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diff --git a/4645-h/4645-h.htm b/4645-h/4645-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bd5b55e --- /dev/null +++ b/4645-h/4645-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,16117 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Landlord at Lion's Head, by William Dean Howells + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd7; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Landlord at Lion's Head, Complete +by William Dean Howells + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Landlord at Lion's Head, Complete + +Author: William Dean Howells + +Release Date: August 22, 2006 [EBook #4645] +Last Updated: February 25, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LANDLORD AT LION'S HEAD, *** + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + <h1> + THE LANDLORD AT LION'S HEAD + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By William Dean Howells + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> <img src="images/{0008}.jpg" alt="{0008}" width="100%" /><br /> </div> <h5> <a href="images/{0008}.jpg"> <img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> </h5> + + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>THE LANDLORD AT LION'S HEAD</b> </a><br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART1"> <b>Part I. </b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> XIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> XIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> XVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> XVII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> XVIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> XIX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> XX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> XXI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> XXII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> XIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> XXIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> XXV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> XXVI. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART2"> <b>Part II.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> XXVII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> XXVIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> XXIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> XXX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> XXXI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> XXXII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> XXXIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> XXXIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> XXXV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> XXXVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> XXXVII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> XXXVIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> XXXIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0042"> XL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> XLI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0044"> XLII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0045"> XLIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0046"> XLIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0047"> XLV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0048"> XLVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0049"> XLVII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0050"> XLVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0051"> XLIX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0052"> L. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0053"> LI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0054"> LII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0055"> LIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0056"> LIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0057"> LV </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_PART1" id="link2H_PART1"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + Part I. + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h4> + BIBLIOGRAPHICAL + </h4> + <p> + In those dim recesses of the consciousness where things have their + beginning, if ever things have a beginning, I suppose the origin of this + novel may be traced to a fact of a fortnight's sojourn on the western + shore of lake Champlain in the summer of 1891. Across the water in the + State of Vermont I had constantly before my eyes a majestic mountain form + which the earlier French pioneers had named “Le Lion Couchant,” but which + their plainer-minded Yankee successors preferred to call “The Camel's + Hump.” It really looked like a sleeping lion; the head was especially + definite; and when, in the course of some ten years, I found the scheme + for a story about a summer hotel which I had long meant to write, this + image suggested the name of 'The Landlord at Lion's Head.' I gave the + title to my unwritten novel at once and never wished to change it, but + rejoiced in the certainty that, whatever the novel turned out to be, the + title could not be better. + </p> + <p> + I began to write the story four years later, when we were settled for the + winter in our flat on Central Park, and as I was a year in doing it, with + other things, I must have taken the unfinished manuscript to and from + Magnolia, Massachusetts, and Long Beach, Long Island, where I spent the + following summer. It was first serialized in Harper's Weekly and in the + London Illustrated News, as well as in an Australian newspaper—I + forget which one; and it was published as a completed book in 1896. + </p> + <p> + I remember concerning it a very becoming despair when, at a certain moment + in it, I began to wonder what I was driving at. I have always had such + moments in my work, and if I cannot fitly boast of them, I can at least + own to them in freedom from the pride that goes before a fall. My only + resource at such times was to keep working; keep beating harder and harder + at the wall which seemed to close me in, till at last I broke through into + the daylight beyond. In this case, I had really such a very good grip of + my characters that I need not have had the usual fear of their failure to + work out their destiny. But even when the thing was done and I carried the + completed manuscript to my dear old friend, the late Henry Loomis Nelson, + then editor of the Weekly, it was in more fear of his judgment than I + cared to show. As often happened with my manuscript in such exigencies, it + seemed to go all to a handful of shrivelled leaves. When we met again and + he accepted it for the Weekly, with a handclasp of hearty welcome, I could + scarcely gasp out my unfeigned relief. We had talked the scheme of it over + together; he had liked the notion, and he easily made me believe, after my + first dismay, that he liked the result even better. + </p> + <p> + I myself liked the hero of the tale more than I have liked worthier men, + perhaps because I thought I had achieved in him a true rustic New England + type in contact with urban life under entirely modern conditions. What + seemed to me my esthetic success in him possibly softened me to his + ethical shortcomings; but I do not expect others to share my weakness for + Jeff Durgin, whose strong, rough surname had been waiting for his + personality ever since I had got it off the side of an ice-cart many years + before. + </p> + <p> + At the time the story was imagined Harvard had been for four years much in + the direct knowledge of the author, and I pleased myself in realizing the + hero's experience there from even more intimacy with the university moods + and manners than had supported me in the studies of an earlier fiction + dealing with them. I had not lived twelve years in Cambridge without + acquaintance such as even an elder man must make with the undergraduate + life; but it is only from its own level that this can be truly learned, + and I have always been ready to stand corrected by undergraduate + experience. Still, I have my belief that as a jay—the word may now + be obsolete—Jeff Durgin is not altogether out of drawing; though + this is, of course, the phase of his character which is one of the least + important. What I most prize in him, if I may go to the bottom of the + inkhorn, is the realization of that anti-Puritan quality which was always + vexing the heart of Puritanism, and which I had constantly felt one of the + most interesting facts in my observation of New England. + </p> + <p> + As for the sort of summer hotel portrayed in these pages, it was + materialized from an acquaintance with summer hotels extending over + quarter of a century, and scarcely to be surpassed if paralleled. I had a + passion for knowing about them and understanding their operation which I + indulged at every opportunity, and which I remember was satisfied as to + every reasonable detail at one of the pleasantest seaside hostelries by + one of the most intelligent and obliging of landlords. Yet, hotels for + hotels, I was interested in those of the hills rather than those of the + shores. + </p> + <p> + I worked steadily if not rapidly at the story. Often I went back over it, + and tore it to pieces and put it together again. It made me feel at times + as if I should never learn my trade, but so did every novel I have + written; every novel, in fact, has been a new trade. In, the case of this + one the publishers were hurrying me in the revision for copy to give the + illustrator, who was hurrying his pictures for the English and Australian + serializations. + </p> + <p> + KITTERY POINT, MAINE, July, 1909. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LANDLORD AT LION'S HEAD + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I. + </h2> + <p> + If you looked at the mountain from the west, the line of the summit was + wandering and uncertain, like that of most mountain-tops; but, seen from + the east, the mass of granite showing above the dense forests of the lower + slopes had the form of a sleeping lion. The flanks and haunches were + vaguely distinguished from the mass; but the mighty head, resting with its + tossed mane upon the vast paws stretched before it, was boldly sculptured + against the sky. The likeness could not have been more perfect, when you + had it in profile, if it had been a definite intention of art; and you + could travel far north and far south before the illusion vanished. In + winter the head was blotted by the snows; and sometimes the vagrant clouds + caught upon it and deformed it, or hid it, at other seasons; but commonly, + after the last snow went in the spring until the first snow came in the + fall, the Lion's Head was a part of the landscape, as imperative and + importunate as the Great Stone Face itself. + </p> + <p> + Long after other parts of the hill country were opened to summer sojourn, + the region of Lion's Head remained almost primitively solitary and savage. + A stony mountain road followed the bed of the torrent that brawled through + the valley at its base, and at a certain point a still rougher lane + climbed from the road along the side of the opposite height to a lonely + farm-house pushed back on a narrow shelf of land, with a meagre acreage of + field and pasture broken out of the woods that clothed all the neighboring + steeps. The farm-house level commanded the best view of Lion's Head, and + the visitors always mounted to it, whether they came on foot, or arrived + on buckboards or in buggies, or drove up in the Concord stages from the + farther and nearer hotels. The drivers of the coaches rested their horses + there, and watered them from the spring that dripped into the green log at + the barn; the passengers scattered about the door-yard to look at the + Lion's Head, to wonder at it and mock at it, according to their several + makes and moods. They could scarcely have felt that they ever had a + welcome from the stalwart, handsome woman who sold them milk, if they + wanted it, and small cakes of maple sugar if they were very strenuous for + something else. The ladies were not able to make much of her from the + first; but some of them asked her if it were not rather lonely there, and + she said that when you heard the catamounts scream at night, and the bears + growl in the spring, it did seem lonesome. When one of them declared that + if she should hear a catamount scream or a bear growl she should die, the + woman answered, Well, she presumed we must all die some time. But the + ladies were not sure of a covert slant in her words, for they were spoken + with the same look she wore when she told them that the milk was five + cents a glass, and the black maple sugar three cents a cake. She did not + change when she owned upon their urgence that the gaunt man whom they + glimpsed around the corners of the house was her husband, and the three + lank boys with him were her sons; that the children whose faces watched + them through the writhing window panes were her two little girls; that the + urchin who stood shyly twisted, all but his white head and sunburned face, + into her dress and glanced at them with a mocking blue eye, was her + youngest, and that he was three years old. With like coldness of voice and + face, she assented to their conjecture that the space walled off in the + farther corner of the orchard was the family burial ground; and she said, + with no more feeling that the ladies could see than she had shown + concerning the other facts, that the graves they saw were those of her + husband's family and of the children she had lost there had been ten + children, and she had lost four. She did not visibly shrink from the + pursuit of the sympathy which expressed itself in curiosity as to the + sickness they had died of; the ladies left her with the belief that they + had met a character, and she remained with the conviction, briefly + imparted to her husband, that they were tonguey. + </p> + <p> + The summer folks came more and more, every year, with little variance in + the impression on either side. When they told her that her maple sugar + would sell better if the cake had an image of Lion's Head stamped on it, + she answered that she got enough of Lion's Head without wanting to see it + on all the sugar she made. But the next year the cakes bore a rude effigy + of Lion's Head, and she said that one of her boys had cut the stamp out + with his knife; she now charged five cents a cake for the sugar, but her + manner remained the same. It did not change when the excursionists drove + away, and the deep silence native to the place fell after their chatter. + When a cock crew, or a cow lowed, or a horse neighed, or one of the boys + shouted to the cattle, an echo retorted from the granite base of Lion's + Head, and then she had all the noise she wanted, or, at any rate, all the + noise there was most of the time. Now and then a wagon passed on the stony + road by the brook in the valley, and sent up its clatter to the farm-house + on its high shelf, but there was scarcely another break from the silence + except when the coaching-parties came. + </p> + <p> + The continuous clash and rush of the brook was like a part of the silence, + as the red of the farm-house and the barn was like a part of the green of + the fields and woods all round them: the black-green of pines and spruces, + the yellow-green of maples and birches, dense to the tops of the dreary + hills, and breaking like a bated sea around the Lion's Head. The farmer + stooped at his work, with a thin, inward-curving chest, but his wife stood + straight at hers; and she had a massive beauty of figure and a heavily + moulded regularity of feature that impressed such as had eyes to see her + grandeur among the summer folks. She was forty when they began to come, + and an ashen gray was creeping over the reddish heaps of her hair, like + the pallor that overlies the crimson of the autumnal oak. She showed her + age earlier than most fair people, but since her marriage at eighteen she + had lived long in the deaths of the children she had lost. They were born + with the taint of their father's family, and they withered from their + cradles. The youngest boy alone; of all her brood, seemed to have + inherited her health and strength. The rest as they grew up began to + cough, as she had heard her husband's brothers and sisters cough, and then + she waited in hapless patience the fulfilment of their doom. The two + little girls whose faces the ladies of the first coaching-party saw at the + farm-house windows had died away from them; two of the lank boys had + escaped, and in the perpetual exile of California and Colorado had saved + themselves alive. Their father talked of going, too, but ten years later + he still dragged himself spectrally about the labors of the farm, with the + same cough at sixty which made his oldest son at twenty-nine look scarcely + younger than himself. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. + </h2> + <p> + One soft noon in the middle of August the farmer came in from the + corn-field that an early frost had blighted, and told his wife that they + must give it up. He said, in his weak, hoarse voice, with the catarrhal + catching in it, that it was no use trying to make a living on the farm any + longer. The oats had hardly been worth cutting, and now the corn was gone, + and there was not hay enough without it to winter the stock; if they got + through themselves they would have to live on potatoes. Have a vendue, and + sell out everything before the snow flew, and let the State take the farm + and get what it could for it, and turn over the balance that was left + after the taxes; the interest of the savings-bank mortgage would soon eat + that up. + </p> + <p> + The long, loose cough took him, and another cough answered it like an echo + from the barn, where his son was giving the horses their feed. The mild, + wan-eyed young man came round the corner presently toward the porch where + his father and mother were sitting, and at the same moment a boy came up + the lane to the other corner; there were sixteen years between the ages of + the brothers, who alone were left of the children born into and borne out + of the house. The young man waited till they were within whispering + distance of each other, and then he gasped: “Where you been?” + </p> + <p> + The boy answered, promptly, “None your business,” and went up the steps + before the young man, with a lop-eared, liver-colored mongrel at his + heels. He pulled off his ragged straw hat and flung it on the floor of the + porch. “Dinner over?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + His father made no answer; his mother looked at the boy's hands and face, + all of much the same earthen cast, up to the eaves of his thatch of yellow + hair, and said: “You go and wash yourself.” At a certain light in his + mother's eye, which he caught as he passed into the house with his dog, + the boy turned and cut a defiant caper. The oldest son sat down on the + bench beside his father, and they all looked in silence at the mountain + before them. They heard the boy whistling behind the house, with + sputtering and blubbering noises, as if he were washing his face while he + whistled; and then they heard him singing, with a muffled sound, and sharp + breaks from the muffled sound, as if he were singing into the towel; he + shouted to his dog and threatened him, and the scuffling of his feet came + to them through all as if he were dancing. + </p> + <p> + “Been after them woodchucks ag'in,” his father huskily suggested. + </p> + <p> + “I guess so,” said the mother. The brother did not speak; he coughed + vaguely, and let his head sink forward. + </p> + <p> + The father began a statement of his affairs. + </p> + <p> + The mother said: “You don't want to go into that; we been all over it + before. If it's come to the pinch, now, it's come. But you want to be + sure.” + </p> + <p> + The man did not answer directly. “If we could sell off now and get out to + where Jim is in Californy, and get a piece of land—” He stopped, as + if confronted with some difficulty which he had met before, but had hoped + he might not find in his way this time. + </p> + <p> + His wife laughed grimly. “I guess, if the truth was known, we're too poor + to get away.” + </p> + <p> + “We're poor,” he whispered back. He added, with a weak obstinacy: “I + d'know as we're as poor as that comes to. The things would fetch + something.” + </p> + <p> + “Enough to get us out there, and then we should be on Jim's hands,” said + the woman. + </p> + <p> + “We should till spring, maybe. I d'know as I want to face another winter + here, and I d'know as Jackson does.” + </p> + <p> + The young man gasped back, courageously: “I guess I can get along here + well enough.” + </p> + <p> + “It's made Jim ten years younger. That's what he said,” urged the father. + </p> + <p> + The mother smiled as grimly as she had laughed. “I don't believe it 'll + make you ten years richer, and that's what you want.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe but what we should ha' done something with the place by + spring. Or the State would,” the father said, lifelessly. + </p> + <p> + The voice of the boy broke in upon them from behind. “Say, mother, a'n't + you never goin' to have dinner?” He was standing in the doorway, with a + startling cleanness of the hands and face, and a strange, wet sleekness of + the hair. His clothes were bedrabbled down the front with soap and water. + </p> + <p> + His mother rose and went toward him; his father and brother rose like + apparitions, and slanted after her at one angle. + </p> + <p> + “Say,” the boy called again to his mother, “there comes a peddler.” He + pointed down the road at the figure of a man briskly ascending the lane + toward the house, with a pack on his back and some strange appendages + dangling from it. + </p> + <p> + The woman did not look round; neither of the men looked round; they all + kept on in-doors, and she said to the boy, as she passed him: “I got no + time to waste on peddlers. You tell him we don't want anything.” + </p> + <p> + The boy waited for the figure on the lane to approach. It was the figure + of a young man, who slung his burden lightly from his shoulders when he + arrived, and then stood looking at the boy, with his foot planted on the + lowermost tread of the steps climbing from the ground to the porch. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. + </h2> + <p> + The boy must have permitted these advances that he might inflict the + greater disappointment when he spoke. “We don't want anything,” he said, + insolently. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you?” the stranger returned. “I do. I want dinner. Go in and tell + your mother, and then show me where I can wash my hands.” + </p> + <p> + The bold ease of the stranger seemed to daunt the boy, and he stood + irresolute. His dog came round the corner of the house at the first word + of the parley, and, while his master was making up his mind what to do, he + smelled at the stranger's legs. “Well, you can't have any dinner,” said + the boy, tentatively. The dog raised the bristles on his neck, and showed + his teeth with a snarl. The stranger promptly kicked him in the jaw, and + the dog ran off howling. “Come here, sir!” the boy called to him, but the + dog vanished round the house with a fading yelp. + </p> + <p> + “Now, young man,” said the stranger, “will you go and do as you're bid? + I'm ready to pay for my dinner, and you can say so.” The boy stared at + him, slowly taking in the facts of his costume, with eyes that climbed + from the heavy shoes up the legs of his thick-ribbed stockings and his + knickerbockers, past the pleats and belt of his Norfolk jacket, to the red + neckcloth tied under the loose collar of his flannel outing-shirt, and so + by his face, with its soft, young beard and its quiet eyes, to the top of + his braidless, bandless slouch hat of soft felt. It was one of the + earliest costumes of the kind that had shown itself in the hill country, + and it was altogether new to the boy. “Come,” said the wearer of it, + “don't stand on the order of your going, but go at once,” and he sat down + on the steps with his back to the boy, who heard these strange terms of + command with a face of vague envy. + </p> + <p> + The noonday sunshine lay in a thin, silvery glister on the slopes of the + mountain before them, and in the brilliant light the colossal forms of the + Lion's Head were prismatically outlined against the speckless sky. Through + the silvery veil there burned here and there on the densely wooded + acclivities the crimson torch of a maple, kindled before its time, but + everywhere else there was the unbroken green of the forest, subdued to one + tone of gray. The boy heard the stranger fetch his breath deeply, and then + expel it in a long sigh, before he could bring himself to obey an order + that seemed to leave him without the choice of disobedience. He came back + and found the stranger as he had left him. “Come on, if you want your + dinner,” he said; and the stranger rose and looked at him. + </p> + <p> + “What's your name?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Thomas Jefferson Durgin.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Thomas Jefferson Durgin, will you show me the way to the pump and + bring a towel along?” + </p> + <p> + “Want to wash?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't changed my mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Come along, then.” The boy made a movement as if to lead the way indoors; + the stranger arrested him. + </p> + <p> + “Here. Take hold of this and put it out of the rush of travel somewhere.” + He lifted his burden from where he had dropped it in the road and swung it + toward the boy, who ran down the steps and embraced it. As he carried it + toward a corner of the porch he felt of the various shapes and materials + in it. + </p> + <p> + Then he said, “Come on!” again, and went before the guest through the dim + hall running midway of the house to the door at the rear. He left him on a + narrow space of stone flagging there, and ran with a tin basin to the + spring at the barn and brought it back to him full of the cold water. + </p> + <p> + “Towel,” he said, pulling at the family roller inside the little porch at + the door; and he watched the stranger wash his hands and face, and then + search for a fresh place on the towel. + </p> + <p> + Before the stranger had finished the father and the elder brother came + out, and, after an ineffectual attempt to salute him, slanted away to the + barn together. The woman, in-doors, was more successful, when he found her + in the dining-room, where the boy showed him. The table was set for him + alone, and it affected him as if the family had been hurried away from it + that he might have it to himself. Everything was very simple: the iron + forks had two prongs; the knives bone handles; the dull glass was pressed; + the heavy plates and cups were white, but so was the cloth, and all were + clean. The woman brought in a good boiled dinner of corned-beef, potatoes, + turnips, and carrots from the kitchen, and a teapot, and said something + about having kept them hot on the stove for him; she brought him a plate + of biscuit fresh from the oven; then she said to the boy, “You come out + and have your dinner with me, Jeff,” and left the guest to make his meal + unmolested. + </p> + <p> + The room was square, with two north windows that looked down the lane he + had climbed to the house. An open door led into the kitchen in an ell, and + a closed door opposite probably gave access to a parlor or a ground-floor + chamber. The windows were darkened down to the lower sash by green paper + shades; the walls were papered in a pattern of brown roses; over the + chimney hung a large picture, a life-size pencil-drawing of two little + girls, one slightly older and slightly larger than the other, each with + round eyes and precise ringlets, and with her hand clasped in the other's + hand. + </p> + <p> + The guest seemed helpless to take his gaze from it, and he sat fallen back + in his chair at it when the woman came in with a pie. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, I believe I don't want any dessert,” he said. “The fact is, + the dinner was so good that I haven't left any room for pie. Are those + your children?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the woman, looking up at the picture with the pie in her hand. + “They're the last two I lost.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, excuse me—” the guest began. + </p> + <p> + “It's the way they appear in the spirit life. It's a spirit picture.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I thought there was something strange about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's a good deal like the photograph we had taken about a year + before they died. It's a good likeness. They say they don't change a great + deal at first.” + </p> + <p> + She seemed to refer the point to him for his judgment, but he answered + wide of it: + </p> + <p> + “I came up here to paint your mountain, if you don't mind, Mrs. + Durgin-Lion's Head, I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes. Well, I don't know as we could stop you if you wanted to take it + away.” A spare glimmer lighted up her face. + </p> + <p> + The painter rejoined in kind: “The town might have something to say, I + suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Not if you was to leave a good piece of intervale in place of it. We've + got mountains to spare.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, that's arranged. What about a week's board?” + </p> + <p> + “I guess you can stay if you're satisfied.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll be satisfied if I can stay. How much do you want?” + </p> + <p> + The woman looked down, probably with an inward anxiety between the fear of + asking too much and the folly of asking too little. She said, tentatively: + “Some of the folks that come over from the hotels say they pay as much as + twenty dollars a week.” + </p> + <p> + “But you don't expect hotel prices?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know as I do. We've never had anybody before.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger relaxed the frown he had put on at the greed of her + suggestion; it might have come from ignorance or mere innocence. “I'm in + the habit of paying five dollars for farm board, where I stay several + weeks. What do you say to seven for a single week?” + </p> + <p> + “I guess that 'll do,” said the woman, and she went out with the pie, + which she had kept in her hand. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV. + </h2> + <p> + The painter went round to the front of the house and walked up and down + before it for different points of view. He ran down the lane some way, and + then came back and climbed to the sloping field behind the barn, where he + could look at Lion's Head over the roof of the house. He tried an open + space in the orchard, where he backed against the wall enclosing the + little burial-ground. He looked round at it without seeming to see it, and + then went back to the level where the house stood. “This is the place,” he + said to himself. But the boy, who had been lurking after him, with the dog + lurking at, his own heels in turn, took the words as a proffer of + conversation. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you'd come to it,” he sneered. + </p> + <p> + “Did you?” asked the painter, with a smile for the unsatisfied grudge in + the boy's tone. “Why didn't you tell me sooner?” + </p> + <p> + The boy looked down, and apparently made up his mind to wait until + something sufficiently severe should come to him for a retort. “Want I + should help you get your things?” he asked, presently. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes,” said the painter, with a glance of surprise. “I shall be much + obliged for a lift.” He started toward the porch where his burden lay, and + the boy ran before him. They jointly separated the knapsack from the + things tied to it, and the painter let the boy carry the easel and + campstool which developed themselves from their folds and hinges, and + brought the colors and canvas himself to the spot he had chosen. The boy + looked at the tag on the easel after it was placed, and read the name on + it—Jere Westover. “That's a funny name.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad it amuses you,” said the owner of it. + </p> + <p> + Again the boy cast down his eyes discomfited, and seemed again resolving + silently to bide his time and watch for another chance. + </p> + <p> + Westover forgot him in the fidget he fell into, trying this and that + effect, with his head slanted one way and then slanted the other, his hand + held up to shut out the mountain below the granite mass of Lion's Head, + and then changed to cut off the sky above; and then both hands lifted in + parallel to confine the picture. He made some tentative scrawls on his + canvas in charcoal, and he wasted so much time that the light on the + mountain-side began to take the rich tone of the afternoon deepening to + evening. A soft flush stole into it; the sun dipped behind the top south + of the mountain, and Lion's Head stood out against the intense clearness + of the west, which began to be flushed with exquisite suggestions of + violet and crimson. + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord!” said Westover; and he flew at his colors and began to paint. + He had got his canvas into such a state that he alone could have found it + much more intelligible than his palette, when he heard the boy saying, + over his shoulder: “I don't think that looks very much like it.” He had + last been aware of the boy sitting at the grassy edge of the lane, tossing + small bits of earth and pebble across to his dog, which sat at the other + edge and snapped at them. Then he lost consciousness of him. He answered, + dreamily, while he found a tint he was trying for with his brush: “Perhaps + you don't know.” He was so sure of his effect that the popular censure + speaking in the boy's opinion only made him happier in it. + </p> + <p> + “I know what I see,” said the boy. + </p> + <p> + “I doubt it,” said Westover, and then he lost consciousness of him again. + He was rapt deep and far into the joy of his work, and had no thought but + for that, and for the dim question whether it would be such another day + to-morrow, with that light again on Lion's Head, when he was at last + sensible of a noise that he felt he must have been hearing some time + without noting it. It was a lamentable, sound of screaming, as of some one + in mortal terror, mixed with wild entreaties. “Oh, don't, Jeff! Oh, don't, + don't, don't! Oh, please! Oh, do let us be! Oh, Jeff, don't!” + </p> + <p> + Westover looked round bewildered, and not able, amid the clamor of the + echoes, to make out where the cries came from. Then, down at the point + where the lane joined the road to the southward and the road lost itself + in the shadow of a woodland, he saw the boy leaping back and forth across + the track, with his dog beside him; he was shouting and his dog barking + furiously; those screams and entreaties came from within the shadow. + Westover plunged down the lane headlong, with a speed that gathered at + each bound, and that almost flung him on his face when he reached the + level where the boy and the dog were dancing back and forth across the + road. Then he saw, crouching in the edge of the wood, a little girl, who + was uttering the appeals he had heard, and clinging to her, with a face of + frantic terror, a child of five or six years; her cries had grown hoarse, + and had a hard, mechanical action as they followed one another. They were + really in no danger, for the boy held his dog tight by his collar, and was + merely delighting himself with their terror. + </p> + <p> + The painter hurled himself upon him, and, with a quick grip upon his + collar, gave him half a dozen flat-handed blows wherever he could plant + them and then flung him reeling away. + </p> + <p> + “You infernal little ruffian!” he roared at him; and the sound of his + voice was enough for the dog; he began to scale the hill-side toward the + house without a moment's stay. + </p> + <p> + The children still crouched together, and Westover could hardly make them + understand that they were in his keeping when he bent over them and bade + them not be frightened. The little girl set about wiping the child's eyes + on her apron in a motherly fashion; her own were dry enough, and Westover + fancied there was more of fury than of fright in her face. She seemed lost + to any sense of his presence, and kept on talking fiercely to herself, + while she put the little boy in order, like an indignant woman. + </p> + <p> + “Great, mean, ugly thing! I'll tell the teacher on him, that's what I + will, as soon as ever school begins. I'll see if he can come round with + that dog of his scaring folks! I wouldn't 'a' been a bit afraid if it + hadn't 'a' been for Franky. Don't cry any more, Franky. Don't you see + they're gone? I presume he thinks it smart to scare a little boy and a + girl. If I was a boy once, I'd show him!” + </p> + <p> + She made no sign of gratitude to Westover: as far as any recognition from + her was concerned, his intervention was something as impersonal as if it + had been a thunder-bolt falling upon her enemies from the sky. + </p> + <p> + “Where do you live?” he asked. “I'll go home with you if you'll tell me + where you live.” + </p> + <p> + She looked up at him in a daze, and Westover heard the Durgin boy saying: + “She lives right there in that little wood-colored house at the other end + of the lane. There ain't no call to go home with her.” + </p> + <p> + Westover turned and saw the boy kneeling at the edge of a clump of bushes, + where he must have struck; he was rubbing, with a tuft of grass, at the + dirt ground into the knees of his trousers. + </p> + <p> + The little, girl turned hawkishly upon him. “Not for anything you can do, + Jeff Durgin!” + </p> + <p> + The boy did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “There!” she said, giving a final pull and twitch to the dress of her + brother, and taking him by the hand tenderly. “Now, come right along, + Franky.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me have your other hand,” said Westover, and, with the little boy + between them, they set off toward the point where the lane joined the road + on the northward. They had to pass the bushes where Jeff Durgin was + crouching, and the little girl turned and made a face at him. “Oh, oh! I + don't think I should have done that,” said Westover. + </p> + <p> + “I don't care!” said the little girl. But she said, in explanation and + partial excuse: “He tries to scare all the girls. I'll let him know 't he + can't scare one!” + </p> + <p> + Westover looked up toward the Durgin house with a return of interest in + the canvas he had left in the lane on the easel. Nothing had happened to + it. At the door of the barn he saw the farmer and his eldest son slanting + forward and staring down the hill at the point he had come from. Mrs. + Durgin was looking out from the shelter of the porch, and she turned and + went in with Jeff's dog at her skirts when Westover came in sight with the + children. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V. + </h2> + <p> + Westover had his tea with the family, but nothing was said or done to show + that any of them resented or even knew of what had happened to the boy + from him. Jeff himself seemed to have no grudge. He went out with + Westover, when the meal was ended, and sat on the steps of the porch with + him, watching the painter watch the light darken on the lonely heights and + in the lonely depths around. Westover smoked a pipe, and the fire gleamed + and smouldered in it regularly with his breathing; the boy, on a lower' + step, pulled at the long ears of his dog and gazed up at him. + </p> + <p> + They were both silent till the painter asked: “What do you do here when + you're not trying to scare little children to death?” + </p> + <p> + The boy hung his head and said, with the effect of excusing a long arrears + of uselessness: “I'm goin' to school as soon as it commences.” + </p> + <p> + “There's one branch of your education that I should like to undertake if I + ever saw you at a thing like that again. Don't you feel ashamed of + yourself?” + </p> + <p> + The boy pulled so hard at the dog's ear that the dog gave a faint yelp of + protest. + </p> + <p> + “They might 'a' seen that I had him by the collar. I wa'n't a-goin' to let + go.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, the next time I have you by the collar I won't let go, either,” + said the painter; but he felt an inadequacy in his threat, and he imagined + a superfluity, and he made some haste to ask: “who are they?” + </p> + <p> + “Whitwell is their name. They live in that little house where you took + them. Their father's got a piece of land on Zion's Head that he's clearin' + off for the timber. Their mother's dead, and Cynthy keeps house. She's + always makin' up names and faces,” added the boy. “She thinks herself + awful smart. That Franky's a perfect cry-baby.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, upon my word! You are a little ruffian,” said Westover, and he + knocked the ashes out of his pipe. “The next time you meet that poor + little creature you tell her that I think you're about the shabbiest chap + I know, and that I hope the teacher will begin where I left off with you + and not leave blackguard enough in you to—” + </p> + <p> + He stopped for want of a fitting figure, and the boy said: “I guess the + teacher won't touch me.” + </p> + <p> + Westover rose, and the boy flung his dog away from him with his foot. + “Want I should show you where to sleep?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Westover, and the boy hulked in before him, vanishing into the + dark of the interior, and presently appeared with a lighted hand-lamp. He + led the way upstairs to a front room looking down upon the porch roof and + over toward Zion's Head, which Westover could see dimly outlined against + the night sky, when he lifted the edge of the paper shade and peered out. + </p> + <p> + The room was neat, with greater comfort in its appointments than he hoped + for. He tried the bed, and found it hard, but of straw, and not the + feathers he had dreaded; while the boy looked into the water-pitcher to + see if it was full; and then went out without any form of goodnight. + </p> + <p> + Westover would have expected to wash in a tin basin at the back door, and + wipe on the family towel, but all the means of toilet, such as they were, + he found at hand here, and a surprise which he had felt at a certain touch + in the cooking renewed itself at the intelligent arrangements for his + comfort. A secondary quilt was laid across the foot of his bed; his + window-shade was pulled down, and, though the window was shut and the air + stuffy within, there was a sense of cleanliness in everything which was + not at variance with the closeness. + </p> + <p> + The bed felt fresh when he got into it, and the sweet breath of the + mountains came in so cold through the sash he had lifted that he was glad + to pull the secondary quilt up over him. He heard the clock tick in some + room below; from another quarter came the muffled sound of coughing; but + otherwise the world was intensely still, and he slept deep and long. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI. + </h2> + <p> + The men folks had finished their breakfast and gone to their farm-work + hours before Westover came down to his breakfast, but the boy seemed to be + of as much early leisure as himself, and was lounging on the threshold of + the back door, with his dog in waiting upon him. He gave the effect of + yesterday's cleanliness freshened up with more recent soap and water. At + the moment Westover caught sight of him, he heard his mother calling to + him from the kitchen, “Well, now, come in and get your breakfast, Jeff,” + and the boy called to Westover, in turn, “I'll tell her you're here,” as + he rose and came in-doors. “I guess she's got your breakfast for you.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Durgin brought the breakfast almost as soon as Westover had found his + way to the table, and she lingered as if for some expression of his + opinion upon it. The biscuit and the butter were very good, and he said + so; the eggs were fresh, and the hash from yesterday's corned-beef could + not have been better, and he praised them; but he was silent about the + coffee. + </p> + <p> + “It a'n't very good,” she suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I'm used to making my own coffee; I lived so long in a country where + it's nearly the whole of breakfast that I got into the habit of it, and I + always carry my little machine with me; but I don't like to bring it out, + unless—” + </p> + <p> + “Unless you can't stand the other folks's,” said the woman, with a + humorous gleam. “Well, you needn't mind me. I want you should have good + coffee, and I guess I a'n't too old to learn, if you want to show me. Our + folks don't care for it much; they like tea; and I kind of got out of the + way of it. But at home we had to have it.” She explained, to his inquiring + glance. + </p> + <p> + “My father kept the tavern on the old road to St. Albans, on the other + side of Lion's Head. That's where I always lived till I married here.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Westover, and he felt that she had proudly wished to account + for a quality which she hoped he had noticed in her cooking. He thought + she might be going to tell him something more of herself, but she only + said, “Well, any time you want to show me your way of makin' coffee,” and + went out of the room. + </p> + <p> + That evening, which was the close of another flawless day, he sat again + watching the light outside, when he saw her come into the hallway with a + large shade-lamp in her hand. She stopped at the door of a room he had not + seen yet, and looked out at him to ask: + </p> + <p> + “Won't you come in and set in the parlor if you want to?” + </p> + <p> + He found her there when he came in, and her two sons with her; the younger + was sleepily putting away some school-books, and the elder seemed to have + been helping him with his lessons. + </p> + <p> + “He's got to begin school next week,” she said to Westover; and at the + preparations the other now began to make with a piece of paper and a + planchette which he had on the table before him, she asked, in the + half-mocking, half-deprecating way which seemed characteristic of her: + “You believe any in that?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know that I've ever seen it work,” said the painter. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sometimes it won't work,” she returned, altogether mockingly now, + and sat holding her shapely hands, which were neither so large nor so + rough as they might have been, across her middle and watching her son + while the machine pushed about under his palm, and he bent his wan eyes + upon one of the oval-framed photographs on the wall, as if rapt in a + supernal vision. The boy stared drowsily at the planchette, jerking this + way and that, and making abrupt starts and stops. At last the young man + lifted his palm from it, and put it aside to study the hieroglyphics it + had left on the paper. + </p> + <p> + “What's it say?” asked his mother. + </p> + <p> + The young man whispered: “I can't seem to make out very clear. I guess I + got to take a little time to it,” he added, leaning back wearily in his + chair. “Ever seen much of the manifestations?” he gasped at Westover. + </p> + <p> + “Never any, before,” said the painter, with a leniency for the invalid + which he did not feel for his belief. + </p> + <p> + The young man tried for his voice, and found enough of it to say: “There's + a trance medium over at the Huddle. Her control says 't I can develop into + a writin' medium.” He seemed to refer the fact as a sort of question to + Westover, who could think of nothing to say but that it must be very + interesting to feel that one had such a power. + </p> + <p> + “I guess he don't know he's got it yet,” his mother interposed. “And + planchette don't seem to know, either.” + </p> + <p> + “We ha'n't given it a fair trial yet,” said the young man, impartially, + almost impassively. + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't you like to see it do some of your sums, Jeff?” said the mother + to the drowsy boy, blinking in a corner. “You better go to bed.” + </p> + <p> + The elder brother rose. “I guess I'll go, too.” + </p> + <p> + The father had not joined their circle in the parlor, now breaking up by + common consent. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Durgin took up her lamp again and looked round on the appointments of + the room, as if she wished Westover to note them, too: the drab wallpaper, + the stiff chairs, the long, hard sofa in haircloth, the high bureau of + mahogany veneer. + </p> + <p> + “You can come in here and set or lay down whenever you feel like it,” she + said. “We use it more than folks generally, I presume; we got in the + habit, havin' it open for funerals.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII. + </h2> + <p> + Four or five days of perfect weather followed one another, and Westover + worked hard at his picture in the late afternoon light he had chosen for + it. In the morning he tramped through the woods and climbed the hills with + Jeff Durgin, who seemed never to do anything about the farm, and had a + leisure unbroken by anything except a rare call from his mother to help + her in the house. He built the kitchen fire, and got the wood for it; he + picked the belated pease and the early beans in the garden, and shelled + them; on the Monday when the school opened he did a share of the family + wash, which seemed to have been begun before daylight, and Westover saw + him hanging out the clothes before he started off with his books. He + suffered no apparent loss of self-respect in these employments, and, while + he still had his days free, he put himself at Westover's disposal with an + effect of unimpaired equality. He had expected, evidently, that Westover + would want to fish or shoot, or at least join him in the hunt for + woodchucks, which he still carried on with abated zeal for lack of his + company when the painter sat down to sketch certain bits that struck him. + When he found that Westover cared for nothing in the way of sport, as + people commonly understand it, he did not openly contemn him. He helped + him get the flowers he studied, and he learned to know true mushrooms from + him, though he did not follow his teaching in eating the toadstools, as + his mother called them, when they brought them home to be cooked. + </p> + <p> + If it could not be said that he shared the affection which began to grow + up in Westover from their companionship, there could be no doubt of the + interest he took in him, though it often seemed the same critical + curiosity which appeared in the eye of his dog when it dwelt upon the + painter. Fox had divined in his way that Westover was not only not to be + molested, but was to be respectfully tolerated, yet no gleam of kindness + ever lighted up his face at sight of the painter; he never wagged his tail + in recognition of him; he simply recognized him and no more, and he + remained passive under Westover's advances, which he had the effect of + covertly referring to Jeff, when the boy was by, for his approval or + disapproval; when he was not by, the dog's manner implied a reservation of + opinion until the facts could be submitted to his master. + </p> + <p> + On the Saturday morning which was the last they were to have together, the + three comrades had strayed from the vague wood road along one of the + unexpected levels on the mountain slopes, and had come to a standstill in + a place which the boy pretended not to know his way out of. Westover + doubted him, for he had found that Jeff liked to give himself credit for + woodcraft by discovering an escape from the depths of trackless + wildernesses. + </p> + <p> + “I guess you know where we are,” he suggested. + </p> + <p> + “No, honestly,” said the boy; but he grinned, and Westover still doubted + him. + </p> + <p> + “Hark! What's that?” he said, hushing further speech from him with a + motion of his hand. It was the sound of an axe. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know where we are,” said Jeff. “It's that Canuck chopping in + Whitwell's clearing. Come along.” + </p> + <p> + He led the way briskly down the mountain-side now, stopping from time to + time and verifying his course by the sound of the axe. This came and went, + and by-and-by it ceased altogether, and Jeff crept forward with a real or + feigned uncertainty. Suddenly he stopped. A voice called, “Heigh, there!” + and the boy turned and fled, crashing through the underbrush at a tangent, + with his dog at his heels. + </p> + <p> + Westover looked after them, and then came forward. A lank figure of a man + at the foot of a poplar, which he had begun to fell, stood waiting him, + one hand on his axe-helve and the other on his hip. There was the scent of + freshly smitten bark and sap-wood in the air; the ground was paved with + broad, clean chips. + </p> + <p> + “Good-morning,” said Westover. + </p> + <p> + “How are you?” returned the other, without moving or making any sign of + welcome for a moment. But then he lifted his axe and struck it into the + carf on the tree, and came to meet Westover. + </p> + <p> + As he advanced he held out his hand. “Oh, you're the one that stopped that + fellow that day when he was tryin' to scare my children. Well, I thought I + should run across you some time.” He shook hands with Westover, in token + of the gratitude which did not express itself in words. “How are you? + Treat you pretty well up at the Durgins'? I guess so. The old woman knows + how to cook, anyway. Jackson's about the best o' the lot above ground, + though I don't know as I know very much against the old man, either. But + that boy! I declare I 'most feel like takin' the top of his head off when + he gets at his tricks. Set down.” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell, as Westover divined the man to be, took a seat himself on a high + stump, which suited his length of leg, and courteously waved Westover to a + place on the log in front of him. A long, ragged beard of brown, with + lines of gray in it, hung from his chin and mounted well up on his thin + cheeks toward his friendly eyes. His mustache lay sunken on his lip, which + had fallen in with the loss of his upper teeth. From the lower jaw a few + incisors showed at this slant and that as he talked. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well!” he said, with the air of wishing the talk to go on, but + without having anything immediately to offer himself. + </p> + <p> + Westover said, “Thank you,” as he dropped on the log, and Whitwell added, + relentingly: “I don't suppose a fellow's so much to blame, if he's got the + devil in him, as what the devil is.” + </p> + <p> + He referred the point with a twinkle of his eyes to Westover, who said: + “It's always a question, of course, whether it's the devil. It may be + original sin with the fellow himself.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's something so,” said Whitwell, with pleasure in the + distinction rather than assent. “But I guess it ain't original sin in the + boy. Got it from his gran'father pootty straight, I should say, and maybe + the old man had it secondhand. Ha'd to say just where so much cussedness + gits statted.” + </p> + <p> + “His father's father?” asked Westover, willing to humor Whitwell's evident + wish to philosophize the Durgins' history. + </p> + <p> + “Mother's. He kept the old tavern stand on the west side of Lion's Head, + on the St. Albans Road, and I guess he kept a pootty good house in the old + times when the stages stopped with him. Ever noticed how a man on the mean + side in politics always knows how to keep a hotel? Well, it's something + curious. If there was ever a mean side to any question, old Mason was on + it. My folks used to live around there, and I can remember when I was a + boy hangin' around the bar-room nights hearin' him argue that colored + folks had no souls; and along about the time the fugitive-slave law was + passed the folks pootty near run him out o' town for puttin' the United + States marshal on the scent of a fellow that was breakin' for Canada. + Well, it was just so when the war come. It was known for a fact that he + was in with them Secesh devils up over the line that was plannin' a raid + into Vermont in '63. He'd got pootty low down by that time; railroads took + off all the travel; tavern 'd got to be a regular doggery; old man always + drank some, I guess. That was a good while after his girl had married + Durgin. He was dead against it, and it broke him up consid'able when she + would have him: Well, one night the old stand burnt up and him in it, and + neither of 'em insured.” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell laughed with a pleasure in his satire which gave the monuments in + his lower jaw a rather sinister action. But, as if he felt a rebuke in + Westover's silence, he added: “There ain't anything against Mis' Durgin. + She's done her part, and she's had more than her share of hard knocks. If + she was tough, to sta't with, she's had blows enough to meller her. But + that's the way I account for the boy. I s'pose—I'd oughtn't to feel + the way I do about him, but he's such a pest to the whole neighborhood + that he'd have the most pop'la' fune'l. Well, I guess I've said enough. + I'm much obliged to you, though, Mr.—” + </p> + <p> + “Westover,” the painter suggested. “But the boy isn't so bad all the + time.” + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't be,” said Whitwell, with a cackle of humorous enjoyment. “He has + his spells of bein' decent, and he's pootty smart, too. But when the other + spell ketches him it's like as if the devil got a-hold of him, as I said + in the first place. I lost my wife here two-three years along back, and + that little girl you see him tormentin', she's a regular little mother to + her brother; and whenever Jeff Durgin sees her with him, seems as if the + Old Scratch got into him. Well, I'm glad I didn't come across him that + day. How you gittin' along with Lion's Head? Sets quiet enough for you?” + Whitwell rose from the stump and brushed the clinging chips from his + thighs. “Folks trouble you any, lookin' on?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet,” said Westover. + </p> + <p> + “Well, there ain't a great many to,” said Whitwell, going back to his axe. + “I should like to see you workin' some day. Do' know as I ever saw an + attist at it.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to have you,” said Westover. “Any time.” + </p> + <p> + “All right.” Whitwell pulled his axe out of the carf, and struck it in + again with a force that made a wide, square chip leap out. He looked over + his shoulder at Westover, who was moving away. “Say, stop in some time + you're passin'. I live in that wood-colored house at the foot of the + Durgins' lane.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII. + </h2> + <p> + In a little sunken place, behind a rock, some rods away, Westover found + Jeff lurking with his dog, both silent and motionless. “Hello?” he said, + inquiringly. + </p> + <p> + “Come back to show you the way,” said the boy. “Thought you couldn't find + it alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, why didn't you say you'd wait?” The boy grinned. “I shouldn't think a + fellow like you would want to be afraid of any man, even for the fun of + scaring a little girl.” Jeff stopped grinning and looked interested, as if + this was a view of the case that had not occurred to him. “But perhaps you + like to be afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know as I do,” said the boy, and Westover left him to the + question a great part of the way home. He did not express any regret or + promise any reparation. But a few days after that, when he had begun to + convoy parties of children up to see Westover at work, in the late + afternoon, on their way home from school, and to show the painter off to + them as a sort of family property, he once brought the young Whitwells. He + seemed on perfect terms with them now, and when the crowd of larger + children hindered the little boy's view of the picture, Jeff, in his + quality of host, lifted him under his arms and held him up so that he + could look as long as he liked. + </p> + <p> + The girl seemed ashamed of the good understanding before Westover. Jeff + offered to make a place for her among the other children who had looked + long enough, but she pulled the front of her bonnet across her face and + said that she did not want to look, and caught her brother by the hand and + ran away with him. Westover thought this charming, somewhat; he liked the + intense shyness which the child's intense passion had hidden from him + before. + </p> + <p> + Jeff acted as host to the neighbors who came to inspect the picture, and + they all came, within a circuit of several miles around, and gave him + their opinions freely or scantily, according to their several + temperaments. They were mainly favorable, though there was some frank + criticism, too, spoken over the painter's shoulder as openly as if he were + not by. There was no question but of likeness; all finer facts were far + from them; they wished to see how good a portrait Westover had made, and + some of them consoled him with the suggestion that the likeness would come + out more when the picture got dry. + </p> + <p> + Whitwell, when he came, attempted a larger view of the artist's work, but + apparently more out of kindness for him than admiration of the picture. He + said he presumed you could not always get a thing like that just right the + first time, and that you had to keep trying till you did get it; but it + paid in the end. Jeff had stolen down from the house with his dog, drawn + by the fascination which one we have injured always has for us; when + Whitwell suddenly turned upon him and asked, jocularly, “What do you + think, Jeff?” the boy could only kick his dog and drive it home, as a + means of hiding his feelings. + </p> + <p> + He brought the teacher to see the picture the last Friday before the + painter went away. She was a cold-looking, austere girl, pretty enough, + with eyes that wandered away from the young man, although Jeff used all + his arts to make her feel at home in his presence. She pretended to have + merely stopped on her way up to see Mrs. Durgin, and she did not venture + any comment on the painting; but, when Westover asked something about her + school, she answered him promptly enough as to the number and ages and + sexes of the school-children. He ventured so far toward a joke with her as + to ask if she had much trouble with such a tough subject as Jeff, and she + said he could be good enough when he had a mind. If he could get over his + teasing, she said, with the air of reading him a lecture, she would not + have anything to complain of; and Jeff looked ashamed, but rather of the + praise than the blame. His humiliation seemed complete when she said, + finally: “He's a good scholar.” + </p> + <p> + On the Tuesday following, Westover meant to go. It was the end of his + third week, and it had brought him into September. The weather since he + had begun to paint Lion's Head was perfect for his work; but, with the + long drought, it had grown very warm. Many trees now had flamed into + crimson on the hill-slopes; the yellowing corn in the fields gave out a + thin, dry sound as the delicate wind stirred the blades; but only the + sounds and sights were autumnal. The heat was oppressive at midday, and at + night the cold had lost its edge. There was no dew, and Mrs. Durgin sat + out with Westover on the porch while he smoked a final pipe there. She had + come to join him for some fixed purpose, apparently, and she called to her + boy, “You go to bed, Jeff,” as if she wished to be alone with Westover; + the men folks were already in bed; he could hear them cough now and then. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Westover,” the woman began, even as she swept her skirts forward + before she sat down, “I want to ask you whether you would let that picture + of yours go on part board? I'll give you back just as much as you say of + this money.” + </p> + <p> + He looked round and saw that she had in the hand dropped in her lap the + bills he had given her after supper. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I couldn't, very well, Mrs. Durgin—” he began. + </p> + <p> + “I presume you'll think I'm foolish,” she pursued. “But I do want that + picture; I don't know when I've ever wanted a thing more. It's just like + Lion's Head, the way I've seen it, day in and day out, every summer since + I come here thirty-five years ago; it's beautiful!” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Durgin,” said Westover, “you gratify me more than I can tell you. I + wish—I wish I could let you have the picture. I—I don't know + what to say—” + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you let me have it, then? If we ever had to go away from here—if + anything happened to us—it's the one thing I should want to keep and + take with me. There! That's the way I feel about it. I can't explain; but + I do wish you'd let me have it.” + </p> + <p> + Some emotion which did not utter itself in the desire she expressed made + her voice shake in the words. She held out the bank-notes to him, and they + rustled with the tremor of her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Durgin, I suppose I shall have to be frank with you, and you mustn't + feel hurt. I have to live by my work, and I have to get as much as I can + for it—” + </p> + <p> + “That's what I say. I don't want to beat you down on it. I'll give you + whatever you think is right. It's my money, and my husband feels just as I + do about it,” she urged. + </p> + <p> + “You don't quite understand,” he said, gently. “I expect to have an + exhibition of my pictures in Boston this fall, and I hope to get two or + three hundred dollars for Lion's Head.” + </p> + <p> + “I've been a proper fool,” cried the woman, and she drew in a long breath. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't mind,” he begged; “it's all right. I've never had any offer for + a picture that I'd rather take than yours. I know the thing can't be + altogether bad after what you've said. And I'll tell you what! I'll have + it photographed when I get to Boston, and I'll send you a photograph of + it.” + </p> + <p> + “How much will that be?” Mrs. Durgin asked, as if taught caution by her + offer for the painting. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. And if you'll accept it and hang it up here somewhere I shall be + very glad.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Mrs. Durgin, and the meekness, the wounded pride, he + fancied in her, touched him. + </p> + <p> + He did not know at first how to break the silence which she let follow + upon her words. At last he said: + </p> + <p> + “You spoke, just now, about taking it with you. Of course, you don't think + of leaving Lion's Head?” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer for so long a time that he thought she had not perhaps + heard him or heeded what he said; but she answered, finally: “We did think + of it. The day you come we had about made up our minds to leave.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” + </p> + <p> + “But I've been thinkin' of something since you've been here that I don't + know but you'll say is about as wild as wantin' to buy a + three-hundred-dollar picture with a week's board.” She gave a short, + self-scornful laugh; but it was a laugh, and it relieved the tension. + </p> + <p> + “It may not be worth any more,” he said, glad of the relief. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I guess it is,” she rejoined, and then she waited for him to prompt + her. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's this; and I wanted to ask you, anyway. You think there'd be + any chance of my gettin' summer folks to come here and board if I was to + put an advertisement in a Boston paper? I know it's a lonesome place, and + there ain't what you may call attractions. But the folks from the hotels, + sometimes, when they ride over in a stage to see the view, praise up the + scenery, and I guess it is sightly. I know that well enough; and I ain't + afraid but what I can do for boarders as well as some, if not better. What + do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “I think that's a capital idea, Mrs. Durgin.” + </p> + <p> + “It's that or go,” she said. “There ain't a livin' for us on the farm any + more, and we got to do somethin'. If there was anything else I could do! + But I've thought it out and thought it out, and I guess there ain't + anything I can do but take boarders—if I can get them.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think you'd find it rather pleasant on some accounts. Your + boarders would be company for you,” said Westover. + </p> + <p> + “We're company enough for ourselves,” said Mrs. Durgin. “I ain't ever been + lonesome here, from the first minute. I guess I had company enough when I + was a girl to last me the sort that hotel folks are. I presume Mr. + Whitwell spoke to you about my father?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; he did, Mrs. Durgin.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't presume he said anything that wa'n't true. It's all right. But I + know how my mother used to slave, and how I used to slave myself; and I + always said I'd rather do anything than wait on boarders; and now I guess + I got to come to it. The sight of summer folks makes me sick! I guess I + could 'a' had 'em long ago if I'd wanted to. There! I've said enough.” She + rose, with a sudden lift of her powerful frame, and stood a moment as if + expecting Westover to say something. + </p> + <p> + He said: “Well, when you've made your mind up, send your advertisement to + me, and I'll attend to it for you.” + </p> + <p> + “And you won't forget about the picture?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I won't forget that.” + </p> + <p> + The next morning he made ready for an early start, and in his preparations + he had the zealous and even affectionate help of Jeff Durgin. The boy + seemed to wish him to carry away the best impression of him, or, at least, + to make him forget all that had been sinister or unpleasant in his + behavior. They had been good comrades since the first evil day; they had + become good friends even; and Westover was touched by the boy's devotion + at parting. He helped the painter get his pack together in good shape, and + he took pride in strapping it on Westover's shoulders, adjusting and + readjusting it with care, and fastening it so that all should be safe and + snug. He lingered about at the risk of being late for school, as if to see + the last of the painter, and he waved his hat to him when Westover looked + back at the house from half down the lane. Then he vanished, and Westover + went slowly on till he reached that corner of the orchard where the + slanting gravestones of the family burial-ground showed above the low + wall. There, suddenly, a storm burst upon him. The air rained apples, that + struck him on the head, the back, the side, and pelted in violent + succession on his knapsack and canvases, camp-stool and easel. He seemed + assailed by four or five skilful marksmen, whose missiles all told. + </p> + <p> + When he could lift his face to look round he heard a shrill, accusing + voice, “Oh, Jeff Durgin!” and he saw another storm of apples fly through + the air toward the little Whitwell girl, who dodged and ran along the road + below and escaped in the direction of the schoolhouse. Then the boy's face + showed itself over the top of one of the gravestones, all agrin with joy. + He waited and watched Westover keep slowly on, as if nothing had happened, + and presently he let some apples fall from his hands and walked slowly + back to the house, with his dog at his heels. + </p> + <p> + When Westover reached the level of the road and the shelter of the woods + near Whitwell's house, he unstrapped his load to see how much harm had + been done to his picture. He found it unhurt, and before he had got the + burden back again he saw Jeff Durgin leaping along the road toward the + school-house, whirling his satchel of books about his head and shouting + gayly to the girl, now hidden by the bushes at the other end of the lane: + “Cynthy! Oh, Cynthy! Wait for me! I want to tell you something!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX. + </h2> + <p> + Westover, received next spring the copy for an advertisement from Mrs. + Durgin, which she asked to have him put in some paper for her. She said + that her son Jackson had written it out, and Westover found it so well + written that he had scarcely to change the wording. It offered the best of + farm-board, with plenty of milk and eggs, berries and fruit, for five + dollars a week at Lion's Head Farm, and it claimed for the farm the merit + of the finest view of the celebrated Lion's Head Mountain. It was signed, + as her letter was signed, “Mrs. J. M. Durgin,” with her post-office + address, and it gave Westover as a reference. + </p> + <p> + The letter was in the same handwriting as the advertisement, which he took + to be that of Jackson Durgin. It enclosed a dollar note to pay for three + insertions of the advertisement in the evening Transcript, and it ended, + almost casually: “I do not know as you have heard that my husband, James + Monroe Durgin, passed to spirit life this spring. My son will help me to + run the house.” + </p> + <p> + This death could not move Westover more than it had apparently moved the + widow. During the three weeks he had passed under his roof, he had + scarcely exchanged three words with James Monroe Durgin, who remained to + him an impression of large, round, dull-blue eyes, a stubbly upper lip, + and cheeks and chin tagged with coarse, hay-colored beard. The impression + was so largely the impression that he had kept of the dull-blue eyes and + the gaunt, slanted figure of Andrew Jackson Durgin that he could not be + very distinct in his sense of which was now the presence and which the + absence. He remembered, with an effort, that the son's beard was + straw-colored, but he had to make no effort to recall the robust effect of + Mrs. Durgin and her youngest son. He wondered now, as he had often + wondered before, whether she knew of the final violence which had avenged + the boy for the prolonged strain of repression Jeff had inflicted upon + himself during Westover's stay at the farm. After several impulses to go + back and beat him, to follow him to school and expose him to the teacher, + to write to his mother and tell her of his misbehavior, Westover had + decided to do nothing. As he had come off unhurt in person and property, + he could afford to be more generously amused than if he had suffered + damage in either. The more he thought of the incident, the more he was + disposed to be lenient with the boy, whom he was aware of having baffled + and subdued by his superior wit and virtue in perhaps intolerable measure. + He could not quite make out that it was an act of bad faith; there was no + reason to think that the good-natured things the fellow had done, the + constant little offices of zeal and friendliness, were less sincere than + this violent outbreak. + </p> + <p> + The letter from Lion's Head Farm brought back his three weeks there very + vividly, and made Westover wish he was going there for the summer. But he + was going over to France for an indefinite period of work in the only air + where he believed modern men were doing good things in the right way. He W + a sale in the winter, and he had sold pictures enough to provide the means + for this sojourn abroad; though his lion's Head Mountain had not brought + the two hundred and fifty or three hundred dollars he had hoped for. It + brought only a hundred and sixty; but the time had almost come already + when Westover thought it brought too much. Now, the letter from Mrs. + Durgin reminded him that he had never sent her the photograph of the + picture which he had promised her. He encased the photograph at once, and + wrote to her with many avowals of contrition for his neglect, and strong + regret that he was not soon to see the original of the painting again. He + paid a decent reverence to the bereavement she had suffered, and he sent + his regards to all, especially his comrade Jeff, whom he advised to keep + out of the apple-orchard. + </p> + <p> + Five years later Westover came home in the first week of a gasping August, + whose hot breath thickened round the Cunarder before she got half-way up + the harbor. He waited only to see his pictures through the custom-house, + and then he left for the mountains. The mountains meant Lion's Head for + him, and eight hours after he was dismounting from the train at a station + on the road which had been pushed through on a new line within four miles + of the farm. It was called Lion's Head House now, as he read on the side + of the mountain-wagon which he saw waiting at the platform, and he knew at + a glance that it was Jeff Durgin who was coming forward to meet him and + take his hand-bag. + </p> + <p> + The boy had been the prophecy of the man in even a disappointing degree. + Westover had fancied him growing up to the height of his father and + brother, but Jeff Durgin's stalwart frame was notable for strength rather + than height. He could not have been taller than his mother, whose stature + was above the standard of her sex, but he was massive without being bulky. + His chest was deep, his square shoulders broad, his powerful legs bore him + with a backward bulge of the calves that showed through his shapely + trousers; he caught up the trunks and threw them into the baggage-wagon + with a swelling of the muscles on his short, thick arms which pulled his + coat-sleeves from his heavy wrists and broad, short hands. + </p> + <p> + He had given one of these to Westover to shake when they met, but with + something conditional in his welcome, and with a look which was not so + much furtive as latent. The thatch of yellow hair he used to wear was now + cropped close to his skull, which was a sort of dun-color; and it had some + drops of sweat along the lighter edge where his hat had shaded his + forehead. He put his hat on the seat between himself and Westover, and + drove away from the station bareheaded, to cool himself after his bout + with the baggage, which was following more slowly in its wagon. There was + a good deal of it, and there were half a dozen people—women, of + course—going to Lion's Head House. Westover climbed to the place + beside Jeff to let them have the other two seats to themselves, and to + have a chance of talking; but the ladies had to be quieted in their + several anxieties concerning their baggage, and the letters and telegrams + they had sent about their rooms, before they settled down to an exchange + of apprehensions among themselves, and left Jeff Durgin free to listen to + Westover. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know but I ought to have telegraphed you that I was coming,” + Westover said; “but I couldn't realize that you were doing things on the + hotel scale. Perhaps you won't have room for me?” + </p> + <p> + “Guess we can put you up,” said Jeff. + </p> + <p> + “No chance of getting my old room, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't wonder. If there's any one in it, I guess mother could change + 'em.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that so?” asked Westover, with a liking for being liked, which his + tone expressed. “How is your mother?” + </p> + <p> + Jeff seemed to think a moment before he answered: + </p> + <p> + “Just exactly the same.” + </p> + <p> + “A little older?” + </p> + <p> + “Not as I can see.” + </p> + <p> + “Does she hate keeping a hotel as badly as she expected?” + </p> + <p> + “That's what she says,” answered Jeff, with a twinkle. All the time, while + he was talking with Westover, he was breaking out to his horses, which he + governed with his voice, trotting them up hill and down, and walking them + on the short, infrequent levels, in the mountain fashion. + </p> + <p> + Westover almost feared to ask: “And how is Jackson?” + </p> + <p> + “First-rate—that is, for him. He's as well as ever he was, I guess, + and he don't appear a day older. You've changed some,” said Jeff, with a + look round at Westover. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I'm twenty-nine now, and I wear a heavier beard.” Westover noticed + that Jeff was clean shaved of any sign of an approaching beard, and + artistically he rejoiced in the fellow's young, manly beauty, which was + very regular and sculpturesque. “You're about eighteen?” + </p> + <p> + “Nearer nineteen.” + </p> + <p> + “Is Jackson as much interested in the other world as he used to be?” + </p> + <p> + “Spirits?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess he keeps it up with Mr. Whitwell. He don't say much about it at + home. He keeps all the books, and helps mother run the house. She couldn't + very well get along without him.” + </p> + <p> + “And where do you come in?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I look after the transportation,” said Jeff, with a nod toward his + horses—“when I'm at home, that is. I've been at the Academy in + Lovewell the last three winters, and that means a good piece of the + summer, too, first and last. But I guess I'll let mother talk to you about + that.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Westover. “What I don't know about education isn't worth + knowing.” + </p> + <p> + Jeff laughed, and said to the off horse, which seemed to know that he was + meant: “Get up, there!” + </p> + <p> + “And Cynthia? Is Cynthia at home?” Westover asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; they're all down in the little wood-colored house yet. Cynthia + teaches winters, and summers she helps mother. She has charge of the + dining-room.” + </p> + <p> + “Does Franky cry as much as ever?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Frank's a fine boy. He's in the house, too. Kind of bell-boy.” + </p> + <p> + “And you haven't worked Mr. Whitwell in anywhere?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he talks to the ladies, and takes parties of 'em mountain-climbing. + I guess we couldn't get along without Mr. Whitwell. He talks religion to + 'em.” He cast a mocking glance at Westover over his shoulder. “Women seem + to like religion, whether they belong to church or not.” + </p> + <p> + Westover laughed and asked: “And Fox? How's Fox?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Jeff, “we had to give Fox away. He was always cross with the + boarders' children. My brother was on from Colorado, and he took Fox back + with him.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't suppose,” said Westover, “that I should have been sorry to miss + Fox. But I guess I shall be.” + </p> + <p> + Jeff seemed to enjoy the implication of his words. “He wasn't a bad dog. + He was stupid.” + </p> + <p> + When they arrived at the foot of the lane, mounting to the farm, Westover + saw what changes had been made in the house. There were large additions, + tasteless and characterless, but giving the rooms that were needed. There + was a vulgar modernity in the new parts, expressed with a final intensity + in the four-light windows, which are esteemed the last word of domestic + architecture in the country. Jeff said nothing as they approached the + house, but Westover said: “Well, you've certainly prospered. You're quite + magnificent.” + </p> + <p> + They reached the old level in front of the house, artificially widened out + of his remembrance, with a white flag-pole planted at its edge, and he + looked up at the front of the house, which was unchanged, except that it + had been built a story higher back of the old front, and discovered the + window of his old room. He could hardly wait to get his greetings over + with Mrs. Durgin and Jackson, who both showed a decorous pleasure and + surprise at his coming, before he asked: + </p> + <p> + “And could you let me have my own room, Mrs. Durgin?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes,” she said, “if you don't want something a little nicer.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe you've got anything nicer,” Westover said. + </p> + <p> + “All right, if you think so,” she retorted. “You can have the old room, + anyway.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X. + </h2> + <p> + Westover could not have said he felt very much at home on his first + sojourn at the farm, or that he had cared greatly for the Durgins. But now + he felt very much at home, and as if he were in the hands of friends. + </p> + <p> + It was toward the close of the afternoon that he arrived, and he went in + promptly to the meal that was served shortly after. He found that the + farm-house had not evolved so far in the direction of a hotel as to have + reached the stage of a late dinner. It was tea that he sat down to, but + when he asked if there were not something hot, after listening to a + catalogue of the cold meats, the spectacled waitress behind his chair + demanded, with the air of putting him on his honor: + </p> + <p> + “You among those that came this afternoon?” + </p> + <p> + Westover claimed to be of the new arrivals. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, you can have steak or chops and baked potatoes.” + </p> + <p> + He found the steak excellent, though succinct, and he looked round in the + distinction it conferred upon him, on the older guests, who were served + with cold ham, tongue, and corned-beef. He had expected to be appointed + his place by Cynthia Whitwell, but Jeff came to the dining-room with him + and showed him to the table he occupied, with an effect of doing him + special credit. + </p> + <p> + From his impressions of the berries, the cream, the toast, and the tea, as + well as the steak, he decided that on the gastronomic side there could be + no question but the Durgins knew how to keep a hotel; and his further + acquaintance with the house and its appointments confirmed him in his + belief. All was very simple, but sufficient; and no guest could have + truthfully claimed that he was stinted in towels, in water, in lamp-light, + in the quantity or quality of bedding, in hooks for clothes, or wardrobe + or bureau room. Westover made Mrs. Durgin his sincere compliments on her + success as they sat in the old parlor, which she had kept for herself much + in its former state, and she accepted them with simple satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “But I don't know as I should ever had the courage to try it if it hadn't + been for you happening along just when you did,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Then I'm the founder of your fortunes?” + </p> + <p> + “If you want to call them fortunes. We don't complain It's been a fight, + but I guess we've got the best of it. The house is full, and we're turnin' + folks away. I guess they can't say that at the big hotels they used to + drive over from to see Lion's Head at the farm.” She gave a low, + comfortable chuckle, and told Westover of the struggle they had made. It + was an interesting story and pathetic, like all stories of human endeavor + the efforts of the most selfish ambition have something of this interest; + and the struggle of the Durgins had the grace of the wish to keep their + home. + </p> + <p> + “And is Jeff as well satisfied as the rest?” Westover asked, after other + talk and comment on the facts. + </p> + <p> + “Too much so,” said Mrs. Durgin. “I should like to talk with you about + Jeff, Mr. Westover; you and him was always such friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Westover; “I shall be glad if I can be of use to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, it's just this. I don't see why Jeff shouldn't do something besides + keep a hotel.” + </p> + <p> + Westover's eyes wandered to the photograph of his painting of Lion's Head + which hung over the mantelpiece, in what he felt to be the place of the + greatest honor in the whole house, and a sudden fear came upon him that + perhaps Jeff had developed an artistic talent in the belief of his family. + But he waited silently to hear. + </p> + <p> + “We did think that before we got through the improvements last spring a + year ago we should have to get the savings-bank to put a mortgage on the + place; but we had just enough to start the season with, and we thought we + would try to pull through. We had a splendid season, and made money, and + this year we're doin' so well that I ain't afraid for the future any more, + and I want to give Jeff a chance in the world. I want he should go to + college.” + </p> + <p> + Westover felt all the boldness of the aspiration, but it was at least not + in the direction of art. “Wouldn't you rather miss him in the management?” + </p> + <p> + “We should, some. But he would be here the best part of the summer, in his + vacations, and Jackson and I are full able to run the house without him.” + </p> + <p> + “Jackson seems very well,” said Westover, evasively. + </p> + <p> + “He's better. He's only thirty-four years old. His father lived to be + sixty, and he had the same kind. Jeff tell you he had been at Lovewell + Academy?