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diff --git a/old/69685-0.txt b/old/69685-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 1481f7c..0000000 --- a/old/69685-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2336 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Just sweethearts, by Harry Stillwell -Edwards - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Just sweethearts - A Christmas love story - -Author: Harry Stillwell Edwards - -Release Date: January 2, 2023 [eBook #69685] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Tim Lindell, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JUST SWEETHEARTS *** - - - - - - JUST - SWEETHEARTS - - - - - JUST - SWEETHEARTS - - _A Christmas Love Story_ - - _By_ - - HARRY STILLWELL EDWARDS - - AUTHOR OF - “TWO RUNAWAYS,” “HIS DEFENSE,” - “ENEAS AFRICANUS,” ETC. - - [Illustration] - - PUBLISHED BY - - THE J. W. BURKE COMPANY - MACON, GEORGIA - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1920 - THE J. W. BURKE COMPANY - - - - -[Illustration] - -JUST SWEETHEARTS - -[Illustration] - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -Bathed in the sunshine of one of those perfect days which so often -come with Christmas in the South, he stood at the street corner, a -light cane across his shoulders supporting his gloved hands, his eyes -shifting with ever-changing interest, and a half smile on his swarthy -face. It was written all over him that he had no appointments to meet, -no duties to discharge; that he was by chance, only, in the moving -picture and not of the cast, and that the whole thing, so far as he was -concerned, was but a transient show to be enjoyed for its brilliancy of -colors and its endless succession of fine Southern faces. - -But here was idleness without inertia. Clearly he was one of those -rare beings who can radiate energy standing still and convey the -impression of impetuous force without motion, a trick of the eyes, a -refusal to sag. - -Name? Ladies and gentlemen, meet King Dubignon. - -King saw her first as she started across Cherry Street from the far -corner, a slender figure moving with grace and assurance through the -dangerous procession of motor cars, still handled in the South as new -toys, and once or twice his lips parted for a warning cry, but she -gained the opposite corner with ease and turned straight toward him -across Third. Now, of all the throng his alert eyes clung to this -approaching figure and began to take note of details--white spats, -plain tailor suit, loose blousy waist and flat hat with its little veil -of black lace. Soon she was directly in front but her demure gaze was -not for him. She was mentally preoccupied. She had thoughts of her own -and not having seen the Dubignon eyes and smile she failed to look back -after she passed. - -The young man released a suspended breath like unto the fervid sigh -of a cow settling down to rest, lowered his cane and stood gazing -after the receding figure. And not he only, as he noticed with quick -jealousy. Every man and woman who met her turned for a second glance. -The gentian eyes, radiant face, curved lips parted in a half smile, -belonged in an artist’s dream; the slender, supple figure borne along -on dainty feet, the subtle grace of her moving, line vanishing into -line, curve melting into curve, the free, elastic, boyish stride, -were combinations notable even in The City of Beautiful Women, as the -aborigines call their Macon. - -King was an artist and had dreamed. He had lost something out of his -dreams and now he had found something to place in one. He followed and -saw her vanish into the crowd of a cheap store, an emporium of ten-cent -things; and presently his broad shoulders opened up a path there for -himself. Down one aisle and up another; and then he found her. She -was critically examining lace at ten cents the yard and did not look -up as he passed. The purchase of lace of any kind is a tax on all the -faculties if one is faithful. - -Checkmate? No. Inspiration! He went forward to the turn of the aisle at -the show window near the door. It had occurred to him that sooner or -later she would pass out. He took his stand in a little bay of space -nearby and waited. Time was no object to him at such a crisis. - -When he saw her coming again, threading her way through the crowd and -almost without contact, he so maneuvered that she drifted naturally -into the little bay promptly vacated for her accommodation. Instantly -he was standing directly in front, hat in hand, arresting her departure: - -“Beautiful, just a moment, please,” he said, smiling down, “I saw you -crossing the street and followed you here. When you leave I shall -not follow again. Listen; what I am asking is that you will take my -card and have your father, or somebody, inquire about me of one of -the bank cashiers on the corner, and then write me your address, -won’t you? This isn’t regular, I know,” he continued with increase of -vocal momentum, “but it is necessary--absolutely necessary. I have -searched and waited for you all my life, and if I lose you now it may -be forever.” The girl had drawn back a little and was looking into his -face with wonder but without alarm. The Dubignon eyes and smile were -irresistible. Nevertheless, now that he had spoken--words altogether -different from the formal ones planned--King became self-conscious and -troubled. Something jarred. Perhaps it was the twentieth century or the -ten-cent store. Besides, he was pointing a piece of cardboard at her -in, what must have seemed, a very absurd way. She felt instantly his -embarrassment, and women of all ages gain composure when men in their -presence lose it. The instinctive response of eyes and lips, vibrant -life to impetuous youth, was checked and a tiny, perpendicular line -divided her brows: - -“Are you quite sane?” she began, her voice reduced almost to a -whisper--he thanked God for that. “Stand aside, please, or shall I -send for the manager?” - -“Perfectly sane,” he said, moving aside, but still holding out the -card. “You will not send for anyone, because now the way is open. But -all the same, I wish, awfully, you would take my card and when you get -home decide. Won’t you, please? It’s just a little, lonesome card,” -he added, whimsically. The girl hesitated, questioning him with the -wonderful gentian eyes, into which, now of a sudden, came a fixed -light. A white wonder paled her face for a fleeting instant, and she -moved a step nearer. Doubtingly, the gesture clearly an unconscious -one, her hand touched his arm. - -“Have I ever seen you before? Do you know my name?” He shook his head, -smiling happily. She watched the smile with open interest. - -“Think again!” she urged, earnestly. He was deeply troubled. He wished -that he might say he had met her as a summer girl somewhere, but he -could not. What he did say was: - -“It may strike you as absurd, but I have only seen you in a dream--a -long dream!” She smiled over this and with sudden decision took the -card, dropping it into her shopping bag. - -“You are not to follow. You promised!” - -“Cross my heart! I shall remain here fifteen minutes. Can you vanish -back into your sunbeam in fifteen minutes?” - -“Completely.” Her little laugh was the finest thing he had ever heard. -She smiled up into his face and passed out. - -Fifteen minutes later, having, with the aid of a little lady of blonde -accomplishments, selected a dozen pairs of crimson and green socks and -paid for them, he looked at his watch. - -“My dear,” he said, “I’ve changed my mind. There’s really no room in my -grip for this bundle. Christmas is at hand--kindly hand them to Mother, -with my best wishes.” - -“And I have no mother, and I never saw him before!” she said to the -floorwalker, hysterically. “And red and green socks!” - -“Easy mash,” he laughed, “he’ll be back. Exchange for something else.” -She opened a tiny vanity box and powdered her nose. It was ammunition -wasted. - -Fate is a merry jade, at times. Half way to Jacksonville in a Pullman -next day a young woman with gentian eyes, who had time and again -searched her handbag, opened a package of cheap lace to finish dressing -a Christmas doll, and a card dropped out. It bore the inscription, -“King Dubignon.” Underneath was penciled the information that he was -associated with Beeker, Toomer & Church, Architects, New York, and to -this was added, “Hotel Dempsey, Macon, three days.” Fate’s little jest -was the concealment of the card in a fold of the paper wrapper for -twenty-four hours. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -When King Dubignon left Cornell and some seven hundred who had labored -with him through several years of architecture and watercolor, he bore -with him the consciousness that final examples of his work, left there, -had not been excelled, and the memory of many friendly assurances that -his place was waiting for him out in the great world. That he construed -these assurances too literally was the fault of his temperament, and -so, perfectly natural. Home yearning pulled him back to his beloved -South for the initial plunge, and it was not long before his name -in gilt invited the confidence of the good people of Macon, who had -castles in the air. - -The field proved narrow and depressing for one of his profession and -temperament. The seven-room cottage of many colors seemed the limit of -popular imagination at that time. - -This, for a young man who was bursting with ideas, and who dreamed of -thirty-live story buildings and marble palaces printing graceful lines -against skies of blue! The years that slipped held some minor triumphs, -but he classed them as time wasted. - -Then a provincial board turned down his modern school building for a -combination barn, silo and garage, designed by somebody’s nephew, and -the proverbial straw was on the celebrated camel’s back. - -It was a spring day when the camel’s spine collapsed. Birds were -building homes for themselves, and wonderful flowers were solving, -without human aid, marvels of form and color, and voices were calling -to him across years unborn. Ah, those voices! He placed a foot under -the corner of his drawing table and wrecked it against the wall. - -Three days later he was in New York, that Mecca of ambitious young -Southerners, and at the door of