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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..76fb056 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #69685 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/69685) 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. It was May -in New England and the bees and apple blossoms were there, and green -fields and the song birds and a little sister with the lovelight in her -eyes. - - - - -_Books by Mr. Edwards_ - - - “Two Runaways and Other Stories” $1.75 - “His Defense and Other Stories” 1.75 - “The Marbeau Cousins,” 12 mo. cloth 1.50 - “Sons and Fathers,”--the $10,000 prize story 1.75 - “Eneas Africanus,” cheap paper, large print .25 - “Eneas Africanus,” new edition, paper .50 - “Eneas Africanus,” new edition, board .75 - “Eneas Africanus,” new edition, illustrated 1.25 - “Eneas Africanus,” flexible ooze leather 2.00 - “Eneas Africanus,” new edition, illustrated, ooze 2.50 - “Eneas Africanus,”--Author’s autographed - edition--Imitation leather, gold stamped, fully - illustrated, autographed 2.50 - “Eneas Africanus, Defendant,” paper .50 - “Eneas Africanus, Defendant,” board .75 - “Eneas Africanus, Defendant,” flexible ooze 2.00 - “Just Sweethearts,” paper bound .75 - “Just Sweethearts,” Christmas bound 1.00 - “Just Sweethearts,” ooze calf 2.50 - “How Sal Came Through” .50 - “Brother Sims’s Mistake” .50 - “Isam’s Spectacles” .50 - “The Adventures of a Parrot” .50 - “Shadow”--A Christmas Story .50 - “The Vulture and His Shadow” .50 - “On the Mount,” de luxe paper .25 - “Mam’selle Delphine” 1.00 - “In Daddy Jesse’s Kingdom” by Mrs. Edwards 1.00 - - - _Postpaid to any address_ - THE J. W. BURKE COMPANY - PUBLISHERS - MACON, GEORGIA - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - - Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - - Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - - The cover image for this eBook was created by the transcriber and is - entered into the public domain. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JUST SWEETHEARTS *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/69685-0.zip b/old/69685-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index f1fac8a..0000000 --- a/old/69685-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/69685-h.zip b/old/69685-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 81e6fa8..0000000 --- a/old/69685-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/69685-h/69685-h.htm b/old/69685-h/69685-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 2f03a02..0000000 --- a/old/69685-h/69685-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3254 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html lang="en"> -<head> - <meta charset="UTF-8"> - <title> - Just sweethearts, by Harry Stillwell Edwards—A Project Gutenberg eBook - </title> - <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> - <style> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2 { - text-align: center; - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } - -div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} -h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} - -table { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; -} - -.tdr {text-align: right; vertical-align: bottom;} - -.blockquot { - margin-left: 17.5%; - margin-right: 17.5%; -} - -.x-ebookmaker .blockquot { - margin-left: 7.5%; - margin-right: 7.5%; -} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - -.ph1 {text-align: center; font-size: large; font-weight: bold;} -.ph2 {text-align: center; font-size: xx-large; font-weight: bold;} -.ph3 {text-align: center; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;} - -div.titlepage {text-align: center; page-break-before: always; page-break-after: always;} -div.titlepage p {text-align: center; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 2em;} - -.xxlarge {font-size: 175%;} -.xlarge {font-size: 150%;} -.large {font-size: 125%;} - -.x-ebookmaker .hide {display: none; visibility: hidden;} - -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; - page-break-inside: avoid; - max-width: 100%; -} - -p.drop-cap { - text-indent: -0.35em; -} -p.drop-cap2 { - text-indent: -0.75em; -} -p.drop-cap:first-letter, p.drop-cap2:first-letter -{ - float: left; - margin: 0em 0.15em 0em 0em; - font-size: 250%; - line-height:0.85em; - text-indent: 0em; -} -.x-ebookmaker p.drop-cap, .x-ebookmaker p.drop-cap2 { - text-indent: 0em; -} -.x-ebookmaker p.drop-cap:first-letter, .x-ebookmaker p.drop-cap2:first-letter -{ - float: none; - margin: 0; - font-size: 100%; -} - -.poetry-container {text-align: center;} -.poetry {display: inline-block; text-align: left;} -.poetry .verse {text-indent: -2.5em; padding-left: 3em;} -.poetry .first {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} -@media print { .poetry {display: block;} } -.x-ebookmaker .poetry {display: block; margin-left: 3em;} - -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:smaller; - margin-left: 17.5%; - margin-right: 17.5%; - padding: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; } - -</style> -</head> -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Just sweethearts, by Harry Stillwell Edwards</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Just sweethearts</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:1em;'>A Christmas love story</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Harry Stillwell Edwards</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: January 2, 2023 [eBook #69685]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>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.)