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; he did.” + </p> + <p> + “He done well there. All his teachers that he ever had,” Mrs. Durgin went + on, with the mother-pride that soon makes itself tiresome to the listener, + “said Jeff done well at school when he had a mind to, and at the Academy + he studied real hard. I guess,” said Mrs. Durgin, with her chuckle, “that + he thought that was goin' to be the end of it. One thing, he had to keep + up with Cynthy, and that put him on his pride. You seen Cynthy yet?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Jeff told me she was in charge of the diningroom.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess I'm in charge of the whole house,” said Mrs. Durgin. “Cynthy's + the housekeeper, though. She's a fine girl, and a smart girl,” said Mrs. + Durgin, with a visible relenting from some grudge, “and she'll do well + wherever you put her. She went to the Academy the first two winters Jeff + did. We've about scooped in the whole Whitwell family. Franky's here, and + his father's—well, his father's kind of philosopher to the lady + boarders.” Mrs. Durgin laughed, and Westover laughed with her. “Yes, I + want Jeff should go to college, and I want he should be a lawyer.” + </p> + <p> + Westover did not find that he had anything useful to say to this; so he + said: “I've no doubt it's better than being a painter.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not so sure; three hundred dollars for a little thing like that.” She + indicated the photograph of his Lion's Head, and she was evidently so + proud of it that he reserved for the moment the truth as to the price he + had got for the painting. “I was surprised when you sent me a photograph + full as big. I don't let every one in here, but a good many of the ladies + are artists themselves-amateurs, I guess—and first and last they all + want to see it. I guess they'll all want to see you, Mr. Westover. They'll + be wild, as they call it, when they know you're in the house. Yes, I mean + Jeff shall go to college.” + </p> + <p> + “Bowdoin or Dartmouth?” Westover suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I guess you'll think I'm about as forth-putting as I was when I + wanted you to give me a three-hundred-dollar picture for a week's board.” + </p> + <p> + “I only got a hundred and sixty, Mrs. Durgin,” said Westover, + conscientiously. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's a shame. Any rate, three hundred's the price to all my + boarders. My, if I've told that story once, I guess I've told it fifty + times!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Durgin laughed at herself jollily, and Westover noted how prosperity + had changed her. It had freed her tongue, it has brightened her humor, it + had cheered her heart; she had put on flesh, and her stalwart frame was + now a far greater bulk than he remembered. + </p> + <p> + “Well, there,” she said, “the long and the short of it is, I want Jeff + should go to Harvard.” + </p> + <p> + He commanded himself to say: “I don't see why he shouldn't.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Durgin called out, “Come in, Jackson,” and Westover looked round and + saw the elder son like a gaunt shadow in the doorway. “I've just got where + I've told Mr. Westover where I want Jeff should go. It don't seem to have + ca'd him off his feet any, either.” + </p> + <p> + “I presume,” said Jackson, coming in and sitting lankly down in the + feather-cushioned rocking-chair which his mother pushed toward him with + her foot, “that the expense would be more at Harvard than it would at the + other colleges.” + </p> + <p> + “If you want the best you got to pay for it,” said Mrs. Durgin. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it would cost more,” Westover answered Jackson's conjecture. “I + really don't know much about it. One hears tremendous stories at Boston of + the rate of living among the swell students in Cambridge. People talk of + five thousand a year, and that sort of thing.” Mrs. Durgin shut her lips, + after catching her breath. “But I fancy that it's largely talk. I have a + friend whose son went through Harvard for a thousand a year, and I know + that many fellows do it for much less.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess we can manage to let Jeff have a thousand a year,” said Mrs. + Durgin, proudly, “and not scrimp very much, either.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at her elder son, who said: “I don't believe but what we could. + It's more of a question with me what sort of influence Jeff would come + under there. I think he's pretty much spoiled here.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Jackson!” said his mother. + </p> + <p> + “I've heard,” said Westover, “that Harvard takes the nonsense out of a + man. I can't enter into what you say, and it isn't my affair; but in + regard to influence at Harvard, it depends upon the set Jeff is thrown + with or throws himself with. So, at least, I infer from what I've heard my + friend say of his son there. There are hard-working sets, loafing sets, + and fast sets; and I suppose it isn't different at Harvard in such matters + from other colleges.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Durgin looked a little grave. “Of course,” she said, “we don't know + anybody at Cambridge, except some ladies that boarded with us one summer, + and I shouldn't want to ask any favor of them. The trouble would be to get + Jeff started right.” + </p> + <p> + Westover surmised a good many things, but in the absence of any + confidences from the Durgins he could not tell just how much Jackson meant + in saying that Jeff was pretty much spoiled, or how little. At first, from + Mrs. Durgin's prompt protest, he fancied that Jackson meant that the boy + had been over-indulged by his mother: “I understand,” he said, in default + of something else to say, “that the requirements at Harvard are pretty + severe.” + </p> + <p> + “He's passed his preliminary examinations,” said Jackson, with a touch of + hauteur, “and I guess he can enter this fall if we should so decide. He'll + have some conditions, prob'ly, but none but what he can work off, I + guess.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, if you wish to have him go to college, by all means let him go to + Harvard, I should say. It's our great university and our oldest. I'm not a + college man myself; but, if I were, I should wish to have been a Harvard + man. If Jeff has any nonsense in him, it will take it out; and I don't + believe there's anything in Harvard, as Harvard, to make him worse.” + </p> + <p> + “That's what we both think,” said Jackson. + </p> + <p> + “I've heard,” Westover continued, and he rose and stood while he spoke, + “that Harvard's like the world. A man gets on there on the same terms that + he gets on in the world. He has to be a man, and he'd better be a + gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Durgin still looked serious. “Have you come back to Boston for good + now? Do you expect to be there right along?” + </p> + <p> + “I've taken a studio there. Yes, I expect to be in Boston now. I've taken + to teaching, and I fancy I can make a living. If Jeff comes to Cambridge, + and I can be of any use—” + </p> + <p> + “We should be ever so much obliged to you,” said his mother, with an air + of great relief. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all. I shall be very glad. Your mountain air is drugging me, Mrs. + Durgin. I shall have to say good-night, or I shall tumble asleep before I + get upstairs. Oh, I can find the way, I guess; this part of the house + seems the same.” He got away from them, and with the lamp that Jackson + gave him found his way to his room. A few moments later some one knocked + at his door, and a boy stood there with a pitcher. “Some ice-water, Mr. + Westover?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, is that you, Franky? I'm glad to see you again. How are you?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm pretty well,” said the boy, shyly. He was a very handsome little + fellow of distinctly dignified presence, and Westover was aware at once + that here was not a subject for patronage. “Is there anything else you + want, Mr. Westover? Matches, or soap, or anything?” He put the pitcher + down and gave a keen glance round the room. + </p> + <p> + “No, everything seems to be here, Frank,” said Westover. + </p> + <p> + “Well, good-night,” said the boy, and he slipped out, quietly closing the + door after him. + </p> + <p> + Westover pushed up his window and looked at Lion's Head in the moonlight. + It slumbered as if with the sleep of centuries-austere, august. The + moon-rays seemed to break and splinter on the outline of the lion-shape, + and left all the mighty mass black below. + </p> + <p> + In the old porch under his window Westover heard whispering. Then, “You + behave yourself, Jeff Durgin!” came in a voice which could be no other + than Cynthia Whitwell's, and Jeff Durgin's laugh followed. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> <img src="images/{0077}.jpg" alt="{0077}" width="100%" /><br /> </div> <h5> <a href="images/{0077}.jpg"> <img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> </h5> + + <p> + He saw the girl in the morning. She met him at the door of the + dining-room, and he easily found in her shy, proud manner, and her pure, + cold beauty, the temperament and physiognomy of the child he remembered. + She was tall and slim, and she held herself straight without stiffness; + her face was fine, with a straight nose, and a decided chin, and a mouth + of the same sweetness which looked from her still, gray eyes; her hair, of + the average brown, had a rough effect of being quickly tossed into form, + which pleased him; as she slipped down the room before him to place him at + table he saw that she was, as it were, involuntarily, unwillingly + graceful. She made him think of a wild sweetbrier, of a hermit-thrush; + but, if there were this sort of poetic suggestion in Cynthia's looks, her + acts were of plain and honest prose, such as giving Westover the + pleasantest place and the most intelligent waitress in the room. + </p> + <p> + He would have liked to keep her in talk a moment, but she made + business-like despatch of all his allusions to the past, and got herself + quickly away. Afterward she came back to him, with the effect of having + forced herself to come, and the color deepened in her cheeks while she + stayed. + </p> + <p> + She seemed glad of his being there, but helpless against the instincts or + traditions that forbade her to show her pleasure in his presence. Her + reticence became almost snubbing in its strictness when he asked her about + her school-teaching in the winter; but he found that she taught at the + little school-house at the foot of the hill, and lived at home with her + father. + </p> + <p> + “And have you any bad boys that frighten little girls in your school?” he + asked, jocosely. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know as I have,” she said, with a consciousness that flamed into + her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps the boys have reformed?” Westover suggested. + </p> + <p> + “I presume,” she said, stiffly, “that there's room for improvement in + every one,” and then, as if she were afraid he might take this personally, + she looked unhappy and tried to speak of other things. She asked him if he + did not see a great many changes at Lion's Head; he answered, gravely, + that he wished he could have found it just as he left it, and then she + must have thought she had gone wrong again, for she left him in an + embarrassment that was pathetic, but which was charming. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI. + </h2> + <p> + After breakfast Westover walked out and saw Whitwell standing on the grass + in front of the house, beside the flagstaff. He suffered Westover to make + the first advances toward the renewal of their acquaintance, but when he + was sure of his friendly intention he responded with a cordial openness + which the painter had fancied wanting in his children. Whitwell had not + changed much. The most noticeable difference was the compact phalanx of + new teeth which had replaced the staggering veterans of former days, and + which displayed themselves in his smile of relenting. There was some + novelty of effect also in an arrangement of things in his hat-band. At + first Westover thought they were fishhooks and artificial flies, such as + the guides wear in the Adirondacks to advertise their calling about the + hotel offices and the piazzas. But another glance showd him that they were + sprays and wild flowers of various sorts, with gay mosses and fungi and + some stems of Indian-pipe. + </p> + <p> + Whitwell seemed pleased that these things should have caught Westover's + eye. He said, almost immediately: “Lookin' at my almanac? This is one of + our field-days; we have 'em once a week; and I like to let the ladies see + beforehand what nature's got on the bill for 'em, in the woods and + pastur's.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a good idea,” said Westover, “and it's fresh and picturesque.” + Whitwell laughed for pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “They told me what a consolation you were to the ladies, with your walks + and talks.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I try to give 'em something to think about,” said Whitwell. + </p> + <p> + “But why do you confine your ministrations to one sex?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't, on purpose. But it's the only sex here, three-fourths of the + time. Even the children are mostly all girls. When the husbands come up + Saturday nights, they don't want to go on a tramp Sundays. They want to + lay off and rest. That's about how it is. Well, you see some changes about + Lion's Head, I presume?” he asked, with what seemed an impersonal pleasure + in them. + </p> + <p> + “I should rather have found the old farm. But I must say I'm glad to find + such a good hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “Jeff and his mother made their brags to you?” said Whitwell, with a kind + of amiable scorn. “I guess if it wa'n't for Cynthy she wouldn't know where + she was standin', half the time. It don't matter where Jeff stands, I + guess. Jackson's the best o' the lot, now the old man's gone.” There was + no one by at the moment to hear these injuries except Westover, but + Whitwell called them out with a frankness which was perhaps more carefully + adapted to the situation than it seemed. Westover made no attempt to parry + them formally; but he offered some generalities in extenuation of the + unworthiness of the Durgins, which Whitwell did not altogether refuse. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's all right. Old woman talk to you about Jeff's going to college? + I thought so. Wants to make another Dan'el Webster of him. Guess she can's + far forth as Dan'el's graduatin' went.” Westover tried to remember how + this had been with the statesman, but could not. Whitwell added, with + intensifying irony so of look and tone: “Guess the second Dan'el won't + have a chance to tear his degree up; guess he wouldn't ever b'en ready to + try for it if it had depended on him. They don't keep any record at + Harvard, do they, of the way fellows are prepared for their preliminary + examinations?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't quite know what you mean,” said Westover. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothin'. You get a chance some time to ask Jeff who done most of his + studyin' for him at the Academy.” + </p> + <p> + This hint was not so darkling but Westover could understand that Whitwell + attributed Jeff's scholarship to the help of Cynthia, but he would not + press him to an open assertion of the fact. There was something painful in + it to him; it had the pathos which perhaps most of the success in the + world would reveal if we could penetrate its outside. + </p> + <p> + He was silent, and Whitwell left the point. “Well,” he concluded, “what's + goin' on in them old European countries?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the old thing,” said Westover. “But I can't speak for any except + France, very well.” + </p> + <p> + “What's their republic like, over there? Ours? See anything of it, how it + works?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you know,” said Westover, “I was working so hard myself all the + time—” + </p> + <p> + “Good!” Whitwell slapped his leg. Westover saw that he had on long + India-rubber boots, which came up to his knees, and he gave a wayward + thought to the misery they would be on an August day to another man; but + Whitwell was probably insensible to any discomfort from them. “When a + man's mindin' his own business any government's good, I guess. But I + should like to prowl round some them places where they had the worst + scenes of the Revolution, Ever been in the Place de la Concorde?” Whitwell + gave it the full English pronunciation. + </p> + <p> + “I passed through it nearly every day.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to know! And that column that they, pulled down in the Commune + that had that little Boney on it—see that?” + </p> + <p> + “In the Place Vendome?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Plass Vonndome.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes. You wouldn't know it had ever been down.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor the things it stood for?” + </p> + <p> + “As to that, I can't be so sure.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's funny,” said the philosopher, “how the world seems to always + come out at the same hole it went in at!” He paused, with his mouth open, + as if to let the notion have full effect with Westover. + </p> + <p> + The painter said: “And you're still in the old place, Mr. Whitwell?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I like my own house. They've wanted me to come up here often enough, + but I'm satisfied where I am. It's quiet down there, and, when I get + through for the day, I can read. And I like to keep my family together. + Cynthy and Frank always sleep at home, and Jombateeste eats with me. You + remember Jombateeste?” + </p> + <p> + Westover had to say that he did not. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't know as you did see him much. He was that Canuck I had + helpin' me clear that piece over on Lion's Head for the pulp-mill; + pulp-mill went all to thunder, and I never got a cent. And sometimes + Jackson comes down with his plantchette, and we have a good time.” + </p> + <p> + “Jackson still believes in the manifestations?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But he's never developed much himself. He can't seem to do much + without the plantchette. We've had up some of them old philosophers + lately. We've had up Socrates.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that so? It must be very interesting.” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell did not answer, and Westover saw his eye wander. He looked round. + Several ladies were coming across the grass toward him from the hotel, + lifting their skirts and tiptoeing through the dew. They called to him, + “Good-morning, Mr. Whitwell!” and “Are you going up Lion's Head to-day?” + and “Don't you think it will rain?”—“Guess not,” said Whitwell, with + a fatherly urbanity and an air of amusement at the anxieties of the sex + which seemed habitual to him. He waited tranquilly for them to come up, + and then asked, with a wave of his hand toward Westover: “Acquainted with + Mr. Westover, the attist?” He named each of them, and it would have been + no great vanity in Westover to think they had made their little movement + across the grass quite as much in the hope of an introduction to him as in + the wish to consult Whitwell about his plans. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> <img src="images/{0087}.jpg" alt="{0087}" width="100%" /><br /> </div> <h5> <a href="images/{0087}.jpg"> <img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> </h5> + + <p> + The painter found himself the centre of an agreeable excitement with all + the ladies in the house. For this it was perhaps sufficient to be a man. + To be reasonably young and decently good-looking, to be an artist, and an + artist not unknown, were advantages which had the splendor of superfluity. + </p> + <p> + He liked finding himself in the simple and innocent American circumstance + again, and he was not sorry to be confronted at once with one of the most + characteristic aspects of our summer. He could read in the present + development of Lion's Head House all the history of its evolution from the + first conception of farm-board, which sufficed the earliest comers, to its + growth in the comforts and conveniences which more fastidious tastes and + larger purses demanded. Before this point was reached, the boarders would + be of a good and wholesome sort, but they would be people of no social + advantages, and not of much cultivation, though they might be intelligent; + they would certainly not be fashionable; five dollars a week implied all + that, except in the case of some wandering artist or the family of some + poor young professor. But when the farm became a boarding-house and called + itself a hotel, as at present with Lion's Head House, and people paid ten + dollars a week, or twelve for transients, a moment of its character was + reached which could not be surpassed when its prosperity became greater + and its inmates more pretentious. In fact, the people who can afford to + pay ten dollars a week for summer board, and not much more, are often the + best of the American people, or, at least, of the New England people. They + may not know it, and those who are richer may not imagine it. They are apt + to be middle-aged maiden ladies from university towns, living upon + carefully guarded investments; young married ladies with a scant child or + two, and needing rest and change of air; college professors with nothing + but their modest salaries; literary men or women in the beginning of their + tempered success; clergymen and their wives away from their churches in + the larger country towns or the smaller suburbs of the cities; here and + there an agreeable bachelor in middle life, fond of literature and nature; + hosts of young and pretty girls with distinct tastes in art, and devoted + to the clever young painter who leads them to the sources of inspiration + in the fields and woods. Such people are refined, humane, appreciative, + sympathetic; and Westover, fresh from the life abroad where life is seldom + so free as ours without some stain, was glad to find himself in the midst + of this unrestraint, which was so sweet and pure. He had seen enough of + rich people to know that riches seldom bought the highest qualities, even + among his fellow-countrymen who suppose that riches can do everything, and + the first aspects of society at Lion's Head seemed to him Arcadian. There + really proved to be a shepherd or two among all that troop of + shepherdesses, old and young; though it was in the middle of the week, + remote alike from the Saturday of arrivals and the Monday of departures. + To be sure, there was none quite so young as himself, except Jeff Durgin, + who was officially exterior to the social life. + </p> + <p> + The painter who gave lessons to the ladies was already a man of forty, and + he was strongly dragoned round by a wife almost as old, who had taken + great pains to secure him for herself, and who worked him to far greater + advantage in his profession than he could possibly have worked himself: + she got him orders; sold his pictures, even in Boston, where they never + buy American pictures; found him pupils, and kept the boldest of these + from flirting with him. Westover, who was so newly from Paris, was able to + console him with talk of the salons and ateliers, which he had not heard + from so directly in ten years. After the first inevitable moment of + jealousy, his wife forgave Westover when she found that he did not want + pupils, and she took a leading part in the movement to have him read + Browning at a picnic, organized by the ladies shortly after he came. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XII. + </h2> + <p> + The picnic was held in Whitwell's Clearing, on the side of Lion's Head, + where the moss, almost as white as snow, lay like belated drifts among the + tall, thin grass which overran the space opened by the axe, and crept to + the verge of the low pines growing in the shelter of the loftier woods. It + was the end of one of Whitwell's “Tramps Home to Nature,” as he called his + walks and talks with the ladies, and on this day Westover's fellow-painter + had added to his lessons in woodlore the claims of art, intending that his + class should make studies of various bits in the clearing, and should try + to catch something of its peculiar charm. He asked Westover what he + thought of the notion, and Westover gave it his approval, which became + enthusiastic when he saw the place. He found in it the melancholy grace, + the poignant sentiment of ruin which expresses itself in some measure + wherever man has invaded nature and then left his conquest to her again. + In Whitwell's Clearing the effect was intensified by the approach on the + fading wood road, which the wagons had made in former days when they + hauled the fallen timber to the pulp-mill. In places it was so vague and + faint as to be hardly a trail; in others, where the wheel-tracks remained + visible, the trees had sent out a new growth of lower branches in the + place of those lopped away, and almost forbade the advance of + foot-passengers. The ladies said they did not see how Jeff was ever going + to get through with the wagon, and they expressed fears for the lunch he + was bringing, which seemed only too well grounded. + </p> + <p> + But Whitwell, who was leading them on, said: “You let a Durgin alone to do + a thing when he's made up his mind to it. I guess you'll have your lunch + all right;” and by the time that they had got enough of Browning they + heard the welcome sound of wheels crashing upon dead boughs and swishing + through the underbrush, and, in the pauses of these pleasant noises, the + voice of Jeff Durgin encouraging his horses. The children of the party + broke away to meet him, and then he came in sight ahead of his team, + looking strong and handsome in his keeping with the scene: Before he got + within hearing, the ladies murmured a hymn of praise to his type of + beauty; they said he looked like a young Hercules, and Westover owned with + an inward smile that Jeff had certainly made the best of himself for the + time being. He had taken a leaf from the book of the summer folks; his + stalwart calves revealed themselves in thick, ribbed stockings; he wore + knickerbockers and a Norfolk jacket of corduroy; he had style as well as + beauty, and he had the courage of his clothes and looks. Westover was + still in the first surprise of the American facts, and he wondered just + what part in the picnic Jeff was to bear socially. He was neither quite + host nor guest; but no doubt in the easy play of the life, which Westover + was rather proud to find so charming, the question would solve itself + rationally and gracefully. + </p> + <p> + “Where do you want the things?” the young fellow asked of the company at + large, as he advanced upon them from the green portals of the roadway, + pulling off his soft wool hat, and wiping his wet forehead with his + blue-bordered white handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, right here, Jeff!” The nimblest of the nymphs sprang to her feet from + the lounging and crouching circle about Westover. She was a young nymph no + longer, but with a daughter not so much younger than herself as to make + the contrast of her sixteen years painful. Westover recognized the + officious, self-approving kind of the woman, but he admired the brisk + efficiency with which she had taken possession of the affair from the + beginning and inspired every one to help, in strict subordination to + herself. + </p> + <p> + When the cloths were laid on the smooth, elastic moss, and the meal was + spread, she heaped a plate without suffering any interval in her + activities. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you've got to go back to your horses, Jeff, and you shall be + the first served,” she said, and she offered him the plate with a bright + smile and friendly grace, which were meant to keep him from the hurt of + her intention. + </p> + <p> + Jeff did not offer to take the plate which she raised to him from where + she was kneeling, but looked down at her with perfect intelligence. “I + guess I don't want anything,” he said, and turned and walked away into the + woods. + </p> + <p> + The ill-advised woman remained kneeling for a moment with her ingratiating + smile hardening on her face, while the sense of her blunder petrified the + rest. She was the first to recover herself, and she said, with a laugh + that she tried to make reckless, “Well, friends, I suppose the rest of you + are hungry; I know I am,” and she began to eat. + </p> + <p> + The others ate, too, though their appetites might well have been affected + by the diplomatic behavior of Whitwell. He would not take anything, just + at present, he said, and got his long length up from the root of a tree + where he had folded it down. “I don't seem to care much for anything in + the middle of the day; breakfast's my best meal,” and he followed Jeff off + into the woods. + </p> + <p> + “Really,” said the lady, “what did they expect?” But the question was so + difficult that no one seemed able to make the simple answer. + </p> + <p> + The incident darkened the day and spoiled its pleasure; it cast a + lessening shadow into the evening when the guests met round the fire in + the large, ugly new parlor at the hotel. + </p> + <p> + The next morning the ladies assembled again on the piazza to decide what + should be done with the beautiful day before them. Whitwell stood at the + foot of the flag-staff with one hand staying his person against it, like a + figure posed in a photograph to verify proportions in the different + features of a prospect. + </p> + <p> + The heroine of the unhappy affair of the picnic could not forbear + authorizing herself to invoke his opinion at a certain point of the + debate, and “Mr. Whitwell,” she called to him, “won't you please come here + a moment?” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell slowly pulled himself across the grass to the group, and at the + same moment, as if she had been waiting for him to be present, Mrs. Durgin + came out of the office door and advanced toward the ladies. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Marven,” she said, with the stony passivity which the ladies used to + note in her when they came over to Lion's Head Farm in the tally-hos, “the + stage leaves here at two o'clock to get the down train at three. I want + you should have your trunks ready to go on the wagon a little before two.” + </p> + <p> + “You want I should have my—What do you mean, Mrs. Durgin?” + </p> + <p> + “I want your rooms.” + </p> + <p> + “You want my rooms?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Durgin did not answer. She let her steadfast look suffice; and Mrs. + Marven went on in a rising flutter: “Why, you can't have my rooms! I don't + understand you. I've taken my rooms for the whole of August, and they are + mine; and—” + </p> + <p> + “I have got to have your rooms,” said Mrs. Durgin. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then, I won't give them up,” said the lady. “A bargain's a + bargain, and I have your agreement—” + </p> + <p> + “If you're not out of your rooms by two o'clock, your things will be put + out; and after dinner to-day you will not eat another bite under my roof.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Durgin went in, and it remained for the company to make what they + could of the affair. Mrs. Marven did not wait for the result. She was not + a dignified person, but she rose with hauteur and whipped away to her + rooms, hers no longer, to make her preparations. She knew at least how to + give her going the effect of quitting the place with disdain and + abhorrence. + </p> + <p> + The incident of her expulsion was brutal, but it was clearly meant to be + so. It made Westover a little sick, and he would have liked to pity Mrs. + Marven more than he could. The ladies said that Mrs. Durgin's behavior was + an outrage, and they ought all to resent it by going straight to their own + rooms and packing their things and leaving on the same stage with Mrs. + Marven. None of them did so, and their talk veered around to something + extenuating, if not justifying, Mrs. Durgin's action. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” one of them said, “that she felt more indignant about it + because she has been so very good to Mrs. Marven, and her daughter, too. + They were both sick on her hands here for a week after they came, first + one and then the other, and she looked after them and did for them like a + mother.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” another lady suggested, “what could Mrs. Marven have done? What + did she do? He wasn't asked to the picnic, and I don't see why he should + have been treated as a guest. He was there, purely and simply, to bring + the things and take them away. And, besides, if there is anything in + distinctions, in differences, if we are to choose who is to associate with + us—or our daughters—” + </p> + <p> + “That is true,” the ladies said, in one form or another, with the tone of + conviction; but they were not so deeply convinced that they did not want a + man's opinion, and they all looked at Westover. + </p> + <p> + He would not respond to their look, and the lady who had argued for Mrs. + Marven had to ask: “What do you think, Mr. Westover?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, it's a difficult question,” he said. “I suppose that as long as one + person believes himself or herself socially better than another, it must + always be a fresh problem what to do in every given case.” + </p> + <p> + The ladies said they supposed so, and they were forced to make what they + could of wisdom in which they might certainly have felt a want of + finality. + </p> + <p> + Westover went away from them in a perplexed mind which was not simplified + by the contempt he had at the bottom of all for something unmanly in Jeff, + who had carried his grievance to his mother like a slighted boy, and + provoked her to take up arms for him. + </p> + <p> + The sympathy for Mrs. Marven mounted again when it was seen that she did + not come to dinner, or permit her daughter to do so, and when it became + known later that she had refused for both the dishes sent to their rooms. + Her farewells to the other ladies, when they gathered to see her off on + the stage, were airy rather than cheery; there was almost a demonstration + in her behalf, but Westover was oppressed by a kind of inherent squalor in + the incident. + </p> + <p> + At night he responded to a knock which he supposed that of Frank Whitwell + with ice-water, and Mrs. Durgin came into his room and sat down in one of + his two chairs. “Mr. Westover,” she said, “if you knew all I had done for + that woman and her daughter, and how much she had pretended to think of us + all, I don't believe you'd be so ready to judge me.” + </p> + <p> + “Judge you!” cried Westover. “Bless my soul, Mrs. Durgin! I haven't said a + word that could be tormented into the slightest censure.” + </p> + <p> + “But you think I done wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “I have not been at all able to satisfy myself on that point, Mrs. Durgin. + I think it's always wrong to revenge one's self.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I suppose it is,” said Mrs. Durgin, humbly; and the tears came into + her eyes. “I got the tray ready with my own hands that was sent to her + room; but she wouldn't touch it. I presume she didn't like having a plate + prepared for her! But I did feel sorry for her. She a'n't over and above + strong, and I'm afraid she'll be sick; there a'n't any rest'rant at our + depot.” + </p> + <p> + Westover fancied this a fit mood in Mrs. Durgin for her further + instruction, and he said: “And if you'll excuse me, Mrs. Durgin, I don't + think what you did was quite the way to keep a hotel.” + </p> + <p> + More tears flashed into Mrs. Durgin's eyes, but they were tears of wrath + now. “I would 'a' done it,” she said, “if I thought every single one of + 'em would 'a' left the house the next minute, for there a'n't one that has + the first word to say against me, any other way. It wa'n't that I cared + whether she thought my son was good enough to eat with her or not; I know + what I think, and that's enough for me. He wa'n't invited to the picnic, + and he a'n't one to put himself forward. If she didn't want him to stay, + all she had to do was to do nothin'. But to make him up a plate before + everybody, and hand it to him to eat with the horses, like a tramp or a + dog—” Mrs. Durgin filled to the throat with her wrath, and the sight + of her made Westover keenly unhappy. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” he said, “it was a miserable business.” He could not help + adding: “If Jeff could have kept it to himself—but perhaps that + wasn't possible.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Westover!” said Mrs. Durgin, sternly. “Do you think Jeff would come + to me, like a great crybaby, and complain of my lady boarders and the way + they used him? It was Mr. Whit'ell that let it out, or I don't know as I + should ever known about it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad Jeff didn't tell you,” said Westover, with a revulsion of good + feeling toward him. + </p> + <p> + “He'd 'a' died first,” said his mother. “But Mr. Whit'ell done just right + all through, and I sha'n't soon forget it. Jeff's give me a proper goin' + over for what I done; both the boys have. But I couldn't help it, and I + should do just so again. All is, I wanted you should know just what you + was blamin' me for—” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know that I blame you. I only wish you could have helped it—managed + some other way.” + </p> + <p> + “I did try to get over it, and all I done was to lose a night's rest. + Then, this morning, when I see her settin' there so cool and mighty with + the boarders, and takin' the lead as usual, I just waited till she got + Whit'ell across, and nearly everybody was there that saw what she done to + Jeff, and then I flew out on her.” + </p> + <p> + Westover could not suppress a laugh. “Well, Mrs. Durgin, your retaliation + was complete; it was dramatic.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what you mean by that,” said Mrs. Durgin, rising and + resuming her self-control; she did not refuse herself a grim smile. “But I + guess she thought it was pretty perfect herself—or she will, when + she's able to give her mind to it. I'm sorry for her daughter; I never had + anything against her; or her mother, either, for that matter, before. + Franky look after you pretty well? I'll send him up with your ice-water. + Got everything else you want?” + </p> + <p> + “I should have to invent a want if I wished to complain,” said Westover. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I should like to have you do it. We can't ever do too much for you. + Well, good-night, Mr. Westover.” + </p> + <p> + “Good'-night, Mrs. Durgin.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIII. + </h2> + <p> + Jeff Durgin entered Harvard that fall, with fewer conditions than most + students have to work off. This was set down to the credit of Lovewell + Academy, where he had prepared for the university; and some observers in + such matters were interested to note how thoroughly the old school in a + remote town had done its work for him. + </p> + <p> + None who formed personal relations with him at that time conjectured that + he had done much of the work for himself, and even to Westover, when Jeff + came to him some weeks after his settlement in Cambridge, he seemed + painfully out of his element, and unamiably aware of it. For the time, at + least, he had lost the jovial humor, not too kindly always, which largely + characterized him, and expressed itself in sallies of irony which were not + so unkindly, either. The painter perceived that he was on his guard + against his own friendly interest; Jeff made haste to explain that he came + because he had told his mother that he would do so. He scarcely invited a + return of his visit, and he left Westover wondering at the sort of vague + rebellion against his new life which he seemed to be in. The painter went + out to see him in Cambridge, not long after, and was rather glad to find + him rooming with some other rustic Freshman in a humble street running + from the square toward the river; for he thought Jeff must have taken his + lodging for its cheapness, out of regard to his mother's means. But Jeff + was not glad to be found there, apparently; he said at once that he + expected to get a room in the Yard the next year, and eat at Memorial + Hall. He spoke scornfully of his boarding-house as a place where they were + all a lot of jays together; and Westover thought him still more at odds + with his environment than he had before. But Jeff consented to come in and + dine with him at his restaurant, and afterward go to the theatre with him. + </p> + <p> + When he came, Westover did not quite like his despatch of the half-bottle + of California claret served each of them with the Italian table d'hote. He + did not like his having already seen the play he proposed; and he found + some difficulty in choosing a play which Jeff had not seen. It appeared + then that he had been at the theatre two or three times a week for the + last month, and that it was almost as great a passion with him as with + Westover himself. He had become already a critic of acting, with a rough + good sense of it, and a decided opinion. He knew which actors he + preferred, and which actresses, better still. It was some consolation for + Westover to find that he mostly took an admission ticket when he went to + the theatre; but, though he could not blame Jeff for showing his own + fondness for it, he wished that he had not his fondness. + </p> + <p> + So far Jeff seemed to have spent very few of his evenings in Cambridge, + and Westover thought it would be well if he had some acquaintance there. + He made favor for him with a friendly family, who asked him to dinner. + They did it to oblige Westover, against their own judgment and knowledge, + for they said it was always the same with Freshmen; a single act of + hospitality finished the acquaintance. Jeff came, and he behaved with as + great indifference to the kindness meant him as if he were dining out + every night; he excused himself very early in the evening on the ground + that he had to go into Boston, and he never paid his dinner-call. After + that Westover tried to consider his whole duty to him fulfilled, and not + to trouble himself further. Now and then, however, Jeff disappointed the + expectation Westover had formed of him, by coming to see him, and being + apparently glad of the privilege. But he did not make the painter think + that he was growing in grace or wisdom, though he apparently felt an + increasing confidence in his own knowledge of life. + </p> + <p> + Westover could only feel a painful interest tinged with amusement in his + grotesque misconceptions of the world where he had not yet begun to right + himself. Jeff believed lurid things of the society wholly unknown to him; + to his gross credulity, Boston houses, which at the worst were the homes + of a stiff and cold exclusiveness, were the scenes of riot only less + scandalous than the dissipation to which fashionable ladies abandoned + themselves at champagne suppers in the Back Bay hotels and on their secret + visits to the Chinese opium-joints in Kingston Street. + </p> + <p> + Westover tried to make him see how impossible his fallacies were; but he + could perceive that Jeff thought him either wilfully ignorant or + helplessly innocent, and of far less authority than a barber who had the + entree of all these swell families as hair-dresser, and who corroborated + the witness of a hotel night-clerk (Jeff would not give their names) to + the depravity of the upper classes. He had to content himself with saying: + “I hope you will be ashamed some day of having believed such rot. But I + suppose it's something you've got to go through. You may take my word for + it, though? that it isn't going to do you any good. It's going to do you + harm, and that's why I hate to have you think it, for your own sake. It + can't hurt any one else.” + </p> + <p> + What disgusted the painter most was that, with all his belief in the + wickedness of the fine world, it was clear that Jeff would have willingly + been of it; and he divined that if he had any strong aspirations they were + for society and for social acceptance. He had fancied, when the fellow + seemed to care so little for the studies of the university, that he might + come forward in its sports. Jeff gave more and more the effect of + tremendous strength in his peculiar physique, though there was always the + disappointment of not finding him tall. He was of the middle height, but + he was hewn out and squared upward massively. He felt like stone to any + accidental contact, and the painter brought away a bruise from the mere + brunt of his shoulders. He learned that Jeff was a frequenter of the + gymnasium, where his strength must have been known, but he could not make + out that he had any standing among the men who went in for athletics. If + Jeff had even this, the sort of standing in college which he failed of + would easily have been won, too. But he had been falsely placed at the + start, or some quality of his nature neutralized other qualities that + would have made him a leader in college, and he remained one of the least + forward men in it. Other jays won favor and liking, and ceased to be jays; + Jeff continued a jay. He was not chosen into any of the nicer societies; + those that he joined when he thought they were swell he could not care for + when he found they were not. + </p> + <p> + Westover came into a knowledge of the facts through his casual and + scarcely voluntary confidences, and he pitied him somewhat while he blamed + him a great deal more, without being able to help him at all. + </p> + <p> + It appeared to him that the fellow had gone wrong more through ignorance + than perversity, and that it was a stubbornness of spirit rather than a + badness of heart that kept him from going right. He sometimes wondered + whether it was not more a baffled wish to be justified in his own esteem + than anything else that made him overvalue the things he missed. He knew + how such an experience as that with Mrs. Marven rankles in the heart of + youth, and will not cease to smart till some triumph in kind brines it + ease; but between the man of thirty and the boy of twenty there is a gulf + fixed, and he could not ask. He did not know that a college man often goes + wrong in his first year, out of no impulse that he can very clearly + account for himself, and then when he ceases to be merely of his type and + becomes more of his character, he pulls up and goes right. He did not know + how much Jeff had been with a set that was fast without being fine. The + boy had now and then a book in his hand when he came; not always such a + book as Westover could have wished, but still a book; and to his + occasional questions about how he was getting on with his college work, + Jeff made brief answers, which gave the notion that he was not neglecting + it. + </p> + <p> + Toward the end of his first year he sent to Westover one night from a + station-house, where he had been locked up for breaking a street-lamp in + Boston. By his own showing he had not broken the lamp, or assisted, except + through his presence, at the misdeed of the tipsy students who had done + it. His breath betrayed that he had been drinking, too; but otherwise he + seemed as sober as Westover himself, who did not know whether to augur + well or ill for him from the proofs he had given before of his ability to + carry off a bottle of wine with a perfectly level head. Jeff seemed to + believe Westover a person of such influence that he could secure his + release at once, and he was abashed to find that he must pass the night in + the cell, where he conferred with Westover through the bars. + </p> + <p> + In the police court, where his companions were fined, the next morning, he + was discharged for want of evidence against him; but the university + authorities did not take the same view as the civil authorities. He was + suspended, and for the time he passed out of Westover's sight and + knowledge. + </p> + <p> + He expected to find him at Lion's Head, where he went to pass the month of + August—in painting those pictures of the mountain which had in some + sort, almost in spite of him, become his specialty. But Mrs. Durgin + employed the first free moments after their meeting in explaining that + Jeff had got a chance to work his way to London on a cattle-steamer, and + had been abroad the whole summer. He had written home that the voyage had + been glorious, with plenty to eat and little to do; and he had made favor + with the captain for his return by the same vessel in September. By other + letters it seemed that he had spent the time mostly in England; but he had + crossed over into France for a fortnight, and had spent a week in Paris. + His mother read some passages from his letters aloud to show Westover how + Jeff was keeping his eyes open. His accounts of his travel were a mixture + of crude sensations in the presence of famous scenes and objects of + interest, hard-headed observation of the facts of life, narrow-minded + misconception of conditions, and wholly intelligent and adequate study of + the art of inn-keeping in city and country. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Durgin seemed to feel that there was some excuse due for the relative + quantity of the last. “He knows that's what I'd care for the most; and + Jeff a'n't one to forget his mother.” As if the word reminded her, she + added, after a moment: “We sha'n't any of us soon forget what you done for + Jeff—that time.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't do anything for him, Mrs. Durgin; I couldn't,” Westover + protested. + </p> + <p> + “You done what you could, and I know that you saw the thing in the right + light, or you wouldn't 'a' tried to do anything. Jeff told me every word + about it. I know he was with a pretty harum-scarum crowd. But it was a + lesson to him; and I wa'n't goin' to have him come back here, right away, + and have folks talkin' about what they couldn't understand, after the way + the paper had it.” + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> <img src="images/{0109}.jpg" alt="{0109}" width="100%" /><br /> </div> <h5> <a href="images/{0109}.jpg"> <img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> </h5> + + <p> + “Did it get into the papers?” + </p> + <p> + “Mm.” Mrs. Durgin nodded. “And some dirty, sneakin' thing, here, wrote a + letter to the paper and told a passel o' lies about Jeff and all of us; + and the paper printed Jeff's picture with it; I don't know how they got a + hold of it. So when he got that chance to go, I just said, 'Go.' You'll + see he'll keep all straight enough after this, Mr. Westover.” + </p> + <p> + “Old woman read you any of Jeff's letters?” Whit-well asked, when his + chance for private conference with Westover came. “What was the rights of + that scrape he got into?” + </p> + <p> + Westover explained as favorably to Jeff as he could; the worst of the + affair was the bad company he was in. + </p> + <p> + “Well, where there's smoke there's some fire. Cou't discharged him and + college suspended him. That's about where it is? I guess he'll keep out o' + harm's way next time. Read you what he said about them scenes of the + Revolution in Paris?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; he seems to have looked it all up pretty thoroughly.” + </p> + <p> + “Done it for me, I guess, much as anything. I was always talkin' it up + with him. Jeff's kep' his eyes open, that's a fact. He's got a head on + him, more'n I ever thought.” + </p> + <p> + Westover decided that Mrs. Durgin's prepotent behavior toward Mrs. Marven + the summer before had not hurt her materially, with the witnesses even. + There were many new boarders, but most of those whom he had already met + were again at Lion's Head. They said there was no air like it, and no + place so comfortable. If they had sold their birthright for a mess of + pottage, Westover had to confess that the pottage was very good. Instead + of the Irish woman at ten dollars a week who had hitherto been Mrs. + Durgin's cook, under her personal surveillance and direction, she had now + a man cook, whom she boldly called a chef and paid eighty dollars a month. + He wore the white apron and white cap of his calling, but Westover heard + him speak Yankee through his nose to one of the stablemen as they + exchanged hilarities across the space between the basement and the + barn-door. “Yes,” Mrs. Durgin admitted, “he's an American; and he learnt + his trade at one of the best hotels in Portland. He's pretty headstrong, + but I guess he does what he's told—in the end. The meanyous? Oh, + Franky Whitwell prints then. He's got an amateur printing-office in the + stable-loft.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIV. + </h2> + <p> + One morning toward the end of August, Whitwell, who was starting homeward, + after leaving his ladies, burdened with their wishes and charges for the + morrow, met Westover coming up the hill with his painting-gear in his + hand. “Say!” he hailed him. “Why don't you come down to the house + to-night? Jackson's goin' to come, and, if you ha'n't seen him work the + plantchette for a spell, you'll be surprised. There a'n't hardly anybody + he can't have up. You'll come? Good enough!” + </p> + <p> + What affected Westover first of all at the seance, and perhaps most of + all, was the quality of the air in the little house; it was close and + stuffy, mixed with an odor of mould and an ancient smell of rats. The + kerosene-lamp set in the centre of the table, where Jackson afterward + placed his planchette, devoured the little life that was left in it. At + the gasps which Westover gave, with some despairing glances at the closed + windows, Whitwell said: “Hot? Well, I guess it is a little. But, you see, + Jackson has got to be careful about the night air; but I guess I can fix + it for you.” He went out into the ell, and Westover heard him raising a + window. He came back and asked, “That do? It 'll get around in here + directly,” and Westover had to profess relief. + </p> + <p> + Jackson came in presently with the little Canuck, whom Whitwell presented + to Westover: “Know Jombateeste?” + </p> + <p> + The two were talking about a landslide which had taken place on the other + side of the mountain; the news had just come that they had found among the + ruins the body of the farm-hand who had been missing since the morning of + the slide; his funeral was to be the next day. + </p> + <p> + Jackson put his planchette on the table, and sat down before it with a + sigh; the Canuck remained standing, and on foot he was scarcely a head + higher than the seated Yankees. “Well,” Jackson said, “I suppose he knows + all about it now,” meaning the dead farm-hand. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Westover suggested, “if he knows anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Know anything!” Whitwell shouted. “Why, man, don't you believe he's as + much alive as ever he was?” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so,” said Westover, submissively. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you know it?” + </p> + <p> + “Not as I know other things. In fact, I don't know it,” said Westover, and + he was painfully aware of having shocked his hearers by the agnosticism so + common among men in towns that he had confessed it quite simply and + unconsciously. He perceived that faith in the soul and life everlasting + was as quick as ever in the hills, whatever grotesque or unwonted form it + wore. Jackson sat with closed eyes and his head fallen back; Whitwell + stared at the painter, with open mouth; the little Canuck began to walk up + and down impatiently; Westover felt a reproach, almost an abhorrence, in + all of them. + </p> + <p> + Whitwell asked: “Why, don't you think there's any proof of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Proof? Oh Yes. There's testimony enough to carry conviction to the + stubbornest mind on any other point. But it's very strange about all that. + It doesn't convince anybody but the witnesses. If a man tells me he's seen + a disembodied spirit, I can't believe him. I must see the disembodied + spirit myself.” + </p> + <p> + “That's something so,” said Whitwell, with a relenting laugh. + </p> + <p> + “If one came back from the dead, to tell us of a life beyond the grave, we + should want the assurance that he'd really been dead, and not merely + dreaming.” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell laughed again, in the delight the philosophic mind finds even in + the reasoning that hates it. + </p> + <p> + The Canuck felt perhaps the simpler joy that the average man has in any + strange notion that he is able to grasp. He stopped in his walk and said: + “Yes, and if you was dead and went to heaven, and stayed so long you + smelt, like Lazarus, and you come back and tol' 'em what you saw, nobody + goin' believe you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I guess you're right there, Jombateeste,” said Whitwell, with + pleasure in the Canuck's point. After a moment he suggested to Westover: + “Then I s'pose, if you feel the way you do, you don't care much about + plantchette?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, I do,” said the painter. “We never know when we may be upon the + point of revelation. I wouldn't miss any chance.” + </p> + <p> + Whether Whitwell felt an ironic slant in the words or not, he paused a + moment before he said: “Want to start her up, Jackson?” + </p> + <p> + Jackson brought to the floor the forefeet of his chair, which he had + tilted from it in leaning back, and without other answer put his hand on + the planchette. It began to fly over the large sheet of paper spread upon + the table, in curves and angles and eccentrics. + </p> + <p> + “Feels pootty lively to-night,” said Whitwell, with a glance at Westover. + </p> + <p> + The little Canuck, as if he had now no further concern in the matter, sat + down in a corner and smoked silently. Whitwell asked, after a moment's + impatience: + </p> + <p> + “Can't you git her down to business, Jackson?” + </p> + <p> + Jackson gasped: “She'll come down when she wants to.” + </p> + <p> + The little instrument seemed, in fact, trying to control itself. Its + movements became less wild and large; the zigzags began to shape + themselves into something like characters. Jackson's wasted face gave no + token of interest; Whitwell laid half his gaunt length across the table in + the endeavor to make out some meaning in them; the Canuck, with his hands + crossed on his stomach, smoked on, with the same gleam in his pipe and + eye. + </p> + <p> + The planchette suddenly stood motionless. + </p> + <p> + “She done?” murmured Whitwell. + </p> + <p> + “I guess she is, for a spell, anyway,” said Jackson, wearily. + </p> + <p> + “Let's try to make out what she says.” Whitwell drew the sheets toward + himself and Westover, who sat next him. “You've got to look for the + letters everywhere. Sometimes she'll give you fair and square writin', and + then again she'll slat the letters down every which way, and you've got to + hunt 'em out for yourself. Here's a B I've got. That begins along pretty + early in the alphabet. Let's see what we can find next.” + </p> + <p> + Westover fancied he could make out an F and a T. + </p> + <p> + Whitwell exulted in an unmistakable K and N; and he made sure of an I, and + an E. The painter was not so sure of an S. “Well, call it an S,” said + Whitwell. “And I guess I've got an O here, and an H. Hello! Here's an A as + large as life. Pootty much of a mixture.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I don't see that we're much better off than we were before,” said + Westover. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't know about that,” said Whitwell. + </p> + <p> + “Write 'em down in a row and see if we can't pick out some sense. I've had + worse finds than this; no vowels at all sometimes; but here's three.” + </p> + <p> + He wrote the letters down, while Jackson leaned back against the wall, in + patient quiet. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir,” said Whitwell, pushing the paper, where he had written the + letters in a line, to Westover, “make anything out of 'em?” + </p> + <p> + Westover struggled with them a moment. “I can make out one word-shaft.” + </p> + <p> + “Anything else?” demanded Whitwell, with a glance of triumph at Jackson. + </p> + <p> + Westover studied the remaining letters. “Yes, I get one other + word-broken.” + </p> + <p> + “Just what I done! But I wanted you to speak first. It's Broken Shaft. + Jackson, she caught right onto what we was talkin' about. This life,” he + turned to Westover, in solemn exegesis, “is a broken shaft when death + comes. It rests upon the earth, but you got to look for the top of it in + the skies. That's the way I look at it. What do you think, Jackson? + Jombateeste?” + </p> + <p> + “I think anybody can't see that. Better go and get some heye-glass.” + </p> + <p> + Westover remained in a shameful minority. He said, meekly: “It suggests a + beautiful hope.” + </p> + <p> + Jackson brought his chair-legs down again, and put his hand on the + planchette. + </p> + <p> + “Feel that tinglin'?” asked. Whitwell, and Jackson made yes with silent + lips. “After he's been workin' the plantchette for a spell, and then + leaves off, and she wants to say something more,” Whitwell explained to + Westover, “he seems to feel a kind of tinglin' in his arm, as if it was + asleep, and then he's got to tackle her again. Writin' steady enough now, + Jackson!” he cried, joyously. “Let's see.” He leaned over and read, + “Thomas Jefferson—” The planchette stopped, “My, I didn't go to do + that,” said Whitwell, apologetically. “You much acquainted with + Jefferson's writin's?” he asked of Westover. + </p> + <p> + The painter had to own his ignorance of all except the diction that the + government is best which governs least; but he was not in a position to + deny that Jefferson had ever said anything about a broken shaft. + </p> + <p> + “It may have come to him on the other side,” said Whitwell. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” Westover assented. + </p> + <p> + The planchette began to stir itself again. “She's goin' ahead!” cried + Whitwell. He leaned over the table so as to get every letter as it was + formed. “D—Yes! Death. Death is the Broken Shaft. Go on!” After a + moment of faltering the planchette formed another letter. It was a U, and + it was followed by an R, and so on, till Durgin had been spelled. + “Thunder!” cried Whitwell. “If anything's happened to Jeff!” + </p> + <p> + Jackson lifted his hand from the planchette. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, go on, Jackson!” Whitwell entreated. “Don't leave it so!” + </p> + <p> + “I can't seem to go on,” Jackson whispered, and Westover could not resist + the fear that suddenly rose among them. But he made the first struggle + against it. “This is nonsense. Or, if there's any sense in it, it means + that Jeff's ship has broken her shaft and put back.” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell gave a loud laugh of relief. “That's so! You've hit it, Mr. + Westover.” + </p> + <p> + Jackson said, quietly: “He didn't mean to start home till tomorrow. And + how could he send any message unless he was—” + </p> + <p> + “Easily!” cried Westover. “It's simply an instance of mental impression-of + telepathy, as they call it.” + </p> + <p> + “That's so!” shouted Whitwell, with eager and instant conviction. + </p> + <p> + Westover could see that Jackson still doubted. “If you believe that a + disembodied spirit can communicate with you, why not an embodied spirit? + If anything has happened to your brother's ship, his mind would be + strongly on you at home, and why couldn't it convey its thought to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Because he ha'n't started yet,” said Jackson. + </p> + <p> + Westover wanted to laugh; but they all heard voices without, which seemed + to be coming nearer, and he listened with the rest. He made out Frank + Whitwell's voice, and his sister's; and then another voice, louder and + gayer, rose boisterously above them. Whitwell flung the door open and + plunged out into the night. He came back, hauling Jeff Durgin in by the + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Here, now,” he shouted to Jackson, “you just let this feller and + plantchette fight it out together!” + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter with plantchette?” said Jeff, before he said to his + brother, “Hello, Jackson!” and to the Canuck, “Hello, Jombateeste!” He + shook hands conventionally with them both, and then with the painter, whom + he greeted with greater interest. “Glad to see you here, Mr. Westover. Did + I take you by surprise?” he asked of the company at large. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” said Whitwell. “Didn't surprise us any, if you are a fortnight + ahead of time,” he added, with a wink at the others. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I took a notion I wouldn't wait for the cattle-ship, and I started + back on a French boat. Thought I'd try it. They live well. But I hoped I + should astonish you a little, too. I might as well waited.” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell laughed. “We heard from you—plantchette kept right round + after you.” + </p> + <p> + “That so?” asked Jeff, carelessly. + </p> + <p> + “Fact. Have a good voyage?” Whitwell had the air of putting a casual + question. + </p> + <p> + “First-rate,” said Jeff. “Plantchette say not?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Only about the broken shaft.” + </p> + <p> + “Broken shaft? We didn't have any broken shaft. Plantchette's got mixed a + little. Got the wrong ship.” + </p> + <p> + After a moment of chop-fallenness, Whitwell said: + </p> + <p> + “Then somebody's been makin' free with your name. Curious how them devils + cut up oftentimes.” + </p> + <p> + He explained, and Jeff laughed uproariously when he understood the whole + case. “Plantchette's been havin' fun with you.” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell gave himself time for reflection. “No, sir, I don't look at it + that way. I guess the wires got crossed some way. If there's such a thing + as the spirits o' the livin' influencin' plantchette, accordin' to Mr. + Westover's say, here, I don't see why it wa'n't. Jeff's being so near that + got control of her and made her sign his name to somebody else's words. It + shows there's something in it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm glad to come back alive, anyway,” said Jeff, with a joviality + new to Westover. “I tell you, there a'n't many places finer than old + Lion's Head, after all. Don't you think so, Mr. Westover? I want to get + the daylight on it, but it does well by moonlight, even.” He looked round + at the tall girl, who had been lingering to hear the talk of planchette; + at the backward tilt he gave his head, to get her in range, she frowned as + if she felt his words a betrayal, and slipped out of the room; the boy had + already gone, and was making himself heard in the low room overhead. + </p> + <p> + “There's a lot of folks here this summer, mother says,” he appealed from + the check he had got to Jackson. “Every room taken for the whole month, + she says.” + </p> + <p> + “We've been pretty full all July, too,” said Jackson, blankly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's a great business; and I've picked up a lot of hints over + there. We're not so smart as we think we are. The Swiss can teach us a + thing or two. They know how to keep a hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “Go to Switzerland?” asked Whitwell. + </p> + <p> + “I slipped over into the edge of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to know! Well, now them Alps, now—they so much bigger 'n the + White Hills, after all?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't know about all of 'em,” said Jeff. “There may be some that + would compare with our hills, but I should say that you could take Mount + Washington up and set it in the lap of almost any one of the Alps I saw, + and it would look like a baby on its mother's knee.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to know!” said Whitwell again. His tone expressed disappointment, + but impartiality; he would do justice to foreign superiority if he must. + “And about the ocean. What about waves runnin? mountains high?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we didn't have it very rough. But I don't believe I saw any waves + much higher than Lion's Head.” Jeff laughed to find Whitwell taking him + seriously. “Won't that satisfy you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it satisfies me. Truth always does. But, now, about London. You + didn't seem to say so much about London in your letters, now. Is it so big + as they let on? Big—that is, to the naked eye, as you may say?” + </p> + <p> + “There a'n't any one place where you can get a complete bird's-eye view of + it,” said Jeff, “and two-thirds of it would be hid in smoke, anyway. + You've got to think of a place that would take in the whole population of + New England, outside of Massachusetts, and not feel as if it had more than + a comfortable meal.” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell laughed for joy in the bold figure. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you. When you've landed and crossed up from Liverpool, and + struck London, you feel as if you'd gone to sea again. It's an ocean—a + whole Atlantic of houses.” + </p> + <p> + “That's right!” crowed Whitwell. “That's the way I thought it was. Growin' + any?” + </p> + <p> + Jeff hesitated. “It grows in the night. You've heard about Chicago + growing?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, London grows a whole Chicago every night.” + </p> + <p> + “Good!” said Whitwell. “That suits me. And about Paris, now. Paris strike + you the same way?” + </p> + <p> + “It don't need to,” said Jeff. “That's a place where I'd like to live. + Everybody's at home there. It's a man's house and his front yard, and I + tell you they keep it clean. Paris is washed down every morning; scrubbed + and mopped and rubbed dry. You couldn't find any more dirt than you could + in mother's kitchen after she's hung out her wash. That so, Mr. Westover?” + </p> + <p> + Westover confirmed in general Jeff's report of the cleanliness of Paris. + </p> + <p> + “And beautiful! You don't know what a good-looking town is till you strike + Paris. And they're proud of it, too. Every man acts as if he owned it. + They've had the statue of Alsace in that Place de la Concorde of yours, + Mr. Whitwell, where they had the guillotine all draped in black ever since + the war with Germany; and they mean to have her back, some day.” + </p> + <p> + “Great country, Jombateeste!” Whitwell shouted to the Canuck. + </p> + <p> + The little man roused himself from the muse in which he was listening and + smoking. “Me, I'm Frantsh,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that's what Jeff was sayin',” said Whitwell. “I meant France.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” answered Jombateeste, impatiently, “I thought you mean the Hunited + State.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, not this time,” said Whitwell, amid the general laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Good for Jombateeste,” said Jeff. “Stand up for Canada every time, John. + It's the livest country, in the world three months of the year, and the + ice keeps it perfectly sweet the other nine.” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell could not brook a diversion from the high and serious inquiry + they had entered upon. “It must have made this country look pretty slim + when you got back. How'd New York look, after Paris?” + </p> + <p> + “Like a pigpen,” said Jeff. He left his chair and walked round the table + toward a door opening into the adjoining room. For the first time Westover + noticed a figure in white seated there, and apparently rapt in the talk + which had been going on. At the approach of Jeff, and before he could have + made himself seen at the doorway, a tremor seemed to pass over the figure; + it fluttered to its feet, and then it vanished into the farther dark of + the room. When Jeff disappeared within, there was a sound of rustling + skirts and skurrying feet and the crash of a closing door, and then the + free rise of laughing voices without. After a discreet interval, Westover + said: “Mr. Whitwell, I must say good-night. I've got another day's work + before me. It's been a most interesting evening.” + </p> + <p> + “You must try it again,” said Whitwell, hospitably. “We ha'n't got to the + bottom of that broken shaft yet. You'll see 't plantchette 'll have + something more to say about it: Heigh, Jackson?” He rose to receive + Westover's goodnight; the others nodded to him. + </p> + <p> + As the painter climbed the hill to the hotel he saw two figures on the + road below; the one in white drapery looked severed by a dark line + slanting across it at the waist. In the country, he knew, such an + appearance might mark the earliest stages of love-making, or mere youthful + tenderness, in which there was nothing more implied or expected. But + whatever the fact was, Westover felt a vague distaste for it, which, as it + related itself to a more serious possibility, deepened to something like + pain. It was probable that it should come to this between those two, but + Westover rebelled against the event with a sense of its unfitness for + which he could not give himself any valid reason; and in the end he + accused himself of being a fool. + </p> + <p> + Two ladies sat on the veranda of the hotel and watched a cloud-wreath + trying to lift itself from the summit of Lion's Head. In the effort it + thinned away to transparency in places; in others, it tore its frail + texture asunder and let parts of the mountain show through; then the + fragments knitted themselves loosely together, and the vapor lay again in + dreamy quiescence. + </p> + <p> + The ladies were older and younger, and apparently mother and daughter. The + mother had kept her youth in face and figure so admirably that in another + light she would have looked scarcely the elder. It was the candor of the + morning which confessed the fine vertical lines running up and down to her + lips, only a shade paler than the girl's, and that showed her hair a + trifle thinner in its coppery brown, her blue eyes a little dimmer. They + were both very graceful, and they had soft, caressing voices; they now + began to talk very politely to each other, as if they were strangers, or + as if strangers were by. They talked of the landscape, and of the strange + cloud effect before them. They said that they supposed they should see the + Lion's Head when the cloud lifted, and they were both sure they had never + been quite so near a cloud before. They agreed that this was because in + Switzerland the mountains were so much higher and farther off. Then the + daughter said, without changing the direction of her eyes or the tone of + her voice, “The gentleman who came over from the station with us last + night,” and the mother was aware of Jeff Durgin advancing toward the + corner of the veranda where they sat. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you have got rested,” he said, with the jovial bluntness which was + characteristic of him with women. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes indeed,” said the elder lady. Jeff had spoken to her, but had + looked chiefly at the younger. “I slept beautifully. So quiet here, and + with this delicious air! Have you just tasted it?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I've been up ever since daylight, driving round,” said Jeff. “I'm + glad you like the air,” he said, after a certain hesitation. “We always + want to have people do that at Lion's Head. There's no air like it, though + perhaps I shouldn't say so.” + </p> + <p> + “Shouldn't?” the lady repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; we own the air here—this part of it.” Jeff smiled easily down + at the lady's puzzled face. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Then you are—are you a son of the house?” + </p> + <p> + “Son of the hotel, yes,” said Jeff, with increasing ease. The lady + continued her question in a look, and he went on: “I've been scouring the + country for butter and eggs this morning. We shall get all our supplies + from Boston next year, I hope, but we depend on the neighbors a little + yet.” + </p> + <p> + “How very interesting!” said the lady. “You must have a great many queer + adventures,” she suggested in a provisional tone. + </p> + <p> + “Well, nothing's queer to me in the hill country. But you see some + characters here.” He nodded over his shoulder to where Whitwell stood by + the flag-staff, waiting the morning impulse of the ladies. “There's one of + the greatest of them now.” + </p> + <p> + The lady put up a lorgnette and inspected Whitwell. “What are those + strange things he has got in his hatband?” + </p> + <p> + “The flowers and the fungi of the season,” said Jeff. “He takes parties of + the ladies walking, and that collection is what he calls his almanac.” + </p> + <p> + “Really?” cried the girl. “That's charming!” + </p> + <p> + “Delightful!” said the mother, moved by the same impulse, apparently. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Jeff. “You ought to hear him talk. I'll introduce him to you + after breakfast, if you like.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we should only be too happy,” said the mother, and her daughter, from + her inflection, knew that she would be willing to defer her happiness. + </p> + <p> + But Jeff did not. “Mr. Whitwell!” he called out, and Whitwell came across + the grass to the edge of the veranda. “I want to introduce you to Mrs. + Vostrand—and Miss Vostrand.” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell took their slim hands successively into his broad, flat palm, and + made Mrs. Vostrand repeat her name to him. “Strangers at Lion's Head, I + presume?” Mrs. Vostrand owned as much; and he added: “Well, I guess you + won't find a much sightlier place anywhere; though, accordin' to Jeff's + say, here, they've got bigger mountains on the other side. Ever been in + Europe?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes,” said Mrs. Vostrand, with a little mouth of deprecation. “In + fact, we've just come home. We've been living there.” + </p> + <p> + “That so?” returned Whitwell, in humorous toleration. “Glad to get back, I + presume?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes—yes,” said Mrs. Vostrand, in a sort of willowy concession, + as if the character before her were not to be crossed or gainsaid. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it 'll do you good here,” said Whitwell. “'N' the young lady, too. + A few tramps over these hills 'll make you look like another woman.” He + added, as if he had perhaps made his remarks too personal to the girl, + “Both of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes,” the mother assented, fervently. “We shall count upon your + showing us all their-mysteries.” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell looked pleased. “I'll do my best-whenever you're ready.” He went + on: “Why, Jeff, here, has just got back, too. Jeff, what was the name of + that French boat you said you crossed on? I want to see if I can't make + out what plantchette meant by that broken shaft. She must have meant + something, and if I could find out the name of the ship—Tell the + ladies about it?” Jeff laughed, with a shake of the head, and Whitwell + continued, “Why, it was like this,” and he possessed the ladies of a fact + which they professed to find extremely interesting. At the end of their + polite expressions he asked Jeff again: “What did you say the name was?” + </p> + <p> + “Aquitaine,” said Jeff, briefly. + </p> + <p> + “Why, we came on the Aquitaine!” said Mrs. Vostrand, with a smile for + Jeff. “But how did we happen not to see one another?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I came second-cabin,” said Jeff. “I worked my way over on a + cattle-ship to London, and, when I decided not to work my way back, I + found I hadn't enough money for a first-cabin passage. I was in a hurry to + get back in time to get settled at Harvard, and so I came second-cabin. It + wasn't bad. I used to see you across the rail.” + </p> + <p> + “Well!” said Whitwell. + </p> + <p> + “How very—amusing!” said Mrs. Vostrand. “What a small world it is!” + With these words she fell into a vagary; her daughter recalled her from it + with a slight movement. “Breakfast? How impatient you are, Genevieve! + Well!” She smiled the sweetest parting to Whitwell, and suffered herself + to be led away by Jeff. + </p> + <p> + “And you're at Harvard? I'm so interested! My own boy will be going there + soon.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there's no place like Harvard,” said Jeff. “I'm in my Sophomore + year now.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a Sophomore! Fancy!” cried Mrs. Vostrand, as if nothing could give + her more pleasure. “My son is going to prepare at St. Mark's. Did you + prepare there?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I prepared at Lovewell Academy, over here.” Jeff nodded in a + southerly direction. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, indeed!” said Mrs. Vostrand, as if she knew where Lovewell was, and + instantly recognized the name of the ancient school. + </p> + <p> + They had reached the dining room, and Jeff pushed the screen-door open + with one hand, and followed the ladies in. He had the effect of welcoming + them like invited guests; he placed the ladies himself at a window, where + he said Mrs. Vostrand would be out of the draughts, and they could have a + good view of Lion's Head. + </p> + <p> + He leaned over between them, when they were seated, to get sight of the + mountain, and, “There!” he said. “That cloud's gone at last.” Then, as if + it would be modester in the proprietor of the view to leave them to their + flattering raptures in it, he moved away and stood talking a moment with + Cynthia Whitwell near the door of the serving-room. He talked gayly, with + many tosses of the head and turns about, while she listened with a vague + smile, motionlessly. + </p> + <p> + “She's very pretty,” said Miss Vostrand to her mother. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. The New England type,” murmured the mother. + </p> + <p> + “They all have the same look, a good deal,” said the girl, glancing over + the room where the waitresses stood ranged against the wall with their + hands folded at their waists. “They have better faces than figures, but + she is beautiful every way. Do you suppose they are all schoolteachers? + They look intellectual. Or is it their glasses?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said the mother. “They used to be; but things change here + so rapidly it may all be different. Do you like it?” + </p> + <p> + “I think it's charming here,” said the younger lady, evasively. + “Everything is so exquisitely clean. And the food is very good. Is this + corn-bread—that you've told me about so much?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, this is corn-bread. You will have to get accustomed to it.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it won't take long. I could fancy that girl knowing about + everything. Don't you like her looks?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very much.” Mrs. Vostrand turned for another glance at Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “What say?” Their smiling waitress came forward from the wall where she + was leaning, as if she thought they had spoken to her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we were speaking—the young lady to whom Mr. Durgin was talking—she + is—” + </p> + <p> + “She's the housekeeper—Miss Whitwell.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, indeed! She seems so young—” + </p> + <p> + “I guess she knows what to do-o-o,” the waitress chanted. “We think she's + about ri-i-ght.” She smiled tolerantly upon the misgiving of the stranger, + if it was that, and then retreated when the mother and daughter began + talking together again. + </p> + <p> + They had praised the mountain with the cloud off, to Jeff, very politely, + and now the mother said, a little more intimately, but still with the + deference of a society acquaintance: “He seems very gentlemanly, and I am + sure he is very kind. I don't quite know what to do about it, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't. It's all strange to me, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I suppose it must be. But you will get used to it if we remain in + the country. Do you think you will dislike it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no! It's very different.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it's different. He is very handsome, in a certain way.” The daughter + said nothing, and the mother added: “I wonder if he was trying to conceal + that he had come second-cabin, and was not going to let us know that he + crossed with us?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think he was bound to do so?” + </p> + <p> + “No. But it was very odd, his not mentioning it. And his going out on a + cattle-steamer?” the mother observed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but that's very chic, I've heard,” the daughter replied. “I've heard + that the young men like it and think it a great chance. They have great + fun. It isn't at all like second-cabin.” + </p> + <p> + “You young people have your own world,” the mother answered, caressingly. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVI. + </h2> + <p> + Westover met the ladies coming out of the dining-room as he went in rather + late to breakfast; he had been making a study of Lion's Head in the + morning light after the cloud lifted from it. He was always doing Lion's + Heads, it seemed to him; but he loved the mountain, and he was always + finding something new in it. + </p> + <p> + He was now seeing it inwardly with so exclusive a vision that he had no + eyes for these extremely pretty women till they were out of sight. Then he + remembered noticing them, and started with a sense of recognition, which + he verified by the hotel register when he had finished his meal. It was, + in fact, Mrs. James W. Vostrand, and it was Miss Vostrand, whom Westover + had know ten years before in Italy. Mrs. Vostrand had then lately come + abroad for the education of her children, and was pausing in doubt at + Florence whether she should educate them in Germany or Switzerland. Her + husband had apparently abandoned this question to her, and he did not + contribute his presence to her moral support during her struggle with a + problem which Westover remembered as having a tendency to solution in the + direction of a permanent stay in Florence. + </p> + <p> + In those days he liked Mrs. Vostrand very much, and at twenty he + considered her at thirty distinctly middle-aged. For one winter she had a + friendly little salon, which was the most attractive place in Florence to + him, then a cub painter sufficiently unlicked. He was aware of her + children being a good deal in the salon: a girl of eight, who was like her + mother, and quite a savage little boy of five, who may have been like his + father. If he was, and the absent Mr. Vostrand had the same habit of + sulking and kicking at people's shins, Westover could partly understand + why Mrs. Vostrand had come to Europe for the education of her children. It + all came vividly back to him, while he went about looking for Mrs. + Vostrand and her daughter on the verandas and in the parlors. But he did + not find them, and he was going to send his name to their rooms when he + came upon Jeff Durgin figuring about the office in a fresh London + conception of an outing costume. + </p> + <p> + “You're very swell,” said Westover, halting him to take full note of it. + </p> + <p> + “Like it? Well, I knew you'd understand what it meant. Mother thinks it's + a little too rowdy-looking. Her idea is black broadcloth frock-coat and + doeskin trousers for a gentleman, you know.” He laughed with a young + joyousness, and then became serious. “Couple of ladies here, somewhere, + I'd like to introduce you to. Came over with me from the depot last night. + Very nice people, and I'd like to make it pleasant for them—get up + something—go somewhere—and when you see their style you can + judge what it had better be. Mrs. Vostrand and her daughter.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Westover. “I think I know them already at least one of + them. I used to go to Mrs. Vostrand's house in Florence.” + </p> + <p> + “That so? Well, fact is, I crossed with them; but I came second-cabin, + because I'd spent all my money, and I didn't get acquainted with them on + the ship, but we met in the train coming up last night. Said they had + heard of Lion's Head on the other side from friends. But it was quite a + coincidence, don't you think? I'd like to have them see what this + neighborhood really is; and I wish, Mr. Westover, you'd find out, if you + can, what they'd like. If they're for walking, we could get Whitwell to + personally conduct a party, and if they're for driving, I'd like to show + them a little mountain-coaching myself.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know whether I'd better not leave the whole thing to you, Jeff,” + Westover said, after a moment's reflection. “I don't see exactly how I + could bring the question into a first interview.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, perhaps it would be rather rushing it. But, if I get up something, + you'll come, Mr. Westover?” + </p> + <p> + “I will, with great pleasure,” said Westover, and he went to make his + call. + </p> + <p> + A half-hour later he was passing the door of the old parlor which Mrs. + Durgin still kept for hers, on his way up to his room, when a sound of + angry voices came out to him. Then the voice of Mrs. Durgin defined itself + in the words: “I'm not goin' to have to ask any more folks for their rooms + on your account, Jeff Durgin—Mr. Westover! Mr. Westover, is that + you?” her voice broke off to call after him as he hurried by, “Won't you + come in here a minute?” + </p> + <p> + He hesitated, and then Jeff called, “Yes, come in, Mr. Westover.” + </p> + <p> + The painter found him sitting on the old hair-cloth sofa, with his stick + between his hands and knees, confronting his mother, who was rocking + excitedly to and fro in the old hair-cloth easy-chair. + </p> + <p> + “You know these folks that Jeff's so crazy about?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Crazy!” cried Jeff, laughing and frowning at the same time. “What's crazy + in wanting to go off on a drive and choose your own party?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know them?” Mrs. Durgin repeated to Westover. + </p> + <p> + “The Vostrands? Why, yes. I knew Mrs. Vostrand in Italy a good many years + ago, and I've just been calling on her and her daughter, who was a little + girl then.” + </p> + <p> + “What kind of folks are they?” + </p> + <p> + “What kind? Really! Why, they're very charming people—” + </p> + <p> + “So Jeff seems to think. Any call to show them any particular attention?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know if I quite understand—” + </p> + <p> + “Why, it's just this. Jeff, here, wants to make a picnic for them, or + something, and I can't see the sense of it. You remember what happened at + that other picnic, with that Mrs. Marven”—Jeff tapped the floor with + his stick impatiently, and Westover felt sorry for him—“and I don't + want it to happen again, and I've told Jeff so. I presume he thinks it 'll + set him right with them, if they're thinkin' demeaning of him because he + came over second-cabin on their ship.” + </p> + <p> + Jeff set his teeth and compressed his lips to bear as best he could, the + give-away which his mother could not appreciate in its importance to him: + </p> + <p> + “They're not the kind of people to take such a thing shabbily,” said + Westover. “They didn't happen to mention it, but Mrs. Vostrand must have + got used to seeing young fellows in straits of all kinds during her life + abroad. I know that I sometimes made the cup of tea and biscuit she used + to give me in Florence do duty for a dinner, and I believe she knew it.” + </p> + <p> + Jeff looked up at Westover with a grateful, sidelong glance. + </p> + <p> + His mother said: “Well, then, that's all right, and Jeff needn't do + anything for them on that account. And I've made up my mind about one + thing: whatever the hotel does has got to be done for the whole hotel. It + can't pick and choose amongst the guests.” Westover liked so little the + part of old family friend which he seemed, whether he liked it or not, to + bear with the Durgins, that he would gladly have got away now, but Mrs. + Durgin detained him with a direct appeal. “Don't you think so, Mr. + Westover?” + </p> + <p> + Jeff spared him the pain of a response. “Very well,” he said to his + mother; “I'm not the hotel, and you never want me to be. I can do this on + my own account.” + </p> + <p> + “Not with my coach and not with my hosses,” said his mother. + </p> + <p> + Jeff rose. “I might as well go on down to Cambridge, and get to work on my + conditions.” + </p> + <p> + “Just as you please about that,” said Mrs. Durgin, with the same + impassioned quiet that showed in her son's handsome face and made it one + angry red to his yellow hair. “We've got along without you so far, this + summer, and I guess we can the rest of the time. And the sooner you work + off your conditions the better, I presume.” + </p> + <p> + The next morning Jeff came to take leave of him, where Westover had + pitched his easel and camp-stool on the slope behind the hotel. + </p> + <p> + “Why, are you really going?” he asked. “I was in hopes it might have blown + over.” + </p> + <p> + “No, things don't blow over so easy with mother,” said Jeff, with an + embarrassed laugh, but no resentment. “She generally means what she says.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, in this case, Jeff, I think she was right.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I guess so,” said Jeff, pulling up a long blade of grass and taking + it between his teeth. “Anyway, it comes to the same thing as far as I'm + concerned. It's for her to say what shall be done and what sha'n't be done + in her own house, even if it is a hotel. That's what I shall do in mine. + We're used to these little differences; but we talk it out, and that's the + end of it. I shouldn't really go, though, if I didn't think I ought to get + in some work on those conditions before the thing begins regularly. I + should have liked to help here a little, for I've had a good time and I + ought to be willing to pay for it. But she's in good hands. Jackson's well—for + him—and she's got Cynthia.” + </p> + <p> + The easy security of tone with which Jeff pronounced the name vexed + Westover. “I suppose your mother would hardly know how to do without her, + even if you were at home,” he said, dryly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's a fact,” Jeff assented, with a laugh for the hit. “And + Jackson thinks the world of her. I believe he trusts her judgment more + than he does mother's about the hotel. Well, I must be going. You don't + know where Mrs. Vostrand is going to be this winter, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't,” said Westover. He could not help a sort of blind resentment + in the situation. If he could not feel that Jeff was the best that could + be for Cynthia, he had certainly no reason to regret that his thoughts + could be so lightly turned from her. But the fact anomalously incensed him + as a slight to the girl, who might have been still more sacrificed by + Jeff's constancy. He forced himself to add: “I fancy Mrs. Vostrand doesn't + know herself.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I didn't know where I was going to be,” said Jeff. “Well, + good-bye, Mr. Westover. I'll see you in Boston.” + </p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> <img src="images/{0141}.jpg" alt="{0141}" width="100%" /><br /> </div> <h5> <a href="images/{0141}.jpg"> <img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> </h5> + + <p> + “Oh, good-bye.” The painter freed himself from his brush and palette for a + parting handshake, reluctantly. + </p> + <p> + Jeff plunged down the hill, waving a final adieu from the corner of the + hotel before he vanished round it. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vostrand and her daughter were at breakfast when Westover came in + after the early light had been gone some time. They entreated him to join + them at their table, and the mother said: “I suppose you were up soon + enough to see young Mr. Durgin off. Isn't it too bad he has to go back to + college when it's so pleasant in the country?” + </p> + <p> + “Not bad for him,” said Westover. “He's a young man who can stand a great + deal of hard work.” Partly because he was a little tired of Jeff, and + partly because he was embarrassed in their presence by the reason of his + going, he turned the talk upon the days they had known together. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vostrand was very willing to talk of her past, even apart from his, + and she told him of her sojourn in Europe since her daughter had left + school. They spent their winters in Italy and their summers in + Switzerland, where it seemed her son was still at his studies in Lausanne. + She wished him to go to Harvard, she said, and she supposed he would have + to finish his preparation at one of the American schools; but she had left + the choice entirely to Mr. Vostrand. + </p> + <p> + This seemed a strange event after twelve years' stay in Europe for the + education of her children, but Westover did not feel authorized to make + any comment upon it. He fell rather to thinking how very pleasant both + mother and daughter were, and to wondering how much wisdom they had + between them. He reflected that men had very little wisdom, as far as he + knew them, and he questioned whether, after all, the main difference + between men and women might not be that women talked their follies and men + acted theirs. Probably Mrs. Vostrand, with all her babble, had done fewer + foolish things than her husband, but here Westover felt his judgment + disabled by the fact that he had never met her husband; and his mind began + to wander to a question of her daughter, whom he had there before him. He + found himself bent upon knowing more of the girl, and trying to eliminate + her mother from the talk, or, at least, to make Genevieve lead in it. But + apparently she was not one of the natures that like to lead; at any rate, + she remained discreetly in abeyance, and Westover fancied she even + respected her mother's opinions and ideas. He thought this very well for + both of them, whether it was the effect of Mrs. Vostrand's merit or Miss + Vostrand's training. They seemed both of one exquisite gentleness, and of + one sweet manner, which was rather elaborate and formal in expression. + They deferred to each other as politely as they deferred to him, but, if + anything, the daughter deferred most. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVII. + </h2> + <p> + The Vostrands did not stay long at Lion's Head. Before the week was out + Mrs. Vostrand had a letter summoning them to meet her husband at Montreal, + where that mysterious man, who never came into the range of Westover's + vision, somehow, was kept by business from joining them in the mountains. + </p> + <p> + Early in October the painter received Mrs. Vostrand's card at his studio + in Boston, and learned from the scribble which covered it that she was + with her daughter at the Hotel Vendome. He went at once to see them there, + and was met, almost before the greetings were past, with a prayer for his + opinion. + </p> + <p> + “Favorable opinion?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Favorable? Oh yes; of course. It's simply this. When I sent you my card, + we were merely birds of passage, and now I don't know but we are—What + is the opposite of birds of passage?” + </p> + <p> + Westover could not think, and said so. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it doesn't matter. We were walking down the street, here, this + morning, and we saw the sign of an apartment to let, in a window, and we + thought, just for amusement, we would go in and look at it.” + </p> + <p> + “And you took it?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not quite so rapid as that. But it was lovely; in such a pretty + 'hotel garni', and so exquisitely furnished! We didn't really think of + staying in Boston; we'd quite made up our minds on New York; but this + apartment is a temptation.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not yield, then?” said Westover. “That's the easiest way with a + temptation. Confess, now, that you've taken the apartment already!” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, I haven't yet,” said Mrs. Vostrand. + </p> + <p> + “And if I advised not, you wouldn't?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that's another thing!” + </p> + <p> + “When are you going to take possession, Mrs. Vostrand?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, at once, I suppose—if we do!” + </p> + <p> + “And may I come in when I'm hungry, just as I used to do in Florence, and + will you stay me with flagons in the old way?” + </p> + <p> + “There never was anything but tea, you know well enough.” + </p> + <p> + “The tea had rum in it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, perhaps it will have rum in it here, if you're very good.” + </p> + <p> + “I will try my best, on condition that you'll make any and every possible + use of me. Mrs. Vostrand, I can't tell you how very glad I am you're going + to stay,” said the painter, with a fervor that made her impulsively put + out her hand to him. He kept it while he could add, “I don't forget—I + can never forget—how good you were to me in those days,” and at that + she gave his hand a quick pressure. “If I can do anything at all for you, + you will let me, won't you. I'm afraid you'll be so well provided for that + there won't be anything. Ask them to slight you, to misuse you in + something, so that I can come to your rescue.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I will,” Mrs. Vostrand promised. “And may we come to your studio to + implore your protection?” + </p> + <p> + “The sooner the better.” Westover got himself away with a very sweet + friendship in his heart for this rather anomalous lady, who, more than + half her daughter's life, had lived away from her daughter's father, upon + apparently perfectly good terms with him, and so discreetly and + self-respectfully that no breath of reproach had touched her. Until now, + however, her position had not really concerned Westover, and it would not + have concerned him now, if it had not been for a design that formed itself + in his mind as soon as he knew that Mrs. Vostrand meant to pass the winter + in Boston. He felt at once that he could not do things by halves for a + woman who had once done them for him by wholes and something over, and he + had instantly decided that he must not only be very pleasant to her + himself, but he must get his friends to be pleasant, too. His friends were + some of the nicest people in Boston; nice in both the personal and the + social sense; he knew they would not hesitate to sacrifice themselves for + him in a good cause, and that made him all the more anxious that the cause + should be good beyond question. + </p> + <p> + Since his last return from Paris he had been rather a fad as a teacher, + and his class had been kept quite strictly to the ladies who got it up and + to such as they chose to let enter it. These were not all chosen for + wealth or family; there were some whose gifts gave the class distinction, + and the ladies were glad to have them. It would be easy to explain Mrs. + Vostrand to these, but the others might be more difficult; they might have + their anxieties, and Westover meant to ask the leader of the class to help + him receive at the studio tea he had at once imagined for the Vostrands, + and that would make her doubly responsible. + </p> + <p> + He found himself drawing a very deep and long breath before he began to + mount the many stairs to his studio, and wishing either that Mrs. Vostrand + had not decided to spend the winter in Boston, or else that he were of a + slacker conscience and could wear his gratitude more lightly. But there + was some relief in thinking that he could do nothing for a month yet. He + gained a degree of courage by telling the ladies, when he went to find + them in their new apartment, that he should want them to meet a few of his + friends at tea as soon as people began to get back to town; and he made + the most of their instant joy in accepting his invitation. + </p> + <p> + His pleasure was somehow dashed a little, before he left them, by the + announcement of Jeff Durgin's name. + </p> + <p> + “I felt bound to send him my card,” said Mrs. Vostrand, while Jeff was + following his up in the elevator. “He was so very kind to us the day we + arrived at Zion's Head; and I didn't know but he might be feeling a little + sensitive about coming over second-cabin in our ship; and—” + </p> + <p> + “How like you, Mrs. Vostrand!” cried Westover, and he was now distinctly + glad he had not tried to sneak out of doing something for her. “Your + kindness won't be worse wasted on Durgin than it was on me, in the old + days, when I supposed I had taken a second-cabin passage for the voyage of + life. There's a great deal of good in him; I don't mean to say he got + through his Freshman year without trouble with the college authorities, + but the Sophomore year generally brings wisdom.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Mrs. Vostrand, “they're always a little wild at first, I + suppose.” + </p> + <p> + Later, the ladies brought Jeff with them when they came to Westover's + studio, and the painter perceived that they were very good friends, as if + they must have met several times since he had seen them together. He + interested himself in the growing correctness of Jeff's personal effect. + During his Freshman year, while the rigor of the unwritten Harvard law yet + forbade him a silk hat or a cane, he had kept something of the boy, if not + the country boy. Westover had noted that he had always rather a taste for + clothes, but in this first year he did not get beyond a derby-hat and a + sack-coat, varied toward the end by a cutaway. In the outing dress he wore + at home he was always effective, but there was something in Jeff's figure + which did not lend itself to more formal fashion; something of herculean + proportion which would have marked him of a classic beauty perhaps if he + had not been in clothes at all, or of a yeomanly vigor and force if he had + been clad for work, but which seemed to threaten the more worldly + conceptions of the tailor with danger. It was as if he were about to burst + out of his clothes, not because he wore them tight, but because there was + somehow more of the man than the citizen in him; something native, + primitive, something that Westover could not find quite a word for, + characterized him physically and spiritually. When he came into the studio + after these delicate ladies, the robust Jeff Durgin wore a long frockcoat, + with a flower in his button-hole, and in his left hand he carried a silk + hat turned over his forearm as he must have noticed people whom he thought + stylish carrying their hats. He had on dark-gray trousers and + sharp-pointed enamelled-leather shoes; and Westover grotesquely reflected + that he was dressed, as he stood, to lead Genevieve Vostrand to the altar. + </p> + <p> + Westover saw at once that when he made his studio tea for the Vostrands he + must ask Jeff; it would be cruel, and for several reasons impossible, not + to do so, and he really did not see why he should not. Mrs. Vostrand was + taking him on the right ground, as a Harvard student, and nobody need take + him on any other. Possibly people would ask him to teas at their own + houses, from Westover's studio, but he could not feel that he was + concerned in that. Society is interested in a man's future, not his past, + as it is interested in a woman's past, not her future. + </p> + <p> + But when he gave his tea it went off wonderfully well in every way, + perhaps because it was one of the first teas of the fall. It brought + people together in their autumnal freshness before the winter had begun to + wither their resolutions to be amiable to one another, to dull their wits, + to stale their stories, or to give so wide a currency to their sayings + that they could not freely risk them with every one. + </p> + <p> + Westover had thought it best to be frank with the leading lady of his + class, when she said she should be delighted to receive for him, and would + provide suitable young ladies to pour: a brunette for the tea, and a + blonde for the chocolate. She took his scrupulosity very lightly when he + spoke of Mrs. Vostrand's educational sojourn in Europe; she laughed and + said she knew the type, and the situation was one of the most obvious + phases of the American marriage. + </p> + <p> + He protested in vain that Mrs. Vostrand was not the type; she laughed + again, and said, Oh, types were never typical. But she was hospitably + gracious both to her and to Miss Genevieve; she would not allow that the + mother was not the type when Westover challenged her experience, but she + said they were charming, and made haste to get rid of the question with + the vivid demand: “But who was your young friend who ought to have worn a + lion-skin and carried a club?” + </p> + <p> + Westover by this time disdained palliation. He said that Jeff was the son + of the landlady at Lion's Head Mountain, which he had painted so much, and + he was now in his second year at Harvard, where he was going to make a + lawyer of himself; and this interested the lady. She asked if he had + talent, and a number of other things about him and about his mother; and + Westover permitted himself to be rather graphic in telling of his + acquaintance with Mrs. Durgin. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVIII. + </h2> + <p> + After all, it was rather a simple-hearted thing of Westover to have either + hoped or feared very much for the Vostrands. Society, in the sense of good + society, can always take care of itself, and does so perfectly. In the + case of Mrs. Vostrand some ladies who liked Westover and wished to be + civil to him asked her and her daughter to other afternoon teas, shook + hands with them at their coming, and said, when they went, they were sorry + they must be going so soon. In the crowds people recognized them now and + then, both of those who had met them at Westover's studio, and of those + who had met them at Florence and Lausanne. But if these were merely people + of fashion they were readily, rid of the Vostrands, whom the dullest among + them quickly perceived not to be of their own sort, somehow. Many of the + ladies of Westover's class made Genevieve promise to let them paint her; + and her beauty and her grace availed for several large dances at the + houses of more daring spirits, where the daughters made a duty of getting + partners for her, and discharged it conscientiously. But there never was + an approach to more intimate hospitalities, and toward the end of + February, when good society in Boston goes southward to indulge a Lenten + grief at Old Point Comfort, Genevieve had so many vacant afternoons and + evenings at her disposal that she could not have truthfully pleaded a + previous engagement to the invitations Jeff Durgin made her. They were + chiefly for the theatre, and Westover saw him with her and her mother at + different plays; he wondered how Jeff had caught on to the notion of + asking Mrs. Vostrand to come with them. + </p> + <p> + Jeff's introductions at Westover's tea had not been many, and they had not + availed him at all. He had been asked to no Boston houses, and when other + students, whom he knew, were going in to dances, the whole winter he was + socially as quiet, but for the Vostrands, as at the Mid-year Examinations. + Westover could not resent the neglect of society in his case, and he could + not find that he quite regretted it; but he thought it characteristically + nice of Mrs. Vostrand to make as much of the friendless fellow as she + fitly could. He had no doubt but her tact would be equal to his management + in every way, and that she could easily see to it that he did not become + embarrassing to her daughter or herself. + </p> + <p> + One day, after the east wind had ceased to blow the breath of the + ice-fields of Labrador against the New England coast, and the buds on the + trees along the mall between the lawns of the avenue were venturing forth + in a hardy experiment of the Boston May, Mrs. Vostrand asked Westover if + she had told him that Mr. Vostrand was actually coming on to Boston. He + rejoiced with her in this prospect, and he reciprocated the wish which she + said Mr. Vostrand had always had for a meeting with himself. + </p> + <p> + A fortnight later, when the leaves had so far inured themselves to the + weather as to have fully expanded, she announced another letter from Mr. + Vostrand, saying that, after all, he should not be able to come to Boston, + but hoped to be in New York before she sailed. + </p> + <p> + “Sailed!” cried Westover. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes! Didn't you know we were going to sail in June? I thought I had + told you!” + </p> + <p> + “No—” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes. We must go out to poor Checco, now; Mr. Vostrand insists upon + that. If ever we are a united family again, Mr. Westover—if Mr. + Vostrand can arrange his business, when Checco is ready to enter Harvard—I + mean to take a house in Boston. I'm sure I should be contented to live + nowhere else in America. The place has quite bewitched me—dear old, + sober, charming Boston! I'm sure I should like to live here all the rest + of my life. But why in the world do people go out of town so early? Those + houses over there have been shut for a whole month past!” + </p> + <p> + They were sitting at Mrs. Vostrand's window looking out on the avenue, + where the pale globular electrics were swimming like jelly-fish in the + clear evening air, and above the ranks of low trees the houses on the + other side were close-shuttered from basement to attic. + </p> + <p> + Westover answered: “Some go because they have such pleasant houses at the + shore, and some because they want to dodge their taxes.” + </p> + <p> + “To dodge their taxes?” she repeated, and he had to explain how if people + were in their country-houses before the 1st of May they would not have to + pay the high personal tax of the city; and she said that she would write + that to Mr. Vostrand; it would be another point in favor of Boston. Women, + she declared, would never have thought of such a thing; she denounced them + as culpably ignorant of so many matters that concerned them, especially + legal matters. “And you think,” she asked, “that Mr. Durgin will be a good + lawyer? That he will-distinguish himself?” + </p> + <p> + Westover thought it rather a short-cut to Jeff from the things they had + been talking of, but if she wished to speak of him he had no reason to + oppose her wish. “I've heard it's all changed a good deal. There are still + distinguished lawyers, and lawyers who get on, but they don't distinguish + themselves in the old way so much, and they get on best by becoming + counsel for some powerful corporation.” + </p> + <p> + “And you think he has talent?” she pursued. “For that, I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know,” said Westover. “I think he has a good head. He can do + what he likes within certain limits, and the limits are not all on the + side I used to fancy. He baffles me. But of late I fancy you've seen + rather more of him than I have.” + </p> + <p> + “I have urged him to go more to you. But,” said Mrs. Vostrand, with a + burst of frankness, “he thinks you don't like him.” + </p> + <p> + “He's wrong,” said Westover. “But I might dislike him very much.” + </p> + <p> + “I see what you mean,” said Mrs. Vostrand, “and I'm glad you've been so + frank with me. I've been so interested in Mr. Durgin, so interested! Isn't + he very young?” + </p> + <p> + The question seemed a bit of indirection to Westover. But he answered + directly enough. “He's rather old for a Sophomore, I believe. He's + twenty-two.” + </p> + <p> + “And Genevieve is twenty. Mr. Westover, may I trust you with something?” + </p> + <p> + “With everything, I hope, Mrs. Vostrand.” + </p> + <p> + “It's about Genevieve. Her father is so opposed to her making a foreign + marriage. It seems to be his one great dread. And, of course, she's very + much exposed to it, living abroad so much with me, and I feel doubly bound + on that account to respect her father's opinions, or even prejudices. + Before we left Florence—in fact, last winter—there was a most + delightful young officer wished to marry her. I don't know that she cared + anything for him, though he was everything that I could have wished: + handsome, brilliant, accomplished, good family; everything but rich, and + that was what Mr. Vostrand objected to; or, rather, he objected to putting + up, as he called it, the sum that Captain Grassi would have had to deposit + with the government before he was allowed to marry. You know how it is + with the poor fellows in the army, there; I don't understand the process + exactly, but the sum is something like sixty thousand francs, I believe; + and poor Gigi hadn't it: I always called him Gigi, but his name is Count + Luigi de' Popolani Grassi; and he is descended from one of the old + republican families of Florence. He is so nice! Mr. Vostrand was opposed + to him from the beginning, and as soon as he heard of the sixty thousand + francs, he utterly refused. He called it buying a son-in-law, but I don't + see why he need have looked at it in that light. However, it was broken + off, and we left Florence—more for poor Gigi's sake than for + Genevieve's, I must say. He was quite heart-broken; I pitied him.” + </p> + <p> + Her voice had a tender fall in the closing words, and Westover could fancy + how sweet she would make her compassion to the young man. She began + several sentences aimlessly, and he suggested, to supply the broken thread + of her discourse rather than to offer consolation, while her eyes seemed + to wander with her mind, and ranged the avenue up and down: “Those foreign + marriages are not always successful.” + </p> + <p> + “No, they are not,” she assented. “But don't you think they're better with + Italians than with Germans, for instance.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't suppose the Italians expect their wives to black their boots, but + I've heard that they beat them, sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “In exaggerated cases, perhaps they do,” Mrs. Vostrand admitted. “And, of + course,” she added, thoughtfully, “there is nothing like a purely American + marriage for happiness.” + </p> + <p> + Westover wondered how she really regarded her own marriage, but she never + betrayed any consciousness of its variance from the type. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIX. + </h2> + <p> + A young couple came strolling down the avenue who to Westover's artistic + eye first typified grace and strength, and then to his more personal + perception identified themselves as Genevieve Vostrand and Jeff Durgin. + </p> + <p> + They faltered before one of the benches beside the mall, and he seemed to + be begging her to sit down. She cast her eyes round till they must have + caught the window of her mother's apartment; then, as if she felt safe + under it, she sank into the seat and Jeff put himself beside her. It was + quite too early yet for the simple lovers who publicly notify their + happiness by the embraces and hand-clasps everywhere evident in our parks + and gardens; and a Boston pair of social tradition would not have dreamed + of sitting on a bench in Commonwealth Avenue at any hour. But two such + aliens as Jeff and Miss Vostrand might very well do so; and Westover + sympathized with their bohemian impulse. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vostrand and he watched them awhile, in talk that straggled away from + them, and became more and more distraught in view of them. Jeff leaned + forward, and drew on the ground with the point of his stick; Genevieve + held her head motionless at a pensive droop. It was only their backs that + Westover could see, and he could not, of course, make out a syllable of + what was effectively their silence; but all the same he began to feel as + if he were peeping and eavesdropping. Mrs. Vostrand seemed not to share + his feeling, and there was no reason why he should have it if she had not. + He offered to go, but she said, No, no; he must not think of it till + Genevieve came in; and she added some banalities about her always scolding + when she had missed one of his calls; they would be so few, now, at the + most. + </p> + <p> + “Why, do you intend to go so soon?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + She did not seem to hear him, and he could see that she was watching the + young people intently. Jeff had turned his face up toward Genevieve, + without lifting his person, and was saying something she suddenly shrank + back from. She made a start as if to rise, but he put out his hand in + front of her, beseechingly or compellingly, and she sank down again. But + she slowly shook her head at what he was saying, and turned her face + toward him so that it gave her profile to the spectators. In that light + and at that distance it was impossible to do more than fancy anything + fateful in the words which she seemed to be uttering; but Westover chose + to fancy this. Jeff waited a moment in apparent silence, after she had + spoken. He sat erect and faced her, and this gave his profile, too. He + must have spoken, for she shook her head again; and then, at other words + from him, nodded assentingly. Then she listened motionlessly while he + poured a rapid stream of visible but inaudible words. He put out his hand, + as if to take hers, but she put it behind her; Westover could see it white + there against the belt of her dark dress. + </p> + <p> + Jeff went on more vehemently, but she remained steadfast, slowly shaking + her head. When he ended she spoke, and with something of his own energy; + he made a gesture of submission, and when she rose he rose, too. She stood + a moment, and with a gentle and almost entreating movement she put out her + hand to him. He stood looking down, with both his hands resting on the top + of his stick, as if ignoring her proffer. Then he suddenly caught her + hand, held it a moment; dropped it, and walked quickly away without + looking back. Genevieve ran across the lawn and roadway toward the house. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, must, you go?” Mrs. Vostrand said to Westover. He found that he had + probably risen in sympathy with Jeff's action. He was not aware of an + intention of going, but he thought he had better not correct Mrs. + Vostrand's error. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I really must, now,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then,” she returned, distractedly, “do come often.” + </p> + <p> + He hurried out to avoid meeting Genevieve. He passed her, on the public + stairs of the house, but he saw that she did not recognize him in the dim + light. + </p> + <p> + Late that night he was startled by steps that seemed to be seeking their + way up the stairs to his landing, and then by a heavy knock on his door. + He opened it, and confronted Jeff Durgin. + </p> + <p> + “May I come in, Mr. Westover?” he asked, with unwonted deference. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, come in,” said Westover, with no great relish, setting his door + open, and then holding onto it a moment, as if he hoped that, having come + in, Jeff might instantly go out again. + </p> + <p> + His reluctance was lost upon Jeff, who said, unconscious of keeping his + hat on: “I want to talk with you—I want to tell you something—” + </p> + <p> + “All right. Won't you sit down?” + </p> + <p> + At this invitation Jeff seemed reminded to take his hat off, and he put it + on the floor beside his chair. “I'm not in a scrape, this time—or, + rather, I'm in the worst kind of a scrape, though it isn't the kind that + you want bail for.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Westover prompted. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know whether you've noticed—and if you haven't it don't + make any difference—that I've seemed to—care a good deal for + Miss Vostrand?” + </p> + <p> + Westover saw no reason why he should not be frank, and said: “Too much, + I've fancied sometimes, for a student in his Sophomore year.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know that. Well, it's over, whether it was too much or too + little.” He laughed in a joyless, helpless way, and looked deprecatingly + at Westover. “I guess I've been making a fool of myself—that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “It's better to make a fool of one's self than to make a fool of some one + else,” said Westover, oracularly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Jeff, apparently finding nothing more definite in the oracle + than people commonly find in oracles. “But I think,” he went on, with a + touch of bitterness, “that her mother might have told me that she was + engaged—or the same as engaged.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know that she was bound to take you seriously, or to suppose you + took yourself so, at your age and with your prospects in life. If you want + to know,”—Westover faltered, and then went on—“she began to be + kind to you because she was afraid that you might think she didn't take + your coming home second-cabin in the right way; and one thing led to + another. You mustn't blame her for what's happened.” + </p> + <p> + Westover defended Mrs. Vostrand, but he did not feel strong in her + defence; he was not sure that Durgin was quite wrong, absurd as he had + been. He sat down and looked up at his visitor under his brows. + </p> + <p> + “What are you here for, Jeff? Not to complain of Mrs. Vostrand?” + </p> + <p> + Jeff gave a short, shamefaced laugh. “No, it's this you're such an old + friend of Mrs. Vostrand's that I thought she'd be pretty sure to tell you + about it; and I wanted to ask—to ask—that you wouldn't say + anything to mother.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a boy! I shouldn't think of meddling with your affairs,” said + Westover; he got up again, and Jeff rose, too. + </p> + <p> + Before noon the next day a district messenger brought Westover a letter + which he easily knew, from, the now belated tall, angular hand, to be from + Mrs. Vostrand. It announced on a much criss-crossed little sheet that she + and Genevieve were inconsolably taking a very sudden departure, and were + going on the twelve-o'clock train to New York, where Mr. Vostrand was to + meet them. “In regard to that affair which I mentioned last night, he + withdraws his objections (we have had an overnight telegram), and so I + suppose all will go well. I cannot tell you how sorry we both are not to + see you again; you have been such a dear, good friend to us; and if you + don't hear from us again at New York, you will from the other side. + Genevieve had some very strange news when she came in, and we both feel + very sorry for the poor young fellow. You must console him from us all you + can. I did not know before how much she was attached to Gigi: but it + turned out very fortunately that she could say she considered herself + bound to him, and did everything to save Mr. D.'s feelings.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XX. + </h2> + <p> + Westover was not at Lion's Head again till the summer before Jeff's + graduation. In the mean time the hotel had grown like a living thing. He + could not have imagined wings in connection with the main edifice, but it + had put forth wings—one that sheltered a new and enlarged + dining-room, with two stories of chambers above, and another that hovered + a parlor and ball-room under a like provision of chambers. An ell had been + pushed back on the level behind the house; the barn had been moved farther + to the southward, and on its old site a laundry built, with quarters for + the help over it. All had been carefully, frugally, yet sufficiently done, + and Westover was not surprised to learn that it was all the effect of + Jackson Durgin's ingenuity and energy. Mrs. Durgin confessed to having no + part in it; but she had kept pace, with Cynthia Whitwell's help, in the + housekeeping. As Jackson had cautiously felt his way to the needs of their + public in the enlargement and rearrangement of the hotel, the two + housewives had watchfully studied, not merely the demands, but the + half-conscious instincts of their guests, and had responded to them simply + and adequately, in the spirit of Jackson's exterior and structural + improvements. The walls of the new rooms were left unpapered and their + floors uncarpeted; there were thin rugs put down; the wood-work was merely + stained. Westover found that he need not to ask especially for some hot + dish at night; there was almost the abundance of a dinner, though dinner + was still at one o'clock. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Durgin asked him the first day if he would not like to go into the + serving-room and see it while they were serving dinner. She tried to + conceal her pride in the busy scene—the waitresses pushing in + through one valve of the double-hinged doors with their empty trays, and + out through the other with the trays full laden; delivering their dishes + with the broken victual at the wicket, where the untouched portions were + put aside and the rest poured into the waste; following in procession + along the reeking steamtable, with its great tanks of soup and vegetables, + where, the carvers stood with the joints and the trussed fowls smoking + before them, which they sliced with quick sweeps of their blades, or + waiting their turn at the board where the little plates with portions of + fruit and dessert stood ready. All went regularly on amid a clatter of + knives and voices and dishes; and the clashing rise and fall of the wire + baskets plunging the soiled crockery into misty depths, whence it came up + clean and dry without the touch of finger or towel. Westover could not + deny that there were elements of the picturesque in it, so that he did not + respond quite in kind to Jeff's suggestion—“Scene for a painter, Mr. + Westover.” + </p> + <p> + The young fellow followed satirically at his mother's elbow, and made a + mock of her pride in it, trying to catch Westover's eye when she led him + through the kitchen with its immense range, and introduced him to a new + chef, who wiped his hand on his white apron to offer it to Westover. + </p> + <p> + “Don't let him get away without seeing the laundry, mother,” her son + jeered at a final air of absent-mindedness in her, and she defiantly + accepted his challenge. + </p> + <p> + “Jeff's mad because he wasn't consulted,” she explained, “and because we + don't run the house like his one-horse European hotels.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm not in it at all, Mr. Westover,” said the young fellow. “I'm as + much a passenger as you are. The only difference is that I'm allowed to + work my passage.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, one thing,” said his mother, “is that we've got a higher class of + boarders than we ever had before. You'll see, Mr. Westover, if you stay on + here till August. There's a class that boards all the year round, and that + knows what a hotel is—about as well as Jeff, I guess. You'll find + 'em at the big city houses, the first of the winter, and then they go down + to Floridy or Georgy for February and March; and they get up to Fortress + Monroe in April, and work along north about the middle of May to them + family hotels in the suburbs around Boston; and they stay there till it's + time to go to the shore. They stay at the shore through July, and then + they come here in August, and stay till the leaves turn. They're folks + that live on their money, and they're the very highest class, I guess. + It's a round of gayety with 'em the whole year through.” + </p> + <p> + Jeff, from the vantage of his greater worldly experience, was trying to + exchange looks of intelligence with Westover concerning those + hotel-dwellers whom his mother revered as aristocrats; but he did not + openly question her conceptions. “They've told me how they do, some of the + ladies have,” she went on. “They've got the money for it, and they know + how to get the most for their money. Why, Mr. Westover, we've got rooms in + this house, now, that we let for thirty-five to fifty dollars a week for + two persons, and folks like that take 'em right along through August and + September, and want a room apiece. It's different now, I can tell you, + from what it was when folks thought we was killin' 'em if we wanted ten or + twelve dollars.” + </p> + <p> + Westover had finished his dinner before this tour of the house began, and + when it was over the two men strolled away together. + </p> + <p> + “You see, it's on the regular American lines,” Jeff pursued, after parting + with his mother. “Jackson's done it, and he can't imagine anything else. I + don't say it isn't well done in its way, but the way's wrong; it's stupid + and clumsy.” When they were got so far from the hotel as to command a + prospect of its ungainly mass sprawled upon the plateau, his smouldering + disgust burst out: “Look at it! Did you ever see anything like it? I wish + the damned thing would burn up—or down!” + </p> + <p> + Westover was aware in more ways than one of Jeff's exclusion from + authority in the place, where he was constantly set aside from the + management as if his future were so definitely dedicated to another + calling that not even his advice was desired or permitted; and he could + not help sympathizing a little with him when he chafed at his rejection. + He saw a great deal of him, and he thought him quite up to the average of + Harvard's Seniors in some essentials. He had been sobered, apparently, by + experience; his unfortunate love-affair seemed to have improved him, as + the phrase is. + </p> + <p> + They had some long walks and long talks together, and in one of them Jeff + opened his mind, if not his heart, to the painter. He wanted to be the + Landlord of the Lion's Head, which he believed he could make the best + hotel in the mountains. He knew, of course, that he could not hope to make + any changes that did not suit his mother and his brother, as long as they + had the control, but he thought they would let him have the control sooner + if his mother could only be got to give up the notion of his being a + lawyer. As nearly as he could guess, she wanted him to be a lawyer because + she did not want him to be a hotel-keeper, and her prejudice against that + was because she believed that selling liquor made her father a drunkard. + </p> + <p> + “Well, now you know enough about me, Mr. Westover, to know that drink + isn't my danger.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think I do,” said Westover. + </p> + <p> + “I went a little wild in my Freshman year, and I got into that scrape, but + I've never been the worse for liquor since; fact is, I never touch it now. + There isn't any more reason why I should take to drink because I keep a + hotel than Jackson; but just that one time has set mother against it, and + I can't seem to make her understand that once is enough for me. Why, I + should keep a temperance house, here, of course; you can't do anything + else in these days. If I was left to choose between hotel-keeping and any + other life that I know of, I'd choose it every time,” Jeff went on, after + a moment of silence. “I like a hotel. You can be your own man from the + start; the start's made here, and I've helped to make it. All you've got + to do is to have common-sense in the hotel business, and you're sure to + succeed. I believe I've got common-sense, and I believe I've got some + ideas that I can work up into a great success. The reason that most people + fail in the hotel business is that they waste so much, and the landlord + that wastes on his guests can't treat them well. It's got so now that in + the big city houses they can't make anything on feeding people, and so + they try to make it up on the rooms. I should feed them well—I + believe I know how—and I should make money on my table, as they do + in Europe. + </p> + <p> + “I've thought a good many things out; my mind runs on it all the time; but + I'm not going to bore you with it now.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not at all,” said Westover. “I'd like to know what your ideas are.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, some time I'll tell you. But look here, Mr. Westover, I wish if + mother gets to talking about me with you that you'd let her know how I + feel. We can't talk together, she and I, without quarrelling about it; but + I guess you could put in a word that would show her I wasn't quite a fool. + She thinks I've gone crazy from seeing the way they do things in Europe; + that I'm conceited and unpatriotic, and I don't know what all.” Jeff + laughed as if with an inner fondness for his mother's wrong-headedness. + </p> + <p> + “And would you be willing to settle down here in the country for the rest + of your life, and throw away your Harvard training on hotel-keeping?” + </p> + <p> + “What do the other fellows do with their Harvard training when they go + into business, as nine-tenths of them do? Business is business, whether + you keep a hotel or import dry-goods or manufacture cotton or run a + railroad or help a big trust to cheat legally. Harvard has got to take a + back seat when you get out of Harvard. But you don't suppose that keeping + a summer hotel would mean living in the country the whole time, do you? + That's the way mother does, but I shouldn't. It isn't good for the hotel, + even. If I had such a place as Lion's Head, I should put a man and his + family into it for the winter to look after it, and I should go to town + myself—to Boston or New York, or I might go to London or Paris. + They're not so far off, and it's so easy to get to them that you can + hardly keep away.” Jeff laughed, and looked up at Westover from the log + where he sat, whittling a pine stick; Westover sat on the stump from which + the log had been felled eight or ten years before. + </p> + <p> + “You are modern,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “That's what I should do at first. But I don't believe I should have + Lion's Head very long before I had another hotel—in Florida, or the + Georgia uplands, or North Carolina, somewhere. I should take my help back + and forth; it would be as easy to run two hotels as one-easier! It would + keep my hand in. But if you want to know, I'd rather stick here in the + country, year in and year out, and run Lion's Head, than to be a lawyer + and hang round trying to get a case for nine or ten years. Who's going to + support me? Do you suppose I want to live on mother till I'm forty? She + don't think of that. She thinks I can go right into court and begin + distinguishing myself, if I can fight the people off from sending me to + Congress. I'd rather live in the country, anyway. I think town's the place + for winter, or two-three months of it, and after that I haven't got any + use for it. But mother, she's got this old-fashioned ambition to have me + go to a city and set up there. She thinks that if I was a lawyer in Boston + I should be at the top of the heap. But I know better than that, and so do + you; and I want you to give her some little hint of how it really is: how + it takes family and money and a lot of influence to get to the top in any + city.” + </p> + <p> + It occurred to Westover, and not for the first time, that the frankest + thing in Jeff Durgin was his disposition to use his friends. It seemed to + him that Jeff was always asking something of him, and it did not change + the fact that in this case he thought him altogether in the right. He said + that if Mrs. Durgin spoke to him of the matter he would not keep the light + from her. He looked behind him, now, for the first time, in recognition of + the place where they had stopped. “Why, this is Whitwell's Clearing.” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't you know it?” Jeff asked. “It changes a good deal every year, and + you haven't been here for awhile, have you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not since Mrs. Marven's picnic,” said Westover, and he added, quickly, to + efface the painful association which he must have called up by his + heedless words: + </p> + <p> + “The woods have crowded back upon it so. It can't be more than half its + old size.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” Jeff assented. He struck his heel against a fragment of the pine + bough he had been whittling, and drove it into the soft ground beside the + log, and said, without looking up from it: “I met that woman at a dance + last winter. It wasn't her dance, but she was running it as if it were, + just the way she did with the picnic. She seemed to want to let bygones be + bygones, and I danced with her daughter. She's a nice girl. I thought + mother did wrong about that.” Now he looked at Westover. “She couldn't + help it, but it wasn't the thing to do. A hotel is a public house, and you + can't act as if it wasn't. If mother hadn't known how to keep a hotel so + well in other ways, she might have ruined the house by not knowing in a + thing like that. But we've got some of the people with us this year that + used to come here when we first took farm-boarders; mother don't know that + they're ever so much nicer, socially, than the people that take the + fifty-dollar rooms.” He laughed, and then he said, seriously: “If I ever + had a son, I don't believe I should let my pride in him risk doing him + mischief. And if you've a mind to let her understand that you believe I'm + set against the law for good and all—” + </p> + <p> + “I guess I shall not be your ambassador, so far as that. Why don't you + tell her yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “She won't believe me,” said Jeff, with a laugh. “She thinks I don't know + my mind. And I don't like the way we differ when we differ. We differ more + than we mean to. I don't pretend to say I'm always right. She was right + about that other picnic—the one I wanted to make for Mrs. Vostrand. + I suppose,” he ended, unexpectedly, “that you hear from them, now and + then?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't. I haven't heard from them for a year; not since—You + knew Genevieve was married?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I knew that,” said Jeff, steadily. + </p> + <p> + “I don't quite make it all out. Mr. Vostrand was very much opposed to it, + Mrs. Vostrand told me; but he must have given way at last; and he must + have put up the money.” Jeff looked puzzled, and Westover explained. “You + know the officers in the Italian army—and all the other armies in + Europe, for that matter—have to deposit a certain sum with the + government before they can marry and in the case of Count Grassi, Mr. + Vostrand had to furnish the money.” + </p> + <p> + Jeff said, after a moment: “Well, she couldn't help that.” + </p> + <p> + “No, the girl wasn't to blame. I don't know that any one was to blame. But + I'm afraid our girls wouldn't marry many titles if their fathers didn't + put up the money.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't see why they shouldn't spend their money that way as well + as any other,” said Jeff, and this proof of his impartiality suggested to + Westover that he was not only indifferent to the mercenary international + marriages, which are a scandal to so many of our casuists, but had quite + outlived his passion for the girl concerned in this. + </p> + <p> + “At any rate,” Jeff added, “I haven't got anything to say against it. Mr. + Westover, I've always wanted to say one thing to you. Then I came to your + room that night, I wanted to complain of Mrs. Vostrand for not letting me + know about the engagement; and I wasn't man enough to acknowledge that + what you said would account for their letting me make a fool of myself. + But I believe I am now, and I want to say it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad you can see it in that way,” said Westover, “and since you do, I + don't mind saying that I think Mrs. Vostrand might have been a little + franker with you without being less kind. She was kind, but she wasn't + quite frank.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's all over now,” said Jeff, and he rose up and brushed the + whittlings from his knees. “And I guess it's just as well.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXI. + </h2> + <p> + That afternoon Westover saw Jeff helping Cynthia Whitwell into his + buckboard, and then, after his lively horse had made some paces of a + start, spring to the seat beside her, and bring it to a stand. “Can I do + anything for you over at Lovewell, Mr. Westover?” he called, and he smiled + toward the painter. Then he lightened the reins on the mare's back; she + squared herself for a start in earnest, and flashed down the sloping hotel + road to the highway below, and was lost to sight in the clump of woods to + the southward. + </p> + <p> + “That's a good friend of yours, Cynthy,” he said, leaning toward the girl + with a simple comfort in her proximity. She was dressed in a pale-pink + color, with a hat of yet paler pink; without having a great deal of + fashion, she had a good deal of style. She looked bright and fresh; there + was a dash of pink in her cheeks, which suggested the color of the + sweetbrier, its purity and sweetness, and if there was something in + Cynthia's character and temperament that suggested its thorns too, one + still could not deny that she was like that flower. She liked to shop, and + she liked to ride after a good horse, as the neighbors would have said; + she was going over to Lovewell to buy a number of things, and Jeff Durgin + was driving her there with the swift mare that was his peculiar property. + She smiled upon him without the usual reservations she contrived to + express in her smiles. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't know anybody I'd rather have for my friend than Mr. + Westover.” She added: “He acted like a friend the very first time I saw + him.” + </p> + <p> + Jeff laughed with shameless pleasure in the reminiscence her words + suggested. “Well, I did get my come-uppings that time. And I don't know + but he's been a pretty good friend to me, too. I'm not sure he likes me; + but Mr. Westover is a man that could be your friend if he didn't like + you.” + </p> + <p> + “What have you done to make him like you?” asked the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing!” said Jeff, with a shout of laughter in his conviction. “I've + done a lot of things to make him despise me from the start. But if you + like a person yourself, you want him to like you whether you deserve it or + not.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know as I do.” + </p> + <p> + “You say that because you always deserve it. You can't tell how it is with + a fellow like me. I should want you to like me, Cynthy, whatever you + thought of me.” He looked round into her face, but she turned it away. + </p> + <p> + They had struck the level, long for the hill country, at the foot of the + hotel road, and the mare, that found herself neither mounting nor + descending a steep, dropped from the trot proper for an acclivity into a + rapid walk. + </p> + <p> + “This mare can walk like a Kentucky horse,” said Jeff. “I believe I could + teach her single-foot.” He added, with a laugh, “If I knew how,” and now + Cynthia laughed with him. + </p> + <p> + “I was just going to say that.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you don't lose many chances to give me a dig, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know as I look for them. Perhaps I don't need to.” The pine + woods were deep on either side. They whispered in the thin, sweet wind, + and gave out their odor in the high, westering sun. They covered with + their shadows the road that ran velvety between them. + </p> + <p> + “This is nice,” said Jeff, letting himself rest against the back of the + seat. He stretched his left arm along the top, and presently it dropped + and folded itself about the waist of the girl. + </p> + <p> + “You may take your arm away, Jeff,” she said, quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because it has no right there, for one thing!” She drew herself a little + aside and looked round at him. “You wouldn't put it round a town girl if + you were riding with her.” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't be riding with her: Girls don't go buggy-riding in town any + more,” said Jeff, brutally. + </p> + <p> + “Then I shall know what to do the next time you ask me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they'd go quick enough if I asked them up here in the country. + Etiquette don't count with them when they're on a vacation.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not on a vacation; so it counts with me. Please take your arm away,” + said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, all right. But I shouldn't object to your putting your arm around + me.” + </p> + <p> + “You will never have the chance.” + </p> + <p> + “Why are you so hard on me, Cynthy?” asked Jeff. “You didn't used to be + so.” + </p> + <p> + “People change.” + </p> + <p> + “Do I?” + </p> + <p> + “Not for the better.” + </p> + <p> + Jeff was dumb. She was pleased with her hit, and laughed. But her laugh + did not encourage him to put his arm round her again. He let the mare walk + on, and left her to resume the conversation at whatever point she would. + </p> + <p> + She made no haste to resume it. At last she said, with sufficient apparent + remoteness from the subject they had dropped: “Jeff, I don't know whether + you want me to talk about it. But I guess I ought to, even if it isn't my + place exactly. I don't think Jackson's very well, this summer.” + </p> + <p> + Jeff faced round toward her. “What makes you think he isn't well?” + </p> + <p> + “He's weaker. Haven't you noticed it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have noticed that. He's worked down; that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “No, that isn't all. But if you don't think so—” + </p> + <p> + “I want to know what you think, Cynthy,” said Jeff, with the amorous + resentment all gone from his voice. “Sometimes folks outside notice the + signs more—I don't mean that you're an outsider, as far as we're + concerned—” + </p> + <p> + She put by that point. “Father's noticed it, too; and he's with Jackson a + good deal.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll look after it. If he isn't so well, he's got to have a doctor. That + medium's stuff can't do him any good. Don't you think he ought to have a + doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't think a doctor can do him much good?” + </p> + <p> + “He ought to have one,” said the girl, noncommittally. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia, I've noticed that Jackson was weak, too; and it's no use + pretending that he's simply worked down. I believe he's worn out. Do you + think mother's ever noticed it?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe she has.” + </p> + <p> + “It's the one thing I can't very well make up my mind to speak to her + about. I don't know what she would do.” He did not say, “If she lost + Jackson,” but Cynthia knew he meant that, and they were both silent. “Of + course,” he went on, “I know that she places a great deal of dependence + upon you, but Jackson's her main stay. He's a good man, and he's a good + son. I wish I'd always been half as good.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia did not protest against his self-reproach as he possibly hoped she + would. She said: “I think Jackson's got a very good mind. He reads a great + deal, and he's thought a great deal, and when it comes to talking, I never + heard any one express themselves better. The other night, we were out + looking at the stars—I came part of the way home with him; I didn't + like to let him go alone, he seemed so feeble and he got to showing me + Mars. He thinks it's inhabited, and he's read all that the astronomers say + about it, and the seas and the canals that they've found on it. He spoke + very beautifully about the other life, and then he spoke about death.” + Cynthia's voice broke, and she pulled her handkerchief out of her belt, + and put it to her eyes. Jeff's heart melted in him at the sight; he felt a + tender affection for her, very unlike the gross content he had enjoyed in + her presence before, and he put his arm round her again, but this time + almost unconsciously, and drew her toward him. She did not repel him; she + even allowed her head to rest a moment on his shoulder; though she quickly + lifted it, and drew herself away, not resentfully, it seemed, but for her + greater freedom in talking. + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe he's going to die,” Jeff said, consolingly, more as if it + were her brother than his that he meant. “But he's a very sick man, and + he's got to knock off and go somewhere. It won't do for him to pass + another winter here. He must go to California, or Colorado; they'd be glad + to have him there, either of them; or he can go to Florida, or over to + Italy. It won't matter how long he stays—” + </p> + <p> + “What are you talking about, Jeff Durgin?” Cynthia demanded, severely. + “What would your mother do? What would she do this winter?” + </p> + <p> + “That brings me to something, Cynthia,” said Jeff, “and I don't want you + to say anything till I've got through. I guess I could help mother run the + place as well as Jackson, and I could stay here next winter.” + </p> + <p> + “You?” + </p> + <p> + “Now, you let me talk! My mind's made up about one thing: I'm not going to + be a lawyer. I don't want to go back to Harvard. I'm going to keep a + hotel, and, if I don't keep one here at Lion's Head, I'm going to keep it + somewhere else.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you told your mother?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet: I wanted to hear what you would say first.” + </p> + <p> + “I? Oh, I haven't got anything to do with it,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you have! You've got everything to do with it, if you'll say one + thing first. Cynthia, you know how I feel about you. It's been so ever + since we were boy and girl here. I want you to promise to marry me. Will + you?” + </p> + <p> + The girl seemed neither surprised nor very greatly pleased; perhaps her + pleasure had spent itself in that moment of triumphant expectation when + she foresaw what was coming, or perhaps she was preoccupied in clearing + the way in her own mind to a definite result. + </p> + <p> + “What do you say, Cynthia?” Jeff pursued, with more injury than misgiving + in his voice at her delay in answering. “Don't you-care for me?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, I presume I've always done that—ever since we were boy and + girl, as you say. But——” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said Jeff, patiently, but not insecurely. + </p> + <p> + “Have you?” + </p> + <p> + “Have I what?” + </p> + <p> + “Always cared for me.” + </p> + <p> + He could not find his voice quite as promptly as before. He cleared his + throat before he asked: “Has Mr. Westover been saying anything about me?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what you mean, exactly; but I presume you do.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then—I always expected to tell you—I did have a fancy + for that girl, for Miss Vostrand, and I told her so. It's like something + that never happened. She wouldn't have me. That's all.” + </p> + <p> + “And you expect me to take what she wouldn't have?” + </p> + <p> + “If you like to call it that. But I should call it taking a man that had + been out of his head for a while, and had come to his senses again.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know as I should ever feel safe with a man that had been out of + his head once.” + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't find many men that hadn't,” said Jeff, with a laugh that was + rather scornful of her ignorance. + </p> + <p> + “No, I presume not,” she sighed. “She was beautiful, and I believe she was + good, too. She was very nice. Perhaps I feel strangely about it. But, if + she hadn't been so nice, I shouldn't have been so willing that you should + have cared for her.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I don't understand,” said Jeff, “but I know I was hard hit. + What's the use? It's over. She's married. I can't go back and unlive it + all. But if you want time to think—of course you do—I've taken + time enough—” + </p> + <p> + He was about to lift the reins on the mare's back as a sign to her that + the talk was over for the present, and to quicken her pace, when Cynthia + put out her hand and laid it on his, and said with a certain effect of + authority: “I shouldn't want you should give up your last year in + Harvard.” + </p> + <p> + “Just as you say, Cynthy;” and in token of intelligence he wound his arm + round her neck and kissed her. It was not the first kiss by any means; in + the country kisses are not counted very serious, or at all binding, and + Cynthia was a country girl; but they both felt that this kiss sealed a + solemn troth between them, and that a common life began for them with it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXII. + </h2> + <p> + Cynthia came back in time to go into the dining-room and see that all was + in order there for supper before the door opened. The waitresses knew that + she had been out riding, as they called it, with Jeff Durgin; the fact had + spread electrically to them where they sat in a shady angle of the hotel + listening to one who read a novel aloud, and skipped all but the most + exciting love parts. They conjectured that the pair had gone to Lovewell, + but they knew nothing more, and the subtlest of them would not have found + reason for further conjecture in Cynthia's behavior, when she came in and + scanned the tables and the girls' dresses and hair, where they stood + ranged against the wall. She was neither whiter nor redder than usual, and + her nerves and her tones were under as good control as a girl's ever are + after she has been out riding with a fellow. It was not such a great + thing, anyway, to ride with Jeff Durgin. First and last, nearly all the + young lady boarders had been out with him, upon one errand or another to + Lovewell. + </p> + <p> + After supper, when the girls had gone over to their rooms in the helps' + quarters, and the guests had gathered in the wide, low office, in the + light of the fire kindled on the hearth to break the evening chill, Jeff + joined Cynthia in her inspection of the dining-room. She always gave it a + last look, to see that it was in perfect order for breakfast, before she + went home for the night. Jeff went home with her; he was impatient of her + duties, but he was in no hurry when they stole out of the side door + together under the stars, and began to stray sidelong down the hill over + the dewless grass. + </p> + <p> + He lingered more and more as they drew near her father's house, in the + abandon of a man's love. He wished to give himself solely up to it, to + think and to talk of nothing else, after a man's fashion. But a woman's + love is no such mere delight. It is serious, practical. For her it is all + future, and she cannot give herself wholly up to any present moment of it, + as a man does. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Jeff,” she said, after a certain number of partings, in which she + had apparently kept his duty clearly in mind, “you had better go home and + tell your mother.” + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> <img src="images/{0189}.jpg" alt="{0189}" width="100%" /><br /> </div> <h5> <a href="images/{0189}.jpg"> <img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> </h5> + + <p> + “Oh, there's time enough for that,” he began. + </p> + <p> + “I want you to tell her right away, or there won't be anything to tell.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that so?” he joked back. “Well, if I must, I must, I suppose. But I + didn't think you'd take the whip-hand so soon, Cynthia.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't ever want to take the whip-hand with you, Jeff. Don't make + me!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I won't, then. But what are you in such a hurry to have mother know + for? She's not going to object. And if she does—” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't that,” said the girl, quickly. “If I had to go round a single + day with your mother hiding this from her, I should begin to hate you. I + couldn't bear the concealment. I shall tell father as soon as I go in.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, your father 'll be all right, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he'll be all right, but if he wouldn't, and I knew it, I should have + to tell him, all the same. Now, good-night. Well, there, then; and there! + Now, let me go!” + </p> + <p> + She paused for a moment in her own room, to smooth her tumbled hair, and + try to identify herself in her glass. Then she went into the sitting-room, + where she found her father pulled up to the table, with his hat on, and + poring over a sheet of hieroglyphics, which represented the usual evening + with planchette. + </p> + <p> + “Have you been to help Jackson up?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I wanted to, but he wouldn't hear of it. He's feelin' ever so much + better to-night, and he wanted to go alone. I just come in.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you've got your hat on yet.” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell put his hand up and found that his daughter was right. He + laughed, and said: “I guess I must 'a' forgot it. We've had the most + interestin' season with plantchette that I guess we've about ever had. + She's said something here—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, never mind; I've got something more important to say than + plantchette has,” said Cynthia, and she pulled the sheet away from under + her father's eyes. + </p> + <p> + This made him look up at her. “Why, what's happened?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. Jeff Durgin has asked me to marry him.” + </p> + <p> + “He has!” The New England training is not such as to fit people for the + expression of strong emotion, and the best that Whitwell found himself + able to do in view of the fact was to pucker his mouth for a whistle which + did not come. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—this afternoon,” said Cynthia, lifelessly. The tension of her + nerves relaxed in a languor which was evident even to her father, though + his eyes still wandered to the sheet she had taken from him. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you don't seem over and above excited about it. Did—did your—What + did you say—” + </p> + <p> + “How should I know what I said? What do you think of it, father?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know as I ever give the subject much attention,” said the + philosopher. “I always meant to take it out of him, somehow, if he got to + playin' the fool.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you wanted I should accept him?” + </p> + <p> + “What difference 'd it make what I wanted? That what you done?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I've accepted him,” said the girl, with a sigh. “I guess I've always + expected to.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I thought likely it would come to that, myself. All I can say, + Cynthy, is 't he's a lucky feller.” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell leaned back, bracing his knees against the table, which was one + of his philosophic poses. “I have sometimes believed that Jeff Durgin was + goin' to turn out a blackguard. He's got it in him. He's as like his + gran'father as two peas, and he was an old devil. But you got to account + in all these here heredity cases for counteractin' influences. The Durgins + are as good as wheat, right along, all of 'em; and I guess Mis' Durgin's + mother must have been a pretty good woman too. Mis' Durgin's all right, + too, if she has got a will of her own.” Whitwell returned from his + scientific inquiry to ask: “How 'll she take it?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said Cynthia, dreamily, but without apparent misgiving. + “That's Jeff's lookout.” + </p> + <p> + “So 'tis. I guess she won't make much fuss. A woman never likes to see her + son get married; but you've been a kind of daughter to her so long. Well, + I guess that part of it 'll be all right. Jackson,” said Whitwell, in a + tone of relief, as if turning from an irrelevant matter to something of + real importance, “was down here to-night tryin' to ring up some them + spirits from the planet Mars. Martians, he calls 'em. His mind's got to + runnin' a good deal on Mars lately. I guess it's this apposition that they + talk about that does it. Mars comin' so much nearer the earth by a million + of miles or so, it stands to reason that he should be more influenced by + the minds on it. I guess it's a case o' that telepathy that Mr. Westover + tells about. I judge that if he kept at it before Mars gits off too far + again he might make something out of it. I couldn't seem to find much + sense in what plantchette done to-night; we couldn't either of us; but she + has her spells when you can't make head or tail of her. But mebbe she's + just leadin' up to something, the way she did about that broken shaft when + Jeff come home. We ha'n't ever made out exactly what she meant by that + yet.” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell paused, and Cynthia seized the advantage of his getting round to + Jeff again. “He wanted to give up going to Harvard this last year, but I + wouldn't let him.” + </p> + <p> + “Jeff did?” asked her father. “Well, you done a good thing that time, + anyway, Cynthy. His mother 'd never get over it.” + </p> + <p> + “There's something else she's got to get over, and I don't know how she + ever will. He's going to give up the law.” + </p> + <p> + “Give up the law!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Don't tease, father! He says he's never cared about it, and he wants + to keep a hotel. I thought that I'd ought to tell him how we felt about + Jackson's having a rest and going off somewhere; and he wanted to begin at + once. But I said if he left off the last year at Harvard I wouldn't have + anything to do with him.” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell put his hand in his pocket for his knife, and mechanically looked + down for a stick to whittle. In default of any, he scratched his head. “I + guess she'll make it warm for him. She's had her mind set on his studyin' + law so long, 't she won't give up in a hurry. She can't see that Jackson + ain't fit to help her run the hotel any more—till he's had a rest, + anyway—and I believe she thinks her and Frank could run it—and + you. She'll make an awful kick,” said Whitwell, solemnly. “I hope you + didn't encourage him, Cynthy?” + </p> + <p> + “I should encourage him,” said the girl. “He's got the right to shape his + own life, and nobody else has got the right to do it; and I should tell + his mother so, if she ever said anything to me about it.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Whitwell. “I suppose you know what you're about.” + </p> + <p> + “I do, father. Jeff would make a good landlord; he's got ideas about a + hotel, and I can see that they're the right ones. He's been out in the + world, and he's kept his eyes open. He will make Lion's Head the best + hotel in the mountains.” + </p> + <p> + “It's that already.” + </p> + <p> + “He doesn't think it's half as good as he can make it.” + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn't be half what it is now, if it wa'n't for you and Frank.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess he understands that,” said Cynthia. “Frank would be the clerk.” + </p> + <p> + “Got it all mapped out!” said Whitwell, proudly, in his turn. “Look out + you don't slip up in your calculations. That's all.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess we cha'n't slip up.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIII. + </h2> + <p> + Jeff came into the ugly old family parlor, where his mother sat mending by + the kerosene-lamp which she had kept through all the household changes, + and pushed enough of her work aside from the corner of the table to rest + his arm upon it. + </p> + <p> + “Mother, I want you to listen to me, and to wait till I get done. Will + you?” + </p> + <p> + She looked up at him over her spectacles from the stocking she was + darning; the china egg gleamed through the frayed place. “What notion have + you got in your head, now?” + </p> + <p> + “It's about Jackson. He isn't well. He's got to leave off work and go + away.” + </p> + <p> + The mother's hand dropped at the end of the yarn she had drawn through the + stocking heel, and she stared at Jeff. Then she resumed her work with the + decision expressed in her tone. “Your father lived to be sixty years old, + and Jackson a'n't forty! The doctor said there wa'n't any reason why he + shouldn't live as long as his father did.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not saying he won't live to a hundred. I'm saying he oughtn't to stay + another winter here,” Jeff said, decisively. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Durgin was silent for a time, and then she said. “Jeff, is that your + notion about Jackson, or whose is it?” + </p> + <p> + “It's mine, now.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Durgin waited a moment. Then she began, with a feeling quite at + variance with her words: + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll thank Cynthy Whit'ell to mind her own business! Of course,” + she added, and in what followed her feeling worked to the surface in her + words, “I know 't she thinks the world of Jackson, and he does of her; and + I presume she means well. I guess she'd be more apt to notice, if there + was any change, than what I should. What did she say?” + </p> + <p> + Jeff told, as nearly as he could remember, and he told what Cynthia and he + had afterward jointly worked out as to the best thing for Jackson to do. + Mrs. Durgin listened frowningly, but not disapprovingly, as it seemed; + though at the end she asked: “And what am I going to do, with Jackson + gone?” + </p> + <p> + Jeff laughed, with his head down. “Well, I guess you and Cynthy could run + it, with Frank and Mr. Whitwell.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Whit'ell!” said Mrs. Durgin, concentrating in her accent of his name + the contempt she could not justly pour out on the others. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” Jeff went on, “I did think that I could take hold with you, if you + could bring yourself to let me off this last year at Harvard.” + </p> + <p> + “Jeff!” said his mother, reproachfully. “You know you don't mean that + you'd give up your last year in college?” + </p> + <p> + “I do mean it, but I don't expect you to do it; and I don't ask it. I + suggested it to Cynthy, when we got to talking it over, and she saw it + wouldn't do.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, she showed some sense that time,” Mrs. Durgin said. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know when Cynthy hasn't shown sense; except once, and then I + guess it was my fault.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, this afternoon I asked her to marry me some time, and she said she + would.” He looked at his mother and laughed, and then he did not laugh. He + had expected her to be pleased; he had thought to pave the way with this + confession for the declaration of his intention not to study law, and to + make his engagement to Cynthia serve him in reconciling his mother to the + other fact. But a menacing suspense followed his words. + </p> + <p> + His mother broke out at last: “You asked Cynthy Whit'ell to marry you! And + she said she would! Well, I can tell her she won't, then!” + </p> + <p> + “And I can tell you she will!” Jeff stormed back. He rose to his feet and + stood over his mother. + </p> + <p> + She began steadily, as if he had not spoken. “If that designin'—” + </p> + <p> + “Look out, mother! Don't you say anything against Cynthia! She's been the + best girl to you in the world, and you know it. She's been as true to you + as Jackson has himself. She hasn't got a selfish bone in her body, and + she's so honest she couldn't design anything against you or any one, + unless she told you first. Now you take that back! Take it back! She's no + more designing than—than you are!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Durgin was not moved by his storming, but she was inwardly convinced + of error. “I do take it back. Cynthy is all right. She's all you say and + more. It's your fault, then, and you've got yourself to thank, for + whosever fault it is, she'll pack—” + </p> + <p> + “If Cynthy packs, I pack!” said Jeff. “Understand that. The moment she + leaves this house I leave it, too, and I'll marry her anyway. Frank 'd + leave and—and—Pshaw! What do you care for that? But I don't + know what you mean! I always thought you liked Cynthy and respected her. I + didn't believe I could tell you a thing that would please you better than + that she had said she would have me. But if it don't, all right.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Durgin held her peace in bewilderment; she stared at her son with + dazed eyes, under the spectacles lifted above her forehead. She felt a + change of mood in his unchanged tone of defiance, and she met him + half-way. “I tell you I take back what I called Cynthia, and I told you + so. But—but I didn't ever expect you to marry her.” + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you? There isn't one of the summer folks to compare with her. + She's got more sense than all of 'em. I've known her ever since I can + remember. Why didn't you expect it?