the most brilliant palace-fronts of light, and bought a ticket in the +front row. The curtain was just rising on the second act of a musical +comedy. Susannah would have been hazy about the plot anyway, for the +simple reason that there was no plot. But tonight she was peculiarly +hazy, because she enjoyed the dancing so much that she became oblivious +to everything else. Indeed, at times she seemed to be dancing with the +dancers. The illusion was so complete that she grew dizzy; and clung to +the arm of her seat. She did not want to divide into two people again. + +After a while, though, this sensation disappeared in a more intriguing +one. For suddenly she discovered that the audience consisted entirely of +her and the Carbonado Mining Company. H. Withington Warners, by the +hundred, filled the orchestra seats. Byans, by the score, filled the +balcony. O'Hearns, by the dozen, filled the gallery. But this did not +perturb her. "You're only a pack of cards," she accused them mentally. +And she stayed to the very end. + +"I thought so," she remarked contemptuously as she turned to go out. For +the Carbonado Mining Company had vanished into thin air. She was the +only real person who left the theater. + +When she came out on the street again, her headache had stopped and the +languor was over. There was a beautiful lightness to her whole body. +That lightness impelled her to walk with the crowd. But--she suddenly +discovered--she was not walking. She was _floating_. She even flew--only +she did not rise very high. She kept an even level, about a foot above +the pavement; but at that height she was like a feather. And in a +wink--how this extraordinary division happened, she could not guess--she +was two people once more. + +New York was again blooming; but this time with its transient, vivacious +after-the-theater vividness. Crowds were pouring up; pouring down, +deflecting into side streets; emerging from side streets. Everywhere was +light. Taxicabs and motors raced and spun and backed and turned; they +churned, sizzled, spluttered, and foamed--scattering light. Tram-cars, +the low-set, armored cruisers of Broadway, flashed smoothly past, +overbrimming with light. The tops of the buildings held great +congregations of dancing stars. Light poured down their sides. + +Susannah floated with the strong main current of the crowd up Broadway +and then, with a side current, a little down Broadway. Eddies took her +into Forty-second Street, and whirled her back. And all the time she was +in the crowd, but not of it--she was above it. She was looking down on +people--she could see the tops of their heads. Susannah kept chuckling +over an extraordinary truth she discovered. + +"I must remember to tell Glorious Lutie," she said to herself, "how few +people ever brush their hats." + +While one self was noting this amusing fact, however, the other was +listening to conversations; the snatches of talk that drifted up to her. + +"Let's go to a midnight show somewhere," a peevish wife-voice suggested. + +"No, _sir_!" a gruff husband-voice answered. "Li'l' ole beddo looks +pretty good to muh. I can't hit the hay too soon." + +"What's Broadway got on Market Street?" a blithe boy's voice demanded. +"Take the view from Twin Peaks at night. Why, it has Broadway beat forty +ways from the jack." + +"I'll say so!" a girl's voice agreed. + +Theaters were empty now, but restaurants were filling. In an incredibly +short time, this phantasmagoria of movement, this kaleidoscope of color, +this hurly-burly of sound had shattered, melted, fallen to silence. +People disappeared as though by magic from the street; now there were +great gaps of sidewalk where nobody appeared. Susannah--both of her, +because now she seemed to have become two people permanently--felt +lonely. She quickened her pace, her floating rather, to catch up with a +figure ahead. It was a girl, just an everyday girl, in a white linen +suit and a white sailor hat topping a mass of black hair. She carried a +handbag. Susannah found herself following, step by step, behind this +girl whose face she had as yet not seen. She was floating; yet every +time she tried to see the top of that sailor hat her vision became +blurred. It was annoying; but this stealthy pursuit was pleasant, +somehow--satisfying. + +"They've been shadowing me," said Susannah to herself. "Now I'm +shadowing. I've helped the Carbonado Company to rob orphans. I'm going +to break my promise to go to Jamaica tomorrow. Isn't it glorious to +float and be a criminal!" + +So she followed westward on Forty-second Street and reached the Public +Library corner of Fifth Avenue, which stretched now deserted except +where knots of people awaited the omnibusses. Such a knot had gathered +on that corner. Suddenly the girl in white raised her hand, waved; a +woman in a light-blue summer evening gown answered her signal from the +crowd; they ran toward each other. They were going to have a talk. +Susannah floated toward them. The air-currents made her a little +wabbly--but wasn't it fun, eavesdropping and caring not the least bit +about manners! + +"My train doesn't start until one," said the white linen suit. "It's no +use going back to my room--the night is so hot. I've been to the Summer +Garden, and I'm killing time." + +"Oh," asked blue dress, "did you sublet your room?" + +"No," said the white linen suit, "I'll be gone for only a month, and I +decided it wasn't worth while. I'll have it all ready when I get back. +I've even left the key under the rug in the hall." + +"I wouldn't ever do that!" came the voice of the blue dress. + +"Well," said the linen suit, "you know _me_! I always lose keys. I'm +convinced that when I get to Boston, I shan't have my trunk key! And +there isn't much to steal." + +"Still, I'd feel nervous if I were you." + +"I don't see why. Nobody stays up on the top floor, where I am--that is, +in the summer. All the other rooms are in one apartment, and the young +man who lives there has been away for ages. The people on the ground +floor own the house. I get the room for almost nothing by taking care of +it and the hall. I haven't seen anyone else on the floor since the man +in the apartment went away. That's why I love the place--you feel so +independent!" + +"I think I know the house," said blue dress. "The old house with the +fanlight entrance, isn't it? Mary Merle used to have a ducky little flat +on the second floor, didn't she?" + +"Yes--Number Fifty-seven and a Half--" + +Susannah was floating down the Avenue now. But floating with more +difficulty. Why was there effort about floating? And why did she keep +repeating, "Number Fifty-seven and a Half, Washington Square, top floor, +key under the rug?" + +She met few people. A policeman stared at her for a moment, then turned +indifferently away. How surprising that her floating made no impression +upon him! But then, there was no law against floating! Once she drifted +past H. Withington Warner, who was staring into a shop window. He did +not see her. Susannah had to inhibit her chuckles when, floating a foot +above his head, she realized for the first time that he dyed his hair. +Why could she see that? He should have his hat on--or was she seeing +through his hat? + +She was passing under the arch into Washington Square. But she wasn't +floating any longer. She was dragging weights; she was wading through +something like tar, which clung to her feet. She was coughing violently. +She had been coughing for a long time. Night in New York was no longer +beautiful; glorious. Tragic horrors were rasping in her head. There was +Warner. And there was Byan. She could not snap her fingers at them +now.... But she knew how to get away from them ... she must rest.... + +She cut off a segment of Washington Square, looking for a number. There +was a fanlight; and, plain in the street lamps, seeming for a moment the +only object in the world, the number "Fifty-seven and a Half." The outer +door gave to her touch. A dim point of gaslight burned in the hall. She +floated again for a minute as she mounted the stairs.... She was before +a door.... She was on her hands and knees fumbling under the rug.... She +was dragging herself up by the door-knob.... + +The key opened the door. + +Light, streaming from somewhere in the backyard areas, illuminated a +wide white bed. + +"I am sick, Glorious Lutie--I think I am very sick," said Susannah. +"Watch me, won't you? Keep Warner out!" Fumbling in the bag, she drew +out the miniature, set it up against the mirror on the bureau beside the +bed--just where she could see it plainly in the shaft of light. + +She locked the door. She lay down. + + + + +IX + + +Lindsay sat in the big living-room beside the refectory table. Mrs. +Spash moved about the room dusting; setting its scanty furnishings to +rights. On the long table before him was set out a series of tiny +villages, some Chinese, some Japanese: little pink or green-edged houses +in white porcelain; little thatched-roofed houses in brown adobe; +pagodas; bridges; pavilions. Dozens of tiny figures, some on mules, +others on foot, and many loaded with burdens walked the streets. A bit +of looking-glass, here and there, made ponds. Ducks floated on them, and +boats; queer Oriental-looking skiffs, manned by tiny, half-clad sailors; +Chinese junks. In neighboring pastures, domestic animals grazed. +Roosters, hens, chickens grouped in back areas. + +"That's just what Miss Murray used to do," Mrs. Spash observed. "She'd +play with them toys for hours at a time. And of course Cherry loved them +more than anything in the house. That's the reason I stole them and +buried them." + +"How did you manage that exactly?" Lindsay asked. + +"Oh, that was easy enough," Mrs. Spash confessed cheerfully. "Between +Miss Murray's death and the auction, I was here a lot, fixing up. They +all trusted me, of course. Those toys was all set out in little villages +by the Dew Pond. Nobody knew that they were there. So I just did them up +in tissue paper and put them in that big tin box and hid them in the +bushes. One night late I came back and buried them. Folks didn't think +of them for a long time after the auction. You see, nobody had touched +them during Miss Murray's illness. And when they did remember them, they +thought they had disappeared during the sale." Mrs. Spash paused a +moment. Her face assumed an expression of extreme disapproval. "Other +things disappeared during the sale," she accused, lowering her voice. + +"Who took them?" Lindsay asked. + +All the caution of the Yankee appeared in Mrs. Spash's voice. "I don't +know as I'd like to say, because it isn't a thing anybody can prove. I +have my suspicions though." + +Lindsay did not continue these inquiries. + +"Where did Miss Murray get all these toys?" + +"Well, a lot of 'em came from China. Miss Murray had a great-uncle who +was a sea-captain. He used to go on them long whaling voyages. He +brought them to her different times. Miss Murray had played with them +when she was a child, and so she liked to have little Cherry play with +them. Sometimes they'd all go out to the Dew Pond--Miss Murray, Mr. +Monroe, Mr. Gale, Mr. Lewis, and spend a whole afternoon laying them out +in little towns--jess about as you've got 'em there. There was two +little places on the shore that Miss Murray had all cut down, so's the +bushes wouldn't be too tall. They useter call the pond the Pacific +Ocean. One of them cleared places was the China coast and the other the +Japanese coast. They'd stay there for hours, floating little boats back +and forth from China to Japan. And how they'd laugh! I useter listen to +their voices coming through the window. But then, the house was always +full of laughter. It began at seven o'clock in the morning, when they +got up, and it never stopped until--after midnight sometimes--when they +went to bed. Oh, it was such a gay place in those days." + +Lindsay arose and stretched. But the stretching did not seem so much an +expression of fatigue or drowsiness as the demand of his spirit for +immediate activity of some sort. He sat down again instantly. Under his +downcast lids, his eyes were bright. "These walls are soaked with +laughter," he remarked. + +"Yes," Mrs. Spash seemed to understand. "But there was tears too and +plenty of them--in the last years." + +"I suppose there were," Lindsay agreed. He did not speak for a moment; +nor did Mrs. Spash. There came a silence so concentrated that the +sunlight poured into it tangible gold. Then, outside a thick white cloud +caught the sun in its woolly net. The world gloomed again. + +"She's sad still," Lindsay dropped in absent comment. + +"Yes," Mrs. Spash agreed. + +"I wonder what she wants?" Lindsay addressed this to himself. His voice +was so low that perhaps Mrs. Spash did not hear it. At any rate she made +no answer. + +Another silence came. + +Mrs. Spash finished her dusting. But she lingered. Lindsay still sat at +the table; but his eyes had left the little villages arranged there. +They went through the door and gazed out into the brilliant patch of +sunlight on the grass. There spread under his eyes a narrow stretch of +lawn, all sun-touched velvet; beyond a big crescent of garden. +Low-growing zinnias in futuristic colors, high phlox in pastel colors; +higher, Canterbury bells, deep blue; highest of all, hollyhocks, wine +red. Beyond stretched further expanses of lawn. One tall, wide +wine-glass elm spread a perfect circle of emerald shade. One low, thick +copper-beech dropped an irregular splotch of luminous shadow. Beyond all +this ran the gray, lichened stone wall. And beyond the stone wall came +unredeemed jungle. Mrs. Spash began, all over again, to dust and to +arrange the scanty furniture. After a while she spoke. + +"Mr. Lindsay--" + +Lindsay started abruptly. + +"Mr. Lindsay--that time you fainted when you first saw me, setting out +there on the door-stone, you remember--?" + +Lindsay nodded. + +"Well, who was you expecting to see?" + +Lindsay, alert now as a wire spring, turned on her, not his eyes alone, +nor his head; but his whole body. Mrs. Spash was looking straight at +him. Their glances met midway. The old eyes pierced the young eyes with +an intent scrutiny. The young eyes stabbed the old eyes with an intense +interrogation. Lindsay did not answer her question directly. Instead he +laughed. + +"I guess I don't have to answer you," he declared. "I had seen her often +then.... I had seen the others too.... I don't know why _you_ should +have frightened me when _they_ didn't.... I think it was that I wasn't +expecting anything human.... I've seen them since.... They never +frighten me." + +Mrs. Spash's reply was simple enough. "I see them all the time." She +added, with a delicate lilt of triumph, "I've seen them for years--" + +Lindsay continued to look at her--and now his gaze was somber; even a +little despairing. "What do they want? What does _she_ want?" + +Mrs. Spash's reply came instantly, although there were pauses in her +words. "I don't know. I've tried.... I can't make out." She accompanied +these simple statements with a reinforcing decisive nod of her little +head. + +"I can't guess either--I can't conjecture-- There's something she wants +me to do. She can't tell me. And they're trying to help her tell me. All +except the little girl--" + +"Do you see the little girl?" Mrs. Spash demanded. "Well, I declare! +That's very queer, I must say. I never see Cherry." + +"I wish I saw her oftener," Lindsay laughed ruefully. "_She_ doesn't ask +anything of me. She's just herself. But the others--Gale--Monroe-- My +God! It's killing me!" He laughed again, and this time with a real +amusement. + +Mrs. Spash interrupted his laughter. "Do you see Mr. Monroe?" she asked +in a pleased tone. "Well, I declare! Aren't you the fortunate creature. +I never see _him_!" + +"All the time," Lindsay answered shortly. "If I could only get it. I +feel so stupid, so incredibly gross and lumbering and heavy. I'd do +anything--" + +He arose and walked over to the picture of Lutetia Murray which still +hung above the fireplace. He stared at her hard. "I'd do anything for +her, if I could only find out what it was." + +"Yes," Mrs. Spash admitted dispassionately, "that's the thing everybody +felt about her, they'd do anything for her. Not that she ever asked them +to do anything--" + +Lindsay began to pace the length of the long room. "What is happening? +Has the old ramshackle time-machine finally broken a spring so that, in +this last revolution, it hauls, out of the past, these pictures of two +decades ago? Or is it that there are superimposed one on the other two +revolving worlds--theirs and ours--and _theirs_ or _ours_ has stopped an +instant, so that I can glance into _theirs_? I feel as though I were in +the dark of a camera obscura gazing into their brightness. Or have those +two years in the air permanently broken my psychology; so that through +that rift I shall always have the power to look into strange worlds? Or +am I just piercing another dimension?" + +Mrs. Spash had been following him with her faded, calm old eyes. +Apparently she guessed these questions were not addressed to her. She +kept silence. + +"I've racked my brain. I lie awake nights and tear the universe to +pieces. I outguess guessing and outconjecture conjecture. My thoughts +fly to the end of space. My wonder invades the very citadel of fancy. My +surmises storm the last outpost of reality. But it beats me. I can't get +it." Lindsay stopped. Mrs. Spash made no comment. Apparently her twenty +years' training among artists had prepared her for monologues of this +sort. She listened; but it was obvious that she did not understand; did +not expect to understand. + +"Does she want me to stay _here_ or go _there_?" Lindsay demanded of the +air. "If _here_, what does she want me to do? If _there_--where is +_there_? If _there_, what does she want me to do _there_? Is her errand +concerned with the living or the dead? If the living, who? If the dead, +who? Where to find them? How to find them?" He turned his glowing eyes +on Mrs. Spash. "I only know two things. She wants me to do something. +She wants me to do it soon. Oh, I suppose I know another thing-- If I +don't do it soon, it will be too late." + +Mrs. Spash was still following him with her placid, blue, old gaze. +"There, there!" she said soothingly. "Now don't you get too excited, Mr. +Lindsay. It'll all come to you." + +"But how--" Lindsay objected. "And when--" + +"I don't know--but she'll tell you somehow. She's cute-- She's awful +cute. You mark my words, she'll find a way." + +"That's the reason I don't have you in the house yet, Mrs. Spash," +Lindsay explained. + +"Oh, you don't have to tell me that," Mrs. Spash announced, triumphant +because of her own perspicuity. + +"It's only that I have a feeling that she can do it more easily if we're +alone. That's why I send you home at night. She comes oftenest in the +evening when I'm alone. They all do. Oh, it's quite a procession some +nights. They come one after another, all trying--" He paused. "Sometimes +this room is so full of their torture that I-- You know, it all began +before I came here. It began in an apartment in New York. It was in +Jeffrey Lewis' old rooms. He tried to tell me first, you see." + +"Did you see Mr. Lewis there?" Mrs. Spash asked this as casually as +though she had said, "Has the postman been here this morning?" She +added, "I see him here." + +"No, I didn't see him," Lindsay explained grimly, "but I felt him. And, +believe me, I knew he was there. He was the only one of the lot that +frightened me. I wouldn't have been frightened if I had seen him. It was +he, really, who sent me here. I work it out that he couldn't get it over +and he sent me to Lutetia because he thought she could. I wonder--" he +stopped short. This explanation came as though something had flashed +electrically through his mind. But he did not pursue that wonder. + +"Well, don't you get discouraged," Mrs. Spash reiterated. "You mark my +words, she'll manage to say what she's got to say." + +"Well, it's time I went to work," Lindsay remarked a little listlessly. +"After all, the life of Lutetia Murray must get finished. Oh, by the +way, Mrs. Spash," Lindsay veered as though remembering suddenly +something he had forgotten, "do other people see them?" + +"No--at least I never heard tell that they did." + +"How did the rumor get about that the place was haunted, then?" + +"I spread it," Mrs. Spash explained. "I didn't want folks breaking in to +see if there was anything to steal. And I didn't want them poking about +the place." + +"How did you spread it?" + +"I told children," Mrs. Spash said simply. "Less than a month, folks +were seeing all kinds of ridic'lous ghosts here. Nobody likes to go by +alone at night." + +"It's a curious thing," Lindsay reverted to his main theme, "that I know +her message has nothing to do with this biography. I don't know how I +know it; but I do. Of course, that would be the first thing a man would +think of. It is something more instant, more acute. It beats me +altogether. All I can do is wait." + +"Now don't you think any more about it, Mr. Lindsay," Mrs. Spash +advised. "You go upstairs and set to work. I'm going to get you up the +best lunch today you've had yet." + +"That's the dope," Lindsay agreed. "The only way to take a man's mind +off his troubles is to give him a good dinner. You'll have to work hard, +though, Eunice Spash, to beat your own record." + +Lindsay arose and sauntered into the front hall and up the stairs. He +turned into the room at the right which he had reserved for work, now +that Mrs. Spash was on the premises. At this moment, it was flooded with +sunlight.... A faint odor of the honeysuckle vine at the corner seemed +to emanate from the light itself.... + +Instantly ... he realized ... that the room was not empty. + +Lindsay became feverishly active. Eyes down, he mechanically shuffled +his papers. He collected yesterday's written manuscript, brought the +edges down on the table in successive clicks, until they made an even, +rectangular pile. He laid his pencils out in a row. He changed the point +in his penholder. He moved the ink-bottle. But this availed his spirit +nothing. "I am incredibly stupid," he said aloud. His voice was low, but +it rang as hollowly as though he were from another world. "If you could +only speak to me. Can't you speak to me?" + +He did not raise his eyes. But he waited for a long interval, during +which the silence in the room became so heavy and cold that it almost +blotted out the sunlight. + +"But have patience with me. I want to serve you. Oh, you don't know how +I want to serve you. I give you my word, I'll get it sometime and I +think not too late. I'll kill myself if I don't. I'm putting all I am +and all I have into trying to understand. Don't give me up. It's only +because I'm flesh and blood." + +He stopped and raised his eyes. + +The room was empty. + +That afternoon Lindsay took a walk so long, so devil-driven that he came +back streaming perspiration from every pore. Mrs. Spash regarded him +with a glance in which disapproval struggled with sympathy. "I don't +know as you'd ought to wear yourself out like that, Mr. Lindsay. Later, +perhaps you'll need all your strength--" + +"Very likely you're right, Mrs. Spash," Lindsay agreed. "But I've been +trying to work it out." + +Mrs. Spash left as usual at about seven. By nine, the last remnant of +the long twilight, a collaboration of midsummer with daylight-saving, +had disappeared. Lindsay lighted his lamp and sat down with Lutetia's +poems. The room was peculiarly cheerful. The beautiful Murray sideboard, +recently discovered and recovered, held its accustomed place between the +two windows. The old Murray clock, a little ship swinging back and forth +above its brass face, ticked in the corner. The old whale-oil lamps had +resumed their stand, one at either end of the mantel. Old pieces, old +though not Lutetia's--they were gone irretrievably--bits picked up here +and there, made the deep sea-shell corner cabinet brilliant with the +color of old china, glimmery with the shine of old pewter, sparkly with +the glitter of old glass. Many chairs--windsors, comb-backs, a Boston +rocker--filled the empty spaces with an old-time flavor. In traditional +places, high old glasses held flowers. The single anachronism was the +big, nickel, green-shaded student lamp. + +Lindsay needed rest, but he could not go to bed. He knew perfectly well +that he was exhausted, but he knew equally well that he was not drowsy. +His state of mind was abnormal. Perhaps the three large cups of +jet-black coffee that he had drunk at dinner helped in this matter. But +whatever the cause, he was conscious of every atom of this exaggerated +spiritual alertness; of the speed with which his thoughts drove; of the +almost insupportable mental clarity through which they shot. + +"If this keeps up," he meditated, "it's no use my going to bed at all +tonight. I could not possibly sleep." + +He found Lutetia's poems agreeable solace at this moment. They contained +no anodyne for his restlessness; but at least they did not increase it. +Her poetry had not been considered successful, but Lindsay liked it. It +was erratic in meter; irregular in rhythm. But at times it astounded him +with a delicate precision of expression; at moments it surprised him +with an opulence of fancy. He read on and on-- + +Suddenly that mental indicator--was it a flutter of his spirit or merely +a lowering of the spiritual temperature?--apprised him that he was not +alone.... But as usual, after he realized that his privacy had been +invaded, he continued to read; his gaze caught, as though actually tied, +by the print.... After a while he shut the book.... But he still sat +with his hand clutching it, one finger marking the place.... He did not +lift his eyes when he spoke.... + +"Tell the others to go," he demanded. + + * * * * * + +After a while he arose. He did not move to the other end of the room nor +did he glance once in that direction. But on his side, he paced up and +down with a stern, long-strided prowl. He spoke aloud. + +"Listen to me!" His tone was peremptory. "We've got to understand each +other tonight. I can't endure it any longer; for I know as well as you +that the time is getting short. You can't speak to me. But I can speak +to you. Lutetia, you've got to outdo yourself tonight. You must give me +a sign. Do you understand? You _must_ show me. Now summon all that you +have of strength, whatever it is, to give me that sign--do you +understand, _all you have_. Listen! Whatever it is that you want me to +do, it isn't here. I know that now. I know it because I've been here two +months-- Whatever it is, it must be put through somewhere else. An idea +came to me this morning. I spent all the afternoon thinking it out. +Maybe I've got a clue. It all started in New York. _He_ tried to get it +to me there. Listen! Tell me! Quick! Quick! Quick! Do you want me to go +to New York?" + +The answer was instantaneous. As though some giant hand had seized the +house in its grip, it shook. Shook for an infinitesimal fraction of an +instant. Almost, it seemed to Lindsay, walls quivered; panes rattled; +shutters banged, doors slammed. And yet in the next infinitesimal +fraction of that instant he knew that he had heard no tangible sound. +Something more exquisite than sound had filled that unmeasurable +interval with shattering, deafening confusion. + +Lindsay turned with a sharp wheel; glared into the dark of the other +side of the room. + + * * * * * + +Lindsay dashed upstairs to his desk. There he found a time-table. The +ten-fifteen from Quinanog would give him ample time to catch the +midnight to New York. He might not be able to get a sleeping berth; but +the thing he needed least, at that moment, was sleep. In fact, he would +rather sit up all night. He flung a few things into his suitcase; dashed +off a note to Mrs. Spash. In an incredibly short time, he was striding +over the two miles of road which led to the station. + +There happened to be an unreserved upper berth. It was a superfluous +luxury as far as Lindsay was concerned. He lay in it during what +remained of the night, his eyes shut but his spirit more wakeful than he +had ever known it. "Every revolution of these wheels," he said once to +himself, "brings me nearer to it, whatever it is." He arose early; was +the first to invade the washroom; the first to step off the train; the +first to leap into a taxicab. He gave the address of Spink's apartments +to the driver. "Get there faster than you can!" he ordered briefly. The +man looked at him--and then proceeded to break the speed law. + +Washington Square was hardly awake when they churned up to the sidewalk. +Lindsay let himself in the door; bounded lightly up the two flights of +stairs; unlocked the door of Spink's apartment. Everything was silent +there. The dust of two months of vacancy lay on the furnishings. Lindsay +stood in the center of the room, contemplating the door which led +backward into the rest of the apartment. + +"Well, old top, _you're_ not going to trouble me any longer. I get that +with my first breath. I've done what _she_ wanted and what _you_ wanted +so far. Now what in the name of heaven is the next move?" + +He stood in the center of the room waiting, listening. + +And then into his hearing, stretched to its final capacity, came sound. +Just _sound_ at first; then a dull murmur. Lindsay's hair rose with a +prickling progress from his scalp. But that murmur was human. It +continued. + +Lindsay went to the door, opened it, and stepped out into the hall. The +murmur grew louder. It was a woman's voice; a girl's voice; unmistakably +the voice of youth. It came from the little room next to Spink's +apartment. + +Again Lindsay listened. The monotone broke; grew jagged; grew shrill; +became monotonous again. Suddenly the truth dawned on him. It was the +voice of madness or of delirium. + +He advanced to the door and knocked. Nobody answered. The monotone +continued. He knocked again. Nobody answered. The monotone continued. He +tried the knob. The door was locked. With his hand still on the knob, he +put his shoulder to the door; gave it a slow resistless pressure. It +burst open. + +It was a small room and furnished with the conventional furnishings of a +bedroom. Lindsay saw but two things in it. One was a girl, sitting up in +the bed in the corner; a beautiful slim creature with streaming loose +red hair; her cheeks vivid with fever spots; her eyes brilliant with +fever-light. It was she who emitted the monotone. + +The other thing was a miniature, standing against the glass on the +bureau. A miniature of a beautiful woman in the full lusciousness of a +golden blonde maturity. + +The woman of the miniature was Lutetia Murray. + +The girl-- + + + + +X + + +She felt that the room was full of sunshine. Even through her glued-down +lids she caught the darting dazzle of it. She knew that the air was full +of bird voices. Even through her drowse-filmed ears, she caught the +singing sound of them. She would like to lift her lids. She would like +to wake up. But after all it was a little too easy to sleep. The impulse +with which she sank back to slumber was so soft that it was scarcely +impulse. It dropped her slowly into an enormous dark, a colossal quiet. + +Presently she drifted to the top of that dark quiet. Again the sunlight +flowed into the channels of seeing. Again the birds picked on the +strings of hearing. By an enormous effort she opened her eyes. + +She stared from her bed straight at a window. A big vine stretched films +of green leaf across it. It seemed to color the sunshine that poured +onto the floor--green. She looked at the window for a long time. +Presently she discovered among the leaves a crimson, vase-like flower. + +"Why, how thick the trumpet-vine has grown!" she said aloud. + +It seemed to her that there was a movement at her side. But that +movement did not interest her. She did not fall into a well this time. +She drifted off on a tide of sleep. Presently--perhaps it was an hour +later, perhaps five minutes--she opened her eyes. Again she stared at +the window. Again the wonder of growth absorbed her thought; passed out +of it. She looked about the room. Her little bedroom set, painted a soft +creamy yellow with long tendrils of golden vine, stood out softly +against the faded green cartridge paper. + +"Why! Why have they put the bureau over there?" she demanded aloud of +the miniature of Glorious Lutie which hung beside the bureau. With a +vague alarm, her eyes sped from point to point. The dado of Weejubs +stood out as though freshly restored. But all her pictures were gone; +the four colored prints, Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter--each the head +of a little girl, decked with buds or flowers, fruit or furs, had +vanished. The faded squares where they had hung showed on the walls. Oh, +woe, her favorite of all, "My Little White Kittens," had disappeared +too. On the other hand--on table, on bureau, and on commode-top--crowded +the little Chinese toys. + +"Why, when did they bring them in from the Dew Pond?" she asked herself, +again aloud. + +With a sudden stab of memory, she reached her hand up on the wall. How +curious! Only yesterday she could scarcely touch the spring; now her +hand went far beyond it. She pressed. The little panel opened slowly. +She raised herself in bed and looked through the aperture. + +Glorious Lutie's room was stark--bare, save for a bed and her long +wooden writing-table. + +Her thoughts flew madly ... suddenly her whole acceptance of things +crumbled. Why! She wasn't Cherie and eight. She was Susannah and +twenty-five; and the last time she had been anywhere she had been in New +York.... Lightnings of memory tore at her ... the Carbonado Mining +Company ... Eloise ... a Salvation Army woman on the street ... roofers. +Yet this was Blue Meadows. She did not have to pinch herself or press on +her sleepy eyelids. It _was_ Blue Meadows. The trumpet-vine, though as +gigantic as Jack's beanstalk, proved it. The painted furniture proved +it. The Chinese toys proved it. Yes, and if she wanted the final touch +that clinched all argument, there beside the head of the bed was the +maple gazelle. This really was not the final proof. The final proof was +human and it entered the room at that moment in the person of Mrs. +Spash. And Mrs. Spash--in her old, quaint inaccurate way--was calling +her as Cherry. + +Susannah burst into tears. + + * * * * * + +"Oh, I feel so much better now," Susannah said after a little talk; more +sleep; then talk again. "I'm going to be perfectly well in a little +while. I want to get up. And oh, dear Mrs. Spash--do you remember how +sometimes I used to call you Mrs. Splash? I do want as soon as possible +to see Mr. Lindsay and his cousin--Miss Stockbridge, did you say? I want +to thank them, of course. How can I ever thank them enough? And I want +to talk to him about the biography. Oh, I'm sure I can give him so much. +And I can make out a list of people who can tell him all the things you +and I don't remember; or never knew. And then, in my trunk in New York, +is a package of all Glorious Lutie's letters to me. I think he will want +to publish some of them; they are so lovely, so full of our games--and +jingles, and even drawings. Couldn't I sit up now?" + +"I don't see why not," Mrs. Spash said. "You've slept for nearly +twenty-six hours, Cherry. You waked up once--or half-waked up. We gave +you some hot milk and you went right to sleep again." + +"It's going to make me well--just being at Blue Meadows," Susannah +prophesied. "If I could only stay-- But I'm grateful for a day, an +hour." + + * * * * * + +Later, she came slowly down the stairs--one hand on the rail, the other +holding Mrs. Spash's arm. She wore her faded creamy-pink, creamy-yellow +Japanese kimono, held in prim plaits by the broad sash, a big obi bow at +the back. Her red hair lay forward in two long glittering braids. Her +face was still pale, but her eyes overran with a lucent blue excitement. +It caught on her eyelashes and made stars there. + +A slim young man in flannels; tall with a muscular litheness; dark with +a burnished tan; handsome; arose from his work at the long refectory +table. He came forward smiling--his hand outstretched. "My cousin, Miss +Stockbridge, has run in to Boston to do some shopping," he explained. "I +can't tell you how glad I am to see you up, or how glad she will be." He +took her disengaged arm and reinforced Mrs. Spash's efforts. They guided +her into a big wing chair. The young man found a footstool for her. + +"I suppose I'm not dreaming, Mr. Lindsay," Susannah apprised him +tremulously. "And yet how can it be anything but a dream? I left this +place fifteen years ago and I have never seen it since. How did I get +back here? How did you find me? How did you know who I was? And what +made you so heavenly good as to bring me here? I remember fragments here +and there-- Mrs. Spash tells me I've had the flu." + +Lindsay laughed. "That's all easily explained," he said with a +smoothness almost meretricious. "I happened to go to New York on +business. As usual I went to my friend Sparrel's apartment. You were ill +and delirious in the next room. I heard you; forced the door open and +sent at once for a doctor. He pronounced it a belated case of flu. So I +telephoned for Miss Stockbridge; we moved you into my apartment and +after you passed the crisis--thank God, you escaped pneumonia!--I asked +the doctor if I could bring you over here. He agreed that the country +air would be the very best thing for you, and yet would not advise me to +do it. He thought it was taking too great a risk. But I felt--I can't +tell you how strongly I felt it--that it would be the best thing for +you. My cousin stood by me, and I took the chance. Sometimes now, +though, I shudder at my own foolhardiness. You don't remember--or do +you?--that I went through the formality of asking your consent." + +"I do remember now--vaguely," Susannah laughed. "Isn't it lucky I +didn't--in my weakness--say no?" + +Lindsay laughed again. "I shouldn't have paid any attention to it, if +you had. I knew that this was what you needed. You were sleeping then +about twenty-five hours out of the twenty-four. So one night we brought +you in a taxi to the boat and took the night trip to Boston. The boat +was making its return trip that night, but I bribed them to let you stay +on it all day until it was almost ready to sail. Late in the afternoon, +we brought you in an automobile to Quinanog. You slept all the way. That +was yesterday afternoon. It was dark when we got here. You didn't even +open your eyes when I carried you into the house. In the meantime I had +wired Mrs. Spash--and she fixed up your room, as much like the way it +used to be when you were a child, as she could remember." + +"It's all too marvelous," Susannah murmured. New brilliancies were +welling up into her turquoise eyes, the deep dark fringes of lash could +not hold them; the stars kept dropping off their tips. Fresh spurts of +color invaded her face. Nervously her long white hands pulled at her +coppery braids. + +"There are so many questions I shall ask you," she went on, "when I'm +strong enough. But some I must ask you now. How did you happen to come +here? And when did the idea of writing Glorious Lutie's--my +aunt's--biography occur to you? And how did you come to know Mrs. Spash? +Where did you find the little Chinese toys? And my painted bedroom set? +And the sideboard there? And the six-legged highboy? Oh dear, a hundred, +thousand, million things. But first of all, how did you know that, now +being Susannah Ayer, I was formerly Susannah Delano?" + +"There was the miniature of Miss Murray hanging on your wall. That made +me sure--in--in some inexplicable way--that you were the little lost +Cherry. And of course we went through your handbag to make sure. We +found some letters addressed to Susannah Delano Ayer. But will you tell +me how you _do_ happen to be Susannah Ayer, when you were formerly +Susannah Delano, alias Cherry--or Cherie?" + +"I went from here to Providence to live with a large family of cousins. +Their name was Ayer, and I was so often called Ayer that finally I took +the name." Susannah paused, and then with a sudden impulse toward +confidence, she went on. "I grew up with my cousins. I was the youngest +of them all. The two oldest girls married, one a Californian, the other +a Canadian. I haven't seen them for years. The three boys are scattered +all over everywhere, by the war. My uncle died first; then my aunt. She +left me the five hundred dollars with which I got my business training." + +The look of one who is absorbing passionately all that is being said to +him was on Lindsay's face. But a little perplexity troubled it. +"Glorious Lutie?" he repeated interrogatively. + +"Oh, of course," Susannah murmured. "I always called her Glorious Lutie. +She always called me Glorious Susie--that is when she didn't call me +_Cherie_. And we had a game--the Abracadabra game. When she was telling +me a story--her stories were _marvels_; they went on for days and +days--and she got tired, she could always stop it by saying, +Abracadabra! If I didn't reply instantly with Abracadabra, the story +stopped. Of course she always caught my little wits napping--I was so +absorbed in the story that I could only stutter and pant, trying to +remember that long word." + +"That's a Peter Ibbetson trick," Lindsay commented. + + * * * * * + +The talk, thus begun, lasted for the three hours which elapsed before +Miss Stockbridge's return. Two narratives ran through their talk; +Lindsay's, which dealt with superficial matters, began with his return +to America from France; Susannah's, which began with that sad day, +fifteen years ago, when she saw Blue Meadows for the last time. But +neither narrative went straight. They zig-zagged; they curved, they +circled. Those deviations were the result of racing up squirrel tracks +of opinion and theory; of little excursions into the allied experiences +of youth; even of talks on books. Once it was interrupted by the +noiseless entry of Mrs. Spash, who deposited a tray which contained a +glass of milk, a pair of dropped eggs, a little mound of buttered toast. +Susannah suddenly found herself hungry. She drained her glass, ate both +eggs, devoured the last crumb of toast. + +After this, she felt so vigorous that she fell in with Lindsay's +suggestion that she walk to the door. There she stood on the door-stone +for a preoccupied, half-joyful, half-melancholy interval studying the +garden. Then, leaning on his arm, she ventured as far as the seat under +the copper-beech. Later, even, she went to the barn and the Dew Pond. +Before she could get tired, Lindsay brought her back, reestablishing her +in the chair. Then--and not till then--and following another impulse to +confide in Lindsay, Susannah told him the whole story of the Carbonado +Mining Company. Perhaps his point of view on that matter gave her her +second accession of vitality. He paced up and down the room during her +narrative; his hands, fists. But he laughed their threats to scorn. "Now +don't give another thought to that gang of crooks!" he adjured her. "I +know a man in New York--a lawyer. I'll have him look up that crowd and +put the fear of God into them. They'll probably be flown by that time, +however. Undoubtedly they were making ready for their getaway. Don't +think of it again. They can't hurt you half as much as that bee that's +trying to get in the door." He was silent for a moment, staring fixedly +down at his own manuscript on the table. "By God!" he burst out +suddenly, "I've half a mind to beat it on to New York. I'd like to be +present. I'd have some things to say--and do." + +Somewhere toward the end of this long talk, "I've not said a word yet, +Mr. Lindsay," Susannah interpolated timidly, "of how grateful I am to +you--and your cousin. But it's mainly because I've not had the strength +yet. I don't know how I'm going to repay you. I don't know how I'm even +going to tell you. What I owe you--just in money--let alone eternal +gratitude." + +"Now, that's all arranged," Lindsay said smoothly. "You don't know what +a find you were. You're an angel from heaven. You're a Christmas present +in July. For a long time I've realized that I needed a secretary. +Somebody's got to help me on Lutetia's life or I'll never get it done. +Who better qualified than Lutetia's own niece? In fact you will not only +be secretary but collaborator. As soon as you're well enough, we'll go +to work every morning and we'll work together until it's done." + +Susannah leaned back, snuggled into the soft recess of the comfortable +chair. She dropped her lids over the dazzling brilliancy of her eyes. "I +suppose I ought to say no. I suppose I ought to have some proper pride +about accepting so much kindness. I suppose I ought to show some +firmness of mind, pawn all my possessions and get back to work in New +York or Boston. Girls in novels always do those things. But I know I +shall do none of them. I shall say yes. For I haven't been so happy +since Glorious Lutie died." + +"Oh," Lindsay exclaimed quickly as though glad to reduce this dangerous +emotional excitement. "There comes the lost Anna Sophia Stockbridge. +She's a dandy. I think you'll like her. It's awfully hard not to." + + * * * * * + +The instant Susannah had disappeared with Miss Stockbridge up the +stairs, Mrs. Spash appeared in the Long Room. Apparently, she came with +a definite object--an object in no way connected with the futile dusting +movements she began to emit. + +Lindsay watched her. + +Suddenly Mrs. Spash's eyes came up; met his. They gazed at each other a +long moment; a gaze that was luminous with question and answer. + +"She's gone," Lindsay announced after a while. + +Mrs. Spash nodded briskly. + +"She'll never come back," Lindsay added. + +Again Mrs. Spash nodded briskly. + +"They've all gone," Lindsay stated. + +For the third time Mrs. Spash briskly nodded. + +"When Cherie came, _they_ left," Lindsay concluded. + +"They'd done what they wanted to do," Mrs. Spash vouchsafed. "Brought +you and Cherry together. So there was no need. She took them away. She'd +admire to stay. That's like her. But she don't want to make the place +seem--well, _queer_. So, as she allus did, she gives up her wish." + +"Mrs. Spash," Lindsay exploded suddenly after a long pause, "we've +_never_ seen them. You understand we've never seen them; either of us. +They never were here." + +Mrs. Spash nodded for the fourth time. + + * * * * * + +That night after his cousin and his guest had gone to bed, Lindsay +wandered about the place. The moon was big enough to turn his paths into +streams of light. He walked through the flower garden; into the barn; +about the Dew Pond. The tallest hollyhocks scarcely moved, so quiet was +the night. The little pond showed no ripple except a flash of the +moonlight. The barn was a cavern of gloom. Lindsay gazed at everything +as though from a new point of view. + +An immeasurable content filled him. + +After a while he returned to the house. His picture of Lutetia Murray +still hung over the mantel in the living-room. He gazed at it for a long +while. Then he turned away. As he looked down the length of the +living-room, there was in his face a whimsical expression, half of an +achieved happiness, half of a lurking regret. "This house has never been +so full of people since I've been here," he mused, "and yet never was it +so empty. My beloved ghosts, I miss you. But you've not all gone after +all. You've left one little ghost behind. Lutetia, I thank you for her. +How I wish you could come again to see.... But you're right. Don't come! +Not that I'm afraid. You're too lovely--" + +His thoughts broke halfway. They took another turn. "I wonder if it ever +happened to any other man before in the history of the world to see the +little-girl ghost of the woman--" + + * * * * * + +Blue Meadows had for several weeks now been projecting pictures from its +storied past into the light of everyday. Could it have projected into +that everyday one picture from the future, it would have been something +like this. + + * * * * * + +Susannah came into the south living-room. Her husband was standing +between the two windows. + +"Davy," she exclaimed joyfully, "I've located the lowboy. A Mrs. Norton +in West Hassett owns it. Of course she's asking a perfectly prohibitive +price, but of course we've got to have it." + +"Yes," Lindsay answered absently, "we've got to have it." + +"I'm glad we found things so slowly," Susannah dreamily. "It adds to the +wonder and magic of it all. It makes the dream last longer. It keeps our +romance always at the boiling point." + +She put one arm about her husband's neck and kissed him. Lindsay turned; +kissed her. + +"At least we have the major pieces back," Susannah said contentedly. +"And little Lutetia Murray Lindsay will grow up in almost the same +surroundings that Susannah Ayer enjoyed. Oh--today--when I carried her +over to the wall of the nursery, she noticed the Weejubs; she actually +put her hand out to touch them." + +"Oh, there's something here for you--from Rome--just came in the mail," +Lindsay exclaimed. "It's addressed to Susannah Delano too." + +"From Rome!" Susannah ejaculated. "Susannah Delano!" She cut the strings +of the package. Under the wrappings appeared--swathed in tissue paper--a +picture. A letter dropped from the envelope. Susannah seized it; turned +to the signature. + +"Garrison Monroe!" she ejaculated. "Oh, dear dear Uncle Garry, he's +alive after all!" She read the letter aloud, the tears welling in her +eyes. + +"How wonderful!" she commented when she finished. "You see, he's +apparently specialized in tomb-sculpture." + +She pulled the tissue paper from the picture. Their heads met, examining +it. + +"Oh, how lovely!" Susannah exclaimed in a hushed voice. And "It's +beautiful!" Lindsay agreed in a low tone. + +It was the photograph of a bit of sculptured marble; a woman swathed in +rippling draperies lying, at ease, on her side. One hand, palm upward, +fingers a little curled, lay by her cheek; the other fell across her +breast. A veil partially obscured the delicate profile. But from every +veiled feature, from every line of the figure, from every fold in the +drapery, exuded rest. + +"It's perfect!" Susannah said, still in a low tone. "Perfect. Many a +time she's fallen asleep just like than when we've all been talking and +laughing. When she slept, her hand always lay close to her face as it is +here. She always wore long floating scarves. You see he had to do her +face from photographs ... and memory.... He's used that scarf device to +conceal.... How beautiful! How beautiful!" + +There came silence. + +"Mrs. Spash says he was in love with her," Susannah went on. "Of course +I was too young. I didn't realize it. But it's all here, I think. Did +you notice that part of the letter where he says that for the last year +or two his mind has been full of her? And of all his life here? That's +very pathetic, isn't it? Now there will be a fitting monument over +her.... He says it will be here in a few months. We must send him +pictures when it's put on her grave. How happy it makes me! He says he's +nearly eighty.... How beautiful.... You're not listening to me," she +accused her husband with sudden indignation. But her indignation +tempered itself by a flurry of little kisses when, following the +direction of his piercing gaze, she saw it ended on the miniature which +hung beside the secretary. "Looking at Glorious Lutie!" she mocked +tenderly. "How that miniature fascinates you! Sometimes," she added, +obviously inventing whimsical cause for grievance, "sometimes I think +you're as much in love with her as you are with me." + +"If I am," Lindsay agreed, "it's because there's so much of you in her." + +THE END + + + + +"_The Books You Like to Read at the Price You Like to Pay_" + +_There Are Two Sides to Everything_-- + +--including the wrapper which covers every Grosset & Dunlap book. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Out of the Air + +Author: Inez Haynes Irwin + +Release Date: November 19, 2011 [EBook #38060] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUT OF THE AIR *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + +<!-- +:author "Inez Haynes Irwin" +:date "1921" +:title "Out of the Air, by Inez Haynes Irwin" +--> + + +<p style="text-align:center;font-size: 1.5em;margin-top: 1.0em;margin-bottom: 1.0em;">OUT OF THE AIR</p> + +<p style="text-align:center;">BY</p> + +<p style="text-align:center;margin-bottom: 2.0em;">INEZ HAYNES IRWIN</p> + +<p style="text-align:center;">GROSSET & DUNLAP</p> + +<p style="text-align:center;">PUBLISHERS—NEW YORK</p> + +<p style="text-align:center;font-size: 0.8em;">Made in the United States of America</p> + +<p style="margin-top:4em;"> </p> + +<p style="text-align:center;font-size: 0.8em;margin-bottom: 0.0em;">COPYRIGHT, 1920, 1921, BY</p> + +<p style="text-align:center;font-size: 0.8em;margin-top: 0.0em;margin-bottom: 0.5em;">METROPOLITAN PUBLICATIONS, INC.</p> + +<p style="text-align:center;font-size: 0.8em;margin-bottom: 0.0em;">COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY</p> + +<p style="text-align:center;font-size: 0.8em;margin-top: 0.0em;">HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY, INC.</p> + +<p style="margin-top:4em;"> </p> + +<p style="text-align:center;">TO</p> + +<p style="text-align:center;">BILLY AND PHYLLIS</p> + +<p style="margin-top:4em;"> </p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3'></a>3</span> + +<p style="text-align:center;font-size: 1.2em;">OUT OF THE AIR</p> +<div class='chapter'> +<a id='I'></a> +<p class='cln0'>I</p> +</div> + + +<p>“... so I’ll answer your questions in the order +you ask them. No, I don’t want ever to fly again. +My last pay-hop was two Saturdays ago and I +got my discharge papers yesterday. God willing, +I’ll never again ride anything more dangerous +than a velocipede. I’m now a respectable American +citizen, and for the future I’m going to confine +my locomotion to the well-known earth. Get +that, Spink Sparrel! The earth! In fact....â€</p> + +<p>David Lindsay suddenly looked up from his +typewriting. Under his window, Washington +Square simmered in the premature heat of an +early June day. But he did not even glance in +that direction. Instead, his eyes sought the doorway +leading from the front room to the back of +the apartment. Apparently he was not seeking +inspiration; it was as though he had been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4'></a>4</span> +suddenly jerked out of himself. After an absent +second, his eye sank to the page and the brisk +clatter of his machine began again.</p> + +<p>“... after the woman you recommended, +Mrs. Whatever-her-name-is, shoveled off a few +tons of dust. It’s great! It’s the key house of +New York, isn’t it? And when you look right +through the Arch straight up Fifth Avenue, you +feel as though you owned the whole town. And +what an air all this chaste antique New England +stuff gives it! Who’d ever thought you’d turn +out—you big rough-neck you—to be a collector of +antiques? Not that I haven’t fallen myself for +the sailor’s chest and the butterfly table and the +glass lamps. I actually salaam to that sampler. +And these furnishings seem especially appropriate +when I remember that Jeffrey Lewis lived here +once. You don’t know how much that adds to the +connotation of this place.â€</p> + +<p>Again—but absently—Lindsay looked up. +And again, ignoring Washington Square, which +offered an effect as of a formal garden to the +long pink-red palace on its north side—plumy +treetops, geometrical grass areas, weaving paths; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5'></a>5</span> +elegant little summer-houses—his gaze went with +a seeking look to the doorway.</p> + +<p>“Question No. 2. I haven’t any plans of my +own at present and I am quite eligible to the thing +you suggest. You say that no one wants to read +anything about the war. I don’t blame them. I +wish I could fall asleep for a month and wake up +with no recollection of it. I suppose it’s that +state of mind which prevents people from writing +their recollections immediately. Of course we’ll +all do that ultimately, I suppose—even people +who, like myself, aren’t professional writers. +Don’t imagine that I’m going on with the writing +game. I haven’t the divine afflatus. I’m just letting +myself drift along with these two jobs until +I get that <i>guerre</i> out of my system; can look +around to find what I really want to do. I’m +willing to write my experiences within a reasonable +interval; but not at once. Everything is as +vivid in my mind of course as it’s possible to be; +but I don’t want to have to think of it. That’s +why your suggestion in regard to Lutetia Murray +strikes me so favorably. I should really like to +do that biography. I’m in the mood for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6'></a>6</span> +something gentle and pastoral. And then of course +I have a sense of proprietorship in regard to +Lutetia, not alone because she was my literary find +or that it was my thesis on her which got me +my A in English 12. But, in addition, I developed +a sort of platonic, long-distance, with-the-eye-of-the-mind-only +crush on her. And yet, I +don’t know....â€</p> + +<p>Again Lindsay’s eyes came up from his paper. +For the third time he ignored Washington Square +swarming with lumbering green busses and dusky-haired +Italian babies; puppies, perambulators, +and pedestrians. Again his glance went mechanically +to the door leading to the back of the apartment.</p> + +<p>“You certainly have left an atmosphere in this +joint, Spink. Somehow I feel always as if you +were in the room. How it would be possible for +such a pop-eyed, freckle-faced Piute as you to +pack an astral body is more than I can understand. +It’s here though—that sense of your presence. +The other day I caught myself saying, ‘Oh, +Spink!’ to the empty air. But to return to +Lutetia, I can’t tell you how the prospect tempts. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7'></a>7</span> +Once on a <i>permission</i> in the spring of ’16, I finds +myself in Lyons. There are to be gentle acrobatic +doings in the best Gallic manner in the Park on +Sunday. I gallops out to see the sports. One +place, I comes across several scores of <i>poilus</i>—on +their <i>permissions</i> similar—squatting on the +ground and doing—what do you suppose? Picking +violets. Yep—picking violets. I says to myself +then, I says, ‘These frogs sure are queer +guys.’ But now, Spink, I understand. I don’t +want to do anything more strenuous myself than +picking violets, unless it’s selling baby blankets, or +holding yarn for old ladies. Perhaps by an enormous +effort I might summon the energy to run a +tea-room.â€</p> + +<p>Lindsay stopped his typewriting again. This +time he stared fixedly at Washington Square. His +eyes followed a pink-smocked, bob-haired maiden +hurrying across the Park; but apparently she did +not register. He turned abruptly with a—“Hello, +old top, what do you want?â€</p> + +<p>The doorway, being empty, made no answer.</p> + +<p>Having apparently forgotten his remark the +instant it was dropped, Lindsay went on writing.</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8'></a>8</span> + +<p>“I admit I’m thinking over that proposition. +Among my things in storage here, I have all +Lutetia’s works, including those unsuccessful and +very rare pomes of hers; even that blooming +thesis I wrote. The thesis would, of course, read +rotten now, but it might provide data that would +save research. When do you propose to bring +out this new edition, and how do you account for +that recent demand for her? Of course it establishes +me as some swell prophet. I always said +she’d bob up again, you know. Then it looked as +though she was as dead as the dodo. It isn’t the +work alone that appeals to me; it’s doing it in +Lutetia’s own town, which is apparently the exact +kind of dead little burg I’m looking for—Quinanog, +isn’t it? Come to think of it, Spink, +my favorite occupation at this moment would be +making daisy-chains or oak-wreaths. I’ll think +it...â€</p> + +<p>He jumped spasmodically; jerked his head +about; glanced over his shoulder at the doorway—</p> + +<p>“What I’d really like to do, is the biography +of Lutetia for about one month; then—for about +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9'></a>9</span> +three months—my experiences at the war which, +I understand, are to be put away in the manuscript +safe of the publishing firm of Dunbar, +Cabot and Elsingham to be published when the +demand for war stuff begins again. That, I +reckon, is what I should do if I’m going to do +it at all. Write it while it’s fresh—as I’m not a +professional. But I can’t at this moment say yes, +and I can’t say no. I’d like to stay a little longer +in New York. I’d like to renew acquaintance +with the old burg. I can afford to thrash round a +bit, you know, if I like. There’s ten thousand +dollars that my uncle left me, in the bank waiting +me. When that’s spent, of course I’ll have to +go to work.</p> + +<p>“You ask me for my impressions of America—as +a returned sky-warrior. Of course I’ve only +been here a week and I haven’t talked with so +very many people yet. But everybody is remarkably +omniscient. I can’t tell them anything about +the late war. Sometimes they ask me a question, +but they never listen to my answer. No, I listen +to them. And they’re very informing, believe me. +Most of them think that the cavalry won the war +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10'></a>10</span> +and that we went over the top to the sound of fife +and drum. For myself...â€</p> + +<p>Again he jumped; turned his head; stared into +the doorway. After an instant of apparent expectancy, +he sighed. He arose and, with an +elaborate saunter, moved over to the mirror hanging +above the mantel; looked at his reflection with +the air of one longing to see something human. +The mirror was old; narrow and dim; gold +framed. A gay little picture of a ship, bellying to +full sail, filled the space above the looking-glass. +The face, which contemplated him with the same +unseeing carelessness with which he contemplated +it, was the face of twenty-five—handsome; dark. +It was long and lean. The continuous flying of +two years had dyed it a deep wine-red; had +bronzed and burnished it. And apparently the +experiences that went with that flying had cooled +and hardened it. It was now but a smoothly +handsome mask which blanked all expression of +his emotions.</p> + +<p>Even as his eye fixed itself on his own reflected +eye, his head jerked sideways again; he +stared expectantly at the open doorway. After +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11'></a>11</span> +an interval in which nothing appeared, he +sauntered through that door; and—with almost +an effect of premeditated carelessness—through +the two little rooms, which so uselessly fill the +central space of many New York houses, to the +big sunny bedroom at the back.</p> + +<p>The windows looked out on a paintable series +of backyards: on a sketchable huddle of old, +stained, leaning wooden houses. At the opposite +window, a purple-haired, violet-eyed foreign girl +in a faded yellow blouse was making artificial +nasturtiums; flame-colored velvet petals, like a +drift of burning snow, heaped the table in front +of her. A black cat sunned itself on the window +ledge. On a distant roof, a boy with a long pole +was herding a flock of pigeons. They made glittering +swirls of motion and quick V-wheelings, +that flashed the gray of their wings like blades +and the white of their breasts like glass. Their +sudden turns filled the air with mirrors. Lindsay +watched their flight with the critical air of a rival. +Suddenly he turned as though someone had called +him; glanced inquiringly back at the doorway....</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12'></a>12</span> + +<p>When, a few minutes later, he sauntered into +the Rochambeau, immaculate in the old gray suit +he had put off when he donned the French uniform +four years before, he was the pink of summer +coolness and the quintessence of military +calm. The little, low-ceilinged series of rooms, +just below the level of the street, were crowded; +filled with smoke, talk, and laughter. Lindsay at +length found a table, looked about him, discovered +himself to be among strangers. He ordered +a cocktail, swearing at the price to the sympathetic +French waiter, who made an excited response in +French and assisted him to order an elaborate +dinner. Lindsay propped his paper against his +water-glass; concentrated on it as one prepared +for lonely eating. With the little-necks, however, +came diversion. From behind the waiter’s +crooked arm appeared the satiny dark head of a +girl. Lindsay leaped to his feet, held out his +hand.</p> + +<p>“Good Lord, Gratia! Where in the world did +you come from!â€</p> + +<p>The girl put both her pretty hands out. “I <i>can</i> +shake hands with you, David, now that you’re in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13'></a>13</span> +civies. I don’t like that green and yellow ribbon +in your buttonhole though. I’m a pacifist, you +know, and I’ve got to tell you where I stand before +we can talk.â€</p> + +<p>“All right,†Lindsay accepted cheerfully. +“You’re a darn pretty pacifist, Gratia. Of +course you don’t know what you’re talking about. +But as long as you talk about anything, I’ll +listen.â€</p> + +<p>Gratia had cut her hair short, but she had +introduced a style of hair-dressing new even to +Greenwich Village. She combed its sleek abundance +straight back to her neck and left it. There, +following its own devices, it turned up in the most +delightful curls. Her large dark eyes were set +in a skin of pale amber and in the midst of a +piquant assortment of features. She had a way, +just before speaking, of lifting her sleek head +high on the top of her slim neck. And then she +was like a beautiful young seal emerging from the +water.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m perfectly serious!†the pretty pacifist +asserted. “You know I never have believed +in war. Dora says you’ve come back loving the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14'></a>14</span> +French. How you can admire a people who—†+After a while she paused to take breath and then, +with the characteristic lift of her head, “Belgians—the +Congo—Algeciras—Morocco— And as +for England—Ireland—India—Egypt—†The +glib, conventional patter dripped readily from her +soft lips.</p> + +<p>Lindsay listened, apparently entranced. +“Gratia, you’re too pretty for any use!†he +asserted indulgently after the next pause in which +she dove under the water and reappeared sleek-haired +as ever. “I’m not going to argue with +you. I’m going to tell you one thing that will be +a shock to you, though. The French don’t like +war either. And the reason is—now prepare +yourself—they know more about the horrors of +war in <i>one</i> minute than you will in a thousand +years. What are you doing with yourself, these +days, Gratia?â€</p> + +<p>“Oh, running a shop; making smocks, working +on batiks, painting, writing <i>vers libre</i>,†Gratia +admitted.</p> + +<p>“I mean, what do you do with your leisure?†+Lindsay demanded, after prolonged meditation.</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15'></a>15</span> + +<p>Gratia ignored this persiflage. “I’m thinking +of taking up psycho-analysis,†she confided. “It +interests me enormously. I think I ought to do +rather well with it.â€</p> + +<p>“I offer myself as your first victim. Why, +you’ll make millions! Every man in New York +will want to be psyched. What’s the news, +Gratia? I’m dying for gossip.â€</p> + +<p>Gratia did her best to feed this appetite. Declining +dinner, she sipped the tall cool green drink +which Lindsay ordered for her. She poured out +a flood of talk; but all the time her eyes were flitting +from table to table. And often she interrupted +her comments on the absent with remarks +about the present.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Aussie was killed in Italy, flying. Will +Arden was wounded in the Argonne. George +Jennings died of the flu in Paris—see that big +blonde over there, Dave? She’s the Village dressmaker +now—Dark Dale is in Russia—can’t get +out. Putty Doane was taken prisoner by the Germans +at—Oh, see that gang of up-towners—aren’t +they snippy and patronizing and silly? But +Molly Fearing is our best war sensation. You +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16'></a>16</span> +know what a tiny frightened mouse of a thing she +was. She went into the ‘Y.’ She was in the +trenches the day of the Armistice—<i>talked</i> with +Germans; not prisoners, you understand—but the +retreating Germans. Her letters are wonderful. +She’s crazy about it over there. I wouldn’t be +surprised if she never came back— Oh, Dave, +don’t look now; but as soon as you can, get that +tall red-headed girl in the corner, Marie Maroo. +She does the most marvelous drawings you ever +saw. She belongs to that new Vortex School. +And then Joel— Oh, there’s Ernestine Phillips +and her father. You want to meet her father. +He’s a riot. Octogenarian, too! He’s just come +from some remote hamlet in Vermont. Ernestine’s +showing him a properly expurgated edition +of the Village. Hi, Ernestine! He’s a +Civil War veteran. Ernest’s crazy to see you, +Dave!â€</p> + +<p>The middle-aged, rather rough-featured +woman standing in the doorway turned at +Gratia’s call. Her movement revealed the head +and shoulders of a tall, gaunt, very old man, a +little rough-featured like his daughter; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17'></a>17</span> +white-haired and white-mustached. She hurried at once +to Lindsay’s table.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Dave!†She took both Lindsay’s +hands. “I <i>am</i> glad to see you! How I have +worried about you! My father, Dave. Father, +this is David Lindsay, the young aviator I was +telling you about, who had such extraordinary experiences +in France. You remember the one I +mean, father. He served for two years with the +French Army before we declared war.â€</p> + +<p>Mr. Phillips extended a long arm which +dangled a long hand. “Pleased to meet you, sir! +You’re the first flier I’ve had a chance to talk with. +I expect folks make life a perfect misery to you—but +if you don’t mind answering questions—â€</p> + +<p>“Shoot!†Lindsay permitted serenely. “I’m +nearly bursting with suppressed information. +How are you, Ernestine?â€</p> + +<p>“Pretty frazzled like the rest of us,†Ernestine +answered. Ernestine had one fine feature; a pair +of large dark serene eyes. Now they flamed with +a troubled fire. “The war did all kinds of things +to my psychology, of course. I suppose I am the +most despised woman in the Village at this +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18'></a>18</span> +moment because I don’t seem to be either a militarist +or a pacifist. I don’t believe in war, but I +don’t see how we could have kept out of it; or +how France could have prevented it.â€</p> + +<p>“Ernestine!†Lindsay said warmly. “I just +love <i>you</i>. Contrary to the generally accepted +opinion of the pacifists, France did not deliberately +bring this war on herself. Nor did she +keep it up four years for her private amusement. +She hasn’t enjoyed one minute of it. I don’t expect +Gratia to believe me, but perhaps you will. +These four years of death, destruction, and devastation +haven’t entertained France a particle.â€</p> + +<p>“Well, of course—†Ernestine was beginning, +“but what’s the use?†Her eyes met Lindsay’s +in a perplexed, comprehending stare. Lindsay +shook his handsome head gayly. “No use whatever,†+he said. “I’m rapidly growing taciturn.â€</p> + +<p>“What I would like to ask you,†Mr. Phillips +broke in, “does war seem such a pretty thing to +you, young man, after you’ve seen a little of it? +I remember in ’65 most of us came back thinking +that Sherman hadn’t used strong enough language.â€</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19'></a>19</span> + +<p>“Mr. Phillips,†Lindsay answered, “if there’s +ever another war, it will take fifteen thousand +dollars to send me a postcard telling me about it.â€</p> + +<p>The talk drifted away from the war: turned +to prohibition; came back to it again. Lindsay +answered Mr. Phillips’s questions with enthusiastic +thoroughness. They pertained mainly to his +training at Pau and Avord, but Lindsay volunteered +a detailed comparison of the American +military method with the French. “I’ll always +be glad though,†he concluded, “that I had that +experience with the French Army. And of course +when our troops got over, I was all ready to fly.â€</p> + +<p>“Then the French uniform is so charming,†+Gratia put in, consciously sarcastic.</p> + +<p>Lindsay slapped her slim wrist indulgently and +continued to answer Mr. Phillips’s questions. +Ernestine listened, the look of trouble growing +in her serene eyes. Gratia listened, diving under +water after her shocked exclamations and reappearing +glistening.</p> + +<p>“Oh, there’s Matty Packington!†Gratia +broke in. “You haven’t met Matty yet, Dave. +Hi, Matty! You <i>must</i> know Matty. She’s a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20'></a>20</span> +sketch. She’s one of those people who say the +things other people only dare think. You won’t +believe her.†She rattled one of her staccato +explanations; “society girl—first a slumming tour +through the Village—perfectly crazy about it—studio +in McDougal Alley—yeowoman—becoming +uniform—Rolls-Royce—salutes—â€</p> + +<p>Matty Packington approached the table with a +composed flutter. The two men arose. Gratia +met her halfway; performed the introductions. +In a minute the conversation was out of everybody’s +hands and in Miss Packington’s. As +Gratia prophesied, Lindsay found it difficult to +believe her. She started at an extraordinary +speed and she maintained it without break.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mr. Lindsay, aren’t you heartbroken +now that it is all over? You must tell me all +about your experiences sometime. It must have +been too thrilling for words. But don’t you think—<i>don’t</i> +you think—they stopped the war too +soon? If I were Foch I wouldn’t have been satisfied +until I’d occupied all Germany, devastated +just as much territory as those beasts devastated +in France, and executed all those monsters who cut +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21'></a>21</span> +off the Belgian babies’ hands. Don’t you think +so?â€</p> + +<p>Lindsay contemplated the lady who put this +interesting question to him. She was fair and +fairy-like; a little, light-shot golden blonde; all +slim lines and opalescent colors. Her hair fluttered +like whirled light from under her piquantly +cocked military cap. The stress of her emotion +added for the instant to the bigness and blueness +of her eyes.</p> + +<p>“Well, for myself,†he remarked finally, “I +can do with a little peace for a while. And then +to carry out your wishes, Miss Packington, Foch +would have had to sacrifice a quarter of a million +more Allied soldiers. But I sometimes think the +men at the front were a bit thoughtless of the +entertainment of the civilians. Somehow we <i>did</i> +get it into our heads that we ought to close this +war up as soon as possible. Another time perhaps +we’d know better.â€</p> + +<p>Miss Packington received this characteristically; +that is to say, she did not receive it at +all. For by the time Lindsay had begun his last +sentence, she had embarked on a monologue +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22'></a>22</span> +directed this time to Gratia. The talk flew back +and forth, grew general; grew concrete; grew abstract; +grew personal. It bubbled up into monologues +from Gratia and Matty. It thinned down +to questions from Ernestine and Mr. Phillips. +Drinks came; were followed by other drinks. All +about them, tables emptied and filled, uniforms +predominating; and all to the accompaniment of +chatter; gay mirth; drifting smoke-films and refilled +glasses. Latecomers stopped to shake +hands with Lindsay, to join the party for a drink; +to smoke a cigarette; floated away to other parties. +But the nucleus of their party remained the same.</p> + +<p>David answered with patience all questions, +stopped patiently halfway through his own +answer to reply to other questions. At about midnight +he rose abruptly. He had just brought to +the end a careful and succinct statement in which +he declared that he had seen no Belgian children +with their hands cut off; no crucified Canadians.</p> + +<p>“Folks,†he addressed the company genially, +“I’m going to admit to you I’m tired.†Inwardly +he added, “I won’t indicate which ones +of you make me the most tired; but almost all of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23'></a>23</span> +you give me an awful pain.†He added aloud, +“It’s the hay for me this instant. Good-night!â€</p> + +<p>Back once more in his rooms, he did not light +up. Instead he sat at the window and gazed out. +Straight ahead, two lines of golden beads curving +up the Avenue seemed to connect the Arch with +the distant horizon. The deep azure of the sky +was faintly powdered with stars. But for its occasional +lights, of a purplish silver, the Square +would have been a mere mystery of trees. But +those lights seemed to anchor what was half +vision to earth. And they threw interlaced leaf +shadows on the ceiling above Lindsay’s head. It +was as though he sat in some ghostly bower. +Looking fixedly through the Arch, his face grew +somber. Suddenly he jerked about and stared +through the doorway which led into the back +rooms.</p> + +<p>Nothing appeared—</p> + +<p>After a while he lighted one gas jet—after an +instant’s hesitation another—</p> + +<p style="font-size:smaller"> </p> + +<p>In the middle of the night, Lindsay suddenly +found himself sitting upright. His mouth was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24'></a>24</span> +wide open, parched; his eyes were wide open, +staring.... A chilly prickling tingled along his +scalp.... But the strangest phenomenon was his +heart, which, though swelled to an incredible bulk, +nimbly leaped, heavily pounded....</p> + +<p>Lindsay recognized the motion which inundated +him to be fear; overpowering, shameless, abject +fear. But of what? In the instant in which he +gave way to self-analysis, memory supplied him +with a vague impression. <i>Something</i> had come +to his bed and, leaning over, had stared into his +face—</p> + +<p>That <i>something</i> was not human.</p> + +<p>Lindsay fought for control. By an initial feat +of courage, his fumbling fingers lighted a candle +which stood on the tiny Sheraton table at his bedside. +On a second impulse, but only after an +interval in which consciously but desperately he +grasped at his vanishing manhood, he leaped out +of bed; lighted the gas. Then carrying the +lighted candle, he went from one to another of +the four rooms of the apartment. In each room +he lighted every gas jet until the place blazed. +He searched it thoroughly: dark corners and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25'></a>25</span> +darker closets; jetty strata of shadow under +couches.