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JUST SWEETHEARTS ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter hide"><img src="images/coversmall.jpg" width="450" alt=""></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h1>JUST<br> -SWEETHEARTS</h1> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_title.jpg" alt=""></div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="titlepage"> -<p><span class="xxlarge">JUST<br> -SWEETHEARTS</span></p> - -<p><span class="xxlarge"><i>A Christmas Love Story</i></span></p> - -<p><i>By</i><br> -<span class="large">HARRY STILLWELL EDWARDS</span><br> - -AUTHOR OF<br> -“TWO RUNAWAYS,” “HIS DEFENSE,”<br> -“ENEAS AFRICANUS,” ETC.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_titlelogo.jpg" alt=""></div> - -<p>PUBLISHED BY<br> -THE J. W. BURKE COMPANY<br> -MACON, GEORGIA</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center"> -<span class="smcap">Copyright, 1920</span><br> -<span class="smcap">The J. W. Burke Company</span></p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_001.jpg" alt=""></div> - -<p class="ph2"><span class="smcap">Just Sweethearts</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_001deco.jpg" alt=""></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak"><span class="smcap">Chapter I</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Name? Ladies and gentlemen, meet King -Dubignon.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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:</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Have I ever seen you before? Do you -know my name?” He shook his head, smiling -happily. She watched the smile with open -interest.</p> - -<p>“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:</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“You are not to follow. You promised!”</p> - -<p>“Cross my heart! I shall remain here fifteen -minutes. Can you vanish back into your -sunbeam in fifteen minutes?”</p> - -<p>“Completely.” Her little laugh was the -finest thing he had ever heard. She smiled up -into his face and passed out.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“And I have no mother, and I never saw -him before!” she said to the floorwalker, hysterically. -“And red and green socks!”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak"><span class="smcap">Chapter II</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“These yours?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.” Mr. Church pressed a button somewhere, -his eyes still on the designs. A little -gate opened.</p> - -<p>“Come in,” he said.</p> - -<p>And King Dubignon stood at the threshold -of his career.</p> - -<p>Back in the junior partner’s office the designs -were more carefully examined.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Excellent! Yours?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said King.</p> - -<p>“Where are you from?”</p> - -<p>“Georgia.”</p> - -<p>“Learn this down there?”</p> - -<p>“Partly, and partly at Cornell.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing finer ever in this office, Church. -You want to work with us, I suppose?” This -to King.</p> - -<p>“If agreeable, sir.”</p> - -<p>“All right. How does twenty-five hundred -strike you for a starter?”</p> - -<p>“Fine.” And then, “Just what I made last -year building freak cottages.” Mr. Beeker -laughed:</p> - -<p>“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.—”</p> - -<p>“Dubignon.”</p> - -<p>“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:</p> - -<p>“I say, Church, how about the memorial -windows?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I think Mr. Dubignon might help.”</p> - -<p>“Better give him a free hand on it.”</p> - -<p>A sudden flush overspread the Southerner’s -face and his look of gratitude followed the -great architect.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>King stalled at the red-headed boy—the -extreme outer guard.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>And watching thus, he had seen <i>her</i>.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p class="right">“Beautiful.”</p> - -<p>“P. S. Very likely I shall return to New York before -Easter.”</p> -</div> - -<p>And for King Dubignon, Christmas came -back.</p> - -<p>Also for Terence. The tip was five dollars, -and an injunction:</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“I’m on,” said Terence with his broadest -grin.</p> - -<p>“Return to New York,” quoted King, self -communing; “I should have known from the -way she crossed the street she belonged in -New York.”</p> - -<p>“Sir?”