diff options
| author | pgww <pgww@lists.pglaf.org> | 2026-01-02 05:35:13 -0800 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | pgww <pgww@lists.pglaf.org> | 2026-01-02 05:35:13 -0800 |
| commit | 2dac90ff68ba66b07c717399a410d6ff2facec56 (patch) | |
| tree | 5b86fa4896f5f7e9e60099f6abfd201fdcd7a20d /old/7flpp10.txt | |
| parent | 8bbcfe947bd16d1eb4530004ad8aa6d7087e977e (diff) | |
Diffstat (limited to 'old/7flpp10.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/7flpp10.txt | 9398 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 9398 deletions
diff --git a/old/7flpp10.txt b/old/7flpp10.txt deleted file mode 100644 index a0d2574..0000000 --- a/old/7flpp10.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9398 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg Etext of Flappers and Philosophers -by F. Scott Fitzgerald -(#2 in our series by F. Scott Fitzgerald) - -Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the -copyright laws for your country before distributing this or any other -Project Gutenberg file. - -We encourage you to keep this file, exactly as it is, on your -own disk, thereby keeping an electronic path open for future -readers. Please do not remove this. - -This header should be the first thing seen when anyone starts to -view the etext. Do not change or edit it without written permission. -The words are carefully chosen to provide users with the -information they need to understand what they may and may not -do with the etext. - - -**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** - -**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** - -*****These Etexts Are Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** - -Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get etexts, and -further information, is included below. We need your donations. - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a 501(c)(3) -organization with EIN [Employee Identification Number] 64-6221541 - - - -Title: Flappers and Philosophers - -Author: F. Scott Fitzgerald - -Release Date: August, 2003 [Etext #4368] -[This file was first posted on January 19, 2002] -[Most recently updated October 23, 2002] - -Edition: 10 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO8859_1 - -The Project Gutenberg Etext of Flappers and Philosophers -by F. Scott Fitzgerald -******This file should be named 8flpp10.txt or 8flpp10.zip****** - -Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, 8flpp11.txt -VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 8flpp10a.txt - -Produced by Curtis A. Weyant -Courtesy of the Michigan State University Libraries -(http://digital.lib.msu.edu/) - - -Project Gutenberg Etexts are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we usually do not -keep etexts in compliance with any particular paper edition. - -We are now trying to release all our etexts one year in advance -of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing. -Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections, -even years after the official publication date. - -Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til -midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. -The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at -Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A -preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment -and editing by those who wish to do so. - -Most people start at our sites at: -http://gutenberg.net or -http://promo.net/pg - -These Web sites include award-winning information about Project -Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new -etexts, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!). - - -Those of you who want to download any Etext before announcement -can get to them as follows, and just download by date. This is -also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the -indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an -announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter. - -http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext03 or -ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext03 - -Or /etext02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90 - -Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want, -as it appears in our Newsletters. - - -Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) - -We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The -time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours -to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright -searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. Our -projected audience is one hundred million readers. If the value -per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 -million dollars per hour in 2001 as we release over 50 new Etext -files per month, or 500 more Etexts in 2000 for a total of 4000+ -If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total -should reach over 300 billion Etexts given away by year's end. - -The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext -Files by December 31, 2001. [10,000 x 100,000,000 = 1 Trillion] -This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, -which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users. - -At our revised rates of production, we will reach only one-third -of that goal by the end of 2001, or about 4,000 Etexts. We need -funding, as well as continued efforts by volunteers, to maintain -or increase our production and reach our goals. - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created -to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium. - -We need your donations more than ever! - -As of November, 2001, contributions are being solicited from people -and organizations in: Alabama, Arkansas, Connecticut, Delaware, -Florida, Georgia, Idaho, Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, -Louisiana, Maine, Michigan, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New -Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Oklahoma, Oregon, -Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South Dakota, Tennessee, -Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West Virginia, Wisconsin, -and Wyoming. - -*In Progress - -We have filed in about 45 states now, but these are the only ones -that have responded. - -As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list -will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states. -Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state. - -In answer to various questions we have received on this: - -We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally -request donations in all 50 states. If your state is not listed and -you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have, -just ask. - -While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are -not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting -donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to -donate. - -International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about -how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made -deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are -ways. - -All donations should be made to: - -Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -PMB 113 -1739 University Ave. -Oxford, MS 38655-4109 - -Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment -method other than by check or money order. - - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by -the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN -[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154. Donations are -tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law. As fundraising -requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be -made and fundraising will begin in the additional states. - -We need your donations more than ever! - -You can get up to date donation information at: - -http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html - - -*** - -If you can't reach Project Gutenberg, -you can always email directly to: - -Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com> - -Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message. - -We would prefer to send you information by email. - - -**The Legal Small Print** - - -(Three Pages) - -***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START*** -Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. -They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with -your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from -someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our -fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement -disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how -you may distribute copies of this etext if you want to. - -*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT -By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept -this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive -a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by -sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person -you got it from. If you received this etext on a physical -medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. - -ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS -This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etexts, -is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart -through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project"). -Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright -on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and -distribute it in the United States without permission and -without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth -below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext -under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. - -Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market -any commercial products without permission. - -To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable -efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain -works. Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any -medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other -things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged -disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer -codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. - -LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES -But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, -[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may -receive this etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims -all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including -legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR -UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, -INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE -OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE -POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. - -If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of -receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) -you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that -time to the person you received it from. If you received it -on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and -such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement -copy. If you received it electronically, such person may -choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to -receive it electronically. - -THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS -TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A -PARTICULAR PURPOSE. - -Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or -the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the -above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you -may have other legal rights. - -INDEMNITY -You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation, -and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated -with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including -legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the -following that you do or cause: [1] distribution of this etext, -[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the etext, -or [3] any Defect. - -DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" -You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by -disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this -"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, -or: - -[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this - requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the - etext or this "small print!" statement. You may however, - if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable - binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, - including any form resulting from conversion by word - processing or hypertext software, but only so long as - *EITHER*: - - [*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and - does *not* contain characters other than those - intended by the author of the work, although tilde - (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may - be used to convey punctuation intended by the - author, and additional characters may be used to - indicate hypertext links; OR - - [*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at - no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent - form by the program that displays the etext (as is - the case, for instance, with most word processors); - OR - - [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at - no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the - etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC - or other equivalent proprietary form). - -[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this - "Small Print!" statement. - -[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the - gross profits you derive calculated using the method you - already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you - don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are - payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation" - the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were - legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent - periodic) tax return. Please contact us beforehand to - let us know your plans and to work out the details. - -WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? -Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of -public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed -in machine readable form. - -The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time, -public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses. -Money should be paid to the: -"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or -software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at: -hart@pobox.com - -[Portions of this header are copyright (C) 2001 by Michael S. Hart -and may be reprinted only when these Etexts are free of all fees.] -[Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be used in any sales -of Project Gutenberg Etexts or other materials be they hardware or -software or any other related product without express permission.] - -*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.10/04/01*END* - - - - -Redacted by Curtis A. Weyant {dylan38@angelfire.com} -Courtesy of the Michigan State University Libraries -(http://digital.lib.msu.edu/) - - - FLAPPERS AND PHILOSOPHERS - F. SCOTT FITZGERALD - - To Zelda - - - - - -Contents - -The Offshore Pirate -The Ice Palace -Head and Shoulders -The Cut-Glass Bowl -Bernice Bobs Her Hair -Benediction -Dalyrimple Goes Wrong -The Four Fists - - - - - - - -Flappers and Philosophers - - - - - -The Offshore Pirate - - - - -I - - -This unlikely story begins on a sea that was a blue dream, as -colorful as blue-silk stockings, and beneath a sky as blue as the -irises of children's eyes. From the western half of the sky the -sun was shying little golden disks at the sea--if you gazed -intently enough you could see them skip from wave tip to wave tip -until they joined a broad collar of golden coin that was -collecting half a mile out and would eventually be a dazzling -sunset. About half-way between the Florida shore and the golden -collar a white steam-yacht, very young and graceful, was riding -at anchor and under a blue-and-white awning aft a yellow-haired -girl reclined in a wicker settee reading The Revolt of the -Angels, by Anatole France. - -She was about nineteen, slender and supple, with a spoiled -alluring mouth and quick gray eyes full of a radiant curiosity. -Her feet, stockingless, and adorned rather than clad in -blue-satin slippers which swung nonchalantly from her toes, were -perched on the arm of a settee adjoining the one she occupied. -And as she read she intermittently regaled herself by a faint -application to her tongue of a half-lemon that she held in her -hand. The other half, sucked dry, lay on the deck at her feet and -rocked very gently to and fro at the almost imperceptible motion -of the tide. - -The second half-lemon was well-nigh pulpless and the golden -collar had grown astonishing in width, when suddenly the drowsy -silence which enveloped the yacht was broken by the sound of -heavy footsteps and an elderly man topped with orderly gray hair -and clad in a white-flannel suit appeared at the head of the -companionway. There he paused for a moment until his eyes became -accustomed to the sun, and then seeing the girl under the awning -he uttered a long even grunt of disapproval. - -If he had intended thereby to obtain a rise of any sort he was -doomed to disappointment. The girl calmly turned over two pages, -turned back one, raised the lemon mechanically to tasting -distance, and then very faintly but quite unmistakably yawned. - -"Ardita!" said the gray-haired man sternly. - -Ardita uttered a small sound indicating nothing. - -"Ardita!" he repeated. "Ardita!" - -Ardita raised the lemon languidly, allowing three words to slip -out before it reached her tongue. - -"Oh, shut up." - -"Ardita!" - -"What?" - -Will you listen to me--or will I have to get a servant to hold -you while I talk to you?" - -The lemon descended very slowly and scornfully. - -"Put it in writing." - -"Will you have the decency to close that abominable book and -discard that damn lemon for two minutes?" - -"Oh, can't you lemme alone for a second?" - -"Ardita, I have just received a telephone message from the -shore---" - -"Telephone?" She showed for the first time a faint interest. - -"Yes, it was---" - -"Do you mean to say," she interrupted wonderingly, "'at they let -you run a wire out here?" - -"Yes, and just now---" - -"Won't other boats bump into it?" - -"No. It's run along the bottom. Five min---" - -"Well, I'll be darned! Gosh! Science is golden or -something--isn't it?" - -"Will you let me say what I started to?" - -"Shoot!" - -"Well it seems--well, I am up here--" He paused and swallowed -several times distractedly. "Oh, yes. Young woman, Colonel -Moreland has called up again to ask me to be sure to bring you in -to dinner. His son Toby has come all the way from New York to -meet you and he's invited several other young people. For the -last time, will you---" - -"No" said Ardita shortly, "I won't. I came along on this darn -cruise with the one idea of going to Palm Beach, and you knew it, -and I absolutely refuse to meet any darn old colonel or any darn -young Toby or any darn old young people or to set foot in any -other darn old town in this crazy state. So you either take me to -Palm Beach or else shut up and go away." - -"Very well. This is the last straw. In your infatuation for this -man.--a man who is notorious for his excesses--a man your father -would not have allowed to so much as mention your name--you have -rejected the demi-monde rather than the circles in which you have -presumably grown up. From now on---" - -"I know" interrupted Ardita ironically, "from now on you go your -way and I go mine. I've heard that story before. You know I'd -like nothing better." - -"From now on," he announced grandiloquently, "you are no niece of -mine. I---" - -"O-o-o-oh!" The cry was wrung from Ardita with the agony of a -lost soul. "Will you stop boring me! Will you go 'way! Will you -jump overboard and drown! Do you want me to throw this book at -you!" - -"If you dare do any---" - -Smack! The Revolt of the Angels sailed through the air, missed -its target by the length of a short nose, and bumped cheerfully -down the companionway. - -The gray-haired man made an instinctive step backward and then -two cautious steps forward. Ardita jumped to her five feet four -and stared at him defiantly, her gray eyes blazing. - -"Keep off!" - -"How dare you!" he cried. - -"Because I darn please!" - -"You've grown unbearable! Your disposition---" - -"You've made me that way! No child ever has a bad disposition -unless it's her fancy's fault! Whatever I am, you did it." - -Muttering something under his breath her uncle turned and, -walking forward called in a loud voice for the launch. Then he -returned to the awning, where Ardita had again seated herself and -resumed her attention to the lemon. - -"I am going ashore," he said slowly. "I will be out again at nine -o'clock to-night. When I return we start back to New York, -wither I shall turn you over to your aunt for the rest of your -natural, or rather unnatural, life." He paused and looked at -her, and then all at once something in the utter childness of her -beauty seemed to puncture his anger like an inflated tire, and -render him helpless, uncertain, utterly fatuous. - -"Ardita," he said not unkindly, "I'm no fool. I've been round. I -know men. And, child, confirmed libertines don't reform until -they're tired--and then they're not themselves--they're husks of -themselves." He looked at her as if expecting agreement, but -receiving no sight or sound of it he continued. "Perhaps the man -loves you--that's possible. He's loved many women and he'll love -many more. Less than a month ago, one month, Ardita, he was -involved in a notorious affair with that red-haired woman, Mimi -Merril; promised to give her the diamond bracelet that the Czar -of Russia gave his mother. You know--you read the papers." - -"Thrilling scandals by an anxious uncle," yawned Ardita. "Have it -filmed. Wicked clubman making eyes at virtuous flapper. Virtuous -flapper conclusively vamped by his lurid past. Plans to meet him -at Palm Beach. Foiled by anxious uncle." - -"Will you tell me why the devil you want to marry him?" - -"I'm sure I couldn't say," said Audits shortly. "Maybe because -he's the only man I know, good or bad, who has an imagination and -the courage of his convictions. Maybe it's to get away from the -young fools that spend their vacuous hours pursuing me around the -country. But as for the famous Russian bracelet, you can set -your mind at rest on that score. He's going to give it to me at -Palm Beach--if you'll show a little intelligence." - -"How about the--red-haired woman?" - -"He hasn't seen her for six months," she said angrily. "Don't you -suppose I have enough pride to see to that? Don't you know by -this time that I can do any darn thing with any darn man I want -to?" - -She put her chin in the air like the statue of France Aroused, -and then spoiled the pose somewhat by raising the lemon for -action. - -"Is it the Russian bracelet that fascinates you?" - -"No, I'm merely trying to give you the sort of argument that -would appeal to your intelligence. And I wish you'd go 'way," she -said, her temper rising again. "You know I never change my mind. -You've been boring me for three days until I'm about to go -crazy. I won't go ashore! Won't! Do you hear? Won't!" - -"Very well," he said, "and you won't go to Palm Beach either. Of -all the selfish, spoiled, uncontrolled disagreeable, impossible -girl I have---" - -Splush! The half-lemon caught him in the neck. Simultaneously -came a hail from over the side. - -"The launch is ready, Mr. Farnam." - -Too full of words and rage to speak, Mr. Farnam cast one utterly -condemning glance at his niece and, turning, ran swiftly down the -ladder. - - - -II - - -Five o'clock robed down from the sun and plumped soundlessly into -the sea. The golden collar widened into a glittering island; and -a faint breeze that had been playing with the edges of the -awning and swaying one of the dangling blue slippers became -suddenly freighted with song. It was a chorus of men in close -harmony and in perfect rhythm to an accompanying sound of oars -dealing the blue writers. Ardita lifted her head and -listened. - - "Carrots and Peas, - Beans on their knees, - Pigs in the seas, - Lucky fellows! - Blow us a breeze, - Blow us a breeze, - Blow us a breeze, - With your bellows." - -Ardita's brow wrinkled in astonishment. Sitting very still she -listened eagerly as the chorus took up a second verse. - - "Onions and beans, - Marshalls and Deans, - Goldbergs and Greens - And Costellos. - Blow us a breeze, - Blow us a breeze, - Blow us a breeze, - With your bellows." - -With an exclamation she tossed her book to the desk, where it -sprawled at a straddle, and hurried to the rail. Fifty feet away -a large rowboat was approaching containing seven men, six of them -rowing and one standing up in the stern keeping time to their -song with an orchestra leader's baton. - - "Oysters and Rocks, - Sawdust and socks, - Who could make clocks - Out of cellos?---" - -The leader's eyes suddenly rested on Ardita, who was leaning over -the rail spellbound with curiosity. He made a quick movement -with his baton and the singing instantly ceased. She saw that he -was the only white man in the boat--the six rowers -were negroes. - -"Narcissus ahoy!" he called politely. - -What's the idea of all the discord?" demanded Ardita cheerfully. -"Is this the varsity crew from the county nut farm?" - -By this time the boat was scraping the side of the yacht and a -great bulking negro in the bow turned round and grasped the -ladder. Thereupon the leader left his position in the stern and -before Ardita had realized his intention he ran up the ladder and -stood breathless before her on the deck. - -"The women and children will be spared!" he said briskly. "All -crying babies will be immediately drowned and all males put in -double irons!" Digging her hands excitedly down into the pockets -of her dress Ardita stared at him, speechless with astonishment. -He was a young man with a scornful mouth and the bright blue eyes -of a healthy baby set in a dark sensitive face. His hair was -pitch black, damp and curly--the hair of a Grecian statue gone -brunette. He was trimly built, trimly dressed, and graceful as an -agile quarter-back. - -"Well, I'll be a son of a gun!" she said dazedly. - -They eyed each other coolly. - -"Do you surrender the ship?" - -"Is this an outburst of wit? " demanded Ardita. "Are you an -idiot--or just being initiated to some fraternity?" - -"I asked you if you surrendered the ship." - -"I thought the country was dry," said Ardita disdainfully. "Have -you been drinking finger-nail enamel? You better get off this -yacht!" - -"What?" the young man's voice expressed incredulity. - -"Get off the yacht! You heard me!" - -He looked at her for a moment as if considering what she had -said. - -"No" said his scornful mouth slowly; "No, I won't get off the -yacht. You can get off if you wish." - -Going to the rail be gave a curt command and immediately the crew -of the rowboat scrambled up the ladder and ranged themselves in -line before him, a coal-black and burly darky at one end and a -miniature mulatto of four feet nine at to other. They seemed to -be uniformly dressed in some sort of blue costume ornamented with -dust, mud, and tatters; over the shoulder of each was slung a -small, heavy-looking white sack, and under their arms they -carried large black cases apparently containing musical -instruments. - -"'Ten-SHUN!" commanded the young man, snapping his own heels -together crisply. "Right DRISS! Front! Step out here, Babe!" - -The smallest Negro took a quick step forward and saluted. - -"Take command, go down below, catch the crew and tie 'em up--all -except the engineer. Bring him up to me. Oh, and pile those bags -by the rail there." - -"Yas-suh!" - -Babe saluted again and wheeling about motioned for the five others -to gather about him. Then after a short whispered consultation -they all filed noiselessly down the companionway. - -"Now," said the young man cheerfully to Ardita, who had witnessed -this last scene in withering silence, "if you will swear on your -honor as a flapper--which probably isn't worth much--that you'll -keep that spoiled little mouth of yours tight shut for -forty-eight hours, you can row yourself ashore in our -rowboat." - -"Otherwise what?" - -"Otherwise you're going to sea in a ship." - -With a little sigh as for a crisis well passed, the young man -sank into the settee Ardita had lately vacated and stretched his -arms lazily. The corners of his mouth relaxed appreciatively as -he looked round at the rich striped awning, the polished brass, -and the luxurious fittings of the deck. His eye felt on the book, -and then on the exhausted lemon. - -"Hm," he said, "Stonewall Jackson claimed that lemon-juice -cleared his head. Your head feel pretty clear?" - -Ardita disdained to answer. - -"Because inside of five minutes you'll have to make a clear -decision whether it's go or stay." - -He picked up the book and opened it curiously. - -"The Revolt of the Angels. Sounds pretty good. French, eh?" He -stared at her with new interest "You French?" - -"No." - -"What's your name?" - -"Farnam." - -"Farnam what?" - -"Ardita Farnam." - -"Well Ardita, no use standing up there and chewing out the -insides of your mouth. You ought to break those nervous habits -while you're young. Come over here and sit down." - -Ardita took a carved jade case from her pocket, extracted a -cigarette and lit it with a conscious coolness, though she knew -her hand was trembling a little; then she crossed over with her -supple, swinging walk, and sitting down in the other settee blew -a mouthful of smoke at the awning. - -"You can't get me off this yacht," she raid steadily; "and you -haven't got very much sense if you think you'll get far with it. -My uncle'll have wirelesses zigzagging all over this ocean by -half past six." - -"Hm." - -She looked quickly at his face, caught anxiety stamped there -plainly in the faintest depression of the mouth's corners. - -"It's all the same to me," she said, shrugging her shoulders. -"'Tisn't my yacht. I don't mind going for a coupla hours' cruise. -I'll even lend you that book so you'll have something to read on -the revenue boat that takes you up to Sing-Sing." - -He laughed scornfully. - -"If that's advice you needn't bother. This is part of a plan -arranged before I ever knew this yacht existed. If it hadn't been -this one it'd have been the next one we passed anchored along -the coast." - -"Who are you?" demanded Ardita suddenly. "And what are you?" - -"You've decided not to go ashore?" - -"I never even faintly considered it." - -"We're generally known," he said "all seven of us, as Curtis -Carlyle and his Six Black Buddies late of the Winter Garden and -the Midnight Frolic." - -"You're singers?" - -"We were until to-day. At present, due to those white bags you -see there we're fugitives from justice and if the reward offered -for our capture hasn't by this time reached twenty thousand -dollars I miss my guess." - -"What's in the bags?" asked Ardita curiously. - -"Well," he said "for the present we'll call it--mud--Florida -mud." - - - -III - - -Within ten minutes after Curtis Carlyle's interview with a very -frightened engineer the yacht Narcissus was under way, steaming -south through a balmy tropical twilight. The little mulatto, -Babe, who seems to have Carlyle's implicit confidence, took full -command of the situation. Mr. Farnam's valet and the chef, the -only members of the crew on board except the engineer, having -shown fight, were now reconsidering, strapped securely to their -bunks below. Trombone Mose, the biggest negro, was set busy with -a can of paint obliterating the name Narcissus from the bow, and -substituting the name Hula Hula, and the others congregated aft -and became intently involved in a game of craps. - -Having given order for a meal to be prepared and served on deck -at seven-thirty, Carlyle rejoined Ardita, and, sinking back into -his settee, half closed his eyes and fell into a state of -profound abstraction. - -Ardita scrutinized him carefully--and classed him immedialely as -a romantic figure. He gave the effect of towering self-confidence -erected on a slight foundation--just under the surface of each -of his decisions she discerned a hesitancy that was in decided -contrast to the arrogant curl of his lips. - -"He's not like me," she thought "There's a difference somewhere." -Being a supreme egotist Ardita frequently thought about -herself; never having had her egotism disputed she did it -entirely naturally and with no detraction from her unquestioned -charm. Though she was nineteen she gave the effect of a -high-spirited precocious child, and in the present glow of her -youth and beauty all the men and women she had known were but -driftwood on the ripples of her temperament. She had met other -egotists--in fact she found that selfish people bored her rather -less than unselfish people--but as yet there had not been one she -had not eventually defeated and brought to her feet. - -But though she recognized an egotist in the settee, she felt none -of that usual shutting of doors in her mind which meant clearing -ship for action; on the contrary her instinct told her that this -man was somehow completely pregnable and quite defenseless. When -Ardita defied convention--and of late it had been her chief -amusement--it was from an intense desire to be herself, and she -felt that this man, on the contrary, was preoccupied with his own -defiance. - -She was much more interested in him than she was in her own -situation, which affected her as the prospect of a matinee might -affect a ten-year-old child. She had implicit confidence in her -ability to take care of herself under any and all circumstances. - -The night deepened. A pale new moon smiled misty-eyed upon the -sea, and as the shore faded dimly out and dark clouds were blown -like leaves along the far horizon a great haze of moonshine -suddenly bathed the yacht and spread an avenue of glittering mail -in her swift path. From time to time there was the bright flare -of a match as one of them lighted a cigarette, but except for -the low under-tone of the throbbing engines and the even wash of -the waves about the stern the yacht was quiet as a dream boat -star-bound through the heavens. Round them bowed the smell of the -night sea, bringing with it an infinite languor. - -Carlyle broke the silence at last. - -"Lucky girl," he sighed "I've always wanted to be rich--and buy -all this beauty." - -Ardita yawned. - -"I'd rather be you," she said frankly. - -"You would--for about a day. But you do seem to possess a lot of -nerve for a flapper." - -"I wish you wouldn't call me that" - -"Beg your pardon." - -"As to nerve," she continued slowly, "it's my one redeemiug -feature. I'm not afraid of anything in heaven or earth." - -"Hm, I am." - -"To be afraid," said Ardita, "a person has either to be very -great and strong--or else a coward. I'm neither." She paused for -a moment, and eagerness crept into her tone. "But I want to talk -about you. What on earth have you done--and how did you do it?" - -"Why?" he demanded cynically. "Going to write a movie, about -me?" - -"Go on," she urged. "Lie to me by the moonlight. Do a fabulous -story." - -A negro appeared, switched on a string of small lights under the -awning, and began setting the wicker table for supper. And while -they ate cold sliced chicken, salad, artichokes and strawberry -jam from the plentiful larder below, Carlyle began to talk, -hesitatingly at first, but eagerly as he saw she was interested. -Ardita scarcely touched her food as she watched his dark young -face--handsome, ironic faintly ineffectual. - -He began life as a poor kid in a Tennessee town, he said, so poor -that his people were the only white family in their street. He -never remembered any white children--but there were inevitably a -dozen pickaninnies streaming in his trail, passionate admirers -whom he kept in tow by the vividness of his imagination and the -amount of trouble he was always getting them in and out of. And -it seemed that this association diverted a rather unusual musical -gift into a strange channel. - -There had been a colored woman named Belle Pope Calhoun who -played the piano at parties given for white children--nice white -children that would have passed Curtis Carlyle with a sniff. But -the ragged little "poh white" used to sit beside her piano by the -hour and try to get in an alto with one of those kazoos that -boys hum through. Before he was thirteen he was picking up a -living teasing ragtime out of a battered violin in little cafes -round Nashville. Eight years later the ragtime craze hit the -country, and he took six darkies on the Orpheum circuit. Five of -them were boys he had grown up with; the other was the little -mulatto, Babe Divine, who was a wharf nigger round New York, and -long before that a plantation hand in Bermuda, until he stuck an -eight-inch stiletto in his master's back. Almost before Carlyle -realized his good fortune he was on Broadway, with offers of -engagements on all sides, and more money than he had ever dreamed -of. - -It was about then that a change began in his whole attitude, a -rather curious, embittering change. It was when he realized that -he was spending the golden years of his life gibbering round a -stage with a lot of black men. His act was good of its -kind--three trombones, three saxaphones, and Carlyle's flute--and -it was his own peculiar sense of rhythm that made all the -difference; but he began to grow strangely sensitive about it, -began to hate the thought of appearing, dreaded it from day to -day. - -They were making money--each contract he signed called for -more--but when he went to managers and told them that he wanted -to separate from his sextet and go on as a regular pianist, they -laughed at him aud told him he was crazy--it would he an artistic -suicide. He used to laugh afterward at the phrase "artistic -suicide." They all used it. - -Half a dozen times they played at private dances at three -thousand dollars a night, and it seemed as if these crystallized -all his distaste for his mode of livlihood. They took place in -clubs and houses that he couldn't have gone into in the daytime -After all, he was merely playing to role of the eternal monkey, a -sort of sublimated chorus man. He was sick of the very smell of -the theatre, of powder and rouge and the chatter of the -greenroom, and the patronizing approval of the boxes. He couldn't -put his heart into it any more. The idea of a slow approach to -the luxury of liesure drove him wild. He was, of course, -progressing toward it, but, like a child, eating his ice-cream so -slowly that he couldn't taste it at all. - -He wanted to have a lot of money and time and opportunity to read -and play, and the sort of men and women round him that he could -never have--the kind who, if they thought of him at all, would -have considered him rather contemptible; in short he wanted all -those things which he was beginning to lump under the general -head of aristocracy, an aristocracy which it seemed almost any -money could buy except money made as he was making it. He was -twenty-five then, without family or education or any promise that -he would succeed in a business career. He began speculating -wildly, and within three weeks he had lost every cent he had -saved. - -Then the war came. He went to Plattsburg, and even there his -profession followed him. A brigadier-general called him up to -headquarters and told him he could serve his country better as a -band leader--so he spent the war entertaining celebrities behind -the line with a headquarters band. It was not so bad--except -that when the infantry came limping back from the trenches he -wanted to be one of them. The sweat and mud they wore seemed -only one of those ineffable symbols of aristocracy that were -forever eluding him. - -"It was the private dances that did it. After I came back from -the war the old routine started. We had an offer from a -syndicate of Florida hotels. It was only a question of time -then." - -He broke off and Ardita looked at him expectantly, but he shook -his head. - -"No," he said, "I'm going to tell you about it. I'm enjoying it -too much, and I'm afraid I'd lose a little of that enjoyment if I -shared it with anyone else. I want to hang on to those few -breathless, heroic moments when I stood out before them all and -let them know I was more than a damn bobbing, squawking clown." - ->From up forward came suddenly the low sound of singing. The -negroes had gathered together on the deck and their voices rose -together in a haunting melody that soared in poignant harmonics -toward the moon. And Ardita listens in enchantment. - - "Oh down--- - oh down, - Mammy wanna take me down milky way, - Oh down, - oh down, - Pappy say to-morra-a-a-ah - But mammy say to-day, - Yes--mammy say to-day!" - -Carlyle sighed and was silent for a moment looking up at the -gathered host of stars blinking like arc-lights in the warm sky. -The negroes' song had died away to a plaintive humming and it -seemed as if minute by minute the brightness and the great -silence were increasing until he could almost hear the midnight -toilet of the mermaids as they combed their silver dripping curls -under the moon and gossiped to each other of the fine wrecks -they lived on the green opalescent avenues below. - -"You see," said Carlyle softly, "this is the beauty I want. -Beauty has got to be astonishing, astounding--it's got to burst -in on you like a dream, like the exquisite eyes of a girl." - -He turned to her, but she was silent. - -"You see, don't you, Anita--I mean, Ardita?" - -Again she made no answer. She had been sound asleep for some -time. - - - -IV - - - -In the dense sun-flooded noon of next day a spot in the sea -before them resolved casually into a green-and-gray islet, -apparently composed of a great granite cliff at its northern end -which slanted south through a mile of vivid coppice and grass to -a sandy beach melting lazily into the surf. When Ardita, reading -in her favorite seat, came to the last page of The Revolt of the -Angels, and slamming the book shut looked up and saw it, she -gave a little cry of delight, and called to Carlyle, who was -standing moodily by the rail. - -"Is this it? Is this where you're going?" - -Carlyle shrugged his shoulders carelessly. - -"You've got me." He raised his voice and called up to the acting -skipper: "Oh, Babe, is this your island?" - -The mulatto's miniature head appeared from round the corner of -the deck-house. - -"Yas-suh! This yeah's it." - -Carlyle joined Ardita. - -"Looks sort of sporting, doesn't it?" - -"Yes," she agreed; "but it doesn't look big enough to be much of -a hiding-place." - -"You still putting your faith in those wirelesses your uncle was -going to have zigzagging round?" - -"No," said Ardita frankly. "I'm all for you. I'd really like to -see you make a get-away." - -He laughed. - -"You're our Lady Luck. Guess we'll have to keep you with us as a -mascot--for the present anyway." - -"You couldn't very well ask me to swim back," she said coolly. -"If you do I'm going to start writing dime novels founded on that -interminable history of your life you gave me last night." - -He flushed and stiffened slightly. - -"I'm very sorry I bored you." - -"Oh, you didn't--until just at the end with some story about how -furious you were because you couldn't dance with the ladies you -played music for." - -He rose angrily. - -"You have got a darn mean little tongue." - -"Excuse me," she said melting into laughter, "but I'm not used to -having men regale me with the story of their life -ambitions--especially if they've lived such deathly platonic -lives." - -"Why? What do men usually regale you with?" - -"Oh, they talk about me," she yawned. "They tell me I'm the -spirit of youth and beauty." - -"What do you tell them?" - -"Oh, I agree quietly." - -"Does every man you meet tell you he loves you?" - -Ardita nodded. - -"Why shouldn't he? All life is just a progression toward, and -then a recession from, one phrase--'I love you.'" - -Carlyle laughed and sat down. - -"That's very true. That's--that's not bad. Did you make that up?" - -"Yes--or rather I found it out. It doesn't mean anything -especially. It's just clever." - -"It's the sort of remark," he said gravely, "that's typical of -your class." - -"Oh," she interrupted impatiently, "don't start that lecture on -aristocracy again! I distrust people who can be intense at this -hour in the morning. It's a mild form of insanity--a sort of -breakfast-food jag. Morning's the time to sleep, swim, and be -careless." - -Ten minutes later they had swung round in a wide circle as if to -approach the island from the north. - -"There's a trick somewhere," commented Ardita thoughtfully. "He -can't mean just to anchor up against this cliff." - -They were heading straight in now toward the solid rock, which -must have been well over a hundred feet tall, and not until they -were within fifty yards of it did Ardita see their objective. -Then she clapped her hands in delight. There was a break in the -cliff entirely hidden by a curious overlapping of rock, and -through this break the yacht entered and very slowly traversed a -narrow channel of crystal-clear water between high gray walls. -Then they were riding at anchor in a miniature world of green and -gold, a gilded bay smooth as glass and set round with tiny -palms, the whole resembling the mirror lakes and twig trees that -children set up in sand piles. - -"Not so darned bad!" cried Carlyle excitedly. - -"I guess that little coon knows his way round this corner of the -Atlantic." - -His exuberance was contagious, and