</p> + +<p>He was alone.</p> + +<p>After a while he went back to bed. But his +courage was not equal to darkness again. +Though ultimately he fell asleep, the gas blazed +all night.</p> + +<p style="font-size:smaller"> </p> + +<p>Lindsay awoke rather jaded the next morning. +He wandered from room to room submitting to +one slash of his razor at this mirror and to another +at that.</p> + +<p>At one period of this process, “Rum nightmare +I had last night!†he remarked casually to +the unresponsive air.</p> + +<p>He cooked his own breakfast; piled up the +dishes and settled himself to his correspondence +again. “This letter is getting to be a book, +Spink,†he began. “But I feel every moment as +though I wanted to add more. I slept on your +proposition last night, but I don’t feel any nearer +a decision. Quinanog and Lutetia tempt me; but +then so does New York. By the way, have you +any pictures of Lutetia? I had one in my rooms +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26'></a>26</span> +at Holworthy. Must be kicking around among +my things. I cut it out of the annual catalogue +of your book-house. Photograph as I remember. +She was some pip. I’d like—â€</p> + +<p>He started suddenly, turned his head toward +the doorway leading to the back rooms. The +doorway was empty. Lindsay arose from his +chair, sauntered in a leisurely manner through +the rooms. He investigated closets again. +“Damn it all!†he muttered.</p> + +<p>He resumed his letter. “You’re right about +writing my experiences now. I had a long footless +talk with some boobs last night, and it was +curious how things came back under their questions. +I had quite forgotten them temporarily, +and of course I shall forget them for keeps if +I don’t begin to put them down. I have a few +scattered notes here and there. I meant, of +course, to keep a diary, but believe me, a man +engaged in a war is too busy for the pursuit of +letters. But just as soon as I make up my +mind—â€</p> + +<p>Another interval. Absently Lindsay addressed +an envelope. Spinney K. Sparrel, Esq., Park +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27'></a>27</span> +Street, Boston; attacked the list of other long-neglected +correspondents. Suddenly his head +jerked upward; pivoted again. After an instant’s +observation of the empty doorway, he +pulled his face forward; resumed his work. Page +after page slid onto the roller of his machine, +submitted to the tattoo of its little lettered teeth, +emerged neatly inscribed. Suddenly he leaped to +his feet; swung about.</p> + +<p>The doorway was empty.</p> + +<p>“Who are you?†he interrogated the empty +air, “and what do you want? If you can tell me, +speak—and I’ll do anything in my power to help +you. But if you can’t tell me, for God’s sake go +away!â€</p> + +<p style="font-size:smaller"> </p> + +<p>That night—it happened again. There came +the same sudden start, stricken, panting, perspiring, +out of deep sleep; the same frantic search +of the apartment with all the lights burning; the +same late, broken drowse; the same jaded +awakening.</p> + +<p>As before, he set himself doggedly to work. +And, as before, somewhere in the middle of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28'></a>28</span> +morning, he wheeled about swiftly in his chair to +glare through the open doorway. “I wonder +if I’m going nutty!†he exclaimed aloud.</p> + +<p style="font-size:smaller"> </p> + +<p>Three days went by. Lindsay’s nights were so +broken that he took long naps in the afternoon. +His days had turned into periods of idle revery. +The letter to Spink Sparrel was still unfinished. +He worked spasmodically at his typewriter: but +he completed nothing. The third night he started +toward the Rochambeau with the intention of +getting a room. But halfway across the Park, he +stopped and retraced his steps. “I can’t let you +beat me!†he muttered audibly, after he arrived +in the empty apartment.</p> + +<p>It did not beat him that night; for he stayed +in the apartment until dawn broke. But from midnight +on, he lay with every light in the place +going. At sunrise, he dressed and went out for a +walk. And the moment the sounds of everyday +life began to humanize the neighborhood, he returned; +sat down to his machine.</p> + +<p>“Spink, old dear, my mind is made up. I accept! +I’ll do Lutetia for you; and, by God, I’ll +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29'></a>29</span> +do her well! I’m starting for Boston tomorrow +night on the midnight. I’ll call at the office about +noon and we’ll go to luncheon together. I’ll dig +out my thesis and books from storage, and if +you’ll get all your dope and data together, I can +go right to it. I’m going to Quinanog tomorrow +afternoon. I need a change. Everybody here +makes me tired. The pacifists make me wild and +the militarists make me wilder. Civilians is nuts +when it comes to a war. The only person I can +talk about it with is somebody who’s been there. +And anybody who’s been there has the good sense +not to want to talk about it. I don’t ever want to +hear of that war again. Personally, I, David +Lindsay, meaning me, want to swing in a hammock +on a pleasant, cool, vine-hung piazza; read +Lutetia at intervals and write some little pieces +subsequent. Yours, David.â€</p> + +<div class='chapter'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30'></a>30</span> +<a id='II'></a> +<p class='cln0'>II</p> +</div> + +<p>Susannah Ayer dragged herself out of her sleepless +night and started to get up. But halfway +through her first rising motion, something seemed +to leave her—to leave her spirit rather than her +body. She collapsed in a droop-shouldered +huddle onto the bed. Her red hair had come +out of its thick braids; it streamed forward over +her white face; streaked her nightgown with +glowing strands. She pushed it out of her eyes +and sat for a long interval with her face in her +hands. Finally she rose and went to the dresser. +Haggardly she stared into the glass at her reflection, +and haggardly her reflection stared back at +her. “I don’t wonder you look different, Glorious +Susie,†she addressed herself wordlessly, +“because you <i>are</i> different. I wonder if you can +ever wash away that experience—â€</p> + +<p>She poured water into the basin until it almost +brimmed; and dropped her face into it. After +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31'></a>31</span> +her sponge bath, she contemplated herself again +in the glass. Some color had crept into the pearly +whiteness of her cheek. Her dark-fringed eyes +seemed a little less shadow-encircled. She turned +their turquoise glance to the picture of a woman—a +miniature painted on ivory—which hung beside +the dresser.</p> + +<p>“Glorious Lutie,†she apostrophized it, “you +don’t know how I wish you were here. You +don’t know how much I need you now. I need +you so much, Glorious Lutie—I’m frightened!â€</p> + +<p>The miniature, after the impersonal manner of +pictures, made no response to this call for help. +Susannah sighed deeply. And for a moment she +stood a figure almost tragic, her eyes darkening +as she looked into space, her young mouth setting +its soft scarlet into hard lines. In another moment +she pulled herself out of this daze and continued +her dressing.</p> + +<p>An hour and a half later, when, cool and lithe +in her blue linen suit, she entered the uptown skyscraper +which housed the Carbonado Mining +Company, her spirits took a sudden leap. After +all, here <i>was</i> help. It was not the help she most +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32'></a>32</span> +desired and needed—the confidence and advice of +another woman—but at least she would get instant +sympathy, ultimate understanding.</p> + +<p>Anyone, however depressed his mood, must +have felt his spirits rise as he stepped into the +Admolian Building. It was so new that its terra-cotta +walls without, its white-enameled tiling +within, seemed always to have been freshly +scrubbed and dusted. It was so high that, with a +first acrobatic impulse, it leaped twenty stories +above ground; and with a second, soared into a +tower which touched the clouds. That had not +exhausted its strength. It dug in below ground, +and there spread out into rooms, eternally electric-lighted. +From the eleventh story up, its wide +windows surveyed every purlieu of Manhattan. +Its spacious elevators seemed magically to defy +gravitation. A touch started their swift flight +heavenward; a touch started their soft drop +earthward. Every floor housed offices where fortunes +were being made—and lost—at any rate, +changing hands. There was an element of buoyancy +in the air, an atmosphere of success. People +moved more quickly, talked more briskly, from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33'></a>33</span> +the moment they entered the Admolian Building. +As always, it raised the spirits of Susannah Ayer. +The set look vanished from her eyes; some of +their normal brilliancy flowed back into them. +Her mouth relaxed— When the elevator came +to a padded halt at the eighteenth floor, she had +become almost herself again.</p> + +<p>She stopped before the first in a series of +offices. Black-printed letters on the ground glass +of the door read:</p> + +<div style="font-style:italic;"> +<p style='margin-top:0;margin-bottom:0;text-align:center'>46</p> +<p style='margin-top:0;margin-bottom:0;text-align:center'>Carbonado Mining Company</p> +<p style='margin-top:0;margin-bottom:0;text-align:center'>Private. Enter No. 47</p> +</div> + +<p>An accommodating hand pointed in the direction +of No. 47. Susannah unlocked the door and with +a little sigh, as of relief, stepped in.</p> + +<p>Other offices stretched along the line of the +corridor, bearing the inscriptions, respectively, +“No. 48, H. Withington Warner, President and +General Manager; No. 49, Joseph Byan, Vice-President; +No. 50, Michael O’Hearn, Secretary +and Treasurer.†Ultimately, Susannah’s own +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34'></a>34</span> +door would flaunt the proud motto, “No. 51, +Susannah Ayer, Manager Women’s Department.â€</p> + +<p>Susannah threaded the inner corridor to her own +office. She hung up her hat and jacket; opened +her mail; ran through it. Then she lifted the +cover from her typewriter and began mechanically +to brush and oil it. Her mind was not on her +work; it had not been on the letters. It kept +speeding back to last night. She did not want to +think of last night again—at least not until she +must. She pulled her thoughts into her control; +made them flow back over the past months. And +as they sped in those pleasant channels, involuntarily +her mood went with them. Had any girl +ever been so fortunate, she wondered. She put it +to herself in simple declaratives—</p> + +<p>Here she was, all alone in New York and in +New York for the first time, settled—interestingly +and pleasantly settled. Eight months before, she +had stepped out of business college without a hundred +dollars in the world; her course in stenography, +typewriting, and secretarial work had +taken the last of her inherited funds. Without +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35'></a>35</span> +kith or kin, she was a working-woman, now, on +her own responsibility. Two months of apprenticeship, +one stenographer among fifty, in the +great offices of the Maxwell Mills, and Barty +Joyce, almost the sole remaining friend who remembered +the past glories of her family, had advised +her to try New York.</p> + +<p>“Susannah,†he said, “now is the time to strike—now +while the men are away and while the girls +are still on war jobs. Get yourself entrenched before +they come back. You’ve the makings of a +wonderful office helper.â€</p> + +<p>Susannah, with a glorious sense of adventure +once she was started, took his advice and moved +to New York. For a week, she answered advertisements, +visited offices; and she found that Barty +was right. She had the refusal of half a dozen +jobs. From them she selected the offer of the +Carbonado Mining Company—partly because she +liked Mr. Warner, and partly because it seemed +to offer the best future. Mr. Warner said to her +in their first interview:</p> + +<p>“We are looking for a clever woman whom we +can specially train in the methods of our +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36'></a>36</span> +somewhat peculiar business. If you qualify, we shall +advance you to a superior position.â€</p> + +<p>That “superior position†had fallen into her +hand like a ripe peach. Within a week, Mr. +Warner had called her into the private office for +a long business talk.</p> + +<p>“Miss Ayer,†he said, “you seem to be making +good. I am going to tell you frankly that if +you continue to meet our requirements, we shall +continue to advance you and pay you accordingly. +You see, our business—†Mr. Warner’s voice +always swelled a little when he said “our businessâ€â€”“our +business involves a great deal of +letter-writing to women investors and some personal +interviews. Now we believe—both Mr. +Byan and I—that women investing money like to +deal with one of their own sex. We have been +looking for just the right woman. A candidate +for the position must have tact, understanding, +and clearness of written expression. We have +been trying to find such a woman; and frankly, +the search has been difficult. You know how war +work—quite rightly, of course—has monopolized +the able women of the country. We have +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37'></a>37</span> +tried out half a dozen girls; but the less said +about them the better. For two weeks we will +let you try your hand at correspondence with +women investors. If your work is satisfactory, +it means a permanent job at twice your present +salary.â€</p> + +<p>Her work had pleased them! It had pleased +them instantly. But oh, how she had worked to +please them and to continue to please! Every +letter she sent out—and after explaining the Carbonado +Company and its attractions, Mr. Warner +let her compose all the letters to women—was a +study in condensed and graceful expression. At +the end of the fortnight Mr. Warner engaged her +permanently. He went even further. He said:</p> + +<p>“Miss Ayer, we’re going to make you manager +of our women’s department; and we’re going to +put your name with ours on the letterhead of the +new office stationery.†When the day came that +she first signed herself “Susannah Ayer, Manager +Women’s Department,†she felt as though all the +fairy tales she ever read had come true.</p> + +<p>Susannah, as she was assured again and again, +continued to give satisfaction. No wonder; for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38'></a>38</span> +she liked her job. The work interested her so +much that she always longed to get to the office in +the morning, almost hated to leave it at night. +It was a pleasant office, bright and spacious. +Everything was new, even to the capacious waste +basket. Her big, shiny mahogany desk stood +close to the window. And from that window she +surveyed the colorful, brick-and-stone West Side +of Manhattan, the Hudson, and the city-spotted, +town-dotted stretches beyond. The clouds hung +close; sometimes their white and silver argosies +seemed to besiege her. Once, she almost thought +the new moon would bounce through her window. +Snow noiselessly, winds tumultuously, assailed +her; but she sat as impervious as though in an +enchanted tower. Gray days made only a suaver +magic, thunderstorms a madder enchantment, +about her eyrie.</p> + +<p>The human surroundings were just as pleasant. +Though the Carbonado Company worked only +with selected clients, though they transacted most +of their business by mail, there were many visitors—some +customers; others, apparently, merely +friends of Mr. Warner, Mr. Byan, and Mr. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39'></a>39</span> +O’Hearn—who dropped in of afternoons to chat +a while. Pleasant, jolly men most of these. +Snatches of their talk, usually enigmatic, +floated to her across the tops of the partitions; it +gave the office an exciting atmosphere of something +doing. And then—it happened that Susannah’s +way of life had brought her into contact +with but few men—everything was so <i>manny</i>.</p> + +<p>She stood a little in awe of H. Withington +Warner, president and general manager. Mr. +Warner was middle-aged and iron-gray. That +last adjective perfectly described him—iron-gray. +Everything about him was gray; his straight, +thick hair; his clear, incisive eyes; even his colorless +skin. And his personality had a quality of +iron. There was about him a fascinating element +of duality. Sometimes he seemed to Susannah a +little like a clergyman. And sometimes he made +her think of an actor. This histrionic aspect, she +decided, was due to his hair, a bit long; to his +features, floridly classic; to his manner, frequently +courtly; to his voice, occasionally oratorical. +This, however, showed only in his lighter moments. +Much of the time, of course, he was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40'></a>40</span> +merely brisk and businesslike. Whatever his +tone, it carried you along. To Susannah, he was +always charming.</p> + +<p>If she stood a little in awe of H. Withington +Warner, she made up by feeling on terms of the +utmost equality with Michael O’Hearn, secretary +and treasurer of the Carbonado Mining Company. +Mr. O’Hearn—the others called him +“Mikeâ€â€”was a little Irishman. He had a +short stumpy figure and a short stumpy +face. Moreover, he looked as though +someone had delivered him a denting blow +in the middle of his profile. From this indentation +jutted in one direction his long, protuberant, +rounded forehead; peaked in another his upturned +nose. The rest of him was sandy hair +and sandy complexion, and an agreeable pair of +long-lashed Irish eyes. He was the wit of the +office, keeping everyone in constant good temper. +Susannah felt very friendly toward Mr. O’Hearn. +This was strange, because he rarely spoke to her. +But somehow, for all that, he had the gift of +seeming friendly. Susannah trusted him as she +trusted Mr. Warner, though in a different way.</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41'></a>41</span> + +<p>In regard to Joseph Byan, the third member +of the combination, Susannah had her unformulated +reservations. Perhaps it was because Byan +really interested her more than the other two. +Byan was little and slender; perfectly formed and +rather fine-featured; swift as a cat in his darting +movements. In his blue eyes shone a look of +vague pathos and on his lips floated—Susannah +decided that this was the only way to express it—a +vague, a rather sweet smile. Susannah’s job +had not at first brought her as much into contact +with Mr. Byan as with Mr. Warner. His work, +she learned, lay mostly outside of the office. But +once, during her third week, he had come into her +office and dictated a letter; had lingered, when he +had finished with the business in hand, for a little +talk. The conversation, in some curious turn, +veered to the subject of firearms. He was speaking +of the various patterns of revolvers. He +stood before her, a slim, perfectly proportioned +figure whose clothes, of an almost feminine nicety +and cut, seemed to follow every line of the body +beneath. Suddenly, one of his slight hands made +a swift gesture. There appeared—from where, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42'></a>42</span> +she could not guess—a little, ugly-looking black +revolver. With it, he illustrated his point. +Since, he had never passed through the office without +Susannah’s glance playing over him like a +flame. Nowhere along the smooth lines of his +figure could she catch the bulge of that little toy +of death. Despite his suave gentleness, there was +a believable quality about Byan; his personality +carried conviction, just as did that of the others. +Susannah trusted him, too; but again in a different +way.</p> + +<p>On the very day when Mr. Byan showed her +the revolver, she was passing the open door of +Mr. Warner’s office; and she heard the full, +round voice of the Chief saying:</p> + +<p>“Remember, Joe, rule number one: no clients +or employ—†Byan hastily closed the door on +the tail of that sentence. Sometimes she wondered +how it ended.</p> + +<p>A cog in the machine, Susannah had never fully +understood the business. That was not really +necessary; Mr. Warner himself kept her informed +on what she needed to know. He explained +in the beginning the glorious opportunity +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43'></a>43</span> +for investors. From time to time, he added new +details, as for example the glowing reports of +their chief engineer or their special expert. +Susannah knew that they were paying three per +cent dividends a month—and in April there was +a special dividend of two per cent. Besides, they +were about to break into a “mother lodeâ€â€”the +reports of their experts proved that—and when +that happened, no one could tell just how high the +dividends might be. True, these dividend payments +were often made a little irregularly. One +of the things which Susannah did not understand, +did not try to understand, was why a certain list +of preferred stockholders was now and then given +an extra dividend; nor why at times Mr. Warner +would transfer a name from one list to another.</p> + +<p>“I’m thinking of saving my money and investing +myself in Carbonado stock!†said Susannah +to Mr. Warner one day.</p> + +<p>“Don’t,†said Mr. Warner; and then with a +touch of his clerical manner: “We prefer to keep +our office force and our investors entirely separate +factors for the present. We are trying to +avoid the reproach of letting our people in on the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44'></a>44</span> +ground floor. When our ship comes in—when we +open the mother lode—you shall be taken care +of!â€</p> + +<p>So, for six months, everything went perfectly. +Susannah had absorbed herself completely in her +job. This was an easy thing to do when the +business was so fascinating. She had gone for +five months at this pace when she realized that +she had not taken the leisure to make friends. +Except the three partners—mere shadows to her—and +the people at her boarding-house—also +mere shadows to her—she knew only Eloise. +Not that the friendship of Eloise was a thing to +pass over lightly. Eloise was a host in herself.</p> + +<p>They had met at the Dorothy Dorr, a semi-charitable +home for young business women, at +which Susannah stayed during her first week in +New York. Eloise was an heiress, of that species +known to the newspapers as a “society girl.†+Pretty, piquant, gay, extravagant, she dabbled in +picturesque charities, and the Dorothy Dorr was +her pet. Sometimes in the summer, when she ran +up to town, she even lodged there. By natural +affinity, she had picked Susannah out of the crowd. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45'></a>45</span> +By the time Susannah was established in her new +job and had moved to a boarding-house, they had +become friends. But the friendship of Eloise +could not be very satisfactory. She was too busy; +and, indeed, too often out of town. From her +social fastnesses, she made sudden, dashing forays +on Susannah; took her to luncheon, dinner, or the +theater; then she would retreat to upper Fifth +Avenue, and Susannah would not see her for a +fortnight or a month.</p> + +<p>Then, that terrible, perplexing yesterday. If +she could only expunge yesterday from her life—or +at least from her memory!</p> + +<p>Of course, there were events leading up to yesterday. +Chief among them was the appearance in +the office, some weeks before, of Mr. Ozias +Cowler, from Iowa. Mr. Cowler, Susannah gathered +from the manner of the office, was a customer +of importance. He was middle-aged. No, why +mince matters—he was an old man who looked +middle-aged. He was old, because his hair had +gone quite white, and his face had fallen into +areas broken by wrinkles. But he appeared to the +first glance middle-aged, because the skin of those +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46'></a>46</span> +areas was ruddy and warm; because his eyes +were as clear and blue as in youth. He looked—well, +Susannah decided that he looked <i>fatherly</i>. +He was quiet in his step and quiet in his manner. +Though he appeared to her in the light of a customer +rather than that of an acquaintance, +Susannah was inclined to like him, as she liked +everyone and everything about the Carbonado +offices.</p> + +<p>Susannah gathered in time that Mr. Cowler +had a great deal of money, and that he had come +to New York to invest it. Of course the Carbonado +Mining Company—and this included Susannah +herself—saw the best of reasons why it +should be invested with them. But evidently, he +was a hard, cautious customer. He came again +and again. He sat closeted for long intervals +with Mr. Warner. Sometimes Mr. Byan came +into these conferences. Mr. Cowler was always +going to luncheon with the one and to dinner with +the other. He even went to a baseball game +with Mr. O’Hearn. But, although he visited the +office more and more frequently, she gathered that +the investment was not forthcoming. Susannah +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47'></a>47</span> +knew how frequently he was coming because, in +spite of the little, admonitory black hand on the +ground-glass door, he always entered, not by the +reception room, but by her office. Usually, he preceded +his long talk with Mr. Warner by a little +chat with her. Evidently, he had not yet caught +the quick gait of New York business; for as he +left—again through Susannah’s office—he would +stop for a longer talk. Once or twice, Susannah +had to excuse herself in order to go on with her +work. She had been a little afraid that Mr. +Warner would comment on these delays in office +routine. But, although Mr. Warner once or twice +glanced into her office during these intervals, he +never interfered.</p> + +<p>Then came—yesterday.</p> + +<p>Early in the morning, Mr. Warner said:</p> + +<p>“Miss Ayer, I wonder if you can do a favor +for us?†He went on, without waiting for +Susannah’s answer: “Cowler—you know what a +helpless person he is—wants to go to dinner and +the theater tonight. It happens that none of us +can accompany him. We’ve all made the kind of +engagement which can’t be broken—business. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48'></a>48</span> +He feels a little self-conscious. You know, his +money came to him late, and he has never been +to a big city before. I suspect he is afraid to +enter a fashionable restaurant alone. He wants +to go to Sherry’s and to the theater afterward—†+Mr. Warner paused to smile genially. “He’s +something of a hick, you know, and especially in +regard to this Sherry and midnight cabaret stuff.†+Mr. Warner rarely used slang; and when he did, +his smile seemed to put it into quotation marks. +“True to type, he has bought tickets in the front +row. After the show, he wants to go to one of +the midnight cabarets. Would you be willing to +steer him through all this? The show is <i>Let’s +Beat It</i>.â€</p> + +<p>Susannah expressed herself as delighted; and +indeed she was. To herself she admitted that +Mr. Cowler was no more of a “hick†in regard +to Broadway, Sherry’s, and midnight cabarets +than she herself. But about admitting this, she +had all the self-consciousness of the newly arrived +New Yorker.</p> + +<p>“That is very good of you, Miss Ayer,†said +Mr. Warner, appearing much relieved. “You +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49'></a>49</span> +may go home this afternoon an hour earlier.†+Again Mr. Warner passed from his incisive, gray-hued +sobriety to an expansive geniality. “I know +that in these circumstances, ladies like to take time +over their toilettes.†He smiled at Susannah, a +smile more expansive than any she had ever seen +on his face; it showed to the back molars his +handsome, white, regular teeth.</p> + +<p>Mr. Cowler called for her in a taxicab at seven +and—</p> + +<p style="font-size:smaller"> </p> + +<p>She heard Mr. Warner’s door open and shut. +Footsteps sounded in the corridor—that was Mr. +O’Hearn’s voice. She glanced at her wrist-watch. +Half-past nine. The partners had arrived early +this morning, of all mornings. They were night +birds, all three, seldom appearing before half-past +ten, and often working in the office late after she +had gone. Susannah stopped mid-sentence a +letter which she was tapping out to a widow in +Iowa, rose, moved toward the door. At the +threshold, she stopped, a deep blush suffusing her +face. So she paused for a moment, irresolute. +When finally she started down the corridor, Mr. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50'></a>50</span> +Warner emerged from the door of his own office, +met her face to face. And as his eyes rested on +hers, she was puzzled by the expression on his +smooth countenance. Was it anxiety? His expression +seemed to question her—then it flowed +into his cordial smile.</p> + +<p>Susannah was first to speak:</p> + +<p>“Good-morning, Mr. Warner. May I see you +alone for a moment?â€</p> + +<p>“Certainly!†With his best courtliness of +manner, he bowed her into his private office. +“Won’t you have a seat?â€</p> + +<p>Susannah sat down.</p> + +<p>“It’s about—about Mr. Cowler and last +night.†She paused.</p> + +<p>“Oh,†asked Mr. Warner, carelessly, casually, +“did you have a pleasant evening?â€</p> + +<p>“It’s about that I wanted to talk with you,†+Susannah faltered. Suddenly, her embarrassment +broke, and she became perfectly composed. +“Mr. Warner, I dislike to tell you all this, because +I know how it will shock you to hear it. +But you will understand that I have no choice in +the matter. It is very hard to speak of, and I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51'></a>51</span> +don’t know exactly how to express it, but, Mr. +Warner, Mr. Cowler insulted me grossly last +evening ... so grossly that I left the table +where we were eating after the theater and ... +and ... well, perhaps you can guess my state +of mind when I tell you that I was actually afraid +to take a taxi. Of course, I see now how foolish +that was. But I ... I ran all the way home.â€</p> + +<p>For an instant, Mr. Warner’s fine, incisive +geniality did not change. Then suddenly it broke +into a look of sympathetic understanding. “I am +sorry, Miss Ayer,†he declared gravely, “I am +indeed sorry.†His clergyman aspect was for the +moment in the ascendent. He might have been +talking from the pulpit. His voice took its oratorical +tone. “It seems incredible that men +should do such things—incredible. But one must, +I suppose, make allowances. A rural type alone +in a great city and surrounded by all the intoxicating +aspects of that city. It undoubtedly unbalanced +him. Moreover, Miss Ayer, I may say +without flattery that you are more than attractive. +And then, he is unaccustomed to drinking—â€</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52'></a>52</span> + +<p>“Oh, he had not drunk anything to speak of,†+Susannah interrupted. “A little claret at dinner. +He had ordered champagne, but this ... this +episode occurred before it came.â€</p> + +<p>“Incredible!†again murmured Mr. Warner. +“Inexplicable!†he added. He paused for a +moment. “You wish me to see that he apologizes?â€</p> + +<p>“I don’t ask that. I am only telling you so +that you may understand why I can never speak +to him again. For of course I don’t want to see +him as long as I live. I thought perhaps ... +that if he comes here again ... you might +manage so that he doesn’t enter through my +office.â€</p> + +<p>“We can probably manage that,†Mr. Warner +agreed urbanely. “Of course we can manage +that. He is, you see, a prospective client, and a +very profitable one. We must continue to do business +with him as usual.â€</p> + +<p>“Oh, of course!†gasped Susannah. “Please +don’t think I’m trying to interfere with your +business. I understand perfectly. It is only that +I—but of course you understand. I don’t want +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53'></a>53</span> +to see him again.†She rose. Her lithe figure +came up to the last inch of its height; the attitude +gave her the effect of a column. Her head was +like a glowing alabaster lamp set at the top of +that column. All the trouble had faded out of +her face. The set, scarlet lines in her mouth had +melted to their normal scarlet curves. The light +had come back in a brilliant flood to her turquoise +eyes. In this uprush of spirit, her red hair seemed +even to bristle and to glisten. She sparkled +visibly. “And now, I guess I’ll get back to +work,†she said. “Oh, by the way, I found in +my mail this morning a letter addressed, not to +the women’s department, but to the firm. I +opened it, but of course by accident.â€</p> + +<p>Mr. Warner drew the letter from its envelope, +began casually running through it. The conversation +seemed now to be ended; Susannah moved +toward the door. From his perusal of the letter, +Mr. Warner stabbed at her back with one quick, +alarmed glance, and:</p> + +<p>“Oh, Miss Ayer, don’t go yet,†he said. His +tone was a little tense and sharp. But he continued +to peruse the letter. As he finished the last +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54'></a>54</span> +page, he looked up. Again, his tone seemed peculiar; +and he hesitated before he spoke.</p> + +<p>“Er—did you make out the signature on +this?†he asked.</p> + +<p>“No—it puzzled me,†replied Susannah.</p> + +<p>“Sit down again, please,†said Mr. Warner. +Now his manner had that accent of suavity, that +velvety actor quality, which usually he reserved +solely for women clients. “I’m awfully sorry, +but I’m afraid I shall have to ask you to see Mr. +Cowler again.â€</p> + +<p>“Mr. Warner, I ... I simply could not do +that. I can never speak to him again. You don’t +know.... You can’t guess.... Why, I +could scarcely tell my own mother ... if I +had one....â€</p> + +<p>“It seems quite shocking to you, of course, +and—Wait a moment—†Mr. Warner rose +and walked toward the door leading to Byan’s +office. But he seemed suddenly to change his +mind. “I know exactly how you must feel,†he +said, returning. “Believe me, my dear young +lady, I enter perfectly into your emotions. +Shocked susceptibilities! Wounded pride! All +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55'></a>55</span> +perfectly natural, even exemplary. But, Miss +Ayer, this is a strange world. And in some +aspects a very unsatisfactory one. We have to +put up with many things we don’t like. I, for +instance. You could not guess the many disagreeable +experiences to which I submit daily. I hate +them as much as anyone, but business compels me +to endure them. Now you, in your position as +manager of the Women’s Department—â€</p> + +<p>“Nothing,†Susannah interrupted steadily, +“could induce me knowingly to submit again to +what happened last night. I would rather throw +up my job. I would rather die.â€</p> + +<p>“But, my dear Miss Ayer, you are not the only +young lady in this city who has been through such +experiences. If women will invade industry, they +must take the consequences. Actresses, shopgirls, +woman-buyers accept these things as a matter of +course—as all in the day’s work. Indeed, many +stenographers complain of unpleasant experiences. +You have been exceedingly fortunate. +Have we not in this office paid you every possible +respect?â€</p> + +<p>“Of course you have! It is because you have +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56'></a>56</span> +been so kind that I came to you at once, hoping +... believing ... that you would understand. +It never occurred to me that you....â€</p> + +<p>“Of course I understand,†Mr. Warner insisted, +in his most soothing tone. “It’s all very +dreadful. What I am trying to point out to you +is that whatever you do or wherever you go in a +great city, the same thing is likely to happen. I +am trying to prove to you that you are especially +protected here. You like your work, don’t you?â€</p> + +<p>“I love it!†Susannah protested with fervor.</p> + +<p>“Then I think you will do well to ignore the +incident. Come, my child,â€â€”Mr. Warner was +now a combination of guiding pastor and admonishing +parent,—“forget this deplorable incident. +When Mr. Cowler comes in this afternoon, meet +him as though nothing had happened. Undoubtedly +he is now bitterly regretting his mistake. +Unquestionably he will apologize. And +the next time he asks you to go out with him, he +will have learned how to treat a young lady so +admirable and estimable, and you can accept his +invitation with an untroubled spirit.â€</p> + +<p>“If I meet Mr. Cowler I will treat him exactly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57'></a>57</span> +as though nothing had happened,†Susannah declared +steadily. “I mean that upon meeting him +I will bow. I will even—if you ask it—give him +any information he may want about the business. +But as to going anywhere with him again—I must +decline absolutely.â€</p> + +<p>“But that is one of the services which we shall +have to demand from time to time. Clients come +to town. They want an attractive young lady, +a lady who will be a credit to them—a description +which, I may say, perfectly applies to you—to accompany +them about the city. That will be a +part of your duties in future. Had the occasion +arisen before, it would have been a part of your +duties in the past. If Mr. Cowler asks you again +to accompany him for the evening, we shall expect +you to go.â€</p> + +<p>“You never told me,†said Susannah after a +perceptible interval, during which directly and +piercingly she met Mr. Warner’s gentle gaze, +“that you expected this sort of thing.â€</p> + +<p>“My dear young lady,†replied Mr. Warner +with a kind of bland elegance, “I am very sorry +if I did not make that clear.â€</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58'></a>58</span> + +<p>“Then,†said Susannah—so unexpectedly that +it was unexpected even to herself—“I shall have +to give up my position. Please look for another +secretary. I shall consider it a favor if you get +her as soon as possible.â€</p> + +<p>Another pause; and then Mr. Warner asked:</p> + +<p>“Would you mind waiting here for just a few +moments before you make that decision final?â€</p> + +<p>“I will wait,†agreed Susannah. “But I will +not change my decision.â€</p> + +<p>Mr. Warner did not seem at all surprised or +annoyed. He arose abruptly, started toward +Byan’s office. This time he entered and closed +the door behind him. A moment later, Susannah +realized from the muffled sounds which filtered +through the partition that the partners were in +conference. She caught the velvety tones of +Byan; O’Hearn’s soft lilt. And as she sat there, +idly tapping the desk with a penholder, something +among the memories of that confused morning +crept into her mind; spread until it blotted out +even the memory of Mr. Cowler. That letter—what +did it mean? In her listless, inattentive +state of mind, she had opened it carelessly, read +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59'></a>59</span> +it through before she realized that it was addressed +not to the Women’s Department, but to +the company. Had anyone asked her, a moment +after she laid it down, just what it said, she could +not have answered. Now, her perplexed loneliness +brought it all out on the tablets of her mind +as the chemical brings out the picture from the +blankness of a photographic plate. She glanced +at the desk. The letter was not there—Mr. +Warner had taken it with him.</p> + +<p>The man with the illegible signature wrote +from Nevada. He had seen, during a visit to +Kansas City, the circulars of the Carbonado Mining +Company. After his return, he had passed +through Carbonado. “I wondered, when I saw +your literature, whether there had been a new +strike in that busted camp,†he wrote. “There +hadn’t. Carbonado now consists of one store-keeper +and a few retired prospectors who are trying +to scrape something from the corners of the +old Buffalo Boy property. That camp was +worked out in the eighties—and it was never +much but promises at that.†As for the photographs +which decorated the Carbonado +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60'></a>60</span> +Company’s circulars, this man recognized at least one +of them as a picture of a property he knew in +Utah. Finally, he asked sarcastically just how +long they expected to keep up the graft. “It’s +the old game, isn’t it?†he inquired, “pay three +per cent for a while and then get out with the +capital.†Three per cent a month—that <i>was</i> +exactly what the Carbonado Company was paying. +She wondered—</p> + +<p>Conjecture for Susannah would have been certainty +could she have heard the conversation just +the other side of that closed door. At the moment +when the contents of this letter flashed back +into her mind, the letter itself lay on Mr. Byan’s +polished mahogany table. Beside it lay a pile of +penciled memoranda through which fluttered from +time to time the nervous hand of H. Withington +Warner. Susannah would scarcely have known +her genial employer. The mask of actor and +clergyman had slipped from his face. His cheeks +seemed to fall flat and flabby. His eyes had lost +their benevolence. His mouth was set as hard +as a trap, the corners drooping. Across the table +from him, too, sat a transformed Byan. His +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61'></a>61</span> +smooth, regular features had sharpened to the +likeness of a rat’s. His voice, however, was still +velvety; even though it had just flung at Warner +a string of oaths.</p> + +<p>“I told you we ought to’ve let go and skipped +six weeks ago,†he said, “that was the time for +the touch-off. Secret Service still chasin’ Heinies—everythin’ +coming in and nothin’ going out. +The suckers had already stopped biting and then +you go and hand out two more monthly dividends +and settle all the bills like you intended to stay +in business forever. What did we want with this +royal suite here, and ours a correspondence game? +What do we split if we stop today? Twelve hundred +dollars. Twelve hundred dollars! We land +this Cowler—see!â€</p> + +<p>Warner, unperturbed, swept his glance to +O’Hearn, who sat huddled up in his chair, searching +with his glance now one of his partners, now +the other.</p> + +<p>“Mike,†he said, “you’re certain about your +tip on the fly cops?â€</p> + +<p>“Dead sure!†responded O’Hearn. “The +regular bulls ain’t touching mining operations just +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62'></a>62</span> +now. It’s up to the Secret Service. In two weeks +more they’ll be all cleaned up on the war, and +then they’ll be reorganizing their little committee +on high finance. That there Inspector Laughlin +will take charge. He knows you, Boss. Thenâ€â€”O’Hearn +spread his hands with a gesture of +finality—“about a week more and they’ll get +round to us. Three weeks is all we’re safe to go. +They stop our mail and then—the pinch maybe. +The tip’s straight from you-know-who. The +pinch—see!â€</p> + +<p>At the repetition of that word “pinch,†Byan’s +countenance changed subtly. It was as though he +had winced within. But he spoke in his usual +velvety tone.</p> + +<p>“Less than three weeks—h’m! How much is +Cowler good for?â€</p> + +<p>“About a hundred thou’—big or nothing,†+replied Warner. He was drawing stars and +circles on the desk blotter. “He can’t be landed +without the girl. If he’d tumbled for the Lizzies +you shook at him—but he didn’t—it’s this red-headed +doll in our office or nothing. And I’ve +told you—â€</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63'></a>63</span> + +<p>Here O’Hearn threw himself abruptly into the +conversation.</p> + +<p>“Lave out th’ girrul,†he said. Usually +O’Hearn’s Irish showed in his speech only by a +slight twist at the turn of his tongue. Now it +reverted to a thick brogue. “I’ll not have anythin’ +to do—â€</p> + +<p>“We’ll leave in or take out exactly what I +say,†put in Warner smoothly. “Exactly what +I say,†he repeated. At this direct thrust, Byan +lifted his somewhat dreamy eyes. He dropped +them again. Then Warner, his gaze directly on +O’Hearn’s face, made a swift, sinister gesture. +He drew a forefinger round his own throat, and +completed the motion by pointing directly upward. +O’Hearn, his face suddenly going a little +pale, subsided. Warner broke into the sweet, +Christian smile of his office manner. Subtly, he +seemed to take command. His personality filled +the room as he leaned forward over the table and +summed everything up.</p> + +<p>“As for your noise about quitting six weeks +ago,†he said, “how was I to know that the +suckers were going to stop running? We looked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64'></a>64</span> +good for three months then. We’ve got three +weeks to go. All right. As for the pinch, they +won’t get us unless the wad gives out. Every +stage of this game has been submitted to a lawyer. +We’re just a hair inside—but inside all the same. +<i>But</i> if we can’t come through liberally to him +when we’re really in trouble, we might as well +measure ourselves for stripes. He’s that kind +of lawyer. With a hundred thousand dollars—†+he seemed to roll that phrase under his tongue—“we +can stay and make snoots at the Secret Service +or beat it elsewhere, just as we please. Ozias +Cowler can furnish the hundred thou’. But he’ll +take only one bait. I’ve tried ’em all—flies, +worms, beetles, and grasshoppers—and there’s +only one. And that one is trying to wriggle off +the hook. I thought last night when I sent her +out with him that maybe she would fall for him. +The rest would have been easy. But she only +worked up a case of this here maidenly virtue. +On top of that, she reads this letter. Of course, +she has read it, though she don’t know I know. +I squeezed that out of her.</p> + +<p>“There,†concluded Warner, “that’s the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65'></a>65</span> +layout, isn’t it?†He turned to Byan; and his smiling, +office manner came over his expression. +“What would you say, Joe? You’re by way of +being an expert on this kind of bait.†In the +Carbonado Mining Company, Warner ruled +partly through his quality of personal force, but +partly through fear, the cement of underworld +society. Just as he shook at O’Hearn from time +to time the threat conveyed by that sinister gesture, +he held over Byan the knowledge of that +trade and traffic, shameful even among criminals, +from which Byan had risen to be a pander of low +finance. At this thrust, however, Byan did not +pale, as had O’Hearn. His expression became +only the more inscrutable.</p> + +<p>“You should have let me break her in when +I wanted to, months ago,†he said. “I’d ’a’ had +her ready now. He won’t fall for anyone else. +I’ve offered those other Molls to him, but he’s +crushed on her and won’t look at anybody else. +So we’ve got to put the screws on her. They’re +all cowards inside—yellow every one.â€</p> + +<p>“Meaning?†inquired Warner.</p> + +<p>“She’s in it up to her neck with us,†said Byan. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66'></a>66</span> +“We saw to that. All right. If we should go +up against it, she’d have a hell of a time proving +to a jury that she didn’t know what her letters to +customers were all about. Now wouldn’t she? +Ask yourself. Looked like hard luck to me when +she saw that letter just when she’d slapped the +face of this Cowler. But maybe it’s a regular +godsend. Put it to her straight that this business +is a graft, that we’re due to go up against it in +three weeks unless something nice happens, and +that she’s in it as deep as any of us. When she’s +so scared she can’t see, let her know that she has +got one way out—fall for Cowler and help us +touch him for his hundred thousand. Make her +think that it’s the stir sure if she don’t, and a +clean getaway if she does.â€</p> + +<p>“Suppose,†continued Warner in the manner of +one weighing every chance, “she goes with her +troubles to some wise guy?â€</p> + +<p>“She’s got no friends here,†said Byan. “I +looked into that. Runs around with one fluff, but +she don’t count. If she’s scared enough, I tell +you, she’ll never dare peep—and she’ll come +round.â€</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67'></a>67</span> + +<p>“Suppose she beats it?†suggested Warner.</p> + +<p>“Well, Mike and I can shadow her, can’t +we?†replied Byan. “If she tries to get out by +rail, we can stop her and put on the screws right +away. The screws!†repeated Byan, as one who +liked the idea. “And if she does hold out a +while, nothin’s lost. You’ve got the old dope +worked up to the idea she’s interested in him, +haven’t you? Well, if she don’t fall right away, +you can take a little time explaining to him why +she acted that way last night. Maybe best to +dangle her a while, anyway—get him so anxious +to see her that he’ll fall for anything when you +bring her round. I’ll be tightening up the screws, +and when he’s ripe I’ll deliver her.â€</p> + +<p>“The screws,†repeated O’Hearn. “Meanin’—?â€</p> + +<p>“Leave that to me,†said Byan. “I know +how.â€</p> + +<p>Warner smiled; but it was not the genial beam +of his office manner. For when the corners of +his drooping mouth lifted, they showed merely a +gleam of canine teeth, which lay on his lip like +fangs.</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68'></a>68</span> + +<p>“I suppose, when it’s over, she’s your personal +property,†he concluded.</p> + +<p>“Oh, sure!†responded Byan carelessly.</p> + +<p>“You’ll not—†began O’Hearn; but this time +it was Warner who interrupted.</p> + +<p>“Mickey,†he said, “any arrangements between +this lady and Byan are their own private +affair—after the touch-off, which may stand you +twenty-five thousand shiners. Besides—†He +did not make his threatening gesture now, but +merely flashed that smile of fangs and sinister +suggestion. Then he rose.</p> + +<p>“All right,†he said. “Come on—all of you—and +I’ll give her that little business talk, before +she’s had time to think and work up another +notion. Maybe she’ll fall for it right +away.â€</p> + +<p>“Not right away, she won’t,†Byan promulgated +from the depths of his experience, “but before +I’m through, she will.â€</p> + +<p style="font-size:smaller"> </p> + +<p>The three men came filing into the room where +Susannah sat, her elbows on the desk, her chin on +her hands. She rose abruptly and faced them, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69'></a>69</span> +eyes wide, lips parted. Mr. Warner wore +his office manner; his smile was now benevolent.</p> + +<p>“I have been telling Mr. Byan and Mr. +O’Hearn about your experience and your decision, +Miss Ayer,†began Mr. Warner.</p> + +<p>Susannah blushed deeply; and for an instant +her lashes swept over a sudden stern flame in her +eyes. Then she lifted them and looked with a +noncommittal openness from one face to the +other. “I think I have nothing to add,†she +said.</p> + +<p>“Yes, but perhaps we have,†Mr. Warner informed +her gently. “Sit down, Miss Ayer. Sit +down, boys.â€</p> + +<p>The three men seated themselves. “Thank +you,†said Susannah; but she continued to stand. +Byan rose thereupon, and stood lolling in the corner, +his vague smile floating on his lips. O’Hearn +dropped his chin almost to that point on his chest +where his folded arms rested. His lips drooped. +Occasionally he studied the situation from under +his protuberant forehead.</p> + +<p>“Miss Ayer,†Warner went on after a pause, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70'></a>70</span> +“you read that letter—the one you handed to me +this morning?â€</p> + +<p>Susannah hesitated for an almost imperceptible +moment. “Yes,†she admitted, “entirely by mistake.â€</p> + +<p>“I am going to tell you something that it will +surprise you to hear, Miss Ayer. What this +fellow says is all true. Carbonado is merely a—a +convenient name, let us say. In other words, +we are engaged in selling fake stocks to suckers. +To be still more explicit, we are conducting a +criminal business. We could be arrested at any +moment and sent to jail. To the Federal penitentiary, +in fact. I suppose that is a great surprise +to you?â€</p> + +<p>Though she had guessed something of this ever +since she recalled the contents of the letter, the +cold-blooded statement came indeed with all the +force of a surprise. Susannah’s figure stiffened +as though she had touched a live wire. The +crimson flush drained out of her face. And she +heard herself saying, as though in another’s voice +and far away, the inadequate words: “How perfectly +terrible!â€</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71'></a>71</span> + +<p>“Exactly so!†agreed Warner. “Only you +haven’t the remotest idea how terrible. Miss +Ayer, this company—you as well as the rest of +us—needs money and needs it right away. Ozias +Cowler has money—a great deal of money. +Somebody’s bound to get it—and why not we? +We use various means to get money out of +suckers. There’s only one way with Cowler. +He’s stuck on you. You can get it from him. We +want you to do that—we expect you to do that.â€</p> + +<p>Susannah stared at him. “Mr. Warner, I +think you are crazy. I could no more do that +... I couldn’t ... I wouldn’t even know +how ... my resignation goes into effect immediately. +I couldn’t possibly stay here another +minute.†She turned to leave the office.</p> + +<p>“Just one moment!†Mr. Warner’s words +purled on. His tone was low, his accent bland—but +his voice stopped her instantly. “Miss +Ayer, you don’t understand yet. Unless we get +some money—a great deal of money—we shan’t +last another two weeks. The situation is—but I +won’t take the time to explain that. Unless we +clean up that aforesaid money, we go to jail—for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72'></a>72</span> +a good long term. If we get the money—we +don’t. Never mind the details. I assure you it’s +true.â€</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry,†said Susannah, her lips scarcely +moving as she spoke, “but I fail to see what I +have to do with that—â€</p> + +<p>“I was about to go on to say, Miss Ayer, that +you have everything to do with it. You must be +aware, if you look back over your service with us, +that you are as much involved as anyone. Your +name is on our letterhead. You have signed hundreds +and perhaps thousands of letters to woman +investors. Putting a disagreeable fact rather +baldly, what happens to us happens to you. If +it’s the stir—if it’s jail—for us, it’s jail for you.â€</p> + +<p>Susannah stared at him. She grew rigid. But +she roused herself to a trembling weak defense.</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell them, if they arrest me ... all +that has gone on here ...†she began.</p> + +<p>“If you do,†put in Mr. Warner smoothly, +“you only create for yourself an unfavorable impression. +You put yourself in the position of +going back on your pals, and it will not get you +immunity. If Mr. Cowler comes through, you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73'></a>73</span> +are entitled to a share of the proceeds. Whether +you take it or no is a matter for your private +feelings. But the main point is that with Cowler +in, this thing will be fixed, and without him in, +you are in jail or a fugitive from justice.â€</p> + +<p>He paused now and looked at Susannah—paused +not as one who pities but as one who asks +himself if he has said enough. Susannah’s face +proved that he had.</p> + +<p>“Now of course you won’t feel like working +this morning. And I don’t blame you. Go home +and think it over. Your first instinct, probably, +will be to see a lawyer. For your own sake, I +advise you not to do that. For ours, I hope you +do. If he tells you the truth, he will show you +how deeply involved you are in this thing. No +lawyer whom you can command will handle your +case. What you’d better do is lie down and take +a nap. Then at about five o’clock this afternoon, +send for hot coffee and doll yourself up—Mr. +Cowler will call for you at seven.â€</p> + +<p style="font-size:smaller"> </p> + +<p>Susannah took part of Mr. Warner’s advice. +She went home immediately. But she did not take +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74'></a>74</span> +a nap. Instead, she walked up and down her bedroom +for an hour, thinking hard. She could think +now; in her passage home on the Subway, her first +wild panic had beaten its desperate black wings +to quiet. What Warner had told her she now +believed implicitly. She was as much caught in +the trap as any one of the three crooks with +whom she had been associated. The only difference +was that she did not mean to stay in the +trap. She meant to escape. Also she did not +mean to let it drive her from the city in which she +was challenging success. She meant to stay in New +York. She meant to escape. But how?</p> + +<p>If there were only somebody to whom she could +go! She had in New York a few acquaintances—but +no real friends. Besides, she didn’t want +anybody to know; all she wanted was to get away +from—to vanish from their sight. But where +could she go—when—how?</p> + +<p>Fortunately she had plenty of money on hand, +plenty at least for her immediate purposes. She +owned a few pawnable things, though only a few. +But at present what she needed, more even than +money, was time. She must get away at once. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75'></a>75</span> +But again where? For a moment resurgent panic +tore her. Then common sense seemed to offer +a solution. Here she was in the biggest city in +the country; the biggest in the world. She had +heard somewhere that a big city was the best place +in the world to hide in. She would hide in New +York. Then—</p> + +<p>She had forgotten one terrifying fact. Byan +boarded in the same house.</p> + +<p>She realized why now. A fortnight before—shortly +after Mr. Cowler appeared in the office—he +had come to her for advice. He had given +up one bachelor apartment, he said, and was taking +another. Repairs had become inevitable in +the new apartment. He did not want to go to a +hotel. Did she know of a good boarding-house +in which to spend a month? She did, of course—her +own. Byan came there the next day; although, +curiously enough, she saw but little of +him. They had separate tables, and his meal-hours +and hers were different.</p> + +<p>Byan usually came in at about six o’clock. But +today he might follow her. She must work +quickly.</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76'></a>76</span> + +<p>She pulled her trunk out from under the bed +and began in frenzied haste to pack it. Down +came all the pictures from her walls. Into the +trunk went most of her clothes; some of her toilet +articles; her half-dozen books; her stationery; all +her slender Lares and Penates. When she had +finished with her trunk, she packed her suitcase. +As many thin dresses as she could crush in—inconsequent +necessities—her storm boots; her +tooth-brush—</p> + +<p>Then she wrote a note to her landlady. It +read: “Dear Mrs. Ray: I have been suddenly +called away from the city. Will you keep my +trunk until I send for it? Yours in great haste +and some trouble, Susannah Ayer.†She put it +with her board money in an envelope, addressed +to Mrs. Ray, and placed it on the trunk.</p> + +<p>At three o’clock, her suitcase in one hand, her +bag and her umbrella in the other, her long cape +over her arm, she ventured into the hall.</p> + +<p>It was vacant and silent.</p> + +<p>She stole silently down the stairs. She met +nobody. She noiselessly opened the front door. +Apparently nobody noticed her. She walked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77'></a>77</span> +briskly down the steps; turned toward the +Avenue. At the corner something impelled her +to look back.</p> + +<p>Byan, his look directed downward, two fingers +fumbling in his side pocket for his key, was briskly +ascending the steps.</p> + +<div class='chapter'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78'></a>78</span> +<a id='III'></a> +<p class='cln0'>III</p> +</div> + +<p>Lindsay drove directly from the Quinanog +station to the Quinanog Arms. The Arms proved +to be a tiny mid-Victorian hotel, not an inexact +replica—and by no means a discreditable one—of +many small rustic hotels that he had seen in +England and France. Indeed Quinanog, as he +caught it in glimpses, might have been one part +of France or one part of England—that region +which only the English Channel prevents from +being the same country. The motor, which conducted +him from the station to the Arms, drove +on roads in which high wine-glass elms made +Gothic arches; between wide meadowy stretches, +brilliant with buttercups, daisies, iris; unassertive, +well-proportioned houses with roomy vegetable +plots and tiny patches here and there of flower +garden. He arrived at so early an hour that +the best of the long friendly day stretched before +him. He felt disposed to spend it merely in reading +and smoking. He had plenty to smoke; he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79'></a>79</span> +had seen to that himself in New York. And he +had plenty to read; Spink Sparrel had seen to +that in Boston. The bottom of one of his trunks +was covered with Lutetia Murray’s works.</p> + +<p>But although he smoked a great deal, he did +not read at all. Until luncheon he merely followed +his impulses. Those impulses took him a +little way down the main street, which ran between +comfortable, white colonial houses, set +back from the road. He walked through the tiny +triangular Common. He visited the little, poster-hung +post-office; looked into the big neatly arranged +general store; strolled back again. His +impulses then led him to explore the grounds of +the Arms and deposited him finally in the hammock +on the side porch. After a simple and very +well-cooked luncheon, his languor broke into a +sudden restlessness. “Where is the Murray +place?†he asked of the proprietor of the Arms, +whose name, the letterhead of the Arms stationery +stated, was Hyde.</p> + +<p>“The Murray place!†Hyde repeated inquiringly. +He was a long, noncommittal-looking person +with big pale blue eyes illuminating a sandy +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80'></a>80</span> +baldness. “Oh, the <i>Murray</i> place! You mean +the old Murray place.â€</p> + +<p>“I mean the house, whichever and wherever it +is, that Lutetia Murray, the author, used to +live in.â€</p> + +<p>“Oh, sure! I get you. You see it’s been +empty for such a long spell that we forget all +about it. The old Murray place is on the road +to West Quinanog.â€</p> + +<p>“It isn’t occupied, you say?â€</p> + +<p>“Lord, no! Hasn’t been lived in since—well, +since Lutetia Murray died. And that was—let +me see—†Hyde cast a reflective eye upward. +“Ten, eleven, twelve—oh, fifteen or twenty, I +should say. Yes, all of fifteen years.â€</p> + +<p>“Does it still belong in the Murray family?â€</p> + +<p>“Lord bless your soul, no. There hasn’t been +a Murray around these parts since—well, since +Lutetia Murray died.â€</p> + +<p>“Who owns it now?â€</p> + +<p>“The Turners. They bought it when it came +up for sale after Miss Murray’s death.â€</p> + +<p>“Well, weren’t there any heirs?â€</p> + +<p>“There was a niece—her brother’s little girl. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81'></a>81</span> +They had to sell the place and everything in it. +There never <i>was</i> a sale in Quinanog like that. +Why, folks say that the mahogany would bring +fancy prices in New York nowadays.â€</p> + +<p>“Didn’t they get as much as they should +have?†Lindsay asked idly.</p> + +<p>“Oh Lord, no! And they found her estate +was awful involved, and the debts et up about all +the auction brought in.â€</p> + +<p>“What became of the little girl?â€</p> + +<p>“Some cousins took her.â€</p> + +<p>“Where is she now?â€</p> + +<p>“Never heard tell.â€</p> + +<p>“Has anybody ever lived in the Murray place +since the family left?â€</p> + +<p>“No, I believe not.â€</p> + +<p>“Is it to let?â€</p> + +<p>“Yes, and for sale.â€</p> + +<p>“Well, why hasn’t it let or sold?â€</p> + +<p>“Oh, I dunno exactly. It’s a great big barn +of a place. Kinda ramshackle, and of course it’s +off the main-traveled road. You’d need a flivver, +at least, to live there nowadays. And there ain’t +a single modern improvement in it. No +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82'></a>82</span> +bathroom, nor electric lights, not set tubs, nor any of +the things that women like. No garage neither.â€</p> + +<p>“Every disability you quote makes it sound all +the better to me,†Lindsay commented. He meditated +a moment. “I’d like to go over and look +at it this afternoon. Is there anyone here to drive +me?â€</p> + +<p>“Yes, Dick’ll take you in the runabout.†+Hyde appeared to meditate in his turn, and he +cocked an inquiring eye in Lindsay’s direction. +“You wasn’t thinking of hiring the place, was +you?â€</p> + +<p>Lindsay laughed. “I should say I wasn’t. +No, I just wanted to look at it.â€</p> + +<p>“I was going to say,†Hyde went on, “that +it’s a very pleasant location. City folks always +think it’s a lovely spot. If you was thinking of +hiring it, my brother’s the agent.â€</p> + +<p>Lindsay laughed again. “Hiring a house is +about as far from my plans at present as returning +to France.â€</p> + +<p>“Well,†Hyde commented dryly, “judging +from the way the Quinanog boys feel, I guess I +know just about how much you want to do that.â€</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83'></a>83</span> + +<p>“How soon can we go to the Murray place?†+Lindsay inquired.</p> + +<p>“Now—as far as Dick’s concerned.â€</p> + +<p>“By the way,†Hyde dropped, as he turned toward +the garage, “the Murrays called the place +Blue Medders.â€</p> + +<p>“Blue Meadows,†Lindsay repeated aloud. +And to himself, “Blue Meadows.†And again, +though wordlessly, “Blue Meadows.†It was apparent +that he liked the sound and the image the +sound evoked.</p> + +<p>The runabout chugged to Blue Meadows in +less than ten minutes. The road branched off +from the State highway at the least frequented +place in its ample stretch; ran for a long way to +West Quinanog. On this side road, houses were +few and they grew fewer and fewer until they left +Blue Meadows quite by itself. Its situation, +though solitary, was not lonely. It sat near the +road. Perhaps, Lindsay decided, it would have +been too near if stately wine-glass elms, feathered +with leaves all along their lissom trunks, in collaboration +with a high lilac hedge now past its +blooming, had not helped to sequester it. From +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84'></a>84</span> +the street, the house showed only a roof with two +capacious chimneys, the upper story of its gray +clapboarded façade.</p> + +<p>Dick, a gangling freckled youth, slowed down +the machine as if in preparation for a stop. “I’ve +got the key,†he volunteered, “if you want to +go in.â€</p> + +<p>Until that moment Lindsay had entertained no +idea of going in. But Dick’s words fired his +imagination. “Thanks, I think I will.â€</p> + +<p>Dick handed over the long, delicately wrought +key. He made no move to follow Lindsay out +of the car. “If you don’t mind,†he said, “I’ll +run down the road to see a cousin of mine. How +soon before you’ll want to start back?â€</p> + +<p>“Oh, give me half an hour or so,†Lindsay +decided carelessly.</p> + +<p>The runabout chugged into the green arch +which imprisoned the distance.</p> + +<p>Alone, Lindsay strolled between lilac bushes +and over the sunken flags which led to the front +door. Then, changing his mind, he made an appraising +tour about the outside of the place.</p> + +<p>Blue Meadows was a big old house: big, so +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85'></a>85</span> +it seemed to his amateur judgment, by an incredible +number of rooms; and old—and here his +judgment, though swift, was more accurate—to +the time of two hundred years. Outside, it had +all the earmarks of Colonial architecture—plain +lines, stark walls, the windows, with twenty-four +lights, geometrically placed; but its lovely lines, +its beautiful proportions, and the soft plushy nap +which time had laid upon its front clapboardings +mitigated all its severities. The shingles of the +roof and sides were weather-beaten and gray, the +blinds a deep old blue. At one side jutted an +incongruous modern addition; into the second +story of which was set a galleried piazza. At the +other side stretched an endless series of additions, +tapering in size to a tiny shed.</p> + +<p>“This is Lutetia’s house!†Lindsay stopped to +muse. “Is it true that I spent two years with the +French Army? Is it true that I served two more +with the American Army? Oh, to think you didn’t +live to see all that, Lutetia!â€</p> + +<p>A lattice arched over the doorway and on it a +big climbing rose was just coming into bud. The +beautiful door showed the pointed architrave, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86'></a>86</span> +the leaded side panels, the fanlight, the engaged +columns, of Colonial times. It resisted the first +attack of the key, but yielded finally to Lindsay’s +persuasion. He stepped into the hall.</p> + +<p>It was a rectangular hall, running straight to +the back of the house. Pairs of doors, opposite +each other, gaped on both sides. At the left arose +a slender straight stairway, mahogany-railed. +Lindsay strolled from one room to the other, +opening windows and blinds. They were big +square rooms, finished in the conventional +Colonial manner, with fireplaces and fireplace cupboards. +The wallpaper, faded and stained, was +of course quite bare of pictures and ornaments. +He stopped to examine the carving on the white, +painted panels above the fireplace—garlands of +flowers caught with torches and masks.</p> + +<p>Smiling to himself, Lindsay returned to the +hall. “Oh, Lutetia, I should like to have seen +you here!†he remarked wordlessly.</p> + +<p>Behind the stairway, at the back, appeared +another door. He opened it into darkness. +Fumbling in his pocket, he produced a box of +matches, lighted his way through the blackness; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87'></a>87</span> +again opened windows and shutters. This proved +to be the long back room so common in Colonial +homes; running the entire width of the house. +There were two fireplaces. One was small, with +a Franklin stove. The other—Lindsay calculated +that it would take six-foot logs. Four well-grown +children, shoulder to shoulder, could have +walked into it. This room was not entirely +empty. In the center—by a miracle his stumbling +progress had just avoided it—was a long table of +the refectory type. Lindsay studied the position +of the two fireplaces. He examined the ceiling. +“You threw the whole lot of little rooms together +to make this big room, Lutetia. You’re a lady +quite of my own architectural taste. I, too, like +a lot of space.â€</p> + +<p>He continued his explorations. From one side +of the long living-room extended kitchen, laundry; +servants’ rooms and servants’ dining-room; an +endless maze of butteries, pantries, sheds. Lindsay +gave them short shrift. At the other side, +however, lay a little half-oval room, the first floor +of that Victorian addition which he had marked +from the outside.</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88'></a>88</span> + +<p>“Oh, Lutetia, Lutetia, how could you, how +could you?†he burst out at first glance. “To +add this modern bit to that fine Colonial stateliness! +Perhaps we’re not kindred souls after all.â€</p> + +<p>Hugging the wall of this room and leading to +the second floor was a stairway so narrow that +only one person could mount it at a time. Lindsay +proved this to his own satisfaction by ascending +it. It opened into a big back room of the +main house, the one with the galleried piazza. +Lindsay opened all the windows here; and then +went rapidly from room to room, letting in the +June sunshine.</p> + +<p>They were all empty, of course—and yet, in a +dozen plaintive ways—faded wall spaces, which +showed the exact size of pictures, nails with carpet +tufts still clinging to them, a forgotten window +shade or two—they spoke eloquently of habitation. +Indeed, the whole place had a friendly atmosphere, +Lindsay reflected; there was none of +the cold, dead connotation of most long-empty +houses. This old place was spiritually warm, as +though some reflection of a long-ago vivid life +still hung among its shadows. From the dust, the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89'></a>89</span> +stains, the cobwebs, it might have been vacant for +a century. From the welcoming warmth of its +quiet rooms, it might have been vacant but for a +day.</p> + +<p>Through the back windows, Lindsay looked +down onto what must once have been a huge +rectangle of lawn; and near the house, what must +once have been an oval of flower garden. The +lawn, stretching to a stone wall—beyond which +towered a chaos of trees—was now knee-deep in +timothy-grass; the garden had reverted to jungle. +He studied the garden. Close to the house, an +enormous syringa bush heaped into a mountain of +fragrant snow. Near, a smoke-bush was just beginning +to bubble into rounds of blood-scarlet +gauze. Strangled rosebushes showed yellow or +crimson. Afar an enormous patch of tiger lilies +gave the effect of a bizarre, orchidous tropical +group. The rest was an indiscriminate early-summer +tangle of sumac; elderberry; bayberry; +silver birches; wild roses; daisies; buttercups; and +what would later be Queen Anne’s lace and +goldenrod. From a back corner window, it +seemed to him that he caught a glint of water; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90'></a>90</span> +but he could not recapture it from any other point +of view. However, he lost all memory of this in +a more affording discovery. For the front windows +gave him the reason of the name, Blue +Meadows. Across the road stretched a series +of meadows, all bluish purple with blooming +iris.</p> + +<p>Lindsay contemplated this charming prospect +for a long interval.</p> + +<p>“And now, Lutetia,†he suddenly turned and +addressed the empty rooms, “I want to find <i>your</i> +room. Which of these six was it?â€</p> + +<p>Retracing his steps, he went from room to +room until, many times, he had made a complete +survey of the second floor. He crossed and recrossed +his own trail, as the excitement of the +quest mounted in him.</p> + +<p>“Ah!†he exclaimed aloud, “here it is! You +can’t escape your soul-mate, Lutetia.â€</p> + +<p>It was not because the room was so much +bigger than the rest that he made this decision; +it was only because it was so much more quaint. +At one side it merged, by means of a slender doorway, +with the galleried piazza. From it, by +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91'></a>91</span> +means of that tiny flight of stairs, Lutetia could +have descended to the first floor of that mid-Victorian +addition. “I take it all back, Lutetia,†+he approved. “Middle of the nineteenth century +or not, it’s a wonder—this combination.†At the +back of Lutetia’s room was a third door; as slender +as the door leading to the gallery, but much +lower; not four feet high. Lindsay pushed it +open, crawled on hands and knees through it. He +had of course, on his first exploration, entered +the small room into which it led. But he had +gone in and out without careful examination; it +had seemed merely a four-walled room. Coming +into it, however, from Lutetia’s bedroom, it suddenly +acquired character.</p> + +<p>The walls were papered in white. And on the +mid-Victorian dado scarcely legible now, he suddenly +discovered drawings. Drawings of a curious +character and of a more curious technique. +He followed their fluttery maze from wall to wall—a +flight of little beings, winged at the shoulders +and knees, with flying locks and strange finlike +hands and feet; fanciful, comic, tender.</p> + +<p>“Oh!†Lindsay emitted aloud. “Ah!†And +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92'></a>92</span> +in an instant: “I see! This room belonged to +that child Hyde spoke of.â€</p> + +<p>He ascended to the garret. This was of +course the big storeroom of the Colonial imagination. +It too was quite empty. At one spot a +post—obviously not a roof-support—ran from +floor to ceiling. Lindsay gazed about a little +unseeingly. “I wonder what that post was for?†+he questioned himself absently. After a while, +“What’s become of that child?†he demanded of +circumambient space.</p> + +<p>As though this offered food for reflection, he +descended by means of the main stairway to the +lower floor; sat on the doorsteps a while. He +mused—gazing out into the green-colored, sweet-scented +June afternoon. After an interval he +arose and repeated his voyage of exploration.</p> + +<p>Again he was struck with the friendly quality +of the old place. That physical dampness, which +long vacant houses hold in solution, seemed entirely +to have disappeared before the flood of +June sunshine. The spiritual chill, which always +accompanies it—that sinister quality so connotative +of congregations of evil spirits—he again +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93'></a>93</span> +observed was completely lacking. As he emerged +from one room to enter another, it seemed to him +that the one back of him filled with—<i>companionship</i>, +he described it to himself. As he continued +his explorations, it seemed to him that the room +he was about to enter would offer him not ghostly +but human welcome. That human welcome did +not come, of course. Instead, there surged upon +him the rich odors of the lilacs and syringas; the +staccato greetings of the birds.</p> + +<p>After a while he went downstairs again. Sitting +in the front doorway, he fell into a rich +revery.