</p> - -<p>“On your way, Terence; on your way!” but -this with a smile.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak"><span class="smcap">Chapter III</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap2">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:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“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.”</p> -</div> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Well, sir, what have you to say for yourself?”</p> - -<p>King rallied:</p> - -<p>“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:</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Why place me at the South Atlantic?”</p> - -<p>“Oh my! Innocent! Doesn’t everybody -know Charleston and Savannah brogue when -they hear it?”</p> - -<p>“Close. But it was a little further down. -Are we so distinct, though?”</p> - -<p>“Nobody can imitate it. I’ve tried. The -fraud was apparent. My poor voice sticks. I -can’t change it.”</p> - -<p>“God forbid! But—getting back to the -wedding—I am in earnest.”</p> - -<p>“And you don’t know even my name!”</p> - -<p>“I have name enough for two.”</p> - -<p>“Nor who I am.”</p> - -<p>“I know who you will be. That’s enough.”</p> - -<p>“Nor if I am—nice.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t jest.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“You absurd boy! Do you always make -love this way? Is it the custom—‘a little -further down’ than Charleston and Savannah?”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>A deep flush suffused her neck and face, -and for the first time she betrayed confusion.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Funny, isn’t it?” he questioned ruefully.</p> - -<p>“Immense!” Very prompt.</p> - -<p>“You believe me, nevertheless.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I believe <i>you</i> do. But come, sit down -and tell me about that home, a little further -down than Charleston and Savannah. -Coast?”</p> - -<p>“Island,” he said, rather glad of the -change.</p> - -<p>“Surf, and all that, I suppose?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing finer on the ocean. Coney Island, -Rockaway, Cape May, Atlantic City—why, -the surf there is a ripple compared with Cumberland -and Tybee.”</p> - -<p>“You swim, of course.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“How long have you ever been in the -water—there, among the—wild horses?” -She leaned forward eagerly, her eyes searching -his every feature.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“But if the boat hadn’t happened along?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“And there is where your home is?”</p> - -<p>“What the war left of it—two wings of a -cochina house and an unbroken view of desolation. -But it was home.”</p> - -<p>“Now you are talking sensibly. Home! -That’s always worth talking about. Let’s -quit the foolish love business.”</p> - -<p>“And yet, it is love that makes the home.”</p> - -<p>“True. But think of a home where the -wife was won, a stranger, by a stranger, on -the street.”</p> - -<p>“That is strongly put. I had not thought -of it that way.”</p> - -<p>“Better now than too late.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“What a beautiful thought!”</p> - -<p>“It’s not my fault I met you on the street.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps it may not always be, on the -street.”</p> - -<p>“You mean you will let me come to see you -some day?”</p> - -<p>“I am not suggesting that.”</p> - -<p>“Then, you never will?”</p> - -<p>“I have not said so.” He relapsed into -moody silence.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“What a beautiful thought!” he echoed. -And then: “Down in Macon, for instance, -did you recognize me?”</p> - -<p>“I am inclined to think I did,” she answered -with a faint smile. “Nevertheless, -I took you at your word, and asked about -you.”</p> - -<p>“In Macon?”</p> - -<p>“No, silly.”</p> - -<p>“What did you learn?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Why impossible?” The sun was gone.</p> - -<p>“There is a fact—I can’t tell you now. And -you were to ask me no questions. But the -fact is, now, insurmountable.”</p> - -<p>“Tell me that fact.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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:</p> - -<p>“You’ll see me again soon, won’t you?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>She smiled divinely. “Goodbye!”</p> - -<p>One of them looked back, after the parting. -The psychologists know which.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak"><span class="smcap">Chapter IV</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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?</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>Of course he knew, the girl was not married!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>And what had the others to do with her -marrying him? Nothing, if he had a say so.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“What have you been doing to yourself, -little boy? Are you working too hard?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t, please. I detest flattery.