Ardita became quite jubilant. - -"It's an absolutely sure-fire hiding-place!" - -"Lordy, yes! It's the sort of island you read about." - -The rowboat was lowered into the golden lake and they pulled to -shore. - -"Come on," said Carlyle as they landed in the slushy sand, "we'll -go exploring." - -The fringe of palms was in turn ringed in by a round mile of -flat, sandy country. They followed it south and brushing through -a farther rim of tropical vegetation came out on a pearl-gray -virgin beach where Ardita kicked of her brown golf shoes--she -seemed to have permanently abandoned stockings--and went wading. -Then they sauntered back to the yacht, where the indefatigable -Babe had luncheon ready for them. He had posted a lookout on the -high cliff to the north to watch the sea on both sides, though he -doubted if the entrance to the cliff was generally known--he had -never even seen a map on which the island was marked. - -"What's its name," asked Ardita--"the island, I mean?" - -"No name 'tall," chuckled Babe. "Reckin she jus' island, 'at's -all." - -In the late afternoon they sat with their backs against great -boulders on the highest part of the cliff and Carlyle sketched -for her his vague plans. He was sure they were hot after him by -this time. The total proceeds of the coup he had pulled off and -concerning which he still refused to enlighten her, he estimated -as just under a million dollars. He counted on lying up here -several weeks and then setting off southward, keeping well -outside the usual channels of travel rounding the Horn and -heading for Callao, in Peru. The details of coaling and -provisioning he was leaving entirely to Babe who, it seemed, had -sailed these seas in every capacity from cabin-boy aboard a -coffee trader to virtual first mate on a Brazillian pirate craft, -whose skipper had long since been hung. - -"If he'd been white he'd have been king of South America long -ago," said Carlyle emphatically. "When it comes to intelligence -he makes Booker T. Washington look like a moron. He's got the -guile of every race and nationality whose blood is in his veins, -and that's half a dozen or I'm a liar. He worships me because I'm -the only man in the world who can play better ragtime than he -can. We used to sit together on the wharfs down on the New York -water-front, he with a bassoon and me with an oboe, and we'd -blend minor keys in African harmonics a thousand years old until -the rats would crawl up the posts and sit round groaning and -squeaking like dogs will in front of a phonograph." - -Ardita roared. - -"How you can tell 'em!" - -Carlyle grinned. - -"I swear that's the gos---" - -"What you going to do when you get to Callao?" she interrupted. - -"Take ship for India. I want to be a rajah. I mean it. My idea is -to go up into Afghanistan somewhere, buy up a palace and a -reputation, and then after about five years appear in England -with a foreign accent and a mysterious past. But India first. Do -you know, they say that all the gold in the world drifts very -gradually back to India. Something fascinating about that to me. -And I want leisure to read--an immense amount." - -"How about after that?" - -"Then," he answered defiantly, "comes aristocracy. Laugh if you -want to--but at least you'll have to admit that I know what I -want--which I imagine is more than you do." - -"On the contrary," contradicted Ardita, reaching in her pocket -for her cigarette case, "when I met you I was in the midst of a -great uproar of all my friends and relatives because I did know -what I wanted." - -"What was it?" - -"A man." - -He started. - -"You mean you were engaged?" - -"After a fashion. If you hadn't come aboard I had every intention -of slipping ashore yesterday evening--how long ago it seems--and -meeting him in Palm Beach. He's waiting there for me with a -bracelet that once belonged to Catherine of Russia. Now don't -mutter anything about aristocracy," she put in quickly. "I liked -him simply because he had had an imagination and the utter -courage of his convictions." - -"But your family disapproved, eh?" - -"What there is of it--only a silly uncle and a sillier aunt. It -seems he got into some scandal with a red-haired woman name Mimi -something--it was frightfully exaggerated, he said, and men don't -lie to me--and anyway I didn't care what he'd done; it was the -future that counted. And I'd see to that. When a man's in love -with me he doesn't care for other amusements. I told him to drop -her like a hot cake, and he did." - -"I feel rather jealous," said Carlyle, frowning--and then he -laughed. "I guess I'll just keep you along with us until we get -to Callao. Then I'll lend you enough money to get back to the -States. By that time you'll have had a chance to think that -gentleman over a little more." - -"Don't talk to me like that!" fired up Ardita. "I won't tolerate -the parental attitude from anybody! Do you understand me?" He -chuckled and then stopped, rather abashed, as her cold anger -seemed to fold him about and chill him. - -"I'm sorry," he offered uncertainly. - -"Oh, don't apologize! I can't stand men who say 'I'm sorry' in -that manly, reserved tone. Just shut up!" - -A pause ensued, a pause which Carlyle found rather awkward, but -which Ardita seemed not to notice at all as she sat contentedly -enjoying her cigarette and gazing out at the shining sea. After a -minute she crawled out on the rock and lay with her face over -the edge looking down. Carlyle, watching her, reflected how it -seemed impossible for her to assume an ungraceful attitude. - -"Oh, look," she cried. "There's a lot of sort of ledges down -there. Wide ones of all different heights." - -"We'll go swimming to-night!" she said excitedly. "By moonlight." - -"Wouldn't you rather go in at the beach on the other end?" - -"Not a chance. I like to dive. You can use my uncle's bathing -suit, only it'll fit you like a gunny sack, because he's a very -flabby man. I've got a one-piece that's shocked the natives all -along the Atlantic coast from Biddeford Pool to St. Augustine." - -"I suppose you're a shark." - -"Yes, I'm pretty good. And I look cute too. A sculptor up at Rye -last summer told me my calves are worth five hundred dollars." - -There didn't seem to be any answer to this, so Carlyle was -silent, permitting himself only a discreet interior smile. - - - -V - - - -When the night crept down in shadowy blue and silver they -threaded the shimmering channel in the rowboat and, tying it to a -jutting rock, began climbing the cliff together. The first shelf -was ten feet up, wide, and furnishing a natural diving platform. -There they sat down in the bright moonlight and watched the -faint incessant surge of the waters almost stilled now as the -tide set seaward. - -"Are you happy?" he asked suddenly. - -She nodded. - -"Always happy near the sea. You know," she went on, "I've been -thinking all day that you and I are somewhat alike. We're both -rebels--only for different reasons. Two years ago, when I was -just eighteen and you were---" - -"Twenty-five." - -"---well, we were both conventional successes. I was an utterly -devastating debutante and you were a prosperous musician just -commissioned in the army---" - -"Gentleman by act of Congress," he put in ironically. - -"Well, at any rate, we both fitted. If our corners were not -rubbed off they were at least pulled in. But deep in us both was -something that made us require more for happiness. I didn't know -what I wanted. I went from man to man, restless, impatient, -month by month getting less acquiescent and more dissatisfied. I -used to sit sometimes chewing at the insides of my mouth and -thinking I was going crazy--I had a frightful sense of -transiency. I wanted things now--now--now! Here I -was--beautiful--I am, aren't I?" - -"Yes," agreed Carlyle tentatively. - -Ardita rose suddenly. - -"Wait a second. I want to try this delightful-looking sea." - -She walked to the end of the ledge and shot out over the sea, -doubling up in mid-air and then straightening out and entering to -water straight as a blade in a perfect jack-knife dive. - -In a minute her voice floated up to him. - -"You see, I used to read all day and most of the night. I began -to resent society---" - -"Come on up here," he interrupted. "What on earth are you doing?" - -"Just floating round on my back. I'll be up in a minute. Let me -tell you. The only thing I enjoyed was shocking people; wearing -something quite impossible and quite charming to a fancy-dress -party, going round with the fastest men in New York, and getting -into some of the most hellish scrapes imaginable." - -The sounds of splashing mingled with her words, and then he heard -her hurried breathing as she began climbing up side to the -ledge. - -"Go on in!" she called - -Obediently he rose and dived. When he emerged, dripping, and -made the climb he found that she was no longer on the ledge, but -after a frightened he heard her light laughter from another shelf -ten feet up. There he joined her and they both sat quietly for a -moment, their arms clasped round their knees, panting a little -from the climb. - -"The family were wild," she said suddenly. "They tried to marry -me off. And then when I'd begun to feel that after all life was -scarcely worth living I found something"--her eyes went skyward -exultantly---"I found something!" - -Carlyle waited and her words came with a rush. - -"Courage--just that; courage as a rule of life, and something to -cling to always. I began to build up this enormous faith in -myself. I began to see that in all my idols in the past some -manifestation of courage had unconsciously been the thing that -attracted me. I began separating courage from the other things of -life. All sorts of courage--the beaten, bloody prize-fighter -coming up for more--I used to make men take me to prize-fights; -the declasse woman sailing through a nest of cats and looking at -them as if they were mud under her feet; the liking what you like -always; the utter disregard for other people's opinions--just to -live as I liked always and to die in my own way-- Did you bring -up the cigarettes?" - -He handed one over and held a match for her gently. - -"Still," Ardita continued, "the men kept gathering--old men and -young men, my mental and physical inferiors, most of them, but -all intensely desiring to have me--to own this rather -magnificent proud tradition I'd built up round me. Do you see?" - -"Sort of. You never were beaten and you never apologized." - -"Never!" - -She sprang to the edge, poised for a moment like a crucified -figure against the sky; then describing a dark parabola plunked -without a slash between two silver ripples twenty feet below. - -Her voice floated up to him again. - -"And courage to me meant ploughing through that dull gray mist -that comes down on life--not only overriding people and -circumstances but overriding the bleakness of living. A sort of -insistence on the value of life and the worth of transient -things." - -She was climbing up now, and at her last words her head, with the -damp yellow hair slicked symmetrically back appeared on his -level. - -"All very well," objected Carlyle. "You can call it courage, but -your courage is really built, after all, on a pride of birth. You -were bred to that defiant attitude. On my gray days even courage -is one of the things that's gray and lifeless." - -She was sitting near the edge, hugging her knees and gazing -abstractedly at the white moon; he was farther back, crammed like -a grotesque god into a niche in the rock. - -"I don't want to sound like Pollyanna," she began, "but you -haven't grasped me yet. My courage is faith--faith in the eternal -resilience of me--that joy'll come back, and hope and -spontaneity. And I feel that till it does I've got to keep my -lips shut and my chin high, and my eyes wide--not necessarily any -silly smiling. Oh, I've been through hell without a whine quite -often--and the female hell is deadlier than the male." - -"But supposing," suggested Carlyle" that before joy and hope and -all that came back the curtain was drawn on you for good?" - -Ardita rose, and going to the wall climbed with some difficulty -to the next ledge, another ten or fifteen feet above. - -"Why," she called back "then I'd have won!" - -He edged out till he could see her. - -"Better not dive from there! You'll break your back," he said -quickly. - -She laughed. - -"Not I!" - -Slowly she spread her arms and stood there swan-like, radiating a -pride in her young perfection that lit a warm glow in Carlyle's -heart. - -"We're going through the black air with our arms wide and our -feet straight out behind like a dolphin's tail, and we're going -to think we'll never hit the silver down there till suddenly -it'll be all warm round us and full of little kissing, caressing -waves." - -Then she was in the air, and Carlyle involuntarily held his -breath. He had not realized that the dive was nearly forty feet. -It seemed an eternity before he heard the swift compact sound as -she reached the sea. - -And it was with his glad sigh of relief when her light watery -laughter curled up the side of the cliff and into his anxious -ears that he knew he loved her. - - - -VI - - -Time, having no axe to grind, showered down upon them three days -of afternoons. When the sun cleared the port-hole of Ardita's -cabin an hour after dawn she rose cheerily, donned her -bathing-suit, and went up on deck. The negroes would leave their -work when they saw her, and crowd, chuckling and chattering, to -the rail as she floated, an agile minnow, on and under the -surface of the clear water. Again in the cool of the afternoon -she would swim--and loll and smoke with Carlyle upon the cliff; -or else they would lie on their sides in the sands of the -southern beach, talking little, but watching the day fade -colorfully and tragically into the infinite langour of a tropical -evening. - -And with the long, sunny hours Ardita's idea of the episode as -incidental, madcap, a sprig of romance in a desert of reality, -gradually left her. She dreaded the time when he would strike -off southward; she dreaded all the eventualities that presented -themselves to her; thoughts were suddenly troublesome and -decisions odious. Had prayers found place in the pagan rituals -of her soul she would have asked of life only to be unmolested -for a while, lazily acquiescent to the ready, naif flow of -Carlyle's ideas, his vivid boyish imagination, and the vein of -monomania that seemed to run crosswise through his temperament -and colored his every action. - -But this is not a story of two on an island, nor concerned -primarily with love bred of isolation. It is merely the -presentation of two personalities, and its idyllic setting among -the palms of the Gulf Stream is quite incidental. Most of us are -content to exist and breed and fight for the right to do both, -and the dominant idea, the foredoomed attest to control one's -destiny, is reserved for the fortunate or unfortunate few. To me -the interesting thing about Ardita is the courage that will -tarnish with her beauty and youth. - -"Take me with you," she said late one night as they sat lazily in -the grass under the shadowy spreading palms. The negroes had -brought ashore their musical instruments, and the sound of weird -ragtime was drifting softly over on the warm breath of the night. -"I'd love to reappear in ten years, as a fabulously wealthy -high-caste Indian lady," she continued. - -Carlyle looked at her quickly. - -"You can, you know." - -She laughed. - -"Is it a proposal of marriage? Extra! Ardita Farnam becomes -pirate's bride. Society girl kidnapped by ragtime bank robber." - -"It wasn't a bank." - -"What was it? Why won't you tell me?" - -"I don't want to break down your illusions." - -"My dear man, I have no illusions about you." - -"I mean your illusions about yourself." - -She looked up in surprise. - -"About myself! What on earth have I got to do with whatever stray -felonies you've committed?" - -"That remains to be seen." - -She reached over and patted his hand. - -"Dear Mr. Curtis Carlyle," she said softly, "are you in love with -me?" - -"As if it mattered." - -"But it does--because I think I'm in love with -you." - -He looked at her ironically. - -"Thus swelling your January total to half a dozen," he suggested. -"Suppose I call your bluff and ask you to come to India with -me?" - -"Shall I?" - -He shrugged his shoulders. - -"We can get married in Callao." - -"What sort of life can you offer me? I don't mean that unkindly, -but seriously; what would become of me if the people who want -that twenty-thousand-dollar reward ever catch up with you?" - -"I thought you weren't afraid." - -"I never am--but I won't throw my life away just to show one man -I'm not." - -"I wish you'd been poor. Just a little poor girl dreaming over a -fence in a warm cow country." - -"Wouldn't it have been nice?" - -"I'd have enjoyed astonishing you--watching your eyes open on -things. If you only wanted things! Don't you see?" - -"I know--like girls who stare into the windows of -jewelry-stores." - -"Yes--and want the big oblong watch that's platinum and has -diamonds all round the edge. Only you'd decide it was too -expensive and choose one of white gold for a hundred dollar. Then -I'd say: 'Expensive? I should say not!' And we'd go into the -store and pretty soon the platinum one would be gleaming on your -wrist." - -"That sounds so nice and vulgar--and fun, doesn't it?" murmured -Ardita. - -"Doesn't it? Can't you see us travelling round and spending money -right and left, and being worshipped by bell-boys and waiters? -Oh, blessed are the simple rich for they inherit the earth!" - -"I honestly wish we were that way." - -"I love you, Ardita," he said gently. - -Her face lost its childish look for moment and became oddly -grave. - -"I love to be with you," she said, "more than with any man I've -ever met. And I like your looks and your dark old hair, and the -way you go over the side of the rail when we come ashore. In -fact, Curtis Carlyle, I like all the things you do when you're -perfectly natural. I think you've got nerve and you know how I -feel about that. Sometimes when you're around I've been tempted -to kiss you suddenly and tell you that you were just an -idealistic boy with a lot of caste nonsense in his head. - -Perhaps if I were just a little bit older and a little more bored -I'd go with you. As it is, I think I'll go back and marry--that -other man." - -Over across the silver lake the figures of the negroes writhed -and squirmed in the moonlight like acrobats who, having been too -long inactive, must go through their tacks from sheer surplus -energy. In single file they marched, weaving in concentric -circles, now with their heads thrown back, now bent over their -instruments like piping fauns. And from trombone and saxaphone -ceaselessly whined a blended melody, sometimes riotous and -jubilant, sometimes haunting and plaintive as a death-dance from -the Congo's heart. - -"Let's dance," cried Ardita. "I can't sit still with that perfect -jazz going on." - -Taking her hand he led her out into a broad stretch of hard sandy -soil that the moon flooded with great splendor. They floated out -like drifting moths under the rich hazy light, and as the -fantastic symphony wept and exulted and wavered and despaired -Ardita's last sense of reality dropped away, and she abandoned -her imagination to the dreamy summer scents of tropical flowers -and the infinite starry spaces overhead, feeling that if she -opened her eyes it would be to find herself dancing with a ghost -in a land created by her own fancy. - -"This is what I should call an exclusive private dance," he -whispered. - -"I feel quite mad--but delightfully mad!" - -"We're enchanted. The shades of unnumbered generations of -cannibals are watching us from high up on the side of the cliff -there." - -"And I'll bet the cannibal women are saying that we dance too -close, and that it was immodest of me to come without my -nose-ring." - -They both laughed softly--and then their laughter died as over -across the lake they heard the trombones stop in the middle of a -bar, and the saxaphones give a startled moan and fade out. - -"What's the matter?" called Carlyle. - -After a moment's silence they made out the dark figure of a man -rounding the silver lake at a run. As he came closer they saw it -was Babe in a state of unusual excitement. He drew up before them -and gasped out his news in a breath. - -"Ship stan'in' off sho' 'bout half a mile suh. Mose, he uz on -watch, he say look's if she's done ancho'd." - -"A ship--what kind of a ship?" demanded Carlyle -anxiously. - -Dismay was in his voice, and Ardita's heart gave a sudden wrench -as she saw his whole face suddenly droop. - -"He say he don't know, suh." - -"Are they landing a boat?" - -"No, suh." - -"We'll go up," said Carlyle. - -They ascended the hill in silence, Ardita's hand still resting in -Carlyle's as it had when they finished dancing. She felt it -clinch nervously from time to time as though he were unaware of -the contact, but though he hurt her she made no attempt to remove -it. It seemed an hour's climb before they reached the top and -crept cautiously across the silhouetted plateau to the edge of -the cliff. After one short look Carlyle involuntarily gave a -little cry. It was a revenue boat with six-inch guns mounted fore -and aft. - -"They know!" he said with a short intake of breath. "They know! -They picked up the trail somewhere." - -"Are you sure they know about the channel? They may be only -standing by to take a look at the island in the morning. From -where they are they couldn't see the opening in the cliff." - -"They could with field-glasses," he said hopelessly. He looked at -his wrist-watch. "It's nearly two now. They won't do anything -until dawn, that's certain. Of course there's always the faint -possibility that they're waiting for some other ship to join; or -for a coaler." - -"I suppose we may as well stay right here." - -The hour passed and they lay there side by side, very silently, -their chins in their hands like dreaming children. In back of -them squatted the negroes, patient, resigned, acquiescent, -announcing now and then with sonorous snores that not even the -presence of danger could subdue their unconquerable African -craving for sleep. - -Just before five o'clock Babe approached Carlyle. There were half -a dozen rifles aboard the Narcissus he said. Had it been decided -to offer no resistance? - -A pretty good fight might be made, he thought, if they worked out -some plan. - -Carlyle laughed and shook his head. - -"That isn't a Spic army out there, Babe. That's a revenue boat. -It'd be like a bow and arrow trying to fight a machine-gun. If -you want to bury those bags somewhere and take a chance on -recovering them later, go on and do it. But it won't work--they'd -dig this island over from one end to the other. It's a lost -battle all round, Babe." - -Babe inclined his head silently and turned away, and Carlyle's -voice was husky as he turned to Ardita. - -"There's the best friend I ever had. He'd die for me, and be -proud to, if I'd let him." - -"You've given up?" - -"I've no choice. Of course there's always one way out--the sure -way--but that can wait. I wouldn't miss my trial for -anything--it'll be an interesting experiment in notoriety. 'Miss -Farnam testifies that the pirate's attitude to her was at all -times that of a gentleman.'" - -"Don't!" she said. "I'm awfully sorry." - -When the color faded from the sky and lustreless blue changed to -leaden gray a commotion was visible on the ship's deck, and they -made out a group of officers clad in white duck, gathered near -the rail. They had field-glasses in their hands and were -attentively examining the islet. - -"It's all up," said Carlyle grimly. - -"Damn," whispered Ardita. She felt tears gathering in her eyes -"We'll go back to the yacht," he said. "I prefer that to being -hunted out up here like a 'possum." - -Leaving the plateau they descended the hill, and reaching the -lake were rowed out to the yacht by the silent negroes. Then, -pale and weary, they sank into the settees and waited. - -Half an hour later in the dim gray light the nose of the revenue -boat appeared in the channel and stopped, evidently fearing that -the bay might be too shallow. From the peaceful look of the -yacht, the man and the girl in the settees, and the negroes -lounging curiously against the rail, they evidently judged that -there would be no resistance, for two boats were lowered casually -over the side, one containing an officer and six bluejackets, -and the other, four rowers and in the stern two gray-haired men -in yachting flannels. Ardita and Carlyle stood up, and half -unconsciously started toward each other. - -Then he paused and putting his hand suddenly into his pocket he -pulled out a round, glittering object and held it out to her. - -"What is it?" she asked wonderingly. - -"I'm not positive, but I think from the Russian inscription -inside that it's your promised bracelet." - -"Where--where on earth---" - -"It came out of one of those bags. You see, Curtis Carlyle and -his Six Black Buddies, in the middle of their performance in the -tea-room of the hotel at Palm Beach, suddenly changed their -instruments for automatics and held up the crowd. I took this -bracelet from a pretty, overrouged woman with red hair." - -Ardita frowned and then smiled. - -"So that's what you did! You HAVE got nerve!" - -He bowed. - -"A well-known bourgeois quality," he said. - -And then dawn slanted dynamically across the deck and flung the -shadows reeling into gray corners. The dew rose and turned to -golden mist, thin as a dream, enveloping them until they seemed -gossamer relics of the late night, infinitely transient and -already fading. For a moment sea and sky were breathless, and -dawn held a pink hand over the young mouth of life--then from out -in the lake came the complaint of a rowboat and the swish of -oars. - -Suddenly against the golden furnace low in the east their two -graceful figures melted into one, and he was kissing her spoiled -young mouth. - -"It's a sort of glory," he murmured after a second. - -She smiled up at him. - -"Happy, are you?" - -Her sigh was a benediction--an ecstatic surety that she was youth -and beauty now as much as she would ever know. For another -instant life was radiant and time a phantom and their strength -eternal--then there was a bumping, scraping sound as the rowboat -scraped alongside. - -Up the ladder scrambled the two gray-haired men, the officer and -two of the sailors with their hands on their revolvers. Mr. -Farnam folded his arms and stood looking at his niece. - -"So," he said nodding his head slowly. - -With a sigh her arms unwound from Carlyle's neck, and her eyes, -transfigured and far away, fell upon the boarding party. Her -uncle saw her upper lip slowly swell into that arrogant pout he -knew so well. - -"So," he repeated savagely. "So this is your idea of--of romance. -A runaway affair, with a high-seas pirate." - -Ardita glanced at him carelessly. - -"What an old fool you are!" she said quietly. - -"Is that the best you can say for yourself?" - -"No," she said as if considering. "No, there's something else. -There's that well-known phrase with which I have ended most of -our conversations for the past few years--'Shut up!'" - -And with that she turned, included the two old men, the officer, -and the two sailors in a curt glance of contempt, and walked -proudly down the companionway. - -But had she waited an instant longer she would have heard a sound -from her uncle quite unfamiliar in most of their interviews. He -gave vent to a whole-hearted amused chuckle, in which the second -old man joined. - -The latter turned briskly to Carlyle, who had been regarding this -scene with an air of cryptic amusement. - -"Well Toby," he said genially, "you incurable, hare-brained -romantic chaser of rainbows, did you find that she was the person -you wanted? - -Carlyle smiled confidently. - -"Why--naturally," he said "I've been perfectly sure ever since I -first heard tell of her wild career. That'd why I had Babe send -up the rocket last night." - -"I'm glad you did," said Colonel Moreland gravely. "We've been -keeping pretty close to you in case you should have trouble with -those six strange niggers. And we hoped we'd find you two in some -such compromising position," he sighed. "Well, set a crank to -catch a crank!" - -"Your father and I sat up all night hoping for the best--or -perhaps it's the worst. Lord knows you're welcome to her, my boy. -She's run me crazy. Did you give her the Russian bracelet my -detective got from that Mimi woman?" - -Carlyle nodded. - -"Sh!" he said. "She's coming on deck." - -Ardita appeared at the head of the companionway and gave a quick -involuntary glance at Carlyle's wrists. A puzzled look passed -across her face. Back aft the negroes had begun to sing, and the -cool lake, fresh with dawn, echoed serenely to their low voices. - -"Ardita," said Carlyle unsteadily. - -She swayed a step toward him. - -"Ardita," he repeated breathlessly, "I've got to tell you -the--the truth. It was all a plant, Ardita. My name isn't -Carlyle. It's Moreland, Toby Moreland. The story was invented, -Ardita, invented out of thin Florida air." - -She stared at him, bewildered, amazement, disbelief, and anger -flowing in quick waves across her face. The three men held their -breaths. Moreland, Senior, took a step toward her; Mr. Farnam's -mouth dropped a little open as he waited, panic-stricken, for the -expected crash. - -But it did not come. Ardita's face became suddenly radiant, and -with a little laugh she went swiftly to young Moreland and looked -up at him without a trace of wrath in her gray eyes. - -"Will you swear," she said quietly "That it was entirely a -product of your own brain?" - -"I swear," said young Moreland eagerly. - -She drew his head down and kissed him gently. - -"What an imagination!" she said softly and almost enviously. "I -want you to lie to me just as sweetly as you know how for the -rest of my life." - -The negroes' voices floated drowsily back, mingled in an air that -she had heard them singing before. - - "Time is a thief; - Gladness and grief - Cling to the leaf - As it yellows---" - -"What was in the bags?" she asked softly. - -"Florida mud," he answered. "That was one of the two true things -I told you." - -"Perhaps I can guess the other one," she said; and reaching up on -her tiptoes she kissed him softly in the illustration. - - - - - -The Ice Palace - - - - -The sunlight dripped over the house like golden paint over an art -jar, and the freckling shadows here and there only intensified -the rigor of the bath of light. The Butterworth and Larkin houses -flanking were entrenched behind great stodgy trees; only the -Happer house took the full sun, and all day long faced the dusty -road-street with a tolerant kindly patience. This was the city of -Tarleton in southernmost Georgia, September afternoon. - -Up in her bedroom window Sally Carrol Happer rested her -nineteen-year-old chin on a fifty-two-year-old sill and watched -Clark Darrow's ancient Ford turn the corner. The car was -hot--being partly metallic it retained all the heat it absorbed -or evolved--and Clark Darrow sitting bolt upright at the wheel -wore a pained, strained expression as though he considered -himself a spare part, and rather likely to break. He laboriously -crossed two dust ruts, the wheels squeaking indignantly at the -encounter, and then with a terrifying expression he gave the -steering-gear a final wrench and deposited self and car -approximately in front of the Happer steps. There was a heaving -sound, a death-rattle, followed by a short silence; and then the -air was rent by a startling whistle. - -Sally Carrol gazed down sleepily. She started to yawn, but -finding this quite impossible unless she raised her chin from the -window-sill, changed her mind and continued silently to regard -the car, whose owner sat brilliantly if perfunctorily at -attention as he waited for an answer to his signal. After a -moment the whistle once more split the dusty air. - -"Good mawnin'." - -With difficulty Clark twisted his tall body round and bent a -distorted glance on the window. - -"Tain't mawnin', Sally Carrol." - -"Isn't it, sure enough?" - -"What you doin'?" - -"Eatin' 'n apple." - -"Come on go swimmin'--want to?" - -"Reckon so." - -"How 'bout hurryin' up?" - -"Sure enough." - -Sally Carrol sighed voluminously and raised herself with profound -inertia from the floor where she had been occupied in -alternately destroyed parts of a green apple and painting paper -dolls for her younger sister. She approached a mirror, regarded -her expression with a pleased and pleasant languor, dabbed two -spots of rouge on her lips and a grain of powder on her nose, and -covered her bobbed corn-colored hair with a rose-littered -sunbonnet. Then she kicked over the painting water, said, "Oh, -damn!"--but let it lay--and left the room. - -"How you, Clark?" she inquired a minute later as she slipped -nimbly over the side of the car. - -"Mighty fine, Sally Carrol." - -"Where we go swimmin'?" - -"Out to Walley's Pool. Told Marylyn we'd call by an' get her an' -Joe Ewing." - -Clark was dark and lean, and when on foot was rather inclined to -stoop. His eyes were ominous and his expression somewhat petulant -except when startlingly illuminated by one of his frequent -smiles. Clark had "a income"--just enough to keep himself in ease -and his car in gasolene--and he had spent the two years since he -graduated from Georgia Tech in dozing round the lazy streets of -his home town, discussing how he could best invest his capital -for an immediate fortune. - -Hanging round he found not at all difficult; a crowd of little -girls had grown up beautifully, the amazing Sally Carrol foremost -among them; and they enjoyed being swum with and danced with and -made love to in the flower-filled summery evenings--and they all -liked Clark immensely. When feminine company palled there were -half a dozen other youths who were always just about to do -something, and meanwhile were quite willing to join him in a few -holes of golf, or a game of billiards, or the consumption of a -quart of "hard yella licker." Every once in a while one of these -contemporaries made a farewell round of calls before going up to -New York or Philadelphia or Pittsburgh to go into business, but -mostly they just stayed round in this languid paradise of dreamy -skies and firefly evenings and noisy nigger street fairs--and -especially of gracious, soft-voiced girls, who were brought up on -memories instead of money. - -The Ford having been excited into a sort of restless resentful -life Clark and Sally Carrol rolled and rattled down Valley Avenue -into Jefferson Street, where the dust road became a pavement; -along opiate Millicent Place, where there were half a dozen -prosperous, substantial mansions; and on into the down-town -section. Driving was perilous here, for it was shopping time; -the population idled casually across the streets and a drove of -low-moaning oxen were being urged along in front of a placid -street-car; even the shops seemed only yawning their doors and -blinking their windows in the sunshine before retiring into a -state of utter and finite coma. - -"Sally Carrol," said Clark suddenly, "it a fact that you're -engaged?" - -She looked at him quickly. - -"Where'd you hear that?" - -"Sure enough, you engaged?" - -"'At's a nice question!" - -"Girl told me you were engaged to a Yankee you met up in -Asheville last summer." - -Sally Carrol sighed. - -"Never saw such an old town for rumors." - -"Don't marry a Yankee, Sally Carrol. We need you round here." - -Sally Carrol was silent a moment. - -"Clark," she demanded suddenly, "who on earth shall I marry?" - -"I offer my services." - -"Honey, you couldn't support a wife," she answered cheerfully. -"Anyway, I know you too well to fall in love with you." - -"'At doesn't mean you ought to marry a Yankee," he persisted. - -"S'pose I love him?" - -He shook his head. - -"You couldn't. He'd be a lot different from us, every way." - -He broke off as he halted the car in front of a rambling, -dilapidated house. Marylyn Wade and Joe Ewing appeared in the -doorway. - -"'Lo Sally Carrol." - -"Hi!" - -"How you-all?" - -"Sally Carrol," demanded Marylyn as they started of again, "you -engaged?" - -"Lawdy, where'd all this start? Can't I look at a man 'thout -everybody in town engagin' me to him?" - -Clark stared straight in front of him at a bolt on the clattering -wind-shield. - -"Sally Carrol," he said with a curious intensity, "don't you -'like us?" - -"What?" - -"Us down here?" - -"Why, Clark, you know I do. I adore all you boys." - -"Then why you gettin' engaged to a Yankee?." - -"Clark, I don't know. I'm not sure what I'll do, but--well, I -want to go places and see people. I want my mind to grow. I want -to live where things happen on a big scale." - -"What you mean?" - -"Oh, Clark, I love you, and I love Joe here and Ben Arrot, and -you-all, but you'll--you'll---" - -"We'll all be failures?" - -"Yes. I don't mean only money failures, but just sort of--of -ineffectual and sad, and--oh, how can I tell you?" - -"You mean because we stay here in Tarleton?" - -"Yes, Clark; and because you like it and never want to change -things or think or go ahead." - -He nodded and she reached over and pressed his hand. - -"Clark," she said softly, "I wouldn't change you for the world. -You're sweet the way you are. The things that'll make you fail -I'll love always--the living in the past, the lazy days and -nights you have, and all your carelessness and generosity." - -"But you're goin' away?" - -"Yes--because I couldn't ever marry you. You've a place in my -heart no one else ever could have, but tied down here I'd get -restless. I'd feel I was--wastin' myself. There's two sides to -me, you see. There's the sleepy old side you love an' there's a -sort of energy--the feeling that makes me do wild things. That's -the part of me that may be useful somewhere, that'll last when -I'm not beautiful any more." - -She broke of with characteristic suddenness and sighed, "Oh, -sweet cooky!" as her mood changed. - -Half closing her eyes and tipping back her head till it rested on -the seat-back she let the savory breeze fan her eyes and ripple -the fluffy curls of her bobbed hair. They were in the country -now, hurrying between tangled growths of bright-green coppice and -grass and tall trees that sent sprays of foliage to hang a cool -welcome over the road. Here and there they passed a battered -negro cabin, its oldest white-haired inhabitant smoking a corncob -pipe beside the door, and half a dozen scantily clothed -pickaninnies parading tattered dolls on the wild-grown grass in -front. Farther out were lazy cotton-fields where even the workers -seemed intangible shadows lent by the sun to the earth, not for -toil, but to while away some age-old tradition in the golden -September fields. And round the drowsy picturesqueness, over the -trees and shacks and muddy rivers, flowed the heat, never -hostile, only comforting, like a great warm nourishing bosom for -the infant earth. - -"Sally Carrol, we're here!" - -"Poor chile's soun' asleep." - -"Honey, you dead at last outa sheer laziness?" - -"Water, Sally Carrol! Cool water waitin' for you!" - -Her eyes opened sleepily. - -"Hi!" she murmured, smiling. - - - -II - - -In November Harry Bellamy, tall, broad, and brisk, came down from -his Northern city to spend four days. His intention was to -settle a matter that had been hanging fire since he and Sally -Carrol had met in Asheville, North Carolina, in midsummer. The -settlement took only a quiet afternoon and an evening in front of -a glowing open fire, for Harry Bellamy had everything she -wanted; and, beside, she loved him--loved him with that side of -her she kept especially for loving. Sally Carrol had several -rather clearly defined sides. - -On his last afternoon they walked, and she found their steps -tending half-unconsciously toward one of her favorite haunts, the -cemetery. When it came in sight, gray-white and golden-green -under the cheerful late sun, she paused, irresolute, by the iron -gate. - -"Are you mournful by nature, Harry?" she asked with a faint -smile. - -"Mournful?" Not I." - -"Then let's go in here. It depresses some folks, but I like it." - -They passed through the gateway and followed a path that led -through a wavy valley of graves--dusty-gray and mouldy for the -fifties; quaintly carved with flowers and jars for the seventies; -ornate and hideous for the nineties, with fat marble cherubs -lying in sodden sleep on stone pillows, and great impossible -growths of nameless granite flowers. - -Occasionally they saw a kneeling figure with tributary flowers, -but over most of the graves lay silence and withered leaves with -only the fragrance that their own shadowy memories could waken in -living minds. - -They reached the top of a hill where they were fronted by a tall, -round head-stone, freckled with dark spots of damp and half -grown over with vines. - -"Margery Lee," she read; "1844-1873. Wasn't she nice? She died -when she was twenty-nine. Dear Margery Lee," she added softly. -"Can't you see her, Harry?" - -"Yes, Sally Carrol." - -He felt a little hand insert itself into his. - -"She was dark, I think; and she always wore her hair with a -ribbon in it, and gorgeous hoop-skirts of Alice blue and old -rose." - -"Yes." - -"Oh, she was sweet, Harry! And she was the sort of girl born to -stand on a wide, pillared porch and welcome folks in. I think -perhaps a lot of men went away to war meanin' to come back to -her; but maybe none of 'em ever did." - -He stooped down close to the stone, hunting for any record of -marriage. - -"There's nothing here to show." - -"Of course not. How could there be anything there better than -just 'Margery Lee,' and that eloquent date?" - -She drew close to him and an unexpected lump came into his throat -as her yellow hair brushed his cheek. - -"You see how she was, don't you Harry?" - -"I see," he agreed gently. "I see through your precious eyes. -You're beautiful now, so I know she must have been." - -Silent and close they stood, and he could feel her shoulders -trembling a little. An ambling breeze swept up the hill and -stirred the brim of her floppidy hat. - -"Let's go down there!" - -She was pointing to a flat stretch on the other side of the hill -where along the green turf were a thousand grayish-white crosses -stretching in endless, ordered rows like the stacked arms of a -battalion. - -"Those are the Confederate dead," said Sally Carrol simply. - -They walked along and read the inscriptions, always only a name -and a date, sometimes quite indecipherable. - -"The last row is the saddest--see, 'way over there. Every cross -has just a date on it and the word 'Unknown.'" - -She looked at him and her eyes brimmed with tears. - -"I can't tell you how real it is to me, darling--if you don't -know." - -"How you feel about it is beautiful to me." - -"No, no, it's not me, it's them--that old time that I've tried to -have live in me. These were just men, unimportant evidently or -they wouldn't have been 'unknown'; but they died for the most -beautiful thing in the world--the dead South. You see," she -continued, her voice still husky, her eyes glistening with tears, -"people have these dreams they fasten onto things, and I've -always grown up with that dream. It was so easy because it was -all dead and there weren't any disillusions comin' to me. I've -tried in a way to live up to those past standards of noblesse -oblige--there's just the last remnants of it, you know, like the -roses of an old garden dying all round us--streaks of strange -courtliness and chivalry in some of these boys an' stories I used -to hear from a Confederate soldier who lived next door, and a -few old darkies. Oh, Harry, there was something, there was -something! I couldn't ever make you understand but it was there." - -"I understand," he assured her again quietly. - -Sally Carol smiled and dried her eyes on the tip of a -handkerchief protruding from his breast pocket. - -"You don't feel depressed, do you, lover? Even when I cry I'm -happy here, and I get a sort of strength from it." - -Hand in hand they turned and walked slowly away. Finding soft -grass she drew him down to a seat beside her with their backs -against the remnants of a low broken wall. - -"Wish those three old women would clear out," he complained. "I -want to kiss you, Sally Carrol." - -"Me, too." - -They waited impatiently for the three bent figures to move off, -and then she kissed him until the sky seemed to fade out and all -her smiles and tears to vanish in an ecstasy of eternal seconds. - -Afterward they walked slowly back together, while on the corners -twilight played at somnolent black-and-white checkers with the -end of day. - -"You'll be up about mid-January," he said, "and you've got to -stay a month at least. It'll be slick. There's a winter carnival -on, and if you've never really seen snow it'll be like fairy-land -to you. There'll be skating and skiing and tobogganing and -sleigh-riding, and all sorts of torchlight parades on snow-shoes. -They haven't had one for years, so they're gong to make it a -knock-out." - -"Will I be cold, Harry?" she asked suddenly. - -"You certainly won't. You may freeze your nose, but you won't be -shivery cold. It's hard and dry, you know." - -"I guess I'm a summer child. I don't like any cold I've ever -seen." - -She broke off and they were both silent for a minute. - -"Sally Carol," he said very slowly, "what do you say to--March?" - -"I say I love you." - -"March?" - -"March, Harry." - - - -III - - -All night in the Pullman it was very cold. She rang for the -porter to ask for another blanket, and when he couldn't give her -one she tried vainly, by squeezing down into the bottom of her -berth and doubling back the bedclothes, to snatch a few hours' -sleep. She wanted to look her best in the morning. - -She rose at six