</p> + +<p>This was where Lutetia Murray wrote the +books which had so intrigued his boyish fancy. +Mentally he ran over the list: <i>The Sport of the +Goddesses</i>, <i>The Weary Time</i>, <i>Mary Towle</i>, <i>Old +Age</i>, <i>Intervals</i>, <i>With Pitfall and with Gin</i>, +<i>Cynthia Ware</i>— Details came up before his +mental vision which he had entirely forgotten and +now only half remembered; dramatic moments; +descriptive passages; conversational interludes; +scenes; epigrams.... He tried to imagine +Lutetia Murray at Blue Meadows. The picture +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94'></a>94</span> +which, in college, he had cut from a book-house +catalogue, flashed before him; he had found it +among his papers. The figure was standing.... +He had looked at it only yesterday, but his masculine +observation retained no details of the gown +except that it left her neck and arms bare. The +face was in profile. The curling hair rose to a +high mass on her head. The delicate features +were <i>mignonne</i>, except for the delicious, warm, +lusciously cut mouth— Was she blonde or brunet +he wondered. She died at forty-five. To David +Lindsay at twenty-two, forty-five had seemed a respectable +old age. To David Lindsay at twenty-eight, +it seemed almost young. She was dead, +of course, when he began to read her. Oh, if he +could only have met her! It was a great pity that +she had died so young. Her work—he had made +a point of this in his thesis—had already swung +from an erratic, highly colored first period into a +more balanced, carefully characterized second +period; was just emerging into a third period that +was the union of these two; big and rounded and +satisfying. But death had cut that development +short. In the last four years Lindsay had seen +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95'></a>95</span> +a great deal of death and often in atrocious form. +He had long ago concluded that he had thought +on the end of man all the thoughts that were in +him. But now, sitting in the scented warmth of +Lutetia’s trellised doorway, he found that there +were still other thoughts which he could think.</p> + +<p style="font-size:smaller"> </p> + +<p>The runabout chugged up the road presently. +“Ben waiting long?†the freckled Dick asked +with a cheery shamelessness.</p> + +<p>“No, I’ve been looking the house over. Wonderful +old place, isn’t it?â€</p> + +<p>“Don’t care much for it myself,†Dick answered. +“I don’t like anything old—old houses +or that old truck the summer folks are always +buying. Things can’t be too new or up-to-date +for me.â€</p> + +<p>Lindsay did not appear at first to hear this; he +was still bemused from the experiences of the +afternoon. But as they approached the Arms, he +emerged from his daze with a belated reply. +“Well, I suppose a lot of people feel the way +you do,†he remarked vaguely. “Mr. Hyde tells +me that the Murray place hasn’t been let for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96'></a>96</span> +fifteen years. I expect the rest of the people around +here don’t like old houses.â€</p> + +<p>“Oh, that ain’t the reason the Murray house +hasn’t let,†Dick explained with the scorn of +rustic omniscience. “They say it’s haunted.â€</p> + +<p style="font-size:smaller"> </p> + +<p>“What rent do they ask for the Murray +house?†Lindsay asked Hyde that evening.</p> + +<p>Hyde scratched the back of his head. His face +contracted with that mental agony which afflicts +the Yankee when an exact statement is demanded +of him. “Well, I shouldn’t be surprised if you +could get it for two hundred dollars the season,†+he finally brought out.</p> + +<p>Lindsay considered, but apparently not Hyde’s +answer; for presently he came out with a different +question. “Why do they say it’s haunted?â€</p> + +<p>Hyde emitted a short contemptuous laugh. +“Did you ever hear of any house in the country +that’s been empty for a number of years that +worn’t considered haunted?â€</p> + +<p>“No,†Lindsay admitted. “I am disappointed, +though. I had hoped you would be able +to tell me about the ghost.â€</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97'></a>97</span> + +<p>“Well, I can’t,†Hyde asserted scornfully, +“nor nobody else neither.â€</p> + +<p>The two men smoked in silence.</p> + +<p>After a while Lindsay made the motions preliminary +to rising. He knocked the ashes out of +his pipe; put his pipe in his pocket; withdrew his +feet from their comfortable elevation on the +piazza rail. Finally he assembled his full height +on the floor, but not without a prolonged stretching +movement. “Well,†he said, halfway +through the yawn, “I guess you can tell that +brother of yours that I’m going to hire the +Murray house for the season.â€</p> + +<p>Hyde was equally if not more <i>dégagé</i>. He did +not move; nor did he change his expression. +“All right,†he commented without enthusiasm, +“I’ll let him know. How soon would you like to +go in, say?â€</p> + +<p>“As soon as I can buy a bed.†Lindsay disappeared +through the doorway.</p> + +<p style="font-size:smaller"> </p> + +<p>Two days later Lindsay found himself comfortably +settled at Blue Meadows. Upstairs—he +had of course chosen Lutetia’s room—was a cot +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98'></a>98</span> +and a bureau of soft wood. Downstairs was a +limited assortment of cheap china; cheaper +cutlery; the meagerest possible cooking equipment.</p> + +<p>But there was an atmosphere given to Lindsay’s +room by Lutetia’s own picture hanging +above the bureau. And another to the living-room +by Lutetia’s own works—a miscellaneous +collection of ugly-proportioned, ugly-colored, late-nineteenth-century +volumes—ranged on the broad +shelf above the fireplace; by Lindsay’s writing +materials scattered over the refectory table. Economical +as he had been inside, he had exploded +into extravagance outside. A Gloucester hammock +swung at the back. A collection of garden +materials which included a scythe, a spade, a +sickle, a lawn-mower, and a hose filled one corner +of the barn. Already—his back still complained +of the process—he had cut the spacious lawn.</p> + +<p>He was at one and the same time sanely placid +and wildly happy.</p> + +<p>Every morning he awoke with the sun and the +birds. Adapting himself with an instant spiritual +content to the fact that he was no longer in France +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99'></a>99</span> +and would not have to fly, he turned over to take +another nap. An hour or two later, he was up +and eating his self-prepared breakfast. The rest +of the day was reading Lutetia; musing on +Lutetia; “scything†or “sickling,†as he called +it in his letters to Spink, in the garden; reflecting +on Lutetia; exploring the neighborhood on foot; +meditating on Lutetia; reading and rereading the +mass of Spink’s data on Lutetia; hosing the +garden; making notes on Spink’s data on Lutetia +and thinking of his notes on Spink’s data on +Lutetia. He awoke in the morning with Lutetia +on his mind. He fell asleep at night with Lutetia +in his heart. He had come to realize that Lutetia, +the author, was even better than he had supposed +her. His college thesis had described her merely +as the Mrs. Gaskell of New England. Now, +mentally, he promoted her to its Jane Austen. +His youth had risen to the lure of her color and +fecundity, but his youngness had not realized how +rich she was in humor; how wise; what a tenderness +for people informed her careful, realistic +detail. It was a triumph to find her even better +than the flattering dictum of his boyish judgment.</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100'></a>100</span> + +<p>Exploring Lutetia’s domain gave results only +second in satisfaction to exploring Lutetia’s mind. +It was obvious at his first inspection that the +garden had once stretched contrasting glories of +color and perfume. A careful study from the +windows was even more productive than a close +survey. There, definitely, he could trace the remains +of flower-plots; pleached paths; low hedges +and lichened rocks. Resurrecting that garden +would be an integral part of the joy of resurrecting +Lutetia. By this time also, he had explored +the barn. There, a big roomy lower floor sustained +only part of a broken stairway. The +equally roomy upper floor seemed, from such +glimpses as he could get below, to be piled with +rubbish. Some day, he promised himself, he +would clean it out. Beyond, and to the right of +the barn, bounded by the stone wall, scrambled a +miniature wilderness. That wilderness evaded +every effort of exploration. Only an axe could +clear a trail there. Another day he would tackle +the wilderness. But in the meantime he would +devote himself to garden and lawn; in the meantime +also loaf and invite his soul. After all, that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101'></a>101</span> +was his main reason for coming to Quinanog. +Whenever he thought of this, he took immediately +to the Gloucester hammock.</p> + +<p>Every morning he walked briskly over the long +mile of road, shaded with wine-glass elms, slashed +with vistas of pasture, pond, and brook which lay +between Blue Meadows and the Quinanog post-office. +When he had inquired for his mail—usually +he had none—he strolled over to the general +store and made his few simple purchases. +He had followed this routine for ten days before +it occurred to him that he had not seen a +newspaper since he settled himself at Blue +Meadows. “I’ll let it go that way, I guess,†he +said to himself. He noticed at first with a little +embarrassment and then with amusement that the +groups in the post-office waiting for mail, the customers +at the general store, were all quietly watching +him. And one morning this floated to him +from behind a pile of cracker boxes:</p> + +<p>“He’s the nut that’s taken the Murray place. +Lives all alone—batching it. Some sort of highbrow.â€</p> + +<p>Gradually, however, he made acquaintance. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102'></a>102</span> +Silas Turner, who owned the next farm to Blue +Meadows, offered him a ride one morning on the +road. Out of a vague conversation on the +weather and real estate, Mr. Turner dropped one +interesting fact. He had known Lutetia Murray. +This revelation kept Lindsay chatting for half an +hour while Mr. Turner spilled a mass of uncorrelated +details. Such as Miss Murray’s neighborliness; +the time her cow ran away and Art +Curtis brought it back; how Miss Murray admired +Mis’ Turner’s beach plum jelly so much +that Mis’ Turner always made some extra just +for her. As they parted he let fall dispassionately: +“She was a mighty handsome woman. +Fine figure!†He added, still dispassionately but +with an effect somehow of enthusiastic conviction, +“She kept her looks to the last day of her life.â€</p> + +<p>Useless, all this, for a biography, Lindsay reflected; +but it gave him an idea. He bought that +day a second-hand bicycle at the Quinanog +garage; and thereafter, when the devil of restlessness +stirred in his young muscles, he trundled +about the countryside in search of those families +mentioned in Lutetia’s letters. Some were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103'></a>103</span> +utterly gone from Quinanog, some were not affording, +and some added useful detail; as when old +Mrs. Apperson produced a dozen letters written +from Europe during Lutetia’s first trip abroad. +“I’d have admired to go to Europe, but it never +came so’s I could,†said Mrs. Apperson. “When +Miss Murray went, she wrote me from every city, +telling me all about it. I read ’em over a lot—makes +me feel as though I’d been there too. And +every Decoration Day,†she added inconsequently, +“I put a bunch of heliotrope on her grave. She +just loved the smell of heliotrope.â€</p> + +<p>Somehow, Lindsay had never even thought of +Lutetia’s grave. The next day he made that pilgrimage. +The graveyard lay near the town +center, overtopped by the pine-covered hill which +bore three austere white buildings—church, town-hall, +and grange. The grave itself was in a patch +of modern tombstones, surrounded by the flaking +slabs of two centuries ago. The stone was +featureless, ill-proportioned; the inscription recorded +nothing but her name and the dates of +her birth and death.</p> + +<p>The note which most often came out of these +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104'></a>104</span> +wayside gossipings was a high one—of the gaiety +and the brilliancy of the Blue Meadows hospitality. +Apparently people were coming and going +all the time; some distinguished; some undiscovered: +but all with personality. When Lindsay +returned from such a talk, the old house glowed +like an opal—so full did it seem of the colors of +those vivacious days.</p> + +<p>But he was not quite content to be long away +from his own fireside. The friendly atmosphere +of the Murray house continued to exercise its enchanting +sway. He always felt that one room +became occupied the instant he left it, that the +one he was about to enter was already occupied—and +this feeling grew day by day, augmented. +It brought him back to the house always with a +sense of expectancy. “Lutetia’s house is my +hotel-lobby, my movie, my theater, my grand +opera, my cabaret,†he wrote Spink. “There’s +a strange fascination about it—a fascination with +an element of eternal promise.â€</p> + +<p>At times, when he entered the trellised doorway, +he found himself expecting someone to come +forward to greet him. It kept occurring to him +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105'></a>105</span> +that a neighbor had stopped to call, was waiting +inside for him. Sometimes in the middle of the +night he would drift slowly out of a delicious sleep +to a sense, equally delicious, of being most gently +and lovingly companioned in the room; sometimes +in the morning he would wake up with a +snap, as though the house were full of company. +For a moment the whole place would seem brilliant +and gay, and then—it was as though a bubble +burst in the air—he was alone. “It’s almost as +good,†he wrote Spink, “as though you were +here yourself, you goggle-eyed hick, you!†Once +or twice he caught himself talking aloud; addressing +the empty air. He stifled this impulse, however. +“People always have a tendency to get +bughouse,†he explained to Spink, “when they +live alone. I used to do that in your rooms. I’m +going to try to keep sane as long as possible.â€</p> + +<p>Ten days increased rather than diminished this +impression. By this time he had burned his thesis +and was now making notes that were part the +direct product of Spink’s data and part the byproduct +of Lutetia’s own works. The syringas +were beginning to run down; but the roses were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106'></a>106</span> +coming out in great numbers. The hollyhocks +had opened flares of color under the living-room +window. The lawn was as close to plush as +constant care could make it. The garden was +not yet quite cleaned out. He was glad, for he +liked working there. It was not a whit less +friendly than the house. Indeed, he felt so companioned +there that sometimes he looked up suddenly +to see who was watching his efforts to resurrect +a neglected rosebush; or to uproot a flourishing +patch of poison ivy. The evenings were long, +and as—consciously girlish and in quotation +marks he wrote Spink—“lovely.†His big lamp +made a spot of golden color in the shadowy long +room. One northeaster, which lasted three days, +gave him dark and damp excuse for three days of +roaring fire. Much of that time he sat opposite +the blazing logs in the big, rush-bottomed piazza +chair which he had purchased, smoking and reading +Lutetia. Now and then, he looked up at +Lutetia’s picture, which he had finally brought +down from his bedroom.</p> + +<p>Perhaps it was the picture which made him +feel more companioned here than anywhere in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107'></a>107</span> +the house or out. The living-room was peculiarly +rich with presence, so rich that he left it reluctantly +at night and returned to it as quickly as +possible in the morning; so rich that often he +smiled, though why he could not have said; so +rich that in the evening he often looked up suddenly +from his book and stared into its shadowy +length for a long, moveless—and breathlessly expectant—interval.</p> + +<p>Indeed that sensation so concretely, so steadily, +so persistently augmented that one evening—</p> + +<p>He had been reading ever since dark; and it +was getting late. Finally he arose; closed the +door and windows. He came back to the table +and stood leaning against it, idly whistling the +<i>Sambre et Meuse</i> through his teeth, while he +looked at Lutetia’s portrait.</p> + +<p>He took up <i>The Sport of the Goddesses</i> just +to look it over ... turned a page or two ... +became immersed.... Suddenly ... he realized +that he was not alone....</p> + +<p>He was not alone. That was conclusive. That +he suddenly and absolutely knew; though how he +knew it he could not guess. His eyes stopped, in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108'></a>108</span> +the midst of Lutetia’s single grim murder, fixed on +the printed line. He could not move them along +that line. He did not mind that. But he could +not move them off the page. And he did mind +that; for he wanted—most intensely wanted—to +lift his gaze. After lifting it, he presently discovered, +he would want to project it to the left. +Whoever his visitor was, it sat at the left. +That he knew, completely, absolutely, and conclusively; +but again, how he knew it, he did not +know.</p> + +<p>An immeasurable interval passed.</p> + +<p>He tried to raise his eyes. He could not accomplish +it. The air grew thick; his hands, still holding +the book, turned cold and hard as clamps of +iron. His eyes smarted from their unwinking immobility. +This was absurd. Breaking this +deathly ossification was just a matter of will. He +made himself turn a page. Five lines down he +decided; he would look up. But he did not look +up. He could not. He wanted to see ... but +something stronger than desire and will withheld +him. He read; turned another page. Five lines +down....</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109'></a>109</span> + +<p>Ah ... the paralysing chill was moving off.... +In a moment ... he was going to be +able.... In a moment....</p> + +<p>He lifted his eyes.... He gazed steadily to +the left....</p> + +<div class='chapter'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110'></a>110</span> +<a id='IV'></a> +<p class='cln0'>IV</p> +</div> + +<p>Before night Susannah had found a room which +exactly suited her purpose. This was as much a +matter of design as of luck. She had heard of the +place before. It was a large building in the West +Twenties which had formerly been the imposing +parsonage of an imposing and very important +church. The church had long ago gone the way +of all old Manhattan buildings. But the parsonage, +divided into an infinite number of cubby-hole +rooms, had become a lodging-house. A lodging-house +with a difference, however. For whereas +in the ordinary establishment of this kind, one +paid rent to a landlady who lived on the spot, here +one paid it to an agent who came from somewhere, +promptly every Monday morning, for the +purpose of collection. It was a perfect hiding-place. +You did not know your neighbor. Your +neighbor did not know you. With due care, one +could plan his life so that he met nobody.</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111'></a>111</span> + +<p>Susannah, except for a choice of rooms, did not +for an interval plan her life at all. She made that +choice instantly, however. Of two rooms situated +exactly opposite each other at the back of the +second floor, she chose one because it overlooked +a yard containing a tree. It was a tiny room, +whitewashed; meagerly and nondescriptly furnished. +But the door-frame and window-frame offered +decoration. Following the ecclesiastical design +of the whole house, they peaked into triangles +of carved wood.</p> + +<p>Susannah gave scant observation to any of +these things. Once alone in her room, she locked +the door. Then she removed two things from her +suitcase—a nightgown and the miniature of Glorious +Lutie. The latter she suspended by a thumbtack +beside the mirror of her bureau. Then she +undressed and went to bed. She slept fitfully all +the rest of that day and all that night. Early in +the morning she crept out, bought herself, at a +Seventh Avenue delicatessen shop, a jar of milk +and a loaf of bread. She lunched and dined in +her room. She breakfasted next morning on the +remains.</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112'></a>112</span> + +<p>Her sleep was deep and dreamless; but in her +waking moments her thoughts pursued the same +treadmill.</p> + +<p>“Glorious Lutie,†she began one of the wordless +monologues which she was always addressing +to the miniature, “I ought to have known long +ago that they were a gang of crooks! Why don’t +we trust our intuitions? I suppose it’s because our +intuitions are not always right. I can’t quite go +with anything so magic, so irrational as intuition! +And then again I’m afraid I’m too logical. But +I’m always having the same thing happen to me. +Perhaps I’m talking with somebody I have met +for the first time. Suddenly that person makes +a statement. Instantly—it’s like a little hammer +knocking on my mind—something inside me says: +‘That is a lie. He is lying deliberately and he +knows he lies.’ Now you would think that I +would trust that lead, that I would follow it implicitly. +But do I? No! Never! I pay no +more attention to it than as though it never happened. +And generally my intuition is right. But +always I find it out too late. Now that little hammer +has been knocking its warnings about the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113'></a>113</span> +Warner-Byan-O’Hearn bunch ever since I started +to work for them. But I could not <i>make</i> myself +pay any attention to it. I did not want to believe +it, for one thing. And then of course the work +was awfully interesting. I kept calling myself all +kinds of names for thinking— And they <i>were</i> +kind. I <i>wouldn’t</i> believe it. But my intuition +kept telling me that Warner was a hypocrite. +And as for Byan—â€</p> + +<p>Perhaps Susannah could not voice, even to +Glorious Lutie, the thoughts that flooded her +mind when she conjured up the image of Byan. +For in her heart Susannah knew that Byan admired +her overmuch, that he would have liked to +flirt with her, that he had started— But Warner +had called him off. The enigmatic phrase, which +had come to her from Warner’s office and in +Warner’s voice, recurred. “Keep off clients and +office employ—†Susannah knew the end of it +now—“employees†of course. Warner’s rule +for his fellow crooks was that they must not flirt +with clients or the office force. Again and again +in her fitful wakefulness she saw Byan standing +before her; slim, blade-like; his smartly cut suit +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114'></a>114</span> +adhering, as though pasted there, to the lithe lines +of his active body. And then suddenly that revolver +which came from—where? Byan was of +course the most attractive of them all. That +floating, pathetic smile revealed such white teeth! +That deep look came from eyes so long-lashed! +Warner with his pseudo-clergyman, pseudo-actor +oratory, deep-voiced and vibrant, was the most +obvious. O’Hearn, his lids perpetually down, except +when they lifted swiftly to let his glance lick +up detail, was the most mysterious. But Byan +was the most attractive—</p> + +<p>“Yes, Glorious Lutie, I was always receiving +letters which started that little hammer of intuition +knocking. I was always overhearing bits of +conversation which started it; although often I +could not understand a word. I was always trying +to piece things together—wondering— Well, +the next time I’ll know better. I’ve learned my +lesson. But oh—think, think, <i>think</i> what I’ve +helped to do. They robbed widows and orphans +and all kinds of helpless people. Of course I +didn’t know I was doing it. But that’s going to +haunt me for a long, long time. I wish there were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115'></a>115</span> +some way I could make up. I’ve come out of it +safe. But they—oh, I mustn’t think of this. I +<i>mustn’t</i>. I can’t stand it if I do. Oh, Glorious +Lutie, believe me, my guardian angel was certainly +on <i>that</i> job. Otherwise I don’t know what would +have become of me. Are you my guardian angel, +I wonder?â€</p> + +<p>When Susannah finally arose for good, she discovered, +naturally enough, that she was hungry. +She went out immediately and, in the nearest +Child’s restaurant, ordered a dinner which she +afterward described to Glorious Lutie as “magnanimously, +munificently, magnificently masculine.†+It consisted mainly of sirloin steak and +boiled potatoes, “and I certainly ate my fill of +them both.†Then she took a little aimless, circumscribed +walk; returned to her room. She unpacked +her tightly stratified suitcase; hung her +clothes in her little closet; ranged her small +articles in the bureau drawer. As though she +were going to start clean in her new career, she +bathed and washed her hair in the public bathroom +on the second floor. Coming back into her +room, she sat for a long time before the window +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116'></a>116</span> +while her dripping locks dried. She sat there +through the dusk.</p> + +<p>“After all, Glorious Lutie,†she reflected contentedly, +“why do I ever live in anything bigger +than a hall bedroom? All a girl needs is a bed, +a bureau, one chair and a closet, and that is +exactly what I’ve got. And for full measure they +have thrown in all those ducky little backyards +and a tree. I don’t expect you to believe it, but +I tell you true. A tree in Manhattan. How do +you suppose it got by the censor! And just now, +if you please, a tiny new moon all tangled up in its +branches. It’s trying its best to get out, but it +can’t make it. I never saw a new moon struggle +so hard. Honest, I can hear it pant for breath. +It looks like a silver fish that tried to leap out of +this window and got caught in a green net. I suppose +your Glorious Susie must be thinking of annexing +a job sometime, Glorious Lutie. Or else +we’ll cease to eat. But for a few days I won’t, if +you don’t mind; I’m fed up on jobs. And I’ve +lost my taste for offices. No, I think I’ll take +those few days off and do a rubberneck trip +around Manhattan. I feel like looking on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117'></a>117</span> +innocent objects that can’t speak or think. And for a +time I don’t want to go any place where I’d be +likely to see my friends of the Carbonado Mining +Company. After a while the thought of them +won’t bother me so. Probably by this time they +have hired some other poor girl. Perhaps she +won’t mind Mr. Cowler though. Anyway, +I’m free of them.â€</p> + +<p>When Susannah awoke the next morning, which +was the third of her occupancy of the little room, +some of her normal vitality had flowed back, her +spirits began to mount. She sang—she even +whistled—as she bathed and dressed; and she indulged +in no more than the usual number of exasperated +exclamations over the uncoilableness of +her freshly shampooed, sparkling hair. “Why +do we launder our tresses, I ask you, Glorious +Lutie?†she questioned once. “And oh, why +didn’t I have regular gold hair like yours instead +of this garnet mane? I look like—I look like—Azinnia! +But oh, I ought never to complain +when I reflect that I’ve escaped the curse of white +eyelashes.â€</p> + +<p>A consideration first of the shimmery day +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118'></a>118</span> +outside, and next of the clothes hanging in her closet, +deflected her attention from this grievance. She +chose from her closet a salmon-colored linen gown, +slightly faded to a delicate golden rose. It was a +long, slim dress and it made as much as possible +of every inch of Susannah’s long slimness. Moreover, +it was notably successful in bringing out the +blue of her brilliant eyes, the red of her brilliant +hair, the contrasting white of her smooth warm +skin. That face now so shone and smelled of soap +that, the instant she caught sight of it in the glass, +she pulled open the top drawer of her bureau and +powdered it frantically.</p> + +<p>“I always shine, Glorious Lutie, as though I +had washed with brass polish. I don’t remember +that you ever glistened. But I do remember that +you always smelled as sweet as—roses, or new-mown +hay, or heliotrope. I wonder what powder +you did use? And it was a very foxy move on +your part, to have yourself painted in just that +soft swirl of blue tulle. You look as though you +were rising from a cloud. I wonder what your +dresses were like? I seem to remember pale +blues and pinks; very delicate yellows and the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119'></a>119</span> +most silvery grays. It seems to me that tulle and +tarlatan and maline were your dope. Do you +think, Glorious Lutie, when I reach your age, I +shall be as good-looking as you?â€</p> + +<p>Glorious Lutie, with that reticence which distinguishes +the inhabitants of portraits, made no +answer. But an observer might have said that +the young face, staring alternately at the mirror +and at the miniature, would some day mature to +a face very like the one which stared back at it +from the gold frame. Both were blonde. But +where Glorious Lutie’s eyes were a misty brown-lashed +azure, Glorious Susie’s were a spirited +dark-lashed turquoise. Glorious Lutie’s hair was +like a golden crown, beautifully carved and burnished. +Glorious Susie’s turbulent mane was red, +and it made a rumpled, coppery bunch in her neck. +However, family resemblances peered from every +angle of the two faces, although differences of +temperament made sharp contrast of their expressions. +Glorious Lutie was all soft, dreamy tenderness; +Susannah, all spirit, active charm, resolution.</p> + +<p>Susannah spent three days—almost carefree—of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120'></a>120</span> +of what she described to the miniature as “touristing.†+She had very little time to converse with +Glorious Lutie; for the little room saw her only +at morning and night. But she gave her confidante +a detailed account of the day’s adventures. +“It was the Bronx Zoo this morning, Glorious +Lutie,†she would say. “Have you ever noticed +how satisfactory little beasties are? They don’t +lay traps for you and try to put you in a tortured +position that you can’t wriggle out of?†Though +her question was humorous in spirit, Susannah’s +eyes grew black, as with a sudden terror. “No, +<i>we</i> lay traps for <i>them</i>. I guess I’ve never before +even tried to guess what it means to be trapped?†+Or, “It was the Art Museum this afternoon, +Glorious Lutie. I’ve looked at everything from +a pretty nearly life-size replica of the Parthenon +to a needle used by a little Egyptian girl ten million +years ago. I’m so full of information and +dope and facts that, if an autopsy were to be held +over me at this moment, it would be found that +my brain had turned into an Encyclopædia +Britannica. In fact, I will modestly admit that I +know everything.†Or, “It was the Aquarium +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121'></a>121</span> +this morning, Glorious Lutie. Why didn’t you +tell me that fish were interesting? I’ve always +hated a fish. They won’t roll over or jump +through for you and practically none of them bark +or sing—or anything. I have always thought of +them only as something you eat unwillingly on +Fridays. But some of them are really beautiful; +and interesting. I stayed there three hours; and +I suppose if it hadn’t been for the horrid stenchy +smell I’d be there yet.â€</p> + +<p>But in spite of these vivacious, wordless monologues, +her spirits were a long time rising to their +normal height. The frightened look had not completely +left her eyes; and often on her long, lonely +walks, she would stop short suddenly, trembling +like a spirited horse, as though some inner consideration +harassed her. Then she would take up +her walk at a frantic pace. Ultimately, however, +she succeeded in leaving those terrifying considerations +behind. And inevitably in the end, the +resilience of youth conquered. The day came +when Susannah leaped out of bed as lightly as +though it were her first morning in New York.</p> + +<p>“Glorious Lutie,†began her ante-breakfast +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122'></a>122</span> +address, “we are not a millionairess; ergo, today +we buy all the morning papers and read them at +breakfast in order to hunt for a job via the ads. +And perhaps the next time your Glorious Susie +begins to earn money, you might advise her to +save a little against an unexpected situation. Of +course I shouldn’t have squandered my money the +way I did. But I never had had so much before +in my life—and oh, the joy of having cut-steel +buckles and a perfectly beautiful raincoat—and +my first set of furs—and perfumery and everything.â€</p> + +<p>The advertising columns were not, she found +(and attributed it to the return of so many men +from France), very fecund. Each newspaper offered +only from two to six chances worth considering. +One, which appeared in all of them, +seemed to afford the best opening. It read:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“<i>Wanted</i>: A stenographer, lady-like appearance +and address, with some executive experience. +Steady job and quick advancement to right +woman. Apply between 9 and 11, room 1009, +Carman Building.â€</p> +</blockquote> + +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123'></a>123</span> + +<p>“I am requested to apply for this spectacular +job at the office itself, Glorious Lutie,†she confided +on her return to her room, “and I’m going +out immediately after it. It’s a romantic thing, +getting a job through an advertisement. I hope +I float up to the forty-sixth floor of a skyscraper, +sail into a suite of offices which fill the entire top +story; all Turkish rugs on the highly polished +floor; all expensive paintings on the delicately +tinted walls; all cut flowers with yard-long stems +in the finely cut crystal vases. I should like to find +there a new employer; tall, young, handsome, and +dark. Dark he must be, Glorious Lutie. I cannot +marry a blond; our children would be albinos. +He would address me thus: ‘Most Beauteous +Blonde—you arrive at a moment when we are so +much in need of a secretary that if you don’t immediately +seat yourself at yon machine, we shall +go out of business. Your salary is one hundred +dollars a week. This exquisite rose-lined boudoir +is for your private use. You will find a bunch of +fresh violets on your desk every morning. May +I offer you my Rolls-Royce to bring you back and +forth to work? And,’ having fallen in love +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124'></a>124</span> +with me instantly, ‘how soon may I ask you to +marry me?’â€</p> + +<p>Susannah took the Subway to Wall Street; +walked through that busy city-cañon to the Carman +Building. She strode into the elevator, +almost empty in the hour which followed the +morning rush; started to emerge, as directed by +the elevator-man, at the tenth floor. But she did +not emerge. Instead, her face as white as paper, +she leaped back into the elevator; ascended with +it to the top floor; descended with it; hurriedly +left the building.</p> + +<p>That first casual glance down the corridor had +given her a glimpse of H. Withington Warner +sauntering slowly away from the elevator.</p> + +<p>“Say, Eloise,†she said late that afternoon +over the telephone to the friend she had made at +the Dorothy Dorr Home. “When can I see you?... +Yes.... No.... Well, you see +I’m out of a job at present.... No, I can’t +tell you about it. This is a rooming-house. +There is no telephone in my room. I am telephoning +from the hall. And so I’d rather wait +until I see you. But in brief, I’m eating at Child’s, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125'></a>125</span> +soda-fountains and even peanut stands. I’m really +getting back my girlish figure. Only I think I’m +going to be a regular O. Henry story. Headlines +as follows: <i>Beautiful Titian-haired</i> (mark that +<i>Titian-haired</i>, Eloise) <i>Blonde Dead of Starvation. +Drops Dead on Fifth Avenue. Too Proud +to Beg.</i> I hope that none of those wicked reporters +will guess that my new shoes with the +cut-steel buckles cost thirty-five dollars. All +right! All right.... The ‘Attic’ at seven. +I’ll be there promptly as usual and you’ll get +there late as usual.... Oh yes, you will! +Thanks awfully, Eloise. I feel just like going +out to dinner.â€</p> + +<p>Eloise, living up to her promise, made so noble +an effort that she was only ten minutes late. +Then, as usual, she came dashing and sparkling +into the room; a slim brown girl, much browner +than usual, for her coat of seashore tan; with narrow +topaz eyes and deep dimples; very smart in +embroidered linen and summer furs. The Attic +restaurant occupied the whole top floor of a very +high, downtown West Side skyscraper. Its main +business came at luncheon, so the girls sat almost +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126'></a>126</span> +alone in its long, cool quiet. They found a table +in a little stall whose window overhung the gray, +fog-swathed river which seamlessly joined gray +fog-misted sky. A moon, opaque as a scarlet +wafer, seemed to be pasted at a spot that could be +either river or sky. The girls ordered their inconsequent +dinner. They talked their inconsequent +girl chatter. They drank each a glass of +May wine.</p> + +<p>Susannah had quite recovered her poise and +her spirit. She described her new room with +great detail. She suggested that Eloise, whom +she invariably addressed as, “you pampered minion +of millions, you!†should call on her in that +scrubby hall bedroom. In fact, her narrative +went from joke to joke in a vein so steadily and +so augmentingly gay that, when Eloise had paid +the bill and they sat dawdling over their coffee, +suddenly she found herself on the verge of breaking +her vow of secrecy, of relating the horrors +of the last week.</p> + +<p>“Eloise,†she began, “I’m going to tell you +something that I don’t want you ever to—â€</p> + +<p>And then the words dried on her lips. Her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127'></a>127</span> +tongue seemed to turn to wood. She paled. She +froze. Her eyes set on—</p> + +<p>O’Hearn was walking into the Attic.</p> + +<p>He did not perceive that instant terror of petrification; +for it happened he did not even glance in +their direction. He walked, self-absorbed apparently, +to the other end of the room. But his +face—Susannah got it clearly—was stony too. It +had the look somehow of a man about to perform +a deed repugnant to him.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter, Sue?†Eloise asked in +alarm. “You look awfully ill all of a sudden.â€</p> + +<p>“The fact is,†Susannah answered with instant +composure, “I feel a little faint, Eloise. Do you +mind if we go now? I really should like to have +a little air.â€</p> + +<p>“Not at all,†Eloise answered. “Any time +you say. Come on!â€</p> + +<p>They made rapidly for the elevator. Susannah +did not glance back. But inwardly she thanked +her guardian-angel for the fortuitous miracle by +which intervening waiters formed a screen. Not +until they had walked block after block, turning +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128'></a>128</span> +and twisting at her own suggestion, did Susannah +feel safe.</p> + +<p>“Oh, what was it you were going to tell me, +Susannah,†Eloise interrupted suddenly, “just before +we left the Attic?â€</p> + +<p>“I don’t seem to remember at this moment,†+Susannah evaded. “Perhaps it will come to me +later.â€</p> + +<p style="font-size:smaller"> </p> + +<p>Susannah did not sleep very well that night. +But by morning she had recovered her poise. +“Glorious Lutie,†she said wordlessly from her +bed, “I think I’ll go seriously to the business of +getting a job. It’ll take my mind off—things. +I’m going to ignore that little <i>rencontre</i> of yesterday. +Don’t you despair. The handsome young +employer with his romantic eyes and movie-star +eyelashes awaits me somewhere. And just as +soon as we’re married, you shall be hung in a +manner befitting your birth and station in a drawing-room +as big as Central Park. I wish it +weren’t so darn hot. Somehow too, I don’t feel +so strong about answering ads in <i>person</i> as I did +two days ago.â€</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129'></a>129</span> + +<p>On her way to breakfast she bought all the +newspapers. She spent her morning answering +advertisements by letter. She received no replies +to this first batch; but she pursued the same course +for three days.</p> + +<p>“Glorious Lutie,†she addressed the miniature +a few days later, “this is beginning to get +serious. I am now almost within sight of the +end bill in my wad. In point of fact I will not +conceal from you that today I pawned my one +and only jewel—my jade ring. You don’t know +how naked I feel without it. It will keep us for—perhaps +it will last three weeks. And after +that— However, I don’t think we’ll either of +us starve. You don’t take any sustenance and I +take very little these days. I wish this weather +would change. You are so cool living in that blue +cloud, Glorious Lutie, that you don’t appreciate +what it’s like when it’s ninety in the shade and still +going up. I’m getting pretty sick of it. I guess,†+she concluded, smiling, “I’ll make out a list of the +friends I can appeal to in case of need.â€</p> + +<p>The idea seemed to raise her spirits. She sat +down and turned to the unused memorandum +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130'></a>130</span> +portion of her diary. Her list ran something like +this:</p> + +<p>New York—</p> + +<p>No. 1—First and foremost—Eloise, who, being +an heiress and the owner of a check-book, +never has any real cash and always borrows +from me.</p> + +<p>Providence—</p> + +<p>No. 2—Barty Joyce—Always has money because +he’s prudent—and the salt of the earth—</p> + +<p>P.S. Eloise never pays the money back that she +borrows from me—</p> + +<p>“Will you tell me, Glorious Lutie, why I don’t +fall in love with Barty and why he doesn’t fall in +love with me? There’s something awfully out +about me. I don’t think I’ve been in love more +than six times; and the only serious one was the +policeman on the beat who had a wife and five +children.â€</p> + +<p>Providence again—</p> + +<p>No. 3—The Coburns—nice, comfy, middle-aged +folks; not rich; the best friends a girl could +possibly have.</p> + +<p>No. 4—</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131'></a>131</span> + +<p>But here she yawned loudly and relinquished +the whole proceeding.</p> + +<p>That afternoon Susannah visited several employment +agencies which dealt with office help. +She answered all the inquiries that their questionnaires +put to her; omitting any reference to the +Carbonado Mining Company. It was late in the +afternoon when she finished. She walked slowly +homeward down the Avenue. Outside of her +own door, she tried to decide whether she would +go immediately to dinner or lie down first. A +sudden fatigue forced decision in favor of a +nap. She walked wearily up the first flight of +stairs. Ahead, someone was ascending the second +flight—a man. He turned down the hall. +She followed. He stopped at the room opposite +hers; fumbled unsuccessfully with the key. As +she approached, she glanced casually in his +direction.</p> + +<p>It was Byan.</p> + +<div class='chapter'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132'></a>132</span> +<a id='V'></a> +<p class='cln0'>V</p> +</div> + +<p><span class='sc'>Dear Spink:</span></p> + +<p>This is the kind of letter one never writes. But +if you knew my mental chaos.... And I’ve +got to tell somebody about the thing that I can +speak about to nobody. If I don’t.... What +do you suppose I’ve done? I’ve bought a house. +Yep— I’m a property owner now. Of course +you guess! Or do you guess? It’s the Murray +place. I could just make it and have enough left +over for a year or two or three. But after that, +Spink, I’m going to work because I’ll have to.</p> + +<p>I suppose you’re wondering why I did it. +You’re not puzzled half as much as I am; although +in one way I know exactly why I did it. +Perhaps I didn’t do it at all. Anyway, I didn’t +do it of my own volition. Somebody made me. +I’m going to tell you about that presently.</p> + +<p>Yes, it’s all mine: beautiful old square-roomed +house with its carved panelings and its generous +Colonial fireplaces; its slender doors and amusing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133'></a>133</span> +door-latches; an upstairs of ample bedrooms; an +old garret with slave quarters; the downstairs +with that little, charmingly incongruous, galleried, +mid-Victorian addition; barn; lawn; flower-garden. +And how beautiful I’m making that +flower-garden you’ll never suspect till you see it. +But you won’t see it for quite a while—I withdraw +all my invitations to visit me. I don’t want +you now, Spink; although I never wanted you so +much in my life. I’ll want you later, I think. Of +course it isn’t from you personally—you beetle-eyed +old scout—that I’m withdrawing my invitation; +it’s from any flesh-and-blood being. If you +had an astral self— I don’t want anybody. I +never wanted to be alone so much in my life. In +a moment I’m going to tell you why.</p> + +<p>And the wine-glass elms are mine; and the lilacs +and syringas and the smoke-bush and the hollyhocks; +and all the things I’ve planted; my Canterbury +bells (if they come up); my deep, rich +dahlias and my flame-colored phlox (if ditto). +All mine! Gee, Spink, I never felt so rich in my +life, because what I’ve enumerated isn’t twenty-five +per cent of what I own. In a minute I’m +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134'></a>134</span> +going to tell you what the remaining seventy-five +per cent is.</p> + +<p>This place is full of birds and bees. I watch +them from the house. Spink, we flying-men are +boobs. Have you ever watched a bee fly? I +spend hours, it seems to me, just studying them—trying +to crab their act. And the other day there +was an air-fight just over my roof. A chicken-hawk +attacked by the whole bird population. It +was a reproduction in miniature of a bombing-machine +pursued by a dozen combat-planes. +Spink, it was the best flying I’ve ever seen. You +should have seen the sparrows keeping on his tail! +The little birds relied on their quickness of attack, +just as combat planes do. They attacked from all +angles with such rapidity that the hawk could do +nothing but run for his life. The little birds +circled about, waiting for the moment to dive. A +combat-plane dives; its machines go ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta +and it turns off before the gunner can swing +his guns over. The birds dived, picked furiously +at his eyes while the hawk turned bewildered from +one attack to another. But the little birds did +something that planes can’t even attempt—they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135'></a>135</span> +hovered over him almost motionless, waiting their +moment to attack. Here I am talking of flying! +Flying! Did I ever fly? When I got to New +York, Greenwich Village seemed strange and unnatural, +just a pasteboard dream. Pau—Avord—Verdun—were +the only real things in my life. +Now <i>they’re</i> shadows like Greenwich Village. +Quinanog—the Murray place—and Lutetia—seem +the only real things.</p> + +<p>I’m going to tell you all about it in a moment. +I sure am. The world seems to be full of landing-places, +but for some reason I can’t land. +Every time, I seem to come short on the field; +or overshoot it. Perhaps it’s because I feel it +ought not to be told— Perhaps it’s because I feel +you won’t believe me—</p> + +<p>But I’ve got to do it. So here goes!</p> + +<p>Spink, the remaining seventy-five per cent that +I own in this place is— This place is haunted. +Not by a ghost, but by <i>ghosts</i>! There are not +one of them, but four. Three I see occasionally. +But one of the quartet—I see her all the time. +She is Lutetia.</p> + +<p>It began— Well, it all goes back to your +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136'></a>136</span> +rooms in New York. They’re haunted too, but +you don’t know it, you wall-eyed old grave-digger, +you. Not because you’re inept or unsensitive or +anything stupid— It’s because there’s something +they want to say to <i>me</i>—a message they want to +give to me alone. But I can’t stop to go into that +now. To return to your apartment, <i>something</i> +... used to come ... to my bed at night +... and bend over me ... I don’t know +who it was or what it was, except that it was +masculine. And how I knew that, I dunno.</p> + +<p>It bothered me. One reason why I came down +here was that I thought I was going crazy. Perhaps +I have gone crazy. Anyway, if I have I +like it. But here I am again! It’s as though +the world slipped out from under me. I can fly +on and on or climb, but it’s the coming down that +baffles me. When I cut the motor off and the +noise dies away, I feel sick and afraid; the bus +seems to take its own head. Now for a landing—even +if I do smash.</p> + +<p>From the moment I entered this house, I felt +as though there were others here. Not specifically, +you understand. At first, it was only a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137'></a>137</span> +sensation of warmth in the atmosphere that grew to +a feeling of friendliness that deepened to a sense +of companionship until— Well, I found myself +in a mood of eternal expectancy. Something was +going to happen but I didn’t know what or how +or when.... Oh yes, in a <i>way</i> I knew what. I +was going to see something. Some time—I felt +dimly—when I should enter one of these rooms, +so stark and yet so occupied, somebody would be +there to greet me ... or some day turning a +corner I should come suddenly on.... I did not +dread that experience, Spink, I give you my word. +I reveled in the expectancy of it. It was beautiful; +it was rich. I wasn’t anything of what you +call <i>afraid</i>. I wanted it to happen.</p> + +<p>And it did happen.</p> + +<p>One evening, as usual, I was reading Lutetia. +I was sitting in my big chair beside the refectory +table. Outside, it was a perfect night I remember; +dark and still, and the stars so big that they +seemed to spill out of the heavens. Inside, the +lamp was bright. My eyes were on my book. +Suddenly.... I was not alone. Don’t ask me +how I knew it. Only take it from me that I did. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138'></a>138</span> +I knew it all right. For—<i>oh, Spink</i>—(I’ve underlined +that just like a girl) all in a flash I didn’t +want—to look up. I wanted to go away from +this place and to go with considerable speed, not +glancing back. It was the worst sensation that I +have ever known—worse even than a night raid. +After a while something came back; courage I +suppose you’d call it; a kind of calm, a poise. +Anyway, I found that I was going to be able to +look up presently and not mind it....</p> + +<p>Of course I knew whom I was going to +see....</p> + +<p>I did look up. And I did see— It was +Lutetia. Spink, if you try to say those things that +people always say—that it was imagination, that +I was overwrought, that my mind, moving all +the day among the facts and realities of Lutetia’s +life, suddenly projected a picture—I’ll never +speak to you again. There she sat, her elbow +resting on the arm of her chair, her chin in +her hand, looking at me. I can’t tell you +how long she stayed. But all the time she was +there she looked at me. And all that time I +looked at her. I don’t think, Spink, I have ever +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139'></a>139</span> +guessed how much eyes can say. Her eyes said +so much that I think I could write the whole rest +of the night about them. Except that I’m not +quite sure what they said. It was all entreaty; +oh, blazing, blasting, blinding entreaty.... Of +that I am sure. But what she asked of me I +haven’t the remotest idea. After a while ... +something impelled me to look down at my book +again. When I lifted my eyes Lutetia was gone.</p> + +<p>That wasn’t all, Spink; for that night, or the +next day— But I’m going to try to keep to a +consecutive story. I didn’t go to bed immediately. +I didn’t feel like sleeping. You can understand it +was considerable of a shock. And very thrilling. +Literally thrilling! I shook. It didn’t bother me +an atom after it was over. I wasn’t the least +afraid. But I vibrated for hours. I walked four +or five miles—where, I don’t know. I must have +passed the Fallows place, because I recall the +scent of honeysuckle. But I assure you I seemed +to be walking through the stars.... She is +beautiful. I can’t tell you how beautiful because +I have no colors to give you; no flesh to go by. +Perhaps she is not beautiful, but lovely. What +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140'></a>140</span> +queer things words are! I have called females +<i>pretty</i> and <i>stunning</i> and even <i>fascinating</i> and <i>beautiful</i>. +I think I never called any woman <i>lovely</i> +before. I’ve been that young. But I’m not as +young as I was yesterday. I’m a century, an age, +an æon older. I was obsessed though. If you +believe it, when I went to bed, I had only one idea +in my mind—a hope that she would come back +soon.</p> + +<p>She didn’t come back soon—at least not that +night. But somebody else did....</p> + +<p>In the middle of the night, I suddenly found +myself, wide-eyed and clear-minded, sitting upright +in bed and listening to something. I don’t +know what I had heard, but I remember with +perfect clearness—Spink, you tell me this is a +dream and I’ll murder you—what I immediately +did and what I subsequently saw. I got up quite +calmly and lighted a candle. Then I opened the +door.</p> + +<p>Do you remember my writing you that the +chamber, just back of the one I occupy, must have +been the room of a child—Lutetia’s little niece? +The door of that room, of course, leads into +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141'></a>141</span> +the hall as mine does. As I stood there, shading +my candle from the draft, that door opened and +there emerged from the room—what do you suppose?</p> + +<p>A little girl.</p> + +<p>I say—a little girl. She wasn’t, you understand, +a real little girl. Nor was she a dead +little girl. Instantly I knew that—just as instantly +as I had known that Lutetia <i>was</i> dead. I mean, +and I hope this phraseology is technically correct, +that Lutetia, as I saw her, was the ghost of someone +who had once lived. This little girl was an +apparition; an appearance projected through +space of some one who now lives. That or—oh, +how difficult this is, Spink—a sloughed-off, +astral self left in this old place; or—but I won’t +go into that.</p> + +<p>I stood there, as I said, shading my candle. +The little girl closed her door with a meticulous +care. Did I hear the ghost of a click? Perhaps +my ear supplied that. By one hand she was dragging +a big doll—one of those rag-dolls children +have. I couldn’t tell you anything about Lutetia—except +that she was lovely—ineffably lovely. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142'></a>142</span> +But I can tell you all about this little girl. She +was pigtailed and freckled. The pigtails were +short, very thick, so tight that their ends snapped +upwards, like hundreds of little-girl pigtails that I +have seen. There was a row of tangled little ringlets +on her forehead. She didn’t look at me. She +didn’t know that I was there. She proceeded +straight across the hall, busily stub-toeing her way +like any freckled, pigtailed little girl, the doll +dragging on the floor behind her, until she reached +the garret stairs. She opened the garret door, +closed it with the same meticulous care. The last +I got was a little white glimpse of her down-dropped +face, as she pulled the rag-doll’s leg away +from the shutting door.</p> + +<p>I waited there a long time—until my candle +guttered to nothing. She did not return. I did +not see her or anybody else again that night.</p> + +<p>I went back to bed and fell immediately into +a perfectly quiet, dreamless sleep. The next +morning early, I went over to Hyde’s brother—his +name is Corning—and bought this house. +Perhaps you can tell me why I did it. I don’t +exactly know myself; for of course I couldn’t +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143'></a>143</span> +afford it. I realized only that I could not—I +simply and absolutely could <i>not</i>—let anybody else +buy Lutetia.</p> + +<p>You think, of course, that I’ve finished now, +Spink. But that isn’t all. Not by a million Persian +parasangs—all. She has come again. I +mean Lutetia. For that matter, they both have +come again. But I’ll try to tell my story categorically.</p> + +<p>It was a night or two later; another dewy, +placid large-starred night— Strange how this +beautiful weather keeps up! I had been reading +as usual; but my mind was as vacant as a glass +bell from which you have exhausted the air. I +was rereading, I remember, Lutetia’s <i>The Sport +of the Goddesses</i>. Spink, how that woman could +write! And.... Again I became aware that +I wasn’t alone. Just as definitely, I knew that it +was not Lutetia this time; nor even Little Pigtails. +This time, and perhaps it’s because I’m getting +used to this sort of thing, I had a sense of—not +<i>fear</i>—but only of what I’ll call a <i>spiritual diffidence</i>.</p> + +<p>Yet instantly I looked up.</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144'></a>144</span> + +<p>He—it was a <i>he</i> this time—was standing in the +doorway, which leads from this big living-room +into the front hall. We were vis-à -vis—tête-à -tête +one might say. He was looking straight at +me and I—I assure you, Spink—I looked straight +at him.</p> + +<p>Spink, you have never heard of a jovial ghost, +have you? I’m sure I haven’t. But this was or +could have been a jovial ghost. He was big—not +fat but ample—middle-aged, more than +middle-aged. He wore an enormous beard cut +square like the men in Assyrian mural tablets. +Hair a little long. I assure you he was the handsomest +old beggar that I have ever seen. He +looked like a portrait by Titian. I got—it’s like +holding a photographic negative up to the light +and trying to get the figures on it—that he wore +a sort of flowing gown; it made him stately. And +one of those little round caps that conceal or +protect baldness. I can’t describe him. How the +devil <i>can</i> you describe a ghost? I mean an apparition. +For he isn’t dead either—any more than +the little girls is. He’s alive somewhere.</p> + +<p>Well, our steady exchange of looks went on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145'></a>145</span> +and on and on. If I could have said anything +it would have been: “What do you want of me, +you handsome old beggar?†What he would +have said to me I don’t know; although he was +trying with all his ghostly strength to put some +message over. How he was trying! It was that +effort that kept him from being what he was—<i>is</i>—jovial. +God, how that gaze burned—tore—ate. +It grew insupportable after a while—it was +melting me to nothingness. I dropped my eyes. +Suddenly I could lift them, for I knew he was +gone. Somehow I had the feeling that a monstrous +bomb had noiselessly exploded in the room. +His going troubled me no more than his coming. +I remember I said aloud: “I’m sorry I couldn’t +get you, old top! Better luck next time!â€</p> + +<p>I got up from my chair after a few minutes to +take my usual before-going-to-bed walk. I walked +about the room; absent-mindedly putting things to +rights—the way women do. My mind—and I +suspect my eyes too—were still so full of him that +when, on stepping outside, I came across another—I +was conscious of some shock. Again not of +fear, but of a terrific surprise.</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146'></a>146</span> + +<p>Are you getting all this, Spink? Oh, of course +you’re not, because you don’t believe it. But try +to believe it. Put yourself in my place! Try to +get the wonder, the magic, the terror, the touch +now and then of horror, but above all the fierce +thrill—of living with a family of ghosts?</p> + +<p>This one—the fourth—was a man too. About +thirty, I should say. And awfully charming. +Yes, you spaniel-eyed fish, you, one man is +saying this of another man. He was awfully +charming. Short, dark. He wore—again it is +like holding a negative up to the light—he wore +white ducks or flannels. He stood very easily, his +weight—listen to me, his <i>weight</i>—mainly on one +foot and one hand curved against his hip. In the +other hand, he carried his pipe. He looked at +me—God, how he looked at me! How, for that +matter, they all look at me! They want something, +Spink. Of me. They’re trying to tell me. +I can’t get it, though. But, believe me, I’m +trying. This was worse than the old fellow. For +this one, like Lutetia, was dead. And he, like her, +was trying to put his message across a world, +whereas the old fellow had only to pierce a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147'></a>147</span> +dimension. How he looked at me; held me; bored +into me. It was like sustaining visual vitriol.... +How he looked at me! It became horrible.... +Pretty soon I realized I wasn’t going +to be able to stand it....</p> + +<p>Yet I stayed with it as long as he did, and of +course we continued to glare at each other. I +don’t exactly know what the etiquette of these +meetings is; but I seem to feel vaguely that it’s +up to me to stay with them as long as they’re +here. This time, it must have been all of five +minutes, although it seemed longer ... much +longer ... and I, all the time, trying to hold +on. Then suddenly something happened. I don’t +know what it was, but one instant he was there, +and another he wasn’t. Don’t ask me how he +went away. I don’t know. He simply ceased to +be; and yet so swifter-than-instantly, so exquisitely, +so subtly that my only question was—even +though my mind was still stinging from his gaze—had +he been there at all. It was as though the +tree back of him had instantaneously absorbed +him. It was a shock too—that disappearance.</p> + +<p>Well, again I went out for a hike. I walked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148'></a>148</span> +anywhere—everywhere. How far I don’t know. +But half the night. Again it was as though I +marched through the stars....</p> + +<p>I haven’t seen the old painter again—I call him +painter simply because he wore that long robe. +And I haven’t seen the young guy again. But I +see Lutetia all the time. She comes and goes. +Sometimes when I enter the living-room, I find +her already there.... Sometimes when I leave +it, I know she enters by another door.... We +spend long evenings together.... I can’t write +when she’s about; but curiously enough I can +sometimes read; that is to say, I can read Lutetia. +I try to read because moments come when I realize +that she prefers me not to look at her. It’s when +she’s exhausted from trying to give me her message. +Or when she’s girding herself up for another +go. At those moments, the room is full of +a frightful struggle; a gigantic spiritual concentration. +It seems to me I could not look even if +she wanted me. Oh, how she tries, Spink! It +wrings my heart. She’s so helpless, so hopeless—so +gentle, so tender, so lovely! It’s all my own +stupidity. The iron-wall stupidity of flesh and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149'></a>149</span> +blood. Perhaps, if I were to kill myself—and I +think I could do that for her.... Only she +doesn’t want me to do that.... But what does +she want me to do? If I could only....</p> + +<p style="font-size:smaller"> </p> + +<p>Lindsay had written steadily the whole evening; +written at a violent speed and with a fierce +intensity. Now his speed died down. His hands +dropped from the typewriter. That mental intensity +evaporated. He became aware....</p> + +<p>He was not alone.</p> + +<p>The long living-room was doubly cheerful that +night. The inevitable tracks of living had begun +to humanize it. A big old bean-pot full of purple +iris sat on one end of the refectory table. Lindsay’s +books and notebooks; his paper and envelopes; +his pens and pencils sprawled over the +length of table between him and the iris. That +the night was a little cool, Lindsay had seized as +pretext to build a huge fire. The high, jagged +flames conspired with the steady glow of the big +lamp to rout the shadows from everywhere but +the extreme corners.</p> + +<p>No more than—after her coming—he was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150'></a>150</span> +alone was Lutetia alone. It was, Lindsay reflected, +a picture almost as posed as for a camera. +Lutetia sat; and leaning against her, close to her +knee, stood a pigtailed little girl. She might have +been listening to a story; for her little ear was +cocked in Lutetia’s direction. That attitude +brought to Lindsay’s observation a delicious, snub-nosed +child profile. She gazed unseeingly over her +shoulder to a far corner. And Lutetia gazed +straight over the child’s head at Lindsay—</p> + +<p>They sat for a long time—a long long time—thus. +The little girl’s vague eyes still fixed themselves +on the shadows as on magic realms that +were being constantly unrolled to her. Lutetia’s +eyes still sought Lindsay’s. And Lindsay’s eyes +remained on Lutetia’s; held there by the agony +of her effort and the exquisite torture of his own +bewilderment.</p> + +<p>After a while he arose. With slow, precise +movements, he gathered up the pages of his letter +to Spink. He arranged them carefully according +to their numbers—twelve typewritten pages. He +walked leisurely with them over to the fireplace +and deposited them in the flames.</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151'></a>151</span> + +<p>When he turned, the room was empty.</p> + +<p>The next day brought storm again.</p> + +<p style="font-size:smaller"> </p> + +<p>The coolness of the night vanished finally before +the sparkling sunshine of a wind-swept day. +Lindsay wrote for an hour or two. Then he +gave himself up to what he called the “chores.†+He washed his few dishes. He toiled on the lawn +and in the garden. He finished the work of repairing +the broken stairway in the barn. At the +close of this last effort, he even cast a longing +look in the direction of the rubbish collection in +the second story of the barn. But his digestion +apprised him that this voyage of discovery must +be put off until after luncheon. He emerged from +the back entrance of the barn, made his way, +contrary to his usual custom, by a circuitous route +to the front of the house. He stopped to tack up +a trail of rosebush which had pulled loose from +the trellis there. He felt unaccountably tired. +When he entered the house he was conscious for +the first time of a kind of loneliness....</p> + +<p>He had not seen Lutetia, nor any of her companions, +for three days. He admitted to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152'></a>152</span> +himself that he missed the tremendous excitement +of the last fortnight. But particularly he missed +Lutetia. He paused absently to glance into the +two front rooms, still as empty as on the day he +had first seen them. He wandered upstairs into +his bedroom. From there, he journeyed to the +child’s room beyond; examined again the dim +drawings on the wall. It occurred to him that, +by going over them with crayons, he could restore +some of their lost vividness. The idea brought +a little spurt of exhilaration to his jaded spirit. +He returned to his own room, just for the sake +of descending Lutetia’s little private stairway to +what must have been her private living-room below. +He walked absently and a little slowly; +still conscious of loneliness. He did not pause +long in the living-room, although he made a tentative +move in the direction of the kitchen. Still +absently and quite mechanically he opened the +back door; started to step out onto the broad flat +stone which made the step....</p> + +<p>Most unexpectedly—and shockingly, he was +not alone. A tiny figure ... black ... sat +on the doorstep; sat so close to the door that, as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153'></a>153</span> +it rose, his curdling flesh warned him he had +almost touched it. A curious thing happened. +Lindsay swayed, pitched; fell backwards, white +and moveless.</p> + +<div class='chapter'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154'></a>154</span> +<a id='VI'></a> +<p class='cln0'>VI</p> +</div> + +<p>“How did they find me, Glorious Lutie?†Susannah +asked next morning. “How <i>did</i> they find +me? If I could only teach myself to listen to the +warning of those little hammers. Something +told me when I saw Warner walking along the +corridor of the Carman Building that he was not +there by accident. Something told me when I +ran into O’Hearn at the Attic the other night that +<i>he</i> was not <i>there</i> by accident. They have been +following me all the time. They’ve known what +I’ve been doing every moment. Just as Byan +knows where I am now. How did they do it? +I’ve never suspected it for a moment. I’ve never +seen anybody. I’m frightened, Glorious Lutie; +I’m dreadfully frightened. I don’t know where +to turn. If I only had a real friend— But perhaps +that wouldn’t help as much as I think. For +I’m afraid—I’m too afraid to tell <i>anybody</i>—â€</p> + +<p>All this, she said as usual, wordlessly. But +she said it from her bed, her eyes fixed in a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155'></a>155</span> +lackluster stare on the little oval gleam of the +miniature.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Glorious +Lutie, to tell my troubles to. You’re a great +deal more than a picture to me. You’re a real +presence— Oh, if you could only see for me +now. I wonder if Byan is still in his room? I +wonder what he’s going to do. I mean—what is +the next move? Oh, of course he’s there! He +wants to talk with me. But I won’t let him talk +with me. I’ll stay in this room until I starve! +And he can’t telephone. How can he put over +what he wants to say?â€</p> + +<p>That question answered itself automatically +when she dragged herself up from bed. A white +square glimmered beside her door. She pounced +upon it.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“<span class='sc'>Dear Miss Ayer</span>:</p> + +<p>“Of course we have known where you were and +what you were doing every instant since you left +the office. We did not interfere with your quitting +your boarding-house because we preferred to +give you a few days to think things over. I hope +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156'></a>156</span> +you’ve been enjoying your little excursions to the +Museum and the Aquarium. We knew you’d +come to your senses after a while and be ready +to talk business. That is why you’ve had those +little, accidental meetings from time to time. +That advertisement for a job in the Carman +Building was a decoy ad. It is useless for you +to try to get away from us.</p> + +<p>“And in the meantime the situation is getting +more and more desperate. You know why. Now +listen. We can clean up on that little business +deal in three days. Do you know what that +means? Maybe a hundred thousand dollars. +We’ll let you in. Your share would be twelve +thousand five hundred. Don’t that sound pretty +good to you? You can avoid any trouble by going +away with us. Or you can go alone and nobody +will bother you. We’ll give you the dope on that; +for believe me, we know how. And you wouldn’t +have to do a thing you don’t want to do. We’ve +got grandpa tamed now in regard to you. We’ve +told him that you’re a lady, and won’t stand for +that rough stuff. He’s wild about you, and crazy +to see you, and make it all right again. Now why +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157'></a>157</span> +not use a little sense? Slip a note under my door +across the way and tell me that you’ll doll yourself +up and be ready to go to dinner with him +tonight at seven.â€</p> + +<p>A postscript added: “This is unsigned and +typewritten on your own typewriter and so +couldn’t be used by anyone who didn’t like our +way of doing business. For your own safety +though, I advise you to burn it.â€</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>This last was the one bit of advice in the letter +which Susannah followed. She lighted a match +and burned it over her water basin. Then she +forced her protesting throat to swallow a glass +of milk. She ate some crackers. After that she +went to bed.</p> + +<p>What to do and where to go! Over and over +again, she turned the meager possibilities of her +situation. Nothing offered escape. A hackneyed +phrase floated into her mind—“woman’s wit.†+From time immemorial it had been a bromidiom +that any woman, however stupid, could outwit any +man, however clever. Was it true? Perhaps not +all the time, and perhaps sometimes. That was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158'></a>158</span> +the only way though—she must pit her nimble, +inexperienced woman’s wit against their heavier +but trained man’s wit. Her problem was to get +out of this house, unseen. But how? All kinds +of fantastic schemes floated through her tired +mind. If she could only disguise herself— But +she would have to go out first to get the disguise. +And Byan was across the hall, waiting for just +that move. If there were only a convenient fire-escape! +But of course he would anticipate that. +If she could only summon a taxi, leap into it and +drive for an hour! But she would have to telephone +for the taxi in the outside hall, where Byan +could hear her. On and on, she drove her tired +mind; inventing schemes more and more impracticable. +For a long time, that woman’s wit +spawned nothing—</p> + +<p>Then suddenly a curious idea came to her. It +was so ridiculous that she rejected it instantly. +Ridiculous—and it stood ninety-nine per cent +chance of failure; offered but one per cent chance +of success. Nevertheless it recurred. It offered +more and more suggestion, more and more temptation. +True, it was a thing barely possible; true +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159'></a>159</span> +also, that it was the only thing possible. But +could she put it through? Had she the nerve? +Had she the strength?</p> + +<p>She must find both the nerve and the strength.</p> + +<p>She bathed and dressed quickly and with a +growing steadiness. She packed her belongings +into her suitcase, put Glorious Lutie’s miniature +in her handbag.</p> + +<p>She sat down at her bureau and wrote a note:</p> + +<p>“If you will come to my room, after you have +had your breakfast, I will talk the matter over +with you. I will not leave the building before +you return. I will be ready to see you at ten +o’clock.â€</p> + +<p>She opened her door, walked across the corridor; +slipped the note under the door of Byan’s +room. Then she hurried back; locked her door; +sat down and waited, her hands clasped. Her +hands grew colder and colder until they seemed +like marble, but all the time her mind seemed to +steady and clarify.</p> + +<p>After a long while she heard Byan’s door open. +She heard his steps retreating down the hall and +over the stairs.</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160'></a>160</span> + +<p>Ten minutes later, Susannah appeared, suitcase +in hand, at the janitor’s office on the first floor. +“I’m Miss Ayer in No. 9, second floor,†she said. +“May I leave this suitcase here? I’ve just +thought that I wanted to go to a friend’s room on +the fifth floor and I don’t want to lug it up all +those stairs.â€</p> + +<p>The janitor considered her for a puzzled +second. Of course he was in Byan’s pay, Susannah +reflected.</p> + +<p>“Sure,†he answered uncertainly after a while.</p> + +<p>“I’m expecting a gentleman to call on me,†+Susannah went on steadily. “Tell him I’ll be +on the fifth floor at No. 9. My friend is out,†+she ended in glib explanation, “but she’s left her +key with me. There’s a little work that I wanted +to do on her typewriter.†The janitor—she had +worked this out in advance—must know that +Room 9, fifth floor—was occupied by a woman +who owned a typewriter. Susannah established +that when, a few days before, she had restored +to its owner a letter shoved by mistake under her +own door.</p> + +<p>Susannah deposited her bag on the floor in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161'></a>161</span> +janitor’s office. She walked steadily up the stairs +to the second floor. She felt the janitor’s gaze +on the first flight of her progress. She stopped +just before she reached her own room, glanced +back. She was alone there. The janitor had not +followed her. Perhaps Byan’s instructions to him +were only to watch the door. With a swift +pounce, she ran to Byan’s door, turned the knob.</p> + +<p>It opened.</p> + +<p>She ran to the closet; opened that. As she +suspected, it was empty. Indeed, her swift glance +had discovered no signs of occupancy in the room. +Even the bed was undisturbed. Byan had hired +it, of course, just for the purpose of being there +that one night. Susannah closed the closet door +after her, so that the merest crack let in the air +she should demand—and waited. In that desperate +hour when she lay thinking, the idea had +suddenly flashed into her mind that there was only +one place in the house where Byan would not look +for her. That place was his own room. But it +would not have occurred to her to take refuge +there if she had not noted, even in her taut terror +of the night before, that when Byan entered his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162'></a>162</span> +own room he had omitted to lock the door after +him. As indeed, why should he? There was +nothing to steal in it but Byan. Moreover, of +course Byan had sat up all night—his door unlocked—ready +to forestall any effort of hers to +escape.</p> + +<p style="font-size:smaller"> </p> + +<p>An hour later Susannah heard a padded, rather +brisk step ascending the stairs, coming along the +hall. It was Byan, of course—no one could mistake +his pace. He knocked on the door of her +room; at first gently, then insistently. A pause. +Then he tried the knob, again at first gently, then +insistently. His steps retreated down the hall and +the stairs. He must have got a pass-key from the +janitor, for when, a long minute later, she heard +his steps return, the scraping of a lock sounded +from across the hall. She heard her somewhat +rusty door-hinges creak. There followed a low +whistle as of surprise, then an irregular succession +of steps and creaks proving that he was +looking under the bed, was inspecting the closet. +She heard him retreat again down the stairs, and +braced herself to endure a longer wait. At last, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163'></a>163</span> +two pairs of feet sounded on the stairs. Had her +ruse fully succeeded—would they mount at once +to Room 9, fifth floor? No—they were coming +again along the second-floor corridor. With a +tingle of nerves in her temples and cheeks, she +realized that she had reached the supreme moment +of peril. They began knocking at every +door on the second-floor corridors. Once she +heard a muffled colloquy—the impatient tones of +some strange man, the apologetic voice of the +janitor. At other doors she heard, shortly after +the knock, the scraping of the pass-key. Now +they were in the room just beyond the wall of the +closet where she was crouching. She heard them +enter and emerge—the moment had come! But +their footsteps passed her door; an instant later, +she heard the pass-key grate in the door of the +room on the other side. Then—one hand shaking +convulsively on the knob of Byan’s closet door—she +heard them go flying up the stairs to the +third story—the fourth—</p> + +<p style="font-size:smaller"> </p> + +<p>Before noon of that haunted, hunted morning, +Susannah found a room in a curious way. When +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164'></a>164</span> +she escaped from the house in the West Twenties, +she had walked westward almost to the river. +In a little den of a restaurant just off the docks, +she ordered breakfast and the morning newspapers. +But when she tried to look over the +advertising columns with a view to finding a room, +she had a violent fit of trembling. The members +of the Carbonado Mining Company, she recalled +to herself, were studying those advertisements +just as closely as she; and perhaps at that very +moment.