Beeker, Toomer & Church, esteemed -by him and many another as the great city’s leading architects. Mr. -Church, the junior partner, heard his application. A little smile -hovered about the man’s thin lips, and a slight movement of the lines -leading southeast and southwest from the nostrils expressed a cynical -weariness. - -“On an average,” said he with an air of calculation, “we have -applications from Cornell men at the rate of six a week. And there are -others!” He waved a hand feebly toward a vista of rooms with bending -forms therein. “We can’t always keep the crowd we have busy.” - -“I know all about that,” said King coolly, “but perhaps you need a man -in this special line--art glass, stained glass windows?” He opened a -portfolio and laid some designs before the architect. - -Now, while no artist listens with patience to business argument, none -refuses to listen to pictures. Mr. Church looked, carelessly at first, -then with a distinct show of interest. The sheets slipped rapidly -through his hands and he shot a swift glance at his visitor. - -“These yours?” - -“Yes.” Mr. Church pressed a button somewhere, his eyes still on the -designs. A little gate opened. - -“Come in,” he said. - -And King Dubignon stood at the threshold of his career. - -Back in the junior partner’s office the designs were more carefully -examined. - -“Very creditable,” was the grudging admission; “it so happens that we -may be able to use a man in this line--temporarily. Be seated.” He -disappeared. When he returned he was accompanied by a stout man of -perhaps forty-five, prompt of manner and with a face that seemed to -have been carved from tinted marble after a Greek model. This one, with -quick eye, examined the designs, which he handled as an expert handles -Sevres. - -“Excellent! Yours?” - -“Yes,” said King. - -“Where are you from?” - -“Georgia.” - -“Learn this down there?” - -“Partly, and partly at Cornell.” - -“Nothing finer ever in this office, Church. You want to work with us, I -suppose?” This to King. - -“If agreeable, sir.” - -“All right. How does twenty-five hundred strike you for a starter?” - -“Fine.” And then, “Just what I made last year building freak cottages.” -Mr. Beeker laughed: - -“I know; served my time on them. The young wife brings you a home-made -ground plan, providing for hotel accommodations, and wants a roof put -over it--bay windows, porte cochere, etc. Cries when she finds your -roof will cost more than her cottage. You’ll be under Mr. Church, Mr.--” - -“Dubignon.” - -“Good old name. Any advice needed, drop in on me.” He shook hands and -turned away, but came back and placed a finger on the pictures: - -“I say, Church, how about the memorial windows?” - -“Yes, I think Mr. Dubignon might help.” - -“Better give him a free hand on it.” - -A sudden flush overspread the Southerner’s face and his look of -gratitude followed the great architect. - -But if King looked for sudden fame in New York, he was disappointed. -Putting aside his ambition for the time being, he threw himself into -the task of developing along the special line he had chosen for a -foothold, with the same ardor that had carried him to the front at -college, and his work stood all tests, easily. Beeker, Toomer & Church -became headquarters for art glass designs in architecture. Presently -his salary rose. And then again. And at length he found himself -independent. But, to use his own expression, he “got nowhere.” The -reason was simple; it was a rule of the office that all designs should -bear the firm’s name only. Church had carefully explained this in the -beginning. Church had also seen to it that press notices of their -notable work invariably mentioned that Ralph Church was the head of the -department responsible for it. King writhed under this system, but he -could not budge without financial backing. He was heartily tired of -his narrow field. At odd times, in his own living room, he worked on -his ambitious dream. - -The dream of the young architect was a thirty-five story office -building wherein utility was to be combined with beauty without -sacrifice of dividend-paying space or money, and without offense to -the artistic eye from any point of view. Many architects have wrestled -with the same problem and some with brilliant results. Now, by strange -coincidence, a thirty-five story office building for Chicago, financed -in New York, began to be talked of in building circles. No plans had -been asked, no consultation with architects had. A rumor had started -and was kicked around as a football. King took the backward trail -and patiently followed it into the office of a certain great banker, -whose young woman secretary had a friend that served an afternoon -paper in reportorial capacity. Here King met his Waterloo; for no man -in New York was less accessible than this particular banker, who had -once received a “black-hand” letter. Red tape, red-headed office boy, -confidential clerks, private secretary, hemmed him in from all but his -selected associates. And the banker’s offices were full of unsuspected -exits. All roads led from his Rome. - -King stalled at the red-headed boy--the extreme outer guard. - -It was at this stage of his career that he put aside ambition and -raced off to Georgia for a few days along the coast. One proved -sufficient. He spent that laying holly wreaths on graves under mossy -live oaks. Then he betook himself to Macon, to lunch and dine and sup -with his old-time S. A. E. friends of Mercer, scene of his earliest -college years. He found them in law offices, doctor shops, banks and -trade--glad to see him, but busy. Then, bankrupt of emotions, he began -to stand on the street corners during their busy hours and watch the -people pass. - -And watching thus, he had seen _her_. - -And, finally, after three days more in his hotel, much boring of -friends and many fruitless chases of false rumors, and hours in front -of Wesleyan College, he had arrived at the conclusion that he was, -after all, a sublime ass. Bearing this added burden, he had taken -himself off to New York, in what old-time writers were pleased to call -a frame of mind. - -But, at the bottom of a formidable array of Christmas greetings piled -on his desk by his devoted friend, Terence, the office boy, he found an -envelope postmarked “Jacksonville, Fla., Dec. 25.” Within was a card, -one of the kind sold five for a nickel, bearing these lines: - - “I found your card in my bag on my way to Florida. Am keeping it in - memory of the only impudence I have ever encountered at the hands of - a man. Nevertheless, I am wishing for you a very happy Christmas and - New Year. This, I take it, is the proper Christmas spirit. - - “Beautiful.” - - “P. S. Very likely I shall return to New York before Easter.” - -And for King Dubignon, Christmas came back. - -Also for Terence. The tip was five dollars, and an injunction: - -“Small boy, note this handwriting! You will perceive that it is more -of a jumping than a running hand--well, it belongs on the top of all -mail. Understand?” - -“I’m on,” said Terence with his broadest grin. - -“Return to New York,” quoted King, self communing; “I should have known -from the way she crossed the street she belonged in New York.” - -“Sir?” - -“On your way, Terence; on your way!” but this with a smile. - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -Lent was well under way and the first Easter displays in show windows -when on a Saturday morning, King found a little note perched on the top -of his office mail, which read: - - “If you will be at the old Delmonico corner near Union Square - Saturday at 4 P. M., you may walk with me as far as Twenty-third - Street, on condition that you turn back there, and in the meantime - ask me no questions. Don’t come if the conditions don’t suit.” - -Whence she came, he never knew, but as he stood waiting, she appeared -before him, her face radiant, her gentian eyes smiling up to his. He -lifted his hat quickly and fell into step with her along the east side -of Broadway. Now that the supreme moment had arrived, he raged inwardly -that a species of dumbness should have seized upon him. Turning her -head away, the girl laughed softly. She had no fears. The subtle -instinct of her sex had informed her that it was not a contest between -man and girl, but between woman and boy. The discovery pleased her. And -then, smiling, she challenged him: - -“Well, sir, what have you to say for yourself?” - -King rallied: - -“This; you are to marry me, of course. That was arranged in the -beginning of all things. The important thing now is to get acquainted.” -Again the low, sweet laugh and upturned face: - -“Sounds like the verdict of a fortune teller. One of your old South -Atlantic voodoos been earning a dollar?” He was amazed. It was not to -be the last time this girl was to amaze him. She was an amazing girl. - -“Why place me at the South Atlantic?” - -“Oh my! Innocent! Doesn’t everybody know Charleston and Savannah brogue -when they hear it?” - -“Close. But it was a little further down. Are we so distinct, though?” - -“Nobody can imitate it. I’ve tried. The fraud was apparent. My poor -voice sticks. I can’t change it.” - -“God forbid! But--getting back to the wedding--I am in earnest.” - -“And you don’t know even my name!” - -“I have name enough for two.” - -“Nor who I am.” - -“I know who you will be. That’s enough.” - -“Nor if I am--nice.” - -“Don’t jest.” - -“Nor my profession. I may be an artist’s model, soubrette, chorus lady, -paid companion, waitress, manicurist, or lady’s maid.” She glanced down -at her very homely dress. - -“I don’t care what your profession has been. I can look into your -face and see that it has been honorable. It’s going to be Mrs. King -Dubignon. Look up! I love you, can’t you see it?” Her eyes, swimming in -light and laughter, met his. - -“You absurd boy! Do you always make love this way? Is it the custom--‘a -little further down’ than Charleston and Savannah?” - -“I have never before spoken of love to a girl. My lips have never -touched a girl’s.” And then, “I have been waiting for you!” - -A deep flush suffused her neck and face, and for the first time she -betrayed confusion. - -“Don’t, please!” she whispered. “It is impossible that any man could -love any girl so suddenly. And I don’t like to be treated as a silly.” -King had whirled suddenly and was facing her. - -“Impossible? Do you know that it takes all the will power I can exert -to keep from snatching you up in my arms? I resist because I don’t -want to frighten you. What do I care for people, for Broadway? This is -the twentieth century! We haven’t time to play guitars under windows -or sit in the moonlight week after week testing our emotions. We live -by faith, move by faith--faith in ourselves, first, because if we are -square, that’s faith in God; and then by faith in our women. And when -they are square, that’s trust in God. We don’t just meet the women He -creates for us; we have known them all along. We just recognize them -and take their hands in ours for eternity. My soul has been sitting at -the window all my life, waiting, watching. I have found you. Name? -family? occupation?