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't expect it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know! You thought I'd see somebody in Boston—some swell girl. + Well, they wouldn't any of them look at me, and if they would, they + wouldn't look at you.” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't care whether they looked at me or not.” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you they wouldn't look at me. You don't understand about these + things, and I do. They marry their own kind, and I'm not their kind, and I + shouldn't be if I was Daniel Webster himself. Daniel Webster! Who + remembers him, or cares for him, or ever did? You don't believe it? You + think that because I've been at Harvard—Oh, can't I make you see it? + I'm what they call a jay in Harvard, and Harvard don't count if you're a + jay.” + </p> + <p> + His mother looked at him without speaking. She would not confess the + ambition he taxed her with, and perhaps she had nothing so definite in her + mind. Perhaps it was only her pride in him, and her faith in a splendid + future for him, that made her averse to his marriage in the lot she had + always known, and on a little lower level in it that her own. She said at + last: + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what you mean by being a jay. But I guess we better not say + anything more about this to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” Jeff returned. There never were any formal good-nights + between the Durgins, and he went away now without further words. + </p> + <p> + His mother remained sitting where he left her. Two or three times she drew + her empty darning-needle through the heel of the stocking she was mending. + </p> + <p> + She was still sitting there when Jackson passed on his way to bed, after + leaving the office in charge of the night porter. He faltered, as he went + by, and as he stood on the threshold she told him what Jeff had told her. + </p> + <p> + “That's good,” he said, lifelessly. “Good for Jeff,” he added, + thoughtfully, conscientiously. + </p> + <p> + “Why a'n't it good for her, too?” demanded Jeff's mother, in quick + resentment of the slight put upon him. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't say it wa'n't,” said Jackson. “But it's better for Jeff.” + </p> + <p> + “She may be very glad to get him!” + </p> + <p> + “I presume she is. She's always cared for him, I guess. She'll know how to + manage him.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said Mrs. Durgin, “as I like to have you talk so, about + Jeff. He was here, just now, wantin' to give up his last year in Harvard, + so 's to let you go off on a vacation. He thinks you've worked yourself + down.” + </p> + <p> + Jackson made no recognition of Jeff's professed self-sacrifice. “I don't + want any vacation. I'm feeling first-rate now. I guess that stuff I had + from the writin' medium has begun to take hold of me. I don't know when + I've felt so well. I believe I'm going to get stronger than ever I was. + Jeff say I needed a rest?” + </p> + <p> + Something like a smile of compassion for the delusion of his brother + dawned upon the sick man's wasted face, which was blotched with large + freckles, and stared with dim, large eyes from out a framework of grayish + hair, and grayish beard cut to the edges of the cheeks and chin. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIV. + </h2> + <p> + Mrs. Durgin and Cynthia did not seek any formal meeting the next morning. + The course of their work brought them together, but it was not till after + they had transacted several household affairs of pressing importance that + Mrs. Durgin asked: “What's this about you and Jeff?” + </p> + <p> + “Has he been telling you?” asked Cynthia, in her turn, though she knew he + had. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mrs. Durgin, with a certain dryness, which was half humorous. + “I presume, if you two are satisfied, it's all right.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess we're satisfied,” said the girl, with a tremor of relief which + she tried to hide. + </p> + <p> + Nothing more was said, and there was no physical demonstration of + affection or rejoicing between the women. They knew that the time would + come when they would talk over the affair down to the bone together, but + now they were content to recognize the fact, and let the time for talking + arrive when it would. “I guess,” said Mrs. Durgin, “you'd better go over + to the helps' house and see how that youngest Miller girl's gittin' along. + She'd ought to give up and go home if she a'n't fit for her work.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll go and see her,” said Cynthia. “I don't believe she's strong enough + for a waitress, and I have got to tell her so.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” returned Mrs. Durgin, glumly, after a moment's reflection, “I + shouldn't want you should hurry her. Wait till she's out of bed, and give + her another chance.” + </p> + <p> + “All right.” + </p> + <p> + Jeff had been lurking about for the event of the interview, and he waylaid + Cynthia on the path to the helps' house. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going over to see that youngest Miller girl,” she explained. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know all about that,” said Jeff. “Well, mother took it just right, + didn't she? You can't always count on her; but I hadn't much anxiety in + this case. She likes you, Cynthia.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess so,” said the girl, demurely; and she looked away from him to + smile her pleasure in the fact. + </p> + <p> + “But I believe if she hadn't known you were with her about my last year in + Harvard—it would have been different. I could see, when I brought it + in that you wanted me to go back, her mind was made up for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why need you say anything about that?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I knew it would clinch her. I understand mother. If you want + something from her you mustn't ask it straight out. You must propose + something very disagreeable. Then when she refuses that, you can come in + for what you were really after and get it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said Cynthia, “as I should like to think that your mother + had been tricked into feeling right about me.” + </p> + <p> + “Tricked!” The color flashed up in Jeff's face. + </p> + <p> + “Not that, Jeff,” said the girl, tenderly. “But you know what I mean. I + hope you talked it all out fully with her.” + </p> + <p> + “Fully? I don't know what you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “About your not studying law, and—everything.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe in crossing a river till I come to it,” said Jeff. “I + didn't say anything to her about that.” + </p> + <p> + “You didn't!” + </p> + <p> + “No. What had it got to do with our being engaged?” + </p> + <p> + “What had your going back to Harvard to do with it? If your mother thinks + I'm with her in that, she'll think I'm with her in the other. And I'm not. + I'm with you.” She let her hand find his, as they walked side by side, and + gave it a little pressure. + </p> + <p> + “It's the greatest thing, Cynthy,” he said, breathlessly, “to have you + with me in that. But, if you said I ought to study law, I should do it.” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't say that, for I believe you're right; but even if I believed + you were wrong, I shouldn't say it. You have a right to make your life + what you want it; and your mother hasn't. Only she must know it, and you + must tell her at once.” + </p> + <p> + “At once?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—now. What good will it do to put it off? You're not afraid to + tell her!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't like you to use that word.” + </p> + <p> + “And I don't like to use it. But I know how it is. You're afraid that the + brunt of it will come on ME. She'll think you're all right, but I'm all + wrong because I agree with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Something like that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, now, I'm not afraid of anything she can say; and what could she do? + She can't part us, unless you let her, and then I should let her, too.” + </p> + <p> + “But what's the hurry? What's the need of doing it right off?” + </p> + <p> + “Because it's a deceit not to do it. It's a lie!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't see it in that light. I might change my mind, and still go on and + study law.” + </p> + <p> + “You know you never will. Now, Jeff! Why do you act so?” + </p> + <p> + Jeff did not answer at once. He walked beside her with a face of trouble + that became one of resolve in the set jaws. “I guess you're right, Cynthy. + She's got to know the worst, and the sooner she knows it the better.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” + </p> + <p> + He had another moment of faltering. “You don't want I should talk it over + with Mr. Westover?” + </p> + <p> + “What has he got to do with it?” + </p> + <p> + “That's true!” + </p> + <p> + “If you want to see it in the right light, you can think you've let it run + on till after you're out of college, and then you've got to tell her. + Suppose she asked you how long you had made up your mind against the law, + how should you feel? And if she asked me whether I'd known it all along, + and I had to say I had, and that I'd supported and encouraged you in it, + how should I feel?” + </p> + <p> + “She mightn't ask any such question,” said Jeff, gloomily. Cynthia gave a + little impatient “Oh!” and he hastened to add: “But you're right; I've got + to tell her. I'll tell her to-night—” + </p> + <p> + “Don't wait till to-night; do it now.” + </p> + <p> + “Now?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and I'll go with you as soon as I've seen the youngest Miller girl.” + They had reached the helps' house now, and Cynthia said: “You wait outside + here, and I'll go right back with you. Oh, I hope it isn't doing wrong to + put it off till I've seen that girl!” She disappeared through the door, + and Jeff waited by the steps outside, plucking up one long grass stem + after another and biting it in two. When Cynthia came out she said: “I + guess she'll be all right. Now come, and don't-lose another second.” + </p> + <p> + “You're afraid I sha'n't do it if I wait any longer!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I sha'n't.” There was a silence after this. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what I think of you, Cynthy?” asked Jeff, hurrying to keep up + with her quick steps. “You've got more courage—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't praise me, or I shall break down!” + </p> + <p> + “I'll see that you don't break down,” said Jeff, tenderly. “It's the + greatest thing to have you go with me!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, don't you SEE?” she lamented. “If you went alone, and told your + mother that I approved of it, you would look as if you were afraid, and + wanted to get behind me; and I'm not going to have that.” + </p> + <p> + They found. Mrs. Durgin in the dark entry of the old farmhouse, and + Cynthia said, with involuntary imperiousness: “Come in here, Mrs. Durgin; + I want to tell you something.” + </p> + <p> + She led the way to the old parlor, and she checked Mrs. Durgin's question, + “Has that Miller girl—” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't about her,” said Cynthy, pushing the door to. “It's about me and + Jeff.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Durgin became aware of Jeff's presence with an effect of surprise. + “There a'n't anything more, is there?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there is!” Cynthia shrilled. “Now, Jeff!” + </p> + <p> + “It's just this, mother: Cynthy thinks I ought to tell you—and she + thinks I ought to have told you last night—she expected me to—that + I'm not going to study law.” + </p> + <p> + “And I approve of his not doing it,” Cynthia promptly followed, and she + put herself beside Jeff where he stood in front of his mother's + rocking-chair. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> <img src="images/{0207}.jpg" alt="{0207}" width="100%" /><br /> </div> <h5> <a href="images/{0207}.jpg"> <img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> </h5> + + <p> + She looked from one to the other of the faces before her. “I'm sorry a son + of mine,” she said, with dignity, “had to be told how to act with his + mother. But, if he had, I don't know as anybody had a better right to do + it than the girl that's going to marry him. And I'll say this, Cynthia + Whitwell, before I say anything else: you've begun right. I wish I could + say Jeff had.” + </p> + <p> + There was an uncomfortable moment before Cynthia said: “He expected to + tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh Yes! I know,” said his mother, sadly. She added, sharply: “And did he + expect to tell me what he intended to do for a livin'?” + </p> + <p> + Jeff took the word. “Yes, I did. I intend to keep a hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “What hotel?” asked Mrs. Durgin, with a touch of taunting in her tone. + </p> + <p> + “This one.” + </p> + <p> + The mother of the bold, rebellious boy that Jeff had been stirred in Mrs. + Durgin's heart, and she looked at him with the eyes, that used to condone + his mischief. But she said: “I guess you'll find out that there's more + than one has to agree to that.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there are two: you and Jackson; and I don't know but what three, if + you count Cynthy, here.” + </p> + <p> + His mother turned to the girl. “You think this fellow's got sense enough + to keep a hotel?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mrs. Durgin, I do. I think he's got good ideas about a hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “And what's he goin' to do with his college education?” + </p> + <p> + Jeff interposed. “You think that all the college graduates turn out + lawyers and doctors and professors? Some of 'em are mighty glad to sweep + out banks in hopes of a clerkship; and some take any sort of a place in a + mill or a business house, to work up; and some bum round out West 'on + cattle ranches; and some, if they're lucky, get newspaper reporters' + places at ten dollars a week.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia followed with the generalization: “I don't believe anybody can + know too much to keep a hotel. It won't hurt Jeff if he's been to Harvard, + or to Europe, either.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess there's a pair of you,” said Mrs. Durgin, with superficial + contempt. She was silent for a time, and they waited. “Well, there!” she + broke out again. “I've got something to chew upon for a spell, I guess. Go + along, now, both of you! And the next time you've got to face your mother, + Jeff, don't you come in lookin' round anybody's petticoats! I'll see you + later about all this.” + </p> + <p> + They went away with the joyful shame of children who have escaped + punishment. + </p> + <p> + “That's the last of it, Cynthy,” said Jeff. + </p> + <p> + “I guess so,” the girl assented, with a certain grief in her voice. “I + wish you had told her first!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, never mind that now!” cried Jeff, and in the dim passageway he took + her in his arms and kissed her. + </p> + <p> + He would have released her, but she lingered in his embrace. “Will you + promise that if there's ever anything like it again, you won't wait for me + to make you?” + </p> + <p> + “I like your having made me, but I promise,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Then she tightened her arms round his neck and kissed him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXV. + </h2> + <p> + The will of Jeff's mother relaxed its grip upon the purpose so long held, + as if the mere strain of the tenacity had wearied and weakened it. When it + finally appeared that her ambition for her son was not his ambition for + himself and would never be, she abandoned it. Perhaps it was the easier + for her to forego her hopes of his distinction in the world, because she + had learned before that she must forego her hopes of him in other ways. + She had vaguely fancied that with the acquaintance his career at Harvard + would open to him Jeff would make a splendid marriage. She had followed + darkling and stumbling his course in society as far as he would report it + to her, and when he would not suffer her to glory in it, she believed that + he was forbidding her from a pride that would not recognize anything out + of the common in it. She exulted in his pride, and she took all his + snubbing reserves tenderly, as so many proofs of his success. + </p> + <p> + At the bottom of her heart she had both fear and contempt of all + towns-people, whom she generalized from her experience of them as summer + folks of a greater or lesser silliness. She often found herself unable to + cope with them, even when she felt that she had twice their sense; she + perceived that they had something from their training that with all her + undisciplined force she could never hope to win from her own environment. + But she believed that her son would have the advantages which baffled her + in them, for he would have their environment; and she had wished him to + rivet his hold upon those advantages by taking a wife from among them, and + by living the life of their world. Her wishes, of course, had no such + distinct formulation, and the feeling she had toward Cynthia as a possible + barrier to her ambition had no more definition. There had been times when + the fitness of her marriage with Jeff had moved the mother's heart to a + jealousy that she always kept silent, while she hoped for the accident or + the providence which should annul the danger. But Genevieve Vostrand had + not been the kind of accident or the providence that she would have + invoked, and when she saw Jeff's fancy turning toward her, Mrs. Durgin had + veered round to Cynthia. All the same she kept a keen eye upon the young + ladies among the summer folks who came to Lion's Head, and tacitly + canvassed their merits and inclinations with respect to Jeff in the + often-imagined event of his caring for any one of them. She found that her + artfully casual references to her son's being in Harvard scarcely affected + their mothers in the right way. The fact made them think of the head + waiters whom they had met at other hotels, and who were working their way + through Dartmouth or Williams or Yale, and it required all the force of + Jeff's robust personality to dissipate their erroneous impressions of him. + He took their daughters out of their arms and from under their noses on + long drives upon his buckboard, and it became a convention with them to + treat his attentions somewhat like those of a powerful but faithful + vassal. + </p> + <p> + Whether he was indifferent, or whether the young ladies were coy, none of + these official flirtations came to anything. He seemed not to care for one + more than another; he laughed and joked with them all, and had an official + manner with each which served somewhat like a disparity of years in + putting them at their ease with him. They agreed that he was very + handsome, and some thought him very talented; but they questioned whether + he was quite what you would call a gentleman. It is true that this + misgiving attacked them mostly in the mass; singly, they were little or + not at all troubled by it, and they severally behaved in an unprincipled + indifference to it. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Durgin had the courage of her own purposes, but she had the fear of + Jeff's. After the first pang of the disappointment which took final shape + from his declaration that he was going to marry Cynthia, she did not + really care much. She had the habit of the girl; she respected her, she + even loved her. The children, as she thought of them, had known each other + from their earliest days; Jeff had persecuted Cynthia throughout his + graceless boyhood, but he had never intimidated her; and his mother, with + all her weakness for him, felt that it was well for him that his wife + should be brave enough to stand up against him. + </p> + <p> + She formulated this feeling no more than the others, but she said to + Westover, whom Jeff bade her tell of the engagement: “It a'n't exactly as + I could 'a' wished it to be. But I don't know as mothers are ever quite + suited with their children's marriages. I presume it's from always kind of + havin' had her round under my feet ever since she was born, as you may + say, and seein' her family always so shiftless. Well, I can't say that of + Frank, either. He's turned out a fine boy; but the father! Cynthy is one + of the most capable girls, smart as a trap, and bright as a biscuit. She's + masterful, too! she NEED to have a will of her own with Jeff.” + </p> + <p> + Something of the insensate pride that mothers have in their children's + faults, as their quick tempers, or their wastefulness, or their + revengefulness, expressed itself in her tone; and it was perhaps this that + irritated Westover. + </p> + <p> + “I hope he'll never let her know it. I don't think a strong will is a + thing to be prized, and I shouldn't consider it one of Cynthia's good + points. The happiest life for her would be one that never forced her to + use it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know as I understand you exactly,” said Mrs. Durgin, with some + dryness. “I know Jeff's got rather of a domineering disposition, but I + don't believe but she can manage him without meetin' him on his own + ground, as you may say.” + </p> + <p> + “She's a girl in a thousand,” Westover returned, evasively. + </p> + <p> + “Then you think he's shown sense in choosin' of her?” pursued Jeff's + mother, resolute to find some praise of him in Westover's words. + </p> + <p> + “He's a very fortunate man,” said the painter. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I guess you're right,” Mrs. Durgin acquiesced, as much to Jeff's + advantage as she could. “You know I was always afraid he would make a fool + of himself, but I guess he's kept his eyes pretty well open all the while. + Well!” She closed the subject with this exclamation. “Him and Cynthy's + been at me about Jackson,” she added, abruptly. “They've cooked it up + between 'em that he's out of health or run down or something.” + </p> + <p> + Her manner referred the matter to Westover, and he said: “He isn't looking + so well this summer. He ought to go away somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “That's what they thought,” said Mrs. Durgin, smiling in her pleasure at + having their opinion confirmed by the old and valued friend of the family. + </p> + <p> + “Whereabouts do you think he'd best go?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know. Italy—or Egypt—” + </p> + <p> + “I guess, if you could get Jackson to go away at all, it would be to some + of them old Bible countries,” said Mrs. Durgin. “We've got to have a fight + to get him off, make the best of it, and I've thought it over since the + children spoke about it, and I couldn't seem to see Jackson willin' to go + out to Californy or Colorady, to either of his brothers. But I guess he + would go to Egypt. That a good climate for the—his complaint?” + </p> + <p> + She entered eagerly into the question, and Westover promised to write to a + Boston doctor, whom he knew very well, and report Jackson's case to him, + and get his views of Egypt. + </p> + <p> + “Tell him how it is,” said Mrs. Durgin, “and the tussle we shall have to + have anyway to make Jackson believe he'd ought to have a rest. He'll go to + Egypt if he'll go anywheres, because his mind keeps runnin' on Bible + questions, and it 'll interest him to go out there; and we can make him + believe it's just to bang around for the winter. He's terrible hopeful.” + Now that she began to speak, all her long-repressed anxiety poured itself + out, and she hitched her chair nearer to Westover and wistfully clutched + his sleeve. “That's the worst of Jackson. You can't make him believe + anything's the matter. Sometimes I can't bear to hear him go on about + himself as if he was a well young man. He expects that medium's stuff is + goin' to cure him!” + </p> + <p> + “People sick in that way are always hopeful,” said Westover. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't I know it! Ha'n't I seen my children and my husband—Oh, + do ask that doctor to answer as quick as he can!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVI. + </h2> + <p> + Westover had a difficulty in congratulating Jeff which he could scarcely + define to himself, but which was like that obscure resentment we feel + toward people whom we think unequal to their good fortune. He was ashamed + of his grudge, whatever it was, and this may have made him overdo his + expressions of pleasure. He was sensible of a false cordiality in them, + and he checked himself in a flow of forced sentiment to say, more + honestly: “I wish you'd speak to Cynthia for me. You know how much I think + of her, and how much I want to see her happy. You ought to be a very good + fellow, Jeff!” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell her that; she'll like that,” said Jeff. “She thinks the world + of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Does she? Well!” + </p> + <p> + “And I guess she'll be glad you sent word. She's been wondering what you + would say; she's always so afraid of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Is she? You're not afraid of me, are you? But perhaps you don't think so + much of me.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess Cynthia and I think alike on that point,” said Jeff, without + abating Westover's discomfort. + </p> + <p> + There was a stress of sharp cold that year about the 20th of August. Then + the weather turned warm again, and held fine till the beginning of + October, within a week of the time when Jackson was to sail. It had not + been so hard to make him consent when he knew where the doctor wished him + to go, and he had willingly profited by Westover's suggestions about + getting to Egypt. His interest in the matter, which he tried to hide at + first under a mask of decorous indifference, mounted with the fire of + Whitwell's enthusiasm, and they held nightly councils together, studying + his course on the map, and consulting planchette upon the points at + variance that rose between them, while Jombateeste sat with his chair + tilted against the wall, and pulled steadily at his pipe, which mixed its + strong fumes with the smell of the kerosene-lamp and the perennial odor of + potatoes in the cellar under the low room where the companions + forgathered. + </p> + <p> + Toward the end of September Westover spent the night before he went back + to town with them. After a season with planchette, their host pushed + himself back with his knees from the table till his chair reared upon its + hind legs, and shoved his hat up from his forehead in token of + philosophical mood. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you, Jackson,” he said, “you'd ought to get hold o' some them + occult devils out there, and squeeze their science out of 'em. Any + Buddhists in Egypt, Mr. Westover?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think there are,” said Westover. “Unless Jackson should come + across some wandering Hindu. Or he might push on, and come home by the way + of India.” + </p> + <p> + “Do it, Jackson!” his friend conjured him. “May cost you something more, + but it 'll be worth the money. If it's true, what some them Blavetsky + fellers claim, you can visit us here in your astral body—git in with + 'em the right way. I should like to have you try it. What's the reason + India wouldn't be as good for him as Egypt, anyway?” Whitwell demanded of + Westover. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose the climate's rather too moist; the heat would be rather trying + to him there.” + </p> + <p> + “That so?” + </p> + <p> + “And he's taken his ticket for Alexandria,” Westover pursued. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I guess that's so.” Whitwell tilted his backward sloping hat to one + side, so as to scratch the northeast corner of his bead thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “But as far as that is concerned,” said Westover, “and the doctrine of + immortality generally is concerned, Jackson will have his hands full if he + studies the Egyptian monuments.” + </p> + <p> + “What they got to do with it?” + </p> + <p> + “Everything. Egypt is the home of the belief in a future life; it was + carried from Egypt to Greece. He might come home by way of Athens.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, man!” cried Whitwell. “Do you mean to say that them old Hebrew + saints, Joseph's brethren, that went down into Egypt after corn, didn't + know about immortality, and them Egyptian devils did?” + </p> + <p> + “There's very little proof in the Old Testament that the Israelites knew + of it.” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell looked at Jackson. “That the idee you got?” + </p> + <p> + “I guess he's right,” said Jackson. “There's something a little about it + in Job, and something in the Psalms: but not a great deal.” + </p> + <p> + “And we got it from them Egyptian d——” + </p> + <p> + “I don't say that,” Westover interposed. “But they had it before we had. + As we imagine it, we got it though Christianity.” + </p> + <p> + Jombateeste, who had taken his pipe out of his mouth in a controversial + manner, put it back again. + </p> + <p> + Westover added, “But there's no question but the Egyptians believed in the + life hereafter, and in future rewards and punishments for the deeds done + in the body, thousands of years before our era.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm dumned,” said Whitwell. + </p> + <p> + Jombateeste took his pipe out again. “Hit show they got good sense. They + know—they feel it in their bone—what goin' 'appen—when + you dead. Me, I guess they got some prophet find it hout for them; then + they goin' take the credit.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess that's something so, Jombateeste,” said Whitwell. “It don't stand + to reason that folks without any alphabet, as you may say, and only a lot + of pictures for words, like Injuns, could figure out the immortality of + the soul. They got the idee by inspiration somehow. Why, here! It's like + this. Them Pharaohs must have always been clawin' out for the Hebrews + before they got a hold of Joseph, and when they found out the true + doctrine, they hushed up where they got it, and their priests went on + teachin' it as if it was their own.” + </p> + <p> + “That's w'at I say. Got it from the 'Ebrew.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it don't matter a great deal where they got it, so they got it,” + said Jackson, as he rose. + </p> + <p> + “I believe I'll go with you,” said Westover. + </p> + <p> + “All there is about it,” said the sick man, solemnly, with a frail effort + to straighten himself, to which his sunken chest would not respond, “is + this: no man ever did figure that out for himself. A man sees folks die, + and as far as his senses go, they don't live again. But somehow he knows + they do; and his knowledge comes from somewhere else; it's inspired—” + </p> + <p> + “That's w'at I say,” Jombateeste hastened to interpose. “Got it from the + 'Ebrew. Feel it in 'is bone.” + </p> + <p> + Out under the stars Jackson and Westover silently mounted the hill-side + together. At one of the thank-you-marms in the road the sick man stopped, + like a weary horse, to breathe. He took off his hat and wiped the sweat of + weakness that had gathered upon his forehead, and looked round the sky, + powdered with the constellations and the planets. “It's sightly,” he + whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is fine,” Westover assented. “But the stars of our Northern + nights are nothing to what you'll see in Egypt.” + </p> + <p> + Jackson repeated, vaguely: “Egypt! Where I should like to go is Mars.” He + fixed his eyes on the flaming planets, in a long stare. “But I suppose + they have their own troubles, same as we do. They must get sick and die, + like the rest of us. But I should like to know more about 'em. You believe + it's inhabited, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + Westover's agnosticism did not, somehow, extend to Mars. “Yes, I've no + doubt of it.” + </p> + <p> + Jackson seemed pleased. “I've read everything I can lay my hands on about + it. I've got a notion that if there's any choosin', after we get through + here, I should like to go to Mars for a while, or as long as I was a + little homesick still, and wanted to keep as near the earth as I could,” + he added, quaintly. + </p> + <p> + Westover laughed. “You could study up the subject of irrigation, there; + they say that's what keeps the parallel markings green on Mars; and + telegraph a few hints to your brother in Colorado, after the Martians + perfect their signal code.” + </p> + <p> + Perhaps the invalid's fancy flagged. He drew a long, ragged breath. “I + don't know as I care to leave home, much. If it wa'n't a kind of duty, I + shouldn't.” He seemed impelled by a sudden need to say, “How do you think + Jefferson and mother will make it out together?” + </p> + <p> + “I've no doubt they'll manage,” said Westover. + </p> + <p> + “They're a good deal alike,” Jackson suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Westover preferred not to meet his overture. You'll be back, you know, + almost as soon as the season commences, next summer.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Jackson assented, more cheerfully. “And now, Cynthy's sure to be + here.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she will be here,” said Westover, not so cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + Jackson seemed to find the opening he was seeking, in Westover's tone. + “What do you think of gettin' married, anyway, Mr. Westover?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “We haven't either of us thought so well of it as to try it, Jackson,” + said the painter, jocosely. + </p> + <p> + “Think it's a kind of chance?” + </p> + <p> + “It's a chance.” + </p> + <p> + Jackson was silent. Then, “I a'n't one of them,” he said, abruptly, “that + think a man's goin' to be made over by marryin' this woman or that. If he + a'n't goin' to be the right kind of a man himself, he a'n't because his + wife's a good woman. Sometimes I think that a man's wife is the last + person in the world that can change his disposition. She can influence him + about this and about that, but she can't change him. It seems as if he + couldn't let her if he tried, and after the first start-off he don't try.” + </p> + <p> + “That's true,” Westover assented. “We're terribly inflexible. Nothing but + something like a change of heart, as they used to call it, can make us + different, and even then we're apt to go back to our old shape. When you + look at it in that light, marriage seems impossible. Yet it takes place + every day!” + </p> + <p> + “It's a great risk for a woman,” said Jackson, putting on his hat and + stirring for an onward movement. “But I presume that if the man is honest + with her it's the best thing she can have. The great trouble is for the + man to be honest with her.” + </p> + <p> + “Honesty is difficult,” said Westover. + </p> + <p> + He made Jackson promise to spend a day with him in Boston, on his way to + take the Mediterranean steamer at New York. When they met he yielded to an + impulse which the invalid's forlornness inspired, and went on to see him + off. He was glad that he did that, for, though Jackson was not sad at + parting, he was visibly touched by Westover's kindness. + </p> + <p> + Of course he talked away from it. “I guess I've left 'em in pretty good + shape for the winter at Lion's Head,” he said. “I've got Whitwell to agree + to come up and live in the house with mother, and she'll have Cynthy with + her, anyway; and Frank and Jombateeste can look after the bosses easy + enough.” + </p> + <p> + He had said something like this before, but Westover could see that it + comforted him to repeat it, and he encouraged him to do so in full. He + made him talk about getting home in the spring, after the frost was out of + the ground, but he questioned involuntarily, while the sick man spoke, + whether he might not then be lying under the sands that had never known a + frost since the glacial epoch. When the last warning for visitors to go + ashore came, Jackson said, with a wan smile, while he held Westover's + hand: “I sha'n't forget this very soon.” + </p> + <p> + “Write to me,” said Westover. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_PART2" id="link2H_PART2"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part II. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVII. + </h2> + <p> + Jackson kept his promise to write to Westover, but he was better than his + word to his mother, and wrote to her every week that winter. + </p> + <p> + “I seem just to live from letter to letter. It's ridic'lous,” she said to + Cynthia once when the girl brought the mail in from the barn, where the + men folks kept it till they had put away their horses after driving over + from Lovewell with it. The trains on the branch road were taken off in the + winter, and the post-office at the hotel was discontinued. The men had to + go to the town by cutter, over a highway that the winds sifted half full + of snow after it had been broken out by the ox-teams in the morning. But + Mrs. Durgin had studied the steamer days and calculated the time it would + take letters to come from New York to Lovewell; and, unless a blizzard was + raging, some one had to go for the mail when the day came. It was usually + Jombateeste, who reverted in winter to the type of habitant from which he + had sprung. He wore a blue woollen cap, like a large sock, pulled over his + ears and close to his eyes, and below it his clean-shaven brown face + showed. He had blue woollen mittens, and boots of russet leather, without + heels, came to his knees; he got a pair every time he went home on St. + John's day. His lean little body was swathed in several short jackets, and + he brought the letters buttoned into one of the innermost pockets. He + produced the letter from Jackson promptly enough when Cynthia came out to + the barn for it, and then he made a show of getting his horse out of the + cutter shafts, and shouting international reproaches at it, till she was + forced to ask, “Haven't you got something for me, Jombateeste?” + </p> + <p> + “You expec' some letter?” he said, unbuckling a strap and shouting louder. + </p> + <p> + “You know whether I do. Give it to me.” + </p> + <p> + “I don' know. I think I drop something on the road. I saw something white; + maybe snow; good deal of snow.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't plague! Give it here!” + </p> + <p> + “Wait I finish unhitch. I can't find any letter till I get some time to + look.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, now, Jombateeste! Give me my letter!” + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> <img src="images/{0229}.jpg" alt="{0229}" width="100%" /><br /> </div> <h5> <a href="images/{0229}.jpg"> <img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> </h5> + + <p> + “W'at you want letter for? Always same thing. Well! 'Old the 'oss; I goin' + to feel.” + </p> + <p> + Jombateeste felt in one pocket after another, while Cynthia clung to the + colt's bridle, and he was uncertain till the last whether he had any + letter for her. When it appeared she made a flying snatch at it and ran; + and the comedy was over, to be repeated in some form the next week. + </p> + <p> + The girl somehow always possessed herself of what was in her letters + before she reached the room where Mrs. Durgin was waiting for hers. She + had to read that aloud to Jackson's mother, and in the evening she had to + read it again to Mrs. Durgin and Whitwell and Jombateeste and Frank, after + they had done their chores, and they had gathered in the old farm-house + parlor, around the air-tight sheet-iron stove, in a heat of eighty + degrees. Whitwell listened, with planchette ready on the table before him, + and he consulted it for telepathic impressions of Jackson's actual mental + state when the reading was over. + </p> + <p> + He got very little out of the perverse instrument. “I can't seem to work + her. If Jackson was here—” + </p> + <p> + “We shouldn't need to ask planchette about him,” Cynthia once suggested, + with the spare sense of humor that sometimes revealed itself in her. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I guess that's something so,” her father candidly admitted. But the + next time he consulted the helpless planchette as hopefully as before. + “You can't tell, you can't tell,” he urged. + </p> + <p> + “The trouble seems to be that planchette can't tell,” said Mrs. Durgin, + and they all laughed. They were not people who laughed a great deal, and + they were each intent upon some point in the future that kept them from + pleasure in the present. The little Canuck was the only one who suffered + himself a contemporaneous consolation. His early faith had so far lapsed + from him that he could hospitably entertain the wild psychical conjectures + of Whitwell without an accusing sense of heresy, and he found the winter + of northern New England so mild after that of Lower Canada that he + experienced a high degree of animal comfort in it, and looked forward to + nothing better. To be well fed, well housed, and well heated; to smoke + successive pipes while the others talked, and to catch through his + smoke-wreaths vague glimpses of their meanings, was enough. He felt that + in being promoted to the care of the stables in Jackson's absence he + occupied a dignified and responsible position, with a confidential + relation to the exile which justified him in sending special messages to + him, and attaching peculiar value to Jackson's remembrances. + </p> + <p> + The exile's letters said very little about his health, which in the sense + of no news his mother held to be good news, but they were full concerning + the monuments and the ethnological interest of life in Egypt. + </p> + <p> + They were largely rescripts of each day's observations and experiences, + close and full, as his mother liked them in regard to fact, and generously + philosophized on the side of politics and religion for Whitwell. The + Eastern question became in the snow-choked hills of New England the + engrossing concern of this speculative mind, and he was apt to spring it + upon Mrs. Durgin and Cynthia at mealtimes and other defenceless moments. + He tried to debate it with Jombateeste, who conceived of it as a form of + spiritualistic inquiry, and answered from the hay-loft, where he was + throwing down fodder for the cattle to Whitwell, volubly receiving it on + the barn floor below, that he believed, him, everybody got a hastral body, + English same as Mormons. + </p> + <p> + “Guess you mean Moslems,” said Whitwell, and Jombateeste asked the + difference, defiantly. + </p> + <p> + The letters which came to Cynthia could not be made as much a general + interest, and, in fact, no one else cared so much for them as for + Jackson's letters, not even Jeff's mother. After Cynthia got one of them, + she would ask, perfunctorily, what Jeff said, but when she was told there + was no news she did not press her question. + </p> + <p> + “If Jackson don't get back in time next summer,” Mrs. Durgin said, in one + of the talks she had with the girl, “I guess I shall have to let Jeff and + you run the house alone.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess we shall want a little help from you,” said Cynthia, demurely. + She did not refuse the implication of Mrs. Durgin's words, but she would + not assume that there was more in them than they expressed. + </p> + <p> + When Jeff came home for the three days' vacation at Thanksgiving, he + wished again to relinquish his last year at Harvard, and Cynthia had to + summon all her forces to keep him to his promise of staying. He brought + home the books with which he was working off his conditions, with a + half-hearted intention of study, and she took hold with him, and together + they fought forward over the ground he had to gain. His mother was almost + willing at last that he should give up his last year in college. + </p> + <p> + “What is the use?” she asked. “He's give up the law, and he might as well + commence here first as last, if he's goin' to.” + </p> + <p> + The girl had no reason to urge against this; she could only urge her + feeling that he ought to go back and take his degree with the rest of his + class. + </p> + <p> + “If you're going to keep Lion's Head the way you pretend you are,” she + said to him, as she could not say to his mother, “you want to keep all + your Harvard friends, don't you, and have them remember you? Go back, + Jeff, and don't you come here again till after you've got your degree. + Never mind the Christmas vacation, nor the Easter. Stay in Cambridge and + work off your conditions. You can do it, if you try. Oh, don't you suppose + I should like to have you here?” she reproached him. + </p> + <p> + He went back, with a kind of grudge in his heart, which he confessed in + his first letter home to her, when he told her that she was right and he + was wrong. He was sure now, with the impulse which their work on them in + common had given him, that he should get his conditions off, and he wanted + her and his mother to begin preparing their minds to come to his Class + Day. He planned how they could both be away from the hotel for that day. + The house was to be opened on the 20th of June, but it was not likely that + there would be so many people at once that they could not give the 21st to + Class Day; Frank and his father could run Lion's Head somehow, or, if they + could not, then the opening could be postponed till the 24th. At all + events, they must not fail to come. Cynthia showed the whole letter to his + mother, who refused to think of such a thing, and then asked, as if the + fact had not been fully set before her: “When is it to be?” + </p> + <p> + “The 21st of June.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he's early enough with his invitation,” she grumbled. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he is,” said Cynthia; and she laughed for shame and pleasure as she + confessed, “I was thinking he was rather late.” + </p> + <p> + She hung her head and turned her face away. But Mrs. Durgin understood. + “You be'n expectin' it all along, then.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess so.” + </p> + <p> + “I presume,” said the elder woman, “that he's talked to you about it. He + never tells me much. I don't see why you should want to go. What's it + like?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know. But it's the day the graduating class have to + themselves, and all their friends come.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't know why anybody should want to go,” said Mrs. Durgin. “I + sha'n't. Tell him he won't want to own me when he sees me. What am I goin' + to wear, I should like to know? What you goin' to wear, Cynthy?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVIII. + </h2> + <p> + Jeff's place at Harvard had been too long fixed among the jays to allow + the hope of wholly retrieving his condition now. It was too late for him + to be chosen in any of the nicer clubs or societies, but he was not beyond + the mounting sentiment of comradery, which begins to tell in the last year + among college men, and which had its due effect with his class. One of the + men, who had always had a foible for humanity, took advantage of the + prevailing mood in another man, and wrought upon him to ask, among the + fellows he was asking to a tea at his rooms, several fellows who were + distinctly and almost typically jay. The tea was for the aunt of the man + who gave it, a very pretty woman from New York, and it was so richly + qualified by young people of fashion from Boston that the infusion of the + jay flavor could not spoil it, if it would not rather add an agreeable + piquancy. This college mood coincided that year with a benevolent emotion + in the larger world, from which fashion was not exempt. Society had just + been stirred by the reading of a certain book, which had then a very great + vogue, and several people had been down among the wretched at the North + End doing good in a conscience-stricken effort to avert the millennium + which the book in question seemed to threaten. The lady who matronized the + tea was said to have done more good than you could imagine at the North + End, and she caught at the chance to meet the college jays in a spirit of + Christian charity. When the man who was going to give the tea rather + sheepishly confessed what the altruistic man had got him in for, she + praised him so much that he went away feeling like the hero of a holy + cause. She promised the assistance and sympathy of several brave girls, + who would not be afraid of all the jays in college. + </p> + <p> + After all, only one of the jays came. Not many, in fact, had been asked, + and when Jeff Durgin actually appeared, it was not known that he was both + the first and the last of his kind. The lady who was matronizing the tea + recognized him, with a throe of her quickened conscience, as the young + fellow whom she had met two winters before at the studio tea which Mr. + Westover had given to those queer Florentine friends of his, and whom she + had never thought of since, though she had then promised herself to do + something for him. She had then even given him some vague hints of a + prospective hospitality, and she confessed her sin of omission in a swift + but graphic retrospect to one of her brave girls, while Jeff stood + blocking out a space for his stalwart bulk amid the alien elegance just + within the doorway, and the host was making his way toward him, with an + outstretched hand of hardy welcome. + </p> + <p> + At an earlier period of his neglect and exclusion, Jeff would not have + responded to the belated overture which had now been made him, for no + reason that he could divine. But he had nothing to lose by accepting the + invitation, and he had promised the altruistic man, whom he rather liked; + he did not dislike the giver of the tea so much as some other men, and so + he came. + </p> + <p> + The brave girl whom the matron was preparing to devote to him stood + shrinking with a trepidation which she could not conceal at sight of his + strange massiveness, with his rust-gold hair coming down toward his thick + yellow brows and mocking blue eyes in a dense bang, and his jaw squaring + itself under the rather insolent smile of his full mouth. The matron felt + that her victim teas perhaps going to fail her, when a voice at her ear + said, as if the question were extorted, “Who in the world is that?” + </p> + <p> + She instantly turned, and flashed out in a few inspired syllables the fact + she had just imparted to her treacherous heroine. “Do let me introduce + him, Miss Lynde. I must do something for him, when he gets up to me, if he + ever does.” + </p> + <p> + “By all means,” said the girl, who had an impulse to laugh at the rude + force of Jeff's face and figure, so disproportioned to the occasion, and + she vented it at the matron's tribulation. The matron was shaking hands + with people right and left, and exchanging inaudible banalities with them. + She did not know what the girl said in answer, but she was aware that she + remained near her. She had professed her joy at seeing Jeff again, when he + reached her, and she turned with him and said, “Let me present you to Miss + Lynde, Mr. Durgin,” and so abandoned them to each other. + </p> + <p> + As Jeff had none of the anxiety for social success which he would have + felt at an earlier period, he now left it to Miss Lynde to begin the talk, + or not, as she chose. He bore himself with so much indifference that she + was piqued to an effort to hold his eyes, that wandered from her to this + face and that in the crowd. + </p> + <p> + “Do you find many people you know, Mr. Durgin?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't find any.” + </p> + <p> + “I supposed you didn't from the way you looked at them.” + </p> + <p> + “How did I look at them?” + </p> + <p> + “As if you wanted to eat them, and one never wants to eat one's friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know. They wouldn't agree with one.” + </p> + <p> + Jeff laughed, and he now took fuller note of the slender girl who stood + before him, and swayed a little backward, in a graceful curve. He saw that + she had a dull, thick complexion, with liquid eyes, set wide apart and + slanted upward slightly, and a nose that was deflected inward from the + straight line; but her mouth was beautiful and vividly red like a crimson + blossom. + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't you find me some place to sit down, Mr. Durgin?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + He had it on his tongue to say, “Well, not unless you want to sit down on + some enemy,” but he did not venture this: when it comes to daring of that + sort, the boldest man is commonly a little behind a timid woman. + </p> + <p> + Several of the fellows had clubbed their rooms, and lent them to the man + who was giving the tea; he used one of the apartments for a cloak-room, + and he meant the other for the social overflow from his own. But people + always prefer to remain dammed-up together in the room where they are + received, and Miss Lynde looked between the neighboring heads, and over + the neighboring shoulders, and saw the borrowed apartment quite empty. At + the moment of this discovery the host came fighting his way up to make + sure that Jeff had been provided for in the way of introductions. He + promptly introduced him to Miss Lynde. She said: “Oh, that's been done! + Can't you think of something new?” Jeff liked the style of this. “I don't + mind it, but I'm afraid Mr. Durgin must find it monotonous.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, do something original yourself, then, Miss Lynde!” said the + host. “Start a movement for that room across the passage; that's mine, + too, for the occasion; and save some of these people's lives. It's + suffocating in here.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't mind saving Mr. Durgin's,” said the girl, “if he wants it saved.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know he's just dying to have you save it,” said the host, and he + left them, to inspire other people to follow their example. But such as + glanced across the passage into the overflow room seemed to think it now + the possession solely of the pioneers of the movement. At any rate, they + made no show of joining them; and after Miss Lynde and Jeff had looked at + the pictures on the walls and the photographs on the mantel of the room + where they found themselves, they sat down on chairs fronting the open + door and the door of the room they had left. The window-seat would have + been more to Jeff's mind, and he had proposed it, but the girl seemed not + to have heard him; she took the deep easy-chair in full view of the + company opposite, and left him to pull up a chair beside her. + </p> + <p> + “I always like to see the pictures in a man's room,” she said, with a + little sigh of relief from their inspection and a partial yielding of her + figure to the luxury of the chair. “Then I know what the man is. This man—I + don't know whose room it is—seems to have spent a good deal of his + time at the theatre.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't that where most of them spend their time?” asked Jeff. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure I don't know. Is that where you spend yours?” + </p> + <p> + “It used to be. I'm not spending my time anywhere just now.” She looked + questioningly, and he added, “I haven't got any to spend.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, indeed! Is that a reason? Why don't you spend somebody else's?” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody has any, that I know.” + </p> + <p> + “You're all working off conditions, you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “That's what I'm doing, or trying to.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it's never certain whether you can do it, after all?” + </p> + <p> + “Not so certain as to be free from excitement,” said Jeff, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “And are you consumed with the melancholy that seems to be balling up all + the men at the prospect of having to leave Harvard and go out into the + hard, cold world?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't look it, do I? Jeff asked: + </p> + <p> + “No, you don't. And you don't feel it? You're not trying concealment, and + so forth?” + </p> + <p> + “No; if I'd had my own way, I'd have left Harvard before this.” He could + see that his bold assumption of difference, or indifference, told upon + her. “I couldn't get out into the hard, cold world too soon.” + </p> + <p> + “How fearless! Most of them don't know what they're going to do in it.” + </p> + <p> + “I do.” + </p> + <p> + “And what are you going to do? Or perhaps you think that's asking!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no. I'm going to keep a hotel.” + </p> + <p> + He had hoped to startle her, but she asked, rather quietly, “What do you + mean?” and she added, as if to punish him for trying to mystify her: “I've + heard that it requires gifts for that. Isn't there some proverb?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But I'm going to try to do it on experience.” He laughed, and he did + not mind her trying to hit him, for he saw that he had made her curious. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that you have kept a hotel?” + </p> + <p> + “For three generations,” he returned, with a gravity that mocked her from + his bold eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure I don't know what you mean,” she said, indifferently. “Where is + your hotel? In Boston—New York—Chicago?” + </p> + <p> + “It's in the country—it's a summer hotel,” he said, as before. + </p> + <p> + She looked away from him toward the other room. “There's my brother. I + didn't know he was coming.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall I go and tell him where you are?” Jeff asked, following the + direction of her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “No, no; he can find me,” said the girl, sinking back in her chair again. + He left her to resume the talk where she chose, and she said: “If it's + something ancestral, of course—” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know as it's that, exactly. My grandfather used to keep a country + tavern, and so it's in the blood, but the hotel I mean is something that + we've worked up into from a farm boarding-house.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't talk like a country person,” the girl broke in, abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Not in Cambridge. I do in the country.” + </p> + <p> + “And so,” she prompted, “you're going to turn it into a hotel when you've + got out of Harvard.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a hotel already, and a pretty big one; but I'm going to make the + right kind of hotel of it when I take hold of it.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is the right kind of a hotel?” + </p> + <p> + “That's a long story. It would make you tired.” + </p> + <p> + “It might, but we've got to spend the time somehow. You could begin, and + then if I couldn't stand it you could stop.” + </p> + <p> + “It's easier to stop first and begin some other time. I guess I'll let you + imagine my hotel, Miss Lynde.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I understand now,” said the girl. “The table will be the great thing. + You will stuff people.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that I'm trying to stuff you?” + </p> + <p> + “How do I know? You never can tell what men really mean.” + </p> + <p> + Jeff laughed with mounting pleasure in her audacity, that imparted a sense + of tolerance for him such as he had experienced very seldom from the + Boston girls he had met; after all, he had met but few. It flattered him + to have her doubt what he had told her in his reckless indifference; it + implied that he was fit for better things than hotel-keeping. + </p> + <p> + “You never can tell how much a woman believes,” he retorted. + </p> + <p> + “And you keep trying to find out?” + </p> + <p> + “No, but I think that they might believe the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “You'd better try them with it!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I will. Do you really want to know what I'm going to do when I get + through?” + </p> + <p> + “Let me see!” Miss Lynde leaned forward, with her elbow on her knee and + her chin in her hand, and softly kicked the edge of her skirt with the toe + of her shoe, as if in deep thought. Jeff waited for her to play her comedy + through. “Yes,” she said, “I think I did wish to know—at one time.” + </p> + <p> + “But you don't now?” + </p> + <p> + “Now? How can I tell? It was a great while ago!” + </p> + <p> + “I see you don't.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Lynde did not make any reply. She asked, “Do you know my aunt, + Durgin?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know you had one.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, everybody has an aunt—even when they haven't a mother, if you + can believe the Gilbert operas. I ask because I happen to live with my + aunt, and if you knew her she might—ask you to call.” Miss Lynde + scanned Jeff's face for the effect of this. + </p> + <p> + He said, gravely: “If you'll introduce me to her, I'll ask her to let me.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you, really?” said the girl. “I've half a mind to try. I wonder if + you'd really have the courage.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think I'm easily rattled.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean that I'm trying to rattle you.” + </p> + <p> + “No—” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not. My aunt is just what I've said.” + </p> + <p> + “You haven't said what she was. Is she here?” + </p> + <p> + “No; that's the worst of it. If she were, I should introduce you, just to + see if you'd dare. Well, some other time I will.” + </p> + <p> + “You think there'll be some other time?” Jeff asked. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. There are all kinds of times. By-the-way, what time is it?” + </p> + <p> + Jeff looked at his watch. “Quarter after six.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I must go.” She jumped to her feet, and faced about for a glimpse of + herself in the little glass on the mantel, and put her hand on the large + pink roses massed at her waist. One heavy bud dropped from its stem to the + floor, where, while she stood, the edge of her skirt pulled and pushed it. + She moved a little aside to peer over at a photograph. Jeff stooped and + picked up the flower, which he offered her. + </p> + <p> + “You dropped it,” he said, bowing over it. + </p> + <p> + “Did I?” She looked at it with an effect of surprise and doubt. + </p> + <p> + “I thought so, but if you don't, I shall keep it.” + </p> + <p> + The girl removed her careless eyes from it. “When they break off so short, + they won't go back.” + </p> + <p> + “If I were a rose, I should want to go back,” said Jeff. + </p> + <p> + She stopped in one of her many aversions and reversions, and looked at him + steadily across her shoulder. “You won't have to keep a poet, Mr. Durgin.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. I always expected to write the circulars myself. I'll send you + one.” + </p> + <p> + “Do.” + </p> + <p> + “With this rose pressed between the leaves, so you'll know.” + </p> + <p> + “That would, be very pretty. But you must take me to Mrs. Bevidge, now, if + you can.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess I can,” said Jeff; and in a minute or two they stood before the + matronizing hostess, after a passage through the babbling and laughing + groups that looked as impossible after they had made it as it looked + before. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bevidge gave the girl's hand a pressure distinct from the official + touch of parting, and contrived to say, for her hearing alone: “Thank you + so much, Bessie. You've done missionary work.” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't call it that.” + </p> + <p> + “It will do for you to say so! He wasn't really so bad, then? Thank you + again, dear!” + </p> + <p> + Jeff had waited his turn. But now, after the girl had turned away, as if + she had forgotten him, his eyes followed her, and he did not know that + Mrs. Bevidge was speaking to him. Miss Lynde had slimly lost herself in + the mass, till she was only a graceful tilt of hat, before she turned with + a distraught air. When her eyes met Jeff's they lighted up with a look + that comes into the face when one remembers what one has been trying to + think of. She gave him a brilliant smile that seemed to illumine him from + head to foot, and before it was quenched he felt as if she had kissed her + hand to him from her rich mouth. + </p> + <p> + Then he heard Mrs. Bevidge asking something about a hall, and he was aware + of her bending upon him a look of the daring humanity that had carried her + triumphantly through her good works at the North End. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm not in the Yard,” said Jeff, with belated intelligence. + </p> + <p> + “Then will just Cambridge reach you?” + </p> + <p> + He gave his number and street, and she thanked him with the benevolence + that availed so much with the lower classes. He went away thrilling and + tingling, with that girl's tones in his ear, her motions in his nerves, + and the colors of her face filling his sight, which he printed on the air + whenever he turned, as one does with a vivid light after looking at it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIX + </h2> + <p> + When Jeff reached his room he felt the need of writing to Cynthia, with + whatever obscure intention of atonement. He told her of the college tea he + had just come from, and made fun of it, and the kind of people he had met, + especially the affected girl who had tried to rattle him; he said he + guessed she did not think she had rattled him a great deal. + </p> + <p> + While he wrote he kept thinking how this Miss Lynde was nearer his early + ideal of fashion, of high life, which Westover had pretty well snubbed out + of him, than any woman he had seen yet; she seemed a girl who would do + what she pleased, and would not be afraid if it did not please other + people. He liked her having tried to rattle him, and he smiled to himself + in recalling her failure. It was as if she had laid hold of him with her + little hands to shake him, and had shaken herself. He laughed out in the + dark when this image came into his mind; its intimacy flattered him; and + he believed that it was upon some hint from her that Mrs. Bevidge had + asked his address. She must be going to ask him to her house, and very + soon, for it was part of Jeff's meagre social experience that this was the + way swells did; they might never ask you twice, but they would ask you + promptly. + </p> + <p> + The thing that Mrs. Bevidge asked Jeff to, when her note reached him the + second day after the tea, was a meeting to interest young people in the + work at the North End, and Jeff swore under his breath at the + disappointment and indignity put upon him. He had reckoned upon an + afternoon tea, at least, or even, in the flights of fancy which he now + disowned to himself, a dance after the Mid-Years, or possibly an earlier + reception of some sort. He burned with shame to think of a theatre-party, + which he had fondly specialized, with a seat next Miss Lynde. + </p> + <p> + He tore Mrs. Bevidge's note to pieces, and decided not to answer it at + all, as the best way of showing how he had taken her invitation. But Mrs. + Bevidge's benevolence was not wanting in courage; she believed that Jeff + should pay his footing in society, such as it was, and should allow + himself to be made use of, the first thing; when she had no reply from + him, she wrote him again, asking him to an adjourned meeting of the first + convocation, which had been so successful in everything but numbers. This + time she baited her hook, in hoping that the young men would feel + something of the interest the young ladies had already shown in the + matter. She expressed the fear that Mr. Durgin had not got her earlier + letter, and she sent this second to the care of the man who had given the + tea. + </p> + <p> + Jeff's resentment was now so far past that he would have civilly declined + to go to the woman's house; but all his hopes of seeing that girl, as he + always called Miss Lynde in his thought, were revived by the mention of + the young ladies interested in the cause. He accepted, though all the way + into Boston he laid wagers with himself that she would not be there; and + up to the moment of taking her hand he refused himself any hope of + winning. + </p> + <p> + There was not much business before the meeting; that had really been all + transacted before; it was mainly to make sure of the young men, who were + present in the proportion of one to five young ladies at least. Mrs. + Bevidge explained that she had seen the wastefulness of amateur effort + among the poor, and announced that hereafter she was going to work with + the established charities. These were very much in want of visitors, + especially young men, to go about among the applicants for relief, and + inquire into their real necessities, and get work for them. She was hers + self going to act as secretary for the meetings during the coming month, + and apparently she wished to signalize her accession to the regular forces + of charity by bringing into camp as large a body of recruits as she could. + </p> + <p> + But Jeff had not come to be made use of, or as a jay who was willing to + work for his footing in society. He had come in the hope of meeting Miss + Lynde, and now that he had met her he had no gratitude to Mrs. Bevidge as + a means, and no regret for the defeat of her good purposes so far as she + intended their fulfilment in him. He was so cool and self-possessed in + excusing himself, for reasons that he took no pains to make seem + unselfish, that the altruistic man who had got him asked to the college + tea as a friendless jay felt it laid upon him to apologize for Mrs. + Bevidge's want of tact. + </p> + <p> + “She means well, and she's very much in earnest, in this work; but I must + say she can make herself very offensive—when she doesn't try! She + has a right to ask our help, but not to parade us as the captives of her + bow and spear.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's all right,” said Jeff. He perceived that the amiable fellow + was claiming for all an effect that Jeff knew really implicated himself + alone. “I couldn't load up with anything of that sort, if I'm to work off + my conditions, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you in that boat?” said the altruist, as if he were, too; and he put + his hand compassionately on Jeff's iron shoulder, and left him to Miss + Lynde, whose side he had not stirred from since he had found her. + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me,” she said, “that where there are so many of you in the + same boat, you might manage to get ashore somehow.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, or all go down together.” Jeff laughed, and ate Mrs. Bevidge's + bread-and-butter, and drank her tea, with a relish unaffected by his + refusal to do what she asked him. He was right, perhaps, and perhaps she + deserved nothing better at his hands, but the altruist, when he glanced at + him from the other side of the room, thought that he had possibly wasted + his excuses upon Jeff's self-complacence. + </p> + <p> + He went away in a halo of young ladies; several of the other girls grouped + themselves in their departure; and it happened that Miss Lynde and Jeff + took leave together. Mrs. Bevidge said to her, with the caressing + tenderness of one in the same set, “Good-bye, dear!” To Jeff she said, + with the cold conscience of those whom their nobility obliges, “I am + always at home on Thursdays, Mr. Durgin.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, thank you,” said Jeff. He understood what the words and the manner + meant together, but both were instantly indifferent to him when he got + outside and found that Miss Lynde was not driving. Something, which was + neither look, nor smile, nor word, of course, but nothing more at most + than a certain pull and tilt of the shoulder, as she turned to walk away + from Mrs. Bevidge's door, told him from her that he might walk home with + her if he would not seem to do so. + </p> + <p> + It was one of the pink evenings, dry and clear, that come in the Boston + December, and they walked down the sidehill street, under the delicate + tracery of the elm boughs in the face of the metallic sunset. In the + section of the Charles that the perspective of the street blocked out, the + wrinkled current showed as if glazed with the hard color. Jeff's strong + frame rejoiced in the cold with a hale pleasure when he looked round into + the face of the girl beside him, with the gray film of her veil pressed + softly against her red mouth by her swift advance. Their faces were nearly + on a level, as they looked into each other's eyes, and he kept seeing the + play of the veil's edge against her lips as they talked. + </p> + <p> + “Why sha'n't you go to Mrs. Bevidge's Thursdays?” she asked. “They're very + nice.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know I'm not going?” he retorted. + </p> + <p> + “By the way you thanked her.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you advise me to go?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't got anything to do with it. What do mean by that?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. Curiosity, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I do advise you to go,” said the girl. “Shall you be there next + Thursday?” + </p> + <p> + “I? I never go to Mrs. Bevidge's Thursdays!” + </p> + <p> + “Touche,” said Jeff, and they both laughed. “Can you always get in at an + enemy that way?” + </p> + <p> + “Enemy?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, friend. It's the same thing.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said the girl. “You belong to the pessimistic school of Seniors.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you try to make an optimist of me?” + </p> + <p> + “Would it be worth while?” + </p> + <p> + “That isn't for me to say.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be diffident! That's staler yet.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll be anything you like.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not sure you could.” For an instant Jeff did not feel the point, and + he had not the magnanimity, when he did, to own himself touched again. + Apparently, if this girl could not rattle him, she could beat him at + fence, and the will to dominate her began to stir in him. If he could have + thought of any sarcasm, no matter how crushing, he would have come back at + her with it. He could not think of anything, and he walked at her side, + inwardly chafing for the chance which would not come. + </p> + <p> + When they reached her door there was a young man at the lock with a + latch-key, which he was not making work, for, after a bated blasphemy of + his failure, he turned and twitched the bell impatiently. + </p> + <p> + Miss Lynde laughed provokingly, and he looked over his shoulder at her and + at Jeff, who felt his injury increased by the disadvantage this young man + put him at. Jeff was as correctly dressed; he wore a silk hat of the last + shape, and a long frock-coat; he was properly gloved and shod; his clothes + fitted him, and were from the best tailor; but at sight of this young man + in clothes of the same design he felt ill-dressed. He was in like sort + aware of being rudely blocked out physically, and coarsely colored as to + his blond tints of hair and eye and cheek. Even the sinister something in + the young man's look had distinction, and there was style in the signs of + dissipation in his handsome face which Jeff saw with a hunger to outdo + him. + </p> + <p> + Miss Lynde said to Jeff, “My brother, Mr. Durgin,” and then she added to + the other, “You ought to ring first, Arthur, and try your key afterward.” + </p> + <p> + “The key's all right,” said the young man, without paying any attention to + Jeff beyond a glance of recognition; he turned his back, and waited for + the door to be opened. + </p> + <p> + His sister suggested, with an amiability which Jeff felt was meant in + reparation to him, “Perhaps a night latch never works before dark—or + very well before midnight.” The door was opened, and she said to Jeff, + with winning entreaty, “Won't you come in, Mr. Durgin?” + </p> + <p> + Jeff excused himself, for he perceived that her politeness was not so much + an invitation to him as a defiance to her brother; he gave her credit for + no more than it was worth, and he did not wish any the less to get even + with her because of it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXX. + </h2> + <p> + At dinner, in the absence of the butler, Alan Lynde attacked his sister + across the table for letting herself be seen with a jay, who was not only + a jay, but a cad, and personally so offensive to most of the college men + that he had never got into a decent club or society; he had been suspended + the first year, and if he had not had the densest kind of cheek he would + never have come back. Lynde said he would like to know where she had + picked the fellow up. + </p> + <p> + She answered that she had picked him up, if that was the phrase he liked, + at Mrs. Bevidge's; and then Alan swore a little, so as not to be heard by + their aunt, who sat at the head of the table, and looked down its length + between them, serenely ignorant, in her slight deafness, of what was going + on between them. To her perception Alan was no more vehement than usual, + and Bessie no more smilingly self-contained. He said he supposed that it + was some more of Lancaster's damned missionary work, then, and he wondered + that a gentleman like Morland had ever let Lancaster work such a jay in on + him; he had seen her 'afficher' herself with the fellow at Morland's tea; + he commanded her to stop it; and he professed to speak for her good. + </p> + <p> + Bessie returned that she knew how strongly he felt from the way he had + misbehaved when she introduced him to Mr. Durgin, but that she supposed he + had been at the club and his nerves were unstrung. Was that the reason, + perhaps, why he could not make his latchkey work? Mr. Durgin might be a + cad, and she would not say he was not a jay, but so far he had not sworn + at her; and, if he had been suspended and come back, there were some + people who had not been suspended or come back, either, though that might + have been for want of cheek. + </p> + <p> + She ended by declaring she was used to going into society without her + brother's protection, or even his company, and she would do her best to + get on without his advice. Or was it his conduct he wished her to profit + by? + </p> + <p> + It had come to the fish going out by this time, and Alan, who had eaten + with no appetite, and drunken feverishly of apollinaris, flung down his + napkin and went out, too. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter?” asked his aunt, looking after him. + </p> + <p> + Bessie shrugged, but she said, presently, with her lips more than her + voice: “I don't think he feels very well.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think he—” + </p> + <p> + The girl frowned assent, and the meal went on to its end. Then she and her + aunt went into the large, dull library, where they passed the evenings + which Bessie did not spend in some social function. These evenings were + growing rather more frequent, with her advancing years, for she was now + nearly twenty-five, and there were few Seniors so old. She was not the + kind of girl to renew her youth with the Sophomores and Freshmen in the + classes succeeding the class with which she had danced through college; so + far as she had kept up the old relation with students, she continued it + with the men who had gone into the law-school. But she saw less and less + of these without seeing more of other men, and perhaps in the last + analysis she was not a favorite. She was allowed to be fascinating, but + she was not felt to be flattering, and people would rather be flattered + than fascinated. In fact, the men were mostly afraid of her; and it has + been observed of girls of this kind that the men who are not afraid of + them are such as they would do well to be afraid of. Whether that was + quite the case with Bessie Lynde or not, it was certain that she who was + always the cleverest girl in the room, and if not the prettiest, then the + most effective, had not the best men about her. Her men were apt to be + those whom the other girls called stupid or horrid, and whom it would not + be easy, though it might be more just, to classify otherwise. The other + girls wondered what she could see in them; but perhaps it was not + necessary that she should see anything in them, if they could see all she + wished them to see, and no more, in her. + </p> + <p> + The room where tea was now brought and put before her was volumed round by + the collections of her grandfather, except for the spaces filled by his + portrait and that of earlier ancestors, going back to the time when Copley + made masterpieces of his fellow-Bostonians. Her aunt herself looked a + family portrait of the middle period, a little anterior to her father's, + but subsequent to her great-grandfather's. She had a comely face, with + large, smooth cheeks and prominent eyes; the edges of her decorous brown + wig were combed rather near their corners, and a fitting cap palliated but + did not deny the wig. She had the quiet but rather dull look of people + slightly deaf, and she had perhaps been stupefied by a life of unalloyed + prosperity and propriety. She had grown an old maid naturally, but not + involuntarily, and she was without the sadness or the harshness of + disappointment. She had never known much of the world, though she had + always lived in it. She knew that it was made up of two kinds of people—people + who were like her and people who were not like her; and she had lived + solely in the society of people who were like her, and in the shelter of + their opinions and ideals. She did not contemn or exclude the people who + were unlike her, but she had never had any more contact with them than she + now had with the weather of the streets, as she sat, filling her large + arm-chair full of her ladylike correctness, in the library of the handsome + house her father had left her. The irruption of her brother's son and + daughter into its cloistered quiet had scarcely broken its invulnerable + order. It was right and fit they should be there after his death, and it + was not strange that in the course of time they should both show certain + unregulated tendencies which, since they were not known to be Lynde + tendencies, must have been derived from the Southwestern woman her brother + had married during his social and financial periclitations in a region + wholly inconceivable to her. Their mother was dead, too, and their aunt's + life closed about them with full acceptance, if not complacence, as part + of her world. They had grown to manhood and womanhood without materially + discomposing her faith in the old-fashioned Unitarian deity, whose service + she had always attended. + </p> + <p> + When Alan left college in his Freshman year, and did not go back, but went + rather to Europe and Egypt and Japan, it appeared to her myopic optimism + that his escapades had been pretty well hushed up by time and distance. + After he came home and devoted himself to his club, she could have wished + that he had taken up some profession or business; but since there was + money enough, she waited in no great disquiet until he showed as decided a + taste for something else as he seemed for the present to have only for + horses. In the mean while, from time to time, it came to her doctor's + advising his going to a certain retreat. But he came out the first time so + much better and remained well so long that his aunt felt a kind of + security in his going again and again, whenever he became at all worse. He + always came back better. As she took the cup of tea that Bessie poured out + for her, she recurred to the question that she had partly asked already: + </p> + <p> + “Do you think Alan is getting worse again?” + </p> + <p> + “Not so very much,” said the girl, candidly. “He's been at the club, I + suppose, but he left the table partly because I vexed him.” + </p> + <p> + “Because you what?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I vexed him. He was scolding me, and I wouldn't stand it.” + </p> + <p> + Her aunt tasted her tea, and found it so quite what she liked that she + said, from a natural satisfaction with Bessie, “I don't see what he had to + scold you about.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” returned Bessie, and she got her pretty voice to the level of her + aunt's hearing, with some straining, and kept it there, “when he is in + that state, he has to scold some one; and I had been rather annoying, I + suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “What had you been doing?” asked her aunt, making out her words more from + the sight than from the sound, after all. + </p> + <p> + “I had been walking home with a jay, and we found Alan trying to get in at + the front door with his key, and I introduced him to the jay.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Louisa Lynde had heard the word so often from her niece and nephew, + that she imagined herself in full possession of its meaning. She asked: + “Where had you met him?” + </p> + <p> + “I met him first,” said the girl, “at Willie Morland's tea, last week, and + to-day I found him at Mrs. Bevidge's altruistic toot.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know,” said her aunt, after a momentary attention to her tea, + “that jays were interested in that sort of thing.” + </p> + <p> + The girl laughed. “I believe they're not. It hasn't quite reached them, + yet; and I don't think it will ever reach my jay. Mrs. Bevidge tried to + work him into the cause, but he refused so promptly, and so-intelligently, + don't you know—and so almost brutally, that poor Freddy Lancaster + had to come and apologize to him for her want of tact.” Bessie enjoyed the + fact, which she had colored a little, in another laugh, but she had + apparently not possessed her aunt of the humor of it. She remained + seriously-attentive, and the girl went on: “He was not the least abashed + at having refused; he stayed till the last, and as we came out together + and he was going my way, I let him walk home with me. He's a jay, but he + isn't a common jay.” Bessie leaned forward and tried to implant some + notion of Jeff's character and personality in her aunt's mind. + </p> + <p> + Miss Lynde listened attentively enough, but she merely asked, when all was + said: “And why was Alan vexed with you about him?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the girl, falling back into her chair, “generally because + this man's a jay, and particularly because he's been rather a baddish jay, + I believe. He was suspended in his first year for something or other, and + you know poor Alan's very particular! But Molly Enderby says Freddy + Lancaster gives him the best of characters now.” Bessie pulled down her + mouth, with an effect befitting the notion of repentance and atonement. + Then she flashed out: “Perhaps he had been drinking when he got into + trouble. Alan could never forgive him for that.” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said her aunt, “it is to your brother's credit that he is + anxious about your associations.