</p> + +<p>Hiding in a great city! Why, she thought to +herself, it’s the only place where you can’t hide!</p> + +<p>Susannah dawdled over breakfast as long as +she dared. She found herself wincing as she +emerged onto the busy dingy street of docks. She +stopped under the shade of an awning and controlled +the abnormal fluttering of her heart while +she thought out her situation. She dared no +longer walk the streets. She dared not go to a +real-estate agent. How, then, might she find a +room and a hiding-place?</p> + +<p>Then a Salvation Army girl came picking her +way across the crowded, cluttered dock-pavement +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165'></a>165</span> +toward her awning. And Susannah had a sudden +impulse which she afterwards described to Glorious +Lutie as a stroke of genius. She came out to +the edge of the pavement and accosted the Blue +Bonnet.</p> + +<p>“Do you know of any place where a girl who’s +a stranger in New York may find a cheap and +respectable lodging?†she asked.</p> + +<p>The Salvation Army girl gave her a long, +steady scrutiny from under the scoop of her +bonnet.</p> + +<p>“My sister keeps a rooming-house up on +Eighth Avenue,†she said finally. “She always +has an extra room, and she will take you in, I +guess. Have you a bit of paper? I’ll write her +a note.â€</p> + +<p>Susannah flew, swift as a homing dove, to the +address. The landlady, a shapeless, featureless, +middle-aged blonde, read the note; herself gave a +long glance of scrutiny, and showed the room. +Susannah’s examination was merely perfunctory. +In fact, she looked with eyes which saw not. +Probably never before did a shabby, battered bedchamber, +stained as to ceiling, peeling as to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166'></a>166</span> +wallpaper, carelessly patched as to carpet, indescribably +broken-down and nondescript as to furniture, +seem a very paradise to the eyes of twenty-five.</p> + +<p>The bed was humpy, but it was a double bed; +and clean. Susannah sank on to it. She did not +rise for a long time. Then, true to her accepted +etiquette on occasions of this kind, she drew the +miniature from her handbag and pinned it on to +the wall beside her bureau.</p> + +<p>“Glorious Lutie,†her thoughts ran, “I’m as +weak as a sick cat. If there was ever a girl +more terrified, more friendless, more worn-out +than I feel at this moment, I’d like to know how +she got that way. I want to crawl into that bed +and stay there for a week just reveling in the +thought that I’m safe. Safe, Glorious Lutie. +Safe! Alone with you. And nobody to be afraid +of. Our funds are running low of course. I’ve +nothing to pawn except you. But don’t be afraid—I’ll +never pawn you. If we have to go down, +we’ll go down together and with all sails set. I’ve +got an awful hate and fear on this job-hunting +business now. Heaven knows I don’t want much +money; only enough to live on. I guess I won’t +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167'></a>167</span> +try to be a high-class queen of secretaries any +longer—or at least for the present. My lay is +to lie low for a month or two. I’ll rest for a few +days. Then I’ll go into—what? What, Glorious +Lutie, tell me what? I’ve got it! Domestic +service. That’s my escape. I’ve certainly got +brains enough to be a second girl and they never +could find me tucked away in somebody’s house, +especially if I never take my afternoons out. +Which, believe me, Glorious Lutie, I won’t. I’ll +spend them all with you. Oh, what an idea that +is! I’ll wait around here for about a week and +then I’ll tackle one of the domestic service +agencies. If I know anything about after-the-war +conditions, I’ll be snapped up like hot cakes.â€</p> + +<p>Keeping her promise to herself, Susannah +stayed as much as possible indoors. The landlady +consented to give her breakfast, but she +would do no more—even that was an accommodation. +In gratitude, Susannah took care of her +own room. She kept it in spotless order; she even +pottered with repairs. With breakfast at home, +she had no need to leave the house of mornings. +She went without luncheon; and late in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168'></a>168</span> +afternoon, before the home-going flood from the offices, +she had dinner in a Child’s restaurant round +the corner. For the rest of the time, she read +the landlady’s books—few, and mostly cheap. +But they included a set of Dickens; and she renewed +acquaintance with a novelist whom she +loved for himself and who called up memories of +her happiest times. But her mood with Dickens +was curiously capricious. His deaths and persecutions +and poignant tragedies she could no longer +endure—they swept her into a gulf of black +melancholy. On the second day of her voluntary +imprisonment, she glanced through <i>Bleak House</i>; +stumbled into the wanderings of Little Jo through +the streets of London. Suddenly she surprised +herself by a fit of hysterical, trembling tears. +This explosion cleared her mental airs; but afterward +she skipped through Dickens, picking and +choosing his humors, his love-passages, his gargantuan +feasts in wayside inns.</p> + +<p>When her eyes grew weary with reading, or +when she ran into one of those passages which +brought the black cloud, Susannah gazed vacantly +out of the window.</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169'></a>169</span> + +<p>Her lodging-house stood on a corner; she had +a back, corner room on the third floor. The +house next door, on the side street, finished to the +rear in a two-story shed. Its roof lay almost +under her window. The landlady, upon showing +the room, had called her attention to this shed. +“We’ve got no regular fire escapes, dearie,†she +said, “but in case of trouble, you’re all right. +You just step out here and if the skylight ain’t +open, somebody’ll get you down with a ladder. +A person can’t be too careful about fires!†+Across the skylight lay a few scanty backyards—treeless, +grassless, uninteresting. This city area +of yards and sheds seemed to be the club, the +Rialto for all the stray cats of Eighth Avenue. +Susannah named them, endowed them with personalities. +Their squabbles, their amours, their +melodramatic stalking, gave her a kind of +apathetic interest.</p> + +<p>The interest lessened as three days went by, +and the apathy deepened. “It’s my state of +mind, Glorious Lutie,†she apprised the miniature. +“It’s this weight that’s on my spirit. It’s +fear. Just as soon as I can get my mind off—I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170'></a>170</span> +mean just as soon as I become convinced that I’m +never going to be bothered again, it will go, I’m +sure. Of course I can’t help feeling as I do. But +I ought not to. I’m perfectly safe now. In a few +days those crooks won’t trouble about me any +more. It will be too late. And I know it.â€</p> + +<p>She reiterated those last two sentences as though +Glorious Lutie were a difficult person to convince. +The next morning, however, came diversion. +Work—roofing—began on the shed just under +her window. Susannah watched the workmen +with an interest that held, at first, an element of +determined concentration. The roofers, an +elderly man and a younger one, incredibly dirty +in their blackened overalls, which were soon +matched by face and hands, were very conscious +at first of the brilliant tawny head just above. +Once, muffled by the window, she caught an allusion +to white horses. But Susannah ignored +this; continued to watch them disappearing and +emerging through the open skylight, setting up +their melting-pot, arranging their sheets of +tin.</p> + +<p>Before she was out of bed next morning they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171'></a>171</span> +were making a metallic clatter with their hammers. +In her normal state, Susannah was a creature +almost without nerves. She even retained a +little of the child’s enjoyment of a racket for its +own sake. But now—the din annoyed her, +annoyed her unspeakably. She crept languidly +out of bed, peeped through the edge of the curtain. +They were just beginning work. It would +keep up all day.</p> + +<p>“I can’t stand this!†said Susannah aloud; and +then began one of her wordless addresses to the +miniature.</p> + +<p>“I guess the time has come, anyhow, to strike +into pastures new. Behold, Glorious Lutie, your +Glorious Susie descending from the high and +mighty position of pampered secretary to that of +driven slave. Tomorrow morn I apply for a job +as second girl. If it weren’t for this headache, +I’d do it today.â€</p> + +<p>However, the hammering only intensified her +headache; she must get outside. So when the +landlady arrived with her breakfast, Susannah inquired +for the address of the nearest employment +office. She dressed, and descended to the street. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172'></a>172</span> +As always, of late, she had a shrinking as she +stepped out into the open world of men and +women. When she had controlled this, she +moved with a curious apathy to the old, battered +ground-floor office with yellow signs over its front +windows, where girls found work at domestic service. +Presently, she was registered, was sitting on +a long bench with a row of women ranging from +slatternly to cheaply smart. She scarcely observed +them. That apathy was settling deeper +about her spirits; her only sensation was her dull +headache. Somehow, when she sat still it was +not wholly an unpleasant headache. Then the +voice of the sharp-faced woman at the desk in the +corner called her name. It tore the veil, woke +her as though from sleep. She rose, to face her +first chance—a thin, severe woman with a mouth +like a steel trap.</p> + +<p>This first chance furnished no opening, however; +neither, as the morning wore away, did several +other chances. The process of getting a second +maid’s job was at the same time more difficult +and less difficult than she had thought. Susannah +had forgotten that people always ask servants for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173'></a>173</span> +references. She had supposed her carefully +worked out explanation would cover that situation—that +she had been a stenographer in Providence; +that she had come to New York soon after +the Armistice was signed, hoping for a bigger outlook; +that the returning soldiers were snapping up +all the jobs; that she had tried again and again +for a position; that her money was fast going; +that she had been advised to enter domestic service. +Housekeepers from rich establishments and +the mistresses of small ones interviewed her; but +the lack of references laid an impassable barrier. +In the afternoon, however, luck changed. A suburbanite +from Jamaica, a round, grizzled, middle-aged +woman, desperately in need of a second girl, +cut through all the red-tape that had held the +others up. “You’re perfectly honest,†she said +meditatively, “about admitting you’ve had no experience, +and you <i>look</i> trustworthy.â€</p> + +<p>“I assure you, madam,â€â€”Susannah was eager, +but wary; not too eager. She even laughed a little—“I +am honest—so honest that it hurts.â€</p> + +<p>“The only thing is,†her interlocutor went on +hesitatingly; “you must pardon me for putting it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174'></a>174</span> +so bluntly; but we might as well be open with +each other. I’m afraid you’ll feel a little above +your position.â€</p> + +<p>“Well,†Susannah responded honestly, “to be +straightforward with <i>you</i>, I suppose I shall. But +I give you my word, I’ll never <i>show</i> it. And +that’s the only thing that counts, isn’t it?â€</p> + +<p>The woman smiled.</p> + +<p>“I must confess I like you,†she burst out impulsively. +“But how am I going to know that +you’re—all right?â€</p> + +<p>Susannah sighed. “I understand your situation +perfectly. I don’t know how you’re to know +I’m all right—morally or just in the matter of +mere honesty. For there’s nobody but me to tell +you that I’m moral and honest. And of course +I’m prejudiced.â€</p> + +<p>“Well, anyway I’m going to risk it. I’m engaging +you now. It is understood—ten dollars +a week; and alternate Thursdays and Sundays out. +I don’t want you until tomorrow because I want +my former maid out of the house before you +come. Now will you promise me that you’ll take +the nine train tomorrow?â€</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175'></a>175</span> + +<p>“I promise,†Susannah agreed.</p> + +<p>“But that reminds me,†the woman came on +another difficulty, “what’s to guarantee that +you’ll stay with me?â€</p> + +<p>“I guarantee,†Susannah said steadily, “that +if you keep to your end of the agreement, I’ll stay +with you at least three months.â€</p> + +<p>The woman sparkled. “All right, I’ll expect +you tomorrow on the nine train. I’ll be there +with the Ford to meet you. Here are the directions.†+She scribbled busily on a card.</p> + +<p>Susannah walked home as one who treads on +air. The veil of apathy had broken. And in +spite of her headache, which caught her by fits and +starts, her mood broke into a joy so wild that it +sent her pirouetting about the room. “Glorious +Lutie, I never felt so happy in my life. So gayly, +grandly, gorgeously, gor-gloriously happy! All +my troubles are over. I’m safe.†And on the +strength of that security, she washed and ironed +her lavender linen suit. Her headache was better +again. Perhaps if she went out now to an early +dinner, it might disappear altogether. But how +languorous she felt, how indisposed to effort. She +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176'></a>176</span> +would sit and read a while. She opened <i>Pickwick +Papers</i> on its last pages. She had almost finished +the book.</p> + +<p>“I suppose it will be a long time before I have +a chance to do any more reading,†she meditated. +“So I think I’ll finish this. You’ve helped me +through a hard passage in my life, Charles +Dickens, and I thank you with all my heart.â€</p> + +<p>But she could not read. As soon as she sat +down by the window and settled her eyes on the +book, the headache returned. The men were still +at work on the roof, hammering away at one +corner. Every blow seemed to strike her skull. +Midway of the roof, the skylight yawned open; +their extra tools were laid out beside it. At five +o’clock they would quit for the day. Usually she +disliked to have them go. In spite of their noise, +she felt that still. They gave her a kind of warm, +human sense of companionship. And they had +become accustomed to her appearances at the +window. Their flirtatious first glances had ceased +for want of encouragement. They scarcely +seemed to see her when they looked up. But now—that +hammering at her skull! Susannah +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177'></a>177</span> +suddenly rose and closed the window, hot though the +day was, against this torrent of sound. As +though its futile shield would give added protection, +she drew the curtain. In the dimmed light +she sat rocking, her head in her hands. Her face +was fire-hot—why, she wondered— The hammering +stopped. They were soldering now. +They were always doing that; beating the tin +sheets into place and stopping to solder them. +There would be silence for a time. In a moment, +she would open the window for a breath of air on +her burning face....</p> + +<p>She started at a knock on her door, low, quick, +but abrupt. Before she could answer, it opened. +His face shadowed in the three-quarters light, but +his form perfectly outlined, instantly recognizable—stood +Warner. Behind Warner was Byan, and +behind Byan, O’Hearn.</p> + +<p>All the blood of her heart seemed to strike in +one wave on Susannah’s aching head, and then to +recede. She knew both the tingling of terror and +the numbness of horror. Prickling, stinging +darts volleyed her face, her hands, her feet; and +yet she seemed to be freezing to stone.</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178'></a>178</span> + +<p>They came into the room before anyone spoke—Warner +first. Byan lolled to a place in the corner; +the three-quarters light, filtering through the +thin fabric of the flimsy, yellow curtain, revealed +his clean profile, his mysterious half-smile. +O’Hearn stood just at the entrance. He did not +continue to look at her. His eyes sought the +floor.</p> + +<p>Warner was speaking now:</p> + +<p>“Good-evening, Miss Ayer. We have come to +finish up that little piece of business with you. It +has been delayed as long as it can be. Pardon us +for breaking in upon you like this. Your landlady +tried to prevent us, but we assured her that +you would want to see us. As I think you will +when you come to your senses and hear what I +have to say.â€</p> + +<p>He stopped, as though awaiting her reply. But +Susannah made no answer. She had dropped her +eyes now; her hands lay limp in her lap. And in +this pause, a curious piece of byplay passed between +Warner and O’Hearn. The master of this +trio caught the glance of his assistant and, with a +swift motion of three fingers toward the lapel of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179'></a>179</span> +his coat, gave him that “office†in the underworld +sign manual—which means “look things +over.†O’Hearn, moving so lightly that Susannah +scarcely noted his passage, stepped to the +window, lifted the edge of the curtain. He took a +swift, intent look outside and returned to Warner. +His back to Susannah, he spoke with his lips, +scarcely vocalizing the words.</p> + +<p>“No getaway there, Boss—straight drop—†+he said.</p> + +<p>Warner was speaking again.</p> + +<p>“Your landlady says we may have her parlor +for our conference. Wouldn’t you prefer to make +yourself presentable for the street and then join +us there—in about ten minutes, say?â€</p> + +<p>Ten minutes—this gave her a chance to play +for time—the only chance she had. She looked +up. Nothing on the clean-cut, pearl-white exterior +of her face gave a clue to the anarchy +within; nothing, even, in her black-fringed, blue +gaze the tautly-held scarlet lips. Her fire-bright +head lifted a little higher and she gazed steadily +into Warner’s eyes, as she spoke in a voice which +seemed to her to belong to someone else:</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180'></a>180</span> + +<p>“I can give you a few minutes, but I have not +changed my determination.â€</p> + +<p>“But I think you will,†said Warner. “I +really think you will. Before we go, I might +remind you that we have been extremely gentle +and patient with you, Miss Ayer. I might also +remind you that you have never succeeded in giving +us the slip. You were very clever when you +escaped from your last lodging. We don’t know +yet exactly how you did it. Perhaps you will tell +us in the course of our little talk this afternoon. +But you were not quite clever enough. You did +not figure that with such important matters pending, +we would have the outside of the house +watched as well as the inside. So that you may +not think our meeting this afternoon is accidental, +let me remind you that you have an engagement +for tomorrow afternoon in Jamaica—to take a +job as second maid. What we have to offer you +this afternoon will probably be so attractive that +you will overlook that engagement.â€</p> + +<p>He paused.</p> + +<p>“I will be with you in ten minutes,†said Susannah. +She was conscious of no emotion now—only +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181'></a>181</span> +that her head ached, and that the faded roses +in the old carpet were entwined with forget-me-nots—a +thing she had never noticed before.</p> + +<p>“Thank you.†Warner made her a gallant +little bow. “Mr. Byan and I will wait in the +parlor. Until we come to an understanding, we +shall have to continue the old arrangement. It +will therefore be necessary for Mr. O’Hearn +to watch in the hall. If you do not arrive +in ten minutes—this room will probably +do as well as the parlor. Until then, Miss +Ayer!â€</p> + +<p>He opened the door, passed out. Byan retreated +after him, flashing one of his pathetically +sweet, floating smiles. Susannah looked up now, +followed their movements as the felon must +follow the movements of the man with the rope. +O’Hearn had been standing close to Susannah, +his veiling lashes down. He fell in behind the +other two. But before he joined the file, those +lashes came up in a quick glance which stabbed +Susannah. His hand came up too. He was +pointing to the window. And then he spoke two +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182'></a>182</span> +words in a whisper so low that they carried only +to the ears of Susannah, scarce three feet away—so +low that she could not have made them out but +for the exaggerated, expressive movement of his +lips.</p> + +<p>“Skylight—quick—†he said. He made for +the door in the wake of the other two.</p> + +<p>For the fraction of an instant Susannah did +not comprehend. And then suddenly one of those +little intuitive blows which she was always receiving +and ignoring gave, on the hard surface of her +mind, a faint tap. This time, she was conscious +of it. This time, she trusted it instantly. This +time, it told her what to do.</p> + +<p>“I’ll be with you as soon as I get dolled up,†+she called.</p> + +<p>“That’s right,†came the suave voice of +Warner from the hall.</p> + +<p>She closed the door. She listened while two +sets of footsteps descended the stairs. She heard +a third set, which must be O’Hearn’s, retreat for +a few paces and then stop. She fell swiftly to +work. She put on her hat and cape. She took +the miniature, thumbtack and all, from the wall, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183'></a>183</span> +and put it in her wrist bag. “Help me, Glorious +Lutie,†she called from the depths of her soul. +“Help me! Help me! Help me! I’m lost if +you don’t help me! I can’t do it any more alone.â€</p> + +<div class='chapter'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184'></a>184</span> +<a id='VII'></a> +<p class='cln0'>VII</p> +</div> + +<p>When Lindsay pulled back from the quiet gray +void which had enshrouded him, he was lying on +the grass. Far, far away, as though pasted +against the brilliant blue sky, was a face. Gradually +the sky receded. The face came nearer. +It topped, he gradually gathered, the tiny slender +black-silk figure of a little old lady. “Do you feel +all right now?†it asked.</p> + +<p>Lindsay wished that she would not question +him. He was immensely preoccupied with what +seemed essentially private matters. But the instinct +of courtesy prodded him. “Very much, +thank you,†he answered weakly. He closed his +eyes again. He became conscious of a wet cloth +sopping his forehead and cheeks. A breeze +tingled on the bare flesh of his neck and chest. +He opened his eyes again; sat up. “Do you mean +to tell me I fainted?†he demanded with his customary +vigor.</p> + +<p>“That’s exactly what you did, young man,†+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185'></a>185</span> +the old lady answered. “The instant you looked +at me! I was setting with my back to the door. +You could have knocked me down with a feather, +when you fell over backwards.â€</p> + +<p>“Have I been out long?â€</p> + +<p>“Not more’n a moment. I flaxed around and +got some water and brought you to in a jiffy. You +ain’t an invalid, are you?â€</p> + +<p>“Far from it,†Lindsay reassured her. “I’m +afraid, though, I’ve been working too long in the +hot sun this morning.â€</p> + +<p>“Like as not!†the little old lady agreed +briskly. “I guess you’re hungry too,†she hazarded. +“Now you just get up and lay in the +hammock and I’m going to make you some lunch. +I see there was some eggs there and milk and tea. +I’ll have you some scrambled eggs fixed in no time. +My name is Spash—Mrs. Spash.â€</p> + +<p>“My name is Lindsay—David Lindsay.â€</p> + +<p>Lindsay found himself submitting without a +murmur to the little old lady’s program. He lay +quiescent in the hammock and let the tides of +vitality flow back.... Mrs. Spash’s prophecy, +if anything, underestimated her energy. In an +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186'></a>186</span> +incredibly short time she had produced, in collaboration +with the oil stove, eggs scrambled on +bread deliciously toasted, tea of a revivifying heat +and strength.</p> + +<p>“Gee, that tastes good!†Lindsay applauded. +He sighed. “It certainly takes a woman!â€</p> + +<p>“What are you doing here?†Mrs. Spash inquired. +“Batching it?â€</p> + +<p>“Yes, I think that describes the process,†Lindsay +admitted. After an instant, “How did you +happen to be on the doorstep?â€</p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t wonder you ask,†Mrs. Spash +declared. “I didn’t know the Murray place was +let and—well, I was making one of my regular +visits. You see, I come here often. I’m pretty +fond of this old house. I lived here once for +years.â€</p> + +<p>Lindsay sat upright. “Did you by chance live +here when Lutetia Murray was alive?â€</p> + +<p>“Well, I should say I did!†Mrs. Spash answered. +“I lived here the last twenty years of +Lutetia Murray’s life. I was her housekeeper, as +you might say.â€</p> + +<p>Lindsay stared at her. He started to speak. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187'></a>187</span> +It was obvious that conflicting comments fought +for expression, but all he managed to say—and ineptly +enough—was: “Oh, you knew her, then?â€</p> + +<p>“Knew her!†Mrs. Spash seemed to search +among her vocabulary for words. Or perhaps it +was her soul for emotions. “Yes, I knew her,†+she concluded with a feeble breathlessness.</p> + +<p>“You’ve lived in this house, then, for twenty +years,†Lindsay repeated, musing.</p> + +<p>“Yes, all of that.†Mrs. Spash appeared to +muse also. For an instant the two followed their +own preoccupations. Then as though they led +them to the same <i>impasse</i>, their eyes lifted simultaneously; +met. They smiled.</p> + +<p>“I’ve bought this house, Mrs. Spash,†Lindsay +confided. “And you never can guess why.â€</p> + +<p>Mrs. Spash started what appeared to be a comment. +It deteriorated into a little inarticulate +murmur.</p> + +<p>“I bought it,†Lindsay went on, “because when +I was in college, I fell in love with Lutetia Murray.†+And then, at Mrs. Spash’s wide-eyed, faded +stare, “Not with Miss Murray herself—I never +saw her—but with her books. I read everything +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188'></a>188</span> +she wrote and I wrote in college what we call a +thesis on her.â€</p> + +<p>“Sort of essay or composition,†Mrs. Spash +defined thesis to herself.</p> + +<p>“Exactly,†Lindsay permitted.</p> + +<p>“She was—she was—†Mrs. Spash began in a +dispassionate sort of way. She concluded in a +kind of frenzy. “She was an angel.â€</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, she’s that all right. I have never +seen anybody so lovely.â€</p> + +<p>Mrs. Spash made a swift conversational +pounce. “I thought you said you’d never seen +her.â€</p> + +<p>Lindsay flushed abjectly. “No,†he admitted. +“But you see I have a picture of her.†He +pointed to the mantel.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I noticed that when I came in to get +some water.†Strangely enough Mrs. Spash did +not, for a moment, look at the picture. Instead +she stared at Lindsay. Lindsay submitted easily +enough to this examination. After a while Mrs. +Spash appeared to abandon her scrutiny of him. +She trotted over to the fireplace; studied Lutetia’s +likeness.</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189'></a>189</span> + +<p>“I don’t know as I ever see that one—it don’t +half do her justice—I hate a profile picture—†+She pronounced “profile†to rhyme with “wood-pile.†+“None of her pictures ever did do her +justice. Her beauty was mostly in her hair and +her eyes. She had a beautiful skin too, though she +never took no care of it. Never wore a hat—no +matter how hot the sun was. And then her expression— Well, +it was just beautiful—changing +all the time.â€</p> + +<p>Lindsay was only half listening. He was, with +an amused glint in his eyes, studying Mrs. Spash’s +spare, erect black-silk figure. She was a relic perfectly +preserved, he reflected, of mid-Victorianism. +Her black was of the kind that is accurately +described by the word decent. And she wore +fittingly a little black, beaded cape with a black +shade-hat that tilted forward over her face at a +decided slant. Her straight, white, abundant hair +was apparently parted in the middle under her +hat. At any rate, the neat white parting continued +over the crown of her head to her very neck, +where it concealed itself under a flat black-silk +bow. Her gnarled, blue-veined hands had been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190'></a>190</span> +covered with the lace mitts that now lay on the +table. Her little wrinkled face was neat-featured. +The irises of her eyes were a +faded blue and the whites were blue also; and +this put a note of youthful color among her +wrinkles.</p> + +<p>But Lindsay lost interest in these details; for, +obviously, a new idea caught him in its instant +clutch. “Oh, Mrs. Spash,†he suggested, +“would you be so good as to take me through +this house? I want you to tell me who occupied +the rooms. This is not mere idle curiosity on my +part. You see Miss Murray’s publishers have decided +to bring out a new edition of her works. +They want me to write a life of Miss Murray. +I’m asking everybody who knows anything about +her all kinds of questions.â€</p> + +<p>Mrs. Spash received all this with that unstirred +composure which indicates non-comprehension of +the main issue.</p> + +<p>“Of course I’m interested on my own account +too,†Lindsay went on. “She’s such a wonderful +creature, so charming and so beautiful, so +sweet, so unbearably poignant and sad. I can’t +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191'></a>191</span> +understand,†he concluded absently, “why she is +so sad.â€</p> + +<p>Mrs. Spash seemed to comprehend instantly. +“It’s the way she died,†she explained vaguely, +“and how everything was left!†She walked in +little swift pattering steps, and with the accustomed +air of one who knows her way, through the +side door into the addition. “This was Miss +Murray’s own living-room,†she told Lindsay. +“She had that little bit of a stairway made, she +<i>said</i>, so’s too many folks couldn’t come up to her +room at once. Not that that made any difference. +Wherever she was, the whole household +went.â€</p> + +<p>With little nipping steps Mrs. Spash ascended +the stairway. Lindsay followed.</p> + +<p>“Did Miss Murray die in her room?†Lindsay +asked.</p> + +<p>“How did you know this was her room?†+Mrs. Spash demanded.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know exactly. I just guessed it,†+Lindsay answered. “I sleep here myself,†he +hurriedly threw off.</p> + +<p>“Yes. She died here. She was all alone when +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192'></a>192</span> +she died. You see—" Mrs. Spash sat down on +the one chair and, instantly sensing her mood, +Lindsay sat down on the bed.</p> + +<p>“You see, things hadn’t gone very well for +Miss Murray the last years of her life. Her +books didn’t sell— And she spent money like +water. She was allus the most open-hearted, +open-handed creature you can imagine. She allus +had the house full of company! And then there +was the little girl—Cherry—who lived with her. +At the end, things were bad. No money +coming in. And Miss Murray sick all the +time.â€</p> + +<p>“You say she was alone when she died,†Lindsay +gently brought her back to the track.</p> + +<p>“Yes—except for little Cherry, who slept right +through everything—childlike. Cherry had that +room.†Mrs. Spash jerked an angular thumb +back.</p> + +<p>Lindsay nodded. “Yes, I guessed that—with +all the drawings—â€</p> + +<p>“The Weejubs! Mr. Gale drew them pictures +for Cherry. He was an artist. He used to paint +pictures out in the backyard there. I didn’t fancy +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193'></a>193</span> +them very much myself—too dauby. You had to +stand way off from them ’fore they’d look like +anything <i>a-tall</i>. But he used to get as high as five +hundred dollars for them. Oh, what excitement +there was in this house while he was decorating +Cherry’s room! And little Cherry chattering like +a magpie! Mr. Gale made up a whole long story +about the Weejubs on her walls. Lord, I’ve forgotten +half of it; but Cherry could rattle it all +off as <i>fast</i>. Miss Murray had that door between +her room and Cherry’s made small on purpose. +She said Cherry could come into her room whenever +she wanted to, as long as she was a little girl. +But when Cherry grew up, she was going to +make it hard for her. But she promised when +Cherry was sixteen years old she shouldn’t +have to call her auntie any more—she could +call her jess Lutetia. Queer idea, worn’t +it?â€</p> + +<p>Mrs. Spash’s old eyes so narrowed before an +oncoming flood of reminiscence that they seemed +to retreat to the back of her head, where they +diminished to blue sparks. For a moment the +room was silent. Then “Let me show you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194'></a>194</span> +something! You’d oughter know it, seein’ it’s your +house. There’s some, though, I wouldn’t show +it to.â€</p> + +<p>She pattered with her surprising quickness to +the back wall. She pressed a spot in the paneling +and a small square of the wood moved slowly +back.</p> + +<p>“You see, Miss Murray’s bed ran along that +wall, just as Cherry’s did in the other room. +Mornings and evenings they used to open this +panel and talk to each other.â€</p> + +<p>Lindsay’s eyes filmed even as Mrs. Spash’s had. +Mentally he saw the two faces bending toward +the opening....</p> + +<p>“But you was asking about Miss Murray’s +death— As I say, things didn’t go well with her. +I didn’t understand how it all happened. Folks +stopped buying her books, I guess. Anyway, +when she died, there was nothing left. And +there was debts. The house and everything in it +was sold—at auction. It was awful to see Miss +Murray’s things all out on the lawn. And a great +crowd of gawks—riff-raff from everywhere—looking +at ’em and making fun of ’em— She had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195'></a>195</span> +beautiful things, but they went for nothing a-tall. +They jess about paid her debts.â€</p> + +<p>Lindsay groaned. “But her death—â€</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, as I was sayin’. You see, Miss Murray +worn’t ever the same after Mr. Lewis died. +You know about that?â€</p> + +<p>Lindsay nodded. “He was drowned.â€</p> + +<p>Mrs. Spash nodded confirmatively. “Yes, in +Spy Pond—over South Quinanog way. He was +swimming all alone. He was taken with cramps +way out in the middle of the Pond. Finally somebody +saw him struggling and they put out in a +boat, but they were too late. Miss Murray was +in the garden when they brought him back on a +shutter. I was with her. I can see the way her +face looked now. She didn’t say anything. Not +a word! She turned to stone. And it didn’t seem +to me that she ever came back to flesh again. +They was to be married in October. He was a +splendid man. He came from New York.â€</p> + +<p>“Yes. Curiously enough I spent a few days +in what used to be his rooms,†Lindsay informed +her.</p> + +<p>“That so?†But it was quite apparent that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196'></a>196</span> +nothing outside the radius of Quinanog interested +Mrs. Spash deeply. She made no further comment.</p> + +<p>“Was she very much in love with Lewis?†+Lindsay ventured.</p> + +<p>“In love! I wish you could see their eyes when +they looked at each other. They’d met late. +Miss Murray had always had lots of attention. +But she never seemed to care for anybody—though +she’d flirt a little—until she met Mr. +Lewis. It was love at first sight with them.â€</p> + +<p>She proceeded.</p> + +<p>“Well, Miss Murray died five years after Mr. +Lewis. She died—well, I don’t know exactly what +it was. But she had <i>attacks</i>. She was a terrible +sufferer. And she was worried—money matters +worried her. You see, little Cherry’s mother died +when she was born and her father soon after. +Miss Murray’d always had Cherry and felt responsible +for her. I know, because she told me. ‘It +ain’t myself, Eunice Spash,’ she said to me more’n +once. ‘It’s little Cherry.’ Anyway, she was +alone when her last attack came. She’d sent for +a cousin—I forget the name—to be with her, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197'></a>197</span> +she was up in Boston getting a nurse, and I was +in the other side of the house. I never heard a +sound. We found her dead in the middle of the +floor—there.†Her crooked forefinger indicated +the spot. “Seemed she’d got up and tried to get +to the door to call. But she dropped and died +halfway. She was all contorted. Her face +looked—Not so much suffering of the body as— Well, +you could see it in her face that it come to +her that she was going, and Cherry was left with +nothing.â€</p> + +<p>“What became of that cousin?†Lindsay inquired. +“I have asked everybody in the neighborhood, +but nobody seems to know.â€</p> + +<p>“And I don’t know. She went to Boston, taking +Cherry with her. For a time we heard from +Cherry now and then—she’d write letters to the +children. Then we lost sight of her. I don’t +know whether Miss Murray’s cousin’s living or +dead; Cherry either.â€</p> + +<p>Lindsay felt that he could have assured her that +Cherry was alive; but his conclusion rested on +premises too gauzy for him to hazard the statement.</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198'></a>198</span> + +<p>Mrs. Spash sighed. She arose, led the way into +the hall. “This was Mr. Monroe’s room; and +Mr. Gale’s room was back of his. He liked the +room that overlooked the garden. Mr. +Monroe—â€</p> + +<p>“That’s the big man, the sculptor,†Lindsay +hazarded.</p> + +<p>“How’d you know?†Mrs. Spash pounced on +him again.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’ve talked with a lot of people in the +neighborhood,†Lindsay returned evasively.</p> + +<p>“That Mr. Monroe,†Mrs. Spash glided on +easily, “was a case and a half. Nothing but +talk and laugh every moment he was in the house. +I used to admire to have him come.â€</p> + +<p>“Where is he?†Lindsay asked easily. He +hoped Mrs. Spash did not guess how, mentally, +he hung upon her answer.</p> + +<p>“He went to Italy—to Florence—after Miss +Murray died.†Mrs. Spash stopped. “He was +in love with Miss Murray. Had been for years. +She wouldn’t have him though. He was an awful +nice man. Sometimes I thought she would have +him. But after Mr. Lewis came— Queer, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199'></a>199</span> +worn’t it? I don’t know whether Mr. Monroe’s +alive or dead.â€</p> + +<p>Again Lindsay felt that he could have assured +her that he was alive, but again gauzy premises +inhibited exact conclusions.</p> + +<p>“The last I heard of him he was in Rome. +’Tain’t likely he’s alive now. <i>Land</i>, no! He’d +be well over seventy—close onto seventy-five. +Mr. Gale was in love with her too. He was +younger. I don’t think he ever told Miss Murray, +I never <i>did</i> know if she knew. You couldn’t +fool me though. Well, I started out to show you +this house. I must be gitting on. You’ve seen +the slave quarters and the whipping-post upstairs?â€</p> + +<p>“Yes. <i>Everybody</i> could tell me about the +whipping-post and the slave quarters. But the +things I wanted to know—â€</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s natural enough that folks shouldn’t +know much about her. Miss Murray was a lady +that didn’t talk about her own affairs and she kept +sort of to herself, as you might say. She wasn’t +the kind that ran in on folks. She wrote by fits +and starts. Sometimes she’d stay up late at night. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200'></a>200</span> +She <i>allus</i> wrote new-moon time. She said the +light of the crescent moon inspired her. How +they used to make fun of her about that! But +she’d write with all of them about, laughing and +talking and playing the piano or singing—and +dancing even. The house was so lively those days—they +was all great trainers. And yet she could +fall asleep right in the midst of all that confusion. +Well—so you see she wasn’t given to making calls. +And then there was always so much to do and so +many folks around at home. Have you been upstairs +in the barn?â€</p> + +<p>“No—not yet. The stairs were all broken +away. I had just finished mending them when I +had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.â€</p> + +<p>They both smiled reminiscently.</p> + +<p>“Let’s go up there now—there must be a lot +of things—†She ended her sentence a little +vaguely as the old sometimes do. But the movement +with which she arose from her chair and +trotted toward the stairs was full of an anticipation +almost youthful.</p> + +<p>“The garden used to be so pretty,†she sighed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201'></a>201</span> +as they started on the well-worn trail to the barn. +“Miss Murray worn’t what you might call practical, +but she could make flowers grow. She never +cooked, nor sewed, nor anything sensible, but +she’d work in that garden till— There was certain +combinations of flowers that she used to like; +hollyhocks, especially the garnet ones so dark +they was almost black, surrounded by them blue +Canterbury bells; and then phlox in all colors, +white and pink and magenta and lavender and +purple. I think there was some things put out +here,†she interrupted herself vaguely, “that nobody +wanted at the auction. There wasn’t even a +bid on them.â€</p> + +<p>She trotted up the stairs like a pony that has +suddenly become aged. Lindsay followed, two +steps at a time. The upper story of the barn was +the confused mass of objects that the lumber room +of any large household inevitably collects. +Broken chairs; tables, bureaux; rejected pieces +of china; kitchen furnishings; a rusty stove, +old boxes; bandboxes; broken trunks; torn +bags.</p> + +<p>“There! That’s the table Miss Murray used +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202'></a>202</span> +to do her writing at. She said there never had +been a table built big enough for her. I expect +that’s why nobody bought it at the auction. +’Twas too big for mortal use, you might say. +The same reason I expect is why the dining-room +table didn’t sell either.â€</p> + +<p>“Where did she write?†Lindsay asked, measuring +the table with his eye.</p> + +<p>“All summer in the south living-room. But +when it come winter, she’d often take her things +and set right in front of the fire in the living-room. +Then she’d write at that long table you’re +writing on.â€</p> + +<p>“This table goes back to the south living-room +tomorrow,†Lindsay decided almost inaudibly. +“Can you tell me the exact spot?â€</p> + +<p>“I guess I <i>can</i>. Lord knows I’ve got down on +my hands and knees and dusted the legs often +enough. Miss Murray said, though it was soft +wood, it was the oldest piece in the house. She +bought it at some old tavern where they was +having a sale. She said it dated back—long +before Revolutionary times—to Colonial +days.â€</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203'></a>203</span> + +<p>“Could you tell me, I wonder, about the rest +of Miss Murray’s furniture?†Lindsay came +suddenly from out a deep revery. “Do you remember +who bought it? I would like to buy back +all that I can get. I’d like to make the old place +look, as much as possible, as it used to look.â€</p> + +<p>Mrs. Spash flashed him a quick intent look. +Then she meditated. “I think I could probably +tell you where most every piece went. The +Drakes got the Field bed and the ivory-keyhole +bureau and the ivory-keyhole desk; and Miss +Garnet got the elephant and Mis’ Manson got the +gazelles—â€</p> + +<p>“Elephant! Gazelles!†Lindsay interrupted.</p> + +<p>“The gazelles,†Mrs. Spash smiled indulgently. +“Well, it does sound queer, but Miss +Murray used to call those little thin-legged candle +tables that folks use, <i>gazelles</i>. The elephant was +a great high chest of drawers. Mis’ Manson got +the maple gazelles—†She proceeded in what +promised to be an indefinite category.</p> + +<p>“Do you think I could buy any of those things +back?†Lindsay asked after listening patiently to +the end.</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204'></a>204</span> + +<p>“Some of them, I guess. I have a few things +in my attic I’ll sell you—and some I’ll give you. +I’d admire to see them in the old place once +more.â€</p> + +<p>“You must let me buy them all,†Lindsay protested.</p> + +<p>“Well, we’ll see about that,†Mrs. Spash disposed +of this disagreement easily. “Have you +seen the Dew Pond yet?â€</p> + +<p>“The Dew Pond!†Lindsay echoed.</p> + +<p>“The little pond beyond the barn,†Mrs. Spash +explained. Then, as though a great light dawned, +“Oh, of course it’s all so growed up round it +you’d never notice it. Come and I’ll show it to +you.â€</p> + +<p>Lindsay followed her out of the barn. This +was all like a dream, he reflected—but then everything +was like a dream nowadays. He had lived +in a dream for two months now. Mrs. Spash +struck into a path which led beyond the +barn.</p> + +<p>The trail grew narrower and narrower; threatened +after a while to disappear. Lindsay finally +took the lead, broke a path. They came presently +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205'></a>205</span> +on a pond so tiny that it was not a pond at all; +it was a pool. Water-lilies choked it; forget-me-nots +bordered it; high wild roses screened it.</p> + +<p>Lindsay stood looking for a long time into it. +“It’s the Merry Mere of <i>Mary Towle</i>,†he meditated +aloud. Mrs. Spash received this in the uninterrogative +silence with which she had received +other of his confidences. She apparently fell back +easily into the ways of literary folk.</p> + +<p>“I remember now I got a glint of water from +one of the upstairs bedrooms,†Lindsay went on, +“the first time I came into the house. But I +forgot it instantly; and I’ve never noticed it +since.â€</p> + +<p>“Wait a moment!†Mrs. Spash seemed +afraid that he would leave. “There’s something +else.†She attempted to push her way through +the jungle in the direction of the house. For an +instant her progress was easy, then bushes and +vines caught her. Lindsay sprang to her assistance.</p> + +<p>“There’s something here—that was left,†she +panted. “Folks have forgotten all about—†+She dropped explanatory phrases.</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206'></a>206</span> + +<p>Heedless of tearing thorns and piercing +prickers, Lindsay crashed on. Mrs. Spash +watched expectantly.</p> + +<p>“There!†she called with satisfaction.</p> + +<p>On a cairn of rocks, filmed over by years of +exposure to the weather, stood what Lindsay immediately +recognized to be a large old rum-jar. +The sun found exposed spots on its surface, +brought out its rich olive color.</p> + +<p>“After Mr. Lewis died,†Mrs. Spash explained, +“Miss Murray went abroad for a year. +She went to Egypt. She put this here when she +came home. Then you could see it from the +house. The sun shone on it something handsome. +She told me once she went into a temple on the +Nile cut out of the living-rock, where there was +room after room, one right back of the other. In +the last one, there was an altar; and once a year, +the first ray of the rising sun would strike through +all the rooms and lay on that altar. Worn’t that +cute? I allus thought she had that in mind when +she put this here.â€</p> + +<p>Lindsay contemplated the old rum-jar. Mrs. +Spash contemplated him. And suddenly it was as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207'></a>207</span> +though she were looking at Lindsay from a new +point of view.</p> + +<p>Lindsay’s face had changed subtly in the last +two months. The sun of Quinanog had added but +little to the tan and burn with which three years +of flying had crusted it. He was still very handsome. +It was not, however, this comeliness that +Mrs. Spash seemed to be examining. The experiences +at Quinanog had softened the deliberate +stoicism of his look. Rather they had fed some +inner softness; had fired it. His air was now one +of perpetual question. Yet dreams often invaded +his eyes; blurred them; drooped his lips.</p> + +<p>“It’s all unbelievable,†Lindsay suddenly commented, +“I don’t believe it. I don’t believe you. +I don’t believe myself.â€</p> + +<p>Mrs. Spash still kept her eyes fixed on the +young man’s face. Her look had grown piercing.</p> + +<p>“Have you a shovel handy?†she surprisingly +asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes, why?â€</p> + +<p>Mrs. Spash did not answer immediately. He +turned and looked at her. She was still gazing at +him hard; but the light from some long-harbored +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208'></a>208</span> +emotion of her dulled old soul was shining bluely +in her dulled old eyes.</p> + +<p>“I want you should get it,†she ordered +briefly. “There’s something right here,†she +pointed, “that I want you to dig up.â€</p> + +<div class='chapter'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209'></a>209</span> +<a id='VIII'></a> +<p class='cln0'>VIII</p> +</div> + +<p>Susannah let herself lightly down on the tin +roof; it was scarcely a step from her window. +With deliberate caution, she turned and drew the +shade. Then she tiptoed toward the skylight. +The workmen were still soldering; the older man, +with the air of one performing a delicate operation, +lay stretched out flat, holding some kind of +receptacle; the younger was pouring molten lead +from a ladle. Try as she might, she could not +prevent her feet from making a slight tapping on +the tin. The older man glanced sharply up. +“Look out!†called the younger, and he bent +again to his work. Almost running now, she +stepped into the gaping hole of the skylight. The +stairs were very steep—practically a ladder. As +she disappeared from view, she heard a quick +“What the hell!†from the roof above her.</p> + +<p>Susannah hurried forward along a dark passage, +looking for stairs. The passage jutted, became +lighter, went forward again. This must +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210'></a>210</span> +be the point where the shed-addition joined the +main building. She was in the hallway of a dingy, +conventional flat-house, with doors to right and +left. One of these doors opened; a woman in a +faded calico dress looked her over, the glance including +the traveling-bag; then picked up a letter +from the hall-floor, and closed it again. Susannah +found herself controlling an impulse to run. But +no steps sounded behind her—she was not as +yet pursued. And there was the stairway—at the +very front of the house! She descended the two +flights to the entrance. There, for a moment, she +paused. As soon as Warner discovered her +flight, they would be after her. The workmen +would point the way. The street—and quick—was +the only chance. Noiselessly she opened the +door. At the head of the steps leading to the +street, she stopped long enough for a look to right +and left. Only a scattered afternoon crowd—no +Warner, no Byan. An Eighth Avenue tram-car +was ringing its gong violently. On a sudden impulse +of safety, she shot down the steps, ran past +her own door to the corner. An open southbound +car had drawn up, was taking on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211'></a>211</span> +passengers. She reached it just as the conductor was +about to give the forward signal, and was almost +jerked off her feet as she stepped onto the platform. +Steadying herself, she looked, in the brief +moment afforded by the bumpy crossing of the +car, down the side street.</p> + +<p>The entrances of her own house at the corner, +the entrances to the house she had just left, were +blank and undisturbed; no one was following her. +She paid her fare, and settled down on the end +of a cross-seat.</p> + +<p>And now she was aware not of relief or reaction +or fear, but solely of her headache. It had +changed in character. It had become a furious +internal bombardment of her brows. If she +turned her eyes to right or left, she seemed to be +dragging weights across the front of her brain. +Yet this headache did not seem quite a part of +herself. It was as though she knew, by a supernormal +sensitiveness, the symptoms of someone +else. It was as though suddenly she had become +two people. Anyway, it had ceased to be personal. +And somewhere else within her head was +growing a delicious feeling of freedom, of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212'></a>212</span> +lightness, of escape from a wheel. Her evasion of +the Carbonado Mining Company did not account +for all that; she felt free from everything. “I’m +not going to take any more rooms,†she said to +herself. “I’m going to sleep out of doors now, +like the birds. People find you when you take +rooms. Where shall I begin?†She considered; +and then one of those little hammers of intuition +seemed to tap on her brain. Again, she did not +resist. “Why, Washington Square of course!†+she said to herself.</p> + +<p>The car was threading now the narrow ways +of Greenwich Village. It stopped; Susannah +stepped off. The rest seemed for a long time to +be just wandering. But that curious sense of duality +had vanished. She was one person again. She +did not find Washington Square easily; but then, +it made no difference whether she ever found it. +For New York and the world were so amusing +when once you were free! You could laugh at +everything—the passing crowds, surging as +though business really mattered; the Carbonado +Mining Company; the grisly old fool in their +toils, and Susannah Ayer. You could laugh even +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213'></a>213</span> +at the climate—for sometimes it seemed very hot, +which was right in summer, and sometimes cold, +which wasn’t right at all. You could laugh at the +headache, when it tied ridiculous knots in your +forehead. There was the Arch—Washington +Square at last.</p> + +<p>But it wasn’t time to sleep in Washington +Square yet. The birds hadn’t gone to bed. Sparrows +were still pecking and squabbling along the +borders of the flower-beds. Besides, New York +was still flowing, on its homeward surge from office +and workshop, down the paths. Susannah +sat down on a bench and considered. She had a +disposition to stay there—why was she so weak? +Oh, of course she hadn’t eaten. People always +had dinner before going to bed. She must eat—and +she had money. She shook out her pocketbook +into her lap. A ten-dollar bill, a one-dollar +bill, and some small change. She must dine gloriously—free +creatures always did that when they +had money. Besides, she was never going to pay +any more room rent. Susannah rose, strolled up +Fifth Avenue. The crowd was thinning out. +That was pleasant, too. She disliked to get out +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214'></a>214</span> +of the way of people. She was crossing Twenty-third +Street now; and now she was before the correct, +white façade of the Hague House. A +proper and expensive place for dinner.</p> + +<p>Susannah found it very hard to speak to the +waiter. It was like talking to someone through a +partition. It seemed difficult even to move her +lips; they felt wooden.</p> + +<p>“A petite marmite, please; then I’ll see what +more I want,†she heard herself saying at last.</p> + +<p>But when the petite marmite came, steaming in +its big, red casserole, she found herself quite disinclined +to eat—almost unable to eat. She managed +only two or three mouthfuls of the broth; +then dallied with the beef. Perhaps it was because +instantly—and for no reason whatever—she +had become two people again. Perhaps it +was because she had been drinking so much ice-water. +It couldn’t be because H. Withington +Warner was sitting at the next table to the right. +It couldn’t be that—because she had told him, +when first she saw him sitting there, that she was +no longer afraid of the Carbonado Company. +And indeed, when she turned to the left and saw +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215'></a>215</span> +him sitting there also—when by degrees she discovered +that there was one of him at every table +in the room, she thought of Alice in the Trial +Scene in Wonderland, and became as contemptuous +as Alice. “After all,†she said, “you’re +only a pack of cards.â€</p> + +<p>With a flourish, the waiter set the dinner-card +before her, asking: “What will you have next, +Madame?†Oh yes, she was dining!</p> + +<p>“I think I can’t eat any more—the bill, please,†+she heard one of her selves saying. That self, she +discovered, took calm cognizance of everything +about her; listened to conversation. As the +waiter turned his back, that half of her saw that +Mr. Warner wasn’t there any more; neither at +the table on her right, nor anywhere. But when +she had paid the bill, tipped, and risen to go, the +other self discovered that he was back again at +every table; and that with every Warner was a +Byan and an O’Hearn. “I am snapping my +fingers at them, though nobody sees it,†she said +to both her selves. “I can’t imagine how they +ever troubled me so much. They don’t know +what I’m doing! I’m sleeping out of doors; they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216'></a>216</span> +can find me only in rooms!†As though staggered +by her complete composure, not one of this +triplicate multitude of enemies followed her outside.</p> + +<p>“Now I’ll go to Washington Square,†she said, +realizing that her personalities had merged again. +“The birds must be in bed.†She took a bus; +and sank into languor and that curious, impersonal +headache until the conductor, calling +“All out,†at the south terminus, recalled to her +that she was going somewhere. “I must have +been asleep,†she thought. “Isn’t this a wonderful +world?â€</p> + +<p>The long, early summer twilight was just beginning +to draw about the world. The day lingered +though—in an exquisite luminousness. All +around her the city was grappling tentatively with +oncoming dusk. On a few of the passing limousines, +the front lamps struck a garish note. Near, +the Fifth Avenue lights were like slowly burning +bonfires in the trees; in the distance, seemingly +suspended by chains so delicate that they were invisible, +they diminished to pots of gold. The six-o’clock +rush had long ago ceased. Now everyone +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217'></a>217</span> +sauntered; for everyone was freshly caparisoned +for the wonderful night glories of midsummer +Manhattan.</p> + +<p>Susannah sat down on a bench in Washington +Square and surveyed this free world. Though +her eyes burned, they saw crystal-clear. All about +her Italian-town mixed democratically with Greenwich +Village; made contrasting color and noise. +Fat Italian mothers, snatching the post-sunset +breezes, chattered from bench to bench while +they nursed babies. On other benches, lovers +clasped hands. Children played over the grass. +The birds twittered and the trees murmured. +Every color darted pricklingly distinct to Susannah’s +avid eyes, burning and heavy though it +was. Every sound came distinct to her avid ears, +though it sounded through a ringing.</p> + +<p>The Fifth Avenue busses were clumping and +lumbering in swift succession to their stopping-places. +How much, Susannah thought, they +looked like prehistoric beetles; colossally big; +armored to an incredible hardness and polish. +And, already, roped-off crowds of people were patiently +waiting upstairs seats. As each bus +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218'></a>218</span> +stopped, there came momentary scramble and +confusion until inside and out they filled up. She +watched this process for a long, long time.</p> + +<p>“I can’t go to sleep yet,†she said to herself +finally, “the people won’t let me. One can’t sleep +in this wonderful world. Where does one go +after dinner? Oh, to the theater, of course! On +Broadway!†She found herself drifting, happily +though languorously, through the arch and northward.</p> + +<p>Twilight had settled down; had become dusk; +had become night. New York was so brilliant +that it almost hurt. It was deep dusk and yet the +atmosphere was like a purple river flowing between +stiff cañon-like buildings. Everywhere in +that purple river glittered golden lights. And, +floating through it, were mermaids and mermen +of an extreme beauty. Susannah passed from +Fifth Avenue to Broadway. She stopped under +one of the most brilliant palace-fronts of light, +and bought a ticket in the front row. The curtain +was just rising on the second act of a musical +comedy. Susannah would have been hazy about +the plot anyway, for the simple reason that there +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219'></a>219</span> +was no plot. But tonight she was peculiarly hazy, +because she enjoyed the dancing so much that she +became oblivious to everything else. Indeed, at +times she seemed to be dancing with the dancers. +The illusion was so complete that she grew dizzy; +and clung to the arm of her seat. She did not +want to divide into two people again.</p> + +<p>After a while, though, this sensation disappeared +in a more intriguing one. For suddenly +she discovered that the audience consisted entirely +of her and the Carbonado Mining Company. H. +Withington Warners, by the hundred, filled the +orchestra seats. Byans, by the score, filled the +balcony. O’Hearns, by the dozen, filled the gallery. +But this did not perturb her. “You’re only +a pack of cards,†she accused them mentally. +And she stayed to the very end.</p> + +<p>“I thought so,†she remarked contemptuously +as she turned to go out. For the Carbonado Mining +Company had vanished into thin air. She +was the only real person who left the theater.</p> + +<p>When she came out on the street again, her +headache had stopped and the languor was over. +There was a beautiful lightness to her whole +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220'></a>220</span> +body. That lightness impelled her to walk with +the crowd. But—she suddenly discovered—she +was not walking. She was <i>floating</i>. She even +flew—only she did not rise very high. She kept +an even level, about a foot above the pavement; +but at that height she was like a feather. And in +a wink—how this extraordinary division happened, +she could not guess—she was two people +once more.</p> + +<p>New York was again blooming; but this time +with its transient, vivacious after-the-theater +vividness. Crowds were pouring up; pouring +down, deflecting into side streets; emerging from +side streets. Everywhere was light. Taxicabs and +motors raced and spun and backed and turned; +they churned, sizzled, spluttered, and foamed—scattering +light. Tram-cars, the low-set, armored +cruisers of Broadway, flashed smoothly past, +overbrimming with light. The tops of the buildings +held great congregations of dancing stars. +Light poured down their sides.</p> + +<p>Susannah floated with the strong main current +of the crowd up Broadway and then, with a side +current, a little down Broadway. Eddies took +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221'></a>221</span> +her into Forty-second Street, and whirled her +back. And all the time she was in the crowd, but +not of it—she was above it. She was looking +down on people—she could see the tops of their +heads. Susannah kept chuckling over an extraordinary +truth she discovered.</p> + +<p>“I must remember to tell Glorious Lutie,†she +said to herself, “how few people ever brush their +hats.â€</p> + +<p>While one self was noting this amusing fact, +however, the other was listening to conversations; +the snatches of talk that drifted up to her.</p> + +<p>“Let’s go to a midnight show somewhere,†+a peevish wife-voice suggested.</p> + +<p>“No, <i>sir</i>!†a gruff husband-voice answered. +“Li’l’ ole beddo looks pretty good to muh. I +can’t hit the hay too soon.â€</p> + +<p>“What’s Broadway got on Market Street?†+a blithe boy’s voice demanded. “Take the view +from Twin Peaks at night. Why, it has Broadway +beat forty ways from the jack.â€</p> + +<p>“I’ll say so!†a girl’s voice agreed.</p> + +<p>Theaters were empty now, but restaurants were +filling. In an incredibly short time, this +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222'></a>222</span> +phantasmagoria of movement, this kaleidoscope of +color, this hurly-burly of sound had shattered, +melted, fallen to silence. People disappeared as +though by magic from the street; now there were +great gaps of sidewalk where nobody appeared. +Susannah—both of her, because now she seemed +to have become two people permanently—felt +lonely. She quickened her pace, her floating +rather, to catch up with a figure ahead. It was +a girl, just an everyday girl, in a white linen suit +and a white sailor hat topping a mass of black +hair. She carried a handbag. Susannah found +herself following, step by step, behind this girl +whose face she had as yet not seen. She was +floating; yet every time she tried to see the top +of that sailor hat her vision became blurred. It +was annoying; but this stealthy pursuit was pleasant, +somehow—satisfying.</p> + +<p>“They’ve been shadowing me,†said Susannah +to herself. “Now I’m shadowing. I’ve helped +the Carbonado Company to rob orphans. I’m +going to break my promise to go to Jamaica tomorrow. +Isn’t it glorious to float and be a +criminal!â€</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223'></a>223</span> + +<p>So she followed westward on Forty-second +Street and reached the Public Library corner of +Fifth Avenue, which stretched now deserted except +where knots of people awaited the omnibusses. +Such a knot had gathered on that corner. +Suddenly the girl in white raised her hand, waved; +a woman in a light-blue summer evening gown answered +her signal from the crowd; they ran toward +each other. They were going to have a +talk. Susannah floated toward them. The air-currents +made her a little wabbly—but wasn’t it +fun, eavesdropping and caring not the least bit +about manners!</p> + +<p>“My train doesn’t start until one,†said the +white linen suit. “It’s no use going back to my +room—the night is so hot. I’ve been to the +Summer Garden, and I’m killing time.â€</p> + +<p>“Oh,†asked blue dress, “did you sublet your +room?â€</p> + +<p>“No,†said the white linen suit, “I’ll be gone +for only a month, and I decided it wasn’t worth +while. I’ll have it all ready when I get back. +I’ve even left the key under the rug in the +hall.â€</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224'></a>224</span> + +<p>“I wouldn’t ever do that!†came the voice of +the blue dress.</p> + +<p>“Well,†said the linen suit, “you know <i>me</i>! I +always lose keys. I’m convinced that when I get +to Boston, I shan’t have my trunk key! And +there isn’t much to steal.â€</p> + +<p>“Still, I’d feel nervous if I were you.â€</p> + +<p>“I don’t see why. Nobody stays up on the +top floor, where I am—that is, in the summer. +All the other rooms are in one apartment, and the +young man who lives there has been away for +ages. The people on the ground floor own the +house. I get the room for almost nothing by +taking care of it and the hall. I haven’t seen +anyone else on the floor since the man in the +apartment went away. That’s why I love the +place—you feel so independent!â€</p> + +<p>“I think I know the house,†said blue dress. +“The old house with the fanlight entrance, isn’t +it? Mary Merle used to have a ducky little flat +on the second floor, didn’t she?â€</p> + +<p>“Yes—Number Fifty-seven and a Half—â€</p> + +<p>Susannah was floating down the Avenue now. +But floating with more difficulty. Why was there +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225'></a>225</span> +effort about floating? And why did she keep repeating, +“Number Fifty-seven and a Half, Washington +Square, top floor, key under the rug?â€</p> + +<p>She met few people. A policeman stared at her +for a moment, then turned indifferently away. +How surprising that her floating made no impression +upon him! But then, there was no law +against floating! Once she drifted past H. Withington +Warner, who was staring into a shop window. +He did not see her. Susannah had to +inhibit her chuckles when, floating a foot above +his head, she realized for the first time that he +dyed his hair. Why could she see that? He +should have his hat on—or was she seeing +through his hat?</p> + +<p>She was passing under the arch into Washington +Square. But she wasn’t floating any longer. +She was dragging weights; she was wading +through something like tar, which clung to her +feet. She was coughing violently. She had been +coughing for a long time. Night in New York +was no longer beautiful; glorious. Tragic horrors +were rasping in her head. There was +Warner. And there was Byan. She could not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226'></a>226</span> +snap her fingers at them now.... But she +knew how to get away from them ... she must +rest....</p> + +<p>She cut off a segment of Washington Square, +looking for a number. There was a fanlight; +and, plain in the street lamps, seeming for a moment +the only object in the world, the number +“Fifty-seven and a Half.†The outer door gave +to her touch. A dim point of gaslight burned in +the hall. She floated again for a minute as she +mounted the stairs.... She was before a door.... +She was on her hands and knees fumbling +under the rug.... She was dragging herself up +by the door-knob....</p> + +<p>The key opened the door.</p> + +<p>Light, streaming from somewhere in the backyard +areas, illuminated a wide white bed.</p> + +<p>“I am sick, Glorious Lutie—I think I am very +sick,†said Susannah. “Watch me, won’t you? +Keep Warner out!†Fumbling in the bag, she +drew out the miniature, set it up against the +mirror on the bureau beside the bed—just where +she could see it plainly in the shaft of light.</p> + +<p>She locked the door. She lay down.</p> + +<div class='chapter'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227'></a>227</span> +<a id='IX'></a> +<p class='cln0'>IX</p> +</div> + +<p>Lindsay sat in the big living-room beside the +refectory table. Mrs. Spash moved about the +room dusting; setting its scanty furnishings to +rights. On the long table before him was set out +a series of tiny villages, some Chinese, some +Japanese: little pink or green-edged houses in +white porcelain; little thatched-roofed houses in +brown adobe; pagodas; bridges; pavilions. +Dozens of tiny figures, some on mules, others on +foot, and many loaded with burdens walked the +streets. A bit of looking-glass, here and there, +made ponds. Ducks floated on them, and boats; +queer Oriental-looking skiffs, manned by tiny, +half-clad sailors; Chinese junks. In neighboring +pastures, domestic animals grazed. Roosters, +hens, chickens grouped in back areas.</p> + +<p>“That’s just what Miss Murray used to do,†+Mrs. Spash observed. “She’d play with them toys +for hours at a time. And of course Cherry loved +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228'></a>228</span> +them more than anything in the house. That’s +the reason I stole them and buried them.â€</p> + +<p>“How did you manage that exactly?†Lindsay +asked.</p> + +<p>“Oh, that was easy enough,†Mrs. Spash confessed +cheerfully. “Between Miss Murray’s +death and the auction, I was here a lot, fixing +up. They all trusted me, of course. Those toys +was all set out in little villages by the Dew Pond. +Nobody knew that they were there. So I just +did them up in tissue paper and put them in that +big tin box and hid them in the bushes. One +night late I came back and buried them. Folks +didn’t think of them for a long time after the +auction. You see, nobody had touched them during +Miss Murray’s illness. And when they did +remember them, they thought they had disappeared +during the sale.†Mrs. Spash paused a +moment. Her face assumed an expression of extreme +disapproval. “Other things disappeared +during the sale,†she accused, lowering her voice.</p> + +<p>“Who took them?†Lindsay asked.</p> + +<p>All the caution of the Yankee appeared in Mrs. +Spash’s voice. “I don’t know as I’d like to say, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229'></a>229</span> +because it isn’t a thing anybody can prove. I +have my suspicions though.â€</p> + +<p>Lindsay did not continue these inquiries.</p> + +<p>“Where did Miss Murray get all these toys?â€</p> + +<p>“Well, a lot of ’em came from China. Miss +Murray had a great-uncle who was a sea-captain. +He used to go on them long whaling voyages. +He brought them to her different times. Miss +Murray had played with them when she was a +child, and so she liked to have little Cherry play +with them. Sometimes they’d all go out to the +Dew Pond—Miss Murray, Mr. Monroe, Mr. +Gale, Mr. Lewis, and spend a whole afternoon +laying them out in little towns—jess about as +you’ve got ’em there. There was two little places +on the shore that Miss Murray had all cut down, +so’s the bushes wouldn’t be too tall. They useter +call the pond the Pacific Ocean. One of them +cleared places was the China coast and the other +the Japanese coast. They’d stay there for hours, +floating little boats back and forth from China +to Japan. And how they’d laugh! I useter listen +to their voices coming through the window. But +then, the house was always full of laughter. It +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230'></a>230</span> +began at seven o’clock in the morning, when they +got up, and it never stopped until—after midnight +sometimes—when they went to bed. Oh, it +was such a gay place in those days.â€</p> + +<p>Lindsay arose and stretched. But the stretching +did not seem so much an expression of fatigue +or drowsiness as the demand of his spirit for immediate +activity of some sort. He sat down +again instantly. Under his downcast lids, his +eyes were bright. “These walls are soaked with +laughter,†he remarked.</p> + +<p>“Yes,†Mrs. Spash seemed to understand. +“But there was tears too and plenty of them—in +the last years.â€</p> + +<p>“I suppose there were,†Lindsay agreed. He +did not speak for a moment; nor did Mrs. Spash. +There came a silence so concentrated that the +sunlight poured into it tangible gold. Then, outside +a thick white cloud caught the sun in its +woolly net. The world gloomed again.</p> + +<p>“She’s sad still,†Lindsay dropped in absent +comment.</p> + +<p>“Yes,†Mrs. Spash agreed.</p> + +<p>“I wonder what she wants?†Lindsay +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231'></a>231</span> +addressed this to himself. His voice was so low +that perhaps Mrs. Spash did not hear it. At any +rate she made no answer.</p> + +<p>Another silence came.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Spash finished her dusting. But she +lingered. Lindsay still sat at the table; but his +eyes had left the little villages arranged there. +They went through the door and gazed out into +the brilliant patch of sunlight on the grass. +There spread under his eyes a narrow stretch of +lawn, all sun-touched velvet; beyond a big crescent +of garden. Low-growing zinnias in futuristic +colors, high phlox in pastel colors; higher, Canterbury +bells, deep blue; highest of all, hollyhocks, +wine red. Beyond stretched further expanses of +lawn. One tall, wide wine-glass elm spread a perfect +circle of emerald shade. One low, thick +copper-beech dropped an irregular splotch of +luminous shadow. Beyond all this ran the gray, +lichened stone wall. And beyond the stone wall +came unredeemed jungle. Mrs. Spash began, all +over again, to dust and to arrange the scanty furniture. +After a while she spoke.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Lindsay—â€</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232'></a>232</span> + +<p>Lindsay started abruptly.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Lindsay—that time you fainted when +you first saw me, setting out there on the door-stone, +you remember—?â€</p> + +<p>Lindsay nodded.</p> + +<p>“Well, who was you expecting to see?â€</p> + +<p>Lindsay, alert now as a wire spring, turned on +her, not his eyes alone, nor his head; but his whole +body. Mrs. Spash was looking straight at him. +Their glances met midway. The old eyes +pierced the young eyes with an intent scrutiny. +The young eyes stabbed the old eyes with an intense +interrogation. Lindsay did not answer her +question directly. Instead he laughed.</p> + +<p>“I guess I don’t have to answer you,†he declared. +“I had seen her often then.... I +had seen the others too.... I don’t know why +<i>you</i> should have frightened me when <i>they</i> didn’t.... +I think it was that I wasn’t expecting anything +human.... I’ve seen them since.... +They never frighten me.â€</p> + +<p>Mrs. Spash’s reply was simple enough. “I +see them all the time.†She added, with a delicate +lilt of triumph, “I’ve seen them for years—â€</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233'></a>233</span> + +<p>Lindsay continued to look at her—and now +his gaze was somber; even a little despairing. +“What do they want? What does <i>she</i> +want?â€</p> + +<p>Mrs. Spash’s reply came instantly, although +there were pauses in her words. “I don’t know. +I’ve tried.... I can’t make out.†She accompanied +these simple statements with a reinforcing +decisive nod of her little head.</p> + +<p>“I can’t guess either—I can’t conjecture— There’s +something she wants me to do. She can’t +tell me. And they’re trying to help her tell me. +All except the little girl—â€</p> + +<p>“Do you see the little girl?†Mrs. Spash demanded. +“Well, I declare! That’s very queer, +I must say. I never see Cherry.â€</p> + +<p>“I wish I saw her oftener,†Lindsay laughed +ruefully. “<i>She</i> doesn’t ask anything of me. +She’s just herself. But the others—Gale—Monroe— My +God! It’s killing me!