--they are hung on human beings as so many garments. -I don’t know any of yours, but I recognized you at the first glance. -You are for me and I for you! And in your heart, you know it!” - -“Come, oh, come!” she whispered hurriedly, paling a little. “We must -not stand talking on the street. See, people are beginning to stare. -You are making me conspicuous.” He followed her in silence disdaining -to look about him, but already regretting his outburst. It had gathered -more force and emphasis than he intended. His moodiness returned. Where -were all the fine things he had planned to say? What a thistle eater he -was! - -They had reached Madison Square. She regained composure first and -seated herself on a convenient bench. He heard again the sweet, low -laughter and felt her eyes looking up to him. - -“Funny, isn’t it?” he questioned ruefully. - -“Immense!” Very prompt. - -“You believe me, nevertheless.” - -“Oh, I believe _you_ do. But come, sit down and tell me about that -home, a little further down than Charleston and Savannah. Coast?” - -“Island,” he said, rather glad of the change. - -“Surf, and all that, I suppose?” - -“Nothing finer on the ocean. Coney Island, Rockaway, Cape May, Atlantic -City--why, the surf there is a ripple compared with Cumberland and -Tybee.” - -“You swim, of course.” - -“All islanders swim, like river rats. You should see the breakers at -Cumberland--twenty miles of them down to Dungeness. It takes a swimmer -to get through there, and back, when the wind is in the northeast. But -it’s second nature with the natives. They ride the combers like wild -horses.” - -“How long have you ever been in the water--there, among the--wild -horses?” She leaned forward eagerly, her eyes searching his every -feature. - -“Ten hours, once. You see I was pretty small and the tide took me out. -But it couldn’t drown me. And a lumber boat happened along.” - -“But if the boat hadn’t happened along?” - -“Oh, the tide would have brought me back. Dead, maybe, but I think not. -I am a floater. Some swimmers are not balanced right for floating. -Women hardly ever.” She gave him a friendly smile. - -“And there is where your home is?” - -“What the war left of it--two wings of a cochina house and an unbroken -view of desolation. But it was home.” - -“Now you are talking sensibly. Home! That’s always worth talking about. -Let’s quit the foolish love business.” - -“And yet, it is love that makes the home.” - -“True. But think of a home where the wife was won, a stranger, by a -stranger, on the street.” - -“That is strongly put. I had not thought of it that way.” - -“Better now than too late.” - -“The answer is, in my case, that you are not a stranger. Outside of -every man’s life there is a woman standing--just outside, her radiance -across his path. He is always conscious of her there, but he cannot see -her. He finds himself striving because of her; ambitious, because of -her. Then one day she steps in and he recognizes her. And because of -her he keeps his soul clean and face to the sunrise. Some call her the -Ideal. But I know her as the woman God made for me. Now you understand -what I meant when I said I had waited for you all my life.” - -“What a beautiful thought!” - -“It’s not my fault I met you on the street.” - -“Perhaps it may not always be, on the street.” - -“You mean you will let me come to see you some day?” - -“I am not suggesting that.” - -“Then, you never will?” - -“I have not said so.” He relapsed into moody silence. - -“Listen,” she said, at length, picking up the loose end. “You are not -altogether a stranger either.” Again that swift, half mocking, upward -smile. “Outside of every girl’s life there is a man standing--just -outside, his shadow across her path. She is always conscious of him -there; she knows him as the man God made for her, but she cannot see -him. Then, one day, he steps in and she recognizes him.” - -“What a beautiful thought!” he echoed. And then: “Down in Macon, for -instance, did you recognize me?” - -“I am inclined to think I did,” she answered with a faint smile. -“Nevertheless, I took you at your word, and asked about you.” - -“In Macon?” - -“No, silly.” - -“What did you learn?” - -“Oh, you are a talented young draughtsman, and ambitious. Also, you are -a dreamer, an impetuous dreamer. You certainly are that. If I were an -adventuress as well as--penniless, I might marry you and take chances -on your success. I could always quit, you know. But I am not an -adventuress and marriage is impossible for us.” - -“Why impossible?” The sun was gone. - -“There is a fact--I can’t tell you now. And you were to ask me no -questions. But the fact is, now, insurmountable.” - -“Tell me that fact.” - -“I cannot. But, on my honor, if I did you would not want to marry me. -You would leave me on the street and never return.” Her face, now grave -and earnest, was lifted fearlessly and her eyes met his in sincerity. -His dumb distress touched her. Her color deepened a little--the passing -of a thought. The light of battle flashed in his brown eyes. - -“Here is the limit you set--Madison Square. Here is my answer: The only -fact I recognize is, you have stepped into my life; you are my woman. -Beautiful, come with me to the City Hall for a license, and then to the -minister. Yonder is a taxi. I love you--I’d just as lieve marry you out -of the street as out of a palace!” He drew a thin circlet of gold from -his finger. “Here is my mother’s wedding ring, almost her sole legacy -to me. It goes with my faith that you are the kind of woman she was!” -Mist was in the eyes, turned suddenly away, and then back to him. Her -face glowed with an almost unearthly light and beauty. She reached out, -took the ring, kissed it and handed it back. - -“With reverence,” she said tenderly, “but I cannot wear it. There is -a reason why I can not. It’s not for me now. You’ll know some day.” -Mystified, he stood silently watching her face. And then: - -“You’ll see me again soon, won’t you?” - -“Perhaps. But I am not always free. I shall have to pick a time. Now, -you go back, please. I must go on. But wait--I--I want to thank you for -that faith. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever known. It would -not be hard to learn to love such a--boy.” - -She smiled divinely. “Goodbye!” - -One of them looked back, after the parting. The psychologists know -which. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -Four days of suffering registered on the Southerner. In the hours -when he should have been sleeping, he picked at the meshes that held -him. It was true that he seemed to have always been conscious of this -girl whose vivid beauty now enslaved him. (These artists have wider -worlds than the common run of humans.) But what fact had she in mind -which, if revealed, would make his love impossible? Who and what was -she? He gathered the threads of evidence: her time was not her own; -she was, by her own admission, or so he construed it, penniless; he -had met her when offices were discharging stenographers for the day, -and shop girls were beginning to start homeward; when she left him, -she went in the direction of the theater district. But why shouldn’t -he marry a stenographer, or an actress, or a shop girl? Or even a -model or manicurist or a lady’s maid, if she were square? What had her -occupation to do with his happiness? - -King was younger than his years, as are most Southerners, but he was -sensitive to delicate influences. Without analysis, he knew that this -girl had touched an atmosphere of refinement and was educated. And -she had traveled. But what was so poor a girl doing in Charleston and -Savannah and Macon? It sounded like a theatrical route. One day, on -impulse, he consulted a theatrical agency and learned that “Naughty -Marietta” had been in Macon on the 23d of December and Jacksonville -on the 24th. He knew the opera and had seen its array of beauties and -yet he could not figure out why, being of the Marietta company should -keep her from marrying him. But--and there came the devil’s hand in his -affairs--but these theater girls marry so recklessly! King sat up in -bed when this thought arrived and uttered a word he had learned from -his grandfather’s overseer. It was not a nice word. And yet--and here -a gentler voice intervened--and yet, don’t you know the girl isn’t -married? Don’t you know? - -Of course he knew, the girl was not married! - -Then what the thunder was all the row about? Father in the -penitentiary? Mother scrubbing office buildings for a living? Brother a -pickpocket? Sister gone to the bad? Tuberculosis? Pellagra? Not these -latter, certainly. - -And what had the others to do with her marrying him? Nothing, if he had -a say so. - -He dismissed them with a mental finger-snap, and put his faith again in -destiny. She was his woman. He would win her in spite of herself. - -Then on the fifth day came a little note. He was to be at the entrance -to the Metropolitan Museum at one hour past high noon. He was there -promptly. She descended from a bus at the corner and came to him -rapidly. - -“Inside,” she said, smiling but passing. He followed. Inside she fell -back with him. Then came the quick, characteristic upward look. The -gentian eyes were troubled. - -“What have you been doing to yourself, little boy? Are you working too -hard?” - -“Scarcely that,” he laughed, “but possibly sleeping less than usual. -And you?