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very much!” shouted Bessie, with a burst of laughter. “And as he + isn't practically so, I ought to have been more patient with his theory. + But when he began to scold me I lost my temper, and I gave him a few + wholesome truths in the guise of taunts. That was what made him go away, I + suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “But I don't really see,” her aunt pursued,—“what occasion he had to + be angry with you in this instance.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I do!” said Bessie. “Mr. Durgin isn't one to inspire the casual + beholder with the notion of his spiritual distinction. His face is so rude + and strong, and he has such a primitive effect in his clothes, that you + feel as if you were coming down the street with a prehistoric man that the + barbers and tailors had put a 'fin de siecle' surface on.” At the + mystification which appeared in her aunt's face the girl laughed again. “I + should have been quite as anxious, if I had been in Alan's place, and I + shall tell him so, sometime. If I had not been so interested in the + situation I don't believe I could have kept my courage. Whenever I looked + round, and found that prehistoric man at my elbow, it gave me the creeps, + a little, as if he were really carrying me off to his cave. I shall try to + express that to Alan.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXI. + </h2> + <p> + The ladies finished their tea, and the butler came and took the cups away. + Miss Lynde remained silent in her chair at her end of the library-table, + and by-and-by Bessie got a book and began to read. When her aunt woke up + it was half past nine. “Was that Alan coming in?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I don't think he's been out,” said the girl. “It isn't late enough for + him to come in—or early enough.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe I'll go to bed,” Miss Lynde returned. “I feel rather drowsy.” + </p> + <p> + Bessie did not smile at a comedy which was apt to be repeated every + evening that she and her aunt spent at home together; they parted for the + night with the decencies of family affection, and Bessie delivered the + elder lady over to her maid. Then the girl sank down again, and lay musing + in her deep chair before the fire with her book shut on her thumb. She + looked rather old and worn in her reverie; her face lost the air of gay + banter which, after the beauty of her queer eyes and her vivid mouth, was + its charm. The eyes were rather dull now, and the mouth was a little + withered. + </p> + <p> + She was waiting for her brother to come down, as he was apt to do if he + was in the house, after their aunt went to bed, to smoke a cigar in the + library. He was in his house shoes when he shuffled into the room, but her + ear had detected his presence before a hiccough announced it. She did not + look up, but let him make several failures to light his cigar, and damn + the matches under his breath, before she pushed the drop-light to him in + silent suggestion. As he leaned over her chair-back to reach its chimney + with his cigar in his mouth, she said, “You're all right, Alan.” + </p> + <p> + He waited till he got round to his aunt's easy-chair and dropped into it + before he answered, “So are you, Bess.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not so sure of that,” said the girl, “as I should be if you were + still scolding me. I knew that he was a jay, well enough, and I'd just + seen him behaving very like a cad to Mrs. Bevidge.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I don't understand how you came to be with him.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, you do, Alan. You mustn't be logical! You might as well say you + can't understand how you came to be more serious than sober.” The brother + laughed helplessly. “It was the excitement.” + </p> + <p> + “But you can't give way to that sort of thing, Bess,” said her brother, + with the gravity of a man feeling the consequences of his own errors. + </p> + <p> + “I know I can't, but I do,” she returned. “I know it's bad for me, if it + isn't for other people. Come! I'll swear off if you will!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm always ready, to swear off,” said the young man, gloomily. He added, + “But you've got brains, Bess, and I hate to see you playing the fool.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you really, Alan?” asked the girl, pleased perhaps as much by his + reproach as by his praise. “Do you think I've got brains?” + </p> + <p> + “You're the only girl that has.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I didn't mean to ask so much as that! But what's the reason I can't + do anything with them? Other girls draw, and play, and write. I don't do + anything but go in for the excitement that's bad for me. I wish you'd + explain it.” + </p> + <p> + Alan Lynde did not try. The question seemed to turn his thoughts back upon + himself to dispiriting effect. “I've got brains, too, I believe,” he + began. + </p> + <p> + “Lots of them!” cried his sister, generously. “There isn't any of the men + to compare with you. If I had you to talk with all the time, I shouldn't + want jays. I don't mean to flatter. You're a constant feast of reason; I + don't care for flows of soul. You always take right views of things when + you're yourself, and even when you're somebody else you're not stupid. You + could be anything you chose.” + </p> + <p> + “The devil of it is I can't choose,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I suppose that's the devil of it,” said the girl. + </p> + <p> + “You oughtn't to use such language as that, Bess,” said her brother, + severely. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't with everybody,” she returned. “Never with ladies!” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her out of the corner of his eye with a smile at once rueful + and comic. + </p> + <p> + “You got me, I guess, that time,” he owned. + </p> + <p> + “'Touche',' Mr. Durgin says. He fences, it seems, and he speaks French. It + was like an animal speaking French; you always expect them to speak + English. But I don't mind your swearing before me; I know that it helps to + carry off the electricity.” She laughed, and made him laugh with her. + </p> + <p> + “Is there anything to him?” he growled, when they stopped laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, a good deal,” said Bessie, with an air of thoughtfulness; and then + she went on to tell all that Jeff had told her of himself, and she + described his aplomb in dealing with the benevolent Bevidge, as she called + her, and sketched his character, as it seemed to her. The sketch was full + of shrewd guesses, and she made it amusing to her brother, who from the + vantage of his own baddishness no doubt judged the original more + intelligently. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you'd better let him alone, after this,” he said, at the end. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she pensively assented. “I suppose it's as if you took to some very + common kind of whiskey, isn't it? I see what you mean. If one must, it + ought to be champagne.” + </p> + <p> + She turned upon him a look of that keen but limited knowledge which + renders women's conjectures of evil always so amusing, or so pathetic, to + men. + </p> + <p> + “Better let the champagne alone, too,” said her brother, darkly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know that,” she admitted, and she lay back in her chair, looking + dreamily into the fire. After a while she asked, abruptly: “Will you give + it up if I will?” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid I couldn't.” + </p> + <p> + “You could try.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm used to that.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it's a bargain,” she said. She jumped from her chair and went over + to him, and smoothed his hair over his forehead and kissed the place she + had smoothed, though it was unpleasantly damp to her lips. “Poor boy, poor + boy! Now, remember! No more jays for me, and no more jags for you. + Goodnight.” + </p> + <p> + Her brother broke into a wild laugh at her slanging, which had such a + bizarre effect in relation to her physical delicacy. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXII. + </h2> + <p> + Jeff did not know whether Miss Bessie Lynde meant to go to Mrs. Bevidge's + Thursdays or not. He thought she might have been bantering him by what she + said, and he decided that he would risk going to the first of them on the + chance of meeting her. She was not there, and there was no one there whom + he knew. Mrs. Bevidge made no effort to enlarge his acquaintance, and + after he had drunk a cup of her tea he went away with rage against society + in his heart, which he promised himself to vent at the first chance of + refusing its favors. But the chance seemed not to come. The world which + had opened its gates to him was fast shut again, and he had to make what + he could of renouncing it. He worked pretty hard, and he renewed himself + in his fealty to Cynthia, while his mind strayed curiously to that other + girl. But he had almost abandoned the hope of meeting her again, when a + large party was given on the eve of the Harvard Mid-Year Examinations, + which end the younger gayeties of Boston, for a fortnight at least, in + January. The party was so large that the invitations overflowed the strict + bounds of society at some points. In the case of Jeff Durgin the excess + was intentional beyond the vague benevolence which prompted the giver of + the party to ask certain other outsiders. She was a lady of a soul several + sizes larger than the souls of some other society leaders; she was not + afraid to do as she liked; for instance, she had not only met the + Vostrands at Westover's tea, several years before, but she had afterward + offered some hospitalities to those ladies which had discharged her whole + duty toward them without involving her in any disadvantages. Jeff had been + presented to her at Westover's, but she disliked him so promptly and + decidedly that she had left him out of even the things that she asked some + other jays to, like lectures and parlor readings for good objects. It was + not until one of her daughters met him, first at Willie Morland's tea and + then at Mrs. Bevidge's meeting, that her social conscience concerned + itself with him. At the first her daughter had not spoken to him, as might + very well have happened, since Bessie Lynde had kept him away with her + nearly all the time; but at the last she had bowed pleasantly to him + across the room, and Jeff had responded with a stiff obeisance, whose + coldness she felt the more for having been somewhat softened herself in + Mrs. Bevidge's altruistic atmosphere. + </p> + <p> + “I think he was hurt, mamma,” the girl explained to her mother, “that + you've never had him to anything. I suppose they must feel it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, send him a card, then,” said her mother; and when Jeff got the + card, rather near the eleventh hour, he made haste to accept, not because + he cared to go to Mrs. Enderby's house, but because he hoped he should + meet Miss Lynde there. + </p> + <p> + Bessie was the first person he met after he turned from paying his duty to + the hostess. She was with her aunt, and she presented him, and promised + him a dance, which she let him write on her card. She sat out another + dance with him, and he took her to supper. + </p> + <p> + To Westover, who had gone with the increasing forlornness a man feels in + such pleasures after thirty-five, it seemed as if the two were in each + other's company the whole evening. The impression was so strong with him + that when Jeff restored Bessie to her aunt for the dance that was to be + for some one else, and came back to the supper-room, the painter tried to + satisfy a certain uneasiness by making talk with him. But Jeff would not + talk; he got away with a bottle of champagne, which he had captured, and a + plate heaped with croquettes and pease, and galantine and salad. There + were no ladies left in the room by that time, and few young men; but the + oldsters crowded the place, with their bald heads devoutly bowed over + their victual, or their frosty mustaches bathed in their drink, singly or + in groups; the noise of their talk and laughter mixed with the sound of + their eating and drinking, and the clash of the knives and dishes. Over + their stooped shoulders and past their rounded stomachs Westover saw Alan + Lynde vaguely making his way with a glass in his hand, and looking vaguely + about for wine; he saw Jeff catch his wandering eye, and make offer of his + bottle, and then saw Lynde, after a moment of haughty pause, unbend and + accept it. His thin face was flushed, and his hair tossed over his + forehead, but Jeff seemed not to take note of that. He laughed + boisterously at something Lynde said, and kept filling his glass for him. + His own color remained clear and cool. It was as if his powerful physique + absorbed the wine before it could reach his brain. + </p> + <p> + Westover wanted to interfere, and so far as Jeff was concerned he would + not have hesitated; but Lynde was concerned, too, and you cannot save such + a man from himself without offence. He made his way to the young man, + hoping he might somehow have the courage he wanted. + </p> + <p> + Jeff held up the bottle, and called to him, “Get yourself a glass, Mr. + Westover.” He put on the air of a host, and would hardly be denied. “Know + Mr. Westover, Mr. Lynde? Just talking about you,” he explained to + Westover. + </p> + <p> + Alan had to look twice at the painter. “Oh yes. Mr. Durgin, here—telling + me about his place in the mountains. Says you've been there. Going—going + myself in the summer. See his—horses.” He made pauses between his + words as some people do when they, try to keep from stammering. + </p> + <p> + Westover believed Lynde understood Jeff to be a country gentleman of + sporting tastes, and he would not let that pass. “Yes, it's the + pleasantest little hotel in the mountains.” + </p> + <p> + “Strictly-temperance, I suppose?” said Alan, trying to smile with lips + that obeyed him stiffly. He appeared not to care who or what Jeff was; the + champagne had washed away all difference between them. He went on to say + that he had heard of Jeff's intention of running the hotel himself when he + got out of Harvard. He held it to be damned good stuff. + </p> + <p> + Jeff laughed. “Your sister wouldn't believe me when I told her.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I didn't mention Miss Lynde,” said Alan, haughtily. + </p> + <p> + Jeff filled his glass; Alan looked at it, faltered, and then drank it off. + The talk began again between the young men, but it left Westover out, and + he had to go away. Whether Jeff was getting Lynde beyond himself from the + love of mischief, such as had prompted him to tease little children in his + boyhood, or was trying to ingratiate himself with the young fellow through + his weakness, or doing him harm out of mere thoughtlessness, Westover came + away very unhappy at what he had seen. His unhappiness connected itself so + distinctly with Lynde's family that he went and sat down beside Miss Lynde + from an obscure impulse of compassion, and tried to talk with her. It + would not have been so hard if she were merely deaf, for she had the skill + of deaf people in arranging the conversation so that a nodded yes or no + would be all that was needed to carry it forward. But to Westover she was + terribly dull, and he was gasping, as in an exhausted receiver, when + Bessie came up with a smile of radiant recognition for his extremity. She + got rid of her partner, and devoted herself at once to Westover. “How good + of you!” she said, without giving him the pain of an awkward disclaimer. + </p> + <p> + He could counter in equal sincerity and ambiguity, “How beautiful of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, “I am looking rather well, tonight; but don't you think + effective would have been a better word?” She smiled across her aunt at + him out of a cloud of pink, from which her thin shoulders and slender neck + emerged, and her arms, gloved to the top, fell into her lap; one of them + seemed to terminate naturally in the fan which sensitively shared the + inquiescence of her person. + </p> + <p> + “I will say effective, too, if you insist,” said Westover. “But at the + same time you're the most beautiful person here.” + </p> + <p> + “How lovely of you, even if you don't mean it,” she sighed. “If girls + could have more of those things said to them, they would be better, don't + you think? Or at least feel better.” + </p> + <p> + Westover laughed. “We might organize a society—they have them for + nearly everything now—for saying pleasant things to young ladies + with a view to the moral effect.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do I.” + </p> + <p> + “But it ought to be done conscientiously, and you couldn't go round + telling every one that she was the most beautiful girl in the room.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? She'd believe it!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but the effect on the members of the society?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes; that! But you could vary it so as to save your conscience. You + could say, 'How divinely you're looking!' or 'How angelic!' or 'You're the + very poetry of motion,' or 'You are grace itself,' or 'Your gown is a + perfect dream, or any little commonplace, and every one would take it for + praise of her personal appearance, and feel herself a great beauty, just + as I do now, though I know very well that I'm all out of drawing, and just + chicqued together.” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't allow any one but you to say that, Miss Bessie; and I only let + it pass because you say it so well.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; you're always so good! You wouldn't contradict me even when you + turned me out of your class.” + </p> + <p> + “Did I turn you out of my class?” + </p> + <p> + “Not just in so many words, but when I said I couldn't do anything in art, + you didn't insist that it was because I wouldn't, and of course then I had + to go. I've never forgiven you, Mr. Westover, never! Do keep on talking + very excitedly; there's a man coming up to us that I don't want to think I + see him, or he'll stop. There! He's veered off! Where were you, Mr. + Westover?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Miss Bessie,” said the painter; delighted at her drama, “there isn't + anything you couldn't do if you would.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean parlor entertainments; impersonations; impressions; that sort of + thing? I have thought of it. But it would be too easy. I want to try + something difficult.” + </p> + <p> + “For instance.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, being very, very good. I want something that would really tax my + powers. I should like to be an example. I tried it the other night just + before I went to sleep, and it was fine. I became an example to others. + But when I woke up—I went on in the old way. I want something hard, + don't you know; but I want it to be easy!” + </p> + <p> + She laughed, and Westover said: “I am glad you're not serious. No one + ought to be an example to others. To be exemplary is as dangerous as to be + complimentary. + </p> + <p> + “It certainly isn't so agreeable to the object,” said the girl. “But it's + fine for the subject as long as it lasts. How metaphysical we're getting! + The objective and the subjective. It's quite what I should expect of talk + at a Boston dance if I were a New-Yorker. Have you seen anything of my + brother, within the last hour or so, Mr. Westover?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I just left him in the supper-room. Shall I go get him for you?” + When he had said this, with the notion of rescuing him from Jeff, Westover + was sorry, for he doubted if Alan Lynde were any longer in the state to be + brought away from the supper-room, and he was glad to have Bessie say: + </p> + <p> + “No, no. He'll look us up in the course of the evening—or the + morning.” A young fellow came to claim her for a dance, and Westover had + not the face to leave Miss Lynde, all the less because she told him he + must not think of staying. He stayed till the dance was over, and Bessie + came back to him. + </p> + <p> + “What time is it, Mr. Westover? I see my aunt beginning to nod on her + perch.” + </p> + <p> + Westover looked at his watch. “It's ten minutes past two.” + </p> + <p> + “How early!” sighed the girl. “I'm tired of it, aren't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Very,” said Westover. “I was tired an hour ago.” + </p> + <p> + Bessie sank back in her chair with an air of nervous collapse, and did not + say anything. Westover saw her watching the young couples who passed in + and out of the room where the dancing was, or found corners on sofas, or + window-seats, or sheltered spaces beside the doors and the chimney-piece, + the girls panting and the men leaning forward to fan them. She looked very + tired of it; and when a young fellow came up and asked her to dance, she + told him that she was provisionally engaged. “Come back and get me, if you + can't do better,” she said, and he answered there was no use trying to do + better, and said he would wait till the other man turned up, or didn't, if + she would let him. He sat down beside her, and some young talk began + between them. + </p> + <p> + In the midst of it Jeff appeared. He looked at Westover first, and then + approached with an embarrassed face. + </p> + <p> + Bessie got vividly to her feet. “No apologies, Mr. Durgin, please! But in + just another moment you'd have last your dance.” + </p> + <p> + Westover saw what he believed a change pass in Jeff's look from + embarrassment to surprise and then to flattered intelligence. He beamed + all over; and he went away with Bessie toward the ballroom, and left + Westover to a wholly unsupported belief that she had not been engaged to + dance with Jeff. He wondered what her reckless meaning could be, but he + had always thought her a young lady singularly fitted by nature and art to + take care of herself, and when he reasoned upon what was in his mind he + had to own that there was no harm in Jeff's dancing with her. + </p> + <p> + He took leave of Miss Lynde, and was going to get his coat and hat for his + walk home when he was mysteriously stopped in a corner of the stairs by + one of the caterer's men whom he knew. It is so unnatural to be addressed + by a servant at all unless he asks you if you will have something to eat + or drink, that Westover was in a manner prepared to have him say something + startling. “It's about young Mr. Lynde, sor. We've got um in one of the + rooms up-stairs, but he ain't fit to go home alone, and I've been lookin' + for somebody that knows the family to help get um into a car'ge. He won't + go for anny of us, sor.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is he?” asked Westover, in anguish at being unable to refuse the + appeal, but loathing the office put upon him. + </p> + <p> + “I'll show you, sor,” said the caterer's man, and he sprang up the stairs + before Westover, with glad alacrity. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXIII. + </h2> + <p> + In a little room at the side of that where the men's hats and coats were + checked, Alan Lynde sat drooping forward in an arm-chair, with his head + fallen on his breast. He roused himself at the flash of the burner which + the man turned up. “What's all this?” he demanded, haughtily. “Where's the + carriage? What's the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Your carriage is waiting, Lynde,” said Westover. “I'll see you down to + it,” and he murmured, hopelessly, to the caterer's man: “Is there any back + way?” + </p> + <p> + “There's the wan we got um up by.” + </p> + <p> + “It will do,” said Westover, as simply. + </p> + <p> + But Lynde called out, defiantly: “Back way; I sha'n't go down back way. + Inshult to guest. I wish—say—good-night to—Mrs. Enderby. + Who you, anyway? Damn caterer's man?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm Westover, Lynde,” the painter began, but the young fellow broke in + upon him, shaking his hand and then taking his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Westover! All right! I'll go down back way with you. Thought—thought + it was damn caterer's man. No—offence.” + </p> + <p> + “No. It's all right.” Westover got his arm under Lynde's elbow, and, with + the man going before for them to fall upon jointly in case they should + stumble, he got him down the dark and twisting stairs and through the + basement hall, which was vaguely haunted by the dispossessed women + servants of the family, and so out upon the pavement of the moonlighted + streets. + </p> + <p> + “Call Miss Lynde's car'ge,” shouted the caterer's man to the barker, and + escaped back into the basement, leaving Westover to stay his helpless + charge on the sidewalk. + </p> + <p> + It seemed a publication of the wretch's shame when the barker began to + fill the night with hoarse cries of, “Miss Lynde's carriage; carriage for + Miss Lynde!” The cries were taken up by a coachman here and there in the + rank of vehicles whose varnished roofs shone in the moon up and down the + street. After a time that Westover of course felt to be longer than it + was, Miss Lynde's old coachman was roused from his sleep on the box and + started out of the rank. He took in the situation with the eye of custom, + when he saw Alan supported on the sidewalk by a stranger at the end of the + canopy covering the pavement. + </p> + <p> + He said, “Oh, ahl right, sor!” and when the two white-gloved policemen + from either side of it helped Westover into the carriage with Lynde, he + set off at a quick trot. The policemen clapped their hands together, and + smiled across the strip of carpet that separated them, and winks and nods + of intelligence passed among the barkers to the footmen about the curb and + steps. There were none of them sorry to see a gentleman in that state; + some of them had perhaps seen Alan in that state before. + </p> + <p> + Half-way home he roused himself and put his hand on the carriage-door + latch. “Tell the coachman drive us to—the—club. Make night of + it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said Westover, trying to restrain him. “We'd better go right on + to your house.” + </p> + <p> + “Who—who—who are you?” demanded Alan. + </p> + <p> + “Westover.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes—Westover. Thought we left Westover at Mrs. Enderby's. + Thought it was that jay—What's his name? Durgin. He's awful jay, but + civil to me, and I want be civil to him. You're not—jay? No? That's + right. Fellow made me sick; but I took his champagne; and I must show him + some—attention.” He released the door-handle, and fell back against + the cushioned carriage wall. “He's a blackguard!” he said, sourly. “Not—simple + jay-blackguard, too. No—no—business bring in my sister's name, + hey? You—you say it's—Westover? Oh yes, Westover. Old friend + of family. Tell you good joke, Westover—my sister's. No more jays + for me, no more jags for you. That's what she say—just between her + and me, you know; she's a lady, Bess is; knows when to use—slang. + Mark—mark of a lady know when to use slang. Pretty good—jays + and jags. Guess we didn't count this time—either of us.” + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> <img src="images/{0267}.jpg" alt="{0267}" width="100%" /><br /> </div> <h5> <a href="images/{0267}.jpg"> <img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> </h5> + + <p> + When the carriage pulled up before Miss Lynde's house, Westover opened the + door. “You're at home, now, Lynde. Come, let's get out.” + </p> + <p> + Lynde did not stir. He asked Westover again who he was, and when he had + made sure of him, he said, with dignity, Very well; now they must get the + other fellow. Westover entreated; he even reasoned; Lynde lay back in the + corner of the carriage, and seemed asleep. + </p> + <p> + Westover thought of pulling him up and getting him indoors by main force. + He appealed to the coachman to know if they could not do it together. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you see, I couldn't leave me harsses, sor,” said the coachman. + “What's he wants, sor?” He bent urbanely down from his box and listened to + the explanation that Westover made him, standing in the cold on the + curbstone, with one hand on the carriage door. “Then it's no use, sor,” + the man decided. “Whin he's that way, ahl hell couldn't stir um. Best go + back, sor, and try to find the gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + This was in the end what Westover had to do, feeling all the time that a + thing so frantically absurd could not be a waking act, but helpless to + escape from its performance. He thought of abandoning his charge and + leaving him, to his fate when he opened the carriage door before Mrs. + Enderby's house; but with the next thought he perceived that this was on + all accounts impossible. He went in, and began his quest for Jeff, sending + various serving men about with vague descriptions of him, and asking for + him of departing guests, mostly young men he did not know, but who, he + thought, might know Jeff. + </p> + <p> + He had to take off his overcoat at last, and reappear at the ball. The + crowd was still great, but visibly less dense than it had been. By a + sudden inspiration he made his way to the supper-room, and he found Jeff + there, filling a plate, as if he were about to carry it off somewhere. He + commanded Jeff's instant presence in the carriage outside; he told him of + Alan's desire for him. + </p> + <p> + Jeff leaned back against the wall with the plate in his hand and laughed + till it half slipped from his hold. When he could get his breath, he said: + “I'll be back in a few minutes; I've got to take this to Miss Bessie + Lynde. But I'll be right back.” + </p> + <p> + Westover hardly believed him. But when he got on his own things again, + Jeff joined him in his hat and overcoat, and they went out together. + </p> + <p> + It was another carriage that stopped the way now, and once more the barker + made the night ring with what Westover felt his heartless and shameless + cries for Miss Lynde's carriage. After a maddening delay, it lagged up to + the curb and Jeff pulled the door open. + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” he said. “There's nobody here!” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody there?” cried Westover, and they fell upon the coachman with wild + question and reproach; the policeman had to tell him at last that the + carriage must move on, to make way for others. + </p> + <p> + The coachman had no explanation to offer: he did not know how or when Mr. + Alan had got away. + </p> + <p> + “But you can give a guess where he's gone?” Jeff suggested, with a + presence of mind which Westover mutely admired. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sor, I know where he do be gahn, sometimes,” the man admitted. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that will do; take me there,” said Jeff. “You go in and account for + me to Miss Lynde,” he instructed Westover, across his shoulder. “I'll get + him home before morning, somehow; and I'll send the carriage right back + for the ladies, now.” + </p> + <p> + Westover had the forethought to decide that Miss Bessie should ask for + Jeff if she wanted him, and this simplified matters very much. She asked + nothing about him. At sight of Westover coming up to her where she sat + with her aunt, she merely said: “Why, Mr. Westover! I thought you took + leave of this scene of gayety long ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you?” Westover returned, provisionally, and she saved him from the + sin of framing some deceit in final answer by her next question. + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen anything of Alan lately?” she asked, in a voice + involuntarily lowered. + </p> + <p> + Westover replied in the same octave: “Yes; I saw him going a good while + ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said the girl. “Then I think my aunt and I had better go, too.” + </p> + <p> + Still she did not go, and there was an interval in which she had the air + of vaguely waiting. To Westover's vision, the young people still passing + to and from the ballroom were like the painted figures of a picture + quickened with sudden animation. There were scarcely any elders to be seen + now, except the chaperons, who sat in their places with iron fortitude; + Westover realized that he was the only man of his age left. He felt that + the lights ought to have grown dim, but the place was as brilliant as + ever. A window had been opened somewhere, and the cold breath of the night + was drawing through the heated rooms. + </p> + <p> + He was content to have Bessie stay on, though he was almost dropping with + sleep, for he was afraid that if she went at once, the carriage might not + have got back, and the whole affair must somehow be given away; at last, + if she were waiting, she decided to wait no longer, and then Westover did + not know how to keep her. He saw her rise and stoop over her aunt, putting + her mouth to the elder lady's ear, and he heard her saying, “I am going + home, Aunt Louisa.” She turned sweetly to him. “Won't you let us set you + down, Mr. Westover?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, thank you, I believe I prefer walking. But do let me have your + carriage called,” and again he hurried himself into his overcoat and hat, + and ran down-stairs, and the barker a third time sent forth his lamentable + cries in summons of Miss Lynde's carriage. + </p> + <p> + While he stood on the curb-stone eagerly peering up and down the street, + he heard, without being able either to enjoy or resent it, one of the + policemen say across him to the other, “Miss lynde seems to be doin' a + livery-stable business to-night.” + </p> + <p> + Almost at the moment a carriage drove up, and he recognized Miss Lynde's + coachman, who recognized him. + </p> + <p> + “Just got back, sor,” he whispered, and a minute later Bessie came + daintily out over the carpeted way with her aunt. + </p> + <p> + “How good of you!” she said, and “Good-night, Mr. Westover,” said Miss + Lynde, with an implication in her voice that virtue was peculiarly its own + reward for those who performed any good office for her or hers. + </p> + <p> + Westover shut them in, the carriage rolled off, and he started on his + homeward walk with a long sigh of relief. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXIV. + </h2> + <p> + Bessie asked the sleepy man who opened her aunt's door whether her brother + had come in yet, and found that he had not. She helped her aunt off + up-stairs with her maid, and when she came down again she sent the man to + bed; she told him she was going to sit up and she would let her brother + in. The caprices of Alan's latch-key were known to all the servants, and + the man understood what she, meant. He said he had left a light in the + reception-room and there was a fire there; and Bessie tripped on down from + the library floor, where she had met him. She had put off her ball dress + and had slipped into the simplest and easiest of breakfast frocks, which + was by no means plain. Bessie had no plain frocks for any hour of the day; + her frocks all expressed in stuff and style and color, and the bravery of + their flying laces and ribbons, the audacity of spirit with which she was + herself chicqued together, as she said. This one she had on now was + something that brightened her dull complexion, and brought out the best + effect of her eyes and mouth, and seemed the effluence of her personal + dash and grace. It made the most of her, and she liked it beyond all her + other negligees for its complaisance. + </p> + <p> + She got a book, and sat down in a long, low chair before the fire and + crossed her pretty slippers on the warm hearth. It was a quarter after + three by the clock on the mantel; but she had never felt more eagerly + awake. The party had not been altogether to her mind, up to midnight, but + after that it had been a series of rapid and vivid emotions, which + continued themselves still in the tumult of her nerves, and seemed to + demand an indefinite sequence of experience. She did not know what state + her brother might be in when he came home; she had not seen anything of + him after she first went out to supper; till then, though, he had kept + himself straight, as he needs must; but she could not tell what happened + to him afterward. She hoped that he would come home able to talk, for she + wished to talk. She wished to talk about herself; and as she had already + had flattery enough, she wanted some truth about herself; she wanted Alan + to say what he thought of her behavior the whole evening with that jay. He + must have seen something of it in the beginning, and she should tell him + all the rest. She should tell him just how often she had danced with the + man, and how many dances she had sat out with him; how she had pretended + once that she was engaged when another man asked her, and then danced with + the jay, to whom she pretended that he had engaged her for the dance. She + had wished to see how he would take it; for the same reason she had given + to some one else a dance that was really his. She would tell Alan how the + jay had asked her for that last dance, and then never come near her again. + That would give him the whole situation, and she would know just what he + thought of it. + </p> + <p> + What she thought of herself she hardly knew, or made believe she hardly + knew. She prided herself upon not being a flirt; she might not be very + good, as goodness went, but she was not despicable, and a flirt was + despicable. She did not call the audacity of her behavior with the jay + flirting; he seemed to understand it as well as she, and to meet her in + her own spirit; she wondered now whether this jay was really more + interesting than the other men one met, or only different; whether he was + original, like Alan himself, or merely novel, and would soon wear down to + the tiresomeness that seemed to underlie them all, and made one wish to do + something dreadful. In the jay's presence she had no wish to do anything + dreadful. Was it because he was dreadful enough for both, all the time, + without doing anything? She would like to ask Alan that, and see how he + would take it. Nothing seemed to put the jay out, so far as she had tried, + and she had tried some bold impertinences with him. He was very jolly + through them all, and at the worst of them he laughed and asked her for + that dance, which he never came to claim, though in the mean time he + brought her some belated supper, and was devoted to her and her aunt, + inventing services to do for them. Then suddenly he went off and did not + return, and Mr. Westover mysteriously reappeared, and got their carriage. + </p> + <p> + She heard a scratching at the key-hole of the outside door; she knew it + was Alan's latch. She had left the inner door ajar that there might be no + uncertainty of hearing him, and she ran out into the space between that + and the outer door where the fumbling and scraping kept on. + </p> + <p> + “Is that you, Alan?” she called, softly, and if she had any doubt before, + she had none when she heard her brother outside, cursing his luck with his + key as usual. + </p> + <p> + She flung the door open, and confronted him with another man, who had his + arms around him as if he had caught him from falling with the inward pull + of the door. Alan got to his feet and grappled with the man, and insisted + that he should come in and make a night of it. + </p> + <p> + Bessie saw that it was Jeff, and they stood a moment, looking at each + other. Jeff tried to free himself with an appeal to Bessie: “I beg your + pardon, Miss Lynde. I walked home with your brother, and I was just + helping him to get in—I didn't think that you—” + </p> + <p> + Alan said, with his measured distinctness: “Nobody cares what you think. + Come in, and get something to carry you over the bridge. Cambridge cars + stopped running long ago. I say you shall!” He began to raise his voice. A + light flashed in a window across the way, and a sash was lifted; some one + must be looking out. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come in with him!” Bessie implored, and at a little yielding in Jeff + her brother added: + </p> + <p> + “Come in, you damn jay!” He pulled at Jeff. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> <img src="images/{0293}.jpg" alt="{0293}" width="100%" /><br /> </div> <h5> <a href="images/{0293}.jpg"> <img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> </h5> + + <p> + Jeff made haste to shut the door behind them. He was laughing; and if it + was from mere brute insensibility to what would have shocked another in + the situation, his frank recognition of its grotesqueness was of better + effect than any hopeless effort to ignore it would have been. People + adjust themselves to their trials; it is the pretence of the witness that + there is no trial which hurts, and Bessie was not wounded by Jeff's laugh. + </p> + <p> + “There's a fire here in the reception-room,” she said. “Can you get him + in?” + </p> + <p> + “I guess so.” + </p> + <p> + Jeff lifted Alan into the room and stayed him on foot there, while he took + off his hat and overcoat, and then he let him sink into the low easy-chair + Bessie had just risen from. All the time, Alan was bidding her ring and + have some champagne and cold meat set out on the side-board, and she was + lightly promising and coaxing. But he drowsed quickly in the warmth, and + the last demand for supper died half uttered on his lips. + </p> + <p> + Jeff asked across him: “Can't I get him up-stairs for you? I can carry + him.” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head and whispered back, “I can leave him here,” and she + looked at Jeff with a moment's hesitation. “Did you—do you think + that—any one noticed him at Mrs. Enderby's?” + </p> + <p> + “No; they had got him in a room by himself—the caterer's men had.” + </p> + <p> + “And you found him there?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Westover found him there,” Jeff answered. + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't he come to you after I left?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I told him to excuse me—” + </p> + <p> + “He didn't.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I guess he was pretty badly rattled.” Jeff stopped himself in the + vague laugh of one who remembers something ludicrous, and turned his face + away. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me what it was!” she demanded, nervously. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Westover had been home with him once, and he wouldn't stay. He made + Mr. Westover come back for me.” + </p> + <p> + “What did he want with you?” + </p> + <p> + Jeff shrugged. + </p> + <p> + “And then what?” + </p> + <p> + “We went out to the carriage, as soon as I could get away from you; but he + wasn't in it. I sent Mr. Westover back to you and set out to look for + him.” + </p> + <p> + “That was very good of you. And I—thank you for your kindness to my + brother. I shall not forget it. And I wish to beg your pardon.” + </p> + <p> + “What for?” asked Jeff, bluntly. + </p> + <p> + “For blaming you when you didn't come back for the dance.” + </p> + <p> + If Bessie had meant nothing but what was fitting to the moment some + inherent lightness of nature played her false. But even the histrionic + touch which she could not keep out of her voice, her manner, another sort + of man might have found merely pathetic. + </p> + <p> + Jeff laughed with subtle intelligence. “Were you very hard on me?” + </p> + <p> + “Very,” she answered in kind, forgetting her brother and the whole + terrible situation. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me what you thought of me,” he said, and he came a little nearer to + her, looking very handsome and very strong. “I should like to know.” + </p> + <p> + “I said I should never speak to you again.” + </p> + <p> + “And you kept your word,” said Jeff. “Well, that's all right. + Good-night-or good-morning, whichever it is.” He took her hand, which she + could not withdraw, or feigned to herself that she could not withdraw, and + looked at her with a silent laugh, and a hardy, sceptical glance that she + felt take in every detail of her prettiness, her plainness. Then he turned + and went out, and she ran quickly and locked the door upon him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXV. + </h2> + <p> + Bessie crept up to her room, where she spent the rest of the night in her + chair, amid a tumult of emotion which she would have called thinking. She + asked herself the most searching questions, but she got no very candid + answers to them, and she decided that she must see the whole fact with + some other's eyes before she could know what she had meant or what she had + done. + </p> + <p> + When she let the daylight into her room, it showed her a face in her + mirror that bore no trace of conflicting anxieties. Her complexion favored + this effect of inward calm; it was always thick; and her eyes seemed to + her all the brighter for their vigils. + </p> + <p> + A smile, even, hovered on her mouth as she sat down at the + breakfast-table, in the pretty negligee she had worn all night, and poured + out Miss Lynde's coffee for her. + </p> + <p> + “That's always very becoming to you, Bessie,” said her aunt. “It's the + nicest breakfast gown you have.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think so?” Bessie looked down at it, first on one side and then on + the other, as a woman always does when her dress is spoken of. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Alan said he would have his breakfast in his room, miss,” murmured + the butler, in husky respectfulness, as he returned to Bessie from + carrying Miss Lynde's cup to her. “He don't want anything but a little + toast and coffee.” + </p> + <p> + She perceived that the words were meant to make it easy for her to ask: + “Isn't he very well, Andrew?” + </p> + <p> + “About as usual, miss,” said Andrew, a thought more sepulchral than + before. “He's going on—about as usual.” + </p> + <p> + She knew this to mean that he was going on from bad to worse, and that his + last night's excess was the beginning of a debauch which could end only in + one way. She must send for the doctor; he would decide what was best, when + he saw how Alan came through the day. + </p> + <p> + Late in the afternoon she heard Mary Enderby's voice in the + reception-room, bidding the man say that if Miss Bessie were lying down + she would come up to her, or would go away, just as she wished. She flew + downstairs with a glad cry of “Molly! What an inspiration! I was just + thinking of you, and wishing for you. But I didn't suppose you were up + yet!” + </p> + <p> + “It's pretty early,” said Miss Enderby. “But I should have been here + before if I could, for I knew I shouldn't wake you, Bessie, with your + habit of turning night into day, and getting up any time in the forenoon.” + </p> + <p> + “How dissipated you sound!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, don't I? But I've been thinking about you ever since I woke, and I + had to come and find out if you were alive, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “Come up-stairs and see!” said Bessie, holding her friend's hand on the + sofa where they had dropped down together, and going all over the scene of + last night in that place for the thousandth time. + </p> + <p> + “No, no; I really mustn't. I hope you had a good time?” + </p> + <p> + “At your house!” + </p> + <p> + “How dear of you! But, Bessie, I got to thinking you'd been rather + sacrificed. It came into my mind the instant I woke, and gave me this + severe case of conscience. I suppose it's a kind of conscience.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes. Go on! I like having been a martyr, if I don't know what + about.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you know, Bessie, or if you don't you will presently, that it was I + who got mamma to send him a card; I felt rather sorry for him, that day at + Mrs. Bevidge's, because she'd so obviously got him there to use him, and I + got mamma to ask him. Everything takes care of itself, at a large affair, + and I thought I might trust in Providence to deal with him after he came; + and then I saw you made a means the whole evening! I didn't reflect that + there always has to be a means!” + </p> + <p> + “It's a question of Mr. Durgin?” said Bessie, coldly thrilling at the + sound of a name that she pronounced so gayly in a tone of sympathetic + amusement. + </p> + <p> + Miss Enderby bobbed her head. “It shows that we ought never to do a good + action, doesn't it? But, poor thing! How you must have been swearing off!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. Was it so very bad? I'm trying to think,” said Bessie, + thinking that after this beginning it would be impossible to confide in + Mary Enderby. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, now, Bessie! Don't you be patient, or I shall begin to lose my faith + in human nature. Just say at once that it was an outrage and I'll forgive + you! You see,” Miss Enderby went on, “it isn't merely that he's a jay; but + he isn't a very nice jay. None of the men like him—except Freddy + Lancaster, of course; he likes everybody, on principle; he doesn't count. + I thought that perhaps, although he's so crude and blunt, he might be + sensitive and high-minded; you're always reading about such things; but + they say he isn't, in the least; oh, not the least! They say he goes with + a set of fast jays, and that he's dreadful; though he has a very good + mind, and could do very well if he chose. That's what cousin Jim said + to-day; he's just been at our house; and it was so extremely telepathic + that I thought I must run round and prevent your having the man on your + conscience if you felt you had had too much of him. You won't lay him up + against us, will you?” She jumped to her feet. + </p> + <p> + “You dear!” said Bessie, keeping Mary Enderby's hand, and pressing it + between both of hers against her breast as they now stood face to face, + “do come up and have some tea!” + </p> + <p> + “No, no! Really, I can't.” + </p> + <p> + They were both involuntarily silent. The door had been opened to some one, + and there was a brief parley, which ended in a voice they knew to be the + doctor's, saying, “Then I'll go right up to his room.” Both the girls + broke into laughing adieux, to hide their consciousness that the doctor + was going up to see Alan Lynde, who was never sick except in the one way. + </p> + <p> + Miss Enderby even said: “I was so glad to see Alan looking so well, last + night.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he had such a good time,” said Bessie, and she followed her friend + to the door, where she kissed her reassuringly, and thanked her for taking + all the trouble she had, bidding her not be the least anxious on her + account. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to her that she should sink upon the stairs in mounting them to + the library. Mary Enderby had told her only what she had known before; it + was what her brother had told her; but then it had not been possible for + the man to say that he had brought Alan home tipsy, and been alone in the + house with her at three o'clock in the morning. He would not only boast of + it to all that vulgar comradehood of his, but it might get into those + terrible papers which published the society scandals. There would be no + way but to appeal to his pity, his generosity. She fancied herself writing + to him, but he could show her note, and she must send for him to come and + see her, and try to put him on his honor. Or, that would not do, either. + She must make it happen that they should be thrown together, and then + speak to him. Even that might make him think she was afraid of him; or he + might take it wrong, and believe that she cared for him. He had really + been very good to Alan, and she tried to feel safe in the thought of that. + She did feel safe for a moment; but if she had meant nothing but to make + him believe her grateful, what must he infer from her talking to him in + the light way she did about forgiving him for not coming back to dance + with her. Her manner, her looks, her tone, had given him the right to say + that she had been willing to flirt with him there, at that hour, and in + those dreadful circumstances. + </p> + <p> + She found herself lying in a deep arm-chair in the library, when she was + aware of Dr. Lacy pausing at the door and looking tentatively in upon her. + </p> + <p> + “Come in, doctor,” she said, and she knew that her face was wet with + tears, and that she spoke with the voice of weeping. + </p> + <p> + He came forward and looked narrowly at her, without sitting down. “There's + nothing to be alarmed about, Miss Bessie,” he said. “But I think your + brother had better leave home again, for a while.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, blankly. Her mind was not on his words. + </p> + <p> + “I will make the arrangements.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Bessie, listlessly. + </p> + <p> + The doctor had made a step backward, as if he were going away, and now he + stopped. “Aren't you feeling quite well, Miss Bessie?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes,” she said, and she began to cry. + </p> + <p> + The doctor came forward and said, cheerily: “Let me see.” He pulled a + chair up to hers, and took her wrist between his fingers. “If you were at + Mrs. Enderby's last night, you'll need another night to put you just + right. But you're pretty well as it is.” He let her wrist softly go, and + said: “You mustn't distress yourself about your brother's case. Of course, + it's hard to have it happen now after he's held up so long; longer than it + has been before, I think, isn't it? But it's something that it has been so + long. The next time, let us hope, it will be longer still.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor made as if to rise. Bessie put her hand out to stay him. “What + is it makes him do it?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that's a great mystery,” said the doctor. “I suppose you might say + the excitement.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” + </p> + <p> + “But it seems to me very often, in such cases, as if it were to escape the + excitement. I think you're both keyed up pretty sharply by nature, Miss + Bessie,” said the doctor, with the personal kindness he felt for the girl, + and the pity softening his scientific spirit. + </p> + <p> + “I know!” she answered. “We're alike. Why don't I take to drinking, too?” + </p> + <p> + The doctor laughed at such a question from a young lady, but with an inner + seriousness in his laugh, as if, coming from a patient, it was to be + weighed. “Well, I suppose it isn't the habit of your sex, Miss Bessie.” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes it is. Sometimes women get drunk, and then I think they do less + harm than if they did other things to get away from the excitement.” She + longed to confide in him; the words were on her tongue; she believed he + could help her, tell her what to do; out of his stores of knowledge and + experience he must have some suggestion, some remedy; he could advise her; + he could stand her friend, so far. People told their doctors all kinds of + things, silly things. Why should she not tell her doctor this? + </p> + <p> + It would have been easier if it had been an older man, who might have had + a daughter of her age. But he was in that period of the early forties when + a doctor sometimes has a matter-of-fact, disagreeable wife whose idea + stands between him and the spiritual intimacy of his patients, so that it + seems as if they were delivering their confidences rather to her than to + him. He was able, he was good, he was extremely acute, he was even with + the latest facts and theories; but as he sat straight up in his chair his + stomach defined itself as a half-moon before him, and he said to the + quivering heap of emotions beside him, “You mean like breaking hearts, and + such little matters?” + </p> + <p> + It was fatally stupid, and it beat her back into herself. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, with a contempt that she easily hid from him, “that's + worse than getting drunk, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it isn't so regarded,” said the doctor, who supposed himself to + have made a sprightly answer, and laughed at it. “I wish, Miss Bessie, + you'd take a little remedy I'm going to send you. You've merely been up + too late, but it's a very good thing for people who've been up too late.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. And about my brother?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I'll send a man to look after him to-night, and tomorrow I really + think he'd better go.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXVI. + </h2> + <p> + Miss Lynde had gone earlier than usual to bed, when Bessie heard Alan's + door open, and then heard him feeling his way fumbingly down-stairs. She + surmised that he had drunk up all that he had in his room, and was making + for the side-board in the dining-room. + </p> + <p> + She ran and got the two decanters-one of whiskey and one of brandy, which + he was in the habit of carrying back to his room from such an incursion. + </p> + <p> + “Alan!” she called to him, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you?” he answered back. + </p> + <p> + “In the library,” she said. “Come in here, please.” + </p> + <p> + He came, and stood looking gloomily in from the doorway. He caught sight + of the decanters and the glasses on the library table. “Oh!” he said, and + gave a laugh cut in two by a hiccough. + </p> + <p> + “Come in, and shut the door, Alan,” she said. “Let's make a night of it. + I've got the materials here.” She waved her hand toward the decanters. + </p> + <p> + Alan shrugged. “I don't know what you mean.” But he came forward, and + slouched into one of the deep chairs. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll tell you what,” said Bessie, with a laugh. “We're both + excited, and we want to get away from ourselves. Isn't that what's the + matter with you when it begins? Doctor Lacy thinks it is.” + </p> + <p> + “Does he?” Alan asked. “I didn't suppose he had so much sense. What of + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. Merely that I'm going to drink a glass of whiskey and a glass of + brandy for every glass that you drink to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “You mustn't play the fool, Bess,” said her brother, with dignified + severity. + </p> + <p> + “But I'm really serious, Alan. Shall I give you something? Which shall we + begin on? And we'd better begin soon, for there's a man coming from the + doctor to look after you, and then you won't get anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be ridiculous! Give me those decanters!” Alan struggled out of his + chair, and trembled over to where she had them on the table beside her. + </p> + <p> + She caught them up, one in either hand, and held them as high as she could + lift them. “If you don't sit down and promise to keep still, I'll smash + them both on the hearth. You know I will.” + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> <img src="images/{0307}.jpg" alt="{0307}" width="100%" /><br /> </div> <h5> <a href="images/{0307}.jpg"> <img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> </h5> + + <p> + Her strange eyes gleamed, and he hesitated; then he went back to his + chair. + </p> + <p> + “I don't see what's got into you to-night. I don't want anything,” he + said. He tried to brave it out, but presently he cast a piteous glance at + the decanters where she had put them down beside her again. “Does the + doctor think I'd better go again?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “When?” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at the decanters. “And when is that fellow coming?” + </p> + <p> + “He may be here any moment.” + </p> + <p> + “It's pretty rough,” he sighed. “Two glasses of that stuff would drive you + so wild you wouldn't know where you were, Bess,” he expostulated. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I wish I didn't know where I was. I wish I wasn't anywhere.” He + looked at her, and then dropped his eyes, with the effect of giving up a + hopeless conundrum. + </p> + <p> + But he asked: “What's the matter?” + </p> + <p> + She scanned him keenly before she answered: “Something that I should like + to tell you—that you ought to know. Alan, do you think you are fit + to judge of a very serious matter?” + </p> + <p> + He laughed pathetically. “I don't believe I'm in a very judicial frame of + mind to-night, Bess. To-morrow—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, to-morrow! Where will you be to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “That's true! Well, what is it? I'll try to listen. But if you knew how my + nerves were going.” His eyes wandered from hers back to the decanters. “If + I had just one glass—” + </p> + <p> + “I'll have one, too,” she said, with a motion toward the decanter next + her. + </p> + <p> + He threw up his arms. “Oh well, go on. I'll listen as well as I can.” He + sank down in his chair and stretched his little feet out toward the fire. + “Go on!” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated before she began. “Do you know who brought you home last + night, Alan?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he answered, quickly, “Westover.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mr. Westover brought you, and you wouldn't stay. You don't remember + anything else?” + </p> + <p> + “No. What else?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing for you, if you don't remember.” She sat in silent hopelessness + for a while, and her brother's eyes dwelt on the decanters, which she + seemed to have forgotten. “Alan!” she broke out, abruptly, “I'm worried, + and if I can't tell you about it there's no one I can.” + </p> + <p> + The appeal in her voice must have reached him, though he seemed scarcely + to have heeded her words. “What is it?” he asked, kindly. + </p> + <p> + “You went back to the Enderbys' after Mr. Westover brought you home, and + then some one else had to bring you again.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “I was up, and let you in—” + </p> + <p> + “Did you, Bessie? That was like you,” he said, tenderly. + </p> + <p> + “And I had to let him in, too. You pulled him into the house, and you made + such a disturbance at the door that he had to come in for fear you would + bring the police.” + </p> + <p> + “What a beast!” said Alan, of himself, as if it were some one else. + </p> + <p> + “He came in with you. And you wanted him to have some supper. And you fell + asleep before the fire in the reception-room.” + </p> + <p> + “That—that was the dream!” said Alan, severely. “What are you + talking that stuff for, Bessie?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no!” she retorted, with a laugh, as if the pleasure of its coming in + so fitly were compensation for the shame of the fact. “The dream was what + happened afterward. The dream was that you fell asleep there, and left me + there with him—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, poor old Westover; he's a gentleman! You needn't be worried about + him—” + </p> + <p> + “You're not fit!” cried the girl. “I give it up.” She got upon her feet + and stood a moment listless. + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm not, Bessie. I can't pull my mind together tonight. But look + here!” He seemed to lose what he wanted to say. He asked: “Is it something + I've got you in for? Do I understand that?” + </p> + <p> + “Partly,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, I'll help you out. You can trust me, Bessie; you can, indeed. + You don't believe it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I believe you think I can trust you.” + </p> + <p> + “But this time you can. If you need my help I will stand by you, right or + wrong. If you want to tell me now I'll listen, and I'll advise you the + best I can—” + </p> + <p> + “It's just something I've got nervous about,” she said, while her eyes + shone with sudden tears. “But I won't trouble you with it to-night. + There's no such great hurry. We can talk about it in the morning if you're + better then. Oh, I forgot! You're going away!” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the young man, with pathetic dignity, “I'm not going if you + need my help. But you're right about me tonight, Bessie. I'm not fit. I'm + afraid I can't grasp anything to-night. Tell me in the morning. Oh, don't + be afraid!” he cried out at the glance she gave the decanters. “That's + over, now; you could put them in my hands and be safe enough. I'm going + back to bed, and in the morning—” + </p> + <p> + He rose and went toward the door. “If that doctor's man comes to-night you + can send him away again. He needn't bother.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Alan,” she said, fondly. “Good-night. Don't worry about me. + Try to get some sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “And you must sleep, too. You can trust me, Bessie.” + </p> + <p> + He came back after he got out of the room and looked in. “Bess, if you're + anxious about it, if you don't feel perfectly sure of me, you can take + those things to your room with you.” He indicated the decanters with a + glance. + </p> + <p> + “Oh no! I shall leave them here. It wouldn't be any use your just keeping + well overnight. You'll have to keep well a long time, Alan, if you're + going to help me. And that's the reason I'd rather talk to you when you + can give your whole mind to what I say.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it something so serious?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. That's for you to judge. Not very—not at all, + perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I won't fail you, Bessie. I shall 'keep well,' as you call it, as + long as you want me. Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night. I shall leave these bottles here, remember.” + </p> + <p> + “You needn't be afraid. You might put them beside my bed.” + </p> + <p> + Bessie slept soundly, from exhaustion, and in that provisional fashion in + which people who have postponed a care to a given moment are able to + sleep. But she woke early, and crept down-stairs before any one else was + astir, and went to the library. The decanters stood there on the table, + empty. Her brother lay a shapeless heap in one of the deep arm-chairs. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXVII. + </h2> + <p> + Westover got home from the Enderby dance at last with the forecast of a + violent cold in his system, which verified itself the next morning. He had + been housed a week, when Jeff Durgin came to see him. “Why didn't you let + me know you were sick?” he demanded, “I'd have come and looked after you.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Westover, with as much stiffness as he could command in + his physical limpness. “I shouldn't have allowed you to look after me; and + I want you to understand, now, that there can't be any sort of + friendliness between us till you've accounted for your behavior with Lynde + the other night.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean at the party?” Jeff asked, tranquilly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” cried Westover. “If I had not been shut up ever since, I should + have gone to see you and had it out with you. I've only let you in, now, + to give you the chance to explain; and I refuse to hear a word from you + till you do.” Westover did not think that this was very forcible, and he + was not much surprised that it made Jeff smile. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I don't know what there is to explain. I suppose you think I got him + drunk; I know what you thought that night. But he was pretty well loaded + when he struck my champagne. It wasn't a question of what he was going to + do any longer, but how he was going to do it. I kept an eye on him, and at + the right time I helped the caterer's man to get him up into that room + where he wouldn't make any trouble. I expected to go back and look after + him, but I forgot him.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't suppose, really, that you're aware what a devil's argument that + is,” said Westover. “You got Lynde drunk, and then you went back to his + sister, and allowed her to treat you as if you were a gentleman, and + didn't deserve to be thrown out of the house.” This at last was something + like what Westover had imagined he would say to Jeff, and he looked to see + it have the imagined effect upon him. + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose,” asked Jeff, with cheerful cynicism, “that it was the + first time she was civil to a man her brother got drunk with?” + </p> + <p> + “No! But all the more you ought to have considered her helplessness. It + ought to have made her the more sacred”—Jeff gave an exasperating + shrug—“to you, and you ought to have kept away from her for + decency's sake.” + </p> + <p> + “I was engaged to dance with her.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't allow you to be trivial with me, Durgin,” said Westover. “You've + acted like a blackguard, and worse, if there is anything worse.” + </p> + <p> + Jeff stood at a corner of the fire, leaning one elbow on the mantel, and + he now looked thoughtfully down on Westover, who had sunk weakly into a + chair before the hearth. “I don't deny it from your point of view, Mr. + Westover,” he said, without the least resentment in his tone. “You believe + that everything is done from a purpose, or that a thing is intended + because it's done. But I see that most things in this world are not + thought about, and not intended. They happen, just as much as the other + things that we call accidents.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Westover, “but the wrong things don't happen from people who + are in the habit of meaning the right ones.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe they do, fully half the time,” Jeff returned; “and, as far as + the grand result is concerned, you might as well think them and intend + them as not. I don't mean that you ought to do it; that's another thing, + and if I had tried to get Lynde drunk, and then gone to dance with his + sister, I should have been what you say I am. But I saw him getting worse + without meaning to make him so; and I went back to her because—I + wanted to.” + </p> + <p> + “And you think, I suppose,” said Westover, “that she wouldn't have cared + any more than you cared if she had known what you did.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't say anything about that.” + </p> + <p> + The painter continued, bitterly: “You used to come in here, the first + year, with notions of society women that would have disgraced a Goth, or a + gorilla. Did you form your estimate of Miss Lynde from those premises?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not a boy now,” Jeff answered, “and I haven't stayed all the kinds of + a fool I was.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you don't think Miss Lynde would speak to you, or look at you, after + she knew what you had done?” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to tell her and see,” said Jeff, with a hardy laugh. “But I + guess I sha'n't have the chance. I've never been a favorite in society, + and I don't expect to meet her again.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you'd like to have me tell her?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, I believe I should, if you could tell me what she thought—not + what she said about it.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a brute,” answered Westover, with a puzzled air. What puzzled him + most and pleased him least was the fellow's patience under his severity, + which he seemed either not to feel or not to mind. It was of a piece with + the behavior of the rascally boy whom he had cuffed for frightening + Cynthia and her little brother long ago, and he wondered what final + malevolence it portended. + </p> + <p> + Jeff said, as if their controversy were at an end and they might now turn + to more personal things: “You look pretty slim, Mr. Westover. A'n't there + something I can do for you-get you? I've come in with a message from + mother. She says if you ever want to get that winter view of Lion's Head, + now's your time. She wants you to come up there; she and Cynthia both do. + They can make you as comfortable as you please, and they'd like to have a + visit from you. Can't you go?” + </p> + <p> + Westover shook his head ruefully. “It's good of them, and I want you to + thank them for me. But I don't know when I'm going to get out again.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you'll soon get out,” said Jeff. “I'm going to look after you a + little,” and this time Westover was too weak to protest. He did not forbid + Jeff's taking off his overcoat; he suffered him to light his spirit-lamp + and make a punch of the whiskey which he owned the doctor was giving him; + and when Jeff handed him the steaming glass, and asked him, “How's that?” + he answered, with a pleasure in it which he knew to be deplorable, “It's + fine.” + </p> + <p> + Jeff stayed the whole evening with him, and made him more comfortable than + he had been since his cold began. Westover now talked seriously and + frankly with him, but no longer so harshly, and in his relenting he felt a + return of his old illogical liking for him. He fancied in Durgin's + kindness to himself an indirect regret, and a desire to atone for what he + had done, and he said: “The effect is in you—the worst effect. I + don't think either of the young Lyndes very exemplary people. But you'd be + doing yourself a greater wrong than you've done then if you didn't + recognize that you had been guilty toward them.” + </p> + <p> + Jeff seemed struck by this notion. “What do you want me to do? What can I + do? Chase myself out of society? Something like that? I'm willing. It's + too easy, though. As I said, I've never been wanted much, there, and I + shouldn't be missed.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, how would you like to leave it to the people at Lion's Head + to say what you should do?” Westover suggested. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't like it,” said Jeff, promptly. “They'd judge it as you do—as + if they'd done it themselves. That's the reason women are not fit to + judge.” His gay face darkened. “But tell 'em if you want to.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” cried the painter. “Why should I want to I'm not a woman in + everything.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, Mr. Westover. I didn't mean that. I only meant that + you're an idealist. I look at this thing as if some one else had done it; + I believe that's the practical way; and I shouldn't go in for punishing + any one else for such a thing very severely.” He made another punch—for + himself this time, he said; but Westover joined him in a glass of it. + </p> + <p> + “It won't do to take that view of your faults, Jeff,” he said, gravely. + </p> + <p> + “What's the reason?” Jeff demanded; and now either the punch had begun to + work in Westover's brain, or some other influence of like force and + quality. He perceived that in this earth-bound temperament was the + potentiality of all the success it aimed at. The acceptance of the moral + fact as it was, without the unconscious effort to better it, or to hold + himself strictly to account for it, was the secret of the power in the man + which would bring about the material results he desired; and this + simplicity of the motive involved had its charm. + </p> + <p> + Westover was aware of liking Durgin at that moment much more than he + ought, and of liking him helplessly. In the light of his good-natured + selfishness, the injury to the Lyndes showed much less a sacrilege than it + had seemed; Westover began to see it with Jeff's eyes, and to see it with + reference to what might be low and mean in them, instead of what might be + fine and high. + </p> + <p> + He was sensible of the growth Jeff had made intellectually. He had not + been at Harvard nearly four years for nothing. He had phrases and could + handle them. In whatever obscure or perverse fashion, he had profited by + his opportunities. The fellow who could accuse him of being an idealist, + and could in some sort prove it, was no longer a naughty boy to be tutored + and punished. The revolt latent in him would be violent in proportion to + the pressure put upon him, and Westover began to be without the wish to + press his fault home to him so strongly. In the optimism generated by the + punch, he felt that he might leave the case to Jeff himself; or else in + the comfort we all experience in sinking to a lower level, he was + unwilling to make the effort to keep his own moral elevation. But he did + make an effort to save himself by saying: “You can't get what you've done + before yourself as you can the action of some one else. It's part of you, + and you have to judge the motive as well as the effect.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's what I'm doing,” said Jeff; “but it seems to me that you're + trying to have me judge of the effect from a motive I didn't have. As far + as I can make out, I hadn't any motive at all.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed, and all that Westover could say was, “Then you're still + responsible for the result.” But this no longer appeared so true to him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXVIII. + </h2> + <p> + It was not a condition of Westover's welcome at Lion's Head that he should + seem peculiarly the friend of Jeff Durgin, but he could not help making it + so, and he began to overact the part as soon as he met Jeff's mother. He + had to speak of him in thanking her for remembering his wish to paint + Lion's Head in the winter, and he had to tell her of Jeff's thoughtfulness + during the past fortnight; he had to say that he did not believe he should + ever have got away if it had not been for him. This was true; Durgin had + even come in from Cambridge to see him off on the train; he behaved as if + the incident with Lynde and all their talk about it had cemented the + friendship between Westover and himself, and he could not be too devoted. + It now came out that he had written home all about Westover, and made his + mother put up a stove in the painter's old room, so that he should have + the instant use of it when he arrived. + </p> + <p> + It was an air-tight wood-stove, and it filled the chamber with a heat in + which Westover drowsed as soon as he entered it. He threw himself on the + bed, and slept away the fatigue of his railroad journey and the cold of + his drive with Jombateeste from the station. His nap was long, and he woke + from it in a pleasant languor, with the dream-clouds still hanging in his + brain. He opened the damper of his stove, and set it roaring again; then + he pulled down the upper sash of his window and looked out on a world + whose elements of wood and snow and stone he tried to co-ordinate. There + was nothing else in that world but these things, so repellent of one + another. He suffered from the incongruity of the wooden bulk of the hotel, + with the white drifts deep about it, and with the granite cliffs of Lion's + Head before it, where the gray crags darkened under the pink afternoon + light which was beginning to play upon its crest from the early sunset. + The wind that had seemed to bore through his thick cap and his skull + itself, and that had tossed the dry snow like dust against his eyes on his + way from the railroad, had now fallen, and an incomparable quiet wrapped + the solitude of the hills. A teasing sense of the impossibility of the + scene, as far as his art was concerned, filled him full of a fond despair + of rendering its feeling. He could give its light and color and form in a + sufficiently vivid suggestion of the fact, but he could not make that pink + flush seem to exhale, like a long breath, upon those rugged shapes; he + could not impart that sentiment of delicately, almost of elegance, which + he found in the wilderness, while every detail of civilization physically + distressed him. In one place the snow had been dug down to the pine + planking of the pathway round the house; and the contact of this + woodenness with the frozen ground pierced his nerves and set his teeth on + edge like a harsh noise. When once he saw it he had to make an effort to + take his eyes from it, and in a sort unknown to him in summer he perceived + the offence of the hotel itself amid the pure and lonely beauty of the + winter landscape. It was a note of intolerable banality, of philistine + pretence and vulgar convention, such as Whitwell's low, unpainted cottage + at the foot of the hill did not give, nor the little red school-house, on + the other hand, showing through the naked trees. There should have been + really no human habitation visible except a wigwam in the shelter of the + pines, here and there; and when he saw Whitwell making his way up the + hill-side road, Westover felt that if there must be any human presence it + should be some savage clad in skins, instead of the philosopher in his + rubber boots and his clothing-store ulster. He preferred the small, wiry + shape of Jombateeste, in his blue woollen cap and his Canadian footgear, + as he ran round the corner of the house toward the barn, and left the + breath of his pipe in the fine air behind him. + </p> + <p> + The light began to deepen from the pale pink to a crimson which stained + the tops and steeps of snow, and deepened the dark of the woods massed on + the mountain slopes between the irregular fields of white. The burnished + brown of the hard-wood trees, the dull carbon shadows of the evergreens, + seemed to wither to one black as the red strengthened in the sky. Westover + realized that he had lost the best of any possible picture in letting that + first delicate color escape him. This crimson was harsh and vulgar in + comparison; it would have almost a chromo quality; he censured his + pleasure in it as something gross and material, like that of eating; and + on a sudden he felt hungry. He wondered what time they would give him + supper, and he took slight account of the fact that a caprice of the wind + had torn its hood of snow from the mountain summit, and that the profile + of the Lion's Head showed almost as distinctly as in summer. He stood + before the picture which for that day at least was lost to him, and + questioned whether there would be a hearty meal, something like a dinner, + or whether there would be something like a farmhouse supper, mainly of + doughnuts and tea. + </p> + <p> + He pulled up his window and was going to lie down again, when some one + knocked, and Frank Whitwell stood at the door. “Do you want we should + bring your supper to you here, Mr. Westover, or will you—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, let me join you all!” cried the painter, eagerly. “Is it ready—shall + I come now?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, in about five minutes or so.” Frank went away, after setting down + in the room the lamp he had brought. It was a lamp which Westover thought + he remembered from the farm-house period, and on his way down he realized + as he had somehow not done in his summer sojourns, the entirety of the old + house in the hotel which had encompassed it. The primitive cold of its + stairways and passages struck upon him as soon as he left his own room, + and he found the parlor door closed against the chill. There was a hot + stove-fire within, and a kerosene-lamp turned low, but there was no one + there, and he had the photograph of his first picture of Lion's Head to + himself in the dim light. The voices of Mrs. Durgin and Cynthia came to + him from the dining-room, and from the kitchen beyond, with the occasional + clash of crockery, and the clang of iron upon iron about the stove, and + the quick tread of women's feet upon the bare floor. With these pleasant + noises came the smell of cooking, and later there was an opening and + shutting of doors, with a thrill of the freezing air from without, and the + dull thumping of Whitwell's rubber boots, and the quicker flapping of + Jombateeste's soft leathern soles. Then there was the sweep of skirted + feet at the parlor door, and Cynthia Whitwell came in without perceiving + him. She went to the table by the darkening window, and quickly turned up + the light of the lamp. In her ignorance of his presence, he saw her as if + she had been alone, almost as if she were out of the body; he received + from her unconsciousness the impression of something rarely pure and fine, + and he had a sudden compassion for her, as for something precious that is + fated to be wasted or misprized. At a little movement which he made to + relieve himself from a sense of eavesdropping, she gave a start, and shut + her lips upon the little cry that would have escaped from another sort of + woman. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know you were here,” she said; and she flushed with the shyness + of him which she always showed at first. She had met him already with the + rest, but they had scarcely spoken together; and he knew of the struggle + she must now be making with herself when she went on: “I didn't know you + had been called. I thought you were still sleeping.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I seemed to sleep for centuries,” said West over, “and I woke up + feeling coeval with Lion's Head. But I hope to grow younger again.” + </p> + <p> + She faltered, and then she asked: “Did you see the light on it when the + sun went down?” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I hadn't. I could never get that light—even if it ever came + again.” + </p> + <p> + “It's there every afternoon, when it's clear.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry for that; I shall have to try for it, then.” + </p> + <p> + “Wasn't that what you came for?” she asked, by one of the efforts she was + making with everything she said. He could have believed he saw the pulse + throbbing in her neck. But she held herself stone-still, and he divined + her resolution to conquer herself, if she should die for it. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I came for that,” said Westover. “That's what makes it so dismaying. + If I had only happened on it, I shouldn't have been responsible for the + failure I shall make of it.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled, as if she liked his lightness, but doubted if she ought. “We + don't often get Lion's Head clear of snow.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; that's another hardship,” said the painter. “Everything is against + me! If we don't have a snow overnight, and a cloudy day to-morrow, I shall + be in despair.” + </p> + <p> + She played with the little wheel of the wick; she looked down, and then, + with a glance flashed at him, she gasped: “I shall have to take your lamp + for the table tea is ready.