and sliding uncomfortably into her clothes -stumbled up to the diner for a cup of coffee. The snow had -filtered into the vestibules and covered the door with a slippery -coating. It was intriguing this cold, it crept in everywhere. -Her breath was quite visible and she blew into the air with a -naive enjoyment. Seated in the diner she stared out the window at -white hills and valleys and scattered pines whose every branch -was a green platter for a cold feast of snow. Sometimes a -solitary farmhouse would fly by, ugly and bleak and lone on the -white waste; and with each one she had an instant of chill -compassion for the souls shut in there waiting for spring. - -As she left the diner and swayed back into the Pullman she -experienced a surging rush of energy and wondered if she was -feeling the bracing air of which Harry had spoken. This was the -North, the North--her land now! - - "Then blow, ye winds, heighho! - A-roving I will go," - -she chanted exultantly to herself. - -"What's 'at?" inquired the porter politely. - -"I said: 'Brush me off.'" - -The long wires of the telegraph poles doubled, two tracks ran up -beside the train--three--four; came a succession of white-roofed -houses, a glimpse of a trolley-car with frosted windows, -streets--more streets--the city. - -She stood for a dazed moment in the frosty station before she saw -three fur-bundled figures descending upon her. - -"There she is!" - -"Oh, Sally Carrol!" - -Sally Carrol dropped her bag. - -"Hi!" - -A faintly familiar icy-cold face kissed her, and then she was in -a group of faces all apparently emitting great clouds of heavy -smoke; she was shaking hands. There were Gordon, a short, eager -man of thirty who looked like an amateur knocked-about model for -Harry, and his wife, Myra, a listless lady with flaxen hair under -a fur automobile cap. Almost immediately Sally Carrol thought of -her as vaguely Scandinavian. A cheerful chauffeur adopted her -bag, and amid ricochets of half-phrases, exclamations and -perfunctory listless "my dears" from Myra, they swept each other -from the station. - -Then they were in a sedan bound through a crooked succession of -snowy streets where dozens of little boys were hitching sleds -behind grocery wagons and automobiles. - -"Oh," cried Sally Carrol, "I want to do that! Can we Harry?" - -"That's for kids. But we might---" - -"It looks like such a circus!" she said regretfully. - -Home was a rambling frame house set on a white lap of snow, and -there she met a big, gray-haired man of whom she approved, and a -lady who was like an egg, and who kissed her--these were Harry's -parents. There was a breathless indescribable hour crammed full -of self-sentences, hot water, bacon and eggs and confusion; and -after that she was alone with Harry in the library, asking him if -she dared smoke. - -It was a large room with a Madonna over the fireplace and rows -upon rows of books in covers of light gold and dark gold and -shiny red. All the chairs had little lace squares where one's head -should rest, the couch was just comfortable, the books looked as -if they had been read--some--and Sally Carrol had an -instantaneous vision of the battered old library at home, with -her father's huge medical books, and the oil-paintings of her -three great-uncles, and the old couch that had been mended up for -forty-five years and was still luxurious to dream in. This room -struck her as being neither attractive nor particularly -otherwise. It was simply a room with a lot of fairly expensive -things in it that all looked about fifteen years old. - -"What do you think of it up here?" demanded Harry eagerly. "Does -it surprise you? Is it what you expected I mean?" - -"You are, Harry," she said quietly, and reached out her arms to -him. - -But after a brief kiss he seemed to extort enthusiasm from her. - -"The town, I mean. Do you like it? Can you feel the pep in the -air?" - -"Oh, Harry," she laughed, "you'll have to give me time. You can't -just fling questions at me." - -She puffed at her cigarette with a sigh of contentment. - -"One thing I want to ask you," he began rather apologetically; -"you Southerners put quite an emphasis on family, and all -that--not that it isn't quite all right, but you'll find it a -little different here. I mean--you'll notice a lot of things -that'll seem to you sort of vulgar display at first, Sally -Carrol; but just remember that this is a three-generation town. -Everybody has a father, and about half of us have grandfathers. -Back of that we don't go." - -"Of course," she murmured. - -"Our grandfathers, you see, founded the place, and a lot of them -had to take some pretty queer jobs while they were doing the -founding. For instance there's one woman who at present is about -the social model for the town; well, her father was the first -public ash man--things like that." - -"Why," said Sally Carol, puzzled, "did you s'pose I was goin' to -make remarks about people?" - -"Not at all," interrupted Harry, "and I'm not apologizing for any -one either. It's just that--well, a Southern girl came up here -last summer and said some unfortunate things, and--oh, I just -thought I'd tell you." - -Sally Carrol felt suddenly indignant--as though she had been -unjustly spanked--but Harry evidently considered the subject -closed, for he went on with a great surge of enthusiasm. - -"It's carnival time, you know. First in ten years. And there's an -ice palace they're building new that's the first they've had -since eighty-five. Built out of blocks of the clearest ice they -could find--on a tremendous scale." - -She rose and walking to the window pushed aside the heavy Turkish -portieres and looked out. - -"Oh!" she cried suddenly. "There's two little boys makin' a snow -man! Harry, do you reckon I can go out an' help 'em?" - -"You dream! Come here and kiss me." - -She left the window rather reluctantly. - -"I don't guess this is a very kissable climate, is it? I mean, it -makes you so you don't want to sit round, doesn't it?" - -"We're not going to. I've got a vacation for the first week -you're here, and there's a dinner-dance to-night." - -"Oh, Harry," she confessed, subsiding in a heap, half in his lap, -half in the pillows, "I sure do feel confused. I haven't got an -idea whether I'll like it or not, an' I don't know what people -expect, or anythin'. You'll have to tell me, honey." - -"I'll tell you," he said softly, "if you'll just tell me you're -glad to be here." - -"Glad--just awful glad!" she whispered, insinuating herself into -his arms in her own peculiar way. "Where you are is home for me, -Harry." - -And as she said this she had the feeling for almost the first -time in her life that she was acting a part. - -That night, amid the gleaming candles of a dinner-party, where -the men seemed to do most of the talking while the girls sat in a -haughty and expensive aloofness, even Harry's presence on her -left failed to make her feel at home. - -"They're a good-looking crowd, don't you think?" he demanded. -"Just look round. There's Spud Hubbard, tackle at Princeton last -year, and Junie Morton--he and the red-haired fellow next to him -were both Yale hockey captains; Junie was in my class. Why, the -best athletes in the world come from these States round here. -This is a man's country, I tell you. Look at John J. Fishburn!" - -"Who's he?" asked Sally Carrol innocently. - -"Don't you know?" - -"I've heard the name." - -"Greatest wheat man in the Northwest, and one of the greatest -financiers in the country." - -She turned suddenly to a voice on her right. - -"I guess they forget to introduce us. My name's Roger Patton." - -"My name is Sally Carrol Happer," she said graciously. - -"Yes, I know. Harry told me you were coming." - -"You a relative?" - -"No, I'm a professor." - -"Oh," she laughed. - -"At the university. You're from the South, aren't you?" - -"Yes; Tarleton, Georgia." - -She liked him immediately--a reddish-brown mustache under watery -blue eyes that had something in them that these other eyes -lacked, some quality of appreciation. They exchanged stray -sentences through dinner, and she made up her mind to see him -again. - -After coffee she was introduced to numerous good-looking young -men who danced with conscious precision and seemed to take it for -granted that she wanted to talk about nothing except Harry. - -"Heavens," she thought, "They talk as if my being engaged made me -older than they are--as if I'd tell their mothers on them!" - -In the South an engaged girl, even a young married woman, -expected the same amount of half-affectionate badinage and -flattery that would be accorded a debutante, but here all that -seemed banned. One young man after getting well started on the -subject of Sally Carrol's eyes and, how they had allured him ever -since she entered the room, went into a violent convulsion when -he found she was visiting the Bellamys--was Harry's fiancee. He -seemed to feel as though he had made some risque and inexcusable -blunder, became immediately formal and left her at the first -opportunity. - -She was rather glad when Roger Patton cut in on her and suggested -that they sit out a while. - -"Well," he inquired, blinking cheerily, "how's Carmen from the -South?" - -"Mighty fine. How's--how's Dangerous Dan McGrew? Sorry, but he's -the only Northerner I know much about." - -He seemed to enjoy that. - -"Of course," he confessed, "as a professor of literature I'm not -supposed to have read Dangerous Dan McGrew." - -"Are you a native?" - -"No, I'm a Philadelphian. Imported from Harvard to teach French. -But I've been here ten years." - -"Nine years, three hundred an' sixty-four days longer than me." - -"Like it here?" - -"Uh-huh. Sure do!" - -"Really?" - -"Well, why not? Don't I look as if I were havin' a good time?" - -"I saw you look out the window a minute ago--and shiver." - -"Just my imagination," laughed Sally Carroll "I'm used to havin' -everythin' quiet outside an' sometimes I look out an' see a -flurry of snow an' it's just as if somethin' dead was movin'" - -He nodded appreciatively. - -"Ever been North before?" - -"Spent two Julys in Asheville, North Carolina." - -"Nice-looking crowd aren't they?" suggested Patton, indicating -the swirling floor. - -Sally Carrol started. This had been Harry's remark. - -"Sure are! They're--canine." - -"What?" - -She flushed. - -"I'm sorry; that sounded worse than I meant it. You see I always -think of people as feline or canine, irrespective of sex." - -"Which are you?" - -"I'm feline. So are you. So are most Southern men an' most of -these girls here." - -"What's Harry?" - -"Harry's canine distinctly. All the men I've to-night seem to be -canine." - -"What does canine imply? A certain conscious masculinity as -opposed to subtlety?" - -"Reckon so. I never analyzed it--only I just look at people an' -say 'canine' or 'feline' right off. It's right absurd I guess." - -"Not at all. I'm interested. I used to have a theory about these -people. I think they're freezing up." - -"What?" - -"Well, they're growing' like Swedes--Ibsenesque, you know. Very -gradually getting gloomy and melancholy. It's these long winters. -Ever read Ibsen?" - -She shook her head. - -"Well, you find in his characters a certain brooding rigidity. -They're righteous, narrow, and cheerless, without infinite -possibilities for great sorrow or joy." - -"Without smiles or tears?" - -"Exactly. That's my theory. You see there are thousands of -Swedes up here. They come, I imagine, because the climate is very -much like their own, and there's been a gradual mingling. -There're probably not half a dozen here to-night, but--we've had -four Swedish governors. Am I boring you?" - -"I'm mighty interested." - -"Your future sister-in-law is half Swedish. Personally I like -her, but my theory is that Swedes react rather badly on us as a -whole. Scandinavians, you know, have the largest suicide rate in -the world." - -"Why do you live here if it's so depressing?" - -"Oh, it doesn't get me. I'm pretty well cloistered, and I suppose -books mean more than people to me anyway." - -"But writers all speak about the South being tragic. You -know--Spanish senoritas, black hair and daggers an' haunting -music." - -He shook his head. - -"No, the Northern races are the tragic races--they don't indulge -in the cheering luxury of tears." - -Sally Carrol thought of her graveyard. She supposed that that was -vaguely what she had meant when she said it didn't depress her. - -"The Italians are about the gayest people in the world--but it's -a dull subject," he broke off. "Anyway, I want to tell you -you're marrying a pretty fine man." - -Sally Carrol was moved by an impulse of confidence. - -"I know. I'm the sort of person who wants to be taken care of -after a certain point, and I feel sure I will be." - -"Shall we dance? You know," he continued as they rose, "it's -encouraging to find a girl who knows what she's marrying for. -Nine-tenths of them think of it as a sort of walking into a -moving-picture sunset." - -She laughed and liked him immensely. - -Two hours later on the way home she nestled near Harry in the -back seat. - -"Oh, Harry," she whispered "it's so co-old!" - -"But it's warm in here, daring girl." - -"But outside it's cold; and oh, that howling wind!" - -She buried her face deep in his fur coat and trembled -involuntarily as his cold lips kissed the tip of her ear. - - - -IV - - -The first week of her visit passed in a whirl. She had her -promised toboggan-ride at the back of an automobile through a -chill January twilight. Swathed in furs she put in a morning -tobogganing on the country-club hill; even tried skiing, to sail -through the air for a glorious moment and then land in a tangled -laughing bundle on a soft snow-drift. She liked all the winter -sports, except an afternoon spent snow-shoeing over a glaring -plain under pale yellow sunshine, but she soon realized that -these things were for children--that she was being humored and -that the enjoyment round her was only a reflection of her own. - -At first the Bellamy family puzzled her. The men were reliable -and she liked them; to Mr. Bellamy especially, with his iron-gray -hair and energetic dignity, she took an immediate fancy, once -she found that he was born in Kentucky; this made of him a link -between the old life and the new. But toward the women she felt a -definite hostility. Myra, her future sister-in-law, seemed the -essence of spiritless conversationality. Her conversation was so -utterly devoid of personality that Sally Carrol, who came from a -country where a certain amount of charm and assurance could be -taken for granted in the women, was inclined to despise her. - -"If those women aren't beautiful," she thought, "they're nothing. -They just fade out when you look at them. They're glorified -domestics. Men are the centre of every mixed group." - -Lastly there was Mrs. Bellamy, whom Sally Carrol detested. The -first day's impression of an egg had been confirmed--an egg with -a cracked, veiny voice and such an ungracious dumpiness of -carriage that Sally Carrol felt that if she once fell she would -surely scramble. In addition, Mrs. Bellamy seemed to typify the -town in being innately hostile to strangers. She called Sally -Carrol "Sally," and could not be persuaded that the double name -was anything more than a tedious ridiculous nickname. To Sally -Carrol this shortening of her name was presenting her to the -public half clothed. She loved "Sally Carrol"; she loathed -"Sally." She knew also that Harry's mother disapproved of her -bobbed hair; and she had never dared smoke down-stairs after that -first day when Mrs. Bellamy had come into the library sniffing -violently. - -Of all the men she met she preferred Roger Patton, who was a -frequent visitor at the house. He never again alluded to the -Ibsenesque tendency of the populace, but when he came in one day -and found her curled upon the sofa bent over "Peer Gynt" he -laughed and told her to forget what he'd said--that it was all -rot. - -They had been walking homeward between mounds of high-piled snow -and under a sun which Sally Carrol scarcely recognized. They -passed a little girl done up in gray wool until she resembled a -small Teddy bear, and Sally Carrol could not resist a gasp of -maternal appreciation. - -"Look! Harry!" - -"What?" - -"That little girl--did you see her face?" - -"Yes, why?" - -"It was red as a little strawberry. Oh, she was cute!" - -"Why, your own face is almost as red as that already! Everybody's -healthy here. We're out in the cold as soon as we're old enough -to walk. Wonderful climate!" - -She looked at him and had to agree. He was mighty -healthy-looking; so was his brother. And she had noticed the new -red in her own cheeks that very morning. - -Suddenly their glances were caught and held, and they stared for -a moment at the street-corner ahead of them. A man was standing -there, his knees bent, his eyes gazing upward with a tense -expression as though he were about to make a leap toward the -chilly sky. And then they both exploded into a shout of -laughter, for coming closer they discovered it had been a -ludicrous momentary illusion produced by the extreme bagginess of -the man's trousers. - -"Reckon that's one on us," she laughed. - -"He must be Southerner, judging by those trousers," suggested -Harry mischievously. - -"Why, Harry!" - -Her surprised look must have irritated him. - -"Those damn Southerners!" - -Sally Carrol's eyes flashed. - -"Don't call 'em that." - -"I'm sorry, dear," said Harry, malignantly apologetic, "but you -know what I think of them. They're sort of--sort of -degenerates--not at all like the old Southerners. They've lived -so long down there with all the colored people that they've -gotten lazy and shiftless." - -"Hush your mouth, Harry!" she cried angrily. "They're not! They -may be lazy--anybody would be in that climate--but they're my -best friends, an' I don't want to hear 'em criticised in any such -sweepin' way. Some of 'em are the finest men in the world." - -"Oh, I know. They're all right when they come North to college, -but of all the hangdog, ill-dressed, slovenly lot I ever saw, a -bunch of small-town Southerners are the worst!" - -Sally Carrol was clinching her gloved hands and biting her lip -furiously. - -"Why," continued Harry, if there was one in my class at New -Haven, and we all thought that at last we'd found the true type -of Southern aristocrat, but it turned out that he wasn't an -aristocrat at all--just the son of a Northern carpetbagger, who -owned about all the cotton round Mobile." - -"A Southerner wouldn't talk the way you're talking now," she said -evenly. - -"They haven't the energy!" - -"Or the somethin' else." - -"I'm sorry Sally Carrol, but I've heard you say yourself that -you'd never marry---" - -"That's quite different. I told you I wouldn't want to tie my -life to any of the boys that are round Tarleton now, but I never -made any sweepin' generalities." - -They walked along in silence. - -"I probably spread it on a bit thick Sally Carrol. I'm sorry." - -She nodded but made no answer. Five minutes later as they stood -in the hallway she suddenly threw her arms round him. - -"Oh, Harry," she cried, her eyes brimming with tears; "let's get -married next week. I'm afraid of having fusses like that. I'm -afraid, Harry. It wouldn't be that way if we were married." - -But Harry, being in the wrong, was still irritated. - -"That'd be idiotic. We decided on March." - -The tears in Sally Carrol's eyes faded; her expression hardened -slightly. - -"Very well--I suppose I shouldn't have said that." - -Harry melted. - -"Dear little nut!" he cried. "Come and kiss me and let's forget." -That very night at the end of a vaudeville performance the -orchestra played "Dixie" and Sally Carrol felt something stronger -and more enduring than her tears and smiles of the day brim up -inside her. She leaned forward gripping the arms of her chair -until her face grew crimson. - -"Sort of get you dear?" whispered Harry. - -But she did not hear him. To the limited throb of the violins and -the inspiring beat of the kettle-drums her own old ghosts were -marching by and on into the darkness, and as fifes whistled and -sighed in the low encore they seemed so nearly out of sight that -she could have waved good-by. - - "Away, Away, - Away down South in Dixie! - Away, away, - Away down South in Dixie!" - - - -V - - -It was a particularly cold night. A sudden thaw had nearly -cleared the streets the day before, but now they were traversed -again with a powdery wraith of loose snow that travelled in wavy -lines before the feet of the wind, and filled the lower air with -a fine-particled mist. There was no sky-- only a dark, ominous -tent that draped in the tops of the streets and was in reality a -vast approaching army of snowflakes--while over it all, chilling -away the comfort from the brown-and-green glow of lighted -windows and muffling the steady trot of the horse pulling their -sleigh, interminably washed the north wind. It was a dismal town -after all, she though, dismal. - -Sometimes at night it had seemed to her as though no one lived -here--they had all gone long ago--leaving lighted houses to be -covered in time by tombing heaps of sleet. Oh, if there should be -snow on her grave! To be beneath great piles of it all winter -long, where even her headstone would be a light shadow against -light shadows. Her grave--a grave that should be flower-strewn -and washed with sun and rain. - -She thought again of those isolated country houses that her train -had passed, and of the life there the long winter through--the -ceaseless glare through the windows, the crust forming on the -soft drifts of snow, finally the slow cheerless melting and the -harsh spring of which Roger Patton had told her. Her spring--to -lose it forever--with its lilacs and the lazy sweetness it -stirred in her heart. She was laying away that spring--afterward -she would lay away that sweetness. - -With a gradual insistence the storm broke. Sally Carrol felt a -film of flakes melt quickly on her eyelashes, and Harry reached -over a furry arm and drew down her complicated flannel cap. Then -the small flakes came in skirmish-line, and the horse bent his -neck patiently as a transparency of white appeared momentarily on -his coat. - -"Oh, he's cold, Harry," she said quickly. - -"Who? The horse? Oh, no, he isn't. He likes it!" - -After another ten minutes they turned a corner and came in sight -of their destination. On a tall hill outlined in vivid glaring -green against the wintry sky stood the ice palace. It was three -stories in the air, with battlements and embrasures and narrow -icicled windows, and the innumerable electric lights inside made -a gorgeous transparency of the great central hall. Sally Carrol -clutched Harry's hand under the fur robe. - -"It's beautiful!" he cried excitedly. "My golly, it's beautiful, -isn't it! They haven't had one here since eighty-five!" - -Somehow the notion of there not having been one since eighty-five -oppressed her. Ice was a ghost, and this mansion of it was -surely peopled by those shades of the eighties, with pale faces -and blurred snow-filled hair. - -"Come on, dear," said Harry. - -She followed him out of the sleigh and waited while he hitched -the horse. A party of four--Gordon, Myra, Roger Patton, and -another girl-- drew up beside them with a mighty jingle of bells. -There were quite a crowd already, bundled in fur or sheepskin, -shouting and calling to each other as they moved through the -snow, which was now so thick that people could scarcely be -distinguished a few yards away. - -"It's a hundred and seventy feet tall," Harry was saying to a -muffled figure beside him as they trudged toward the entrance; -"covers six thousand square yards." - -"She caught snatches of conversation: "One main hall"--"walls -twenty to forty inches thick"--"and the ice cave has almost a -mile of--"--"this Canuck who built it---" - -They found their way inside, and dazed by the magic of the great -crystal walls Sally Carrol found herself repeating over and over -two lines from "Kubla Khan": - - "It was a miracle of rare device, - A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!" - -In the great glittering cavern with the dark shut out she took a -seat on a wooded bench and the evening's oppression lifted. Harry -was right--it was beautiful; and her gaze travelled the smooth -surface of the walls, the blocks for which had been selected for -their purity and dearness to obtain this opalescent, translucent -effect. - -"Look! Here we go--oh, boy! " cried Harry. - -A band in a far corner struck up "Hail, Hail, the Gang's All -Here!" which echoed over to them in wild muddled acoustics, and -then the lights suddenly went out; silence seemed to flow down -the icy sides and sweep over them. Sally Carrol could still see -her white breath in the darkness, and a dim row of pale faces -over on the other side. - -The music eased to a sighing complaint, and from outside drifted -in the full-throated remnant chant of the marching clubs. It grew -louder like some paean of a viking tribe traversing an ancient -wild; it swelled--they were coming nearer; then a row of torches -appeared, and another and another, and keeping time with their -moccasined feet a long column of gray-mackinawed figures swept -in, snow-shoes slung at their shoulders, torches soaring and -flickering as their voice rose along the great walls. - -The gray column ended and another followed, the light streaming -luridly this time over red toboggan caps and flaming crimson -mackinaws, and as they entered they took up the refrain; then -came a long platoon of blue and white, of green, of white, of -brown and yellow. - -"Those white ones are the Wacouta Club," whispered Harry eagerly. -"Those are the men you've met round at dances." - -The volume of the voices grew; the great cavern was a -phantasmagoria of torches waving in great banks of fire, of -colors and the rhythm of soft-leather steps. The leading column -turned and halted, platoon deploys in front of platoon until the -whole procession made a solid flag of flame, and then from -thousands of voices burst a mighty shout that filled the air like -a crash of thunder, and sent the torches wavering. It was -magnificent, it was tremendous! To Sally Carol it was the North -offering sacrifice on some mighty altar to the gray pagan God of -Snow. As the shout died the band struck up again and there came -more singing, and then long reverberating cheers by each club. -She sat very quiet listening while the staccato cries rent the -stillness; and then she started, for there was a volley of -explosion, and great clouds of smoke went up here and there -through the cavern--the flash-light photographers at work--and -the council was over. With the band at their head the clubs -formed in column once more, took up their chant, and began to -march out. - -"Come on!" shouted Harry. "We want to see the labyrinths -down-stairs before they turn the lights off!" - -They all rose and started toward the chute--Harry and Sally -Carrol in the lead, her little mitten buried in his big fur -gantlet. At the bottom of the chute was a long empty room of ice, -with the ceiling so low that they had to stoop--and their hands -were parted. Before she realized what he intended Harry Harry had -darted down one of the half-dozen glittering passages that -opened into the room and was only a vague receding blot against -the green shimmer. - -"Harry!" she called. - -"Come on!" he cried back. - -She looked round the empty chamber; the rest of the party had -evidently decided to go home, were already outside somewhere in -the blundering snow. She hesitated and then darted in after -Harry. - -"Harry!" she shouted. - -She had reached a turning-point thirty feet down; she heard a -faint muffled answer far to the left, and with a touch of panic -fled toward it. She passed another turning, two more yawning -alleys. - -"Harry!" - -No answer. She started to run straight forward, and then turned -like lightning and sped back the way she had come, enveloped in a -sudden icy terror. - -She reached a turn--was it here?--took the left and came to what -should have been the outlet into the long, low room, but it was -only another glittering passage with darkness at the end. She -called again, but the walls gave back a flat, lifeless echo with -no reverberations. Retracing her steps she turned another corner, -this time following a wide passage. It was like the green lane -between the parted water of the Red Sea, like a damp vault -connecting empty tombs. - -She slipped a little now as she walked, for ice had formed on the -bottom of her overshoes; she had to run her gloves along the -half-slippery, half-sticky walls to keep her balance. - -"Harry!" - -Still no answer. The sound she made bounced mockingly down to the -end of the passage. - -Then on an instant the lights went out, and she was in complete -darkness. She gave a small, frightened cry, and sank down into a -cold little heap on the ice. She felt her left knee do something -as she fell, but she scarcely noticed it as some deep terror far -greater than any fear of being lost settled upon her. She was -alone with this presence that came out of the North, the dreary -loneliness that rose from ice-bound whalers in the Arctic seas, -from smokeless, trackless wastes where were strewn the whitened -bones of adventure. It was an icy breath of death; it was rolling -down low across the land to clutch at her. - -With a furious, despairing energy she rose again and started -blindly down the darkness. She must get out. She might be lost in -here for days, freeze to death and lie embedded in the ice like -corpses she had read of, kept perfectly preserved until the -melting of a glacier. Harry probably thought she had left with -the others--he had gone by now; no one would know until next day. -She reached pitifully for the wall. Forty inches thick, they had -said--forty inches thick! - -On both sides of her along the walls she felt things creeping, -damp souls that haunted this palace, this town, this North. - -"Oh, send somebody--send somebody!" she cried aloud. - -Clark Darrow--he would understand; or Joe Ewing; she couldn't be -left here to wander forever--to be frozen, heart, body, and soul. -This her-- this Sally Carrol! Why, she was a happy thing. She -was a happy little girl. She liked warmth and summer and Dixie. -These things were foreign--foreign. - -"You're not crying," something said aloud. "You'll never cry any -more. Your tears would just freeze; all tears freeze up here!" - -She sprawled full length on the ice. - -"Oh, God!" she faltered. - -A long single file of minutes went by, and with a great weariness -she felt her eyes dosing. Then some one seemed to sit down near -her and take her face in warm, soft hands. She looked up -gratefully. - -"Why it's Margery Lee" she crooned softly to herself. "I knew -you'd come." It really was Margery Lee, and she was just as Sally -Carrol had known she would be, with a young, white brow, and -wide welcoming eyes, and a hoop-skirt of some soft material that -was quite comforting to rest on. - -"Margery Lee." - -It was getting darker now and darker--all those tombstones ought -to be repainted sure enough, only that would spoil 'em, of -course. Still, you ought to be able to see 'em. - -Then after a succession of moments that went fast and then slow, -but seemed to be ultimately resolving themselves into a multitude -of blurred rays converging toward a pale-yellow sun, she heard a -great cracking noise break her new-found stillness. - -It was the sun, it was a light; a torch, and a torch beyond that, -and another one, and voices; a face took flesh below the torch, -heavy arms raised her and she felt something on her cheek--it -felt wet. Some one had seized her and was rubbing her face with -snow. How ridiculous--with snow! - -"Sally Carrol! Sally Carrol!" - -It was Dangerous Dan McGrew; and two other faces she didn't know. -"Child, child! We've been looking for you two hours! Harry's -half-crazy!" - -Things came rushing back into place--the singing, the torches, -the great shout of the marching clubs. She squirmed in Patton's -arms and gave a long low cry. - -"Oh, I want to get out of here! I'm going back home. Take me -home"---her voice rose to a scream that sent a chill to Harry's -heart as he came racing down the next passage--"to-morrow!" she -cried with delirious, unstrained passion--"To-morrow! To-morrow! -To-morrow!" - - - -VI - - -The wealth of golden sunlight poured a quite enervating yet oddly -comforting heat over the house where day long it faced the dusty -stretch of road. Two birds were making a great to-do in a cool -spot found among the branches of a tree next door, and down the -street a colored woman was announcing herself melodiously as a -purveyor of strawberries. It was April afternoon. - -Sally Carrol Happer, resting her chin on her arm, and her arm on -an old window-seat, gazed sleepily down over the spangled dust -whence the heat waves were rising for the first time this spring. -She was watching a very ancient Ford turn a perilous corner and -rattle and groan to a jolting stop at the end of the walk. See -made no sound and in a minute a strident familiar whistle rent -the air. Sally Carrol smiled and blinked. - -"Good mawnin'." - -A head appeared tortuously from under the car-top below. - -"Tain't mawnin', Sally Carrol." - -"Sure enough!" she said in affected surprise. "I guess maybe -not." - -"What you doin'?" - -"Eatin' a green peach. 'Spect to die any minute." - -Clark twisted himself a last impossible notch to get a view of -her face. - -"Water's warm as a kettla steam, Sally Carol. Wanta go swimmin'?" - -"Hate to move," sighed Sally Carol lazily, "but I reckon so." - - - - - -Head and Shoulders - - - - -In 1915 Horace Tarbox was thirteen years old. In that year he -took the examinations for entrance to Princeton University and -received the Grade A--excellent--in Caesar, Cicero, Vergil, -Xenophon, Homer, Algebra, Plane Geometry, Solid Geometry, and -Chemistry. - -Two years later while George M. Cohan was composing "Over There," -Horace was leading the sophomore class by several lengths and -digging out theses on "The Syllogism as an Obsolete Scholastic -Form," and during the battle of Chateau-Thierry he was sitting at -his desk deciding whether or not to wait until his seventeenth -birthday before beginning his series of essays on "The Pragmatic -Bias of the New Realists." - -After a while some newsboy told him that the war was over, and he -was glad, because it meant that Peat Brothers, publishers, would -get out their new edition of "Spinoza's Improvement of the -Understanding." Wars were all very well in their way, made young -men self-reliant or something but Horace felt that he could never -forgive the President for allowing a brass band to play under -his window the night of the false armistice, causing him to leave -three important sentences out of his thesis on "German -Idealism." - -The next year he went up to Yale to take his degree as Master of -Arts. - -He was seventeen then, tall and slender, with near-sighted gray -eyes and an air of keeping himself utterly detached from the mere -words he let drop. - -"I never feel as though I'm talking to him," expostulated -Professor Dillinger to a sympathetic colleague. "He makes me feel -as though I were talking to his representative. I always expect -him to say: 'Well, I'll ask myself and find out.'" - -And then, just as nonchalantly as though Horace Tarbox had been -Mr. Beef the butcher or Mr. Hat the haberdasher, life reached in, -seized him, handled him, stretched him, and unrolled him like a -piece of Irish lace on a Saturday-afternoon bargain-counter. - -To move in the literary fashion I should say that this was all -because when way back in colonial days the hardy pioneers had -come to a bald place in Connecticut and asked of each other, -"Now, what shall we build here?" the hardiest one among 'em had -answered: "Let's build a town where theatrical managers can try -out musical comedies!" How afterward they founded Yale College -there, to try the musical comedies on, is a story every one -knows. At any rate one December, "Home James" opened at the -Shubert, and all the students encored Marcia Meadow, who sang a -song about the Blundering Blimp in the first act and did a shaky, -shivery, celebrated dance in the last. - -Marcia was nineteen. She didn't have wings, but audiences agreed -generally that she didn't need them. She was a blonde by natural -pigment, and she wore no paint on the streets at high noon. -Outside of that she was no better than most women. - -It was Charlie Moon who promised her five thousand Pall Malls if -she would pay a call on Horace Tarbox, prodigy extraordinary. -Charlie was a senior in Sheffield, and he and Horace were first -cousins. They liked and pitied each other. - -Horace had been particularly busy that night. The failure of the -Frenchman Laurier to appreciate the significance of the new -realists was preying on his mind. In fact, his only reaction to a -low, clear-cut rap at his study was to make him speculate as to -whether any rap would have actual existence without an ear there -to hear it. He fancied he was verging more and more toward -pragmatism. But at that moment, though he did not know it, he was -verging with astounding rapidity toward something quite -different. - -The rap sounded--three seconds leaked by--the rap sounded. - -"Come in," muttered Horace automatically. - -He heard the door open and then close, but, bent over his book in -the big armchair before the fire, he did not look up. - -"Leave it on the bed in the other room," he said absently. - -"Leave what on the bed in the other room?" - -Marcia Meadow had to talk her songs, but her speaking voice was -like byplay on a harp. - -"The laundry." - -"I can't." - -Horace stirred impatiently in his chair. - -"Why can't you?" - -"Why, because I haven't got it." - -"Hm!" he replied testily. "Suppose you go back and get it." - -Across the fire from Horace was another easychair. He was -accustomed to change to it in the course of an evening by way of -exercise and variety. One chair he called Berkeley, the other he -called Hume. He suddenly heard a sound as of a rustling, -diaphanous form sinking into Hume. He glanced up. - -"Well," said Marcia with the sweet smile she used in Act Two -("Oh, so the Duke liked my dancing!") "Well, Omar Khayyam, here I -am beside you singing in the wilderness." - -Horace stared at her dazedly. The momentary suspicion came to him -that she existed there only as a phantom of his imagination. -Women didn't come into men's rooms and sink into men's Humes. -Women brought laundry and took your seat in the street-car and -married you later on when you were old enough to know fetters. - -This woman had clearly materialized out of Hume. The very froth -of her brown gauzy dress was art emanation from Hume's leather -arm there! If he looked long enough he would see Hume right -through her and then be would be alone again in the room. He -passed his fist across his eyes. He really must take up those -trapeze exercises again. - -"For Pete's sake, don't look so critical!" objected the emanation -pleasantly. "I feel as if you were going to wish me away with -that patent dome of yours. And then there wouldn't be anything -left of me except my shadow in your eyes." - -Horace coughed. Coughing was one of his two gestures. When he -talked you forgot he had a body at all. It was like hearing a -phonograph record by a singer who had been dead a long time. - -"What do you want?" he asked. - -"I want them letters," whined Marcia melodramatically--"them -letters of mine you bought from my grandsire in 1881." - -Horace considered. - -"I haven't got your letters," he said evenly. "I am only -seventeen years old. My father was not born until March 3, 1879. -You evidently have me confused with some one else." - -"You're only seventeen?" repeated March suspiciously. - -"Only seventeen." - -"I knew a girl," said Marcia reminiscently, "who went on the -ten-twenty-thirty when she was sixteen. She was so stuck on -herself that she could never say 'sixteen' without putting the -'only' before it. We got to calling her 'Only Jessie.' And she's -just where she was when she started--only worse. 