†He +laughed again, and this time with a real amusement.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Spash interrupted his laughter. “Do you +see Mr. Monroe?†she asked in a pleased tone. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234'></a>234</span> +“Well, I declare! Aren’t you the fortunate creature. +I never see <i>him</i>!â€</p> + +<p>“All the time,†Lindsay answered shortly. +“If I could only get it. I feel so stupid, so incredibly +gross and lumbering and heavy. I’d do +anything—â€</p> + +<p>He arose and walked over to the picture of +Lutetia Murray which still hung above the fireplace. +He stared at her hard. “I’d do anything +for her, if I could only find out what it was.â€</p> + +<p>“Yes,†Mrs. Spash admitted dispassionately, +“that’s the thing everybody felt about her, they’d +do anything for her. Not that she ever asked +them to do anything—â€</p> + +<p>Lindsay began to pace the length of the long +room. “What is happening? Has the old ramshackle +time-machine finally broken a spring so +that, in this last revolution, it hauls, out of the +past, these pictures of two decades ago? Or is +it that there are superimposed one on the other +two revolving worlds—theirs and ours—and +<i>theirs</i> or <i>ours</i> has stopped an instant, so that I +can glance into <i>theirs</i>? I feel as though I were +in the dark of a camera obscura gazing into their +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235'></a>235</span> +brightness. Or have those two years in the air +permanently broken my psychology; so that +through that rift I shall always have the power to +look into strange worlds? Or am I just piercing +another dimension?â€</p> + +<p>Mrs. Spash had been following him with her +faded, calm old eyes. Apparently she guessed +these questions were not addressed to her. She +kept silence.</p> + +<p>“I’ve racked my brain. I lie awake nights and +tear the universe to pieces. I outguess guessing +and outconjecture conjecture. My thoughts fly to +the end of space. My wonder invades the very +citadel of fancy. My surmises storm the last outpost +of reality. But it beats me. I can’t get it.†+Lindsay stopped. Mrs. Spash made no comment. +Apparently her twenty years’ training among +artists had prepared her for monologues of this +sort. She listened; but it was obvious that she did +not understand; did not expect to understand.</p> + +<p>“Does she want me to stay <i>here</i> or go <i>there</i>?†+Lindsay demanded of the air. “If <i>here</i>, what +does she want me to do? If <i>there</i>—where is +<i>there</i>? If <i>there</i>, what does she want me to do +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236'></a>236</span> +<i>there</i>? Is her errand concerned with the living +or the dead? If the living, who? If the dead, +who? Where to find them? How to find them?†+He turned his glowing eyes on Mrs. Spash. “I +only know two things. She wants me to do something. +She wants me to do it soon. Oh, I suppose +I know another thing— If I don’t do it +soon, it will be too late.â€</p> + +<p>Mrs. Spash was still following him with her +placid, blue, old gaze. “There, there!†she said +soothingly. “Now don’t you get too excited, Mr. +Lindsay. It’ll all come to you.â€</p> + +<p>“But how—†Lindsay objected. “And +when—â€</p> + +<p>“I don’t know—but she’ll tell you somehow. +She’s cute— She’s awful cute. You mark my +words, she’ll find a way.â€</p> + +<p>“That’s the reason I don’t have you in the +house yet, Mrs. Spash,†Lindsay explained.</p> + +<p>“Oh, you don’t have to tell me that,†Mrs. +Spash announced, triumphant because of her own +perspicuity.</p> + +<p>“It’s only that I have a feeling that she can +do it more easily if we’re alone. That’s why I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237'></a>237</span> +send you home at night. She comes oftenest in +the evening when I’m alone. They all do. Oh, +it’s quite a procession some nights. They come +one after another, all trying—†He paused. +“Sometimes this room is so full of their torture +that I— You know, it all began before I came +here. It began in an apartment in New York. +It was in Jeffrey Lewis’ old rooms. He tried to +tell me first, you see.â€</p> + +<p>“Did you see Mr. Lewis there?†Mrs. Spash +asked this as casually as though she had said, +“Has the postman been here this morning?†+She added, “I see him here.â€</p> + +<p>“No, I didn’t see him,†Lindsay explained +grimly, “but I felt him. And, believe me, I +knew he was there. He was the only one of the +lot that frightened me. I wouldn’t have been +frightened if I had seen him. It was he, really, +who sent me here. I work it out that he couldn’t +get it over and he sent me to Lutetia because he +thought she could. I wonder—†he stopped +short. This explanation came as though something +had flashed electrically through his mind. +But he did not pursue that wonder.</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238'></a>238</span> + +<p>“Well, don’t you get discouraged,†Mrs. Spash +reiterated. “You mark my words, she’ll manage +to say what she’s got to say.â€</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s time I went to work,†Lindsay remarked +a little listlessly. “After all, the life +of Lutetia Murray must get finished. Oh, by +the way, Mrs. Spash,†Lindsay veered as though +remembering suddenly something he had forgotten, +“do other people see them?â€</p> + +<p>“No—at least I never heard tell that they +did.â€</p> + +<p>“How did the rumor get about that the place +was haunted, then?â€</p> + +<p>“I spread it,†Mrs. Spash explained. “I +didn’t want folks breaking in to see if there was +anything to steal. And I didn’t want them poking +about the place.â€</p> + +<p>“How did you spread it?â€</p> + +<p>“I told children,†Mrs. Spash said simply. +“Less than a month, folks were seeing all kinds of +ridic’lous ghosts here. Nobody likes to go by +alone at night.â€</p> + +<p>“It’s a curious thing,†Lindsay reverted to his +main theme, “that I know her message has +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239'></a>239</span> +nothing to do with this biography. I don’t know how +I know it; but I do. Of course, that would be the +first thing a man would think of. It is something +more instant, more acute. It beats me altogether. +All I can do is wait.â€</p> + +<p>“Now don’t you think any more about it, Mr. +Lindsay,†Mrs. Spash advised. “You go upstairs +and set to work. I’m going to get you up +the best lunch today you’ve had yet.â€</p> + +<p>“That’s the dope,†Lindsay agreed. “The +only way to take a man’s mind off his troubles is +to give him a good dinner. You’ll have to work +hard, though, Eunice Spash, to beat your own +record.â€</p> + +<p>Lindsay arose and sauntered into the front hall +and up the stairs. He turned into the room at +the right which he had reserved for work, now +that Mrs. Spash was on the premises. At this +moment, it was flooded with sunlight.... A +faint odor of the honeysuckle vine at the corner +seemed to emanate from the light itself....</p> + +<p>Instantly ... he realized ... that the +room was not empty.</p> + +<p>Lindsay became feverishly active. Eyes down, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240'></a>240</span> +he mechanically shuffled his papers. He collected +yesterday’s written manuscript, brought the edges +down on the table in successive clicks, until they +made an even, rectangular pile. He laid his +pencils out in a row. He changed the point in +his penholder. He moved the ink-bottle. But +this availed his spirit nothing. “I am incredibly +stupid,†he said aloud. His voice was low, but it +rang as hollowly as though he were from another +world. “If you could only speak to me. Can’t +you speak to me?â€</p> + +<p>He did not raise his eyes. But he waited for a +long interval, during which the silence in the room +became so heavy and cold that it almost blotted +out the sunlight.</p> + +<p>“But have patience with me. I want to serve +you. Oh, you don’t know how I want to serve +you. I give you my word, I’ll get it sometime and +I think not too late. I’ll kill myself if I don’t. +I’m putting all I am and all I have into trying to +understand. Don’t give me up. It’s only because +I’m flesh and blood.â€</p> + +<p>He stopped and raised his eyes.</p> + +<p>The room was empty.</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241'></a>241</span> + +<p>That afternoon Lindsay took a walk so long, +so devil-driven that he came back streaming perspiration +from every pore. Mrs. Spash regarded +him with a glance in which disapproval struggled +with sympathy. “I don’t know as you’d ought to +wear yourself out like that, Mr. Lindsay. Later, +perhaps you’ll need all your strength—â€</p> + +<p>“Very likely you’re right, Mrs. Spash,†Lindsay +agreed. “But I’ve been trying to work it +out.â€</p> + +<p>Mrs. Spash left as usual at about seven. By +nine, the last remnant of the long twilight, a collaboration +of midsummer with daylight-saving, +had disappeared. Lindsay lighted his lamp and +sat down with Lutetia’s poems. The room was +peculiarly cheerful. The beautiful Murray sideboard, +recently discovered and recovered, held its +accustomed place between the two windows. The +old Murray clock, a little ship swinging back and +forth above its brass face, ticked in the corner. +The old whale-oil lamps had resumed their stand, +one at either end of the mantel. Old pieces, old +though not Lutetia’s—they were gone irretrievably—bits +picked up here and there, made the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242'></a>242</span> +deep sea-shell corner cabinet brilliant with the +color of old china, glimmery with the shine of old +pewter, sparkly with the glitter of old glass. +Many chairs—windsors, comb-backs, a Boston +rocker—filled the empty spaces with an old-time +flavor. In traditional places, high old glasses held +flowers. The single anachronism was the big, +nickel, green-shaded student lamp.</p> + +<p>Lindsay needed rest, but he could not go to bed. +He knew perfectly well that he was exhausted, but +he knew equally well that he was not drowsy. His +state of mind was abnormal. Perhaps the three +large cups of jet-black coffee that he had drunk at +dinner helped in this matter. But whatever the +cause, he was conscious of every atom of this exaggerated +spiritual alertness; of the speed with +which his thoughts drove; of the almost insupportable +mental clarity through which they shot.</p> + +<p>“If this keeps up,†he meditated, “it’s no use +my going to bed at all tonight. I could not possibly +sleep.â€</p> + +<p>He found Lutetia’s poems agreeable solace at +this moment. They contained no anodyne for his +restlessness; but at least they did not increase it. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243'></a>243</span> +Her poetry had not been considered successful, but +Lindsay liked it. It was erratic in meter; irregular +in rhythm. But at times it astounded him with a +delicate precision of expression; at moments it +surprised him with an opulence of fancy. He read +on and on—</p> + +<p>Suddenly that mental indicator—was it a +flutter of his spirit or merely a lowering of the +spiritual temperature?—apprised him that he was +not alone.... But as usual, after he realized +that his privacy had been invaded, he continued to +read; his gaze caught, as though actually tied, by +the print.... After a while he shut the +book.... But he still sat with his hand clutching +it, one finger marking the place.... He +did not lift his eyes when he spoke....</p> + +<p>“Tell the others to go,†he demanded.</p> + +<p style="font-size:smaller"> </p> + +<p>After a while he arose. He did not move to +the other end of the room nor did he glance once +in that direction. But on his side, he paced up and +down with a stern, long-strided prowl. He spoke +aloud.</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244'></a>244</span> + +<p>“Listen to me!†His tone was peremptory. +“We’ve got to understand each other tonight. I +can’t endure it any longer; for I know as well as +you that the time is getting short. You can’t speak +to me. But I can speak to you. Lutetia, you’ve +got to outdo yourself tonight. You must give me +a sign. Do you understand? You <i>must</i> show me. +Now summon all that you have of strength, whatever +it is, to give me that sign—do you understand, +<i>all you have</i>. Listen! Whatever it is that +you want me to do, it isn’t here. I know that +now. I know it because I’ve been here two +months— Whatever it is, it must be put through +somewhere else. An idea came to me this morning. +I spent all the afternoon thinking it out. +Maybe I’ve got a clue. It all started in New +York. <i>He</i> tried to get it to me there. Listen! +Tell me! Quick! Quick! Quick! Do you want +me to go to New York?â€</p> + +<p>The answer was instantaneous. As though +some giant hand had seized the house in its grip, +it shook. Shook for an infinitesimal fraction of +an instant. Almost, it seemed to Lindsay, walls +quivered; panes rattled; shutters banged, doors +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245'></a>245</span> +slammed. And yet in the next infinitesimal +fraction of that instant he knew that he +had heard no tangible sound. Something more +exquisite than sound had filled that unmeasurable +interval with shattering, deafening confusion.</p> + +<p>Lindsay turned with a sharp wheel; glared into +the dark of the other side of the room.</p> + +<p style="font-size:smaller"> </p> + +<p>Lindsay dashed upstairs to his desk. There +he found a time-table. The ten-fifteen from +Quinanog would give him ample time to catch the +midnight to New York. He might not be able +to get a sleeping berth; but the thing he needed +least, at that moment, was sleep. In fact, he +would rather sit up all night. He flung a few +things into his suitcase; dashed off a note to Mrs. +Spash. In an incredibly short time, he was striding +over the two miles of road which led to the +station.</p> + +<p>There happened to be an unreserved upper +berth. It was a superfluous luxury as far as Lindsay +was concerned. He lay in it during what remained +of the night, his eyes shut but his spirit +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246'></a>246</span> +more wakeful than he had ever known it. +“Every revolution of these wheels,†he said once +to himself, “brings me nearer to it, whatever it +is.†He arose early; was the first to invade the +washroom; the first to step off the train; the first +to leap into a taxicab. He gave the address of +Spink’s apartments to the driver. “Get there +faster than you can!†he ordered briefly. The +man looked at him—and then proceeded to break +the speed law.</p> + +<p>Washington Square was hardly awake when +they churned up to the sidewalk. Lindsay let himself +in the door; bounded lightly up the two +flights of stairs; unlocked the door of Spink’s +apartment. Everything was silent there. The +dust of two months of vacancy lay on the furnishings. +Lindsay stood in the center of the room, +contemplating the door which led backward into +the rest of the apartment.</p> + +<p>“Well, old top, <i>you’re</i> not going to trouble me +any longer. I get that with my first breath. I’ve +done what <i>she</i> wanted and what <i>you</i> wanted so +far. Now what in the name of heaven is the next +move?â€</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247'></a>247</span> + +<p>He stood in the center of the room waiting, +listening.</p> + +<p>And then into his hearing, stretched to its final +capacity, came sound. Just <i>sound</i> at first; then +a dull murmur. Lindsay’s hair rose with a +prickling progress from his scalp. But that murmur +was human. It continued.</p> + +<p>Lindsay went to the door, opened it, and +stepped out into the hall. The murmur grew +louder. It was a woman’s voice; a girl’s voice; +unmistakably the voice of youth. It came from +the little room next to Spink’s apartment.</p> + +<p>Again Lindsay listened. The monotone broke; +grew jagged; grew shrill; became monotonous +again. Suddenly the truth dawned on him. It +was the voice of madness or of delirium.</p> + +<p>He advanced to the door and knocked. Nobody +answered. The monotone continued. He +knocked again. Nobody answered. The monotone +continued. He tried the knob. The door was +locked. With his hand still on the knob, he put +his shoulder to the door; gave it a slow resistless +pressure. It burst open.</p> + +<p>It was a small room and furnished with the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248'></a>248</span> +conventional furnishings of a bedroom. Lindsay saw +but two things in it. One was a girl, sitting up in +the bed in the corner; a beautiful slim creature +with streaming loose red hair; her cheeks vivid +with fever spots; her eyes brilliant with fever-light. +It was she who emitted the monotone.</p> + +<p>The other thing was a miniature, standing +against the glass on the bureau. A miniature of a +beautiful woman in the full lusciousness of a +golden blonde maturity.</p> + +<p>The woman of the miniature was Lutetia +Murray.</p> + +<p>The girl—</p> + +<div class='chapter'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249'></a>249</span> +<a id='X'></a> +<p class='cln0'>X</p> +</div> + +<p>She felt that the room was full of sunshine. +Even through her glued-down lids she caught the +darting dazzle of it. She knew that the air was +full of bird voices. Even through her drowse-filmed +ears, she caught the singing sound of them. +She would like to lift her lids. She would like to +wake up. But after all it was a little too easy to +sleep. The impulse with which she sank back to +slumber was so soft that it was scarcely impulse. +It dropped her slowly into an enormous dark, a +colossal quiet.</p> + +<p>Presently she drifted to the top of that dark +quiet. Again the sunlight flowed into the channels +of seeing. Again the birds picked on the strings +of hearing. By an enormous effort she opened +her eyes.</p> + +<p>She stared from her bed straight at a window. +A big vine stretched films of green leaf across it. +It seemed to color the sunshine that poured onto +the floor—green. She looked at the window +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250'></a>250</span> +for a long time. Presently she discovered among +the leaves a crimson, vase-like flower.</p> + +<p>“Why, how thick the trumpet-vine has +grown!†she said aloud.</p> + +<p>It seemed to her that there was a movement at +her side. But that movement did not interest her. +She did not fall into a well this time. She drifted +off on a tide of sleep. Presently—perhaps it was +an hour later, perhaps five minutes—she opened +her eyes. Again she stared at the window. +Again the wonder of growth absorbed her +thought; passed out of it. She looked about the +room. Her little bedroom set, painted a soft +creamy yellow with long tendrils of golden vine, +stood out softly against the faded green cartridge +paper.</p> + +<p>“Why! Why have they put the bureau over +there?†she demanded aloud of the miniature of +Glorious Lutie which hung beside the bureau. +With a vague alarm, her eyes sped from point to +point. The dado of Weejubs stood out as though +freshly restored. But all her pictures were gone; +the four colored prints, Spring, Summer, Autumn, +Winter—each the head of a little girl, decked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251'></a>251</span> +with buds or flowers, fruit or furs, had vanished. +The faded squares where they had hung showed +on the walls. Oh, woe, her favorite of all, “My +Little White Kittens,†had disappeared too. On +the other hand—on table, on bureau, and on commode-top—crowded +the little Chinese toys.</p> + +<p>“Why, when did they bring them in from the +Dew Pond?†she asked herself, again aloud.</p> + +<p>With a sudden stab of memory, she reached her +hand up on the wall. How curious! Only yesterday +she could scarcely touch the spring; now +her hand went far beyond it. She pressed. The +little panel opened slowly. She raised herself in +bed and looked through the aperture.</p> + +<p>Glorious Lutie’s room was stark—bare, save +for a bed and her long wooden writing-table.</p> + +<p>Her thoughts flew madly ... suddenly her +whole acceptance of things crumbled. Why! She +wasn’t Cherie and eight. She was Susannah and +twenty-five; and the last time she had been anywhere +she had been in New York.... Lightnings +of memory tore at her ... the Carbonado +Mining Company ... Eloise ... +a Salvation Army woman on the street ... +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252'></a>252</span> +roofers. Yet this was Blue Meadows. She +did not have to pinch herself or press on her +sleepy eyelids. It <i>was</i> Blue Meadows. The +trumpet-vine, though as gigantic as Jack’s beanstalk, +proved it. The painted furniture proved it. +The Chinese toys proved it. Yes, and if she +wanted the final touch that clinched all argument, +there beside the head of the bed was the maple +gazelle. This really was not the final proof. The +final proof was human and it entered the room at +that moment in the person of Mrs. Spash. And +Mrs. Spash—in her old, quaint inaccurate way—was +calling her as Cherry.</p> + +<p>Susannah burst into tears.</p> + +<p style="font-size:smaller"> </p> + +<p>“Oh, I feel so much better now,†Susannah +said after a little talk; more sleep; then talk again. +“I’m going to be perfectly well in a little while. +I want to get up. And oh, dear Mrs. Spash—do +you remember how sometimes I used to call you +Mrs. Splash? I do want as soon as possible to +see Mr. Lindsay and his cousin—Miss Stockbridge, +did you say? I want to thank them, of +course. How can I ever thank them enough? +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253'></a>253</span> +And I want to talk to him about the biography. +Oh, I’m sure I can give him so much. And I can +make out a list of people who can tell him all the +things you and I don’t remember; or never knew. +And then, in my trunk in New York, is a package +of all Glorious Lutie’s letters to me. I think he +will want to publish some of them; they are so +lovely, so full of our games—and jingles, and even +drawings. Couldn’t I sit up now?â€</p> + +<p>“I don’t see why not,†Mrs. Spash said. +“You’ve slept for nearly twenty-six hours, +Cherry. You waked up once—or half-waked up. +We gave you some hot milk and you went right +to sleep again.â€</p> + +<p>“It’s going to make me well—just being at +Blue Meadows,†Susannah prophesied. “If I +could only stay— But I’m grateful for a day, an +hour.â€</p> + +<p style="font-size:smaller"> </p> + +<p>Later, she came slowly down the stairs—one +hand on the rail, the other holding Mrs. Spash’s +arm. She wore her faded creamy-pink, creamy-yellow +Japanese kimono, held in prim plaits by the +broad sash, a big obi bow at the back. Her red +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254'></a>254</span> +hair lay forward in two long glittering braids. +Her face was still pale, but her eyes overran with +a lucent blue excitement. It caught on her eyelashes +and made stars there.</p> + +<p>A slim young man in flannels; tall with a muscular +litheness; dark with a burnished tan; handsome; +arose from his work at the long refectory +table. He came forward smiling—his hand outstretched. +“My cousin, Miss Stockbridge, has +run in to Boston to do some shopping,†he explained. +“I can’t tell you how glad I am to see +you up, or how glad she will be.†He took her +disengaged arm and reinforced Mrs. Spash’s efforts. +They guided her into a big wing chair. +The young man found a footstool for her.</p> + +<p>“I suppose I’m not dreaming, Mr. Lindsay,†+Susannah apprised him tremulously. “And yet +how can it be anything but a dream? I left this +place fifteen years ago and I have never seen it +since. How did I get back here? How did you +find me? How did you know who I was? And +what made you so heavenly good as to bring me +here? I remember fragments here and there— Mrs. +Spash tells me I’ve had the flu.â€</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255'></a>255</span> + +<p>Lindsay laughed. “That’s all easily explained,†+he said with a smoothness almost +meretricious. “I happened to go to New York +on business. As usual I went to my friend Sparrel’s +apartment. You were ill and delirious in +the next room. I heard you; forced the door open +and sent at once for a doctor. He pronounced +it a belated case of flu. So I telephoned for Miss +Stockbridge; we moved you into my apartment +and after you passed the crisis—thank +God, you escaped pneumonia!—I asked the doctor +if I could bring you over here. He agreed that the +country air would be the very best thing for you, +and yet would not advise me to do it. He thought +it was taking too great a risk. But I felt—I can’t +tell you how strongly I felt it—that it would be +the best thing for you. My cousin stood by me, +and I took the chance. Sometimes now, though, I +shudder at my own foolhardiness. You don’t remember—or +do you?—that I went through the +formality of asking your consent.â€</p> + +<p>“I do remember now—vaguely,†Susannah +laughed. “Isn’t it lucky I didn’t—in my weakness—say +no?â€</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256'></a>256</span> + +<p>Lindsay laughed again. “I shouldn’t have +paid any attention to it, if you had. I knew that +this was what you needed. You were sleeping +then about twenty-five hours out of the twenty-four. +So one night we brought you in a taxi to +the boat and took the night trip to Boston. The +boat was making its return trip that night, but I +bribed them to let you stay on it all day until it +was almost ready to sail. Late in the afternoon, +we brought you in an automobile to Quinanog. +You slept all the way. That was yesterday afternoon. +It was dark when we got here. You didn’t +even open your eyes when I carried you into the +house. In the meantime I had wired Mrs. Spash—and +she fixed up your room, as much like the +way it used to be when you were a child, as she +could remember.â€</p> + +<p>“It’s all too marvelous,†Susannah murmured. +New brilliancies were welling up into her turquoise +eyes, the deep dark fringes of lash could +not hold them; the stars kept dropping off their +tips. Fresh spurts of color invaded her face. +Nervously her long white hands pulled at her coppery +braids.</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257'></a>257</span> + +<p>“There are so many questions I shall ask you,†+she went on, “when I’m strong enough. But some +I must ask you now. How did you happen to +come here? And when did the idea of writing +Glorious Lutie’s—my aunt’s—biography occur to +you? And how did you come to know Mrs. +Spash? Where did you find the little Chinese +toys? And my painted bedroom set? And the +sideboard there? And the six-legged highboy? +Oh dear, a hundred, thousand, million things. +But first of all, how did you know that, now being +Susannah Ayer, I was formerly Susannah +Delano?â€</p> + +<p>“There was the miniature of Miss Murray +hanging on your wall. That made me sure—in—in +some inexplicable way—that you were the little +lost Cherry. And of course we went through your +handbag to make sure. We found some letters +addressed to Susannah Delano Ayer. But will you +tell me how you <i>do</i> happen to be Susannah Ayer, +when you were formerly Susannah Delano, alias +Cherry—or Cherie?â€</p> + +<p>“I went from here to Providence to live with a +large family of cousins. Their name was Ayer, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258'></a>258</span> +and I was so often called Ayer that finally I took +the name.†Susannah paused, and then with a +sudden impulse toward confidence, she went on. +“I grew up with my cousins. I was the youngest +of them all. The two oldest girls married, one +a Californian, the other a Canadian. I haven’t +seen them for years. The three boys are scattered +all over everywhere, by the war. My uncle died +first; then my aunt. She left me the five hundred +dollars with which I got my business +training.â€</p> + +<p>The look of one who is absorbing passionately +all that is being said to him was on Lindsay’s face. +But a little perplexity troubled it. “Glorious +Lutie?†he repeated interrogatively.</p> + +<p>“Oh, of course,†Susannah murmured. “I +always called her Glorious Lutie. She always +called me Glorious Susie—that is when she didn’t +call me <i>Cherie</i>. And we had a game—the +Abracadabra game. When she was telling me a +story—her stories were <i>marvels</i>; they went on for +days and days—and she got tired, she could +always stop it by saying, Abracadabra! If I +didn’t reply instantly with Abracadabra, the story +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259'></a>259</span> +stopped. Of course she always caught my little +wits napping—I was so absorbed in the story that +I could only stutter and pant, trying to remember +that long word.â€</p> + +<p>“That’s a Peter Ibbetson trick,†Lindsay commented.</p> + +<p style="font-size:smaller"> </p> + +<p>The talk, thus begun, lasted for the three hours +which elapsed before Miss Stockbridge’s return. +Two narratives ran through their talk; Lindsay’s, +which dealt with superficial matters, began with +his return to America from France; Susannah’s, +which began with that sad day, fifteen years ago, +when she saw Blue Meadows for the last time. +But neither narrative went straight. They zig-zagged; +they curved, they circled. Those deviations +were the result of racing up squirrel tracks +of opinion and theory; of little excursions into the +allied experiences of youth; even of talks on +books. Once it was interrupted by the noiseless +entry of Mrs. Spash, who deposited a tray which +contained a glass of milk, a pair of dropped eggs, +a little mound of buttered toast. Susannah suddenly +found herself hungry. She drained her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260'></a>260</span> +glass, ate both eggs, devoured the last crumb of +toast.</p> + +<p>After this, she felt so vigorous that she +fell in with Lindsay’s suggestion that she walk +to the door. There she stood on the +door-stone for a preoccupied, half-joyful, half-melancholy +interval studying the garden. Then, +leaning on his arm, she ventured as far as the seat +under the copper-beech. Later, even, she went +to the barn and the Dew Pond. Before she +could get tired, Lindsay brought her back, reestablishing +her in the chair. Then—and not till +then—and following another impulse to confide +in Lindsay, Susannah told him the whole story of +the Carbonado Mining Company. Perhaps his +point of view on that matter gave her her second +accession of vitality. He paced up and down the +room during her narrative; his hands, fists. But +he laughed their threats to scorn. “Now don’t +give another thought to that gang of crooks!†he +adjured her. “I know a man in New York—a +lawyer. I’ll have him look up that crowd and put +the fear of God into them. They’ll probably be +flown by that time, however. Undoubtedly they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261'></a>261</span> +were making ready for their getaway. Don’t +think of it again. They can’t hurt you half as +much as that bee that’s trying to get in the door.†+He was silent for a moment, staring fixedly down +at his own manuscript on the table. “By God!†+he burst out suddenly, “I’ve half a mind to beat +it on to New York. I’d like to be present. I’d +have some things to say—and do.â€</p> + +<p>Somewhere toward the end of this long talk, +“I’ve not said a word yet, Mr. Lindsay,†Susannah +interpolated timidly, “of how grateful I am +to you—and your cousin. But it’s mainly because +I’ve not had the strength yet. I don’t know how +I’m going to repay you. I don’t know how I’m +even going to tell you. What I owe you—just in +money—let alone eternal gratitude.â€</p> + +<p>“Now, that’s all arranged,†Lindsay said +smoothly. “You don’t know what a find you +were. You’re an angel from heaven. You’re a +Christmas present in July. For a long time I’ve +realized that I needed a secretary. Somebody’s +got to help me on Lutetia’s life or I’ll never get it +done. Who better qualified than Lutetia’s own +niece? In fact you will not only be secretary but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262'></a>262</span> +collaborator. As soon as you’re well enough, +we’ll go to work every morning and we’ll work +together until it’s done.â€</p> + +<p>Susannah leaned back, snuggled into the soft +recess of the comfortable chair. She dropped her +lids over the dazzling brilliancy of her eyes. “I +suppose I ought to say no. I suppose I ought to +have some proper pride about accepting so much +kindness. I suppose I ought to show some firmness +of mind, pawn all my possessions and get back +to work in New York or Boston. Girls in novels +always do those things. But I know I shall do +none of them. I shall say yes. For I haven’t +been so happy since Glorious Lutie died.â€</p> + +<p>“Oh,†Lindsay exclaimed quickly as though +glad to reduce this dangerous emotional excitement. +“There comes the lost Anna Sophia +Stockbridge. She’s a dandy. I think you’ll like +her. It’s awfully hard not to.â€</p> + +<p style="font-size:smaller"> </p> + +<p>The instant Susannah had disappeared with +Miss Stockbridge up the stairs, Mrs. Spash appeared +in the Long Room. Apparently, she came +with a definite object—an object in no way +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263'></a>263</span> +connected with the futile dusting movements she +began to emit.</p> + +<p>Lindsay watched her.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Mrs. Spash’s eyes came up; met his. +They gazed at each other a long moment; a gaze +that was luminous with question and answer.</p> + +<p>“She’s gone,†Lindsay announced after a +while.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Spash nodded briskly.</p> + +<p>“She’ll never come back,†Lindsay added.</p> + +<p>Again Mrs. Spash nodded briskly.</p> + +<p>“They’ve all gone,†Lindsay stated.</p> + +<p>For the third time Mrs. Spash briskly nodded.</p> + +<p>“When Cherie came, <i>they</i> left,†Lindsay concluded.</p> + +<p>“They’d done what they wanted to do,†Mrs. +Spash vouchsafed. “Brought you and Cherry together. +So there was no need. She took them +away. She’d admire to stay. That’s like her. +But she don’t want to make the place seem—well, +<i>queer</i>. So, as she allus did, she gives up her +wish.â€</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Spash,†Lindsay exploded suddenly +after a long pause, “we’ve <i>never</i> seen them. You +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264'></a>264</span> +understand we’ve never seen them; either of us. +They never were here.â€</p> + +<p>Mrs. Spash nodded for the fourth time.</p> + +<p style="font-size:smaller"> </p> + +<p>That night after his cousin and his guest had +gone to bed, Lindsay wandered about the place. +The moon was big enough to turn his paths into +streams of light. He walked through the flower +garden; into the barn; about the Dew Pond. The +tallest hollyhocks scarcely moved, so quiet was the +night. The little pond showed no ripple except +a flash of the moonlight. The barn was a cavern +of gloom. Lindsay gazed at everything as though +from a new point of view.</p> + +<p>An immeasurable content filled him.</p> + +<p>After a while he returned to the house. His +picture of Lutetia Murray still hung over the +mantel in the living-room. He gazed at it for a +long while. Then he turned away. As he looked +down the length of the living-room, there was in +his face a whimsical expression, half of an +achieved happiness, half of a lurking regret. +“This house has never been so full of people +since I’ve been here,†he mused, “and yet never +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265'></a>265</span> +was it so empty. My beloved ghosts, I miss you. +But you’ve not all gone after all. You’ve left one +little ghost behind. Lutetia, I thank you for her. +How I wish you could come again to see.... But +you’re right. Don’t come! Not that I’m +afraid. You’re too lovely—â€</p> + +<p>His thoughts broke halfway. They took another +turn. “I wonder if it ever happened to +any other man before in the history of the world +to see the little-girl ghost of the woman—â€</p> + +<p style="font-size:smaller"> </p> + +<p>Blue Meadows had for several weeks now been +projecting pictures from its storied past into the +light of everyday. Could it have projected into +that everyday one picture from the future, it +would have been something like this.</p> + +<p style="font-size:smaller"> </p> + +<p>Susannah came into the south living-room. +Her husband was standing between the two +windows.</p> + +<p>“Davy,†she exclaimed joyfully, “I’ve located +the lowboy. A Mrs. Norton in West Hassett +owns it. Of course she’s asking a perfectly prohibitive +price, but of course we’ve got to have it.â€</p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266'></a>266</span> + +<p>“Yes,†Lindsay answered absently, “we’ve got +to have it.â€</p> + +<p>“I’m glad we found things so slowly,†Susannah +dreamily. “It adds to the wonder and +magic of it all. It makes the dream last longer. +It keeps our romance always at the boiling +point.â€</p> + +<p>She put one arm about her husband’s neck and +kissed him. Lindsay turned; kissed her.</p> + +<p>“At least we have the major pieces back,†+Susannah said contentedly. “And little Lutetia +Murray Lindsay will grow up in almost the same +surroundings that Susannah Ayer enjoyed. Oh—today—when +I carried her over to the wall of the +nursery, she noticed the Weejubs; she actually put +her hand out to touch them.â€</p> + +<p>“Oh, there’s something here for you—from +Rome—just came in the mail,†Lindsay exclaimed. +“It’s addressed to Susannah Delano +too.â€</p> + +<p>“From Rome!†Susannah ejaculated. +“Susannah Delano!†She cut the strings of +the package. Under the wrappings appeared—swathed +in tissue paper—a picture. A letter +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267'></a>267</span> +dropped from the envelope. Susannah seized it; +turned to the signature.</p> + +<p>“Garrison Monroe!†she ejaculated. “Oh, +dear dear Uncle Garry, he’s alive after all!†She +read the letter aloud, the tears welling in her +eyes.</p> + +<p>“How wonderful!†she commented when she +finished. “You see, he’s apparently specialized in +tomb-sculpture.â€</p> + +<p>She pulled the tissue paper from the picture. +Their heads met, examining it.</p> + +<p>“Oh, how lovely!†Susannah exclaimed in a +hushed voice. And “It’s beautiful!†Lindsay +agreed in a low tone.</p> + +<p>It was the photograph of a bit of sculptured +marble; a woman swathed in rippling draperies +lying, at ease, on her side. One hand, palm upward, +fingers a little curled, lay by her cheek; the +other fell across her breast. A veil partially obscured +the delicate profile. But from every veiled +feature, from every line of the figure, from every +fold in the drapery, exuded rest.</p> + +<p>“It’s perfect!†Susannah said, still in a low +tone. “Perfect. Many a time she’s fallen asleep +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268'></a>268</span> +just like than when we’ve all been talking and +laughing. When she slept, her hand always lay +close to her face as it is here. She always wore +long floating scarves. You see he had to do her +face from photographs ... and memory.... He’s +used that scarf device to conceal.... How +beautiful! How beautiful!â€</p> + +<p>There came silence.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Spash says he was in love with her,†+Susannah went on. “Of course I was too young. +I didn’t realize it. But it’s all here, I think. Did +you notice that part of the letter where he says +that for the last year or two his mind has been +full of her? And of all his life here? That’s +very pathetic, isn’t it? Now there will be a fitting +monument over her.... He says it will +be here in a few months. We must send him +pictures when it’s put on her grave. How happy +it makes me! He says he’s nearly eighty.... How +beautiful.... You’re not listening to +me,†she accused her husband with sudden indignation. +But her indignation tempered itself by a +flurry of little kisses when, following the direction +of his piercing gaze, she saw it ended on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269'></a>269</span> +the miniature which hung beside the secretary. +“Looking at Glorious Lutie!†she mocked tenderly. +“How that miniature fascinates you! +Sometimes,†she added, obviously inventing whimsical +cause for grievance, “sometimes I think +you’re as much in love with her as you are with +me.â€</p> + +<p>“If I am,†Lindsay agreed, “it’s because +there’s so much of you in her.â€</p> + +<p style="text-align:center;">THE END</p> + +<hr class='solid' /> + +<p style="text-align:center;">“<i>The Books You Like to Read +at the Price You Like to Pay</i>â€</p> + +<p style="text-align:center;font-size: 1.2em;"><i>There Are Two Sides +to Everything</i>—</p> + +<p>—including the wrapper which covers +every Grosset & Dunlap book. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Out of the Air + +Author: Inez Haynes Irwin + +Release Date: November 19, 2011 [EBook #38060] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUT OF THE AIR *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +OUT OF THE AIR + +BY + +INEZ HAYNES IRWIN + +GROSSET & DUNLAP + +PUBLISHERS--NEW YORK + +Made in the United States of America + + + + +COPYRIGHT, 1920, 1921, BY + +METROPOLITAN PUBLICATIONS, INC. + +COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY + +HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY, INC. + + + + +TO + +BILLY AND PHYLLIS + + + + +OUT OF THE AIR + + + + +I + + +"... so I'll answer your questions in the order you ask them. No, I +don't want ever to fly again. My last pay-hop was two Saturdays ago and +I got my discharge papers yesterday. God willing, I'll never again ride +anything more dangerous than a velocipede. I'm now a respectable +American citizen, and for the future I'm going to confine my locomotion +to the well-known earth. Get that, Spink Sparrel! The earth! In +fact...." + +David Lindsay suddenly looked up from his typewriting. Under his window, +Washington Square simmered in the premature heat of an early June day. +But he did not even glance in that direction. Instead, his eyes sought +the doorway leading from the front room to the back of the apartment. +Apparently he was not seeking inspiration; it was as though he had been +suddenly jerked out of himself. After an absent second, his eye sank to +the page and the brisk clatter of his machine began again. + +"... after the woman you recommended, Mrs. Whatever-her-name-is, +shoveled off a few tons of dust. It's great! It's the key house of New +York, isn't it? And when you look right through the Arch straight up +Fifth Avenue, you feel as though you owned the whole town. And what an +air all this chaste antique New England stuff gives it! Who'd ever +thought you'd turn out--you big rough-neck you--to be a collector of +antiques? Not that I haven't fallen myself for the sailor's chest and +the butterfly table and the glass lamps. I actually salaam to that +sampler. And these furnishings seem especially appropriate when I +remember that Jeffrey Lewis lived here once. You don't know how much +that adds to the connotation of this place." + +Again--but absently--Lindsay looked up. And again, ignoring Washington +Square, which offered an effect as of a formal garden to the long +pink-red palace on its north side--plumy treetops, geometrical grass +areas, weaving paths; elegant little summer-houses--his gaze went with a +seeking look to the doorway. + +"Question No. 2. I haven't any plans of my own at present and I am +quite eligible to the thing you suggest. You say that no one wants to +read anything about the war. I don't blame them. I wish I could fall +asleep for a month and wake up with no recollection of it. I suppose +it's that state of mind which prevents people from writing their +recollections immediately. Of course we'll all do that ultimately, I +suppose--even people who, like myself, aren't professional writers. +Don't imagine that I'm going on with the writing game. I haven't the +divine afflatus. I'm just letting myself drift along with these two +jobs until I get that _guerre_ out of my system; can look around to +find what I really want to do. I'm willing to write my experiences +within a reasonable interval; but not at once. Everything is as vivid +in my mind of course as it's possible to be; but I don't want to have +to think of it. That's why your suggestion in regard to Lutetia Murray +strikes me so favorably. I should really like to do that biography. I'm +in the mood for something gentle and pastoral. And then of course I +have a sense of proprietorship in regard to Lutetia, not alone because +she was my literary find or that it was my thesis on her which got me +my A in English 12. But, in addition, I developed a sort of platonic, +long-distance, with-the-eye-of-the-mind-only crush on her. And yet, I +don't know...." + +Again Lindsay's eyes came up from his paper. For the third time he +ignored Washington Square swarming with lumbering green busses and +dusky-haired Italian babies; puppies, perambulators, and pedestrians. +Again his glance went mechanically to the door leading to the back of +the apartment. + +"You certainly have left an atmosphere in this joint, Spink. Somehow I +feel always as if you were in the room. How it would be possible for +such a pop-eyed, freckle-faced Piute as you to pack an astral body is +more than I can understand. It's here though--that sense of your +presence. The other day I caught myself saying, 'Oh, Spink!' to the +empty air. But to return to Lutetia, I can't tell you how the prospect +tempts. Once on a _permission_ in the spring of '16, I finds myself in +Lyons. There are to be gentle acrobatic doings in the best Gallic manner +in the Park on Sunday. I gallops out to see the sports. One place, I +comes across several scores of _poilus_--on their _permissions_ +similar--squatting on the ground and doing--what do you suppose? Picking +violets. Yep--picking violets. I says to myself then, I says, 'These +frogs sure are queer guys.' But now, Spink, I understand. I don't want +to do anything more strenuous myself than picking violets, unless it's +selling baby blankets, or holding yarn for old ladies. Perhaps by an +enormous effort I might summon the energy to run a tea-room." + +Lindsay stopped his typewriting again. This time he stared fixedly at +Washington Square. His eyes followed a pink-smocked, bob-haired maiden +hurrying across the Park; but apparently she did not register. He turned +abruptly with a--"Hello, old top, what do you want?" + +The doorway, being empty, made no answer. + +Having apparently forgotten his remark the instant it was dropped, +Lindsay went on writing. + +"I admit I'm thinking over that proposition. Among my things in storage +here, I have all Lutetia's works, including those unsuccessful and very +rare pomes of hers; even that blooming thesis I wrote. The thesis would, +of course, read rotten now, but it might provide data that would save +research. When do you propose to bring out this new edition, and how do +you account for that recent demand for her? Of course it establishes me +as some swell prophet. I always said she'd bob up again, you know. Then +it looked as though she was as dead as the dodo. It isn't the work alone +that appeals to me; it's doing it in Lutetia's own town, which is +apparently the exact kind of dead little burg I'm looking for--Quinanog, +isn't it? Come to think of it, Spink, my favorite occupation at this +moment would be making daisy-chains or oak-wreaths. I'll think it..." + +He jumped spasmodically; jerked his head about; glanced over his +shoulder at the doorway-- + +"What I'd really like to do, is the biography of Lutetia for about one +month; then--for about three months--my experiences at the war which, I +understand, are to be put away in the manuscript safe of the publishing +firm of Dunbar, Cabot and Elsingham to be published when the demand for +war stuff begins again. That, I reckon, is what I should do if I'm going +to do it at all. Write it while it's fresh--as I'm not a professional. +But I can't at this moment say yes, and I can't say no. I'd like to stay +a little longer in New York. I'd like to renew acquaintance with the old +burg. I can afford to thrash round a bit, you know, if I like. There's +ten thousand dollars that my uncle left me, in the bank waiting me. When +that's spent, of course I'll have to go to work. + +"You ask me for my impressions of America--as a returned sky-warrior. Of +course I've only been here a week and I haven't talked with so very many +people yet. But everybody is remarkably omniscient. I can't tell them +anything about the late war. Sometimes they ask me a question, but they +never listen to my answer. No, I listen to them. And they're very +informing, believe me. Most of them think that the cavalry won the war +and that we went over the top to the sound of fife and drum. For +myself..." + +Again he jumped; turned his head; stared into the doorway. After an +instant of apparent expectancy, he sighed. He arose and, with an +elaborate saunter, moved over to the mirror hanging above the mantel; +looked at his reflection with the air of one longing to see something +human. The mirror was old; narrow and dim; gold framed. A gay little +picture of a ship, bellying to full sail, filled the space above the +looking-glass. The face, which contemplated him with the same unseeing +carelessness with which he contemplated it, was the face of +twenty-five--handsome; dark. It was long and lean. The continuous flying +of two years had dyed it a deep wine-red; had bronzed and burnished it. +And apparently the experiences that went with that flying had cooled and +hardened it. It was now but a smoothly handsome mask which blanked all +expression of his emotions. + +Even as his eye fixed itself on his own reflected eye, his head jerked +sideways again; he stared expectantly at the open doorway. After an +interval in which nothing appeared, he sauntered through that door; +and--with almost an effect of premeditated carelessness--through the two +little rooms, which so uselessly fill the central space of many New York +houses, to the big sunny bedroom at the back. + +The windows looked out on a paintable series of backyards: on a +sketchable huddle of old, stained, leaning wooden houses. At the +opposite window, a purple-haired, violet-eyed foreign girl in a faded +yellow blouse was making artificial nasturtiums; flame-colored velvet +petals, like a drift of burning snow, heaped the table in front of her. +A black cat sunned itself on the window ledge. On a distant roof, a boy +with a long pole was herding a flock of pigeons. They made glittering +swirls of motion and quick V-wheelings, that flashed the gray of their +wings like blades and the white of their breasts like glass. Their +sudden turns filled the air with mirrors. Lindsay watched their flight +with the critical air of a rival. Suddenly he turned as though someone +had called him; glanced inquiringly back at the doorway.... + +When, a few minutes later, he sauntered into the Rochambeau, immaculate +in the old gray suit he had put off when he donned the French uniform +four years before, he was the pink of summer coolness and the +quintessence of military calm. The little, low-ceilinged series of +rooms, just below the level of the street, were crowded; filled with +smoke, talk, and laughter. Lindsay at length found a table, looked about +him, discovered himself to be among strangers. He ordered a cocktail, +swearing at the price to the sympathetic French waiter, who made an +excited response in French and assisted him to order an elaborate +dinner. Lindsay propped his paper against his water-glass; concentrated +on it as one prepared for lonely eating. With the little-necks, however, +came diversion. From behind the waiter's crooked arm appeared the satiny +dark head of a girl. Lindsay leaped to his feet, held out his hand. + +"Good Lord, Gratia! Where in the world did you come from!" + +The girl put both her pretty hands out. "I _can_ shake hands with you, +David, now that you're in civies. I don't like that green and yellow +ribbon in your buttonhole though. I'm a pacifist, you know, and I've got +to tell you where I stand before we can talk." + +"All right," Lindsay accepted cheerfully. "You're a darn pretty +pacifist, Gratia. Of course you don't know what you're talking about. +But as long as you talk about anything, I'll listen." + +Gratia had cut her hair short, but she had introduced a style of +hair-dressing new even to Greenwich Village. She combed its sleek +abundance straight back to her neck and left it. There, following its +own devices, it turned up in the most delightful curls. Her large dark +eyes were set in a skin of pale amber and in the midst of a piquant +assortment of features. She had a way, just before speaking, of lifting +her sleek head high on the top of her slim neck. And then she was like a +beautiful young seal emerging from the water. + +"Oh, I'm perfectly serious!" the pretty pacifist asserted. "You +know I never have believed in war. Dora says you've come back +loving the French. How you can admire a people who--" After a +while she paused to take breath and then, with the characteristic +lift of her head, "Belgians--the Congo--Algeciras--Morocco-- And as +for England--Ireland--India--Egypt--" The glib, conventional patter +dripped readily from her soft lips. + +Lindsay listened, apparently entranced. "Gratia, you're too pretty for +any use!" he asserted indulgently after the next pause in which she dove +under the water and reappeared sleek-haired as ever. "I'm not going to +argue with you. I'm going to tell you one thing that will be a shock to +you, though. The French don't like war either. And the reason is--now +prepare yourself--they know more about the horrors of war in _one_ +minute than you will in a thousand years. What are you doing with +yourself, these days, Gratia?" + +"Oh, running a shop; making smocks, working on batiks, painting, writing +_vers libre_," Gratia admitted. + +"I mean, what do you do with your leisure?" Lindsay demanded, after +prolonged meditation. + +Gratia ignored this persiflage. "I'm thinking of taking up +psycho-analysis," she confided. "It interests me enormously. I think I +ought to do rather well with it." + +"I offer myself as your first victim. Why, you'll make millions! Every +man in New York will want to be psyched. What's the news, Gratia? I'm +dying for gossip." + +Gratia did her best to feed this appetite. Declining dinner, she sipped +the tall cool green drink which Lindsay ordered for her. She poured out +a flood of talk; but all the time her eyes were flitting from table to +table. And often she interrupted her comments on the absent with remarks +about the present. + +"Yes, Aussie was killed in Italy, flying. Will Arden was wounded in the +Argonne. George Jennings died of the flu in Paris--see that big blonde +over there, Dave? She's the Village dressmaker now--Dark Dale is in +Russia--can't get out. Putty Doane was taken prisoner by the Germans +at--Oh, see that gang of up-towners--aren't they snippy and patronizing +and silly? But Molly Fearing is our best war sensation. You know what a +tiny frightened mouse of a thing she was. She went into the 'Y.' She was +in the trenches the day of the Armistice--_talked_ with Germans; not +prisoners, you understand--but the retreating Germans. Her letters are +wonderful. She's crazy about it over there. I wouldn't be surprised if +she never came back-- Oh, Dave, don't look now; but as soon as you can, +get that tall red-headed girl in the corner, Marie Maroo. She does the +most marvelous drawings you ever saw. She belongs to that new Vortex +School. And then Joel-- Oh, there's Ernestine Phillips and her father. +You want to meet her father. He's a riot. Octogenarian, too! He's just +come from some remote hamlet in Vermont. Ernestine's showing him a +properly expurgated edition of the Village. Hi, Ernestine! He's a Civil +War veteran. Ernest's crazy to see you, Dave!" + +The middle-aged, rather rough-featured woman standing in the doorway +turned at Gratia's call. Her movement revealed the head and shoulders of +a tall, gaunt, very old man, a little rough-featured like his daughter; +white-haired and white-mustached. She hurried at once to Lindsay's +table. + +"Oh, Dave!" She took both Lindsay's hands. "I _am_ glad to see you! How +I have worried about you! My father, Dave. Father, this is David +Lindsay, the young aviator I was telling you about, who had such +extraordinary experiences in France. You remember the one I mean, +father. He served for two years with the French Army before we declared +war." + +Mr. Phillips extended a long arm which dangled a long hand. "Pleased to +meet you, sir! You're the first flier I've had a chance to talk with. I +expect folks make life a perfect misery to you--but if you don't mind +answering questions--" + +"Shoot!" Lindsay permitted serenely. "I'm nearly bursting with +suppressed information. How are you, Ernestine?" + +"Pretty frazzled like the rest of us," Ernestine answered. Ernestine had +one fine feature; a pair of large dark serene eyes. Now they flamed with +a troubled fire. "The war did all kinds of things to my psychology, of +course. I suppose I am the most despised woman in the Village at this +moment because I don't seem to be either a militarist or a pacifist. I +don't believe in war, but I don't see how we could have kept out of it; +or how France could have prevented it." + +"Ernestine!" Lindsay said warmly. "I just love _you_. Contrary to the +generally accepted opinion of the pacifists, France did not deliberately +bring this war on herself. Nor did she keep it up four years for her +private amusement. She hasn't enjoyed one minute of it. I don't expect +Gratia to believe me, but perhaps you will. These four years of death, +destruction, and devastation haven't entertained France a particle." + +"Well, of course--" Ernestine was beginning, "but what's the use?" Her +eyes met Lindsay's in a perplexed, comprehending stare. Lindsay shook +his handsome head gayly. "No use whatever," he said. "I'm rapidly +growing taciturn." + +"What I would like to ask you," Mr. Phillips broke in, "does war seem +such a pretty thing to you, young man, after you've seen a little of it? +I remember in '65 most of us came back thinking that Sherman hadn't used +strong enough language." + +"Mr. Phillips," Lindsay answered, "if there's ever another war, it will +take fifteen thousand dollars to send me a postcard telling me about +it." + +The talk drifted away from the war: turned to prohibition; came back to +it again. Lindsay answered Mr. Phillips's questions with enthusiastic +thoroughness. They pertained mainly to his training at Pau and Avord, +but Lindsay volunteered a detailed comparison of the American military +method with the French. "I'll always be glad though," he concluded, +"that I had that experience with the French Army. And of course when our +troops got over, I was all ready to fly." + +"Then the French uniform is so charming," Gratia put in, consciously +sarcastic. + +Lindsay slapped her slim wrist indulgently and continued to answer Mr. +Phillips's questions. Ernestine listened, the look of trouble growing in +her serene eyes. Gratia listened, diving under water after her shocked +exclamations and reappearing glistening. + +"Oh, there's Matty Packington!" Gratia broke in. "You haven't met Matty +yet, Dave. Hi, Matty! You _must_ know Matty. She's a sketch. She's one +of those people who say the things other people only dare think. You +won't believe her." She rattled one of her staccato explanations; +"society girl--first a slumming tour through the Village--perfectly +crazy about it--studio in McDougal Alley--yeowoman--becoming +uniform--Rolls-Royce--salutes--" + +Matty Packington approached the table with a composed flutter. The two +men arose. Gratia met her halfway; performed the introductions. In a +minute the conversation was out of everybody's hands and in Miss +Packington's. As Gratia prophesied, Lindsay found it difficult to +believe her. She started at an extraordinary speed and she maintained it +without break. + +"Oh, Mr. Lindsay, aren't you heartbroken now that it is all over? You +must tell me all about your experiences sometime. It must have been too +thrilling for words. But don't you think--_don't_ you think--they +stopped the war too soon? If I were Foch I wouldn't have been satisfied +until I'd occupied all Germany, devastated just as much territory as +those beasts devastated in France, and executed all those monsters who +cut off the Belgian babies' hands. Don't you think so?" + +Lindsay contemplated the lady who put this interesting question to him. +She was fair and fairy-like; a little, light-shot golden blonde; all +slim lines and opalescent colors. Her hair fluttered like whirled light +from under her piquantly cocked military cap. The stress of her emotion +added for the instant to the bigness and blueness of her eyes. + +"Well, for myself," he remarked finally, "I can do with a little peace +for a while. And then to carry out your wishes, Miss Packington, Foch +would have had to sacrifice a quarter of a million more Allied soldiers. +But I sometimes think the men at the front were a bit thoughtless of the +entertainment of the civilians. Somehow we _did_ get it into our heads +that we ought to close this war up as soon as possible. Another time +perhaps we'd know better." + +Miss Packington received this characteristically; that is to say, she +did not receive it at all. For by the time Lindsay had begun his last +sentence, she had embarked on a monologue directed this time to Gratia. +The talk flew back and forth, grew general; grew concrete; grew +abstract; grew personal. It bubbled up into monologues from Gratia and +Matty. It thinned down to questions from Ernestine and Mr. Phillips. +Drinks came; were followed by other drinks. All about them, tables +emptied and filled, uniforms predominating; and all to the accompaniment +of chatter; gay mirth; drifting smoke-films and refilled glasses. +Latecomers stopped to shake hands with Lindsay, to join the party for a +drink; to smoke a cigarette; floated away to other parties. But the +nucleus of their party remained the same. + +David answered with patience all questions, stopped patiently halfway +through his own answer to reply to other questions. At about midnight he +rose abruptly. He had just brought to the end a careful and succinct +statement in which he declared that he had seen no Belgian children with +their hands cut off; no crucified Canadians. + +"Folks," he addressed the company genially, "I'm going to admit to you +I'm tired." Inwardly he added, "I won't indicate which ones of you make +me the most tired; but almost all of you give me an awful pain." He +added aloud, "It's the hay for me this instant. Good-night!" + +Back once more in his rooms, he did not light up. Instead he sat at the +window and gazed out. Straight ahead, two lines of golden beads curving +up the Avenue seemed to connect the Arch with the distant horizon. The +deep azure of the sky was faintly powdered with stars. But for its +occasional lights, of a purplish silver, the Square would have been a +mere mystery of trees. But those lights seemed to anchor what was half +vision to earth. And they threw interlaced leaf shadows on the ceiling +above Lindsay's head. It was as though he sat in some ghostly bower. +Looking fixedly through the Arch, his face grew somber. Suddenly he +jerked about and stared through the doorway which led into the back +rooms. + +Nothing appeared-- + +After a while he lighted one gas jet--after an instant's hesitation +another-- + + * * * * * + +In the middle of the night, Lindsay suddenly found himself sitting +upright. His mouth was wide open, parched; his eyes were wide open, +staring.... A chilly prickling tingled along his scalp.... But the +strangest phenomenon was his heart, which, though swelled to an +incredible bulk, nimbly leaped, heavily pounded.... + +Lindsay recognized the motion which inundated him to be fear; +overpowering, shameless, abject fear. But of what? In the instant in +which he gave way to self-analysis, memory supplied him with a vague +impression. _Something_ had come to his bed and, leaning over, had +stared into his face-- + +That _something_ was not human. + +Lindsay fought for control. By an initial feat of courage, his fumbling +fingers lighted a candle which stood on the tiny Sheraton table at his +bedside. On a second impulse, but only after an interval in which +consciously but desperately he grasped at his vanishing manhood, he +leaped out of bed; lighted the gas. Then carrying the lighted candle, he +went from one to another of the four rooms of the apartment. In each +room he lighted every gas jet until the place blazed. He searched it +thoroughly: dark corners and darker closets; jetty strata of shadow +under couches. + +He was alone. + +After a while he went back to bed. But his courage was not equal to +darkness again. Though ultimately he fell asleep, the gas blazed all +night. + + * * * * * + +Lindsay awoke rather jaded the next morning. He wandered from room to +room submitting to one slash of his razor at this mirror and to another +at that. + +At one period of this process, "Rum nightmare I had last night!" he +remarked casually to the unresponsive air. + +He cooked his own breakfast; piled up the dishes and settled himself to +his correspondence again. "This letter is getting to be a book, Spink," +he began. "But I feel every moment as though I wanted to add more. I +slept on your proposition last night, but I don't feel any nearer a +decision. Quinanog and Lutetia tempt me; but then so does New York. By +the way, have you any pictures of Lutetia? I had one in my rooms at +Holworthy. Must be kicking around among my things. I cut it out of the +annual catalogue of your book-house. Photograph as I remember. She was +some pip. I'd like--" + +He started suddenly, turned his head toward the doorway leading to the +back rooms. The doorway was empty. Lindsay arose from his chair, +sauntered in a leisurely manner through the rooms. He investigated +closets again. "Damn it all!" he muttered. + +He resumed his letter. "You're right about writing my experiences now. I +had a long footless talk with some boobs last night, and it was curious +how things came back under their questions. I had quite forgotten them +temporarily, and of course I shall forget them for keeps if I don't +begin to put them down. I have a few scattered notes here and there. I +meant, of course, to keep a diary, but believe me, a man engaged in a +war is too busy for the pursuit of letters. But just as soon as I make +up my mind--" + +Another interval. Absently Lindsay addressed an envelope. Spinney K. +Sparrel, Esq., Park Street, Boston; attacked the list of other +long-neglected correspondents. Suddenly his head jerked upward; pivoted +again. After an instant's observation of the empty doorway, he pulled +his face forward; resumed his work. Page after page slid onto the roller +of his machine, submitted to the tattoo of its little lettered teeth, +emerged neatly inscribed. Suddenly he leaped to his feet; swung about. + +The doorway was empty. + +"Who are you?" he interrogated the empty air, "and what do you want? If +you can tell me, speak--and I'll do anything in my power to help you. +But if you can't tell me, for God's sake go away!" + + * * * * * + +That night--it happened again. There came the same sudden start, +stricken, panting, perspiring, out of deep sleep; the same frantic +search of the apartment with all the lights burning; the same late, +broken drowse; the same jaded awakening. + +As before, he set himself doggedly to work. And, as before, somewhere in +the middle of the morning, he wheeled about swiftly in his chair to +glare through the open doorway. "I wonder if I'm going nutty!" he +exclaimed aloud. + + * * * * * + +Three days went by. Lindsay's nights were so broken that he took long +naps in the afternoon. His days had turned into periods of idle revery. +The letter to Spink Sparrel was still unfinished. He worked +spasmodically at his typewriter: but he completed nothing. The third +night he started toward the Rochambeau with the intention of getting a +room. But halfway across the Park, he stopped and retraced his steps. "I +can't let you beat me!" he muttered audibly, after he arrived in the +empty apartment. + +It did not beat him that night; for he stayed in the apartment until +dawn broke. But from midnight on, he lay with every light in the place +going. At sunrise, he dressed and went out for a walk. And the moment +the sounds of everyday life began to humanize the neighborhood, he +returned; sat down to his machine. + +"Spink, old dear, my mind is made up. I accept! I'll do Lutetia for you; +and, by God, I'll do her well! I'm starting for Boston tomorrow night on +the midnight. I'll call at the office about noon and we'll go to +luncheon together. I'll dig out my thesis and books from storage, and if +you'll get all your dope and data together, I can go right to it. I'm +going to Quinanog tomorrow afternoon. I need a change. Everybody here +makes me tired. The pacifists make me wild and the militarists make me +wilder. Civilians is nuts when it comes to a war. The only person I can +talk about it with is somebody who's been there. And anybody who's been +there has the good sense not to want to talk about it. I don't ever want +to hear of that war again. Personally, I, David Lindsay, meaning me, +want to swing in a hammock on a pleasant, cool, vine-hung piazza; read +Lutetia at intervals and write some little pieces subsequent. Yours, +David." + + + + +II + + +Susannah Ayer dragged herself out of her sleepless night and started to +get up. But halfway through her first rising motion, something seemed to +leave her--to leave her spirit rather than her body. She collapsed in a +droop-shouldered huddle onto the bed. Her red hair had come out of its +thick braids; it streamed forward over her white face; streaked her +nightgown with glowing strands. She pushed it out of her eyes and sat +for a long interval with her face in her hands. Finally she rose and +went to the dresser. Haggardly she stared into the glass at her +reflection, and haggardly her reflection stared back at her. "I don't +wonder you look different, Glorious Susie," she addressed herself +wordlessly, "because you _are_ different. I wonder if you can ever wash +away that experience--" + +She poured water into the basin until it almost brimmed; and dropped her +face into it. After her sponge bath, she contemplated herself again in +the glass. Some color had crept into the pearly whiteness of her cheek. +Her dark-fringed eyes seemed a little less shadow-encircled. She turned +their turquoise glance to the picture of a woman--a miniature painted on +ivory--which hung beside the dresser. + +"Glorious Lutie," she apostrophized it, "you don't know how I wish you +were here. You don't know how much I need you now. I need you so much, +Glorious Lutie--I'm frightened!" + +The miniature, after the impersonal manner of pictures, made no response +to this call for help. Susannah sighed deeply. And for a moment she +stood a figure almost tragic, her eyes darkening as she looked into +space, her young mouth setting its soft scarlet into hard lines. In +another moment she pulled herself out of this daze and continued her +dressing. + +An hour and a half later, when, cool and lithe in her blue linen suit, +she entered the uptown skyscraper which housed the Carbonado Mining +Company, her spirits took a sudden leap. After all, here _was_ help. It +was not the help she most desired and needed--the confidence and advice +of another woman--but at least she would get instant sympathy, ultimate +understanding. + +Anyone, however depressed his mood, must have felt his spirits rise as +he stepped into the Admolian Building. It was so new that its +terra-cotta walls without, its white-enameled tiling within, seemed +always to have been freshly scrubbed and dusted. It was so high that, +with a first acrobatic impulse, it leaped twenty stories above ground; +and with a second, soared into a tower which touched the clouds. That +had not exhausted its strength. It dug in below ground, and there spread +out into rooms, eternally electric-lighted. From the eleventh story up, +its wide windows surveyed every purlieu of Manhattan. Its spacious +elevators seemed magically to defy gravitation. A touch started their +swift flight heavenward; a touch started their soft drop earthward. +Every floor housed offices where fortunes were being made--and lost--at +any rate, changing hands. There was an element of buoyancy in the air, +an atmosphere of success. People moved more quickly, talked more +briskly, from the moment they entered the Admolian Building. As always, +it raised the spirits of Susannah Ayer. The set look vanished from her +eyes; some of their normal brilliancy flowed back into them. Her mouth +relaxed-- When the elevator came to a padded halt at the eighteenth +floor, she had become almost herself again. + +She stopped before the first in a series of offices. Black-printed +letters on the ground glass of the door read: + + 46 + Carbonado Mining Company + Private. Enter No. 47 + +An accommodating hand pointed in the direction of No. 47. Susannah +unlocked the door and with a little sigh, as of relief, stepped in. + +Other offices stretched along the line of the corridor, bearing the +inscriptions, respectively, "No. 48, H. Withington Warner, President and +General Manager; No. 49, Joseph Byan, Vice-President; No. 50, Michael +O'Hearn, Secretary and Treasurer." Ultimately, Susannah's own door would +flaunt the proud motto, "No. 51, Susannah Ayer, Manager Women's +Department." + +Susannah threaded the inner corridor to her own office. She hung up her +hat and jacket; opened her mail; ran through it. Then she lifted the +cover from her typewriter and began mechanically to brush and oil it. +Her mind was not on her work; it had not been on the letters. It kept +speeding back to last night. She did not want to think of last night +again--at least not until she must. She pulled her thoughts into her +control; made them flow back over the past months. And as they sped in +those pleasant channels, involuntarily her mood went with them. Had any +girl ever been so fortunate, she wondered. She put it to herself in +simple declaratives-- + +Here she was, all alone in New York and in New York for the first time, +settled--interestingly and pleasantly settled. Eight months before, she +had stepped out of business college without a hundred dollars in the +world; her course in stenography, typewriting, and secretarial work had +taken the last of her inherited funds. Without kith or kin, she was a +working-woman, now, on her own responsibility. Two months of +apprenticeship, one stenographer among fifty, in the great offices of +the Maxwell Mills, and Barty Joyce, almost the sole remaining friend who +remembered the past glories of her family, had advised her to try New +York. + +"Susannah," he said, "now is the time to strike--now while the men are +away and while the girls are still on war jobs. Get yourself entrenched +before they come back. You've the makings of a wonderful office helper." + +Susannah, with a glorious sense of adventure once she was started, took +his advice and moved to New York. For a week, she answered +advertisements, visited offices; and she found that Barty was right. She +had the refusal of half a dozen jobs. From them she selected the offer +of the Carbonado Mining Company--partly because she liked Mr. Warner, +and partly because it seemed to offer the best future. Mr. Warner said +to her in their first interview: + +"We are looking for a clever woman whom we can specially train in the +methods of our somewhat peculiar business. If you qualify, we shall +advance you to a superior position." + +That "superior position" had fallen into her hand like a ripe peach. +Within a week, Mr. Warner had called her into the private office for a +long business talk. + +"Miss Ayer," he said, "you seem to be making good. I am going to tell +you frankly that if you continue to meet our requirements, we shall +continue to advance you and pay you accordingly. You see, our +business--" Mr. Warner's voice always swelled a little when he said "our +business"--"our business involves a great deal of letter-writing to +women investors and some personal interviews. Now we believe--both Mr. +Byan and I--that women investing money like to deal with one of their +own sex. We have been looking for just the right woman. A candidate for +the position must have tact, understanding, and clearness of written +expression. We have been trying to find such a woman; and frankly, the +search has been difficult. You know how war work--quite rightly, of +course--has monopolized the able women of the country. We have tried out +half a dozen girls; but the less said about them the better. For two +weeks we will let you try your hand at correspondence with women +investors. If your work is satisfactory, it means a permanent job at +twice your present salary." + +Her work had pleased them! It had pleased them instantly. But oh, how +she had worked to please them and to continue to please! Every letter +she sent out--and after explaining the Carbonado Company and its +attractions, Mr. Warner let her compose all the letters to women--was a +study in condensed and graceful expression. At the end of the fortnight +Mr. Warner engaged her permanently. He went even further. He said: + +"Miss Ayer, we're going to make you manager of our women's department; +and we're going to put your name with ours on the letterhead of the new +office stationery." When the day came that she first signed herself +"Susannah Ayer, Manager Women's Department," she felt as though all the +fairy tales she ever read had come true. + +Susannah, as she was assured again and again, continued to give +satisfaction. No wonder; for she liked her job. The work interested her +so much that she always longed to get to the office in the morning, +almost hated to leave it at night. It was a pleasant office, bright and +spacious. Everything was new, even to the capacious waste basket. Her +big, shiny mahogany desk stood close to the window. And from that window +she surveyed the colorful, brick-and-stone West Side of Manhattan, the +Hudson, and the city-spotted, town-dotted stretches beyond. The clouds +hung close; sometimes their white and silver argosies seemed to besiege +her. Once, she almost thought the new moon would bounce through her +window. Snow noiselessly, winds tumultuously, assailed her; but she sat +as impervious as though in an enchanted tower. Gray days made only a +suaver magic, thunderstorms a madder enchantment, about her eyrie. + +The human surroundings were just as pleasant. Though the Carbonado +Company worked only with selected clients, though they transacted most +of their business by mail, there were many visitors--some customers; +others, apparently, merely friends of Mr. Warner, Mr. Byan, and Mr. +O'Hearn--who dropped in of afternoons to chat a