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Miss Billee will do for me.”</p> - -<p>“Billee, or nothing, sir!”</p> - -<p>“All right. Now then, Billee, listen to me. -You’ve been through this place?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Forgive you! Come, I know a place -where few people will be passing. It is both -public and private.”</p> - -<p>“All right. Let’s go sit down and tell glad -stories of live kings.”</p> - -<p>“Good paraphrase. Where did you learn -the original?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Here is the place! Now I have a confession -to make. I have not been strictly true -to you—to myself.”</p> - -<p>“Been flirting elsewhere?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t tell me. I don’t care to know.” -She picked at a darned place in her glove.</p> - -<p>“As the companion of an old lady. Are you -very much disappointed?”</p> - -<p>“Happy old lady!” said King fervently. -“Disappointed? I have an intense admiration -for the girl who earns her own living. But, -Billee, why work?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t! You have forgotten the fatal -fact.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“You cannot doubt—”</p> - -<p>“I do not doubt <i>myself</i>! 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.</p> - -<p>“Oh Terence! Terence! what would you -give to see that! You’d blackmail me fifty -years.”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak"><span class="smcap">Chapter V</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p class="right">“Billee.”</p> -</div> - -<p>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 <i>chiaroscuro</i> 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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Just sweethearts!” she whispered.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>A loved one slept under the cross; a spirit -had ascended to heaven. This was the story -they told.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said King, gently, “I like it.”</p> - -<p>“Have you seen it before?”</p> - -<p>“Yes!”</p> - -<p>“Tell me what about it impresses you -most.”</p> - -<p>“The two little faces.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! and I love them most, too. Perhaps -you have never heard the romance, the miracle -of that window.”</p> - -<p>“Romance? Miracle?”</p> - -<p>“It is a memorial to Agnes Vandilever, -erected by her husband.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I know. But the romance?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“That I had heard.”</p> - -<p>“But the romance is this: the little girl is -now grown, and one of the richest girls in the -world—are you listening?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“No, your voice and that music were made -for just such a story. The tug ran over -them—”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“He was probably tired and asleep, too,” -said King gently, “you can’t drown that kind -of chap.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“My eyes grow dim with tenderness, the while</div> -<div class="verse">Thinking I see thee smile.”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>“You were telling me of the boy and girl,” -he reminded, gently, as she sat dreaming.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Go on. I’d rather hear you.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn!</div> -<div class="verse">The sheep’s in the meadow, the cow’s in the corn!</div> -<div class="verse">Is that the way you mind my sheep—</div> -<div class="verse">Under the haystack, fast asleep?</div> -<div class="verse">Master, the day was long and lonely,</div> -<div class="verse">My mother looked down from the beautiful sky</div> -<div class="verse">And she sang me a song, one little song only,</div> -<div class="verse">Counting your sheep as they went by.</div> -<div class="verse">Sleep, little lad, your watch I’ll keep.</div> -<div class="verse">Some days are lonely, sad and long;</div> -<div class="verse">And I’d give all my cows and I’d give all my sheep</div> -<div class="verse">To hear once again my own mother’s song.”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>“The boy in the hospital liked it because he -had no mother, either, except to dream of.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“He must have been worth knowing—that -father. Did they ever learn the boy’s name?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“But if they had published the picture?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“A beautifully told story. Tell me of the -little girl who was saved.”</p> - -<p>“There is the romance. The boy promised -to come back when he became famous—”</p> - -<p>“Ah!”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I know. A thought conceived <i>is</i> a living -thing. Expressed, it is immortal.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“What! He?” Billee looked up indignant. -“Why, he just couldn’t fail!”</p> - -<p>“Do you really think he is bound to come -back to her—when he succeeds.”