'Only' is a bad -habit, Omar--it sounds like an alibi." - -"My name is not Omar." - -"I know," agreed Marcia, nodding--"your name's Horace. I just -call you Omar because you remind me of a smoked cigarette." - -"And I haven't your letters. I doubt if I've ever met your -grandfather. In fact, I think it very improbable that you -yourself were alive in 1881." - -Marcia stared at him in wonder. - -"Me--1881? Why sure! I was second-line stuff when the Florodora -Sextette was still in the convent. I was the original nurse to -Mrs. Sol Smith's Juliette. Why, Omar, I was a canteen singer -during the War of 1812." - -Horace's mind made a sudden successful leap, and he grinned. - -"Did Charlie Moon put you up to this?" - -Marcia regarded him inscrutably. - -"Who's Charlie Moon? " - -"Small--wide nostrils--big ears." - -She grew several inches and sniffed. - -"I'm not in the habit of noticing my friends' nostrils. - -"Then it was Charlie?" - -Marcia bit her lip--and then yawned. "Oh, let's change the -subject, Omar. I'll pull a snore in this chair in a minute." - -"Yes," replied Horace gravely, "Hume has often been considered -soporific---" - -"Who's your friend--and will he die?" - -Then of a sudden Horace Tarbox rose slenderly and began to pace -the room with his hands in his pockets. This was his other -gesture. - -"I don't care for this," he said as if he were talking to -himself--"at all. Not that I mind your being here--I don't. -You're quite a pretty little thing, but I don't like Charlie -Moon's sending you up here. Am I a laboratory experiment on which -the janitors as well as the chemists can make experiments? Is my -intellectual development humorous in any way? Do I look like the -pictures of the little Boston boy in the comic magazines? Has -that callow ass, Moon, with his eternal tales about his week in -Paris, any right to---" - -"No," interrupted Marcia emphatically. "And you're a sweet boy. -Come here and kiss me." - -Horace stopped quickly in front of her. - -"Why do you want me to kiss you?" he asked intently, "Do you just -go round kissing people?" - -"Why, yes," admitted Marcia, unruffled. "'At's all life is. Just -going round kissing people." - -"Well," replied Horace emphatically, "I must say your ideas are -horribly garbled! In the first place life isn't just that, and in -the second place. I won't kiss you. It might get to be a habit -and I can't get rid of habits. This year I've got in the habit of -lolling in bed until seven-thirty---" - -Marcia nodded understandingly. - -"Do you ever have any fun?" she asked. - -"What do you mean by fun?" - -"See here," said Marcia sternly, "I like you, Omar, but I wish -you'd talk as if you had a line on what you were saying. You -sound as if you were gargling a lot of words in your mouth and -lost a bet every time you spilled a few. I asked you if you ever -had any fun." - -Horace shook his head. - -"Later, perhaps," he answered. "You see I'm a plan. I'm an -experiment. I don't say that I don't get tired of it sometimes--I -do. Yet--oh, I can't explain! But what you and Charlie Moon call -fun wouldn't be fun to me." - -"Please explain." - -Horace stared at her, started to speak and then, changing his -mind, resumed his walk. After an unsuccessful attempt to -determine whether or not he was looking at her Marcia smiled at -him. - -"Please explain." - -Horace turned. - -"If I do, will you promise to tell Charlie Moon that I wasn't -in?" - -"Uh-uh." - -"Very well, then. Here's my history: I was a 'why' child. I -wanted to see the wheels go round. My father was a young -economics professor at Princeton. He brought me up on the system -of answering every question I asked him to the best of his -ability. My response to that gave him the idea of making an -experiment in precocity. To aid in the massacre I had ear -trouble--seven operations between the age of nine and twelve. Of -course this kept me apart from other boys and made me ripe for -forcing. Anyway, while my generation was laboring through Uncle -Remus I was honestly enjoying Catullus in the original. - -"I passed off my college examinations when I was thirteen because -I couldn't help it. My chief associates were professors, and I -took a tremendous pride in knowing that I had a fine -intelligence, for though I was unusually gifted I was not -abnormal in other ways. When I was sixteen I got tired of being a -freak; I decided that some one had made a bad mistake. Still as -I'd gone that far I concluded to finish it up by taking my degree -of Master of Arts. My chief interest in life is the study of -modern philosophy. I am a realist of the School of Anton -Laurier--with Bergsonian trimmings--and I'll be eighteen years -old in two months. That's all." - -"Whew!" exclaimed Marcia. "That's enough! You do a neat job with -the parts of speech." - -"Satisfied?" - -"No, you haven't kissed me." - -"It's not in my programme," demurred Horace. "Understand that I -don't pretend to be above physical things. They have their place, -but---" - -"Oh, don't be so darned reasonable!" - -"I can't help it." - -"I hate these slot-machine people." - -"I assure you I---" began Horace. - -"Oh shut up!" - -"My own rationality---" - -"I didn't say anything about your nationality. You're Amuricun, -ar'n't you?" - -"Yes." - -"Well, that's O.K. with me. I got a notion I want to see you do -something that isn't in your highbrow programme. I want to see if -a what-ch-call-em with Brazilian trimmings--that thing you said -you were--can be a little human." - -Horace shook his head again. - -"I won't kiss you." - -"My life is blighted," muttered Marcia tragically. "I'm a beaten -woman. I'll go through life without ever having a kiss with -Brazilian trimmings." She sighed. "Anyways, Omar, will you come -and see my show?" - -"What show?" - -"I'm a wicked actress from 'Home James'!" - -"Light opera?" - -"Yes--at a stretch. One of the characters is a Brazilian -rice-planter. That might interest you." - -"I saw 'The Bohemian Girl' once," reflected Horace aloud. "I -enjoyed it--to some extent---" - -"Then you'll come?" - -"Well, I'm--I'm---" - -"Oh, I know--you've got to run down to Brazil for the week-end." - -"Not at all. I'd be delighted to come---" - -Marcia clapped her hands. - -"Goodyforyou! I'll mail you a ticket--Thursday night?" - -"Why, I---" - -"Good! Thursday night it is." - -She stood up and walking close to him laid both hands on his -shoulders. - -"I like you, Omar. I'm sorry I tried to kid you. I thought you'd -be sort of frozen, but you're a nice boy." - -He eyed her sardonically. - -"I'm several thousand generations older than you are." - -"You carry your age well." - -They shook hands gravely. - -"My name's Marcia Meadow," she said emphatically. "'Member it-- -Marcia Meadow. And I won't tell Charlie Moon you were in." - -An instant later as she was skimming down the last flight of -stairs three at a time she heard a voice call over the upper -banister: "Oh, say---" - -She stopped and looked up--made out a vague form leaning over. - -"Oh, say!" called the prodigy again. "Can you hear me?" - -"Here's your connection Omar." - -"I hope I haven't given you the impression that I consider -kissing intrinsically irrational." - -"Impression? Why, you didn't even give me the kiss! Never -fret--so long. - -Two doors near her opened curiously at the sound of a feminine -voice. A tentative cough sounded from above. Gathering her -skirts, Marcia dived wildly down the last flight, and was -swallowed up in the murky Connecticut air outside. - -Up-stairs Horace paced the floor of his study. From time to time -he glanced toward Berkeley waiting there in suave dark-red -reputability, an open book lying suggestively on his cushions. -And then he found that his circuit of the floor was bringing him -each time nearer to Hume. There was something about Hume that was -strangely and inexpressibly different. The diaphanous form still -seemed hovering near, and had Horace sat there he would have -felt as if he were sitting on a lady's lap. And though Horace -couldn't have named the quality of difference, there was such a -quality--quite intangible to the speculative mind, but real, -nevertheless. Hume was radiating something that in all the two -hundred years of his influence he had never radiated before. - -Hume was radiating attar of roses. - - - -II - - -On Thursday night Horace Tarbox sat in an aisle seat in the fifth -row and witnessed "Home James." Oddly enough he found that he -was enjoying himself. The cynical students near him were annoyed -at his audible appreciation of time-honored jokes in the -Hammerstein tradition. But Horace was waiting with anxiety for -Marcia Meadow singing her song about a Jazz-bound Blundering -Blimp. When she did appear, radiant under a floppity flower-faced -hat, a warm glow settled over him, and when the song was over he -did not join in the storm of applause. He felt somewhat numb. - -In the intermission after the second act an usher materialized -beside him, demanded to know if he were Mr. Tarbox, and then -handed him a note written in a round adolescent band. Horace read -it in some confusion, while the usher lingered with withering -patience in the aisle. - -"Dear 0mar: After the show I always grow an awful hunger. If you -want to satisfy it for me in the Taft Grill just communicate your -answer to the big-timber guide that brought this and oblige. - Your friend, - Marcia Meadow." - -"Tell her,"--he coughed--"tell her that it will be quite all -right. I'll meet her in front of the theatre." - -The big-timber guide smiled arrogantly. - -"I giss she meant for you to come roun' t' the stage door." - -"Where--where is it?" - -"Ou'side. Tunayulef. Down ee alley." - -"What?" - -"Ou'side. Turn to y' left! Down ee alley!" - -The arrogant person withdrew. A freshman behind Horace snickered. - -Then half an hour later, sitting in the Taft Grill opposite the -hair that was yellow by natural pigment, the prodigy was saying -an odd thing. - -"Do you have to do that dance in the last act?" he was asking -earnestly--"I mean, would they dismiss you if you refused to do it?" - -Marcia grinned. - -"It's fun to do it. I like to do it." - -And then Horace came out with a FAUX PAS. - -"I should think you'd detest it," he remarked succinctly. "The -people behind me were making remarks about your bosom." - -Marcia blushed fiery red. - -"I can't help that," she said quickly. "The dance to me is only -a sort of acrobatic stunt. Lord, it's hard enough to do! I rub -liniment into my shoulders for an hour every night." - -"Do you have--fun while you're on the stage?" - -"Uh-huh--sure! I got in the habit of having people look at me, -Omar, and I like it." - -"Hm!" Horace sank into a brownish study. - -"How's the Brazilian trimmings?" - -"Hm!" repeated Horace, and then after a pause: "Where does the -play go from here?" - -"New York." - -"For how long?" - -"All depends. Winter--maybe." - -"Oh!" - -"Coming up to lay eyes on me, Omar, or aren't you int'rested? -Not as nice here, is it, as it was up in your room? I wish we -was there now." - -"I feel idiotic in this place," confessed Horace, looking round -him nervously. - -"Too bad! We got along pretty well." - -At this he looked suddenly so melancholy that she changed her -tone, and reaching over patted his hand. - -"Ever take an actress out to supper before?" - -"No," said Horace miserably, "and I never will again. I don't -know why I came to-night. Here under all these lights and with -all these people laughing and chattering I feel completely out -of my sphere. I don't know what to talk to you about." - -"We'll talk about me. We talked about you last time." - -"Very well." - -"Well, my name really is Meadow, but my first name isn't Marcia-- -it's Veronica. I'm nineteen. Question--how did the girl make -her leap to the footlights? Answer--she was born in Passaic, New -Jersey, and up to a year ago she got the right to breathe by -pushing Nabiscoes in Marcel's tea-room in Trenton. She started -going with a guy named Robbins, a singer in the Trent House -cabaret, and he got her to try a song and dance with him one -evening. In a month we were filling the supper-room every night. -Then we went to New York with meet-my-friend letters thick as a -pile of napkins. - -"In two days we landed a job at Divinerries', and I learned to -shimmy from a kid at the Palais Royal. We stayed at Divinerries' -six months until one night Peter Boyce Wendell, the columnist, -ate his milk-toast there. Next morning a poem about Marvellous -Marcia came out in his newspaper, and within two days I had -three vaudeville offers and a chance at the Midnight Frolic. I -wrote Wendell a thank-you letter, and he printed it in his -column--said that the style was like Carlyle's, only more -rugged and that I ought to quit dancing and do North American -literature. This got me a coupla more vaudeville offers and a -chance as an ingenue in a regular show. I took it--and here I -am, Omar." - -When she finished they sat for a moment in silence she draping -the last skeins of a Welsh rabbit on her fork and waiting for -him to speak. - -"Let's get out of here," he said suddenly. - -Marcia's eyes hardened. - -"What's the idea? Am I making you sick?" - -"No, but I don't like it here. I don't like to be sitting here -with you." - -Without another word Marcia signalled for the waiter. - -"What's the check?" she demanded briskly "My part--the rabbit -and the ginger ale." - -Horace watched blankly as the waiter figured it. - -"See here," he began, "I intended to pay for yours too. You're -my guest." - -With a half-sigh Marcia rose from the table and walked from the -room. Horace, his face a document in bewilderment, laid a bill -down and followed her out, up the stairs and into the lobby. He -overtook her in front of the elevator and they faced each other. - -"See here," he repeated "You're my guest. Have I said something to -offend you?" - -After an instant of wonder Marcia's eyes softened. - -"You're a rude fella!" she said slowly. "Don't you know you're -rude?" - -"I can't help it," said Horace with a directness she found quite -disarming. "You know I like you." - -"You said you didn't like being with me." - -"I didn't like it." - -"Why not?" Fire blazed suddenly from the gray forests of his -eyes. - -"Because I didn't. I've formed the habit of liking you. I've -been thinking of nothing much else for two days." - -"Well, if you---" - -"Wait a minute," he interrupted. "I've got something to say. It's -this: in six weeks I'll be eighteen years old. When I'm -eighteen years old I'm coming up to New York to see you. Is -there some place in New York where we can go and not have a lot -of people in the room?" - -"Sure!" smiled Marcia. "You can come up to my 'partment. Sleep -on the couch if you want to." - -"I can't sleep on couches," he said shortly. "But I want to talk -to you." - -"Why, sure," repeated Marcia. "in my 'partment." - -In his excitement Horace put his hands in his pockets. - -"All right--just so I can see you alone. I want to talk to you -as we talked up in my room." - -"Honey boy," cried Marcia, laughing, "is it that you want to kiss -me?" - -"Yes," Horace almost shouted. "I'll kiss you if you want me to." - -The elevator man was looking at them reproachfully. Marcia edged -toward the grated door. - -"I'll drop you a post-card," she said. - -Horace's eyes were quite wild. - -"Send me a post-card! I'll come up any time after January first. -I'll be eighteen then." - -And as she stepped into the elevator he coughed enigmatically, -yet with a vague challenge, at the calling, and walked quickly -away. - - - -III - - -He was there again. She saw him when she took her first glance -at the restless Manhattan audience--down in the front row with -his head bent a bit forward and his gray eyes fixed on her. And -she knew that to him they were alone together in a world where -the high-rouged row of ballet faces and the massed whines of the -violins were as imperceivable as powder on a marble Venus. An -instinctive defiance rose within her. - -"Silly boy!" she said to herself hurriedly, and she didn't take -her encore. - -"What do they expect for a hundred a week--perpetual motion?" -she grumbled to herself in the wings. - -"What's the trouble? Marcia?" - -"Guy I don't like down in front." - -During the last act as she waited for her specialty she had an -odd attack of stage fright. She had never sent Horace the -promised post-card. Last night she had pretended not to see him-- -had hurried from the theatre immediately after her dance to -pass a sleepless night in her apartment, thinking--as she had -so often in the last month--of his pale, rather intent face, his -slim, boyish fore, the merciless, unworldly abstraction that -made him charming to her. - -And now that he had come she felt vaguely sorry--as though an -unwonted responsibility was being forced on her. - -"Infant prodigy!" she said aloud. - -"What?" demanded the negro comedian standing beside her. - -"Nothing--just talking about myself." - -On the stage she felt better. This was her dance--and she -always felt that the way she did it wasn't suggestive any more -than to some men every pretty girl is suggestive. She made it -a stunt. - - "Uptown, downtown, jelly on a spoon, - After sundown shiver by the moon." - -He was not watching her now. She saw that clearly. He was looking -very deliberately at a castle on the back drop, wearing that -expression he had worn in the Taft Grill. A wave of exasperation -swept over her--he was criticising her. - - "That's the vibration that thrills me, - Funny how affection fi-lls me - Uptown, downtown---" - -Unconquerable revulsion seized her. She was suddenly and horribly -conscious of her audience as she had never been since her first -appearance. Was that a leer on a pallid face in the front row, a -droop of disgust on one young girl's mouth? These shoulders of -hers--these shoulders shaking--were they hers? Were they real? -Surely shoulders weren't made for this! - - "Then--you'll see at a glance - "I'll need some funeral ushers with St. Vitus dance - At the end of the world I'll---" - -The bassoon and two cellos crashed into a final chord. She paused -and poised a moment on her toes with every muscle tense, her -young face looking out dully at the audience in what one young -girl afterward called "such a curious, puzzled look," and then -without bowing rushed from the stage. Into the dressing-room she -sped, kicked out of one dress and into another, and caught a taxi -outside. - -Her apartment was very warm--small, it was, with a row of -professional pictures and sets of Kipling and O. Henry which she -had bought once from a blue-eyed agent and read occasionally. And -there were several chairs which matched, but were none of them -comfortable, and a pink-shaded lamp with blackbirds painted on it -and an atmosphere of other stifled pink throughout. There were -nice things in it--nice things unrelentingly hostile to each -other, offspring of a vicarious, impatient taste acting in stray -moments. The worst was typified by a great picture framed in oak -bark of Passaic as seen from the Erie Railroad--altogether a -frantic, oddly extravagant, oddly penurious attempt to make a -cheerful room. Marcia knew it was a failure. - -Into this room came the prodigy and took her two hands awkwardly. - -"I followed you this time," he said. - -"Oh!" - -"I want you to marry me," he said. - -Her arms went out to him. She kissed his mouth with a sort of -passionate wholesomeness. - -"There!" - -"I love you," he said. - -She kissed him again and then with a little sigh flung herself -into an armchair and half lay there, shaken with absurd laughter. - -"Why, you infant prodigy!" she cried. - -"Very well, call me that if you want to. I once told you that I -was ten thousand years older than you--I am." - -She laughed again. - -"I don't like to be disapproved of." - -"No one's ever going to disapprove of you again." - -"Omar," she asked, "why do you want to marry me?" - -The prodigy rose and put his hands in his pockets. - -"Because I love you, Marcia Meadow." - -And then she stopped calling him Omar. - -"Dear boy," she said, "you know I sort of love you. There's -something about you--I can't tell what--that just puts my heart -through the wringer every time I'm round you. But honey--" She -paused. - -"But what?" - -"But lots of things. But you're only just eighteen, and I'm -nearly twenty." - -"Nonsense!" he interrupted. "Put it this way--that I'm in my -nineteenth year and you're nineteen. That makes us pretty -close--without counting that other ten thousand years I -mentioned." - -Marcia laughed. - -"But there are some more 'buts.' Your people--- - -"My people!" exclaimed the prodigy ferociously. "My people tried -to make a monstrosity out of me." His face grew quite crimson at -the enormity of what he was going to say. "My people can go way -back and sit down!" - -"My heavens!" cried Marcia in alarm. "All that? On tacks, I -suppose." - -"Tacks--yes," he agreed wildly--"on anything. The more I think of -how they allowed me to become a little dried-up mummy---" - -"What makes you thank you're that?" asked Marcia quietly--"me?" - -"Yes. Every person I've met on the streets since I met you has -made me jealous because they knew what love was before I did. I -used to call it the 'sex impulse.' Heavens!" - -"There's more 'buts,'" said Marcia - -"What are they?" - -"How could we live?" - -"I'll make a living." - -"You're in college." - -"Do you think I care anything about taking a Master of Arts -degree?" - -"You want to be Master of Me, hey?" - -"Yes! What? I mean, no!" - -Marcia laughed, and crossing swiftly over sat in his lap. He put -his arm round her wildly and implanted the vestige of a kiss -somewhere near her neck. - -"There's something white about you," mused Marcia "but it doesn't -sound very logical." - -"Oh, don't be so darned reasonable!" - -"I can't help it," said Marcia. - -"I hate these slot-machine people!" - -"But we---" - -"Oh, shut up!" - -And as Marcia couldn't talk through her ears she had to. - - - -IV - - -Horace and Marcia were married early in February. The sensation -in academic circles both at Yale and Princeton was tremendous. -Horace Tarbox, who at fourteen had been played up in the Sunday -magazines sections of metropolitan newspapers, was throwing over -his career, his chance of being a world authority on American -philosophy, by marrying a chorus girl--they made Marcia a chorus -girl. But like all modern stories it was a four-and-a-half-day -wonder. - -They took a flat in Harlem. After two weeks' search, during which -his idea of the value of academic knowledge faded unmercifully, -Horace took a position as clerk with a South American export -company--some one had told him that exporting was the coming -thing. Marcia was to stay in her show for a few months--anyway -until he got on his feet. He was getting a hundred and -twenty-five to start with, and though of course they told him it -was only a question of months until he would be earning double -that, Marcia refused even to consider giving up the hundred and -fifty a week that she was getting at the time. - -"We'll call ourselves Head and Shoulders, dear," she said softly, -"and the shoulders'll have to keep shaking a little longer until -the old head gets started." - -"I hate it," he objected gloomily. - -"Well," she replied emphatically, "Your salary wouldn't keep us -in a tenement. Don't think I want to be public--I don't. I want -to be yours. But I'd be a half-wit to sit in one room and count -the sunflowers on the wall-paper while I waited for you. When you -pull down three hundred a month I'll quit." - -And much as it hurt his pride, Horace had to admit that hers was -the wiser course. - -March mellowed into April. May read a gorgeous riot act to the -parks and waters of Manhatten, and they were very happy. Horace, -who had no habits whatsoever--he had never had time to form -any--proved the most adaptable of husbands, and as Marcia -entirely lacked opinions on the subjects that engrossed him there -were very few jottings and bumping. Their minds moved in -different spheres. Marcia acted as practical factotum, and Horace -lived either in his old world of abstract ideas or in a sort of -triumphantly earthy worship and adoration of his wife. She was a -continual source of astonishment to him--the freshness and -originality of her mind, her dynamic, clear-headed energy, and -her unfailing good humor. - -And Marcia's co-workers in the nine-o'clock show, whither she had -transferred her talents, were impressed with her tremendous -pride in her husband's mental powers. Horace they knew only as a -very slim, tight-lipped, and immature-looking young man, who -waited every night to take her home. - -"Horace," said Marcia one evening when she met him as usual at -eleven, "you looked like a ghost standing there against the -street lights. You losing weight?" - -He shook his head vaguely. - -"I don't know. They raised me to a hundred and thirty-five -dollars to-day, and---" - -"I don't care," said Marcia severely. "You're killing yourself -working at night. You read those big books on economy---" - -"Economics," corrected Horace. - -"Well, you read 'em every night long after I'm asleep. And you're -getting all stooped over like you were before we were married." - -"But, Marcia, I've got to---" - -"No, you haven't dear. I guess I'm running this shop for the -present, and I won't let my fella ruin his health and eyes. You -got to get some exercise." - -"I do. Every morning I---" - -"Oh, I know! But those dumb-bells of yours wouldn't give a -consumptive two degrees of fever. I mean real exercise. You've -got to join a gymnasium. 'Member you told me you were such a -trick gymnast once that they tried to get you out for the team in -college and they couldn't because you had a standing date with -Herb Spencer?" - -"I used to enjoy it," mused Horace, "but it would take up too -much time now." - -"All right," said Marcia. "I'll make a bargain with you. You join -a gym and I'll read one of those books from the brown row of -'em." - -"'Pepys' Diary'? Why, that ought to be enjoyable. He's very -light." - -"Not for me--he isn't. It'll be like digesting plate glass. But -you been telling me how much it'd broaden my lookout. Well, you -go to a gym three nights a week and I'll take one big dose of -Sammy." - -Horace hesitated. - -"Well---" - -"Come on, now! You do some giant swings for me and I'll chase -some culture for you." - -So Horace finally consented, and all through a baking summer he -spent three and sometimes four evenings a week experimenting on -the trapeze in Skipper's Gymnasium. And in August he admitted to -Marcia that it made him capable of more mental work during the -day. - -"MENS SANA IN CORPORE SANO," he said. - -"Don't believe in it," replied Marcia. "I tried one of those -patent medicines once and they're all bunk. You stick to -gymnastics." - -One night in early September while he was going through one of -his contortions on the rings in the nearly deserted room he was -addressed by a meditative fat man whom he had noticed watching -him for several nights. - -"Say, lad, do that stunt you were doin' last night." - -Horace grinned at him from his perch. - -"I invented it," he said. "I got the idea from the fourth -proposition of Euclid." - -"What circus he with?" - -"He's dead." - -"Well, he must of broke his neck doin' that stunt. I set here -last night thinkin' sure you was goin' to break yours." - -"Like this!" said Horace, and swinging onto the trapeze he did -his stunt. - -"Don't it kill your neck an' shoulder muscles?" - -"It did at first, but inside of a week I wrote the QUOD ERAT -DEMONSTRANDUM on it." - -"Hm!" - -Horace swung idly on the trapeze. - -"Ever think of takin' it up professionally?" asked the fat man. - -"Not I." - -"Good money in it if you're willin' to do stunts like 'at an' can -get away with it." - -"Here's another," chirped Horace eagerly, and the fat man's mouth -dropped suddenly agape as he watched this pink-jerseyed -Prometheus again defy the gods and Isaac Newton. - -The night following this encounter Horace got home from work to -find a rather pale Marcia stretched out on the sofa waiting for -him. - -"I fainted twice to-day," she began without preliminaries. - -"What?" - -"Yep. You see baby's due in four months now. Doctor says I ought -to have quit dancing two weeks ago." - -Horace sat down and thought it over. - -"I'm glad of course," he said pensively--"I mean glad that we're -going to have a baby. But this means a lot of expense." - -"I've got two hundred and fifty in the bank," said Marcia -hopefully, "and two weeks' pay coming." - -Horace computed quickly. - -"Inducing my salary, that'll give us nearly fourteen hundred for -the next six months." - -Marcia looked blue. - -"That all? Course I can get a job singing somewhere this month. -And I can go to work again in March." - -"Of course nothing!" said Horace gruffly. "You'll stay right -here. Let's see now--there'll be doctor's bills and a nurse, -besides the maid: We've got to have some more money." - -"Well," said Marcia wearily, "I don't know where it's coming -from. It's up to the old head now. Shoulders is out of business." - -Horace rose and pulled on his coat. - -"Where are you going?" - -"I've got an idea," he answered. "I'll be right back." - -Ten minutes later as he headed down the street toward Skipper's -Gymnasium he felt a placid wonder, quite unmixed with humor, at -what he was going to do. How he would have gaped at himself a -year before! How every one would have gaped! But when you opened -your door at the rap of life you let in many things. - -The gymnasium was brightly lit, and when his eyes became -accustomed to the glare he found the meditative fat man seated on -a pile of canvas mats smoking a big cigar. - -"Say," began Horace directly, "were you in earnest last night -when you said I could make money on my trapeze stunts?" - -"Why, yes," said the fat man in surprise. - -"Well, I've been thinking it over, and I believe I'd like to try -it. I could work at night and on Saturday afternoons--and -regularly if the pay is high enough." - -The fat men looked at his watch. - -"Well," he said, "Charlie Paulson's the man to see. He'll book -you inside of four days, once he sees you work out. He won't be -in now, but I'll get hold of him for to-morrow night." - -The fat man was as good as his word. Charlie Paulson arrived next -night and put in a wondrous hour watching the prodigy swap -through the air in amazing parabolas, and on the night following -he brought two age men with him who looked as though they had -been born smoking black cigars and talking about money in low, -passionate voices. Then on the succeeding Saturday Horace -Tarbox's torso made its first professional appearance in a -gymnastic exhibition at the Coleman Street Gardens. But though -the audience numbered nearly five thousand people, Horace felt no -nervousness. From his childhood he had read papers to -audiences--learned that trick of detaching himself. - -"Marcia," he said cheerfully later that same night, "I think -we're out of the woods. Paulson thinks he can get me an opening -at the Hippodrome, and that means an all-winter engagement. The -Hippodrome you know, is a big---" - -"Yes, I believe I've heard of it," interrupted Marcia, "but I -want to know about this stunt you're doing. It isn't any -spectacular suicide, is it?" - -"It's nothing," said Horace quietly. "But if you can think of an -nicer way of a man killing himself than taking a risk for you, -why that's the way I want to die." - -Marcia reached up and wound both arms tightly round his neck. - -"Kiss me," she whispered, "and call me 'dear heart.' I love to -hear you say 'dear heart.' And bring me a book to read to-morrow. -No more Sam Pepys, but something trick and trashy. I've been -wild for something to do all day. I felt like writing letters, -but I didn't have anybody to write to." - -"Write to me," said Horace. "I'll read them." - -"I wish I could," breathed Marcia. "If I knew words enough I -could write you the longest love-letter in the world--and never -get tired." - -But after two more months Marcia grew very tired indeed, and for -a row of nights it was a very anxious, weary-looking young -athlete who walked out before the Hippodrome crowd. Then there -were two days when his place was taken by a young man who wore -pale blue instead of white, and got very little applause. But -after the two days Horace appeared again, and those who sat close -to the stage remarked an expression of beatific happiness on -that young acrobat's face even when he was twisting breathlessly -in the air an the middle of his amazing and original shoulder -swing. After that performance he laughed at the elevator man and -dashed up the stairs to the flat five steps at a time--and then -tiptoed very carefully into a quiet room. - -"Marcia," he whispered. - -"Hello!" She smiled up at him wanly. "Horace, there's something I -want you to do. Look in my top bureau drawer and you'll find a -big stack of paper. It's a book--sort of--Horace. I wrote it down -in these last three months while I've been laid up. I wish you'd -take it to that Peter Boyce Wendell who put my letter in his -paper. He could tell you whether it'd be a good book. I wrote it -just the way I talk, just the way I wrote that letter to him. -It's just a story about a lot of things that happened to me. Will -you take it to him, Horace?" - -"Yes, darling." - -He leaned over the bed until his head was beside her on the -pillow, and began stroking back her yellow hair. - -"Dearest Marcia," he said softly. - -"No," she murmured, "call me what I told you to call me." - -"Dear heart," he whispered passionately--"dearest heart." - -"What'll we call her?" - -They rested a minute in happy, drowsy content, while Horace -considered. - -"We'll call her Marcia Hume Tarbox," he said at length. - -"Why the Hume?" - -"Because he's the fellow who first introduced us." - -"That so?" she murmured, sleepily surprised. "I thought his name -was Moon." - -Her eyes dosed, and after a moment the slow lengthening surge of -the bedclothes over her breast showed that she was asleep. - -Horace tiptoed over to the bureau and opening the top drawer -found a heap of closely scrawled, lead-smeared pages. He looked -at the first sheet: - - SANDRA PEPYS, SYNCOPATED - BY MARCIA TARBOX - -He smiled. So Samuel Pepys had made an impression on her after -all. He turned a page and began to read. His smile deepened--he -read on. Half an hour passed and he became aware that Marcia had -waked and was watching him from the bed. - -"Honey," came in a whisper. - -"What Marcia?" - -"Do you like it?" - -Horace coughed. - -"I seem to be reading on. It's bright." - -"Take it to Peter Boyce Wendell. Tell him you got the highest -marks in Princeton once and that you ought to know when a book's -good. Tell him this one's a world beater." - -"All right, Marcia," Horace said gently. - -Her eyes closed again and Horace crossing over kissed her -forehead--stood there for a moment with a look of tender pity. -Then he left the room. - -All that night the sprawly writing on the pages, the constant -mistakes in spelling and grammar, and the weird punctuation -danced before his eyes. He woke several times in the night, each -time full of a welling chaotic sympathy for this desire of -Marcia's soul to express itself in words. To him there was -something infinitely pathetic about it, and for the first time in -months he began to turn over in his mind his own half-forgotten -dreams. - -He had meant to write a series of books, to popularize the new -realism as Schopenhauer had popularized pessimism and William -James pragmatism. - -But life hadn't come that way. Life took hold of people and -forced them into flying rings. He laughed to think of that rap at -his door, the diaphanous shadow in Hume, Marcia's threatened -kiss. - -"And it's still me," he said aloud in wonder as he lay awake in -the darkness. "I'm the man who sat in Berkeley with temerity to -wonder if that rap would have had actual existence had my ear not -been there to hear it. I'm still that man. I could be -electrocuted for the crimes he committed. - -"Poor gauzy souls trying to express ourselves in something -tangible. Marcia with her written book; I with my unwritten ones. -Trying to choose our mediums and then taking what we get-- and -being glad." - - - -V - - -"Sandra Pepys, Syncopated," with an introduction by Peter Boyce -Wendell the columnist, appeared serially in JORDAN'S MAGAZINE, -and came out in book form in March. From its first published -instalment it attracted attention far and wide. A trite enough -subject--a girl from a small New Jersey town coming to New York -to go on the stage--treated simply, with a peculiar vividness of -phrasing and a haunting undertone of sadness in the very -inadequacy of its vocabulary, it made an irresistible appeal. - -Peter Boyce Wendell, who happened at that time to be advocating -the enrichment of the American language by the immediate adoption -of expressive vernacular words, stood as its sponsor and -thundered his indorsement over the placid bromides of the -conventional reviewers. - -Marcia received three hundred dollars an instalment for the -serial publication, which came at an opportune time, for though -Horace's monthly salary at the Hippodrome was now more than -Marcia's had ever been, young Marcia was emitting shrill cries -which they interpreted as a demand for country air. So early April -found them installed in a bungalow in Westchester County, with a -place for a lawn, a place for a garage, and a place for -everything, including a sound-proof impregnable study, in which -Marcia faithfully promised Mr. Jordan she would shut herself up -when her daughter's demands began to be abated, and compose -immortally illiterate literature. - -"It's not half bad," thought Horace one night as he was on his -way from the station to his house. He was considering several -prospects that had opened up, a four months' vaudeville offer in -five figures, a chance to go back to Princeton in charge of all -gymnasium work. Odd! He had once intended to go back there in -charge of all philosophic work, and now he had not even been -stirred by the arrival in New York of Anton Laurier, his old -idol. - -The gravel crunched raucously under his heel. He saw the lights -of his sitting-room gleaming and noticed a big car standing in -the drive. Probably Mr. Jordan again, come to persuade Marcia to -settle down' to work. - -She had heard the sound of his approach and her form was -silhouetted against the lighted door as she came out to meet him. -"There's some Frenchman here," she whispered nervously. "I -can't pronounce his name, but he sounds awful deep. You'll have -to jaw with him." - -"What Frenchman?" - -"You can't prove it by me. He drove up an hour ago with Mr. -Jordan, and said he wanted to meet Sandra Pepys, and all that sort -of thing." - -Two men rose from chairs as they went inside. - -"Hello Tarbox," said Jordan. "I've just been bringing together -two celebrities. I've brought M'sieur Laurier out with me. -M'sieur Laurier, let me present Mr. Tarbox, Mrs. Tarbox's -husband." - -"Not Anton Laurier!" exclaimed Horace. - -"But, yes. I must come. I have to come. I have read the book of -Madame, and I have been charmed"--he fumbled in his pocket--"ah -I have read of you too. In this newspaper which I read to-day it -has your name." - -He finally produced a clipping from a magazine. - -"Read it!" he said eagerly. "It has about you too." - -Horace's eye skipped down the page. - -"A distinct contribution to American dialect literature," it -said. "No attempt at literary tone; the book derives its very -quality from this fact, as did 'Huckleberry Finn.'" - -Horace's eyes caught a passage lower down; he became suddenly -aghast--read on hurriedly: - -"Marcia Tarbox's connection with the stage is not only as a -spectator but as the wife of a performer. She was married last -year to Horace Tarbox, who every evening delights the children at -the Hippodrome with his wondrous flying performance. It is said -that the young couple have dubbed themselves Head and Shoulders, -referring doubtless to the fact that Mrs. Tarbox supplies the -literary and mental qualities, while the supple and agile -shoulder of her husband contribute their share to the family -fortunes. - -"Mrs. Tarbox seems to merit that much-abused title--'prodigy.' -Only twenty---" - -Horace stopped reading, and with a very odd expression in his -eyes gazed intently at Anton Laurier. - -"I want to advise you--" he began hoarsely. - -"What?" - -"About raps. Don't answer them! Let them alone--have a padded -door." - - - - -The Cut-Glass Bowl - - - - -There was a rough stone age and a smooth stone age and a bronze -age, and many years afterward a cut-glass age. In the cut-glass -age, when young ladies had persuaded young men with long, curly -mustaches to marry them, they sat down several months afterward -and wrote thank-you notes for all sorts of cut-glass -presents--punch-bowls, finger-bowls, dinner-glasses, -wine-glasses, ice-cream dishes, bonbon dishes, decanters, and -vases--for, though cut glass was nothing new in the nineties, it -was then especially busy reflecting the dazzling light of fashion -from the Back Bay to the fastnesses of the Middle West. - -After the wedding the punch-bowls were arranged in the sideboard -with the big bowl in the centre; the glasses were set up in the -china-closet; the candlesticks were put at both ends of -things--and then the struggle for existence began. The bonbon -dish lost its little handle and became a pin-tray upstairs; a -promenading cat knocked the little bowl off the sideboard, and -the hired girl chipped the middle-sized one with the sugar-dish; -then the wine-glasses succumbed to leg fractures, and even the -dinner-glasses disappeared one by one like the ten little -niggers, the last one ending up, scarred and maimed as a -tooth-brush holder among other shabby genteels on the bathroom -shelf. But by the time all this had happened the cut-glass age -was over, anyway. - -It was well past its first glory on the day the curious Mrs. -Roger Fairboalt came to see the beautiful Mrs. Harold Piper. - -"My dear," said the curious Mrs. Roger Fairboalt, "I LOVE your -house. I think it's QUITE artistic." - -"I'm SO glad," said the beautiful Mrs. Harold Piper, lights -appearing in her young, dark eyes; "and you MUST come often. I'm -almost ALWAYS alone in the afternoon." - -Mrs. Fairboalt would have liked to remark that she didn't believe -this at all and couldn't see how she'd be expected to--it was -all over town that Mr. Freddy Gedney had been dropping in on Mrs. -Piper five afternoons a week for the past six months. Mrs. -Fairboalt was at that ripe age where she distrusted all beautiful -women--- - -"I love the dining-room MOST," she said, "all that MARVELLOUS -china, and that HUGE cut-glass bowl." - -Mrs. Piper laughed, so prettily that Mrs. Fairboalt's lingering -reservations about the Freddy Gedney story quite vanished. - -"Oh, that big bowl!" Mrs. Piper's mouth forming the words was a -vivid rose petal. "There's a story about that bowl---" - -"Oh---" - -"You remember young Carleton Canby? Well, he was very attentive -at one time, and the night I told him I was going to marry -Harold, seven years ago in ninety-two, he drew himself way up and -said: 'Evylyn, I'm going to give a present that's as hard as you -are and as beautiful and as empty and as easy to see through.' -He frightened me a little--his eyes were so black. I thought he -was going to deed me a haunted house or something that would -explode when you opened it. That bowl came, and of course it's -beautiful. Its diameter or circumference or something is two and -a half feet--or perhaps it's three and a half. Anyway, the -sideboard is really too small for it; it sticks way out." - -"My DEAR, wasn't that ODD! And he left town about then didn't -he?" Mrs. Fairboalt was scribbling italicized notes on her -memory--"hard, beautiful, empty, and easy to see through." - -"Yes, he went West--or South--or somewhere," answered Mrs. Piper, -radiating that divine vagueness that helps to lift beauty out of -time. - -Mrs. Fairboalt drew on her gloves, approving the effect of -largeness given by the open sweep from the spacious music-room -through the library, disclosing a part of the dining-room beyond. -It was really the nicest smaller house in town, and Mrs. Piper -had talked of moving to a larger one on Devereaux Avenue. Harold -Piper must be COINING money. - -As she turned into the sidewalk under the gathering autumn dusk -she assumed that disapproving, faintly unpleasant expression that -almost all successful women of forty wear on the street. - -If _I_ were Harold Piper, she thought, I'd spend a LITTLE less -time on business and a little more time at home. Some FRIEND -should speak to him. - -But if Mrs. Fairboalt had considered it a successful afternoon -she would have named it a triumph had she waited two minutes -longer. For while she was still a black receding figure a hundred -yards down the street, a very good-looking distraught young man -turned up the walk to the Piper house. Mrs. Piper answered the -door-bell herself, and with a rather dismayed expression led him -quickly into the library. - -"I had to see you," he began wildly; "your note played the devil -with me. Did Harold frighten you into this?" - -She shook her head. - -"I'm through, Fred," she said slowly, and her lips had never -looked to him so much like tearings from a rose. "He came home -last night sick with it. Jessie Piper's sense of duty was to much -for her, so she went down to his office and told him. He was hurt -and--oh, I can't help seeing it his way, Fred. He says we've been -club gossip all summer and he didn't know it, and now he -understands snatches of conversation he's caught and veiled hints -people have dropped about me. He's mighty angry, Fred, and he -loves me and I love him-- rather." - -Gedney nodded slowly and half closed his eyes. - -"Yes," he said "yes, my trouble's like yours. I can see other -people's points of view too plainly." His gray eyes met her dark -ones frankly. "The blessed thing's over. My God, Evylyn, I've -been sitting down at the office all day looking at the outside of -your letter, and looking at it and looking at it---" - -"You've got to go, Fred," she said steadily, and the slight -emphasis of hurry in her voice was a new thrust for him. "I gave -him my word of honor I wouldn't see you. I know just how far I -can go with Harold, and being here with you this evening is one -of the things I can't do." - -They were still standing, and as she spoke she made a little -movement toward the door. Gedney looked at her miserably, trying, -here at the end, to treasure up a last picture of her--and then -suddenly both of them were stiffened into marble at the sound of -steps on the walk outside. Instantly her arm reached out grasping -the lapel of his coat --half urged, half swung him through the -big door into the dark dining-room. - -"I'll make him go up-stairs," she whispered close to his ear; -"don't move till you hear him on the stairs. Then go out the -front way." - -Then he was alone listening as she greeted her husband in the -hall. - -Harold Piper was thirty-six, nine years older than his wife. He -was handsome--with marginal notes: these being eyes that were too -close together, and a certain woodenness when his face was in -repose. His attitude toward this Gedney matter was typical of all -his attitudes. He had told Evylyn that he considered the subject -closed and would never reproach her nor allude to it in any -form; and he told himself that this was rather a big way of -looking at it--that she was not a little impressed. Yet, like all -men who are preoccupied with their own broadness, he was -exceptionally narrow. - -He greeted Evylyn with emphasized cordiality this evening. - -"You'll have to hurry and dress, Harold," she said eagerly; -"we're going to the Bronsons'." - -He nodded. - -"It doesn't take me long to dress, dear," and, his words trailing -off, he walked on into the library. Evylyn's heart clattered -loudly. - -"Harold---" she began, with a little catch in her voice, and -followed him in. He was lighting a cigarette. "You'll have to -hurry, Harold," she finished, standing in the doorway. - -"Why?" he asked a trifle impatiently; "you're not dressed -yourself yet, Evie." - -He stretched out in a Morris chair and unfolded a newspaper. With -a sinking sensation Evylyn saw that this meant at least ten -minutes--and Gedney was standing breathless in the next room. -Supposing Harold decided that before be went upstairs he wanted a -drink from the decanter on the sideboard. Then it occurred to -her to forestall this contingency by bringing him the decanter -and a glass. She dreaded calling his attention to the dining-room -in any way, but she couldn't risk the other chance. - -But at the same moment Harold rose and, throwing his paper down, -came toward her. - -"Evie, dear," he said, bending and putting his arms about her, "I -hope you're not thinking about last night---" She moved close to -him, trembling. "I know," he continued, "it was just an -imprudent friendship on your part. We all make mistakes." - -Evylyn hardly heard him. She was wondering if by sheer clinging -to him she could draw him out and up the stairs. She thought of -playing sick, asking to be carried up--unfortunately she knew he -would lay her on the couch and bring her whiskey. - -Suddenly her nervous tension moved up a last impossible notch. -She had heard a very faint but quite unmistakable creak from the -floor of the dining room. Fred was trying to get out the back -way. - -Then her heart took a flying leap as a hollow ringing note like a -gong echoed and re-echoed through the house. Gedney's arm had -struck the big cut-glass bowl. - -"What's that!" cried Harold. "Who's there?" - -She clung to him but he broke away, and the room seemed to crash -about her ears. She heard the pantry-door swing open, a scuffle, -the rattle of a tin pan, and in wild despair she rushed into the -kitchen and pulled up the gas. Her husband's arm slowly unwound -from Gedney's neck, and he stood there very still, first in -amazement, then with pain dawning in his face. - -"My golly!" he said in bewilderment, and then repeated: "My -GOLLY!" - -He turned as if to jump again at Gedney, stopped, his muscles -visibly relaxed, and he gave a bitter little laugh. - -"You people--you people---" Evylyn's arms were around him and her -eyes were pleading with him frantically, but he pushed her away -and sank dazed into a kitchen chair, his face like porcelain. -"You've been doing things to me, Evylyn. Why, you little devil! -You little DEVIL!" - -She had never felt so sorry for him; she had never loved him so -much. - -"It wasn't her fault," said Gedney rather humbly. "I just came." -But Piper shook his head, and his expression when he stared up -was as if some physical accident had jarred his mind into a -temporary inability to function. His eyes, grown suddenly -pitiful, struck a deep, unsounded chord in Evylyn--and -simultaneously a furious anger surged in her. She felt her -eyelids burning; she stamped her foot violently; her hands -scurried nervously over the table as if searching for a weapon, -and then she flung herself wildly at Gedney. - -"Get out!" she screamed, dark eves blazing, little fists beating -helplessly on his outstretched arm. "You did this! Get out of -here--get out--get OUT! GET OUT!" - - - -II - - -Concerning Mrs. Harold Piper at thirty-five, opinion was -divided--women said she was still handsome; men said she was -pretty no longer. And this was probably because the qualities in -her beauty that women had feared and men had followed had -vanished. Her