while. Pleasant, jolly +men most of these. Snatches of their talk, usually enigmatic, floated to +her across the tops of the partitions; it gave the office an exciting +atmosphere of something doing. And then--it happened that Susannah's way +of life had brought her into contact with but few men--everything was so +_manny_. + +She stood a little in awe of H. Withington Warner, president and general +manager. Mr. Warner was middle-aged and iron-gray. That last adjective +perfectly described him--iron-gray. Everything about him was gray; his +straight, thick hair; his clear, incisive eyes; even his colorless skin. +And his personality had a quality of iron. There was about him a +fascinating element of duality. Sometimes he seemed to Susannah a little +like a clergyman. And sometimes he made her think of an actor. This +histrionic aspect, she decided, was due to his hair, a bit long; to his +features, floridly classic; to his manner, frequently courtly; to his +voice, occasionally oratorical. This, however, showed only in his +lighter moments. Much of the time, of course, he was merely brisk and +businesslike. Whatever his tone, it carried you along. To Susannah, he +was always charming. + +If she stood a little in awe of H. Withington Warner, she made up by +feeling on terms of the utmost equality with Michael O'Hearn, secretary +and treasurer of the Carbonado Mining Company. Mr. O'Hearn--the others +called him "Mike"--was a little Irishman. He had a short stumpy figure +and a short stumpy face. Moreover, he looked as though someone had +delivered him a denting blow in the middle of his profile. From this +indentation jutted in one direction his long, protuberant, rounded +forehead; peaked in another his upturned nose. The rest of him was sandy +hair and sandy complexion, and an agreeable pair of long-lashed Irish +eyes. He was the wit of the office, keeping everyone in constant good +temper. Susannah felt very friendly toward Mr. O'Hearn. This was +strange, because he rarely spoke to her. But somehow, for all that, he +had the gift of seeming friendly. Susannah trusted him as she trusted +Mr. Warner, though in a different way. + +In regard to Joseph Byan, the third member of the combination, Susannah +had her unformulated reservations. Perhaps it was because Byan really +interested her more than the other two. Byan was little and slender; +perfectly formed and rather fine-featured; swift as a cat in his darting +movements. In his blue eyes shone a look of vague pathos and on his lips +floated--Susannah decided that this was the only way to express it--a +vague, a rather sweet smile. Susannah's job had not at first brought her +as much into contact with Mr. Byan as with Mr. Warner. His work, she +learned, lay mostly outside of the office. But once, during her third +week, he had come into her office and dictated a letter; had lingered, +when he had finished with the business in hand, for a little talk. The +conversation, in some curious turn, veered to the subject of firearms. +He was speaking of the various patterns of revolvers. He stood before +her, a slim, perfectly proportioned figure whose clothes, of an almost +feminine nicety and cut, seemed to follow every line of the body +beneath. Suddenly, one of his slight hands made a swift gesture. There +appeared--from where, she could not guess--a little, ugly-looking black +revolver. With it, he illustrated his point. Since, he had never passed +through the office without Susannah's glance playing over him like a +flame. Nowhere along the smooth lines of his figure could she catch the +bulge of that little toy of death. Despite his suave gentleness, there +was a believable quality about Byan; his personality carried conviction, +just as did that of the others. Susannah trusted him, too; but again in +a different way. + +On the very day when Mr. Byan showed her the revolver, she was passing +the open door of Mr. Warner's office; and she heard the full, round +voice of the Chief saying: + +"Remember, Joe, rule number one: no clients or employ--" Byan hastily +closed the door on the tail of that sentence. Sometimes she wondered how +it ended. + +A cog in the machine, Susannah had never fully understood the business. +That was not really necessary; Mr. Warner himself kept her informed on +what she needed to know. He explained in the beginning the glorious +opportunity for investors. From time to time, he added new details, as +for example the glowing reports of their chief engineer or their special +expert. Susannah knew that they were paying three per cent dividends a +month--and in April there was a special dividend of two per cent. +Besides, they were about to break into a "mother lode"--the reports of +their experts proved that--and when that happened, no one could tell +just how high the dividends might be. True, these dividend payments were +often made a little irregularly. One of the things which Susannah did +not understand, did not try to understand, was why a certain list of +preferred stockholders was now and then given an extra dividend; nor why +at times Mr. Warner would transfer a name from one list to another. + +"I'm thinking of saving my money and investing myself in Carbonado +stock!" said Susannah to Mr. Warner one day. + +"Don't," said Mr. Warner; and then with a touch of his clerical manner: +"We prefer to keep our office force and our investors entirely separate +factors for the present. We are trying to avoid the reproach of letting +our people in on the ground floor. When our ship comes in--when we open +the mother lode--you shall be taken care of!" + +So, for six months, everything went perfectly. Susannah had absorbed +herself completely in her job. This was an easy thing to do when the +business was so fascinating. She had gone for five months at this pace +when she realized that she had not taken the leisure to make friends. +Except the three partners--mere shadows to her--and the people at her +boarding-house--also mere shadows to her--she knew only Eloise. Not that +the friendship of Eloise was a thing to pass over lightly. Eloise was a +host in herself. + +They had met at the Dorothy Dorr, a semi-charitable home for young +business women, at which Susannah stayed during her first week in New +York. Eloise was an heiress, of that species known to the newspapers as +a "society girl." Pretty, piquant, gay, extravagant, she dabbled in +picturesque charities, and the Dorothy Dorr was her pet. Sometimes in +the summer, when she ran up to town, she even lodged there. By natural +affinity, she had picked Susannah out of the crowd. By the time Susannah +was established in her new job and had moved to a boarding-house, they +had become friends. But the friendship of Eloise could not be very +satisfactory. She was too busy; and, indeed, too often out of town. From +her social fastnesses, she made sudden, dashing forays on Susannah; took +her to luncheon, dinner, or the theater; then she would retreat to upper +Fifth Avenue, and Susannah would not see her for a fortnight or a month. + +Then, that terrible, perplexing yesterday. If she could only expunge +yesterday from her life--or at least from her memory! + +Of course, there were events leading up to yesterday. Chief among them +was the appearance in the office, some weeks before, of Mr. Ozias +Cowler, from Iowa. Mr. Cowler, Susannah gathered from the manner of the +office, was a customer of importance. He was middle-aged. No, why mince +matters--he was an old man who looked middle-aged. He was old, because +his hair had gone quite white, and his face had fallen into areas broken +by wrinkles. But he appeared to the first glance middle-aged, because +the skin of those areas was ruddy and warm; because his eyes were as +clear and blue as in youth. He looked--well, Susannah decided that he +looked _fatherly_. He was quiet in his step and quiet in his manner. +Though he appeared to her in the light of a customer rather than that of +an acquaintance, Susannah was inclined to like him, as she liked +everyone and everything about the Carbonado offices. + +Susannah gathered in time that Mr. Cowler had a great deal of money, and +that he had come to New York to invest it. Of course the Carbonado +Mining Company--and this included Susannah herself--saw the best of +reasons why it should be invested with them. But evidently, he was a +hard, cautious customer. He came again and again. He sat closeted for +long intervals with Mr. Warner. Sometimes Mr. Byan came into these +conferences. Mr. Cowler was always going to luncheon with the one and to +dinner with the other. He even went to a baseball game with Mr. O'Hearn. +But, although he visited the office more and more frequently, she +gathered that the investment was not forthcoming. Susannah knew how +frequently he was coming because, in spite of the little, admonitory +black hand on the ground-glass door, he always entered, not by the +reception room, but by her office. Usually, he preceded his long talk +with Mr. Warner by a little chat with her. Evidently, he had not yet +caught the quick gait of New York business; for as he left--again +through Susannah's office--he would stop for a longer talk. Once or +twice, Susannah had to excuse herself in order to go on with her work. +She had been a little afraid that Mr. Warner would comment on these +delays in office routine. But, although Mr. Warner once or twice glanced +into her office during these intervals, he never interfered. + +Then came--yesterday. + +Early in the morning, Mr. Warner said: + +"Miss Ayer, I wonder if you can do a favor for us?" He went on, without +waiting for Susannah's answer: "Cowler--you know what a helpless person +he is--wants to go to dinner and the theater tonight. It happens that +none of us can accompany him. We've all made the kind of engagement +which can't be broken--business. He feels a little self-conscious. You +know, his money came to him late, and he has never been to a big city +before. I suspect he is afraid to enter a fashionable restaurant alone. +He wants to go to Sherry's and to the theater afterward--" Mr. Warner +paused to smile genially. "He's something of a hick, you know, and +especially in regard to this Sherry and midnight cabaret stuff." Mr. +Warner rarely used slang; and when he did, his smile seemed to put it +into quotation marks. "True to type, he has bought tickets in the front +row. After the show, he wants to go to one of the midnight cabarets. +Would you be willing to steer him through all this? The show is _Let's +Beat It_." + +Susannah expressed herself as delighted; and indeed she was. To herself +she admitted that Mr. Cowler was no more of a "hick" in regard to +Broadway, Sherry's, and midnight cabarets than she herself. But about +admitting this, she had all the self-consciousness of the newly arrived +New Yorker. + +"That is very good of you, Miss Ayer," said Mr. Warner, appearing much +relieved. "You may go home this afternoon an hour earlier." Again Mr. +Warner passed from his incisive, gray-hued sobriety to an expansive +geniality. "I know that in these circumstances, ladies like to take time +over their toilettes." He smiled at Susannah, a smile more expansive +than any she had ever seen on his face; it showed to the back molars his +handsome, white, regular teeth. + +Mr. Cowler called for her in a taxicab at seven and-- + + * * * * * + +She heard Mr. Warner's door open and shut. Footsteps sounded in the +corridor--that was Mr. O'Hearn's voice. She glanced at her wrist-watch. +Half-past nine. The partners had arrived early this morning, of all +mornings. They were night birds, all three, seldom appearing before +half-past ten, and often working in the office late after she had gone. +Susannah stopped mid-sentence a letter which she was tapping out to a +widow in Iowa, rose, moved toward the door. At the threshold, she +stopped, a deep blush suffusing her face. So she paused for a moment, +irresolute. When finally she started down the corridor, Mr. Warner +emerged from the door of his own office, met her face to face. And as +his eyes rested on hers, she was puzzled by the expression on his smooth +countenance. Was it anxiety? His expression seemed to question her--then +it flowed into his cordial smile. + +Susannah was first to speak: + +"Good-morning, Mr. Warner. May I see you alone for a moment?" + +"Certainly!" With his best courtliness of manner, he bowed her into his +private office. "Won't you have a seat?" + +Susannah sat down. + +"It's about--about Mr. Cowler and last night." She paused. + +"Oh," asked Mr. Warner, carelessly, casually, "did you have a pleasant +evening?" + +"It's about that I wanted to talk with you," Susannah faltered. +Suddenly, her embarrassment broke, and she became perfectly composed. +"Mr. Warner, I dislike to tell you all this, because I know how it will +shock you to hear it. But you will understand that I have no choice in +the matter. It is very hard to speak of, and I don't know exactly how to +express it, but, Mr. Warner, Mr. Cowler insulted me grossly last evening +... so grossly that I left the table where we were eating after the +theater and ... and ... well, perhaps you can guess my state of mind +when I tell you that I was actually afraid to take a taxi. Of course, I +see now how foolish that was. But I ... I ran all the way home." + +For an instant, Mr. Warner's fine, incisive geniality did not change. +Then suddenly it broke into a look of sympathetic understanding. "I am +sorry, Miss Ayer," he declared gravely, "I am indeed sorry." His +clergyman aspect was for the moment in the ascendent. He might have been +talking from the pulpit. His voice took its oratorical tone. "It seems +incredible that men should do such things--incredible. But one must, I +suppose, make allowances. A rural type alone in a great city and +surrounded by all the intoxicating aspects of that city. It undoubtedly +unbalanced him. Moreover, Miss Ayer, I may say without flattery that you +are more than attractive. And then, he is unaccustomed to drinking--" + +"Oh, he had not drunk anything to speak of," Susannah interrupted. "A +little claret at dinner. He had ordered champagne, but this ... this +episode occurred before it came." + +"Incredible!" again murmured Mr. Warner. "Inexplicable!" he added. He +paused for a moment. "You wish me to see that he apologizes?" + +"I don't ask that. I am only telling you so that you may understand why +I can never speak to him again. For of course I don't want to see him as +long as I live. I thought perhaps ... that if he comes here again ... +you might manage so that he doesn't enter through my office." + +"We can probably manage that," Mr. Warner agreed urbanely. "Of course we +can manage that. He is, you see, a prospective client, and a very +profitable one. We must continue to do business with him as usual." + +"Oh, of course!" gasped Susannah. "Please don't think I'm trying to +interfere with your business. I understand perfectly. It is only that +I--but of course you understand. I don't want to see him again." She +rose. Her lithe figure came up to the last inch of its height; the +attitude gave her the effect of a column. Her head was like a glowing +alabaster lamp set at the top of that column. All the trouble had faded +out of her face. The set, scarlet lines in her mouth had melted to their +normal scarlet curves. The light had come back in a brilliant flood to +her turquoise eyes. In this uprush of spirit, her red hair seemed even +to bristle and to glisten. She sparkled visibly. "And now, I guess I'll +get back to work," she said. "Oh, by the way, I found in my mail this +morning a letter addressed, not to the women's department, but to the +firm. I opened it, but of course by accident." + +Mr. Warner drew the letter from its envelope, began casually running +through it. The conversation seemed now to be ended; Susannah moved +toward the door. From his perusal of the letter, Mr. Warner stabbed at +her back with one quick, alarmed glance, and: + +"Oh, Miss Ayer, don't go yet," he said. His tone was a little tense and +sharp. But he continued to peruse the letter. As he finished the last +page, he looked up. Again, his tone seemed peculiar; and he hesitated +before he spoke. + +"Er--did you make out the signature on this?" he asked. + +"No--it puzzled me," replied Susannah. + +"Sit down again, please," said Mr. Warner. Now his manner had that +accent of suavity, that velvety actor quality, which usually he reserved +solely for women clients. "I'm awfully sorry, but I'm afraid I shall +have to ask you to see Mr. Cowler again." + +"Mr. Warner, I ... I simply could not do that. I can never speak to him +again. You don't know.... You can't guess.... Why, I could scarcely tell +my own mother ... if I had one...." + +"It seems quite shocking to you, of course, and--Wait a moment--" Mr. +Warner rose and walked toward the door leading to Byan's office. But he +seemed suddenly to change his mind. "I know exactly how you must feel," +he said, returning. "Believe me, my dear young lady, I enter perfectly +into your emotions. Shocked susceptibilities! Wounded pride! All +perfectly natural, even exemplary. But, Miss Ayer, this is a strange +world. And in some aspects a very unsatisfactory one. We have to put up +with many things we don't like. I, for instance. You could not guess the +many disagreeable experiences to which I submit daily. I hate them as +much as anyone, but business compels me to endure them. Now you, in your +position as manager of the Women's Department--" + +"Nothing," Susannah interrupted steadily, "could induce me knowingly to +submit again to what happened last night. I would rather throw up my +job. I would rather die." + +"But, my dear Miss Ayer, you are not the only young lady in this city +who has been through such experiences. If women will invade industry, +they must take the consequences. Actresses, shopgirls, woman-buyers +accept these things as a matter of course--as all in the day's work. +Indeed, many stenographers complain of unpleasant experiences. You have +been exceedingly fortunate. Have we not in this office paid you every +possible respect?" + +"Of course you have! It is because you have been so kind that I came to +you at once, hoping ... believing ... that you would understand. It +never occurred to me that you...." + +"Of course I understand," Mr. Warner insisted, in his most soothing +tone. "It's all very dreadful. What I am trying to point out to you is +that whatever you do or wherever you go in a great city, the same thing +is likely to happen. I am trying to prove to you that you are especially +protected here. You like your work, don't you?" + +"I love it!" Susannah protested with fervor. + +"Then I think you will do well to ignore the incident. Come, my +child,"--Mr. Warner was now a combination of guiding pastor and +admonishing parent,--"forget this deplorable incident. When Mr. Cowler +comes in this afternoon, meet him as though nothing had happened. +Undoubtedly he is now bitterly regretting his mistake. Unquestionably he +will apologize. And the next time he asks you to go out with him, he +will have learned how to treat a young lady so admirable and estimable, +and you can accept his invitation with an untroubled spirit." + +"If I meet Mr. Cowler I will treat him exactly as though nothing had +happened," Susannah declared steadily. "I mean that upon meeting him I +will bow. I will even--if you ask it--give him any information he may +want about the business. But as to going anywhere with him again--I must +decline absolutely." + +"But that is one of the services which we shall have to demand from time +to time. Clients come to town. They want an attractive young lady, a +lady who will be a credit to them--a description which, I may say, +perfectly applies to you--to accompany them about the city. That will be +a part of your duties in future. Had the occasion arisen before, it +would have been a part of your duties in the past. If Mr. Cowler asks +you again to accompany him for the evening, we shall expect you to go." + +"You never told me," said Susannah after a perceptible interval, during +which directly and piercingly she met Mr. Warner's gentle gaze, "that +you expected this sort of thing." + +"My dear young lady," replied Mr. Warner with a kind of bland elegance, +"I am very sorry if I did not make that clear." + +"Then," said Susannah--so unexpectedly that it was unexpected even to +herself--"I shall have to give up my position. Please look for another +secretary. I shall consider it a favor if you get her as soon as +possible." + +Another pause; and then Mr. Warner asked: + +"Would you mind waiting here for just a few moments before you make that +decision final?" + +"I will wait," agreed Susannah. "But I will not change my decision." + +Mr. Warner did not seem at all surprised or annoyed. He arose abruptly, +started toward Byan's office. This time he entered and closed the door +behind him. A moment later, Susannah realized from the muffled sounds +which filtered through the partition that the partners were in +conference. She caught the velvety tones of Byan; O'Hearn's soft lilt. +And as she sat there, idly tapping the desk with a penholder, something +among the memories of that confused morning crept into her mind; spread +until it blotted out even the memory of Mr. Cowler. That letter--what +did it mean? In her listless, inattentive state of mind, she had opened +it carelessly, read it through before she realized that it was addressed +not to the Women's Department, but to the company. Had anyone asked her, +a moment after she laid it down, just what it said, she could not have +answered. Now, her perplexed loneliness brought it all out on the +tablets of her mind as the chemical brings out the picture from the +blankness of a photographic plate. She glanced at the desk. The letter +was not there--Mr. Warner had taken it with him. + +The man with the illegible signature wrote from Nevada. He had seen, +during a visit to Kansas City, the circulars of the Carbonado Mining +Company. After his return, he had passed through Carbonado. "I wondered, +when I saw your literature, whether there had been a new strike in that +busted camp," he wrote. "There hadn't. Carbonado now consists of one +store-keeper and a few retired prospectors who are trying to scrape +something from the corners of the old Buffalo Boy property. That camp +was worked out in the eighties--and it was never much but promises at +that." As for the photographs which decorated the Carbonado Company's +circulars, this man recognized at least one of them as a picture of a +property he knew in Utah. Finally, he asked sarcastically just how long +they expected to keep up the graft. "It's the old game, isn't it?" he +inquired, "pay three per cent for a while and then get out with the +capital." Three per cent a month--that _was_ exactly what the Carbonado +Company was paying. She wondered-- + +Conjecture for Susannah would have been certainty could she have heard +the conversation just the other side of that closed door. At the moment +when the contents of this letter flashed back into her mind, the letter +itself lay on Mr. Byan's polished mahogany table. Beside it lay a pile +of penciled memoranda through which fluttered from time to time the +nervous hand of H. Withington Warner. Susannah would scarcely have known +her genial employer. The mask of actor and clergyman had slipped from +his face. His cheeks seemed to fall flat and flabby. His eyes had lost +their benevolence. His mouth was set as hard as a trap, the corners +drooping. Across the table from him, too, sat a transformed Byan. His +smooth, regular features had sharpened to the likeness of a rat's. His +voice, however, was still velvety; even though it had just flung at +Warner a string of oaths. + +"I told you we ought to've let go and skipped six weeks ago," he said, +"that was the time for the touch-off. Secret Service still chasin' +Heinies--everythin' coming in and nothin' going out. The suckers had +already stopped biting and then you go and hand out two more monthly +dividends and settle all the bills like you intended to stay in business +forever. What did we want with this royal suite here, and ours a +correspondence game? What do we split if we stop today? Twelve hundred +dollars. Twelve hundred dollars! We land this Cowler--see!" + +Warner, unperturbed, swept his glance to O'Hearn, who sat huddled up in +his chair, searching with his glance now one of his partners, now the +other. + +"Mike," he said, "you're certain about your tip on the fly cops?" + +"Dead sure!" responded O'Hearn. "The regular bulls ain't touching mining +operations just now. It's up to the Secret Service. In two weeks more +they'll be all cleaned up on the war, and then they'll be reorganizing +their little committee on high finance. That there Inspector Laughlin +will take charge. He knows you, Boss. Then"--O'Hearn spread his hands +with a gesture of finality--"about a week more and they'll get round to +us. Three weeks is all we're safe to go. They stop our mail and +then--the pinch maybe. The tip's straight from you-know-who. The +pinch--see!" + +At the repetition of that word "pinch," Byan's countenance changed +subtly. It was as though he had winced within. But he spoke in his usual +velvety tone. + +"Less than three weeks--h'm! How much is Cowler good for?" + +"About a hundred thou'--big or nothing," replied Warner. He was drawing +stars and circles on the desk blotter. "He can't be landed without the +girl. If he'd tumbled for the Lizzies you shook at him--but he +didn't--it's this red-headed doll in our office or nothing. And I've +told you--" + +Here O'Hearn threw himself abruptly into the conversation. + +"Lave out th' girrul," he said. Usually O'Hearn's Irish showed in his +speech only by a slight twist at the turn of his tongue. Now it reverted +to a thick brogue. "I'll not have anythin' to do--" + +"We'll leave in or take out exactly what I say," put in Warner smoothly. +"Exactly what I say," he repeated. At this direct thrust, Byan lifted +his somewhat dreamy eyes. He dropped them again. Then Warner, his gaze +directly on O'Hearn's face, made a swift, sinister gesture. He drew a +forefinger round his own throat, and completed the motion by pointing +directly upward. O'Hearn, his face suddenly going a little pale, +subsided. Warner broke into the sweet, Christian smile of his office +manner. Subtly, he seemed to take command. His personality filled the +room as he leaned forward over the table and summed everything up. + +"As for your noise about quitting six weeks ago," he said, "how was I to +know that the suckers were going to stop running? We looked good for +three months then. We've got three weeks to go. All right. As for the +pinch, they won't get us unless the wad gives out. Every stage of this +game has been submitted to a lawyer. We're just a hair inside--but +inside all the same. _But_ if we can't come through liberally to him +when we're really in trouble, we might as well measure ourselves for +stripes. He's that kind of lawyer. With a hundred thousand dollars--" he +seemed to roll that phrase under his tongue--"we can stay and make +snoots at the Secret Service or beat it elsewhere, just as we please. +Ozias Cowler can furnish the hundred thou'. But he'll take only one +bait. I've tried 'em all--flies, worms, beetles, and grasshoppers--and +there's only one. And that one is trying to wriggle off the hook. I +thought last night when I sent her out with him that maybe she would +fall for him. The rest would have been easy. But she only worked up a +case of this here maidenly virtue. On top of that, she reads this +letter. Of course, she has read it, though she don't know I know. I +squeezed that out of her. + +"There," concluded Warner, "that's the layout, isn't it?" He turned to +Byan; and his smiling, office manner came over his expression. "What +would you say, Joe? You're by way of being an expert on this kind of +bait." In the Carbonado Mining Company, Warner ruled partly through his +quality of personal force, but partly through fear, the cement of +underworld society. Just as he shook at O'Hearn from time to time the +threat conveyed by that sinister gesture, he held over Byan the +knowledge of that trade and traffic, shameful even among criminals, from +which Byan had risen to be a pander of low finance. At this thrust, +however, Byan did not pale, as had O'Hearn. His expression became only +the more inscrutable. + +"You should have let me break her in when I wanted to, months ago," he +said. "I'd 'a' had her ready now. He won't fall for anyone else. I've +offered those other Molls to him, but he's crushed on her and won't look +at anybody else. So we've got to put the screws on her. They're all +cowards inside--yellow every one." + +"Meaning?" inquired Warner. + +"She's in it up to her neck with us," said Byan. "We saw to that. All +right. If we should go up against it, she'd have a hell of a time +proving to a jury that she didn't know what her letters to customers +were all about. Now wouldn't she? Ask yourself. Looked like hard luck to +me when she saw that letter just when she'd slapped the face of this +Cowler. But maybe it's a regular godsend. Put it to her straight that +this business is a graft, that we're due to go up against it in three +weeks unless something nice happens, and that she's in it as deep as any +of us. When she's so scared she can't see, let her know that she has got +one way out--fall for Cowler and help us touch him for his hundred +thousand. Make her think that it's the stir sure if she don't, and a +clean getaway if she does." + +"Suppose," continued Warner in the manner of one weighing every chance, +"she goes with her troubles to some wise guy?" + +"She's got no friends here," said Byan. "I looked into that. Runs around +with one fluff, but she don't count. If she's scared enough, I tell you, +she'll never dare peep--and she'll come round." + +"Suppose she beats it?" suggested Warner. + +"Well, Mike and I can shadow her, can't we?" replied Byan. "If she tries +to get out by rail, we can stop her and put on the screws right away. +The screws!" repeated Byan, as one who liked the idea. "And if she does +hold out a while, nothin's lost. You've got the old dope worked up to +the idea she's interested in him, haven't you? Well, if she don't fall +right away, you can take a little time explaining to him why she acted +that way last night. Maybe best to dangle her a while, anyway--get him +so anxious to see her that he'll fall for anything when you bring her +round. I'll be tightening up the screws, and when he's ripe I'll deliver +her." + +"The screws," repeated O'Hearn. "Meanin'--?" + +"Leave that to me," said Byan. "I know how." + +Warner smiled; but it was not the genial beam of his office manner. For +when the corners of his drooping mouth lifted, they showed merely a +gleam of canine teeth, which lay on his lip like fangs. + +"I suppose, when it's over, she's your personal property," he concluded. + +"Oh, sure!" responded Byan carelessly. + +"You'll not--" began O'Hearn; but this time it was Warner who +interrupted. + +"Mickey," he said, "any arrangements between this lady and Byan are +their own private affair--after the touch-off, which may stand you +twenty-five thousand shiners. Besides--" He did not make his threatening +gesture now, but merely flashed that smile of fangs and sinister +suggestion. Then he rose. + +"All right," he said. "Come on--all of you--and I'll give her that +little business talk, before she's had time to think and work up another +notion. Maybe she'll fall for it right away." + +"Not right away, she won't," Byan promulgated from the depths of his +experience, "but before I'm through, she will." + + * * * * * + +The three men came filing into the room where Susannah sat, her elbows +on the desk, her chin on her hands. She rose abruptly and faced them, +eyes wide, lips parted. Mr. Warner wore his office manner; his smile was +now benevolent. + +"I have been telling Mr. Byan and Mr. O'Hearn about your experience and +your decision, Miss Ayer," began Mr. Warner. + +Susannah blushed deeply; and for an instant her lashes swept over a +sudden stern flame in her eyes. Then she lifted them and looked with a +noncommittal openness from one face to the other. "I think I have +nothing to add," she said. + +"Yes, but perhaps we have," Mr. Warner informed her gently. "Sit down, +Miss Ayer. Sit down, boys." + +The three men seated themselves. "Thank you," said Susannah; but she +continued to stand. Byan rose thereupon, and stood lolling in the +corner, his vague smile floating on his lips. O'Hearn dropped his chin +almost to that point on his chest where his folded arms rested. His lips +drooped. Occasionally he studied the situation from under his +protuberant forehead. + +"Miss Ayer," Warner went on after a pause, "you read that letter--the +one you handed to me this morning?" + +Susannah hesitated for an almost imperceptible moment. "Yes," she +admitted, "entirely by mistake." + +"I am going to tell you something that it will surprise you to hear, +Miss Ayer. What this fellow says is all true. Carbonado is merely a--a +convenient name, let us say. In other words, we are engaged in selling +fake stocks to suckers. To be still more explicit, we are conducting a +criminal business. We could be arrested at any moment and sent to jail. +To the Federal penitentiary, in fact. I suppose that is a great surprise +to you?" + +Though she had guessed something of this ever since she recalled the +contents of the letter, the cold-blooded statement came indeed with all +the force of a surprise. Susannah's figure stiffened as though she had +touched a live wire. The crimson flush drained out of her face. And she +heard herself saying, as though in another's voice and far away, the +inadequate words: "How perfectly terrible!" + +"Exactly so!" agreed Warner. "Only you haven't the remotest idea how +terrible. Miss Ayer, this company--you as well as the rest of us--needs +money and needs it right away. Ozias Cowler has money--a great deal of +money. Somebody's bound to get it--and why not we? We use various means +to get money out of suckers. There's only one way with Cowler. He's +stuck on you. You can get it from him. We want you to do that--we expect +you to do that." + +Susannah stared at him. "Mr. Warner, I think you are crazy. I could no +more do that ... I couldn't ... I wouldn't even know how ... my +resignation goes into effect immediately. I couldn't possibly stay here +another minute." She turned to leave the office. + +"Just one moment!" Mr. Warner's words purled on. His tone was low, his +accent bland--but his voice stopped her instantly. "Miss Ayer, you don't +understand yet. Unless we get some money--a great deal of money--we +shan't last another two weeks. The situation is--but I won't take the +time to explain that. Unless we clean up that aforesaid money, we go to +jail--for a good long term. If we get the money--we don't. Never mind +the details. I assure you it's true." + +"I'm sorry," said Susannah, her lips scarcely moving as she spoke, "but +I fail to see what I have to do with that--" + +"I was about to go on to say, Miss Ayer, that you have everything to do +with it. You must be aware, if you look back over your service with us, +that you are as much involved as anyone. Your name is on our letterhead. +You have signed hundreds and perhaps thousands of letters to woman +investors. Putting a disagreeable fact rather baldly, what happens to us +happens to you. If it's the stir--if it's jail--for us, it's jail for +you." + +Susannah stared at him. She grew rigid. But she roused herself to a +trembling weak defense. + +"I'll tell them, if they arrest me ... all that has gone on here ..." +she began. + +"If you do," put in Mr. Warner smoothly, "you only create for yourself +an unfavorable impression. You put yourself in the position of going +back on your pals, and it will not get you immunity. If Mr. Cowler comes +through, you are entitled to a share of the proceeds. Whether you take +it or no is a matter for your private feelings. But the main point is +that with Cowler in, this thing will be fixed, and without him in, you +are in jail or a fugitive from justice." + +He paused now and looked at Susannah--paused not as one who pities but +as one who asks himself if he has said enough. Susannah's face proved +that he had. + +"Now of course you won't feel like working this morning. And I don't +blame you. Go home and think it over. Your first instinct, probably, +will be to see a lawyer. For your own sake, I advise you not to do that. +For ours, I hope you do. If he tells you the truth, he will show you how +deeply involved you are in this thing. No lawyer whom you can command +will handle your case. What you'd better do is lie down and take a nap. +Then at about five o'clock this afternoon, send for hot coffee and doll +yourself up--Mr. Cowler will call for you at seven." + + * * * * * + +Susannah took part of Mr. Warner's advice. She went home immediately. +But she did not take a nap. Instead, she walked up and down her bedroom +for an hour, thinking hard. She could think now; in her passage home on +the Subway, her first wild panic had beaten its desperate black wings to +quiet. What Warner had told her she now believed implicitly. She was as +much caught in the trap as any one of the three crooks with whom she had +been associated. The only difference was that she did not mean to stay +in the trap. She meant to escape. Also she did not mean to let it drive +her from the city in which she was challenging success. She meant to +stay in New York. She meant to escape. But how? + +If there were only somebody to whom she could go! She had in New York a +few acquaintances--but no real friends. Besides, she didn't want anybody +to know; all she wanted was to get away from--to vanish from their +sight. But where could she go--when--how? + +Fortunately she had plenty of money on hand, plenty at least for her +immediate purposes. She owned a few pawnable things, though only a few. +But at present what she needed, more even than money, was time. She must +get away at once. But again where? For a moment resurgent panic tore +her. Then common sense seemed to offer a solution. Here she was in the +biggest city in the country; the biggest in the world. She had heard +somewhere that a big city was the best place in the world to hide in. +She would hide in New York. Then-- + +She had forgotten one terrifying fact. Byan boarded in the same house. + +She realized why now. A fortnight before--shortly after Mr. Cowler +appeared in the office--he had come to her for advice. He had given up +one bachelor apartment, he said, and was taking another. Repairs had +become inevitable in the new apartment. He did not want to go to a +hotel. Did she know of a good boarding-house in which to spend a month? +She did, of course--her own. Byan came there the next day; although, +curiously enough, she saw but little of him. They had separate tables, +and his meal-hours and hers were different. + +Byan usually came in at about six o'clock. But today he might follow +her. She must work quickly. + +She pulled her trunk out from under the bed and began in frenzied haste +to pack it. Down came all the pictures from her walls. Into the trunk +went most of her clothes; some of her toilet articles; her half-dozen +books; her stationery; all her slender Lares and Penates. When she had +finished with her trunk, she packed her suitcase. As many thin dresses +as she could crush in--inconsequent necessities--her storm boots; her +tooth-brush-- + +Then she wrote a note to her landlady. It read: "Dear Mrs. Ray: I have +been suddenly called away from the city. Will you keep my trunk until I +send for it? Yours in great haste and some trouble, Susannah Ayer." She +put it with her board money in an envelope, addressed to Mrs. Ray, and +placed it on the trunk. + +At three o'clock, her suitcase in one hand, her bag and her umbrella in +the other, her long cape over her arm, she ventured into the hall. + +It was vacant and silent. + +She stole silently down the stairs. She met nobody. She noiselessly +opened the front door. Apparently nobody noticed her. She walked briskly +down the steps; turned toward the Avenue. At the corner something +impelled her to look back. + +Byan, his look directed downward, two fingers fumbling in his side +pocket for his key, was briskly ascending the steps. + + + + +III + + +Lindsay drove directly from the Quinanog station to the Quinanog Arms. +The Arms proved to be a tiny mid-Victorian hotel, not an inexact +replica--and by no means a discreditable one--of many small rustic +hotels that he had seen in England and France. Indeed Quinanog, as he +caught it in glimpses, might have been one part of France or one part of +England--that region which only the English Channel prevents from being +the same country. The motor, which conducted him from the station to the +Arms, drove on roads in which high wine-glass elms made Gothic arches; +between wide meadowy stretches, brilliant with buttercups, daisies, +iris; unassertive, well-proportioned houses with roomy vegetable plots +and tiny patches here and there of flower garden. He arrived at so early +an hour that the best of the long friendly day stretched before him. He +felt disposed to spend it merely in reading and smoking. He had plenty +to smoke; he had seen to that himself in New York. And he had plenty to +read; Spink Sparrel had seen to that in Boston. The bottom of one of his +trunks was covered with Lutetia Murray's works. + +But although he smoked a great deal, he did not read at all. Until +luncheon he merely followed his impulses. Those impulses took him a +little way down the main street, which ran between comfortable, white +colonial houses, set back from the road. He walked through the tiny +triangular Common. He visited the little, poster-hung post-office; +looked into the big neatly arranged general store; strolled back again. +His impulses then led him to explore the grounds of the Arms and +deposited him finally in the hammock on the side porch. After a simple +and very well-cooked luncheon, his languor broke into a sudden +restlessness. "Where is the Murray place?" he asked of the proprietor of +the Arms, whose name, the letterhead of the Arms stationery stated, was +Hyde. + +"The Murray place!" Hyde repeated inquiringly. He was a long, +noncommittal-looking person with big pale blue eyes illuminating a sandy +baldness. "Oh, the _Murray_ place! You mean the old Murray place." + +"I mean the house, whichever and wherever it is, that Lutetia Murray, +the author, used to live in." + +"Oh, sure! I get you. You see it's been empty for such a long spell that +we forget all about it. The old Murray place is on the road to West +Quinanog." + +"It isn't occupied, you say?" + +"Lord, no! Hasn't been lived in since--well, since Lutetia Murray died. +And that was--let me see--" Hyde cast a reflective eye upward. "Ten, +eleven, twelve--oh, fifteen or twenty, I should say. Yes, all of fifteen +years." + +"Does it still belong in the Murray family?" + +"Lord bless your soul, no. There hasn't been a Murray around these parts +since--well, since Lutetia Murray died." + +"Who owns it now?" + +"The Turners. They bought it when it came up for sale after Miss +Murray's death." + +"Well, weren't there any heirs?" + +"There was a niece--her brother's little girl. They had to sell the +place and everything in it. There never _was_ a sale in Quinanog like +that. Why, folks say that the mahogany would bring fancy prices in New +York nowadays." + +"Didn't they get as much as they should have?" Lindsay asked idly. + +"Oh Lord, no! And they found her estate was awful involved, and the +debts et up about all the auction brought in." + +"What became of the little girl?" + +"Some cousins took her." + +"Where is she now?" + +"Never heard tell." + +"Has anybody ever lived in the Murray place since the family left?" + +"No, I believe not." + +"Is it to let?" + +"Yes, and for sale." + +"Well, why hasn't it let or sold?" + +"Oh, I dunno exactly. It's a great big barn of a place. Kinda +ramshackle, and of course it's off the main-traveled road. You'd need a +flivver, at least, to live there nowadays. And there ain't a single +modern improvement in it. No bathroom, nor electric lights, not set +tubs, nor any of the things that women like. No garage neither." + +"Every disability you quote makes it sound all the better to me," +Lindsay commented. He meditated a moment. "I'd like to go over and look +at it this afternoon. Is there anyone here to drive me?" + +"Yes, Dick'll take you in the runabout." Hyde appeared to meditate in +his turn, and he cocked an inquiring eye in Lindsay's direction. "You +wasn't thinking of hiring the place, was you?" + +Lindsay laughed. "I should say I wasn't. No, I just wanted to look at +it." + +"I was going to say," Hyde went on, "that it's a very pleasant location. +City folks always think it's a lovely spot. If you was thinking of +hiring it, my brother's the agent." + +Lindsay laughed again. "Hiring a house is about as far from my plans at +present as returning to France." + +"Well," Hyde commented dryly, "judging from the way the Quinanog boys +feel, I guess I know just about how much you want to do that." + +"How soon can we go to the Murray place?" Lindsay inquired. + +"Now--as far as Dick's concerned." + +"By the way," Hyde dropped, as he turned toward the garage, "the Murrays +called the place Blue Medders." + +"Blue Meadows," Lindsay repeated aloud. And to himself, "Blue Meadows." +And again, though wordlessly, "Blue Meadows." It was apparent that he +liked the sound and the image the sound evoked. + +The runabout chugged to Blue Meadows in less than ten minutes. The road +branched off from the State highway at the least frequented place in its +ample stretch; ran for a long way to West Quinanog. On this side road, +houses were few and they grew fewer and fewer until they left Blue +Meadows quite by itself. Its situation, though solitary, was not lonely. +It sat near the road. Perhaps, Lindsay decided, it would have been too +near if stately wine-glass elms, feathered with leaves all along their +lissom trunks, in collaboration with a high lilac hedge now past its +blooming, had not helped to sequester it. From the street, the house +showed only a roof with two capacious chimneys, the upper story of its +gray clapboarded facade. + +Dick, a gangling freckled youth, slowed down the machine as if in +preparation for a stop. "I've got the key," he volunteered, "if you want +to go in." + +Until that moment Lindsay had entertained no idea of going in. But +Dick's words fired his imagination. "Thanks, I think I will." + +Dick handed over the long, delicately wrought key. He made no move to +follow Lindsay out of the car. "If you don't mind," he said, "I'll run +down the road to see a cousin of mine. How soon before you'll want to +start back?" + +"Oh, give me half an hour or so," Lindsay decided carelessly. + +The runabout chugged into the green arch which imprisoned the distance. + +Alone, Lindsay strolled between lilac bushes and over the sunken flags +which led to the front door. Then, changing his mind, he made an +appraising tour about the outside of the place. + +Blue Meadows was a big old house: big, so it seemed to his amateur +judgment, by an incredible number of rooms; and old--and here his +judgment, though swift, was more accurate--to the time of two hundred +years. Outside, it had all the earmarks of Colonial architecture--plain +lines, stark walls, the windows, with twenty-four lights, geometrically +placed; but its lovely lines, its beautiful proportions, and the soft +plushy nap which time had laid upon its front clapboardings mitigated +all its severities. The shingles of the roof and sides were +weather-beaten and gray, the blinds a deep old blue. At one side jutted +an incongruous modern addition; into the second story of which was set a +galleried piazza. At the other side stretched an endless series of +additions, tapering in size to a tiny shed. + +"This is Lutetia's house!" Lindsay stopped to muse. "Is it true that I +spent two years with the French Army? Is it true that I served two more +with the American Army? Oh, to think you didn't live to see all that, +Lutetia!" + +A lattice arched over the doorway and on it a big climbing rose was just +coming into bud. The beautiful door showed the pointed architrave, the +leaded side panels, the fanlight, the engaged columns, of Colonial +times. It resisted the first attack of the key, but yielded finally to +Lindsay's persuasion. He stepped into the hall. + +It was a rectangular hall, running straight to the back of the house. +Pairs of doors, opposite each other, gaped on both sides. At the left +arose a slender straight stairway, mahogany-railed. Lindsay strolled +from one room to the other, opening windows and blinds. They were big +square rooms, finished in the conventional Colonial manner, with +fireplaces and fireplace cupboards. The wallpaper, faded and stained, +was of course quite bare of pictures and ornaments. He stopped to +examine the carving on the white, painted panels above the +fireplace--garlands of flowers caught with torches and masks. + +Smiling to himself, Lindsay returned to the hall. "Oh, Lutetia, I should +like to have seen you here!" he remarked wordlessly. + +Behind the stairway, at the back, appeared another door. He opened it +into darkness. Fumbling in his pocket, he produced a box of matches, +lighted his way through the blackness; again opened windows and +shutters. This proved to be the long back room so common in Colonial +homes; running the entire width of the house. There were two fireplaces. +One was small, with a Franklin stove. The other--Lindsay calculated that +it would take six-foot logs. Four well-grown children, shoulder to +shoulder, could have walked into it. This room was not entirely empty. +In the center--by a miracle his stumbling progress had just avoided +it--was a long table of the refectory type. Lindsay studied the position +of the two fireplaces. He examined the ceiling. "You threw the whole lot +of little rooms together to make this big room, Lutetia. You're a lady +quite of my own architectural taste. I, too, like a lot of space." + +He continued his explorations. From one side of the long living-room +extended kitchen, laundry; servants' rooms and servants' dining-room; an +endless maze of butteries, pantries, sheds. Lindsay gave them short +shrift. At the other side, however, lay a little half-oval room, the +first floor of that Victorian addition which he had marked from the +outside. + +"Oh, Lutetia, Lutetia, how could you, how could you?" he burst out at +first glance. "To add this modern bit to that fine Colonial stateliness! +Perhaps we're not kindred souls after all." + +Hugging the wall of this room and leading to the second floor was a +stairway so narrow that only one person could mount it at a time. +Lindsay proved this to his own satisfaction by ascending it. It opened +into a big back room of the main house, the one with the galleried +piazza. Lindsay opened all the windows here; and then went rapidly from +room to room, letting in the June sunshine. + +They were all empty, of course--and yet, in a dozen plaintive +ways--faded wall spaces, which showed the exact size of pictures, nails +with carpet tufts still clinging to them, a forgotten window shade or +two--they spoke eloquently of habitation. Indeed, the whole place had a +friendly atmosphere, Lindsay reflected; there was none of the cold, dead +connotation of most long-empty houses. This old place was spiritually +warm, as though some reflection of a long-ago vivid life still hung +among its shadows. From the dust, the stains, the cobwebs, it might have +been vacant for a century. From the welcoming warmth of its quiet rooms, +it might have been vacant but for a day. + +Through the back windows, Lindsay looked down onto what must once have +been a huge rectangle of lawn; and near the house, what must once have +been an oval of flower garden. The lawn, stretching to a stone +wall--beyond which towered a chaos of trees--was now knee-deep in +timothy-grass; the garden had reverted to jungle. He studied the garden. +Close to the house, an enormous syringa bush heaped into a mountain of +fragrant snow. Near, a smoke-bush was just beginning to bubble into +rounds of blood-scarlet gauze. Strangled rosebushes showed yellow or +crimson. Afar an enormous patch of tiger lilies gave the effect of a +bizarre, orchidous tropical group. The rest was an indiscriminate +early-summer tangle of sumac; elderberry; bayberry; silver birches; wild +roses; daisies; buttercups; and what would later be Queen Anne's lace +and goldenrod. From a back corner window, it seemed to him that he +caught a glint of water; but he could not recapture it from any other +point of view. However, he lost all memory of this in a more affording +discovery. For the front windows gave him the reason of the name, Blue +Meadows. Across the road stretched a series of meadows, all bluish +purple with blooming iris. + +Lindsay contemplated this charming prospect for a long interval. + +"And now, Lutetia," he suddenly turned and addressed the empty rooms, "I +want to find _your_ room. Which of these six was it?" + +Retracing his steps, he went from room to room until, many times, he had +made a complete survey of the second floor. He crossed and recrossed his +own trail, as the excitement of the quest mounted in him. + +"Ah!" he exclaimed aloud, "here it is! You can't escape your soul-mate, +Lutetia." + +It was not because the room was so much bigger than the rest that he +made this decision; it was only because it was so much more quaint. At +one side it merged, by means of a slender doorway, with the galleried +piazza. From it, by means of that tiny flight of stairs, Lutetia could +have descended to the first floor of that mid-Victorian addition. "I +take it all back, Lutetia," he approved. "Middle of the nineteenth +century or not, it's a wonder--this combination." At the back of +Lutetia's room was a third door; as slender as the door leading to the +gallery, but much lower; not four feet high. Lindsay pushed it open, +crawled on hands and knees through it. He had of course, on his first +exploration, entered the small room into which it led. But he had gone +in and out without careful examination; it had seemed merely a +four-walled room. Coming into it, however, from Lutetia's bedroom, it +suddenly acquired character. + +The walls were papered in white. And on the mid-Victorian dado scarcely +legible now, he suddenly discovered drawings. Drawings of a curious +character and of a more curious technique. He followed their fluttery +maze from wall to wall--a flight of little beings, winged at the +shoulders and knees, with flying locks and strange finlike hands and +feet; fanciful, comic, tender. + +"Oh!" Lindsay emitted aloud. "Ah!" And in an instant: "I see! This room +belonged to that child Hyde spoke of." + +He ascended to the garret. This was of course the big storeroom of the +Colonial imagination. It too was quite empty. At one spot a +post--obviously not a roof-support--ran from floor to ceiling. Lindsay +gazed about a little unseeingly. "I wonder what that post was for?" he +questioned himself absently. After a while, "What's become of that +child?" he demanded of circumambient space. + +As though this offered food for reflection, he descended by means of the +main stairway to the lower floor; sat on the doorsteps a while. He +mused--gazing out into the green-colored, sweet-scented June afternoon. +After an interval he arose and repeated his voyage of exploration. + +Again he was struck with the friendly quality of the old place. That +physical dampness, which long vacant houses hold in solution, seemed +entirely to have disappeared before the flood of June sunshine. The +spiritual chill, which always accompanies it--that sinister quality so +connotative of congregations of evil spirits--he again observed was +completely lacking. As he emerged from one room to enter another, it +seemed to him that the one back of him filled with--_companionship_, he +described it to himself. As he continued his explorations, it seemed to +him that the room he was about to enter would offer him not ghostly but +human welcome. That human welcome did not come, of course. Instead, +there surged upon him the rich odors of the lilacs and syringas; the +staccato greetings of the birds. + +After a while he went downstairs again. Sitting in the front doorway, he +fell into a rich revery. + +This was where Lutetia Murray wrote the books which had so intrigued his +boyish fancy. Mentally he ran over the list: _The Sport of the +Goddesses_, _The Weary Time_, _Mary Towle_, _Old Age_, _Intervals_, +_With Pitfall and with Gin_, _Cynthia Ware_-- Details came up before his +mental vision which he had entirely forgotten and now only half +remembered; dramatic moments; descriptive passages; conversational +interludes; scenes; epigrams.... He tried to imagine Lutetia Murray at +Blue Meadows. The picture which, in college, he had cut from a +book-house catalogue, flashed before him; he had found it among his +papers. The figure was standing.... He had looked at it only yesterday, +but his masculine observation retained no details of the gown except +that it left her neck and arms bare. The face was in profile. The +curling hair rose to a high mass on her head. The delicate features were +_mignonne_, except for the delicious, warm, lusciously cut mouth-- Was +she blonde or brunet he wondered. She died at forty-five. To David +Lindsay at twenty-two, forty-five had seemed a respectable old age. To +David Lindsay at twenty-eight, it seemed almost young. She was dead, of +course, when he began to read her. Oh, if he could only have met her! It +was a great pity that she had died so young. Her work--he had made a +point of this in his thesis--had already swung from an erratic, highly +colored first period into a more balanced, carefully characterized +second period; was just emerging into a third period that was the union +of these two; big and rounded and satisfying. But death had cut that +development short. In the last four years Lindsay had seen a great deal +of death and often in atrocious form. He had long ago concluded that he +had thought on the end of man all the thoughts that were in him. But +now, sitting in the scented warmth of Lutetia's trellised doorway, he +found that there were still other thoughts which he could think. + + * * * * * + +The runabout chugged up the road presently. "Ben waiting long?" the +freckled Dick asked with a cheery shamelessness. + +"No, I've been looking the house over. Wonderful old place, isn't it?" + +"Don't care much for it myself," Dick answered. "I don't like anything +old--old houses or that old truck the summer folks are always buying. +Things can't be too new or up-to-date for me." + +Lindsay did not appear at first to hear this; he was still bemused from +the experiences of the afternoon. But as they approached the Arms, he +emerged from his daze with a belated reply. "Well, I suppose a lot of +people feel the way you do," he remarked vaguely. "Mr. Hyde tells me +that the Murray place hasn't been let for fifteen years. I expect the +rest of the people around here don't like old houses." + +"Oh, that ain't the reason the Murray house hasn't let," Dick explained +with the scorn of rustic omniscience. "They say it's haunted." + + * * * * * + +"What rent do they ask for the Murray house?" Lindsay asked Hyde that +evening. + +Hyde scratched the back of his head. His face contracted with that +mental agony which afflicts the Yankee when an exact statement is +demanded of him. "Well, I shouldn't be surprised if you could get it for +two hundred dollars the season," he finally brought out. + +Lindsay considered, but apparently not Hyde's answer; for presently he +came out with a different question. "Why do they say it's haunted?" + +Hyde emitted a short contemptuous laugh. "Did you ever hear of any house +in the country that's been empty for a number of years that worn't +considered haunted?" + +"No," Lindsay admitted. "I am disappointed, though. I had hoped you +would be able to tell me about the ghost." + +"Well, I can't," Hyde asserted scornfully, "nor nobody else neither." + +The two men smoked in silence. + +After a while Lindsay made the motions preliminary to rising. He knocked +the ashes out of his pipe; put his pipe in his pocket; withdrew his feet +from their comfortable elevation on the piazza rail. Finally he +assembled his full height on the floor, but not without a prolonged +stretching movement. "Well," he said, halfway through the yawn, "I guess +you can tell that brother of yours that I'm going to hire the Murray +house for the season." + +Hyde was equally if not more _degage_. He did not move; nor did he +change his expression. "All right," he commented without enthusiasm, +"I'll let him know. How soon would you like to go in, say?" + +"As soon as I can buy a bed." Lindsay disappeared through the doorway. + + * * * * * + +Two days later Lindsay found himself comfortably settled at Blue +Meadows. Upstairs--he had of course chosen Lutetia's room--was a cot and +a bureau of soft wood. Downstairs was a limited assortment of cheap +china; cheaper cutlery; the meagerest possible cooking equipment. + +But there was an atmosphere given to Lindsay's room by Lutetia's own +picture hanging above the bureau. And another to the living-room by +Lutetia's own works--a miscellaneous collection of ugly-proportioned, +ugly-colored, late-nineteenth-century volumes--ranged on the broad shelf +above the fireplace; by Lindsay's writing materials scattered over the +refectory table. Economical as he had been inside, he had exploded into +extravagance outside. A Gloucester hammock swung at the back. A +collection of garden materials which included a scythe, a spade, a +sickle, a lawn-mower, and a hose filled one corner of the barn. +Already--his back still complained of the process--he had cut the +spacious lawn. + +He was at one and the same time sanely placid and wildly happy. + +Every morning he awoke with the sun and the birds. Adapting himself with +an instant spiritual content to the fact that he was no longer in France +and would not have to fly, he turned over to take another nap. An hour +or two later, he was up and eating his self-prepared breakfast. The rest +of the day was reading Lutetia; musing on Lutetia; "scything" or +"sickling," as he called it in his letters to Spink, in the garden; +reflecting on Lutetia; exploring the neighborhood on foot; meditating on +Lutetia; reading and rereading the mass of Spink's data on Lutetia; +hosing the garden; making notes on Spink's data on Lutetia and thinking +of his notes on Spink's data on Lutetia. He awoke in the morning with +Lutetia on his mind. He fell asleep at night with Lutetia in his heart. +He had come to realize that Lutetia, the author, was even better than he +had supposed her. His college thesis had described her merely as the +Mrs. Gaskell of New England. Now, mentally, he promoted her to its Jane +Austen. His youth had risen to the lure of her color and fecundity, but +his youngness had not realized how rich she was in humor; how wise; what +a tenderness for people informed her careful, realistic detail. It was a +triumph to find her even better than the flattering dictum of his boyish +judgment. + +Exploring Lutetia's domain gave results only second in satisfaction to +exploring Lutetia's mind. It was obvious at his first inspection that +the garden had once stretched contrasting glories of color and perfume. +A careful study from the windows was even more productive than a close +survey. There, definitely, he could trace the remains of flower-plots; +pleached paths; low hedges and lichened rocks. Resurrecting that garden +would be an integral part of the joy of resurrecting Lutetia. By this +time also, he had explored the barn. There, a big roomy lower floor +sustained only part of a broken stairway. The equally roomy upper floor +seemed, from such glimpses as he could get below, to be piled with +rubbish. Some day, he promised himself, he would clean it out. Beyond, +and to the right of the barn, bounded by the stone wall, scrambled a +miniature wilderness. That wilderness evaded every effort of +exploration. Only an axe could clear a trail there. Another day he would +tackle the wilderness. But in the meantime he would devote himself to +garden and lawn; in the meantime also loaf and invite his soul. After +all, that was his main reason for coming to Quinanog. Whenever he +thought of this, he took immediately to the Gloucester hammock. + +Every morning he walked briskly over the long mile of road, shaded with +wine-glass elms, slashed with vistas of pasture, pond, and brook which +lay between Blue Meadows and the Quinanog post-office. When he had +inquired for his mail--usually he had none--he strolled over to the +general store and made his few simple purchases. He had followed this +routine for ten days before it occurred to him that he had not seen a +newspaper since he settled himself at Blue Meadows. "I'll let it go that +way, I guess," he said to himself. He noticed at first with a little +embarrassment and then with amusement that the groups in the post-office +waiting for mail, the customers at the general store, were all quietly +watching him. And one morning this floated to him from behind a pile of +cracker boxes: + +"He's the nut that's taken the Murray place. Lives all alone--batching +it. Some sort of highbrow." + +Gradually, however, he made acquaintance. Silas Turner, who owned the +next farm to Blue Meadows, offered him a ride one morning on the road. +Out of a vague conversation on the weather and real estate, Mr. Turner +dropped one interesting fact. He had known Lutetia Murray. This +revelation kept Lindsay chatting for half an hour while Mr. Turner +spilled a mass of uncorrelated details. Such as Miss Murray's +neighborliness; the time her cow ran away and Art Curtis brought it +back; how Miss Murray admired Mis' Turner's beach plum jelly so much +that Mis' Turner always made some extra just for her. As they parted he +let fall dispassionately: "She was a mighty handsome woman. Fine +figure!" He added, still dispassionately but with an effect somehow of +enthusiastic conviction, "She kept her looks to the last day of her +life." + +Useless, all this, for a biography, Lindsay reflected; but it gave him +an idea. He bought that day a second-hand bicycle at the Quinanog +garage; and thereafter, when the devil of restlessness stirred in his +young muscles, he trundled about the countryside in search of those +families mentioned in Lutetia's letters. Some were utterly gone from +Quinanog, some were not affording, and some added useful detail; as when +old Mrs. Apperson produced a dozen letters written from Europe during +Lutetia's first trip abroad. "I'd have admired to go to Europe, but it +never came so's I could," said Mrs. Apperson. "When Miss Murray went, +she wrote me from every city, telling me all about it. I read 'em over a +lot--makes me feel as though I'd been there too. And every Decoration +Day," she added inconsequently, "I put a bunch of heliotrope on her +grave. She just loved the smell of heliotrope." + +Somehow, Lindsay had never even thought of Lutetia's grave. The next day +he made that pilgrimage. The graveyard lay near the town center, +overtopped by the pine-covered hill which bore three austere white +buildings--church, town-hall, and grange. The grave itself was in a +patch of modern tombstones, surrounded by the flaking slabs of two +centuries ago. The stone was featureless, ill-proportioned; the +inscription recorded nothing but her name and the dates of her birth and +death. + +The note which most often came out of these wayside gossipings was a +high one--of the gaiety and the brilliancy of the Blue Meadows +hospitality. Apparently people were coming and going all the time; some +distinguished; some undiscovered: but all with personality. When Lindsay +returned from such a talk, the old house glowed like an opal--so full +did it seem of the colors of those vivacious days. + +But he was not quite content to be long away from his own fireside. The +friendly atmosphere of the Murray house continued to exercise its +enchanting sway. He always felt that one room became occupied the +instant he left it, that the one he was about to enter was already +occupied--and this feeling grew day by day, augmented. It brought him +back to the house always with a sense of expectancy. "Lutetia's house is +my hotel-lobby, my movie, my theater, my grand opera, my cabaret," he +wrote Spink. "There's a strange fascination about it--a fascination with +an element of eternal promise." + +At times, when he entered the trellised doorway, he found himself +expecting someone to come forward to greet him. It kept occurring to him +that a neighbor had stopped to call, was waiting inside for him. +Sometimes in the middle of the night he would drift slowly out of a +delicious sleep to a sense, equally delicious, of being most gently and +lovingly companioned in the room; sometimes in the morning he would wake +up with a snap, as though the house were full of company. For a moment +the whole place would seem brilliant and gay, and then--it was as though +a bubble burst in the air--he was alone. "It's almost as good," he wrote +Spink, "as though you were here yourself, you goggle-eyed hick, you!" +Once or twice he caught himself talking aloud; addressing the empty air. +He stifled this impulse, however. "People always have a tendency to get +bughouse," he explained to Spink, "when they live alone. I used to do +that in your rooms. I'm going to try to keep sane as long as possible." + +Ten days increased rather than diminished this impression. By this time +he had burned his thesis and was now making notes that were part the +direct product of Spink's data and part the byproduct of Lutetia's own +works. The syringas were beginning to run down; but the roses were +coming out in great numbers. The hollyhocks had opened flares of color +under the living-room window. The lawn was as close to plush as constant +care could make it. The garden was not yet quite cleaned out. He was +glad, for he liked working there. It was not a whit less friendly than +the house. Indeed, he felt so companioned there that sometimes he looked +up suddenly to see who was watching his efforts to resurrect a neglected +rosebush; or to uproot a flourishing patch of poison ivy. The evenings +were long, and as--consciously girlish and in quotation marks he wrote +Spink--"lovely." His big lamp made a spot of golden color in the shadowy +long room. One northeaster, which lasted three days, gave him dark and +damp excuse for three days of roaring fire. Much of that time he sat +opposite the blazing logs in the big, rush-bottomed piazza chair which +he had purchased, smoking and reading Lutetia. Now and then, he looked +up at Lutetia's picture, which he had finally brought down from his +bedroom. + +Perhaps it was the picture which made him feel more companioned here +than anywhere in the house or out. The living-room was peculiarly rich +with presence, so rich that he left it reluctantly at night and returned +to it as quickly as possible in the morning; so rich that often he +smiled, though why he could not have said; so rich that in the evening +he often looked up suddenly from his book and stared into its shadowy +length for a long, moveless--and breathlessly expectant--interval. + +Indeed that sensation so concretely, so steadily, so persistently +augmented that one evening-- + +He had been reading ever since dark; and it was getting late. Finally he +arose; closed the door and windows. He came back to the table and stood +leaning against it, idly whistling the _Sambre et Meuse_ through his +teeth, while he looked at Lutetia's portrait. + +He took up _The Sport of the Goddesses_ just to look it over ... turned +a page or two ... became immersed.... Suddenly ... he realized that he +was not alone.... + +He was not alone. That was conclusive. That he suddenly and absolutely +knew; though how he knew it he could not guess. His eyes stopped, in the +midst of Lutetia's single grim murder, fixed on the printed line. He +could not move them along that line. He did not mind that. But he could +not move them off the page. And he did mind that; for he wanted--most +intensely wanted--to lift his gaze. After lifting it, he presently +discovered, he would want to project it to the left. Whoever his visitor +was, it sat at the left. That he knew, completely, absolutely, and +conclusively; but again, how he knew it, he did not know. + +An immeasurable interval passed. + +He tried to raise his eyes. He could not accomplish it. The air grew +thick; his hands, still holding the book, turned cold and hard as clamps +of iron. His eyes smarted from their unwinking immobility. This was +absurd. Breaking this deathly ossification was just a matter of will. He +made himself turn a page. Five lines down he decided; he would look up. +But he did not look up. He could not. He wanted to see ... but something +stronger than desire and will withheld him. He read; turned another +page. Five lines down.... + +Ah ... the paralysing chill was moving off.... In a moment ... he was +going to be able.... In a moment.... + +He lifted his eyes.... He gazed steadily to the left.... + + + + +IV + + +Before night Susannah had found a room which exactly suited her purpose. +This was as much a matter of design as of luck. She had heard of the +place before. It was a large building in the West Twenties which had +formerly been the imposing parsonage of an imposing and very important +church. The church had long ago gone the way of all old Manhattan +buildings. But the parsonage, divided into an infinite number of +cubby-hole rooms, had become a lodging-house. A lodging-house with a +difference, however. For whereas in the ordinary establishment of this +kind, one paid rent to a landlady who lived on the spot, here one paid +it to an agent who came from somewhere, promptly every Monday morning, +for the purpose of collection. It was a perfect hiding-place. You did +not know your neighbor. Your neighbor did not know you. With due care, +one could plan his life so that he met nobody. + +Susannah, except for a choice of rooms, did not for an interval plan her +life at all. She made that choice instantly, however. Of two rooms +situated exactly opposite each other at the back of the second floor, +she chose one because it overlooked a yard containing a tree. It was a +tiny room, whitewashed; meagerly and nondescriptly furnished. But the +door-frame and window-frame offered decoration. Following the +ecclesiastical design of the whole house, they peaked into triangles of +carved wood. + +Susannah gave scant observation to any of these things. Once alone in +her room, she locked the door. Then she removed two things from her +suitcase--a nightgown and the miniature of Glorious Lutie. The latter +she suspended by a thumbtack beside the mirror of her bureau. Then she +undressed and went to bed. She slept fitfully all the rest of that day +and all that night. Early in the morning she crept out, bought herself, +at a Seventh Avenue delicatessen shop, a jar of milk and a loaf of +bread. She lunched and dined in her room. She breakfasted next morning +on the remains. + +Her sleep was deep and dreamless; but in her waking moments her thoughts +pursued the same treadmill. + +"Glorious Lutie," she began one of the wordless monologues which she was +always addressing to the miniature, "I ought to have known long ago that +they were a gang of crooks! Why don't we trust our intuitions? I suppose +it's because our intuitions are not always right. I can't quite go with +anything so magic, so irrational as intuition! And then again I'm afraid +I'm too logical. But I'm always having the same thing happen to me. +Perhaps I'm talking with somebody I have met for the first time. +Suddenly that person makes a statement. Instantly--it's like a little +hammer knocking on my mind--something inside me says: 'That is a lie. He +is lying deliberately and he knows he lies.' Now you would think that I +would trust that lead, that I would follow it implicitly. But do I? No! +Never! I pay no more attention to it than as though it never happened. +And generally my intuition is right. But always I find it out too late. +Now that little hammer has been knocking its warnings about the +Warner-Byan-O'Hearn bunch ever since I started to work for them. But I +could not _make_ myself pay any attention to it. I did not want to +believe it, for one thing. And then of course the work was awfully +interesting. I kept calling myself all kinds of names for thinking-- And +they _were_ kind. I _wouldn't_ believe it. But my intuition kept telling +me that Warner was a hypocrite. And as for Byan--" + +Perhaps Susannah could not voice, even to Glorious Lutie, the thoughts +that flooded her mind when she conjured up the image of Byan. For in her +heart Susannah knew that Byan admired her overmuch, that he would have +liked to flirt with her, that he had started-- But Warner had called him +off. The enigmatic phrase, which had come to her from Warner's office +and in Warner's voice, recurred. "Keep off clients and office employ--" +Susannah knew the end of it now--"employees" of course. Warner's rule +for his fellow crooks was that they must not flirt with clients or the +office force. Again and again in her fitful wakefulness she saw Byan +standing before her; slim, blade-like; his smartly cut suit adhering, as +though pasted there, to the lithe lines of his active body. And then +suddenly that revolver which came from--where? Byan was of course the +most attractive of them all. That floating, pathetic smile revealed such +white teeth! That deep look came from eyes so long-lashed! Warner with +his pseudo-clergyman, pseudo-actor oratory, deep-voiced and vibrant, was +the most obvious. O'Hearn, his lids perpetually down, except when they +lifted swiftly to let his glance lick up detail, was the most +mysterious. But Byan was the most attractive-- + +"Yes, Glorious Lutie, I was always receiving letters which started that +little hammer of intuition knocking. I was always overhearing bits of +conversation which started it; although often I could not understand a +word. I was always trying to piece things together--wondering-- Well, +the next time I'll know better. I've learned my lesson. But oh--think, +think, _think_ what I've helped to do. They robbed widows and orphans +and all kinds of helpless people. Of course I didn't know I was doing +it. But that's going to haunt me for a long, long time. I wish there +were some way I could make up. I've come out of it safe. But they--oh, I +mustn't think of this. I _mustn't_. I can't stand it if I do. Oh, +Glorious Lutie, believe me, my guardian angel was certainly on _that_ +job. Otherwise I don't know what would have become of me. Are you my +guardian angel, I wonder?" + +When Susannah finally arose for good, she discovered, naturally enough, +that she was hungry. She went out immediately and, in the nearest +Child's restaurant, ordered a dinner which she afterward described to +Glorious Lutie as "magnanimously, munificently, magnificently +masculine." It consisted mainly of sirloin steak and boiled potatoes, +"and I certainly ate my fill of them both." Then she took a little +aimless, circumscribed walk; returned to her room. She unpacked her +tightly stratified suitcase; hung her clothes in her little closet; +ranged her small articles in the bureau drawer. As though she were going +to start clean in her new career, she bathed and washed her hair in the +public bathroom on the second floor. Coming back into her room, she sat +for a long time before the window while her dripping locks dried. She +sat there through the dusk. + +"After all, Glorious Lutie," she reflected contentedly, "why do I ever +live in anything bigger than a hall bedroom? All a girl needs is a bed, +a bureau, one chair and a closet, and that is exactly what I've got. And +for full measure they have thrown in all those ducky little backyards +and a tree. I don't expect you to believe it, but I tell you true. A +tree in Manhattan. How do you suppose it got by the censor! And just +now, if you please, a tiny new moon all tangled up in its branches. It's +trying its best to get out, but it can't make it. I never saw a new moon +struggle so hard. Honest, I can hear it pant for breath. It looks like a +silver fish that tried to leap out of this window and got caught in a +green net. I suppose your Glorious Susie must be thinking of annexing a +job sometime, Glorious Lutie. Or else we'll cease to eat. But for a few +days I won't, if you don't mind; I'm fed up on jobs. And I've lost my +taste for offices. No, I think I'll take those few days off and do a +rubberneck trip around Manhattan. I feel like looking on innocent +objects that can't speak or think. And for a time I don't want to go any +place where I'd be likely to see my friends of the Carbonado Mining +Company. After a while the thought of them won't bother me so. Probably +by this time they have hired some other poor girl. Perhaps she won't +mind Mr. Cowler though. Anyway, I'm free of them." + +When Susannah awoke the next morning, which was the third of her +occupancy of the little room, some of her normal vitality had flowed +back, her spirits began to mount. She sang--she even whistled--as she +bathed and dressed; and she indulged in no more than the usual number of +exasperated exclamations over the uncoilableness of her freshly +shampooed, sparkling hair. "Why do we launder our tresses, I ask you, +Glorious Lutie?" she questioned once. "And oh, why didn't I have regular +gold hair like yours instead of this garnet mane? I look like--I look +like--Azinnia! But oh, I ought never to complain when I reflect that +I've escaped the curse of white eyelashes." + +A consideration first of the shimmery day outside, and next of the +clothes hanging in her closet, deflected her attention from this +grievance. She chose from her closet a salmon-colored linen gown, +slightly faded to a delicate golden rose. It was a long, slim dress and +it made as much as possible of every inch of Susannah's long slimness. +Moreover, it was notably successful in bringing out the blue of her +brilliant eyes, the red of her brilliant hair, the contrasting white of +her smooth warm skin. That face now so shone and smelled of soap that, +the instant she caught sight of it in the glass, she pulled open the top +drawer of her bureau and powdered it frantically. + +"I always shine, Glorious Lutie, as though I had washed with brass +polish. I don't remember that you ever glistened. But I do remember that +you always smelled as sweet as--roses, or new-mown hay, or heliotrope. I +wonder what powder you did use? And it was a very foxy move on your +part, to have yourself painted in just that soft swirl of blue tulle. +You look as though you were rising from a cloud. I wonder what your +dresses were like? I seem to remember pale blues and pinks; very +delicate yellows and the most silvery grays. It seems to me that tulle +and tarlatan and maline were your dope. Do you think, Glorious Lutie, +when I reach your age, I shall be as good-looking as you?" + +Glorious Lutie, with that reticence which distinguishes the inhabitants +of portraits, made no answer. But an observer might have said that the +young face, staring alternately at the mirror and at the miniature, +would some day mature to a face very like the one which stared back at +it from the gold frame. Both were blonde. But where Glorious Lutie's +eyes were a misty brown-lashed azure, Glorious Susie's were a spirited +dark-lashed turquoise. Glorious Lutie's hair was like a golden crown, +beautifully carved and burnished. Glorious Susie's turbulent mane was +red, and it made a rumpled, coppery bunch in her neck. However, family +resemblances peered from every angle of the two faces, although +differences of temperament made sharp contrast of their expressions. +Glorious Lutie was all soft, dreamy tenderness; Susannah, all spirit, +active charm, resolution. + +Susannah spent three days--almost carefree--of of what she described to +the miniature as "touristing." She had very little time to converse with +Glorious Lutie; for the little room saw her only at morning and night. +But she gave her confidante a detailed account of the day's adventures. +"It was the Bronx Zoo this morning, Glorious Lutie," she would say. +"Have you ever noticed how satisfactory little beasties are? They don't +lay traps for you and try to put you in a tortured position that you +can't wriggle out of?" Though her question was humorous in spirit, +Susannah's eyes grew black, as with a sudden terror. "No, _we_ lay traps +for _them_. I guess I've never before even tried to guess what it means +to be trapped?" Or, "It was the Art Museum this afternoon, Glorious +Lutie. I've looked at everything from a pretty nearly life-size replica +of the Parthenon to a needle used by a little Egyptian girl ten million +years ago. I'm so full of information and dope and facts that, if an +autopsy were to be held over me at this moment, it would be found that +my brain had turned into an Encyclopaedia Britannica. In fact, I will +modestly admit that I know everything." Or, "It was the Aquarium this +morning, Glorious Lutie. Why didn't you tell me that fish were +interesting? I've always hated a fish. They won't roll over or jump +through for you and practically none of them bark or sing--or anything. +I have always thought of them only as something you eat unwillingly on +Fridays. But some of them are really beautiful; and interesting. I +stayed there three hours; and I suppose if it hadn't been for the horrid +stenchy smell I'd be there yet." + +But in spite of these vivacious, wordless monologues, her spirits were a +long time rising to their normal height. The frightened look had not +completely left her eyes; and often on her long, lonely walks, she would +stop short suddenly, trembling like a spirited horse, as though some +inner consideration harassed her. Then she would take up her walk at a +frantic pace. Ultimately, however, she succeeded in leaving those +terrifying considerations behind. And inevitably in the end, the +resilience of youth conquered. The day came when Susannah leaped out of +bed as lightly as though it were her first morning in New York. + +"Glorious Lutie," began her ante-breakfast address, "we are not a +millionairess; ergo, today we buy all the morning papers and read them +at breakfast in order to hunt for a job via the ads. And perhaps the +next time your Glorious Susie begins to earn money, you might advise her +to save a little against an unexpected situation. Of course I shouldn't +have squandered my money the way I did. But I never had had so much +before in my life--and oh, the joy of having cut-steel buckles and a +perfectly beautiful raincoat--and my first set of furs--and perfumery +and everything." + +The advertising columns were not, she found (and attributed it to the +return of so many men from France), very fecund. Each newspaper offered +only from two to six chances worth considering. One, which appeared in +all of them, seemed to afford the best opening. It read: + + "_Wanted_: A stenographer, lady-like appearance and address, + with some executive experience. Steady job and quick advancement + to right woman. Apply between 9 and 11, room 1009, Carman + Building." + +"I am requested to apply for this spectacular job at the office itself, +Glorious Lutie," she confided on her return to her room, "and I'm going +out immediately after it. It's a romantic thing, getting a job through +an advertisement. I hope I float up to the forty-sixth floor of a +skyscraper, sail into a suite of offices which fill the entire top +story; all Turkish rugs on the highly polished floor; all expensive +paintings on the delicately tinted walls; all cut flowers with yard-long +stems in the finely cut crystal vases. I should like to find there a new +employer; tall, young, handsome, and dark. Dark he must be, Glorious +Lutie. I cannot marry a blond; our children would be albinos. He would +address me thus: 'Most Beauteous Blonde--you arrive at a moment when we +are so much in need of a secretary that if you don't immediately seat +yourself at yon machine, we shall go out of business. Your salary is one +hundred dollars a week. This exquisite rose-lined boudoir is for your +private use. You will find a bunch of fresh violets on your desk every +morning. May I offer you my Rolls-Royce to bring you back and forth to +work? And,' having fallen in love with me instantly, 'how soon may I ask +you to marry me?'" + +Susannah took the Subway to Wall Street; walked through that busy +city-canyon to the Carman Building. She strode into the elevator, almost +empty in the hour which followed the morning rush; started to emerge, as +directed by the elevator-man, at the tenth floor. But she did not +emerge. Instead, her face as white as paper, she leaped back into the +elevator; ascended with it to the top floor; descended with it; +hurriedly left the building. + +That first casual glance down the corridor had given her a glimpse of H. +Withington Warner sauntering slowly away from the elevator. + +"Say, Eloise," she said late that afternoon over the telephone to the +friend she had made at the Dorothy Dorr Home. "When can I see you?... +Yes.... No.... Well, you see I'm out of a job at present.... No, I can't +tell you about it. This is a rooming-house. There is no telephone in my +room. I am telephoning from the hall. And so I'd rather wait until I see +you. But in brief, I'm eating at Child's, soda-fountains and even peanut +stands. I'm really getting back my girlish figure. Only I think I'm +going to be a regular O. Henry story. Headlines as follows: _Beautiful +Titian-haired_ (mark that _Titian-haired_, Eloise) _Blonde Dead of +Starvation. Drops Dead on Fifth Avenue. Too Proud to Beg._ I hope that +none of those wicked reporters will guess that my new shoes with the +cut-steel buckles cost thirty-five dollars. All right! All right.... The +'Attic' at seven. I'll be there promptly as usual and you'll get there +late as usual.... Oh yes, you will! Thanks awfully, Eloise. I feel just +like going out to dinner." + +Eloise, living up to her promise, made so noble an effort that she was +only ten minutes late. Then, as usual, she came dashing and sparkling +into the room; a slim brown girl, much browner than usual, for her coat +of seashore tan; with narrow topaz eyes and deep dimples; very smart in +embroidered linen and summer furs. The Attic restaurant occupied the +whole top floor of a very high, downtown West Side skyscraper. Its main +business came at luncheon, so the girls sat almost alone in its long, +cool quiet. They found a table in a little stall whose window overhung +the gray, fog-swathed river which seamlessly joined gray fog-misted sky. +A moon, opaque as a scarlet wafer, seemed to be pasted at a spot that +could be either river or sky. The girls ordered their inconsequent +dinner. They talked their inconsequent girl chatter. They drank each a +glass of May wine. + +Susannah had quite recovered her poise and her spirit. She described her +new room with great detail. She suggested that Eloise, whom she +invariably addressed as, "you pampered minion of millions, you!" should +call on her in that scrubby hall bedroom. In fact, her narrative went +from joke to joke in a vein so steadily and so augmentingly gay that, +when Eloise had paid the bill and they sat dawdling over their coffee, +suddenly she found herself on the verge of breaking her vow of secrecy, +of relating the horrors of the last week. + +"Eloise," she began, "I'm going to tell you something that I don't want +you ever to--" + +And then the words dried on her lips. Her tongue seemed to turn to wood. +She paled. She froze. Her eyes set on-- + +O'Hearn was walking into the Attic. + +He did not perceive that instant terror of petrification; for it +happened he did not even glance in their direction. He walked, +self-absorbed apparently, to the other end of the room. But his +face--Susannah got it clearly--was stony too. It had the look somehow of +a man about to perform a deed repugnant to him. + +"What's the matter, Sue?" Eloise asked in alarm. "You look awfully ill +all of a sudden." + +"The fact is," Susannah answered with instant composure, "I feel a +little faint, Eloise. Do you mind if we go now? I really should like to +have a little air." + +"Not at all," Eloise answered. "Any time you say. Come on!" + +They made rapidly for the elevator. Susannah did not glance back. But +inwardly she thanked her guardian-angel for the fortuitous miracle by +which intervening waiters formed a screen. Not until they had walked +block after block, turning and twisting at her own suggestion, did +Susannah feel safe. + +"Oh, what was it you were going to tell me, Susannah," Eloise +interrupted suddenly, "just before we left the Attic?" + +"I don't seem to remember at this moment," Susannah evaded. "Perhaps it +will come to me later." + + * * * * * + +Susannah did not sleep very well that night. But by morning she had +recovered her poise. "Glorious Lutie," she said wordlessly from her bed, +"I think I'll go seriously to the business of getting a job. It'll take +my mind off--things. I'm going to ignore that little _rencontre_ of +yesterday. Don't you despair. The handsome young employer with his +romantic eyes and movie-star eyelashes awaits me somewhere. And just as +soon as we're married, you shall be hung in a manner befitting your +birth and station in a drawing-room as big as Central Park. I wish it +weren't so darn hot. Somehow too, I don't feel so strong about answering +ads in _person_ as I did two days ago." + +On her way to breakfast she bought all the newspapers. She spent her +morning answering advertisements by letter. She received no replies to +this first batch; but she pursued the same course for three days. + +"Glorious Lutie," she addressed the miniature a few days later, "this is +beginning to get serious. I am now almost within sight of the end bill +in my wad. In point of fact I will not conceal from you that today I +pawned my one and only jewel--my jade ring. You don't know how naked I +feel without it. It will keep us for--perhaps it will last three weeks. +And after that-- However, I don't think we'll either of us starve. You +don't take any sustenance and I take very little these days. I wish this +weather would change. You are so cool living in that blue cloud, +Glorious Lutie, that you don't appreciate what it's like when it's +ninety in the shade and still going up. I'm getting pretty sick of it. I +guess," she concluded, smiling, "I'll make out a list of the friends I +can appeal to in case of need." + +The idea seemed to raise her spirits. She sat down and turned to the +unused memorandum portion of her diary. Her list ran something like +this: + +New York-- + +No. 1--First and foremost--Eloise, who, being an heiress and the owner +of a check-book, never has any real cash and always borrows from me. + +Providence-- + +No. 2--Barty Joyce--Always has money because he's prudent--and the salt +of the earth-- + +P.S. Eloise never pays the money back that she borrows from me-- + +"Will you tell me, Glorious Lutie, why I don't fall in love with Barty +and why he doesn't fall in love with me? There's something awfully out +about me. I don't think I've been in love more than six times; and the +only serious one was the policeman on the beat who had a wife and five +children." + +Providence again-- + +No. 3--The Coburns--nice, comfy, middle-aged folks; not rich; the best +friends a girl could possibly have. + +No. 4-- + +But here she yawned loudly and relinquished the whole proceeding. + +That afternoon Susannah visited several employment agencies which dealt +with office help. She answered all the inquiries that their +questionnaires put to her; omitting any reference to the Carbonado +Mining Company. It was late in the afternoon when she finished. She +walked slowly homeward down the Avenue. Outside of her own door, she +tried to decide whether she would go immediately to dinner or lie down +first. A sudden fatigue forced decision in favor of a nap. She walked +wearily up the first flight of stairs. Ahead, someone was ascending the +second flight--a man. He turned down the hall. She followed. He stopped +at the room opposite hers; fumbled unsuccessfully with the key. As she +approached, she glanced casually in his direction. + +It was Byan. + + + + +V + + +Dear Spink: + +This is the kind of letter one never writes. But if you knew my mental +chaos.... And I've got to tell somebody about the thing that I can speak +about to nobody. If I don't.... What do you suppose I've done? I've +bought a house. Yep-- I'm a property owner now. Of course you guess! Or +do you guess? It's the Murray place. I could just make it and have +enough left over for a year or two or three. But after that, Spink, I'm +going to work because I'll have to. + +I suppose you're wondering why I did it. You're not puzzled half as much +as I am; although in one way I know exactly why I did it. Perhaps I +didn't do it at all. Anyway, I didn't do it of my own volition. Somebody +made me. I'm going to tell you about that presently. + +Yes, it's all mine: beautiful old square-roomed house with its carved +panelings and its generous Colonial fireplaces; its slender doors and +amusing door-latches; an upstairs of ample bedrooms; an old garret with +slave quarters; the downstairs with that little, charmingly incongruous, +galleried, mid-Victorian addition; barn; lawn; flower-garden. And how +beautiful I'm making that flower-garden you'll never suspect till you +see it. But you won't see it for quite a while--I withdraw all my +invitations to visit me. I don't want you now, Spink; although I never +wanted you so much in my life. I'll want you later, I think. Of course +it isn't from you personally--you beetle-eyed old scout--that I'm +withdrawing my invitation; it's from any flesh-and-blood being. If you +had an astral self-- I don't want anybody. I never wanted to be alone so +much in my life. In a moment I'm going to tell you why. + +And the wine-glass elms are mine; and the lilacs and syringas and the +smoke-bush and the hollyhocks; and all the things I've planted; my +Canterbury bells (if they come up); my deep, rich dahlias and my +flame-colored phlox (if ditto). All mine! Gee, Spink, I never felt so +rich in my life, because what I've enumerated isn't twenty-five per cent +of what I own. In a minute I'm going to tell you what the remaining +seventy-five per cent is. + +This place is full of birds and bees. I watch them from the house. +Spink, we flying-men are boobs. Have you ever watched a bee fly? I spend +hours, it seems to me, just studying them--trying to crab their act. And +the other day there was an air-fight just over my roof. A chicken-hawk +attacked by the whole bird population. It was a reproduction in +miniature of a bombing-machine pursued by a dozen combat-planes. Spink, +it was the best flying I've ever seen. You should have seen the sparrows +keeping on his tail! The little birds relied on their quickness of +attack, just as combat planes do. They attacked from all angles with +such rapidity that the hawk could do nothing but run for his life. The +little birds circled about, waiting for the moment to dive. A +combat-plane dives; its machines go ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta and it turns off +before the gunner can swing his guns over. The birds dived, picked +furiously at his eyes while the hawk turned bewildered from one attack +to another. But the little birds did something that planes can't even +attempt--they hovered over him almost motionless, waiting their moment +to attack. Here I am talking of flying! Flying! Did I ever fly? When I +got to New York, Greenwich Village seemed strange and unnatural, just a +pasteboard dream. Pau--Avord--Verdun--were the only real things in my +life. Now _they're_ shadows like Greenwich Village. Quinanog--the Murray +place--and Lutetia--seem the only real things. + +I'm going to tell you all about it in a moment. I sure am. The world +seems to be full of landing-places, but for some reason I can't land. +Every time, I seem to come short on the field; or overshoot it. Perhaps +it's because I feel it ought not to be told-- Perhaps it's because I +feel you won't believe me-- + +But I've got to do it. So here goes! + +Spink, the remaining seventy-five per cent that I own in this place is-- +This place is haunted. Not by a ghost, but by _ghosts_! There are not +one of them, but four. Three I see occasionally. But one of the +quartet--I see her all the time. She is Lutetia. + +It began-- Well, it all goes back to your rooms in New York. They're +haunted too, but you don't know it, you wall-eyed old grave-digger, you. +Not because you're inept or unsensitive or anything stupid-- It's +because there's something they want to say to _me_--a message they want +to give to me alone. But I can't stop to go into that now. To return to +your apartment, _something_ ... used to come ... to my bed at night ... +and bend over me ... I don't know who it was or what it was, except that +it was masculine. And how I knew that, I dunno. + +It bothered me. One reason why I came down here was that I thought I was +going crazy. Perhaps I have gone crazy. Anyway, if I have I like it. But +here I am again! It's as though the world slipped out from under me. I +can fly on and on or climb, but it's the coming down that baffles me. +When I cut the motor off and the noise dies away, I feel sick and +afraid; the bus seems to take its own head. Now for a landing--even if I +do smash. + +From the moment I entered this house, I felt as though there were others +here. Not specifically, you understand. At first, it was only a +sensation of warmth in the atmosphere that grew to a feeling of +friendliness that deepened to a sense of companionship until-- Well, I +found myself in a mood of eternal expectancy. Something was going to +happen but I didn't know what or how or when.... Oh yes, in a _way_ I +knew what. I was going to see something. Some time--I felt dimly--when I +should enter one of these rooms, so stark and yet so occupied, somebody +would be there to greet me ... or some day turning a corner I should +come suddenly on.... I did not dread that experience, Spink, I give you +my word. I reveled in the expectancy of it. It was beautiful; it was +rich. I wasn't anything of what you call _afraid_. I wanted it to +happen. + +And it did happen. + +One evening, as usual, I was reading Lutetia. I was sitting in my big +chair beside the refectory table. Outside, it was a perfect night I +remember; dark and still, and the stars so big that they seemed to spill +out of the heavens. Inside, the lamp was bright. My eyes were on my +book. Suddenly.... I was not alone. Don't ask me how I knew it. Only +take it from me that I did. I knew it all right. For--_oh, Spink_--(I've +underlined that just like a girl) all in a flash I didn't want--to look +up. I wanted to go away from this place and to go with considerable +speed, not glancing back. It was the worst sensation that I have ever +known--worse even than a night raid. After a while something came back; +courage I suppose you'd call it; a kind of calm, a poise. Anyway, I +found that I was going to be able to look up presently and not mind +it.... + +Of course I knew whom I was going to see.... + +I did look up. And I did see-- It was Lutetia. Spink, if you try to say +those things that people always say--that it was imagination, that I was +overwrought, that my mind, moving all the day among the facts and +realities of Lutetia's life, suddenly projected a picture--I'll never +speak to you again. There she sat, her elbow resting on the arm of her +chair, her chin in her hand, looking at me. I can't tell you how long +she stayed. But all the time she was there she looked at me. And all +that time I looked at her. I don't think, Spink, I have ever guessed how +much eyes can say. Her eyes said so much that I think I could write the +whole rest of the night about them. Except that I'm not quite sure what +they said. It was all entreaty; oh, blazing, blasting, blinding +entreaty.... Of that I am sure. But what she asked of me I haven't the +remotest idea. After a while ... something impelled me to look down at +my book again. When I lifted my eyes Lutetia was gone. + +That wasn't all, Spink; for that night, or the next day-- But I'm going +to try to keep to a consecutive story. I didn't go to bed immediately. I +didn't feel like sleeping. You can understand it was considerable of a +shock. And very thrilling. Literally thrilling! I shook. It didn't +bother me an atom after it was over. I wasn't the least afraid. But I +vibrated for hours. I walked four or five miles--where, I don't know. I +must have passed the Fallows place, because I recall the scent of +honeysuckle. But I assure you I seemed to be walking through the +stars.... She is beautiful. I can't tell you how beautiful because I +have no colors to give you; no flesh to go by. Perhaps she is not +beautiful, but lovely. What queer things words are! I have called +females _pretty_ and _stunning_ and even _fascinating_ and _beautiful_. +I think I never called any woman _lovely_ before. I've been that young. +But I'm not as young as I was yesterday. I'm a century, an age, an aeon +older. I was obsessed though. If you believe it, when I went to bed, I +had only one idea in my mind--a hope that she would come back soon. + +She didn't come back soon--at least not that night. But somebody else +did.... + +In the middle of the night, I suddenly found myself, wide-eyed and +clear-minded, sitting upright in bed and listening to something. I don't +know what I had heard, but I remember with perfect clearness--Spink, you +tell me this is a dream and I'll murder you--what I immediately did and +what I subsequently saw. I got up quite calmly and lighted a candle. +Then I opened the door. + +Do you remember my writing you that the chamber, just back of the one I +occupy, must have been the room of a child--Lutetia's little niece? The +door of that room, of course, leads into the hall as mine does. As I +stood there, shading my candle from the draft, that door opened and +there emerged from the room--what do you suppose? + +A little girl. + +I say--a little girl. She wasn't, you understand, a real little girl. +Nor was she a dead little girl. Instantly I knew that--just as instantly +as I had known that Lutetia _was_ dead. I mean, and I hope this +phraseology is technically correct, that Lutetia, as I saw her, was the +ghost of someone who had once lived. This little girl was an apparition; +an appearance projected through space of some one who now lives. That +or--oh, how difficult this is, Spink--a sloughed-off, astral self left +in this old place; or--but I won't go into that. + +I stood there, as I said, shading my candle. The little girl closed her +door with a meticulous care. Did I hear the ghost of a click? Perhaps my +ear supplied that. By one hand she was dragging a big doll--one of those +rag-dolls children have. I couldn't tell you anything about +Lutetia--except that she was lovely--ineffably lovely. But I can tell +you all about this little girl. She was pigtailed and freckled. The +pigtails were short, very thick, so tight that their ends snapped +upwards, like hundreds of little-girl pigtails that I have seen. There +was a row of tangled little ringlets on her forehead. She didn't look at +me. She didn't know that I was there. She proceeded straight across the +hall, busily stub-toeing her way like any freckled, pigtailed little +girl, the doll dragging on the floor behind her, until she reached the +garret stairs. She opened the garret door, closed it with the same +meticulous care. The last I got was a little white glimpse of her +down-dropped face, as she pulled the rag-doll's leg away from the +shutting door. + +I waited there a long time--until my candle guttered to nothing. She did +not return. I did not see her or anybody else again that night. + +I went back to bed and fell immediately into a perfectly quiet, +dreamless sleep. The next morning early, I went over to Hyde's +brother--his name is Corning--and bought this house. Perhaps you can +tell me why I did it. I don't exactly know myself; for of course I +couldn't afford it. I realized only that I could not--I simply and +absolutely could _not_--let anybody else buy Lutetia. + +You think, of course, that I've finished now, Spink. But that isn't all. +Not by a million Persian parasangs--all. She has come again. I mean +Lutetia. For that matter, they both have come again. But I'll try to +tell my story categorically. + +It was a night or two later; another dewy, placid large-starred night-- +Strange how this beautiful weather keeps up! I had been reading as +usual; but my mind was as vacant as a glass bell from which you have +exhausted the air. I was rereading, I remember, Lutetia's _The Sport of +the Goddesses_. Spink, how that woman could write! And.... Again I +became aware that I wasn't alone. Just as definitely, I knew that it was +not Lutetia this time; nor even Little Pigtails. This time, and perhaps +it's because I'm getting used to this sort of thing, I had a sense +of--not _fear_--but only of what I'll call a _spiritual diffidence_. + +Yet instantly I looked up. + +He--it was a _he_ this time--was standing in the doorway, which leads +from this big living-room into the front hall. We were +vis-a-vis--tete-a-tete one might say. He was looking straight at me and +I--I assure you, Spink--I looked straight at him. + +Spink, you have never heard of a jovial ghost, have you? I'm sure I +haven't. But this was or could have been a jovial ghost. He was big--not +fat but ample--middle-aged, more than middle-aged. He wore an enormous +beard cut square like the men in Assyrian mural tablets. Hair a little +long. I assure you he was the handsomest old beggar that I have ever +seen. He looked like a portrait by Titian. I got--it's like holding a +photographic negative up to the light and trying to get the figures on +it--that he wore a sort of flowing gown; it made him stately. And one of +those little round caps that conceal or protect baldness. I can't +describe him. How the devil _can_ you describe a ghost? I mean an +apparition. For he isn't dead either--any more than the little girls is. +He's alive somewhere. + +Well, our steady exchange of looks went on and on and on. If I could +have said anything it would have been: "What do you want of me, you +handsome old beggar?" What he would have said to me I don't know; +although he was trying with all his ghostly strength to put some message +over. How he was trying! It was that effort that kept him from being +what he was--_is_--jovial. God, how that gaze burned--tore--ate. It grew +insupportable after a while--it was melting me to nothingness. I dropped +my eyes. Suddenly I could lift them, for I knew he was gone. Somehow I +had the feeling that a monstrous bomb had noiselessly exploded in the +room. His going troubled me no more than his coming. I remember I said +aloud: "I'm sorry I couldn't get you, old top! Better luck next time!" + +I got up from my chair after a few minutes to take my usual +before-going-to-bed walk. I walked about the room; absent-mindedly +putting things to rights--the way women do. My mind--and I suspect my +eyes too--were still so full of him that when, on stepping outside, I +came across another--I was conscious of some shock. Again not of fear, +but of a terrific surprise. + +Are you getting all this, Spink? Oh, of course you're not, because you +don't believe it. But try to believe it. Put yourself in my place! Try +to get the wonder, the magic, the terror, the touch now and then of +horror, but above all the fierce thrill--of living with a family of +ghosts? + +This one--the fourth--was a man too. About thirty, I should say. And +awfully charming. Yes, you spaniel-eyed fish, you, one man is saying +this of another man. He was awfully charming. Short, dark. He +wore--again it is like holding a negative up to the light--he wore white +ducks or flannels. He stood very easily, his weight--listen to me, his +_weight_--mainly on one foot and one hand curved against his hip. In the +other hand, he carried his pipe. He looked at me--God, how he looked at +me! How, for that matter, they all look at me! They want something, +Spink. Of me. They're trying to tell me. I can't get it, though. But, +believe me, I'm trying. This was worse than the old fellow. For this +one, like Lutetia, was dead. And he, like her, was trying to put his +message across a world, whereas the old fellow had only to pierce a +dimension. How he looked at me; held me; bored into me. It was like +sustaining visual vitriol.... How he looked at me! It became +horrible.... Pretty soon I realized I wasn't going to be able to stand +it.... + +Yet I stayed with it as long as he did, and of course we continued to +glare at each other. I don't exactly know what the etiquette of these +meetings is; but I seem to feel vaguely that it's up to me to stay with +them as long as they're here. This time, it must have been all of five +minutes, although it seemed longer ... much longer ... and I, all the +time, trying to hold on. Then suddenly something happened. I don't know +what it was, but one instant he was there, and another he wasn't. Don't +ask me how he went away. I don't know. He simply ceased to be; and yet +so swifter-than-instantly, so exquisitely, so subtly that my only +question was--even though my mind was still stinging from his gaze--had +he been there at all. It was as though the tree back of him had +instantaneously absorbed him. It was a shock too--that disappearance. + +Well, again I went out for a hike. I walked anywhere--everywhere. How +far I don't know. But half the night. Again it was as though I marched +through the stars.... + +I haven't seen the old painter again--I call him painter simply because +he wore that long robe. And I haven't seen the young guy again. But I +see Lutetia all the time. She comes and goes. Sometimes when I enter the +living-room, I find her already there.... Sometimes when I leave it, I +know she enters by another door.... We spend long evenings together.... +I can't write when she's about; but curiously enough I can sometimes +read; that is to say, I can read Lutetia. I try to read because moments +come when I realize that she prefers me not to look at her. It's when +she's exhausted from trying to give me her message. Or when she's +girding herself up for another go. At those moments, the room is full of +a frightful struggle; a gigantic spiritual concentration. It seems to me +I could not look even if she wanted me. Oh, how she tries, Spink! It +wrings my heart. She's so helpless, so hopeless--so gentle, so tender, +so lovely! It's all my own stupidity. The iron-wall stupidity of flesh +and blood. Perhaps, if I were to kill myself--and I think I could do +that for her.... Only she doesn't want me to do that.... But what does +she want me to do? If I could only.... + + * * * * * + +Lindsay had written steadily the whole evening; written at a violent +speed and with a fierce intensity. Now his speed died down. His hands +dropped from the typewriter. That mental intensity evaporated. He became +aware.... + +He was not alone. + +The long living-room was doubly cheerful that night. The inevitable +tracks of living had begun to humanize it. A big old bean-pot full of +purple iris sat on one end of the refectory table. Lindsay's books and +notebooks; his paper and envelopes; his pens and pencils sprawled over +the length of table between him and the iris. That the night was a +little cool, Lindsay had seized as pretext to build a huge fire. The +high, jagged flames conspired with the steady glow of the big lamp to +rout the shadows from everywhere but the extreme corners. + +No more than--after her coming--he was alone was Lutetia alone. It was, +Lindsay reflected, a picture almost as posed as for a camera. Lutetia +sat; and leaning against her, close to her knee, stood a pigtailed +little girl. She might have been listening to a story; for her little +ear was cocked in Lutetia's direction. That attitude brought to +Lindsay's observation a delicious, snub-nosed child profile. She gazed +unseeingly over her shoulder to a far corner. And Lutetia gazed straight +over the child's head at Lindsay-- + +They sat for a long time--a long long time--thus. The little girl's +vague eyes still fixed themselves on the shadows as on magic realms that +were being constantly unrolled to her. Lutetia's eyes still sought +Lindsay's. And Lindsay's eyes remained on Lutetia's; held there by the +agony of her effort and the exquisite torture of his own bewilderment. + +After a while he arose. With slow, precise movements, he gathered up the +pages of his letter to Spink. He arranged them carefully according to +their numbers--twelve typewritten pages. He walked leisurely with them +over to the fireplace and deposited them in the flames. + +When he turned, the room was empty. + +The next day brought storm again. + + * * * * * + +The coolness of the night vanished finally before the sparkling sunshine +of a wind-swept day. Lindsay wrote for an hour or two. Then he gave +himself up to what he called the "chores." He washed his few dishes. He +toiled on the lawn and in the garden. He finished the work of repairing +the broken stairway in the barn. At the close of this last effort, he +even cast a longing look in the direction of the rubbish collection in +the second story of the barn. But his digestion apprised him that this +voyage of discovery must be put off until after luncheon. He emerged +from the back entrance of the barn, made his way, contrary to his usual +custom, by a circuitous route to the front of the house. He stopped to +tack up a trail of rosebush which had pulled loose from the trellis +there. He felt unaccountably tired. When he entered the house he was +conscious for the first time of a kind of loneliness.... + +He had not seen Lutetia, nor any of her companions, for three days. He +admitted to himself that he missed the tremendous excitement of the last +fortnight. But particularly he missed Lutetia. He paused absently to +glance into the two front rooms, still as empty as on the day he had +first seen them. He wandered upstairs into his bedroom. From there, he +journeyed to the child's room beyond; examined again the dim drawings on +the wall. It occurred to him that, by going over them with crayons, he +could restore some of their lost vividness. The idea brought a little +spurt of exhilaration to his jaded spirit. He returned to his own room, +just for the sake of descending Lutetia's little private stairway to +what must have been her private living-room below. He walked absently +and a little slowly; still conscious of loneliness. He did not pause +long in the living-room, although he made a tentative move in the +direction of the kitchen. Still absently and quite mechanically he +opened the back door; started to step out onto the broad flat stone +which made the step.... + +Most unexpectedly--and shockingly, he was not alone. A tiny figure ... +black ... sat on the doorstep; sat so close to the door that, as it +rose, his curdling flesh warned him he had almost touched it. A curious +thing happened. Lindsay swayed, pitched; fell backwards, white and +moveless. + + + + +VI + + +"How did they find me, Glorious Lutie?" Susannah asked next morning. +"How _did_ they find me? If I could only teach myself to listen to the +warning of those little hammers. Something told me when I saw Warner +walking along the corridor of the Carman Building that he was not there +by accident. Something told me when I ran into O'Hearn at the Attic the +other night that _he_ was not _there_ by accident. They have been +following me all the time. They've known what I've been doing every +moment. Just as Byan knows where I am now. How did they do it? I've +never suspected it for a moment. I've never seen anybody. I'm +frightened, Glorious Lutie; I'm dreadfully frightened. I don't know +where to turn. If I only had a real friend-- But perhaps that wouldn't +help as much as I think. For I'm afraid--I'm too afraid to tell +_anybody_--" + +All this, she said as usual, wordlessly. But she said it from her bed, +her eyes fixed in a lackluster stare on the little oval gleam of the +miniature. + +"I don't know what I'd do without you, Glorious Lutie, to tell my +troubles to. You're a great deal more than a picture to me. You're a +real presence-- Oh, if you could only see for me now. I wonder if Byan +is still in his room? I wonder what he's going to do. I mean--what is +the next move? Oh, of course he's there! He wants to talk with me. But I +won't let him talk with me. I'll stay in this room until I starve! And +he can't telephone. How can he put over what he wants to say?" + +That question answered itself automatically when she dragged herself up +from bed. A white square glimmered beside her door. She pounced upon it. + + "Dear Miss Ayer: + + "Of course we have known where you were and what you were doing + every instant since you left the office. We did not interfere + with your quitting your boarding-house because we preferred to + give you a few days to think things over. I hope you've been + enjoying your little excursions to the Museum and the Aquarium. + We knew you'd come to your senses after a while and be ready to + talk business. That is why you've had those little, accidental + meetings from time to time. That advertisement for a job in the + Carman Building was a decoy ad. It is useless for you to try to + get away from us. + + "And in the meantime the situation is getting more and more + desperate. You know why. Now listen. We can clean up on that + little business deal in three days. Do you know what that means? + Maybe a hundred thousand dollars. We'll let you in. Your share + would be twelve thousand five hundred. Don't that sound pretty + good to you? You can avoid any trouble by going away with us. Or + you can go alone and nobody will bother you. We'll give you the + dope on that; for believe me, we know how. And you wouldn't have + to do a thing you don't want to do. We've got grandpa tamed now + in regard to you. We've told him that you're a lady, and won't + stand for that rough stuff. He's wild about you, and crazy to + see you, and make it all right again. Now why not use a little + sense? Slip a note under my door across the way and tell me that + you'll doll yourself up and be ready to go to dinner with him + tonight at seven." + + A postscript added: "This is unsigned and typewritten on your + own typewriter and so couldn't be used by anyone who didn't like + our way of doing business. For your own safety though, I advise + you to burn it." + +This last was the one bit of advice in the letter which Susannah +followed. She lighted a match and burned it over her water basin. Then +she forced her protesting throat to swallow a glass of milk. She ate +some crackers. After that she went to bed. + +What to do and where to go! Over and over again, she turned the meager +possibilities of her situation. Nothing offered escape. A hackneyed +phrase floated into her mind--"woman's wit." From time immemorial it had +been a bromidiom that any woman, however stupid, could outwit any man, +however clever. Was it true? Perhaps not all the time, and perhaps +sometimes. That was the only way though--she must pit her nimble, +inexperienced woman's wit against their heavier but trained man's wit. +Her problem was to get out of this house, unseen. But how? All kinds of +fantastic schemes floated through her tired mind. If she could only +disguise herself-- But she would have to go out first to get the +disguise. And Byan was across the hall, waiting for just that move. If +there were only a convenient fire-escape! But of course he would +anticipate that. If she could only summon a taxi, leap into it and drive +for an hour! But she would have to telephone for the taxi in the outside +hall, where Byan could hear her. On and on, she drove her tired mind; +inventing schemes more and more impracticable. For a long time, that +woman's wit spawned nothing-- + +Then suddenly a curious idea came to her. It was so ridiculous that she +rejected it instantly. Ridiculous--and it stood ninety-nine per cent +chance of failure; offered but one per cent chance of success. +Nevertheless it recurred. It offered more and more suggestion, more and +more temptation. True, it was a thing barely possible; true also, that +it was the only thing possible. But could she put it through? Had she +the nerve? Had she the strength? + +She must find both the nerve and the strength. + +She bathed and dressed quickly and with a growing steadiness. She packed +her belongings into her suitcase, put Glorious Lutie's miniature in her +handbag. + +She sat down at her bureau and wrote a note: + +"If you will come to my room, after you have had your breakfast, I will +talk the matter over with you. I will not leave the building before you +return. I will be ready to see you at ten o'clock." + +She opened her door, walked across the corridor; slipped the note under +the door of Byan's room. Then she hurried back; locked her door; sat +down and waited, her hands clasped. Her hands grew colder and colder +until they seemed like marble, but all the time her mind seemed to +steady and clarify. + +After a long while she heard Byan's door open. She heard his steps +retreating down the hall and over the stairs. + +Ten minutes later, Susannah appeared, suitcase in hand, at the janitor's +office on the first floor. "I'm Miss Ayer in No. 9, second floor," she +said. "May I leave this suitcase here? I've just thought that I wanted +to go to a friend's room on the fifth floor and I don't want to lug it +up all those stairs." + +The janitor considered her for a puzzled second. Of course he was in +Byan's pay, Susannah reflected. + +"Sure," he answered uncertainly after a while. + +"I'm expecting a gentleman to call on me," Susannah went on steadily. +"Tell him I'll be on the fifth floor at No. 9. My friend is out," she +ended in glib explanation, "but she's left her key with me. There's a +little work that I wanted to do on her typewriter." The janitor--she had +worked this out in advance--must know that Room 9, fifth floor--was +occupied by a woman who owned a typewriter. Susannah established that +when, a few days before, she had restored to its owner a letter shoved +by mistake under her own door. + +Susannah deposited her bag on the floor in the janitor's office. She +walked steadily up the stairs to the second floor. She felt the +janitor's gaze on the first flight of her progress. She stopped just +before she reached her own room, glanced back. She was alone there. The +janitor had not followed her. Perhaps Byan's instructions to him were +only to watch the door. With a swift pounce, she ran to Byan's door, +turned the knob. + +It opened. + +She ran to the closet; opened that. As she suspected, it was empty. +Indeed, her swift glance had discovered no signs of occupancy in the +room. Even the bed was undisturbed. Byan had hired it, of course, just +for the purpose of being there that one night. Susannah closed the +closet door after her, so that the merest crack let in the air she +should demand--and waited. In that desperate hour when she lay thinking, +the idea had suddenly flashed into her mind that there was only one +place in the house where Byan would not look for her. That place was his +own room. But it would not have occurred to her to take refuge there if +she had not noted, even in her taut terror of the night before, that +when Byan entered his own room he had omitted to lock the door after +him. As indeed, why should he? There was nothing to steal in it but +Byan. Moreover, of course Byan had sat up all night--his door +unlocked--ready to forestall any effort of hers to escape. + + * * * * * + +An hour later Susannah heard a padded, rather brisk step ascending the +stairs, coming along the hall. It was Byan, of course--no one could +mistake his pace. He knocked on the door of her room; at first gently, +then insistently. A pause. Then he tried the knob, again at first +gently, then insistently. His steps retreated down the hall and the +stairs. He must have got a pass-key from the janitor, for when, a long +minute later, she heard his steps return, the scraping of a lock sounded +from across the hall. She heard her somewhat rusty door-hinges creak. +There followed a low whistle as of surprise, then an irregular +succession of steps and creaks proving that he was looking under the +bed, was inspecting the closet. She heard him retreat again down the +stairs, and braced herself to endure a longer wait. At last, two pairs +of feet sounded on the stairs. Had her ruse fully succeeded--would they +mount at once to Room 9, fifth floor? No--they were coming again along +the second-floor corridor. With a tingle of nerves in her temples and +cheeks, she realized that she had reached the supreme moment of peril. +They began knocking at every door on the second-floor corridors. Once +she heard a muffled colloquy--the impatient tones of some strange man, +the apologetic voice of the janitor. At other doors she heard, shortly +after the knock, the scraping of the pass-key. Now they were in the room +just beyond the wall of the closet where she was crouching. She heard +them enter and emerge--the moment had come! But their footsteps passed +her door; an instant later, she heard the pass-key grate in the door of +the room on the other side. Then--one hand shaking convulsively on the +knob of Byan's closet door--she heard them go flying up the stairs to +the third story--the fourth-- + + * * * * * + +Before noon of that haunted, hunted morning, Susannah found a room in a +curious way. When she escaped from the house in the West Twenties, she +had walked westward almost to the river. In a little den of a restaurant +just off the docks, she ordered breakfast and the morning newspapers. +But when she tried to look over the advertising columns with a view to +finding a room, she had a violent fit of trembling. The members of the +Carbonado Mining Company, she recalled to herself, were studying those +advertisements just as closely as she; and perhaps at that very moment. + +Hiding in a great city! Why, she thought to herself, it's the only place +where you can't hide! + +Susannah dawdled over breakfast as long as she dared. She found herself +wincing as she emerged onto the busy dingy street of docks. She stopped +under the shade of an awning and controlled the abnormal fluttering of +her heart while she thought out her situation. She dared no longer walk +the streets. She dared not go to a real-estate agent. How, then, might +she find a room and a hiding-place? + +Then a Salvation Army girl came picking her way across the crowded, +cluttered dock-pavement toward her awning. And Susannah had a sudden +impulse which she afterwards described to Glorious Lutie as a stroke of +genius. She came out to the edge of the pavement and accosted the Blue +Bonnet. + +"Do you know of any place where a girl who's a stranger in New York may +find a cheap and respectable lodging?" she asked. + +The Salvation Army girl gave her a long, steady scrutiny from under the +scoop of her bonnet. + +"My sister keeps a rooming-house up on Eighth Avenue," she said finally. +"She always has an extra room, and she will take you in, I guess. Have +you a bit of paper? I'll write her a note." + +Susannah flew, swift as a homing dove, to the address. The landlady, a +shapeless, featureless, middle-aged blonde, read the note; herself gave +a long glance of scrutiny, and showed the room. Susannah's examination +was merely perfunctory. In fact, she looked with eyes which saw not. +Probably never before did a shabby, battered bedchamber, stained as to +ceiling, peeling as to wallpaper, carelessly patched as to carpet, +indescribably broken-down and nondescript as to furniture, seem a very +paradise to the eyes of twenty-five. + +The bed was humpy, but it was a double bed; and clean. Susannah sank on +to it. She did not rise for a long time. Then, true to her accepted +etiquette on occasions of this kind, she drew the miniature from her +handbag and pinned it on to the wall beside her bureau. + +"Glorious Lutie," her thoughts ran, "I'm as weak as a sick cat. If there +was ever a girl more terrified, more friendless, more worn-out than I +feel at this moment, I'd like to know how she got that way. I want to +crawl into that bed and stay there for a week just reveling in the +thought that I'm safe. Safe, Glorious Lutie. Safe! Alone with you. And +nobody to be afraid of. Our funds are running low of course. I've +nothing to pawn except you. But don't be afraid--I'll never pawn you. If +we have to go down, we'll go down together and with all sails set. I've +got an awful hate and fear on this job-hunting business now. Heaven +knows I don't want much money; only enough to live on. I guess I won't +try to be a high-class queen of secretaries any longer--or at least for +the present. My lay is to lie low for a month or two. I'll rest for a +few days. Then I'll go into--what? What, Glorious Lutie, tell me what? +I've got it! Domestic service. That's my escape. I've certainly got +brains enough to be a second girl and they never could find me tucked +away in somebody's house, especially if I never take my afternoons out. +Which, believe me, Glorious Lutie, I won't. I'll spend them all with +you. Oh, what an idea that is! I'll wait around here for about a week +and then I'll tackle one of the domestic service agencies. If I know +anything about after-the-war conditions, I'll be snapped up like hot +cakes." + +Keeping her promise to herself, Susannah stayed as much as possible +indoors. The landlady consented to give her breakfast, but she would do +no more--even that was an accommodation. In gratitude, Susannah took +care of her own room. She kept it in spotless order; she even pottered +with repairs. With breakfast at home, she had no need to leave the house +of mornings. She went without luncheon; and late in the afternoon, +before the home-going flood from the offices, she had dinner in a +Child's restaurant round the corner. For the rest of the time, she read +the landlady's books--few, and mostly cheap. But they included a set of +Dickens; and she renewed acquaintance with a novelist whom she loved for +himself and who called up memories of her happiest times. But her mood +with Dickens was curiously capricious. His deaths and persecutions and +poignant tragedies she could no longer endure--they swept her into a +gulf of black melancholy. On the second day of her voluntary +imprisonment, she glanced through _Bleak House_; stumbled into the +wanderings of Little Jo through the streets of London. Suddenly she +surprised herself by a fit of hysterical, trembling tears. This +explosion cleared her mental airs; but afterward she skipped through +Dickens, picking and choosing his humors, his love-passages, his +gargantuan feasts in wayside inns. + +When her eyes grew weary with reading, or when she ran into one of those +passages which brought the black cloud, Susannah gazed vacantly out of +the window. + +Her lodging-house stood on a corner; she had a back, corner room on the +third floor. The house next door, on the side street, finished to the +rear in a two-story shed. Its roof lay almost under her window. The +landlady, upon showing the room, had called her attention to this shed. +"We've got no regular fire escapes, dearie," she said, "but in case of +trouble, you're all right. You just step out here and if the skylight +ain't open, somebody'll get you down with a ladder. A person can't be +too careful about fires!" Across the skylight lay a few scanty +backyards--treeless, grassless, uninteresting. This city area of yards +and sheds seemed to be the club, the Rialto for all the stray cats of +Eighth Avenue. Susannah named them, endowed them with personalities. +Their squabbles, their amours, their melodramatic stalking, gave her a +kind of apathetic interest. + +The interest lessened as three days went by, and the apathy deepened. +"It's my state of mind, Glorious Lutie," she apprised the miniature. +"It's this weight that's on my spirit. It's fear. Just as soon as I can +get my mind off--I mean just as soon as I become convinced that I'm +never going to be bothered again, it will go, I'm sure. Of course I +can't help feeling as I do. But I ought not to. I'm perfectly safe now. +In a few days those crooks won't trouble about me any more. It will be +too late. And I know it." + +She reiterated those last two sentences as though Glorious Lutie were a +difficult person to convince. The next morning, however, came diversion. +Work--roofing--began on the shed just under her window. Susannah watched +the workmen with an interest that held, at first, an element of +determined concentration. The roofers, an elderly man and a younger one, +incredibly dirty in their blackened overalls, which were soon matched by +face and hands, were very conscious at first of the brilliant tawny head +just above. Once, muffled by the window, she caught an allusion to white +horses. But Susannah ignored this; continued to watch them disappearing +and emerging through the open skylight, setting up their melting-pot, +arranging their sheets of tin. + +Before she was out of bed next morning they were making a metallic +clatter with their hammers. In her normal state, Susannah was a creature +almost without nerves. She even retained a little of the child's +enjoyment of a racket for its own sake. But now--the din annoyed her, +annoyed her unspeakably. She crept languidly out of bed, peeped through +the edge of the curtain. They were just beginning work. It would keep up +all day. + +"I can't stand this!" said Susannah aloud; and then began one of her +wordless addresses to the miniature. + +"I guess the time has come, anyhow, to strike into pastures new. Behold, +Glorious Lutie, your Glorious Susie descending from the high and mighty +position of pampered secretary to that of driven slave. Tomorrow morn I +apply for a job as second girl. If it weren't for this headache, I'd do +it today." + +However, the hammering only intensified her headache; she must get +outside. So when the landlady arrived with her breakfast, Susannah +inquired for the address of the nearest employment office. She dressed, +and descended to the street. As always, of late, she had a shrinking as +she stepped out into the open world of men and women. When she had +controlled this, she moved with a curious apathy to the old, battered +ground-floor office with yellow signs over its front windows, where +girls found work at domestic service. Presently, she was registered, was +sitting on a long bench with a row of women ranging from slatternly to +cheaply smart. She scarcely observed them. That apathy was settling +deeper about her spirits; her only sensation was her dull headache. +Somehow, when she sat still it was not wholly an unpleasant headache. +Then the voice of the sharp-faced woman at the desk in the corner called +her name. It tore the veil, woke her as though from sleep. She rose, to +face her first chance--a thin, severe woman with a mouth like a steel +trap. + +This first chance furnished no opening, however; neither, as the morning +wore away, did several other chances. The process of getting a second +maid's job was at the same time more difficult and less difficult than +she had thought. Susannah had forgotten that people always ask servants +for references. She had supposed her carefully worked out explanation +would cover that situation--that she had been a stenographer in +Providence; that she had come to New York soon after the Armistice was +signed, hoping for a bigger outlook; that the returning soldiers were +snapping up all the jobs; that she had tried again and again for a +position; that her money was fast going; that she had been advised to +enter domestic service. Housekeepers from rich establishments and the +mistresses of small ones interviewed her; but the lack of references +laid an impassable barrier. In the afternoon, however, luck changed. A +suburbanite from Jamaica, a round, grizzled, middle-aged woman, +desperately in need of a second girl, cut through all the red-tape that +had held the others up. "You're perfectly honest," she said +meditatively, "about admitting you've had no experience, and you _look_ +trustworthy." + +"I assure you, madam,"--Susannah was eager, but wary; not too eager. She +even laughed a little--"I am honest--so honest that it hurts." + +"The only thing is," her interlocutor went on hesitatingly; "you must +pardon me for putting it so bluntly; but we might as well be open with +each other. I'm afraid you'll feel a little above your position." + +"Well," Susannah responded honestly, "to be straightforward with _you_, +I suppose I shall. But I give you my word, I'll never _show_ it. And +that's the only thing that counts, isn't it?" + +The woman smiled. + +"I must confess I like you," she burst out impulsively. "But how am I +going to know that you're--all right?" + +Susannah sighed. "I understand your situation perfectly. I don't know +how you're to know I'm all right--morally or just in the matter of mere +honesty. For there's nobody but me to tell you that I'm moral and +honest. And of course I'm prejudiced." + +"Well, anyway I'm going to risk it. I'm engaging you now. It is +understood--ten dollars a week; and alternate Thursdays and Sundays out. +I don't want you until tomorrow because I want my former maid out of the +house before you come. Now will you promise me that you'll take the nine +train tomorrow?" + +"I promise," Susannah agreed. + +"But that reminds me," the woman came on another difficulty, "what's to +guarantee that you'll stay with me?" + +"I guarantee," Susannah said steadily, "that if you keep to your end of +the agreement, I'll stay with you at least three months." + +The woman sparkled. "All right, I'll expect you tomorrow on the nine +train. I'll be there with the Ford to meet you. Here are the +directions." She scribbled busily on a card. + +Susannah walked home as one who treads on air. The veil of apathy had +broken. And in spite of her headache, which caught her by fits and +starts, her mood broke into a joy so wild that it sent her pirouetting +about the room. "Glorious Lutie, I never felt so happy in my life. So +gayly, grandly, gorgeously, gor-gloriously happy! All my troubles are +over. I'm safe." And on the strength of that security, she washed and +ironed her lavender linen suit. Her headache was better again. Perhaps +if she went out now to an early dinner, it might disappear altogether. +But how languorous she felt, how indisposed to effort. She would sit and +read a while. She opened _Pickwick Papers_ on its last pages. She had +almost finished the book. + +"I suppose it will be a long time before I have a chance to do any more +reading," she meditated. "So I think I'll finish this. You've helped me +through a hard passage in my life, Charles Dickens, and I thank you with +all my heart." + +But she could not read. As soon as she sat down by the window and +settled her eyes on the book, the headache returned. The men were still +at work on the roof, hammering away at one corner. Every blow seemed to +strike her skull. Midway of the roof, the skylight yawned open; their +extra tools were laid out beside it. At five o'clock they would quit for +the day. Usually she disliked to have them go. In spite of their noise, +she felt that still. They gave her a kind of warm, human sense of +companionship. And they had become accustomed to her appearances at the +window. Their flirtatious first glances had ceased for want of +encouragement. They scarcely seemed to see her when they looked up. But +now--that hammering at her skull! Susannah suddenly rose and closed the +window, hot though the day was, against this torrent of sound. As though +its futile shield would give added protection, she drew the curtain. In +the dimmed light she sat rocking, her head in her hands. Her face was +fire-hot--why, she wondered-- The hammering stopped. They were soldering +now. They were always doing that; beating the tin sheets into place and +stopping to solder them. There would be silence for a time. In a moment, +she would open the window for a breath of air on her burning face.... + +She started at a knock on her door, low, quick, but abrupt. Before she +could answer, it opened. His face shadowed in the three-quarters light, +but his form perfectly outlined, instantly recognizable--stood Warner. +Behind Warner was Byan, and behind Byan, O'Hearn. + +All the blood of her heart seemed to strike in one wave on Susannah's +aching head, and then to recede. She knew both the tingling of terror +and the numbness of horror. Prickling, stinging darts volleyed her face, +her hands, her feet; and yet she seemed to be freezing to stone. + +They came into the room before anyone spoke--Warner first. Byan lolled +to a place in the corner; the three-quarters light, filtering through +the thin fabric of the flimsy, yellow curtain, revealed his clean +profile, his mysterious half-smile. O'Hearn stood just at the entrance. +He did not continue to look at her. His eyes sought the floor. + +Warner was speaking now: + +"Good-evening, Miss Ayer. We have come to finish up that little piece of +business with you. It has been delayed as long as it can be. Pardon us +for breaking in upon you like this. Your landlady tried to prevent us, +but we assured her that you would want to see us. As I think you will +when you come to your senses and hear what I have to say." + +He stopped, as though awaiting her reply. But Susannah made no answer. +She had dropped her eyes now; her hands lay limp in her lap. And in this +pause, a curious piece of byplay passed between Warner and O'Hearn. The +master of this trio caught the glance of his assistant and, with a swift +motion of three fingers toward the lapel of his coat, gave him that +"office" in the underworld sign manual--which means "look things over." +O'Hearn, moving so lightly that Susannah scarcely noted his passage, +stepped to the window, lifted the edge of the curtain. He took a swift, +intent look outside and returned to Warner. His back to Susannah, he +spoke with his lips, scarcely vocalizing the words. + +"No getaway there, Boss--straight drop--" he said. + +Warner was speaking again. + +"Your landlady says we may have her parlor for our conference. Wouldn't +you prefer to make yourself presentable for the street and then join us +there--in about ten minutes, say?" + +Ten minutes--this gave her a chance to play for time--the only chance +she had. She looked up. Nothing on the clean-cut, pearl-white exterior +of her face gave a clue to the anarchy within; nothing, even, in her +black-fringed, blue gaze the tautly-held scarlet lips. Her fire-bright +head lifted a little higher and she gazed steadily into Warner's eyes, +as she spoke in a voice which seemed to her to belong to someone else: + +"I can give you a few minutes, but I have not changed my determination." + +"But I think you will," said Warner. "I really think you will. Before we +go, I might remind you that we have been extremely gentle and patient +with you, Miss Ayer. I might also remind you that you have never +succeeded in giving us the slip. You were very clever when you escaped +from your last lodging. We don't know yet exactly how you did it. +Perhaps you will tell us in the course of our little talk this +afternoon. But you were not quite clever enough. You did not figure that +with such important matters pending, we would have the outside of the +house watched as well as the inside. So that you may not think our +meeting this afternoon is accidental, let me remind you that you have an +engagement for tomorrow afternoon in Jamaica--to take a job as second +maid. What we have to offer you this afternoon will probably be so +attractive that you will overlook that engagement." + +He paused. + +"I will be with you in ten minutes," said Susannah. She was conscious of +no emotion now--only that her head ached, and that the faded roses in +the old carpet were entwined with forget-me-nots--a thing she had never +noticed before. + +"Thank you." Warner made her a gallant little bow. "Mr. Byan and I will +wait in the parlor. Until we come to an understanding, we shall have to +continue the old arrangement. It will therefore be necessary for Mr. +O'Hearn to watch in the hall. If you do not arrive in ten minutes--this +room will probably do as well as the parlor. Until then, Miss Ayer!" + +He opened the door, passed out. Byan retreated after him, flashing one +of his pathetically sweet, floating smiles. Susannah looked up now, +followed their movements as the felon must follow the movements of the +man with the rope. O'Hearn had been standing close to Susannah, his +veiling lashes down. He fell in behind the other two. But before he +joined the file, those lashes came up in a quick glance which stabbed +Susannah. His hand came up too. He was pointing to the window. And then +he spoke two words in a whisper so low that they carried only to the +ears of Susannah, scarce three feet away--so low that she could not have +made them out but for the exaggerated, expressive movement of his lips. + +"Skylight--quick--" he said. He made for the door in the wake of the +other two. + +For the fraction of an instant Susannah did not comprehend. And then +suddenly one of those little intuitive blows which she was always +receiving and ignoring gave, on the hard surface of her mind, a faint +tap. This time, she was conscious of it. This time, she trusted it +instantly. This time, it told her what to do. + +"I'll be with you as soon as I get dolled up," she called. + +"That's right," came the suave voice of Warner from the hall. + +She closed the door. She listened while two sets of footsteps descended +the stairs. She heard a third set, which must be O'Hearn's, retreat for +a few paces and then stop. She fell swiftly to work. She put on her hat +and cape. She took the miniature, thumbtack and all, from the wall, and +put it in her wrist bag. "Help me, Glorious Lutie," she called from the +depths of her soul. "Help me! Help me! Help me! I'm lost if you don't +help me! I can't do it any more alone." + + + + +VII + + +When Lindsay pulled back from the quiet gray void which had enshrouded +him, he was lying on the grass. Far, far away, as though pasted against +the brilliant blue sky, was a face. Gradually the sky receded. The face +came nearer. It topped, he gradually gathered, the tiny slender +black-silk figure of a little old lady. "Do you feel all right now?" it +asked. + +Lindsay wished that she would not question him. He was immensely +preoccupied with what seemed essentially private matters. But the +instinct of courtesy prodded him. "Very much, thank you," he answered +weakly. He closed his eyes again. He became conscious of a wet cloth +sopping his forehead and cheeks. A breeze tingled on the bare flesh of +his neck and chest. He opened his eyes again; sat up. "Do you mean to +tell me I fainted?" he demanded with his customary vigor. + +"That's exactly what you did, young man," the old lady answered. "The +instant you looked at me! I was setting with my back to the door. You +could have knocked me down with a feather, when you fell over +backwards." + +"Have I been out long?" + +"Not more'n a moment. I flaxed around and got some water and brought you +to in a jiffy. You ain't an invalid, are you?" + +"Far from it," Lindsay reassured her. "I'm afraid, though, I've been +working too long in the hot sun this morning." + +"Like as not!" the little old lady agreed briskly. "I guess you're +hungry too," she hazarded. "Now you just get up and lay in the hammock +and I'm going to make you some lunch. I see there was some eggs there +and milk and tea. I'll have you some scrambled eggs fixed in no time. My +name is Spash--Mrs. Spash." + +"My name is Lindsay--David Lindsay." + +Lindsay found himself submitting without a murmur to the little old +lady's program. He lay quiescent in the hammock and let the tides of +vitality flow back.... Mrs. Spash's prophecy, if anything, +underestimated her energy. In an incredibly short time she had produced, +in collaboration with the oil stove, eggs scrambled on bread deliciously +toasted, tea of a revivifying heat and strength. + +"Gee, that tastes good!" Lindsay applauded. He sighed. "It certainly +takes a woman!" + +"What are you doing here?" Mrs. Spash inquired. "Batching it?" + +"Yes, I think that describes the process," Lindsay admitted. After an +instant, "How did you happen to be on the doorstep?" + +"Well, I don't wonder you ask," Mrs. Spash declared. "I didn't know the +Murray place was let and--well, I was making one of my regular visits. +You see, I come here often. I'm pretty fond of this old house. I lived +here once for years." + +Lindsay sat upright. "Did you by chance live here when Lutetia Murray +was alive?" + +"Well, I should say I did!" Mrs. Spash answered. "I lived here the last +twenty years of Lutetia Murray's life. I was her housekeeper, as you +might say." + +Lindsay stared at her. He started to speak. It was obvious that +conflicting comments fought for expression, but all he managed to +say--and ineptly enough--was: "Oh, you knew her, then?" + +"Knew her!" Mrs. Spash seemed to search among her vocabulary for words. +Or perhaps it was her soul for emotions. "Yes, I knew her," she +concluded with a feeble breathlessness. + +"You've lived in this house, then, for twenty years," Lindsay repeated, +musing. + +"Yes, all of that." Mrs. Spash appeared to muse also. For an instant the +two followed their own preoccupations. Then as though they led them to +the same _impasse_, their eyes lifted simultaneously; met. They smiled. + +"I've bought this house, Mrs. Spash," Lindsay confided. "And you never +can guess why." + +Mrs. Spash started what appeared to be a comment. It deteriorated into a +little inarticulate murmur. + +"I bought it," Lindsay went on, "because when I was in college, I fell +in love with Lutetia Murray." And then, at Mrs. Spash's wide-eyed, faded +stare, "Not with Miss Murray herself--I never saw her--but with her +books. I read everything she wrote and I wrote in college what we call a +thesis on her." + +"Sort of essay or composition," Mrs. Spash defined thesis to herself. + +"Exactly," Lindsay permitted. + +"She was--she was--" Mrs. Spash began in a dispassionate sort of way. +She concluded in a kind of frenzy. "She was an angel." + +"Oh yes, she's that all right. I have never seen anybody so lovely." + +Mrs. Spash made a swift conversational pounce. "I thought you said you'd +never seen her." + +Lindsay flushed abjectly. "No," he admitted. "But you see I have a +picture of her." He pointed to the mantel. + +"Yes, I noticed that when I came in to get some water." Strangely enough +Mrs. Spash did not, for a moment, look at the picture. Instead she +stared at Lindsay. Lindsay submitted easily enough to this examination. +After a while Mrs. Spash appeared to abandon her scrutiny of him. She +trotted over to the fireplace; studied Lutetia's likeness. + +"I don't know as I ever see that one--it don't half do her justice--I +hate a profile picture--" She pronounced "profile" to rhyme with +"wood-pile." "None of her pictures ever did do her justice. Her beauty +was mostly in her hair and her eyes. She had a beautiful skin too, +though she never took no care of it. Never wore a hat--no matter how hot +the sun was. And then her expression-- Well, it was just +beautiful--changing all the time." + +Lindsay was only half listening. He was, with an amused glint in his +eyes, studying Mrs. Spash's spare, erect black-silk figure. She was a +relic perfectly preserved, he reflected, of mid-Victorianism. Her black +was of the kind that is accurately described by the word decent. And she +wore fittingly a little black, beaded cape with a black shade-hat that +tilted forward over her face at a decided slant. Her straight, white, +abundant hair was apparently parted in the middle under her hat. At any +rate, the neat white parting continued over the crown of her head to her +very neck, where it concealed itself under a flat black-silk bow. Her +gnarled, blue-veined hands had been covered with the lace mitts that now +lay on the table. Her little wrinkled face was neat-featured. The irises +of her eyes were a faded blue and the whites were blue also; and this +put a note of youthful color among her wrinkles. + +But Lindsay lost interest in these details; for, obviously, a new idea +caught him in its instant clutch. "Oh, Mrs. Spash," he suggested, "would +you be so good as to take me through this house? I want you to tell me +who occupied the rooms. This is not mere idle curiosity on my part. You +see Miss Murray's publishers have decided to bring out a new edition of +her works. They want me to write a life of Miss Murray. I'm asking +everybody who knows anything about her all kinds of questions." + +Mrs. Spash received all this with that unstirred composure which +indicates non-comprehension of the main issue. + +"Of course I'm interested on my own account too," Lindsay went on. +"She's such a wonderful creature, so charming and so beautiful, so +sweet, so unbearably poignant and sad. I can't understand," he concluded +absently, "why she is so sad." + +Mrs. Spash seemed to comprehend instantly. "It's the way she died," she +explained vaguely, "and how everything was left!" She walked in little +swift pattering steps, and with the accustomed air of one who knows her +way, through the side door into the addition. "This was Miss Murray's +own living-room," she told Lindsay. "She had that little bit of a +stairway made, she _said_, so's too many folks couldn't come up to her +room at once. Not that that made any difference. Wherever she was, the +whole household went." + +With little nipping steps Mrs. Spash ascended the stairway. Lindsay +followed. + +"Did Miss Murray die in her room?" Lindsay asked. + +"How did you know this was her room?" Mrs. Spash demanded. + +"I don't know exactly. I just guessed it," Lindsay answered. "I sleep +here myself," he hurriedly threw off. + +"Yes. She died here. She was all alone when she died. You see--" Mrs. +Spash sat down on the one chair and, instantly sensing her mood, Lindsay +sat down on the bed. + +"You see, things hadn't gone very well for Miss Murray the last years of +her life. Her books didn't sell-- And she spent money like water. She +was allus the most open-hearted, open-handed creature you can imagine. +She allus had the house full of company! And then there was the little +girl--Cherry--who lived with her. At the end, things were bad. No money +coming in. And Miss Murray sick all the time." + +"You say she was alone when she died," Lindsay gently brought her back +to the track. + +"Yes--except for little Cherry, who slept right through +everything--childlike. Cherry had that room." Mrs. Spash jerked an +angular thumb back. + +Lindsay nodded. "Yes, I guessed that--with all the drawings--" + +"The Weejubs! Mr. Gale drew them pictures for Cherry. He was an artist. +He used to paint pictures out in the backyard there. I didn't fancy them +very much myself--too dauby. You had to stand way off from them 'fore +they'd look like anything _a-tall_. But he used to get as high as five +hundred dollars for them. Oh, what excitement there was in this house +while he was decorating Cherry's room! And little Cherry chattering like +a magpie! Mr. Gale made up a whole long story about the Weejubs on her +walls. Lord, I've forgotten half of it; but Cherry could rattle it all +off as _fast_. Miss Murray had that door between her room and Cherry's +made small on purpose. She said Cherry could come into her room whenever +she wanted to, as long as she was a little girl. But when Cherry grew +up, she was going to make it hard for her. But she promised when Cherry +was sixteen years old she shouldn't have to call her auntie any +more--she could call her jess Lutetia. Queer idea, worn't it?" + +Mrs. Spash's old eyes so narrowed before an oncoming flood of +reminiscence that they seemed to retreat to the back of her head, where +they diminished to blue sparks. For a moment the room was silent. Then +"Let me show you something! You'd oughter know it, seein' it's your +house. There's some, though, I wouldn't show it to." + +She pattered with her surprising quickness to the back wall. She pressed +a spot in the paneling and a small square of the wood moved slowly back. + +"You see, Miss Murray's bed ran along that wall, just as Cherry's did in +the other room. Mornings and evenings they used to open this panel and +talk to each other." + +Lindsay's eyes filmed even as Mrs. Spash's had. Mentally he saw the two +faces bending toward the opening.... + +"But you was asking about Miss Murray's death-- As I say, things didn't +go well with her. I didn't understand how it all happened. Folks stopped +buying her books, I guess. Anyway, when she died, there was nothing +left. And there was debts. The house and everything in it was sold--at +auction. It was awful to see Miss Murray's things all out on the lawn. +And a great crowd of gawks--riff-raff from everywhere--looking at 'em +and making fun of 'em-- She had beautiful things, but they went for +nothing a-tall. They jess about paid her debts." + +Lindsay groaned. "But her death--" + +"Oh yes, as I was sayin'. You see, Miss Murray worn't ever the same +after Mr. Lewis died. You know about that?" + +Lindsay nodded. "He was drowned." + +Mrs. Spash nodded confirmatively. "Yes, in Spy Pond--over South Quinanog +way. He was swimming all alone. He was taken with cramps way out in the +middle of the Pond. Finally somebody saw him struggling and they put out +in a boat, but they were too late. Miss Murray was in the garden when +they brought him back on a shutter. I was with her. I can see the way +her face looked now. She didn't say anything. Not a word! She turned to +stone. And it didn't seem to me that she ever came back to flesh again. +They was to be married in October. He was a splendid man. He came from +New York." + +"Yes. Curiously enough I spent a few days in what used to be his rooms," +Lindsay informed her. + +"That so?" But it was quite apparent that nothing outside the radius of +Quinanog interested Mrs. Spash deeply. She made no further comment. + +"Was she very much in love with Lewis?" Lindsay ventured. + +"In love! I wish you could see their eyes when they looked at each +other. They'd met late. Miss Murray had always had lots of attention. +But she never seemed to care for anybody--though she'd flirt a +little--until she met Mr. Lewis. It was love at first sight with them." + +She proceeded. + +"Well, Miss Murray died five years after Mr. Lewis. She died--well, I +don't know exactly what it was. But she had _attacks_. She was a +terrible sufferer. And she was worried--money matters worried her. You +see, little Cherry's mother died when she was born and her father soon +after. Miss Murray'd always had Cherry and felt responsible for her. I +know, because she told me. 