--but why ask! You are the same radiant, beautiful girl as when -I first saw you.” - -“Don’t, please. I detest flattery.” - -“The word ‘beautiful’ doesn’t flatter you. But I think I understand. -However, if I’m not to call you that, what am I to do for a name? Can’t -you trust me with some little old name?” - -“My uncle calls me Billee, when he finds me amiable; Bill, when he is -displeased, and William, when he is out of all patience. You can take -them all three. You’ll need them later.” - -“Miss Billee will do for me.” - -“Billee, or nothing, sir!” - -“All right. Now then, Billee, listen to me. You’ve been through this -place?” - -“Dozens of times. I suggested it because at this hour it is not -frequented by--because it is apt to be uncrowded, and I wanted to be -alone with you. Forgive me if I shock you.” - -“Forgive you! Come, I know a place where few people will be passing. -It is both public and private.” - -“All right. Let’s go sit down and tell glad stories of live kings.” - -“Good paraphrase. Where did you learn the original?” - -“Oh, I read to an old lady friend a great deal. I’m learning lots of -pretty things in books.” Lightly touching her arm, he guided her to a -broad seat screened by a marble group at the far end of the hall. - -“Here is the place! Now I have a confession to make. I have not been -strictly true to you--to myself.” - -“Been flirting elsewhere?” - -“The truth is I inquired of a theatrical agency what company was -in Macon on December 23d, the day I met you, and was informed it -was ‘Naughty Marietta.’ That is all. Don’t think I am asking you a -question. It makes no difference to me if you are Marietta herself or a -chorus girl.” Billee gasped and after a swift glance to his solemn face -laughed until her eyes swam in tears. - -“You dear boy! No, I am not an actress, that is, professionally. I went -to Jacksonville, since you want to know, as--can you stand a shock?” - -“Don’t tell me. I don’t care to know.” She picked at a darned place in -her glove. - -“As the companion of an old lady. Are you very much disappointed?” - -“Happy old lady!” said King fervently. “Disappointed? I have an intense -admiration for the girl who earns her own living. But, Billee, why -work?” - -“Don’t! You have forgotten the fatal fact.” - -“But there is no fact that can be fatal to us, unless--unless, you are -already married!” She considered this a moment, her face very grave. - -“And you think it possible that I might be married and at the same time -willing to meet you this way? How could you love such a person?” - -“I don’t think so,” said King miserably, in over his head, “but there -are only two things could keep you from me--death and marriage. And -believe me, Billee, you are far from dead.” Then suddenly the little -hand was slipped in his and he saw his own image in the gentian eyes. - -“King--you will let me call you that, won’t you?--my King! Oh, don’t -you understand? There must be a mystery between us; how long, the good -God only knows--but it may not keep us from each other all the time. -Can’t we be just sweethearts till then? Don’t you know I love to be -with you--and--and would love you--if I might? Don’t you know? Don’t -you know, King?” The inevitable happened. She was swept up in the -arms of the young man and his lips were pressed to hers. For one long -moment, while the world swam about her and her heart stood still, she -lay unresisting, helpless. Then he released her and leaped to his feet. - -“My God!” he cried in a whisper, staring at her, incredulous. “Can you -ever forgive me? I was crazy, mad--I did not know what I was doing! -Billee, go! Leave me and never come back! I deserve it!” He was -trembling from head to foot. She arose with slow dignity, her face -very pale, and tidied her slightly disarranged dress, her eyes timidly -searching the perspective ahead, and lips quivering. There was but one -couple in view and their backs were turned. - -“King,” she said, “you must promise me you’ll never do that again; you -must, King, or I shall have to leave you and not return.” - -“I swear it! Never until you lay your head on my breast, of your own -free will!” But presently she turned and faced him bravely, her eyes -again on his. A new note was in her voice. She seemed older. - -“King, I can’t bear to see you look unhappy; and I am not a hypocrite. -I forgive you, because--I am glad you kissed me, just once--and in that -way. Now, I do not doubt--” - -“You cannot doubt--” - -“I do not doubt _myself_! King, my splendid boy--oh, this is shameful!” -She choked, covered her eyes with one hand, stretched the other -blindly toward him, but before he could take it, was gone. He stood as -she left him, looking down the vista through which she fled, but seeing -nothing. Presently he pressed the back of one hand to his eyes and then -examined it in wonder. - -“Oh Terence! Terence! what would you give to see that! You’d blackmail -me fifty years.” - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -The next note reached King four days after his meeting with Billee in -the Museum. The four days had seemed four years. It would be untrue to -say that the mystery of it all did not continue to wear on him in the -hours when he should have been sleeping, but the Southerner is born and -dies an optimist, and is usually loyal to his ideals. King’s loyalty -refused to entertain a doubt. Who could doubt Billee’s eyes? The note -came as his reward, or so he cheered himself. It appointed a meeting -for the afternoon in one of New York’s suburban churches. - - “The choir will be rehearsing for Easter, but the church doors will - be open and only a few, if any, people in the pews. Go at four and - find a seat well back, over on the left. I shall join you as soon as - I am free to come. Dear King, I have been so miserable, so happy! - Please, please, don’t make love to me any more. But don’t stop loving - me. Please understand. I am not in a position for your love--now. - Trust me--whatever happens don’t doubt that I love you. There now! I - have said it. Does it make you happy? It makes me miserable, but I - am only happy now when I’m miserable about you. - - “Billee.” - -The world stood still for King Dubignon, or at least time seemed -to, when the hurried, unrevised, illogical little note revealed its -message. Trust her? Trust Billee? Well, rather! He stowed it in -his deepest pocket along with some other priceless compositions of -hers, and went off to church much ahead of the appointed time. The -_chiaroscuro_ over on the left received him, and ages after, she glided -into the pew and slipped her hand in his, while the choir sang, afar -off, “Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom.” - -Speech, while the divine voices carried that wonderful song-prayer, -would have been sacrilege. And, though he did not analyze, it was -expressing his feelings far better than he knew how. - -He covered the one hand he held with his other and sat in silent bliss, -and presently she added the one, little, lonesome hand she had left to -the friendly group, and nestled up closer. - -“Just sweethearts!” she whispered. - -When the hymn was ended, he was dreaming off toward a beautiful window -of stained glass. The colors were exquisitely blended, the design -simple. In the foreground was a cross and scroll bearing a name. In -the deep perspective, the sun was setting, its splendor on a single -drifting cloud. To the right and left of the cross cherubs hovered, one -face lifted, the other foreshortened, and eyes closed. The faces were -identical. - -A loved one slept under the cross; a spirit had ascended to heaven. -This was the story they told. - -“You like my window? I call it mine because I love it so. And I am -afraid I come oftener to see it than to pray.” - -“Yes,” said King, gently, “I like it.” - -“Have you seen it before?” - -“Yes!” - -“Tell me what about it impresses you most.” - -“The two little faces.” - -“Oh! and I love them most, too. Perhaps you have never heard the -romance, the miracle of that window.” - -“Romance? Miracle?” - -“It is a memorial to Agnes Vandilever, erected by her husband.” - -“Yes, I know. But the romance?” - -“The artist who designed it, though he had never seen or heard of her -child, accidentally made the two faces portraits of that child. If she -had posed for him, they could not have been nearer perfect. That’s why -her father selected the design over the dozens submitted.” - -“That I had heard.” - -“But the romance is this: the little girl is now grown, and one of the -richest girls in the world--are you listening?” - -“Yes,” said King, whose gaze had returned to the two little faces. “You -were saying she is rich--one of the world’s richest girls. I know that. -A century though lies between her and the little ones yonder. She can -never dream back to them. I was thinking of that.” - -“Wait! No man ever knows all that’s in a girl’s heart. Early in life -when she was just a little child as pictured yonder, she was the victim -of a ferry boat collision off Cortlandt Street. My old lady friend--the -one I live with--is her relative. I have seen Miss Vandilever many -times, and have often read her story in some old newspapers. She was -but eight years old when the accident occurred, and in the care of an -old negro nurse on the boat. The family were on their way up from the -South, and the little girl and her nurse had gone out of the cabin to -the deck to see the lights. When the collision occurred, both were -thrown into the river. In the confusion of the moment and noise of -whistles and the screams, the minor accident was not noticed nor were -the cries of the woman and child heard except by one person, a boy of -sixteen or seventeen, who was also out to see the lights, and probably -New York for the first time. This boy plunged into the river from the -sinking boat and succeeded in reaching the little girl. Then--how, -only the good God who was watching, knows--he got out of his coat and -kicked off his shoes and would probably have swum to the wharves with -her, but a tug, at full speed and blowing its whistle for other boats -to come, ran over them. Shall I wait for the organ to stop?” - -“No, your voice and that music were made for just such a story. The tug -ran over them--” - -“As it struck, the boy seized the dress of the child at the throat, -with his teeth, covered her face with his hands, and went down with -her. The boat passed, and they rose and whirled in the foam of its -wake. The boy’s teeth held like a bulldog’s, though the barnacles on -the tug had torn his side cruelly and something had broken his left -arm. He could now only support the child by swimming on his back, her -face drawn up to his breast, her hands clinging to his shoulders, and -body floating free.” - -“He knew how to save a drowning person, who wasn’t panic-stricken. It -must have been a brave child to keep her head through it all.” - -“As they drifted on with the tide, unseen, he comforted her, promising -he would be sure to get her to the land and take her home. He stopped -calling for help when he found his voice frightened her. And then he -laughed to show her he was not afraid, and told her little stories of -the South, where he came from, and sang the songs his black mammy sang -to him when he was very little, so that the girl forgot her fears and -put her faith in the wonderful boy, who knew so much, and had come to -help her. - -“Then, after a long while, he told her to try and sleep; to lay her -head on his breast, but first to lift her face up toward the skies -and pray God for her father and mother and the old black woman, who -had ‘turned back because she couldn’t swim,’ and to bring the boy and -herself to the land soon. And she did. And then, maybe, she went to -sleep, for she could never afterwards remember any more. And maybe the -boy went to sleep, too, for they found them both floating under the -stars off the Liberty Light hours later, his one good arm slowly, oh! -so slowly, striking the water, the other, broken and trailing under -him, and his white face turned upward, and his teeth again clenched -on the child’s dress, so hard they had to cut it to get her away from -him.” Billee suddenly drew her hands away and covered her face. - -“He was probably tired and asleep, too,” said King gently, “you can’t -drown that kind of chap.” - -“It’s the song ‘Absent’ that voice is singing up there,” said Billee, -furtively wiping her eyes. “It always did get the best of me. Listen.” - - “My eyes grow dim with tenderness, the while - Thinking I see thee smile.” - -“You were telling me of the boy and girl,” he reminded, gently, as she -sat dreaming. - -“Yes. Her father and mother, who had been saved, began a frantic search -for her. She was their only child. They offered fortunes to any one who -would find her, dead or alive, and the river and bay were full of tugs -and patrol boats, and fire boats and launches hurrying here and there -under the searchlights. When they found the poor, old, dead nurse, -with a little hair ribbon clenched in her hand, all hope fled. But a -barge captain landed the boy and girl at the Battery. In a few minutes -the city knew that the little heiress to many millions was safe in her -mother’s arms. And great surgeons were working over the boy in St. -Luke’s. You must read it yourself some day. I lose so much in telling -it.” - -“Go on. I’d rather hear you.” - -“But there isn’t much more to tell. The boy refused to give his name. -He seemed afraid somebody would hang a medal on him and make a speech, -and that the papers would write him up and print his picture, and he’d -never get over it. Said it was nothing, at last. That he could swim -from Georgia to New York if the water stayed smooth and somebody was -along to cook for him. - -“But the girl and her mother came every day and brought him flowers and -good things to eat, and in the imagination of that little child he grew -to be the greatest hero in the world. And he must have liked her, for -he would hold her hand and tell her the stories over and over: Br’er -Rabbit and Br’er Fox and the Tar-Baby. The old lady I live with has -one of his little songs written out. It’s ‘Little Boy Blue’--added to; -Little Boy Blue and his master who found him asleep: - - “Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn! - The sheep’s in the meadow, the cow’s in the corn! - Is that the way you mind my sheep-- - Under the haystack, fast asleep? - Master, the day was long and lonely, - My mother looked down from the beautiful sky - And she sang me a song, one little song only, - Counting your sheep as they went by. - Sleep, little lad, your watch I’ll keep. - Some days are lonely, sad and long; - And I’d give all my cows and I’d give all my sheep - To hear once again my own mother’s song.” - -“The boy in the hospital liked it because he had no mother, either, -except to dream of. - -“It was too beautiful to last. When he was almost well and his arm -was out of the sling, the little girl’s father came to talk business -with him. Splendid plans for that boy her father had, but they failed -abruptly. He refused to consider them, even. He refused everything -except the cost of his coat and shoes, and the amount of money that was -in the coat. He was an orphan and on his way to school, he said, and -was obliged to have that much. He was gentle and quiet about it all, -and finally the girl’s father said: ‘You are an American, all right! -I like your independence. Good for you!’ And to the day of his death, -he loved and admired and talked about that boy. But he never saw him -again.” - -“He must have been worth knowing--that father. Did they ever learn the -boy’s name?” - -“No. The little girl’s father would not let anybody try. Said he was -probably the descendant of some proud old cotton king down South and -would turn up some day, either very bad or very good--they always did. -A reporter had taken a snapshot of him as he sat on the hospital cot, -but her father took his camera from him by force and gave him fifty -dollars in place of it. The little girl has the picture yet.” - -“But if they had published the picture?” - -“Oh, you didn’t know her father. He said it would be a violation of -honor as between gentlemen. No, he had begun life a friendless boy -himself, and he understood.” - -“A beautifully told story. Tell me of the little girl who was saved.” - -“There is the romance. The boy promised to come back when he became -famous--” - -“Ah!” - -“But he has probably forgotten her, in his own struggles. She was -nothing to him, after all; only a little girl child he had pulled out -of the water. But she--well, as the years passed, he grew to be almost -a god, in her memory. You see there were the old papers to read over, -and the little picture, and the song he had given her. And there was -the telling of it all, over and over, at school. Her romance became a -living thing, an immortal thing.” - -“I know. A thought conceived _is_ a living thing. Expressed, it is -immortal.” - -“Then her mother died, and they built that beautiful window in memory -of her, and then her father. Now, she is her own mistress, though an -uncle imagines he is, in fact, as well as in law, her guardian. She -comes nearer being his. They call her ‘a terror’ at home. Still, men -have wanted to marry her, many of them, but she is unchanging in her -faith that some day her hero will come back and claim her. What do you -suppose her father said to her--his very last words?--‘wait for him -until you are twenty-one. It takes a long time for a boy to become -famous. I think I know him. He will come if he makes good, and when he -does come, remember it’s fifty-fifty.’ She had never told her father of -her dream, but he had guessed, and he smiled when he saw he had guessed -right, and died with the smile on his face. So she waits, and waits, -and waits, at times most unhappy. Do you suppose he will come back, -King?” - -“How could he? How could such a boy come to claim so rich a girl?” he -answered earnestly. “It seems to me she would know that the boy was -father to the man. Her wealth will always be between them. Besides he -may have proved a dismal failure.” - -“What! He?” Billee looked up indignant. “Why, he just couldn’t fail!” - -“Do you really think he is bound to come back to her--when he succeeds.” - -“Certainly! Don’t you?” - -“I do not! Has she ever seen him again?” - -“She thinks she has--once. But he did not know it. She is afraid if she -sought him, she would lose him.” - -“She understands him, after all, then.” - -“But she doesn’t want just _him_. She wants him to make good. Wants -him the same independent boy she remembers. She knows, too, that only -in stories do New York heiresses marry poor, unknown young men. Money -isn’t everything with them, though. There is something better, but they -don’t all find it. A good name means a great name in New York and a -great name is better than riches with the rich city girl who is free to -choose her husband.” - -“What a girl! What a tragedy should he have learned to love another!” - -“But he can’t, King! He may not know it, but he can’t escape a love -like that. It will pull him from the end of the world. _She is just -outside his life and her radiance is across his path. Some day she will -just step in and he will recognize her._ _You_ believe in that. _You_ -said so. Love isn’t just an emotion; it’s a power. Even God wouldn’t -try to tear it to pieces. He made it and--well, I guess He knows there -wouldn’t be any immortality without it.” - -King patted Billee’s shoulder. - -“Loyal to your ideals, aren’t you? Good! When our ideals perish, the -kernel’s out of the shell, the juice out of the grape! - -“And such, then, is the story of the little girl whose face is in the -window.” - -“Yes, but wasn’t it a miracle that Mr. Church, a very ordinary man, I -am told, should have dreamed just such a dream, and have guessed those -little faces into it?” - -“Mr. Church did not dream it,” said King very gently. The girl’s -wondering eyes turned slowly toward him. - -“What! _Who_, then?” - -“The design was furnished by Beeker, Toomer & Church, but it was not -Church’s work.” - -“Whose, then?” And as he hesitated, she repeated the question -earnestly, “Whose?” and waited breathlessly. King hesitated and stirred -uneasily. - -“Mine,” he said, at length. Billee sat in strained silence. The -information was for the moment beyond her comprehension. Her voice was -a whisper when she spoke: - -“You mean--it is _your_ work--you designed that window?” - -“Yes. I am a draughtsman with Beeker, Toomer & Church, as you know. Did -I never mention that art glass designs is my specialty there? Yes, it -is my work. The little faces are half memory, half dream. One prays, -one sleeps.” - -“Yours! Yours!” Her hand tightened in the hand that again clasped it, -and shook. “You--you--furnished the memorial for my--my little girl’s -mother!