</p> - -<p>“Certainly! Don’t you?”</p> - -<p>“I do not! Has she ever seen him again?”</p> - -<p>“She thinks she has—once. But he did not -know it. She is afraid if she sought him, she -would lose him.”</p> - -<p>“She understands him, after all, then.”</p> - -<p>“But she doesn’t want just <i>him</i>. 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.”</p> - -<p>“What a girl! What a tragedy should he -have learned to love another!”</p> - -<p>“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. <i>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.</i> <i>You</i> believe in that. <i>You</i> -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.”</p> - -<p>King patted Billee’s shoulder.</p> - -<p>“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!</p> - -<p>“And such, then, is the story of the little -girl whose face is in the window.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Church did not dream it,” said King -very gently. The girl’s wondering eyes turned -slowly toward him.</p> - -<p>“What! <i>Who</i>, then?”</p> - -<p>“The design was furnished by Beeker, -Toomer & Church, but it was not Church’s -work.”</p> - -<p>“Whose, then?” And as he hesitated, she -repeated the question earnestly, “Whose?” -and waited breathlessly. King hesitated and -stirred uneasily.</p> - -<p>“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:</p> - -<p>“You mean—it is <i>your</i> work—you designed -that window?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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 <i>you were</i> 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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, King,” she sobbed, “that is -good of you.” And then, with a wistful little -smile, “Oh, King, you must succeed! <i>Do -something great!</i> Don’t let another man -steal your talents, your fame—and your -sweetheart!”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak"><span class="smcap">Chapter VI</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Shall I go back and beat him up?” he -asked, overtaking Billee, who was hurrying -away.</p> - -<p>“No,” she said a little hysterically, and -laughing, “come, he probably took me for -someone else.” But King thought otherwise.</p> - -<p>One evening they wandered from a picture -play and found a seat in Washington Square.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“You mean—you want to—want me to -take a flat somewhere and—let you—pay the -rent?”</p> - -<p>“Good God, no!” She watched him as -though fascinated by a vision.</p> - -<p>“King, it would be wonderful—just to see -you coming and going every day!”</p> - -<p>“Billee!” She laughed and suddenly hid -her face.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Your</i> office building! Who is it for?”</p> - -<p>“John Throckmorton. But he doesn’t -know it yet.”</p> - -<p>“John Throckmorton, the banker?” Billee -gurgled and gasped. Then she suppressed a -little scream and stared wildly.</p> - -<p>“Yes, the plans are all ready.”</p> - -<p>“Has he seen them?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>She was silent a long moment, with parted -lips, still staring at him.</p> - -<p>“Listen, King. Do you believe in premonitions?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I have one now. Try again—for my sake, -won’t you?”</p> - -<p>“For your sake, I’ll camp on Throckmorton’s -trail like a poor relation. What time -has your premonition selected?”</p> - -<p>“To-morrow at twelve o’clock.”</p> - -<p>“Sounds more like lunch than hunch.”</p> - -<p>“Send your card in at twelve. Will you?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“You promise? King, I am really very -superstitious.”</p> - -<p>“So am I—about you.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>And the green grass grew all around.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>A wonderful day was at hand, for King.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak"><span class="smcap">Chapter VII</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Guess,” she cried, “my one extravagance!”</p> - -<p>“Sandwich,” he ventured. Billee screamed:</p> - -<p>“Bathing suit, silly!”</p> - -<p>“Great heavens! And you can pack it in -that?”</p> - -<p>“Ought I to have brought a trunk?”</p> - -<p>“A trunk? I hate to say it.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“King,” breathlessly, after a daring pressure -of his hand, “bear with me to-day. I’m -simply wild, <i>wild!</i> 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!”</p> - -<p>“Keep going, Billee, I’ll never stop you. -Am I in on it?”</p> - -<p>“Are you? <i>Are</i> you? How could it be good -news if you were not?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Once they came across a wild, ragtime -dance scene, and Billee screamed with delight. -It seemed to be everybody’s frolic.</p> - -<p>“Come on, King, I must dance with you!”</p> - -<p>“But,” sadly, “it’s the one accomplishment -I lack, Billee. All the others I have. My -young life was not cast in ragtime circles.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Ask her,” he said, ironically.