eyes were still as large and as dark and as sad, -but the mystery had departed; their sadness was no longer -eternal, only human, and she had developed a habit, when she was -startled or annoyed, of twitching her brows together and blinking -several times. Her mouth also had lost: the red had receded and -the faint down-turning of its corners when she smiled, that had -added to the sadness of the eyes and been vaguely mocking and -beautiful, was quite gone. When she smiled now the corners of her -lips turned up. Back in the days when she revelled in her own -beauty Evylyn had enjoyed that smile of hers--she had accentuated -it. When she stopped accentuating it, it faded out and the last -of her mystery with it. - -Evylyn had ceased accentuating her smile within a month after the -Freddy Gedney affair. Externally things had gone an very much as -they had before. But in those few minutes during which she had -discovered how much she loved her husband, Evylyn had realized how -indelibly she had hurt him. For a month she struggled against -aching silences, wild reproaches and accusations--she pled with -him, made quiet, pitiful little love to him, and he laughed at -her bitterly--and then she, too, slipped gradually into silence -and a shadowy, impenetrable barrier dropped between them. The -surge of love that had risen in her she lavished on Donald, her -little boy, realizing him almost wonderingly as a part of her -life. - -The next year a piling up of mutual interests and -responsibilities and some stray flicker from the past brought -husband and wife together again--but after a rather pathetic -flood of passion Evylyn realized that her great opportunity was -gone. There simply wasn't anything left. She might have been -youth and love for both--but that time of silence had slowly -dried up the springs of affection and her own desire to drink -again of them was dead. - -She began for the first time to seek women friends, to prefer -books she had read before, to sew a little where she could watch -her two children to whom she was devoted. She worried about -little things--if she saw crumbs on the dinner-table her mind -drifted off the conversation: she was receding gradually into -middle age. - -Her thirty-fifth birthday had been an exceptionally busy one, for -they were entertaining on short notice that night, as she stood -in her bedroom window in the late afternoon she discovered that -she was quite tired. Ten years before she would have lain down -and slept, but now she had a feeling that things needed watching: -maids were cleaning down-stairs, bric-a-brac was all over the -floor, and there were sure to be grocery-men that had to be -talked to imperatively--and then there was a letter to write -Donald, who was fourteen and in his first year away at school. - -She had nearly decided to lie down, nevertheless, when she heard -a sudden familiar signal from little Julie down-stairs. She -compressed her lips, her brows twitched together, and she -blinked. - -"Julie!" she called. - -"Ah-h-h-ow!" prolonged Julie plaintively. Then the voice of -Hilda, the second maid, floated up the stairs. - -"She cut herself a little, Mis' Piper." - -Evylyn flew to her sewing-basket, rummaged until she found a torn -handkerchief, and hurried downstairs. In a moment Julie was -crying in her arms as she searched for the cut, faint, -disparaging evidences of which appeared on Julie's dress. - -"My THU-umb!" explained Julie. "Oh-h-h-h, t'urts." - -"It was the bowl here, the he one," said Hilda apologetically. -"It was waitin' on the floor while I polished the sideboard, and -Julie come along an' went to foolin' with it. She yust scratch -herself." - -Evylyn frowned heavily at Hilda, and twisting Julie decisively in -her lap, began tearing strips of the handkerchief. - -"Now--let's see it, dear." - -Julie held it up and Evelyn pounced. - -"There!" - -Julie surveyed her swathed thumb doubtfully. She crooked it; it -waggled. A pleased, interested look appeared in her tear-stained -face. She sniffled and waggled it again. - -"You PRECIOUS!" cried Evylyn and kissed her, but before she left -the room she levelled another frown at Hilda. Careless! Servants -all that way nowadays. If she could get a good Irishwoman-- but -you couldn't any more--and these Swedes--- - -At five o'clock Harold arrived and, coming up to her room, -threatened in a suspiciously jovial tone to kiss her thirty-five -times for her birthday. Evylyn resisted. - -"You've been drinking," she said shortly, and then added -qualitatively, "a little. You know I loathe the smell of it." - -"Evie," he said after a pause, seating himself in a chair by the -window, "I can tell you something now. I guess you've known -things haven't beep going quite right down-town." - -She was standing at the window combing her hair, but at these -words she turned and looked at him. - -"How do you mean? You've always said there was room for more than -one wholesale hardware house in town." Her voice expressed some -alarm. - -"There WAS," said Harold significantly, "but this Clarence Ahearn -is a smart man." - -"I was surprised when you said he was coming to dinner." - -"Evie," he went on, with another slap at his knee, "after January -first 'The Clarence Ahearn Company' becomes 'The Ahearn, Piper -Company'--and 'Piper Brothers' as a company ceases to -exist." - -Evylyn was startled. The sound of his name in second place was -somehow hostile to her; still he appeared jubilant. - -"I don't understand, Harold." - -"Well, Evie, Ahearn has been fooling around with Marx. If those -two had combined we'd have been the little fellow, struggling -along, picking up smaller orders, hanging back on risks. It's a -question of capital, Evie, and 'Ahearn and Marx' would have had -the business just like 'Ahearn and Piper' is going to now." He -paused and coughed and a little cloud of whiskey floated up to -her nostrils. "Tell you the truth, Evie, I've suspected that -Ahearn's wife had something to do with it. Ambitious little lady, -I'm told. Guess she knew the Marxes couldn't help her much -here." - -"Is she--common?" asked Evie. - -"Never met her, I'm sure--but I don't doubt it. Clarence Ahearn's -name's been up at the Country Club five months--no action -taken." He waved his hand disparagingly. "Ahearn and I had lunch -together to-day and just about clinched it, so I thought it'd be -nice to have him and his wife up to-night--just have nine, mostly -family. After all, it's a big thing for me, and of course we'll -have to see something of them, Evie." - -"Yes," said Evie thoughtfully, "I suppose we will." - -Evylyn was not disturbed over the social end of it--but the idea -of "Piper Brothers" becoming "The Ahearn, Piper Company" startled -her. It seemed like going down in the world. - -Half an hour later, as she began to dress for dinner, she heard -his voice from down-stairs. - -"Oh, Evie, come down!" - -She went out into the hall and called over the banister: - -"What is it?" - -"I want you to help me make some of that punch before dinner. " - -Hurriedly rehooking her dress, she descended the stairs and found -him grouping the essentials on the dining-room table. She went -to the sideboard and, lifting one of the bowls, carried it -over. - -"Oh, no," he protested, "let's use the big one. There'll be -Ahearn and his wife and you and I and Milton, that's five, and -Tom and Jessie, that's seven: and your sister and Joe Ambler, -that's nine. You don't know how quick that stuff goes when YOU -make it." - -"We'll use this bowl," she insisted. "It'll hold plenty. You know -how Tom is." - -Tom Lowrie, husband to Jessie, Harold's first cousin, was rather -inclined to finish anything in a liquid way that he began. - -Harold shook his head. - -"Don't be foolish. That one holds only about three quarts and -there's nine of us, and the servants'll want some--and it isn't -strong punch. It's so much more cheerful to have a lot, Evie; we -don't have to drink all of it." - -"I say the small one." - -Again he shook his head obstinately. - -"No; be reasonable." - -"I AM reasonable," she said shortly. "I don't want any drunken -men in the house." - -"Who said you did?" - -"Then use the small bowl." - -"Now, Evie---" - -He grasped the smaller bowl to lift it back. Instantly her hands -were on it, holding it down. There was a momentary struggle, and -then, with a little exasperated grunt, he raised his side, -slipped it from her fingers, and carried it to the sideboard. - -She looked at him and tried to make her expression contemptuous, -but he only laughed. Acknowledging her defeat but disclaiming all -future interest in the punch, she left the room. - - - -III - - -At seven-thirty, her cheeks glowing and her high-piled hair -gleaming with a suspicion of brilliantine, Evylyn descended the -stairs. Mrs. Ahearn, a little woman concealing a slight -nervousness under red hair and an extreme Empire gown, greeted -her volubly. Evelyn disliked her on the spot, but the husband she -rather approved of. He had keen blue eyes and a natural gift of -pleasing people that might have made him, socially, had he not so -obviously committed the blunder of marrying too early in his -career. - -"I'm glad to know Piper's wife," he said simply. "It looks as -though your husband and I are going to see a lot of each other in -the future." - -She bowed, smiled graciously, and turned to greet the others: -Milton Piper, Harold's quiet, unassertive younger brother; the -two Lowries, Jessie and Tom; Irene, her own unmarried sister; and -finally Joe Ambler, a confirmed bachelor and Irene's perennial -beau. - -Harold led the way into dinner. - -"We're having a punch evening," he announced jovially--Evylyn saw -that he had already sampled his concoction--"so there won't be -any cocktails except the punch. It's m' wife's greatest -achievement, Mrs. Ahearn; she'll give you the recipe if you want -it; but owing to a slight"--he caught his wife's eye and paused ---"to a slight indisposition; I'm responsible for this batch. -Here's how!" - -All through dinner there was punch, and Evylyn, noticing that -Ahearn and Milton Piper and all the women were shaking their -heads negatively at the maid, knew she bad been right about the -bowl; it was still half full. She resolved to caution Harold -directly afterward, but when the women left the table Mrs. Ahearn -cornered her, and she found herself talking cities and -dressmakers with a polite show of interest. - -"We've moved around a lot," chattered Mrs. Ahearn, her red head -nodding violently. "Oh, yes, we've never stayed so long in a town -before--but I do hope we're here for good. I like it here; don't -you?" - -"Well, you see, I've always lived here, so, naturally---" - -"Oh, that's true," said Mrs. Ahearn and laughed. Clarence always -used to tell me he had to have a wife he could come home to and -say: "Well, we're going to Chicago to-morrow to live, so pack -up." - -I got so I never expected to live ANYwhere." She laughed her -little laugh again; Evylyn suspected that it was her society -laugh. - -"Your husband is a very able man, I imagine." - -"Oh, yes," Mrs. Ahearn assured her eagerly. "He's brainy, -Clarence is. Ideas and enthusiasm, you know. Finds out what he -wants and then goes and gets it." - -Evylyn nodded. She was wondering if the men were still drinking -punch back in the dining-room. Mrs. Ahearn's history kept -unfolding jerkily, but Evylyn had ceased to listen. The first -odor of massed cigars began to drift in. It wasn't really a large -house, she reflected; on an evening like this the library -sometimes grew blue with smoke, and next day one had to leave the -windows open for hours to air the heavy staleness out of the -curtains. Perhaps this partnership might . . . she began to -speculate on a new house . . . - -Mrs. Ahearn's voice drifted in on her: - -"I really would like the recipe if you have it written down -somewhere---" - -Then there was a sound of chairs in the dining-room and the men -strolled in. Evylyn saw at once that her worst fears were -realized. Harold's face was flushed and his words ran together at -the ends of sentences, while Tom Lowrie lurched when he walked -and narrowly missed Irene's lap when he tried to sink onto the -couch beside her. He sat there blinking dazedly at the company. -Evylyn found herself blinking back at him, but she saw no humor in -it. Joe Ambler was smiling contentedly and purring on his cigar. -Only Ahearn and Milton Piper seemed unaffected. - -"It's a pretty fine town, Ahearn," said Ambler, "you'll find -that." - -"I've found it so," said Ahearn pleasantly. - -"You find it more, Ahearn," said Harold, nodding emphatically "'f -I've an'thin' do 'th it." - -He soared into a eulogy of the city, and Evylyn wondered -uncomfortably if it bored every one as it bored her. Apparently -not. They were all listening attentively. Evylyn broke in at the -first gap. - -"Where've you been living, Mr. Ahearn?" she asked interestedly. -Then she remembered that Mrs. Ahearn had told her, but it didn't -matter. Harold mustn't talk so much. He was such an ASS when he'd -been drinking. But he plopped directly back in. - -"Tell you, Ahearn. Firs' you wanna get a house up here on the -hill. Get Stearne house or Ridgeway house. Wanna have it so -people say: 'There's Ahearn house.' Solid, you know, tha's effec' -it gives." - -Evylyn flushed. This didn't sound right at all. Still Ahearn -didn't seem to notice anything amiss, only nodded gravely. - -"Have you been looking---" But her words trailed off unheard as -Harold's voice boomed on. - -"Get house--tha's start. Then you get know people. Snobbish town -first toward outsider, but not long--after know you. People like -you"--he indicated Ahearn and his wife with a sweeping -gesture--"all right. Cordial as an'thin' once get by first -barrer-bar- barrer--" He swallowed, and then said "barrier," -repeated it masterfully. - -Evylyn looked appealingly at her brother-in-law, but before he -could intercede a thick mumble had come crowding out of Tom -Lowrie, hindered by the dead cigar which he gripped firmly with -his teeth. - -"Huma uma ho huma ahdy um---" - -"What?" demanded Harold earnestly. - -Resignedly and with difficulty Tom removed the cigar--that is, he -removed part of it, and then blew the remainder with a WHUT -sound across the room, where it landed liquidly and limply in -Mrs. Ahearn's lap. - -"Beg pardon," he mumbled, and rose with the vague intention of -going after it. Milton's hand on his coat collapsed him in time, -and Mrs. Ahearn not ungracefully flounced the tobacco from her -skirt to the floor, never once looking at it. - -"I was sayin'," continued Tom thickly, "'fore 'at happened,"--he -waved his hand apologetically toward Mrs. Ahearn--"I was sayin' I -heard all truth that Country Club matter." - -Milton leaned and whispered something to him. - -"Lemme 'lone," he said petulantly; "know what I'm doin'. 'Ats -what they came for." - -Evylyn sat there in a panic, trying to make her mouth form words. -She saw her sister's sardonic expression and Mrs. Ahearn's face -turning a vivid red. Ahearn was looking down at his watch-chain, -fingering it. - -"I heard who's been keepin' y' out, an' he's not a bit better'n -you. I can fix whole damn thing up. Would've before, but I didn't -know you. Harol' tol' me you felt bad about the thing---" - -Milton Piper rose suddenly and awkwardly to his feet. In a second -every one was standing tensely and Milton was saying something -very hurriedly about having to go early, and the Ahearns were -listening with eager intentness. Then Mrs. Ahearn swallowed and -turned with a forced smile toward Jessie. Evylyn saw Tom lurch -forward and put his hand on Ahearns shoulder--and suddenly she -was listening to a new, anxious voice at her elbow, and, turning, -found Hilda, the second maid. - -"Please, Mis' Piper, I tank Yulie got her hand poisoned. It's all -swole up and her cheeks is hot and she's moanin' an' -groanin'---" - -"Julie is?" Evylyn asked sharply. The party suddenly receded. She -turned quickly, sought with her eyes for Mrs. Ahearn, slipped -toward her. - -"If you'll excuse me, Mrs.--" She had momentarily forgotten the -name, but she went right on: "My little girl's been taken sick. -I'll be down when I can." She turned and ran quickly up the -stairs, retaining a confused picture of rays of cigar smoke and a -loud discussion in the centre of the room that seemed to be -developing into an argument. - -Switching on the light in the nursery, she found Julie tossing -feverishly and giving out odd little cries. She put her hand -against the cheeks. They were burning. With an exclamation she -followed the arm down under the cover until she found the hand. -Hilda was right. The whole thumb was swollen to the wrist and in -the centre was a little inflamed sore. Blood-poisoning! her mind -cried in terror. The bandage had come off the cut and she'd -gotten something in it. She'd cut it at three o'clock--it was now -nearly eleven. Eight hours. Blood-poisoning couldn't possibly -develop so soon. - -She rushed to the 'phone. - -Doctor Martin across the street was out. Doctor Foulke, their -family physician, didn't answer. She racked her brains and in -desperation called her throat specialist, and bit her lip -furiously while he looked up the numbers of two physicians. -During that interminable moment she thought she heard loud voices -down-stairs--but she seemed to be in another world now. After -fifteen minutes she located a physician who sounded angry and -sulky at being called out of bed. She ran back to the nursery -and, looking at the hand, found it was somewhat more -swollen. - -"Oh, God!" she cried, and kneeling beside the bed began smoothing -back Julie's hair over and over. With a vague idea of getting -some hot water, she rose and stared toward the door, but the lace -of her dress caught in the bed-rail and she fell forward on her -hands and knees. She struggled up and jerked frantically at the -lace. The bed moved and Julie groaned. Then more quietly but with -suddenly fumbling fingers she found the pleat in front, tore the -whole pannier completely off, and -rushed from the room. - -Out in the hall she heard a single loud, insistent voice, but as -she reached the head of the stairs it ceased and an outer door -banged. - -The music-room came into view. Only Harold and Milton were there, -the former leaning against a chair, his face very pale, his -collar open, and his mouth moving loosely. - -"What's the matter?" - -Milton looked at her anxiously. - -"There was a little trouble---" - -Then Harold saw her and, straightening up with an effort, began -to speak. - -"Sult m'own cousin m'own house. God damn common nouveau rish. -'Sult m'own cousin---" - -"Tom had trouble with Ahearn and Harold interfered," said Milton. -"My Lord Milton," cried Evylyn, "couldn't you have done -something?" - -"I tried; I---" - -"Julie's sick," she interrupted; "she's poisoned herself. Get him -to bed if you can." - -Harold looked up. - -"Julie sick?" - -Paying no attention, Evylyn brushed by through the dining-room, -catching sight, with a burst of horror, of the big punch-bowl -still on the table, the liquid from melted ice in its bottom. She -heard steps on the front stairs--it was Milton helping Harold -up--and then a mumble: "Why, Julie's a'righ'." - -"Don't let him go into the nursery!" she shouted. - -The hours blurred into a nightmare. The doctor arrived just -before midnight and within a half-hour had lanced the wound. He -left at two after giving her the addresses of two nurses to call -up and promising to return at half past six. It was -blood-poisoning. - -At four, leaving Hilda by the bedside, she went to her room, and -slipping with a shudder out of her evening dress, kicked it into a -corner. She put on a house dress and returned to the nursery -while Hilda went to make coffee. - -Not until noon could she bring herself to look into Harold's -room, but when she did it was to find him awake and staring very -miserably at the ceiling. He turned blood-shot hollow eyes upon -her. For a minute she hated him, couldn't speak. A husky voice -came from the bed. - -"What time is it?" - -"Noon." - -"I made a damn fool---" - -"It doesn't matter," she said sharply. "Julie's got -blood-poisoning. They may"--she choked over the words--"they -think she'll have to lose her hand." - -"What?" - -"She cut herself on that--that bowl." - -"Last night?" - -"Oh, what does it matter?" see cried; "she's got blood-poisoning. -Can't you hear?" He looked at her bewildered--sat half-way up -in bed. - -"I'll get dressed," he said. - -Her anger subsided and a great wave of weariness and pity for him -rolled over her. After all, it was his trouble, too." - -"Yes," she answered listlessly, "I suppose you'd better." - - - -IV - - -If Evylyn's beauty had hesitated an her early thirties it came to -an abrupt decision just afterward and completely left her. A -tentative outlay of wrinkles on her face suddenly deepened and -flesh collected rapidly on her legs and hips and arms. Her -mannerism of drawing her brows together had become an -expression--it was habitual when she was reading or speaking and -even while she slept. She was forty-six. - -As in most families whose fortunes have gone down rather than up, -she and Harold had drifted into a colorless antagonism. In -repose they looked at each other with the toleration they might -have felt for broken old chairs; Evylyn worried a little when he -was sick and did her best to be cheerful under the wearying -depression of living with a disappointed man. - -Family bridge was over for the evening and she sighed with -relief. She had made more mistakes than usual this evening and -she didn't care. Irene shouldn't have made that remark about the -infantry being particularly dangerous. There had been no letter -for three weeks now, and, while this was nothing out of the -ordinary, it never failed to make her nervous; naturally she -hadn't known how many clubs were out. - -Harold had gone up-stairs, so she stepped out on the porch for a -breath of fresh air. There was a bright glamour of moonlight -diffusing on the sidewalks and lawns, and with a little half -yawn, half laugh, she remembered one long moonlight affair of her -youth. It was astonishing to think that life had once been the -sum of her current love-affairs. It was now the sum of her -current problems. - -There was the problem of Julie--Julie was thirteen, and lately -she was growing more and more sensitive about her deformity and -preferred to stay always in her room reading. A few years before -she had been frightened at the idea of going to school, and -Evylyn could not bring herself to send her, so she grew up in her -mother's shadow, a pitiful little figure with the artificial -hand that she made no attempt to use but kept forlornly in her -pocket. Lately she had been taking lessons in using it because -Evylyn had feared she would cease to lift the arm altogether, but -after the lessons, unless she made a move with it in listless -obedience to her mother, the little hand would creep back to the -pocket of her dress. For a while her dresses were made without -pockets, but Julie had moped around the house so miserably at a -loss all one month that Evylyn weakened and never tried the -experiment again. - -The problem of Donald had been different from the start. She had -attempted vainly to keep him near her as she had tried to teach -Julie to lean less on her--lately the problem of Donald had been -snatched out of her hands; his division had been abroad for three -months. - -She yawned again--life was a thing for youth. What a happy youth -she must have had! She remembered her pony, Bijou, and the trip -to Europe with her mother when she was eighteen--- - -"Very, very complicated," she said aloud and severely to the -moon, and, stepping inside, was about to close the door when she -heard a noise in the library and started. - -It was Martha, the middle-aged servant: they kept only one now. - -"Why, Martha!" she said in surprise. - -Martha turned quickly. - -"Oh, I thought you was up-stairs. I was jist---" - -"Is anything the matter?" - -Martha hesitated. - -"No; I---" She stood there fidgeting. "It was a letter, Mrs. -Piper, that I put somewhere. - -"A letter? Your own letter?" asked Evylyn. - -"No, it was to you. 'Twas this afternoon, Mrs. Piper, in the last -mail. The postman give it to me and then the back door-bell -rang. I had it in my hand, so I must have stuck it somewhere. I -thought I'd just slip in now and find it." - -"What sort of a letter? From Mr. Donald?" - -"No, it was an advertisement, maybe, or a business letter. It was -a long narrow one, I remember." - -They began a search through the music-room, looking on trays and -mantelpieces, and then through the library, feeling on the tops -of rows of books. Martha paused in despair. - -"I can't think where. I went straight to the kitchen. The -dining-room, maybe." She started hopefully for the dining-room, -but turned suddenly at the sound of a gasp behind her. Evylyn had -sat down heavily in a Morris chair, her brows drawn very close -together eyes blanking furiously. - -"Are you sick?" - -For a minute there was no answer. Evylyn sat there very still and -Martha could see the very quick rise and fall of her bosom. - -"Are you sick?" she repeated. - -"No," said Evylyn slowly, "but I know where the letter is. Go -'way, Martha. I know." - -Wonderingly, Martha withdrew, and still Evylyn sat there, only -the muscles around her eyes moving --contracting and relaxing and -contracting again. She knew now where the letter was--she knew -as well as if she had put it there herself. And she felt -instinctively and unquestionably what the letter was. It was long -and narrow like an advertisement, but up in the corner in large -letters it said "War Department" and, in smaller letters below, -"Official Business." She knew it lay there in the big bowl with -her name in ink on the outside and her soul's death within. - -Rising uncertainly, she walked toward the dining-room, feeling -her way along the bookcases and through the doorway. After a -moment she found the light and switched it on. - -There was the bowl, reflecting the electric light in crimson -squares edged with black and yellow squares edged with blue, -ponderous and glittering, grotesquely and triumphantly ominous. -She took a step forward and paused again; another step and she -would see over the top and into the inside--another step and she -would see an edge of white--another step--her hands fell on the -rough, cold surface-- - -In a moment she was tearing it open, fumbling with an obstinate -fold, holding it before her while the typewritten page glared out -and struck at her. Then it fluttered like a bird to the floor. -The house that had seemed whirring, buzzing a moment since, was -suddenly very quiet; a breath of air crept in through the open -front door carrying the noise of a passing motor; she heard faint -sounds from upstairs and then a grinding racket in the pipe -behind the bookcases-her husband turning of a water- -tap--- - -And in that instant it was as if this were not, after all, -Donald's hour except in so far as he was a marker in the -insidious contest that had gone on in sudden surges and long, -listless interludes between Evylyn and this cold, malignant thing -of beauty, a gift of enmity from a man whose face she had long -since forgotten. With its massive, brooding passivity it lay -there in the centre of her house as it had lain for years, -throwing out the ice-like beams of a thousand eyes, perverse -glitterings merging each into each, never aging, never changing. - -Evylyn sat down on the edge of the table and stared at it -fascinated. It seemed to be smiling now, a very cruel smile, as -if to say: - -"You see, this time I didn't have to hurt you directly. I didn't -bother. You know it was I who took your son away. You know how -cold I am and how hard and how beautiful, because once you were -just as cold and hard and beautiful." - -The bowl seemed suddenly to turn itself over and then to distend -and swell until it became a great canopy that glittered and -trembled over the room, over the house, and, as the walls melted -slowly into mist, Evylyn saw that it was still moving out, out -and far away from her, shutting off far horizons and suns and -moons and stars except as inky blots seen faintly through it. And -under it walked all the people, and the light that came through -to them was refracted and twisted until shadow seamed light and -light seemed shadow--until the whole panoply of the world became -changed and distorted under the twinkling heaven of -the bowl. - -Then there came a far-away, booming voice like a low, clear bell. -It came from the centre of the bowl and down the great sides to -the ground and then bounced toward her eagerly. - -"You see, I am fate," it shouted, "and stronger than your puny -plans; and I am how-things-turn-out and I am different from your -little dreams, and I am the flight of time and the end of beauty -and unfulfilled desire; all the accidents and imperceptions and -the little minutes that shape the crucial hours are mine. I am -the exception that proves no rules, the limits of your control, -the condiment in the dish of life." - -The booming sound stopped; the echoes rolled away over the wide -land to the edge of the bowl that bounded the world and up the -great sides and back to the centre where they hummed for a moment -and died. Then the great walls began slowly to bear down upon -her, growing smaller and smaller, coming closer and closer as if -to crush her; and as she clinched her hands and waited for the -swift bruise of the cold glass, the bowl gave a sudden wrench and -turned over--and lay there on the side-board, shining and -inscrutable, reflecting in a hundred prisms, myriad, many-colored -glints and gleams and crossings and interlaces of light. - -The cold wind blew in again through to front door, and with a -desperate, frantic energy Evylyn stretched both her arms around -the bowl. She must be quick--she must be strong. She tightened -her arms until they ached, tauted the thin strips of muscle under -her soft flesh, and with a mighty effort raised it and held it. -She felt the wind blow cold on her back where her dress had come -apart from the strain of her effort, and as she felt it she -turned toward it and staggered under the great weight out through -the library and on toward the front door. She must be -quick--she must be strong. The blood in her arms throbbed dully -and her knees kept giving way under her, but the feel of the cool -glass was good. - -Out the front door she tottered and over to the stone steps, and -there, summoning every fibre of her soul and body for a last -effort, swung herself half around--for a second, as she tried to -loose her hold, her numb fingers clung to the rough surface, and -in that second she slipped and, losing balance, toppled forward -with a despairing cry, her arms still around the bowl . . . down -. . . - -Over the way lights went on; far down the block the crash was -heard, and pedestrians rushed up wonderingly; up-stairs a tired -man awoke from the edge of sleep and a little girl whimpered in a -haunted doze. And all over the moonlit sidewalk around the -still, black form, hundreds of prisms and cubes and splinters of -glass reflected the light in little gleams of blue, and black -edged with yellow, and yellow, and crimson edged with black. - - - - - -Bernice Bobs Her Hair - - - - -After dark on Saturday night one could stand on the first tee of -the golf-course and see the country-club windows as a yellow -expanse over a very black and wavy ocean. The waves of this -ocean, so to speak, were the heads of many curious caddies, a few -of the more ingenious chauffeurs, the golf professional's deaf -sister--and there were usually several stray, diffident waves who -might have rolled inside had they so desired. This was the -gallery. - -The balcony was inside. It consisted of the circle of wicker -chairs that lined the wall of the combination clubroom and -ballroom. At these Saturday-night dances it was largely feminine; -a great babel of middle-aged ladies with sharp eyes and icy -hearts behind lorgnettes and large bosoms. The main function of -the balcony was critical, it occasionally showed grudging -admiration, but never approval, for it is well known among ladies -over thirty-five that when the younger set dance in the -summer-time it is with the very worst intentions in the world, -and if they are not bombarded with stony eyes stray couples will -dance weird barbaric interludes in the corners, and the more -popular, more dangerous, girls will sometimes be kissed in the -parked limousines of unsuspecting dowagers. - -But, after all, this critical circle is not close enough to the -stage to see the actors' faces and catch the subtler byplay. It -can only frown and lean, ask questions and make satisfactory -deductions from its set of postulates, such as the one which -states that every young man with a large income leads the life of -a hunted partridge. It never really appreciates the drama of the -shifting, semi-cruel world of adolescence. No; boxes, -orchestra-circle, principals, and chorus be represented by the -medley of faces and voices that sway to the plaintive African -rhythm of Dyer's dance orchestra. - ->From sixteen-year-old Otis Ormonde, who has two more years at -Hill School, to G. Reece Stoddard, over whose bureau at home -hangs a Harvard law diploma; from little Madeleine Hogue, whose -hair still feels strange and uncomfortable on top of her head, to -Bessie MacRae, who has been the life of the party a little too -long--more than ten years--the medley is not only the centre of -the stage but contains the only people capable of getting an -unobstructed view of it. - -With a flourish and a bang the music stops. The couples exchange -artificial, effortless smiles, facetiously repeat "LA-de-DA-DA -dum-DUM," and then the clatter of young feminine voices soars -over the burst of clapping. - -A few disappointed stags caught in midfloor as they bad been -about to cut in subsided listlessly back to the walls, because -this was not like the riotous Christmas dances--these summer -hops were considered just pleasantly warm and exciting, where -even the younger marrieds rose and performed ancient waltzes and -terrifying fox trots to the tolerant amusement of their younger -brothers and sisters. - -Warren McIntyre, who casually attended Yale, being one of the -unfortunate stags, felt in his dinner-coat pocket for a cigarette -and strolled out onto the wide, semidark veranda, where couples -were scattered at tables, filling the lantern-hung night with -vague words and hazy laughter. He nodded here and there at the -less absorbed and as he passed each couple some half-forgotten -fragment of a story played in his mind, for it was not a large -city and every one was Who's Who to every one else's past. There, -for example, were Jim Strain and Ethel Demorest, who had been -privately engaged for three years. Every one knew that as soon as -Jim managed to hold a job for more than two months she would -marry him. Yet how bored they both looked, and how wearily Ethel -regarded Jim sometimes, as if she wondered why she had trained -the vines of her affection on such a wind-shaken poplar. - -Warren was nineteen and rather pitying with those of his friends -who hadn't gone East to college. But, like most boys, he bragged -tremendously about the girls of his city when he was away from -it. There was Genevieve Ormonde, who regularly made the rounds of -dances, house-parties, and football games at Princeton, Yale, -Williams, and Cornell; there was black-eyed Roberta Dillon, who -was quite as famous to her own generation as Hiram Johnson or Ty -Cobb; and, of course, there was Marjorie Harvey, who besides -having a fairylike face and a dazzling, bewildering tongue was -already justly celebrated for having turned five cart-wheels in -succession during the last pump-and-slipper dance at New Haven. - -Warren, who had grown up across the street from Marjorie, had -long been "crazy about her." Sometimes she seemed to reciprocate -his feeling with a faint gratitude, but she had tried him by her -infallible test and informed him gravely that she did not love -him. Her test was that when she was away from him she forgot him -and had affairs with other boys. Warren found this discouraging, -especially as Marjorie had been making little trips all summer, -and for the first two or three days after each arrival home he -saw great heaps of mail on the Harveys' hall table addressed to -her in various masculine handwritings. To make matters worse, all -during the month of August she had been visited by her cousin -Bernice from Eau Claire, and it seemed impossible to see her -alone. It was always necessary to hunt round and find some one to -take care of Bernice. As August waned this was becoming more and -more difficult. - -Much as Warren worshipped Marjorie he had to admit that Cousin -Bernice was sorta dopeless. She was pretty, with dark hair and -high color, but she was no fun on a party. Every Saturday night -he danced a long arduous duty dance with her to please Marjorie, -but he had never been anything but bored in her company. - -"Warren"---a soft voice at his elbow broke in upon his thoughts, -and he turned to see Marjorie, flushed and radiant as usual. She -laid a hand on his shoulder and a glow settled almost -imperceptibly over him. - -"Warren," she whispered "do something for me--dance with Bernice. -She's been stuck with little Otis Ormonde for almost an -hour." - -Warren's glow faded. - -"Why--sure," he answered half-heartedly. - -"You don't mind, do you? I'll see that you don't get stuck." - -"'Sall right." - -Marjorie smiled--that smile that was thanks enough. - -"You're an angel, and I'm obliged loads." - -With a sigh the angel glanced round the veranda, but Bernice and -Otis were not in sight. He wandered back inside, and there in -front of the women's dressing-room he found Otis in the centre of -a group of young men who were convulsed with laughter. Otis was -brandishing a piece of timber he had picked up, and discoursing -volubly. - -"She's gone in to fix her hair," he announced wildly. "I'm -waiting to dance another hour with her." - -Their laughter was renewed. - -"Why don't some of you cut in?" cried Otis resentfully. "She -likes more variety." - -"Why, Otis," suggested a friend "you've just barely got used to -her." - -"Why the two-by-four, Otis?" inquired Warren, smiling. - -"The two-by-four? Oh, this? This is a club. When she comes out -I'll hit her on the head and knock her in again." - -Warren collapsed on a settee and howled with glee. - -"Never mind, Otis," he articulated finally. "I'm relieving you -this time." - -Otis simulated a sudden fainting attack and handed the stick to -Warren. - -"If you need it, old man," he said hoarsely. - -No matter how beautiful or brilliant a girl may be, the -reputation of not being frequently cut in on makes her position -at a dance unfortunate. Perhaps boys prefer her company to that -of the butterflies with whom they dance a dozen times an but, -youth in this jazz-nourished generation is temperamentally -restless, and the idea of fox-trotting more than one full fox -trot with the same girl is distasteful, not to say odious. When -it comes to several dances and the intermissions between she can -be quite sure that a young man, once relieved, will never tread -on her wayward toes again. - -Warren danced the next full dance with Bernice, and finally, -thankful for the intermission, he led her to a table on the -veranda. There was a moment's silence while she did unimpressive -things with her fan. - -"It's hotter here than in Eau Claire," she said. - -Warren stifled a sigh and nodded. It might be for all he knew or -cared. He wondered idly whether she was a poor conversationalist -because she got no attention or got no attention because she was -a poor conversationalist. - -"You going to be here much longer?" he asked and then turned -rather red. She might suspect his reasons for asking. - -"Another week," she answered, and stared at him as if to lunge at -his next remark when it left his lips. - -Warren fidgeted. Then with a sudden charitable impulse he decided -to try part of his line on her. He turned and looked at her -eyes. - -"You've got an awfully kissable mouth," he began quietly. - -This was a remark that he sometimes made to girls at college -proms when they were talking in just such half dark as this. -Bernice distinctly jumped. She turned an ungraceful red and -became clumsy with her fan. No one had ever made such a remark to -her before. - -"Fresh!"