--for Agnes Vandilever! Then _you were_ the boy--the little -girl loved! You’ve been carrying the face that was lifted above you -that night--the face that slept on your breast--in your heart, all -these years? Oh, King! King! it’s true! it’s true!--isn’t it?” She was -trembling. Her hands tightened on his and her eyes were beseeching him. - -“Yes,” he answered, at length. “I was that boy. The little faces have -been with me all these years. I rather think they may have kept me out -of bad company sometimes, and from loneliness.” A sob shook Billee and -suddenly she slipped forward to her knees and buried her face in her -arms on the pew rail. Presently King reached out and laid his hand on -her shoulder. - -“It doesn’t change anything Billee. There’s but one girl in the world -for me--one grown-up girl. I am sorry for Miss Vandilever’s romance, -but some day she will meet and marry a real man. They always do--these -story girls. My little dream girls wouldn’t know her now, nor she them. -It is you, who are the older vision of them, not the painted society -belle.” - -“Thank you, King,” she sobbed, “that is good of you.” And then, with -a wistful little smile, “Oh, King, you must succeed! _Do something -great!_ Don’t let another man steal your talents, your fame--and your -sweetheart!” - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -In the months that followed the meeting in the church, King saw Billee -frequently. She came to him at places below Twenty-third Street -usually, and he could not help but notice that she was at times a -little nervous. She developed a fancy for downtown picture shows, and -he began to be concerned for her. Her dress was not always what it -should have been, her gloves alternated between holes and darns. Once, -admitting that she was hungry, she had let him take her into one of the -white restaurants scattered throughout the city and served by girls. -She enjoyed it all unaffectedly, the only drawback being that her -beauty made her conspicuous. Their presence in the lunch-house raised -a little storm of excitement among the girls, which King noticed with -uneasiness. He arrived at the conclusion, unwillingly, that he was -dressed too well for the girl he was escorting. - -And once, face to face with her, a gentleman paused and half raised -his hat. He blocked the way. Billee’s little chin went into the air -ignoring him, but King roughly shoved the fellow into the gutter. - -“Shall I go back and beat him up?” he asked, overtaking Billee, who was -hurrying away. - -“No,” she said a little hysterically, and laughing, “come, he probably -took me for someone else.” But King thought otherwise. - -One evening they wandered from a picture play and found a seat in -Washington Square. - -“See here, Billee,” he said, “I don’t know what your secret is, but we -have about reached the limit in some things. I am going to be blunt, -even rude, you will think; but last week you borrowed a carfare of me -and your gloves are frightful. And your dress!--come, it’s all wrong. -You won’t marry me, won’t talk about it even; let’s switch off and -you be just a trusting little friend in all things until your affairs -straighten out. You need things. The fact keeps me unhappy. I have -plenty of money; let me be banker and provide everything. And if your -job isn’t pleasant or profitable, drop it. There is no need for you to -do menial work or be at the beck and call of exacting old ladies. I can -take care of you until you find a congenial occupation.” - -But her face was something more than a study when he looked into it -after the offer, which had embarrassed him not a little. Her mouth -trembled and her eyes turned from him. - -“You mean--you want to--want me to take a flat somewhere and--let -you--pay the rent?” - -“Good God, no!” She watched him as though fascinated by a vision. - -“King, it would be wonderful--just to see you coming and going every -day!” - -“Billee!” She laughed and suddenly hid her face. - -“What a boy it is, still!” She looked up shyly. “No, King, when you -are your own man and successful and other men speak your name with -admiration and you are so secure in your field you can marry whom you -please, even a girl who has done menial work--if you want me then, -I will come to you, and the flat, if you want a flat. Till then, -it’s--just sweethearts.” - -“Wait, then, until my office building is up,” he said, trying to -disguise by affected gayety how he was touched. “Art glass was only my -struggle for a foothold. I am by education an architect.” - -“_Your_ office building! Who is it for?” - -“John Throckmorton. But he doesn’t know it yet.” - -“John Throckmorton, the banker?” Billee gurgled and gasped. Then she -suppressed a little scream and stared wildly. - -“Yes, the plans are all ready.” - -“Has he seen them?” - -“No; there’s the hitch. He has only talked about a thirty-five story -building out in Chicago, a trust fund investment. So far it has been -impossible to break through the guard around him. Harvard couldn’t do -it.” - -She was silent a long moment, with parted lips, still staring at him. - -“Listen, King. Do you believe in premonitions?” - -“Hunches? Yes. Terence, my office boy, has one every time there is a -big game on up at the park, and he needs somebody to finance him. They -never fail.” - -“I have one now. Try again--for my sake, won’t you?” - -“For your sake, I’ll camp on Throckmorton’s trail like a poor relation. -What time has your premonition selected?” - -“To-morrow at twelve o’clock.” - -“Sounds more like lunch than hunch.” - -“Send your card in at twelve. Will you?” - -“I’ll gamble on you once, Billee. At twelve my card goes in--for your -sake. At twelve one I come out, for my own,” he laughed. - -“You promise? King, I am really very superstitious.” - -“So am I--about you.” - -At twelve o’clock next day King handed his card to the red-headed outer -guard at Banker Throckmorton’s office. To his everlasting astonishment, -the boy smiled genially. - -“Come in, Mr. Dubignon,” he said. And by the inner guard and the -extreme inner guard and the secretary entanglements, King marched -straight into the august Presence. All roads led to Rome. Ten minutes -later he came out, his head in the clouds. His cherished plans for a -thirty-five story office building were behind him. Billee’s eyes danced -when he told her the story. - -But he went no more. The banker had promised to send for him when he -got a report on the plans from older architects. He did not send, and -Billee was away in Boston with that restless old woman. What the devil -did she want to be prancing around the country for at her age? Meaning -the old woman, of course. - -Hope began to shrivel. The office building grew smaller. It lost a -story a day for thirty-five days. Nothing but the cellar, a hole in the -ground, was left. He laid himself down in that and pulled the hole in. - -And the green grass grew all around. - -Then Billee came back with a rush, and things began to move. Fate had -completed her gambit. She pushed a queen. The queen was Billee, of -course. - -A wonderful day was at hand, for King. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -The wonderful day, the day for memory, was that on which King took -Billee to Coney Island. June had arrived with white dresses, canvas -shoes, Palm Beach suits, straw hats and sea yearnings. Billee had -telephoned him from somewhere to meet her at Bowling Green at eleven. -They would take cars to the Island and come back by boat at ten to -Battery Park. Her old lady was off to New England again with the -Plymouth Rockers, celebrating an anniversary, and would not return -until next day. Her friend, the housemaid, would sit up for her, and -the subway wasn’t far. And be sure and meet her or she would die of -disappointment; she had never been to Coney Island. - -She was wearing something white and simple, and came with a wonder -light in her eyes, swinging a little bag gayly up to his face. - -“Guess,” she cried, “my one extravagance!” - -“Sandwich,” he ventured. Billee screamed: - -“Bathing suit, silly!” - -“Great heavens! And you can pack it in that?” - -“Ought I to have brought a trunk?” - -“A trunk? I hate to say it.” - -“Don’t.” - -Now to King Dubignon was revealed a new Billee. She was the spirit of -light and laughter, and the faces of all who saw her that day shone -with sympathy and admiration. She was a child out of school, and seeing -the world for the first time. - -“Poor little girl,” he said within, an ache deep down, “she hasn’t had -much fun. Never mind, it’s coming some day.” It was coming that day. It -had in fact already arrived. - -“King,” breathlessly, after a daring pressure of his hand, “bear with -me to-day. I’m simply wild, _wild!_ and not responsible. I’ve heard -good news, great news, and it’s killing me with happiness. It’s my -great day, you big, handsome, loving boy!