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, if you will only take me with it. I'm frightfully hungry.” + </p> + <p> + Apparently she could not say anything to that. He tried to get the lamp to + carry it out for her, but she would not let him. “It isn't heavy,” she + said, and hurried out before him. + </p> + <p> + It was all nothing, but it was all very charming, and Westover was richly + content with it; and yet not content, for he felt that the pleasure of it + was not truly his, but was a moment of merely borrowed happiness. + </p> + <p> + The table was laid in the old farm-house sitting-room where he had been + served alone when he first came to Lion's Head. But now he sat down with + the whole family, even to Jombateeste, who brought in a faint odor of the + barn with him. + </p> + <p> + They had each been in contact with the finer world which revisits nature + in the summer-time, and they must all have known something of its usages, + but they had reverted in form and substance to the rustic living of their + neighbors. They had steak for Westover, and baked potatoes; but for + themselves they had such farm fare as Mrs. Durgin had given him the first + time he supped there. They made their meal chiefly of doughnuts and tea, + and hot biscuit, with some sweet dishes of a festive sort added in + recognition of his presence; and there was mince-pie for all. Mrs. Durgin + and Whitwell ate with their knives, and Jombateeste filled himself so soon + with every implement at hand that he was able to ask excuse of the others + if he left them for the horses before they had half finished. Frank + Whitwell fed with a kind of official or functional conformity to the ways + of summer folks; but Cynthia, at whom Westover glanced with anxiety, only + drank some tea and ate a little bread and butter. He was ashamed of his + anxiety, for he had owned that it ought not to have mattered if she had + used her knife like her father; and it seemed to him as if he had prompted + Mrs. Durgin by his curious glance to say: “We don't know half the time how + the child lives. Cynthy! Take something to eat!” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia pleaded that she was not hungry; Mrs. Durgin declared that she + would die if she kept on as she was going; and then the girl escaped to + the kitchen on one of the errands which she made from time to time between + the stove and the table. + </p> + <p> + “I presume it's your coming, Mr. Westover,” Mrs. Durgin went on, with the + comfortable superiority of elderly people to all the trials of the young. + “I don't know why she should make a stranger of you, every time. You've + known her pretty much all her life.” + </p> + <p> + “Ever since you give Jeff what he deserved for scaring her and Frank with + his dog,” said Whitwell. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Fox!” Mrs. Durgin sighed. “He did have the least sense for a dog I + ever saw. And Jeff used to be so fond of him! Well, I guess he got tired + of him, too, toward the last.” + </p> + <p> + “He's gone to the happy hunting-grounds now. Colorady didn't agree with + him-or old age,” said Whitwell. “I don't see why the Injuns wa'n't right,” + he pursued, thoughtfully. “If they've got souls, why ha'n't their dogs? I + suppose Mr. Westover here would say there wa'n't any certainty about the + Injuns themselves!” + </p> + <p> + “You know my weak point, Mr. Whitwell,” the painter confessed. “But I + can't prove they haven't.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor dogs, neither, I guess,” said Whitwell, tolerantly. “It's curious, + though, if animals have got souls, that we ha'n't ever had any + communications from 'em. You might say that ag'in' the idea.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I'll let you say it,” returned Westover. “But a good many of the + communications seem to come from the lower intelligences, if not the lower + animals.” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell laughed out his delight in the thrust. “Well, I guess that's + something so. And them old Egyptian devils, over there, that you say + discovered the doctrine of immortality, seemed to think a cat was about as + good as a man. What's that,” he appealed to Mrs. Durgin, “Jackson said in + his last letter about their cat mummies?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I guess I'll finish my supper first,” said Mrs. Durgin, whose + nerves Westover would not otherwise have suspected of faintness. “But + Jackson's letters,” she continued, loyally, “are about the best letters!” + </p> + <p> + “Know they'd got some of 'em in the papers?” Whitwell asked; and at the + surprise that Westover showed he told him how a fellow who was trying to + make a paper go over at the Huddle, had heard of Jackson's letters and + teased for some of them, and had printed them as neighborhood news in that + side of his paper which he did not buy ready printed in Boston. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Durgin studied with modest deprecation the effect of the fact upon + Westover, and seemed satisfied with it. “Well, of course, it's interestin' + to Jackson's old friends in the country, here. They know he'd look at + things, over there, pretty much as they would. Well, I had to lend the + letters round so much, anyway, it was a kind of a relief to have 'em in + the paper, where everybody could see 'em, and be done with it. Mr. + Whit'ell here, he fixes 'em up so's to leave out the family part, and I + guess they're pretty well thought of.” + </p> + <p> + Westover said he had no doubt they were, and he should want to see all the + letters they could show him, in print and out of print. + </p> + <p> + “If Jackson only had Jeff's health and opportunities—” the mother + began, with a suppressed passion in her regret. + </p> + <p> + Frank Whitwell pushed back his chair. “I guess I'll ask to be excused,” he + said to the head of table. + </p> + <p> + “There! I a'n't goin' to say any more about that, if that's what you're + afraid of, Frank,” said Mrs. Durgin. “Well, I presume I do talk a good + deal about Jackson when I get goin', and I presume it's natural Cynthy + shouldn't want I should talk about Jeff before folks. Frank, a'n't you + goin' to wait for that plate of hot biscuit?—if she ever gits it + here!” + </p> + <p> + “I guess I don't care for anything more,” said Frank, and he got himself + out of the room more inarticulately than he need, Westover thought. + </p> + <p> + His, father followed his retreat with an eye of humorous intelligence. “I + guess Frank don't want to keep the young ladies waitin' a great while. + There's a church sociable over 't the Huddle,” he explained to Westover. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's it, is it?” Mrs. Durgin put in. “Why didn't he say so.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, the young folks don't any of 'em seem to want to talk about such + things nowadays, and I don't know as they ever did.” Whitwell took + Westover into his confidence with a wink. + </p> + <p> + The biscuit that Cynthia brought in were burned a little on top, and Mrs. + Durgin recognized the fact with the question, “Did you get to studyin', + out there? Take one, do, Mr. Westover! You ha'n't made half a meal! If I + didn't keep round after her, I don't know what would become of us all. The + young ladies down at Boston, any of 'em, try to keep up with the fellows + in college?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose they do in the Harvard Annex,” said Westover, simply, in spite + of the glance with which Mrs. Durgin tried to convey a covert meaning. He + understood it afterward, but for the present his single-mindedness spared + the girl. + </p> + <p> + She remained to clear away the table, when the rest left it, and Westover + followed Mrs. Durgin into the parlor, where she indemnified herself for + refraining from any explicit allusion to Jeff before Cynthia. “The boy,” + she explained, when she had made him ransack his memory for every scrap of + fact concerning her son, “don't hardly ever write to me, and I guess he + don't give Cynthy very much news. I presume he's workin' harder than ever + this year. And I'm glad he's goin' about a little, from what you say. I + guess he's got to feelin' a little better. It did worry me for him to feel + so what you may call meechin' about folks. You see anything that made you + think he wa'n't appreciated?” + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> <img src="images/{0333}.jpg" alt="{0333}" width="100%" /><br /> </div> <h5> <a href="images/{0333}.jpg"> <img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> </h5> + +<p> + After Westover got back into his own room, some one knocked at his door, + and he found Whitwell outside. He scarcely asked him to come in, but + Whitwell scarcely needed the invitation. “Got everything you want? I told + Cynthy I'd come up and see after you; Frank won't be back in time.” He sat + down and put his feet on top of the stove, and struck the heels of his + boots on its edge, from the habit of knocking the caked snow off them in + that way on stove-tops. He did not wait to find out that there was no + responsive sizzling before he asked, with a long nasal sigh, “Well, how is + Jeff gettin' along?” + </p> + <p> + He looked across at Westover, who had provisionally seated himself on his + bed. + </p> + <p> + “Why, in the old way.” Whitwell kept his eye on him, and he added: “I + suppose we don't any of us change; we develop.” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell smiled with pleasure in the loosely philosophic suggestion. “You + mean that he's the same kind of a man that he was a boy? Well, I guess + that's so. The question is, what kind of a boy was he? I've been mullin' + over that consid'able since Cynthy and him fixed it up together. Of + course, I know it's their business, and all that; but I presume I've got a + right to spee'late about it?” + </p> + <p> + He referred the point to Westover, who knew an inner earnestness in it, in + spite of Whitwell's habit of outside jocosity. “Every right in the world, + I should say, Mr. Whitwell,” he answered, seriously. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm glad you feel that way,” said Whitwell, with a little apparent + surprise. “I don't want to meddle, any; but I know what Cynthy is—I + no need to brag her up—and I don't feel so over and above certain 't + I know what he is. He's a good deal of a mixture, if you want to know how + he strikes me. I don't mean I don't like him; I do; the fellow's got a way + with him that makes me kind of like him when I see him. He's good-natured + and clever; and he's willin' to take any amount of trouble for you; but + you can't tell where to have him.” Westover denied the appeal for explicit + assent in Whitwell's eye, and he went on: “If I'd done that fellow a good + turn, in spite of him, or if I'd held him up to something that he allowed + was right, and consented to, I should want to keep a sharp lookout that he + didn't play me some ugly trick for it. He's a comical devil,” Whitwell + ended, rather inadequately. “How d's it look to you? Seen anything lately + that seemed to tally with my idee?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no; I can't say that I have,” said Westover, reluctantly. He wished + to be franker than he now meant to be, but he consulted a scruple that he + did not wholly respect; a mere convention it seemed to him, presently. He + said: “I've always felt that charm in him, too, and I've seen the other + traits, though not so clearly as you seem to have done. He has a powerful + will, yes—” + </p> + <p> + He stopped, and Whitwell asked: “Been up to any deviltry lately?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't say he has. Nothing that I can call intentional.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Whitwell. “What's he done, though?” + </p> + <p> + “Really, Mr. Whitwell, I don't know that you have any right to expect me + to talk him over, when I'm here as his mother's guest—his own guest—?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I ha'n't,” said Whitwell. “What about the father of the girl he's + goin' to marry?” + </p> + <p> + Westover could not deny the force of this. “You'd be anxious if I didn't + tell you what I had in mind, I dare say, more than if I did.” He told him + of Jeff's behavior with Alan Lynde, and of his talk with him about it. + “And I think he was honest. It was something that happened, that wasn't + meant.” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell did not assent directly, somewhat to Westover's surprise. He + asked: “Fellow ever done anything to Jeff?” + </p> + <p> + “Not that I know of. I don't know that they ever met before.” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell kicked his heels on the edge of the stove again. “Then it might + been an accident,” he said, dryly. + </p> + <p> + Westover had to break the silence that followed, and he found himself + defending Jeff, though somehow not for Jeff's sake. He urged that if he + had the strong will they both recognized in him, he would never commit the + errors of a weak man, which were usually the basest. + </p> + <p> + “How do you know that a strong-willed man a'n't a weak one?” Whitwell + astonished him by asking. “A'n't what we call a strong will just a kind of + a bull-dog clinch that the dog himself can't unloose? I take it a man that + has a good will is a strong man. If Jeff done a right thing against his + will, he wouldn't rest easy till he'd showed that he wa'n't obliged to, by + some mischief worse 'n what he was kept out of. I tell you, Mr. Westover, + if I'd made that fellow toe the mark any way, I'd be afraid of him.” + Whitwell looked at Westover with eyes of significance, if not of + confidence. Then he rose with a prolonged “M—wel-l-l! We're all + born, but we a'n't all buried. This world is a queer place. But I guess + Jeff 'll come out right in the end.” + </p> + <p> + Westover said, “I'm sure he will!” and he shook hands warmly with the + father of the girl Jeff was going to marry. + </p> + <p> + Whitwell came back, after he had got some paces away, and said: “Of + course, this is between you and me, Mr. Westover.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't mean Mis' Durgin. I shouldn't care what she thought of my talkin' + him over with you. I don't know,” he continued, putting up his hand + against the door-frame, to give himself the comfort of its support while + he talked, “as you understood what she mean by the young ladies at Boston + keepin' up with the fellows in college. Well, that's what Cynthy's doin' + with Jeff, right along; and if he ever works off them conditions of his, + and gits his degree, it' ll be because she helped him to. I tell you, + there's more than one kind of telepathy in this world, Mr. Westover. + That's all.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXIX + </h2> + <p> + Westover understood from Whitwell's afterthought that it was Cynthia he + was anxious to keep ignorant of his misgivings, if they were so much as + misgivings. But the importance of this fact could not stay him against the + tide of sleep which was bearing him down. When his head touched the pillow + it swept over him, and he rose from it in the morning with a gayety of + heart which he knew to be returning health. He jumped out of bed, and + stuffed some shavings into his stove from the wood-box beside it, and laid + some logs on them; he slid the damper open, and then lay down again, + listening to the fire that showed its red teeth through the slats and + roared and laughed to the day which sparkled on the white world without. + When he got out of bed a second time, he found the room so hot that he had + to pull down his window-sash, and he dressed in a temperature of twenty + degrees below zero without knowing that the dry air was more than fresh. + Mrs. Durgin called to him through the open door of her parlor, as he + entered the dining-room: “Cynthy will give you your breakfast, Mr. + Westover. We're all done long ago, and I'm busy in here,” and the girl + appeared with the coffee-pot and the dishes she had been keeping hot for + him at the kitchen stove. She seemed to be going to leave him when she had + put them down before him, but she faltered, and then she asked: “Do you + want I should pour your coffee for you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes! Do!” he begged, and she sat down across the table from him. “I'm + ashamed to make this trouble for you,” he added. “I didn't know it was so + late.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we have the whole day for our work,” she answered, tolerantly. + </p> + <p> + He laughed, and said: “How strange that seems! I suppose I shall get used + to it. But in town we seem never to have a whole day for a day's work; we + always have to do part of it at night, or the next morning. Do you ever + have a day here that's too large a size for its work?” + </p> + <p> + “You can nearly always find something to do about a house,” she returned, + evasively. “But the time doesn't go the way it does in the summer.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know how the country is in the winter,” he said. “I was brought up + in the country.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know that,” she said, and she gave him a stare of surprise + before her eyes fell. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Out in Wisconsin. My people were emigrants, and I lived in the + woods, there, till I began to paint my way out. I began pretty early, but + I was in the woods till I was sixteen.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know that,” she repeated. “I always thought that you were—” + </p> + <p> + “Summer folks, like the rest? No, I'm all-the-year-round folks originally. + But I haven't been in the country in the winter since I was a boy; and + it's all been coming back to me, here, like some one else's experience.” + </p> + <p> + She did not say anything, but the interest in her eyes, which she could + not keep from his face now, prompted him to go on. + </p> + <p> + “You can make a beginning in the West easier than you can in the East, and + some people who came to our lumber camp discovered me, and gave me a + chance to begin. I went to Milwaukee first, and they made me think I was + somebody. Then I came on to New York, and they made me think I was nobody. + I had to go to Europe to find out which I was; but after I had been there + long enough I didn't care to know. What I was trying to do was the + important thing to me; not the fellow who was trying to do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, with intelligence. + </p> + <p> + “I met some Boston people in Italy, and I thought I should like to live + where that kind of people lived. That's the way I came to be in Boston. It + all seems very simple now, but I used to think it might look romantic from + the outside. I've had a happy life; and I'm glad it began in the country. + I shouldn't care if it ended there. I don't know why I've bothered you + with my autobiography, though. Perhaps because I thought you knew it + already.” + </p> + <p> + She looked as if she would have said something fitting if she could have + ruled herself to it; but she said nothing at all. Her failure seemed to + abash her, and she could only ask him if he would not have some more + coffee, and then excuse herself, and leave him to finish his breakfast + alone. + </p> + <p> + That day he tried for his picture from several points out-of-doors before + he found that his own window gave him the best. With the window open, and + the stove warm at his back, he worked there in great comfort nearly every + afternoon. The snows kept off, and the clear sunsets burned behind the + summit day after day. He painted frankly and faithfully, and made a + picture which, he said to himself, no one would believe in, with that warm + color tender upon the frozen hills. The soft suffusion of the winter scene + was improbable to him when he had it in, nature before his eyes; when he + looked at it as he got it on his canvas it was simply impossible. + </p> + <p> + In the forenoons he had nothing to do, for he worked at his picture only + when the conditions renewed themselves with the sinking sun. He tried to + be in the open air, and get the good of it; but his strength for walking + had failed him, and he kept mostly to the paths broken around the house. + He went a good deal to the barn with Whitwell and Jombateeste to look + after the cattle and the horses, whose subdued stamping and champing gave + him a sort of animal pleasure. The blended odors of the hay-mows and of + the creatures' breaths came to him with the faint warmth which their + bodies diffused through the cold obscurity. + </p> + <p> + When the wide doors were rolled back, and the full day was let in, he + liked the appeal of their startled eyes, and the calls they made to one + another from their stalls, while the men spoke back to them in terms which + they seemed to have in common with them, and with the poultry that flew + down from the barn lofts to the barn floor and out into the brilliant day, + with loud clamor and affected alarm. + </p> + <p> + In these simple experiences he could not imagine the summer life of the + place. It was nowhere more extinct than in the hollow verandas, where the + rocking-chairs swung in July and August, and where Westover's steps in his + long tramps up and down woke no echo of the absent feet. In-doors he kept + to the few stove-heated rooms where he dwelt with the family, and sent + only now and then a vague conjecture into the hotel built round the old + farm-house. He meant, before he left, to ask Mrs. Durgin to let him go + through the hotel, but he put it off from day to day, with a physical + shrinking from its cold and solitude. + </p> + <p> + The days went by in the swiftness of monotony. His excursions to the barn, + his walks on the verandas, his work on his picture, filled up the few + hours of the light, and when the dark came he contentedly joined the + little group in Mrs. Durgin's parlor. He had brought two or three books + with him, and sometimes he read from one of them; or he talked with + Whitwell on some of the questions of life and death that engaged his + speculative mind. Jombateeste preferred the kitchen for the naps he took + after supper before his early bedtime. Frank Whitwell sat with his books + there, where Westover sometimes saw his sister helping him at his studies. + He was loyally faithful and obedient to her in all things. He helped her + with the dishes, and was not ashamed to be seen at this work; she had + charge of his goings and comings in society; he submitted to her taste in + his dress, and accepted her counsel on many points which he referred to + her, and discussed with her in low-spoken conferences. He seemed a formal, + serious boy, shy like his sister; his father let fall some hints of a + religious cast of mind in him. He had an ambition beyond the hotel; he + wished to study for the ministry; and it was not alone the chance of going + home with the girls that made him constant at the evening meetings. “I + don't know where he gits it,” said his father, with a shake of the head + that suggested doubt of the wisdom of the son's preference of theology to + planchette. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia had the same care of her father as of her brother; she kept him + neat, and held him up from lapsing into the slovenliness to which he would + have tended if she had not, as Westover suspected, made constant appeals + to him for the respect due their guest. Mrs. Durgin, for her part, left + everything to Cynthia, with a contented acceptance of her future rule and + an abiding trust in her sense and strength, which included the details of + the light work that employed her rather luxurious leisure. Jombateeste + himself came to Cynthia with his mending, and her needle kept him tight + and firm against the winter which it amused Westover to realize was the + Canuck's native element, insomuch that there was now something incongruous + in the notion of Jombateeste and any other season. + </p> + <p> + The girl's motherly care of all the household did not leave Westover out. + Buttons appeared on garments long used to shifty contrivances for getting + on without them; buttonholes were restored to their proper limits; his + overcoat pockets were searched for gloves, and the gloves put back with + their finger-tips drawn close as the petals of a flower which had decided + to shut and be a bud again. + </p> + <p> + He wondered how he could thank her for his share of the blessing that her + passion for motherly care was to all the house. It was pathetic, and he + used sometimes to forecast her self-devotion with a tender indignation, + which included a due sense of his own present demerit. He was not + reconciled to the sacrifice because it seemed the happiness, or at least + the will, of the nature which made it. All the same it seemed a waste, in + its relation to the man she was to marry. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Durgin and Cynthia sat by the lamp and sewed at night, or listened to + the talk of the men. If Westover read aloud, they whispered together from + time to time about some matters remote from it, as women always do where + there is reading. It was quiet, but it was not dull for Westover, who + found himself in no hurry to get back to town. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes he thought of the town with repulsion; its unrest, its vacuous, + troubled life haunted him like a memory of sickness; but he supposed that + when he should be quite well again all that would change, and be as it was + before. He interested himself, with the sort of shrewd ignorance of it + that Cynthia showed in the questions she asked about it now and then when + they chanced to be left alone together. He fancied that she was trying to + form some intelligible image of Jeff's environment there, and was piecing + together from his talk of it the impressions she had got from summer + folks. He did his best to help her, and to construct for her a veritable + likeness of the world as far as he knew it. + </p> + <p> + A time came when he spoke frankly of Jeff in something they were saying, + and she showed no such shrinking as he had expected she would; he + reflected that she might have made stricter conditions with Mrs. Durgin + than she expected to keep herself in mentioning him. This might well have + been necessary with the mother's pride in her son, which knew no stop when + it once began to indulge itself. What struck Westover more than the girl's + self-possession when they talked of Jeff was a certain austerity in her + with regard to him. She seemed to hold herself tense against any praise of + him, as if she should fail him somehow if she relaxed at all in his favor. + </p> + <p> + This, at least, was the rather mystifying impression which Westover got + from her evident wish to criticise and understand exactly all that he + reported, rather than to flatter herself from it. Whatever her motive was, + he was aware that through it all she permitted herself a closer and fuller + trust of himself. At times it was almost too implicit; he would have liked + to deserve it better by laying open all that had been in his heart against + Jeff. But he forbore, of course, and he took refuge, as well as he could, + in the respect by which she held herself at a reverent distance from him + when he could not wholly respect himself. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XL. + </h2> + <p> + One morning Westover got leave from Mrs. Durgin to help Cynthia open the + dim rooms and cold corridors at the hotel to the sun and air. She promised + him he should take his death, but he said he would wrap up warm, and when + he came to join the girl in his overcoat and fur cap, he found Cynthia + equipped with a woollen cloud tied around her head, and a little shawl + pinned across her breast. + </p> + <p> + “Is that all?” he reproached her. “I ought to have put on a single wreath + of artificial flowers and some sort of a blazer for this expedition. Don't + you think so, Mrs. Durgin?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe women can stand about twice as much cold as you can, the best + of you,” she answered, grimly. + </p> + <p> + “Then I must try to keep myself as warm as I can with work,” he said. “You + must let me do all the rough work of airing out, won't you, Cynthia?” + </p> + <p> + “There isn't any rough work about it,” she answered, in a sort of motherly + toleration of his mood, without losing anything of her filial reverence. + </p> + <p> + She took care of him, he perceived, as she took care of her brother and + her father, but with a delicate respect for his superiority, which was no + longer shyness. + </p> + <p> + They began with the office and the parlor, where they flung up the + windows, and opened the doors, and then they opened the dining-room, where + the tables stood in long rows, with the chairs piled on them legs upward. + Cynthia went about with many sighs for the dust on everything, though to + Westover's eyes it all seemed frigidly clean. “If it goes on as it has for + the past two years,” she said, “we shall have to add on a new dining-room. + I don't know as I like to have it get so large!” + </p> + <p> + “I never wanted it to go beyond the original farmhouse,” said Westover. + “I've been jealous of every boarder but the first. I should have liked to + keep it for myself, and let the world know Lion's Head from my pictures.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess Mrs. Durgin thinks it was your picture that began to send people + here.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you blame me, too? What if the thing I'm doing now should make it + a winter resort? Nothing could save you, then, but a fire. I believe + that's Jeff's ambition. Only he would want to put another hotel in place + of this; something that would be more popular. Then the ruin I began would + be complete, and I shouldn't come any more; I couldn't bear the sight.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess Mrs. Durgin wouldn't think it was lion's Head if you stopped + coming,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “But you would know better than that,” said Westover; and then he was + sorry he had said it, for it seemed to ask something of different quality + from her honest wish to make him know their regard for him. + </p> + <p> + She did not answer, but went down a long corridor to which they had + mounted, to raise the window at the end, while he raised another at the + opposite extremity. When they met at the stairway again to climb to the + story above, he said: “I am always ashamed when I try to make a person of + sense say anything silly,” and she flushed, still without answering, as if + she understood him, and his meaning pleased her. “But fortunately a person + of sense is usually equal to the temptation. One ought to be serious when + he tries it with a person of the other sort; but I don't know that one + is!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you feel any draught between these windows?” asked Cynthia, abruptly. + “I don't want you should take cold.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm all right,” said Westover. + </p> + <p> + She went into the rooms on one side of the corridor, and put up their + windows, and flung the blinds back. He did the same on the other side. He + got a peculiar effect of desolation from the mattresses pulled down over + the foot of the bedsteads, and the dismantled interiors reflected in the + mirrors of the dressing-cases; and he was going to speak of it when he + rejoined Cynthia at the stairway leading to the third story, when she + said, “Those were Mrs. Vostrand's rooms I came out of the last.” She + nodded her head over her shoulder toward the floor they were leaving. + </p> + <p> + “Were they indeed! And do you remember people's rooms so long?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I always think of rooms by the name of people that have them, if + they're any way peculiar.” + </p> + <p> + He thought this bit of uncandor charming, and accepted it as if it were + the whole truth. “And Mrs. Vostrand was certainly peculiar. Tell me, + Cynthia, what did you think of her?” + </p> + <p> + “She was only here a little while.” + </p> + <p> + “But you wouldn't have come to think of her rooms by her name if she + hadn't made a strong impression on you!” She did not answer, and he said, + “I see you didn't like her!” + </p> + <p> + The girl would not speak, and Mr. Westover went on: “She used to be very + good to me, and I think she used to be better to herself than she is now.” + He knew that Jeff must have told Cynthia of his affair with Genevieve + Vostrand, and he kept himself from speaking of her by a resolution he + thought creditable, as he mounted the stairs to the upper story in the + silence to which Cynthia left his last remark. At the top she made a + little pause in the obscurer light of the close-shuttered corridor, while + she said: “I liked her daughter the best.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” he returned. “I—never felt very well acquainted with her, I + believe. One couldn't get far with her. Though, for the matter of that, + one didn't get far with Mrs. Vostrand herself. Did you think Genevieve was + much influenced by her mother?” + </p> + <p> + “She didn't seem a strong character.” + </p> + <p> + “No, that was it. She was what her mother wished her to be. I've often + wondered how much she was interested in the marriage she made.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia let a rustic silence ensue, and Westover shrank again from the + inquisition he longed to make. + </p> + <p> + It was not Genevieve Vostrand's marriage which really concerned him, but + Cynthia's engagement, and it was her mind that he would have liked to look + into. It might well be supposed that she regarded it in a perfect + matter-of-fact way, and with no ambition beyond it. She was a country + girl, acquainted from childhood with facts of life which town-bred girls + would not have known without a blunting of the sensibilities, and why + should she be different from other country girls? She might be as good and + as fine as he saw her, and yet be insensible to the spiritual toughness of + Jeff, because of her love for him. Her very goodness might make his + badness unimaginable to her, and if her refinement were from the + conscience merely, and not from the tastes and experiences, too, there was + not so much to dread for her in her marriage with such a man. Still, he + would have liked, if he could, to tell her what he had told her father of + Durgin's behavior with Lynde, and let her bring the test of her + self-devotion to the case with a clear understanding. He had sometimes + been afraid that Whitwell might not be able to keep it to himself; but now + he wished that the philosopher had not been so discreet. He had all this + so absorbingly in mind that he started presently with the fear that she + had said something and he had not answered, but when he asked her he found + that she had not spoken. They were standing at an open window looking out + upon Lion's Head, when he said: “I don't know how I shall show my + gratitude to Mrs. Durgin and you for thinking of having me up here. I've + done a picture of Lion's Head that might be ever so much worse; but I + shouldn't have dreamed of getting at it if it hadn't been for you, though + I've so often dreamed of doing it. Now I shall go home richer in every + sort of way-thanks to you.” + </p> + <p> + She answered, simply: “You needn't thank anybody; but it was Jeff who + thought of it; we were ready enough to ask you.” + </p> + <p> + “That was very good of him,” said Westover, whom her words confirmed in a + suspicion he had had all along. But what did it matter that Jeff had + suggested their asking him, and then attributed the notion to them? It was + not so malign for him to use that means of ingratiating himself with + Westover, and of making him forget his behavior with Lynde, and it was not + unnatural. It was very characteristic; at the worst it merely proved that + Jeff was more ashamed of what he had done than he would allow, and that + was to his credit. + </p> + <p> + He heard Cynthia asking: “Mr. Westover, have you ever been at Class Day? + He wants us to come.” + </p> + <p> + “Class Day? Oh, Class Day!” He took a little time to gather himself + together. “Yes, I've been at a good many. If you care to see something + pretty, it's the prettiest thing in the world. The students' sisters and + mothers come from everywhere; and there's fashion and feasting and + flirting, from ten in the morning till ten at night. I'm not sure there's + so much happiness; but I can't tell. The young people know about that. I + fancy there's a good deal of defeat and disappointment in it all. But if + you like beautiful dresses, and music and dancing, and a great flutter of + gayety, you can get more of it at Class Day than you can in any other way. + The good time depends a great deal upon the acquaintance a student has, + and whether he is popular in college.” Westover found this road a little + impassable, and he faltered. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia did not apparently notice his hesitation. “Do you think Mrs. + Durgin would like it?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Durgin?” Westover found that he had been leaving her out of the + account, and had been thinking only of Cynthia's pleasure or pain. “Well, + I don't suppose—it would be rather fatiguing—Did Jeff want her + to come too?” + </p> + <p> + “He said so.” + </p> + <p> + “That's very nice of him. If he could devote himself to her; but—And + would she like to go?” + </p> + <p> + “To please him, she would.” Westover was silent, and the girl surprised + him by the appeal she suddenly made to him. “Mr. Westover, do you believe + it would be very well for either of us to go? I think it would be better + for us to leave all that part of his life alone. It's no use in pretending + that we're like the kind of people he knows, or that we know their ways, + and I don't believe—” + </p> + <p> + Westover felt his heart rise in indignant sympathy. “There isn't any one + he knows to compare with you!” he said, and in this he was thinking mainly + of Bessie Lynde. “You're worth a thousand—If I were—if he's + half a man he would be proud—I beg your pardon! I don't mean—but + you understand—” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia put her head far out of the window and looked along the steep roof + before them. “There is a blind off one of the windows. I heard it clapping + in the wind the other night. I must go and see the number of the room.” + She drew her head in quickly and ran away without letting him see her + face. + </p> + <p> + He followed her. “Let me help you put it on again!” + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” she called back. “Frank will do that, or Jombateeste, when they + come to shut up the house.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XLI. + </h2> + <p> + Westover, did not meet Durgin for several days after his return from + Lion's Head. He brought messages for him from his mother and from + Whitwell, and he waited for him to come and get them so long that he had + to blame himself for not sending them to him. When Jeff appeared, at the + end of a week, Westover had a certain embarrassment in meeting him, and + the effort to overcome this carried him beyond his sincerity. He was aware + of feigning the cordiality he showed, and of having less real liking for + him than ever before. He suggested that he must be busier every day, now, + with his college work, and he resented the air of social prosperity which + Jeff put on in saying, Yes, there was that, and then he had some + engagements which kept him from coming in sooner. + </p> + <p> + He did not say what the engagements were, and they did not recur to the + things they had last spoken of. Westover could not do so without Jeff's + leading, and he was rather glad that he gave none. He stayed only a little + time, which was spent mostly in a show of interest on both sides, and the + hollow hilarities which people use to mask their indifference to one + another's being and doing. Jeff declared that he had never seen Westover + looking so well, and said he must go up to Lion's Head again; it had done + him good. As for his picture, it was a corker; it made him feel as if he + were there! He asked about all the folks, and received Westover's replies + with vague laughter, and an absence in his bold eye, which made the + painter wonder what his mind was on, without the wish to find out. He was + glad to have him go, though he pressed him to drop in soon again, and said + they would take in a play together. + </p> + <p> + Jeff said he would like to do that, and he asked at the door whether + Westover was going to the tea at Mrs. Bellingham's. He said he had to look + in there, before he went out to Cambridge; and left Westover in mute amaze + at the length he had apparently gone in a road that had once seemed no + thoroughfare for him. Jeff's social acceptance, even after the Enderby + ball, which was now some six or seven weeks past, had been slow; but of + late, for no reason that he or any one else could have given, it had + gained a sudden precipitance; and people who wondered why they met him at + other houses began to ask him to their own. + </p> + <p> + He did not care to go to their houses, and he went at first in the hope of + seeing Bessie Lynde again. But this did not happen for some time, and it + was a mid-Lenten tea that brought them together. As soon as he caught + sight of her he went up to her and began to talk as if they had been in + the habit of meeting constantly. She could not control a little start at + his approach, and he frankly recognized it. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh—the window!” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't open,” he said, trying it. “Do you want to try it yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “I think I can trust you,” she answered, but she sank a little into the + shelter of the curtains, not to be seen talking with him, perhaps, or not + to be interrupted—she did not analyze her motive closely. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> <img src="images/{0357}.jpg" alt="{0357}" width="100%" /><br /> </div> <h5> <a href="images/{0357}.jpg"> <img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> </h5> + + <p> + He remained talking to her until she went away, and then he continued to + go with her. She did not try to escape him after that; each time they met + she had the pleasure of realizing that there had never been any danger of + what never happened. But beyond this she could perhaps have given no + better reason for her willingness to meet him again and again than the + bewildered witnesses of the fact. In her set people not only never married + outside of it, but they never flirted outside of it. For one of + themselves, even for a girl like Bessie, whom they had not quite known + from childhood, to be apparently amusing herself with a man like that, so + wholly alien in origin, in tradition, was something unheard of; and it + began to look as if Bessie Lynde was more than amused. It seemed to Mary + Enderby that wherever she went she saw that man talking to Bessie. She + could have believed that it was by some evil art that he always contrived + to reach Bessie's side, if anything could have been less like any kind of + art than the bold push he made for her as soon as he saw her in a room. + But sometimes Miss Enderby feared that it was Bessie who used such finesse + as there was, and always put herself where he could see her. She waited + with trembling for her to give the affair sanction by making her aunt ask + him to something at her house. On the other hand, she could not help + feeling that Bessie's flirtation was all the more deplorable for the want + of some such legitimation. + </p> + <p> + She did not even know certainly whether Jeff ever called upon Bessie at + her aunt's house, till one day the man let him out at the same time he let + her in. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come up, Molly!” Bessie sang out from the floor above, and met her + half-way down the stairs, where she kissed her and led her embraced into + the library. + </p> + <p> + “You don't like my jay, do you, dear?” she asked, promptly. + </p> + <p> + Mary Enderby turned her face, the mirror of conscience, upon her, and + asked: “Is he your jay?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, no; not just in that sense, Molly. But suppose he was?” + </p> + <p> + “Then I should have nothing to say.” + </p> + <p> + “And suppose he wasn't?” + </p> + <p> + Still Mary Enderby found herself with nothing of all she had a thousand + times thought she should say to Bessie if she had ever the slightest + chance. It always seemed so easy, till now, to take Bessie in her arms, + and appeal to her good sense, her self-respect, her regard for her family + and friends; and now it seemed so impossible. + </p> + <p> + She heard herself answering, very stiffly: “Perhaps I'd better apologize + for what I've said already. You must think I was very unjust the last time + we mentioned him.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all!” cried Bessie, with a laugh that sounded very mocking and + very unworthy to her friend. “He's all that you said, and worse. But he's + more than you said, and better.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand,” said Mary, coldly. + </p> + <p> + “He's very interesting; he's original; he's different!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, every one says that.” + </p> + <p> + “And he doesn't flatter me, or pretend to think much of me. If he did, I + couldn't bear him. You know how I am, Molly. He keeps me interested, don't + you understand, and prowling about in the great unknown where he has his + weird being.” + </p> + <p> + Bessie put her hand to her mouth, and laughed at Mary Enderby with her + slanted eyes; a sort of Parisian version of a Chinese motive in eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” her friend said, sadly, “you won't tell me more than you + wish.” + </p> + <p> + “I won't tell you more than I know—though I'd like to,” said Bessie. + She gave Mary a sudden hug. “You dear! There isn't anything of it, if + that's what you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “But isn't there danger that there will be, Bessie?” her friend entreated. + </p> + <p> + “Danger? I shouldn't call it danger, exactly!” + </p> + <p> + “But if you don't respect him, Bessie—” + </p> + <p> + “Why, how can I? He doesn't respect me!” + </p> + <p> + “I know you're teasing, now,” said Mary Enderby, getting up, “and you're + quite right. I have no business to—” + </p> + <p> + Bessie pulled her down upon the seat again. “Yes, you have! Don't I tell + you, over and over? He doesn't respect me, because I don't know how to + make him, and he wouldn't like it if I did. But now I'll try to make you + understand. I don't believe I care for him the least; but mind, I'm not + certain, for I've never cared for any one, and I don't know what it's + like. You know I'm not sentimental; I think sentiment's funny; and I'm not + dignified—” + </p> + <p> + “You're divine,” murmured Mary Enderby, with reproachful adoration. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but you see how my divinity could be improved,” said Bessie, with a + wild laugh. “I'm not sentimental, but I'm emotional, and he gives me + emotions. He's a riddle, and I'm all the time guessing at him. You get the + answer to the kind of men we know easily; and it's very nice, but it + doesn't amuse you so much as trying. Now, Mr. Durgin—what a name! I + can see it makes you creep—is no more like one of us than a—bear + is—and his attitude toward us is that of a bear who's gone so much + with human beings that he thinks he's a human being. He's delightful, that + way. And, do you know, he's intellectual! He actually brings me books, and + wants to read passages to me out of them! He has brought me the plans of + the new hotel he's going to build. It's to be very aesthetic, and it's + going to be called The Lion's Head Inn. There's to be a little theatre, + for amateur dramatics, which I could conduct, and for all sorts of + professional amusements. If you should ever come, Molly, I'm sure we shall + do our best to make you comfortable.” + </p> + <p> + Mary Enderby would not let Bessie laugh upon her shoulder after she said + this. “Bessie Lynde,” she said, severely, “if you have no regard for + yourself, you ought to have some regard for him. You may say you are not + encouraging him, and you may believe it—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I shouldn't say it if I didn't believe it,” Bessie broke in, with a + mock air of seriousness. + </p> + <p> + “I must be going,” said Mary, stiffly, and this time she succeeded in + getting to her feet. + </p> + <p> + Bessie laid hold of her again. “You think you've been trifled with, don't + you, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “No—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you do! Don't you try to be slippery, Molly. The plain pikestaff is + your style, morally speaking—if any one knows what a pikestaff is. + Well, now, listen! You're anxious about me.” + </p> + <p> + “You know how I feel, Bessie,” said Mary Enderby, looking her in the eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do,” said Bessie. “The trouble is, I don't know how I feel. But if + I ever do, Molly, I'll tell you! Is that fair?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll give you ample warning. At the least little consciousness in the + region of the pericardium, off will go a note by a district messenger, and + when you come I'll do whatever you say. There!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Bessie!” cried her friend, and she threw her arms round her, “you + always were the most fascinating creature in the world!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Bessie, “that's what I try to have him think.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XLII. + </h2> + <p> + Toward the end of April most people who had places at the Shore were + mostly in them, but they came up to town on frequent errands, and had one + effect of evanescence with people who still remained in their Boston + houses provisionally, and seemed more than half absent. The Enderbys had + been at the Shore for a fortnight, and the Lyndes were going to be a + fortnight longer in Boston, yet, as Bessie made her friend observe, when + Mary, ran in for lunch, or stopped for a moment on her way to the train, + every few days, they were both of the same transitory quality. + </p> + <p> + “It might as well be I as you,” Bessie said one day, “if we only think so. + It's all very weird, dear, and I'm not sure but it is you who sit day + after day at my lonely casement and watch the sparrows examining the fuzzy + buds of the Jap ivy to see just how soon they can hope to build in the + vines. Do you object to the ivy buds looking so very much like snipped + woollen rags? If you do, I'm sure it's you, here in my place, for when I + come up to town in your personality it sets my teeth on edge. In fact, + that's the worst thing about Boston now—the fuzzy ivy buds; there's + so much ivy! When you can forget the buds, there are a great many things + to make you happy. I feel quite as if we were spending the summer in town + and I feel very adventurous and very virtuous, like some sort of + self-righteous bohemian. You don't know how I look down on people who have + gone out of town. I consider them very selfish and heartless; I don't know + why, exactly. But when we have a good marrow-freezing northeasterly storm, + and the newspapers come out with their ironical congratulations to the + tax-dodgers at the Shore, I feel that Providence is on my side, and I'm + getting my reward, even in this world.” Bessie suddenly laughed. “I see by + your expression of fixed inattention, Molly, that you're thinking of Mr. + Durgin!” + </p> + <p> + Mary gave a start of protest, but she was too honest to deny the fact + outright, and Bessie ran on: + </p> + <p> + “No, we don't sit on a bench in the Common, or even in the Garden, or on + the walk in Commonwealth Avenue. If we come to it later, as the season + advances, I shall make him stay quite at the other end of the bench, and + not put his hand along the top. You needn't be afraid, Molly; all the + proprieties shall be religiously observed. Perhaps I shall ask Aunt Louisa + to let us sit out on her front steps, when the evenings get warmer; but I + assure you it's much more comfortable in-doors yet, even in town, though + you'll hardly, believe it at the Shore. Shall you come up to Class Day?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know,” Mary began, with a sigh of the baffled hope and the + inextinguishable expectation which the mention of Class Day stirs in the + heart of every Boston girl past twenty. + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” said Bessie, with a sigh burlesqued from Mary's. “That is what we + all say, and it is certainly the most maddening of human festivals. I + suppose, if we were quite left to ourselves, we shouldn't go; but we seem + never to be, quite. After every Class Day I say to myself that nothing on + earth could induce me to go to another; but when it comes round again, I + find myself grasping at any straw of a pretext. I'm pretending now that + I've a tender obligation to go because it's his Class Day.” + </p> + <p> + “Bessie!” cried Mary Enderby. “You don't mean it!” + </p> + <p> + “Not if I say it, Mary dear. What did I promise you about the pericardiac + symptoms? But I feel—I feel that if he asks me I must go. Shouldn't + you like to go and see a jay Class Day—be part of it? Think of going + once to the Pi Ute spread—or whatever it is! And dancing in their + tent! And being left out of the Gym, and Beck! Yes, I ought to go, so that + it can be brought home to me, and I can have a realizing sense of what I + am doing, and be stayed in my mad career.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” Mary Enderby suggested, colorlessly, “he will be devoted to his + own people.” She had a cold fascination in the picture Bessie's words had + conjured up, and she was saying this less to Bessie than to herself. + </p> + <p> + “And I should meet them—his mothers and sisters!” Bessie dramatized + an excess of anguish. “Oh, Mary, that is the very thorn I have been trying + not to press my heart against; and does your hand commend it to my + embrace? His folks! Yes, they would be folks; and what folks! I think I am + getting a realizing sense. Wait! Don't speak don't move, Molly!” Bessie + dropped her chin into her hand, and stared straight forward, gripping Mary + Enderby's hand. + </p> + <p> + Mary withdrew it. “I shall have to go, Bessie,” she said. “How is your + aunt?” + </p> + <p> + “Must you? Then I shall always say that it was your fault that I couldn't + get a realizing sense—that you prevented me, just when I was about + to see myself as others see me—as you see me. She's very well!” + Bessie sighed in earnest, and her friend gave her hand a little pressure + of true sympathy. “But of course it's rather dull here, now.” + </p> + <p> + “I hate to have you staying on. Couldn't you come down to us for a week?” + </p> + <p> + “No. We both think it's best to be here when Alan gets back. We want him + to go down with us.” Bessie had seldom spoken openly with Mary Enderby + about her brother; but that was rather from Mary's shrinking than her own; + she knew that everybody understood his case. She went so far now as to + say: “He's ever so much better than he has been. We have such hopes of + him, if he can keep well, when he gets back this time.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know he will,” said Mary, fervently. “I'm sure of it. Couldn't we + do something for you, Bessie?” + </p> + <p> + “No, there isn't anything. But—thank you. I know you always think of + me, and that's worlds. When are you coming up again?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. Next week, some time.” + </p> + <p> + “Come in and see me—and Alan, if he should be at home. He likes you, + and he will be so glad.” + </p> + <p> + Mary kissed Bessie for consent. “You know how much I admire Alan. He could + be anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he could. If he could!” + </p> + <p> + Bessie seldom put so much earnest in anything, and Mary loved (as she + would have said) the sad sincerity, the honest hopelessness of her tone. + “We must help him. I know we can.” + </p> + <p> + “We must try. But people who could—if they could—” Bessie + stopped. + </p> + <p> + Her friend divined that she was no longer speaking wholly of her brother, + but she said: “There isn't any if about it; and there are no ifs about + anything if we only think so. It's a sin not to think so.” + </p> + <p> + The mixture of severity and of optimism in the nature of her friend had + often amused Bessie, and it did not escape her tacit notice in even so + serious a moment as this. Her theory was that she was shocked to recognize + it now, because of its relation to her brother, but her theories did not + always agree with the facts. + </p> + <p> + That evening, however, she was truly surprised when, after a rather + belated ring at the door, the card of Mr. Thomas Jefferson Durgin came up + to her from the reception-room. Her aunt had gone to bed, and she had a + luxurious moment in which she reaped all the reward of self-denial by + supposing herself to have foregone the pleasure of seeing him, and sending + down word that she was not at home. She did not wish, indeed, to see him, + but she wished to know how he felt warranted in calling in the evening, + and it was this unworthy, curiosity which she stifled for that luxurious + moment. The next, with undiminished dignity, she said, “Ask him to come + up, Andrew,” and she waited in the library for him to offer a + justification of the liberty he had taken. + </p> + <p> + He offered none whatever, but behaved at once as if he had always had the + habit of calling in the evening, or as if it was a general custom which he + need not account for in his own case. He brought her a book which they had + talked of at their last meeting, but he made no excuse or pretext of it. + </p> + <p> + He said it was a beautiful night, and that he had found it rather warm + walking in from Cambridge. The exercise had moistened his whole rich, red + color, and fine drops of perspiration stood on his clean-shaven upper lip + and in the hollow between his under lip and his bold chin; he pushed back + the coarse, dark-yellow hair from his forehead with his handkerchief, and + let his eyes mock her from under his thick, straw-colored eyebrows. She + knew that he was enjoying his own impudence, and he was so handsome that + she could not refuse to enjoy it with him. She asked him if he would not + have a fan, and he allowed her to get it for him from the mantel. “Will + you have some tea?” + </p> + <p> + “No; but a glass of water, if you please,” he said, and Bessie rang and + sent for some apollinaris, which Jeff drank a great goblet of when it + came. Then he lay back in the deep chair he had taken, with the air of + being ready for any little amusing thing she had to say. + </p> + <p> + “Are you still a pessimist, Mr. Durgin?” she asked, tentatively, with the + effect of innocence that he knew meant mischief. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said. “I'm a reformed optimist.” + </p> + <p> + “What is that?” + </p> + <p> + “It's a man who can't believe all the good he would like, but likes to + believe all the good he can.” + </p> + <p> + Bessie said it over, with burlesque thoughtfulness. “There was a girl here + to-day,” she said, solemnly, “who must have been a reformed pessimist, + then, for she said the same thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Miss Enderby,” said Jeff. + </p> + <p> + Bessie started. “You're preternatural! But what a pity you should be + mistaken. How came you to think of her?” + </p> + <p> + “She doesn't like me, and you always put me on trial after she's been + here.” + </p> + <p> + “Am I putting you on trial now? It's your guilty conscience! Why shouldn't + Mary Enderby like you?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I'm not good enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! And what has that to do with people's liking you? If that was a + reason, how many friends do you think you would have?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not sure that I should have any.” + </p> + <p> + “And doesn't that make you feel badly?” + </p> + <p> + “Very.” Jeff's confession was a smiling one. + </p> + <p> + “You don't show it!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to grieve you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm not sure that would grieve me.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I thought I wouldn't risk it.” + </p> + <p> + “How considerate of you!” + </p> + <p> + They had come to a little barrier, up that way, and could go no further. + Jeff said: “I've just been interviewing another reformed pessimist.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Westover?” + </p> + <p> + “You're preternatural, too. And you're not mistaken, either. Do you ever + go to his studio?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I haven't been there since he told me it would be of no use to come + as a student. He can be terribly frank.” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody knows that better than I do,” said Jeff, with a smile for the + notion of Westover's frankness as he had repeatedly experienced it. “But + he means well.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's what they always say. But all the frankness can't be well + meant. Why should uncandor be the only form of malevolence?” + </p> + <p> + “That's a good idea. I believe I'll put that up on Westover the next time + he's frank.” + </p> + <p> + “And will you tell me what he says?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know about that.” Jeff lay back in his chair at large ease + and chuckled. “I should like to tell you what he's just been saying to me, + but I don't believe I can.” + </p> + <p> + “Do!” + </p> + <p> + “You know he was up at Lion's Head in February, and got a winter + impression of the mountain. Did you see it?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Was that what you were talking about?” + </p> + <p> + “We talked about something a great deal more interesting—the + impression he got of me.” + </p> + <p> + “Winter impression.” + </p> + <p> + “Cold enough. He had come to the conclusion that I was very selfish and + unworthy; that I used other people for my own advantage, or let them use + themselves; that I was treacherous and vindictive, and if I didn't betray + a man I couldn't be happy till I had beaten him. He said that if I ever + behaved well, it came after I had been successful one way or the other.” + </p> + <p> + “How perfectly fascinating!” Bessie rested her elbow on the corner of the + table, and her chin in the palm of the hand whose thin fingers tapped her + red lips; the light sleeve fell down and showed her pretty, lean little + forearm. “Did it strike you as true, at all?” + </p> + <p> + “I could see how it might strike him as true.” + </p> + <p> + “Now you are candid. But go on! What did he expect you to do about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. He said he didn't suppose I could help it.” + </p> + <p> + “This is immense,” said Bessie. “I hope I'm taking it all in. How came he + to give you this flattering little impression? So hopeful, too! Or, + perhaps your frankness doesn't go any farther?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't mind saying. He seemed to think it was a sort of abstract + duty he owed to my people.” + </p> + <p> + “Your-folks?” asked Bessie. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Jeff, with a certain dryness. But as her face looked blankly + innocent, he must have decided that she meant nothing offensive. He + relaxed into a broad smile. “It's a queer household up there, in the + winter. I wonder what you would think of it.” + </p> + <p> + “You might describe it to me, and perhaps we shall see.” + </p> + <p> + “You couldn't realize it,” said Jeff, with a finality that piqued her. He + reached out for the bottle of apollinaris, with somehow the effect of + being in another student's room, and poured himself a glass. This would + have amused her, nine times out of ten, but the tenth time had come when + she chose to resent it. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” she said, “you are all very much excited about Class Day at + Cambridge.” + </p> + <p> + “That sounds like a remark made to open the way to conversation.” Jeff + went on to burlesque a reply in the same spirit. “Oh, very much so indeed, + Miss Lynde! We are all looking forward to it so eagerly. Are you coming?” + </p> + <p> + She rejected his lead with a slight sigh so skilfully drawn that it + deceived him when she said, gravely: + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. It's apt to be a very baffling time at the best. All the + men that you like are taken up with their own people, and even the men + that you don't like overvalue themselves, and think they're doing you a + favor if they give you a turn at the Gym or bring you a plate of + something.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, they are, aren't they?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose, yes, that's what makes me hate it. One doesn't like to have + such men do one a favor. And then, Juniors get younger every year! Even a + nice Junior is only a Junior,” she concluded, with a sad fall of her + mocking voice. + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe there's a Senior in Harvard that wouldn't forsake his + family and come to the rescue if your feelings could be known,” said Jeff. + He lifted the bottle at his elbow and found it empty, and this seemed to + remind him to rise. + </p> + <p> + “Don't make them known, please,” said Bessie. “I shouldn't want an + ovation.” She sat, after he had risen, as if she wished to detain him, but + when he came up to take leave she had to put her hand in his. She looked + at it there, and so did he; it seemed very little and slim, about + one-third the size of his palm, and it seemed to go to nothing in his + grasp. “I should think,” she added, “that the jays would have the best + time on Class Day. I should like to dance at one of their spreads, and do + everything they did. It would be twice the fun, and there would be some + nature in it. I should like to see a jay Class Day.” + </p> + <p> + “If you'll come out, I'll show you one,” said Jeff, without wincing. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, will you?” she said, taking away her hand. “That would be delightful. + But what would become of your folks?” She caught a corner of her mouth + with her teeth, as if the word had slipped out. + </p> + <p> + “Do you call them folks?” asked Jeff, quietly: + </p> + <p> + “I—supposed—Don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not in Boston. I do at Lion's Head.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Well-people.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know as they're coming.” + </p> + <p> + “How delightful! I don't mean that; but if they're not, and if you really + knew some jays, and could get me a little glimpse of their Class Day—” + </p> + <p> + “I think I could manage it for you.” He spoke as before, but he looked at + her with a mockery in his lips and eyes as intelligent as her own, and the + latent change in his mood gave her the sense of being in the presence of a + vivid emotion. She rose in her excitement; she could see that he admired + her, and was enjoying her insolence too, in a way, though in a way that + she did not think she quite understood; and she had the wish to make him + admire her a little more. + </p> + <p> + She let a light of laughter come into her eyes, of harmless mischief + played to an end. “I don't deserve your kindness, and I won't come. I've + been very wicked, don't you think?” + </p> + <p> + “Not very—for you,” said Jeff. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, how good!” she broke out. “But be frank now! I've offended you.” + </p> + <p> + “How? I know I'm a jay, and in the country I've got folks.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I see you're hurt at my joking, and I'm awfully sorry. I wish there + was some way of making you forgive me. But it couldn't be that alone,” she + went on rather aimlessly as to her words, trusting to his answer for some + leading, and willing meanwhile to prolong the situation for the effect in + her nerves. It had been a very dull and tedious day, and she was finding + much more than she could have expected in the mingled fear and slight + which he inspired her with in such singular measure. These feminine + subtleties of motive are beyond any but the finest natures in the other + sex, and perhaps all that Jeff perceived was the note of insincerity in + her words. + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't be what alone?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “What I've said,” she ventured, letting her eyes fall; but they were not + eyes that fell effectively, and she instantly lifted them again to his. + </p> + <p> + “You haven't said anything, and if you've thought anything, what have I + got to do with that? I think all sorts of things about people—or + folks, as you call them—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, thank you! Now you are forgiving me!” + </p> + <p> + “I think them about you!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do sit down and tell me the kind of things you think about me!” + Bessie implored, sinking back into her chair. + </p> + <p> + “You mightn't like them.” + </p> + <p> + “But if they would do me good?” + </p> + <p> + “What should I want to do you good for?” + </p> + <p> + “That's true,” sighed Bessie, thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “People—folks—” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you so much!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't try to do each other good, unless they're cranks like Lancaster, or + bores like Mrs. Bevidge—” + </p> + <p> + “You belong to the analytical school of Seniors! Go on!” + </p> + <p> + “That's all,” said Jeff. + </p> + <p> + “And you don't think I've tried to do you good?” + </p> + <p> + He laughed. Her comedy was delicious to him. He had never found, anybody + so amusing; he almost respected her for it. + </p> + <p> + “If that is your opinion of me, Mr. Durgin,” she said, very gravely, “I am + sorry. May I remark that I don't see why you come, then?” + </p> + <p> + “I can tell you,” said Jeff, and he advanced upon her where she sat so + abruptly that she started and shrank back in her chair. “I come because + you've got brains, and you're the only girl that has—here.” They + were Alan's words, almost his words, and for an instant she thought of her + brother, end wondered what he would think of this jay's praising her in + his terms. “Because,” Jeff went on, “you've got more sense and nonsense—than + all the women here put together. Because it's better than a play to hear + you talk—and act; and because you're graceful—and fascinating, + and chic, and—Good-night, Miss Lynde.” + </p> + <p> + He put out his hand, but she did not take it as she rose haughtily. “We've + said good-night once. I prefer to say good-bye this time. I'm sure you + will understand why after this I cannot see you again.” She seemed to + examine him for the effect of these words upon him before she went on. + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't understand,” he answered, coolly; “but it isn't necessary I + should; and I'm quite willing to say good-bye, if you prefer. You haven't + been so frank with me as I have with you; but that doesn't make any + difference; perhaps you never meant to be, or couldn't be, if you meant. + Good-bye.” He bowed and turned toward the door. + </p> + <p> + She fluttered between him and it. “I wish to know what you accuse me of!” + </p> + <p> + “I? Nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “You imply that I have been unjust toward you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no!” + </p> + <p> + “And I can't let you go till you prove it.” + </p> + <p> + “Prove to a woman that—Will you let me pass?” + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> <img src="images/{0397}.jpg" alt="{0397}" width="100%" /><br /> </div> <h5> <a href="images/{0397}.jpg"> <img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> </h5> + +<p> + “No!” She spread her slender arms across the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very well!” Jeff took her hands and put them both in the hold of one + of his large, strong bands. Then, with the contact, it came to him, from a + varied experience of girls in his rustic past, that this young lady, who + was nothing but a girl after all, was playing her comedy with a certain + purpose, however little she might know it or own it. He put his other + large, strong hand upon her waist, and pulled her to him and kissed her. + Another sort of man, no matter what he had believed of her, would have + felt his act a sacrilege then and there. Jeff only knew that she had not + made the faintest straggle against him; she had even trembled toward him, + and he brutally exulted in the belief that he had done what she wished, + whether it was what she meant or not. + </p> + <p> + She, for her part, realized that she had been kissed as once she had + happened to see one of the maids kissed by the grocer's boy at the + basement door. In an instant this man had abolished all her defences of + family, of society, of personality, and put himself on a level with her in + the most sacred things of life. Her mind grasped the fact and she realized + it intellectually, while as yet all her emotions seemed paralyzed. She did + not know whether she resented it as an abominable outrage or not; whether + she hated the man for it or not. But perhaps he was in love with her, and + his love overpowered him; in that case she could forgive him, if she were + in love with him. She asked herself whether she was, and whether she had + betrayed herself to him so that he was somehow warranted in what he did. + She wondered if another sort of man would have done it, a gentleman, who + believed she was in love with him. She wondered if she were as much + shocked as she was astonished. She knew that there was everything in the + situation to make the fact shocking, but she got no distinct reply from + her jarred consciousness. + </p> + <p> + It ought to be known, and known at once; she ought to tell her brother, as + soon as she saw him; she thought of telling her aunt, and she fancied + having to shout the affair into her ear, and having to repeat, “He kissed + me! Don't you understand? Kissed me!” Then she reflected with a start that + she could never tell any one, that in the midst of her world she was alone + in relation to this; she was as helpless and friendless as the poorest and + lowliest girl could be. She was more so, for if she were like the maid + whom the grocer's boy kissed she would be of an order of things in which + she could advise with some one else who had been kissed; and she would + know what to feel. + </p> + <p> + She asked herself whether she was at all moved at heart; till now it + seemed to her that it had not been different with her toward him from what + it had been toward all the other men whose meaning she would have liked to + find out. She had not in the least respected them, and she did not respect + him; but if it happened because he was overcome by his love for her, and + could not help it, then perhaps she must forgive him whether she cared for + him or not. + </p> + <p> + These ideas presented themselves with the simultaneity of things in a + dream in that instant when she lingered helplessly in his hold, and she + even wondered if by any chance Andrew had seen them; but she heard his + step on the floor below; and at the same time it appeared to her that she + must be in love with this man if she did not resent what he had done. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0045" id="link2H_4_0045"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XLIII + </h2> + <p> + Westover was sitting at an open window of his studio smoking out into the + evening air, and looking down into the thinly foliaged tops of the public + garden, where the electrics fainted and flushed and hissed. Cars trooped + by in the troubled street, scraping the wires overhead that screamed as if + with pain at the touch of their trolleys, and kindling now and again a + soft planet, as the trolleys struck the batlike plates that connected the + crossing lines. The painter was getting almost as much pleasure out of the + planets as pain out of the screams, and he was in an after-dinner languor + in which he was very reluctant to recognize a step, which he thought he + knew, on his stairs and his stairs-landing. A knock at his door followed + the sound of the approaching steps. He lifted himself, and called out, + inhospitably, “Come in!” and, as he expected, Jeff Durgin came in. + Westover's meetings with him had been an increasing discomfort since his + return from Lion's Head. The uneasiness which he commonly felt at the + first moment of encounter with him yielded less and less to the influence + of Jeff's cynical bonhomie, and it returned in force as soon as they + parted. + </p> + <p> + It was rather dim in the place, except for the light thrown up into it + from the turmoil of lights outside, but he could see that there was + nothing of the smiling mockery on Jeff's face which habitually expressed + his inner hardihood. It was a frowning mockery. + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” said Westover. + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” answered Jeff. “Any commands for Lion's Head?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going up there to-morrow. I've got to see Cynthia, and tell her what + I've been doing.” + </p> + <p> + Westover waited a moment before he asked: “Do you want me to ask what + you've been doing?” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't mind it.” + </p> + <p> + The painter paused again. “I don't know that I care to ask. Is it any + good?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” shouted Jeff. “It's the worst thing yet, I guess you'll think. I + couldn't have believed it myself, if I hadn't been through it. I shouldn't + have supposed I was such a fool. I don't care for the girl; I never did.” + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia?” + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia? No! Miss Lynde. Oh, try to take it in!” Jeff cried, with a laugh + at the daze in Westover's face. “You must have known about the flirtation; + if you haven't, you're the only one.” His vanity in the fact betrayed + itself in his voice. “It came to a crisis last week, and we tried to make + each other believe that we were in earnest. But there won't be any real + love lost.” + </p> + <p> + Westover did not speak. He could not make out whether he was surprised or + whether he was shocked, and it seemed to him that he was neither surprised + nor shocked. He wondered whether he had really expected something of the + kind, sooner or later, or whether he was not always so apprehensive of + some deviltry in Durgin that nothing he did could quite take him unawares. + At last he said: “I suppose it's true—even though you say it. It's + probably the only truth in you.” + </p> + <p> + “That's something like,” said Jeff, as if the contempt gave him a sort of + pleasure; and his heavy face lighted up and then darkened again. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Westover, “what are we going to do? You've come to tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to break with her. I don't care for her—that!” He snapped + his fingers. “I told her I cared because she provoked me to. It happened + because she wanted it to and led up to it.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Westover. “You put it on her!” But he waited for Durgin's + justification with a dread that he should find something in it. + </p> + <p> + “Pshaw! What's the use? It's been a game from the beginning, and a + question which should ruin. I won. She meant to throw me over, if the time + came for her, but it came for me first, and it's only a question now which + shall break first; we've both been near it once or twice already. I don't + mean she shall get the start of me.” + </p> + <p> + Westover had a glimpse of the innate enmity of the sexes in this game; of + its presence in passion that was lived and of its prevalence in passion + that was played. But the fate of neither gambler concerned him; he was + impatient of his interest in what Jeff now went on to tell him, without + scruple concerning her, or palliation of himself. He scarcely realized + that he was listening, but afterward he remembered it all, with a little + pity for Bessie and none for Jeff, but with more shame for her, too. Love + seems more sacredly confided to women than to men; it is and must be a + higher and finer as well as a holier thing with them; their blame for its + betrayal must always be the heavier. He had sometimes suspected Bessie's + willingness to amuse herself with Jeff, as with any other man who would + let her play with him; and he would not have relied upon anything in him + to defeat her purpose, if it had been anything so serious as a purpose. + </p> + <p> + At the end of Durgin's story he merely asked: “And what are you going to + do about Cynthia?” + </p> + <p> + “I am going to tell her,” said Jeff. “That's what I am going up there + for.” + </p> + <p> + Westover rose, but Jeff remained sitting where he had put himself astride + of a chair, with his face over the back. The painter walked slowly up and + down before him in the capricious play of the street light. He turned a + little sick, and he stopped a moment at the window for a breath of air. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” asked Jeff. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! You want my advice?” Westover still felt physically incapable of the + indignation which he strongly imagined. “I don't know what to say to you, + Durgin. You transcend my powers. Are you able to see this whole thing + yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “I guess so,” Jeff answered. “I don't idealize it, though. I look at + facts; they're bad enough. You don't suppose that Miss Lynde is going to + break her heart over—” + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe I care for Miss Lynde any more than I care for you. But I + believe I wish you were not going to break with her.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because you and she are fit for each other. If you want my advice, I + advise you to be true to her—if you can.” + </p> + <p> + “And Cynthia?” + </p> + <p> + “Break with her.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” Jeff gave a snort of derision. + </p> + <p> + “You're not fit for her. You couldn't do a crueler thing for her than to + keep faith with her.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I mean it. Stick to Miss Lynde—if she'll let you.” + </p> + <p> + Jeff seemed puzzled by Westover's attitude, which was either too sincere + or too ironical for him. He pushed his hat, which he had kept on, back + from his forehead. “Damned if I don't believe she would,” he mused aloud. + The notion seemed to flatter him and repay him for what he must have been + suffering. He smiled, but he said: “She wouldn't do, even if she were any + good. Cynthia is worth a million of her. If she wants to give me up after + she knows all about me, well and good. I shu'n't blame her. But I shall + give her a fair chance, and I shu'n't whitewash myself; you needn't be + afraid of that, Mr. Westover.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should I care what you do?” asked the painter, scornfully. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you can't, on my account,” Durgin allowed. “But you do care on her + account.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do,” said Westover, sitting down again, and he did not say + anything more. + </p> + <p> + Durgin waited a long while for him to speak before he asked: “Then that's + really your advice, is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, break with her.” + </p> + <p> + “And stick to Miss Lynde.” + </p> + <p> + “If she'll let you.” + </p> + <p> + Jeff was silent in his turn. He started from his silence with a laugh. + “She'd make a daisy landlady for Lion's Head. I believe she would like to + try it awhile just for the fun. But after the ball was over—well, it + would be a good joke, if it was a joke. Cynthia is a woman—she a'n't + any corpse-light. She understands me, and she don't overrate me, either. + She knew just how much I was worth, and she took me at her own valuation. + I've got my way in life marked out, and she believes in it as much as I + do. If anybody can keep me level and make the best of me, she can, and + she's going to have the chance, if she wants to. I'm going to act square + with her about the whole thing. I guess she's the best judge in a case + like this, and I shall lay the whole case before her, don't you be afraid + of that. And she's got to have a free field. Why, even if there wa'n't any + question of her,” he went on, falling more and more into his vernacular, + “I don't believe I should care in the long run for this other one. We + couldn't make it go for any time at all. She wants excitement, and after + the summer folks began to leave, and we'd been to Florida for a winter, + and then came back to Lion's Head-well! This planet hasn't got excitement + enough in it for that girl, and I doubt if the solar system has. At any + rate, I'm not going to act as advance-agent for her.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said Westover, “that you've been reasoning it all out, and I'm + not surprised that you've kept your own advantage steadily in mind. I + don't suppose you know what a savage you are, and I don't suppose I could + teach you. I sha'n't try, at any rate. I'll take you on your own ground, + and I tell you again you had better break with Cynthia. I won't say that + it's what you owe her, for that won't have any effect with you, but it's + what you owe yourself. You can't do a wrong thing and prosper on it—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, you can,” Jeff interrupted, with a sneering laugh. “How do you + suppose all the big fortunes were made? By keeping the Commandments?” + </p> + <p> + “No. But you're an unlucky man if life hasn't taught you that you must pay + in suffering of some kind, sooner or later, for every wrong thing you do—” + </p> + <p> + “Now that's one of your old-fashioned superstitions, Mr. Westover,” said + Jeff, with a growing kindliness in his tone, as if the pathetic delusion + of such a man really touched him. “You pay, or you don't pay, just as it + happens. If you get hit soon after you've done wrong, you think it's + retribution, and if it holds off till you've forgotten all about it, you + think it's a strange Providence, and you puzzle over it, but you don't + reform. You keep right along in the old way. Prosperity and adversity, + they've got nothing to do with conduct. If you're a strong man, you get + there, and if you're a weak man, all the righteousness in the universe + won't help you. But I propose to do what's right about Cynthia, and not + what's wrong; and according to your own theory, of life—which won't + hold water a minute—I ought to be blessed to the third and fourth + generation. I don't look for that, though. I shall be blessed if I look + out for myself; and if I don't, I shall suffer for my want of foresight. + But I sha'n't suffer for anything else. Well, I'm going to cut some of my + recitations, and I'm going up to Lion's Head, to-morrow, to settle my + business with Cynthia. I've got a little business to look after here with + some one else first, and I guess I shall have to be about it. I don't know + which I shall like the best.” He rose, and went over to where Westover was + sitting, and held out his hand to him. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked Westover. + </p> + <p> + “Any commands for Lion's Head?” Jeff said, as at first. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Westover, turning his face away. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, all right.” Durgin put his hand into his pocket unshaken. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XLIV + </h2> + <p> + “What is it, Jeff?” asked Cynthia, the next night, as they started out + together after supper, and began to stroll down the hill toward her + father's house. It lay looking very little and low in the nook at the foot + of the lane, on the verge of the woods that darkened away to the northward + from it, under the glassy night sky, lit with the spare young moon. The + peeping of the frogs in the marshy places filled the air; the hoarse voice + of the brook made itself heard at intervals through them. + </p> + <p> + “It's not so warm here, quite, as it is in Boston,” he returned. “Are you + wrapped up enough? This air has an edge to it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm all right,” said the girl. “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “You think there's something? You don't believe I've come up for rest over + Sunday? I guess mother herself didn't, and I could see your father + following up my little lies as if he wa'n't going to let one escape him. + Well, you're right. There is something. Think of the worst thing you can, + Cynthy!” + </p> + <p> + She pulled her hand out of his arm, which she had taken, and halted him by + her abrupt pause. “You're not going to get through!