---the word had slipped out before she realized it, and -she bit her lip. Too late she decided to be amused, and offered -him a flustered smile. - -Warren was annoyed. Though not accustomed to have that remark -taken seriously, still it usually provoked a laugh or a paragraph -of sentimental banter. And he hated to be called fresh, except -in a joking way. His charitable impulse died and he switched the -topic. - -"Jim Strain and Ethel Demorest sitting out as usual," he -commented. - -This was more in Bernice's line, but a faint regret mingled with -her relief as the subject changed. Men did not talk to her about -kissable mouths, but she knew that they talked in some such way -to other girls. - -"Oh, yes," she said, and laughed. "I hear they've been mooning -around for years without a red penny. Isn't it silly?" - -Warren's disgust increased. Jim Strain was a close friend of his -brother's, and anyway he considered it bad form to sneer at -people for not having money. But Bernice had had no intention of -sneering. She was merely nervous. - - - -II - - -When Marjorie and Bernice reached home at half after midnight -they said good night at the top of the stairs. Though cousins, -they were not intimates. As a matter of fact Marjorie had no -female intimates--she considered girls stupid. Bernice on the -contrary all through this parent-arranged visit had rather longed -to exchange those confidences flavored with giggles and tears -that she considered an indispensable factor in all feminine -intercourse. But in this respect she found Marjorie rather cold; -felt somehow the same difficulty in talking to her that she had -in talking to men. Marjorie never giggled, was never frightened, -seldom embarrassed, and in fact had very few of the qualities -which Bernice considered appropriately and blessedly feminine. - -As Bernice busied herself with tooth-brush and paste this night -she wondered for the hundredth time why she never had any -attention when she was away from home. That her family were the -wealthiest in Eau Claire; that her mother entertained -tremendously, gave little diners for her daughter before all -dances and bought her a car of her own to drive round in, never -occurred to her as factors in her home-town social success. Like -most girls she had been brought up on the warm milk prepared by -Annie Fellows Johnston and on novels in which the female was -beloved because of certain mysterious womanly qualities always -mentioned but never displayed. - -Bernice felt a vague pain that she was not at present engaged in -being popular. She did not know that had it not been for -Marjorie's campaigning she would have danced the entire evening -with one man; but she knew that even in Eau Claire other girls -with less position and less pulchritude were given a much bigger -rush. She attributed this to something subtly unscrupulous in -those girls. It had never worried her, and if it had her mother -would have assured her that the other girls cheapened themselves -and that men really respected girls like Bernice. - -She turned out the light in her bathroom, and on an impulse -decided to go in and chat for a moment with her aunt Josephine, -whose light was still on. Her soft slippers bore her noiselessly -down the carpeted hall, but hearing voices inside she stopped -near the partly openers door. Then she caught her own name, and -without any definite intention of eavesdropping lingered--and the -thread of the conversation going on inside pierced her -consciousness sharply as if it had been drawn through with a -needle. - -"She's absolutely hopeless!" It was Marjorie's voice. "Oh, I know -what you're going to say! So many people have told you how -pretty and sweet she is, and how she can cook! What of it? She -has a bum time. Men don't like her." - -"What's a little cheap popularity?" - -Mrs. Harvey sounded annoyed. - -"It's everything when you're eighteen," said Marjorie -emphatically. "I've done my best. I've been polite and I've made -men dance with her, but they just won't stand being bored. When I -think of that gorgeous coloring wasted on such a ninny, and -think what Martha Carey could do with it--oh!" - -"There's no courtesy these days." - -Mrs. Harvey's voice implied that modern situations were too much -for her. When she was a girl all young ladies who belonged to -nice families had glorious times. - -"Well," said Marjorie, "no girl can permanently bolster up a -lame-duck visitor, because these days it's every girl for -herself. I've even tried to drop hints about clothes and things, -and she's been furious--given me the funniest looks. She's -sensitive enough to know she's not getting away with much, but -I'll bet she consoles herself by thinking that she's very -virtuous and that I'm too gay and fickle and will come to a bad -end. All unpopular girls think that way. Sour grapes! Sarah -Hopkins refers to Genevieve and Roberta and me as gardenia girls! -I'll bet she'd give ten years of her life and her European -education to be a gardenia girl and have three or four men in -love with her and be cut in on every few feet at dances." - -"It seems to me," interrupted Mrs. Harvey rather wearily, "that -you ought to be able to do something for Bernice. I know she's -not very vivacious." - -Marjorie groaned. - -"Vivacious! Good grief! I've never heard her say anything to a -boy except that it's hot or the floor's crowded or that she's -going to school in New York next year. Sometimes she asks them -what kind of car they have and tells them the kind she has. -Thrilling!" - -There was a short silence and then Mrs. Harvey took up her -refrain: - -"All I know is that other girls not half so sweet and attractive -get partners. Martha Carey, for instance, is stout and loud, and -her mother is distinctly common. Roberta Dillon is so thin this -year that she looks as though Arizona were the place for her. -She's dancing herself to death." - -"But, mother," objected Marjorie impatiently, "Martha is cheerful -and awfully witty and an awfully slick girl, and Roberta's a -marvellous dancer. She's been popular for ages!" - -Mrs. Harvey yawned. - -"I think it's that crazy Indian blood in Bernice," continued -Marjorie. "Maybe she's a reversion to type. Indian women all -just sat round and never said anything." - -"Go to bed, you silly child," laughed Mrs. Harvey. "I wouldn't -have told you that if I'd thought you were going to remember it. -And I think most of your ideas are perfectly idiotic," she -finished sleepily. - -There was another silence, while Marjorie considered whether or -not convincing her mother was worth the trouble. People over -forty can seldom be permanently convinced of anything. At -eighteen our convictions are hills from which we look; at -forty-five they are caves in which we hide. - -Having decided this, Marjorie said good night. When she came out -into the hall it was quite empty. - - - -III - - -While Marjorie was breakfasting late next day Bernice came into -the room with a rather formal good morning, sat down opposite, -stared intently over and slightly moistened her lips. - -"What's on your mind?" inquired Marjorie, rather puzzled. - -Bernice paused before she threw her hand-grenade. - -"I heard what you said about me to your mother last night." - -Marjorie was startled, but she showed only a faintly heightened -color and her voice was quite even when she spoke. - -"Where were you?" - -"In the hall. I didn't mean to listen--at first." - -After an involuntary look of contempt Marjorie dropped her eyes -and became very interested in balancing a stray corn-flake on her -finger." - -"I guess I'd better go back to Eau Claire--if I'm such a -nuisance." Bernice's lower lip was trembling violently and she -continued on a wavering note: "I've tried to be nice, and--and -I've been first neglected and then insulted. No one ever visited -me and got such treatment." - -Marjorie was silent. - -"But I'm in the way, I see. I'm a drag on you. Your friends don't -like me." She paused, and then remembered another one of her -grievances. "Of course I was furious last week when you tried to -hint to me that that dress was unbecoming. Don't you think I know -how to dress myself?" - -"No," murmured less than half-aloud. - -"What?" - -"I didn't hint anything," said Marjorie succinctly. "I said, as I -remember, that it was better to wear a becoming dress three -times straight than to alternate it with two frights." - -"Do you think that was a very nice thing to say?" - -"I wasn't trying to be nice." Then after a pause: "When do you -want to go?" - -Bernice drew in her breath sharply. - -"Oh!" It was a little half-cry. - -Marjorie looked up in surprise. - -"Didn't you say you were going?" - -"Yes, but---" - -"Oh, you were only bluffing!" - -They stared at each other across the breakfast-table for a -moment. Misty waves were passing before Bernice's eyes, while -Marjorie's face wore that rather hard expression that she used -when slightly intoxicated undergraduate's were making love to -her. - -"So you were bluffing," she repeated as if it were what she might -have expected. - -Bernice admitted it by bursting into tears. Marjorie's eyes -showed boredom. - -"You're my cousin," sobbed Bernice. "I'm v-v-visiting you. I was -to stay a month, and if I go home my mother will know and she'll -wah-wonder---" - -Marjorie waited until the shower of broken words collapsed into -little sniffles. - -"I'll give you my month's allowance," she said coldly, "and you -can spend this last week anywhere you want. There's a very nice -hotel---" - -Bernice's sobs rose to a flute note, and rising of a sudden she -fled from the room. - -An hour later, while Marjorie was in the library absorbed in -composing one of those non-committal marvelously elusive letters -that only a young girl can write, Bernice reappeared, very -red-eyed, and consciously calm. She cast no glance at Marjorie -but took a book at random from the shelf and sat down as if to -read. Marjorie seemed absorbed in her letter and continued -writing. When the clock showed noon Bernice closed her book with -a snap. - -"I suppose I'd better get my railroad ticket." - -This was not the beginning of the speech she had rehearsed -up-stairs, but as Marjorie was not getting her cues--wasn't -urging her to be reasonable; it's an a mistake--it was the best -opening she could muster. - -"Just wait till I finish this letter," said Marjorie without -looking round. "I want to get it off in the next mail." - -After another minute, during which her pen scratched busily, she -turned round and relaxed with an air of "at your service." Again -Bernice had to speak. - -"Do you want me to go home?" - -"Well," said Marjorie, considering, "I suppose if you're not -having a good time you'd better go. No use being miserable." - -"Don't you think common kindness---" - -"Oh, please don't quote 'Little Women'!" cried Marjorie -impatiently. "That's out of style." - -"You think so?" - -"Heavens, yes! What modern girl could live like those inane -females?" - -"They were the models for our mothers." - -Marjorie laughed. - -"Yes, they were--not! Besides, our mothers were all very well in -their way, but they know very little about their daughters' -problems." - -Bernice drew herself up. - -"Please don't talk about my mother." - -Marjorie laughed. - -"I don't think I mentioned her." - -Bernice felt that she was being led away from her subject. - -"Do you think you've treated me very well?" - -"I've done my best. You're rather hard material to work with." - -The lids of Bernice's eyes reddened. - -"I think you're hard and selfish, and you haven't a feminine -quality in you." - -"Oh, my Lord!" cried Marjorie in desperation "You little nut! -Girls like you are responsible for all the tiresome colorless -marriages; all those ghastly inefficiencies that pass as feminine -qualities. What a blow it must be when a man with imagination -marries the beautiful bundle of clothes that he's been building -ideals round, and finds that she's just a weak, whining, cowardly -mass of affectations!" - -Bernice's mouth had slipped half open. - -"The womanly woman!" continued Marjorie. "Her whole early life is -occupied in whining criticisms of girls like me who really do -have a good time." - -Bernice's jaw descended farther as Marjorie's voice rose. - -"There's some excuse for an ugly girl whining. If I'd been -irretrievably ugly I'd never have forgiven my parents for -bringing me into the world. But you're starting life without any -handicap--" Marjorie's little fist clinched, "If you expect me to -weep with you you'll be disappointed. Go or stay, just as you -like." And picking up her letters she left the room. - -Bernice claimed a headache and failed to appear at luncheon. They -had a matinee date for the afternoon, but the headache -persisting, Marjorie made explanation to a not very downcast boy. -But when she returned late in the afternoon she found Bernice -with a strangely set face waiting for her in her bedroom. - -"I've decided," began Bernice without preliminaries, "that maybe -you're right about things--possibly not. But if you'll tell me -why your friends aren't--aren't interested in me I'll see if I -can do what you want me to." - -Marjorie was at the mirror shaking down her hair. - -"Do you mean it?" - -"Yes." - -"Without reservations? Will you do exactly what I say?" - -"Well, I---" - -"Well nothing! Will you do exactly as I say?" - -"If they're sensible things." - -"They're not! You're no case for sensible things." - -"Are you going to make--to recommend---" - -"Yes, everything. If I tell you to take boxing-lessons you'll -have to do it. Write home and tell your mother you're going' to -stay another two weeks. - -"If you'll tell me---" - -"All right--I'll just give you a few examples now. First you have -no ease of manner. Why? Because you're never sure about your -personal appearance. When a girl feels that she's perfectly -groomed and dressed she can forget that part of her. That's -charm. The more parts of yourself you can afford to forget the -more charm you have." - -"Don't I look all right?" - -"No; for instance you never take care of your eyebrows. They're -black and lustrous, but by leaving them straggly they're a -blemish. They'd be beautiful if you'd take care of them in -one-tenth the time you take doing nothing. You're going to brush -them so that they'll grow straight." - -Bernice raised the brows in question. - -"Do you mean to say that men notice eyebrows?" - -"Yes--subconsciously. And when you go home you ought to have your -teeth straightened a little. It's almost imperceptible, -still---" - -"But I thought," interrupted Bernice in bewilderment, "that you -despised little dainty feminine things like that." - -"I hate dainty minds," answered Marjorie. "But a girl has to be -dainty in person. If she looks like a million dollars she can -talk about Russia, ping-pong, or the League of Nations and get -away with it." - -"What else?" - -"Oh, I'm just beginning! There's your dancing." - -"Don't I dance all right?" - -"No, you don't--you lean on a man; yes, you do--ever so slightly. -I noticed it when we were dancing together yesterday. And you -dance standing up straight instead of bending over a little. -Probably some old lady on the side-line once told you that you -looked so dignified that way. But except with a very small girl -it's much harder on the man, and he's the one that counts." - -"Go on." Bernice's brain was reeling. - -"Well, you've got to learn to be nice to men who are sad birds. -You look as if you'd been insulted whenever you're thrown with -any except the most popular boys. Why, Bernice, I'm cut in on -every few feet--and who does most of it? Why, those very sad -birds. No girl can afford to neglect them. They're the big part -of any crowd. Young boys too shy to talk are the very best -conversational practice. Clumsy boys are the best dancing -practice. If you can follow them and yet look graceful you can -follow a baby tank across a barb-wire sky-scraper." - -Bernice sighed profoundly, but Marjorie was not through. - -"If you go to a dance and really amuse, say, three sad birds that -dance with you; if you talk so well to them that they forget -they're stuck with you, you've done something. They'll come back -next time, and gradually so many sad birds will dance with you -that the attractive boys will see there's no danger of being -stuck--then they'll dance with you." - -"Yes," agreed Bernice faintly. "I think I begin to see." - -"And finally," concluded Marjorie, "poise and charm will just -come. You'll wake up some morning knowing you've attained it and -men will know it too." - -Bernice rose. - -"It's been awfully kind of you--but nobody's ever talked to me -like this before, and I feel sort of startled." - -Marjorie made no answer but gazed pensively at her own image in -the mirror. - -"You're a peach to help me," continued Bernice. - -Still Marjorie did not answer, and Bernice thought she had seemed -too grateful. - -"I know you don't like sentiment," she said timidly. - -Marjorie turned to her quickly. - -"Oh, I wasn't thinking about that. I was considering whether we -hadn't better bob your hair." - -Bernice collapsed backward upon the bed. - - - -IV - - -On the following Wednesday evening there was a dinner-dance at -the country club. When the guests strolled in Bernice found her -place-card with a slight feeling of irritation. Though at her -right sat G. Reece Stoddard, a most desirable and distinguished -young bachelor, the all-important left held only Charley Paulson. -Charley lacked height, beauty, and social shrewdness, and in her -new enlightenment Bernice decided that his only qualification to -be her partner was that he had never been stuck with her. But -this feeling of irritation left with the last of the soup-plates, -and Marjorie's specific instruction came to her. Swallowing her -pride she turned to Charley Paulson and plunged. - -"Do you think I ought to bob my hair, Mr. Charley Paulson?" - -Charley looked up in surprise. - -"Why?" - -"Because I'm considering it. It's such a sure and easy way of -attracting attention." - -Charley smiled pleasantly. He could not know this had been -rehearsed. He replied that he didn't know much about bobbed hair. -But Bernice was there to tell him. - -"I want to be a society vampire, you see," she announced coolly, -and went on to inform him that bobbed hair was the necessary -prelude. She added that she wanted to ask his advice, because she -had heard he was so critical about girls. - -Charley, who knew as much about the psychology of women as he did -of the mental states of Buddhist contemplatives, felt vaguely -flattered. - -"So I've decided," she continued, her voice rising slightly, -"that early next week I'm going down to the Sevier Hotel -barber-shop, sit in the first chair, and get my hair bobbed." She -faltered noticing that the people near her had paused in their -conversation and were listening; but after a confused second -Marjorie's coaching told, and she finished her paragraph to the -vicinity at large. "Of course I'm charging admission, but if -you'll all come down and encourage me I'll issue passes for the -inside seats." - -There was a ripple of appreciative laughter, and under cover of -it G. Reece Stoddard leaned over quickly and said close to her -ear: "I'll take a box right now." - -She met his eyes and smiled as if he had said something -surprisingly brilliant. - -"Do you believe in bobbed hair?" asked G. Reece in the same -undertone. - -"I think it's unmoral," affirmed Bernice gravely. "But, of -course, you've either got to amuse people or feed 'em or shock -'em." Marjorie had culled this from Oscar Wilde. It was greeted -with a ripple of laughter from the men and a series of quick, -intent looks from the girls. And then as though she had said -nothing of wit or moment Bernice turned again to Charley and -spoke confidentially in his ear. - -"I want to ask you your opinion of several people. I imagine -you're a wonderful judge of character." - -Charley thrilled faintly--paid her a subtle compliment by -overturning her water. - -Two hours later, while Warren McIntyre was standing passively in -the stag line abstractedly watching the dancers and wondering -whither and with whom Marjorie had disappeared, an unrelated -perception began to creep slowly upon him--a perception that -Bernice, cousin to Marjorie, had been cut in on several times in -the past five minutes. He closed his eyes, opened them and looked -again. Several minutes back she had been dancing with a visiting -boy, a matter easily accounted for; a visiting boy would know no -better. But now she was dancing with some one else, and there -was Charley Paulson headed for her with enthusiastic -determination in his eye. Funny--Charley seldom danced with more -than three girls an evening. - -Warren was distinctly surprised when--the exchange having been -effected--the man relieved proved to be none ether than G. Reece -Stoddard himself. And G. Reece seemed not at all jubilant at -being relieved. Next time Bernice danced near, Warren regarded -her intently. Yes, she was pretty, distinctly pretty; and -to-night her face seemed really vivacious. She had that look that -no woman, however histrionically proficient, can successfully -counterfeit--she looked as if she were having a good time. He -liked the way she had her hair arranged, wondered if it was -brilliantine that made it glisten so. And that dress was -becoming--a dark red that set off her shadowy eyes and high -coloring. He remembered that he had thought her pretty when she -first came to town, before he had realized that she was dull. Too -bad she was dull--dull girls unbearable--certainly pretty -though. - -His thoughts zigzagged back to Marjorie. This disappearance would -be like other disappearances. When she reappeared he would -demand where she had been--would be told emphatically that it was -none of his business. What a pity she was so sure of him! She -basked in the knowledge that no other girl in town interested -him; she defied him to fall in love with Genevieve or -Roberta. - -Warren sighed. The way to Marjorie's affections was a labyrinth -indeed. He looked up. Bernice was again dancing with the visiting -boy. Half unconsciously he took a step out from the stag line in -her direction, and hesitated. Then he said to himself that it -was charity. He walked toward her --collided suddenly with G. -Reece Stoddard. - -"Pardon me," said Warren. - -But G. Reece had not stopped to apologize. He had again cut in on -Bernice. - -That night at one o'clock Marjorie, with one hand on the -electric-light switch in the hall, turned to take a last look at -Bernice's sparkling eyes. - -"So it worked?" - -"Oh, Marjorie, yes!" cried Bernice. - -"I saw you were having a gay time." - -"I did! The only trouble was that about midnight I ran short of -talk. I had to repeat myself-- with different men of course. I -hope they won't compare notes." - -"Men don't," said Marjorie, yawning, "and it wouldn't matter if -they did--they'd think you were even trickier." - -She snapped out the light, and as they started up the stairs -Bernice grasped the banister thankfully. For the first time in -her life she had been danced tired. - -"You see," said Marjorie it the top of the stairs, "one man sees -another man cut in and he thinks there must be something there. -Well, we'll fix up some new stuff to-morrow. Good night." - -"Good night." - -As Bernice took down her hair she passed the evening before her -in review. She had followed instructions exactly. Even when -Charley Paulson cut in for the eighth time she had simulated -delight and had apparently been both interested and flattered. -She had not talked about the weather or Eau Claire or automobiles -or her school, but had confined her conversation to me, you, and -us. - -But a few minutes before she fell asleep a rebellious thought was -churning drowsily in her brain--after all, it was she who had -done it. Marjorie, to be sure, had given her her conversation, -but then Marjorie got much of her conversation out of things she -read. Bernice had bought the red dress, though she had never -valued it highly before Marjorie dug it out of her trunk--and her -own voice had said the words, her own lips had smiled, her own -feet had danced. Marjorie nice girl--vain, though--nice -evening--nice boys--like Warren--Warren--Warren-- what's his -name--Warren--- - -She fell asleep. - - - -V - - -To Bernice the next week was a revelation. With the feeling that -people really enjoyed looking at her and listening to her came -the foundation of self-confidence. Of course there were numerous -mistakes at first. She did not know, for instance, that -Draycott Deyo was studying for the ministry; she was unaware that -he had cut in on her because he thought she was a quiet, -reserved girl. Had she known these things she would not have -treated him to the line which began "Hello, Shell Shock!" and -continued with the bathtub story--"It takes a frightful lot of -energy to fix my hair in the summer--there's so much of it--so I -always fix it first and powder my face and put on my hat; then I -get into the bathtub, and dress afterward. Don't you think that's -the best plan?" - -Though Draycott Deyo was in the throes of difficulties concerning -baptism by immersion and might possibly have seen a connection, -it must be admitted that he did not. He considered feminine -bathing an immoral subject, and gave her some of his ideas on the -depravity of modern society. - -But to offset that unfortunate occurrence Bernice had several -signal successes to her credit. Little Otis Ormonde pleaded off -from a trip East and elected instead to follow her with a -puppylike devotion, to the amusement of his crowd and to the -irritation of G. Reece Stoddard, several of whose afternoon calls -Otis completely ruined by the disgusting tenderness of the -glances he bent on Bernice. He even told her the story of the -two-by-four and the dressing-room to show her how frightfully -mistaken he and every one else had been in their first judgment -of her. Bernice laughed off that incident with a slight sinking -sensation. - -Of all Bernice's conversation perhaps the best known and most -universally approved was the line about the bobbing of her hair. - -"Oh, Bernice, when you goin' to get the hair bobbed?" - -"Day after to-morrow maybe," she would reply, laughing. "Will you -come and see me? Because I'm counting on you, you know." - -"Will we? You know! But you better hurry up." - -Bernice, whose tonsorial intentions were strictly dishonorable, -would laugh again. - -"Pretty soon now. You'd be surprised." - -But perhaps the most significant symbol of her success was the -gray car of the hypercritical Warren McIntyre, parked daily in -front of the Harvey house. At first the parlor-maid was -distinctly startled when he asked for Bernice instead of -Marjorie; after a week of it she told the cook that Miss Bernice -had gotta holda Miss Marjorie's best fella. - -And Miss Bernice had. Perhaps it began with Warren's desire to -rouse jealousy in Marjorie; perhaps it was the familiar though -unrecognized strain of Marjorie in Bernice's conversation; -perhaps it was both of these and something of sincere attraction -besides. But somehow the collective mind of the younger set knew -within a week that Marjorie's most reliable beau had made an -amazing face-about and was giving an indisputable rush to -Marjorie's guest. The question of the moment was how Marjorie -would take it. Warren called Bernice on the 'phone twice a day, -sent her notes, and they were frequently seen together in his -roadster, obviously engrossed in one of those tense, significant -conversations as to whether or not he was sincere. - -Marjorie on being twitted only laughed. She said she was mighty -glad that Warren had at last found some one who appreciated him. -So the younger set laughed, too, and guessed that Marjorie didn't -care and let it go at that. - -One afternoon when there were only three days left of her visit -Bernice was waiting in the hall for Warren, with whom she was -going to a bridge party. She was in rather a blissful mood, and -when Marjorie--also bound for the party--appeared beside her and -began casually to adjust her hat in the mirror, Bernice was -utterly unprepared for anything in the nature of a clash. -Marjorie did her work very coldly and succinctly in three -sentences. - -"You may as well get Warren out of your head," she said coldly. - -"What?" Bernice was utterly astounded. - -"You may as well stop making a fool of yourself over Warren -McIntyre. He doesn't care a snap of his fingers about you." - -For a tense moment they regarded each other--Marjorie scornful, -aloof; Bernice astounded, half-angry, half-afraid. Then two cars -drove up in front of the house and there was a riotous honking. -Both of them gasped faintly, turned, and side by side hurried -out. - -All through the bridge party Bernice strove in vain to master a -rising uneasiness. She had offended Marjorie, the sphinx of -sphinxes. With the most wholesome and innocent intentions in the -world she had stolen Marjorie's property. She felt suddenly and -horribly guilty. After the bridge game, when they sat in an -informal circle and the conversation became general, the storm -gradually broke. Little Otis Ormonde inadvertently precipitated -it. - -"When you going back to kindergarten, Otis?" some one had asked. - -"Me? Day Bernice gets her hair bobbed." - -"Then your education's over," said Marjorie quickly. "That's only -a bluff of hers. I should think you'd have realized." - -"That a fact?" demanded Otis, giving Bernice a reproachful -glance. - -Bernice's ears burned as she tried to think up an effectual -come-back. In the face of this direct attack her imagination was -paralyzed. - -"There's a lot of bluffs in the world," continued Marjorie quite -pleasantly. "I should think you'd be young enough to know that, -Otis." - -"Well," said Otis, "maybe so. But gee! With a line like -Bernice's---" - -"Really?" yawned Marjorie. "What's her latest bon mot?" - -No one seemed to know. In fact, Bernice, having trifled with her -muse's beau, had said nothing memorable of late. - -"Was that really all a line?" asked Roberta curiously. - -Bernice hesitated. She felt that wit in some form was demanded of -her, but under her cousin's suddenly frigid eyes she was -completely incapacitated. - -"I don't know," she stalled. - -"Splush!" said Marjorie. "Admit it!" - -Bernice saw that Warren's eyes had left a ukulele he had been -tinkering with and were fixed on her questioningly. - -"Oh, I don't know!" she repeated steadily. Her cheeks were -glowing. - -"Splush!" remarked Marjorie again. - -"Come through, Bernice," urged Otis. "Tell her where to get off." -Bernice looked round again--she seemed unable to get away from -Warren's eyes. - -"I like bobbed hair," she said hurriedly, as if he had asked her -a question, "and I intend to bob mine." - -"When?" demanded Marjorie. - -"Any time." - -"No time like the present," suggested Roberta. - -Otis jumped to his feet. - -"Good stuff!" he cried. "We'll have a summer bobbing party. -Sevier Hotel barber-shop, I think you said." - -In an instant all were on their feet. Bernice's heart throbbed -violently. - -"What?" she gasped. - -Out of the group came Marjorie's voice, very clear and -contemptuous. - -"Don't worry--she'll back out!" - -"Come on, Bernice!" cried Otis, starting toward the door. - -Four eyes--Warren's and Marjorie's--stared at her, challenged -her, defied her. For another second she wavered wildly. - -"All right," she said swiftly "I don't care if I do." - -An eternity of minutes later, riding down-town through the late -afternoon beside Warren, the others following in Roberta's car -close behind, Bernice had all the sensations of Marie Antoinette -bound for the guillotine in a tumbrel. Vaguely she wondered why -she did not cry out that it was all a mistake. It was all she -could do to keep from clutching her hair with both bands to -protect it from the suddenly hostile world. Yet she did neither. -Even the thought of her mother was no deterrent now. This was the -test supreme of her sportsmanship; her right to walk -unchallenged in the starry heaven of popular girls. - -Warren was moodily silent, and when they came to the hotel he -drew up at the curb and nodded to Bernice to precede him out. -Roberta's car emptied a laughing crowd into the shop, which -presented two bold plate-glass windows to the street. - -Bernice stood on the curb and looked at the sign, Sevier -Barber-Shop. It was a guillotine indeed, and the hangman was the -first barber, who, attired in a white coat and smoking a -cigarette, leaned non-chalantly against the first chair. He must -have heard of her; he must have been waiting all week, smoking -eternal cigarettes beside that portentous, too-often-mentioned -first chair. Would they blind-fold her? No, but they would tie a -white cloth round her neck lest any of her blood--nonsense--hair--should -get on her clothes. - -"All right, Bernice," said Warren quickly. - -With her chin in the air she crossed the sidewalk, pushed open -the swinging screen-door, and giving not a glance to the -uproarious, riotous row that occupied the waiting bench, went up -to the fat barber. - -"I want you to bob my hair." - -The first barber's mouth slid somewhat open. His cigarette -dropped to the floor. - -"Huh?" - -"My hair--bob it!" - -Refusing further preliminaries, Bernice took her seat on high. A -man in the chair next to her turned on his side and gave her a -glance, half lather, half amazement. One barber started and -spoiled little Willy Schuneman's monthly haircut. Mr. O'Reilly in -the last chair grunted and swore musically in ancient Gaelic as -a razor bit into his cheek. Two bootblacks became wide-eyed and -rushed for her feet. No, Bernice didn't care for a shine. - -Outside a passer-by stopped and stared; a couple joined him; half -a dozen small boys' nose sprang into life, flattened against the -glass; and snatches of conversation borne on the summer breeze -drifted in through the screen-door. - -"Lookada long hair on a kid!" - -"Where'd yuh get 'at stuff? 'At's a bearded lady he just finished -shavin'." - -But Bernice saw nothing, heard nothing. Her only living sense -told her that this man in the white coat had removed one -tortoise-shell comb and then another; that his fingers were -fumbling clumsily with unfamiliar hairpins; that this hair, this -wonderful hair of hers, was going--she would never again feel its -long voluptuous pull as it hung in a dark-brown glory down her -back. For a second she was near breaking down, and then the -picture before her swam mechanically into her vision--Marjorie's -mouth curling in a faint ironic smile as if to say: - -"Give up and get down! You tried to buck me and I called your -bluff. You see you haven't got a prayer." - -And some last energy rose up in Bernice, for she clinched her -hands under the white cloth, and there was a curious narrowing of -her eyes that Marjorie remarked on to some one long afterward. - -Twenty minutes later the barber swung her round to face the -mirror, and she flinched at the full extent of the damage that -had been wrought. Her hair was not curls and now it lay in lank -lifeless blocks on both sides of her suddenly pale face. It was -ugly as sin--she had known it would be ugly as sin. Her face's -chief charm had been a Madonna-like simplicity. Now that was gone -and she was--well frightfully mediocre--not stagy; only -ridiculous, like a Greenwich Villager who had left her spectacles -at home. - -As she climbed down from the chair she tried to smile--failed -miserably. She saw two of the girls exchange glances; noticed -Marjorie's mouth curved in attenuated mockery--and that Warren's -eyes were suddenly very cold. - -"You see,"--her words fell into an awkward pause--"I've done it." - -"Yes, you've--done it," admitted Warren. - -"Do you like it?" - -There was a half-hearted "Sure" from two or three voices, another -awkward pause, and then Marjorie turned swiftly and with -serpentlike intensity to Warren. - -"Would you mind running me down to the cleaners?" she asked. -"I've simply got to get a dress there before supper. Roberta's -driving right home and she can take the others." - -Warren stared abstractedly at some infinite speck out the window. -Then for an instant his eyes rested coldly on Bernice before -they turned to Marjorie. - -"Be glad to," he said slowly. - - - -VI - - -Bernice did not fully realize the outrageous trap that had been -set for her until she met her aunt's amazed glance just before -dinner. - -"Why Bernice!" - -"I've bobbed it, Aunt Josephine." - -"Why, child!" - -"Do you like it?" - -"Why Bernice!" - -"I suppose I've shocked you." - -"No, but what'll Mrs. Deyo think tomorrow night? Bernice, you -should have waited until after the Deyo's dance--you should have -waited if you wanted to do that." - -"It was sudden, Aunt Josephine. Anyway, why does it matter to -Mrs. Deyo particularly?" - -"Why child," cried Mrs. Harvey, "in her paper on 'The Foibles of -the Younger Generation' that she read at the last meeting of the -Thursday Club she devoted fifteen minutes to bobbed hair. It's -her pet abomination. And the dance is for you and Marjorie!" - -"I'm sorry." - -"Oh, Bernice, what'll your mother say? She'll think I let you do -it." - -"I'm sorry." - -Dinner was an agony. She had made a hasty attempt with a -curling-iron, and burned her finger and much hair. She could see -that her aunt was both worried and grieved, and her uncle kept -saying, "Well, I'll be darned!" over and over in a hurt and -faintly hostile torte. And Marjorie sat very quietly, intrenched -behind a faint smile, a faintly mocking smile. - -Somehow she got through the evening. Three boy's called; Marjorie -disappeared with one of them, and Bernice made a listless -unsuccessful attempt to entertain the two others--sighed -thankfully as she climbed the stairs to her room at half past -ten. What a day! - -When she had undressed for the night the door opened and Marjorie -came in. - -"Bernice," she said "I'm awfully sorry about the Deyo dance. I'll -give you my word of honor I'd forgotten all about it." - -"'Sall right," said Bernice shortly. Standing before the mirror -she passed her comb slowly through her short hair. - -"I'll take you down-town to-morrow," continued Marjorie, "and the -hairdresser'll fix it so you'll look slick. I didn't imagine -you'd go through with it. I'm really mighty sorry." - -"Oh, 'sall right!" - -"Still it's your last night, so I suppose it won't matter much." - -Then Bernice winced as Marjorie tossed her own hair over her -shoulders and began to twist it slowly into two long blond braids -until in her cream-colored negligee she looked like a delicate -painting of some Saxon princess. Fascinated, Bernice watched the -braids grow. Heavy and luxurious they were moving under the -supple fingers like restive snakes--and to Bernice remained this -relic and the curling-iron and a to-morrow full of eyes. She -could see G. Reece Stoddard, who liked her, assuming his Harvard -manner and telling his dinner partner that Bernice shouldn't have -been allowed to go to the movies so much; she could see Draycott -Deyo exchanging glances with his mother and then being -conscientiously charitable to her. But then perhaps by to-morrow -Mrs. Deyo would have heard the news; would send round an icy -little note requesting that she fail to appear--and behind her -back they would all laugh and know that Marjorie had made a fool -of her; that her chance at beauty had been sacrificed to the -jealous whim of a selfish girl. She sat down suddenly before the -mirror, biting the inside of her cheek. - -"I like it," she said with an effort. "I think it'll be -becoming." - -Marjorie smiled. - -"It looks all right. For heaven's sake, don't let it worry you!" - -"I won't." - -"Good night Bernice." - -But as the door closed something snapped within Bernice. She -sprang dynamically to her feet, clinching her hands, then swiftly -and noiseless crossed over to her bed and from underneath it -dragged out her suitcase. Into it she tossed toilet articles and -a change of clothing, Then she turned to her trunk and quickly -dumped in two drawerfulls of lingerie and stammer dresses. She -moved quietly. but deadly efficiency, and in three-quarters of an -hour her trunk was locked and strapped and she was fully dressed -in a becoming new travelling suit that Marjorie had helped her -pick out. - -Sitting down at her desk she wrote a short note to Mrs. Harvey, -in which she briefly outlined her reasons for going. She sealed -it, addressed it, and laid it on her pillow. She glanced at her -watch. The train left at one, and she knew that if she walked -down to the Marborough Hotel two blocks away she could easily get -a taxicab. - -Suddenly she drew in her breath sharply and an expression flashed -into her eyes that a practiced character reader might have -connected vaguely with the set look she had worn in the barber's -chair--somehow a development of it. It was quite a new look for -Bernice--and it carried consequences. - -She went stealthily to the bureau, picked up an article that lay -there, and turning out all the lights stood quietly until her -eyes became accustomed to the darkness. Softly she pushed open -the door to Marjorie's room. She heard the quiet, even breathing -of an untroubled conscience asleep. - -She was by the bedside now, very deliberate and calm. She acted -swiftly. Bending over she found one of the braids of Marjorie's -hair, followed it up with her hand to the point nearest the head, -and then holding it a little slack so that the sleeper would -feel no pull, she reached down with the shears and severed it. -With the pigtail in her hand she held her breath. Marjorie had -muttered something in her sleep. Bernice deftly amputated the -other braid, paused for an instant, and then flitted swiftly and -silently back to her own room. - -Down-stairs she opened the big front door, closed it carefully -behind her, and feeling oddly happy and exuberant stepped off the -porch into the moonlight, swinging her heavy grip like a -shopping-bag. After a minute's brisk walk she discovered that her -left hand still held the two blond braids. She laughed -unexpectedly--had to shut her mouth hard to keep from emitting an -absolute peal. She was passing Warren's house now, and on the -impulse she set down her baggage, and swinging the braids like -piece of rope flung them at the wooden porch, where they landed -with a slight thud. She laughed again, no longer restraining -herself. - -"Huh," she giggled wildly. "Scalp the selfish thing!" - -Then picking up her staircase she set off at a half-run down the -moonlit street. - - - - - -Benediction - - - - -The Baltimore Station was hot and crowded, so Lois was forced to -stand by the telegraph desk for interminable, sticky seconds -while a clerk with big front teeth counted and recounted a large -lady's day message, to determine whether it contained the -innocuous forty-nine words or the fatal fifty-one. - -Lois, waiting, decided she wasn't quite sure of the address, so -she took the letter out of her bag and ran over it again. - -"Darling," IT BEGAN--"I understand and I'm happier than life ever -meant me to be. If I could give you the things you've always -been in tune with--but I can't Lois; we can't marry and we can't -lose each other and let all this glorious love end in nothing. - -"Until your letter came, dear, I'd been sitting here in the half -dark and thinking where I could go and ever forget you; abroad, -perhaps, to drift through Italy or Spain and dream away the pain -of having lost you where the crumbling ruins of older, mellower -civilizations would mirror only the desolation of my heart--and -then your letter came. - -"Sweetest, bravest girl, if you'll wire me I'll meet you in -Wilmington--till then I'll be here just waiting and hoping for -every long dream of you to come true. - "Howard." - -She had read the letter so many times that she knew it word by -word, yet it still startled her. In it she found many faint -reflections of the man who wrote it--the mingled sweetness and -sadness in his dark eyes, the furtive, restless excitement she -felt sometimes when he talked to her, his dreamy sensuousness -that lulled her mind to sleep. Lois was nineteen and very -romantic and curious and courageous. - -The large lady and the clerk having compromised on fifty words, -Lois took a blank and wrote her telegram. And there were no -overtones to the finality of her decision. - -It's just destiny--she thought--it's just the way things work -out in this damn world. If cowardice is all that's been holding -me back there won't be any more holding back. So we'll just let -things take their course and never be sorry. - -The clerk scanned her telegram: - -"Arrived Baltimore today spend day with my brother meet me -Wilmington three P.M. Wednesday -Love - - "Lois." - -"Fifty-four cents," said the clerk admiringly. - -And never be sorry--thought Lois--and never be sorry--- - - - -II - - -Trees filtering light onto dapple grass. Trees like tall, languid -ladies with feather fans coquetting airily with the ugly roof of -the monastery. Trees like butlers, bending courteously over -placid walks and paths. Trees, trees over the hills on either -side and scattering out in clumps and lines and woods all through -eastern Maryland, delicate lace on the hems of many yellow -fields, dark opaque backgrounds for flowered bushes or wild -climbing garden. - -Some of the trees were very gay and young, but the monastery -trees were older than the monastery which, by true monastic -standards, wasn't very old at all. And, as a matter of fact, it -wasn't technically called a monastery, but only a seminary; -nevertheless it shall be a monastery here despite its Victorian -architecture or its Edward VII additions, or even its Woodrow -Wilsonian, patented, last-a-century roofing. - -Out behind was the farm where half a dozen lay brothers were -sweating lustily as they moved with deadly efficiency around the -vegetable-gardens. To the left, behind a row of elms, was an -informal baseball diamond where three novices were being batted -out by a fourth, amid great chasings and puffings and blowings. -And in front as a great mellow bell boomed the half-hour a swarm -of black, human leaves were blown over the checker-board of paths -under the courteous trees. - -Some of these black leaves were very old with cheeks furrowed -like the first ripples of a splashed pool. Then there was a -scattering of middle-aged leaves whose forms when viewed in -profile in their revealing gowns were beginning to be faintly -unsymmetrical. These carried thick volumes of Thomas Aquinas and -Henry James and Cardinal Mercier and Immanuel Kant and many -bulging note-books filled with lecture data. - -But most numerous were the young leaves; blond boys of nineteen -with very stern, conscientious expressions; men in the late -twenties with a keen self-assurance from having taught out in the -world for five years--several hundreds of them, from city and -town and country in Maryland and Pennsylvania and Virginia and -West Virginia and Delaware. - -There were many Americans and some Irish and some tough Irish and -a few French, and several Italians and Poles, and they walked -informally arm in arm with each other in twos and threes or in -long rows, almost universally distinguished by the straight mouth -and the considerable chin--for this was the Society of Jesus, -founded in Spain five hundred years before by a tough-minded -soldier who trained men to hold a breach or a salon, preach a -sermon or write a treaty, and do it and not argue . . . - -Lois got out of a bus into the sunshine down by the outer gate. -She was nineteen with yellow hair and eyes that people were -tactful enough not to call green. When men of talent saw her in a -street-car they often furtively produced little stub-pencils and -backs of envelopes and tried to sum up that profile or the thing -that the eyebrows did to her eyes. Later they looked at their -results and usually tore them up with wondering sighs. - -Though Lois was very jauntily attired in an expensively -appropriate travelling affair, she did not linger to pat out the -dust which covered her clothes, but started up the central walk -with curious glances at either side. Her face was very eager and -expectant, yet she hadn't at all that glorified expression that -girls wear when they arrive for a Senior Prom at Princeton or New -Haven; still, as there were no senior proms here, perhaps it -didn't matter. - -She was wondering what he would look like, whether she'd possibly -know him from his picture. In the picture, which hung over her -mother's bureau at home, he seemed very young and hollow-cheeked -and rather pitiful, with only a well-developed mouth and all -ill-fitting probationer's gown to show that he had already made a -momentous decision about his life. Of course he had been only -nineteen then and now he was thirty-six--didn't look like that at -all; in recent snap-shots he was much broader and his hair had -grown a little thin--but the impression of her brother she had -always retained was that of the big picture. And so she had -always been a little sorry for him. What a life for a man! -Seventeen years of preparation and he wasn't even a priest -yet--wouldn't be for another year. - -Lois had an idea that this was all going to be rather solemn if -she let it be. But she was going to give her very best imitation -of undiluted sunshine, the imitation she could give even when her -head was splitting or when her mother had a nervous breakdown or -when she was particularly romantic and curious and courageous. -This brother of hers undoubtedly needed cheering up, and he was -going to be cheered up, whether he liked it or not. - -As she drew near the great, homely front door she saw a man break -suddenly away from a group and, pulling up the skirts of his -gown, run toward her. He was smiling, she noticed, and he looked -very big and--and reliable. She stopped and waited, knew that her -heart was beating unusually fast. - -"Lois!" he cried, and in a second she was in his arms. She was -suddenly trembling. - -"Lois!" he cried again, "why, this is wonderful! I can't tell -you, Lois, how MUCH I've looked forward to this. Why, Lois, -you're beautiful!" - -Lois gasped. - -His voice, though restrained, was vibrant with energy and that -odd sort of enveloping personality she had thought that she only -of the family possessed. - -"I'm mighty glad, too--Kieth." - -She flushed, but not unhappily, at this first use of his name. - -"Lois--Lois--Lois," he repeated in wonder. "Child, we'll go in -here a minute, because I want you to meet the rector, and then -we'll walk around. I have a thousand things to talk to you -about." - -His voice became graver. "How's mother?" - -She looked at him for a moment and then said something that she -had not intended to say at all, the very sort of thing she had -resolved to avoid. - -"Oh, Kieth--she's--she's getting worse all the time, every way." - -He nodded slowly as if he understood. - -"Nervous, well--you can tell me about that later. Now---" - -She was in a small study with a large desk, saying something to a -little, jovial, white-haired priest who retained her hand for -some seconds. - -"So this is Lois!" - -He said it as if he had heard of her for years. - -He entreated her to sit down. - -Two other priests arrived enthusiastically and shook hands with -her and addressed her as "Kieth's little sister," which she found -she didn't mind a bit. - -How assured they seemed; she had expected a certain shyness, -reserve at least. There were several jokes unintelligible to her, -which seemed to delight every one, and the little Father Rector -referred to the trio of them as "dim old monks," which she -appreciated, because of course they weren't monks at all. She had -a lightning impression that they were especially fond of -Kieth--the Father Rector had called him "Kieth" and one of the -others had kept a hand on his shoulder all through the -conversation. Then she was shaking hands again and promising to -come back a little later for some ice-cream, and smiling and -smiling and being rather absurdly happy . . . she told herself -that it was because Kieth was so delighted in showing her off. - -Then she and Kieth were strolling along a path, arm in arm, and -he was informing her what an absolute jewel the Father Rector -was. - -"Lois," he broken off suddenly, "I want to tell you before we go -any farther how much it means to me to have you come up here. I -think it was--mighty sweet of you. I know what a gay time you've -been having." - -Lois gasped. She was not prepared for this. At first when she had -conceived the plan of taking the hot journey down to Baltimore -staying the night with a friend and then coming out to see her -brother, she had felt rather consciously virtuous, hoped he -wouldn't be priggish or resentful about her not having come -before--but walking here with him under the trees seemed such a -little thing, and surprisingly a happy thing. - -"Why, Kieth," she said quickly, "you know I couldn't have waited -a day longer. I saw you when I was five, but of course I didn't -remember, and how could I have gone on without practically ever -having seen my only brother?" - -"It was mighty sweet of you, Lois," he repeated. - -Lois blushed--he DID have personality. - -"I want you to tell me all about yourself," he said after a -pause. "Of course I have a general idea what you and mother did -in Europe those fourteen years, and then we were all so worried, -Lois, when you had pneumonia and couldn't come down with -mother--let's see that was two years ago--and then, well, I've -seen your name in the papers, but it's all been so -unsatisfactory. I haven't known you, Lois." - -She found herself analyzing his personality as she analyzed the -personality of every man she met. She wondered if the effect -of--of intimacy that he gave was bred by his constant repetition -of her name. He said it as if he loved the word, as if it had an -inherent meaning to him. - -"Then you were at school," he continued. - -"Yes, at Farmington. Mother wanted me to go to a convent--but I -didn't want to." - -She cast a side glance at him to see if he would resent this. - -But he only nodded slowly. - -"Had enough convents abroad, eh?" - -"Yes--and Kieth, convents are different there anyway. Here even -in the nicest ones there are so many COMMON girls." - -He nodded again. - -"Yes," he agreed, "I suppose there are, and I know how you feel -about it. It grated on me here, at first, Lois, though I wouldn't -say that to any one but you; we're rather sensitive, you and I, -to things like this." - -"You mean the men here?" - -"Yes, some of them of course were fine, the sort of men I'd -always been thrown with, but there were others; a man named -Regan, for instance--I hated the fellow, and now he's about the -best friend I have. A wonderful character, Lois; you'll meet him -later. Sort of man you'd like to have with you in a fight." - -Lois was thinking that Kieth was the sort of man she'd like to -have with HER in a fight. - -"How did you--how did you first happen to do it?" she asked, -rather shyly, "to come here, I mean. Of course mother told me the -story about the Pullman car." - -"Oh, that---" He looked rather annoyed. - -"Tell me that. I'd like to hear you tell it." - -"Oh, it's nothing except what you probably know. It was evening -and I'd been riding all day and thinking about--about a hundred -things, Lois, and then suddenly I had a sense that some one was -sitting across from me, felt that he'd been there for some time, -and had a vague idea that he was another traveller. All at once -he leaned over toward me and I heard a voice say: 'I want you to -be a priest, that's what I want.' Well I jumped up and cried out, -'Oh, my God, not that!'