</p> - -<p>“Dance, kid?” said the boy cryptically, to -Billee.</p> - -<p>“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:</p> - -<p>“Going some, friend!” Breathless, at -length, she joined him.</p> - -<p>“T’anks, lady,” said the boy, “you are sure -some stepper.”</p> - -<p>“Same here,” said Billee, politely. Billee -was learning slang easily. The boy took one -long look at her, his soul in his eyes.</p> - -<p>“Gee!” he said, and turned away.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“What of it? He’s all American. I like -his independence.”</p> - -<p>“So do I,” said King. “On reflection, I -believe I was a little jealous.”</p> - -<p>“He is the most direct young man I ever -met. I told him I was married and he -promptly called me a liar.”</p> - -<p>Billee found a tired woman sitting in the -sand, a tousled baby in her lap. She dropped -down by her.</p> - -<p>“Let me hold him, a little, won’t you, -please?” The mother’s gaze rested on her -face but an instant.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Look, King, what beauty-brown eyes!”</p> - -<p>“Mind your dress,” he cautioned. “He’s -pretty well messed up.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Billee! For heaven’s sake, go back! or -get in the water quick!”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“But it’s a boy’s suit!”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“It’s all right, Billee. Of course it isn’t -your fault—ever. Come on, let’s get in the -water.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“How did you learn that, girl? It’s wonderful! -wonderful!” he shouted.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Great, isn’t it, King?” she breathed softly. -“Friend or enemy, the ocean is always great.”</p> - -<p>Their course was straight out; the last -bather was passed.</p> - -<p>“Careful, sir,” called a lifeguard, “the -tide’ll be turning soon.”</p> - -<p>“Right O!” sang King. “But old Father -Atlantic and I are chums!”</p> - -<p>“Show me how you float,” said Billee, resting -on slow strokes, “I could never learn to -float. My head <i>will</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Rest your weight on me, Billee!—both -hands!—<i>both hands!</i>” he shouted. (You have -to be positive with panicky people.) “Let -your body float free!”</p> - -<p>“Help me, King—I’m—I’m—”</p> - -<p>“Steady, girl! Are you really all in?”</p> - -<p>“So far”—she choked, “but I’m—I’m—” -Gurgle.</p> - -<p>“No, you’re not!”</p> - -<p>“I am!—I am!—I am!—Oh!—Oh!—”</p> - -<p>“Don’t lose your nerve, child!”</p> - -<p>“Nerve!” screamed Billee, “it isn’t my -nerve!—I’m losing!—I’m losing—” But -water filled her mouth.</p> - -<p>“What? What?”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>Woman’s wail on lonely ocean! Saddest -sound in the world.</p> - -<p>“Then-rest-both-hands-on-my-shoulders!” -he said grimly, setting his jaws hard.</p> - -<p>“I can’t—I can’t—I can’t rest—but one! -I’m holding the string! Oh, King! hurry—they’re -most—”</p> - -<p>“Steady now, Billee! Hold fast! Steady!”</p> - -<p>And King tied the string!</p> - -<p>For an age the great ocean had swallowed -him up. But he tied the string!</p> - -<p>Billee’s face went down on his breast when -he recovered breath. And there it stuck.</p> - -<p>“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:</p> - -<p>“King.” Her cheek was against his breast.</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Your heart is racing—just racing. Swimming -isn’t good for you. It might stop!”</p> - -<p>“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:</p> - -<p>“King, you awake?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t know, Billee. Hope so.”</p> - -<p>“Was this the way you saved the little -girl?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Cheek right here, where mine is?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Poor little kid! I wonder if she remembers! -Hand on your shoulder, like mine?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!—Oh!—Oh!” wailed Billee.</p> - -<p>“Why, what’s the matter?”</p> - -<p>“Cry—cry—crying—a little, I guess, -King.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t cry.”</p> - -<p>“But it breaks—my heart!”</p> - -<p>“Why, what is it?” Silence. And then:</p> - -<p>“Floating around, like this, King. It’s awful! -Floating around in the ocean, this a-way. -And no chaperone!”</p> - -<p>“Except the moon.”</p> - -<p>“And not—engaged, even!”</p> - -<p>“Awful, Billee!”</p> - -<p>“King, can you float with only one hand -behind you, like you did that night?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Beautiful, without either.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“The ideal!” he murmured, “the ideal!” -He followed. He had been following all -his life.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak"><span class="smcap">Chapter VIII</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“But I want to consult the actual artist—the -creator—for a special reason, if you don’t -mind.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said, “and the details, also, if I -remember right.