--my boy!” - -“Keep going, Billee, I’ll never stop you. Am I in on it?” - -“Are you? _Are_ you? How could it be good news if you were not?” - -He was certain he had never seen anything half as funny as Billee that -day, sliding down the “corkscrew,” unless it was Billee trying to -navigate the whirling bowl and crawling out on hands and knees, her -little jaws set hard and eyes imploring him. For they took in all the -features of the Island, did all the undignified stunts, rode the wooden -race horses, and flying-jennies, shot the chutes, journeyed through -Wonderland, circled the Ferris wheel, shot at targets, threw rings -for dolls and balls at grinning “coon” heads, saw the fat woman and -alligator boy and the Hawaiian dancers. - -The offer of a free trip up and five dollars by the captive balloon -man, if they would marry in the air, was promptly accepted by King but -spurned by Billee. - -Then they ran races on the beach with other carefree couples, built -sand houses with little children, ate popcorn, “hot dog” and cotton -candy and saw the movies. And Billee drank a pony of beer and lit a -cigarette for King. - -Once they came across a wild, ragtime dance scene, and Billee screamed -with delight. It seemed to be everybody’s frolic. - -“Come on, King, I must dance with you!” - -“But,” sadly, “it’s the one accomplishment I lack, Billee. All the -others I have. My young life was not cast in ragtime circles.” - -“Come, sir, come! I’ll teach you!” He went. She said it was easy. It -was not easy. “It’s easy” is a fiction of the game. She did not teach -him, but among the dancers was a young man, coat buttoned tight across -his waist and lapels spread wide and a little felt hat slouched across -his northeast temple, who handled himself and partner like a pair of -Indian clubs. It was a pleasure to watch him and the little “skirt” he -toyed with. His eyes met Billee’s. He left his partner in the middle of -the floor, as a matter of course. - -“What’s the matter, Bo’?” he said to King. “Can’t little Beauty dance?” -King regarded the visitor with amusement. He was too cosmopolitan to -take offense. This was New York’s playground. - -“Ask her,” he said, ironically. - -“Dance, kid?” said the boy cryptically, to Billee. - -“Sure!” said Billee, giving her hand. And Billee danced. It was the -most wonderful thing, of the kind, King had ever seen. The band was -playing “Don’t Blame Me for What Happens in the Moonlight,” and the two -figures, threading a marvelous path through the crowd, swayed, dipped, -hesitated, glided and whirled in perfect rhythm. Billee’s face glowed -with excitement, her gentian eyes half closed harbored all the fun in -the world. Passing King, she called: - -“Going some, friend!” Breathless, at length, she joined him. - -“T’anks, lady,” said the boy, “you are sure some stepper.” - -“Same here,” said Billee, politely. Billee was learning slang easily. -The boy took one long look at her, his soul in his eyes. - -“Gee!” he said, and turned away. - -“Come, let’s get out of this,” urged King. He saw other young men -moving towards them. “If that boy who put his arm around you wasn’t -Bowery he passes there every day.” - -“What of it? He’s all American. I like his independence.” - -“So do I,” said King. “On reflection, I believe I was a little jealous.” - -“He is the most direct young man I ever met. I told him I was married -and he promptly called me a liar.” - -Billee found a tired woman sitting in the sand, a tousled baby in her -lap. She dropped down by her. - -“Let me hold him, a little, won’t you, please?” The mother’s gaze -rested on her face but an instant. - -“Guess I will,” she said. “I want to go somewhere and eat something. -My husband hasn’t come yet.” Billee took the baby, whose great eyes -questioned her. - -“Look, King, what beauty-brown eyes!” - -“Mind your dress,” he cautioned. “He’s pretty well messed up.” - -“I don’t care. I never had a chance to be a baby in the sand and smear -my nose. I love him, King, just as he is.” She cuddled him up in her -arms and hummed a lullaby, of the kind all women inherit and all babies -understand. He was asleep when the mother came back. King’s eyes were -in the sunset. One rose cloud had shaped itself into a cottage and -there was a gate and a girl leaning over--then Billee woke him. - -And the great round moon came up--the moon that made the moonlight -where things happened that people were not to be blamed for. And Billee -challenged King for a swim. - -In rented bath suit, King waited for her. She came, such a vision of -loveliness as Coney Island in all its glory had seldom if ever beheld. -For Billee had the light, slender figure of Ariel and was clad in the -conventional two-piece suit of a boy. - -“Billee! For heaven’s sake, go back! or get in the water quick!” - -“Why, what’s the matter, King?” she said, puzzled, and then glancing -down. “It is a little short and tight, but the girl in the store said -it would fit. I couldn’t try it on. You ought to know that.” - -“But it’s a boy’s suit!” - -“Of course. Did you think I was going to put on one of those skirt -things to swim in? I have too much sense for that. I’m going swimming, -not promenading, King. And I’m surprised at you. That’s false modesty. -If you are going to be ugly and--and--and look at me like I was -name--name--named William, and spoil my holiday--” Her voice began to -tremble. - -“It’s all right, Billee. Of course it isn’t your fault--ever. Come on, -let’s get in the water.” - -Once in the water, King’s amazement was complete, and delight -unbounded. Billee could not only swim, but swim along with him. It -takes a swimmer to keep along with a Georgia islander in salt water. -Her far-reaching overhand and under stroke was wonderfully graceful -and effective. She glided through the water with that seal-like ease -so seldom seen, but oftener in woman than in man. King was beside her, -measuring stroke with stroke, her radiant face flashing up in the -moonlight, her cheek level with the water. - -“How did you learn that, girl? It’s wonderful! wonderful!” he shouted. - -“A woman, one of the world’s great swimmers, taught me,” she said, “and -to wear this kind of suit. Come, let’s get in deep water.” King was -already on his way to deep water. Presently he felt himself falling -behind a little, and then he realized that as long as it lasted her -speed was more than equal to his best. - -“Great, isn’t it, King?” she breathed softly. “Friend or enemy, the -ocean is always great.” - -Their course was straight out; the last bather was passed. - -“Careful, sir,” called a lifeguard, “the tide’ll be turning soon.” - -“Right O!” sang King. “But old Father Atlantic and I are chums!” - -“Show me how you float,” said Billee, resting on slow strokes, “I could -never learn to float. My head _will_ go under!” King rolled over on his -back and stretched his arms ahead. He lay like a piece of driftwood, -pointing seaward. Wave after wave lifted him; combers broke over, but -still the figure floated on without effort of its own. She decided to -try it once more. It seemed so easy, and so absurd that he could do it -without effort and she fail. - -But she only succeeded in getting thoroughly weary. Try as she might, -her little head would sink. Then a big comber found her cross-wise in -the trough of the sea and proceeded to roll and pound her unmercifully -and stand her on her head. She came up gasping from an unknown depth, -and struggled frantically. King heard a smothered cry. - -“Steady, Billee!” he yelled. “Coming! Coming!” His arms literally tore -the resisting water from his path. She caught his shoulder with one -hand, gasping. He had turned instantly on his back, prepared for the -struggle. - -“Rest your weight on me, Billee!--both hands!--_both hands!_” he -shouted. (You have to be positive with panicky people.) “Let your body -float free!” - -“Help me, King--I’m--I’m--” - -“Steady, girl! Are you really all in?” - -“So far”--she choked, “but I’m--I’m--” Gurgle. - -“No, you’re not!” - -“I am!--I am!--I am!--Oh!--Oh!--” - -“Don’t lose your nerve, child!” - -“Nerve!” screamed Billee, “it isn’t my nerve!--I’m losing!--I’m -losing--” But water filled her mouth. - -“What? What?” - -“King!--string--come loose! I’m--I’m losin--!” (Shriek.) “Most gone! -King, you’ve got--got to tie--that--that--string! You’ve got to! Got -to! Got to!” - -Woman’s wail on lonely ocean! Saddest sound in the world. - -“Then-rest-both-hands-on-my-shoulders!” he said grimly, setting his -jaws hard. - -“I can’t--I can’t--I can’t rest--but one! I’m holding the string! Oh, -King! hurry--they’re most--” - -“Steady now, Billee! Hold fast! Steady!” - -And King tied the string! - -For an age the great ocean had swallowed him up. But he tied the -string! - -Billee’s face went down on his breast when he recovered breath. And -there it stuck. - -“Don’t worry, Billee. It’s all right.” Billee was not worrying. She was -laughing and choking and gurgling. Presently came a note of alarm: - -“King.” Her cheek was against his breast. - -“Yes.” - -“Your heart is racing--just racing. Swimming isn’t good for you. It -might stop!” - -“Entitled to stop,” he said. “Strong heart to stand this wild night at -sea.” And then, gently, “Beating only for you now, Billee.” Silence -again. Then her whisper: - -“King, you awake?” - -“Don’t know, Billee. Hope so.” - -“Was this the way you saved the little girl?” - -“Yes.” - -“Cheek right here, where mine is?” - -“Yes.” - -“Poor little kid! I wonder if she remembers! Hand on your shoulder, -like mine?” - -“Yes.” - -“King, love her, please! I hate to think of that little, lonesome girl, -floating around with you there--and maybe loving you always--and you -forgetting her!” - -“Always loved her, Billee. Always shall. Loved her on the train coming -up from Georgia with the old nurse. I had left my one little sister -sleeping under the liveoaks. She looked like her. Went out on the deck -that night, not to see the lights--I was afraid she might fall in the -water.” - -“Oh!--Oh!--Oh!” wailed Billee. - -“Why, what’s the matter?” - -“Cry--cry--crying--a little, I guess, King.” - -“Don’t cry.” - -“But it breaks--my heart!” - -“Why, what is it?” Silence. And then: - -“Floating around, like this, King. It’s awful! Floating around in the -ocean, this a-way. And no chaperone!” - -“Except the moon.” - -“And not--engaged, even!” - -“Awful, Billee!” - -“King, can you float with only one hand behind you, like you did that -night?” - -“Yes, Beautiful, without either.” - -“Lend me one--up here, please--the left one.” He gave her the hand, -much puzzled. Slipping from his finger the little circlet of gold, she -placed it on her own, in silence. And in silence her cheek lay again on -his breast. - -“Billee,” he whispered, in awe, “Billee!” Then she lifted herself a -little and Father Ocean, with a deep intake of breath, lifted her a -little more. Only her finger tips touched his shoulders; her body -floated free. She hovered over him as Psyche over the sleeping god, her -lips, one moment, on his: “Just sweethearts,” she whispered, and was -gone. - -King never forgot the picture that followed. Try as he might, he could -not overtake her. Into and out of the waves, over and under, she fled, -a moonbeam, a silver fish. Once, for a single, marvelous moment, she -sprung half out of the foam crest of a giant roller, her face turned -back, her fallen hair strewn around it. A hand was lifted, beckoning. -Then, a white flash, and down the slope beyond she vanished. - -“The ideal!” he murmured, “the ideal!” He followed. He had been -following all his life. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -Now that Fate had gotten her stride, things moved fast. King was in the -office of Mr. Church checking up some plans, when the great banker, -Throckmorton, was ushered in by Mr. Beeker in person. He did not look -up. He was more than a little sore that so long a time should have -elapsed since his plans went into the banker’s hands without a decision -having been arrived at. So much depended on those plans. - -Mr. Throckmorton’s visit was an event of note. He usually sent for the -men he wanted to see; he did not visit. Mr. Church was on his feet -instantly. The visitor did not take the proffered seat but began with -bluff geniality: - -“So, it was you, Mr. Church, who designed our memorial window! Mrs. -Vandilever was my sister, you know--I am glad to meet you in person. -I want to consult with reference to some changes in the Vandilever -residence and the possible use of certain features of the window. -Those little faces--” - -“That was one of the firm’s designs, Mr. Throckmorton”--King’s presence -had forced his hand--“I can’t claim the credit. Individuals don’t count -here. It’s the old newspaper ‘we,’ you know.” - -“But I want to consult the actual artist--the creator--for a special -reason, if you don’t mind.” - -“Certainly, sir. Oh, Mr. Dubignon, you originated the general idea in -the Vandilever window, did you not?” Mr. Church turned with a show of -indifference to the draughtsman, who now looked up, a slight smile on -his lips. - -“Yes,” he said, “and the details, also, if I remember right.” - -“Hello, Dubignon, you here? Glad to meet you again,” said the banker, -to the profound amazement of Mr. Church. “I have a mind to tear away -the hall glass around home for something that tells a story. Can you -run around this evening for a little professional talk? Shall want the -same child faces you used in the church. They closely resemble a niece -of mine who is to be with us Christmas, and I am planning a surprise. -Come at eight thirty.” - -And promptly at eight thirty, as testified by little chimes in the -great hallway, King entered the home of the great banker--fairyland, it -seemed. - -Back in his own room, an hour later, he sat and stared out over the -white city, as one who had dreamed an exquisite dream and could not -clear his eyes of it. He had been employed, or the firm he served -had, through him, to compose a strange picture in glass--a picture -of remarkable significance for him. What an exquisite comedy! The -commission was _carte blanche_ as to price and the central figure -was to be himself--humble draughtsman! It was too much for his sense -of humor. He threw back his head and laughed long and loud. Oh, for -ten minutes of Billee! Where the deuce was Billee, anyway? And why -didn’t Mr. Throckmorton talk about the plans he already had? He had -casually, he hoped it sounded that way, inquired of him as to how the -office building matter was coming on, and had been told, casually, it -certainly sounded that way, that he hadn’t got a report yet. - -Fate moved again. Fate had certainly waked up. This time she moved a -castle. - -“Sit down, Dubignon.” King took the nearest chair, a little weakly. It -was his first summons to the senior partner’s room. Now that man of -business leaned back from his desk and surveyed him with interest. What -had happened? And then: - -“I have reported favorably on the plans you submitted to Throckmorton. -They are fine. A man doesn’t have to plan but one such building to make -good. Dubignon, you are wasted in stained glass. Throckmorton informs -me that he will accept the plans and finance the building. The firm of -Beeker, Toomer & Dubignon will erect it.” He pushed a paper across the -desk for King to sign, and proffered a pen. - -“Sir!” - -“Rather sudden, I know; but Toomer and I have bought out Church and you -are in. There are no details. The building you bring in settles all.” - -“Excuse me, sir, but I think I should like to go out and faint awhile.” - -“Go when you please. Partners don’t ask permission. Hunt _her_ up, my -boy, and tell her about it. There’s always a ‘her’ in a young man’s -life. There was in mine.” - -“The trouble is, sir, I don’t know where my ‘her’ is. I seem to have -lost her.” - -“Don’t bother. She’ll turn up. They always do. Here, you are going -without signing the papers.” King signed, and shook hands fervently. - -Mr. Beeker drew a box of Havanas from his desk and taking one shoved -the others across to him. - -“Tell me the truth, Dubignon”--his face was full of smiles and he -leaned back, cutting the cigar--“did you put those plans across on old -Throckmorton before he had decided to put up any building at all?” - -“I believe so, sir.” - -“And you refused to alter your plans to suit his frontage--made him buy -$269,000 worth more?” - -“I couldn’t change the proportions, sir, to fit his frontage. It would -have cut my building to thirty stories.” Mr. Beeker looked at him -affectionately. - -“My boy, will you mind if I tell you the difference between a crank and -a genius?” - -“Of course not, sir.” - -“A genius is a crank who has succeeded. You’ve had a narrow escape.” - -But King went back half blind with excitement to his office to find -that a postman had left some letters, and Terence, good old Terence, -had placed one with a zigzag address on top. It was more of a jumping -than a running hand, and had become associated in the mind of the -observant Irish lad with dollar tips. It was from Billee in California. -The old lady had carried her off to Los Angeles and she hadn’t said -goodbye because she knew she would cry on the street, and would he -please forgive her, she was so unhappy. And, yes, she was coming home -soon; and the little circle in the letter was made by running a pencil -around a certain ring. She had laid a kiss in the circle and hoped it -wouldn’t fall out. The spot on the paper close by? She had forgotten to -wipe her eyes. All this and more. - -The cicada wears his homely brown suit seven years, and rambles around -in the dark underground, perfectly content. Then something happens to -him inside and he comes up, crawls on a limb and presently splits his -suit wide open down the back. Now he is out with iridescent wings, a -guitar under his arm, and life is one long, sweet summer dream. - -New York was getting uncomfortably small for King Dubignon. The world -itself didn’t feel too large. - - * * * * * - -Then the window at the end of the Throckmorton hall was finished -by the factory and skilled workmen placed it. King went around by -appointment to view it Christmas eve with the arc light of the street -shining through, the hall lights dimmed. It represented a river night -scene, New York’s skyline in the distance and the stars above. On the -water in the foreground floated a boy and on his breast lay the face -of a sleeping child, her arms clasping his shoulders. A beam of light -disclosed the two faces. In design, in execution, in effect, it was -admirable. Even King, sitting off up the hallway with Mr. Throckmorton, -for the perspective, could find no fault, though, naturally, modesty -checked pride. - -And then to King Dubignon came the shock by which all other emotions -measured as tremors. It was as though lightning had descended on his -uncovered head. For a lady’s maid, in cap and apron, stood by Mr. -Throckmorton, saying: - -“A call, sir, at the private phone.” And that maid was Billee. She saw -him as he swayed to his feet, and drew back timidly, lifting a warning -hand behind the banker’s vanishing form. - -“Billee!” he gasped. “You! You!” He rushed toward her, but she -side-stepped hurriedly, whispering: - -“Don’t, King! Think of what you are doing! This house, a waiting maid! -It’s ruin for you! Don’t spoil all! And think of me!” He hesitated and -sank groaning into a chair. - -“I was thinking of you,” he said weakly. - -“Are you so sorry for me as that?” she said, standing with downcast -eyes. - -“Sorry? Sorry for you? Just wait till I get you outside. Sorry? Child, -we’ve got the biggest thing coming you ever dreamed of! I am full -partner in the firm now. It’s Beeker, Toomer & Dubignon. I’ve made -good! Have you seen the evening papers? Every notable piece of work I -have done for New York is mentioned; there is a picture of my office -building, and all about my family. Billee, the world is mine, and you -are the most wonderful thing in it!” - -“But I--I am only--” she glanced down at her dress. “Oh, King, you are -beyond me now. You won’t need Billee any more.” - -“Need you! I’ve made good for two,” he shouted, “and Billee is the -other one.” Billee’s hands were behind her. Now, slowly they were -withdrawn, bringing away the apron and revealing the simple short -dress of a child. The little cap of the housemaid was lifted, and from -beneath it fell down a long plait of hair, ribboned at the end. She -came slowly and kneeled by him and lifted her face. Upon it the window -shed its tints. She seemed to float in a golden mist. - -“The little dream girl--praying!” he whispered in awe. - -Then with closed eyes she laid her cheek on his breast, her arms half -enfolding him. - -“And this one, King?” But King was beyond further speech. - -Doubtingly, reverently he touched the little head. His lips parted for -one long, deep breath, while the furniture in the room whirled about -him in a most absurd manner. - -“Well!” she said, at length, her eyes opening and mouth curving into -the challenging smile. “I did it of my own free will. Why don’t you?” - -Again the inevitable happened, but this time Billee did not struggle -nor King ask forgiveness. - -“Oh, King!” she whispered gently, freeing herself at length and taking -his face between her soft hands, “my splendid boy-man, you said you’d -come back when you were famous, didn’t you? King, all that my father, -my mother had are mine--this house--everything--mine and yours. It’s -our Christmas! Let’s always be ‘just sweethearts’.” - -An old man who was peeping in at the door drew a deep breath, smiled -and went back to his den and chair to pick up a paper wherein was a -noble building of thirty-five stories. But his eyes closed over it, the -room blurred, and his head sank back among the cushions. 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