--made an idiot of myself before about -twenty people; you see there wasn't any one sitting there at all. -A week after that I went to the Jesuit College in Philadelphia -and crawled up the last flight of stairs to the rector's office -on my hands and knees." - -There was another silence and Lois saw that her brother's eyes -wore a far-away look, that he was staring unseeingly out over the -sunny fields. She was stirred by the modulations of his voice -and the sudden silence that seemed to flow about him when he -finished speaking. - -She noticed now that his eyes were of the same fibre as hers, -with the green left out, and that his mouth was much gentler, -really, than in the picture --or was it that the face had grown -up to it lately? He was getting a little bald just on top of his -head. She wondered if that was from wearing a hat so much. It -seemed awful for a man to grow bald and no one to care about it. - -"Were you--pious when you were young, Kieth?" she asked. "You -know what I mean. Were you religious? If you don't mind these -personal questions." - -"Yes," he said with his eyes still far away--and she felt that -his intense abstraction was as much a part of his personality as -his attention. "Yes, I suppose I was, when I was--sober." - -Lois thrilled slightly. - -"Did you drink?" - -He nodded. - -"I was on the way to making a bad hash of things." He smiled and, -turning his gray eyes on her, changed the subject. - -"Child, tell me about mother. I know it's been awfully hard for -you there, lately. I know you've had to sacrifice a lot and put -up with a great deal and I want you to know how fine of you I -think it is. I feel, Lois, that you're sort of taking the place -of both of us there." - -Lois thought quickly how little she had sacrificed; how lately -she had constantly avoided her nervous, half-invalid mother. - -"Youth shouldn't be sacrificed to age, Kieth," she said steadily. - -"I know," he sighed, "and you oughtn't to have the weight on -your shoulders, child. I wish I were there to help you." - -She saw how quickly he had turned her remark and instantly she -knew what this quality was that he gave off. He was SWEET. Her -thoughts went of on a side-track and then she broke the silence -with an odd remark. - -"Sweetness is hard," she said suddenly. - -"What?" - -"Nothing," she denied in confusion. "I didn't mean to speak -aloud. I was thinking of something --of a conversation with a man -named Freddy Kebble." - -"Maury Kebble's brother?" - -"Yes," she said rather surprised to think of him having known -Maury Kebble. Still there was nothing strange about it. "Well, he -and I were talking about sweetness a few weeks ago. Oh, I don't -know--I said that a man named Howard--that a man I knew was -sweet, and he didn't agree with me, and we began talking about -what sweetness in a man was: He kept telling me I meant a sort of -soppy softness, but I knew I didn't--yet I didn't know exactly -how to put it. I see now. I meant just the opposite. I suppose -real sweetness is a sort of hardness--and strength." - -Kieth nodded. - -"I see what you mean. I've known old priests who had it." - -"I'm talking about young men," she said rather defiantly. - -They had reached the now deserted baseball diamond and, pointing -her to a wooden bench, he sprawled full length on the grass. - -"Are these YOUNG men happy here, Kieth?" - -"Don't they look happy, Lois?" - -"I suppose so, but those YOUNG ones, those two we just -passed--have they--are they---? - -"Are they signed up?" he laughed. "No, but they will be next -month." - -"Permanently?" - -"Yes--unless they break down mentally or physically. Of course in -a discipline like ours a lot drop out." - -"But those BOYS. Are they giving up fine chances outside--like -you did?" - -He nodded. - -"Some of them." - -"But Kieth, they don't know what they're doing. They haven't had -any experience of what they're missing." - -"No, I suppose not." - -"It doesn't seem fair. Life has just sort of scared them at -first. Do they all come in so YOUNG?" - -"No, some of them have knocked around, led pretty wild -lives--Regan, for instance." - -"I should think that sort would be better," she said -meditatively, "men that had SEEN life." - -"No," said Kieth earnestly, "I'm not sure that knocking about -gives a man the sort of experience he can communicate to others. -Some of the broadest men I've known have been absolutely rigid -about themselves. And reformed libertines are a notoriously -intolerant class. Don't you thank so, Lois?" - -She nodded, still meditative, and he continued: - -"It seems to me that when one weak reason goes to another, it -isn't help they want; it's a sort of companionship in guilt, -Lois. After you were born, when mother began to get nervous she -used to go and weep with a certain Mrs. Comstock. Lord, it used -to make me shiver. She said it comforted her, poor old mother. -No, I don't think that to help others you've got to show yourself -at all. Real help comes from a stronger person whom you respect. -And their sympathy is all the bigger because it's impersonal." - -"But people want human sympathy," objected Lois. "They want to -feel the other person's been tempted." - -"Lois, in their hearts they want to feel that the other person's -been weak. That's what they mean by human. - -"Here in this old monkery, Lois," he continued with a smile, "they -try to get all that self-pity and pride in our own wills out of -us right at the first. They put us to scrubbing floors--and other -things. It's like that idea of saving your life by losing it. -You see we sort of feel that the less human a man is, in your -sense of human, the better servant he can be to humanity. We -carry it out to the end, too. When one of us dies his family -can't even have him then. He's buried here under plain wooden -cross with a thousand others." - -His tone changed suddenly and he looked at her with a great -brightness in his gray eyes. - -"But way back in a man's heart there are some things he can't get -rid of--an one of them is that I'm awfully in love with my -little sister." - -With a sudden impulse she knelt beside him in the grass and, -Leaning over, kissed his forehead. - -"You're hard, Kieth," she said, "and I love you for it--and -you're sweet." - - - -III - - -Back in the reception-room Lois met a half-dozen more of Kieth's -particular friends; there was a young man named Jarvis, rather -pale and delicate-looking, who, she knew, must be a grandson of -old Mrs. Jarvis at home, and she mentally compared this ascetic -with a brace of his riotous uncles. - -And there was Regan with a scarred face and piercing intent eyes -that followed her about the room and often rested on Kieth with -something very like worship. She knew then what Kieth had meant -about "a good man to have with you in a fight." - -He's the missionary type--she thought vaguely--China or something. - -"I want Kieth's sister to show us what the shimmy is," demanded -one young man with a broad grin. - -Lois laughed. - -"I'm afraid the Father Rector would send me shimmying out the -gate. Besides, I'm not an expert." - -"I'm sure it wouldn't be best for Jimmy's soul anyway," said -Kieth solemnly. "He's inclined to brood about things like -shimmys. They were just starting to do the--maxixe, wasn't it, -Jimmy?--when he became a monk, and it haunted him his whole first -year. You'd see him when he was peeling potatoes, putting his -arm around the bucket and making irreligious motions with his -feet." - -There was a general laugh in which Lois joined. - -"An old lady who comes here to Mass sent Kieth this ice-cream," -whispered Jarvis under cover of the laugh, "because she'd heard -you were coming. It's pretty good, isn't it?" - -There were tears trembling in Lois' eyes. - - - -IV - - -Then half an hour later over in the chapel things suddenly went -all wrong. It was several years since Lois had been at -Benediction and at first she was thrilled by the gleaming -monstrance with its central spot of white, the air rich and heavy -with incense, and the sun shining through the stained-glass -window of St. Francis Xavier overhead and falling in warm red -tracery on the cassock of the man in front of her, but at the -first notes of the "O SALUTARIS HOSTIA" a heavy weight seemed to -descend upon her soul. Kieth was on her right and young Jarvis on -her left, and she stole uneasy glance at both of them. - -What's the matter with me? she thought impatiently. - -She looked again. Was there a certain coldness in both their -profiles, that she had not noticed before--a pallor about the -mouth and a curious set expression in their eyes? She shivered -slightly: they were like dead men. - -She felt her soul recede suddenly from Kieth's. This was her -brother--this, this unnatural person. She caught herself in the -act of a little laugh. - -"What is the matter with me?" - -She passed her hand over her eyes and the weight increased. The -incense sickened her and a stray, ragged note from one of the -tenors in the choir grated on her ear like the shriek of a -slate-pencil. She fidgeted, and raising her hand to her hair -touched her forehead, found moisture on it. - -"It's hot in here, hot as the deuce." - -Again she repressed a faint laugh and, then in an instant the -weight on her heart suddenly diffused into cold fear. . . . It -was that candle on the altar. It was all wrong--wrong. Why didn't -somebody see it? There was something IN it. There was something -coming out of it, taking form and shape above it. - -She tried to fight down her rising panic, told herself it was the -wick. If the wick wasn't straight, candles did something--but -they didn't do this! With incalculable rapidity a force was -gathering within her, a tremendous, assimilative force, drawing -from every sense, every corner of her brain, and as it surged up -inside her she felt an enormous terrified repulsion. She drew her -arms in close to her side away from Kieth and Jarvis. - -Something in that candle . . . she was leaning forward--in -another moment she felt she would go forward toward it--didn't -any one see it? . . . anyone? - -"Ugh!" - -She felt a space beside her and something told her that Jarvis -had gasped and sat down very suddenly . . . then she was kneeling -and as the flaming monstrance slowly left the altar in the hands -of the priest, she heard a great rushing noise in her ears--the -crash of the bells was like hammer-blows . . . and then in a -moment that seemed eternal a great torrent rolled over her -heart--there was a shouting there and a lashing as of waves . . . - -. . . She was calling, felt herself calling for Kieth, her lips -mouthing the words that would not come: - -"Kieth! Oh, my God! KIETH!" - -Suddenly she became aware of a new presence, something external, -in front of her, consummated and expressed in warm red tracery. -Then she knew. It was the window of St. Francis Xavier. Her mind -gripped at it, clung to it finally, and she felt herself calling -again endlessly, impotently--Kieth--Kieth! - -Then out of a great stillness came a voice: - -"BLESSED BE GOD." - -With a gradual rumble sounded the response rolling heavily -through the chapel: - -"Blessed be God." - -The words sang instantly in her heart; the incense lay mystically -and sweetly peaceful upon the air, and THE CANDLE ON THE ALTAR -WENT OUT. - -"Blessed be His Holy Name." - -"Blessed be His Holy Name." - -Everything blurred into a swinging mist. With a sound half-gasp, -half-cry she rocked on her feet and reeled backward into Kieth's -suddenly outstretched arms. - - - - -V - - -"Lie still, child." - -She closed her eyes again. She was on the grass outside, pillowed -on Kieth's arm, and Regan was dabbing her head with a cold towel. - -"I'm all right," she said quietly. - -"I know, but just lie still a minute longer. It was too hot in -there. Jarvis felt it, too." - -She laughed as Regan again touched her gingerly with the towel. - -"I'm all right," she repeated. - -But though a warm peace was falling her mind and heart she felt -oddly broken and chastened, as if some one had held her stripped -soul up and laughed. - - - -VI - - -Half an hour later she walked leaning on Kieth's arm down the -long central path toward the gate. - -"It's been such a short afternoon," he sighed, "and I'm so sorry -you were sick, Lois." - -"Kieth, I'm feeling fine now, really; I wish you wouldn't worry." - -"Poor old child. I didn't realize that Benediction'd be a long -service for you after your hot trip out here and all." - -She laughed cheerfully. - -"I guess the truth is I'm not much used to Benediction. Mass is -the limit of my religious exertions." - -She paused and then continued quickly: - -"I don't want to shock you, Kieth, but I can't tell you how--how -INCONVENIENT being a Catholic is. It really doesn't seem to apply -any more. As far as morals go, some of the wildest boys I know -are Catholics. And the brightest boys--I mean the ones who think -and read a lot, don't seem to believe in much of anything any -more." - -"Tell me about it. The bus won't be here for another half-hour." - -They sat down on a bench by the path. - -"For instance, Gerald Carter, he's published a novel. He -absolutely roars when people mention immortality. And then -Howa--well, another man I've known well, lately, who was Phi Beta -Kappa at Harvard says that no intelligent person can believe in -Supernatural Christianity. He says Christ was a great socialist, -though. Am I shocking you?" - -She broke off suddenly. - -Kieth smiled. - -"You can't shock a monk. He's a professional shock-absorber." - -"Well," she continued, "that's about all. It seems so--so NARROW. -Church schools, for instance. There's more freedom about things -that Catholic people can't see--like birth control." - -Kieth winced, almost imperceptibly, but Lois saw it. - -"Oh," she said quickly, "everybody talks about everything now." - -"It's probably better that way." - -"Oh, yes, much better. Well, that's all, Kieth. I just wanted to -tell you why I'm a little--luke-warm, at present." - -"I'm not shocked, Lois. I understand better than you think. We -all go through those times. But I know it'll come out all right, -child. There's that gift of faith that we have, you and I, -that'll carry us past the bad spots." - -He rose as he spoke and they started again down the path. - -"I want you to pray for me sometimes, Lois. I think your prayers -would be about what I need. Because we've come very close in -these few hours, I think." - -Her eyes were suddenly shining. - -"Oh we have, we have!" she cried. "I feel closer to you now than -to any one in the world." - -He stopped suddenly and indicated the side of the path. - -"We might--just a minute---" - -It was a pieta, a life-size statue of the Blessed Virgin set -within a semicircle of rocks. - -Feeling a little self-conscious she dropped on her knees beside -him and made an unsuccessful attempt at prayer. - -She was only half through when he rose. He took her arm again. - -"I wanted to thank Her for letting as have this day together," he -said simply. - -Lois felt a sudden lump in her throat and she wanted to say -something that would tell him how much it had meant to her, too. -But she found no words. - -"I'll always remember this," he continued, his voice trembling a -little---"this summer day with you. It's been just what I -expected. You're just what I expected, Lois." - -"I'm awfully glad, Keith." - -"You see, when you were little they kept sending me snap-shots of -you, first as a baby and then as a child in socks playing on the -beach with a pail and shovel, and then suddenly as a wistful -little girl with wondering, pure eyes--and I used to build dreams -about you. A man has to have something living to cling to. I -think, Lois, it was your little white soul I tried to keep near -me--even when life was at its loudest and every intellectual idea -of God seemed the sheerest mockery, and desire and love and a -million things came up to me and said: 'Look here at me! See, I'm -Life. You're turning your back on it!' All the way through that -shadow, Lois, I could always see your baby soul flitting on ahead -of me, very frail and clear and wonderful." - -Lois was crying softly. They had reached the gate and she rested -her elbow on it and dabbed furiously at her eyes. - -"And then later, child, when you were sick I knelt all one night -and asked God to spare you for me--for I knew then that I wanted -more; He had taught me to want more. I wanted to know you moved -and breathed in the same world with me. I saw you growing up, -that white innocence of yours changing to a flame and burning to -give light to other weaker souls. And then I wanted some day to -take your children on my knee and hear them call the crabbed old -monk Uncle Kieth." - -He seemed to be laughing now as he talked. - -"Oh, Lois, Lois, I was asking God for more then. I wanted the -letters you'd write me and the place I'd have at your table. I -wanted an awful lot, Lois, dear." - -"You've got me, Kieth," she sobbed "you know it, say you know it. -Oh, I'm acting like a baby but I didn't think you'd be this way, -and I--oh, Kieth--Kieth---" - -He took her hand and patted it softly. - -"Here's the bus. You'll come again won't you?" - -She put her hands on his cheeks, add drawing his head down, -pressed her tear-wet face against his. - -"Oh, Kieth, brother, some day I'll tell you something." - -He helped her in, saw her take down her handkerchief and smile -bravely at him, as the driver kicked his whip and the bus rolled -off. Then a thick cloud of dust rose around it and she was gone. - -For a few minutes he stood there on the road his hand on the -gate-post, his lips half parted in a smile. - -"Lois," he said aloud in a sort of wonder, "Lois, Lois." - -Later, some probationers passing noticed him kneeling before the -pieta, and coming back after a time found him still there. And he -was there until twilight came down and the courteous trees grew -garrulous overhead and the crickets took up their burden of song -in the dusky grass. - - - -VII - - -The first clerk in the telegraph booth in the Baltimore Station -whistled through his buck teeth at the second clerk: - -"S'matter?" - -"See that girl--no, the pretty one with the big black dots on her -veil. Too late--she's gone. You missed somep'n." - -"What about her?" - -"Nothing. 'Cept she's damn good-looking. Came in here yesterday -and sent a wire to some guy to meet her somewhere. Then a minute -ago she came in with a telegram all written out and was standin' -there goin' to give it to me when she changed her mind or somep'n -and all of a sudden tore it up." - -"Hm." - -The first clerk came around tile counter and picking up the two -pieces of paper from the floor put them together idly. The second -clerk read them over his shoulder and subconsciously counted the -words as he read. There were just thirteen. - -"This is in the way of a permanent goodbye. I should suggest -Italy. - - "Lois." - -"Tore it up, eh?" said the second clerk. - - - - - -Dalyrimple Goes Wrong - - - - -In the millennium an educational genius will write a book to be -given to every young man on the date of his disillusion. This -work will have the flavor of Montaigne's essays and Samuel -Butler's note-books--and a little of Tolstoi and Marcus -Aurelius. It will be neither cheerful nor pleasant but will -contain numerous passages of striking humor. Since first-class -minds never believe anything very strongly until they've -experienced it, its value will be purely relative . . . all -people over thirty will refer to it as "depressing." - -This prelude belongs to the story of a young man -who lived, as you and I do, before the book. - - - -II - - -The generation which numbered Bryan Dalyrimple drifted out of -adolescence to a mighty fan-fare of trumpets. Bryan played the -star in an affair which included a Lewis gun and a nine-day romp -behind the retreating German lines, so luck triumphant or -sentiment rampant awarded him a row of medals and on his arrival -in the States he was told that he was second in importance only -to General Pershing and Sergeant York. This was a lot of fun. -The governor of his State, a stray congressman, and a citizens' -committee gave him enormous smiles and "By God, Sirs" on the -dock at Hoboken; there were newspaper reporters and -photographers who said "would you mind" and "if you could just"; -and back in his home town there were old ladies, the rims of -whose eyes grew red as they talked to him, and girls who hadn't -remembered him so well since his father's business went blah! in -nineteen-twelve. - -But when the shouting died he realized that for a month he had -been the house guest of the mayor, that he had only fourteen -dollars in the world and that "the name that will live forever -in the annals and legends of this State" was already living -there very quietly and obscurely. - -One morning he lay late in bed and just outside his door he -heard the up-stairs maid talking to the cook. The up-stairs maid -said that Mrs. Hawkins, the mayor's wife, had been trying for a -week to hint Dalyrimple out of the house. He left at eleven -o'clock in intolerable confusion, asking that his trunk be sent -to Mrs. Beebe's boarding-house. - -Dalyrimple was twenty-three and he had never worked. His father -had given him two years at the State University and passed away -about the time of his son's nine-day romp, leaving behind him -some mid-Victorian furniture and a thin packet of folded paper -that turned out to be grocery bills. Young Dalyrimple had very -keen gray eyes, a mind that delighted the army psychological -examiners, a trick of having read it--whatever it was--some time -before, and a cool hand in a hot situation. But these things did -not save him a final, unresigned sigh when he realized that he -had to go to work--right away. - -It was early afternoon when he walked into the office of Theron -G. Macy, who owned the largest wholesale grocery house in town. -Plump, prosperous, wearing a pleasant but quite unhumorous -smile, Theron G. Macy greeted him warmly. - -"Well--how do, Bryan? What's on your mind?" - -To Dalyrimple, straining with his admission, his own words, when -they came, sounded like an Arab beggar's whine for alms. - -"Why--this question of a job." ("This question of a job" seemed -somehow more clothed than just "a job.") - -"A job?" An almost imperceptible breeze blew across Mr. Macy's -expression. - -"You see, Mr. Macy," continued Dalyrimple, "I feel I'm wasting -time. I want to get started at something. I had several chances -about a month ago but they all seem to have--gone---" - -"Let's see," interrupted Mr. Macy. "What were they?" - -"Well, just at the first the governor said something about a -vacancy on his staff. I was sort of counting on that for a -while, but I hear he's given it to Allen Gregg, you know, son of -G. P. Gregg. He sort of forgot what he said to me--just talking, -I guess." - -"You ought to push those things." - -"Then there was that engineering expedition, but they decided -they'd have to have a man who knew hydraulics, so they couldn't -use me unless I paid my own way." - -"You had just a year at the university?" - -"Two. But I didn't take any science or mathematics. Well, the -day the battalion paraded, Mr. Peter Jordan said something about -a vacancy in his store. I went around there to-day and I found -he meant a sort of floor-walker--and then you said something one -day"--he paused and waited for the older man to take him up, but -noting only a minute wince continued--"about a position, so I -thought I'd come and see you." - -"There was a position," confessed Mr. Macy reluctantly, "but -since then we've filled it." He cleared his throat again. -"You've waited quite a while." - -"Yes, I suppose I did. Everybody told me there was no hurry--and -I'd had these various offers." - -Mr. Macy delivered a paragraph on present-day opportunities -which Dalyrimple's mind completely skipped. - -"Have you had any business experience?" - -"I worked on a ranch two summers as a rider." - -"Oh, well," Mr. Macy disparaged this neatly, and then continued: -"What do you think you're worth?" - -"I don't know." - -"Well, Bryan, I tell you, I'm willing to strain a point and give -you a chance." - -Dalyrimple nodded. - -"Your salary won't be much. You'll start by learning the stock. -Then you'll come in the office for a while. Then you'll go on -the road. When could you begin?" - -"How about to-morrow?" - -"All right. Report to Mr. Hanson in the stock-room. He'll start -you off." - -He continued to regard Dalyrimple steadily until the latter, -realizing that the interview was over, rose awkwardly. - -"Well, Mr. Macy, I'm certainly much obliged." - -"That's all right. Glad to help you, Bryan." - -After an irresolute moment, Dalyrimple found himself in the -hall. His forehead was covered with perspiration, and the room -had not been hot. - -"Why the devil did I thank the son of a gun?" he muttered. - - - -III - - -Next morning Mr. Hanson informed him coldly of the necessity of -punching the time-clock at seven every morning, and delivered -him for instruction into the hands of a fellow worker, one -Charley Moore. - -Charley was twenty-six, with that faint musk of weakness hanging -about him that is often mistaken for the scent of evil. It took -no psychological examiner to decide that he had drifted into -indulgence and laziness as casually as he had drifted into life, -and was to drift out. He was pale and his clothes stank of -smoke; he enjoyed burlesque shows, billiards, and Robert -Service, and was always looking back upon his last intrigue or -forward to his next one. In his youth his taste had run to loud -ties, but now it seemed to have faded, like his vitality, and -was expressed in pale-lilac four-in-hands and indeterminate -gray collars. Charley was listlessly struggling that losing -struggle against mental, moral, and physical anaemia that takes -place ceaselessly on the lower fringe of the middle classes. - -The first morning he stretched himself on a row of cereal -cartons and carefully went over the limitations of the Theron -G. Macy Company. - -"It's a piker organization. My Gosh! Lookit what they give me. -I'm quittin' in a coupla months. Hell! Me stay with this bunch!" - -The Charley Moores are always going to change jobs next month. -They do, once or twice in their careers, after which they sit -around comparing their last job with the present one, to the -infinite disparagement of the latter. - -"What do you get?" asked Dalyrimple curiously. - -"Me? I get sixty." This rather defiantly. - -"Did you start at sixty?" - -"Me? No, I started at thirty-five. He told me he'd put me on the -road after I learned the stock. That's what he tells 'em all." - -"How long've you been here?" asked Dalyrimple with a sinking -sensation. - -"Me? Four years. My last year, too, you bet your boots." - -Dalyrimple rather resented the presence of the store detective -as he resented the time-clock, and he came into contact with him -almost immediately through the rule against smoking. This rule -was a thorn in his side. He was accustomed to his three or four -cigarettes in a morning, and after three days without it he -followed Charley Moore by a circuitous route up a flight of back -stairs to a little balcony where they indulged in peace. But -this was not for long. One day in his second week the detective -met him in a nook of the stairs, on his descent, and told him -sternly that next time he'd be reported to Mr. Macy. Dalyrimple -felt like an errant schoolboy. - -Unpleasant facts came to his knowledge. There were "cave- -dwellers" in the basement who had worked there for ten or -fifteen years at sixty dollars a month, rolling barrels and -carrying boxes through damp, cement-walled corridors, lost in -that echoing half-darkness between seven and five-thirty and, -like himself, compelled several times a month to work until nine -at night. - -At the end of a month he stood in line and received forty -dollars. He pawned a cigarette-case and a pair of field-glasses -and managed to live--to eat, sleep, and smoke. It was, however, -a narrow scrape; as the ways and means of economy were a closed -book to him and the second month brought no increase, he voiced -his alarm. - -"If you've got a drag with old Macy, maybe he'll raise you," was -Charley's disheartening reply. "But he didn't raise ME till I'd -been here nearly two years." - -"I've got to live," said Dalyrimple simply. "I could get more -pay as a laborer on the railroad but, Golly, I want to feel I'm -where there's a chance to get ahead." - -Charles shook his head sceptically and Mr. Macy's answer next -day was equally unsatisfactory. - -Dalyrimple had gone to the office just before closing time. - -"Mr. Macy, I'd like to speak to you." - -"Why--yes." The unhumorous smile appeared. The voice vas faintly -resentful. - -"I want to speak to you in regard to more salary." - -Mr. Macy nodded. - -"Well," he said doubtfully, "I don't know exactly what you're -doing. I'll speak to Mr. Hanson." - -He knew exactly what Dalyrimple was doing, and Dalyrimple knew -he knew. - -"I'm in the stock-room--and, sir, while I'm here I'd like to -ask you how much longer I'll have to stay there." - -"Why--I'm not sure exactly. Of course it takes some time to -learn the stock." - -"You told me two months when I started." - -"Yes. Well, I'll speak to Mr. Hanson." - -Dalyrimple paused irresolute. - -"Thank you, sir." - -Two days later he again appeared in the office with the result -of a count that had been asked for by Mr. Hesse, the bookkeeper. -Mr. Hesse was engaged and Dalyrimple, waiting, began idly -fingering in a ledger on the stenographer's desk. - -Half unconsciously he turned a page--he caught sight of his name ---it was a salary list: - - Dalyrimple - Demming - Donahoe - Everett - -His eyes stopped-- - - Everett.........................$60 - -So Tom Everett, Macy's weak-chinned nephew, had started at sixty ---and in three weeks he had been out of the packing-room and -into the office. - -So that was it! He was to sit and see man after man pushed over -him: sons, cousins, sons of friends, irrespective of their -capabilities, while HE was cast for a pawn, with "going on the -road" dangled before his eyes--put of with the stock remark: -I'll see; I'll look into it." At forty, perhaps, he would be a -bookkeeper like old Hesse, tired, listless Hesse with a dull -routine for his stint and a dull background of boarding-house -conversation. - -This was a moment when a genii should have pressed into his -hand the book for disillusioned young men. But the book has -not been written. - -A great protest swelling into revolt surged up in him. Ideas -half forgotten, chaoticly perceived and assimilated, filled his -mind. Get on--that was the rule of life--and that was all. How -he did it, didn't matter--but to be Hesse or Charley Moore. - -"I won't!" he cried aloud. - -The bookkeeper and the stenographers looked up in surprise. - -"What?" - -For a second Dalyrimple stared--then walked up to the desk. - -"Here's that data," he said brusquely. "I can't wait any longer." - -Mr. Hesse's face expressed surprise. - -It didn't matter what he did--just so he got out -of this rut. In a dream he stepped from the elevator into the -stock-room, and walking to an unused aisle, sat down on a box, -covering his face with his hands. - -His brain was whirring with the frightful jar of discovering a -platitude for himself. - -"I've got to get out of this," he said aloud and then repeated, -"I've got to get out"--and he didn't mean only out of Macy's -wholesale house. - -When he left at five-thirty it was pouring rain, but he struck -off in the opposite direction from his boarding-house, feeling, -in the first cool moisture that oozed soggily through his old -suit, an odd exultation and freshness. He wanted a world that -was like walking through rain, even though he could not see far -ahead of him, but fate had put him in the world of Mr. Macy's -fetid storerooms and corridors. At first merely the overwhelming -need of change took him, then half-plans began to formulate in -his imagination. - -"I'll go East--to a big city--meet people--bigger people--people -who'll help me. Interesting work somewhere. My God, there MUST -be." - -With sickening truth it occurred to him that his facility for -meeting people was limited. Of all places it was here in his own -town that he should be known, was known--famous--before the water -of oblivion had rolled over him. - -You had to cut corners, that was all. Pull--relationship--wealthy -marriages--- - -For several miles the continued reiteration of this preoccupied -him and then he perceived that the rain had become thicker and -more opaque in the heavy gray of twilight and that the houses -were falling away. The district of full blocks, then of big -houses, then of scattering little ones, passed and great sweeps -of misty country opened out on both sides. It was hard walking -here. The sidewalk had given place to a dirt road, streaked with -furious brown rivulets that splashed and squashed around his -shoes. - -Cutting corners--the words began to fall apart, forming curious -phrasings--little illuminated pieces of themselves. They -resolved into sentences, each of which had a strangely familiar -ring. - -Cutting corners meant rejecting the old childhood principles -that success came from faithfulness to duty, that evil was -necessarily punished or virtue necessarily rewarded--that honest -poverty was happier than corrupt riches. - -It meant being hard. - -This phrase appealed to him and he repeated it over and over. -It had to do somehow with Mr. Macy and Charley Moore--the -attitudes, the methods of each of them. - -He stopped and felt his clothes. He was drenched to the skin. He -looked about him and, selecting a place in the fence where a -tree sheltered it, perched himself there. - -In my credulous years--he thought--they told me that evil was a -sort of dirty hue, just as definite as a soiled collar, but it -seems to me that evil is only a manner of hard luck, or -heredity-and-environment, or "being found out." It hides in the -vacillations of dubs like Charley Moore as certainly as it does -in the intolerance of Macy, and if it ever gets much more -tangible it becomes merely an arbitrary label to paste on the -unpleasant things in other people's lives. - -In fact--he concluded--it isn't worth worrying over what's evil -and what isn't. Good and evil aren't any standard to me--and -they can be a devil of a bad hindrance when I want something. -When I want something bad enough, common sense tells me to go -and take it--and not get caught. - -And then suddenly Dalyrimple knew what he wanted first. He -wanted fifteen dollars to pay his overdue board bill. - -With a furious energy he jumped from the fence, whipped off his -coat, and from its black lining cut with his knife a piece about -five inches square. He made two holes near its edge and then -fixed it on his face, pulling his hat down to hold it in place. -It flapped grotesquely and then dampened and clung clung to his -forehead and cheeks. - -Now . . . The twilight had merged to dripping dusk . . . black -as pitch. He began to walk quickly back toward town, not waiting -to remove the mask but watching the road with difficulty through -the jagged eye-holes. He was not conscious of any nervousness -. . . the only tension was caused by a desire to do the thing as -soon as possible. - -He reached the first sidewalk, continued on until he saw a hedge -far from any lamp-post, and turned in behind it. Within a minute -he heard several series of footsteps--he waited--it was a woman -and he held his breath until she passed . . . and then a man, -a laborer. The next passer, he felt, would be what he wanted -. . . the laborer's footfalls died far up the drenched street -. . . other steps grew nears grew suddenly louder. - -Dalyrimple braced himself. - -"Put up your hands!" - -The man stopped, uttered an absurd little grunt, and thrust -pudgy arms skyward. - -Dalyrimple went through the waistcoat. - -"Now, you shrimp," he said, setting his hand suggestively to -his own hip pocket, "you run, and stamp--loud! If I hear your -feet stop I'll put a shot after you!" - -Then he stood there in sudden uncontrollable laughter as -audibly frightened footsteps scurried away into the night. - -After a moment he thrust the roll of bills into his pocket, -snatched of his mask, and running quickly across the street, -darted down an alley. - - - -IV - - -Yet, however Dalyrimple justified himself intellectually, he had -many bad moments in the weeks immediately following his decision. -The tremendous pressure of sentiment and inherited ambition kept -raising riot with his attitude. He felt morally lonely. - -The noon after his first venture he ate in a little lunch-room -with Charley Moore and, watching him unspread the paper, waited -for a remark about the hold-up of the day before. But either the -hold-up was not mentioned or Charley wasn't interested. He -turned listlessly to the sporting sheet, read Doctor Crane's -crop of seasoned bromides, took in an editorial on ambition with -his mouth slightly ajar, and then skipped to Mutt and Jeff. - -Poor Charley--with his faint aura of evil and his mind that -refused to focus, playing a lifeless solitaire with cast-off -mischief. - -Yet Charley belonged on the other side of the fence. In him -could be stirred up all the flamings and denunciations of -righteousness; he would weep at a stage heroine's lost virtue, -he could become lofty and contemptuous at the idea of dishonor. - -On my side, thought Dalyrimple, there aren't any resting-places; -a man who's a strong criminal is after the weak criminals as -well, so it's all guerilla warfare over here. - -What will it all do to me? he thoughts with a persistent -weariness. Will it take the color out of life with the honor? -Will it scatter my courage and dull my mind?--despiritualize me -completely--does it mean eventual barrenness, eventual remorse, -failure? - -With a great surge of anger, he would fling his mind upon the -barrier--and stand there with the flashing bayonet of his pride. -Other men who broke the laws of justice and charity lied to all -the world. He at any rate would not lie to himself. He was more -than Byronic now: not the spiritual rebel, Don Juan; not the -philosophical rebel, Faust; but a new psychological rebel of his -own century--defying the sentimental a priori forms of his own -mind--- - -Happiness was what he wanted--a slowly rising scale of -gratifications of the normal appetites--and he had a strong -conviction that the materials, if not the inspiration of -happiness, could be bought with money. - - - -V - - -The night came that drew him out upon his second venture, and -as he walked the dark street he felt in himself a great -resemblance to a cat--a certain supple, swinging litheness. His -muscles were rippling smoothly and sleekly under his spare, -healthy flesh--he had an absurd desire to bound along the -street, to run dodging among trees, to tarn "cart-wheels" over -soft grass. - -It was not crisp, but in the air lay a faint suggestion of -acerbity, inspirational rather than chilling. - -"The moon is down--I have not heard the clock!" - -He laughed in delight at the line which an early memory had -endowed with a hushed awesome beauty. - -He passed a man and then another a quarter of mile afterward. - -He was on Philmore Street now and it was very dark. He blessed -the city council for not having put in new lamp-posts as a -recent budget had recommended. Here was the red-brick Sterner -residence which marked the beginning of the avenue; here was the -Jordon house, the Eisenhaurs', the Dents', the Markhams', the -Frasers'; the Hawkins', where he had been a guest; the -Willoughbys', the Everett's, colonial and ornate; the little -cottage where lived the Watts old maids between the imposing -fronts of the Macys' and the Krupstadts'; the Craigs-- - -Ah . . . THERE! He paused, wavered violently--far up the street -was a blot, a man walking, possibly a policeman. After an -eternal second be found himself following the vague, ragged -shadow of a lamp-post across a lawn, running bent very low. -Then he was standing tense, without breath or need of it, in the -shadow of his limestone prey. - -Interminably he listened--a mile off a cat howled, a hundred -yards away another took up the hymn in a demoniacal snarl, and -he felt his heart dip and swoop, acting as shock-absorber for -his mind. There were other sounds; the faintest fragment of song -far away; strident, gossiping laughter from a back porch -diagonally across the alley; and crickets, crickets singing in -the patched, patterned, moonlit grass of the yard. Within the -house there seemed to lie an ominous silence. He was glad he did -not know who lived here. - -His slight shiver hardened to steel; the steel softened and his -nerves became pliable as leather; gripping his hands he -gratefully found them supple, and taking out knife and pliers he -went to work on the screen. - -So sure was he that he was unobserved that, from the dining-room -where in a minute he found himself, he leaned out and carefully -pulled the screen up into position, balancing it so it would -neither fall by chance nor be a serious obstacle to a sudden -exit. - -Then he put the open knife in his coat pocket, took out his -pocket-flash, and tiptoed around the room. - -There was nothing here he could use--the dining-room had never -been included in his plans for the town was too small to permit -disposing of silver. - -As a matter of fact his plans were of the vaguest. He had found -that with a mind like his, lucrative in intelligence, intuition, -and lightning decision, it was best to have but the skeleton of -a campaign. The machine-gun episode had taught him that. And he -was afraid that a method preconceived would give him two points -of view in a crisis--and two points of view meant wavering. - -He stumbled slightly on a chair, held his breath, listened, went -on, found the hall, found the stairs, started up; the seventh -stair creaked at his step, the ninth, the fourteenth. He was -counting them automatically. At the third creak he paused again -for over a minute--and in that minute he felt more alone than he -had ever felt before. Between the lines on patrol, even when -alone, he had had behind him the moral support of half a billion -people; now he was alone, pitted against that same moral -pressure--a bandit. He had never felt this fear, yet he had -never felt this exultation. - -The stairs came to an end, a doorway approached; he went in and -listened to regular breathing. His feet were economical of steps -and his body swayed sometimes at stretching as he felt over the -bureau, pocketing all articles which held promise--he could not -have enumerated them ten seconds afterward. He felt on a chair -for possible trousers, found soft garments, women's lingerie. -The corners of his mouth smiled mechanically. - -Another room . . . the same breathing, enlivened by one ghastly -snort that sent his heart again on its tour of his breast. Round -object--watch; chain; roll of bills; stick-pins; two rings--he -remembered that he had got rings from the other bureau. He -started out winced as a faint glow flashed in front of him, -facing him. God!