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>carte blanche</i> 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.</p> - -<p>Fate moved again. Fate had certainly -waked up. This time she moved a castle.</p> - -<p>“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:</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Sir!”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Excuse me, sir, but I think I should like to -go out and faint awhile.”</p> - -<p>“Go when you please. Partners don’t ask -permission. Hunt <i>her</i> up, my boy, and tell -her about it. There’s always a ‘her’ in a -young man’s life. There was in mine.”</p> - -<p>“The trouble is, sir, I don’t know where my -‘her’ is. I seem to have lost her.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t bother. She’ll turn up. They always -do. Here, you are going without signing the -papers.” King signed, and shook hands fervently.</p> - -<p>Mr. Beeker drew a box of Havanas from -his desk and taking one shoved the others -across to him.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“I believe so, sir.”</p> - -<p>“And you refused to alter your plans to -suit his frontage—made him buy $269,000 -worth more?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“My boy, will you mind if I tell you the -difference between a crank and a genius?”</p> - -<p>“Of course not, sir.”</p> - -<p>“A genius is a crank who has succeeded. -You’ve had a narrow escape.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>New York was getting uncomfortably small -for King Dubignon. The world itself didn’t -feel too large.</p> - -<hr class="tb"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Billee!” he gasped. “You! You!” He -rushed toward her, but she side-stepped hurriedly, -whispering:</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“I was thinking of you,” he said weakly.</p> - -<p>“Are you so sorry for me as that?” she -said, standing with downcast eyes.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“The little dream girl—praying!” he whispered -in awe.</p> - -<p>Then with closed eyes she laid her cheek on -his breast, her arms half enfolding him.</p> - -<p>“And this one, King?” But King was beyond -further speech.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>Again the inevitable happened, but this -time Billee did not struggle nor King ask forgiveness.</p> - -<p>“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’.”</p> - -<p>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. It -was May in New England and the bees and -apple blossoms were there, and green fields -and the song birds and a little sister with the -lovelight in her eyes.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p class="ph3"><i>Books by Mr. Edwards</i></p> -</div> - -<table> -<tr><td>“Two Runaways and Other Stories”</td><td class="tdr"> $1.75</td></tr> - -<tr><td>“His Defense and Other Stories”</td><td class="tdr"> 1.75</td></tr> - -<tr><td>“The Marbeau Cousins,” 12 mo. cloth</td><td class="tdr"> 1.50</td></tr> - -<tr><td>“Sons and Fathers,”—the $10,000 prize story</td><td class="tdr"> 1.75</td></tr> - -<tr><td>“Eneas Africanus,” cheap paper, large print</td><td class="tdr"> .25</td></tr> - -<tr><td>“Eneas Africanus,” new edition, paper</td><td class="tdr"> .50</td></tr> - -<tr><td>“Eneas Africanus,” new edition, board</td><td class="tdr"> .75</td></tr> - -<tr><td>“Eneas Africanus,” new edition, illustrated</td><td class="tdr"> 1.25</td></tr> - -<tr><td>“Eneas Africanus,” flexible ooze leather</td><td class="tdr"> 2.00</td></tr> - -<tr><td>“Eneas Africanus,” new edition, illustrated, ooze     </td><td class="tdr"> 2.50</td></tr> - -<tr><td>“Eneas Africanus,”—Author’s autographed<br> -      edition—Imitation leather, gold stamped, fully<br> -      illustrated, autographed</td><td class="tdr"> 2.50</td></tr> - -<tr><td>“Eneas Africanus, Defendant,” paper</td><td class="tdr"> .50</td></tr> - -<tr><td>“Eneas Africanus, Defendant,” board</td><td class="tdr"> .75</td></tr> - -<tr><td>“Eneas Africanus, Defendant,” flexible ooze</td><td class="tdr"> 2.00</td></tr> - -<tr><td>“Just Sweethearts,” paper bound</td><td class="tdr"> .75</td></tr> - -<tr><td>“Just Sweethearts,” Christmas bound</td><td class="tdr"> 1.00</td></tr> - -<tr><td>“Just Sweethearts,” ooze calf</td><td class="tdr"> 2.50</td></tr> - -<tr><td>“How Sal Came Through”</td><td class="tdr"> .50</td></tr> - -<tr><td>“Brother Sims’s Mistake”</td><td class="tdr"> .50</td></tr> - -<tr><td>“Isam’s Spectacles”</td><td class="tdr"> .50</td></tr> - -<tr><td>“The Adventures of a Parrot”</td><td class="tdr"> .50</td></tr> - -<tr><td>“Shadow”—A Christmas Story</td><td class="tdr"> .50</td></tr> - -<tr><td>“The Vulture and His Shadow”</td><td class="tdr"> .50</td></tr> - -<tr><td>“On the Mount,” de luxe paper</td><td class="tdr"> .25</td></tr> - -<tr><td>“Mam’selle Delphine”</td><td class="tdr"> 1.00</td></tr> - -<tr><td>“In Daddy Jesse’s Kingdom” by Mrs. Edwards</td><td class="tdr"> 1.00</td></tr> -</table> - -<p class="center"> -<i>Postpaid to any address</i><br> -<span class="xlarge">THE J. W. 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