'It ain't myself, Eunice Spash,' she said to +me more'n once. 'It's little Cherry.' Anyway, she was alone when her +last attack came. She'd sent for a cousin--I forget the name--to be with +her, and she was up in Boston getting a nurse, and I was in the other +side of the house. I never heard a sound. We found her dead in the +middle of the floor--there." Her crooked forefinger indicated the spot. +"Seemed she'd got up and tried to get to the door to call. But she +dropped and died halfway. She was all contorted. Her face looked--Not so +much suffering of the body as-- Well, you could see it in her face that +it come to her that she was going, and Cherry was left with nothing." + +"What became of that cousin?" Lindsay inquired. "I have asked everybody +in the neighborhood, but nobody seems to know." + +"And I don't know. She went to Boston, taking Cherry with her. For a +time we heard from Cherry now and then--she'd write letters to the +children. Then we lost sight of her. I don't know whether Miss Murray's +cousin's living or dead; Cherry either." + +Lindsay felt that he could have assured her that Cherry was alive; but +his conclusion rested on premises too gauzy for him to hazard the +statement. + +Mrs. Spash sighed. She arose, led the way into the hall. "This was Mr. +Monroe's room; and Mr. Gale's room was back of his. He liked the room +that overlooked the garden. Mr. Monroe--" + +"That's the big man, the sculptor," Lindsay hazarded. + +"How'd you know?" Mrs. Spash pounced on him again. + +"Oh, I've talked with a lot of people in the neighborhood," Lindsay +returned evasively. + +"That Mr. Monroe," Mrs. Spash glided on easily, "was a case and a half. +Nothing but talk and laugh every moment he was in the house. I used to +admire to have him come." + +"Where is he?" Lindsay asked easily. He hoped Mrs. Spash did not guess +how, mentally, he hung upon her answer. + +"He went to Italy--to Florence--after Miss Murray died." Mrs. Spash +stopped. "He was in love with Miss Murray. Had been for years. She +wouldn't have him though. He was an awful nice man. Sometimes I thought +she would have him. But after Mr. Lewis came-- Queer, worn't it? I don't +know whether Mr. Monroe's alive or dead." + +Again Lindsay felt that he could have assured her that he was alive, but +again gauzy premises inhibited exact conclusions. + +"The last I heard of him he was in Rome. 'Tain't likely he's alive now. +_Land_, no! He'd be well over seventy--close onto seventy-five. Mr. Gale +was in love with her too. He was younger. I don't think he ever told +Miss Murray, I never _did_ know if she knew. You couldn't fool me +though. Well, I started out to show you this house. I must be gitting +on. You've seen the slave quarters and the whipping-post upstairs?" + +"Yes. _Everybody_ could tell me about the whipping-post and the slave +quarters. But the things I wanted to know--" + +"Well, it's natural enough that folks shouldn't know much about her. +Miss Murray was a lady that didn't talk about her own affairs and she +kept sort of to herself, as you might say. She wasn't the kind that ran +in on folks. She wrote by fits and starts. Sometimes she'd stay up late +at night. She _allus_ wrote new-moon time. She said the light of the +crescent moon inspired her. How they used to make fun of her about that! +But she'd write with all of them about, laughing and talking and playing +the piano or singing--and dancing even. The house was so lively those +days--they was all great trainers. And yet she could fall asleep right +in the midst of all that confusion. Well--so you see she wasn't given to +making calls. And then there was always so much to do and so many folks +around at home. Have you been upstairs in the barn?" + +"No--not yet. The stairs were all broken away. I had just finished +mending them when I had the pleasure of making your acquaintance." + +They both smiled reminiscently. + +"Let's go up there now--there must be a lot of things--" She ended her +sentence a little vaguely as the old sometimes do. But the movement with +which she arose from her chair and trotted toward the stairs was full of +an anticipation almost youthful. + +"The garden used to be so pretty," she sighed as they started on the +well-worn trail to the barn. "Miss Murray worn't what you might call +practical, but she could make flowers grow. She never cooked, nor sewed, +nor anything sensible, but she'd work in that garden till-- There was +certain combinations of flowers that she used to like; hollyhocks, +especially the garnet ones so dark they was almost black, surrounded by +them blue Canterbury bells; and then phlox in all colors, white and pink +and magenta and lavender and purple. I think there was some things put +out here," she interrupted herself vaguely, "that nobody wanted at the +auction. There wasn't even a bid on them." + +She trotted up the stairs like a pony that has suddenly become aged. +Lindsay followed, two steps at a time. The upper story of the barn was +the confused mass of objects that the lumber room of any large household +inevitably collects. Broken chairs; tables, bureaux; rejected pieces of +china; kitchen furnishings; a rusty stove, old boxes; bandboxes; broken +trunks; torn bags. + +"There! That's the table Miss Murray used to do her writing at. She said +there never had been a table built big enough for her. I expect that's +why nobody bought it at the auction. 'Twas too big for mortal use, you +might say. The same reason I expect is why the dining-room table didn't +sell either." + +"Where did she write?" Lindsay asked, measuring the table with his eye. + +"All summer in the south living-room. But when it come winter, she'd +often take her things and set right in front of the fire in the +living-room. Then she'd write at that long table you're writing on." + +"This table goes back to the south living-room tomorrow," Lindsay +decided almost inaudibly. "Can you tell me the exact spot?" + +"I guess I _can_. Lord knows I've got down on my hands and knees and +dusted the legs often enough. Miss Murray said, though it was soft wood, +it was the oldest piece in the house. She bought it at some old tavern +where they was having a sale. She said it dated back--long before +Revolutionary times--to Colonial days." + +"Could you tell me, I wonder, about the rest of Miss Murray's +furniture?" Lindsay came suddenly from out a deep revery. "Do you +remember who bought it? I would like to buy back all that I can get. I'd +like to make the old place look, as much as possible, as it used to +look." + +Mrs. Spash flashed him a quick intent look. Then she meditated. "I think +I could probably tell you where most every piece went. The Drakes got +the Field bed and the ivory-keyhole bureau and the ivory-keyhole desk; +and Miss Garnet got the elephant and Mis' Manson got the gazelles--" + +"Elephant! Gazelles!" Lindsay interrupted. + +"The gazelles," Mrs. Spash smiled indulgently. "Well, it does sound +queer, but Miss Murray used to call those little thin-legged candle +tables that folks use, _gazelles_. The elephant was a great high chest +of drawers. Mis' Manson got the maple gazelles--" She proceeded in what +promised to be an indefinite category. + +"Do you think I could buy any of those things back?" Lindsay asked after +listening patiently to the end. + +"Some of them, I guess. I have a few things in my attic I'll sell +you--and some I'll give you. I'd admire to see them in the old place +once more." + +"You must let me buy them all," Lindsay protested. + +"Well, we'll see about that," Mrs. Spash disposed of this disagreement +easily. "Have you seen the Dew Pond yet?" + +"The Dew Pond!" Lindsay echoed. + +"The little pond beyond the barn," Mrs. Spash explained. Then, as though +a great light dawned, "Oh, of course it's all so growed up round it +you'd never notice it. Come and I'll show it to you." + +Lindsay followed her out of the barn. This was all like a dream, he +reflected--but then everything was like a dream nowadays. He had lived +in a dream for two months now. Mrs. Spash struck into a path which led +beyond the barn. + +The trail grew narrower and narrower; threatened after a while to +disappear. Lindsay finally took the lead, broke a path. They came +presently on a pond so tiny that it was not a pond at all; it was a +pool. Water-lilies choked it; forget-me-nots bordered it; high wild +roses screened it. + +Lindsay stood looking for a long time into it. "It's the Merry Mere of +_Mary Towle_," he meditated aloud. Mrs. Spash received this in the +uninterrogative silence with which she had received other of his +confidences. She apparently fell back easily into the ways of literary +folk. + +"I remember now I got a glint of water from one of the upstairs +bedrooms," Lindsay went on, "the first time I came into the house. But I +forgot it instantly; and I've never noticed it since." + +"Wait a moment!" Mrs. Spash seemed afraid that he would leave. "There's +something else." She attempted to push her way through the jungle in the +direction of the house. For an instant her progress was easy, then +bushes and vines caught her. Lindsay sprang to her assistance. + +"There's something here--that was left," she panted. "Folks have +forgotten all about--" She dropped explanatory phrases. + +Heedless of tearing thorns and piercing prickers, Lindsay crashed on. +Mrs. Spash watched expectantly. + +"There!" she called with satisfaction. + +On a cairn of rocks, filmed over by years of exposure to the weather, +stood what Lindsay immediately recognized to be a large old rum-jar. The +sun found exposed spots on its surface, brought out its rich olive +color. + +"After Mr. Lewis died," Mrs. Spash explained, "Miss Murray went abroad +for a year. She went to Egypt. She put this here when she came home. +Then you could see it from the house. The sun shone on it something +handsome. She told me once she went into a temple on the Nile cut out of +the living-rock, where there was room after room, one right back of the +other. In the last one, there was an altar; and once a year, the first +ray of the rising sun would strike through all the rooms and lay on that +altar. Worn't that cute? I allus thought she had that in mind when she +put this here." + +Lindsay contemplated the old rum-jar. Mrs. Spash contemplated him. And +suddenly it was as though she were looking at Lindsay from a new point +of view. + +Lindsay's face had changed subtly in the last two months. The sun of +Quinanog had added but little to the tan and burn with which three years +of flying had crusted it. He was still very handsome. It was not, +however, this comeliness that Mrs. Spash seemed to be examining. The +experiences at Quinanog had softened the deliberate stoicism of his +look. Rather they had fed some inner softness; had fired it. His air was +now one of perpetual question. Yet dreams often invaded his eyes; +blurred them; drooped his lips. + +"It's all unbelievable," Lindsay suddenly commented, "I don't believe +it. I don't believe you. I don't believe myself." + +Mrs. Spash still kept her eyes fixed on the young man's face. Her look +had grown piercing. + +"Have you a shovel handy?" she surprisingly asked. + +"Yes, why?" + +Mrs. Spash did not answer immediately. He turned and looked at her. She +was still gazing at him hard; but the light from some long-harbored +emotion of her dulled old soul was shining bluely in her dulled old +eyes. + +"I want you should get it," she ordered briefly. "There's something +right here," she pointed, "that I want you to dig up." + + + + +VIII + + +Susannah let herself lightly down on the tin roof; it was scarcely a +step from her window. With deliberate caution, she turned and drew the +shade. Then she tiptoed toward the skylight. The workmen were still +soldering; the older man, with the air of one performing a delicate +operation, lay stretched out flat, holding some kind of receptacle; the +younger was pouring molten lead from a ladle. Try as she might, she +could not prevent her feet from making a slight tapping on the tin. The +older man glanced sharply up. "Look out!" called the younger, and he +bent again to his work. Almost running now, she stepped into the gaping +hole of the skylight. The stairs were very steep--practically a ladder. +As she disappeared from view, she heard a quick "What the hell!" from +the roof above her. + +Susannah hurried forward along a dark passage, looking for stairs. The +passage jutted, became lighter, went forward again. This must be the +point where the shed-addition joined the main building. She was in the +hallway of a dingy, conventional flat-house, with doors to right and +left. One of these doors opened; a woman in a faded calico dress looked +her over, the glance including the traveling-bag; then picked up a +letter from the hall-floor, and closed it again. Susannah found herself +controlling an impulse to run. But no steps sounded behind her--she was +not as yet pursued. And there was the stairway--at the very front of the +house! She descended the two flights to the entrance. There, for a +moment, she paused. As soon as Warner discovered her flight, they would +be after her. The workmen would point the way. The street--and +quick--was the only chance. Noiselessly she opened the door. At the head +of the steps leading to the street, she stopped long enough for a look +to right and left. Only a scattered afternoon crowd--no Warner, no Byan. +An Eighth Avenue tram-car was ringing its gong violently. On a sudden +impulse of safety, she shot down the steps, ran past her own door to the +corner. An open southbound car had drawn up, was taking on passengers. +She reached it just as the conductor was about to give the forward +signal, and was almost jerked off her feet as she stepped onto the +platform. Steadying herself, she looked, in the brief moment afforded by +the bumpy crossing of the car, down the side street. + +The entrances of her own house at the corner, the entrances to the house +she had just left, were blank and undisturbed; no one was following her. +She paid her fare, and settled down on the end of a cross-seat. + +And now she was aware not of relief or reaction or fear, but solely of +her headache. It had changed in character. It had become a furious +internal bombardment of her brows. If she turned her eyes to right or +left, she seemed to be dragging weights across the front of her brain. +Yet this headache did not seem quite a part of herself. It was as though +she knew, by a supernormal sensitiveness, the symptoms of someone else. +It was as though suddenly she had become two people. Anyway, it had +ceased to be personal. And somewhere else within her head was growing a +delicious feeling of freedom, of lightness, of escape from a wheel. Her +evasion of the Carbonado Mining Company did not account for all that; +she felt free from everything. "I'm not going to take any more rooms," +she said to herself. "I'm going to sleep out of doors now, like the +birds. People find you when you take rooms. Where shall I begin?" She +considered; and then one of those little hammers of intuition seemed to +tap on her brain. Again, she did not resist. "Why, Washington Square of +course!" she said to herself. + +The car was threading now the narrow ways of Greenwich Village. It +stopped; Susannah stepped off. The rest seemed for a long time to be +just wandering. But that curious sense of duality had vanished. She was +one person again. She did not find Washington Square easily; but then, +it made no difference whether she ever found it. For New York and the +world were so amusing when once you were free! You could laugh at +everything--the passing crowds, surging as though business really +mattered; the Carbonado Mining Company; the grisly old fool in their +toils, and Susannah Ayer. You could laugh even at the climate--for +sometimes it seemed very hot, which was right in summer, and sometimes +cold, which wasn't right at all. You could laugh at the headache, when +it tied ridiculous knots in your forehead. There was the +Arch--Washington Square at last. + +But it wasn't time to sleep in Washington Square yet. The birds hadn't +gone to bed. Sparrows were still pecking and squabbling along the +borders of the flower-beds. Besides, New York was still flowing, on its +homeward surge from office and workshop, down the paths. Susannah sat +down on a bench and considered. She had a disposition to stay there--why +was she so weak? Oh, of course she hadn't eaten. People always had +dinner before going to bed. She must eat--and she had money. She shook +out her pocketbook into her lap. A ten-dollar bill, a one-dollar bill, +and some small change. She must dine gloriously--free creatures always +did that when they had money. Besides, she was never going to pay any +more room rent. Susannah rose, strolled up Fifth Avenue. The crowd was +thinning out. That was pleasant, too. She disliked to get out of the way +of people. She was crossing Twenty-third Street now; and now she was +before the correct, white facade of the Hague House. A proper and +expensive place for dinner. + +Susannah found it very hard to speak to the waiter. It was like talking +to someone through a partition. It seemed difficult even to move her +lips; they felt wooden. + +"A petite marmite, please; then I'll see what more I want," she heard +herself saying at last. + +But when the petite marmite came, steaming in its big, red casserole, +she found herself quite disinclined to eat--almost unable to eat. She +managed only two or three mouthfuls of the broth; then dallied with the +beef. Perhaps it was because instantly--and for no reason whatever--she +had become two people again. Perhaps it was because she had been +drinking so much ice-water. It couldn't be because H. Withington Warner +was sitting at the next table to the right. It couldn't be that--because +she had told him, when first she saw him sitting there, that she was no +longer afraid of the Carbonado Company. And indeed, when she turned to +the left and saw him sitting there also--when by degrees she discovered +that there was one of him at every table in the room, she thought of +Alice in the Trial Scene in Wonderland, and became as contemptuous as +Alice. "After all," she said, "you're only a pack of cards." + +With a flourish, the waiter set the dinner-card before her, asking: +"What will you have next, Madame?" Oh yes, she was dining! + +"I think I can't eat any more--the bill, please," she heard one of her +selves saying. That self, she discovered, took calm cognizance of +everything about her; listened to conversation. As the waiter turned his +back, that half of her saw that Mr. Warner wasn't there any more; +neither at the table on her right, nor anywhere. But when she had paid +the bill, tipped, and risen to go, the other self discovered that he was +back again at every table; and that with every Warner was a Byan and an +O'Hearn. "I am snapping my fingers at them, though nobody sees it," she +said to both her selves. "I can't imagine how they ever troubled me so +much. They don't know what I'm doing! I'm sleeping out of doors; they +can find me only in rooms!" As though staggered by her complete +composure, not one of this triplicate multitude of enemies followed her +outside. + +"Now I'll go to Washington Square," she said, realizing that her +personalities had merged again. "The birds must be in bed." She took a +bus; and sank into languor and that curious, impersonal headache until +the conductor, calling "All out," at the south terminus, recalled to her +that she was going somewhere. "I must have been asleep," she thought. +"Isn't this a wonderful world?" + +The long, early summer twilight was just beginning to draw about the +world. The day lingered though--in an exquisite luminousness. All around +her the city was grappling tentatively with oncoming dusk. On a few of +the passing limousines, the front lamps struck a garish note. Near, the +Fifth Avenue lights were like slowly burning bonfires in the trees; in +the distance, seemingly suspended by chains so delicate that they were +invisible, they diminished to pots of gold. The six-o'clock rush had +long ago ceased. Now everyone sauntered; for everyone was freshly +caparisoned for the wonderful night glories of midsummer Manhattan. + +Susannah sat down on a bench in Washington Square and surveyed this free +world. Though her eyes burned, they saw crystal-clear. All about her +Italian-town mixed democratically with Greenwich Village; made +contrasting color and noise. Fat Italian mothers, snatching the +post-sunset breezes, chattered from bench to bench while they nursed +babies. On other benches, lovers clasped hands. Children played over the +grass. The birds twittered and the trees murmured. Every color darted +pricklingly distinct to Susannah's avid eyes, burning and heavy though +it was. Every sound came distinct to her avid ears, though it sounded +through a ringing. + +The Fifth Avenue busses were clumping and lumbering in swift succession +to their stopping-places. How much, Susannah thought, they looked like +prehistoric beetles; colossally big; armored to an incredible hardness +and polish. And, already, roped-off crowds of people were patiently +waiting upstairs seats. As each bus stopped, there came momentary +scramble and confusion until inside and out they filled up. She watched +this process for a long, long time. + +"I can't go to sleep yet," she said to herself finally, "the people +won't let me. One can't sleep in this wonderful world. Where does one go +after dinner? Oh, to the theater, of course! On Broadway!" She found +herself drifting, happily though languorously, through the arch and +northward. + +Twilight had settled down; had become dusk; had become night. New York +was so brilliant that it almost hurt. It was deep dusk and yet the +atmosphere was like a purple river flowing between stiff canyon-like +buildings. Everywhere in that purple river glittered golden lights. And, +floating through it, were mermaids and mermen of an extreme beauty. +Susannah passed from Fifth Avenue to Broadway. She stopped under one of +the most brilliant palace-fronts of light, and bought a ticket in the +front row. The curtain was just rising on the second act of a musical +comedy. Susannah would have been hazy about the plot anyway, for the +simple reason that there was no plot. But tonight she was peculiarly +hazy, because she enjoyed the dancing so much that she became oblivious +to everything else. Indeed, at times she seemed to be dancing with the +dancers. The illusion was so complete that she grew dizzy; and clung to +the arm of her seat. She did not want to divide into two people again. + +After a while, though, this sensation disappeared in a more intriguing +one. For suddenly she discovered that the audience consisted entirely of +her and the Carbonado Mining Company. H. Withington Warners, by the +hundred, filled the orchestra seats. Byans, by the score, filled the +balcony. O'Hearns, by the dozen, filled the gallery. But this did not +perturb her. "You're only a pack of cards," she accused them mentally. +And she stayed to the very end. + +"I thought so," she remarked contemptuously as she turned to go out. For +the Carbonado Mining Company had vanished into thin air. She was the +only real person who left the theater. + +When she came out on the street again, her headache had stopped and the +languor was over. There was a beautiful lightness to her whole body. +That lightness impelled her to walk with the crowd. But--she suddenly +discovered--she was not walking. She was _floating_. She even flew--only +she did not rise very high. She kept an even level, about a foot above +the pavement; but at that height she was like a feather. And in a +wink--how this extraordinary division happened, she could not guess--she +was two people once more. + +New York was again blooming; but this time with its transient, vivacious +after-the-theater vividness. Crowds were pouring up; pouring down, +deflecting into side streets; emerging from side streets. Everywhere was +light. Taxicabs and motors raced and spun and backed and turned; they +churned, sizzled, spluttered, and foamed--scattering light. Tram-cars, +the low-set, armored cruisers of Broadway, flashed smoothly past, +overbrimming with light. The tops of the buildings held great +congregations of dancing stars. Light poured down their sides. + +Susannah floated with the strong main current of the crowd up Broadway +and then, with a side current, a little down Broadway. Eddies took her +into Forty-second Street, and whirled her back. And all the time she was +in the crowd, but not of it--she was above it. She was looking down on +people--she could see the tops of their heads. Susannah kept chuckling +over an extraordinary truth she discovered. + +"I must remember to tell Glorious Lutie," she said to herself, "how few +people ever brush their hats." + +While one self was noting this amusing fact, however, the other was +listening to conversations; the snatches of talk that drifted up to her. + +"Let's go to a midnight show somewhere," a peevish wife-voice suggested. + +"No, _sir_!" a gruff husband-voice answered. "Li'l' ole beddo looks +pretty good to muh. I can't hit the hay too soon." + +"What's Broadway got on Market Street?" a blithe boy's voice demanded. +"Take the view from Twin Peaks at night. Why, it has Broadway beat forty +ways from the jack." + +"I'll say so!" a girl's voice agreed. + +Theaters were empty now, but restaurants were filling. In an incredibly +short time, this phantasmagoria of movement, this kaleidoscope of color, +this hurly-burly of sound had shattered, melted, fallen to silence. +People disappeared as though by magic from the street; now there were +great gaps of sidewalk where nobody appeared. Susannah--both of her, +because now she seemed to have become two people permanently--felt +lonely. She quickened her pace, her floating rather, to catch up with a +figure ahead. It was a girl, just an everyday girl, in a white linen +suit and a white sailor hat topping a mass of black hair. She carried a +handbag. Susannah found herself following, step by step, behind this +girl whose face she had as yet not seen. She was floating; yet every +time she tried to see the top of that sailor hat her vision became +blurred. It was annoying; but this stealthy pursuit was pleasant, +somehow--satisfying. + +"They've been shadowing me," said Susannah to herself. "Now I'm +shadowing. I've helped the Carbonado Company to rob orphans. I'm going +to break my promise to go to Jamaica tomorrow. Isn't it glorious to +float and be a criminal!" + +So she followed westward on Forty-second Street and reached the Public +Library corner of Fifth Avenue, which stretched now deserted except +where knots of people awaited the omnibusses. Such a knot had gathered +on that corner. Suddenly the girl in white raised her hand, waved; a +woman in a light-blue summer evening gown answered her signal from the +crowd; they ran toward each other. They were going to have a talk. +Susannah floated toward them. The air-currents made her a little +wabbly--but wasn't it fun, eavesdropping and caring not the least bit +about manners! + +"My train doesn't start until one," said the white linen suit. "It's no +use going back to my room--the night is so hot. I've been to the Summer +Garden, and I'm killing time." + +"Oh," asked blue dress, "did you sublet your room?" + +"No," said the white linen suit, "I'll be gone for only a month, and I +decided it wasn't worth while. I'll have it all ready when I get back. +I've even left the key under the rug in the hall." + +"I wouldn't ever do that!" came the voice of the blue dress. + +"Well," said the linen suit, "you know _me_! I always lose keys. I'm +convinced that when I get to Boston, I shan't have my trunk key! And +there isn't much to steal." + +"Still, I'd feel nervous if I were you." + +"I don't see why. Nobody stays up on the top floor, where I am--that is, +in the summer. All the other rooms are in one apartment, and the young +man who lives there has been away for ages. The people on the ground +floor own the house. I get the room for almost nothing by taking care of +it and the hall. I haven't seen anyone else on the floor since the man +in the apartment went away. That's why I love the place--you feel so +independent!" + +"I think I know the house," said blue dress. "The old house with the +fanlight entrance, isn't it? Mary Merle used to have a ducky little flat +on the second floor, didn't she?" + +"Yes--Number Fifty-seven and a Half--" + +Susannah was floating down the Avenue now. But floating with more +difficulty. Why was there effort about floating? And why did she keep +repeating, "Number Fifty-seven and a Half, Washington Square, top floor, +key under the rug?" + +She met few people. A policeman stared at her for a moment, then turned +indifferently away. How surprising that her floating made no impression +upon him! But then, there was no law against floating! Once she drifted +past H. Withington Warner, who was staring into a shop window. He did +not see her. Susannah had to inhibit her chuckles when, floating a foot +above his head, she realized for the first time that he dyed his hair. +Why could she see that? He should have his hat on--or was she seeing +through his hat? + +She was passing under the arch into Washington Square. But she wasn't +floating any longer. She was dragging weights; she was wading through +something like tar, which clung to her feet. She was coughing violently. +She had been coughing for a long time. Night in New York was no longer +beautiful; glorious. Tragic horrors were rasping in her head. There was +Warner. And there was Byan. She could not snap her fingers at them +now.... But she knew how to get away from them ... she must rest.... + +She cut off a segment of Washington Square, looking for a number. There +was a fanlight; and, plain in the street lamps, seeming for a moment the +only object in the world, the number "Fifty-seven and a Half." The outer +door gave to her touch. A dim point of gaslight burned in the hall. She +floated again for a minute as she mounted the stairs.... She was before +a door.... She was on her hands and knees fumbling under the rug.... She +was dragging herself up by the door-knob.... + +The key opened the door. + +Light, streaming from somewhere in the backyard areas, illuminated a +wide white bed. + +"I am sick, Glorious Lutie--I think I am very sick," said Susannah. +"Watch me, won't you? Keep Warner out!" Fumbling in the bag, she drew +out the miniature, set it up against the mirror on the bureau beside the +bed--just where she could see it plainly in the shaft of light. + +She locked the door. She lay down. + + + + +IX + + +Lindsay sat in the big living-room beside the refectory table. Mrs. +Spash moved about the room dusting; setting its scanty furnishings to +rights. On the long table before him was set out a series of tiny +villages, some Chinese, some Japanese: little pink or green-edged houses +in white porcelain; little thatched-roofed houses in brown adobe; +pagodas; bridges; pavilions. Dozens of tiny figures, some on mules, +others on foot, and many loaded with burdens walked the streets. A bit +of looking-glass, here and there, made ponds. Ducks floated on them, and +boats; queer Oriental-looking skiffs, manned by tiny, half-clad sailors; +Chinese junks. In neighboring pastures, domestic animals grazed. +Roosters, hens, chickens grouped in back areas. + +"That's just what Miss Murray used to do," Mrs. Spash observed. "She'd +play with them toys for hours at a time. And of course Cherry loved them +more than anything in the house. That's the reason I stole them and +buried them." + +"How did you manage that exactly?" Lindsay asked. + +"Oh, that was easy enough," Mrs. Spash confessed cheerfully. "Between +Miss Murray's death and the auction, I was here a lot, fixing up. They +all trusted me, of course. Those toys was all set out in little villages +by the Dew Pond. Nobody knew that they were there. So I just did them up +in tissue paper and put them in that big tin box and hid them in the +bushes. One night late I came back and buried them. Folks didn't think +of them for a long time after the auction. You see, nobody had touched +them during Miss Murray's illness. And when they did remember them, they +thought they had disappeared during the sale." Mrs. Spash paused a +moment. Her face assumed an expression of extreme disapproval. "Other +things disappeared during the sale," she accused, lowering her voice. + +"Who took them?" Lindsay asked. + +All the caution of the Yankee appeared in Mrs. Spash's voice. "I don't +know as I'd like to say, because it isn't a thing anybody can prove. I +have my suspicions though." + +Lindsay did not continue these inquiries. + +"Where did Miss Murray get all these toys?" + +"Well, a lot of 'em came from China. Miss Murray had a great-uncle who +was a sea-captain. He used to go on them long whaling voyages. He +brought them to her different times. Miss Murray had played with them +when she was a child, and so she liked to have little Cherry play with +them. Sometimes they'd all go out to the Dew Pond--Miss Murray, Mr. +Monroe, Mr. Gale, Mr. Lewis, and spend a whole afternoon laying them out +in little towns--jess about as you've got 'em there. There was two +little places on the shore that Miss Murray had all cut down, so's the +bushes wouldn't be too tall. They useter call the pond the Pacific +Ocean. One of them cleared places was the China coast and the other the +Japanese coast. They'd stay there for hours, floating little boats back +and forth from China to Japan. And how they'd laugh! I useter listen to +their voices coming through the window. But then, the house was always +full of laughter. It began at seven o'clock in the morning, when they +got up, and it never stopped until--after midnight sometimes--when they +went to bed. Oh, it was such a gay place in those days." + +Lindsay arose and stretched. But the stretching did not seem so much an +expression of fatigue or drowsiness as the demand of his spirit for +immediate activity of some sort. He sat down again instantly. Under his +downcast lids, his eyes were bright. "These walls are soaked with +laughter," he remarked. + +"Yes," Mrs. Spash seemed to understand. "But there was tears too and +plenty of them--in the last years." + +"I suppose there were," Lindsay agreed. He did not speak for a moment; +nor did Mrs. Spash. There came a silence so concentrated that the +sunlight poured into it tangible gold. Then, outside a thick white cloud +caught the sun in its woolly net. The world gloomed again. + +"She's sad still," Lindsay dropped in absent comment. + +"Yes," Mrs. Spash agreed. + +"I wonder what she wants?" Lindsay addressed this to himself. His voice +was so low that perhaps Mrs. Spash did not hear it. At any rate she made +no answer. + +Another silence came. + +Mrs. Spash finished her dusting. But she lingered. Lindsay still sat at +the table; but his eyes had left the little villages arranged there. +They went through the door and gazed out into the brilliant patch of +sunlight on the grass. There spread under his eyes a narrow stretch of +lawn, all sun-touched velvet; beyond a big crescent of garden. +Low-growing zinnias in futuristic colors, high phlox in pastel colors; +higher, Canterbury bells, deep blue; highest of all, hollyhocks, wine +red. Beyond stretched further expanses of lawn. One tall, wide +wine-glass elm spread a perfect circle of emerald shade. One low, thick +copper-beech dropped an irregular splotch of luminous shadow. Beyond all +this ran the gray, lichened stone wall. And beyond the stone wall came +unredeemed jungle. Mrs. Spash began, all over again, to dust and to +arrange the scanty furniture. After a while she spoke. + +"Mr. Lindsay--" + +Lindsay started abruptly. + +"Mr. Lindsay--that time you fainted when you first saw me, setting out +there on the door-stone, you remember--?" + +Lindsay nodded. + +"Well, who was you expecting to see?" + +Lindsay, alert now as a wire spring, turned on her, not his eyes alone, +nor his head; but his whole body. Mrs. Spash was looking straight at +him. Their glances met midway. The old eyes pierced the young eyes with +an intent scrutiny. The young eyes stabbed the old eyes with an intense +interrogation. Lindsay did not answer her question directly. Instead he +laughed. + +"I guess I don't have to answer you," he declared. "I had seen her often +then.... I had seen the others too.... I don't know why _you_ should +have frightened me when _they_ didn't.... I think it was that I wasn't +expecting anything human.... I've seen them since.... They never +frighten me." + +Mrs. Spash's reply was simple enough. "I see them all the time." She +added, with a delicate lilt of triumph, "I've seen them for years--" + +Lindsay continued to look at her--and now his gaze was somber; even a +little despairing. "What do they want? What does _she_ want?" + +Mrs. Spash's reply came instantly, although there were pauses in her +words. "I don't know. I've tried.... I can't make out." She accompanied +these simple statements with a reinforcing decisive nod of her little +head. + +"I can't guess either--I can't conjecture-- There's something she wants +me to do. She can't tell me. And they're trying to help her tell me. All +except the little girl--" + +"Do you see the little girl?" Mrs. Spash demanded. "Well, I declare! +That's very queer, I must say. I never see Cherry." + +"I wish I saw her oftener," Lindsay laughed ruefully. "_She_ doesn't ask +anything of me. She's just herself. But the others--Gale--Monroe-- My +God! It's killing me!" He laughed again, and this time with a real +amusement. + +Mrs. Spash interrupted his laughter. "Do you see Mr. Monroe?" she asked +in a pleased tone. "Well, I declare! Aren't you the fortunate creature. +I never see _him_!" + +"All the time," Lindsay answered shortly. "If I could only get it. I +feel so stupid, so incredibly gross and lumbering and heavy. I'd do +anything--" + +He arose and walked over to the picture of Lutetia Murray which still +hung above the fireplace. He stared at her hard. "I'd do anything for +her, if I could only find out what it was." + +"Yes," Mrs. Spash admitted dispassionately, "that's the thing everybody +felt about her, they'd do anything for her. Not that she ever asked them +to do anything--" + +Lindsay began to pace the length of the long room. "What is happening? +Has the old ramshackle time-machine finally broken a spring so that, in +this last revolution, it hauls, out of the past, these pictures of two +decades ago? Or is it that there are superimposed one on the other two +revolving worlds--theirs and ours--and _theirs_ or _ours_ has stopped an +instant, so that I can glance into _theirs_? I feel as though I were in +the dark of a camera obscura gazing into their brightness. Or have those +two years in the air permanently broken my psychology; so that through +that rift I shall always have the power to look into strange worlds? Or +am I just piercing another dimension?" + +Mrs. Spash had been following him with her faded, calm old eyes. +Apparently she guessed these questions were not addressed to her. She +kept silence. + +"I've racked my brain. I lie awake nights and tear the universe to +pieces. I outguess guessing and outconjecture conjecture. My thoughts +fly to the end of space. My wonder invades the very citadel of fancy. My +surmises storm the last outpost of reality. But it beats me. I can't get +it." Lindsay stopped. Mrs. Spash made no comment. Apparently her twenty +years' training among artists had prepared her for monologues of this +sort. She listened; but it was obvious that she did not understand; did +not expect to understand. + +"Does she want me to stay _here_ or go _there_?" Lindsay demanded of the +air. "If _here_, what does she want me to do? If _there_--where is +_there_? If _there_, what does she want me to do _there_? Is her errand +concerned with the living or the dead? If the living, who? If the dead, +who? Where to find them? How to find them?" He turned his glowing eyes +on Mrs. Spash. "I only know two things. She wants me to do something. +She wants me to do it soon. Oh, I suppose I know another thing-- If I +don't do it soon, it will be too late." + +Mrs. Spash was still following him with her placid, blue, old gaze. +"There, there!" she said soothingly. "Now don't you get too excited, Mr. +Lindsay. It'll all come to you." + +"But how--" Lindsay objected. "And when--" + +"I don't know--but she'll tell you somehow. She's cute-- She's awful +cute. You mark my words, she'll find a way." + +"That's the reason I don't have you in the house yet, Mrs. Spash," +Lindsay explained. + +"Oh, you don't have to tell me that," Mrs. Spash announced, triumphant +because of her own perspicuity. + +"It's only that I have a feeling that she can do it more easily if we're +alone. That's why I send you home at night. She comes oftenest in the +evening when I'm alone. They all do. Oh, it's quite a procession some +nights. They come one after another, all trying--" He paused. "Sometimes +this room is so full of their torture that I-- You know, it all began +before I came here. It began in an apartment in New York. It was in +Jeffrey Lewis' old rooms. He tried to tell me first, you see." + +"Did you see Mr. Lewis there?" Mrs. Spash asked this as casually as +though she had said, "Has the postman been here this morning?" She +added, "I see him here." + +"No, I didn't see him," Lindsay explained grimly, "but I felt him. And, +believe me, I knew he was there. He was the only one of the lot that +frightened me. I wouldn't have been frightened if I had seen him. It was +he, really, who sent me here. I work it out that he couldn't get it over +and he sent me to Lutetia because he thought she could. I wonder--" he +stopped short. This explanation came as though something had flashed +electrically through his mind. But he did not pursue that wonder. + +"Well, don't you get discouraged," Mrs. Spash reiterated. "You mark my +words, she'll manage to say what she's got to say." + +"Well, it's time I went to work," Lindsay remarked a little listlessly. +"After all, the life of Lutetia Murray must get finished. Oh, by the +way, Mrs. Spash," Lindsay veered as though remembering suddenly +something he had forgotten, "do other people see them?" + +"No--at least I never heard tell that they did." + +"How did the rumor get about that the place was haunted, then?" + +"I spread it," Mrs. Spash explained. "I didn't want folks breaking in to +see if there was anything to steal. And I didn't want them poking about +the place." + +"How did you spread it?" + +"I told children," Mrs. Spash said simply. "Less than a month, folks +were seeing all kinds of ridic'lous ghosts here. Nobody likes to go by +alone at night." + +"It's a curious thing," Lindsay reverted to his main theme, "that I know +her message has nothing to do with this biography. I don't know how I +know it; but I do. Of course, that would be the first thing a man would +think of. It is something more instant, more acute. It beats me +altogether. All I can do is wait." + +"Now don't you think any more about it, Mr. Lindsay," Mrs. Spash +advised. "You go upstairs and set to work. I'm going to get you up the +best lunch today you've had yet." + +"That's the dope," Lindsay agreed. "The only way to take a man's mind +off his troubles is to give him a good dinner. You'll have to work hard, +though, Eunice Spash, to beat your own record." + +Lindsay arose and sauntered into the front hall and up the stairs. He +turned into the room at the right which he had reserved for work, now +that Mrs. Spash was on the premises. At this moment, it was flooded with +sunlight.... A faint odor of the honeysuckle vine at the corner seemed +to emanate from the light itself.... + +Instantly ... he realized ... that the room was not empty. + +Lindsay became feverishly active. Eyes down, he mechanically shuffled +his papers. He collected yesterday's written manuscript, brought the +edges down on the table in successive clicks, until they made an even, +rectangular pile. He laid his pencils out in a row. He changed the point +in his penholder. He moved the ink-bottle. But this availed his spirit +nothing. "I am incredibly stupid," he said aloud. His voice was low, but +it rang as hollowly as though he were from another world. "If you could +only speak to me. Can't you speak to me?" + +He did not raise his eyes. But he waited for a long interval, during +which the silence in the room became so heavy and cold that it almost +blotted out the sunlight. + +"But have patience with me. I want to serve you. Oh, you don't know how +I want to serve you. I give you my word, I'll get it sometime and I +think not too late. I'll kill myself if I don't. I'm putting all I am +and all I have into trying to understand. Don't give me up. It's only +because I'm flesh and blood." + +He stopped and raised his eyes. + +The room was empty. + +That afternoon Lindsay took a walk so long, so devil-driven that he came +back streaming perspiration from every pore. Mrs. Spash regarded him +with a glance in which disapproval struggled with sympathy. "I don't +know as you'd ought to wear yourself out like that, Mr. Lindsay. Later, +perhaps you'll need all your strength--" + +"Very likely you're right, Mrs. Spash," Lindsay agreed. "But I've been +trying to work it out." + +Mrs. Spash left as usual at about seven. By nine, the last remnant of +the long twilight, a collaboration of midsummer with daylight-saving, +had disappeared. Lindsay lighted his lamp and sat down with Lutetia's +poems. The room was peculiarly cheerful. The beautiful Murray sideboard, +recently discovered and recovered, held its accustomed place between the +two windows. The old Murray clock, a little ship swinging back and forth +above its brass face, ticked in the corner. The old whale-oil lamps had +resumed their stand, one at either end of the mantel. Old pieces, old +though not Lutetia's--they were gone irretrievably--bits picked up here +and there, made the deep sea-shell corner cabinet brilliant with the +color of old china, glimmery with the shine of old pewter, sparkly with +the glitter of old glass. Many chairs--windsors, comb-backs, a Boston +rocker--filled the empty spaces with an old-time flavor. In traditional +places, high old glasses held flowers. The single anachronism was the +big, nickel, green-shaded student lamp. + +Lindsay needed rest, but he could not go to bed. He knew perfectly well +that he was exhausted, but he knew equally well that he was not drowsy. +His state of mind was abnormal. Perhaps the three large cups of +jet-black coffee that he had drunk at dinner helped in this matter. But +whatever the cause, he was conscious of every atom of this exaggerated +spiritual alertness; of the speed with which his thoughts drove; of the +almost insupportable mental clarity through which they shot. + +"If this keeps up," he meditated, "it's no use my going to bed at all +tonight. I could not possibly sleep." + +He found Lutetia's poems agreeable solace at this moment. They contained +no anodyne for his restlessness; but at least they did not increase it. +Her poetry had not been considered successful, but Lindsay liked it. It +was erratic in meter; irregular in rhythm. But at times it astounded him +with a delicate precision of expression; at moments it surprised him +with an opulence of fancy. He read on and on-- + +Suddenly that mental indicator--was it a flutter of his spirit or merely +a lowering of the spiritual temperature?--apprised him that he was not +alone.... But as usual, after he realized that his privacy had been +invaded, he continued to read; his gaze caught, as though actually tied, +by the print.... After a while he shut the book.... But he still sat +with his hand clutching it, one finger marking the place.... He did not +lift his eyes when he spoke.... + +"Tell the others to go," he demanded. + + * * * * * + +After a while he arose. He did not move to the other end of the room nor +did he glance once in that direction. But on his side, he paced up and +down with a stern, long-strided prowl. He spoke aloud. + +"Listen to me!" His tone was peremptory. "We've got to understand each +other tonight. I can't endure it any longer; for I know as well as you +that the time is getting short. You can't speak to me. But I can speak +to you. Lutetia, you've got to outdo yourself tonight. You must give me +a sign. Do you understand? You _must_ show me. Now summon all that you +have of strength, whatever it is, to give me that sign--do you +understand, _all you have_. Listen! Whatever it is that you want me to +do, it isn't here. I know that now. I know it because I've been here two +months-- Whatever it is, it must be put through somewhere else. An idea +came to me this morning. I spent all the afternoon thinking it out. +Maybe I've got a clue. It all started in New York. _He_ tried to get it +to me there. Listen! Tell me! Quick! Quick! Quick! Do you want me to go +to New York?" + +The answer was instantaneous. As though some giant hand had seized the +house in its grip, it shook. Shook for an infinitesimal fraction of an +instant. Almost, it seemed to Lindsay, walls quivered; panes rattled; +shutters banged, doors slammed. And yet in the next infinitesimal +fraction of that instant he knew that he had heard no tangible sound. +Something more exquisite than sound had filled that unmeasurable +interval with shattering, deafening confusion. + +Lindsay turned with a sharp wheel; glared into the dark of the other +side of the room. + + * * * * * + +Lindsay dashed upstairs to his desk. There he found a time-table. The +ten-fifteen from Quinanog would give him ample time to catch the +midnight to New York. He might not be able to get a sleeping berth; but +the thing he needed least, at that moment, was sleep. In fact, he would +rather sit up all night. He flung a few things into his suitcase; dashed +off a note to Mrs. Spash. In an incredibly short time, he was striding +over the two miles of road which led to the station. + +There happened to be an unreserved upper berth. It was a superfluous +luxury as far as Lindsay was concerned. He lay in it during what +remained of the night, his eyes shut but his spirit more wakeful than he +had ever known it. "Every revolution of these wheels," he said once to +himself, "brings me nearer to it, whatever it is." He arose early; was +the first to invade the washroom; the first to step off the train; the +first to leap into a taxicab. He gave the address of Spink's apartments +to the driver. "Get there faster than you can!" he ordered briefly. The +man looked at him--and then proceeded to break the speed law. + +Washington Square was hardly awake when they churned up to the sidewalk. +Lindsay let himself in the door; bounded lightly up the two flights of +stairs; unlocked the door of Spink's apartment. Everything was silent +there. The dust of two months of vacancy lay on the furnishings. Lindsay +stood in the center of the room, contemplating the door which led +backward into the rest of the apartment. + +"Well, old top, _you're_ not going to trouble me any longer. I get that +with my first breath. I've done what _she_ wanted and what _you_ wanted +so far. Now what in the name of heaven is the next move?" + +He stood in the center of the room waiting, listening. + +And then into his hearing, stretched to its final capacity, came sound. +Just _sound_ at first; then a dull murmur. Lindsay's hair rose with a +prickling progress from his scalp. But that murmur was human. It +continued. + +Lindsay went to the door, opened it, and stepped out into the hall. The +murmur grew louder. It was a woman's voice; a girl's voice; unmistakably +the voice of youth. It came from the little room next to Spink's +apartment. + +Again Lindsay listened. The monotone broke; grew jagged; grew shrill; +became monotonous again. Suddenly the truth dawned on him. It was the +voice of madness or of delirium. + +He advanced to the door and knocked. Nobody answered. The monotone +continued. He knocked again. Nobody answered. The monotone continued. He +tried the knob. The door was locked. With his hand still on the knob, he +put his shoulder to the door; gave it a slow resistless pressure. It +burst open. + +It was a small room and furnished with the conventional furnishings of a +bedroom. Lindsay saw but two things in it. One was a girl, sitting up in +the bed in the corner; a beautiful slim creature with streaming loose +red hair; her cheeks vivid with fever spots; her eyes brilliant with +fever-light. It was she who emitted the monotone. + +The other thing was a miniature, standing against the glass on the +bureau. A miniature of a beautiful woman in the full lusciousness of a +golden blonde maturity. + +The woman of the miniature was Lutetia Murray. + +The girl-- + + + + +X + + +She felt that the room was full of sunshine. Even through her glued-down +lids she caught the darting dazzle of it. She knew that the air was full +of bird voices. Even through her drowse-filmed ears, she caught the +singing sound of them. She would like to lift her lids. She would like +to wake up. But after all it was a little too easy to sleep. The impulse +with which she sank back to slumber was so soft that it was scarcely +impulse. It dropped her slowly into an enormous dark, a colossal quiet. + +Presently she drifted to the top of that dark quiet. Again the sunlight +flowed into the channels of seeing. Again the birds picked on the +strings of hearing. By an enormous effort she opened her eyes. + +She stared from her bed straight at a window. A big vine stretched films +of green leaf across it. It seemed to color the sunshine that poured +onto the floor--green. She looked at the window for a long time. +Presently she discovered among the leaves a crimson, vase-like flower. + +"Why, how thick the trumpet-vine has grown!" she said aloud. + +It seemed to her that there was a movement at her side. But that +movement did not interest her. She did not fall into a well this time. +She drifted off on a tide of sleep. Presently--perhaps it was an hour +later, perhaps five minutes--she opened her eyes. Again she stared at +the window. Again the wonder of growth absorbed her thought; passed out +of it. She looked about the room. Her little bedroom set, painted a soft +creamy yellow with long tendrils of golden vine, stood out softly +against the faded green cartridge paper. + +"Why! Why have they put the bureau over there?" she demanded aloud of +the miniature of Glorious Lutie which hung beside the bureau. With a +vague alarm, her eyes sped from point to point. The dado of Weejubs +stood out as though freshly restored. But all her pictures were gone; +the four colored prints, Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter--each the head +of a little girl, decked with buds or flowers, fruit or furs, had +vanished. The faded squares where they had hung showed on the walls. Oh, +woe, her favorite of all, "My Little White Kittens," had disappeared +too. On the other hand--on table, on bureau, and on commode-top--crowded +the little Chinese toys. + +"Why, when did they bring them in from the Dew Pond?" she asked herself, +again aloud. + +With a sudden stab of memory, she reached her hand up on the wall. How +curious! Only yesterday she could scarcely touch the spring; now her +hand went far beyond it. She pressed. The little panel opened slowly. +She raised herself in bed and looked through the aperture. + +Glorious Lutie's room was stark--bare, save for a bed and her long +wooden writing-table. + +Her thoughts flew madly ... suddenly her whole acceptance of things +crumbled. Why! She wasn't Cherie and eight. She was Susannah and +twenty-five; and the last time she had been anywhere she had been in New +York.... Lightnings of memory tore at her ... the Carbonado Mining +Company ... Eloise ... a Salvation Army woman on the street ... roofers. +Yet this was Blue Meadows. She did not have to pinch herself or press on +her sleepy eyelids. It _was_ Blue Meadows. The trumpet-vine, though as +gigantic as Jack's beanstalk, proved it. The painted furniture proved +it. The Chinese toys proved it. Yes, and if she wanted the final touch +that clinched all argument, there beside the head of the bed was the +maple gazelle. This really was not the final proof. The final proof was +human and it entered the room at that moment in the person of Mrs. +Spash. And Mrs. Spash--in her old, quaint inaccurate way--was calling +her as Cherry. + +Susannah burst into tears. + + * * * * * + +"Oh, I feel so much better now," Susannah said after a little talk; more +sleep; then talk again. "I'm going to be perfectly well in a little +while. I want to get up. And oh, dear Mrs. Spash--do you remember how +sometimes I used to call you Mrs. Splash? I do want as soon as possible +to see Mr. Lindsay and his cousin--Miss Stockbridge, did you say? I want +to thank them, of course. How can I ever thank them enough? And I want +to talk to him about the biography. Oh, I'm sure I can give him so much. +And I can make out a list of people who can tell him all the things you +and I don't remember; or never knew. And then, in my trunk in New York, +is a package of all Glorious Lutie's letters to me. I think he will want +to publish some of them; they are so lovely, so full of our games--and +jingles, and even drawings. Couldn't I sit up now?" + +"I don't see why not," Mrs. Spash said. "You've slept for nearly +twenty-six hours, Cherry. You waked up once--or half-waked up. We gave +you some hot milk and you went right to sleep again." + +"It's going to make me well--just being at Blue Meadows," Susannah +prophesied. "If I could only stay-- But I'm grateful for a day, an +hour." + + * * * * * + +Later, she came slowly down the stairs--one hand on the rail, the other +holding Mrs. Spash's arm. She wore her faded creamy-pink, creamy-yellow +Japanese kimono, held in prim plaits by the broad sash, a big obi bow at +the back. Her red hair lay forward in two long glittering braids. Her +face was still pale, but her eyes overran with a lucent blue excitement. +It caught on her eyelashes and made stars there. + +A slim young man in flannels; tall with a muscular litheness; dark with +a burnished tan; handsome; arose from his work at the long refectory +table. He came forward smiling--his hand outstretched. "My cousin, Miss +Stockbridge, has run in to Boston to do some shopping," he explained. "I +can't tell you how glad I am to see you up, or how glad she will be." He +took her disengaged arm and reinforced Mrs. Spash's efforts. They guided +her into a big wing chair. The young man found a footstool for her. + +"I suppose I'm not dreaming, Mr. Lindsay," Susannah apprised him +tremulously. "And yet how can it be anything but a dream? I left this +place fifteen years ago and I have never seen it since. How did I get +back here? How did you find me? How did you know who I was? And what +made you so heavenly good as to bring me here? I remember fragments here +and there-- Mrs. Spash tells me I've had the flu." + +Lindsay laughed. "That's all easily explained," he said with a +smoothness almost meretricious. "I happened to go to New York on +business. As usual I went to my friend Sparrel's apartment. You were ill +and delirious in the next room. I heard you; forced the door open and +sent at once for a doctor. He pronounced it a belated case of flu. So I +telephoned for Miss Stockbridge; we moved you into my apartment and +after you passed the crisis--thank God, you escaped pneumonia!--I asked +the doctor if I could bring you over here. He agreed that the country +air would be the very best thing for you, and yet would not advise me to +do it. He thought it was taking too great a risk. But I felt--I can't +tell you how strongly I felt it--that it would be the best thing for +you. My cousin stood by me, and I took the chance. Sometimes now, +though, I shudder at my own foolhardiness. You don't remember--or do +you?--that I went through the formality of asking your consent." + +"I do remember now--vaguely," Susannah laughed. "Isn't it lucky I +didn't--in my weakness--say no?" + +Lindsay laughed again. "I shouldn't have paid any attention to it, if +you had. I knew that this was what you needed. You were sleeping then +about twenty-five hours out of the twenty-four. So one night we brought +you in a taxi to the boat and took the night trip to Boston. The boat +was making its return trip that night, but I bribed them to let you stay +on it all day until it was almost ready to sail. Late in the afternoon, +we brought you in an automobile to Quinanog. You slept all the way. That +was yesterday afternoon. It was dark when we got here. You didn't even +open your eyes when I carried you into the house. In the meantime I had +wired Mrs. Spash--and she fixed up your room, as much like the way it +used to be when you were a child, as she could remember." + +"It's all too marvelous," Susannah murmured. New brilliancies were +welling up into her turquoise eyes, the deep dark fringes of lash could +not hold them; the stars kept dropping off their tips. Fresh spurts of +color invaded her face. Nervously her long white hands pulled at her +coppery braids. + +"There are so many questions I shall ask you," she went on, "when I'm +strong enough. But some I must ask you now. How did you happen to come +here? And when did the idea of writing Glorious Lutie's--my +aunt's--biography occur to you? And how did you come to know Mrs. Spash? +Where did you find the little Chinese toys? And my painted bedroom set? +And the sideboard there? And the six-legged highboy? Oh dear, a hundred, +thousand, million things. But first of all, how did you know that, now +being Susannah Ayer, I was formerly Susannah Delano?" + +"There was the miniature of Miss Murray hanging on your wall. That made +me sure--in--in some inexplicable way--that you were the little lost +Cherry. And of course we went through your handbag to make sure. We +found some letters addressed to Susannah Delano Ayer. But will you tell +me how you _do_ happen to be Susannah Ayer, when you were formerly +Susannah Delano, alias Cherry--or Cherie?" + +"I went from here to Providence to live with a large family of cousins. +Their name was Ayer, and I was so often called Ayer that finally I took +the name." Susannah paused, and then with a sudden impulse toward +confidence, she went on. "I grew up with my cousins. I was the youngest +of them all. The two oldest girls married, one a Californian, the other +a Canadian. I haven't seen them for years. The three boys are scattered +all over everywhere, by the war. My uncle died first; then my aunt. She +left me the five hundred dollars with which I got my business training." + +The look of one who is absorbing passionately all that is being said to +him was on Lindsay's face. But a little perplexity troubled it. +"Glorious Lutie?" he repeated interrogatively. + +"Oh, of course," Susannah murmured. "I always called her Glorious Lutie. +She always called me Glorious Susie--that is when she didn't call me +_Cherie_. And we had a game--the Abracadabra game. When she was telling +me a story--her stories were _marvels_; they went on for days and +days--and she got tired, she could always stop it by saying, +Abracadabra! If I didn't reply instantly with Abracadabra, the story +stopped. Of course she always caught my little wits napping--I was so +absorbed in the story that I could only stutter and pant, trying to +remember that long word." + +"That's a Peter Ibbetson trick," Lindsay commented. + + * * * * * + +The talk, thus begun, lasted for the three hours which elapsed before +Miss Stockbridge's return. Two narratives ran through their talk; +Lindsay's, which dealt with superficial matters, began with his return +to America from France; Susannah's, which began with that sad day, +fifteen years ago, when she saw Blue Meadows for the last time. But +neither narrative went straight. They zig-zagged; they curved, they +circled. Those deviations were the result of racing up squirrel tracks +of opinion and theory; of little excursions into the allied experiences +of youth; even of talks on books. Once it was interrupted by the +noiseless entry of Mrs. Spash, who deposited a tray which contained a +glass of milk, a pair of dropped eggs, a little mound of buttered toast. +Susannah suddenly found herself hungry. She drained her glass, ate both +eggs, devoured the last crumb of toast. + +After this, she felt so vigorous that she fell in with Lindsay's +suggestion that she walk to the door. There she stood on the door-stone +for a preoccupied, half-joyful, half-melancholy interval studying the +garden. Then, leaning on his arm, she ventured as far as the seat under +the copper-beech. Later, even, she went to the barn and the Dew Pond. +Before she could get tired, Lindsay brought her back, reestablishing her +in the chair. Then--and not till then--and following another impulse to +confide in Lindsay, Susannah told him the whole story of the Carbonado +Mining Company. Perhaps his point of view on that matter gave her her +second accession of vitality. He paced up and down the room during her +narrative; his hands, fists. But he laughed their threats to scorn. "Now +don't give another thought to that gang of crooks!" he adjured her. "I +know a man in New York--a lawyer. I'll have him look up that crowd and +put the fear of God into them. They'll probably be flown by that time, +however. Undoubtedly they were making ready for their getaway. Don't +think of it again. They can't hurt you half as much as that bee that's +trying to get in the door." He was silent for a moment, staring fixedly +down at his own manuscript on the table. "By God!" he burst out +suddenly, "I've half a mind to beat it on to New York. I'd like to be +present. I'd have some things to say--and do." + +Somewhere toward the end of this long talk, "I've not said a word yet, +Mr. Lindsay," Susannah interpolated timidly, "of how grateful I am to +you--and your cousin. But it's mainly because I've not had the strength +yet. I don't know how I'm going to repay you. I don't know how I'm even +going to tell you. What I owe you--just in money--let alone eternal +gratitude." + +"Now, that's all arranged," Lindsay said smoothly. "You don't know what +a find you were. You're an angel from heaven. You're a Christmas present +in July. For a long time I've realized that I needed a secretary. +Somebody's got to help me on Lutetia's life or I'll never get it done. +Who better qualified than Lutetia's own niece? In fact you will not only +be secretary but collaborator. As soon as you're well enough, we'll go +to work every morning and we'll work together until it's done." + +Susannah leaned back, snuggled into the soft recess of the comfortable +chair. She dropped her lids over the dazzling brilliancy of her eyes. "I +suppose I ought to say no. I suppose I ought to have some proper pride +about accepting so much kindness. I suppose I ought to show some +firmness of mind, pawn all my possessions and get back to work in New +York or Boston. Girls in novels always do those things. But I know I +shall do none of them. I shall say yes. For I haven't been so happy +since Glorious Lutie died." + +"Oh," Lindsay exclaimed quickly as though glad to reduce this dangerous +emotional excitement. "There comes the lost Anna Sophia Stockbridge. +She's a dandy. I think you'll like her. It's awfully hard not to." + + * * * * * + +The instant Susannah had disappeared with Miss Stockbridge up the +stairs, Mrs. Spash appeared in the Long Room. Apparently, she came with +a definite object--an object in no way connected with the futile dusting +movements she began to emit. + +Lindsay watched her. + +Suddenly Mrs. Spash's eyes came up; met his. They gazed at each other a +long moment; a gaze that was luminous with question and answer. + +"She's gone," Lindsay announced after a while. + +Mrs. Spash nodded briskly. + +"She'll never come back," Lindsay added. + +Again Mrs. Spash nodded briskly. + +"They've all gone," Lindsay stated. + +For the third time Mrs. Spash briskly nodded. + +"When Cherie came, _they_ left," Lindsay concluded. + +"They'd done what they wanted to do," Mrs. Spash vouchsafed. "Brought +you and Cherry together. So there was no need. She took them away. She'd +admire to stay. That's like her. But she don't want to make the place +seem--well, _queer_. So, as she allus did, she gives up her wish." + +"Mrs. Spash," Lindsay exploded suddenly after a long pause, "we've +_never_ seen them. You understand we've never seen them; either of us. +They never were here." + +Mrs. Spash nodded for the fourth time. + + * * * * * + +That night after his cousin and his guest had gone to bed, Lindsay +wandered about the place. The moon was big enough to turn his paths into +streams of light. He walked through the flower garden; into the barn; +about the Dew Pond. The tallest hollyhocks scarcely moved, so quiet was +the night. The little pond showed no ripple except a flash of the +moonlight. The barn was a cavern of gloom. Lindsay gazed at everything +as though from a new point of view. + +An immeasurable content filled him. + +After a while he returned to the house. His picture of Lutetia Murray +still hung over the mantel in the living-room. He gazed at it for a long +while. Then he turned away. As he looked down the length of the +living-room, there was in his face a whimsical expression, half of an +achieved happiness, half of a lurking regret. "This house has never been +so full of people since I've been here," he mused, "and yet never was it +so empty. My beloved ghosts, I miss you. But you've not all gone after +all. You've left one little ghost behind. Lutetia, I thank you for her. +How I wish you could come again to see.... But you're right. Don't come! +Not that I'm afraid. You're too lovely--" + +His thoughts broke halfway. They took another turn. "I wonder if it ever +happened to any other man before in the history of the world to see the +little-girl ghost of the woman--" + + * * * * * + +Blue Meadows had for several weeks now been projecting pictures from its +storied past into the light of everyday. Could it have projected into +that everyday one picture from the future, it would have been something +like this. + + * * * * * + +Susannah came into the south living-room. Her husband was standing +between the two windows. + +"Davy," she exclaimed joyfully, "I've located the lowboy. A Mrs. Norton +in West Hassett owns it. Of course she's asking a perfectly prohibitive +price, but of course we've got to have it." + +"Yes," Lindsay answered absently, "we've got to have it." + +"I'm glad we found things so slowly," Susannah dreamily. "It adds to the +wonder and magic of it all. It makes the dream last longer. It keeps our +romance always at the boiling point." + +She put one arm about her husband's neck and kissed him. Lindsay turned; +kissed her. + +"At least we have the major pieces back," Susannah said contentedly. +"And little Lutetia Murray Lindsay will grow up in almost the same +surroundings that Susannah Ayer enjoyed. Oh--today--when I carried her +over to the wall of the nursery, she noticed the Weejubs; she actually +put her hand out to touch them." + +"Oh, there's something here for you--from Rome--just came in the mail," +Lindsay exclaimed. "It's addressed to Susannah Delano too." + +"From Rome!" Susannah ejaculated. "Susannah Delano!" She cut the strings +of the package. Under the wrappings appeared--swathed in tissue paper--a +picture. A letter dropped from the envelope. Susannah seized it; turned +to the signature. + +"Garrison Monroe!" she ejaculated. "Oh, dear dear Uncle Garry, he's +alive after all!" She read the letter aloud, the tears welling in her +eyes. + +"How wonderful!" she commented when she finished. "You see, he's +apparently specialized in tomb-sculpture." + +She pulled the tissue paper from the picture. Their heads met, examining +it. + +"Oh, how lovely!" Susannah exclaimed in a hushed voice. And "It's +beautiful!" Lindsay agreed in a low tone. + +It was the photograph of a bit of sculptured marble; a woman swathed in +rippling draperies lying, at ease, on her side. One hand, palm upward, +fingers a little curled, lay by her cheek; the other fell across her +breast. A veil partially obscured the delicate profile. But from every +veiled feature, from every line of the figure, from every fold in the +drapery, exuded rest. + +"It's perfect!" Susannah said, still in a low tone. "Perfect. Many a +time she's fallen asleep just like than when we've all been talking and +laughing. When she slept, her hand always lay close to her face as it is +here. She always wore long floating scarves. You see he had to do her +face from photographs ... and memory.... He's used that scarf device to +conceal.... How beautiful! How beautiful!" + +There came silence. + +"Mrs. Spash says he was in love with her," Susannah went on. "Of course +I was too young. I didn't realize it. But it's all here, I think. Did +you notice that part of the letter where he says that for the last year +or two his mind has been full of her? And of all his life here? That's +very pathetic, isn't it? Now there will be a fitting monument over +her.... He says it will be here in a few months. We must send him +pictures when it's put on her grave. How happy it makes me! He says he's +nearly eighty.... How beautiful.... You're not listening to me," she +accused her husband with sudden indignation. But her indignation +tempered itself by a flurry of little kisses when, following the +direction of his piercing gaze, she saw it ended on the miniature which +hung beside the secretary. "Looking at Glorious Lutie!" she mocked +tenderly. "How that miniature fascinates you! Sometimes," she added, +obviously inventing whimsical cause for grievance, "sometimes I think +you're as much in love with her as you are with me." + +"If I am," Lindsay agreed, "it's because there's so much of you in her." + +THE END + + + + +"_The Books You Like to Read at the Price You Like to Pay_" + +_There Are Two Sides to Everything_-- + +--including the wrapper which covers every Grosset & Dunlap book. 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