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm all right on my conditions,” said Jeff, with forlorn derision. + “You'll have to guess again.” He stood looking back over his shoulder at + her face, which showed white in the moonlight, swathed airily round in the + old-fashioned soft woollen cloud she wore. + </p> + <p> + “Is it some trouble you've got into? I shall stand by you!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you splendid girl! The trouble's over, but it's something you can't + stand by me in, I guess. You know that girl I wrote to you about—the + one I met at the college tea, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes! Miss Lynde!” + </p> + <p> + “Come on! We can't stay here talking. Let's go down and sit on your + porch.” She mechanically obeyed him, and they started on together down the + hill again; but she did not offer to take his arm, and he kept the width + of the roadway from her. + </p> + <p> + “What about her?” she quietly asked. + </p> + <p> + “Last night I ended up the flirtation I've been carrying on with her ever + since.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to know just what you mean, Jeff.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean that last week I got engaged to her, and last night I broke with + her.” Cynthia seemed to stumble on something; he sprang over and caught. + her, and now she put her hand in his arm, and stayed herself by him as + they walked. + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “That's all there is of it.” + </p> + <p> + “No!” She stopped, and then she asked, with a kind of gentle bewilderment: + “What did you want to tell me for?” + </p> + <p> + “To let you break with me—if you wanted to.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you care for me any more?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, more than ever I did. But I'm not fit for you, Cynthia. Mr. Westover + said I wasn't. I told him about it—” + </p> + <p> + “What did he say?” + </p> + <p> + “That I ought to break with you.” + </p> + <p> + “But if you broke with her?” + </p> + <p> + “He told me to stick to her. He was right about you, Cynthy. I'm not fit + for you, and that's a fact.” + </p> + <p> + “What was it about that girl? Tell me everything.” She spoke in a tone of + plaintive entreaty, very unlike the command she once used with Jeff when + she was urging him to be frank with her and true to himself. They had come + to her father's house and she freed her hand from his arm again, and sat + down on the step before the side door with a little sigh as of fatigue. + </p> + <p> + “You'll take cold,” said Jeff, who remained on foot in front of her. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said, briefly. “Go on.” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” Jeff began, harshly, and with a note of scorn for himself and his + theme in his voice, “there isn't any more of it, but there's no end to + her. I promised Mr. Westover I shouldn't whitewash myself, and I sha'n't. + I've been behaving badly, and it's no excuse for me because she wanted me + to. I began to go for her as soon as I saw that she wanted me to, and that + she liked the excitement. The excitement is all that she cared for; she + didn't care for me except for the excitement of it. She thought she could + have fun with me, and then throw me over; but I guess she found her match. + You couldn't understand such a girl, and I don't brag of it. All she cared + for was to flirt with me, and she liked it all the more because I was a + jay and she could get something new out of it. I can't explain it; but I + could see it right along. She fooled herself more than she fooled me.” + </p> + <p> + “Was she—very good-looking?” Cynthia asked, listlessly. + </p> + <p> + “No!” shouted Jeff. “She wasn't good-looking at all. She was dark and + thin, and she had little slanting eyes; but she was graceful, and she knew + how to make herself go further than any girl I ever saw. If she came into + a room, she made you look at her, or you had to somehow. She was bright, + too; and she had more sense than all the other girls there put together. + But she was a fool, all the same.” Jeff paused. “Is that enough?” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't all.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it isn't all. We didn't meet much at first, but I got to walking home + with her from some teas; and then we met at a big ball. I danced with her + the whole while nearly, and—and I took her brother home—Pshaw! + He was drunk; and I—well, he had got drunk drinking with me at the + ball. The wine didn't touch me, but it turned his head; and I took him + home; he's a drunkard, anyway. She let us in when we got to their house, + and that kind of made a tie between us. She pretended to think she was + under obligations to me, and so I got to going to her house.” + </p> + <p> + “Did she know how her brother got drunk?” + </p> + <p> + “She does now. I told her last night.” + </p> + <p> + “How came you to tell her?” + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to break with her. I wanted to stop it, once for all, and I + thought that would do it, if anything would.” + </p> + <p> + “Did that make her willing to give you up?” + </p> + <p> + Jeff checked himself in a sort of retrospective laugh. “I'm not so sure. I + guess she liked the excitement of that, too. You couldn't understand the + kind of girl she—She wanted to flirt with me that night I brought + him home tipsy.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't care to hear any more about her. Why did you give her up?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I didn't care for her, and I did care for you, Cynthy.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe it.” Cynthia rose from the step, where she had been + sitting, as if with renewed strength. “Go up and tell father to come down + here. I want to see him.” She turned and put her hand on the latch of the + door. + </p> + <p> + “You're not going in there, Cynthia,” said Jeff. “It must be like death in + there.” + </p> + <p> + “It's more like death out here. But if it's the cold you mean, you needn't + be troubled. We've had a fire to-day, airing out the house. Will you go?” + </p> + <p> + “But what do you—what are you going to say to me?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, yet. If I said anything now, I should tell you what Mr. + Westover did: go back to that girl, if she'll let you. You're fit for each + other, as he said. Did you tell her that you were engaged to some one + else?” + </p> + <p> + “I did, last night.” + </p> + <p> + “But before that she didn't know how false you were. Well, you're not fit + for her, then; you're not good enough.” + </p> + <p> + She opened the door and went in, closing it after her. Jeff turned and + walked slowly away; then he came quickly back, as if he were going to + follow her within. But through the window he saw her as she stood by the + table with a lamp in her hand. She had turned up the light, which shone + full in her face and revealed its severe beauty broken and writhen with + the effort to repress her weeping. He might not have minded the severity + or the beauty, but the pathos was more than he could stand. “Oh, Lord!” he + said, with a shrug, and he turned again and walked slowly up the hill. + </p> + <p> + When Whitwell faced his daughter in the little sitting-room, whose low + ceiling his hat almost touched as he stood before her, the storm had + passed with her, and her tear-drenched visage wore its wonted look of + still patience. + </p> + <p> + “Did Jeff tell you why I sent for you, father?” + </p> + <p> + “No. But I knew it was trouble,” said Whitwell, with a dignity which-his + sympathy for her gave a countenance better adapted to the expression of + the lighter emotions. + </p> + <p> + “I guess you were right about him,” she resumed: She went on to tell in + brief the story that Jeff had told her. Her father did not interrupt her, + but at the end he said, inadequately: “He's a comical devil. I knew about + his gittin' that feller drunk. Mr. Westover told me when he was up here.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Westover did!” said Cynthia, in a note of indignation. + </p> + <p> + “He didn't offer to,” Whitwell explained. “I got it out of him in spite of + him, I guess.” He had sat down with his hat on, as his absent-minded habit + was, and he now braced his knees against the edge of the table. Cynthia + sat across it from him with her head drooped over it, drawing vague + figures on the board with her finger. “What are you goin' to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “I guess you don't quite realize it yet,” her father suggested, tenderly. + “Well, I don't want to hurry you any. Take your time.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess I realize it,” said the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's a pootty plain case, that's a fact,” Whitwell conceded. She + was silent, and he asked: “How did he come to tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “It's what he came up for. He began to tell me at once. I was certain + there was some trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “Was it his notion to come, I wonder, or Mr. Westover's?” + </p> + <p> + “It was his. But Mr. Westover told him to break off with me, and keep on + with her, if she would let him.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess that was pootty good advice,” said Whitwell, letting his face + betray his humorous relish of it. “I guess there's a pair of 'em.” + </p> + <p> + “She was not playing any one else false,” said Cynthia, bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I guess that's so, too,” her father assented. “'Ta'n't so much of a + muchness as you might think, in that light.” He took refuge from the + subject in an undirected whistle. + </p> + <p> + After a moment the girl asked, forlornly: “What should you do, father, if + you were in my place?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there I guess you got me, Cynthy,” said her father. “I don't + believe 't any man, I don't care how old he is, or how much experience + he's had, knows exactly how a girl feels about a thing like this, or has + got any call to advise her. Of course, the way I feel is like takin' the + top of his head off. But I d' know,” he added, “as that would do a great + deal of good, either. I presume a woman's got rather of a chore to get + along with a man, anyway. We a'n't any of us much to brag on. It's out o' + sight, out o' mind, with the best of us, I guess.” + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn't be with Jackson—it wouldn't be with Mr. Westover.” + </p> + <p> + “There a'n't many men like Mr. Westover—well, not a great many; or + Jackson, either. Time! I wish Jackson was home! He'd know how to + straighten this thing out, and he wouldn't weaken over Jeff much—well, + not much. But he a'n't here, and you've got to act for yourself. The way I + look at it is this: you took Jeff when you knowed what a comical devil he + was, and I presume you ha'n't got quite the same right to be disappointed + in what he done as if you hadn't knowed. Now mind, I a'n't excusin' him. + But if you knowed he was the feller to play the devil if he got a chance, + the question is whether—whether—” + </p> + <p> + “I know what you mean, father,” said the girl, “and I don't want to shirk + my responsibility. It was everything to have him come right up and tell + me.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Whitwell, impartially, “as far forth as that goes, I don't + think he's strained himself. He'd know you would hear of it sooner or + later anyway, and he ha'n't just found out that he was goin' wrong. Been + keepin' it up for the last three months, and writin' you all the while + them letters you was so crazy to get.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” sighed the girl. “But we've got to be just to his disposition as + well as his actions. I can see it in one light that can excuse it some. He + can't bear to be put down, and I know he's been left out a good deal among + the students, and it's made him bitter. He told me about it; that's one + reason why he wanted to leave Harvard this last year. He saw other young + men made much of, when he didn't get any notice; and when he had the + chance to pay them back with a girl of their own set that was trying to + make a fool of him—” + </p> + <p> + “That was the time for him to remember you,” said Whitwell. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia broke under the defence she was trying to make. “Yes,” she said, + with an indrawn sigh, and she began to sob piteously. + </p> + <p> + The sight of her grief seemed to kindle her father's wrath to a flame. + “Any way you look at him, he's been a dumn blackguard; that's what he's + been. You're a million times too good for him; and I—” + </p> + <p> + She sobbed herself quiet, and then she said: “Father, I don't like to go + up there to-night. I want to stay here.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Cynthia. I'll come down and stay with you. You got everything + we want here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. And I'll go up and get the breakfast for them in the morning. There + won't be much to do.” + </p> + <p> + “Dumn 'em! Let 'em get their own breakfast!” said Whitwell, recklessly. + </p> + <p> + “And, father,” the girl went on as if he had not spoken, “don't you talk + to Mrs. Durgin about it, will you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no. I sha'n't speak to her. I'll just tell Frank you and me are goin' + to stay down here to-night. She'll suspicion something, but she can figure + it out for herself. Or she can make Jeff tell her. It can't be kept from + her.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, let him be the one to tell her. Whatever happens, I shall never + speak of it to a soul besides you.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Cynthy. You'll have the night to think it over—I guess + you won't sleep much—and I'll trust you to do what's the best thing + about it.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0047" id="link2H_4_0047"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XLV. + </h2> + <p> + Cynthia found Mrs. Durgin in the old farm-house kitchen at work getting + breakfast when she came up to the hotel in the morning. She was early, but + the elder woman had been earlier still, and her heavy face showed more of + their common night-long trouble than the girl's. + </p> + <p> + She demanded, at sight of her, “What's the matter with you and Jeff, + Cynthy?” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia was unrolling the cloud from her hair. She said, as she tied on + her apron: “You must get him to tell you, Mrs. Durgin.” + </p> + <p> + “Then there is something?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Has Jeff been using you wrong?” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia stooped to open the oven door, and to turn the pan of biscuit she + found inside. She shut the door sharply to, and said, as she rose: “I + don't want to tell anything about it, and I sha'n't, Mrs. Durgin. He can + do it, if he wants to. Shall I make the coffee?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; you seem to make it better than I do. Do you think I shouldn't + believe you was fair to him?” + </p> + <p> + “I wasn't thinking of that. But it's his secret. If he wants to keep it, + he can keep it, for all me.” + </p> + <p> + “You ha'n't give each other up?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know.” Cynthia turned away with a trembling chin, and began to + beat the coffee up with an egg she had dropped into the pot. She put the + breakfast on the table when it was ready, but she would not sit down with + the rest. She said she did not want any breakfast, and she drank a cup of + coffee in the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + It fell to Jeff mainly to keep the talk going. He had been out at the barn + with Jombateeste since daybreak, looking after the cattle, and the joy of + the weather had got into his nerves and spirits. At first he had lain + awake after he went to bed, but he had fallen asleep about midnight, and + got a good night's rest. He looked fresh and strong and very handsome. He + talked resolutely to every one at the table, but Jombateeste was always + preoccupied with eating at his meals, and Frank Whitwell had on a Sunday + silence, which was perhaps deepened by a feeling that there was something + wrong between his sister and Jeff, and it would be rash to commit himself + to an open friendliness until he understood the case. His father met + Jeff's advances with philosophical blandness and evasion, and Mrs. Durgin + was provisionally dry and severe both with the Whitwells and her son. + After breakfast she went to the parlor, and Jeff set about a tour of the + hotel, inside and out. He looked carefully to the details of its winter + keeping. Then he came back and boldly joined his mother where she sat + before her stove, whose subdued heat she found pleasant in the lingering + cold of the early spring. + </p> + <p> + He tossed his hat on the table beside her, and sat down on the other side + of the stove. “Well, I must say the place has been well looked after. I + don't believe Jackson himself could have kept it in better shape. When was + the last you heard from him?” + </p> + <p> + “I hope,” said his mother, gravely, “you've been lookin' after your end at + Boston, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, not as well as you have here, mother,” said Jeff, candidly. “Has + Cynthy told you?” + </p> + <p> + “I guess she expected you to tell me, if there was anything.” + </p> + <p> + “There's a lot; but I guess I needn't go over it all. I've been playing + the devil.” + </p> + <p> + “Jeff!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have. I've been going with another girl down there, one the kind + you wanted me to make up to, and I went so far I—well, I made love + to her; and then I thought it over, and found out I didn't really care for + her, and I had to tell her so, and then I came up to tell Cynthy. That's + about the size of it. What do you think of it?” + </p> + <p> + “D' you tell Cynthy?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I told her.” + </p> + <p> + “What 'd she say?” + </p> + <p> + “She said I'd better go back to the other girl.” Jeff laughed hardily, but + his mother remained impassive. + </p> + <p> + “I guess she's right; I guess you had.” + </p> + <p> + “That seems to be the general opinion. That's what Mr. Westover advised. I + seem to be the only one against it. I suppose you mean that I'm not fit + for Cynthy. I don't deny it. All I say is I want her, and I don't want the + other one. What are you going to do in a case like that?” + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> <img src="images/{0397}.jpg" alt="{0397}" width="100%" /><br /> </div> <h5> <a href="images/{0397}.jpg"> <img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> </h5> + + <p> + “The way I should look at it,” said his mother, “is this: whatever you + are, Cynthy made you. You was a lazy, disobedient, worthless boy, and it + was her carin' for you from the first that put any spirit and any + principle into you. It was her that helped you at school when you was + little things together; and she helped you at the academy, and she's + helped you at college. I'll bet she could take a degree, or whatever it + is, at Harvard better than you could now; and if you ever do take a + degree, you've got her to thank for it.” + </p> + <p> + “That's so,” said Jeff. “And what's the reason you didn't want me to marry + her when I came in here last summer and told you I'd asked her to?” + </p> + <p> + “You know well enough what the reason was. It was part of the same thing + as my wantin' you to be a lawyer; but I might knowed that if you didn't + have Cynthy to go into court with you, and put the words into your mouth, + you wouldn't make a speech that would”—Mrs. Durgin paused for a + fitting figure—“save a flea from the gallows.” + </p> + <p> + Jeff burst into a laugh. “Well, I guess that's so, mother. And now you + want me to throw away the only chance I've got of learning how to run + Lion's Head in the right way by breaking with Cynthy.” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody wants you to run Lion's Head for a while yet,” his mother + returned, scornfully. “Jackson is going to run Lion's Head. He'll be home + the end of June, and I'll run Lion's Head till he gets here. You talk,” + she went on, “as if it was in your hands to break with Cynthy, or throw + away the chance with her. The way I look at it, she's broke with you, and + you ha'n't got any chance with her. Oh, Jeff,” she suddenly appealed to + him, “tell me all about it! What have you been up to? If I understood it + once, I know I can make her see it in the right light.” + </p> + <p> + “The better you understand it, mother, the less you'll like it; and I + guess Cynthy sees it in the right light already. What did she say?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. She said she'd leave it to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's like Cynthy. I'll tell you, then,” said Jeff; and he told + his mother his whole affair with Bessie Lynde. He had to be very + elemental, and he was aware, as he had never been before, of the + difference between Bessie's world and his mother's world, in trying to + make Bessie's world conceivable to her. + </p> + <p> + He was patient in going over every obscure point, and illustrating from + the characters and condition of different summer folks the facts of + Bessie's entourage. It is doubtful, however, if he succeeded in conveying + to his mother a clear and just notion of the purely chic nature of the + girl. In the end she seemed to conceive of her simply as a hussy, and so + pronounced her, without limit or qualification, in spite of Jeff's + laughing attempt to palliate her behavior, and to inculpate himself. She + said she did not see what he had done that was so much out of the way. + That thing had led him on from the beginning; she had merely got her + come-uppings, when all was said. Mrs. Durgin believed Cynthia would look + at it as she did, if she could have it put before her rightly. Jeff shook + his head with persistent misgiving. His notion was that Cynthia saw the + affair only too clearly, and that there was no new light to be thrown on + it from her point of view. Mrs. Durgin would not allow this; she was sure + that she could bring Cynthia round; and she asked Jeff whether it was his + getting that fellow drunk that she seemed to blame him for the most. He + answered that he thought that was pretty bad, but he did not believe that + was the worst thing in Cynthia's eyes. He did not forbid his mother's + trying to do what she could with her, and he went away for a walk, and + left the house to the two women. Jombateeste was in the barn, which he + preferred to the house, and Frank Whitwell had gone to church over at the + Huddle. As Jeff passed Whitwell's cottage in setting out on his stroll he + saw the philosopher through the window, seated with his legs on the table, + his hat pushed back, and his spectacles fallen to the point of his nose, + reading, and moving his lips as he read. + </p> + <p> + The forenoon sun was soft, but the air was cool. + </p> + <p> + There was still plenty of snow on the upper slopes of the hills, and there + was a drift here and there in a corner of pasture wall in the valley; but + the springtime green was beginning to hover over the wet places in the + fields; the catkins silvered the golden tracery of the willow branches by + the brook; there was a buzz of bees about them, and about the maples, + blackened by the earlier flow of sap through the holes in the bark made by + the woodpeckers' bills. Now and then the tremolo of a bluebird shook in + the tender light and the keen air. At one point in the road where the sun + fell upon some young pines in a sheltered spot a balsamic odor exhaled + from them. + </p> + <p> + These gentle sights and sounds and odors blended in the influence which + Jeff's spirit felt more and more. He realized that he was a blot on the + loveliness of the morning. He had a longing to make atonement and to win + forgiveness. His heart was humbled toward Cynthia, and he went wondering + how his mother would make it out with her, and how, if she won him any + advantage, he should avail himself of it and regain the girl's trust; he + had no doubt of her love. He perceived that there was nothing for him + hereafter but the most perfect constancy of thought and deed, and he + desired nothing better. + </p> + <p> + At a turn of his road where it branched toward the Huddle a group of young + girls stood joking and laughing; before Jeff came up with them they + separated, and all but one continued on the way beyond the turning. She + came toward Jeff, who gayly recognized her as she drew near. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> <img src="images/{0409}.jpg" alt="{0409}" width="100%" /><br /> </div> <h5> <a href="images/{0409}.jpg"> <img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> </h5> + + <p> + She blushed and bridled at his bow and at his beauty and splendor, and in + her embarrassment pertly said that she did not suppose he would have + remembered her. She was very young, but at fifteen a country girl is not + so young as her town sister at eighteen in the ways of the other sex. + </p> + <p> + Jeff answered that he should have known her anywhere, in spite of her + looking so much older than she did in the summer when she had come with + berries to the hotel. He said she must be feeling herself quite a young + lady now, in her long dresses, and he praised the dress which she had on. + He said it became her style; and he found such relief from his heavy + thoughts in these harmless pleasantries that he kept on with them. He had + involuntarily turned with her to walk back to her house on the way he had + come, and he asked her if he might not carry her catkins for her. She had + a sheaf of them in the hollow of her slender arm, which seemed to him very + pretty, and after a little struggle she yielded them to him. The struggle + gave him still greater relief from his self-reproach, and at her gate he + begged her to let him keep one switch of the pussywillows, and he stood a + moment wondering whether he might not ask her for something else. She + chose one from the bundle, and drew it lightly across his face before she + put it in his hand. “You may have this for Cynthy,” she said, and she ran + laughingly up the pathway to her door. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0048" id="link2H_4_0048"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XLVI + </h2> + <p> + Cynthia did not appear at dinner, and Jeff asked his mother when he saw + her alone if she had spoken to the girl. “Yes, but she said she did not + want to talk yet.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” he returned. “I'm going to take a nap; I believe I feel as if + I hadn't slept for a month.” + </p> + <p> + He slept the greater part of the afternoon, and came down rather dull to + the early tea. Cynthia was absent again, and his mother was silent and + wore a troubled look. Whitwell was full of a novel conception of the + agency of hypnotism in interpreting the life of the soul as it is + intimated in dreams. He had been reading a book that affirmed the + consubstantiality of the sleep-dream and the hypnotic illusion. He wanted + to know if Jeff, down at Boston, had seen anything of the hypnotic doings + that would throw light on this theory. + </p> + <p> + It was still full light when they rose from the table, and it was scarcely + twilight when Jeff heard Cynthia letting herself out at the back door. He + fancied her going down to her father's house, and he went out to the + corner of the hotel to meet her. She faltered a moment at sight of him, + and then kept on with averted face. + </p> + <p> + He joined her, and walked beside her. “Well, Cynthy, what are you going to + say to me? I'm off for Cambridge again to-morrow morning, and I suppose + we've got to understand each other. I came up here to put myself in your + hands, to keep or to throw away, just as you please. Well? Have you + thought about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Every minute,” said the girl, quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “If you had cared for me, it couldn't have happened.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, it could. Now that's just where you're mistaken. That's where a + woman never can understand a man. I might carry on with half a dozen + girls, and yet never forget you, or think less of you, although I could + see all the time how pretty and bright every one of 'em was. That's the + way a man's mind is built. It's curious, but it's true.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe I care for any share in your mind, then,” said the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come, now! You don't mean that. You know I was just joking; you know + I don't justify what I've done, and I don't excuse it. But I think I've + acted pretty square with you about it—about telling you, I mean. I + don't want to lay any claim, but you remember when you made me promise + that if there was anything shady I wanted to hide from you—Well, I + acted on that. You do remember?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Cynthia, and she pulled the cloud over the side of her face + next to him, and walked a little faster. + </p> + <p> + He hastened his steps to keep up with her. “Cynthy, if you put your arms + round me, as you did then—” + </p> + <p> + “I can't Jeff!” + </p> + <p> + “You don't want to.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do! But you don't want me to, as you did then. Do you?” She + stopped abruptly and faced him full. “Tell me, honestly!” + </p> + <p> + Jeff dropped his bold eyes, and the smile left his handsome mouth. + </p> + <p> + “You don't,” said the girl, “for you know that if you did, I would do it.” + She began to walk on again. “It wouldn't be hard for me to forgive you + anything you've done against me—or against yourself; I should care + for you the same—if you were the same person; but you're not the + same, and you know it. I told you then—that time that I didn't want + to make you do what you knew was right, and I never shall try to do it + again. I'm sorry I did it then. I was wrong. And I should be afraid of you + if I did now. Some time you would make me suffer for it, just as you've + made me suffer for making you do then what was right.” + </p> + <p> + It struck Jeff as a very curious fact that Cynthia must always have known + him better than he knew himself in some ways, for he now perceived the + truth and accuracy of her words. He gave her mind credit for the + penetration due her heart; he did not understand that it is through their + love women divine the souls of men. What other witnesses of his character + had slowly and carefully reasoned out from their experience of him she had + known from the beginning, because he was dear to her. + </p> + <p> + He was silent, and then, with rare gravity, he said, “Cynthia, I believe + you're right,” and he never knew how her heart leaped toward him at his + words. “I'm a pretty bad chap, I guess. But I want you to give me another + chance and I'll try not to make you pay for it, either,” he added, with a + flicker of his saucy humor. + </p> + <p> + “I'll give you a chance, then,” she said, and she shrank from the hand he + put out toward her. “Go back and tell that girl you're free now, and if + she wants you she can have you.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that what you call a chance?” demanded Jeff, between anger and injury. + For an instant he imagined her deriding him and revenging herself. + </p> + <p> + “It's the only one I can give you. She's never tried to make you do what + was right, and you'll never be tempted to hurt her.” + </p> + <p> + “You're pretty rough on me, Cynthy,” Jeff protested, almost plaintively. + He asked, more in character: “Ain't you afraid of making me do right, + now?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not making you. I don't promise you anything, even if she won't have + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” + </p> + <p> + “Did you suppose I didn't mean that you were free? That I would put a lie + in your mouth for you to be true with?” + </p> + <p> + “I guess you're too deep for me,” said Jeff, after a sulky silence. + </p> + <p> + “Then it's all off between us? What do you say?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you say?” + </p> + <p> + “I say it's just as it was before, if you care for me.” + </p> + <p> + “I care for you, but it can never be the same as it was before. What + you've done, you've done. I wish I could help it, but I can't. I can't + make myself over into what I was twenty-four hours ago. I seem another + person, in another world; it's as if I died, and came to life somewhere + else. I'm sorry enough, if that could help, but it can't. Go and tell that + girl the truth: that you came up here to me, and I sent you back to her.” + </p> + <p> + A gleam of amusement visited Jeff in the gloom where he seemed to be + darkling. He fancied doing that very thing with Bessie Lynde, and the wild + joy she would snatch from an experience so unique, so impossible. Then the + gleam faded. “And what if I didn't want her?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Tell her that too,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said Jeff, sulkily, “you'll let me go away and do as I + please, if I'm free.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes. I don't want you to do anything because I told you. I won't make + that mistake again. Go and do what you are able to do of your own free + will. You know what you ought to do as well as I do; and you know a great + deal better what you can do.” + </p> + <p> + They had reached Cynthia's house, and they were talking at the side door, + as they had the night before, when there had been hope for her in the + newness of her calamity, before she had yet fully imagined it. + </p> + <p> + Jeff made no answer to her last words. He asked, “Am I going to see you + again?” + </p> + <p> + “I guess not. I don't believe I shall be up before you start.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. Good-bye, then.” He held out his hand, and she put hers in it + for the moment he chose to hold it. Then he turned and slowly climbed the + hill. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia was still lying with her face in her pillow when her father came + into the dark little house, and peered into her room with the newly + lighted lamp in his hand. She turned her face quickly over and looked at + him with dry and shining eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's all over with Jeff and me, father.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm satisfied,” said Whitwell. “If you could ha' made it up, so you + could ha' felt right about it, I shouldn't ha' had anything to say against + it, but I'm glad it's turned out the way it has. He's a comical devil, and + he always was, and I'm glad you a'n't takin' on about him any more. You + used to have so much spirit when you was little.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,—spirit! You don't know how much spirit I've had, now.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I presume not,” Whitwell assented. + </p> + <p> + “I've been thinking,” said the girl, after a little pause, “that we shall + have to go away from here.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I guess not,” her father began. “Not for no Jeff Dur—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes. We must! Don't make one talk about it. We'll stay here till + Jackson gets back in June, and then—we must go somewhere else. We'll + go down to Boston, and I'll try to get a place to teach, or something, and + Frank can get a place.” + </p> + <p> + “I presume,” Whitwell mused, “that Mr. Westover could—” + </p> + <p> + “Father!” cried the girl, with an energy that startled him, as she lifted + herself on her elbow. “Don't ever think of troubling Mr. Westover! Oh,” + she lamented, “I was thinking of troubling him myself! But we mustn't, we + mustn't! I should be so ashamed!” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Whitwell, “time enough to think about all that. We got two + good months yet to plan it out before Jackson gets back, and I guess we + can think of something before that. I presume,” he added, thoughtfully, + “that when Mrs. Durgin hears that you've give Jeff the sack, she'll make + consid'able of a kick. She done it when you got engaged.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0049" id="link2H_4_0049"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XLVII. + </h2> + <p> + After he went back to Cambridge, Jeff continued mechanically in the + direction given him by motives which had ceased for him. In the midst of + his divergence with Bessie Lynde he had still kept an inner fealty to + Cynthia, and tried to fulfil the purposes and ambition she had for him. + The operation of this habitual allegiance now kept him up to his work, but + the time must come when it could no longer operate, when his whole + consciousness should accept the fact known to his intelligence, and he + should recognize the close of that incident of his life as the bereaved + finally accept and recognize the fact of death. + </p> + <p> + The event brought him relief, and it brought him freedom. He was sensible + in his relaxation of having strained up to another's ideal, of having been + hampered by another's will. His pleasure in the relief was tempered by a + regret, not wholly unpleasant, for the girl whose aims, since they were no + longer his, must be disappointed. He was sorry for Cynthia, and in his + remorse he was fonder of her than he had ever been. He felt her + magnanimity and clemency; he began to question, in that wordless deep of + being where volition begins, whether it would not be paying a kind of duty + to her if he took her at her word and tried to go back to Bessie Lynde. + But for the present he did nothing but renounce all notion of working at + his conditions, or attempting to take a degree. That was part of a thing + that was past, and was no part of anything to come, so far as Jeff now + forecast his future. + </p> + <p> + He did not choose to report himself to Westover, and risk a scolding, or a + snubbing. He easily forgave Westover for the tone he had taken at their + last meeting, but he did not care to see him. He would have met him + half-way, however, in a friendly advance, and he was aware of much + good-will toward him, which he could not have been reluctant to show if + chance had brought them together. + </p> + <p> + Jeff missed Cynthia's letters which used to come so regularly every + Tuesday, and he had a half-hour every Sunday which was at first rather + painfully vacant since he no longer wrote to her. But in this vacancy he + had at least no longer the pang of self-reproach which her letters always + brought him, and he was not obliged to put himself to the shame of + concealment in writing to her. He had never minded that tacit lying on his + own account, but he hated it in relation to her; it always hurt him as + something incongruous and unfit. He wrote to his mother now on Sunday, and + in his first letter, while the impression of Cynthia's dignity and + generosity was still vivid, he urged her to make it clear to the girl that + he wished her and her family to remain at Lion's Head as if nothing had + happened. He put a great deal of real feeling into this request, and he + offered to go and spend a year in Europe, if his mother thought that + Cynthia would be more reconciled to his coming back at the end of that + time. + </p> + <p> + His mother answered with a dryness to which his ear supplied the tones of + her voice, that she would try to get along in the management of Lion's + Head till his brother got back, but that she had no objection to his going + to Europe for a year if he had the money to spare. Jeff could not refuse + her joke, as he felt it, a certain applause, but he thought it pretty + rough that his mother should take part so decidedly against him as she + seemed to be doing. He had expected her to be angry with him, but before + they parted she had seemed to find some excuse for him, and yet here she + was siding against her own son in what he might very well consider an + unnatural way. If Jackson had been at home he would have laid it to his + charge; but he knew that Cynthia would have scorned even to speak of him + with his mother, and he knew too well his mother's slight for Whitwell to + suppose that he could have influenced her. His mind turned in momentary + suspicion to Westover. Had Westover, he wondered, with a purpose to pay + him up for it forming itself simultaneously with his question, been + setting his mother against him? She might have written to Westover to get + at the true inwardness of his behavior, and Westover might have written + her something that had made her harden her heart against him. But upon + reflection this seemed out of character for both of them; and Jeff was + thrown back upon his mother's sober second thought of his misconduct for + an explanation of her coldness. He could not deny that he had grievously + disappointed her in several ways. But he did not see why he should not + take a certain hint from her letter, or construct a hint from it, at one + with a vague intent prompted by his own restless and curious vanity. Since + he had parted with Bessie Lynde, on terms of humiliation for her which + must have been anguish for him if he had ever loved her, or loved anything + but his power over her, he had remained in absolute ignorance of her. He + had not heard where she was or how she was; but now, as the few weeks + before Class Day and Commencement crumbled away, he began to wonder why + she made no sign. He believed that since she had been willing to go so far + to get him, she would not be willing to give him up so easily. The thought + of Cynthia had always intruded more or less effectively between them, but + now that this thought began to fade into the past, the thought of Bessie + began to grow out of it with no interposing shadow. + </p> + <p> + However, Jeff was in no hurry. It was not passion that moved him, and the + mood in which he could play with the notion of getting back to his + flirtation with Bessie Lynde was pleasanter after the violence of recent + events than any renewal of strong sensations could be. He preferred to + loiter in this mood, and he was meantime much more comfortable than he had + been for a great while. He was rid of the disagreeable sense of disloyalty + to Cynthia, and he was rid of the stress of living up to her conscience in + various ways. He was rid of Bessie Lynde, too, and of the trouble of + forecasting and discounting her caprices. His thought turned at times with + a soft regret to hopes, disappointments, experiences connected with + neither, and now tinged with a tender melancholy, unalloyed by shame or + remorse. As he drew nearer to Class Day he had a somewhat keener + compunction for Cynthia and the hopes he had encouraged her to build and + had then dashed. But he was coming more and more to regard it all as + fatality; and if the chance that he counted upon to bring him and Bessie + together again had occurred he could have more easily forgiven himself. + </p> + <p> + One of the jays, who was spreading on rather a large scale, wanted Jeff to + spread with him, but he refused, because, as he said, he meant to keep out + of it altogether; and for the same reason he declined to take part in the + spread of a rather jay society he belonged to. In his secret heart he + trusted that some friendly fortuity might throw an invitation to Beck Hall + in his way, or at least a card for the Gym, which, if no longer the place + it had been, was still by no means jay. He got neither; but as he felt all + the joy of the June day in his young blood he consoled himself very well + with the dancing at one of the halls, where the company happened that year + to be openly, almost recklessly jay. Jeff had some distinction among the + fellows who enviously knew of his social success during the winter, and + especially of his affair with Bessie Lynde; and there were some girls very + pretty and very well dressed among the crowd of girls who were neither. + They were from remote parts of the country, and in the charge of chaperons + ignorant of the differences so poignant to local society. Jeff went about + among them, and danced with the sisters and cousins of several men who + seemed superior to the lost condition of their kinswomen; these were nice + fellows enough, but doomed by their grinding, or digging, or their want of + worldly wisdom, to a place among the jays, when they really had some + qualifications for a nobler standing. He had a very good time, and he was + enjoying himself in his devotion to a lively young brunette whom he was + making laugh with his jokes about some of the others, when his eye was + caught by a group of ladies who advanced among the jays with something of + that collective intrepidity and individual apprehension characteristic of + people in slumming. They had the air of not knowing what might happen to + them, but the adventurous young Boston matron in charge of the girls kept + on a bold front behind her lorgnette, and swept the strange company she + found herself in with an unshrinking eye as she led her band among the + promenaders, and past the couples seated along the walls. She hesitated a + moment as her glance fell upon Jeff, and then she yielded, at whatever + risk, to the comfort of finding a known face among so many aliens. “Why, + Mr. Durgin!” she called out. “Bessie, here's Mr. Durgin,” and she turned + to the girl, who was in her train, as Jeff had perceived by something + finer than the senses from the first. + </p> + <p> + He rose from the side of his brunette, whose brother was standing near, + and shook hands with the adventurous young matron, who seemed suddenly + much better acquainted with him than he had ever thought her, and with + Bessie Lynde; the others were New York girls, and the matron presented + him. “Are you going on?” she asked, and the vague challenge with the smile + that accompanied it was sufficient invitation for him. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I believe so,” he said, and he turned to take leave of his pretty + brunette; but she had promptly vanished with her brother, and he was + spared the trouble of getting rid of her. He would have been equal to much + more for the sake of finding himself with Bessie Lynde again, whose + excitement he could see burning in her eyes, though her thick complexion + grew neither brighter nor paler. He did not know what quality of + excitement it might be, but he said, audaciously: “It's a good while since + we met!” and he was sensible that his audacity availed. + </p> + <p> + “Is it?” she asked. He put himself at her side, and he did not leave her + again till he went to dress for the struggle around the Tree. He found + himself easily included in the adventurous young matron's party. He had + not the elegance of some of the taller and slenderer men in the scholar's + gown, but the cap became his handsome face. His affair with Bessie Lynde + had given him a certain note, and an adventurous young matron, who was + naturally a little indiscriminate, might very well have been willing to + let him go about with her party. She could not know how impudent his mere + presence was with reference to Bessie, and the girl herself made no sign + that could have enlightened her. She accepted something more that her + share of his general usefulness to the party; she danced with him whenever + he asked her, and she seemed not to scruple to publish her affair with him + in the openest manner. If he could have stilled a certain shame for her + which he felt, he would have thought he was having the best kind of time. + They made no account of by-gones in their talk, but she had never been so + brilliant, or prompted him to so many of the effronteries which were the + spirit of his humor. He thought her awfully nice, with lots of sense; he + liked her letting him come back without any fooling or fuss, and he began + to admire instead of despising her for it. Decidedly it was, as she would + have said, the chicquest sort of thing. What was the use, anyway? He made + up his mind. + </p> + <p> + When he said he must go and dress for the Tree, he took leave of her + first, and he was aware of a vivid emotion, which was like regret in her + at parting with him. She said, Must he? She seemed to want to say + something more to him; while he was dismissing himself from the others, he + noticed that once or twice she opened her lips as if she were going to + speak. In the end she did nothing more important than to ask if he had + seen her brother; but after he had left the party he turned and saw her + following him with eyes that he fancied anxious and even frightened in + their gaze. + </p> + <p> + The riot round the Tree roared itself through its wonted events. Class + after class of the undergraduates filed in and sank upon the grass below + the terraces and parterres of brilliantly dressed ladies within the + quadrangle of seats; the alumni pushed themselves together against the + wall of Holder Chapel; the men of the Senior class came last in their + grotesque variety of sweaters and second and third best clothes for the + scramble at the Tree. The regulation cheers tore from throats that grew + hoarser and hoarser, till every class and every favorite in the faculty + had been cheered. Then the signal-hat was flung into the air, and the rush + at the Tree was made, and the combat' for the flowers that garlanded its + burly waist began. + </p> + <p> + Jeff's size and shape forbade him to try for the flowers from the + shoulders of others. He was one of a group of jays who set their backs to + the Tree, and fought away all comers except their own; they pulled down + every man not of their sort, and put up a jay, who stripped the Tree of + its flowers and flung them to his fellows below. As he was let drop to the + ground, Jeff snatched a handful of his spoil from him, and made off with + it toward the place where he had seen Bessie Lynde and her party. But when + he reached the place, shouldering and elbowing his way through the press, + she was no longer there. He saw her hat at a distance through the crowd, + where he did not choose to follow, and he stuffed the flowers into his + breast to give to her later. He expected to meet her somewhere in the + evening; if not, he would try to find her at her aunt's house in town; + failing that, he could send her the flowers, and trust her for some sort + of leading acknowledgment. + </p> + <p> + He went and had a bath and dressed himself freshly, and then he went for a + walk in the still evening air. He was very hot from the battle which had + been fought over him, and which he had shared with all his strength, and + it seemed to him as if he could not get cool. He strolled far out along + Concord Avenue, beyond the expanses and ice-horses of Fresh Pond, into the + country toward Belmont, with his hat off and his head down. He was very + well satisfied, and he was smiling to himself at the ease of his return to + Bessie, and securely speculating upon the outcome of their renewed + understanding. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> <img src="images/{0429}.jpg" alt="{0429}" width="100%" /><br /> </div> <h5> <a href="images/{0429}.jpg"> <img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> </h5> + + <p> + He heard a vehicle behind him, rapidly driven, and he turned out for it + without looking around. Then suddenly he felt a fiery sting on his + forehead, and then a shower of stings swiftly following each other over + his head and face. He remembered stumbling, when he was a boy, into a nest + of yellow-jackets, that swarmed up around him and pierced him like sparks + of fire at every uncovered point. But he knew at the same time that it was + some one in the vehicle beside him who was lashing him over the head with + a whip. He bowed his head with his eyes shut and lunged blindly out toward + his assailant, hoping to seize him. + </p> + <p> + But the horse sprang aside, and tore past him down the road. Jeff opened + his eyes, and through the blood that dripped from the cuts above them he + saw the wicked face of Alan Lynde looking back at him from the dogcart + where he sat with his man beside him. He brandished his broken whip in the + air, and flung it into the bushes. Jeff walked on, and picked it up, + before he turned aside to the pools of the marsh stretching on either + hand, and tried to stanch his hurts, and get himself into shape for + returning to town and stealing back to his lodging. He had to wait till + after dark, and watch his chance to get into the house unnoticed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0050" id="link2H_4_0050"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XLVIII + </h2> + <p> + The chum to whom Jeff confided the story of his encounter with a man he + left nameless inwardly thanked fortune that he was not that man; for he + knew him destined sooner or later to make such reparation for the injuries + he had inflicted as Jeff chose to exact. He tended him carefully, and + respected the reticence Jeff guarded concerning the whole matter, even + with the young doctor whom his friend called, and who kept to himself his + impressions of the nature of Jeff's injuries. + </p> + <p> + Jeff lay in his darkened room, and burned with them, and with the + thoughts, guesses, purposes which flamed through his mind. Had she, that + girl, known what her brother meant to do? Had she wished him to think of + her in the moment of his punishment, and had she spoken of her brother so + that he might recall her, or had she had some ineffective impulse to warn + him against her brother when she spoke of him? + </p> + <p> + He lay and raged in vain with his conjectures, and he did a thousand + imagined murders upon Lynde in revenge of his shame. + </p> + <p> + Toward the end of the week, while his hurts were still too evident to + allow him to go out-of-doors before dark, he had a note from Westover + asking him to come in at once to see him. + </p> + <p> + “Your brother Jackson,” Westover wrote, “reached Boston by the New York + train this morning, and is with me here. I must tell you I think he is not + at all well, but he does not know how sick he is, and so I forewarn you. + He wants to get on home, but I do not feel easy about letting him make the + rest of the journey alone. Some one ought to go with him. I write not + knowing whether you are still in Cambridge or not; or whether, if you are, + you can get away at this time. But I think you ought, and I wish, at any + rate, that you would come in at once and see Jackson. Then we can settle + what had best be done.” + </p> + <p> + Jeff wrote back that he had been suffering with a severe attack of + erysipelas—he decided upon erysipelas for the time being, but he + meant to let Westover know later that he had been in a row—and the + doctor would not let him go out yet. He promised to come in as soon as he + possibly could. If Westover thought Jackson ought to be got home at once, + and was not fit to travel alone, he asked him to send a hospital nurse + with him. + </p> + <p> + Westover replied by Jeff's messenger that it would worry and alarm Jackson + to be put in charge of a nurse; but that he would go home with him, and + they would start the next day. He urged Jeff to come and see his brother + if it was at all safe for him to do so. But if he could not, Westover + would give his mother a reassuring reason for his failure. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Durgin did not waste any anxiety for the sickness which prevented + Jeff from coming home with his brother. She said ironically that it must + be very bad, and she gave all her thought and care to Jackson. The sick + man rallied, as he prophesied he should, in his native air, and celebrated + the sense and science of the last doctor he had seen in Europe, who told + him that he had made a great gain, but he had better hurry home as fast as + he could, for he had got all the advantage he could expect to have from + his stay abroad, and now home air was the best thing for him. + </p> + <p> + It could not be known how much of this he believed; he had, at any rate, + the pathetic hopefulness of his malady; but his mother believed it all, + and she nursed him with a faith in his recovery which Whitwell confided to + Westover was about as much as he wanted to see, for one while. She seemed + to grow younger in the care of him, and to get back to herself, more and + more, from the facts of Jeff's behavior, which had aged and broken her. + She had to tell Jackson about it all, but he took it with that + indifference to the things of this world which the approach of death + sometimes brings, and in the light of his passivity it no longer seemed to + her so very bad. It was a relief to have Jackson say, Well, perhaps it was + for the best; and it was a comfort to see how he and Cynthia took to each + other; it was almost as if that dreadful trouble had not been. She told + Jackson what hard work she had had to make Cynthia stay with her, and how + the girl had consented to stay only until Jeff came home; but she guessed, + now that Jackson had got back, he could make Cynthia see it all in another + light, and perhaps it would all come right again. She consulted him about + Jeff's plan of going abroad, and Jackson said it might be about as well; + he should soon be around, and he thought if Jeff went it would give + Cynthia more of a chance to get reconciled. After all, his mother + suggested, a good many fellows behaved worse than Jeff had done and still + had made it up with the girls they were engaged to; and Jackson gently + assented. + </p> + <p> + He did not talk with Cynthia about Jeff, out of that delicacy, or that + coldness, common to them both. Perhaps it was not necessary for them to + speak of him; perhaps they understood him aright in their understanding of + each other. + </p> + <p> + Westover stayed on, day after day, thinking somehow that he ought to wait + till Jeff came. There were only a few other people in the hotel, and these + were of a quiet sort; they were not saddened by the presence of a doomed + man under the same roof, as gayer summer folks might have been, and they + were themselves no disturbance to him. + </p> + <p> + He sat about with them on the veranda, and he made friends among them, and + they did what they could to encourage and console him in his impatience to + take up his old cares in the management of the hotel. The Whitwells easily + looked after the welfare of the guests, and Jackson was so much better to + every one's perception that Westover could honestly write Jeff a good + report of him. + </p> + <p> + The report may have been so good that Jeff took the affair too easily. It + was a fortnight after Jackson's return to Lion's Head when he began to + fail so suddenly and alarmingly that Westover decided upon his own + responsibility to telegraph Jeff of his condition. But he had the + satisfaction of Whitwell's approval when he told him what he had done. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, Jackson a'n't long for this world. Anybody but him and his + mother could see that; and now he's just melting away, as you might say. I + ha'n't liked his not carin' to work plantchette since he got back; looked + to me from the start that he kind of knowed that it wa'n't worth while for + him to trouble about a world that he'll know all about so soon, anyways; + and d' you notice he don't seem to care about Mars, either? I've tried to + wake him up on it two-three times, but you can't git him to take an + interest. I guess Jeff can't git here any too soon on Jackson's account; + but as far forth as I go, he couldn't git here too late. I should like to + take the top of his head off.” + </p> + <p> + Westover had been in Whitwell's confidence since their first chance of + speech together. He now said: + </p> + <p> + “I know it will be rather painful to you to have him here for some + reasons, but—” + </p> + <p> + “You mean Cynthy? Well! I guess when Cynthy can't get along with the sight + of Jeff Durgin, she'll be a different girl from what she's ever been + before. If she's got to see that skunk ag'in, I guess this is about the + best time to do it.” + </p> + <p> + It was Westover who drove to meet Jeff at the station, when he got his + despatch, naming the train he would take, and he found him looking very + well, and perhaps stouter than he had been. + </p> + <p> + They left the station in silence, after their greeting and Jeff's + inquiries about Jackson. Jeff had taken the reins, and now he put them + with the whip in one hand, and pushed up his hat with the other, and + turned his face full upon Westover. “Notice anything in particular?” he + demanded. + </p> + <p> + “No; yes—some slight marks.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess that fellow fixed me up pretty well: paints black eyes, and that + kind of thing. I got to scrapping with a man, Class Day; we wanted to + settle a little business we began at the Tree, and he left his marks on + me. I meant to tell you the truth as soon as I could get at you; but I had + to say erysipelas in my letter. I guess, if you don't mind, we'll let + erysipelas stand, with the rest.” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't have cared,” Westover said, “if you'd let it stand with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, thank you,” Jeff returned. + </p> + <p> + There could have been no show of affection at his meeting with Jackson + even if there had been any fact of it; that was not the law of their life. + But Jeff had always been a turbulent, rebellious, younger brother, + resentful of Jackson's control, too much his junior to have the + associations of an equal companionship in the past, and yet too near him + in age to have anything like a filial regard for him. They shook hands, + and each asked the other how he was, and then they seemed to have done + with each other. Jeff's mother kissed him in addition to the handshaking, + but made him feel her preoccupation with Jackson; she asked him if he had + hurried home on Jackson's account, and he promptly lied her out of this + anxiety. + </p> + <p> + He shook hands with Cynthia, too, but it was across the barrier which had + not been lowered between them since they parted. He spoke to Jackson about + her, the day after he came home, when Jackson said he was feeling + unusually strong and well, and the two brothers had strolled out through + the orchard together. Now and then he gave the sick man his arm, and when + he wanted to sit down in a sunny place he spread the shawl he carried for + him. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose mother's told you about Cynthy and me, Jackson?” he began. + </p> + <p> + Jackson answered, with lack-lustre eyes, “Yes.” Presently he asked: + “What's become of the other girl?” + </p> + <p> + “Damn her! I don't know what's become of her, and I don't care!” Jeff + exploded, furiously. + </p> + <p> + “Then you don't care for her any more?” Jackson pursued, with the same + languid calm. + </p> + <p> + “I never cared for her.” + </p> + <p> + Jackson was silent, and the matter seemed to have faded out of his mind. + But it was keenly alive in Jeff's mind, and he was in the strange + necessity which men in the flush of life and health often feel of seeking + counsel of those who stand in the presence of death, as if their words + should have something of the mystical authority of the unknown wisdom they + are about to penetrate. + </p> + <p> + “What I want to know is, what I am going to do about Cynthy?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” Jackson answered, vaguely, and he expressed by his + indirection the sense he must sometimes have had of his impending fate—“I + don't know what she's going to do, her or mother, either.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Jeff assented, “that's what I think of. And I'd do anything that I + could—that you thought was right.” + </p> + <p> + Jackson apparently concentrated his mind upon the question by an effort. + “Do you care as much for Cynthy as you used to?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Jeff, after a moment, “as much as I ever did; and more. But + I've been thinking, since the thing happened, that, if I'd cared for her + the way she did for me, it wouldn't have happened. Look here, Jackson! You + know I've never pretended to be like some men—like Mr. Westover, for + example—always looking out for the right and the wrong, and all + that. I didn't make myself, and I guess if the Almighty don't make me go + right it's because He don't want me to. But I have got a conscience about + Cynthy, and I'd be willing to help out a little if I knew how, about her. + The devil of it is, I've got to being afraid. I don't mean that I'm not + fit for her; any man's fit for any woman if he wants her bad enough; but + I'm afraid I sha'n't ever care for her in the right way. That's the point. + I've cared for just one woman in this world, and it a'n't Cynthy, as far + as I can make out. But she's gone, and I guess I could coax Cynthy round + again, and I could be what she wants me to be, after this.” + </p> + <p> + Jackson lay upon his shawl, looking up at the sky full of islands of warm + clouds in its sea of blue; he was silent so long that Jeff began to think + he had not been listening; he could not hear him breathe, and he came + forward to him quickly from the shadow of the tree where he sat. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” Jackson whispered, turning his eyes upon him. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” Jeff returned. + </p> + <p> + “I guess you'd better let it alone,” said Jackson. + </p> + <p> + “All right. That's what I think, too.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0051" id="link2H_4_0051"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XLIX. + </h2> + <p> + Jackson died a week later, and they buried him in the old family lot in + the farthest corner of the orchard. His mother and Cynthia put on mourning + for him, and they stood together by his open grave, Mrs. Durgin leaning + upon her son's arm and the girl upon her father's. The women wept quietly, + but Jeff's eyes were dry, though his face was discharged of all its + prepotent impudence. Westover, standing across the grave from him, noticed + the marks on his forehead that he said were from his scrapping, and + wondered what really made them. He recognized the spot where they were + standing as that where the boy had obeyed the law of his nature and + revenged the stress put upon him for righteousness. Over the stone of the + nearest grave Jeff had shown a face of triumphant derision when he pelted + Westover with apples. The painter's mind fell into a chaos of conjecture + and misgiving, so that he scarcely took in the words of the composite + service which the minister from the Union Chapel at the Huddle read over + the dead. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> <img src="images/{0443}.jpg" alt="{0443}" width="100%" /><br /> </div> <h5> <a href="images/{0443}.jpg"> <img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> </h5> + + <p> + Some of the guests from the hotel came to the funeral, but others who were + not in good health remained away, and there was a general sense among + them, which imparted itself to Westover, that Jackson's dying so, at the + beginning of the season, was not a fortunate incident. As he sat talking + with Jeff at a corner of the piazza late in the afternoon, Frank Whitwell + came up to them and said there were some people in the office who had + driven over from another hotel to see about board, but they had heard + there was sickness in the house, and wished to talk with him. + </p> + <p> + “I won't come,” said Jeff. + </p> + <p> + “They're not satisfied with what I've said,” the boy urged. “What shall I + tell them?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell them to-go to the devil,” said Jeff, and when Frank Whitwell made + off with this message for delivery in such decent terms as he could + imagine for it, Jeff said, rather to himself than to Westover, “I don't + see how we're going to run this hotel with that old family lot down there + in the orchard much longer.” + </p> + <p> + He assumed the air of full authority at Lion's Head; and Westover felt the + stress of a painful conjecture in regard to the Whitwells intensified upon + him from the moment he turned away from Jackson's grave. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia and her father had gone back to their own house as soon as Jeff + returned, and though the girl came home with Mrs. Durgin after the + funeral, and helped her in their common duties through the afternoon and + evening, Westover saw her taking her way down the hill with her brother + when the long day's work was over. Jeff saw her too; he was sitting with + Westover at the office door smoking, and he was talking of the Whitwells. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose they won't stay,” he said, “and I can't expect it; but I don't + know what mother will do, exactly.” + </p> + <p> + At the same moment Whitwell came round the corner of the hotel from the + barn, and approached them: “Jeff, I guess I better tell you straight off + that we're goin', the children and me.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Mr. Whitwell,” said Jeff, with respectful gravity; “I was + afraid of it.” + </p> + <p> + Westover made a motion to rise, but Whitwell laid a detaining hand upon + his knee. “There ain't anything so private about it, so far as I know.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't go, Mr. Westover,” said Jeff, and Westover remained. + </p> + <p> + “We a'n't a-goin' to leave you in the lurch, and we want you should take + your time, especially Mis' Durgin. But the sooner the better. Heigh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I understand that, Mr. Whitwell; I guess mother will miss you, but + if you must go, you must.” The two men remained silent a moment, and then + Jeff broke out passionately, rising and flinging his cigar away: “I wish I + could go, instead! That would be the right way, and I guess mother would + like it full as well. Do you see any way to manage it?” He put his foot up + in his chair, and dropped his elbow on his knee, with his chin propped in + his hand. Westover could see that he meant what he was saying. “If there + was any way, I'd do it. I know what you think of me, and I should be just + like you, in your place. I don't feel right to turn you out here, I don't, + Mr. Whitwell, and yet if I stay, I've got to do it. What's the reason I + can't go?” + </p> + <p> + “You can't,” said Whitwell, “and that's all about it. We shouldn't let + you, if you could. But I a'n't surprised you feel the way you do,” he + added, unsparingly. “As you say, I should feel just so myself if I was in + your place. Well, goodnight, Mr. Westover.” + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> <img src="images/{0141}.jpg" alt="{0141}" width="100%" /><br /> </div> <h5> <a href="images/{0141}.jpg"> <img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> </h5> + + <p> + Whitwell turned and slouched down the hill, leaving the painter to the + most painful moment he had known with Jeff Durgin, and nearer sympathy. + “That's all right, Mr. Westover,” Jeff said, “I don't blame him.” + </p> + <p> + He remained in a constraint from which he presently broke with mocking + hilarity when Jombateeste came round the corner of the house, as if he had + been waiting for Whitwell to be gone, and told Jeff he must get somebody + else to look after the horses. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you wait and take the horses with you, Jombateeste?” he + inquired. “They'll be handing in their resignation, the next thing. Why + not go altogether?” + </p> + <p> + The little Canuck paused, as if uncertain whether he was made the object + of unfriendly derision or not, and looked at Westover for help. Apparently + he decided to chance it in as bitter an answer as he could invent. “The + 'oss can't 'elp 'imself, Mr. Durgin. 'E stay. But you don' hown + EVERYBODY.” + </p> + <p> + “That's so, Jombateeste,” said Jeff. “That's a good hit. It makes me feel + awfully. Have a cigar?” The Canuck declined with a dignified bow, and Jeff + said: “You don't smoke any more? Oh, I see! It's my tobacco you're down + on. What's the matter, Jombateeste? What are you going away for?” Jeff + lighted for himself the cigar the Canuck had refused, and smoked down upon + the little man. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. W'itwell goin',” Jombateeste said, a little confused and daunted. + </p> + <p> + “What's Mr. Whitwell going for?” + </p> + <p> + “You hask Mr. W'itwell.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. And if I can get him to stay will you stay too, Jombateeste? I + don't like to see a rat leaving a ship; the ship's sure to sink, if he + does. How do you suppose I'm going to run Lion's Head without you to throw + down hay to the horses? It will be ruin to me, sure, Jombateeste. All the + guests know how you play on the pitchfork out there, and they'll leave in + a body if they hear you've quit. Do say you'll stay, and I'll reduce your + wages one-half on the spot.” + </p> + <p> + Jombateeste waited to hear no more injuries. He said: “You'll don' got + money enough, Mr. Durgin, by gosh! to reduce my wages,” and he started + down the hill toward Whitwell's house with as great loftiness as could + comport with a down-hill gait and his stature. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I seem to be getting it all round, Mr. Westover,” said Jeff. “This + must make you feel good. I don't know but I begin to believe there's a God + in Israel, myself.” + </p> + <p> + He walked away without saying good-night, and Westover went to bed without + the chance of setting himself right. In the morning, when he came down to + breakfast, and stopped at the desk to engage a conveyance for the station + from Frank Whitwell the boy forestalled him with a grave face. “You don't + know about Mrs. Durgin?” + </p> + <p> + “No; what about her?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we can't tell exactly. Father thinks it's a shock; Jombateeste gone + over to Lovewell for the doctor. Cynthia's with her. It seemed to come on + in the night.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke softly, that no one else might hear; but by noon the fact that + Mrs. Durgin had been stricken with paralysis was all over the place. The + gloom cast upon the opening season by Jackson's death was deepened among + the guests. Some who had talked of staying through July went away that + day. But under Cynthia's management the housekeeping was really unaffected + by Mrs. Durgin's calamity, and the people who stayed found themselves as + comfortable as ever. Jeff came fully into the hotel management, and in + their business relation Cynthia and he were continually together; there + was no longer a question of the Whitwells leaving him; even Jombateeste + persuaded himself to stay, and Westover felt obliged to remain at least + till the present danger in Mrs. Durgin's case was past. + </p> + <p> + With the first return of physical strength, Mrs. Durgin was impatient to + be seen about the house, and to retrieve the season that her affliction + had made so largely a loss. The people who had become accustomed to it + stayed on, and the house filled up as she grew better, but even the sight + of her in a wheeled chair did not bring back the prosperity of other + years. She lamented over it with a keen and full perception of the fact, + but in a cloudy association of it with the joint future of Jeff and + Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + One day, after Mrs. Durgin had declared that she did not know what they + were to do, if things kept on as they were going, Whitwell asked his + daughter: + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose she thinks you and Jeff have made it up again?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said the girl, with a troubled voice, “and I don't know + what to do about it. It don't seem as if I could tell her, and yet it's + wrong to let her go on.” + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't he tell her?” demanded her father. “'Ta'n't fair his leavin' + it to you. But it's like him.” + </p> + <p> + The sick woman's hold upon the fact weakened most when she was tired. When + she was better, she knew how it was with them. Commonly it was when + Cynthia had got her to bed for the night that she sent for Jeff, and + wished to ask him what he was going to do. “You can't expect Cynthy to + stay here another winter helpin' you, with Jackson away. You've got to + either take her with you, or else come here yourself. Give up your last + year in college, why don't you? I don't want you should stay, and I don't + know who does. If I was in Cynthia's place, I'd let you work off your own + conditions, now you've give up the law. She'll kill herself, tryin' to + keep you along.” + </p> + <p> + Sometimes her speech became so indistinct that no one but Cynthia could + make it out; and Jeff, listening with a face as nearly discharged as might + be of its laughing irony, had to turn to Cynthia for the word which no one + else could catch, and which the stricken woman remained distressfully + waiting for her to repeat to him, with her anxious eyes upon the girl's + face. He was dutifully patient with all his mother's whims. He came + whenever she sent for him, and sat quiet under the severities with which + she visited all his past unworthiness. “Who you been hectorin' now, I + should like to know,” she began on him one evening when he came at her + summons. “Between you and Fox, I got no peace of my life. Where is the + dog?” + </p> + <p> + “Fox is all right, mother,” Jeff responded. “You're feeling a little + better to-night, a'n't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know; I can't tell,” she returned, with a gleam of intelligence + in her eye. Then she said: “I don't see why I'm left to strangers all the + time.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't call Cynthia a stranger, do you, mother?” he asked, coaxingly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh—Cynthy!” said Mrs. Durgin, with a glance as of surprise at + seeing her. “No, Cynthy's all right. But where's Jackson and your father? + If I've told them not to be out in the dew once, I've told 'em a hundred + times. Cynthy'd better look after her housekeepin' if she don't want the + whole place to run behind, and not a soul left in the house. What time o' + year is it now?” she suddenly asked, after a little weary pause. + </p> + <p> + “It's the last of August, mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she sighed, “I thought it was the beginnin' of May. Didn't you come + up here in May?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then—Or, mebbe that's one o' them tormentin' dreams; they do + pester so! What did you come for?” + </p> + <p> + Jeff was sitting on one side of her bed and Cynthia on the other: She was + looking at the sufferer's face, and she did not meet the glance of + amusement which Jeff turned upon her at being so fairly cornered. “Well, I + don't know,” he said. “I thought you might like to see me.” + </p> + <p> + “What 'd he come for?”—the sick woman turned to Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “You'd better tell her,” said the girl, coldly, to Jeff. “She won't be + satisfied till you do. She'll keep coming back to it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, mother,” said Jeff, still with something of his hardy amusement, “I + hadn't been acting just right, and I thought I'd better tell Cynthy.” + </p> + <p> + “You better let the child alone. If I ever catch you teasin' them children + again, I'll make Jackson shoot Fox.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, mother,” said Jeff. + </p> + <p> + She moved herself restively in bed. “What's this,” she demanded of her + son, “that Whitwell's tellin' about you and Cynthy breakin' it off?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there was talk of that,” said Jeff, passing his hand over his lips + to keep back the smile that was stealing to them. + </p> + <p> + “Who done it?” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia kept her eyes on Jeff, who dropped his to his mother's face. + “Cynthy did it; but I guess I gave her good enough reason.” + </p> + <p> + “About that hussy in Boston? She was full more to blame than what you was. + I don't see what Cynthy wanted to do it for on her account.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess Cynthy was right.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Durgin's speech had been thickening more and more. She now said + something that Jeff could not understand. He looked involuntarily at + Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “She says she thinks I was hasty with you,” the girl interpreted. + </p> + <p> + Jeff kept his eyes on hers, but he answered to his mother: “Not any more + than I deserved. I hadn't any right to expect that she would stand it.” + </p> + <p> + Again the sick woman tried to say something. Jeff made out a few + syllables, and, after his mother had repeated her words, he had to look to + Cynthia for help. + </p> + <p> + “She wants to know if it's all right now.” + </p> + <p> + “What shall I say?” asked Jeff, huskily. + </p> + <p> + “Tell her the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the truth?” + </p> + <p> + “That we haven't made it up.” + </p> + <p> + Jeff hesitated, and then said: “Well, not yet, mother,” and he bent an + entreating look upon Cynthia which she could not feel was wholly for + himself. “I—I guess we can fix it, somehow. I behaved very badly to + Cynthia.” + </p> + <p> + “No, not to me!” the girl protested in an indignant burst. + </p> + <p> + “Not to that little scalawag, then!” cried Jeff. “If the wrong wasn't to + you, there wasn't any wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “It was to you!” Cynthia retorted. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I guess I can stand it,” said Jeff, and his smile now came to his + lips and eyes. + </p> + <p> + His mother had followed their quick parley with eager looks, as if she + were trying to keep her intelligence to its work concerning them. The + effort seemed to exhaust her, and when she spoke again her words were so + indistinct that even Cynthia could not understand them till she had + repeated them several times. + </p> + <p> + Then the girl was silent, while the invalid kept an eager look upon her. + She seemed to understand that Cynthia did not mean to speak; and the tears + came into her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Do you want me to know what she said?” asked Jeff, respectfully, + reverently almost. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia said, gently: “She says that then you must show you didn't mean + any harm to me, and that you cared for me, all through, and you didn't + care for anybody else.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Jeff, and he turned to his mother. “I'll do everything I + can to make Cynthy believe that, mother.” + </p> + <p> + The girl broke into tears and went out of the room. She sent in the + night-watcher, and then Jeff took leave of his mother with an unwonted + kiss. + </p> + <p> + Into the shadow of a starlit night he saw the figure he had been waiting + for glide out of the glitter of the hotel lights. He followed it down the + road. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia!” he called; and when he came up with her he asked: “What's the + reason we can't make it true? Why can't you believe what mother wants me + to make you?” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia stopped, as her wont was when she wished to speak seriously. “Do + you ask that for my sake or hers?” + </p> + <p> + “For both your sakes.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought so. You ought to have asked it for your own sake, Jeff, and + then I might have been fool enough to believe you. But now—” + </p> + <p> + She started swiftly down the hill again, and this time he did not try to + follow her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0052" id="link2H_4_0052"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + L. + </h2> + <p> + Mrs. Durgin's speech never regained the measure of clearness it had + before; no one but Cynthia could understand her, and often she could not. + The doctor from Lovewell surmised that she had sustained another stroke, + lighter, more obscure than the first, and it was that which had rendered + her almost inarticulate. The paralysis might have also affected her brain, + and silenced her thoughts as well as her words. Either she believed that + the reconciliation between Jeff and Cynthia had taken place, or else she + could no longer care. She did not question them again, but peacefully + weakened more and more. Near the end of September she had a third stroke, + and from this she died. + </p> + <p> + The day after the funeral Jeff had a talk with Whitwell, and opened his + mind to him. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going over to the other side, and I shan't be back before spring, or + about time to start the season here. What I want to know is whether, if + I'm out of the house, and not likely to come back, you'll stay here and + look after the place through the winter. It hasn't been a good season, but + I guess I can afford to make it worth your while if you look at it as a + matter of business.” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell leaned forward and took a straw into his mouth from the golden + wall of oat sheaves in the barn where they were talking. A soft rustling + in the mow overhead marked the remote presence of Jombateeste, who was + getting forward the hay for the horses, pushing it toward the holes where + it should fall into their racks. + </p> + <p> + “I should want to think about it,” said Whitwell. “I do' know as Cynthy'd + care much about stayin'—or Frank.” + </p> + <p> + “How long do you want to think about it?” Jeff demanded, ignoring the + possible wishes of Cynthia and Frank. + </p> + <p> + “I guess I could let you know by night.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Jeff. + </p> + <p> + He was turning away, when Whitwell remarked: + </p> + <p> + “I don't know as I should want to stay without I could have somebody I + could depend on, with me, to look after the hosses. Frank wouldn't want + to.” + </p> + <p> + “Who'd you like?” + </p> + <p> + “Well—Jombateeste.” + </p> + <p> + “Ask him.” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell called to the Canuck, and he came forward to the edge of the mow, + and stood, fork in hand, looking down. + </p> + <p> + “Want to stay here this winter and look after the horses, Jombateeste?” + Whitwell asked. + </p> + <p> + “Nosseh!” said the Canuck, with a misliking eye on Jeff. + </p> + <p> + “I mean, along with me,” Whitwell explained. “If I conclude to stay, will + you? Jeff's goin' abroad.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess I stay,” said Jombateeste. + </p> + <p> + “Don't strain yourself, Jombateeste,” said Jeff, with malevolent derision. + </p> + <p> + “Not for you, Jeff Dorrgin,” returned the Canuck. “I strain myself till I + bust, if I want.” + </p> + <p> + Jeff sneered to Whitwell: “Well, then, the most important point is + settled. Let me know about the minor details as soon as you can.” + </p> + <p> + “All right.” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell talked the matter over with his children at supper that evening. + Jeff had made him a good offer, and he had the winter before him to + provide for. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what deviltry he's up to,” he said in conclusion. + </p> + <p> + Frank looked to his sister for their common decision. “I am going to try + for a school,” she said, quietly. “It's pretty late, but I guess I can get + something. You and Frank had better stay.” + </p> + <p> + “And you don't feel as if it was kind of meechin', our takin' up with his + offer, after what's—” Whitwell delicately forbore to fill out his + sentence. + </p> + <p> + “You are doing the favor, father,” said the girl. “He knows that, and I + guess he wouldn't know where to look if you refused. And, after all, + what's happened now is as much my doing as his.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess that's something so,” said Whitwell, with a long sigh of relief. + “Well, I'm glad you can look at it in that light, Cynthy. It's the way the + feller's built, I presume, as much as anything.” + </p> + <p> + His daughter waived the point. “I shouldn't feel just right if none of us + stayed in the old place. I should feel as if we had turned our backs on + Mrs. Durgin.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes shone, and her father said: “Well, I guess that's so, come to + think of it. She's been like a mother to you, this past year, ha'n't she? + And it must have come pootty hard for her, sidin' ag'in' Jeff. But she + done it.” + </p> + <p> + The girl turned her head away. They were sitting in the little, low + keeping-room of Whitwell's house, and her father had his hat on + provisionally. Through the window they could see the light of the lantern + at the office door of the hotel, whose mass was lost in the dark above and + behind the lamp. It was all very still outside. + </p> + <p> + “I declare,” Whitwell went on, musingly, “I wisht Mr. Westover was here.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia started, but it was to ask: “Do you want I should help you with + your Latin, Frank?” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell came back an hour later and found them still at their books. He + told them it was all arranged; Durgin was to give up the place to him in a + week, and he was to surrender it again when Jeff came back in the spring. + In the mean time things were to remain as they were; after he was gone, + they could all go and live at Lion's Head if they chose. + </p> + <p> + “We'll see,” said Cynthia. “I've been thinking that might be the best way, + after all. I might not get a school, it's so late.” + </p> + <p> + “That's so,” her father assented. “I declare,” he added, after a moment's + muse, “I felt sorry for the feller settin' up there alone, with nobody to + do for him but that old thing he's got in. She can't cook any more than—” + He desisted for want of a comparison, and said: “Such a lookin' table, + too.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think I better go and look after things a little?” Cynthia asked. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you no need to,” said her father. He got down the planchette, and + labored with it, while his children returned to Frank's lessons. + </p> + <p> + “Dumn 'f I can make the thing work,” he said to himself at last. “I can't + git any of 'em up. If Jackson was here, now!” + </p> + <p> + Thrice a day Cynthia went up to the hotel and oversaw the preparation of + Jeff's meals and kept taut the slack housekeeping of the old Irish woman + who had remained as a favor, after the hotel closed, and professed to have + lost the chance of a place for the winter by her complaisance. She + submitted to Cynthia's authority, and tried to make interest for an + indefinite stay by sudden zeal and industry, and the last days of Jeff in + the hotel were more comfortable than he openly recognized. He left the + care of the building wholly to Whitwell, and shut himself up in the old + farm parlor with the plans for a new hotel which he said he meant to put + up some day, if he could ever get rid of the old one. He went once to + Lovewell, where he renewed the insurance, and somewhat increased it; and + he put a small mortgage on the property. He forestalled the slow progress + of the knowledge of others' affairs, which, in the country, is as sure as + it is slow, and told Whitwell what he had done. He said he wanted the + mortgage money for his journey, and the insurance money, if he could have + the luck to cash up by a good fire, to rebuild with. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia seldom met him in her comings and goings, but if they met they + spoke on the terms of their boy and girl associations, and with no + approach through resentment or tenderness to the relation that was ended + between them. She saw him oftener than at any other time setting off on + the long tramps he took through the woods in the afternoons. He was always + alone, and, so far as any one knew, his wanderings had no object but to + kill the time which hung heavy on his hands during the fortnight after his + mother's death, before he sailed. It might have seemed strange that he + should prefer to pass the days at Lion's Head after he had arranged for + the care of the place with Whitwell, and Whitwell always believed that he + stayed in the hope of somehow making up with Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + One day, toward the very last, Durgin found himself pretty well fagged in + the old pulp-mill clearing on the side of Lion's Head, which still + belonged to Whitwell, and he sat down on a mouldering log there to rest. + It had always been a favorite picnic ground, but the season just past had + known few picnics, and it was those of former years that had left their + traces in rusty sardine-cans and broken glass and crockery on the border + of the clearing, which was now almost covered with white moss. Jeff + thought of the day when he lurked in the hollow below with Fox, while + Westover remained talking with Whitwell. He thought of the picnic that + Mrs. Marven had embittered for him, and he thought of the last time that + he had been there with Westover, when they talked of the Vostrands. + </p> + <p> + Life had, so far, not been what he meant it, and just now it occurred to + him that he might not have wholly made it what it had been. It seemed to + him that a good many other people had come in and taken a hand in making + his own life what it had been; and if he had meddled with theirs more than + he was wanted, it was about an even thing. As far as he could make out, he + was a sort of ingredient in the general mixture. He had probably done his + share of the flavoring, but he had had very little to do with the mixing. + There were different ways of looking at the thing. Westover had his way, + but it struck Jeff that it put too much responsibility on the ingredient, + and too little on the power that chose it. He believed that he could prove + a clear case in his own favor, as far as the question of final justice was + concerned, but he had no complaints to make. Things had fallen out very + much to his mind. He was the Landlord at Lion's Head, at last, with the + full right to do what he pleased with the place, and with half a year's + leisure before him to think it over. He did not mean to waste the time + while he was abroad; if there was anything to be learned anywhere about + keeping a summer hotel, he was going to learn it; and he thought the + summer hotel could be advantageously studied in its winter phases in the + mild climates of Southern Europe. He meant to strike for the class of + Americans who resorted to those climates; to divine their characters and + to please their tastes. + </p> + <p> + He unconsciously included Cynthia in his scheme of inquiry; he had been + used so long to trust to her instincts and opinions, and to rely upon her + help, and he realized that she was no longer in his life with something + like the shock a man experiences when the loss of a limb, which continues + a part of his inveterate consciousness, is brought to his sense by some + mechanical attempt to use it. But even in this pang he did not regret that + all was over between them. He knew now that he had never cared for her as + he had once thought, and on her account, if not his own, he was glad their + engagement was broken. A soft melancholy for his own disappointment + imparted itself to his thoughts of Cynthia. He felt truly sorry for her, + and he truly admired and respected her. He was in a very lenient mood + toward every one, and he went so far in thought toward forgiving his + enemies that he was willing at least to pardon all those whom he had + injured. A little rustling in the underbrush across the clearing caught + his quick ear, and he looked up to see Jombateeste parting the boughs of + the young pines on its edge and advancing into the open with a gun on his + shoulder. He called to him, cheerily: “Hello, John! Any luck?” + </p> + <p> + Jombateeste shook his head. “Nawthing.” He hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “What are you after?” + </p> + <p> + “Partridge,” Jombateeste ventured back. + </p> + <p> + Jeff could not resist the desire to scoff which always came upon him at + sight of the Canuck. “Oh, pshaw! Why don't you go for woodchucks? They fly + low, and you can hit them on the wing, if you can't sneak on 'em sitting.” + </p> + <p> + Jombateeste received his raillery in dignified silence, and turned back + into the woods again. He left Durgin in heightened good-humor with himself + and with the world, which had finally so well adapted itself to his + desires and designs. + </p> + <p> + Jeff watched his resentful going with a grin, and then threw himself back + on the thick bed of dry moss where he had been sitting, and watched the + clouds drifting across the space of blue which the clearing opened + overhead. His own action reminded him of Jackson, lying in the orchard and + looking up at the sky. He felt strangely at one with him, and he + experienced a tenderness for his memory which he had not known before. + Jackson had been a good man; he realized that with a curious sense of + novelty in the reflection; he wondered what the incentives and the objects + of such men as Jackson and Westover were, anyway. Something like grief for + his brother came upon him; not such grief as he had felt, passionately + enough, though tacitly, for his mother, but a regret for not having shown + Jackson during his life that he could appreciate his unselfishness, though + he could not see the reason or the meaning of it. He said to himself, in + their safe remoteness from each other, that he wished he could do + something for Jackson. He wondered if in the course of time he should get + to be something like him. He imagined trying. + </p> + <p> + He heard sounds again in the edge of the clearing, but he decided that it + was that fool Jombateeste coming back; and when steps approached softly + and hesitantly across the moss, he did not trouble himself to take his + eyes from the clouds. He was only vexed to have his revery broken in upon. + </p> + <p> + A voice that was not Jombateeste's spoke: “I say! Can you tell me the way + to the Brooker Institute, or to the road down the mountain?” + </p> + <p> + Jeff sat suddenly bolt-upright; in another moment he jumped to his feet. + The Brooker Institute was a branch of the Keeley Cure recently established + near the Huddle, and this must be a patient who had wandered from it, on + one of the excursions the inmates made with their guardians, and lost his + way. This was the fact that Jeff realized at the first glance he gave the + man. The next he recognized that the man was Alan Lynde. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's you,” he said, quite simply. He felt so cruelly the hardship of + his one unforgiven enemy's coming upon him just when he had resolved to be + good that the tears came into his eyes. Then his rage seemed to swell up + in him like the rise of a volcanic flood. “I'm going to kill you!” he, + roared, and he launched himself upon Lynde, who stood dazed. + </p> + <p> + But the murder which Jeff meant was not to be so easily done. Lynde had + not grown up in dissolute idleness without acquiring some of the arts of + self-defence which are called manly. He met Jeff's onset with remembered + skill and with the strength which he had gained in three months of the + wholesome regimen of the Brooker Institute. He had been sent there, not by + Dr. Lacy's judgment, but by his despair, and so far the Cure had cured. He + felt strong and fresh, and the hate which filled Jeff at sight of him + steeled his shaken nerves and reinforced his feebler muscles, too. + </p> + <p> + He made a desperate fight where he could not hope for mercy, and kept + himself free of his powerful foe, whom he fought round and foiled, if he + could not hurt him. Jeff never knew of the blows Lynde got in upon him; he + had his own science, too, but he would not employ it. He wanted to crash + through Lynde's defence and lay hold of him and crush the life out of him. + </p> + <p> + The contest could not have lasted long at the best; but before Lynde was + worn out he caught his heel in an old laurel root, and while he whirled to + recover his footing Jeff closed in upon him, caught him by the middle, + flung him down upon the moss, and was kneeling on his breast with both + hands at his throat. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> <img src="images/{0467}.jpg" alt="{0467}" width="100%" /><br /> </div> <h5> <a href="images/{0467}.jpg"> <img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> </h5> + + <p> + He glared down into his enemy's face, and suddenly it looked pitifully + little and weak, like a girl's face, a child's. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes, afterward, it seemed to him that he forbore because at that + instant he saw Jombateeste appear at the edge of the clearing and come + running upon them. At other times he had the fancy that his action was + purely voluntary, and that, against the logic of his hate and habit of his + life, he had mercy upon his enemy. He did not pride himself upon it; he + rather humbled himself before the fact, which was accomplished through his + will, and not by it, and remained a mystery he did not try to solve. + </p> + <p> + He took his hands from Lynde's throat and his knees off his breast. “Get + up,” he said; and when Lynde stood trembling on his feet he said to + Jombateeste: “Show this man the way to the Brooker Institute. I'll take + your gun home for you,” and it was easy for him to detach the piece from + the bewildered Canuck's grasp. “Go! And if you stop, or even let him look + back, I'll shoot him. Quick!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0053" id="link2H_4_0053"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LI. + </h2> + <p> + The day after Thanksgiving, when Westover was trying to feel well after + the turkey and cranberry and cider which a lady had given him at a + consciously old-fashioned Thanksgiving dinner, but not making it out + sufficiently to be able to work, he was astonished to receive a visit from + Whitwell. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir,” said the philosopher, without giving himself pause for the + exchange of reflections upon his presence in Boston, which might have been + agreeable to him on a less momentous occasion. “It's all up with Lion's + Head.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” demanded Westover, with his mind upon the mountain, + which he electrically figured in an incredible destruction. + </p> + <p> + “She's burnt. Burnt down the day before yist'd'y aft'noon. A'n't hardly a + stick of her left. Ketehed Lord knows how, from the kitchen chimney, and a + high northwest wind blowin', that ca'd the sparks to the barn, and set + fire to that, too. Hasses gone; couldn't get round to 'em; only three of + us there, and mixed up so about the house till it was so late the critters + wouldn't come out. Folks from over Huddle way see the blaze, and helped + all they could; but it wa'n't no use. I guess all we saved, about, was the + flag-pole.” + </p> + <p> + “But you're all right yourselves? Cynthia.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there was our misfortune,” said Whitwell, while Westover's heart + stopped in a mere wantonness of apprehension. “If she'd be'n there, it + might ha' be'n diff'ent. We might ha' had more sense; or she would, + anyway. But she was over to Lovewell stockin' up for Thanksgivin', and I + had to make out the best I could, with Frank and Jombateeste. Why, that + Canuck didn't seem to have no more head on him than a hen. I was + disgusted; but Cynthy wouldn't let me say anything to him, and I d' know + as 't 'ould done any good, myself. We've talked it all over in every + light, ever since; guess we've set up most the time talkin', and nothin' + would do her but I should come down and see you before I took a single + step about it.” + </p> + <p> + “How—step about what?” asked Westover, with a remote sense of + hardship at being brought in, tempered by the fact that it was Cynthia who + had brought him in. + </p> + <p> + “Why, that devil,” said Whitwell, and Westover knew that he meant Jeff, + “went and piled on all the insurance he could pile on, before he left; and + I don't know what to do about it.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think the best thing was to collect the insurance,” Westover + suggested, distractedly. + </p> + <p> + “It a'n't so easy as what that comes to,” said Whitwell. “I couldn't + collect the insurance; and here's the point, anyway. When a hotel's made a + bad season, and she's fully insured, she's pootty certain to burn up some + time in the winter. Everybody knows that comical devil wanted lion's Head + to burn up so 't he could build new, and I presume there a'n't a man, + woman, or child anywhere round but what believes I set her on fire. Hired + to do it. Now, see? Jeff off in Europe; daytime; no lives lost; prop'ty + total loss 's a clear case. Heigh? I tell you, I'm afraid I've got trouble + ahead.” + </p> + <p> + Westover tried to protest, to say something in derision or defiance; but + he was shaken himself, and he ended by getting his hat and coat; Whitwell + had kept his own on, in the excitement. “We'll go out and see a lawyer. A + friend of mine; it won't cost you anything.” He added this assurance at a + certain look of reluctance that came into Whitwell's face, and that left + it as soon as he had spoken. Whitwell glanced round the studio even + cheerily. “Who'd ha' thought,” he said, fastening upon the study which + Westover had made of Lion's head the winter before, “that the old place + would 'a' gone so soon?” He did not mean the mountain which he was looking + at, but the hotel that was present to his mind's eye; and Westover + perceived as he had not before that to Whitwell the hotel and not the + mountain was Lion's Head. + </p> + <p> + He remembered to ask now where Whitwell had left his family, and Whitwell + said that Frank and Cynthia were at home in his own house with + Jombateeste; but he presumed he could not get back to them now before the + next day. He refused to be interested in any of the aspects of Boston + which Westover casually pointed out, but when they had seen the lawyer he + came forth a new man, vividly interested in everything. The lawyer had + been able to tell them that though the insurance companies would look + sharply into the cause of the fire, there was no probability, hardly a + possibility, that they would inculpate him, and he need give himself no + anxiety about the affair. + </p> + <p> + “There's one thing, though,” Whitwell said to Westover when they got out + upon the street. “Hadn't I ought to let Jeff know?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, at once. You'd better cable him. Have you got his address?” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell had it, and he tasted all the dramatic quality of sending word to + Jeff, which he would receive in Florence an hour after it left Boston. “I + did hope I could ha' cabled once to Jackson while he was gone,” he said, + regretfully, “but, unless we can fix up a wire with the other world, I + guess I shan't ever do it now. I suppose Jackson's still hangin' round + Mars, some'res.” + </p> + <p> + He had a sectarian pride in the beauty of the Spiritual Temple which + Westover walked him by on his way to see Trinity Church and the Fine Arts + Museum, and he sorrowed that he could not attend a service' there. But he + was consoled by the lunch which he had with Westover at a restaurant where + it was served in courses. “I presume this is what Jeff's goin' to give 'em + at Lion's Head when he gits it goin' again.” + </p> + <p> + “How is it he's in Florence?” it occurred to Westover to ask. “I thought + he was going to Nice for the winter.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. That's the address he give in his last letter,” said + Whitwell. “I'll be glad when I've done with him for good and all. He's all + kinds of a devil.” + </p> + <p> + It was in Westover's mind to say that he wished the Whitwells had never + had anything to do with Durgin after his mother's death. He had felt it a + want of delicacy in them that they had been willing to stay on in his + employ, and his ideal of Cynthia had suffered a kind of wound from what + must have been her decision in the matter. He would have expected + something altogether different from her pride, her self-respect. But he + now merely said: “Yes, I shall be glad, too. I'm afraid he's a bad + fellow.” + </p> + <p> + His words seemed to appeal to Whitwell's impartiality. “Well, I d' know as + I should say bad, exactly. He's a mixture.” + </p> + <p> + “He's a bad mixture,” said Westover. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I guess you're partly right there,” Whitwell admitted, with a + laugh. After a dreamy moment he asked: “Ever hear anything more about that + girl here in Boston?” + </p> + <p> + Westover knew that he meant Bessie Lynde. “She's abroad somewhere, with + her aunt.” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell had not taken any wine; apparently he was afraid of forming + instantly the habit of drink if he touched it; but he tolerated Westover's + pint of Zinfandel, and he seemed to warm sympathetically to a greater + confidence as the painter made away with it. “There's one thing I never + told Cynthy yet; well, Jombateeste didn't tell me himself till after Jeff + was gone; and then, thinks I, what's the use? But I guess you had better + know.” + </p> + <p> + He leaned forward across the table, and gave Jombateeste's story of the + encounter between Jeff and Alan Lynde in the clearing. “Now what do you + suppose was the reason Jeff let up on the feller? Of course, he meant to + choke the life out of him, and his just ketchin' sight of Jombateeste—do + you believe that was enough to stop him, when he'd started in for a thing + like that? Or what was it done it?” + </p> + <p> + Westover listened with less thought of the fact itself than of another + fact that it threw light upon. It was clear to him now that the Class-Day + scrapping which had left its marks upon Jeff's face was with Lynde, and + that when Jeff got him in his power he was in such a fury for revenge that + no mere motive of prudence could have arrested him. In both events, it + must have been Bessie Lynde that was the moving cause; but what was it + that stayed Jeff in his vengeance? + </p> + <p> + “Let him up, and let him walk away, you say?” he demanded of Whitwell. + </p> + <p> + Whitwell nodded. “That's what Jombateeste said. Said Jeff said if he let + the feller look back he'd shoot him. But he didn't haf to.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't make it out,” Westover sighed. + </p> + <p> + “It's been too much for me,” Whitwell said. “I told Jombateeste he'd + better keep it to himself, and I guess he done so. S'pose Jeff still had a + sneakin' fondness for the girl?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know; perhaps,” Westover asserted. + </p> + <p> + Whitwell threw his head back in a sudden laugh that showed all the work of + his dentist. “Well, wouldn't it be a joke if he was there in Florence + after her? Be just like Jeff.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be like Jeff; I don't know whether it would be a joke or not. I + hope he won't find it a joke, if it's so,” said Westover, gloomily. A + fantastic apprehension seized him, which made him wish for the moment that + it might be so, and which then passed, leaving him simply sorry for any + chance that might bring Bessie Lynde into the fellow's way again. + </p> + <p> + For the evening Whitwell's preference would have been a lecture of some + sort, but there was none advertised, and he consented to go with Westover + to the theatre. He came back to the painter at dinner-time, after a wary + exploration of the city, which had resulted not only in a personal + acquaintance with its monuments, but an immunity from its dangers and + temptations which he prided himself hardly less upon. He had seen Faneuil + Hall, the old State House, Bunker Hill, the Public Library, and the Old + South Church, and he had not been sandbagged or buncoed or led astray from + the paths of propriety. In the comfortable sense of escape, he was + disposed, to moralize upon the civilization of great cities, which he now + witnessed at first hand for the first time; and throughout the evening, + between the acts of the “Old Homestead,” which he found a play of some + merit, but of not so much novelty in its characters as he had somehow led + himself to expect, he recurred to the difficulties and dangers that must + beset a young man in coming to a place like Boston. Westover found him + less amusing than he had on his own ground at Lion's Head, and tasted a + quality of commonplace in his deliverances which made him question whether + he had not, perhaps, always owed more to this environment than he had + suspected. But they parted upon terms of mutual respect and in the common + hope of meeting again. Whitwell promised to let Westover know what he + heard of Jeff, but, when the painter had walked the philosopher home to + his hotel, he found a message awaiting him at his studio from Jeff direct: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Whitwell's despatch received. Wait letter. + + “DURGIN.” + </pre> + <p> + Westover raged at the intelligent thrift of this telegram, and at the + implication that he not only knew all about the business of Whitwell's + despatch, but that he was in communication with him, and would be + sufficiently interested to convey Jeff's message to him. Of course, Durgin + had at once divined that Whitwell must have come to him for advice, and + that he would hear from him, whether he was still in Boston or not. By + cabling to Westover, Jeff saved the cost of an elaborate address to + Whitwell at Lion's Head, and had brought the painter in for further + consultation and assistance in his affairs. What vexed him still more was + his own consciousness that he could not defeat this impudent expectation. + He had, indeed, some difficulty with himself to keep from going to + Whitwell's hotel with the despatch at once, and he slept badly, in his + fear that he might not get it to him in the morning before he left town. + </p> + <p> + The sum of Jeff's letter when it came, and it came to Westover and not to + Whitwell, was to request the painter to see a lawyer in his behalf, and + put his insurance policies in his hands, with full authority to guard his + interests in the matter. He told Westover where his policies would be + found, and enclosed the key of his box in the Safety Vaults, with a due + demand for Westover's admission to it. He registered his letter, and he + jocosely promised Westover to do as much for him some day, in pleading + that there was really no one else he could turn to. He put the whole + business upon him, and Westover discharged himself of it as briefly as he + could by delivering the papers to the lawyer he had already consulted for + Whitwell. + </p> + <p> + “Is this another charity patient?” asked his friend, with a grin. + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Westover. “You can charge this fellow along the whole line.” + </p> + <p> + Before he parted with the lawyer he had his misgivings, and he said: “I + shouldn't want the blackguard to think I had got a friend a fat job out of + him.” + </p> + <p> + The lawyer laughed intelligently. “I shall only make the usual charge. + Then he is a blackguard.” + </p> + <p> + “There ought to be a more blistering word.” + </p> + <p> + “One that would imply that he was capable of setting fire to his + property?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't say that. But I'm glad he was away when it took fire,” said + Westover. + </p> + <p> + “You give him the benefit of the doubt.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of every kind of doubt.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0054" id="link2H_4_0054"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LII. + </h2> + <p> + Westover once more promised himself to have nothing to do with Jeff Durgin + or his affairs. But he did not promise this so confidently as upon former + occasions, and he instinctively waited for a new complication. He could + not understand why Jeff should not have come home to look after his + insurance, unless it was because he had become interested in some woman + even beyond his concern for his own advantage. He believed him capable of + throwing away advantages for disadvantages in a thing of that kind, but he + thought it more probable that he had fallen in love with one whom he would + lose nothing by winning. It did not seem at all impossible that he should + have again met Bessie Lynde, and that they should have made up their + quarrel, or whatever it was. Jeff would consider that he had done his + whole duty by Cynthia, and that he was free to renew his suit with Bessie; + and there was nothing in Bessie's character, as Westover understood it, to + prevent her taking him back upon a very small show of repentance if the + needed emotions were in prospect. He had decided pretty finally that it + would be Bessie rather than another when he received a letter from Mrs. + Vostrand. It was dated at Florence, and after some pretty palaver about + their old friendship, which she only hoped he remembered half as fondly as + she did, the letter ran: + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + “I am turning to you now in a very strange difficulty, but I do not know + that I should turn to you even now, and knowing all I do of your + goodness, if I were not asked to do so by another. “I believe we have + not heard from each other since the first days of my poor Genevieve's + marriage, when everything looked so bright and fair, and we little + realized the clouds that were to overcast her happiness. It is a long + story, and I will not go into it fully. The truth is that poor Gigi did + not treat her very kindly, and that she has not lived with him since the + birth of their little girl, now nearly two years old, and the sweetest + little creature in the world; I wish you could see her; I am sure it + would inspire your pencil with the idea of an angel-child. At first I + hoped that the separation would be only temporary, and that when + Genevieve had regained her strength she would be willing to go back to + her husband; but nothing would induce her to do so. In fact, poor Gigi + had spent all her money, and they would have had nothing to live upon + but his pay, and you know that the pay of the Italian officers is very + small. “Gigi made several attempts to see her, and he threatened to take + the child from her, but he was always willing to compromise for money. I + am afraid that he never really loved her and that we were both deceived + by his fervent protestations. We managed to get away from Florence + without his knowing it, and we have spent the last two years in + Lausanne, very happily, though very quietly. Our dear Checco is in the + university there, his father having given up the plan of sending him to + Harvard, and we had him with us, while we were taking measures to secure + the divorce. Even in the simple way we lived Genevieve attracted a great + deal of attention, as she always has done, and she would have had + several eligible offers if she had been divorced, or if her affections + had not already been engaged, as I did not know at the time. “We were in + this state of uncertainty up to the middle of last summer, when the news + of poor Gigi's sudden death came. I am sorry to say that his habits in + some respects were not good, and that probably hastened it some; it had + obliged him to leave the army. Genevieve did not feel that she could + consistently put on black for him, and I did not urge her, under the + peculiar circumstances; there is so much mere formality in those kind of + things at the best; but we immediately returned to Florence to try and + see if we could not get back some of her effects which his family had + seized. I am opposed to lawsuits if they can possibly be avoided, and we + arranged with poor Gigi's family by agreeing to let them have + Genevieve's furniture if they would promise never to molest her with the + child, and I must say they have behaved very well. We are on the best of + terms with them, and they have let us have some of the things back which + were endeared to her by old associations, at a very reasonable rate. + “This brings me to the romantic part of my letter, and I will say at + once that we found your friend Mr. Durgin in Florence, in the very hotel + we went to. We all met in the dining-room, at the table d'hote one + evening, and Genevieve and he took to each other at once. He spent the + evening with us in our private drawing-room, and she said to me, after + he went, that for the first time in years she felt rested. It seems that + she had always secretly fancied him, and that she gave up to me in the + matter of marrying poor Gigi, because she knew I had my heart set upon + it, and she was not very certain of her own feelings when Mr. D. offered + himself in Boston; but the conviction that she had made a mistake grew + upon, her more and more after she had married Gigi. “Well, now, Mr. + Westover, I suppose you have guessed by this time that Mr. Durgin has + renewed his offer, and Genevieve has conditionally accepted him; we do + not feel that she is like an ordinary widow, and that she has to fill up + a certain season of mourning; she and Gigi have been dead to each other + for years; and Mr. Durgin is as fond of our dear little Bice as her own + father could be, and they are together all the time. Her name is + Beatrice de' Popolani Grassi. Isn't it lovely? She has poor Gigi's black + eyes, with the most beautiful golden hair, which she gets from our aide. + You remember Genevieve's hair back in the dear old days, before any + trouble had come, and we were all so happy together? And this brings me + to what I wanted to say. You are the oldest friend we have, and by a + singular coincidence you are the oldest friend of Mr. Durgin, too. I + cannot bear to risk my child's happiness a second time, and though Mr. + Vostrand fully approves of the match, and has cabled his consent from + Seattle, Washington, still, you know, a mother's heart cannot be at rest + without some positive assurance. I told Mr. Durgin quite frankly how I + felt, and he agreed with me that after our experience with poor Gigi we + could not be too careful, and he authorized me to write to you and find + out all you knew about him. He said you had known him ever since he was + a boy, and that if there was anything bad in his record you could tell + it, and he did not want you to spire the truth. He knows you will be + just, and he wants you to write out the facts as they struck you at the + time. “I shall be on pins and needles, as the saying is, till we hear + from you, and you know hew Genevieve and Mr. D. must be feeling. She is + fully resolved not to have him without your endorsement, and he is quite + willing to abide by what you say. “I could almost wish you to cable me + just Good or Bad, but I know that this will not be wise, and I am going + to wait for your letter, and get your opinion in full. “We all join in + the kindest regards. Mr. D. is talking with Genevieve while I write, and + has our darling Bice on his knees. You cannot imagine what a picture it + makes, her childish delicacy contrasted with his stalwart strength. She + says to send you a baciettino, and I wish you were here to receive it + from her angel lips. Yours faithfully,<br /> <br /> “MEDORA VOSTRAND.<br /> + <br /> “P. S.—Mr. D. says that he fell in love with Genevieve + across the barrier between the first and second cabin when he came over + with us on the Aquitaine four years ago, and that he has never ceased to + love her, though at one time he persuaded himself that he cared for + another because he felt that she was lost to him forever, and it was no + use: He really did care for the lady he was engaged to, and had a true + affection for her, which he mistook for a warmer feeling. He says that + she was worthy of any man's love and of the highest respect. I tell + Genevieve that, she ought to honor him for it, and that she must never + be jealous of a memory. We are very happy in Mr. Vostrand's cordial + approval of the match. He is so glad to think that Mr. D. is a business + man. His cable from Seattle was most enthusiastic. “M. D.” + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + Westover did not know whether to laugh or cry when he read this letter, + which covered several sheets of paper in lines that traversed each other + in different directions. His old, youthful ideal of Mrs. Vostrand finally + perished in its presence, though still he could not blame her for wishing + to see her daughter well married after having seen her married so ill. He + asked himself, without getting any very definite response, whether Mrs. + Vostrand had always been this kind of a woman, or had grown into it by the + use of arts which her peculiar plan of life had rendered necessary to her. + He remembered the intelligent toleration of Cynthia in speaking of her, + and his indignation in behalf of the girl was also thrill of joy for her + escape from the fate which Mrs. Vostrand was so eagerly invoking for her + daughter. But he thought of Genevieve with something of the same + tenderness, and with a compassion that was for her alone. She seemed to + him a victim who was to be sacrificed a second time, and he had clearly a + duty to her which he must not evade. The only question could be how best + to discharge it, and Westover took some hours from his work to turn the + question over in his mind. In the end, when he was about to give the whole + affair up for the present, and lose a night's sleep over it later, he had + an inspiration, and he acted upon it at once. He perceived that he owed no + formal response to the sentimental insincerities of Mrs. Vostrand's + letter, and he decided to write to Durgin himself, and to put the case + altogether in his hands. If Durgin chose to show the Vostrands what he + should write, very well; if he chose not to show it, then Westover's + apparent silence would be a sufficient reply to Mrs. Vostrand's appeal. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + “I prefer to address you,” he began, “because I do not choose to let you + think that I have any feeling to indulge against you, and because I do + not think I have the right to take you out of your own keeping in any + way. You would be in my keeping if I did, and I do not wish that, not + only because it would be a bother to me, but because it would be a wrong + to you. “Mrs. Vostrand, whose letter to me I will leave you to answer by + showing her this, or in any other manner you choose, tells me you do not + want me to spare the truth concerning you. I have never been quite + certain what the truth was concerning you; you know that better than I + do; and I do not propose to write your biography here. But I will remind + you of a few things. “The first day I saw you, I caught you amusing + yourself with the terror of two little children, and I had the pleasure + of cuffing you for it. But you were only a boy then, and afterward you + behaved so well that I decided you were not so much cruel as + thoughtlessly mischievous. When you had done all you could to lead me to + this favorable conclusion, you suddenly turned and avenged yourself on + me, so far as you could, for the help I had given the little ones + against you. I never greatly blamed you for that, for I decided that you + had a vindictive temperament, and that you were not responsible for your + temperament, but only for your character. “In your first year at Harvard + your associations were bad, and your conduct generally was so bad that + you were suspended. You were arrested with other rowdy students, and + passed the night in a police station. I believe you were justly + acquitted of any specific offence, and I always believed that if you had + experienced greater kindness socially during your first year in college + you would have been a better man. “You seem to have told Mrs. Vostrand + of your engagement, and I will not speak of that. It was creditable to + you that so wise and good a girl as your betrothed should have trusted + you, and I do not know that it was against you that another girl who was + neither wise nor good should have trusted you at the same time. You + broke with the last, because you had to choose between the two; and, so + far as I know, you accepted with a due sense of your faithlessness your + dismissal by the first. In this connection I must remind you that while + you were doing your best to make the party to your second engagement + believe that you were in love with her, you got her brother, an habitual + inebriate, drunk, and were, so far, instrumental in breaking down the + weak will with which he was struggling against his propensity. It is + only fair to you that I should add that you persuaded me you got him + only a little drunker than he already got himself, and that you meant to + have looked after him, but forgot him in your preoccupation with his + sister. “I do not know what took place between you and these people + after you broke your engagement with the sister, until your encounter + with the brother in Whitwell's Clearing, and I know of this only at + second hand. I can well believe that you had some real or fancied injury + to pay off; and I give you all the credit you may wish to claim for + sparing him at last. For one of your vindictive temperament it must have + been difficult. “I have told you the worst things I know of you, and I + do not pretend to know them more than superficially. I am not asked to + judge you, and I will not. You must be your own judge. You are to decide + whether these and other acts of yours are the acts of a man good enough + to be intrusted with the happiness of a woman who has already been very + unhappy. “You have sometimes, however—oftener than I wished—come + to me for advice, and I now offer you some advice voluntarily. Do not + suppose that because you love this woman, as you believe, you are fit to + be the keeper of her future. Ask yourself how you have dealt hitherto + with those who have loved you, and whom in a sort you loved, and do not + go further unless the answer is such as you can fully and faithfully + report to the woman you wish to marry. What you have made yourself you + will be to the end. You once called me an idealist, and perhaps you will + call this idealism. I will only add, and I will give the last word in + your defence, you alone know what you are.” + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0055" id="link2H_4_0055"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LIII. + </h2> + <p> + As soon as Westover had posted his letter he began to blame himself for + it. He saw that the right and manly thing would have been to write to Mrs. + Vostrand, and tell her frankly what he thought of Durgin. Her folly, her + insincerity, her vulgarity, had nothing to do with the affair, so far as + he was concerned. If she had once been so kind to him as to bind him to + her in grateful friendship, she certainly had a claim upon his best + offices. His duty was to her, and not at all to Durgin. He need not have + said anything against him because it was against him, but because it was + true; and if he had written he must not have said anything less than the + truth. + </p> + <p> + He could have chosen not to write at all. He could have said that her + mawkish hypocrisy was a little too much; that she was really wanting him + to whitewash Durgin for her, and she had no right to put upon him the + responsibility for the step she clearly wished to take. He could have made + either of these decisions, and defended them to himself; but in what he + had done he had altogether shirked. While he was writing to Durgin, and + pretending that he could justly leave this affair to him, he was simply + indulging a bit of sentimental pose, far worse than anything in Mrs. + Vostrand's sham appeal for his help. + </p> + <p> + He felt, as the time went by, that she had not written of her own impulse, + but at her daughter's urgence, and that it was this poor creature whose + trust he had paltered with. He believed that Durgin would not fail to make + her unhappy, yet he had not done what he might to deliver her out of his + hand. He had satisfied a wretched pseudo-magnanimity toward a faithless + scoundrel, as he thought Durgin, at the cost of a woman whose anxious hope + of his aid had probably forced her mother's hand. + </p> + <p> + At first he thought his action irrevocable, and he bitterly upbraided + himself for not taking council with Cynthia upon Mrs. Vostrand's letter. + He had thought of doing that, and then he had dismissed the thought as + involving pain that he had no right to inflict; but now he perceived that + the pain was such as she must suffer in the event, and that he had + stupidly refused himself the only means of finding out the right thing to + do. Her true heart and her clear mind would have been infallible in the + affair, and he had trusted to his own muddled impulse. + </p> + <p> + He began to write other letters: to Durgin, to Mrs. Vostrand, to + Genevieve; but none of them satisfied him, and he let the days go by + without doing anything to retrieve his error or fulfil his duty. At last + he did what he ought to have done at first: he enclosed Mrs. Vostrand's + letter to Cynthia, and asked her what she thought he ought to have done. + While he was waiting Cynthia's answer to his letter, a cable message + reached him from Florence: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Kind letter received. Married to-day. Written. + + “Vostrand.” + </pre> + <p> + The next mail brought Cynthia's reply, which was very brief: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I am sorry you had to write at all; nothing could have prevented + it. Perhaps if he cares for her he will be good to her.” + </pre> + <p> + Since the matter was now irremediable, Westover crept less miserably + through the days than he could have believed he should, until the letter + which Mrs. Vostrand's cable promised came to hand. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + “Dear friend,” she wrote, “your generous and satisfactory answer came + yesterday. It was so delicate and high,-minded, and so like you, to + write to Mr. Durgin, and leave the whole affair to him; and he did not + lose a moment in showing us your beautiful letter. He said you were a + man after his own heart, and I wish you could have heard how he praised + you. It made Genevieve quite jealous, or would have, if it had been any + one else. But she is so happy in your approval of her marriage, which is + to take place before the 'sindaco' to-morrow, We shall only have the + civil rite; she feels that it is more American, and we are all coming + home to Lion's Head in the spring to live and die true Americans. I wish + you could spend the summer with us there, but, until Lion's Head is + rebuilt, we can't ask you. I don't know exactly how we shall do + ourselves, but Mr. Durgin is full of plans, and we leave everything to + him. He is here, making Genevieve laugh so that I can hardly write. He + joins us in love and thanks, and our darling Bice sends you a little + kiss.<br /> <br /> “MEDORA VOSTRAND.<br /> <br /> “P. S. Mr. D. has told us + all about the affairs you alluded to. With Miss L. we cannot feel that + he was to blame; but he blames himself in regard to Miss W. He says his + only excuse is that he was always in love with Genevieve; and I think + that is quite excuse enough. M. V.” + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + From time to time during the winter Westover wrote to Cynthia, and had + letters from her in which he pleased himself fancying almost a personal + effect of that shyness which he thought a charming thing in her. But no + doubt this was something he read into them; on their face they were plain, + straightforward accounts of the life she led in the little old house at + Lion's Head, under the shadow of the black ruin on the hill. Westover had + taken to sending her books and magazines, and in thanking him for these + she would sometimes speak of things she had read in them. Her criticism + related to the spirit rather than the manner of the things she spoke of, + and it pleased him that she seemed, with all her insight, to have very + little artistic sense of any kind; in the world where he lived there were + so many women with an artistic sense in every kind that he was rather + weary of it. + </p> + <p> + There never was anything about Durgin in the letters, and Westover was + both troubled and consoled by this silence. It might be from + consciousness, and it probably was; it might be from indifference. In the + worst event, it hid any pain she might have felt with a dignity from which + no intimation of his moved her. The nearest she came to speaking of Jeff + was when she said that Jombateeste was going to work at the brick-yards in + Cambridge as soon as the spring opened, and was not going to stay any + longer at Lion's Head. + </p> + <p> + Her brother Frank, she reported, had got a place with part work in the + drug-and-book store at Lovewell, where he could keep on more easily with + his studies; he had now fully decided to study for the ministry; he had + always wanted to be an Episcopalian. + </p> + <p> + One day toward the end of April, when several weeks had passed without + bringing Westover any word from Cynthia, her father presented himself, and + enjoyed in the painter's surprise the sensation of having dropped upon him + from the clouds. He gave due accounts of the health of each of his + household; ending with Jombateeste. “You know he's out at the brick, as he + calls it, in Cambridge.” + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia said he was coming. I didn't know he had come yet,” said + Westover. “I must go out and look him up, if you think I could find him + among all those Canucks.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't know but you'd better look us up at the same time,” said + Whitwell, with additional pleasure in the painter's additional surprise. + “I guess we're out in Cambridge, too,” he added, at Westover's start of + question. “We're out there, visitin' one of our summer folks, as you might + say. Remember Mis' Fredericks?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, what the deuce kept you from telling me so at once?” Westover + demanded, indignantly. + </p> + <p> + “Guess I hadn't got round to it,” said Whitwell, with dry relish. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that Cynthia's there?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I guess they wouldn't cared much for a visit from me.” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell took advantage of Westover's moment of mystification to explain + that Jeff had written over to him from Italy, offering him a pretty good + rent for his house, which he wanted to occupy while he was rebuilding + Lion's Head. He was going to push the work right through in the summer, + and be ready for the season the year after. That was what Whitwell + understood, and he understood that Jeff's family was going to stay in + Lovewell, but Jeff himself wanted to be on the ground day and night. + </p> + <p> + “So that's kind of turned us out of doors, as you may say, and Cynthia's + always had this idee of comin' down Boston way: and she didn't know + anybody that could advise with her as well as Mis' Fredericks, and she + wrote to her, and Mis' Fredericks answered her to come right down and talk + it over.” Westover felt a pang of resentment that Cynthia, had not turned + to him for counsel, but he said nothing, and Whitwell went on: “She said + she was, ashamed to bother you, you'd had the whole neighborhood on your + hands so much, and so she wrote to Mis' Fredericks.” + </p> + <p> + Westover had a vague discomfort in it all, which ultimately defined itself + as a discontent with the willingness of the Whitwells to let Durgin occupy + their house upon any terms, for any purpose, and a lingering grudge that + Cynthia should have asked help of any one but himself, even from a motive + of delicacy. + </p> + <p> + In the evening he went out to see the girl at the house of Mrs. + Fredericks, whom he found living in the Port. They had a first moment of + intolerable shyness on her part. He had been afraid to see her, with the + jealousy for her dignity he always felt, lest she should look as if she + had been unhappy about Durgin. But he found her looking, not only very + well, but very happy and full of peace, as soon as that moment of shyness + passed. It seemed to Westover as if she had begun to live on new terms, + and that a harassing element, which had always been in it, had gone out of + her life, and in its absence she was beginning to rejoice in a lasting + repose. He found himself rejoicing with her, and he found himself on + simpler and franker terms with her than ever before. Neither of them spoke + of Jeff, or made any approach to mention him, and Westover believed that + this was not from a morbid feeling in her, but from a final and enduring + indifference. + </p> + <p> + He saw her alone, for Mrs. Fredericks and her daughter had gone into town + to a concert, which he made her confess she would have gone to herself if + it had not been that her father said he was coming out to see her. She + would not let him joke about the sacrifice he pretended she had made; he + had a certain pain in fancying that his visit was the highest and finest + favor that life could do her. She told him of the ambition she had that + she might get a school somewhere in the neighborhood of Boston, and then + find something for her brother to do, while he began his studies in the + Theological School at Harvard. Frank was still at Lovewell, it seemed. + </p> + <p> + At the end of the long call he made, he said, abruptly, when he had risen + to go, “I should like to paint you.” + </p> + <p> + “Who? Me?” she cried, as if it were the most incredible thing, while a + glad color rushed over her face. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. While you're waiting to get your school, couldn't you come in with + your father, now and then, and sit for me?” + </p> + <p> + “What's he want me to come fer?” Whitwell demanded, when the plan was laid + before him. He was giving his unlimited leisure to the exploration of + Boston, and his tone expressed something of the injury, which he also put + into words, as a sole objection to the proposed interruption. “Can't you + go alone, Cynthy?” Cynthia said she did not know, but when the point was + referred to Mrs. Fredericks, she was sure Cynthia could not go alone, and + she acquainted them both, as far as she could, with that mystery of + chaperonage which had never touched their lives before. Whitwell seemed to + think that his daughter would give the matter up; and perhaps she might + have done so, though she seemed reluctant, if Mrs. Fredericks had not + further instructed them that it was the highest possible honor Mr. + Westover was offering them, and that if he had proposed to paint her + daughter she would simply have gone and lived with him while he was doing + it. + </p> + <p> + Whitwell found some compensation for the time lost to his study of Boston + in the conversation of the painter, which he said was worth a hundred + cents on the dollar every time, though it dealt less with the metaphysical + aspect of the latest facts of science than the philosopher could have + wished. He did not, to be sure, take very much stock in the picture as it + advanced, somewhat fitfully, with a good many reversions to its original + state of sketch. It appeared to him always a slight and feeble + representation of Cynthia, though, of course, a native politeness forbade + him to express his disappointment. He avowed a faith in Westover's ability + to get it right in the end, and always bade him go on, and take as much + time to it as he wanted. + </p> + <p> + He felt less uneasy than at first, because he had now found a little + furnished house in the woodenest outskirts of North Cambridge, which he + hired cheap from the recently widowed owner, and they were keeping house + there. Jombateeste lived with them, and worked in the brick-yards. Out of + hours he helped Cynthia, and kept the ugly little place looking trim and + neat, and left Whitwell free for the tramps home to nature, which he began + to take over the Belmont uplands as soon as the spring opened. He was not + homesick, as Cynthia was afraid he might be; his mind was fully occupied + by the vast and varied interests opened to it by the intellectual and + material activities of the neighboring city; and he found ample scope for + his physical energies in doing Cynthia's errands, as well as studying the + strange flora of the region. He apparently thought that he had made a + distinct rise and advance in the world. Sometimes, in the first days of + his satisfaction with his establishment, he expressed the wish that + Jackson could only have seen how he was fixed, once. In his preoccupation + with other things, he no longer attempted to explore the eternal mysteries + with the help of planchette; the ungrateful instrument gathered as much + dust as Cynthia would suffer on the what-not in the corner of the solemn + parlor; and after two or three visits to the First Spiritual Temple in + Boston, he lapsed altogether from an interest in the other world, which + had, perhaps, mainly flourished in the absence of pressing subjects of + inquiry, in this. + </p> + <p> + When at last Westover confessed that he had carried his picture of Cynthia + as far as he could, Whitwell did his best to hide his disappointment. + “Well, sir,” he said, tolerantly and even cheeringly, “I presume we're + every one of us a different person to whoever looks at us. They say that + no two men see the same star.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean that she doesn't look so to you,” suggested the painter, who + seemed not at all abashed. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you might say—Why, here! It's like her; photograph couldn't + get it any better; but it makes me think-well, of a bird that you've come + on sudden, and it stoops as if it was goin' to fly—” + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> <img src="images/{0497}.jpg" alt="{0497}" width="100%" /><br /> </div> <h5> <a href="images/{0497}.jpg"> <img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> </h5> + + <p> + “Ah,” said Westover, “does it make you think of that?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0056" id="link2H_4_0056"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LIV. + </h2> + <p> + The painter could not make out at first whether the girl herself was + pleased with the picture or not, and in his uncertainty he could not give + it her at once, as he had hoped and meant to do. It was by a kind of + accident he found afterward that she had always been passionately proud of + his having painted her. This was when he returned from the last sojourn he + had made in Paris, whither he went soon after the Whitwells settled in + North Cambridge. He left the picture behind him to be framed and then sent + to her with a letter he had written, begging her to give it houseroom + while he was gone. He got a short, stiff note in reply after he reached + Paris, and he had not tried to continue the correspondence. But as soon as + he returned he went out to see the Whitwells in North Cambridge. They were + still in their little house there; the young widower had married again; + but neither he nor his new wife had cared to take up their joint life in + his first home, and he had found Whitwell such a good tenant that he had + not tried to put up the rent on him. Frank was at home, now, with an + employment that gave him part of his time for his theological studies; + Cynthia had been teaching school ever since the fall after Westover went + away, and they were all, as Whitwell said, in clover. He was the only + member of the family at home when Westover called on the afternoon of a + warm summer day, and he entertained him with a full account of a visit he + had paid Lion's Head earlier in the season. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” he said, as if he had already stated the fact, “I've sold my + old place there to that devil.” He said devil without the least rancor; + with even a smile of good-will, and he enjoyed the astonishment Westover + expressed in his demand: + </p> + <p> + “Sold Durgin your house?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I see we never wanted to go back there to live, any of us, and I + went up to pass the papers and close the thing out. Well, I did have an + offer for it from a feller that wanted to open a boa'din'-house there and + get the advantage of Jeff's improvements, and I couldn't seem to make up + my mind till I'd looked the ground over. Fust off, you know, I thought I'd + sell to the other feller, because I could see in a minute what a thorn it + 'd be in Jeff's flesh. But, dumn it all! When I met the comical devil I + couldn't seem to want to pester him. Why, here, thinks I, if we've made an + escape from him—and I guess we have, about the biggest escape—what + have I got ag'in' him, anyway? I'd ought to feel good to him; and I guess + that's the way I did feel, come to boil it down. He's got a way with him, + you know, when you're with him, that makes you like him. He may have a + knife in your ribs the whole while, but so long's he don't turn it, you + don't seem to know it, and you can't help likin' him. Why, I hadn't been + with Jeff five minutes before I made up my mind to sell to him. I told him + about the other offer—felt bound to do it—and he was all on + fire. 'I want that place, Mr. Whitwell,' s'd he. 'Name your price.' Well, + I wa'n't goin' to take an advantage of the feller, and I guess he see it. + 'You've offered me three thousand,' s'd I, 'n' I don't want to be no ways + mean about it. Five thousand buys the place.' 'It's mine,' s'd he; just + like that. I guess he see he had a gentleman to deal with, and we didn't + say a word more. Don't you think I done right to sell to him? I couldn't + 'a' got more'n thirty-five hundred out the other feller, to save me, and + before Jeff begun his improvements I couldn't 'a' realized a thousand + dollars on the prop'ty.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you did right to sell to him,” said Westover, saddened somewhat + by the proof Whitwell alleged of his magnanimity. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Sir, I'm glad you do. I don't believe in crowdin' a man because you + got him in a corner, an' I don't believe in bearin' malice. Never did. All + I wanted was what the place was wo'th—to him. 'Twa'n't wo'th nothin' + to me! He's got the house and the ten acres around it, and he's got the + house on Lion's Head, includin' the Clearin', that the poottiest + picnic-ground in the mountains. Think of goin' up there this summer?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Westover, briefly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I some wish you did. I sh'd like to know how Jeff's improvements + struck you. Of course, I can't judge of 'em so well, but I guess he's made + a pootty sightly thing of it. He told me he'd had one of the leadin' + Boston architects to plan the thing out for him, and I tell you he's got + something nice. 'Tain't so big as old Lion's Head, and Jeff wants to cater + to a different style of custom, anyway. The buildin's longer'n what she is + deep, and she spreads in front so's to give as many rooms a view of the + mountain as she can. Know what 'runnaysonce' is? Well, that's the style + Jeff said it was; it's all pillars and pilasters; and you ride up to the + office through a double row of colyums, under a kind of a portico. It's + all painted like them old Colonial houses down on Brattle Street, buff and + white. Well, it made me think of one of them old pagan temples. He's got + her shoved along to the south'ard, and he's widened out a piece of level + for her to stand on, so 't that piece o' wood up the hill there is just + behind her, and I tell you she looks nice, backin' up ag'inst the trees. I + tell you, Jeff's got a head on him! I wish you could see that dinin'-room + o' his: all white colyums, and frontin' on the view. Why, that devil's got + a regular little theatyre back o' the dinin'-room for the young folks to + act ammyture plays in, and the shows that come along, and he's got a + dance-hall besides; the parlors ain't much—folks like to set in the + office; and a good many of the rooms are done off into soots, and got + their own parlors. I tell you, it's swell, as they say. You can order what + you please for breakfast, but for lunch and dinner you got to take what + Jeff gives you; but he treats you well. He's a Durgin, when it comes to + that. Served in cou'ses, and dinner at seven o'clock. I don't know where + he got his money for 't all, but I guess he put in his insurance fust, and + then he put a mortgage on the buildin'; be as much as owned it; said he'd + had a splendid season last year, and if he done as well for a copule of + seasons more he'd have the whole prop'ty free o' debt.” + </p> + <p> + Westover could see that the prosperity of the unjust man had corrupted the + imagination and confounded the conscience of this simple witness, and he + asked, in the hope of giving his praises pause: “What has he done about + the old family burying-ground in the orchard?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there!” said Whitwell. “That got me more than any other one thing: + I naturally expected that Jeff 'd had 'em moved, for you know and I know, + Mr. Westover, that a place like that couldn't be very pop'la' with summer + folks; they don't want to have anything to kind of make 'em serious, as + you may say. But that devil got his architect to treat the place, as he + calls it, and he put a high stone wall around it, and planted it to bushes + and evergreens so 't looks like a piece of old garden, down there in the + corner of the orchard, and if you didn't hunt for it you wouldn't know it + was there. Jeff said 't when folks did happen to find it out, he believed + they liked it; they think it's picturesque and ancient. Why, some on 'em + wanted him to put up a little chapel alongside and have services there; + and Jeff said he didn't know but he'd do it yet. He's got dark-colored + stones up for Mis' Durgin and Jackson, so 't they look as old as any of + 'em. I tell you, he knows how to do things.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems so,” said Westover, with a bitterness apparently lost upon the + optimistic philosopher. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. I guess it's all worked out for the best. So long's he didn't + marry Cynthy, I don't care who he married, and—I guess he's made out + fust-rate, and he treats his wife well, and his mother-in-law, too. You + wouldn't hardly know they was in the house, they're so kind of quiet; and + if a guest wants to see Jeff, he's got to send and ask for him; clerk does + everything, but I guess Jeff keeps an eye out and knows what's goin' on. + He's got an elegant soot of appartments, and he lives as private as if he + was in his own house, him and his wife. But when there's anything goin' on + that needs a head, they're both right on deck. + </p> + <p> + “He don't let his wife worry about things a great deal; he's got a + fust-rate of a housekeeper, but I guess old Mis' Vostrand keeps the + housekeeper, as you may say. I hear some of the boa'ders talkin' up there, + and one of 'em said 't the great thing about Lion's Head was 't you could + feel everywheres in it that it was a lady's house. I guess Jeff has a + pootty good time, and a time 't suits him. He shows up on the coachin' + parties, and he's got himself a reg'lar English coachman's rig, with boots + outside his trouse's, and a long coat and a fuzzy plug-hat: I tell you, he + looks gay! He don't spend his winters at Lion's Head: he is off to Europe + about as soon as the house closes in the fall, and he keeps bringin' home + new dodges. Guess you couldn't get no boa'd there for no seven dollars a + week now! I tell you, Jeff's the gentleman now, and his wife's about the + nicest lady I ever saw. Do' know as I care so much about her mother; do' + know as I got anything ag'inst her, either, very much. But that little + girl, Beechy, as they call her, she's a beauty! And round with Jeff all + the while! He seems full as fond of her as her own mother does, and that + devil, that couldn't seem to get enough of tormentin' little children when + he was a boy, is as good and gentle with that little thing as-pie!” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell seemed to have come to an end of his celebration of Jeff's + success, and Westover asked: + </p> + <p> + “And what do you make now, of planchette's brokenshaft business? Or don't + you believe in planchette any more?” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell's beaming face clouded. “Well, sir, that's a thing that's always + puzzled me. If it wa'n't that it was Jackson workin' plantchette that + night, I shouldn't placed much dependence on what she said; but Jackson + could get the truth out of her, if anybody could. Sence I b'en up there I + b'en figurin' it out like this: the broken shaft is the old Jeff that he's + left off bein'—” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell stopped midway in his suggestion, with an inquiring eye on the + painter, who asked: “You think he's left off being the old Jeff?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, you got me there,” the philosopher confessed. “I didn't see + anything to the contrary, but come to think of it—” + </p> + <p> + “Why couldn't the broken shaft be his unfulfilled destiny on the old + lines? What reason is there to believe he isn't what he's always been?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, come to think of it—” + </p> + <p> + “People don't change in a day, or a year,” Westover went on, “or two or + three years, even. Sometimes I doubt if they ever change.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, all that I thought,” Whitwell urged, faintly, against the hard + scepticism of a man ordinarily so yielding, “is 't there must be a moral + government of the universe somewheres, and if a bad feller is to get along + and prosper hand over hand, that way, don't it look kind of as if—” + </p> + <p> + “There wasn't any moral government of the universe? Not the way I see it,” + said Westover. “A tree brings forth of its kind. As a man sows he reaps. + It's dead sure, pitilessly sure. Jeff Durgin sowed success, in a certain + way, and he's reaping it. He once said to me, when I tried to waken his + conscience, that he should get where he was trying to go if he was strong + enough, and being good had nothing to do with it. I believe now he was + right. But he was wrong too, as such a man always is. That kind of tree + bears Dead Sea apples, after all. He sowed evil, and he must reap evil. He + may never know it, but he will reap what he has sown. The dreadful thing + is that others must share in his harvest. What do you think?” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell scratched his head. “Well, sir, there's something in what you + say, I guess. But here! What's the use of thinkin' a man can't change? + Wa'n't there ever anything in that old idee of a change of heart? What do + you s'pose made Jeff let up on that feller that Jombateeste see him have + down, that day, in my Clearin'? What Jeff would natch'ly done would b'en + to shake the life out of him; but he didn't; he let him up, and he let him + go. What's the reason that wa'n't the beginnin' of a new life for him?” + </p> + <p> + “We don't know all the ins and outs of that business,” said Westover, + after a moment. “I've puzzled over it a good deal. The man was the brother + of that girl that Jeff had jilted in Boston. I've found out that much. I + don't know just the size and shape of the trouble between them, but Jeff + may have felt that he had got even with his enemy before that day. Or he + may have felt that if he was going in for full satisfaction, there was + Jombateeste looking on.” + </p> + <p> + “That's true,” said Whitwell, greatly daunted. After a while he took + refuge in the reflection, “Well, he's a comical devil.” + </p> + <p> + Westover said, in a sort of absence: “Perhaps we're all broken shafts, + here. Perhaps that old hypothesis of another life, a world where there is + room enough and time enough for all the beginnings of this to complete + themselves—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, now you're shoutin',” said Whitwell. “And if plantchette—” + Westover rose. “Why, a'n't you goin' to wait and see Cynthy? I'm expectin' + her along every minute now; she's just gone down to Harvard Square. She'll + be awfully put out when she knows you've be'n here.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll come out again soon,” said Westover. “Tell her—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you must see your picture, anyway. We've got it in the parlor. I + don't know what she'll say to me, keepin' you here in the settin'-room all + the time.” + </p> + <p> + Whitwell led him into the little dark front hall, and into the parlor, + less dim than it should have been because the afternoon sun was burning + full upon its shutters. The portrait hung over the mantel, in a bad light, + but the painter could feel everything in it that he could not see. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it had that look in it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, she ha'n't took wing yet, I'm thankful to think,” said Whitwell, + and he spoke from his own large mind to the sympathy of an old friend who + he felt could almost share his feelings as a father. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0057" id="link2H_4_0057"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LV + </h2> + <p> + When Westover turned out of the baking little street where the Whitwells + lived into an elm-shaded stretch of North Avenue, he took off his hat and + strolled bareheaded along in the cooler air. He was disappointed not to + have seen Cynthia, and yet he found himself hurrying away after his + failure, with a sense of escape, or at least of respite. + </p> + <p> + What he had come to say, to do, was the effect of long experience and much + meditation. The time had arrived when he could no longer feign to himself + that his feelings toward the girl were not those of a lover, but he had + his modest fears that she could never imagine him in that character, and + that if he should ask her to do so he should shock and grieve her, and + inflict upon himself an incurable wound. + </p> + <p> + During this last absence of his he had let his fancy dwell constantly upon + her, until life seemed worth having only if she would share it with him. + He was an artist, and he had always been a bohemian, but at heart he was + philistine and bourgeois. His ideal was a settlement, a fixed habitation, + a stated existence, a home where he could work constantly in an air of + affection, and unselfishly do his part to make his home happy. It was a + very simple-hearted ambition, and I do not quite know how to keep it from + appearing commonplace and almost sordid; but such as it was, I must + confess that it was his. He had not married his model, because he was + mainly a landscapist, perhaps; and he had not married any of his pupils, + because he had not been in love with them, charming and good and lovely as + he had thought some of them; and of late he had realized more and more why + his fancy had not turned in their direction. He perceived that it was + already fixed, and possibly had long been fixed. + </p> + <p> + He did not blink the fact that there were many disparities, and that there + would be certain disadvantages which could never be quite overcome. The + fact had been brought rather strenuously home to him by his interview with + Cynthia's father. He perceived, as indeed he had always known, that with a + certain imaginative lift in his thinking and feeling, Whitwell was + irreparably rustic, that he was and always must be practically Yankee. + Westover was not a Yankee, and he did not love or honor the type, though + its struggles against itself touched and amused him. It made him a little + sick to hear how Whitwell had profited by Durgin's necessity, and had + taken advantage of him with conscientious and self-applausive rapacity, + while he admired his prosperity, and tried to account for it by doubt of + its injustice. For a moment this seemed to him worse than Durgin's + conscientious toughness, which was the antithesis of Whitwell's + remorseless self-interest. For the moment this claimed Cynthia of its + kind, and Westover beheld her rustic and Yankee of her father's type. If + she was not that now, she would grow into that through the lapse from the + personal to the ancestral which we all undergo in the process of the + years. + </p> + <p> + The sight of her face as he had pictured it, and of the soul which he had + imagined for it, restored him to a better sense of her, but he felt the + need of escaping from the suggestion of her father's presence, and taking + further thought. Perhaps he should never again reach the point that he was + aware of deflecting from now; he filled his lungs with long breaths, which + he exhaled in sighs of relief. It might have been a mistake on the + spiritual as well as the worldly side; it would certainly not have + promoted his career; it might have impeded it. These misgivings flitted + over the surface of thought that more profoundly was occupied with a + question of other things. In the time since he had seen her last it might + very well be that a young and pretty girl had met some one who had taken + her fancy; and he could not be sure that her fancy had ever been his, even + if this had not happened. He had no proof at all that she had ever cared + or could care for him except gratefully, respectfully, almost + reverentially, with that mingling of filial and maternal anxiety which had + hitherto been the warmest expression of her regard. He tried to reason it + out, and could not. He suddenly found himself bitterly disappointed that + he had missed seeing her, for if they had met, he would have known by this + time what to think, what to hope. He felt old—he felt fully + thirty-six years old—as he passed his hand over his crown, whose + gossamer growth opposed so little resistance to his touch. He had begun to + lose his hair early, but till then he had not much regretted his baldness. + He entered into a little question of their comparative ages, which led him + to the conclusion that Cynthia must now be about twenty-five. + </p> + <p> + Almost at the same moment he saw her coming up the walk toward him from + far down the avenue. For a reason, or rather a motive, of his own he + pretended to himself that it was not she, but he knew instantly that it + was, and he put on his hat. He could see that she did not know him, and it + was a pretty thing to witness the recognition dawn on her. When it had its + full effect, he was aware of a flutter, a pause in her whole figure before + she came on toward him, and he hurried his steps for the charm of her + beautiful blushing face. + </p> + <p> + It was the spiritual effect of figure and face that he had carried in his + thought ever since he had arrived at that one-sided intimacy through his + study of her for the picture he had just seen. He had often had to ask + himself whether he had really perceived or only imagined the character he + had translated into it; but here, for the moment at least, was what he had + seen. He hurried forward and joyfully took the hand she gave him. He + thought he should speak of that at once, but it was not possible, of + course. There had to come first the unheeded questions and answers about + each other's health, and many other commonplaces. He turned and walked + home with her, and at the gate of the little ugly house she asked him if + he would not come in and take tea with them. + </p> +<div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> <img src="images/{0515}.jpg" alt="{0515}" width="100%" /><br /> </div> <h5> <a href="images/{0515}.jpg"> <img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> </h5> + + <p> + Her father talked with him while she got the tea, and when it was ready + her brother came in from his walk home out of Old Cambridge and helped her + put it on the table. He had grown much taller than Westover, and he was + very ecclesiastical in his manner; more so than he would be, probably, if + he ever became a bishop, Westover decided. Jombateeste, in an interval of + suspended work at the brick yard, was paying a visit to his people in + Canada, and Westover did not see him. + </p> + <p> + All the time while they sat at table and talked together Westover realized + more and more that for him, at least, the separation of the last two years + had put that space between them which alone made it possible for them to + approach each other on new ground. A kind of horror, of repulsion, for her + engagement to Jeff Durgin had ceased from his sense of her; it was as if + she had been unhappily married, and the man, who had been unworthy and + unkind, was like a ghost who could never come to trouble his joy. He was + more her contemporary, he found, than formerly; she had grown a great deal + in the past two years, and a certain affliction which her father's fixity + had given him concerning her passed in the assurance of change which she + herself gave him. + </p> + <p> + She had changed her world, and grown to it, but her nature had not + changed. Even her look had not changed, and he told her how he had seen + his picture in her at the moment of their meeting in the street. They all + went in to verify his impression from the painting. “Yes, that is the way + you looked.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me that is the way I felt,” she asserted. + </p> + <p> + Frank went about the house-work, and left her to their guest. When + Whitwell came back from the post-office, where he said he would only be + gone a minute, he did not rejoin Westover and Cynthia in the parlor. + </p> + <p> + The parlor door was shut; he had risked his fate, and they were talking it + over. Cynthia was not sure; she was sure of nothing but that there was no + one in the world she cared for so much; but she was not sure that was + enough. She did not pretend that she was surprised; she owned that she had + sometimes expected it; she blamed herself for not expecting it then. + </p> + <p> + Westover said that he did not blame her for not knowing her mind; he had + been fifteen years learning his own fully. He asked her to take all the + time she wished. If she could not make sure after all, he should always be + sure that she was wise and good. She told him everything there was to tell + of her breaking with Jeff, and he thought the last episode a supreme proof + of her wisdom and goodness. + </p> + <p> + After a certain time they went for a walk in the warm summer moonlight + under the elms, where they had met on the avenue. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” she said, as they drew near her door again, “that people + don't often talk it over as we've done.” + </p> + <p> + “We only know from the novels,” he answered. “Perhaps people do, oftener + than is ever known. I don't see why they shouldn't.” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “I've never wished to be sure of you so much as since you've wished to be + sure of yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “And I've never been so sure as since you were willing to let me,” said + Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad of that. Try to think of me, if that will help my cause, as + some one you might have always known in this way. We don't really know + each other yet. I'm a great deal older than you, but still I'm not so very + old.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't care for that. All I want to be certain of is that the + feeling I have is really—the feeling.” + </p> + <p> + “I know, dear,” said Westover, and his heart surged toward her in his + tenderness for her simple conscience, her wise question. “Take time. Don't + hurry. Forget what I've said—or no; that's absurd! Think of it; but + don't let anything but the truth persuade you. Now, good-night, Cynthia.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night—Mr. Westover.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Westover!” he reproached her. + </p> + <p> + She stood thinking, as if the question were crucial. Then she said, + firmly, “I should always have to call you Mr. Westover.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well,” he returned, “if that's all!” + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h4> + PG EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: + </h4> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Boldest man is commonly a little behind a timid woman + Could not imagine the summer life of the place + Crimson which stained the tops and steeps of snow + Crimson torch of a maple, kindled before its time + Disposition to use his friends + Errors of a weak man, which were usually the basest + Exchanging inaudible banalities + Fear of asking too much and the folly of asking too little + Government is best which governs least + He might walk home with her if he would not seem to do so + He's the same kind of a man that he was a boy + Hollow hilarities which people use to mask their indifference + Honesty is difficult + I don't ever want to take the whip-hand + I suppose they must feel it + I sha'n't forget this very soon + If one must, it ought to be champagne + Insensate pride that mothers have in their children's faults + Intent upon some point in the future + Iron forks had two prongs + Jefferson + Joyful shame of children who have escaped punishment + Man that could be your friend if he didn't like you + Married Man: after the first start-off he don't try + No two men see the same star + Nothing in the way of sport, as people commonly understand it + Pathetic hopefulness + People whom we think unequal to their good fortune + Picture which, he said to himself, no one would believe in + Quiet but rather dull look of people slightly deaf + Society interested in a woman's past, not her future + Stupefied by a life of unalloyed prosperity and propriety + The great trouble is for the man to be honest with her + To be exemplary is as dangerous as to be complimentary + W'at you want letter for? Always same thing + Want something hard, don't you know; but I want it to be easy + We're company enough for ourselves + With all her insight, to have very little artistic sense + Women talked their follies and men acted theirs + World made up of two kinds of people + World seems to always come out at the same hole it went in at +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Landlord at Lion's Head, Complete +by William Dean Howells + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LANDLORD AT LION'S HEAD, *** + +***** This file should be named 4645-h.htm or 4645-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/6/4/4645/ + +Produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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