--it was the glow of his own wrist-watch on his -outstretched arm. - -Down the stairs. He skipped two crumbing steps but found -another. He was all right now, practically safe; as he neared -the bottom he felt a slight boredom. He reached the dining-room ---considered the silver--again decided against it. - -Back in his room at the boarding-house he examined the additions -to his personal property: - -Sixty-five dollars in bills. - -A platinum ring with three medium diamonds, worth, probably, -about seven hundred dollars. Diamonds were going up. - -A cheap gold-plated ring with the initials O. S. and the date -inside--'03--probably a class-ring from school. Worth a few -dollars. Unsalable. - -A red-cloth case containing a set of false teeth. - -A silver watch. - -A gold chain worth more than the watch. - -An empty ring-box. - -A little ivory Chinese god--probably a desk ornament. - -A dollar and sixty-two cents an small change. - -He put the money under his pillow and the other things in the -toe of an infantry boot, stuffing a stocking in on top of them. -Then for two hours his mind raced like a high-power engine here -and there through his life, past and future, through fear and -laughter. With a vague, inopportune wish that he were married, -he fell into a deep sleep about half past five. - - - -VI - - -Though the newspaper account of the burglary failed to mention -the false teeth, they worried him considerably. The picture of -a human waking in the cool dawn and groping for them in vain, -of a soft, toothless breakfast, of a strange, hollow, lisping -voice calling the police station, of weary, dispirited visits -to the dentist, roused a great fatherly pity in him. - -Trying to ascertain whether they belonged to a man or a woman, -he took them carefully out of the case and held them up near -his mouth. He moved his own jaws experimentally; he measured -with his fingers; but he failed to decide: they might belong -either to a large-mouthed woman or a small-mouthed man. - -On a warm impulse he wrapped them in brown paper from the -bottom of his army trunk, and printed FALSE TEETH on the -package in clumsy pencil letters. Then, the next night, he -walked down Philmore Street, and shied the package onto the -lawn so that it would be near the door. Next day the paper -announced that the police had a clew--they knew that the -burglar was in town. However, they didn't mention what the -clew was. - - - -VII - - -At the end of a month "Burglar Bill of the Silver District -was the nurse-girl's standby for frightening children. Five -burglaries were attributed to him, but though Dalyrimple had -only committed three, he considered that majority had it and -appropriated the title to himself. He had once been seen--"a -large bloated creature with the meanest face you ever laid eyes -on." Mrs. Henry Coleman, awaking at two o'clock at the beam of -an electric torch flashed in her eye, could not have been -expected to recognize Bryan Dalyrimple at whom she had waved -flags last Fourth of July, and whom she had described as "not -at all the daredevil type, do you think?" - -When Dalyrimple kept his imagination at white heat he managed to -glorify his own attitude, his emancipation from petty scruples -and remorses--but let him once allow his thought to rove -unarmored, great unexpected horrors and depressions would -overtake him. Then for reassurance he had to go back to think -out the whole thing over again. He found that it was on the -whole better to give up considering himself as a rebel. It was -more consoling to think of every one else as a fool. - -His attitude toward Mr. Macy underwent a change. He no longer -felt a dim animosity and inferiority in his presence. As his -fourth month in the store ended he found himself regarding his -employer in a manner that was almost fraternal. He had a vague -but very assured conviction that Mr. Macy's innermost soul would -have abetted and approved. He no longer worried about his -future. He had the intention of accumulating several thousand -dollars and then clearing out--going east, back to France, down -to South America. Half a dozen times in the last two months he -had been about to stop work, but a fear of attracting attention -to his being in funds prevented him. So he worked on, no longer -in listlessness, but with contemptuous amusement. - - - -VIII - - -Then with astounding suddenness something happened that changed -his plans and put an end to his burglaries. - -Mr. Macy sent for him one afternoon and with a great show of -jovial mystery asked him if he had an engagement that night. If -he hadn't, would he please call on Mr. Alfred J. Fraser at eight -o'clock. Dalyrimple's wonder was mingled with uncertainty. He -debated with himself whether it were not his cue to take the -first train out of town. But an hour's consideration decided him -that his fears were unfounded and at eight o'clock he arrived at -the big Fraser house in Philmore Avenue. - -Mr. Fraser was commonly supposed to be the biggest political -influence in the city. His brother was Senator Fraser, his son- -in-law was Congressman Demming, and his influence, though not -wielded in such a way as to make him an objectionable boss, was -strong nevertheless. - -He had a great, huge face, deep-set eyes, and a barn-door of an -upper lip, the melange approaching a worthy climax if a long -professional jaw. - -During his conversation with Dalyrimple his expression kept -starting toward a smile, reached a cheerful optimism, and then -receded back to imperturbability. - -"How do you do, sir?" he laid, holding out his hand. "Sit down. -I suppose you're wondering why I wanted you. Sit down." - -Dalyrimple sat down. - -"Mr. Dalyrimple, how old are you?" - -"I'm twenty-three." - -"You're young. But that doesn't mean you're foolish. Mr. -Dalyrimple, what I've got to say won't take long. I'm going to -make you a proposition. To begin at the beginning, I've been -watching you ever since last Fourth of July when you made that -speech in response to the loving-cup." - -Dalyrimple murmured disparagingly, but Fraser waved him to -silence. - -"It was a speech I've remembered. It was a brainy speech, -straight from the shoulder, and it got to everybody in that -crowd. I know. I've watched crowds for years." He cleared his -throat as if tempted to digress on his knowledge of crowds--then -continued. "But, Mr. Dalyrimple, I've seen too many young men -who promised brilliantly go to pieces, fail through want of -steadiness, too many high-power ideas, and not enough -willingness to work. So I waited. I wanted to see what you'd -do. I wanted to see if you'd go to work, and if you'd stick to -what you started." - -Dalyrimple felt a glow settle over him. - -"So," continued Fraser, "when Theron Macy told me you'd started -down at his place, I kept watching you, and I followed your -record through him. The first month I was afraid for awhile. -He told me you were getting restless, too good for your job, -hinting around for a raise---" - -Dalyrimple started. - -"---But he said after that you evidently made up your mind to -shut up and stick to it. That's the stuff I like in a young man! -That's the stuff that wins out. And don't think I don't -understand. I know how much harder it was for you after all that -silly flattery a lot of old women had been giving you. I know -what a fight it must have been---" - -Dalyrimple's face was burning brightly. It felt young and -strangely ingenuous. - -"Dalyrimple, you've got brains and you've got the stuff in you-- -and that's what I want. I'm going to put you into the State -Senate." - -"The WHAT?" - -"The State Senate. We want a young man who has got brains, but -is solid and not a loafer. And when I say State Senate I don't -stop there. We're up against it here, Dalyrimple. We've got to -get some young men into politics--you know the old blood that's -been running on the party ticket year in and year out." - -Dalyrimple licked his lips. - -"You'll run me for the State Senate?" - -"I'll PUT you in the State Senate." - -Mr. Fraser's expression had now reached the -point nearest a smile and Dalyrimple in a happy frivolity felt -himself urging it mentally on--but it stopped, locked, and slid -from him. The barn-door and the jaw were separated by a line -strait as a nail. Dalyrimple remembered with an effort that it -was a mouth, and talked to it. - -"But I'm through," he said. "My notoriety's dead. People are -fed up with me." - -"Those things," answered Mr. Fraser, "are mechanical. Linotype -is a resuscitator of reputations. Wait till you see the HERALD, -beginning next week--that is if you're with us--that is," and -his voice hardened slightly, "if you haven't got too many ideas -yourself about how things ought to be run." - -"No," said Dalyrimple, looking him frankly in the eye. "You'll -have to give me a lot of advice at first." - -"Very well. I'll take care of your reputation then. Just keep -yourself on the right side of the fence." - -Dalyrimple started at this repetition of a phrase he had thought -of so much lately. There was a sudden ring at the door-bell. - -"That's Macy now," observed Fraser, rising. "I'll go let him in. -The servants have gone to bed." - -He left Dalyrimple there in a dream. The world was opening up -suddenly--- The State Senate, the United States Senate--so life -was this after all--cutting corners--common sense, that was the -rule. No more foolish risks now unless necessity called--but it -was being hard that counted-- Never to let remorse or self- -reproach lose him a night's sleep--let his life be a sword of -courage--there was no payment--all that was drivel--drivel. - -He sprang to his feet with clinched hands in a sort of triumph. - -"Well, Bryan," said Mr. Macy stepping through the portieres. - -The two older men smiled their half-smiles at him. - -"Well Bryan," said Mr. Macy again. - -Dalyrimple smiled also. - -"How do, Mr. Macy?" - -He wondered if some telepathy between them had made this new -appreciation possible--some invisible realization. . . . - -Mr. Macy held out his hand. - -"I'm glad we're to be associated in this scheme--I've been for -you all along--especially lately. I'm glad we're to be on the -same side of the fence." - -"I want to thank you, sir," said Dalyrimple simply. He felt a -whimsical moisture gathering back of his eyes. - - - - - -The Four Fists - - - - -At the present time no one I know has the slightest desire to -hit Samuel Meredith; possibly this is because a man over fifty -is liable to be rather severely cracked at the impact of a -hostile fist, but, for my part, I am inclined to think that all -his hitable qualities have quite vanished. But it is certain -that at various times in his life hitable qualities were in his -face, as surely as kissable qualities have ever lurked in a -girl's lips. - -I'm sure every one has met a man like that, been casually -introduced, even made a friend of him, yet felt he was the sort -who aroused passionate dislike--expressed by some in the -involuntary clinching of fists, and in others by mutterings -about "takin' a poke" and "landin' a swift smash in ee eye." In -the juxtaposition of Samuel Meredith's features this quality was -so strong that it influenced his entire life. - -What was it? Not the shape, certainly, for he was a pleasant- -looking man from earliest youth: broad-bowed with gray eyes that -were frank and friendly. Yet I've heard him tell a room full of -reporters angling for a "success" story that he'd be ashamed to -tell them the truth that they wouldn't believe it, that it -wasn't one story but four, that the public would not want to -read about a man who had been walloped into prominence. - -It all started at Phillips Andover Academy when he was fourteen. -He had been brought up on a diet of caviar and bell-boys' legs -in half the capitals of Europe, and it was pure luck that his -mother had nervous prostration and had to delegate his education -to less tender, less biassed hands. - -At Andover he was given a roommate named Gilly Hood. Gilly was -thirteen, undersized, and rather the school pet. From the -September day when Mr. Meredith's valet stowed Samuel's clothing -in the best bureau and asked, on departing, "hif there was -hanything helse, Master Samuel?" Gilly cried out that the -faculty had played him false. He felt like an irate frog in -whose bowl has been put goldfish. - -"Good gosh!" he complained to his sympathetic contemporaries, -"he's a damn stuck-up Willie. He said, 'Are the crowd here -gentlemen?' and I said, 'No, they're boys,' and he said age -didn't matter, and I said, 'Who said it did?' Let him get fresh -with me, the ole pieface!" - -For three weeks Gilly endured in silence young Samuel's comments -on the clothes and habits of Gilly's personal friends, endured -French phrases in conversation, endured a hundred half-feminine -meannesses that show what a nervous mother can do to a boy, if -she keeps close enough to him--then a storm broke in the aquarium. - -Samuel was out. A crowd had gathered to hear Gilly be wrathful -about his roommate's latest sins. - -"He said, 'Oh, I don't like the windows open at night,' he said, -'except only a little bit,'" complained Gilly. - -"Don't let him boss you." - -"Boss me? You bet he won't. I open those windows, I guess, but -the darn fool won't take turns shuttin' 'em in the morning." - -"Make him, Gilly, why don't you?" - -"I'm going to." Gilly nodded his head in fierce agreement. -"Don't you worry. He needn't think I'm any ole butler." - -"Le's see you make him." - -At this point the darn fool entered in person and included the -crowd in one of his irritating smiles. Two boys said, "'Lo, -Mer'dith"; the others gave him a chilly glance and went on talking -to Gilly. But Samuel seemed unsatisfied. - -"Would you mind not sitting on my bed?" he suggested politely to -two of Gilly's particulars who were perched very much at ease. - -"Huh?" - -"My bed. Can't you understand English?" - -This was adding insult to injury. There were several comments on -the bed's sanitary condition and the evidence within it of animal -life. - -"S'matter with your old bed?" demanded Gilly truculently. - -"The bed's all right, but---" - -Gilly interrupted this sentence by rising and walking up to -Samuel. He paused several inches away and eyed him fiercely. - -"You an' your crazy ole bed," he began. "You an' your crazy---" - -"Go to it, Gilly," murmured some one. - -"Show the darn fool---" - -Samuel returned the gaze coolly. - -"Well," he said finally, "it's my bed--- " - -He got no further, for Gilly hauled of and hit him succinctly in -the nose. - -"Yea! Gilly!" - -"Show the big bully!" - -Just let him touch you--he'll see!" - -The group closed in on them and for the first time in his life -Samuel realized the insuperable inconvenience of being -passionately detested. He gazed around helplessly at the -glowering, violently hostile faces. He towered a head taller -than his roommate, so if he hit back he'd be called a bully and -have half a dozen more fights on his hands within five minutes; -yet if he didn't he was a coward. For a moment he stood there -facing Gilly's blazing eyes, and then, with a sudden choking -sound, he forced his way through the ring and rushed from the -room. - -The month following bracketed the thirty most miserable days of -his life. Every waking moment he was under the lashing tongues -of his contemporaries; his habits and mannerisms became butts -for intolerable witticisms and, of course, the sensitiveness of -adolescence was a further thorn. He considered that he was a -natural pariah; that the unpopularity at school would follow him -through life. When he went home for the Christmas holidays he -was so despondent that his father sent him to a nerve -specialist. When he returned to Andover he arranged to arrive -late so that he could be alone in the bus during the drive from -station to school. - -Of course when he had learned to keep his mouth shut every one -promptly forgot all about him. The next autumn, with his -realization that consideration for others was the discreet -attitude, he made good use of the clean start given him by the -shortness of boyhood memory. By the beginning of his senior year -Samuel Meredith was one of the best-liked boys of his class--and -no one was any stronger for him than his first friend and -constant companion, Gilly Hood. - - - -II - - -Samuel became the sort of college student who in the early -nineties drove tandems and coaches and tallyhos between -Princeton and Yale and New York City to show that they -appreciated the social importance of football games. He believed -passionately in good form--his choosing of gloves, his tying of -ties, his holding of reins were imitated by impressionable -freshmen. Outside of his own set he was considered rather a -snob, but as his set was THE set, it never worried him. He -played football in the autumn, drank high-balls in the winter, -and rowed in the spring. Samuel despised all those who were -merely sportsmen without being gentlemen or merely gentlemen -without being sportsmen. - -He live in New York and often brought home several of his -friends for the week-end. Those were the days of the horse-car -and in case of a crush it was, of course, the proper thing for -any one of Samuel's set to rise and deliver his seat to a -standing lady with a formal bow. One night in Samuel's junior -year he boarded a car with two of his intimates. There were -three vacant seats. When Samuel sat down he noticed a heavy-eyed -laboring man sitting next to him who smelt objectionably of -garlic, sagged slightly against Samuel and, spreading a little -as a tired man will, took up quite too much room. - -The car had gone several blocks when it stopped for a quartet of -young girls, and, of course, the three men of the world sprang -to their feet and proffered their seats with due observance of -form. Unfortunately, the laborer, being unacquainted with the -code of neckties and tallyhos, failed to follow their example, -and one young lady was left at an embarrassed stance. Fourteen -eyes glared reproachfully at the barbarian; seven lips curled -slightly; but the object of scorn stared stolidly into the -foreground in sturdy unconsciousness of his despicable conduct. -Samuel was the most violently affected. He was humiliated that -any male should so conduct himself. He spoke aloud. - -"There's a lady standing," he said sternly. - -That should have been quite enough, but the object of scorn only -looked up blankly. The standing girl tittered and exchanged -nervous glances with her companions. But Samuel was aroused. - -"There's a lady standing," he repeated, rather raspingly. The -man seemed to comprehend. - -"I pay my fare," he said quietly. - -Samuel turned red and his hands clinched, but the conductor was -looking their way, so at a warning nod from his friends he -subsided into sullen gloom. - -They reached their destination and left the car, but so did the -laborer, who followed them, swinging his little pail. Seeing his -chance, Samuel no longer resisted his aristocratic inclination. -He turned around and, launching a full-featured, dime-novel -sneer, made a loud remark about the right of the lower animals -to ride with human beings. - -In a half-second the workman had dropped his pail and let fly at -him. Unprepared, Samuel took the blow neatly on the jaw and -sprawled full length into the cobblestone gutter. - -"Don't laugh at me!" cried his assailant. "I been workin' all -day. I'm tired as hell!" - -As he spoke the sudden anger died out of his eyes and the mask -of weariness dropped again over his face. He turned and picked -up his pail. Samuel's friends took a quick step in his direction. - -"Wait!" Samuel had risen slowly and was motioning back. Some -time, somewhere, he had been struck like that before. Then he -remembered--Gilly Hood. In the silence, as he dusted himself -off, the whole scene in the room at Andover was before his eyes-- -and he knew intuitively that he had been wrong again. This -man's strength, his rest, was the protection of his family. He -had more use for his seat in the street-car than any young girl. - -"It's all right," said Samuel gruffly. "Don't touch 'him. I've -been a damn fool." - -Of course it took more than an hour, or a week, for Samuel to -rearrange his ideas on the essential importance of good form. At -first he simply admitted that his wrongness had made him -powerless--as it had made him powerless against Gilly--but -eventually his mistake about the workman influenced his entire -attitude. Snobbishness is, after all, merely good breeding grown -dictatorial; so Samuel's code remained but the necessity of -imposing it upon others had faded out in a certain gutter. -Within that year his class had somehow stopped referring to him -as a snob. - - - -III - - -After a few years Samuel's university decided that it had shone -long enough in the reflected glory of his neckties, so they -declaimed to him in Latin, charged him ten dollars for the paper -which proved him irretrievably educated, and sent him into the -turmoil with much self-confidence, a few friends, and the proper -assortment of harmless bad habits. - -His family had by that time started back to shirt-sleeves, -through a sudden decline in the sugar-market, and it had already -unbuttoned its vest, so to speak, when Samuel went to work. His -mind was that exquisite TABULA RASA that a university education -sometimes leaves, but he had both energy and influence, so he -used his former ability as a dodging half-back in twisting -through Wall Street crowds as runner for a bank. - -His diversion was--women. There were half a dozen: two or three -debutantes, an actress (in a minor way), a grass-widow, and one -sentimental little brunette who was married and lived in a -little house in Jersey City. - -They had met on a ferry-boat. Samuel was crossing from New York -on business (he bad been working several years by this time) and -he helped her look for a package that she had dropped in the crush. - -"Do you come over often?" he inquired casually. - -"Just to shop," she said shyly. She had great brown eyes and the -pathetic kind of little mouth. "I've only been married three -months, and we find it cheaper to live over here." - -"Does he--does your husband like your being alone like this?" - -She laughed, a cheery young laugh. - -"Oh, dear me, no. We were to meet for dinner but I must have -misunderstood the place. He'll be awfully worried." - -"Well," said Samuel disapprovingly, "he ought to be. If you'll -allow me I'll see you home." - -She accepted his offer thankfully, so they took the cable-car -together. When they walked up the path to her little house they -saw a light there; her husband had arrived before her. - -"He's frightfully jealous," she announced, laughingly apologetic. - -"Very well," answered Samuel, rather stiffly. "I'd better leave -you here." - -She thanked him and, waving a good night, he left her. - -That would have been quite all if they hadn't met on Fifth -Avenue one morning a week later. She started and blushed and -seemed so glad to see him that they chatted like old friends. -She was going to her dressmaker's, eat lunch alone at Taine's, -shop all afternoon, and meet her husband on the ferry at five. -Samuel told her that her husband was a very lucky man. She -blushed again and scurried off. - -Samuel whistled all the way back to his office, but about twelve -o'clock he began to see that pathetic, appealing little mouth -everywhere--and those brown eyes. He fidgeted when he looked at -the clock; he thought of the grill down-stairs where he lunched -and the heavy male conversation thereof, and opposed to that -picture appeared another; a little table at Taine's with the -brown eyes and the mouth a few feet away. A few minutes before -twelve-thirty he dashed on his hat and rushed for the cable-car. - -She was quite surprised to see him. - -"Why--hello," she said. Samuel could tell that she was just -pleasantly frightened. - -"I thought we might lunch together. It's so dull eating with a -lot of men." - -She hesitated. - -"Why, I suppose there's no harm in it. How could there be!" - -It occurred to her that her husband should have taken lunch with -her--but he was generally so hurried at noon. She told Samuel -all about him: he was a little smaller than Samuel, but, oh, -MUCH better-looking. He was a book-keeper and not making a lot -of money, but they were very happy and expected to be rich -within three or four years. - -Samuel's grass-widow had been in a quarrelsome mood for three or -four weeks, and through contrast, he took an accentuated -pleasure in this meeting; so fresh was she, and earnest, and -faintly adventurous. Her name was Marjorie. - -They made another engagement; in fact, for a month they lunched -together two or three times a week. When she was sure that her -husband would work late Samuel took her over to New Jersey on -the ferry, leaving her always on the tiny front porch, after -she had gone in and lit the gas to use the security of his -masculine presence outside. This grew to be a ceremony--and it -annoyed him. Whenever the comfortable glow fell out through the -front windows, that was his CONGE; yet he never suggested coming -in and Marjorie didn't invite him. - -Then, when Samuel and Marjorie had reached a stage in which they -sometimes touched each other's arms gently, just to show that -they were very good friends, Marjorie and her husband had one of -those ultrasensitive, supercritical quarrels that couples never -indulge in unless they care a great deal about each other. It -started with a cold mutton-chop or a leak in the gas-jet--and -one day Samuel found her in Taine's, with dark shadows under her -brown eyes and a terrifying pout. - -By this time Samuel thought he was in love with Marjorie--so he -played up the quarrel for all it was worth. He was her best -friend and patted her hand--and leaned down close to her brown -curls while she whispered in little sobs what her husband had -said that morning; and he was a little more than her best friend -when he took her over to the ferry in a hansom. - -"Marjorie," he said gently, when he left her, as usual, on the -porch, "if at any time you want to call on me, remember that I -am always waiting, always waiting." - -She nodded gravely and put both her hands in his. "I know," she -said. "I know you're my friend, my best friend." - -Then she ran into the house and he watched there until the gas -went on. - -For the next week Samuel was in a nervous turmoil. Some -persistently rational strain warned him that at bottom he and -Marjorie had little in common, but in such cases there is -usually so much mud in the water that one can seldom see to the -bottom. Every dream and desire told him that he loved Marjorie, -wanted her, had to have her. - -The quarrel developed. Marjorie's husband took to staying in New -York until late at night came home several times disagreeably -overstimulated, and made her generally miserable. They must have -had too much pride to talk it out--for Marjorie's husband was, -after all, pretty decent--so it drifted on from one -misunderstanding to another. Marjorie kept coming more and more -to Samuel; when a woman can accept masculine sympathy at is much -more satisfactory to her than crying to another girl. But -Marjorie didn't realize how much she had begun to rely on him, -how much he was part of her little cosmos. - -One night, instead of turning away when Marjorie went in and lit -the gas, Samuel went in, too, and they sat together on the sofa -in the little parlor. He was very happy. He envied their home, -and he felt that the man who neglected such a possession out of -stubborn pride was a fool and unworthy of his wife. But when he -kissed Marjorie for the first time she cried softly and told him -to go. He sailed home on the wings of desperate excitement, -quite resolved to fan this spark of romance, no matter how big -the blaze or who was burned. At the time he considered that his -thoughts were unselfishly of her; in a later perspective he knew -that she had meant no more than the white screen in a motion -picture: it was just Samuel--blind, desirous. - -Next day at Taine's, when they met for lunch, Samuel dropped all -pretense and made frank love to her. He had no plans, no -definite intentions, except to kiss her lips again, to hold her -in his arms and feel that she was very little and pathetic and -lovable. . . . He took her home, and this time they kissed until -both their hearts beat high--words and phrases formed on his lips. - -And then suddenly there were steps on the porch--a hand tried -the outside door. Marjorie turned dead-white. - -"Wait!" she whispered to Samuel, in a frightened voice, but in -angry impatience at the interruption he walked to the front door -and threw it open. - -Every one has seen such scenes on the stage--seen them so often -that when they actually happen people behave very much like -actors. Samuel felt that he was playing a part and the lines -came quite naturally: he announced that all had a right to lead -their own lives and looked at Marjorie's husband menacingly, as -if daring him to doubt it. Marjorie's husband spoke of the -sanctity of the home, forgetting that it hadn't seemed very holy -to him lately; Samuel continued along the line of "the right to -happiness"; Marjorie's husband mentioned firearms and the -divorce court. Then suddenly he stopped and scrutinized both of -them--Marjorie in pitiful collapse on the sofa, Samuel -haranguing the furniture in a consciously heroic pose. - -"Go up-stairs, Marjorie," he said, in a different tone. - -"Stay where you are!" Samuel countered quickly. - -Marjorie rose, wavered, and sat down, rose again and moved -hesitatingly toward the stairs. - -"Come outside," said her husband to Samuel. "I want to talk to -you." - -Samuel glanced at Marjorie, tried to get some message from her -eyes; then he shut his lips and went out. - -There was a bright moon and when Marjorie's husband came down -the steps Samuel could see plainly that he was suffering--but -he felt no pity for him. - -They stood and looked at each other, a few feet apart, and the -husband cleared his throat as though it were a bit husky. - -"That's my wife," he said quietly, and then a wild anger surged -up inside him. "Damn you!" he cried--and hit Samuel in the -face with all his strength. - -In that second, as Samuel slumped to the ground, it flashed to -him that he had been hit like that twice before, and -simultaneously the incident altered like a dream--he felt -suddenly awake. Mechanically he sprang to his feet and squared -off. The other man was waiting, fists up, a yard away, but -Samuel knew that though physically he had him by several inches -and many pounds, he wouldn't hit him. The situation had -miraculously and entirely changed--a moment before Samuel had -seemed to himself heroic; now he seemed the cad, the outsider, -and Marjorie's husband, silhouetted against the lights of the -little house, the eternal heroic figure, the defender of his home. - -There was a pause and then Samuel turned quickly away and went -down the path for the last time. - - - -IV - - -Of course, after the third blow Samuel put in several weeks at -conscientious introspection. The blow years before at Andover -had landed on his personal unpleasantness; the workman of his -college days had jarred the snobbishness out of his system, and -Marjorie's husband had given a severe jolt to his greedy -selfishness. It threw women out of his ken until a year later, -when he met his future wife; for the only sort of woman worth -while seemed to be the one who could be protected as Marjorie's -husband had protected her. Samuel could not imagine his grass- -widow, Mrs. De Ferriac, causing any very righteous blows on her -own account. - -His early thirties found him well on his feet. He was associated -with old Peter Carhart, who was in those days a national figure. -Carhart's physique was like a rough model for a statue of -Hercules, and his record was just as solid--a pile made for the -pure joy of it, without cheap extortion or shady scandal. He had -been a great friend of Samuel's father, but he watched the son -for six years before taking him into his own office. Heaven -knows how many things he controlled at that time--mines, -railroads, banks, whole cities. Samuel was very close to him, -knew his likes and dislikes, his prejudices, weaknesses and -many strengths. - -One day Carhart sent for Samuel and, closing the door of his -inner office, offered him a chair and a cigar. - -"Everything 0. K., Samuel?" he asked. - -"Why, yes." - -"I've been afraid you're getting a bit stale." - -"Stale?" Samuel was puzzled. - -"You've done no work outside the office for nearly ten years?" - -"But I've had vacations, in the Adiron---" - -Carhart waved this aside. - -"I mean outside work. Seeing the things move that we've always -pulled the strings of here." - -"No " admitted Samuel; "I haven't." - -"So," he said abruptly "I'm going to give you an outside job -that'll take about a month." - -Samuel didn't argue. He rather liked the idea and he made up his -mind that, whatever it was, he would put it through just as -Carhart wanted it. That was his employer's greatest hobby, and -the men around him were as dumb under direct orders as infantry -subalterns. - -"You'll go to San Antonio and see Hamil," continued Carhart. -"He's got a job on hand and he wants a man to take charge." - -Hamil was in charge of the Carhart interests in the Southwest, a -man who had grown up in the shadow of his employer, and with -whom, though they had never met, Samuel had had much official -correspondence. - -"When do I leave?" - -"You'd better go to-morrow," answered Carhart, glancing at the -calendar. "That's the 1st of May. I'll expect your report here on -the 1st of June." - -Next morning Samuel left for Chicago, and two days later he was -facing Hamil across a table in the office of the Merchants' -Trust in San Antonio. It didn't take long to get the gist of the -thing. It was a big deal in oil which concerned the buying up of -seventeen huge adjoining ranches. This buying up had to be done -in one week, and it was a pure squeeze. Forces had been set in -motion that put the seventeen owners between the devil and the -deep sea, and Samuel's part was simply to "handle" the matter -from a little village near Pueblo. With tact and efficiency the -right man could bring it off without any friction, for it was -merely a question of sitting at the wheel and keeping a firm -hold. Hamil, with an astuteness many times valuable to his -chief, had arranged a situation that would give a much greater -clear gain than any dealing in the open market. Samuel shook -hands with Hamil, arranged to return in two weeks, and left for -San Felipe, New Mexico. - -It occurred to him, of course, that Carhart was trying him out. -Hamil's report on his handling of this might be a factor in -something big for him, but even without that he would have done -his best to put the thing through. Ten years in New York hadn't -made him sentimental and he was quite accustomed to finish -everything he began--and a little bit more. - -All went well at first. There was no enthusiasm, but each one of -the seventeen ranchers concerned knew Samuel's business, knew -what he had behind him, and that they had as little chance of -holding out as flies on a window-pane. Some of them were -resigned--some of them cared like the devil, but they'd talked -it over, argued it with lawyers and couldn't see any possible -loophole. Five of the ranches had oil, the other twelve were -part of the chance, but quite as necessary to Hamil's purpose, -in any event. - -Samuel soon saw that the real leader was an early settler named -McIntyre, a man of perhaps fifty, gray-haired, clean-shaven, -bronzed by forty New Mexico summers, and with those clear steady -eye that Texas and New Mexico weather are apt to give. His ranch -had not as yet shown oil, but it was in the pool, and if any man -hated to lose his land McIntyre did. Every one had rather looked -to him at first to avert the big calamity, and he had hunted all -over the territory for the legal means with which to do it, but -he had failed, and he knew it. He avoided Samuel assiduously, -but Samuel was sure that when the day came for the signatures he -would appear. - -It came--a baking May day, with hot wave rising off the parched -land as far as eyes could see, and as Samuel sat stewing in his -little improvised office--a few chairs, a bench, and a wooden -table--he was glad the thing was almost over. He wanted to get -back East the worst way, and join his wife and children for a -week at the seashore. - -The meeting was set for four o'clock, and he was rather -surprised at three-thirty when the door opened and McIntyre came -in. Samuel could not help respecting the man's attitude, and -feeling a bit sorry for him. McIntyre seemed closely related to -the prairies, and Samuel had the little flicker of envy that -city people feel toward men who live in the open. - -"Afternoon," said McIntyre, standing in the open doorway, with -his feet apart and his hands on his hips. - -"Hello, Mr. McIntyre." Samuel rose, but omitted the formality of -offering his hand. He imagined the rancher cordially loathed -him, and he hardly blamed him. McIntyre came in and sat down -leisurely. - -"You got us," he said suddenly. - -This didn't seem to require any answer. - -"When I heard Carhart was back of this," he continued, "I gave up." - -"Mr. Carhart is---" began Samuel, but McIntyre waved him silent. - -"Don't talk about the dirty sneak-thief!" - -"Mr. McIntyre," said Samuel briskly, "if this half-hour is to be -devoted to that sort of talk---" - -"Oh, dry up, young man," McIntyre interrupted, "you can't abuse -a man who'd do a thing like this." - -Samuel made no answer. - -"It's simply a dirty filch. There just ARE skunks like him too -big to handle." - -"You're being paid liberally," offered Samuel. - -"Shut up!" roared McIntyre suddenly. "I want the privilege of -talking." He walked to the door and looked out across the land, -the sunny, steaming pasturage that began almost at his feet and -ended with the gray-green of the distant mountains. When he -turned around his mouth was trembling. - -"Do you fellows love Wall Street?" he said hoarsely, "or -wherever you do your dirty scheming---" He paused. "I suppose you -do. No critter gets so low that he doesn't sort of love the -place he's worked, where he's sweated out the best he's had in -him." - -Samuel watched him awkwardly. McIntyre wiped his forehead with a -huge blue handkerchief, and continued: - -"I reckon this rotten old devil had to have another million. I -reckon we're just a few of the poor he's blotted out to buy a -couple more carriages or something." He waved his hand toward -the door. "I built a house out there when I was seventeen, with -these two hands. I took a wife there at twenty-one, added two -wings, and with four mangy steers I started out. Forty summers -I've saw the sun come up over those mountains and drop down red -as blood in the evening, before the heat drifted off and the -stars came out. I been happy in that house. My boy was born -there and he died there, late one spring, in the hottest part of -an afternoon like this. Then the wife and I lived there alone -like we'd lived before, and sort of tried to have a home, after -all, not a real home but nigh it--cause the boy always seemed -around close, somehow, and we expected a lot of nights to see -him runnin' up the path to supper." His voice was shaking so he -could hardly speak and he turned again to the door, his gray -eyes contracted. - -"That's my land out there," he said, stretching out his arm, "my -land, by God--- It's all I got in the world--and ever wanted." He -dashed his sleeve across his face, and his tone changed as he -turned slowly and faced Samuel. "But I suppose it's got to go -when they want it--it's got to go." - -Samuel had to talk. He felt that in a minute more he would lose -his head. So he began, as level-voiced as he could--in the sort -of tone he saved for disagreeable duties. - -"It's business, Mr. McIntyre," he said. "It's inside the law. -Perhaps we couldn't have bought out two or three of you at any -price, but most of you did have a price. Progress demands some -things---" - -Never had he felt so inadequate, and it was with the greatest -relief that he heard hoof-beats a few hundred yards away. - -But at his words the grief in McIntyre's eyes had changed to fury. - -"You and your dirty gang of crooks!" be cried. "Not one of you -has got an honest love for anything on God's earth! You're a -herd of money-swine!" - -Samuel rose and McIntyre took a step toward him. - -"You long-winded dude. You got our land--take that for Peter -Carhart!" - -He swung from the shoulder quick as lightning and down went -Samuel in a heap. Dimly he heard steps in the doorway and knew -that some one was holding McIntyre, but there was no need. The -rancher had sunk down in his chair, and dropped his head in his -hands. - -Samuel's brain was whirring. He realized that the fourth fist -had hit him, and a great flood of emotion cried out that the law -that had inexorably ruled his life was in motion again. In a -half-daze he got up and strode from the room. - -The next ten minutes were perhaps the hardest of his life. People -talk of the courage of convictions, but in actual life a man's -duty to his family may make a rigid corpse seem a selfish -indulgence of his own righteousness. Samuel thought mostly of -his family, yet he never really wavered. That jolt had brought him -to. - -When he came back in the room there were a log of worried faces -waiting for him, but he didn't waste any time explaining. - -"Gentlemen," he said, "Mr. McIntyre has been kind enough to -convince me that in this matter you are absolutely right and the -Peter Carhart interests absolutely wrong. As far as I am -concerned you can keep your ranches to the rest of your days." - -He pushed his way through an astounded gathering, and within a -half-hour he had sent two telegrams that staggered the operator -into complete unfitness for business; one was to Hamil in San -Antonio; one was to Peter Carhart in New York. - -Samuel didn't sleep much that night. He knew that for the first -time in his business career he had made a dismal, miserable -failure. But some instinct in him, stronger than will, deeper -than training, had forced him to do what would probably end his -ambitions and his happiness. But it was done and it never -occurred to him that he could have acted otherwise. - -Next morning two telegrams were waiting for him. The first was -from Hamil. It contained three words: - -"You blamed idiot!" - -The second was from New York: - -"Deal off come to New York immediately Carhart." - -Within a week things had happened. Hamil quarrelled furiously -and violently defended his scheme. He was summoned to New York -and spent a bad half-hour on the carpet in Peter Carhart's -office. He broke with the Carhart interests in July, and in -August Samuel Meredith, at thirty-five years old, was, to all -intents, made Carhart's partner. The fourth fist had done its -work. - -I suppose that there's a caddish streak in every man that runs -crosswise across his character and disposition and general -outlook. With some men it's secret and we never know it's there -until they strike us in the dark one night. But Samuel's showed -when it was in action, and the sight of it made people see red. -He was rather lucky in that, because every time his little devil -came up it met a reception that sent it scurrying down below in -a sickly, feeble condition. It was the same devil, the same -streak that made him order Gilly's friends off the bed, that -made him go inside Marjorie's house. - -If you could run your hand along Samuel Meredith's jaw you'd -feel a lump. He admits he's never been sure which fist left it -there, but he wouldn't lose it for anything. He says there's no -cad like an old cad, and that sometimes just before making a -decision, it's a great help to stroke his chin. The reporters -call it a nervous characteristic, but it's not that. It's so he -can feel again the gorgeous clarity, the lightning sanity of -those four fists. - - -End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Flappers and Philosophers -by F. Scott Fitzgerald - |